Chapter Text
“No, seriously, Wikipedia is a credible source!” Buck argues from the driver’s seat, and Eddie can’t help but snort. He’s been at this with Chris for an hour after Chris informed him that Wikipedia was ‘unreliable’ per his teachers. Of course, Buck loves a Wikipedia binge, and he’s very passionately defending it.
Chris just rolls his eyes from the backseat, glaring out the window. The red light is always long at this left turn, so he’ll draw out the judgmental silence however long he wants to. He’s not serious, and Buck knows it. It’s just banter, same as it always is. Chris called it ‘ragebaiting’ one time, whatever that means. Eddie’s learned to just smile and nod whenever Chris mentions some new Internet slang.
“I think he’s just talkin’ about using it for fun, Chris,” Eddie adds, grinning in the rear-view. The left turn light is finally green, and Buck eases into the intersection. “Nothin’ serious. Not for, like, a school project or something. Right, B –”
Eddie sees it happening before he can speak.
It’s loud, agonizing, the groan of metal against metal, swallowing up whatever conversation was filling the silence just seconds ago. The crunch of twisted aluminum and steel, shattering plastic and glass, the thud as the car rolls over once and comes to rest across littered asphalt –
Chris. Buck. Chris. Buck. Chris. Buck.
Need to check on Chris. Need to make sure Buck’s okay. Still breathing, not dead, they can’t be dead, Eddie can’t lose them, not them, they’re his whole world –
“Dad?”
Jesus Christ, Eddie’s never heard a sweeter sound. He’s shaking, he realizes, once the haze clears and he can actually see where he is. The passenger side seems okay, save some scrapes and busted doors, but that doesn’t matter. Chris is speaking, Chris is okay. Eddie’s baby boy is alive.
“I’m here, bud,” Eddie breathes. He squints out of the cracked windshield – was it always this bright? – and can see traffic is stopped. A few Good Samaritans are already approaching, and Eddie whispers a prayer of gratitude just in case God is listening. They don’t speak much nowadays, but Eddie feels like it’s the right thing to do.
But when Eddie shifts, trying to get eyes on his son to make sure Chris is alright, that quiet prayer dissolves like salt in water.
Buck. Buck.
No, God, please – I swore I’d go back to church, I did everything right, why – why is he –
The first thing Eddie registers is blood. Buck’s blood. It’s on the airbag, on the seat, on the center console, on his seatbelt, on the steering wheel. Buck’s blood. Everywhere. Thick, hot, red, drenching leather and stinking like iron and covering Eddie’s soul in dread.
“Buck,” is the second thing out of Eddie’s mouth. It’s garbled. Choked, even. Eddie can barely speak because he can barely think, and the only thing he can think of is Buck’s blood now coating his hands. It makes Eddie’s skin crawl, because there’s so much of it, and he’s trying to find a pulse but his hands just won’t stop fucking shaking.
“Buck. Buck. Can you hear me? C’mon, Buck, c’mon, I need you to look at me, please – just look at me, just for a second.”
For a moment, Eddie’s in Afghanistan again. He’s crawling out of a smoking helicopter, and there’s blood everywhere, and his hands won’t stop shaking –
And then the sky opens up.
Big, beautiful, sky-blue, framed with mousy-brown lashes, and they drift over to Eddie. Eddie’s speechless for a moment. Buck’s got blue eyes, he knows that, but have they ever been so beautiful before? Why has Eddie never registered that they’re the same color as a clear summer sky before?
Not the time, Eddie. Focus.
“Hey,” Eddie whispers, cupping Buck’s jaw with one hand. Keep his head upright. Keep it stable. Could be a spinal. “Hey. You with me? Buck? C’mon, just blink or something. Just blink if you can hear me, okay? You gotta stay awake for me.”
Eddie doesn’t let himself ponder the way he strokes Buck’s stubble with a bloodied thumb, nor the way Buck leans into his hand. Eddie can’t let himself think about that. That is tucked securely into a mental box marked ‘later’, and then tucked into a bigger box marked ‘never.’ Eddie’s not thinking straight, and he knows it. Thinking his best friend’s eyes are beautiful right now? Enjoying the feeling of Buck’s skin under his thumb? Wishing he could hold Buck like this forever? Yeah, Eddie, not the time.
“Eddie?”
That’s the second-sweetest sound Eddie’s ever heard. It doesn’t quite match Chris, but it’s close. Just the sound of Buck’s voice eases some deep-seated fear in Eddie’s mind. Yes, Buck’s blinking and breathing, but nothing compares to the sound of his voice right now. Disoriented, confused – Eddie can do something about that.
He can’t pull Buck out of the wreck. He can’t bandage up every cut and scrape and whatever else is going on below the steering wheel. But Eddie can hold Buck’s cheek and look into his eyes and murmur that everything will be okay.
