Chapter Text
Their shift was over, and Kelly had hoped to catch Matt before he left the station—but the truck lieutenant had disappeared the second the clock hit 8am. Not unusual for him these days. Kelly sighed, shutting his locker with more force than necessary. He wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. The rest of 51 had exchanged glances, whispered concerns, but Matt had made himself impossible to pin down.
“Severide.” Boden’s voice cut through his thoughts.
Kelly turned to find the chief watching him from his office doorway. That look on his face said everything. He’d noticed, too.
“You got a minute?”
Kelly followed him in, shutting the door behind him. “What’s up?”
“Was hoping you could tell me,” Boden said, settling into his chair with a heavy sigh. “Casey.”
Kelly hesitated. Of course.
“Ah.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. He’d been asking himself the same damn thing for weeks.
Matt hadn’t been himself—nowhere near himself. Every time Kelly tried to talk to him, Matt dodged it, coming up with an excuse or brushing him off. He barely spoke to anyone unless it was about work, skipped out on drinks at Molly’s, and ate his meals alone in his office when he ate at all. He wasn’t responding to messages.
Even Dawson had shut down any questions, and if she wasn’t saying anything, then whatever was going on had to be bad. Shay had tried, too, but got the same wall of silence.
“Your guess is as good as mine then?” Boden prompted.
Kelly exhaled. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s his mom? He’s never been big on talking about family, and she’s been in and out of trouble for years. Or maybe something with Dawson. They haven’t been coming in together this past week or so.”
Boden nodded grimly. “If it was just a rough patch, I’d leave it. But it’s getting worse. He needs to sharpen up and smarten up.”
“You talk to him?”
“Last shift,” Boden confirmed. “Says he’s fine.”
“Course he does,” Kelly muttered.
Boden leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “He looks exhausted. Ill.”
“I know.”
No one had missed the change. The sharp, squared edges of Matt’s uniform were slack now, his shirts hanging off his frame. Dark circles carved into his face, making his eyes look sunken, hollowed-out. He’d always carried his exhaustion well, but this was different. This wasn’t just tired. This was Matt unraveling.
“If he keeps going on like this…” Boden let the words hang.
“I know,” Kelly repeated. He hated the sinking feeling in his gut, the same one he’d had before Matt’s last major spiral. “I’ll talk to him.”
But Kelly never got the chance.
Matt didn’t answer his calls. So he drove over, knocking on his door.
Matt cracked it open, barely meeting his eyes.
“Now’s not a good time,” he said, voice rough.
“You never got time these days,” Kelly countered.
Matt exhaled sharply, a flicker of something—guilt, maybe—crossing his face before he schooled it away. “Got a construction job to get to.”
And then it wasn’t long before Boden was forced to send him home mid-shift.
“Casey, you’re done for today,” Boden told him.
Kelly braced himself for an argument. Matt never backed down when it came to his work. Never let personal shit get in the way.
But this time, he didn’t even protest, didn’t even look at them. He just walked away in silence.
And that was what scared Kelly the most.
═════════════════
It was 8pm when Kelly hammered on Matt’s front door. His truck was outside. The house lights were on, but there was no answer. Not even the usual I’m busy or Not tonight, Kelly. Just silence.
“Come on, Case… I got pizza and beer!” Kelly called, his voice forced into something light. “Pizza’s getting cold, beer’s getting warm… Matt?”
Nothing. Not even footsteps.
Something wasn’t right.
Kelly pulled out his set of keys, fingers fumbling against the worn metal. Not answering the door for pizza and beer definitely counted as an emergency, right?
“Matt, you better be decent, ‘cause I’m coming in!”
The second he stepped inside, the smell hit him like a punch to the gut.
Rot. Stale booze. Vomit. Something sour and unclean, hanging heavy in the air.
The house was a wreck. Clothes were crumpled in heaps, littered with barely-eaten, rotten takeout, the smell of grease and decay mixing with the rancid scent of alcohol. Empty bottles and cans were everywhere—some knocked over, some shattered, glass scattered like broken promises across the hardwood floor
Kelly nearly stepped in something.
