#b!writes

He sniffles once, and the wave crests and breaks. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and takes a trembling breath but the tears slip past anyway, and suddenly he’s crying for no good goddamn reason on his stupid couch in his stupid apartment all by himself. Buck scrubs at his face with his sleeves, but all that does is get his hoodie wet. He can’t get himself to stop. He feels pathetic. He wants a fucking hug. 

The screen of his phone is blurred and warped by his tears so he swipes at them again, almost angrily, until he can see his texts. Maddie’s on shift, so he can’t ask her. Buck doesn’t think he could bring himself to admit this surge of whatever-the-hell he’s feeling to his sister, anyway. He’s too embarrassed. But Eddie, though—Eddie gives fantastic hugs, and Buck knows he’s home, because they’d gotten off a shift together only a few hours before. 

Buck has the question typed and sent before he can overthink it. mind if i come over?

Door’s always open, Eddie answers not even a minute later. And then, Everything ok?

It’s not. It should be. Nothing’s even wrong, really. It’s just not right. How does he even begin to explain that? 

Buck tries to take a breath deep enough to steady himself, only half succeeding. After a moment, he settles on; could just really use a hug.

Get over here then, Eddie texts back. 

And Buck doesn’t have to be told twice, with the promise of some company. He sticks his phone in his pocket and heaves himself to his feet. Another swipe of his sleeve across his face ensures that he doesn’t look like a complete mess, but as he locks his door and heads for the parking lot, he still hopes he doesn’t end up running into a neighbour. 

He gets enough of a handle on himself on the drive over that by the time he’s pulling into Eddie’s driveway, Buck just feels a little ridiculous. He’s still sniffling lightly, but his tears have dried. He feels shaky and scraped out and raw, still a little off-kilter and a lot embarrassed. But he’s here. 

The door is unlocked, just like Eddie had promised, and Buck lets himself in. He moves quietly so as not to wake Christopher, who he expects is already asleep by now. It’s late. He might feel bad about that, if this were anyone but Eddie. 

Eddie’s house, even in the quiet, doesn’t feel oppressive. It doesn’t feel cold, or lonely. It’s nothing like his apartment. It’s everything he needs right now. 

Buck rounds the corner and there’s Eddie, just turning away from the sink to face him as he steps into the kitchen. The dishes look half done, but Eddie ignores them in favour of grabbing the dishtowel he’d draped over his shoulder and drying off his hands. 

“Hey,” Buck says. He curls his fingers into the ends of his hoodie sleeves, and tries for a smile. 

Eddie takes in his appearance—and what a sight he must make, right now—and tosses the towel to the side. It lands on the counter, missing the edge of the sink by a hair. 

“Come ‘ere,” Eddie says, and he opens his arms like he’s inviting Buck in and it’s—it’s everything Buck needs right now, no matter how silly he felt a moment ago. 

He practically dives at Eddie, wrapping his arms under Eddie’s and curling as close as he can get, hiding his face in Eddie’s shoulder. Buck takes a deep, steady breath, and lets it out slow. 

Eddie wraps his arms around Buck’s shoulders and gives him a little squeeze. The strange, unexplained tension Buck had been carrying all night finally starts to ease. He melts into Eddie’s embrace, soaking in his best friend’s comfort. 

“Thank you,” he says, words muffled against Eddie’s shirt. 

“No need,” Eddie says. “You’ve got me, Buck. Any time.” 

He looks happy, in the photo. Smiling at the camera from astride his bike, crooked teeth and all, like he’s having the time of his life. Maybe he was. Buck doesn’t think he’d ever find a picture of himself that looked like this—doesn’t think he’d ever smiled this wide with his parents behind the camera.

Love me anyway, he had begged, but what he didn’t know then was that they couldn’t, because his parents had buried their love when they buried this kid.

“I never knew,” Buck tries, grasping at straws for an explanation. “They—they didn’t tell me. They never talk about him.” 

“I don’t think they knew how,” Maddie says. Daniel stares out at them from the photograph, grinning like he’s got his whole life ahead of him, and Buck doesn’t know how to feel. Doesn’t know how to grieve someone he never even had the chance to know. 

“We had a brother,” Buck repeats, still trying to wrap his mind around it. “And I’ve been...trying to live up to him, for so long, and I never even knew.” 

“You were so young,” Maddie says, and her voice shakes, “and you didn’t remember, and then they just—we just—”

“Why are you still defending them?” Buck asks, so quietly. He still can’t find it in himself to tear his eyes from the photo. “They hurt you too, Mads. You can’t pretend they didn’t.”

“They were grieving,” Maddie tries again, but it’s half-hearted. “Losing a child is awful. And with Daniel gone, they just...didn’t know what to do with all that empty space.” 

And Buck can understand, really, he can. Loneliness and grief crowd into the empty spaces in your life and smother you, suffocate you. Sometimes it feels like there’s no escape. Except his parents' life wasn’t empty, not really—they just refused to really look at what was left behind.

“But they had us, Maddie!” Buck says, almost desperately, “And we’re still here!” 

The photo creases where Buck’s thumb presses in a bit too tightly, and he drops it on the table in front of him like it’s on fire. He doesn’t want to look at it anymore. 

He chances a look up at his sister, sees his own tears mirrored in her eyes. His voice breaks when he asks, “Why wasn’t that enough?” 

