Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Buck really shouldn’t be surprised that his day went to shit, seeing how the call started. 

One moment, he had been waiting for his popcorn, lounging over the couch, relaxing to David Attenborough’s voice and then—

Chimney slammed the fire engine door shut. “This is all your fault, Buck.”

“How is it my fault the nature documentary decided to go on about how quiet the forest was?”

“Don’t say it again!” Chimney squawked. 

“I didn’t even say it first! The TV did.”

“It so counts, and it’s your fault.”

“Maybe we should make Buck clean the utility room again so the fire suppression system goes off like the first time,” Hen said as she sat next to him. 

Buck shuffled away from her. “Cap, did you catch that? Hen threatened me with foam. Get HR. I’ll call Susan.”

“Susie loves me.”

“Oh, c’mon, you are not on a nickname basis with HR.”

“Tell that to the Christmas cards I get every single year.”

“Alright, guys, that’s enough,” Bobby interrupted from the driver’s seat, amused. “Focus up, this is a weird one.” 

“Oh yeah, did you hear that, Buckley? Your q-word triggered us all to a witch shop,” Chimney said. 

Buck looked over at Eddie for help, who only shrugged. 

He shook his head, mouth agape. “You didn’t even believe in this jinx crap!”

"I don't have to believe in it to be annoyed."

Huffing, Buck angled himself away from everyone else. He knocked his knees roughly against Eddie's and was definitely not pouting as he stared out the window on the drive over to the scene. 

The so-called ‘witch shop’ looked different to the usual ones they were called to. It had fewer crystal stands and more books. Shelves stacked with vials and jars filled with substances Buck would rather not open or ingest. A weird chill seeped through his turnouts as he stepped inside. But he shook it off when someone from the back of the shop responded to Bobby's call out. 

There was a woman on the floor, clutching at her chest. Another woman hovered over her, seemingly more panicked than the one who collapsed. Buck frowned at the smoke surrounding the room. It came from some weird cauldron-shaped burner, and it smelled like a frat house.  

“Wilson, Han,” Bobby directed.

Hen immediately eased the woman to lean against the wall, taking her vitals. 

“Did she fall? Hit her head on the way down?” Chimney asked as he opened the jump bag. 

“No, Elise just collapsed. I’m a Pranic healer, I can’t touch her,” the other woman said, keeping her distance. 

“Shortness of breath, rapid pulse, clutching at her left side. Cap, possible cardiac arrest,” Hen remarked. 

“Did you give Elise anything?” Bobby asked.

“No, nothing, we only just started the sage burning,” the woman said, but then gasped out, “She has a stent in her heart, it was in her medical papers. She signed a waiver. I won’t get sued for this, right?”

Bobby stared blankly before completely ignoring her. “Buckley, Diaz, get the gurney and O2.”

“On it, Cap,” Buck affirmed and followed Eddie out.  

The ambulance crew with the 133 drove in as they made their way outside. Buck motioned at them and opened the back of the ambulance. He heaved the gurney out with Eddie, smiling to himself as Eddie counted them down for lifting. He did this for even the smallest of tasks, and Buck loved the synchrony.  The brushings of shoulders, stepping in line, and parallel movements.

As Eddie grabbed the oxygen tank and non-rebreather mask, Buck rolled the gurney back inside the shop. 

“Administering aspirin.” Buck heard Hen announce when he re-entered. 

It went routinely—passing without stress as Buck worked with the people he trusted more than himself on a bad day. Eddie rushed ahead with the oxygen, giving it to Chimney, and Buck swatted at the beaded curtain in the door entrance.

A scream rattled through the room. Buck jumped, on alert. But it didn't come from the patient, but from the shop owner. 

“No, no, not him. That man can’t touch Elise!”

The woman almost stumbled over herself, hysterical and loud in her ramblings. Buck looked around at what could even cause this reaction, but the woman's eyes were set on him. He was the one who couldn't touch Elise. 

Eddie sighed, “Ma’am, we need to get the patient on the gurney—”

“He can’t touch her! It’ll ruin all our progress," the woman persisted. “He’s got all the wrong energy. It’s lingering all over him, haunting him! Get him out of my shop. He’s unsettling everything. It’s contagious.”

Buck gestured to himself, confused. “Is she saying I have an STD?”

He pointedly ignored Bobby's scathing look.

“I can cleanse him and the negative energy, please, I’ll be quick, and then he can touch Elise.”

Staggering, the woman grabbed a bowl from the counter. Water poured over the edge as she moved. She picked up one of the jars from the shelf.  

“Ma’am, put the salt down.” Bobby interfered, exasperated. “Eddie, help me with the gurney. Buck, wait outside.”

"Why should I—?" Buck cut himself off as Bobby gave him another look and huffed, leaving the shop.

He made sure to sigh loud enough that even the lady having a heart attack could probably hear it over her own… well, situation. Because, yeah, he had been dismissed from scenes before—either for his own sake or to de-escalate, but never because he apparently needed to be 'cleansed'. 

He waited outside, glaring at the skulls in the shop window until someone tapped him on the shoulder. Eddie stepped closer, standing beside him. 

"Ah, ah, Eddie, you've got Buck's contagion now," Chimney joked, very loudly. Too loud for a public space where that energy lady was probably waiting inside to either douse him with water or start spouting out some exorcism. 

“Is this because I keep calling crystals ‘rocks’?” Buck asked. He received only blank expressions and no answers. “Like, is there anything about me that unsettles the universe?”

“How long do we have?" Buck went to shove Chimney, but he brought his fingers up into a cross sign. "Keep your distance!"

"Knock it off, we have another call in the area," Bobby said, though he sported his own grin. “Buck, just ignore it."

It was safe to say Buck didn’t ignore it. 

Instead, it stuck to him like some invasive parasite. Any free moment he had, whether it be on the ride over to a call or the walk back to the engine after, Buck was glued to his phone. He avoided the others trying to take it off him and favoured reading articles and Wiki pages until his eyes blurred over. 

“Okay, okay, so, Pranic healing is technically a therapy rather than scientific healing. It’s all about energy.”

Hen tried to snatch his phone again, so he raised it above his head. “And yours is apparently negative.”

“Allegedly negative!” Buck corrected sharply. “That lady, the healer, she can detach bad energy from the body and bring in new energy to basically keep your life force balanced.”

“Sounds invasive.”

“It’s a non-touching service.”

“So she wouldn’t approve of this?” Hen flicked his forehead.

"Ow, what the fuck?" he complained, rubbing it. “You guys just gonna watch this?”

Eddie tilted his head. “I don’t know, don’t two negatives make a positive?”

Buck glared at him, making Eddie grin knowingly. They had both stayed up last night trying to work out Christopher's physics homework, which Buck despised. He liked the whole space thing, not protons or atomic masses. Especially when Chris conveniently forgot to mention his homework until dinner time. 

“How are none of you concerned over this? I’m apparently ‘dirty’ in Pranic healing terms. I'm unbalanced!" 

“Buck, do me a favour and turn off your headset for a sec,” Chimney said. 

He frowned. “But then you can’t hear me properly.”

“Oh, the horror.” 

“And I’m the negative energy?”

The next free time he had to research was at lunch. Buck scrolled through his phone over his food.

“Look, there’s even quizzes for this shit!” he waved his screen at Eddie. “You’re so doing this after.”

“They're all nonsense. No one-minute quiz is gonna accurately tell you what animal you would be."

Buck scoffed, “No fun, and you’d totally be a deer.”

He clicked on the link, expecting to be eased into it. Like, the page was all pastel and spiritual. Yet, there it was, question one, asking if he'd ever felt overwhelmed and emotionally drained with no time for rest. Then, lucky number two: if he ever had pain in his body that hindered him from enjoying life. His leg decided to flare up at that. 

The questions got worse, more specific and hitting. After ten minutes, the page refreshed and in bold text displayed the cause of his negative energy. Past Trauma. 

“Oh.”

A tightness pulled in his chest, and he couldn't help but feel pissed off.

It wasted ten minutes of his time to basically tell him he had parental issues, like it wasn't obvious. He knew they were a cause of a lot of things he did. Subconsciously, of course, because he refused to open that box up. Buck knew that the moment he'd give it light, another family secret would probably jump out. Another Daniel, another reason he had empty seats in parent-teacher meetings and football games. 

It wasn't the best quiz result to get when those parents were in town, either. 

“What?” Eddie asked through a mouthful of Bobby’s salad. 

Buck cleared his throat. “Nothing, stupid quiz, needed me to make an account for the answers, and I get enough spam as it is.”

“See, they’re stupid,” Eddie said, pointing his fork at him. “Now eat up before we get called to a cemetery next.”

The taunting that came with seeing Past Trauma in some fancy aesthetic font stayed with him for the rest of the week. Even when he was tasked with bringing takeout for another big Buckley-Han family dinner. 

It lessened a bit as he heard Jee-Yun’s laughter. But then came back full force a second later when he noticed the source of his niece's happiness. His mother knelt on the floor with a stuffed toy. She kept waving it around, smile matching her granddaughter's. So amused and adoring over something as innocent as a child's enjoyment.

One of Buck’s first memories was being told to shut up. That his laughter was wrong, he had nothing to be happy about. He guessed that hearing a baby laughing was the last thing a grieving parent would want to hear. Especially when it was the wrong son's laughter. They’d rather hear the bell ring in a hospital than any reminder that Buck existed. Even when he had a band-aid over his arm from the needles. 

Salt dug in the wound that Buck had solely for surviving past age seven. 

Despite how warm the plates were from Maddie keeping them under the grill, they’d never beat the burns Buck had gained on his palms that one day. It didn't heal for weeks. When Maddie was over at a friend's house for a sleepover, one of her first—he remembered how excited she was to be out of the house, to be a kid. Nail polish, watching banned channels after hours, and no adults around. 

It just meant that Buck didn’t have food that day. Or in the morning, either. Starved with scabs on his hands from learning how the stove worked at too young an age.

He shrugged it off, now that the power was back on from the storm, and continued handing out the plates. 

“Oh, Evan, could you set the cutlery as well?” his mother asked.

The knives and forks on the counter were different. They weren't the usual ones Maddie had. These had a softer tint to them and weren't as shiny.

“They’re a gift for the new house."

Buck jumped, not expecting his mother to be so close to him. Her face was normally either so full of emotion or completely blank. Though now she stared with a different purpose. Calculating, almost. A mix in the middle that Buck didn’t want answers for. He could tell she was about to say something, seeing how she braced herself. 

He excused himself before it could be spoken aloud. Maybe a critique of how he placed the cutlery out, how he should have washed his hands before touching everything (despite them being clean). Something, anything really. 

Quietly, Buck allowed himself to be a witness. His father sat in a chair, a grin plastered on his face, as he chatted with everyone else. Maddie walked over next to Buck and rested on the wall beside him. She seemed relaxed, not at all as stressed as she was for the dinner earlier this week. She even looked happy. Buck gulped dryly. He couldn’t ruin this. 

“It’s nice to watch them, isn’t it?” Maddie said, all reminiscent, yet Buck didn’t share the nostalgia. No recollection he had matched the scene in front of him.

He hummed in vague agreement. 

“Is this what it would’ve been like if Daniel were still here?” he asked, breaking their silence. 

But Maddie took it in stride. She didn't freeze up like their mother. Her jaw didn't clench or raise her hand, tempted, like Phillip. 

“Maybe,” she said, wistfully. “He’d probably tag-team you with our parents on how dangerous your job is. He always wanted to be a doctor.” 

“He knew from that age?”

“Danny always tried to steal medical equipment with each visit. Sometimes we’d find stethoscopes hidden in mum’s bag.”

He hummed again. His eyes stayed on his parents as they opened up a book, engaging in Jee's laughter and attention. He should feel satisfied seeing this—and he was. Partially. He was glad Maddie had this, for both herself and Jee. But that contentment didn't touch him directly. Only grazed the surface. 

Maybe that healer was right, that something was wrong with him. His parents were always capable of playing with children, basking in their laughter. They probably did with Maddie and Daniel before. Just not with him. 

All his research spoke of how energetic parasites attached themselves to people prone to negative thoughts, those with damaged centres. Maybe his weren't blocked or unbalanced. But severed. Defective.

Those thoughts didn’t leave as Buck settled back into his seat in the truck on their way to a second-floor building fire the next day. 

“C’mon, Buck, you heard Cap, ladder duty.” Buck blinked everything back into focus. The chaos of the civilians around them, the rain and smoke coming from the apartment building fire. 

He rushed out of the truck, acting on autopilot.  

