the-three-shits-whump

[the-three-shits-whump]

Week 2 - Day 3: Missing Persons Report

@the-three-shits-whump

Read it on AO3 at the link above or below the cut:

Hank walked into 21, seeing someone else working the front desk. He frowned. It was Monday morning. Trudy was always early after the weekend. He wondered if there was a ComStat meeting he’d forgotten about, but when he got to Intelligence, he checked the calendar in his office. No meeting.

He sat down, having an odd feeling settle in his stomach. Trudy was the life of the district and her absence made the whole building colder. He pulled out his phone, arrowing down to her contact. He stared at it for a moment, debating, before hitting the call button.

I’m sorry, your call couldn’t be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try again.

Hank frowned. He grabbed the number from his desk drawer, typing it in manually instead.

I’m sorry, your call couldn’t be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try again.

Hank blinked, deciding to call Al instead. It rang, then Al picked up. “Hello?”

“Al, I can’t get a hold of Trudy. It’s like her number is out of service.”

“What? Isn’t she at the district?”

“No,” Hank replied, getting up from his desk and grabbing his coat. “What the hell is going on?”

“I haven’t heard from her since Friday night when we left.”

“I’m calling Randall.” With that, Hank hung up and dialed Randall McHolland’s number. It rang multiple times.

This is Randy - leave a message.

Hank huffed as he got a voicemail. “Randall, this is Hank Voight from the 21st. I need you to call me ASAP. It’s about Trudy.”

Hank all but ran out the front and to his car, speeding away as he called Al back. “Al, did you try her dad?”

“I don’t have his number,” he replied. “I know where he lives.”

“Meet you there,” Hank replied, then hung up the phone again.

—

The two pulled up to Robert Platt’s house at the same time, running up and knocking on the door. He answered with a look, something like sad mixed with angry, a hint of confusion and a touch of annoyance. “What are the two of you doing here?”

“We’re looking for Trudy. Have you seen-“

“Why are you looking for her here?!” He yelled. “I mean, you think I kidnapped my own daughter?!”

Hank furrowed his brow. “Kidnapped?”

Al put up a hand. “What do you mean?”

“I filed a missing persons report Saturday when I couldn’t get a hold of her. Don’t you cops talk to each other?!”

Hank frowned. “No, I… I had no idea. We saw her Friday night when we left the district…”

“So she’s been missing since Friday or Saturday and nobody’s done a damn thing,” Robert growled. “Go find her!” He slammed the door shut.

Hank looked at Al, then pulled out his phone once more, calling Antonio. “Antonio, Trudy’s been kidnapped. I need you to pull the missing person’s report her dad filed on Saturday.”

Hank waited a moment while the file was read to him, then nodded. “Thanks. See what else you can find out. Check pods. Track her from the district. She was there Friday night.” With that, he hung up, looking at Al. “Come on, we’re going to firehouse 51.”

The two got into their cars, traveling to 51. They rolled up, walking inside. The trucks were there. Hank quickly became annoyed Randall had ignored his call, seeing as he was sitting on the couch. He walked in and grabbed Randall up by the collar, lifting him to stand. “We need to talk.”

“Hey, whoa!” Kelly Severide said, the rest of the firemen standing up as well to jump Voight if needed.

Al put a hand up. “All of you need to sit back down, now, cause if you rush me, my reflexes might kick in.” He had his gun pulled out, in his hand by his side, pointing down. “Don’t.”

“Why can’t you answer your phone, huh?!” Hank yelled, shaking Mouch. “I left you a voicemail. Did you even listen?!”

“Forgive us if we’re not so forthcoming with you, Voight,” Casey spat at him. “You’re in here, threatening us again!”

“Trudy Platt has gone missing!” Hank shook Mouch again. “Where is she?!”

“She’s… missing?” Mouch frowned. “That’s why you called?”

“I wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t about her!” He pushed Mouch down onto the couch again. “She’s been missing since Friday night!”

“What is going on in here?” Boden’s voice came from the doorway.

Hank huffed and shook his head, turning to Boden. “Trudy Platt has gone missing. I was just talking with your firefighter and telling him how important it is to answer his damn phone when things like this happen. Especially since he wants to propose to her. Come on, Al.”

Hank and Al walked past Boden and out of the firehouse. “That was a waste of time,” Al said.

“The 48 hours are already up, Al,” Hank said, shaking his head. “I need to know who took that report.”

—

When they arrived back at the district, Hank found the cop who had taken the report. “Hey, Jones, get your ass over here.”

The beat officer frowned and walked over to Hank, to which he was grabbed by the arm and escorted downstairs to the cage. He yelped as he was thrown onto the bench in there. “What the hell, Sergeant?!”

“Don’t! You’re here became you took a missing persons report from Robert Platt Saturday afternoon. Does that name ring any bells? Hm?”

“Uh… yeah, he said his daughter was missing.”

“Yeah, uh huh, and do you know who his daughter is?”

The beat officer frowned. “I… uh…”

“Trudy Platt. As in Sergeant Platt. Your fucking desk sergeant!” He grabbed Jones by the collar and slammed him against the cage, the fence rattling. “You didn’t think to escalate the report to the sergeant on duty, or to literally anyone else?! You just let it sit in the database with the rest?!”

“Th-That’s procedure! It gets handed off to the detectives and-“

Hank slammed him again. “Fuck procedure when it’s a cop missing! Now the 48 hours are already up! If she’s dead, the blood is on your hands!”

Hank slammed him once more for good measure, then tossed him to the ground outside the cage. “Get out! And if I ever see you in my district again, I’ll do a lot worse!”

Jones scrambled up, running up the stairs and away from Hank’s wrath. Hank was seething. He knew, deep inside, that air was already too late. She was either dead or halfway across the country right now, being forced into who knows what.

“Hank,” Al’s voice came from the stairs as he ran down them. “Hank, we have a lead. Come on.”

—

The entire Intelligence Unit arrived on the scene, somewhere in a remote wooded area, plus Burgess, as she was practically a member of the unit anyways. She’d left her partner behind and decided to join them to help find Trudy. Hank didn’t mind, seeing as he knew he could trust her.

They all walked out, starting to canvass the area where Trudy’s phone last pinged. Apparently, she’d made a 911 call right before the phone service was shut off from the company’s side. Apparently, someone had called in and exorcised police powers to turn the service off. Trudy’s badge number and name.

They walked in a line, taking slow steps to canvass the area before Erin yelled. “Found something!” She had gloves on, picking up Trudy’s phone. “Her cell.”

Hank nodded. “Fan out. Look for Trudy, tire tracks, footprints, or anything else that might say where she went. She was here - that we know for sure.”

All of the officers and detectives walked around, generally in the same straight line, looking for clues.

“Boss, I’ve got footprints!” Adam’s voice called. Hank rushed over to him. “Boot prints. Like some big, heavy boots. The rain couldn’t wash them away cause they’re so deep. They just became puddles.” Adam shone his flashlight down the hill. “They go that way and end at the edge of that ravine.”

Everyone had gathered where Adam was, each nervous to take the next few steps to peer into the ravine. Hank, being the Sergeant, knew he had to. He had to be the one to peer over the edge and see if Trudy was lying there. All he could do was pray that she was alive and had a fighting chance.

Hank took the steps toward the edge. One… two… three… four… five strides before he got there, looking down. He didn’t see anything at first, taking out his flashlight and shining it. He saw something shiny reflect off it. So, he traversed down the ravine, looking around.

The shiny thing had been Trudy’s badge. It looked like she had never made it home, seeing as it was still pinned to her white shirt. Hank picked up the shirt, frowning and running his thumb over the badge number. He realized that if her shirt wasn’t on her anymore, then she was most likely…

He swallowed hard, stepping forward into the bushes, digging around. He looked around for a few paces before coming upon her body. She was lying in the bushes, lips and fingers blue, hair messed up and tangled, no clothes. Her eyes were open and she was beat up. Hank had to turn away from the gruesome scene, closing his eyes. Tears ran down his face. He let out a single sob before he wiped his eyes. Everyone at the top of the ravine was watching him.

“I found her,” he called to them, his voice breaking in the process as he couldn’t stand anymore, falling to his knees. He heard everyone at the top slowly understand what he meant and start crying.

[the-three-shits-whump]

Week 2 - Day 2: Coughing Up Blood

@the-three-shits-whump

Read it on AO3 at the link above or find it below the cut:

It was a hard hit. Too hard. Despite Al’s pain tolerance being really high, it hurt like a bitch. Al had been whacked with a two-by-four and tossed across a room by a man with enough muscle for everyone on the planet. He must’ve been on steroids.

The end of the board had hit him in the abdomen, making the blow harder and more centralized. He had the breath knocked out of him, trying to catch it as he laid on the ground, writhing.

“Alvin!” Hank shot the guy a couple times, finally once more in the head to take him down. Then, he rushed over. “Holy shit, you alright?”

Al gave a silent thumbs up, finally drawing shallow breaths.

“You need an ambo?”

“No,” he groaned, still breathless.

“Sarge! Got three runners!” A voice came from outside.

“Go,” Al mumbled to Hank, nodding to him.

Hank debated it, but then got up and ran outside to help give chase.

Al groaned, lying for a bit longer to finally catch his breath before the intense pain set in. He then got up, groaning at the pain, and went to a bathroom somewhere in the house. He took off the sides of his vest, slipping it over his head and setting it aside, then lifted his shirt. “Ah, shit…” he mumbled, coughing a bit, looking at the bruise already forming in a rectangle on his abdomen, not to mention the slight bruising around it. He swallowed hard, then splashed his face with water, taking a small drink as well and swishing out his mouth, which had blood in it already. Al thought maybe he bit his tongue or something, so he spit out the water, then got more, swishing it again and spitting. There was less pink this time. So, he put his vest back on and tightened it, then groaned as he walked out of the house, trying to make it seem like the pain was minimal.

“Whoa, Al, you okay?” Adam asked, after putting one of the perps in his Jeep.

“Fine, Ruzek, just took a hit. Not bad.”

Adam glanced to where Voight was busy with another one of the perps, then back at Alvin. “You sure?”

“I’m sure. Hank knows I got hit. Don’t worry about it.” He got into Adam’s passenger seat, letting out a breath as they took the drive back to the district.

—

About an hour later, Al sat at his desk. He really didn’t feel right. He coughed into his fist, blood showing up. After staring at it for a short moment, Al quickly wiped it away with a napkin and tossed it in the trash beneath his desk. He swallowed hard again, clearing his throat and getting to work on the case report.

“Al, make sure you fill out an injury report,” Hank said as he walked by his desk.

Al sighed, but nodded in reply, grabbing an injury form from the filing cabinets nearby, starting to fill it out.

—

A few hours passed, Al not feeling right. He’d already put in his injury report to Hank, having lied a tiny bit about the severity of it. He got up and went to the bathroom, grunting softly when he got up, causing Adam to look up with concern. Al put a hand up to dismiss him and walked to the bathroom.