“Hey,” Eddie answers, and he doesn’t recognize his own sound for a split second. It’s soft, soothing, the kind of tone he uses when a victim is looking up at him, who’s terrified and shaken and can’t figure out what’s happening. It’s gentle, comforting, mustering every ounce of Eddie’s strength to keep from cracking. “Hey, Buck. You with me?”
Buck breathes. Eddie feels like he’s going to throw up.
“Uh-huh,” Buck murmurs, and Eddie’s heart leaps in his chest. It’s not even a word – barely just a sound – and it’s more profound than anything Eddie’s heard before. It’s confirmation that Buck’s alive, the giddiness that he’s responding, the relief and joy and anxiety all wrapped up in one little sound.
God, I’m sorry, just – keep him alive for me, please? I know we aren’t on the best of terms, but could you just – I just need him to be okay, alright?
“Good,” Eddie hums, forcing the anxiety down his throat. “Good. I think someone hit us. Just stay right there, okay? Just don’t move. Someone’s going to come help us.”
Buck just blinks up at Eddie. Eddie nearly chokes when he sees the trust in Buck’s eyes — it’s vulnerable. Wholehearted. Like Buck doesn’t need to ask questions to know Eddie’s got him. Like Buck knows Eddie won’t let anything happen to him he can’t control.
Eddie’s torn from his reverie by a bystander carefully tugging the passenger side door open.
“Hey, man. I’m not sure if you called cops yet, but I can do it for you if you —” Eddie shakes his head. I have to handle this.
“No, I got it. Uh, can you just look in the back? Make sure my son’s okay?”
The stranger nods, ambles off to the rear doors, and pokes his head through the broken window. Eddie doesn’t bother listening as he fishes around for his phone. He can barely see the screen when he lifts it up; his fingers won’t just dial the number because they’re shaking so much.
And then it’s on speaker, and he can hear Maddie’s voice on the other end asking for his name, and oh my God, Maddie —
The shakes return full-force when Eddie holds the phone closer.
“Maddie,” he croaks, clutching the phone like it’s tethering him to reality. “Maddie, it’s me. Me and Buck and Chris. I think we got T-boned. I can’t see, uh, which intersection we’re at, but I, uh, I’m here and Buck’s busted up pretty bad, and —“
“Eddie,” comes the reply from the other line, whispered in shock. “I’m right here. Just tell me what’s happening and I’ll take care of the rest, okay? Take a second to breathe and tell me what’s happening right now.”
Right now. What’s happening right now. What’s happening right now? Chris is okay right now, Buck — Buck isn’t okay right now, but he’s breathing and he’s blinking and he’s nodding off —
Eddie steels himself. He doesn’t have much of a choice. He knows it. Buck can barely speak, and Chris is just a kid. Eddie can’t let his teenage son be in charge right now just because he wants to break down and cry. Eddie can’t do that to his baby. So, he takes a deep, shaky breath and forces himself to analyze what’s right in front of him.
Blood, but not a bloodbath. Not as much as he thought he saw minutes ago, now that he’s looking at it and not actively spiraling. Eddie can’t see below the steering wheel, but he’s not going to move Buck either. It’s too much of a risk, and Eddie isn’t one to gamble.
He’s never been blessed with luck.
“We got T-boned,” Eddie answers, voice carefully measured. This isn’t just Eddie Diaz anymore — it’s Eddie Diaz the firefighter, Eddie Diaz the paramedic. It’s Eddie Diaz, the one who’s handling the situation because nobody else can.
“Chris is okay. Cuts and scrapes, I think. Buck is —”
A pause. A deep breath.
“Buck’s hurt. Definitely a head lac from the airbag. I can’t see what’s happening below the steering wheel because his side took the brunt of it. I’m holding C-spine so he doesn’t move. We just —” Eddie swallows hard, stroking Buck’s cheek again so he can watch those lashes flutter back open. “We just need help over here, Maddie.”
This time, Maddie’s the one exhaling slowly over the phone. Eddie knows she can handle this, though. Maddie’s a Buckley. She all but raised Buck. And Buck’s a problem-solver if Eddie’s ever seen one. He gets it from somewhere.
“Okay. I have your location. Help is on the way.” Maddie pauses, and Eddie can picture her trying not to cry. He’s been around her long enough to know what it sounds like. “Just — just keep him safe for me, Eddie.”
Keep him safe. Keep Buck safe. Eddie can do that.
Eddie just pockets his phone, attention wholly invested in Buck. Eddie gives Buck’s cheek a gentle nudge, trying to prompt a response. He can’t watch Buck nod off again like he’s just sleeping in — Buck has to stay awake. He needs to be awake, because awake means he’s paying attention, and paying attention means Eddie doesn’t have to worry about a head injury.