“Alright, cowboy, go get ‘em,” Eddie said with a slap to his shoulder.

The touch lingered through his turnouts as he climbed the ladder. Until a white light, and he didn't feel anything at all. 

Buck had never experienced usual illnesses. Common colds, headaches that turned into migraines, chicken pox—even when his parents tried to encourage it at a young age. No coughing fits, flu, or ear infections. 

He was vaccinated—at least his parents did something right. Probably for Daniel’s sake, but still. 

Yes, he experienced all the broken bones, sprains and fractures. That was on purpose, though. No influences from airborne droplets and contamination. 

So it was safe to say that getting struck by lightning fucking sucked. 

Not because of his internal organs getting fried and lungs dying on him multiple times. But because he woke up with the worst pain ever. Right behind his eyes, in the back of his throat, his skin. Cold air hit his arms, and it burned. As if his goosebumps ripped hair out of his skin rather than standing on end. 

This was different, though. Because he had woken up earlier, if it was earlier. He couldn’t trust the passing of time anymore. Not with that feeling of never-ending corridors, Maddie’s bruises and the dread of those closest to him gone. 

He had woken up, still loopy, the IV lodged in his arm. Surrounded by people who were actually here, now happily married and alive. Not angry and childless, or in some grave in Minnesota. 

There were rounds of hugging. They clutched at his hand, ruffled his hair. It didn't hurt then. His eyes blurred, but from tears, not from pain. Buck could smile without feeling like every single tooth was about to fall out. 

Now though, hours later, someone had turned on every single light ever. Something was very wrong. He knew the lights were off. The switch faced downwards, but the ceiling was so bright.

He was alone, but his skin vibrated enough to mimic another's punch. Like nails dragging along his forearms and throat.  

A snap from his left jolted him. The creaking sound rang in his eardrums. It was the door opening. It shouldn't have been that loud. A nurse stepped inside, head down, focused on the chart in her hands. The squeaking of her shoes against the floor scratched at the muscles in his ears. There was that rushing sound too, underlying but so noticeable. Thumping. 

The nurse gasped when she looked up. “Oh, Mr Buckley, you’re awake. Are you in any pain? You should be resting.”

Buck opened his mouth to answer, but something strong hit him. Not physically, but it made him stop. It made everything stop. The thumping grew louder, overpowering the ringing in his ears. 

It came from the nurse. The smell. Everything narrowed inwards. His tongue wet his cracked lips instinctively. 

There was a bandage around the nurse's arm. A smidge of red ruined the white wrappings.

“Ah that, yeah," the nurse started, noticing his staring. "I learnt my lesson not to get in the way of a crash cart." 

The thumping continued. Dulling in a pattern of something so normal to him, something innate. Hunger. 

Aches stabbed in Buck's mouth. Like a knife pressing against the inner lining of his lips. A blade, sharp, scraping with each gulp. He winced, mouth opening, and that thumping exploded. 

It pulled to him. This tether to the nurse, to that bandage, the redness directly in his eyesight.

He wasn't hungry like normal, or even thirsty for water. His mouth kept watering despite the dryness of his throat. 

Buck hadn't even noticed he shifted forward, sitting up as close as he could to the nurse. A part of him wanted to lean towards her arm. He wanted it. Her arm, the bandages—

The nurse walked away, excusing herself quickly. Buck blinked. He hadn't even realised she was still talking to him. 

Heaviness heaved in his stomach. The pit replaced that hunger momentarily as it bred into shame. He was a firefighter, for fuck's sake. He should see someone in pain, with a bloody bandage, and jump at the opportunity to fix it. Not to be the one to unwrap it and make it worse. Dread filled him, drilling into his teeth with unease, because something was wrong. 

He had to get out of here. 

Buck ripped the covers off him, jaw clenching as the cold air bit into his bare legs. He grabbed his phone from the charging port beside him and pressed 'call' before he could even comprehend what he was doing. 

It rang. And kept ringing. The trill agitated him with every unanswered rhythm. His eyes drifted over to the clock, the hands reading back to him five a.m. 

Maddie was probably asleep. 

The automated voice sent him to voicemail. 

"Maddie, something is wrong," Buck whispered, voice cracking. He knew he was whispering, he had to be, but every word he spoke punched into his temples.

He got up off the hospital bed, staggering. The world moved too quickly, or rather, he moved too quickly. Everything else around him stayed stagnant, nearly frozen as he moved. 

The bathroom door slammed open hard. Buck winced at the sound, and then his wallet winced too at the hole in the wall. But he didn't even use much force. He just pressed on the door. And now it had basically broken off the hinges. 

“I think I woke up wrong,” Buck said into the phone.

He couldn't shake that dread, now mixing with the hunger and sickness which came with it. 

Buck could see the room clearly. The walk-in shower, grab bars, and emergency pull chords. But the lights were off. 

There was no direct light in the bathroom. 

He lurched forward, mouth watering. His hands gripped the sink. Slowly, Buck glanced up into the mirror, bracing himself. He should have some scrapes, burns on his chest, those lightning marks he'd heard about—Lichtenberg scars.

Yet, there was nothing. 

Absolutely nothing. He looked fine. Like he hadn't just been struck by lightning and woken up from a coma. 

His breathing wavered because none of this made fucking sense. There should be bruises, reasons why he was on pain medication. Open wounds or something indicating that he wasn't okay. 

Tingling twitched along his gums. He opened his mouth and raised his hand, brushing a finger over his teeth. Buck flinched, jerked his hand back to his side. It hurt. Something pricked him. 

He looked down. Blood. 

Hand shaking, he peered into the mirror again. He recoiled backwards. His teeth weren't normal. His upper canines were sharp. Elongated and curved. Almost long enough to rest over his lips. 

"What the fuck?" he whimpered, prying his mouth to open wider for a closer look because this couldn't be real. He had fangs. 

Something touched his face. Buck jolted.

There was movement beneath his skin. With a trembling hand, he reached to graze under his eyes. Movement. Like bugs crawling inside of him, pulsing. Dark lines rushed across his cheeks, running towards his eyes. Veins. They were veins. 

A tear rolled down his cheek, and his eyes shone black. Redness stained the hollow under his eyes, joining the bruising veins. 

This wasn't normal. No coma or lightning could explain this. Not his teeth. Or the veins sticking out of his skin.

What if he was still in the coma? The hospital was full of doppelgängers, evil twin doctors, and had his dead brother in there. This had to be his subconscious fucking with him. But he had woken up, hadn't he? He was awake. 

Flashing caught in the corner of his vision. It was his phone. He was still on voicemail with Maddie. Buck let go of the sink and squeezed the phone's sides to shut it off. It felt so small in his hands. The same hands that just touched his face, the same finger which he had cut open from just his teeth. 

He scrambled back into the room. A bag lay on the chair by the window. It had books inside, headphones, another charger and clothes. He grabbed his hoodie and sweatpants, tugging them on once he ripped off the hospital gown. Chills struck through him, the cold hair hitting along his back. 

There was no way Buck should be moving this ably. An IV drip had been attached to him as he slept, probably administering some sedative. But he couldn't waste time pondering all of this. He needed to leave. So, he did. 

Leaving the hospital gown as a crumpled mess on the floor, Buck fled through the doors and hospital wings. Pounding on each door, his head fixed to the ground. He quickly made it to the reception. That thumping sound returned in full force. The rushing, pulsing and drumming. Across both eardrums, throbbing down to his shoulders and chest. 

People. Almost every chair in the waiting room was occupied. 

His jaw clenched, making his teeth pinch his bottom lip. 

He needed to go to Eddie's. Eddie would figure this out. He might know what was wrong with him, help with the symptoms or just tell him it was all okay. That this was all a dream, he was still in a coma. Because if this was real, that house in South Bedford Street wouldn't be Eddie's home, no need for an extra room since Christopher would be in Texas and—

Christopher. 

Buck stopped. He was outside. The sun had just started to make itself known in the sky. He couldn't go to Eddie's, not with Chris there. Buck wasn't in the right mind or body. There was no way he could go near Chris like this. He won't. Or even Maddie, not with Jee. 

He hadn't felt this alone since the cold nights of sleeping in his jeep. 

So his feet brought him elsewhere. The isolating path back to his loft, knowing no one would be there waiting for him. 

The streets were worse than the hospital. Everything was just more. His skin itched—he couldn't stop rubbing at his arms, the scratching bringing no ease. It burned him, stung from just the open air, the creeping sunlight. 

A morning runner breezed past him at a pace Buck could keep up with. He might even be faster, fast enough to take them, to grab and pull them into the nearest alleyway to—

He scratched himself harder. 

Nails dragged across any open skin he could reach until he reached his loft. As soon as he opened the door, he cowered into himself. Pain hammered into his sinuses. Buck hurried to turn off the lights, to run across the room to roll down the shutter blinds. 

But the lights were off, shutters sealed shut. 

Buck glanced downwards, arms itching again. Nausea flooded through him. 

His fingernails were bloody, caked in fresh and dried blood. His breath hitched. With bile rushing up his throat, he stumbled to grab tissues, anything to stop the bleeding. Frantic, he wiped at the blood, applying pressure in case the wounds were too deep. But, no open wounds wrecked his arms. No fingernail marks, no rubbed skin. It was just painted in blood. 

Like it had healed already. The cut on his finger had closed up too. 

Sweat soaked his hoodie. Sticking to his neck. And he couldn't fucking breathe. His lungs kept hitching, refusing to take a full breath.

Buck dug into his pocket for his phone. His fingers left blood all over the screen, making his hands twitch. He typed into the search engine and didn't stop. He needed to figure this out, panic attack or not. With his chest still squeezing tightly with each breath, he continued to search. To find out the side effects of a coma, if it could mess with the psyche, or if lightning could cause accelerated healing, weird teeth, and your eyes to suddenly become black. 

It only talked about potential personality changes. On and on about the stress and damage to the central nervous system. 

Nothing made sense. No searches matched this. Not the body changes or dark thoughts that wouldn't leave him alone. 

He had to be hallucinating. Something fried his brain and wired it all wrong.  

Buzzing shocked his hand. The phone was ringing. Maddie's name appeared on the screen. Each vibration shook him like thunder, he could feel the rain on him, pouring. It kept ringing, and Buck only stared until it stopped. But then it didn't stop—the ringtone drilling into him, another name burning across the screen. It was too loud, the vibration stabbing into his grip. 

He needed to put it down. 

A crack resonated throughout the loft, echoing and droning into his skull. He shrank into himself, shaking at the noise. Pieces of glass and plastic shattered across the floor.

Buck had thrown his phone. 

He only meant to place it on the counter beside him—not to- not to do that. 

He wanted to shrink further, to cradle himself into the ground. Somewhere away from this all, in the dark, alone. Nowhere near all the noise and that smell.

The smell was back. Then hunger followed. That wetness in his mouth, almost taunting the dryness of his throat, it was here. All that he had felt back at the hospital, with the nurse, with that bandage. 

It pulled at him. His eyes ached as they narrowed towards his fridge. The source of this pulling. 

With his hands still bloody, Buck yanked open the fridge door. Acting without thought and only feeling. Steaks sat on the second shelf, all wrapped up. Blood pooled in the corners of the packaging. 

Before he could stop himself, he clawed at them. His fingernails tore through the plastic, hitting the meat. The withering in his throat screamed. So he stuffed himself. Anything to make it quieter, to sedate it. 

The steak was raw, but that made it better. How he wasn't really eating it, but draining the meat. Anything source of liquid, the blood, the residue. No part of him cared about the mess because he needed this. It only came back to him in flashes. How his jaw ached, teeth numb, the mess around his chin. 

Nothing could have stopped him. Until he saw it. The teeth marks in the steak. They weren't normal bites. It looked like an animal had ripped a chunk straight out of it. Tore into it with no humanity, no thought. 

It was him. 

Spitting it out of his mouth, Buck gagged. His stomach churned, throat no longer strained but now burning. 

Something was wrong with him. 

He wanted that nurse’s arm, bloody bandage and all. 

And now this. 

Rumbling came from outside. The elevator. Buck froze. He shouldn't be able to hear that. He shouldn't be hearing every creek, every footstep—

Footsteps. 

Someone walked down the corridor. Steps drew closer. Buck heard it all, the roughness of their shoes, how steady the steps were, with such force and focus. Then they stopped. Right outside his door. 

The person didn't knock. 

Buck crept closer, shifting towards the peephole. 

But the scent hit him first.  

Eddie. 

He could smell him.  

“Buck, I know you’re in there, man.”