Jesus Christ. Old vomit.
He recoiled, stomach turning as his boots stuck to the floor with something thick and unidentifiable.
“Case?” His voice was sharper now, laced with unease.
Then—a crash.
A thud.
Glass shattering.
Then—gurgling.
Choking.
“Matt?!”
Kelly bolted.
The bathroom door was shut. No, locked.
“Matt, open the damn door!”
Nothing. Just the wet, horrifying sound of someone drowning on dry land.
“Case, I’m coming in!”
Kelly slammed his shoulder against the door, again and again until the wood splintered, the hinges ripping from the frame. The door gave way under his weight—and then he saw him.
His breath caught in his throat.
“Oh, God…”
Matt was convulsing in a pool of his own vomit. His body jerked violently, limbs flailing, his back arching in an unnatural, awful way. Only the whites of his eyes showed, pupils rolled back, mouth slack—vomit bubbling from his lips as his chest heaved, gasping for air that wasn’t coming fast enough.
Kelly dropped to his knees, nearly slipping in the mess.
“Matt? Matt!”
Matt’s body slammed against the floor, glass slicing into his arms and legs as he thrashed. Blood smeared into the vomit, mixing with piss and spilled whiskey, the acrid scent burning the back of Kelly’s throat.
The empty pill bottle—Prozac.
Kelly’s hands were shaking as he grabbed his phone.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I need an ambulance! My friend’s overdosed—he’s seizing!”
His heart was hammering, his voice breaking.
He had to move him. Had to stop him from choking on his own vomit, had to turn him, had to—
Matt’s limbs fought him, flailing so wildly that Kelly barely got him onto his side. He gritted his teeth, pressing Matt’s head at the right angle, trying to keep his airway clear, trying to keep his best fucking friend alive.
“Come on, Matt, come on, breathe—”
The seizure subsided for a moment, his body stilling just long enough for Kelly to think—maybe, maybe—and then it started again. Another violent jolt, another horrible, choking gasp.
It felt like hours.
By the time the paramedics arrived, Matt was barely conscious, his lips tinged blue, skin damp with sweat and vomit. His breaths were shallow, uneven.
Kelly picked up the Prozac bottle with trembling hands, his stomach turning to lead.
When had he started taking them? How many did he take?
And the whiskey—how much did he drink?
He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to let himself believe—
He did this on purpose.
They loaded Matt into the rig. Kelly didn’t let go of his hand.
Even when Matt seized again—a sharp, violent convulsion that nearly yanked his IV out—Kelly held on.
Even when the ambulance screamed down the street, sirens wailing against the night, Kelly held on.
Even when they rolled him into the trauma bay, his clothes cut from his body, tubes forced down his throat, lines pushed into his arms, Kelly held on—until the doors swung shut, blocking him out.
Then all he could do was watch.
Watch as they pumped the charcoal into his stomach.
Watch as they forced oxygen into his lungs.
Watch as his heart monitor flickered erratically, his body trembling from withdrawal, from overdose, from everything Matt never told him.
Then hands pulled him back.
═════════════════
It had been nearly an hour.
Kelly had worn a hole in the waiting room floor with his pacing, each step grinding frustration, guilt, and helplessness deeper into his chest.
“Come on, come on…”
Every minute stretched impossibly long, his mind replaying the same horrific images—Matt convulsing on the floor, vomit foaming from his lips, blood smearing through broken glass, his body limp and unresponsive in the back of the ambulance.
Then—movement.
Kelly’s head snapped up the second the ER doors swung open, revealing the doctor he recognized from the trauma bay. He barely let the man breathe before he was on him.
“How is he?” Kelly demanded, voice sharp, raw.
The doctor barely flinched at the intensity. “He’s stable.”
It should have felt like relief. It didn’t.
“Are you family?”
“You won’t get in touch with his family easily.” Kelly didn’t hesitate. “I’m listed as his next of kin.”