He couldn’t help it, coughing into his hands now, more blood coming up. He felt woozy, leaning on the sink and washing the blood off, then pulling up his shirt. The bruise had spread rapidly throughout his abdomen. No longer was it centralized, but it radiated out. He groaned, putting his hands down on the counter, but losing his balance. The water on his hands caused him to slip and fall down, hitting his head in the process as he fell unconscious.

—

A half-hour or so went by, Adam getting nervous when Al hadn’t come back. Trudy beat him to it, however, coming up the stairs. “I’m using the bathroom,” she announced, humming and walking through the bullpen, only stopping when Hank raised an eyebrow from his desk. “What? The ones downstairs are disgusting. Nasty patrolmen don’t know how to maintain it. Before the end of the day, they’re practically unusable and someone had Mexican for lunch. Ugh.” She scrunched her nose, then grabbed a newspaper from the break room, walking past Alvin’s desk.

Adam stood up and followed her quickly. “Sarge?” He asked.

“Ruzek, if this is anything other than an emergency, I’m going to-“

“Al‘s been in there a while. I’m worried. Mind if I check on him first?”

Trudy stopped, looking back at Adam, seeing the concern in his eyes. Then, she nodded. “Let’s go.”

Adam took the lead, walking into the bathroom. “No, no, no, no, no, Al!” He knelt down.

Trudy rushed to Al’s other side, crying out for Hank. “Holy shit,” she mumbled, seeing his shirt pulled halfway up. She pulled it the rest of the way, gasping. “Oh my gosh.”

“He’s bleeding internally,” Adam said. “We need an ambo.”

Hank ran in, a deep frown setting in his features as he took Adam’s place, Adam running back to the bullpen for a radio. “Fuck,” he mumbled, trying to wake Al up. “Hey, Al, come on.” He gently shook him, but there were no signs of consciousness.

Trudy took his pulse, nodding. “It’s still there. Really faint, though.”

Adam ran back in, the rest of the bullpen following. “Ambo was just down the street. ETA two minutes. I’ve got Kim and Kevin on the doors waiting and clearing the way and Jay on the back one in case they come in that way.”

“We’ll have to load and go,” Hank said, nodding. “Go into my office and get the blanket in the top of my filing cabinet.”

Hailey rushed off to grab the blanket, coming back twenty seconds later. “Here.”

“Get it spread out and we’ll roll him onto it.” Hank pointed as Antonio and Hailey got on one side of Al and Adam and Hank on the other, smoothing out the blanket. Then, Hank and Trudy rolled Al onto his side, Hailey and Toni pulling the blanket as far under him as they could before Trudy and Hank let Al down. Then they situated him near the center of the blanket, Adam, Toni, Hailey and Hank picking up the four corners to carry Al to the bullpen. Trudy held the door along the way and then ran ahead to move the desks and widen the space as needed.

Hank nodded. “Keep going, we’ll meet the paramedics halfway.” The four continued carrying Al carefully down the stairs and out to the front of the district just as the ambo pulled up. The paramedics got out. “Load and go!” Hank commanded, helping to get Al onto the gurney, Hank and Trudy getting into the ambo to ride.

“What happened?” The paramedic working on Al asked as the other drove.

“He took a hit to the abdomen earlier. He told me there was just a bruise. I had no idea it was this bad. We found him in the bathroom. The head lac wasn’t there before. Must’ve hit on the way down.”

—

They worked on Al, keeping him alive, then taking him straight into emergency surgery after the initial hospital assessment. Hank and Trudy were left behind in the waiting area. Hank couldn’t help himself, pulling away from Trudy’s touch and stalking off, finding an empty room away from people. In fact, he found an on-call room where someone came out of, grabbing the door before it shut. He checked for anyone else in the room before he started to pound on the mattresses. There wasn’t anything fragile in the room, so he grabbed pillows and threw them all around.

By the time he was done, it looked like a hurricane had come through. He started to sob, shaking and sinking down to the floor against the wall. There, he cried for a while. Then, the anger came back. He stood up and punched the walls, which were made of painted concrete bricks, until his blood stained them a completely different color. He then sank down, crying again, hands shaking.

Soon enough, someone found him in there, frowning and stopping. It had been a female nurse, who was half the size of Hank. She walked over. “Sir…?” Her voice was soft, as was her touch when she worked up the nerve to lay a hand on his arm.

Hank looked up at her. She was a pediatric nurse, he could tell by the pink scrubs she had on. His eyes were broken as they looked over her figure.

When he didn’t say anything, she spoke again. “Can I help you with anything?” Her voice was low, almost like a whisper, as she sat down diagonal from him, her hand still resting on his forearm.

Hank shook his head, finally meeting her soft, concerned eyes. “I think I killed my best friend.”

[the-three-shits-whump]

Week 2 - Day 1: Buried Alive

@the-three-shits-whump

Read it on AO3 at the link above of find it below the cut:

Al sat at his desk in the back of his classroom, doodling as he waited for dismissal.

Ten minutes and fifty-seven seconds…

He looked around the room, sighing. He was only seven but was smart for his age, though nobody understood that. Nobody could see the true him or his true intentions. He didn’t understand why that was. How could he be so different than the other children?

The teacher droned on about some useless facts in history, about some civilization nobody’s ever heard of, somewhere overseas. Al continued to doodle on his paper, becoming increasingly antsy as the clock ticked closer to dismissal. He had to get home.

Five minutes and thirty-two seconds…

Al’s doodles became scribbles as he gripped his pencil tighter, just wanting it to be over. He wanted to leave now. But, he was told over and over again that he had to stay in his seat until dismissal. It didn’t make sense to him. Why would he be forced to stay? At this point, the teacher was talking about some after-school clubs that were taking place.

Two minutes and forty seconds…

Al quietly packed up his bag, putting everything inside just the way he liked it, despite knowing it would most likely be messed up by someone else later on after he got home. He liked it neatly packed, however, which took him two full minutes to do. With forty seconds left before dismissal, the teacher continued to drone on about who was getting on the bus and who wasn’t, talking to specific kids. When she was distracted, Al looked at the clock.

Three seconds… two seconds… one second… zero seconds.

As soon as the clock ticked to the next minute, Al got up and started walking. The teacher was distracted with the kids for the bus. He always walked since the buses didn’t go down his street. It was easier that way.

Al walked home, although he was only six, but he did it all the time. He didn’t live too far, probably about half a mile. Sometimes when Richard picked up Henry from school, he would give him a ride, but Al couldn’t wait for that today. He had to get home. Today was a sad day.

—

When Al got home, he set his backpack down nicely by the door, casting his coat over it and setting his shoes beside it, just the way he liked, hoping nobody would mess it up. Then, he went upstairs to his room and grabbed the little tank from the back of his closet, the dead turtle inside it. He hadn’t meant to kill it, but it didn’t want to eat any of the food he gave it. Maybe it was sad, like he was, and decided it didn’t want to eat. So, it had died. It was nice to have a friend in his house while it lasted, though.

Al took the small plastic tank downstairs, setting it on the steps as he put on his shoes again, then grabbed it and took it out to the back, setting it on the porch. He grabbed a small trowel, finding a suitable spot near the back fence, behind the flowerbed, to start digging.

He thought about the turtle, which he had named Bud. He wished he could have a real animal, like a dog or maybe a cat. Or anything, really. Al sometimes dreamed of riding a horse, one that would take him far away from his dad and mom and never bring him back. He continued digging, sadness overtaking him as he wished for a better life, despite not knowing what that would look like. He was only six. A child.

Once the hole got big enough, Al went over to the porch and grabbed Bud. He opened the lid of the tank and dumped the body into the hole, then started putting the dirt back on top of it. “Bye bye, Bud,” Al said softly as he covered the turtle.

“Alvin, what the hell are you doing?!” Came his mother’s voice from the porch. “Are you digging in my flower beds?!”

Al quickly finished filling the hole, attempting to his the trowel behind him, leaning against the fence. His parents hadn’t known about the turtle and he didn’t want to get into trouble for that, too. “N-No mama!”

“You’re lying to me!” She walked out in her bare feet and robe. Obviously she’d been sleeping, which Al had tried to avoid waking her up. But worse than that, he tried to avoid waking his father. His mother’s screaming didn’t help. “Get out of my marigolds!”

Al walked out of the flower bed quickly, still holding the trowel behind him. He breathed heavily, tears streaming down his face as he started to cry.

His father came down, stomping outside. “The hell is going on?!”

“Alvin was into my flower beds,” she huffed. “Then lied about it. He’s digging up my marigolds.”

“You little-“ Al’s father rushed toward him, making Al drop the trowel and run, though he had nowhere to go as he screamed, running around the yard. He was terrified of his father when he was in this state. His fear grew when his father caught him, as Al was able to smell the “adult juice” all over him. He wasn’t nice in general, but was always worse when he smelled like that.

Al squirmed and screamed, making his father angrier. “Shut up!” He grabbed Al and sat him down on the porch. “You like to dig holes, boy? You like to ruin your mother’s flowers?”

“N-No! I was burying Bud!”

“Who the hell is that?” His mother asked.

“B-Bud the turtle! H-He died so I buried him!” Al sobbed more, curling up and shaking his head. He wanted it all to be over and didn’t know how.

His parents looked at one another, then his father took Al by the shirt. “You had a fucking turtle living here? And then you killed him?”

Al shook his head. “He wouldn’t eat! I fed him bread!”

“Turtles don’t eat bread, dipshit,” his mother huffed. “What do they teach this kid in school?”

“Nothing, since he never pays attention,” Al’s father replied. “Go check his bag. Probably another letter from the teacher in there.”

“N-No…” Al said sadly through his tears. He didn’t want his bag all messed up.

“No, what?!” Al’s father slapped his face. “Shut up, boy. You’re trying to hide it.“

His mother came out with his bag, dumping it out on the back porch, papers and folders being scattered around. Al cried harder as she messed it all up, having a complete meltdown now, putting his hands to his head and banging them against his skull.

“You’re a dramatic piece of shit,” his father said. “Stay here.” With that, he left to go to the shed.

Al barely heard what he was saying, too busy hitting his own head. He wanted it all to be over. He wanted it all to stop. To go away.

His mother looked through every paper, seeing Al’s mediocre or bad grades. It wasn’t his fault. Nobody understood him and he had a hard time with everything anyways. Nobody helped him at home and nobody helped him at school. They just got frustrated when he didn’t understand. They gave up on him. Everyone did.

The only people he truly had were Hank and Trudy, his two best friends. They often took time to help Al with his homework, seeing as they were one and two years ahead respectively. Al still didn’t fully understand, but at least he got by with their help, since they were able to explain it better. They were patient with him. They were safe.

This, on the other hand, this was not safe. Finally, his father walked over and grabbed Al, a shovel in hand. “You bastard. You want to bury animals? You want to disobey your parents? You want to do shit in school? You might as well not be living.” With that, he dragged Al’s small figure over to a hole that was pretty deep. Deeper than Al could stand in. His father pulled him to the edge. “I should’ve done this after you were born.” Then, he tossed Al into the hole.

