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Hen has just told Chimney about the call she got from Athena. May tried to kill herself. She’s still reeling from the news herself and talking about it with Chimney helps to process it. So, she’s a little out of it, but getting better, when Buck comes up the stairs to join them for the start of their shift.
He comes skipping up to them, stopping when he spots the expressions on their faces, a small crease on his forehead as he asks: “What were you two talking about?”
The two of them share a look, wondering if they should share. Athena and Buck haven’t had the best start, but they’re probably going to be a little off this shift and it’ll be nice to give Buck some context. Besides, maybe this way he won’t put his foot in his mouth when they run into Athena on their shift. If Hen remembers right, she’s still working today.
So, Hen says: “I was telling Chimney about Athena’s daughter, May. She’s just a teenager, fifteen years old, tried to commit suicide last night. Athena called me this morning.”
“Oh, that sucks,” Buck replies, seeming completely unaffected by the news. It’s as if Hen just told him she accidentally ran a red on the way here and is probably going to get a fine.
Now, both Chimney and Hen are giving him a weird look. They get too many suicide calls in their line of work and Buck has always been nothing but compassionate to those people. So, they don’t understand why he’s acting like this now. Like this isn’t horrible.
Anger, hurt and confusion mix together. Hen snaps at him: “Athena spend the whole night at the hospital.”
“She took her to the hospital?” Buck asks, sounding pleasantly surprised, though a little confused. “That’s nice of her,” which is an insane thing to say in this situation.
Neither of them can believe their ears and in an disbelieving voice, Chimney says: “Of course she took her to the hospital. She would have died, if she hadn’t.”
Finally, something changes in his eyes as they become more concerned than before. “Oh, it was actually a close call, not like normal teenager stuff?”
That response together with his blasé attitude thus far makes an alarm ring in Hen’s mind and she tentatively asks: “What do you mean with normal teenager stuff?”
Beside her, Chimney sends a glance over at her, probably getting that same sinking feeling in his stomach as she has. It’s something they’ve both developed over their years as first responders. That feeling you get when something is wrong.
Buck doesn’t appear to notice, shrugging: “You know, how every teenager tries to kill themselves? It’s just a thing everyone does. And, yeah, it sucks if they’re successful in their attempt, but most aren’t, cause otherwise we’d have a lot less kids, obviously. But everyone tries.”
He says it as if it’s general knowledge, like everyone knows all teenagers try to kill themselves, like that is a normal part of teenagehood everyone goes through, instead of a very big tragedy that befalls a still too large, but relatively small part of the teenage population.
Oh, no.
No.
Just no.
She has to look over at Chimney to see if he heard that too, going off the look on his face, he did. Fuck, if he heard it too, then Buck must have said it.
The reality of what that means settles in her bones and she hates it. She hates it. Buck is her favorite nuisance and while his incessant ramblings and fun facts can be annoying sometimes, the upbeat, happy-go-lucky attitude he brings to the firehouse, is one she welcomes. She doesn’t want to think how close she got to not having that.
“Did you try?” Chimney asks the question a part of her had been afraid to ask herself.
“Course,” Buck says immediately and without hesitation, in a voice that’s the same as when he’s telling any other random anecdote. “Took a bunch of pills, guess I’ve never been good at dosage math.” God, is Hen happy Buck is bad at math now, she will never be annoyed by that ever again, she vows. “When I woke up again, I’d missed a day of school, terrible headache. My parents were fucking pissed, I got grounded for a month.”
“What!” both her and Chimney choke out at the same time. The thought of Buck trying to kill himself is already terrible, but the reality is so much more heartbreaking. What kind of parent grounds their kid for trying to commit suicide?
“Or maybe they didn’t notice,” Buck amends with a thinking face. “I mean, I had the letter and everything – very dramatic, shredded it after, I was so embarrassed – but maybe they thought I’d been out drinking with friends. It had been my birthday after all.”
Holy shit, on his fucking birthday? His birthday? How can a teenager feel so alone on their birthday that suicide seems like the only way out? What parent makes a child feel embarrassed about trying to kill themselves, instead supporting them in getting better?
She almost doesn’t dare to ask, but she does anyway: “How old did you turn?”
“I think sixteen? Yeah, sixteen,” Buck answers, before he frowns: “Why do you wanna know? And why are you two looking at me like that? It’s just a phase. Didn’t you two try to kill yourself?”