Matt had changed it not long after Hallie died. Had sat Kelly down one night, beer in one hand, pen in the other, and asked him if he’d take it. In case anything ever happened, in case he was incapacitated and couldn’t make his own medical decisions.
Kelly had said yes without thinking, never once imagining it would come to this.
“I’m his best friend,” he said now, voice hoarse. “And I didn’t even know he was taking antidepressants.”
The doctor glanced at the chart in his hands, flipping a page. “His medical record shows he’s been on them for a while. That makes us question this attempt. According to his doctors, the medication was working. Has something happened recently?”
Kelly shook his head, fast, too fast. “He’s been different. Off, for the last few weeks, but…” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. I don’t think anything happened.” His throat tightened. “He has been off though, I tried getting through to him. Nothing worked.”
The doctor frowned. “Off?”
Kelly swallowed hard. “He’s a firefighter. He locks everything up. He takes things hard, but he never lets it show. He carries everything. And in the last few weeks, it’s like… he stopped caring about any of it.”
“About himself?”
“No. He’s always put everyone else first.” Kelly’s voice cracked. “But lately… it’s like he doesn’t give a damn about anyone—not himself, not us, nothing.”
The doctor nodded, processing. “He’s getting a bed in the ICU. We’re concerned about serotonin toxicity from the overdose. He’ll be on a 72 hour psychiatric hold. He’ll have a full psych evaluation, and we’ll go from there.”
Kelly barely heard him.
“He tried to kill himself.”
The words felt foreign, impossible, like they didn’t belong in his mouth, in his world.
“Never once thought he’d do that. Never.” His voice was quiet now, barely above a whisper. “He’s the strongest man I’ve ever known.”
The doctor sighed, eyes heavy with something Kelly didn’t want to name. “That’s usually the way,” he said gently. “You can see him now before he’s moved to the ICU. He won’t be awake for some time.”
Kelly’s stomach twisted. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see him like this. But he had to.
“Physically… he’s gonna be okay?”
“He should be,” the doctor said carefully. “Like I said, we’re monitoring for serotonin syndrome—a toxic buildup from the pills he took. He’s at high risk for seizures, fever, organ stress. That’s why we’re keeping him in ICU. He’s been given benzodiazepines to control symptoms, and we’re pushing IV fluids to flush his system and keep him stable.”
Kelly nodded, forcing the words to settle in his brain.
“Once the first 24 hours pass, he should be in the clear.”
═════════════════
Matt had been placed on a seventy-two-hour psychiatric hold. He would be on suicide watch when he woke. Checked on by staff every fifteen minutes. And he would be assessed, his doctors would decide what came next—what treatment, if any, could keep him from spiralling back into the abyss that had swallowed him whole.
But for now oblivious to the world, lost somewhere deep inside himself.
He wasn’t in control anymore. Matt had been declared incompetent to make medical decisions in his current state. Kelly now held power of attorney. Just as Matt would have if things were reversed. That was the reality of their job—the risks were high, and they both knew it. Neither of them had wanted to be unprepared for the all-too-real prospect of injury, of the day one of them might end up in a hospital bed with no say over what happened next.
Kelly hadn’t thought it would come to this.
A suicide attempt.
Kelly pulled a stool up to the bedside, the legs scraping against the floor. The harsh fluorescent light overhead made Matt look even worse, if that was possible—his skin nearly translucent, sickly pale against the stark white of the hospital gown. There were smudges, black streaks on his face, black stains on his gown.
The charcoal.
Kelly swallowed hard. The evidence of what it had taken to keep Matt alive was still smeared across his skin, across the sheets. It was still inside him, leeching through his system, trying to undo the damage before it was too late.
He’d lost weight. A lot of it. Kelly had noticed it before, but now it was glaringly obvious. Hollows beneath his cheekbones, the sharp jut of his collarbone, the way his wrists looked too thin where they rested against the blanket.
Matt had started to shiver, his body jerked violently beneath the sheet. Not from the cold. The pills had done a number on his system.
Kelly reached out, gripped Matt’s hand in his own.