Those big blue eyes peel open just a tad, and Eddie could cry in relief.
When Buck nuzzles into Eddie’s hand, Eddie could throw up.
He’s not supposed to enjoy it right now. Eddie’s not supposed to lap up every ounce of attention Buck’s giving him. Eddie’s not supposed to feel like a man starved, craving Buck like he’s Eddie’s last meal. Eddie’s not supposed to be feeling this way about his best friend.
“Hey, Buck,” Eddie murmurs, shifting his hand from Buck’s cheek to cup his chin. “Hey. Eyes on me, okay? Need you to stay with me. Eyes up. Eyes on me.”
Buck blinks slow and sweet, fixated on Eddie. It makes something in Eddie’s chest ache and twist until it’s clawing its way up his throat. It burns, sears a Buck-sized hole right through him, and Eddie can’t pry the pieces back together with his own two hands.
“That’s it,” Eddie hums in approval. He’s just desperate to keep Buck’s eyes open. “That’s it. Doing so good, Buck. You’re doing so good. You’re gonna be okay, you hear me? Just keep those eyes open for me, just like that. Good job, Buck. Doing so good for me.”
Eddie files the way saying that feels into the mental box labeled ‘never’.
He doesn’t know how long he spends like that — gazing into Buck’s eyes, stroking his cheek, keeping him from nodding off. Eddie just acts without thinking, without hesitation. Buck deserves Eddie’s best. He always has.
He could see stars in those eyes if he tried. Big, soft, almost the color of the ocean – like turquoise blue and sea-foam green mixed together with the tender hand of a painter, carefully muddled and swirled until they’re something bordering on ethereal. Edde can't help but wonder if Buck thinks about his eyes like that – does he think they’re pretty, too? Does Buck think I’m pretty, too?
The screaming of sirens forces Eddie back to the present like he’s been pulled out of ice-cold water. Reality is not as kind as his fantasies are. It never has been. Reality is harsh and brutal and ugly, not comforting and familiar and safe like Buck’s smile or his laugh or his eyes.
Watching oneself be pulled from a twisted, crunched-up vehicle is not an experience Eddie would recommend. Except maybe to Tommy Kinard.
He’s heard of this before – depersonalization, maybe? All Eddie knows is he feels like he’s watching his life like a movie, watching firefighters pry Buck from the wreckage like he’s a spectator and not a participant. The only thing keeping Eddie tethered to himself is Buck’s cheek under his hand. It’s warm, and Eddie can feel Buck’s cheek twitch when the seatbelt is cut free.
Eddie floats somewhere from above as paramedics guide him out of the passenger seat to join Chris at one of the ambulances. This isn’t his crew. This isn’t Hen and Chimney and Bobby and Ravi. Eddie hates it. His crew is the best, and he wants the best for Buck. He needs the best for Buck.
He just nods along as they examine, lost somewhere in his own mind. Buck was Eddie’s connection to the present, and now he’s drifting.
“– you with me?”
Eddie blinks.
The paramedic in front of him is crouched low, making eye contact from below. Eddie knows what he’s doing: making himself appear smaller, non-threatening, so Eddie doesn’t lose it when he’s brought back to reality. Eddie’s done the same thing before. He knows he’ll do it again. It’s just another Tuesday.
The words fumble from Eddie’s mouth before he can register what he’s saying.
“I need to ride with him.” When the paramedic shakes his head, Eddie pushes harder. He’s scaled walls, put out unimaginable fires, and pulled Buck down to Earth after being struck by lightning. Eddie can be an unstoppable force if he’s meeting an immovable obstacle.
“I need to,” Eddie fires back, that protective instinct clawing its way up his throat like stomach acid. “I need to be in there. That’s –” my best friend “– my husband. I need to be in there.”
The paramedic blinks, but doesn’t question it. He just leads Eddie over to where Buck’s strapped to a gurney, and Eddie tries to keep that stomach acid from breaching his teeth. Buck doesn’t look like Buck. He looks small, wounded, like a little bird that flew the nest a few days too early.
But somehow, Eddie finds Buck’s hand amidst the chaos and instability. Eddie needs his tether. He needs to feel Buck’s hand in his, his skin against skin, the warmth of life and breath seeping from Buck’s bones into Eddie’s. It’s Eddie’s drug of choice, and he’ll be an addict until the day he dies.
“Just hang on for me, okay?” Eddie murmurs as the ambulance flies down the street. He doesn’t know if Buck can hear his voice amidst the noise, but Eddie just needs to speak. He needs to say the words even if Buck doesn’t register them. “Just a little longer. I’ll be right here, I promise. You gotta stay with me, okay? You have to. You can’t –” Eddie exhales and something hitches in his throat. “You can’t leave me, Buck. I need you. You can’t go.”