Ask: Can you do a long one with halstead jay and will and their sister maybe she’s in an accident needs her family around her
Just love your writing and love those two and thing a younger sister in your writing and on the show would have been a great addition xx
I really hope you love this sweetheart thank you so much for the request! I really think they missed a good storyline with not having a sister Halstead in this! 🫶🏻
Summary: Y/N Halstead, sister to Will and Jay, is in a traumatic car crash that worsens her chronic POTS and triggers a brutal migraine. While her fiancé, Dr. Connor Rhodes, is in surgery, Will and Jay handle her initial care as emergency contacts. The whole family pulls together as she crashes and requires Step Down ICU care. Once stabilized, she’s discharged under close watch, but the emotional weight lingers—until Connor reminds her that love is strongest when it’s tested.
The city roared back to life in its usual chaotic rhythm, but for Y/N Halstead, time ground to a halt.
She didn’t remember the impact — only the moment right before it. The traffic light had been green. She’d looked down for a second, reaching for her water bottle in the passenger seat. She never even saw the truck.
The paramedics who pulled her out of the car recognized her immediately. She was, after all, a regular face around the hospital. Not just as a brilliant OB/GYN resident, but as the younger sister of Will and Jay Halstead — and the fiancée of Dr. Connor Rhodes.
The fact that she was barely conscious, with blood dripping from her temple and an arm twisted at an unnatural angle, didn’t sit well with anyone on that ambulance crew.
Chicago Med: Trauma Bay 2
“Trauma incoming. Young female, early 30s, restrained driver, T-boned driver side. Brief loss of consciousness, possible concussion, left arm deformity, heart rate hovering in the 130s. Known history of POTS and chronic migraines.”
Will Halstead had been halfway through a consult when the trauma alert came through.
He heard the words “young female,” “POTS,” and “concussion” and was already moving.
“Y/N Halstead — transport ETA 2 minutes.”
Everything inside him stopped.
Jay was already calling his cell when he sprinted out of the exam room. “You heard?”
“Yeah. Meet me in Trauma 2.”
Y/N was barely conscious by the time they wheeled her in, hair matted with blood, skin pale and clammy. Her heart monitor beeped frantically.
Connor wasn’t there — not yet. He was scrubbed into surgery, and protocol meant that Will and Jay were still listed as her emergency contacts. Just in case.
Will’s voice was tight with panic, but his hands were steady. “Get a liter wide open. BP’s soft—90s over 60. She’s tachy. GCS 13, pupils sluggish. We need a head CT and arm films.”
He leaned closer. “I’m here, Y/N. You’re okay. Just hang in, alright?”
She blinked slowly, clearly trying to orient herself, but then she flinched and curled toward her side.
“My head—” she whispered, tears slipping down her temples. “It hurts.”
Jay arrived seconds later, breathless, gun and badge clipped to his belt.
“What do we know?” he asked Will, jaw clenched.
“Possible concussion, broken arm, and she’s in a full POTS flare from the trauma. Her system’s crashing. Connor doesn’t know yet. He’s still in the OR.”
That’s when the watch on her wrist — the custom-integrated wearable Connor had designed for her care — started blaring. Her vitals were broadcasting live to his secure tablet in the OR, and the alert had just gone off.
“Bet he knows now,” Jay muttered.
Twenty Minutes Later – Post-Imaging, Trauma Observation Room
Connor Rhodes came down like a storm.
He hadn’t even changed out of scrubs, still in his sterile booties and surgical cap tucked into a pocket.
“Where is she?” His voice rang sharp and steady.
Will looked up from the vitals chart. “Back here. We stabilized her. Concussion’s mild-to-moderate, arm is a clean break, but she’s in a full autonomic spiral. BP’s still dipping. She’s trying to sleep but keeps vomiting from the migraine.”
Connor’s jaw clenched. “Any triptans?”
“She threw up the oral. We’re holding until neuro clears injectable.”
Connor walked into the room without a word.
Y/N looked so small in the bed. Her engagement ring was still on, a little blood crusted around the band. Her arm was splinted, her skin pale and shiny with sweat. The monitor blinked high heart rate warnings. Her eyes fluttered, dazed.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Connor whispered, crouching beside her. “I’m here.”
Her lashes trembled. “Bubba?”
“No, not Will,” Connor said softly. “It’s me.”
She let out a whimper and instinctively reached for him with her good arm. He took her hand and pressed his forehead to hers. She felt like a furnace.
Jay stood outside the glass, arms crossed over his chest, eyes a little too wet. “She shouldn’t be this sick.”
Will rubbed his eyes. “It’s the perfect storm. POTS flare, shock, and a migraine she already had brewing before the accident. You know how she hides symptoms. This was gonna hit, with or without a car crash.”
That Night – ICU Step-Down Room
They moved her upstairs once her vitals dipped again. Her IV cocktail had stabilized her for a while, but she was still unable to eat or stand, and the vomiting hadn’t stopped. Neuro signed off on emergency Ativan and triptan protocols, and finally—finally—her nausea eased enough for her to drift.
Will stayed until after midnight, pacing and then dozing in a chair.
Jay came back with coffee and Thai food no one ate.
Connor never left her bedside. He curled onto the narrow bed beside her, his hand wrapped gently around her pulse point.
She woke once in the early hours, crying quietly, breath hitching.
Connor didn’t even open his eyes when he whispered, “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
“And now I’m here. Always.”
48 Hours Later – Discharge Plan
“Okay, slow steps, sweetheart,” Will said as he helped her sit up. “Connor’s waiting in the car.”
Her vision swam, and her legs felt like spaghetti, but she managed to nod.
A nurse handed her the discharge papers. “You’ve got full support at home. Monitoring, meds, everything. But if anything changes—”
“Back here,” Jay said from behind them, arms crossed. “Immediately.”
Connor helped her into the backseat of his car, blanket already warmed, pillow waiting. Her favorite playlist was on low volume.
As they pulled away from the hospital, she leaned her head against his shoulder and whispered, “I hate that you saw me like that.”
He kissed her hair. “That’s what love is, Y/N. Not just for the beautiful parts.”
“They almost killed the intern who called you ‘Halstead’s sister’ like you weren’t your own person.”
She chuckled, then winced. “Ow. Okay, no laughing.”
“I got you,” Connor whispered. “Always.”