His fingers were trembling, twitching, small, involuntary spasms beneath Kelly’s grip. He was burning up, but still he shivered, his body betraying itself, trying to regulate something that was already so far out of his control.
Only one thing was on Kellys mind—why?
His thumb brushed over Matt’s knuckles, gripping tighter when the tremors worsened.
A rustling sound broke him from his thoughts. He looked up as a man in white stepped through the curtain.
“We’re moving him to ICU now,” the orderly informed him. “You can visit in the morning.”
Morning.
That felt like a lifetime away.
Kelly didn’t let go of Matt’s hand until they forced him to.
═════════════════
Matt’s eyes cracked open, lids heavy as lead. His entire body felt sluggish, weighed down by something thick and unbearable. Heat spread through him in waves, nausea creeping up his throat before he could fully process where he was. His vision swam, assaulted by the blinding overhead lights, and then—the smell.
Antiseptic.
Stale, artificial air.
Hospital.
A groan escaped him, barely more than a whisper.
No.
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to sink back into oblivion, but the weight on his chest—too firm, too real—wouldn’t let him. Someone was calling his name. Persistent. Unrelenting.
“Matt, can you hear me?”
The voice dragged him back, forcing his sluggish brain to process the words. Slowly, reluctantly, he pried his eyes open again. The room came into focus in blurred fragments—IV lines, monitors, a curtain half-drawn around the bed. He wasn’t alone.
A doctor stood at his bedside, watching him carefully. Matt blinked slowly, his gaze drifting around the sterile white walls, the beeping monitors, the tubes running from his arms. ICU.
His face fell.
“Matt, you’re in the ICU,” the doctor said evenly. “Do you remember what happened?”
A slow shake of the head. “No… shouldn’t be here.”
The doctor’s expression didn’t change. “So you do remember.”
Matt’s throat was raw, his voice barely more than a rasp. “Why…”
He wasn’t listening to the doctor anymore, wasn’t paying attention to the wires, the tubes, the machines keeping him here. He hadn’t even noticed the presence to his right.
“Your friend found you.”
Matt’s body stiffened.
“I found you, Matt.”
Kelly.
He didn’t look at him. Didn’t acknowledge him. His eyes stayed locked on the ceiling, unfocused, as the bile rose in his throat.
“No… no, no… wasn’t supposed to…”
The doctor’s voice was distant now, just another noise in the background. “You’ll be moved to a medical ward soon. A psychiatrist will speak with you.”
“You’re gonna get some help, Case.”
Matt’s fingers twitched against the sheets. “No.”
The doctor ignored it, checking his vitals one last time before glancing at Kelly. “Visiting hours will be over soon. You can stay a little longer.”
Kelly nodded as the doctor walked off, leaving them in heavy silence. Matt remained motionless, his face a blank slate.
“You’re looking a little better,” Kelly offered, forcing a small smile. “Physically, you’re gonna be okay. Probably shaved a few years off your liver, but you’re—”
Matt’s face went white.
Kelly barely had time to react before he grabbed the empty emesis basin from the bedside table and shoved it into Matt’s hands just as he gagged and heaved violently. His entire body shook with the force of it, the retching harsh and painful.
Kelly winced. “Spoke too soon.”
He took the basin back, setting it aside before reaching for a cup of water. “You want some?”
Matt barely managed a breath between dry heaves, but when he finally lifted his head, his bloodshot eyes locked onto Kelly’s for the first time.
“Why did you find me?” His voice was hoarse, the words broken, but they still cut deep.
Kelly scoffed, shaking his head. “You think no one’s noticed you the last few weeks? You think no one’s seen how bad you look? How you’ve been shutting everyone out?”
Matt didn’t answer, just turned away, closed his eyes, and waited.
Waited for Kelly to leave.
But Kelly didn’t leave.
“I’ve not spoken to Dawson yet. You want to call her? Or I can? Don’t think you’ll want her turning up at your place…”
“No.”
“She’s your girlfriend—”
“No.”