He choked on his own breath. Buck lunged across the room. He didn't have enough time to fix this—the pieces scattered on the floor, the blood on his hands and arms, the meat still defrosting on the counter with bite marks in it. Non-human bite marks. 

“You can’t just leave a hospital, there’s forms, y’know, a protocol.” 

Buck fought to keep a whine from escaping his throat. He bit his cheek, wincing. His teeth were still like this. Some post-lightning-coma-modifications. He was freak and he couldn't see Eddie like this. Because he was wrong. The hospital had to have done something to him. Maybe they saw an unconscious patient and did this. They didn't expect him to wake up yet, so it was unfinished and—

“Open the door, Buck.”

His hands flew to his hair and pulled. He tugged at the strands at his shirt collar. Everything was too much. The rattling sound, the keychain, the turning of metal, and... the door unlocked. 

Buck scrambled backwards, putting as much distance between himself and Eddie. 

“You need to get out," Buck warned.

“Not happening.”

A pained whimper left through his gritted teeth.

This wasn't something Eddie signed up for when he promised to have Buck's back. It was a partnership on the field, to have his back on calls, not when Buck was imagining his skin to heal in seconds. 

He was sick. 

“Eddie, please.”

“We can go back to the hospital and—”

“No!” he shouted, it tearing from his chest, rampant and raw. “No, no, I can’t go back there. I can’t leave this apartment. You- you need to leave.” 

“I’m not gonna do that, Buck.”

His face itched, the skin under his eyes stinging. A drumming rhythm pounded through his head, constant and relentless as the silence dragged on. Buck froze, stomach dropping. He knew what it was.

Eddie's pulse. His heartbeat.

His eyes flickered across him, seeking out each different rhythm. Every major artery—his wrist, his neck. So loud. 

“Stay away,” Buck stammered.

He had hurt Eddie before, emotionally, and it broke him. But if he ever hurt him physically? He couldn’t even bear that right now.

“Think of Christopher. Think of him and stay away from me.”

Eddie halted at that. Because it was Chris. Hesitation twitched all over him as his heartbeat raced.

“You’re the reason I still have him.”

Tears pricked in Buck's eyes. It wasn't even true. He lost Chris once, caused some of his nightmares and trauma that a thirteen-year-old shouldn't have. And this… the hallucinations, the thoughts, it would be more burdensome than a relief to be in his life, their life. 

“Buck, alright, you’re clearly overwhelmed, we can get you help.”

He flinched, not even noticing how close Eddie had gotten. Close enough to see more than just those pulses. The tiredness in his face, the exhaustion and worry. 

“No one can help me,” Buck choked out, and fuck, he was crying. “You- you can see that, right?” he grabbed the steak off the counter, erratic, the bite marks. "Look! Tell me this isn't real."

He practically shoved it in Eddie's face, but the other didn't even acknowledge it. Eddie's gaze stayed fixed on Buck. Brown stared straight into blue, unwavering. 

Eddie stepped closer. The movement came to him in stills, all slowed down, and Buck let it happen. Because it was Eddie. With his shoulders all tensed, eyebrows drawn together, and eyes so earnest. Eddie took the steak off him, placing the wrapping away from them both. All steady and open, like he was approaching something feral. An animal. 

“Do you trust me?”

Eddie's heartbeat slowed for a moment, dulling. And Buck just wanted to die. He regretted fighting in that coma, throwing the cabinets against the window to breathe on his own accord. He trusted Eddie more than anything, more than reality. But it hurt. He shouldn't have this, not with these thoughts and urges. 

Buck squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't bear it—Eddie being careful, as if something so minuscule would tick him off. 

A sudden pressure collapsed all around him. Eddie's arms, Eddie was hugging him. Wetness dampened Eddie's shirt as Buck let everything go. Warmth surrounded him, scolding against his arms and back. Striking along his cold body—a heat that had avoided him since he woke up. He sank into Eddie's grip, relishing in the silence. 

He needed this. 

The familiarity of Eddie's touch, how grounding it was. The weight of Eddie's arms around his back, the way his head leaned on Buck's shoulder, chin digging into his collarbone, almost latching onto him. To keep him there. Buck hummed, lodging his face into the crook of Eddie's neck. His nose brushed against Eddie's skin, smooth and radiating warmth. 

Strands of hair brushed against his face, and if he just- if he opened his mouth, he could—

Buck threw himself back. Eyes burning and gums howling. 

“Get away from me,” he begged. “This- something is wrong. I could have brain damage. Comas can cause changes in behaviour and personality.” His breathing became jagged and unstable. “One guy woke up and hit his fucking wife! Snapped at loved ones and became an asshole.”

He choked on his words, but he had to spit them out.

“Maybe, maybe it caused disinhibition, and this is how I'm supposed to be. Always this fucked up and dangerous. Wanting to hurt people. It was always there, Eddie, please.”

Eddie's forehead scrunched up, looking so concerned that it drove Buck insane. That running heartbeat, the pulsing from different places. 

“Buck, it’s only been a day, this is fine, whatever you’re feeling, it’s normal then," Eddie said, sounding so calm, but his heart yelled the opposite. 

“Not when I want to fucking eat people!” He spat, and Eddie's head jerked back. 

The itch flared beneath his eyes. It could only get worse, so Buck didn't stop. He welcomed it—he dug his own grave and fell into it.

“I wanted to attack the nurse because she had blood on her arm. And I freaked. And then- then on the way here, every person that walked past me, I had to stop myself from just…”

Ripping them apart. 

Buck sobbed. 

“Something is wrong with me.”

A short vibration ripped Buck out of his head. It came from Eddie's pocket. Before Eddie could stop him, Buck lunged, snatching the phone out of his hand. He declined the call and fumbled, typing into Eddie's contact list. 

“Buck, what are you doing?”

“Calling Athena.”

“Why?”

“So she can arrest me.”

“For God's sake," Eddie cursed, taking his phone. “Let’s backtrack, why do you think you want to eat people?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I got bored with chicken,” Buck spat. “How should I fucking know? I wake up and all of a sudden, I want to put these in your neck.” He pointed at his mouth.

“Just my neck?”

“Eddie!” 

“I’m just tryin’ to gather all the information here.”

“Great, you’re diagnosing me," Buck muttered, rubbing at his throbbing forehead. “Fine, lay it on me. Ask me what year it is, who the President is, which serial killer inspires me the most—?”

“Is the last one really necessary?”

“Yes when I want to kill people!”

Eddie's hand gripped his shoulder. He grazed over Buck's shoulder blades, fingers digging through his t-shirt. His head tilted to capture Buck's attention. 

Buck knew he could stop this. He could shove Eddie off—this raw force coursed through his body. But he doesn't. It all softened when Eddie's palm rubbed over his nape. 

“You said want,” Eddie repeated, slowly. “Do you want to do what the thoughts are telling you to do?”

“No!” he snapped. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. But it’s there. It’s there, in my head, like- like I can’t help it.”

Eddie nodded. “Then this is treatable. We can manage it.”

“Can I manage my face looking like some freak?”

“Well…” Eddie winced, then shrugged. “People get veneers all the time, we’re in LA.”

Buck groaned, all that loudness roaring back to him. Every squeak in the apartment building deafened him.  

“Why is it different this time?” he asked, panic crawling up inside him. “I’ve gotten hurt before- my leg, they almost amputated it. And- and, I’ve choked on my own blood, been crushed in fires, and I got caught in a fucking tsunami. Why now?”

Eddie shifted, face grimacing. 

“You didn’t just get hurt, Buck.”

“Okay, yeah, a coma is slightly different this time,” Buck said. But then it hit him. “This is Doug’s fault, or- or my parents’, or it’s mine, I was the evil doctor at some point and—”

“Buck, that wasn’t real,” Eddie said, all soft, and Buck hated it.

He usually loved this, the attention, how Eddie’s brown eyes got all steady and firm with such intensity. But he didn’t want to be comforted. He needed to be tied up, chained somewhere in a forest, behind bars, or six-feet-under. 

“I know!” Buck yelled, panting.

“You died this time.”

“I kno—” Buck's throat closed up. “What?” 

And then everything stopped. No more buzzing of the light above him, the rattling laundry machines in the communal basement ceased. 

Eddie sighed heavily. “For three minutes and seventeen seconds. I felt your heart stop.”

Thumping returned to his ears. Eddie's heartbeat—almost mocking him, the uneven rhythm that kept jumping, no longer steady. 

“So I don’t care whatever issues you’re having right now, all I care about is that you’re alive and not hanging like that,” Eddie continued, voice rising. 

Buck swallowed down a whine, shaking his head. Because no, no, he couldn't have died. He knew he was dying, Bobby told him so in the coma, but if he died then…

His eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m still dead.”

“Buck, what?”

He gestured wildly, fists clenched. “I have to be dead. I’m- I’m in transition. I’m hungry, I can feel fucking everything, this is some purgatory I’m stuck in until it catches up to me." His fists clenched. "I’m hallucinating, I have to be.”

“Look, this isn’t normal. Did Reddit tell you they woke up from a coma with sharp teeth and those thoughts?” Eddie asked.

“Well, no, but this one guy said aliens—”

“Buck,” Eddie cut in loudly. “This is more than just a coma.” 

He faltered. This was Eddie, the guy who was adamant in believing the explained, that bad luck and curses didn't exist. And yet, here Buck stood, who apparently died and came back to life wanting to eat people. 

Buck's eyebrows pinched together. He glanced down at his skin, all healed—remembering how sensitive it was on the journey over, when the sun had just started to rise. He couldn't explain the teeth, how sharp they'd suddenly become. Then his eyes in the mirror… black, veins pulsing where they shouldn't be. And his weird reaction to blood, with the bandage and steaks. It all came building to one single thought. 

“I’m a fucking vampire.”

Eddie choked on his own spit. 

“Okay, that wasn’t what I meant—”

“You said it earlier. I died," Buck let out a shocked laugh, full of disbelief. 

"I was more going down the allergy route, because this could be a rash, like some severe reaction—"

"I'm a vampire, I have to be." 

One thought bounced to another, like static dislodging in his brain. Buck moved as if he were struck by lightning again, erratic with phantom pain of the initial shock. 

"They’ll fire me, Bobby- would Bobby stake me?” Buck asked, tugging at his hair. “He’s Catholic, right? He believes in this demon shit. He’d set a priest on me or- or strangle me with that rosary he has!” 

"My family's Catholic too," Eddie said, voice tinged with exasperation. 

“But you almost got divorced, so I don’t think you’ll be the first to try to exorcise me. Bobby, Abuela and Pepa take the top three spots for that. Athena is a close contender, though.” Buck then gasped, horrified, “Your grandmother is going to hate me…”

“Why is your priority what my Abeula is going to think of you?”

“I don’t know!” Buck staggered on his feet, chest constricting. “I’m going to hell, aren’t I? Oh my God, wait- can I even say that anymore—”

“Calm down, you’re not going to hell.” Eddie tried to reassure him, but it came out as a wince. Buck froze, fixating on the stuttering pattern of his heartbeat. 

“What was that?” Buck's eyes narrowed. Eddie's heart continued to stammer, jumping at intervals. “You just, you lied, you think I’m going to hell.”

Eddie threw his hands into the air. “What am I supposed say when you’ve got those veins under your eyes? That, yeah, you’ll fit into heaven nicely?”

Buck buried his face into his hoodie. 

“Everyone is going to hate me, this is so bad. I’ll need to live underground or something, all isolated like those dystopia movies Chim keeps making me watch," he rambled, breath hitching.

He hated how his mind kept flickering—switching between Eddie's heartbeat and the pulse from his neck. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Eddie said.

“Fine? Fine?” he scoffed. “What is fine about body modification and cannibalism?” 

“Because I’m gonna help you.”

A tense silence settled between them. Buck studied Eddie, taking in how earnest he looked, his calm tone. Those could be faked, masked or acted out. But underneath it all, Eddie didn't smell afraid. 

“How?” 

“First, we make sure the police aren’t about to ram down your door.”

Yeah, fuck, he forgot about that. Buck groaned aloud. He was technically a missing person right now. Maybe that should stay that way—he could disappear into another state, or another country. Romania would be nice this time of the year, and he can catch up with his best friend Count fucking Dracula. 

“Now, will you sit down?” Eddie gestured to the dining table.

He sat on the stool opposite Eddie. His knee bounced against the stool leg. This felt like some intervention—which, in a way, it kinda was. An intervention on how to convince your friend that you are not insane and undead. It wasn't working, clearly.

“Okay, what if we pretend I have amnesia?” Buck suggested, picking at the dried blood in his fingernails. “It could explain my sudden… departure. I wake up in an unfamiliar place and freak out. Memory is weird, so I can remember places, like my loft.”

