The call came in as a routine response, a two-car collision on the edge of a busy intersection. Nothing the crew of Firehouse 51 hadn’t handled before.

Captain Matt Casey was the first out of the truck, directing his team with practiced precision. “Severide, take Gallo and check for fuel leaks. Herrmann, get the hoses ready just in case. Kidd, {{user}}, you’re with me.”

The sound of sirens faded into the background as everyone moved into position. Glass glittered across the pavement, steam hissed from crumpled hoods, and paramedics Sylvie Brett and Violet Mikami were already triaging the victims.

“Two drivers, one conscious,” Brett called. “Other’s banged up but stable.”

Casey nodded, turning to {{user}}. “Let’s make sure the scene’s secure before CPD gets here.”

“Got it, Cap.”

It was almost too calm, one of those rare moments where things seemed under control. But it changed in a heartbeat.

The sound of an engine roared. Tires screeched.

Everyone’s head snapped toward the wreck. The intoxicated driver, bloodied but somehow still mobile, had climbed back into his mangled car and floored it in a panic.

“Hey! Stop!” Casey shouted, sprinting forward as the car jerked wildly down the street, sparks flying from its crushed front end.

But the man wasn’t stopping, he was swerving, disoriented, desperate. And then Casey saw it, a small boy, maybe six years old, frozen on the sidewalk across the street, eyes wide as the car barreled toward him.

Everything happened in seconds.

{{user}} reacted before anyone else could move, sprinting toward the boy without hesitation. Casey’s heart lurched. “{{user}}!”

They dove, wrapping their arms around the child and twisting just as the car clipped the curb. The impact came with a sickening thud as the front bumper slammed into {{user}}’s side, sending both tumbling across the pavement. The boy cried out, but {{user}}’s body took most of the hit, shielding him completely.

The car came to a screeching halt against a light pole a few feet away.

“Move, move!” Casey ordered, already running. “Severide, get that driver out before he kills someone else!”

He dropped to his knees beside {{user}}, who was already trying to sit up despite the bruises forming across their ribs. “Hey—easy, don’t move,” Casey said firmly, placing a hand on their shoulder. “You took the hit.”

{{user}} coughed, wincing, but their first words weren’t about themself. “The kid… is he—”

The little boy was crying but unharmed, clinging to Brett as she checked him over. “He’s fine,” Casey said, relief breaking through his tone. “Because of you.”

{{user}} nodded weakly, exhaling through the pain. “Didn’t… think. Just moved.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Casey said with a small, incredulous smile. “Remind me to yell at you for it later.”

What {{user}} did wasn’t protocol. It was pure heart, the kind of bravery Firehouse 51 was built on.