It’s such an insane conversation to have that both are too stumped to even respond with a vehement ‘No!’ to that, so they just stare blankly at him for a beat.
Fortunately, Bobby interrupts them all at that point, frowning as he asks: “Why are we asking coworkers if they’ve ever tried to commit suicide?”
He is giving Buck a weird look, which is understandable. For any other person, this would be a weird and invasive thing to ask, but if you live in Buck’s perception of the world, it’s totally normal. Then it’s a shared teenage experience.
A part of Hen feels like she should step in and save Bobby from the horrifyingly, heartbreaking casual confession he’s about to get. However, another part of her, needs him to experience this too, so they can all be shocked and concerned together.
“Oh, well, Hen said Athena’s daughter May tried to kill herself and it was the actual, serious, nearly succeeded trying to kill herself, not the normal kind of trying to commit suicide like every teenager does, but Hen and Chimney are being weird about it,” Buck answers.
“Like every teenager does?” Bobby repeats, his expression now mirroring hers and Chimney’s.
“Yeah, like every teenager does,” Buck exclaims. “It’s a thing, everyone does it. I don’t know why you’re all being weird about it.”
Hen watches as it hits Bobby what that means, the way his features pale and his eyes become wide as he processes that they almost would have never met Buck, that despite his happy attitude now, there is something sad and vulnerable underneath. Something hurt.
However, all that comes out, is a stammered: “You didn’t- uh, you didn’t disclose that you attempted suicide on your intake from.”
“No, course not,” Buck says, as if they’re the weird ones. “It wasn’t like serious. That’s for people, who try in adulthood, because they are struggling. If everyone had to tick the box about the regular kind of suicide attempt, you wouldn’t find the people, who actually need support.”
Okay, that’s it, Hen can’t take this anymore. So, she explodes: “Buck, stop it! Not everyone tries to kill themselves as a teen. Very few people do, actually!”
Her loud interruption startles him so much, that Buck actually jumps a little, before giving her a wide eyed look. Then he gives her an adorably confused frown and asks: “What do you mean?”
“Attempting suicide is not a normal teenager experience,” Hen tells him as gently as she can. “The reason we don’t have less kids, is not because they’re all bad at suicide. It’s because they don’t ever try to commit suicide. You are one of the people that needs support and who that question is aimed at.”
“What?” Buck looks as if his worldview has been turned upside down. Then he shakes his head. “No, that’s ridiculous. I’m fine. I don’t need support. Do you really think that if it’d been serious, my parents wouldn’t have done something?”
“Your parents didn’t do anything?” Bobby asks, having missed that part of the conversation.
“Well, they didn’t do nothing,” Buck starts and Hen feels bad for the way Bobby’s shoulders start to relax, before he hears part two of that sentence, “they grounded me, but that’s because it was normal.” Bobby makes a wounded noise.
“They grounded you?” Bobby asks.
“Yeah?” Buck responds, as if to say ‘duh?’ “Like I said. Normal.”
“Buck, buddy, it’s not normal for your parents to ground you for trying to kill yourself,” Chimney tells him in the same voice he uses to talk to stubborn patients.
For the first time, it seems that Buck realizes that it’s all of them against him and he might not be on the correct side of this conversation. It’s almost worse to watch how his face drops and his voice becomes wobbly as he checks: “It’s not?”
“It’s not,” Hen confirms with sympathetic gentleness.
“Oh…” Buck says, seeming unsure what to do with himself now. Again he checks: “You’re sure?”
“Yes, Buck, we’re sure,” Bobby tells him, voice thick as he puts a hand on Buck’s shoulder, making sure the kid is looking at him, before he speaks. “Every kid, who tries, deserves help and support. Deserves to feel better.”
Buck swallows a few times, clearly trying not to cry at that. Hen’s heart clenches at the sight.
After a few seconds, Buck pushes the emotions down, clearing his throat, before looking away as he humorlessly chuckles: “Oh, uh, now I feel embarrassed about telling you all that. Sorry for, uh- for being a downer, I suppose.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re not a downer. In fact, I’m glad you shared with us,” Hen says, getting out of her seat so she can come over and give him a hug.
At first, Buck is a little stiff in her arms and she worries she overstepped or made him uncomfortable, but then he hugs back. It’s tentative, as if he isn’t sure it’s okay. When she doesn’t pull back, he hugs her tightly, burrowing his face in her neck for a moment and squeezing her tight, before he lets go.