“Then why am I here?” Eddie asked as he placed wet tissue paper in Buck's hands. He huffed and cleaned his skin.

“C’mon, Eddie, I’d never forget you,” he said. “You show up like a knight in shining armour."

Eddie pointedly looked down at his current sleepwear.

“And because I remember you, I imprint on you like a little duckling and don’t feel comfortable leaving this apartment, or you, or even meeting anyone else yet.”

“Maybe you’re on the right track about brain damage,” Eddie said, and Buck gaped at him. “No, I mean, what if we call this an episode?”

“An episode?” 

“Well, I’d personally count you wanting to eat people as a jail sentencing, so is it okay to stick with this being a ‘mental breakdown’?”

Buck sighed, “Fine, let’s stick with that.”

"Good."

Eddie got up from the dining table, and Buck felt the immediate urge to follow him. This wasn't really out of the ordinary, but this time was different. It was more of a pull. Maybe he was on the right track about this imprinting thing.

Shortly, Eddie returned with a medicine bottle in his hands. 

He dropped them in Buck's palm.

"Swallow," he ordered, and Buck's face reddened. "They're antihistamines. I'm not totally convinced this isn't an allergic reaction."

"Yeah, because allergies are known to give people fangs."

Eddie shoved the bottle of water into Buck's hands and didn't stop staring until Buck took the tablets.

"Now, amnesia boy—"

"Don't call me that—"

"—let's text your sister."

Buck bit at his inner cheek on instinct before wincing. He kept forgetting about his teeth. He put Eddie's password into the phone and hovered over Maddie's contact. 

hey, this is Buck

Maddie's name flashed across the screen, ringing. Fuck, he hated being a double-texter sometimes. Buck chucked the phone at Eddie, who tossed it right back.

“This is your phone," Buck argued, pushing it towards him. 

“Your sister.”

The phone continued to ring, and Buck huffed. He declined the call and continued texting. 

i'm fine, i promise. just freaked out and forgot where i was, Eddie checked me over.

at the loft, you can come over later, need to rest for a bit x

"That doesn't look like taking a phone call," Eddie said, and Buck glared at him. 

"I can't speak to her right now," he admitted softly. "She's probably mad and upset, like borderline crying, and if I hear her crying, I'll cry too and... can vampires even cry?"

Eddie cut him off. "You're not a confirmed vampire."

"So unconfirmed vampires exist?"

"Don't even go there," Eddie said. 

Frustration rumbled inside of him.  

"Look, sorry, okay, but I'm just..." Buck trailed off, hopeless. 

He wasn't even sure how to put it into words. It was as if every emotion he'd felt had been thrown into a blender and spat out back at him. Not ingested, but instead sticking to his skin, seeping in slowly, clinging. 

“You’re fine with me right now.”

Buck stayed silent. 

Eddie frowned, forehead creasing. “Right?”

He hesitated before shaking his head weakly. “I almost bit you when you hugged me earlier.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Buck looked away. He braced himself—expecting Eddie to freak, for this all to bubble over. For Eddie to suddenly remember his Catholic roots and grab holy water or whatever to exorcise Buck right there and then. Maybe punch him a bit first, call him a monster, defective, to make him stay away from Chris and—

Eddie burst out laughing. 

Buck blinked owlishly. Laughter. Eddie doubled, still laughing. Okay, this could be an unwanted reaction of his discomfort and disgust—

“Sorry, man, sorry, the way you worded that was fucking weird,” Eddie said, starting to laugh again. 

“This is serious!” Buck squawked out. “I wanted to eat you! Like, teeth in skin, excessive biting at every single pulse point, draining you dry so nothing would be wasted."

“Alright, cool it, Hannibal."

His teeth ground together in frustration, fangs digging into his lip. His eyes flared—they were probably black again, but he didn't care anymore. 

He breathed heavily and stared at Eddie.

“I wanted to hurt you,” he admitted, voice pained. 

Eddie shrugged. “Those thoughts are still human. I’ve had the same when you’ve annoyed me before.” 

“Punching me is not the same as what I wanted to do.”

Eddie's amused smirk faded and pressed into a thin line.

“But you didn’t.” Eddie stepped forward, towards him rather than miles away. He didn't run out the door, he stayed. “And you won’t.” 

“You can’t know that, Eddie.”

“I said I’d help you," he said. "Frank went through all the possible treatments I could specialise in when I first saw him. He mentioned exposure therapy, and we immediately crossed it out. But it might help you."

Buck scoffed. “What, to take me to a steakhouse or something?”

“By trusting me that seeing everyone who cares about you won’t end in a bloodbath," Eddie said, so sure and certain that Buck almost believed him without a second thought. 

He gritted his teeth, meeting Eddie's unwavering gaze. "Fine," he agreed. "But first, we need real answers."

"Who would be an expert on this?" Eddie asked, frowning.

Buck hummed to himself in thought. 

Something nagged at him all week, even before the lightning. This taunting feeling that bled into his coma through his subconscious. His parents loved him there—even though that wasn't him. He wasn't a firefighter, but a teacher. And his big brother was alive, not forever stuck at seven. He could still feel Daniel's presence next to him on the couch, the cold realisation of how many sports games they could've watched together if it all had gone right. 

It all stemmed back to refusing to question everything, to avoid opening the box. But now that box had been pried open and began to spill. All about his negative energy, how he needed to be cleansed and purified. 

"The witch shop," Buck gasped. "The healer will know."

In a daze, he ran up the loft stairs. The world around him seemed to freeze, like time had become stationary, as he grabbed clothes from his drawers for Eddie to change into. He rushed back down, throwing them at an unsuspecting Eddie, who blinked at him in confusion. Eddie rubbed at his eyes and sighed, like the exhaustion of this entire situation had caught up to him. 

"You know what? Fuck it," Eddie said, giving up with his reluctance. He unfolded the clothes Buck chucked at him. "You gonna leave or turn around at least?"

Buck's face flushed. "Oh, yeah, right, sorry."

He twisted around and could hear it in perfect detail. In too much detail, really. The brushing of clothes against Eddie's skin, Eddie tugging his shirt off, the fabric catching on his shoulders. Buck's shirt went smoother—the grunt Eddie made as he slid it on. Then the sound of clothes dropping on the floor. Buck's knees buckled. His jaw clenched as he kept his eyes forward. He tried to focus on anything other than Eddie putting on sweatpants, which were probably his own. 

Like the humming of electricity, the footsteps of the people who lived below him, fucking anything but the sound of Eddie jumping to put his sweatpants on. 

"I'm done now," Eddie announced, and Buck jumped, his ears twitching. 

He turned back to see Eddie in his clothes, Eddie wearing his t-shirt. How loose it was around his shoulders. It filled him, but was a bit short due to their difference in torso length. 

If it were just a bit shorter, it would be cropped, and he could see the hair on—

"Let's go then." Eddie grabbed his car keys.

Buck swallowed hard. These thoughts were louder than they usually were. More insistent with the dying desire to be heard. Circling his head in a faster motion.

It was also oddly comforting though, that despite everything—the lightning and coma, blackened eyes and sharp teeth—Buck's mind still lingered on Eddie. 

At least that part of him remained unchanged. 

"Wait, what if I burst into flames in the sun?"

"There's sunscreen in the car."

Chapter Text

See, Eddie knew this was wrong. But he also hadn’t slept for the past three days, so his morality wavered a bit. If Buck decided he was a vampire, then yeah, sure, Eddie would indulge him. Whether it be a mental breakdown or delusion of grandeur. 

He was certain Buck’s naproxen allergy had something to do with it. The veins under his eyes could've been a side effect—some kind of rash. 

He couldn’t explain the eyes, though. Or the teeth. 

Excessive tooth growth existed. But Buck’s teeth kept retracting. And his eyes—kidney failure could make the sclera blacken. Yet, his eyes switched. Turned off and on from that familiar shade of blue to a reddish black. Almost like both his eyes and teeth were triggered by something. 

Eddie sighed as he drove. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at Buck. The man had bundled himself in his hoodie, with sunscreen smeared all over his face. He wore Eddie’s sunglasses, now that the sun had risen. It wasn’t as bright as it would be at midday, but it was there.  

“Stop looking at me.”

He jumped in his seat, eyes back on the road. “I’m not.”

“I can literally sense you,” Buck snapped. “Are you checking if I’m gonna burst into flames?”

Eddie made a protesting sound. “You put the idea in my head!”

“Oh my God,” Buck groaned and grabbed the sunscreen again. 

The car sat at a red light, and Eddie glanced over. Streaks of unblended sunscreen covered Buck’s cheeks. It would’ve been funny—he kidded himself, it was funny—but there was still that underlying worry. Because this was insane. 

Eddie had dabbled with insanity before. Every major decision of his life was made on a whim. But this? Driving to a witch shop to get answers about negative energy and cannibalistic thoughts with a guy who escaped from the hospital after waking up from a coma? Eddie should be the next one admitted to a hospital.

He knew Buck kept up on trends about diets and food habits. Yet he didn’t think Buck would resort to those caveman diets Chimney sent him on Instagram reels—with the whole raw meat fiasco and bite marks in the loft. 

Like, this could be a brain bleed, causing hallucinations or hysteria. Perhaps even mass hysteria given how Eddie saw retractable teeth. 

Buck put down the sunscreen and turned sideways. “Am I glittery?” Eddie stared blankly at him. “Like, the sun is on me, am I sparkling?”

“No, that’s just sweat,” he said and rolled his eyes when he realised what Buck was referencing. Adriana had a ‘Twilight’ phase, he couldn’t escape it. “Why are you asking me, anyway? Just flip the mirror down.” 

The car went silent, and Eddie spared a look across. Buck’s face was all twisted up, eyebrows scrunched as he gnawed on his cheek. 

Buck mumbled something under his breath. 

“What?” Eddie asked, selecting first gear as the green light appeared in front of him. 

“I said I’m scared!”

Eddie frowned. “If you’re glittery?”

“No, you idiot, what if I don’t have a reflection?” Buck asked, breath hitching. “Like, I had one in the hospital, but that was before I realised I was a vampire, so what if it’s changed?”

Eddie almost forgot to press his foot down on the accelerator. He buffered—froze, even. Because what the fuck? One hand ripped off the wheel to cover his mouth, but that didn’t help at all. He choked on his own laughter. 

Buck hit his shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just…” Eddie laughed again, not even trying to hide it now. 

“Fuck you,” Buck grumbled. He brought the mirror down, bracing himself. Eddie twitched in Buck’s sudden silence, keeping his eyes on the road, before Buck let out a quiet, “Oh.”

“Is that a good ‘oh’, like you realise this is all bullshit? Or a bad ‘oh’, and we can never take Chris to a funfair in case he wants to go into the mirror maze?”

“We can take him to a mirror maze,” Buck settled on after a long pause. 

Eddie put his hand back on the wheel, grinning. So Buck was a vampire who supposedly didn’t burn in the daylight—or suddenly sparkle—and had mirror reflections. Adriana would be so upset. 

“Good. We’ll figure out going there when you don’t feel like eating the clowns.”

“Stop saying it so casually!” Buck exclaimed, and Eddie's grin widened.

Buck’s constant reapplication of sunscreen lasted until Eddie pulled up in front of the witch shop. He grimaced in his seat. He didn’t like this shop—it was different to the other ones they’d been called to. This one had more focus on the occult with less jewellery and candles. But there was still the marketing, that calculated manipulation of those vulnerable or grieving, whether it be for people or answers. And now Buck filled the criteria of a perfect customer. 

They both got out of the car, with Buck refusing to take his hood down despite being in direct sunlight and completely fine. The shop had a closed sign on the front door and would open in half an hour. 

Buck glared at the sign and rubbed his elbow. Eddie squinted at him, then grabbed his arm when he realised what Buck was about to do. He could let Buck get away with running away from a hospital, but breaking a shop window was too far. Athena would literally kill him. He twisted the door handle open.

“Oh,” Buck exhaled, embarrassed. 

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie scoffed and walked inside. 

He just needed this to be over. The shop looked the same as before—bookcases, burners, beads and other symbols Eddie did not fancy understanding at such early morning hours. They made their way to the back room. Eddie stopped at the doorway, almost tempted to leave with what he saw. The shop owner sat cross-legged on a yoga mat, eyes closed. Her name was on the door, Sabine. Smoke filled the room, like she was trying to hot box with sage. 

“That has to be a fire hazard,” Buck commented, pointing at all the lit candles. 

Eddie raised his hand to knock on the doorframe, but Buck yanked his hand down. 