It should have been enough. It never was. Buck is jealous of a dead boy because he got two loving parents and a wonderful sister, and Buck got I don’t know what you expected us to do, Evan, and a sister who was trying her best but didn’t quite know when to stop running. 

It’s ridiculous. It’s unfair. Buck is twenty-nine years old and he still feels like he’s twelve, trapped in that empty space in that empty house between two people whose hearts were buried six feet under. He doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

“It was enough for me,” Maddie says, and her tears threaten to spill over when she puts a hand on his knee, gentle as always. “You are enough for me.” 

“Help,” Buck sobs into the pavement beneath him, barely audible through the chaos. The truck rocks again and he digs his fingers into the concrete, trying to do...something. Drag himself away, maybe. He can’t think straight. 

“I want the captain!” the kid screams, somewhere in front of him. Buck stopped tracking him as soon as his vision started to swim. More shouting follows, and he thinks—maybe—is that Chimney? 

Pain rockets up his leg again, a lightning strike crackling to his very nerve endings, and Buck’s vision goes white as he rides it out. He might be screaming. He’s definitely dying. 

He doesn’t know what’s happening; Chimney was there, wasn’t he? For the briefest moment, Buck wasn’t alone. Chimney was right there. But when he manages to lift his head again, the pavement stretches out in front of him covered in shattered glass and smoke and his team is nowhere to be seen. The flickering lights of the squad cars light up the street with blue, and the heat of the fire builds behind him, but he’s feeling it less and less. Blissful numbness starts to spread through him, taking with it the agony and panic, and the space between him and his team feels endless and impassable. 

“Help,” Buck chokes out again, desperately, even though there’s no one around to hear. “I don’t—I don’t wanna die.” 

It’s so hard to keep his eyes open. He tries, knows his team wouldn’t want him to let go; he tries, but there’s too much noise and the sound of struggle slips right past him, his mind too muddled to focus on anything for very long. He can’t help but feel a little hopeless. He wants his team. He doesn’t want to die alone. He wants to go home. 

And then as if called on a prayer, there they are. There’s more shouting, and someone’s knees hit the pavement with a harsh sound right next to Buck’s ear. There’s hands on him, pressing at his pulse point and tapping at his face, but he can’t get his eyes to open. He wants—

“Eddie,” Buck manages to breathe out, when a hand slips into his. He’d know that hand anywhere, even through the haze of pain he finds himself trapped in. He tries to get his shaking fingers to cooperate and squeezes weakly; the hand in his squeezes back, firm and unshakeable. 

“I’m here, Buck,” Eddie says, the rumble of his voice coming from somewhere above his head. “We’re all right here. You’re gonna be fine.” 

He peels his eyes back open then, and it scares him how much effort the simple action takes. It’s worth it, though, because even as his vision blurs he can see Hen beside him. She tries to smile, just a ghost of a thing, when she notices that he’s watching her. 

“Hey, Buckaroo,” she says, trying to sound gentle, but doesn’t slow in her hurried movements. “How we doing?” 

“...Kinda numb,” he admits, and he thinks he might be slurring a bit. 

“We’re gonna get you out of there,” Eddie assures him again, still holding steady. “Just hold on.” 

Buck clings to that, clings to Eddie’s hand as he trembles through another spike of pain. It’s a little detached, like he’s in a bubble and everything else is just pressing in at the sides. He doesn’t want to know what it’ll feel like when the bubble pops. He hears something about lifting the truck, but he barely comprehends it. 

“Don’t let go,” he pleads, hand tightening as much as it can in Eddie’s grip. “I can’t—I can’t do this—”

“Yes you can,” Eddie snaps. “You can. I’m not letting go.” 

The unwavering confidence in Eddie’s voice and his solid grip on Buck’s hand are like a lifeline; he’s trapped, but he might not die here. There’s still hope, because his team has crossed the expanse between them to be with him, to get him out. He’s not alone. 

The truck moves, and Buck’s bubble pops. The pain crashes back in like a wave and threatens to swallow Buck up and drown him in it, and he’s screaming, this time he knows he is, over and over and over as the weight drops back onto his leg. 

He’s crying too, probably, or else that’s blood dripping down his cheek. It might be both. He can’t even hear what’s going on around him anymore past the ringing in his ears, but he feels it when they lift the truck again. It hurts so much, too much, and Buck doesn’t know if he’ll survive it but he can still feel Eddie’s hand in his and Hen’s presence beside him, and he knows they won’t let him go. They won’t let him die here. 

Buck barely has the strength left to grit out a miserable sob when they lift the truck one more time, but then Eddie’s hand is tugging at his and Hen’s hands are on his arms and he’s sliding across the pavement. The jostling movement sends shockwaves of fire up his leg with each pull but he’s free, he’s out, he’s not trapped anymore and his team is there and they’re holding on to him. Holding him together. 

“Four minutes to the hospital, Buck,” Hen says, from somewhere at his side. He’s too exhausted to turn his head to find her. “Just hang on.” 

Four minutes. He thinks he can make it another four minutes. The sky is moving above him, then, and he distantly realizes he must be on a gurney. His hand twitches, but he stills when he feels another squeeze. Eddie’s still holding on, just like he promised. 

“You didn’t let go,” Buck mutters, half to himself. Eddie meets his drifting gaze, and tries for a smile. It’s a little strained, but it’s there. 

“Not a chance,” he says firmly.