The rejection was sharper this time, edged with something dangerous.
Kelly sat forward, trying to read his face, trying to see something—anything—beneath the blank expression. “Talk to me, Case. Tell me what’s going on. This isn’t like you.”
That got a reaction.
Matt turned his head slowly, fixing him with a glare so cold it barely looked like him at all. “You don’t know anything about me.”
Kelly stiffened. “You’re wrong,” he said quietly. “You’ve been depressed for weeks. I’ve never seen you like this before. I should have—”
“You should have left me.”
It wasn’t said with anger.
It wasn’t a fight.
It was just a fact.
A simple, crushing truth that Matt believed down to his bones.
Kelly’s chest tightened. “I’d never leave you.”
Matt let out a hollow scoff. “You would if you knew.”
Kelly’s pulse spiked. “Knew what?”
Matt didn’t answer. Instead, he hardened, his face blank, his voice flat and detached. “You can leave. I don’t want you here. So don’t stay out of some sense of obligation.”
“I want to be here.”
“I don’t want you here!”
The sudden snap of anger made Kelly flinch.
Matt’s breathing was heavier now, his fists clenched in the thin hospital blanket, his body coiled too tight, like he was ready to break apart all over again.
Kelly exhaled, forcing himself to stay calm. “Okay.” His voice was steady, even. “I’m not gonna be here tomorrow. I’m on shift. I called Boden, told him you were sick. Not too far from the truth, right?”
Matt didn’t answer, didn’t even blink.
Kelly studied him, jaw tight, fingers tapping restlessly against his knee. “What? You’d rather I tell him the truth? Tell everyone the truth? That you’re stuck in a hospital on a 72 hour hold because you swallowed a bottle of pills?”
Matt’s stare was unflinching. “I don’t care what you do.”
═════════════════
Kelly had been off his game all shift.
Nothing catastrophic—he still got the job done, still barked orders when needed, still did what was expected of him—but his mind wasn’t in it. He was distracted. And if there was one person who would notice that, it was Boden.
So it wasn’t a surprise when the chief stopped by his quarters.
“Everything alright?”
Kelly barely glanced up from his locker, feigning nonchalance as he shoved his turnout coat inside.
“Fine.”
Too quick. Too forced.
Boden didn’t move. He just stood there, arms crossed, watching.
Kelly wasn’t stupid. He knew the chief could read him like a damn book. But it had only been a few minutes since he got off the phone with the hospital, checking in on Matt. He was off the ICU and on a medical ward now. That was all they told him. No details, no updates, just “he’s stable” and “a psychiatrist will be seeing him soon.”
“Casey feeling better?”
The words barely registered before Kelly fumbled his response. “What? Oh—uh… no. No, I don’t think so.”
Boden frowned. “Thought you said he was sick?”
Shit.
Kelly froze for half a second, his brain scrambling for damage control.
“Erm—yeah. He is.” He nodded quickly, hoping it looked convincing. It probably didn’t.
Boden’s frown deepened. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Kelly’s stomach twisted. He hated this. Lying to Boden. But what was he supposed to say? That Matt was stuck in a hospital room, stripped of every ounce of control, locked on a 72 hour hold because he’d swallowed a bottle of pills and nearly died choking on his own vomit?
No.
“What? No. No… I just had a late night, and apparently, I still haven’t had enough caffeine today.”
That part was true. He hadn’t slept. Couldn’t stop replaying it in his head. The glass. The blood. The way Matt’s body had convulsed violently in his arms.
And worst of all—the what ifs. What if he hadn’t shown up? What if he had been ten minutes later? What if Matt had actually died on that bathroom floor?
Boden didn’t look convinced, but he let out a slow breath, nodding. “Well, keep me updated on Casey, okay?”
Kelly swallowed hard, trying to look normal when his pulse was hammering in his throat. “Yeah. Of course.”
Boden hesitated, then sighed. “He’s probably annoyed at me for…”
“He’s not.” The words left Kelly’s mouth automatically. “He’s good, Chief.”