“Stop, don’t disturb her,” Buck hissed, irritating Eddie, since this was all Buck’s idea to come here for answers. “What if it’s like sleepwalking? You’re not supposed to—”

He slammed his fist on the wood next to the beaded curtain. Sabine gasped, and all the candles flickered out. Instead of screaming, she grabbed a knife.

Eddie halted, ready to either disarm her or talk Sabine out of stabbing either of them. But the air shifted around him. In a single blink, Buck was in front of him—between himself and the shop owner. 

“Whoa, whoa, no need for weapons!” Eddie declared, trying to shove Buck behind him. Yet, Buck didn’t move an inch. He didn’t blink or breathe. His entire presence focused on the shop owner. 

“You’re trespassing!” Sabine yelled. 

“Yeah, okay, technically, but—”

She threw a candle at them. 

Eddie ducked. But it didn’t even come close to him. Buck swiped it out of the way. And now there was a hole in the wall, fucking great. 

“It’s us! The firemen from two weeks ago. Remember him? Bad energy guy?” Eddie said.

“It can’t be him.” Sabine lowered her knife slightly. 

“Why?”

“Because there’s nothing there,” she stammered.

Eddie clasped his hand over Buck’s shoulder before he decided to convince himself that his ‘vampire’ powers now included invisibility. 

“What do you mean? He’s right there.”

“No, no.” Sabine pointed her knife at Buck. “His energy is gone.”

Eddie frowned. He wasn’t one to believe any of this—he wasn’t exactly the demographic, his Abuela definitely was, not him. But the fear in Sabine’s voice, how her arm trembled… something was wrong. 

Buck shuffled closer to Eddie, close enough that his back practically rested into Eddie’s chest. 

“Can’t we do that water-salt thing? To purify me?” Buck asked, his back solid against Eddie.  

“It would be useless,” Sabine said, distressed. “There’s nothing there to balance. You need to leave- don’t come closer, this is wrong.”

Eddie gripped Buck’s torso, keeping him still. He wasn’t about to leave, not when her panic could mean something. 

“But I’m here,” Buck said, voice cracking. 

“I can’t sense you.” Sabine’s knife became limp in her hand. She retreated backwards, shaking. “I’ve only felt this once.”

“When?” Buck demanded. Eddie gripped him tighter, but Buck continued to push. "Tell us when."

Sabine winced and looked away. 

“Only with the dead.”

Eddie gritted his teeth.

For fuck’s sake, out of all the things she could have said, it was that she decided on. Something that would only encourage Buck further, to make him believe this was all wrong when really, they should be celebrating. Because his best friend was alive, not dead. He wasn’t in a hospital bed, dependent on machines and medicine to breathe. Buck was alive and standing—flaws and all, Eddie would take him. He would keep him in any form as long as he was here. 

“This is useless,” Eddie muttered, scowling at Sabine. 

“No, no, I—” she cut herself off. “I physically cannot feel him. He’s more than drained. There is no life force at all. Nothing to re-centre. It’s disturbed, unrested.” 

Buck trembled under Eddie’s hold. He almost mistook it for fear. But as he tightened his grip, one hand on Buck’s torso and another on his waist, Eddie side-stepped to see his face. It wasn’t the Buck he knew. This wasn’t fear. This was anger. 

Eddie wasn’t superstitious. He could shrug things off easily—whether it be a shadow in a corridor, a creaking sound at night. But this was right in front of him. It wasn’t those videos that were probably AI or scripted. He could reach forward and touch Buck’s teeth, trace his fangs, maybe even cut himself on them. With a single touch, he would know if those veins forming under Buck’s eyes were smooth or rough. This was real and dangerous. 

“We’re done here,” Eddie snapped. “Let’s go.”

He grabbed Buck by his waist and faltered. It was like Buck was stuck to the floor, feet in cement. Eddie tried to push and shove against him, all to no avail. Buck didn’t want to move. He was there, staring down Sabine. 

“Buck,” Eddie started, frowning.

His jaw clenched as those veins started to darken underneath Buck’s eyes, the blue beginning to lose battle to the black. 

“That’s enough of that,” he grunted, placing both hands on Buck’s shoulders. 

He stepped in front of Sabine, blocking Buck's view of her—it was only Eddie in his direct line of sight. 

“Focus on me,” he whispered, low and commanding. He angled his head, catching Buck’s attention. “Only me.”

Buck blinked, the blue returning to his eyes. Eddie shoved him away and practically dragged him out of the shop. His hands pressed roughly on the back of Buck’s neck, cradling his nape downwards so no one on the street would see Buck’s face. He didn’t want the government to knock on their door. 

On the walk over to the car, Buck kept whimpering with each step. He flinched inward because Buck was in pain. Something he didn’t understand. Eddie guided him into the car and returned to the driver’s side. As the door slammed shut, he exhaled sharply. Buck kept rubbing at his face. He rocked himself as he breathed heavily—like he was on the breach of a panic attack. 

“You didn’t do anything to her,” Eddie said, breaking the silence. 

“But I thought about it,” Buck hissed out, facing him. His fangs overlapped his bottom lip. Eddie’s fingers twitched. “And this feeling came over me, like I couldn’t ignore it, I needed to do what I was thinking, and I almost did.”

“But you didn’t,” Eddie remarked. “That’s all she knows, what the world knows, that you did nothing.”

“But I know.”

“What about me? I know you wouldn’t, not without reason,” Eddie admitted, breath hitching slightly. “Trust that.”

“And if you weren’t there?” Buck asked, throat strained. “What about then?”

Eddie twisted in the silence before he went with what he knew was true. 

“Then I won’t leave until we figure this out.”

Buck’s jaw clenched, but he remained quiet. He huffed and peered outside the window, the bottom half of his face no longer full of veins.

Eddie took this as a success and drove them back to the loft. Though it seemed the universe had other news, seeing as they hit every red traffic light ever. 

"Does this mean I’m soulless?” Buck asked, after a long silence.

“We can’t base this all on pseudoscience,” Eddie said. Despite his annoyance, he did listen to Buck’s research about energy healing. 

“Well, let’s base it on the fact that my eyes go black! And my teeth are pointy!” 

Eddie glanced over and stared at Buck's mouth. Something deep hit inside his chest as he saw how sharp Buck's teeth were. 

The car behind them honked, the red light turning green, and Eddie stepped on the pedal. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Eddie repeated as as he cleared his throat. 

Buck settled in the newfound silence, but not as still as Eddie expected. Buck kept bouncing his knee, touching his chin and arms. Eddie grimaced, vividly remembering the blood on Buck's arms earlier. A wet tissue hadn't cleaned it all. It was at this point that Eddie faltered between being Buck's best friend and medical proxy. He was determined not to break Buck's trust, but this was harmful. Yet, as long as he was here, under Buck's care and surveillance, it would be fine. For now. 

He couldn't be sure of himself anyway. Because who would tell him the resolution to this? The hospital would probably do tests which come back inconclusive. Some diagnosis of a mystery disease so rare it doesn't even exist in the States.

Eddie sighed at the traffic. He shifted the gear into neutral and brushed his hand along Buck's leg. He patted him, maintaining a steady hold. It made Buck relax, at ease for the first time in hours. Eddie didn't know what else to do—he always resorted to touching Buck, reassuring him of something, and he wouldn't stop now. Not because of some mental breakdown or a belief of being a vampire.

Even in quarantine, they were all over each other, sleeping in the same bed. 

This wouldn’t stop that. 

Buck was used to feeling a lot. It was a burdensome presence he had grown used to in his childhood. But it never hurt this much. 

He curled up on the armchair, not caring about how his clothes creased in the process. There was a wet flannel draped over his forehead and a blanket wrapped around his entire body—he couldn’t remember if that was Eddie’s doing or not. But it probably was. 

Under the covers, he tried to stifle his anger. But he couldn't. Everything was heightened, put on some scale that instantly tipped for no reason. Buck needed someone to blame, but his mind kept circling back to that shop owner, to Sabine, and the anger returned. The scale sank to the other side.

He couldn't punish himself like he did when he was younger. Before, he could break bones in practised places. Now, his body refused to bruise. Nothing remained but healed messes. 

No coping method, nothing. There was no threat when he acted expendable because he was practically dead already. Buck didn't know what to research—like, would there be a page on vampire breathing exercises? What the best stress reliever was? It would probably be to murder someone, and that wasn't exactly something Buck wanted. 

Especially when Maddie was due to come over later. Maybe with other people. He understood why. If any of the 118 had woken up from a coma, he'd be the first rushing there, wanted or not, to check they were okay. But instead, Buck had decided to run away from the hospital, destroy his own phone and give limited replies on Eddie's. 

Everything hurt. The lining of his stomach clenched, like the walls were tightening. Buck had felt hunger before—on some shifts that ran over or on the road where money got tight. Even in situations where he found himself inside his head and just forgot to eat, it had never felt like this. This was different. 

It was a spiking pain, as if he could die at any moment. A stabbing motion against every muscle in his body. Buck didn't know what he craved to make it go away—he had an idea, but it was insane. Something that resided like the steaks still in his fridge, leaving him feeling cheap and disgusted. 

He couldn't help but make the noises. The winces and grimaces that kept escaping through his lips. He couldn't swallow them down, not when his throat strained—always scratchy and dry. 

Any second now, Maddie could knock on his door. He stopped himself from scratching at his skin. He was fine right now with Eddie, but Eddie wasn't exactly a stable controlling variable. 

He loved these people. Buck finally had a place in the world. A stable job and purpose, good relationships, and things to do weekly to keep his mind occupied. He shared a Google Calendar with Eddie, had weekly breakfasts with Maddie when their shifts aligned, a niece, dinners with Bobby and Athena, inside jokes with Chimney and kidsitting schedules with Hen. He even picked May up from her friend's house once when she was drunk, and he promised not to tell Athena (which was broken three hours later out of pure fear). 

Regardless, Buck was happy. Safe. 

But now he didn’t know himself or what he was capable of. 

Eddie sat at the dining table in his loft. He had a notebook which he had been scribbling in. Buck heard the pen scraping against the paper. He wondered if he focused hard enough, if he could recognise the outlines of letters, to figure out the words Eddie wrote out. But this constant pain in his head and body distracted him. 

Maybe Eddie was writing an SOS note—Buck wouldn't blame him. Something Eddie would later stuff under the door into the hallway, so one of his neighbours would find it and call the police or the government. All to get rid of Buck for being such a freak. Someone soulless and wrong. Restless. 

Eddie let out a sigh and put down his pen. Buck heard his footsteps across the room. His eyes clamped shut under the covers, embracing the warmth and closure. He wrapped it tighter around himself. The footsteps stopped right in front of him. Just as Buck went to peek his head out, Eddie snatched the blankets off him. 

“What the fuck?” he groaned as the cold hit him. He liked the blankets and isolation. Maybe he should invest in getting a coffin—lean into the undead stereotype. 

“Let’s go with the vampire theory then.”

Buck sat up straight. His head spun. He must be in a coma again because in what reality was Eddie Diaz admitting to the supernatural? Someone so cemented in realism, certain in the need for proof and physical evidence. And now Eddie suddenly believed in something otherworldly. 

Eddie didn't even believe in common jinxes—like breaking a mirror, propelling umbrellas inside and walking under signpost legs. 

He pinched himself, and Eddie knocked his hand away. 

“First you take my blanket, and now you’re hitting me,” Buck complained. “You said this could be an allergic reaction.”

“Your teeth literally retract.”

“Maybe it’s gum trauma.”

“I thought you were the one convinced you’re a vampire."

“I was before!" Buck shouted. "Now that you believe me, it means I’ve actually gone insane, because why do you believe this? I still have to be in a coma, this isn’t real.”

Eddie sighed and shuffled onto his knees. His eyes lay even with Buck's. “This is real. You woke up, remember? Everyone was there, Chris was there, and it was good.”

He shook his head. "And now it’s fucked. I woke up again like this. With everything being so overwhelming, like the sun, the sounds, everything is so loud."

He heard the constant buzzing of the electricity threading through the entire apartment building. Every step someone beneath or above him took, the closing and opening of doors. Everything. 

“Maybe you need something to make it all quiet.”

Buck stilled. 

"What?"

Eddie got up from the floor. 

“Do I have to spell it out to you?”

He scoffed at the vagueness. “I think actually saying it aloud will help.”

“Fine. B-L-O—”

“Blow?” Buck interrupted with a faux grin. “Now, Eddie, that’s a little unethical. I just woke up from the coma, and I’m technically patient zero—”

Eddie's face flushed red. "No, you idiot. I mean blood." 