Al screamed, falling down and hurting his leg. It started bleeding, blood coming out and he saw something poke out from it. He cried and screamed in pain.

“Hurry and fill it to shut him up,” his mother huffed.

“Hear, hear,” his father replied.

All had no idea what was happening as dirt fell down on top of him. He screamed more and more, but his screams became muffled by the dirt. Finally, Al felt like he was being crushed by the dirt around him. Not only was it heavy on his chest, but he couldn’t breathe. There weren’t air pockets. Al tried to cry as his chest ached, his body longing for fresh air. He felt like he was choking, coughing but unable to get in a clean breath. In fact, he only was able to suck in loose dirt, which made it worse. Finally, the already dark world disappeared.

—

For several days, Al wasn’t present in school. Hank and Trudy noticed he was absent from lunch, then asked around to his teachers. They gave Hank and Trudy work to take to Al’s house several days in a row. Hank’s father often dropped it off on the front porch after getting no response from knocking or ringing the doorbell. The next day, it would always be gone from the porch. Richard assumed they just weren’t home when he got there.

After a week of Al’s absence, Hank got a really bad feeling. He sat awake in his bed despite being put to bed over two hours ago. He just couldn’t sleep. He was waiting for his dad to get home. When he heard the front door open, Hank slid out of bed and ran to the top of the stairs. Richard shrugged off his jacket and took off his shoes, then started unbuttoning his shirt when he saw his son standing at the top of the steps. His wife had already gone to bed by now. Richard looked Hank over. “Hey, Buddy,” he said softly. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Daddy,” he whimpered, tears coming to his eyes. He went down the steps as fast as he could, being picked up by his father on the fourth step.

“Oh, what’s the matter, Henry?” He stroked the boy’s hair and held him close as the little boy cried into his father’s shoulder.

“Alvin… didn’t come to school this week. At all.” Hank sniffled and clung to his father’s shirt, pulling back to look at him. “Something bad happened.”

“I’m sure nothing bad happened, Henry,” he said, sitting on the steps and holding his son in his lap. “Maybe they’re just… sick.” Truthfully, Richard couldn’t justify it either. “Maybe… Al got hurt and had to go to the hospital.”

“No, no, something bad happened!”

Richard shushed his son gently, stroking his hair. He didn’t want to wake his wife. “How do you know that?”

Hank pointed at his stomach. “It said so.”

“What did?”

“My gut. You always said that my gut knows better.”

Richard swallowed hard, then nodded, pulling Hank back into a hug. “Yes, I did, Henry. You’re right. You’re so, so right…” Truthfully, Richard had been ignoring his own gut all week, fearing the fate of little Alvin Olinsky. He was terrified of what he might find.

—

The next day, Richard took some time to go to the district and look into recent reports of disturbances near the Olinsky house. Despite being Saturday, he promised his son he would look into it, and that he would. He ignored his own instincts long enough.

—

Richard took a squad and radio with him to the Olinsky house, but walked up to the neighboring house instead, knocking on the door. An elderly woman answered. “Yes?”

“Afternoon, ma’am,” Richard said politely, taking off his hat and nodding. “I’m Officer Voight. I’m following up on a 911 call you made about a week ago?”

“Oh, yes,” she said softly, urging Richard inside. He stepped inside, following her as she led him to the kitchen. “Please, sit. Would you like some tea?”

“If you have it,” he replied. “Thank you.” Richard knew sometimes accepting hospitality was the way to get people to open up. Especially elders. It was seen as rude to turn something down. Despite wanting to solve this issue, he wasn’t in a hurry. He wanted to get his facts right.

“You’re very welcome, dear,” she replied, setting tea in front of him, sitting across from him with her own tea. “Yes, I put in that call a week ago. I heard wretched screams from the neighboring house. I know they have a little boy over there. I thought maybe he was injured. I asked for an ambulance, but they sent officers instead.”

“Yes,” Richard replied, opening the Manila folder he had in his hand. “I have the report the officers wrote here. They said the screaming was gone by the time they arrived.”

“Yes, well, there’s always yelling and crying coming from that house,” she replied. “Truthfully, the cops should be called more often. I think they abuse that child.” She sipped her tea, shaking her head. “I heard crying and yelling yesterday, but I decided to call when the screaming got worse. It sounded like the child was severely hurt. Then, it stopped. Faded away, it seemed.”

Richard sipped his own tea, looking over the report and putting some pieces together. “So, you didn’t call right away?”

“No,” she replied. “Not until I heard that child scream like that from the backyard. It was blood-curdling, Officer. The kind of scream a child makes when they fall off a jungle gym and break an arm. I should know. My son, Thomas, made that same scream back when he broke his arm, many, many years ago. You never forget it. That’s why I asked for an ambulance.”

Richard nodded, his chest tightening. “Thank you, ma’am, I appreciate it.” He sipped his tea again. “I’m going to talk to them now. Forgive me if I bang on their door a little loudly.”

“If it saves a hurt child, my dear, you bang as loud as you want.” She offered a half-hearted smile.

“Thank you.” With that, Richard walked back to the front and left her house, steaming as he stalked next door and banged on Olinsky’s door. He didn’t stop banging until someone answered, it being Al’s mother. Richard pushed past her and inside, grabbing her by the wrist. “Come on.” He handcuffed her wrist and dragged her outside to the back porch, slapping the other side of the cuffs to a decorative wooden post on their porch. Alvin’s homework papers were spread around the yard due to the wind from the last week. Richard picked one up. It was a math test, which he had received a B. Richard nearly smiled for a minute despite the yelling and protests of Al’s mother going in one ear and out the other. He was proud of the little boy for getting a B on his addition and subtraction.

That’s when Al’s father came out to the back porch, taking a swing at Richard. Richard grabbed him and slammed him against the wall. “Where’s Alvin?!”

“Where he belongs!”

Richard slammed him against the wall again, then pulled him off and threw him to the ground. “What have you done to your son?!”

“We don’t have a son anymore,” Al’s mother said with a huff. “I should’ve never had one in the first place. More trouble than he was ever worth.”

Richard nearly went at her, but instead grabbed Al’s father and got on top of him, punching him repeatedly. “What the hell did you do with your son?! He hasn’t been in school! Your neighbor heard him scream bloody murder the night he disappeared! The hell did you do?!”

Richard pulled back, Al’s father laughing a little and pointing to the dirt patch in the middle of the backyard, which had since been hidden with papers from Al’s backpack. Richard pulled him up, grabbing some nearby zip ties from the porch table, and zip-tying Al’s father to one of the posts of the porch, same as his mother.

Then, Richard grabbed the shovel that had been used to bury the small boy, praying for a miracle as he dug. Tears fell from his face as he desperately dug, calling for backup on the radio along the way, as well as an ambulance. He knew, somewhere deep inside, that Al was already gone. But he prayed and hoped for a miracle.

Finally, he found a head and a hand, digging around the boy and pulling him out. He saw the bone sticking through his leg where it had broken. He cried as he held the boy in his arms, shaking his head as he closed Al’s eyes. Then, he picked up the limp boy. “I hope you’re happy. You killed a little boy. A boy with so much love in his heart. So much potential to be something great. You killed him.” He took Al’s body with him to the front as the extra units and ambo rolled up. Richard motioned to the house. “Back porch. Book them for murder of a tender-aged child, abuse, neglect, hiding the body, assaulting an officer and anything else you can fucking think of. Throw the book at them. Everything. Both of them.” He set Al’s body on the gurney from the ambulance, watching as the paramedics went through the motions to resuscitate the boy, but they shook their heads and ruled it a DOA. They said he’d been dead for multiple days, calling for the coroner instead.

Richard watched with a glare as the parents were escorted out of the house, thrown into squad cars and taken to the district. Then, he stayed on scene to explain everything to the field sergeant and his own sergeant.

When Richard finally got home, he saw his own little boy in the front window, waiting for his return and for the news of his best friend. Richard, having somehow hung onto Al’s math test, looked at the crumpled paper, specifically admiring the handwriting of the small boy he’d come to love like another son. He didn’t realize he was crying until the tears hit the paper. Quickly, Richard folded the test and kept it in the glove box of his squad as Henry came running out to greet him, looking in the back seat for Alvin.

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And that concludes the end of Whump Week 1!

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Solitary Confinement.

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My little contribution to day 6, guess I've been craving on the idea of touch starved Hank.

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Alt Prompt 2: “Leave the kids out of it.”

@the-three-shits-whump

Read it on AO3 via the link, or find it below the cut:

Hank, Al and Trudy sat in their treehouse in Hank’s backyard. It had been nearly four years since Richard Voight had died on the job. Hank had spent his free time making sure the treehouse, the last of his dad’s handiwork, was still as new as the day he built it. It was hard for the young boy, but he kept it in decent shape, considering it was one of the last things he had of his father. The only people he’d ever let in were Al and Trudy.

So, the three sat in the treehouse, avoiding the adults. It was a warm summer night, Hank having rolled out some sleeping bags. “I don’t care what your parents say. You can stay with me, Al.”

“Thanks,” Al mumbled, curled up in the corner of the treehouse, Trudy beside him, rubbing his back. The boy was only eleven, but he had already been through hell and back with his parents.

“I probably can’t stay,” Trudy said with a frown, seeing as she was thirteen and hitting puberty. “My dad… He doesn’t even like that I hang out with you guys anymore.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Your dad is so old fashioned.” He sat down on the sleeping bag, patting the other ones for Al and Trudy.

Trudy got up and sat on one of the sleeping bags, shrugging. “He says I’m a young lady now, so I can’t be hanging around boys all the time. But I can’t stand the girls at school.”

The two waited, letting Al slowly come out on his own as they chatted away. Finally, he crawled over, sitting on the empty sleeping bag and talking with Hank and Trudy. They talked about everything from school and their classmates to home issues, though Al didn’t say much at all. He was a quiet boy, quieter than most. He liked the silence.

Hank looked out the window of the treehouse, sighing as he saw their parents inside. “Maybe they won’t be able to find us here.”

“Classic spot. This will be the first place they look,” Trudy replied.

“No, the second or third. Hank’s bedroom first,” Al chimed in.

Trudy looked at him and nodded. “You’re probably right, Al.”

Hank sighed, but shrugged. “Maybe if we’re sleeping, they’ll leave us alone. Come on, let’s go to sleep.”

So, the three of them tucked into their sleeping bags. Hank and Trudy fell asleep, but Al laid awake, looking out the window at the stars from here he was. He tried to find constellations, but couldn’t. He relished in the silence, though, finally calming down enough to shut his eyes and get some sleep…

That’s when a loud bang came from the house, followed by screaming. The adults were fighting. Al whimpered, sitting up and seeing if Hank and Trudy noticed, but they were asleep. He covered his ears as the door slammed open and the yelling got louder. In fact, he scrambled up and took the sleeping bag over to the corner, sitting and covering himself with it, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his hands over his ears.

“Leave the kids out of it!” Hank’s mother screamed, prompting Hank to wake up, Trudy not too long after.