That was a lie. Matt was anything but good. And Boden was going to find out eventually. When he did, Kelly was screwed.
Boden left without another word. As soon as the door shut behind him, Kelly let out a deep, shaky breath, running a hand over his face.
He had just lied to his chief. Straight to his face. And there was going to be hell to pay when Boden found out the truth. Because he would.
═════════════════
Kelly walked onto the medical ward the next morning, forcing a polite smile at the clerk behind the desk.
“I’m here for Matthew Casey. Kelly Severide,” he said, voice clipped, his exhaustion barely concealed beneath forced composure.
The clerk nodded, fingers flying over the keyboard. “Just a sec.” Her eyes scanned the screen before she looked back at him. “He’s in 34B.”
She smiled—a warm, friendly smile. Normally, he’d appreciate it. Maybe even flirt back.
Not today.
“Doctor’s in with him at the moment,” she added, still polite. “But you can wait.”
Kelly straightened. “Psych?”
She nodded. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”
”‘K. I’ll wait outside his room.”
Kelly found the door to 34B and leaned against the wall outside. He didn’t sit. Didn’t check his phone. Just folded his arms and waited, mind running circles around the same questions. What the hell was Matt thinking? How long had he been feeling like this? Why hadn’t he told anyone? Why hadn’t he told him?
It wasn’t long before the door opened.
A doctor stepped out, flipping through a chart, his expression neutral.
Kelly didn’t hesitate. “How is he?”
The doctor blinked, momentarily taken aback by how fast Kelly had closed the distance between them.
“I’m Kelly. Kelly Severide. I’m—”
“Holding Matthew’s power of attorney at the moment,” the doctor finished, nodding as he extended a hand. “We have your details on file.”
Kelly ignored the handshake.
“How is he, doc? Gonna assume he didn’t tell you why he did it?”
The doctor exhaled. “I haven’t asked him. Not specifically, anyway. To be honest, he hasn’t really said much at all, so I doubt he’d tell us at this stage.”
Kelly gritted his teeth. That sounded like Matt. Shutting down, locking everyone out, pretending none of this happened.
“So what happens now? When the seventy-two hours are up?”
The doctor hesitated. “Well… if he’s medically stable, he’ll be released.”
Kelly’s stomach dropped.
“Released? Just like that?” His voice rose, anger bleeding into his words before he could stop it. “He just tried to kill himself, and you’re gonna release him? What the hell?”
The doctor didn’t flinch, but Kelly saw the shift in his expression—the quiet frustration of someone who’d had this conversation too many times.
“At this point, I can only suggest counselling and outpatient care.”
Kelly let out a bitter laugh. “For God’s sake—he literally took a load of pills. He didn’t expect to be waking up. And you’re suggesting counselling? How do you know he won’t try again?”
The doctor cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, but not backing down. “I think everything just got too much for him. He’s seen a lot in his job—more than most people could ever process. He’s lost people. His records indicate that he had a… difficult childhood.”
Kelly’s jaw clenched. “So you think he just cracked? And that’s it?”
“We’re recommending he see a—”
“Recommending? Can’t you force him to see someone?”
The doctor sighed, shaking his head. “Legally, no. Unless he expresses an intent to harm himself again, or if he’s unable to care for himself, he can’t be held involuntarily.”
Kelly stared at him, disbelief turning into something close to fury.
“You’re telling me you’re letting him go because he’s not talking? Because he’s not sitting in there saying he wants to do it again?”
The doctor shifted. “It’s possible it was a cry for help. Maybe attention-seeking.”
Kelly froze.
“Attention-seeking?” His voice dropped, dangerously quiet.
The doctor realised his mistake instantly.
But it was too late.
Kelly stepped forward, anger rolling off him in waves. “That’s not Matt.”
He could have taken a swing at the guy and felt less rage than he did right now.
“He doesn’t ask for help. He never has. You think he took those pills for attention? He’s never done that in his entire life. If he wanted attention, he would’ve asked for it. This isn’t that.”
Kelly knew there was something else going on.