#trashendence

“I think we have to keep trying,” Eddie says. “Maybe because it helps, or maybe because if it doesn’t, it’s still our chance to say goodbye.”

That last word cracks in half on its way off Eddie’s tongue, and he knows without turning his head that Buck’s eyes just flickered toward the monitors, then to the organized chaos of tubes and wires, curious in a way likely to hurt him now, the details becoming familiar enough to reappear in a nightmare or two. Eddie keeps his focus on as much nothingness as he can find, because being a coward will haunt him more than the sight of anything else.

Neither one of them deserves that kind of punishment, but old habits die hard.

“Do you remember anything people told you?”

“No. I barely remember the conversations I had once I was awake,” Eddie huffs. “Why? What did you say to me back then?”

“Nothing.”

Eddie isn’t sure whether Buck means that literally or not, but it isn’t important when Buck wouldn’t have said goodbye, and Eddie can’t imagine he knew enough to say I love you, even after Eddie choked on an epiphany and Buck choked on Eddie’s blood. He brushes his thumb against the back of Buck’s hand and just barely stops himself from asking Buck whether he knows now.

If not, maybe Eddie will tell him soon.

Buck passes him a tissue, and it’s the first Eddie’s aware that he’s crying again, and when he takes a shaky breath and glances to the side, he’s there in time to watch a tear drop from the stubble on Buck’s jaw. It’s not a surprise, and neither of them have a reason to hide, but they’ll give each other what privacy they can while they refuse to be apart, Eddie back to staring at the wall and the bit of chipped paint he memorized the shape of a while ago.

His stomach growls then and his eyes fall closed, exhausted by the idea that his body might demand to be fed when he has no appetite at all. The two times he and Buck managed to leave the hospital, they ended up at the dingy diner across the street, so he assumes they’ll head there again soon, forcing themselves to swallow hangover food while stone cold sober. And once this is over, whenever that might be, Eddie can’t imagine they’ll ever eat there again, certain there must be hundreds of other people who feel the same way – so many who will never go back to that diner because the coffee starts to taste too much like mourning.

As if Eddie’s thought of coffee is enough to remind Buck how tired he is, Buck slumps against him, the wooden armrest probably digging into his ribs in a way that might hurt if they hadn’t been numb to physical pain for a while. Eddie pulls his hand away from Buck’s and he wraps his arm around Buck’s shoulders instead, pressing a kiss to his temple because he doesn’t think they’ll have to talk about that either, though he’s beginning to think he wants to.

“What’re you most afraid of?” Eddie mumbles against Buck’s hair.

It’s a question that has nothing to do with why they’re here, and one Eddie could probably answer on Buck’s behalf, but he asks it now because it might be the safest place to have this conversation, in front someone who deserves to be part of the story.

“Being alone.”

“Even now? When I’m holding you like this?”

Buck tilts his head, and his breath is warm against Eddie’s neck. “You can’t hold me forever.”

That’s both true and not, but Eddie isn’t going to lay out the arguments on either side of it now, waiting until Buck drops back down to his shoulder before he tightens his grip and looks toward the bed.

“Maybe not.”

Their time must be almost up, though Eddie still hasn’t bothered to check, Buck interrupting before Eddie can decide whether he should.

“What about you? What are you afraid of?”

So many hums and beeps and whirs and clicks carry them from one second to another, and Eddie listens to them for a while before he finally clears his throat.

“You asked me if I know what it’s like, and no, I really don’t. Not this,” Eddie says. “But I know the clarity that came a split second before it, and I know the terror that came when I was lucky enough to have an after.”

Buck sits up, confused, and Eddie’s arm falls away. “Is that it then? You were afraid of waking up?”

“No, I—I mean, yeah, maybe I was for a while, but no, it was—” Eddie shakes his head and scrubs a hand over his face, sticky from tear tracks gone dry. “The clarity never really went away after that, and it took me a while to know what I wanted to do with it.”

“And now?”

“Now I do, and I know what I’m afraid of,” he admits. “Earlier you—"

There’s a knock at the door before Eddie can finish, and one of the nurses steps into the room with a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, guys. Time for me to take care of a couple of things in here, then you can send the next two in.”

“Um, yeah, I—yeah, of course,” Eddie says, caught in the middle of what he was about to say, but pushing himself up while Buck does the same.

“If you, um—if you need us for anything,” Buck starts, his hand tight where it curves around the back of his neck. “I mean, we won’t—we’ll stay nearby.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to be anywhere else,” she assures them softly.

They both nod and reach down toward the bed one more time – a touch that will serve as a silent see you soon, as long as it doesn’t become goodbye – then they slip through the door, Eddie threading their fingers together by the time it’s fully shut behind them. It’s new, walking toward the ICU waiting area like this, but maybe it’s long overdue, and none of the tired eyes that meet them there seem to disagree. He and Buck pass along updates about nothing, and make small talk about the same, until Eddie feels the gentle tug on his hand, and they disappear into the stairwell.

“Earlier I what?” Buck asks, backed up against the cinderblock wall, Eddie close to covering him there like the weighted blanket Buck has started using when he sleeps.

“Earlier you said I can’t hold onto you forever.”

“Yeah.”

“And I think what I’m afraid of—” Eddie frowns, so much of this wrong when he’s staring into bloodshot eyes that must match his own, but it’s also right somehow and he tells himself it’s okay to keep going. “I’m afraid you’ll never let me try.”

Buck’s head rolls sideways until he can find his way back. “Ask me.”

“Ask you to let me try?”

“No,” Buck whispers. “Ask me anything.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to look away, and he wonders if they can stay right here until it’s their turn again, hours from now. They’ve moved from one bubble to another, and as much as Eddie loves everyone they’ve just left behind, he thinks maybe he needs this time alone with Buck – really alone with him – before he’s strong enough for another round of tears.

“After we’re—” Eddie trails off and his fingers curl around the pocket of Buck’s hoodie as he makes eye contact again. “When it’s time to go, will you come home with me?”

“Yes.”

It’s easy, Buck’s response, and it’s enough. It’s good. But it was such a small thing to ask, easy to mistake for something Buck’s already done a thousand other times, and maybe not what Eddie really wanted to know at all, so he sighs and tries one more question.

“Will you stay?”