The two frowned at one another, seeing Al in the corner below a sleeping bag. Before they could get to him, however, Al’s father had climbed up. “I’m taking my damn son and never coming back here again! Where is he?!” He screamed at Hank and Trudy, who scrambled out of his way. Al’s father was terrifying, especially when angry. “Tell me where my son is!” He grabbed Trudy by the shirt, shaking her a bit, making her cry out.

In an instant, Robert was also in the tee house, grabbing Al’s father and punching him, pushing him to the ground of the treehouse. “Leave my daughter alone! You ever touch her again, you’ll be sorry!” He huffed. “Come on, Trudy, let’s go.” He grabbed Trudy by the arm and took her down, driving off.

“Hank, honey, come down from there, please.”

Hank frowned as Al’s father got up and went for exactly where Al was hiding. “No.” He got between them.

“No? The fuck you mean by that, boy?!”

“No! You’ll hurt him! I won’t let you.”

Al’s father grabbed Hank and picked him up, shaking him, then tossing him out of the treehouse. He wasn’t able to grab anything before he fell. Hank fell to the ground, hitting it hard. Hard enough to crack his skull and for a lot of blood to come out. Al’s father grabbed Al and quickly took him away as Hank’s bother knelt beside him, crying

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Alt Prompt 1: “Is this all a game to you?”

@the-three-shits-whump

Read it on AO3 via the link, or find it below the cut:

Hank sat in the cage, hands cuffed behind him, looking up at his two closest friends. He’d gone too far - again. Trudy had her arms crossed, tears streaking down her face. Al was leaning against the door of the cage, which was closed and locked, looking down as he picked at the skin around his nails.

Al sighed and spoke first. “You’re done.”

“Done? No. I’m just getting started. These guys deserve everything that’s coming to them, Al, and-“

“I said you’re done!” Al raised his voice, one of the rare times he did so. Hank deserved it. He looked at Hank, meeting his eyes with a dangerous glare. “Done! Forever!”

“You’ll have to kill me,” Hank said with a soft laugh. “Like putting down a diseased dog.”

“Is this all a game to you?!” Trudy cried, shaking her head and banging her fists on the cage. “Are you enjoying yourself?!”

“Very much so,” Hank replied, smiling as he stood, walking forward to meet her, face to face behind the chain link fence. “Yes, Dee, this is all a game to me. A silly little game. A fun little game. Murdering people, bad people, people nobody will miss - that’s the game. Killing them before they kill me.”

“Except you went too far this time,” Trudy replied with a huff, looking over Hank’s face through the holes in the fence. “Too far.”

“I only kill those who have to be killed. For the greater good.”

“What about the little girl?” Al asked.

“She got in the way! All I did was knock her out!”

“You killed her!” Trudy screamed. “You fucking killed her!”

“I knocked her on the head! It’s not my fault she died!”

“She had head trauma! It wasn’t just a blow, Hank, you bashed her skull in!” Trudy’s tears dropped from her face onto her chest.

“She’s not dead, she’s in the hospital.”

“On life support!” Al yelled. “She may as well be dead!”

“No,” Trudy said. “She is dead, because her grandparents decided to withdraw life support.”

“Then they killed her, not me,” Hank replied, shaking his head. “Her father would’ve killed her soon enough anyways.”

“That’s it,” Al replied, unlocking the cage. “That’s it. You are a sick animal. A deranged dog. You need to be put down.”

Hank chuckled. “Yeah, right. As if you’d do that, Olinsky. You couldn’t even handle Browning. Or, what about Pulpo? Advocating for his life? You don’t have it in you, O. How can you say that you’ll put me down when you can’t even put down some of the sickest criminals?”

“This isn’t revenge,” Al said, grabbing Hank and shoving him over to his Dodge Magnum. “This is justice.”

Trudy and Al pushed Hank into the trunk, taping his mouth shut, the closed it, driving hours outside of Chicago. The two drove in silence, considering exactly what they’d do, and how they’d do it. They needed to take care of the problem. They drove until they nearly ran out of gas, in which they stopped and fueled up, then drove more.

Finally, they stopped at some remote location near Green Bay, Wisconsin, but further north. Al stopped at a supply store, getting what he needed, just the way Hank had taught him.

The good old “Chicago necklace.”

It was just a few cinder blocks and a thick chain, but it was enough. He set them on the floorboards of the back seat. Trudy was crying silently in the second seat. Al got back into the car, sighing and taking her hand. “Want me to drop you somewhere? I can do this.”

“No,” Trudy whispered, shaking her head, squeezing Al’s hand. “For Jenny.”

“For Jenny.”

Al drove again, finding a secluded spot on the water. He found a small boat, paying under the table for it in cash, never to be put on the record. When everyone was gone for the night, he and Trudy got Hank out of the trunk.

Hank didn’t struggle. He didn’t even fight them, like they thought he would. He took it all without issue, getting onto the boat with Trudy and Al. He glanced between the two of them. He knew what was happening. It was evident by the looks on their faces. They’d already disarmed him, cuffed him, and made sure he couldn’t yell for help. The only thing left to do was kill him.

Once Al and Trudy were far enough out into the water, they looked at each other. The moon was covered by the clouds, making it so dark they could barely see one another, let alone anyone from the shore. Not to mention the fog that had started to roll in over the water.

Al stood up, taking the duck tape off Hank’s mouth for a moment, but didn’t say anything. Hank chuckled. “Want me to speak my last words?”

Al sighed, peering into the fog, as if he could see anything. Trudy spoke up, looking at Hank. “You don’t feel any remorse?”

“No,” Hank huffed. “I took care of the problem. She was collateral damage.”

“Then I know you’re really a monster. You’re not the man I met thirty years ago. You’re someone else. Someone… horrible. A man without a soul.”

“Call me what you will, Dee, I am what I am.” Hank shrugged.

Al turned around, tears rolling down his own cheeks now. “Fuck, Hank, I thought you’d at least…” He trailed off. What had he thought? That Hank would just come back to them?

“That I’d apologize? Feel sorry? Maybe even beg for my life?” Hank cocked an eyebrow. “You know me better than that, O. I’ve never begged and I won’t start now. Kill me if you want, but I won’t beg for my own life. I’ll live as long as I live and do whatever I do until someone else takes it away. I guess the question is are you gonna be the one to take it from me? Or will she?” He set his eyes on Trudy.

Trudy couldn’t help it. She slapped him, a hard, sharp slap to Hank’s cheek. “You’re a monster.”

“Yeah, I am,” Hank growled in reply.

“This isn’t who Camille would’ve wanted you to be.”

“She’s not here!” Hank yelled, lunging forward to knock Trudy over into the bottom of the boat. “She’s not here to dictate me! She left me! They took her away!”

Al grabbed Hank, pulling him off Trudy and punching him a few times until he was bleeding, then pulled him up and grabbed the chain, wrapping it around his neck.

Hank laughed. “Using my own technique on me, huh O?”

“Shut up,” Al replied.

“Stole it from me, like everything else has been stolen from me.”

“I said shut up!” Al pulled the chain right around Hank’s neck, making him laugh.

“Tighter, Al, I know you can. Choke me out. It’ll be harder to get the water into my lungs. A painfully slow death.”

Al shook his head, Trudy adjusting the cinder blocks so she could push them over the edge when they were ready. “I would never torture you like that,” Al replied, sighing again as he looked down at his former best friend, grabbing his revolver from his ankle and choking the hammer, pushing it against Hank’s forehead. “I’m not a monster like you.”

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Day 7: Passing Out/Unresponsive

@the-three-shits-whump

Read it on AO3 via the link, or find it below the cut:

Trudy smiled as she stood behind the desk, Erin walking up to greet her. “Hey, Sergeant.”

“Lindsay, what can I do for you?” Trudy asked, leaning forward on the desk.

“I was wondering if you could look into someone for me… off the books,” Erin replied, quieter now.

Trudy hummed, taking the paper Erin slipped her. “Who is it?”

“A bad guy,” she replied. “A real bad guy. I’m hoping to track him down before anyone else can.”

Trudy looked at Erin, seeing the same look in her eye Hank often had before he did something stupid, like hide a body. She sighed, debating helping, but took the paper and nodded. “I’ll look into it. No guarantees.”

“Thank you, Trudy,” Erin replied.

—

That was how it had started, at least. Innocent as checking into someone’s background and history. It ramped up after that, Trudy telling Erin exactly what she found out, which wasn’t good. Erin thanked her and Trudy figured that was going to be the end of it. She never figured it would be traced back to her.

Never in a million years.

Kim walked up to the desk, Kevin in tow, a box in his hands. He held it as Kim grabbed Trudy’s attention. “Sarge?”

“What is it, Burgess?” Trudy asked, not looking up from her reports.

“Package for you. Got dropped off with the mail outside.” Kim set the stack of letters in a paper tray, Kevin setting the box on the desk, prompting Trudy to glance up.

Trudy furrowed her brow. “A package? I don’t remember ordering anything.”

“The return address says it’s from the ivory tower,” Kim pointed out. “Maybe it’s a new jacket or something.”

Trudy looked down at her jacket, then back at Burgess. “What’s wrong with the one I have, Burgess?”

Kim looked a little uncomfortable, shrugging. “Nothing, Sergeant. It looks nice. I just thought… Maybe since you like it so much… they maybe sent you another one?”

“Yeah, right, I gotta beg just for more toilet paper around here,” Trudy huffed, cutting the tape with her pocket knife, then opening the box. Just as she did, something sprayed out, some kind of strong mist. Kim and Kevin jumped back, but it hit Trudy directly in the face. She blinked, shocked at first, looking down at the package, seeing nothing but some kind of mechanism that deployed the mist. She groaned, blinking as the voices around her faded. Kim and Kevin’s voices meshed together, then got far away. Trudy hadn’t even realized she was falling until she hit the ground, too weak to move. The world spun around her as she saw others she knew at her side, particularly Hank and Alvin. Then, her eyes rolled back and the world went black.

.

Hank and Al walked up the steps of the district, Hank shaking his head. “Al, I’m telling you, you can’t live in the garage anymore. Come stay at my place.”

“I want to be close to Lexi. She’s my life, man. I don’t want to miss these years when she needs me most.”

“And you think living in the garage is gonna solve that? Come on, Al.”

“At least I’ll be close. That’s better than being halfway across Chicago. I mean, look at Antonio and his divorce. It’s terrible.”

Hank hummed, shrugging. He couldn’t argue with that. He opened the door and walked in with Al, walking up the inside steps of the district and to the front desk. “Help!” He heard a familiar voice call. Hank and Al sprung into action, running around the desk to see Kim and Kevin kneeling beside Trudy. She was moaning, obviously something was wrong.

“Move,” Hank commanded, Burgess moving out of his way. “Call for an ambo, now!”

Kim got onto her radio, calling for an ambulance to be dispatched to the district. Trudy was still moaning, seemingly trying to stay in this world and not move on to the next.

