"I never thought I was the ask my casual fuck for help type, but here I am," Connor replied with a tired shake of his head, still leaning against Chase's side. He needed the support -- both physical and emotional right now. He was falling apart inside, and trying like hell to fake that he was okay. Chase knew better. It was far too late now for him to try and pretend he was feeling great. He wasn't. Not in the slightest, and he'd already given that away to Chase from the start.

Chase really did have Connor's back, and there were no words for how grateful Connor was when the doctor wrapped the blanket around him and reassured him that this was a safe place. He needed to know that... to be reassured time and again... because this was just too damn much to handle, and while he couldn't maintain any control, at least there was someone he could trust here. The sobs were choking him, and he honestly felt like curling up into the fetal position and spending the rest of the night crying his eyes out, but he couldn't. He just couldn't, or he knew he'd never stop. Managing to only slightly catch his breath, he looked at Chase with a shake of his head. "I can't... I can't... I can't fucking..." He took another breath, gritting his teeth, and managed to force the words out that he was looking for. "I fucking saw Sam Keating die, and I helped get rid of the body," he confessed, trying to keep from hyperventilating or just plain losing his shit again. "He fucking deserved it, but I've never... I never wanted to be part of something like that. I didn't."