Will Halstead sickfics/hurtfics

It's my fault!

He'd lost a patient.

It was a young teenage girl, just about thirteen years old. She didn't deserve any of it that had happened to her.

Will had done everything he could to save her. He'd continued CPR until her father accepted her death.

Well, he didn't actually accept it, he took his time to yell at Will for letting her die. Of course, Will blamed himself like he often did with these kinds of patients.

The girl had been a victim of kidnapping and rape. She hadn't been missing for a few days or weeks. No, she'd been missing for years. Exactly 9 years. It had taken a while to identify her since she was unconscious at the time she was brought in, and her father didnt believe them at first, understandably. And it took another two days for the father to come all the way from Austria, where they lived, to Chicago.

Will always felt bad for those patients and he tries to keep them happy. He consciously lets the patient decide things. He's also much more gentle and careful with everything around them like they could shatter into thousands of pieces if he touched them. Because of that, many victims get treated by him, he just magically bonds with many patients. They start to trust him and start to recover, even psychically. If they make it.

And that's what happened that day.

Will sat in his car, numb of emotions, as he thought back to the moment the father yelled at him.

"It's your fault! It's your fault! She isn't dead! No! Someone get me another doctor! You've killed my daughter!", the father had yelled his soul out at him. Will wisely didn't speak up to anger the man further and just apologized for the loss before he'd made his way to the doctors lounge.

Tears escaped Will's eyes as he looked out of the window of his car. He knew that it couldn't have been his fault, but he blamed himself and when he had someone say it, no, yell it, directly into his face, he couldn't think anything different.

It was obvious in the faces of the fellow nurses and doctors who had seen the scene that they knew Will would have a bad day, or now night.

As Will numbly arrived at home and parked his car in his usual spot, he didn't think about anything other than the girl's face. It was going to taunt him for long while, he knew that. On autopilot, he searched for his key and opened his apartment. The whole world around him felt surreal as he went to sit down on his bed. He was ready to just sleep, but deep down he knew that he was going to have nightmares.

After not eating dinner and just taking a quick shower, Will was already lying in bed and before he knew it, his eyes closed in exhaustion.

It wasn't until the middle of the night that Will woke up breathing so hard that he was wondering if he was having a panic attack. He quickly managed to calm down, but as he had predicted, the girl's face was now even more taunting than earlier.

In his despair of doing something, anything, against his anger of letting her die, he began to think. Often, he'd cry into his pillow. On more severe cases, he'd scream into his pillow. But he'd never had to do something as badly as now.

He worked in an environment where he constantly met people with mental disorders or mental health problems. He knew that cutting was not an option of letting one's anger out. But it also sounded very effective. And Will was a very effective person.

So he eyed his pair of scissors. Before he realized it, he was holding them in his hand, hovering over his ankle. He wondered if it would hurt. Some part of his brain, the careless part, told him that he would never know if he didn't try it. That part together with the part that told him that he deserved it won over the part that rightfully told him that it was in no way healthy to cut.