Hank brushed her hair away from her face and cupped it. “Trudy? Trudy! Come on, can you hear me? Dee, come on!” Hank put a fist on her chest, pressing and rubbing it up and down, trying to see if she would wake up or respond. When her eyes rolled back and fluttered shut, Hank frowned and looked at Al, who had taken Kevin’s place. “The hell?”

Al looked up at the two beat officers, who were obviously stressed. “What happened?”

“Sh-She opened this box,” Kim said, going to grab it.

“Hey, hey, just leave it,” Al replied. “Don’t need anyone else hurt, either.”

“Some kind of mist sprayed out of it. Next thing we knew, she was on the ground,” Kevin said.

“The return address was HQ,” Kim continued. “We didn’t think it was suspicious cause it was with the rest of the mail and-“

“Evacuate the building,” Hank said. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with. Have everyone take the back way out. Don’t walk past here unless it’s absolutely necessary. We have no idea if this is contagious or not, so we want to limit exposure. Go now.”

Kim and Kevin went off to evacuate the building, taking everyone out the back way. The Intelligence Unit, however, tried to come down the stairs. Alvin stood and shook his head. “No, go out the back way. Go.”

“Al, we want to help,” Adam pleaded.

“There’s nothing you guys can do. Get out. We don’t know what this is.”

The rest of the team reluctantly left, except for Erin. She took a few steps closer. “I know what this is.”

Hank continued to take Trudy’s vitals, trying to wake her and get her to respond to stimuli, but it was no use. Alvin looked at Erin. “How do you know?”

“Hector Temple,” she replied. “I’ve been tracking him off the books for a while now. Trudy helped me.”

Hank looked up at Al with a frown, Al kneeling and switching places with Hank as he walked over to Erin. “Hector Temple? Why are you looking into him?”

“Because… He might be my father. My birth father.”

Hank blinked, then huffed. “Temple was a shit cop. He was fired for negligence. Then, he ran off and I didn’t head of him again until he popped up on a most wanted list. Apparently, he was a major player in the drug scene.”

“Yeah,” Erin replied. “He disappeared but sometimes he pops back up in Chicago. There’s been a pattern that every few years he comes back. I wanted to find him this time and get some answers.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this, you-“

“Hank, he sent a box with gas in it. Is Trudy going to be okay?”

Hank pointed up the stairs. “Go out the back and wait with the rest of the unit. Fill them in on what you know about this guy. We’re finding him and we’re taking came of him once and for all. Go.”

Just then, the paramedics rushed in, Al urging them behind the desk to take a look at Trudy. Hank watched Erin go back up the stairs, tears brimming her eyes. Then, he turned and went to help the paramedics. “Alright, we need to get her to the hospital,” one of them said. “We’ll get the stair chair and-“

“No need,” Hank replied, leaning down and picking Trudy up bridal-style. “Let’s go, we’ll get her onto the gurney this way.”

“Alright then,” the paramedic said, walking ahead of Hank to get the gurney. Hank carried Trudy out, Al close behind with the other paramedic. They got her onto the stretcher and loaded into the ambo. Hank pointed at the ambo. “Go with her, Al.”

“You both need to. You, and anyone who’s contaminated.”

Hank looked around, scanning the crowd. “Burgess, Atwater!” He called, the two running over in record time. “Get up in there. Go with her.”

“Yes sir,” Kim said, getting into the ambo with Al, Kevin riding up front.

“If it’s something serious, I’ll come in,” Hank said, nodding to Al and taking a final look at Trudy before shutting the ambo door and banging on it, the sirens wailing. Hank sighed deeply, then looked over all the employees standing outside the district, including his own unit. He walked over to them, nodding. “Let’s go. We have work to do.”

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Week 2: November 11th-17th

These prompts are for the week of November 11th-17th. Check out my 'About + Rules' post if you have any questions or are new here. Happy whumping!

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About + Rules!

I decided to rewrite this in it's own post as I've changed the challenge a little since I first created it.

About:

HI! This is an event surrounding Alvin Olinsky, Trudy Platt and Hank Voight from Chicago PD. Right now the list's are just 1 to 2 weeks of prompts (exact amount is specified in each post), but that may change at some point if I decide to expand this challenge :)

Rules:

This is a whump event centered around Hank, Alvin and Trudy. Meaning at LEAST one of them has to be the center of your work or I won’t be reblogging. The three of them don’t all need to be in each prompt you do, but at least one has to be the main character. 

No AI-created content

Any kind of media is welcomed

Please, please, mention this blog in your post so I can reblog it

And most importantly have fun! The whole goal of this event is to create (and whump our favorite trio of course)

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Day 6: Solitary Confinement

@the-three-shits-whump

@andgry4 and @kamryn1963 can vouch for how bad good this one is. :)

Find it at the AO3 link above, or read it below the cut:

Hank was put into solitary confinement in jail. Apparently, since he had defended himself from being killed in gen-pop, he deserved this. They let him loose in a cell with only a toilet, a table and stool (both attached to the floor and wall and made of metal) and a bed. It didn’t even have sheets on it. Just a pillow and a blanket that was sewn into the mattress. They sure made it hard to hang yourself.

Hank was in this cell, alone, for twenty-three hours a day. They would only bring him out for an hour each day to shower, call his lawyer and maybe take a stroll around the cell block. Otherwise, it was back to his hellhole.

The first few nights were okay, but as he slowly realized he had six months left on his sentence, it started to take a toll on him. At first he scream, begging to be let out, especially when the slot in his door opened and a meal was pushed through. He tried to reason with the guards and beg them to let him out. He pleaded. He cried. It took a deep toll on him and his mental state.

That’s when the insomnia started. A few weeks in, Hank laid on the mattress, curled up. He couldn’t sleep. Time passed by so slowly, it felt like days in between every 23rd hour. He thought maybe they were doing it on purpose to torture him more. Rocking back and forth, Hank had had a lot of time to think about how he had gotten himself there. What he would’ve done differently. It all made him sick to his stomach, but moreover, made him sick in the head.

Luckily, his lawyer was able to get him out after two months, but it was too late by then. Hank had already fallen victim to paranoia, anxiety, depression, and had even had some hallucinations while in there. He often had seen Camille, talked with her, and even reached out and touched her. She felt real, despite Hank feeling nothing at all.

When he was allowed out, his lawyer was there to pick him up, asking him where he wanted to go. Hank grunted in reply, thinking for a moment, but shrugging. “Home.”

So, his lawyer drove him home. He went inside, looking around. It looked like someone had been there in the past year, taking care of the house. It wasn’t until someone came in the back door that Hank realized it was true. He walked quickly to the back, glaring at the door to see who had been living in his house.

Trudy Platt and Alvin Olinsky came in. Trudy gasped when she saw Hank, as he had scared her, but she rushed over to hug him, setting the paper bag on the counter. “Hank!” She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “Hank, we had no idea you’d be out so early.”

Hank tensed when Trudy hugged him. He wanted it, he wanted to reciprocate, but couldn’t. He pushed her away, less than gently. “Get off me.”

Al frowned as Trudy stumbled back. “Hank, you alright?”

“Why are you here?”

“We didn’t know you were coming home so early. We were going to make dinner for you. A real, home-cooked meal,” Trudy replied. “We thought you weren’t out until later tonight.”

“Well I’m here,” Hank replied, taking a step back as Al and Trudy stepped forward. “You’re in my house.”

“We’ve been taking care of it,” Al said, putting a hand on Trudy’s back comfortingly. He knew Hank’s behavior was hitting her hard. “So that you had a home to come back to. We knew you’d get out.”

Hank grunted again in reply, looking around, then walking through the house. Everything has been exactly as he left it, albeit, cleaner.

Trudy frowned and looked at Al when Hank walked away and up the stairs. “What the hell is wrong with him?”

“No idea,” Al replied, matching her deep-set frown. “Why don’t you start cooking? I’ll see what I can get out of him.” Trudy nodded and Al followed Hank upstairs. He was standing in his bedroom, looking around. Al walked in behind him, making Hank jump and nearly punch him. “Whoa, hey man, it’s just me,” Al said, backing up with his hands up.

Hank grunted again in reply, looking around the room once more before his eyes settled on Al. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah, man, we’re not leaving you… We’re here to help you, you know, re-integrate. Whatever you need.”

Hank put a hand to his head. He huffed. For some reason, the urge was so strong that he wanted to…

No, Al was his best friend. He couldn’t do that.

Hank walked past Al, bumping his shoulder on the way as he inspected the rest of the upstairs. After being confined to a room half the size of his bedroom, he had no idea what to do with all the space. He enjoyed walking up and down the hall and through the rooms, which he did several times as Al stood at the top of the stairs and watched.

Al sighed. “Hank, what the hell happened to you in there?”

Hank stopped, eyes meeting Al’s, then quickly flickering away. “Jail.”

“Yeah, you were in jail, but what happened inside? They hurt you?”

Hank grunted again, as he wasn’t used to carrying on full conversations with anyone but himself or Camille anymore.

“Hank.”

Hank glanced at Al, then pushed past him and down the stairs as the fragrance of dinner started to waft to him. He did a few laps downstairs, even going outside and taking a few laps around his house, smelling the fresh air mixed with a whiff of dinner every now and again.

Al went downstairs and to the kitchen, frowning. “Trudy, he’s real fucked up.”

“The hell they do to him?”

“I don’t know, but he can’t even carry on a conversation. He just… grunts at me.”

Trudy frowned, stirring the hamburger meat, then covering it for a moment and turning to Al. “He’s freaking me out.”

“Me too, but… we agreed we’d be here for him, you know?”

“Maybe he just needs some space to re-acclimate.” Trudy sighed.

“Maybe, but let’s do dinner, then we’ll give him the night.”

Just then, Hank came back into the kitchen through the back door, eyes landing on Trudy and Al as they both stared at him. He huffed. “What?!” He snapped at them, looking like he was ready to fight.

Trudy looked away, tears coming to her eyes. How could they have hurt Hank this badly in prison? She’d heard bad things about being inside, but whatever they put Hank through made him into an animal.

Al put his hands up. “Hank, we’re not here to fight or to hurt you. We just want to help.”

Hank grunted again, then stalked through the house, looking around until he found a picture of Camille. He relaxed, slowly grabbing it and looking at it, holding it close to him. “Camille,” he mumbled. “I love you.”

Al kept an eye on Hank. His best friend had always been… threatening, but never toward him or Trudy. He was afraid Trudy was going to get hurt, and he would never let that happen. He couldn’t lose another friend. It seemed that Hank was already lost.

They ate dinner in an awkward silence, Hank staring at the picture of his wife, which he’d since set on the table beside him, as if she were there. Al and Trudy talked with their eyes, both agreeing they needed to leave as soon as possible, for their own sanity, despite not wanting to leave Hank alone. They both weighed the options and decided it was better that they left for the night after dinner and the dishes were done. They left some extra food in Hank’s fridge, but after dinner he got up and went to his bedroom without saying a word, taking the picture of Camille with him.

—

The next few days had been the worst for Hank. He had some kind of itch he couldn’t scratch deep in his brain. He took the picture of Camille everywhere around the house, even talking to her when she “appeared.”