His eyes are red rimmed again as he tries very hard not to cry. He hasn’t gone far, still practically half hugging her. She rubs his shoulders soothingly as she says: “It’s okay. You can let it out.”
It seems to be the final straw. Buck bites his lip when it starts to wobble, taking a few pinched breaths, before it becomes too much and a sob tears itself out of his throat. Tears leak out of his eyes and Buck lets Hen pull him into another hug, hiding his face while his shoulders shake.
From where Buck can’t see, Hen gestures at both Bobby and Chimney to get their asses over here and they quickly listen. Together they form a big hug that they wrap their youngest member in.
After a few minutes of him crying, Buck finally manages to gasp: “They didn’t care. They- they didn’t care or- or they didn’t- they didn’t even notice.” His voice breaks on the last word.
Hen can’t imagine what Buck must be feeling right now. Likely confronted with all the hurt he felt then that drove him to even attempt suicide, combined with the knowledge that it wasn’t normal to feel like that, that his parents should have cared. That they should have cared, but they didn’t .
She doesn’t know Buck’s parents, but she does know that if she ever meets them, someone is going to have to restrain her, before she punches either of them.
They all hold Buck until he’s done crying, pulling away and aggressively rubbing at his eyes as he apologizes again. She really hates how she now notices he apologizes for every negative feeling he outs in their presence. Combining that with what she knows now, doesn’t paint a pretty picture.
“It’s alright,” Bobby tells him, squeezing his shoulder. “We’re here for you. Do you feel up for some tea or would you like to lie down for a bit?”
“Uh, lie down, please,” Buck says, softly but quickly.
“Alright,” Bobby smiles kindly. “Go take a nap, kid. Come up when you’re feeling up for it.”
“I will,” Buck promises and manages a watery smile of his own back, before quickly extracting himself from the situation.
They all watch until he has disappeared down the stairs, before Chimney asks: “Is it smart to keep him on shift, Cap? I mean, he just had quite the breakdown.”
“And he lives in a frat house where no one knows who he is,” Bobby replies, still staring to where Buck disappeared moments earlier. “I’d feel better to keep an eye on him while he processes.”
“Suicide watch, Cap?” Hen asks disbelievingly. Well, not disbelievingly, more like in denial. She doesn’t want to consider Buck becoming a suicide risk again. Though… she supposes it’ll be worse if they all stick their head in the sand and then find out too late that it was necessary.
“A little,” Bobby admits. “Just to be safe.”
“Alright,” Hen agrees and Chimney nods too. This is a duty they take very seriously.
They awkwardly stand around for a bit, before going about their day with a more muted atmosphere than they started with, which is saying a lot, because Hen’s day already didn’t start great.
When she goes to restock the ambulance, she can’t help but peak into the bunk room, needing to assure herself. Buck is curled up on the furthest bunk, knees drawn up and looking as young as she’s ever seen him before. All his usual bravado is gone.
However, there is nothing sharp nearby and she checked the ambulance supplies – no meds are missing – plus she can see the way his ribs move as he breathes, not to mention that Bobby has been hovering around the whole time too, not willing to leave Buck by himself, even if he leaves him alone. So, she just watches for a few seconds, before quietly leaving him to process.
Later, Buck comes up, looking a lot better than he did before. He seems a little cautious, as if he’s trying to see if they’re going to jump him with concern or sympathy, or more life altering revelations. When they all just smile at him instead, he relaxes slightly.
He’s a little quieter than he’d normally be, silently watching from the corner of the couch as she and Chimney play firetruck simulator.
However, he chimes in here and there and when they get their first call, he seems almost like his usual self again. After rescuing an actual cat from a tree, he gives them all a broad grin, showing off the cat in his arms that looks adorably grumpy to be there. The sight makes everyone smile in return.
None of them forget the admission and all of them make sure to check in with him as subtly and often as they can. Buck either doesn’t notice or doesn’t call them out on it.
Hen isn’t sure if he would be too embarrassed to mention it, or if he secretly likes the attention. She would put money on the latter, but she isn’t going to say anything about it, afraid to scare him off. If it’s what he needs, she’ll care silently, but visibly for the rest of time.
It’s honestly not what she thought would happen when she wanted to give the probie a heads up about her headspace.
However, she can’t be mad that it happened. She never wants a friend to be hurting in silence and she can admit that Buck has become a friend. A friend she is so glad she got to meet, even if she hates he had to go through such a dark thing for him to get here.