Everything froze. No more electricity or footsteps. 

His teeth ached, fangs extending at the mere thought of it. He hated this—he should feel sick, hysterical at the mention of blood. It was against what he knew and stood for as a firefighter. Blood was supposed to be in the body. He donated his own and fought every shift to keep the patients' blood inside them, all safe and healthy. So, for himself to be excited at this? It went against everything. 

“I am not going to jail for stealing blood bags,” Buck said, and Eddie frowned at him. “What? May made me watch ‘The Vampire Diaries’ with her.”

“Why are they journaling?”

“Well, the title is a reference to—”

“Buck,” Eddie cut him off. “We don’t need to steal anything.”

His jaw tinged in frustration. “Well, Eddie, how else do you propose I’m going to get blood?”

“You’ve got a willing blood bag right in front of you.”

It flipped. It wasn't like before, where everything was null. This time, everything grew louder. At Eddie's own request. The pull of the electricity, the awareness of every single citizen in the building, how many laundry machines ran, the open windows in apartment thirteen, the whistling wind, the attraction. It all became void in the presence of Eddie and his words.

Buck's mouth watered. He gulped, but his throat constricted. It wasn't the right liquid—it wasn't red, it wasn't Eddie. 

His stomach dropped. Churned between hunger and emptiness. He could only be ashamed at the excitement and arousal kicking inside of him. 

He clamped his mouth shut, teeth cutting into his lower lip.

“No, no, fuck no, Eddie, I can’t,” Buck protested. He tumbled off the armchair, getting as far away from Eddie as he could. But Eddie kept stepping closer, undeterred. 

Eddie tilted his head, seeming more offended than disgusted.

“Am I that repulsive? You just said you wanted to bite me earlier.”

Buck swallowed, saliva pooling in his mouth. 

“Did you miss the bit where I went on about fantasising about draining your blood?” he hissed. Every bit of him vibrated—out of fear, shame, and that never-ending excitement. 

Eddie shrugged. “Statistically, that would take a while. Like at least a couple of minutes. I’d just push you off.”

“Oh, really?”

Something switched inside him. His eyes narrowed, pain breaching across them, before settling on Eddie. Heat prickled at his cheeks. It crawled up and down his face, restless under his eyes. Thunder rattled in his ears. A thumping sound, beating an insistent rhythm. He could hear his own body. He had never felt this alive. Like if he blinked once, he could decimate everything in front of him, Eddie included. 

But he didn't blink. He didn't move. Buck only stared.

Despite his staring, Eddie didn't react. He didn't brace himself or even try to retaliate, whether it be physical or verbal. He stood locked in place, matching Buck's gaze. No flinching at the black eyes that stood in front of him. Buck knew they were black—he could feel the veins, the temptation. But Eddie's made no move to run. 

This wasn't acceptance, though. This was a challenge.  

Eddie crossed his arms and only said, “You’re ticklish, Buck."

His fangs pressed deep into his bottom lip.  

“And you’re not taking this seriously.”

“If I took this seriously, I’d join you on the mental breakdown," Eddie said. He huffed and rolled up his sleeves, then pulled at his shirt collar. Buck tracked every single movement. “So, go at ‘em.”

The room started to tilt. Eddie's voice merged with the walls, fading in the background. It was easy, that easy. Eddie offered himself up, just like that. All served up on a silver platter. 

Buck shook his head violently. “It’s gonna hurt.”

“I’ve been shot. Multiple times, actually."

“I know,” he spat out. “I’ve tasted your blood before.”

Confusion settled on Eddie's face before a cold realisation. 

He could never forget how Eddie's blood felt on his skin. How it dried, caked on his hands and arms. It had splattered all over him. Dripping and sinking into his shirt as Eddie fell. Limp on the floor, face blank, and arms reaching over. 

“That was under different circumstances," Eddie said lowly, staring straight into Buck's black eyes. 

He breathed heavily, throat raw and screaming for a relief that water could never give. He couldn't stop watching Eddie—following everything. How his chest rose with each breath, the subtle chewing of his lip, every time he blinked. 

Eddie moved again. His hand reached into his pocket. He pulled out a switchblade. Buck squinted at the metal. Why had he had two people pull knives on him today? 

"Okay, okay, fine," Buck stuttered out, backing away. "I'll bite you, Jesus Christ, just put the knife away.”

He expected Eddie to point the switchblade at him. But instead, Eddie aimed it at his own arm. Without hesitation, Eddie cut into his forearm, making a small incision.

Everything around him faded. It was just him and droplets of blood pricking out of Eddie's broken skin. It was just so red. And then smell. Buck licked his lips. He could taste it in the air. 

“The median cubital vein,” Eddie whispered with a ragged breath. He trembled, but not with fear. But with anticipation—Eddie was waiting and ready. 

A whine escaped his lips, and he sprang forward. He grasped at Eddie's arm. Every bit of him shivered. He glanced up, forcing himself to wait. Buck needed permission.

Eddie nodded, pupils dilated. And that was all it took.

Buck brought Eddie’s arm to his mouth and latched onto the skin. And fuck. He sucked at it and didn't stop. It was everything, like he had been starving for years in every climate, both cold and overheated. And one single taste erased it all—brought a chill to his head, warmth to his frozen core. It was so wet. Seeping out of a small cut.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. His head buzzed, detached from his own body. All he felt was his fangs nosing into Eddie's arm hair. Never biting—just pressing down. Sucking. 

His bruising grip on Eddie kept him perfectly still in place, compliant. 

A pressure pushed against Buck's head. Under all that floating, he realised what it was. A hand dug into Buck's hair. Eddie's hand. He tugged at a patch of Buck's curls, holding him down steady. 

Buck didn't need to let go to breathe. This was better than breathing.

No part of him thought of the gunshot. Nothing of Eddie’s body lifeless in a growing pool of his own blood. His body relaxed. He wasn't tense or hurling Eddie’s body over his shoulder, dragging him across the road, leaving red streaks behind.

This wasn’t painful. It was freeing. 

Buck flinched. Something poked him in his right eye. “Ow.”

He staggered back, mouth no longer on Eddie’s arm. But there was still that hand in his hair, keeping him there.

Blood smeared across the corners of his mouth, and Buck licked his lips. He had to get every last bit. He needed to go back to the source. This was just a small cut, but if he bit into him, made it more than a graze and took more—

Another poke to his eye.

“Ow! What the hell?”

Eddie smirked at him. 

“I made you stop, didn’t I?” he said with a glint of excitement in his face. Like he was enjoying this. “You didn’t even bite me. Just sucked a little. And I’m not sure which is weirder.”

Buck buffered, only hearing Eddie in fragments. His head reeled from the taste residing in his mouth.

He thought it would disgust him, trap him with that sound of Eddie’s clothes scraping against the ground and his limp body. But it didn't. It consumed him whole. Now, Eddie was inside him, and he wanted more. No fear, no disgust. Just fulfilment. 

“So, how was I?"

Insatiable. Some type of drug. More than the weak strains of weed Buck experimented with in college, occasional pills in clubs in South America. It was more than dangerous or toxic.

“We’re gonna have to start stealing from hospitals,” Buck sighed, the adrenaline not leaving his body. 

“What- why? You look fine now. Not as, y’know, jittery and in pain.”

Buck whimpered, helpless. It took everything he had to back away from Eddie, to tear his eyes from his arm. Eddie covered it with his hand. 

“I can’t get used to that.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Buck,” Eddie said, stepping closer. His hand lifted from the cut, which had stopped bleeding. The metallic taste remained in the air. "You can take this from me.”

He said it so easily. Like Buck hadn’t just woken up from a coma, found out he had fucking sharp teeth or a sick want to drain people dry. Sudden sensitivity to everything existing. He still looked at Buck the same—like when Buck slept over, and Eddie trundled into the kitchen, shirt creased with only one sock on, wincing with each step on the cold tiles. That look he would make when he'd notice Buck ready with two cups of coffee on the counter. 

With fondness, normality. Like he trusted him. Which he shouldn’t.

“What if I take too much?” Buck murmured.

He hated himself for even considering it, but he needed Eddie to understand. He wasn’t Buck anymore. 

Eddie shrugged. "It's a good thing that blood regeneration exists.”

Buck groaned, throat rumbling close to a growl. Eddie kept doing this, deflecting with annoying comments, responding with common sense, but nothing was common about this. 

Eddie stepped forward once more, gentler. As if he'd noticed Buck’s lingering irritation.

“We’ll get you multiple sources somehow, okay?” Eddie assured. “We just need to get you exposed to blood so you can get back into the field without your veins-thing showing up.”

We.

He kept saying 'we'. Like they were a team. Having each other’s back. When Eddie made that promise all those years ago, he probably didn’t envision having to do exposure therapy for some supernatural cannibalism, but here they were. 

Eddie believed him and still wanted him in his life, unconditionally. Vampire or not. But Buck couldn't shake his sinking doubt that when reality hit, everyone would leave, Eddie running first.

“Can I hug you, or are you gonna bite me?” Eddie asked, breaking Buck's thoughts. 

His skin prickled again, but not from blood. He had woken up from a coma today. Buck just wanted to be held. 

“Maybe a little nibble.”

Eddie laughed, carefree, like there wasn’t a cut on his arm. Then he pulled Buck into him. Buck was bigger, more shoulder and brute force, but Eddie managed to surround him. Bigger hands, presence, and heart. He sank into it, shrinking into himself, and Eddie let him. 

Everything fell quiet. It was as if it were only him and Eddie in the entire apartment building. No other tenants, no one else breathing in the world. 

“This is insane, Eds,” he mumbled into Eddie’s shirt. “I don’t even know what I can do now.”

Eddie stayed quiet. He made an occasional hum, almost encouraging Buck to continue. But he couldn't.

“We go on,” Eddie said after a while. “We figure out your limits, any weaknesses, your strengths, and we go from there.”

“Weaknesses, huh?”

“You’d be surprised at the number of vampire telenovelas there are. Brazil loves ‘em.”

Buck perked up. “Permission to make a spreadsheet?”

Eddie let out a long, dramatic groan, fully aware that nothing he could say would deter Buck. 

“I can make columns for each fiction. Then cross-reference to see how they overlap and if they are actually true!" he gasped, giddy. So ecstatic in this discovery, like he hadn't just drunk his best friend's blood.

It was weird, this flip of emotions, but he embraced it. 

“As long as we stop before staking and decapitation.” 

Buck frowned at him. “How can we get conclusive results without considering everything?”

“Do you want to die?” Eddie deadpanned. "No stakes."

“Fine," he huffed. "But just know, I'm against these extraneous variables."

"No college student is writing a paper on this, Buck," Eddie said.

"They might!"

Chapter Text

Eddie thought being fed on would be weird—don’t get him wrong, it was. 

He’d been bitten before. By mosquitoes and other insects in distant deserts. Those were surprising pains, tiny naps into his skin. Something you'd only realised had happened when the rash appeared. 

This was different. It wasn’t as he slept, a mosquito slipping through the netting. He watched it happen. Watched Buck. Fangs extended, eyes black and captivated by small droplets. Sucking on his arm, rupturing the blood vessels under his skin. 

It tingled, rather than itched. 

Maybe it would be different if Buck actually bit him. 

“What’s got you all red?”

Eddie jolted. He rubbed his eyes, looking away from the bandaid covering his forearm. Buck grinned at him from the kitchen stool. He had his iPad in his hands, probably still deciding on the colour scheme of his Excel spreadsheet. 

“Nothing,” he denied, his voice breaking. 

“Convincing,” Buck teased, but went back to his iPad, nonetheless. 

Eddie exhaled in relief. He felt exposed, like he was about to be caught for doing something wrong. Well, technically, he did aid and abet cannibalism. Google was a bit conflicted on whether blood drinking counted as cannibalism since no eating of flesh or organs took place. God forbid anyone found his search history. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and Eddie rushed for the distraction. Even if it happened to be Chris asking for more money to be transferred for lunch. But if anything, the message on his screen added to his dilemma. It was Maddie. He didn’t really text her that much before today. But since Buck decided to smash his own phone to pieces, he was the middleman right now. 

“Maddie will be here within the hour,” Eddie said, wincing as he read it out. He could just sense Buck’s reaction. 

Even before this whole blood situation, Buck tended to overreact. Jump the gun, and all that. Yet now, everything seemed to be heightened. Flipping between moods so quickly it gave Eddie whiplash. No gap in between to even let thoughts linger. Just an immediate switch—going from ease to absolute agony. 