In the nighttime, he either didn’t sleep at all, or the nightmares plagued him over and over again, like a repeated slap in the face. He spent his nights screaming or waking up ready to fight. He even kept a large knife beneath his pillow in case the demons came for him. He had to protect Camille.

Alvin and Trudy frequently stopped by and brought over meals or supplies, seeing as they quickly realized Hank never left the house, except to walk a perimeter around it. Hank didn’t talk much to them, and Trudy would never come over alone. Hank scared her too much. Alvin, on the other hand, often came alone. He wasn’t scared of his best friend. He often came and sat with him in silence, seeing as Hank didn’t like to talk. He sometimes prompted Hank, but only got curt responses or simple grunts in reply.

Not too long after Hank was released, Trudy had found out exactly what Hank went through inside - solitary confinement. One night, while Al was with Hank, she decided to go to Molly’s, where she knew Dr. Charles often sat. She had a very interesting chat with him regarding solitary confinement and what it did to a person.

“It could make him aggressive, especially if he feels threatened, and he won’t behave like a normal person. He might talk only to himself, or not at all, or he might talk too much about nothing in particular. It affects everyone differently. Truthfully, there’s no way to know until you find out. Often, it comes with nightmares and some kind of PTSD, along with depression or anxiety. He might want to interact with people, but might not know how. He could also have insomnia and paranoia, or neither. It’s hard to know, but those are some common symptoms.”

Trudy took in all the information, realizing Hank’s behavior made a lot of sense. What she couldn’t figure out was the picture of Camille, but Dr. Charles figured it was some kind of coping mechanism. Trudy thanked him, then went to Hank’s house.

When Trudy knocked, Al got up to answer it, Hank gripping the picture harder, as if someone was going to take it away. Al let Trudy in. He told her that him and Hank had been sitting in silence in front of the TV, with it off. She explained a short run-down of what Dr. Charles had said and about what Hank went through inside.

“Makes sense,” Al replied softly as he hung Trudy’s coat up. “I’d probably end up a similar way if I spent months alone like this.”

“I don’t know how to help him. There’s not much we can really do besides force him into counseling.”

Al sighed. “He’s not going to like that. He doesn’t even like it when I get up without saying something first.”

Trudy hummed, walking over to the living room and sitting beside Hank, though somewhat afraid of him still. “Hey, Hank?” She smiled softly, slowly reaching out to put a hand on his arm.

Hank looked at her, never meeting her eyes, just grunting, trying to shrug her hand off.

“Hey… I found out what happened to you in there… I’m so sorry…” she said, leaning in a little closer to him. “Maybe… Maybe we can find someone who will help you, okay?”

Hank huffed, standing up to get away from her touch. “No.”

“Hank, man,” Al said, looking at him as he stood. “It’ll help you to get back to where you were.”

Hank grunted and pushed past Al, clutching the picture of Camille as he went to the kitchen, getting a yogurt from the fridge. It was familiar. He had yogurt in prison.

Trudy and Al looked at one another, then walked together into the kitchen. Hank had set the picture of Camille on the counter, staring at it as he ate the yogurt. Al walked over and leaned on the counter. “Hank… I know a great doctor who can help you.”

“No,” Hank replied, pulling the picture away and turning to the other side of the counter, propping the picture up on the window.

“Hank…” Trudy said, walking over and putting a hand on his back. “We just want to make you feel better.”

“No!” He cried, flailing his arms to get Trudy off him, accidentally knocking the picture off the sill in the process. It fell into the sink and broke.

Trudy gasped and took some large steps back, Al coming to her side as Hank looked down at the sink, dropping the yogurt and spoon on the floor. “No! Camille!” Hank cried, tears coming to his eyes as he tried to pick up the picture frame, which was shattered. He looked at his wife through the broken glass, his eyes darkening. He reached over as Al tried to comfort Hank.

“We can fix it,” Al said, trying to take the picture from Hank’s hand. “I’ll fix it for you, Hank, I’ll-“ Al was cut off when a butcher’s knife was pushed into his abdomen, looking up at Hank, finally meeting his eyes. There was nothing behind Hank’s eyes but hatred. Blinded fury.

Hank pushed Al back onto the ground, still holding the picture of Camille in his opposite hand, getting on top of him and stabbing him over and over and over again. Trudy screamed, moving quickly toward the front door, but she never made it, as Hank had caught her quickly and tackled her to the ground. “You won’t take her away from me! Nobody will take her away!!” He stabbed Trudy in the back multiple times until she stopped screaming and moving. He got up, panting and grunting, walking back and forth between the two, making sure neither moved again.

—

A few hours later, Dr. Charles, having decided to pay a visit to Hank’s house to asses his condition after talking with Trudy, walked up the stairs. He knocked on Hank’s door. When he didn’t get a response, he knocked again. After knocking a third time, he tried the knob, which was unlocked. The lights were all off, and it was nighttime. “Voight?” He called.

No answer came from inside the house except a low grunt, more of a growl.

[the-three-shits-whump]

Day 5: Gunshot Wound(s)

@the-three-shits-whump

Read on AO3 at the link above or find it below the cut:

It had been a normal day, Hank, Al and Trudy walking home from high school. Or rather, going to Hank’s house, since his mother was the most hospitable out of their parents. Al spent a lot of time there, more than at his own house. Trudy spent only half her time there since her dad was a good guy, just old fashioned. Ever since her parents divorced and her mother ran off with another man, she spent most of her time with her dad, who liked things a certain way.

The three talked about anything and everything as they walked down the street. The two boys had raggedy backpacks slung over their shoulders, ones that would get them by for the rest of the school year before truly needing new ones. Trudy, on the other hand, had a very nice cross-body knapsack her father had gotten her. “Only the best for my little girl,” he had told her. Truthfully, Trudy was spoiled, but she didn’t like to show it like the other girls did at school. In fact, she liked hanging out with Al and Hank more. The kids with no money were the most fun.

As they walked down the street, Hank sighed. “That math test was hard. I mean, did you guys read the third question? I couldn’t even understand it.”

“It was a geometric proof,” Trudy replied. “That’s like… literally the hardest thing in geometry.”

“I like those,” Al replied with a shrug. “They’re like a puzzle to me.”

Hank hummed. “Maybe you should do my tests, Al, you’re always better than me.”

“Me too, and I study hard for them,” Trudy added.

Al shrugged. “I dunno, it’s just… easy, I guess.”

Hank laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve gotta find my thing. It’s definitely not English or math.”

“You’re pretty good at science, aren’t you?” Trudy asked.

“Earth science, that’s it. That’s cause it’s all rocks. I think most people are pretty good at that.” Hank shrugged.

“Still,” Trudy replied, but before she could say something else, shots rang out. Three of them. Hank and Al jumped, looking around. Seeing a man with a gun on the corner, who started running away. They frowned, as the gun had been pointed in their direction. It wasn’t until Trudy fell to the ground, though, that they realized what had happened.

Trudy was on the ground, gasping and writing in pain. Blood soaked into her school outfit, coming from the three holes in her torso. One in the shoulder, one in the chest and one in the abdomen.

Hank and Al fell to their knees beside their closest friend, frowning. “Shit, Trudy,” Hank said, hands shaking as he took off his jacket, pressing it to her abdominal wound.

“Fuck,” Al mumbled, mimicking Hank’s action and using his own jacket to press into the hole in her chest.

Hank looked around, seeing people start to gather. “Someone needs to call 911!! We need an ambulance!”

Al looked down at a gasping Trudy. “Hank, I don’t think she can breathe.”

Hank frowned. “It must’ve hit her in the lung or something,” he said. “Maybe the… diaphragm?”

“It’s too high for that. Lung might be right,” Al replied. “What are we gonna do?”

“We can’t do anything. We just need to hold pressure and… and wait for the ambo.” Hank shook his head, looking down at Trudy. “Hey, Trudy, you’ll be alright. Come one, you’re stronger than… than a few damned bullets.”

Sirens could be heard in the distance. Hank pressed harder on her abdomen, making her groan in pain, but she still was wheezing, obviously having trouble getting a breath. Al did the same as Hank, pressing harder. Blood stained their jackets and hands, as well as some of their clothes.Hank swallowed hard. “Come on, Dee, stay awake for me.” He reached one hand up to cup her face as her eyes fluttered. It wasn’t good. “Come on, Dee! Come on!” He cried desperately. Everyone was standing around them, nobody helping. It made Hank angry. When the paramedics arrived, they pushed Hank out of the way. He got up and strangled backwards, frowning and watching them work on Trudy. They put a tube down her throat and attacked a bag to it to help her breathe, putting gauze on the bullet wounds.

A few cop cars showed up, working on crowd control first, then getting Hank and Al over to a quieter spot as Trudy was loaded into the ambo, being swept away to the hospital. Hank could barely hear the cops’ voices until they said his name. “Henry Voight? Is that you?”

Hank glanced up at the cop. “Y-Yeah?”

The cop looked at his partner. “This is Richard’s kid. Remember him?”

“Oh, yeah,” the other cop replied. He shook Hank’s hand. “I’m so sorry about your father, kiddo.”

Hank blinked a few times, but nodded as he shook his hand. “Thanks?” he mumbled, then shook his head. “Trudy Platt… she’s our friend.”

“Platt, alright, we’ll get in touch with her parents.”

“Robert Platt,” Al chimed in.

“Alright,” the cops walked off, a detective arriving on scene to talk to them now.

“Hey there, Henry and Alvin, right?” He asked, standing in front of them.

“Yes sir,” Hank replied, taking a breath and leaning against the brink wall. “Can someone take up to see Trudy?”

“We actually need to call your parents to come get you,” the detective replied. “But I need to talk to you about the man who shot you.”

“I didn’t get a good look,” Al replied with a shrug. “It was so fast.”

Hank shook his head. “Me either. He was at the corner though, when he shot her. No idea why… We were just walking home from school.”

“These damn gangs think they can just kill whoever walks on their territory,” the detective replied. “The two of you are lucky you didn’t catch bullets either.”

“I guess,” Al replied with a frown

—

Soon enough, Hank’s mom arrived. She was let through the scene, checking Hank over for injuries, then Al, then hugging them both. “Oh, my gosh… are you boys alright?”

“Trudy took three shots,” Hank said, the reality of the situation finally hitting him, tears coming to his eyes as he hugged his mother tightly. “Mom… is she dead…?”

“I don’t know, honey, but we’ll go to the hospital right now.”

Al frowned as his mother and father rolled up, his father getting out of the car and yelling at him as soon as he got close, then he pulled Al away and into the car, driving away as he continued to rant angrily at his son.

Hank sighed, hands shaking from the events. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Trudy beneath his hands, choking on the bullet. He sat beside his mom, staring out the window as they drove to the hospital, wondering if Trudy even made it to the building alive.

[the-three-shits-whump]

Day 4: Overdose

@the-three-shits-whump

Read at on AO3 at the link above or find it below the cut:

Al was silent as Hank drove him home from the district. His life had finally been going alright. Things with Meredith were looking up and he was learning to let Lexi be her own person.

Until she was murdered, that was.

They’d caught the bastard who had killed her and thirty-something other kids in that warehouse. He was convicted and sentenced. Now, as the dust settled, Al couldn’t help but stare out the window at the nighttime city lights of Chicago. The silence of the world without Lexi was deafening. She’d always been his joy in the darkest of times. She’d always been his light. Now, everything was quiet and dark. He didn’t even hear Hank’s words until his name was repeatedly called.

“Al? Alvin. Alvin!”

“Huh? What?” He looked over at his best friend.

“Did you hear what I said?”

Al shrugged and sighed, looking ahead now, out the windshield. They were almost to his house.

“I was saying… no, nevermind,” he replied, shaking his head as he pulled into Al’s driveway.

“Okay.” Al moved to get out, but a gentle hand on his arm stopped him.

“Al, just… don’t do anything stupid.”

“Yeah,” he replied, pulling away from the warmth and got out, going to the garage. He glanced at the house, but it seemed Meredith wasn’t even home. He went to the garage, unlocking the door with his key, and walking inside, letting out a deep breath. He watched Hank sit in the driveway before slowly back out and leave. Then, he walked back out and got into his own car, traveling to the nearest open corner store. He walked in, nodding at the cashier once when they said hello, then looking for the medicine. The pills.

It was as if Al was moving on autopilot. He grabbed one of every kind - Advil, Tylenol, Ibuprofen, and even off-brands of the same. One of each to soothe the hurt inside him.

Forever.

He pushed them all up onto the counter, the cashier’s smile faltering, but he started scanning the pills. He was a young kid, probably in his mid-twenties.

“How are you tonight, sir?”

“Great,” Al replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

The man hummed, scanning the bottles slowly, more slowly than Al would’ve liked. “It’s a real nice night out, isn’t it?”

“Sure,” Al replied with a sigh, hating the small talk.

“The stars are beautiful, aren’t they?” He replied with a smile. “Alright, $50.47.” Al grabbed his credit card from his pocket, refusing to answer his questions anymore. When he presented his card, the cashier took it, swiping it behind the register and doing some other things, then frowned and shook his head. “Sorry, our reader is broken. We can only take cash right now.” He handed the card back to Al.

Al sighed deeply, grabbing his wallet to get the cash out. “Damn readers…”

“I know, right?” The man hummed as Al painstakingly dug through his wallet for the money. “Hey, so, why are you buying these pills?”

“Cause it’s a free country,” Al huffed, looking up at him. “I made sure of it.”

“You served?” The man reached out a hand. “Thank you.”

Al sighed, taking his hand and shaking it briefly before going back to dig through his wallet. “Yeah,” he mumbled.

“Where did you serve?”

“Italy,” Al muttered again. He was getting agitated. He pulled out all of the money in his wallet, which amounted to $49.23. He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking for spare change.

“So… are the pills for the pain physically, or mentally?”

Al glared at the man as he pulled out four quarters, two dimes, and seven pennies, everything he had in his pockets. It was just enough he slid the money over to the cashier. “Here, keep the rest, I don’t want change.” He put his wallet back into his pocket, the huffed, grabbing the bag of pills and walking out, despite the cashier’s protests.

Al got into his car and drove home, sitting on the couch in the garage, he grabbed the pill bottles from the bag, setting each on the coffee table. He wondered how many of each he should take. He looked at the label on each, which stated not to exceed a certain amount per day. Al decided he would do that many of each, and it would be enough. For some bottles, it was do not exceed six pills per day. Others, it was do not exceed eight. Still others were only four pills. He laid out the medicine in front of each bottle, having about forty pills in front of him.

Al took them in batches of ten. Ten, chugged a beer, ten more, poured some liquor and downed it, ten more, more liquor, and ten more. He grabbed a beer, chugging half before he sat back on the couch.

He waited for the pills to kick in, feeling nauseous as they rattled around in his stomach with the alcohol. He grabbed a photo album, looking at pictures of Lexi through the years. Tears came to his eyes and for the first time since she died, he started to cry. Sob, really. He couldn’t take it, how he would never see her again. The memories, it was all too painful. He pulled out a picture of Lexi at her senior prom, holding it close to his chest. He looked over at his gun and badge, grabbing both, holding his badge close to him as well. Lexi and his job were the two things he loved the most. Now that Lexi was gone, he only had his job. How could he go on without her, though? She was the reason he still got out of bed and worked every day, instead of taking a desk job or taking his pension early. She was the reason he wanted to take these guys off the streets. So she could be protected.

He had failed her.

He sobbed and cried out, grabbing the gun. The pills weren’t working fast enough. His agony was too much. He put it to his head, wanting so bad to just end it, but realized the reason he’d chosen pills in the first place - he wanted to make himself suffer. He wanted to suffer for all his wrongdoings. He wanted to suffer for every damned mistake he’d ever made. He wanted to suffer to let himself know that Lexi’s death was his own fault.

Al tossed his gun away, onto a nearby reclaimer, getting up and punching the wall of the garage, which was made of wood. He punched it until his knuckles were bloodied and bruised. Then, he stumbled over to the couch, the world getting fuzzy. He groaned and slowly sank down, grabbing his beer and finishing it, then laying on the couch. “Lexi…” he mumbled, grabbing her picture once more, weeping. “Lexi… I’m so sorry, baby…” he clutched the picture to his aching chest - from the medicine or the heartbreak, he had no idea. It hurt.

His body was breaking down, a fever spiking as it tried to fight off the pills Al had taken. He felt like he was suffocating as the world around him started to fade. All he knew was his love for Lexi. That was enough.

—

Hank had been nursing a glass of bourbon at a nearby bar when he got a call. Trudy. She rarely called him these days, since they saw one another every day.

“Hey, Trudy, what do you need?”

“Hank, I’m covering the night shift,” she said, sirens wailing in the background. “I think it’s Al. One of my patrolmen was dispatched to a corner store near where he lives.”

“Okay?” Hank said, putting some money on the bar, then walking out and to his car.

“The cashier said he bought a bunch of pills, all different kinds, and seemed really agitated.”

“How do we know it’s him?” Hank frowned. He never thought his best friend would do anything like this.

“Because the cashier wrote down his name from the credit card. He tried to stall him. Also, he said he served in the army in Italy.”

Hank took in a sharp breath, flipping on the lights in his own car as he pressed the pedal down. “Did we dispatch an ambo?”

“Already on the way, but we’ll get there first.”

“I know,” Hank replied. “I’m two minutes out.”

“I’m here, running in now. The garage.” Trudy hung up the phone.

She ran up to the garage, knocking first. When she didn’t get an immediate response, she kicked the door in, flipping on the lights. “Al?!” She ran over to the couch, where Al was unconscious. She saw the pill bottles on the coffee table nearby. “Damn it, Al,” she muttered, pushing the table out of the way and pulling Al off the couch, grabbing her radio. “Dispatch, I need an ETA on my ambo!”

“Ambo three minutes out.”

Trudy felt Al’s neck, frowning as she felt a pulse, although weak. “Damn it, Al! Wake up!” She shook him firmly, cupping his face. He was sweating from the fever, his eyes fluttering.

Hank ran in, kneeling on the opposite side. “Alvin!”

Al groaned. “Mmngh?”

“Al, why the hell would you do this?” Hank muttered, looking around at the pill bottles and beer bottles and the nearly empty liquor bottle. “Damn it, Al, come on!” Hank took Al’s pulse again, trying to wake him up.

The paramedics arrived moments later, Trudy and Hank trying to tell them what they knew. One assessed Al while the other grabbed all of the bottles and examined the labels. Hank pointed out the liquor and beer on the ground as well. The paramedics performed first aid, then loaded Al into the ambo. Hank and Trudy got up with them, ignoring Meredith, who had just arrived home.

The monitor started beeping after they got on their way. Hank frowned as the paramedic got up. “What’s going on?”

“You know CPR??” The paramedic asked. Hank nodded in reply. “Good, start it.”

Hank frowned, but got up and started CPR, tears coming to his eyes. “Come on, Al, damn it! Not like this!”

Trudy could barely hold back her own tears. “What else do you need?”

“He needs to get to the hospital and have his stomach pumped. It looks like he took something like thirty or forty pills.”

“He just lost his daughter,” Trudy said, as if that made any kind of difference. “He… he…” she couldn’t take it, seeing Al’s body there, lifeless.

“Come on, Alvin!” Hank cried as he continued CPR. “Don’t do this to us!”

The ambo arrived at the hospital moments later, Hank stopping CPR to let the paramedics get Al out and into the hospital. Hank and Trudy ran out of the ambo, Trudy instinctively clinging to Hank’s sleeve, Hank instinctively pulling her closer as they watched several doctors and nurses work on a lifeless Al.

Somehow, they both knew he wasn’t coming back.

[the-three-shits-whump]

Day 3: Stabbing

@the-three-shits-whump

Read it on AO3 or find it below the cut:

It was a regular Friday night in college. People were partying, drinking, and smoking all over campus. The campus police were just trying to keep the damage to a minimum, seeing as it was opening week of the semester. Hank, Trudy and Al’s last semester.

“I already signed up for the academy,” Hank said, swigging his beer. “I’m taking the test in two months. You guys should too.”

“I thought we couldn’t until we turn 21,” Trudy replied, also sipping her beer.

“You can take the qualifying exam at 20. You know, get your name in there. Then you do the rest when you’re 21.” Hank chuckled, handing Al his first beer as well.

“Yeah, maybe we should, but does it land the same week as midterms? I’d be too stressed,” Al replied, twisting the cap off his beer and taking a swallow.

Hank shrugged. “But to have your name closer to the top of this list? Come on, it’s kinda worth that.”

Trudy shrugged as she fiddled with the scanner. “I guess it is,” she replied. “I might sign up.”

Hank smiled, shaking his head as the three boozed in his apartment. His roommates were off-campus for the weekend at an event, so he had the place to himself, sharing it with Al and Trudy. They sat on the couches, listening to the police frequencies on the scanner. They talked, mostly, until something made them perk up.

“Guys, guys, shh,” Trudy said, turning the volume up.

White male, 20’s, running on-foot down South Blackstone

Hank looked up, then went to his window. “Hell, we’ll probably see him run by.”

“Damn,” Trudy said, also getting up. “What a place to run.”

“I wonder if it’s a college kid,” Hank replied.

“Probably,” Al said, shrugging as he opened another beer.

After a few minutes of watching and listening intently to the radio, Hank shook his head. “Nothing. They lost him. He must’ve ducked into a building.”

“The street is swarmed,” Trudy said, frowning. “They’ve gotta find him, right?”

“He’s gotta be in an alleyway or something.” Hank rolled his eyes and shook his head, walking over and opening up his fourth beer. “No way he just disappeared.”

There was knocking down the hallway, though it was ignored by the three of them. The knocking grew closer, until finally, someone knocked on Hank’s apartment door, Hank sighing. “It’s probably the cops doing knock and talks.”