He was almost feral. The iPad hit the floor, and Buck moved too fast for the human eye to see. Breathed hastily, deprived of oxygen from his desperate pants.  

He paced in circles, lapping the whole apartment. Eddie blinked, and he’d be on the opposite side of the loft. He kept muttering, combinations of that he couldn’t do it, it was too soon, that he’d kill his sister, to not let him go through with it, why was Eddie letting this happen—

Eddie grimaced. 

He’d seen this new anger in the witch shop. When Buck got all silent. Body tense and eyes narrowed on a target. But the anger in front of him was uncontrolled. Directed at any surface and heartbeat. 

Still grimacing, Eddie took one final look at Buck before moving into the bathroom. He shut the door, back resting against the wood. He just needed a moment to prepare himself for this. For what he was about to do. 

This whole situation couldn’t be fixed with normal solutions. No amount of therapy, reassurance or advice would help. This needed an insane fix. 

Eddie faced the mirror. He didn’t look like someone a vampire had fed on. Not paler, drained with hollowed out features. Instead, he was glowing. Red in the cheeks, bright skin. Probably the healthiest he’d looked in the past couple of days. 

Without a second thought, he grabbed the razor from the cabinet. Thank God Buck was weird and bought different coloured flannels—red, blue, and green. He took the red one and readied himself. His hand shook slightly. 

He needed his blood on this flannel for a distraction. For Buck.

It only took a moment, and he wiped it up with the flannel. He held it on his skin, waiting for his blood to soak into the cotton. 

Once satisfied, he opened the bathroom door. Eddie staggered, breath hitching. Buck wasn’t in the kitchen, not muttering or running circles on the floor. He was in front of him. Face tight and shadowed, predatory. Fangs hung over his wet lips. 

Eddie’s heart raced, adrenaline flushing through him. Forcing his fight or flight instincts to scramble. He froze. He wasn’t immobile or numb to his surroundings, merely cautious. 

“Hey Buck,” he said, breathless. “What are you doing, bud?” 

Buck stayed still, blocking the doorway. His head tilted to the side. Eddie’s chest pounded. He was trapped. But, he didn’t feel scared. Just wary. Vigilant. 

“You gonna let me out the bathroom?” Eddie decided on. 

It was like he hadn’t spoken at all. Buck’s eyes drifted down to the flannel in his hands, and then to the cut on his arm. 

Eddie exhaled sharply and moved his hand. Buck hissed, fangs flashing warningly. He kept tracking the flannel, like a dog with a ball. 

Instinctively, Eddie threw it. Buck didn’t waste a moment and ran. 

Dazed, Eddie blinked rapidly. His ears hammered to the same rhythm as his heartbeat. 

He moved out of the bathroom. There was no bloody stain from the flannel landing. It didn’t even hit the floor. His stomach fluttered. It was now in Buck’s hands, pressed against his face, the squeezing and clenching sound made when twisting a flannel dry echoed in the apartment. But now it was with Eddie’s blood. 

Silent, Eddie watched. His body was loud, but only internally. As Buck inhaled the cotton, he gnawed on the corner, half of it in his mouth. 

For some reason, he wasn’t worried. He didn’t care what Buck would do in this state, what would happen if he grew tired of having to suck blood out of material when he could have Eddie right there. No barrier, directly from his skin. Or his neck, his wrist, anywhere he wanted. Buck could speed over, Eddie helpless and too slow to even know what was happening until teeth embedded in any part of him. And Eddie loved it. 

Something sick inside him welcomed the possibility. 

But none of that happened. 

Slowly, the hysteria in Buck etched away. He stopped sniffing the flannel, now just sucking the corner of it in his mouth. Calm and undisturbed. No veins pricked under his eyes, nothing that seemed inhuman. No territorial hissing. Just a content and fed Buck. 

Eddie wavered on his feet, and Buck’s eyes darted to him. His heartbeat raced once more. But Buck didn’t speed over, didn’t try to take more. 

Instead, he lowered the flannel from his mouth, blood covering his face—all across his chin, the tip of his nose, like a blush.

“Is it nice?” Eddie asked, throat dry. 

Buck let out a hum, his eyes glazed. A smile tempted his lips. 

Eddie stepped closer, still vigilant and watching. He stopped in front of Buck. Close enough to note how dilated Buck’s eyes were, the sweat clinging to his forehead, the subtle shaking. Cautiously, Eddie raised his hand and settled his grip on Buck’s chin. Buck hummed again, complacent and willing. His thumb brushed along the red smeared over his skin, his own blood. Tracking how it blended into Buck’s skin with every smudge. 

“You made a mess,” Eddie amused, tongue clicking. He brought his thumb to his mouth. “But it worked, huh?”

The tempted smile on Buck’s lips smoothed into a grin. 

Eddie grabbed the flannel, surprised to receive it so easily. He’d expected Buck to tug at it, refusing to let go. But it slipped from his grasp without complaint. Eddie turned to grab a wet towel, Buck still standing there, just as Eddie had left him. He wiped Buck’s face with warm water, smiling as Buck hummed again. The towel moved from his nose to his lips, careful not to snag on Buck’s teeth. 

Satisfied, he lowered the towel. 

“‘ddie,” Buck mumbled. His eyebrows pinched together, sulking. “Eds.”

“You back with me?” Eddie asked, smile widening. He had only seen Buck like this when he was dead on his feet, malleable. So quiet for someone so big. 

Buck mirrored his smile, fangs exposed. Adorable. It was a weird thought—he should be scared, but instead the sight endeared him. 

“This will dry soon,” Eddie said, gesturing to the flannel. “So, it won’t leave marks. Use it when you feel like losing control. Smell it, suck on it, I don’t care, just anything to get you through seeing Maddie.” He paused, letting Buck register his words. “Okay?”

“M’kay,” Buck agreed, gulping. His eyes drifted between Eddie’s face and the flannel. “Y-you believe this will work?”

“I believe in you,” Eddie said instead. “Focus on that, not on Maddie, but on me.” He swallowed roughly. “And then as soon as she leaves, you can have me.”

The corner of Buck’s mouth twitched, his body perking up. Heat flushed across Eddie at his own implication, the alternative meaning sitting between them. He forced his reaction down—the rattling against his chest, the pull tugging at him. 

Buck nodded slowly. 

“Alright,” Eddie exhaled. He threw the bloodied towel into the bin and placed the flannel on the counter, letting it dry in the open air. 

It wouldn’t take long—only the residue remained on the flannel now, seeing as Buck had sucked most of the blood out of it. Though it still affected Buck. The lingering smell, what it represented. 

“Now, let’s work on our cover story,” Eddie said, changing the subject. Buck frowned at him. “Do you want to tell your sister you fled from the hospital because you wanted to attack the nurse or…?”

Buck groaned, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat and rubbed at his eyes. Eddie didn’t know if they hurt—when they got like that, all black and unclear. If his face itched with the growing veins, whether the extracting of his fangs felt painful or natural, just as it did to blink. 

“We’ll go with the amnesia story.”

Eddie scoffed, “Of course you’d like the version where memory loss absolves all responsibility.”

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Buck tilted his head. 

“Shut up,” he huffed, amused. 

Buck couldn’t stop looking at that fucking flannel. He felt embarrassed, humiliated even. Because he chased after that flannel, bolted for it when Eddie threw it. He caught it in the middle of the air like some fucking frisbee and Eddie—

Eddie was in that flannel. Still in his mouth, lingering on his tongue. Swallowed and travelling down into his stomach. Mingling with his own blood, across his bloodstream, running to his heart, his lungs, oxygenating and deoxygenating. Always inside him. 

Then Eddie had touched his face, wiping Buck clean, of himself. 

His ears burned.

This was weird. 

Knocking bashed against the door. Pounding. It was Maddie—she was here. 

Panic returned to him in a flash, settling in with crumbling familiarity. A pressure engulfed his shoulder. Eddie’s hand. He gripped Buck tightly with his other hand on the dried flannel. The smell of it was still as strong as earlier, as enticing and grounding. 

“Ready?” Eddie asked. 

Buck grabbed it, jaw tight as he forced himself not to immediately bring the fabric to his face. No, he couldn’t do that now. With another taste, he didn’t know if he would stop. 

“As I’ll ever be,” Buck sighed. 

His other hand clenched into a fist, hidden in his hoodie pocket. His fingernails dug into his palm, not quite breaking skin, but it stung. 

Eddie’s eyes drifted down to his concealed hand. He raised his own hand up, curled in a fist bump, and waited. Buck rolled his eyes and brought his hand out of his pocket to fist-bump him. No longer digging into his skin.

With a lingering glance, Eddie opened the door. 

And just like that, Buck was back in the hospital. Darkness surrounded him, and yet his eyes screamed at the sensitivity. It cleared quickly, Maddie’s presence breaking in. She looked tired and on the brink of a breakdown. Her hair was a mess, and her clothes mismatched. As she stepped inside, her eyes watered, and her lip began to quiver. 

“Maddie,” he gasped. As much as he was terrified, this was still his sister. More than that, really.

“You’re okay,” she trembled. Her body twitched with all that built-up tension—it was as if the single confirmation that Buck was alive, breathing and in front of her, willed it all away. 

Guilt weighed down on him. He could have done this earlier, saved Maddie and everyone the stress. But he still didn’t trust himself. 

Maddie’s face twisted, but not into tears, but with frustration. 

Buck braced himself. “Okay, now, don’t freak out—”

“Freak out?” Maddie repeated, voice loud, no longer full of relief. “First, you leave me some cryptic voicemail, then the police call me that you ran out of the hospital, and you tell me not to freak out?”

“That sounds like you’re freaking out.”

“Evan,” she stressed, and Buck grimaced. “What were you thinking?”

The story Eddie had drilled into him, every possible and feasible excuse, disappeared. He blanked. His head went elsewhere—outside of his body. Buck consumed everything, the stress, unresolved relief, loss of sleep, and worry. All propelled off Maddie and shot him straight in the chest. The scent of her perfume, messily sprayed to hide that she hadn’t showered in days, too worried because what if she didn’t hear her phone going off under the water spray? 

Before, it was just Eddie he could sense. Something so familiar it was practically part of himself. But this was Maddie, her hair not in her usual style, smelling too artificial and worried. 

He wasn’t hungry, but his teeth still ached. 

Buck glanced at Eddie. He couldn’t control this. He kept his mouth shut, fangs cutting into his lip, but he preferred that hurt rather than his sister’s realisation of what he was hiding. 

With a trembling hand, he squeezed his grip on the flannel. Eyes locked onto Eddie, he brought it up to his face. 

“Buck, just- please tell me what happened. Was it the hospital? Did they do something or—”

Maddie’s voice sank into the background as he pressed his nose into the cotton. Eddie’s blood. Not an array of emotions or perfume. Eddie. 

His eyes never left Eddie’s as he brushed it against his lips—just keeping it there. It wasn’t the same as how it felt when he fed earlier, or even on Eddie’s arm. The scratches of the cotton didn’t live up to the softness of Eddie’s arm hair, the hand on Buck’s head, fingers tangling with his curls. Eddie swallowed hard and nodded. 

With a deep inhale, Buck lowered the flannel. His gums no longer ached. 

Buck looked back at his sister. Her distress had grown in his silence. 

“I got scared when I woke up,” he started, willing everything inside him to keep his teeth human as he spoke. “I thought I was still in my coma. Apparently, coma patients can dream and also see outside of their bodies, because I do remember Bobby praying a lot. Anyway, I needed to get out of there, so I called Eddie, and he met me here. And I’m fine, as you can see, just a little spooked.”

Maddie stepped closer, and Buck willed himself not to move. This was Maddie, a wave full of worry, panic and care all rolled into one. 

“You should still be resting,” she said. “I don’t even know how you’re standing right now.”

“You could say it’s a miracle,” Buck said, and Eddie face-palmed. Yeah, maybe Bible references were not something he should be touching/testing right now.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” she murmured and dove in to hug him. 

He froze, letting it happen because this was Maddie. But it was also a body. One with vulnerable and breachable skin. 

His eyes locked on Eddie. He could feel it, that rustling over his face, the movement under his eyes. Saliva gathered under his tongue. He gulped and scrunched his eyes shut, trying to think of his sister. Anything but just a ready bloodbag. Maddie’s unwavering protection, even if they weren’t in proximity—across towns, states and countries. Always there. In memories, pinky promises, kisses to his birthmark and endless affirmations that he was loved. Warm pancakes and cupcakes for his birthday. 

Buck didn’t realise Maddie had let go of him until the coldness returned. He was warm in her arms. But now it was like a door had opened, letting in the draught of icy wind, nulling the endless heat. 