“I’ll make a good impression on them,” Trudy replied, opening the door with a smile. “Hello officer, how can I-“

Trudy was cut off by a searing pain in her abdomen. She gasped, looking down at the blade that was plunged into her skin, not sure what to do. When it was pulled out, she was pushed backwards, losing her balance and falling to the ground. Hank and Al both stood, but the man came inside and closed the door, pointing the knife at them. “You want to live, then you won’t say a word,” he said, waving the knife around. “And she’ll die too.”

Hank and Al both put their hands up. “Alright, okay,” Hank said. “I get you, I understand.” He took a step toward the man, nodding. “Let me get a towel for her. Otherwise, she’s going to bleed out before the cops ever find you.” Hank had already put two and two together, it finally clicking for Al as Hank spoke to the man. “We don’t want anyone else hurt, and we’re not going to hurt you. Just… let me help her, alright?”

The man huffed, not being much older than the three in front of him, but nodded slowly. “Fine! But if you try anything,” he moved over to Alvin, pointing the knife at him now, “I’ll slit his throat!”

“Alright, man, fine,” Hank said, going to the small, attached kitchen and grabbing some hand towels, then walking back over and kneeling beside Trudy. “Hey, girl,” he said softy, stroking her hair back from her face, pressing the towels to her stab wound. “You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

Trudy groaned, face contorting in pain as she gripped her abdomen. “Fuck,” she whispered, breathless.

“I know,” Hank replied, stroking her hair with his free hand for a moment, before looking up at the man holding them hostage. “This is only a temporary solution. She needs a doctor.”

“No, man! No way! No doctors!”

“Alright, okay, hey, no need to do anything rash,” Hank replied, still holding towels to Trudy’s abdomen. He looked down at her, forcing a smile. “You’re okay, Dee, it’s alright.”

“Bite me, Hank,” she mumbled. He hadn’t called her Dee since they were in middle school, except to tease her.

“Good, you’re still with us,” Hank said, stroking her hair. “Just stay awake for me, okay? Stay awake.”

Another knock came to the door down the hall, this time a firmer one. “CPD!”

The man started to panic. “Shit!” He looked around, then pointed at Hank’s bedroom. “Put her in there! Hurry!” He pushed Al forward, Hank and Al meeting eyes.

“Come on, let’s get her onto my bed,” Hank said with a nod.

Al and Hank picked Trudy up, putting her onto Hank’s bed. Hank sighed as the man followed them. The knocking grew closer. Hank looked at him. “Listen, I live here, not them. Let me answer the door.”

“Fat chance of that, buddy,” the man said, huffing. “Yeah, right. So you can tell them-“

“I’ll tell them anything you want,” Hank replied.

The man walked over quickly and grabbed Al by the collar. “I’ll kill him! I swear it!”

“Okay, okay!” Hank said, shaking his head as the cops pounded on his door now.

“We hear you in there! This is the CPD! Answer the door!”

Hank looked at the man, who still had this knife to Al’s throat. He shook his head, whispering. “They won’t leave. They already heard us. I’ll answer the door.”

“No,” the man whispered, shaking his head and holding Al tighter. “No, you’ll say something, I know it.”

The pounding came again. “CPD! If you don’t open the door, we’ll be forced to make entry.”

Hank looked at the man. “You really wanna get caught?!” He whisper-yelled.

The man frowned, plunging the knife into Al’s side, huffing and pushing him to the ground. The yelp Al had let out was like nails on a chalkboard to Hank, but he barely had time to think of that.

“Fuck you!” The man yelled, then went for Hank, knife raised over his head. Hank caught his arm with both his own, pushing it back as the cops burst through his front door. Hank pinned the guy to the wall, trying to get the knife from his hands by repeatedly banging his arm into the wall. The cops came in, screaming instructions. One grabbed Hank as the man dropped the knife, pulling him back and slamming him to the ground, putting him in cuffs. The others went for the guy.

“This is my apartment!” Hank yelled at the cop who was kneeling on his back. “My name is Henry Voight! I’m a student here! My friends were stabbed by him! They need an ambo! Please!”

[the-three-shits-whump]

Today starts prompt 2: Feeding Tube!

[the-three-shits-whump]

Day 2: Feeding Tube

@the-three-shits-whump

Read it on AO3 or find it below the cut:

Fair warning, I’ve been given some very choice words by two of my readers, because I take whump very seriously. This isn’t just angst, it’s whump.

@kamryn1963 can testify to these statements.

“Fuck!” Hank yelled, crouching behind a wooden box as gunshots rang out his way. “Al, you good?!”

“Fine!” Al replied, sitting behind another box nearby, looking at Hank. “I feel like I’m in Italy again.”

Hank breathed quickly, looking around as the gunshots continue to fire at them, making his ears ring. “Damn it, we’re pinned down.” He grabbed his radio, clutching it tightly. “10-1, 10-1, shots fired at the police and by the police. We’re pinned down! Three offenders!”

Hank peeked up over the crate, pulling his gun up to return fire. He got a few shots off before a guy with a semi-automatic started pounding bullets into the crate. Hank could hear the whizzing of shots past him as he ducked once more, falling to his stomach.

“Hank!” Al called, looking over at his partner and best friend. “Damn it, you hit?!”

Hank only moved again once the shots stopped and the men reloaded. He got up to his knees, crawling over to hide behind a metal pillar the crates were up against. “I’m good!” he replied to Al, nodding and giving him a thumbs up. Al moved away from his own crate and over to one of the metal pillars as well. That was when Trudy and her partner, Emma Crowley, ran in as well, Trudy coming to Hank’s side and Emma to Al’s. They returned fire as the gunmen started up again. It was an intense shootout, ending with half of the district at the scene.

“Is this what you signed up for, Platt?!” Hank shouted over the scream of the bullets and ricochets.

“Sure is, Voight!” She replied, looking at him with a small smile. Just then, a grenade was thrown their way, the four of them getting down on opposite sides. Al pulled Emma around and covered her as the bomb went off, but Trudy had been too far away for Hank to do the same. Instead, she jumped on top of him when it exploded.

Hank’s ears rang. He could barely hear anything as the smoke cleared. He groaned, feeling the weight of something heavy on top of him. “Fuck…” he mumbled, shaking his head to try and regain himself. It wasn’t until he heard Al’s voice that he came back to reality.

“Hank, hey man, are you alright?!”

Hank groaned again as the weight was pulled off him, Al flipping him over onto his back. “Damn it…”

“Our guys got them. They got them,” Al replied, putting a hand on Hank’s chest and looking him over for injuries. “You hurt anywhere, man?”

“Help!” A woman’s voice came from nearby them, a scream really.

Al looked up with a frown. “Oh fuck,” he said, several cops rushing over to Trudy, who was lying limp on the ground nearby.

Hank looked over, groaning as he sat up, Al helping him. “Trudy!” He wanted to rush over, but the aching in his ribs hurt too much. He gasped in pain, his face contorting to match.

“Lay down, Hank,” Al said. “There’s nothing you can do for her.”

—

When they got to the hospital, Trudy was carted off to surgery. Hank was brought into a trauma room, doctors, nurses and other hospital staff crowding him. Al was there, pushing away those who were trying to check him out, citing that he was fine.

Hank groaned when they touched his midsection, having his shirt unbuttoned at this point and his white t-shirt pulled up. They poked and pushed on his ribcage, causing his face to contort once more in pain, then they carted him off for an x-ray. Al was beside him until he wasn’t allowed to be, Hank asking him to check on Trudy instead while he was gone.

—

After hours of being in the hospital, Hank was finally patched up and given a proper diagnosis. He had some cracked ribs, but no internal damage, along with a slight concussion. He forced them into discharging him, then looked around for Al. He was sitting in the waiting room, so Hank sat beside him. “Any word?” He winced as he lowered himself into the chair, holding his bandaged midsection.

“No, she’s still in surgery,” Al replied. “I already called her Sergeant. He’s getting a hold of her dad.”

Hank hummed. “You didn’t call Camille, did you?”

Al looked at Hank knowingly. “No,” he replied. “But I’ll tell her if you don’t.”

Hank laughed, shaking his head. “I doubt I could ever hide it from her. I’m bandaged up and bruised. I look like I got into a fight and lost.”

Al hummed. “Well, I think you did lose to that grenade.”

“Guess so,” Hank replied, sighing and looking down. “She jumped on top of me, you know… She… probably saved my life.”

“She’s strong. A fighter,” Al mumbled, putting a gentle hand on Hank’s arm. “She’ll be alright.”

“I hope so…” Hank kept his eyes down, silence falling over them as they waited.

—

Trudy’s father rushed in some time later, bombarding nurses and doctors with questions, saying that he knew she shouldn’t have been a cop and that he wished she never had become one. Hank and Al looked at one another, instinctively becoming smaller as he came over. Robert moved in front of the two of them, asking questions in a relatively loud voice, making Al raise his hands to his ears. Before Robert could protest about it, Hank stood up, though wincing, then put his hands up. “Robert, yelling isn’t going to help anything. We don’t know yet how bad it is.”

“She’s my daughter, Voight! The two of you promised me you’d protect her!”

“To be fair, she doesn’t need protecting, sir,” Hank replied, shaking his head. “She’s the one who jumped on me. I might not be here if it weren’t for her.”

Robert huffed, opening his mouth to say something else when a doctor walked over. “Mr. Platt?”

Robert turned around. “That’s me. How’s my daughter??”

“We have her in a medically induced coma. Please, come sit down with me and we’ll go over her injuries and how to proceed.”

Hank and Al looked at one another, Al now standing as they watched Robert walk away with the doctor. Al went to the nurse’s station, sweet-talking the nurse into telling him where Trudy’s room was. Then, the two hurried over there before Robert could get there.

When they walked in, Trudy looked worse for wear. They couldn’t pinpoint her injuries, but they could see all of the needles and tubes connected to her body. Hank sank down in the chair, taking Trudy’s hand gently, more gentle then he’d ever been, as if she would break on contact. Tears came to his eyes. He hated hospitals in the first place, but seeing Trudy hooked up to everything was terrifying.

Al came to Hank’s side, putting a soft hand on his back. “It’s okay. That’s all helping her.”

“She’s got one in her nose, Al,” he mumbled. “I don’t even know what that is.”

“It’s a feeding tube,” the doctor said as he walked in, Robert in tow. “Since she’s in a coma, we’ve run a tube to her stomach that’s feeding her nutrients.”

“This is your fault,” he said to Hank, walking over and grabbing him up by the shirt, pushing Al over in the process. Then, he slammed Hank against the wall, making him wince due to his injuries. “You did this to her!” He then reeled back, punching Hank, over and over until he was on the ground. It certainly hadn’t helped his concussion, his sight going in and out. The next thing he knew, he was being carted out by a couple doctors to another room and being laid on a bed. His ears were ringing again and all he could think about was seeing Trudy’s lifeless body on the floor of that damned warehouse. He closed his eyes, unconsciousness overtaking him.

[the-three-shits-whump]

Today is the start of Whump Week 1!

Prompt 1: Begging For Forgiveness