Maddie turned her attention to Eddie. “He is okay, right?” Buck scoffed because he was right here. 

“I checked him over, and he’s all good. Just needed some rest this morning. We’ll figure out an actual checkup when he’s less sensitive to everything.” Eddie said.

“Good, good,” she nodded and then whacked Buck on the shoulder. “Never do that again.”

Her reaction cemented everything already present in his head. He couldn’t tell her about this, not now, with these new thoughts and compulsions. The bodily developments and being absolutely fucked in the head. 

“I promise, I won’t.”

“Great, because you’re gonna be under twenty-four surveillance until I believe you,” Maddie said. 

“Sorry, what?” he blurted out. 

“It’s either that or I put an airtag on you somehow. I’m sure they can be chipped in people these days,” Maddie said as she dragged her bags with her further into the loft. Buck frowned; he hadn’t noticed them before. All the bags, the pillow that smelled distinctively like Chimney. 

“You’re moving in?” Eddie asked, and Buck blanched. 

“Mads, slow down,” he said, trying to gather himself. “You can’t move in.”

“I can take the futon.”

Buck’s eyebrows furrowed. “Then where is Eddie going to sleep?”

Maddie stared, stumped. She stopped unpacking the freezer bag. 

“At his own home?” she said with a questioning tone.

She squinted, looking between the two of them, before sighing and zipping up her bags. 

“You’re certain he’s fine?” Maddie asked Eddie, ignoring Buck again. “I was a nurse, I could stay and—”

“I’m EMT trained,” Eddie interrupted, though not unkindly. “He’ll be fine.”

Maddie bit her inner cheek silently. A year could’ve passed before she spoke again. “Update me on everything. If he has a headache, or- or even sneezes weirdly, let me know.”

“Mads, really, I’m fine—“

“I’ll keep you in the loop,” Eddie cut him off. 

Buck scoffed, because yeah, that’s something they were not going to do. Be open and tell Maddie about all the vampire science experiments they were about to conduct. That maybe they would start with Buck walking into a church to see if he’d disappear into ash or not.

“Good.” Maddie nodded, relieved. “Text everyone else too, they’re all worried.”

“Sorry,” Buck muttered. 

“Evan,” she sighed, then schooled her expression. “I know this is overwhelming for you, but please just let them know you’re safe, and then you can take your time getting your bearings after waking up from a coma, okay?”

“Fine,” he agreed softly, guilt hounding down on him. He was the cause of this—all the worry his sister had, the unanswered messages, the bruises under Eddie’s eyes and the fact that he hadn’t mentioned visiting Christopher yet. 

“Great,” Maddie said, smiling now. “You hungry for casserole?”

His stomach clenched. Buck was just glad it was a familiar feeling, for food rather than that fucking flannel again. 

Maddie stayed for a bit. Buck could tell she was taking her time eating—usually, she’d complain if her food got cold. But she was slow, watching him pick at his food. He did eat, but not as much as he would’ve. Apparently, realising you were a vampire or some blood-sucking demon mere hours ago affected your appetite. 

She hugged him again as she left. But not before checking every vital. Eddie had to move her away from the medkit in the cabinet so she wouldn’t grab the thermometer. 

With her bags beside her, Maddie lingered at the door. 

“Has he been on any screens?” she asked Eddie. 

“I don’t have a concussion,” Buck huffed. 

Maddie acted like she hadn’t heard him. 

“No screens except a nature documentary on low volume,” Eddie said, which was a blatant lie. “And no concussion either.”

Maddie nodded and faced Buck. “If I find out you’re hiding symptoms, I’m taking away your Jee time.”

“You can’t do that, what—” Eddie's hand covered Buck’s mouth. 

“He’s hiding nothing,” Eddie assured, with his other hand pinching his back. “Right, Buck?” Another pinch. 

“Absolutely nothing,” Buck agreed, a fake smile plastered on his face. He was surprised his fangs hadn’t popped out from the internal seething. 

Buck helped Maddie with her bags, which thankfully, would stay at her house. As he shut the door with a final goodbye, he rested his forehead against the hard surface once closed. He had gotten through this. He hadn’t hurt Maddie, hadn’t exposed himself. He did good. 

Movement rustled behind him. Buck twisted around, his surroundings blurred until he stood right in front of Eddie. He felt Eddie’s breath hitch before hearing it. Buck didn’t move, he only stared. Eyes monitoring Eddie, predicting his every shudder, each breath, the way his eyes flickered, and heartbeat raced. 

He didn’t know if he wanted a hug or to rip Eddie to pieces. 

Without thinking, his eyes lowered to the bandage covering Eddie’s inner elbow. His chest fluttered at the reminder of how it felt, how it tasted. How Eddie tasted. 

“You didn’t lose control,” Eddie said, and Buck whined. He was so close to breaking down now. He just needed permission, Eddie to uncross his arms, to nod, to let him—

A flash of something crossed Eddie’s face, knowingness slithered in confidence.

Eddie simply offered his other arm. 

Everything blurred. He sank his fangs into Eddie’s arm. Blood gushed out, and he swallowed mouthfuls frantically—struggling to keep up. His teeth didn’t ache, instead feeling so open. He swallowed again and again, fingers grabbing and body moving closer. 

Then,

“Evan.”

Buck loosened a fraction, still sucking and licking. He shivered at the sharpness of his name. A hand grasped his head, deep in his hair, and drifted down to cup the back of his neck. Buck went limp, melting against the hand that guided him away from Eddie’s arm. 

Blood dripped down his chin, staining the floor. He didn’t need to savour this right now, not with that grip on him. 

“Good,” was all Eddie said. He sounded proud. 

Buck trembled, tracing his teeth with a smile. 

“I think that went well,” he said, sated and fed. 

And Eddie didn’t let go. 

As he watched Buck make an Excel sheet on his iPad, he rolled his eyes at how each column was a shade of red. Eddie picked up his notebook, needing to write down his own thoughts. With a red marker as well. 

He wasn’t exactly a therapist, or even good at advice. Eddie always froze up when someone wanted something from him—with that expectation for him to know. Instead, he turned to others, whether it be Hen or Bobby. But he couldn’t do that here. 

So, he started a list.

1. COUCH

“First act of exposure therapy is ordering a couch,” Eddie announced.

Buck didn’t look up from his iPad. “I don’t see the correspondence.”

“You’re not leaving this loft, meaning I’m not leaving this loft. We need a couch.”

Buck sighed but ultimately clicked off Excel and onto a furniture site. 

Just as Eddie went to tick off his first point, Buck ruined it. 

“Do I also need a special toothbrush? Like, what’s the dental care for fangs?” Buck asked, and Eddie rubbed harshly at his face. “Eddie, stop walking away from me. This is a serious question.”

It was only after Buck got Chris’ input that he bought a couch—something about supernatural expansion packs and ‘Sims’ for inspiration. 

2. BLOODLUST

Now, Eddie struggled with this one. He doodled little blood splatter marks into the page margin. But once a question or hypothesis popped into his head, the ball kept rolling. 

2.1 Is Buck renewable? 

Eddie had Googled too much about blood. It was like he was the one going through biology exams, not his son. Some of it was just a memory refresher, things from firefighter certifications. But a thought kept nagging at him. 

“Does your own blood make you all…?” Eddie trailed off and made a gesture with his hands. He curled them into claws and hissed, teeth bared. 

“All?” Buck repeated, squinting at him.

“Y’know,” Eddie hissed again and pointed at his teeth. 

“That’s offensive.” Buck glared. “And no, my own blood hasn’t made me ‘vamp-out’.” He paused, considering. “I didn’t get like that when I scratched my arms before.”

Eddie grimaced at the reminder and uncapped his pen. 

“So that’s a no to sustainability.”

2.2 How old does a wound have to be for Buck to still be affected?

This one Eddie learnt accidentally. He kinda forgot that Buck had this… reaction to blood. 

To give himself some slack, he had just come off a 48-hour shift and practically hated every hour of it. Bobby had Ravi cover in Buck’s absence, and as much as he liked the guy, he wasn’t Buck. They kept bumping into each other, adding moments of hesitation and doubt he knew he’d never have with Buck by his side.

It was why he had a graze on his bicep. Debris fell on him in a house fire. Chimney wrapped him up, and Hen checked him over before their shift ended. 

Dead on his feet, Eddie entered the loft. He went to throw his keys onto the kitchen counter and take his shoes off, but a whoosh interrupted him. Something slammed him against the wall. His eyes clenched shut on instinct. Hissing spat at him. He opened his eyes, and Buck growled, fangs taking up half of his face and his eyes blending into the darkness around them. 

Eddie huffed, just wanted to go to sleep, and Buck faltered. His hands kept Eddie shoved up against the wall, tight on his shoulders, but his mouth closed, making an “Oh,” sound. 

“You’re hurt,” Buck muttered. 

His head leaned back to rest against the wall. “I’m guessing we need to do more for the bloodlust.”

Buck scowled, the blue still absent from his eyes. Eddie sighed and offered his wrist, only for Buck to push him away. 

“You’re hurt,” he repeated.

“And you’re hungry.” 

“Not really,” he said, pouting, and Eddie gave him a look. “Fine, one bite and then I’m making you dinner.” 

2.3 Photo-Projective Testing

After an embarrassing trip to the library, Eddie sat Buck down and shuffled the printed cards in his hands.

“Don’t even ask, the librarian looked at me weirdly when I did this.”

Buck gaped at him. “Not Mrs Roberts, she’s Chris’ favourite librarian, we can’t switch libraries.”

“Well, you’ll have to go back to return Chris’ books next time because I can’t show my face there.”

Eddie had done a lot of research about this—photo association therapy. He wanted to learn more about Buck’s unconscious thoughts and feelings, the potential unseen differences this whole ‘undead’ thing had caused.

He started simple with normal photos. Firefighter equipment, scenery they’d frequent in LA, and pictures of his friends and family. But then it got weird. Photos of graveyards, stakes, coffins and bats. 

Buck levelled him with a glare. Eddie brushed it off and pulled out the next photo card. 

Body parts. Blood bags, blood splatter, close up of necks, pulse points. 

Just as Buck went to cover his mouth, Eddie shook his head. He watched closely as Buck struggled to remain in control, for his teeth to go back to normal. Then, he went through it once more. 

When he got to the picture of himself, Buck clenched his jaw. 

“Stop hiding your teeth,” he whispered. 

And he started again. 

2.4 Impulse control

“Okay, now stay, stay…” Eddie held up the blood bag above Buck’s head. 

“I’m not a dog. Stop with the dog stuff!”

“Fetch.” Eddie threw the bag, and Buck bolted. He grabbed it midair and drained it dry in seconds. 

Eddie watched, smirking smugly.

Buck looked up, mouth red and messy. “Oh, fuck you. You promised you wouldn’t do that again.”

“Roll over,” Eddie said, and Buck flipped him off. 

But eventually the impulse control worked, just with fewer dog jokes and throwing of blood bags. Buck managed to get his teeth to retract on command. Even if it did take several rounds of surprising him at odd hours with blood. 

Eddie ticked off the header in his notebook. “Does this mean you’ll finally let Hen over? Because she keeps sending me these thinly veiled threats, which are becoming more and more unveiled.”

“Hen is threatening you?”

“Yep. Chim is being passive-aggressive. Maddie keeps asking for hourly updates, and Bobby is signing off with his full government name.”

“Wait, why are they texting you?”

“Your phone is still in the corner of this loft because you’re scared of the vacuum cleaner,” Eddie deadpanned.

“It’s too loud. No wonder dogs are scared of them.” 

“You keep telling me to stop with the dog stuff, but then you say shit like that—”

“Vacuuming is a universal discomfort!”

3. DIET

3.1 Things you can get from a pet store

“Just think about it.”

“Eddie, I am not eating a guinea pig.” 

“You lived in Peru and didn’t eat a guinea pig?”

Buck pointedly ignored him, but it didn’t stop Eddie from bringing it up. It was ethical, really—snake-owners did it with mice. Buck was technically a predator now. Yet, he didn’t think a pet shop had enough rodents to feed Buck on a healthy basis. He’d probably eradicate the entire rat population in LA, and Chris would hate him—he quite liked that ‘Ratatouille’ film. 

So instead, Eddie settled on red meat and whatever leftovers from the butchers. 

Buck wiped the juice off his chin as he ate his raw steak. “And to think my next New Year’s resolution was to go vegan.”

“Well, an animal diet would be the vegan version of—”

“Drop it, Eddie, I’m not eating guinea pigs.”

He crossed out the pet store idea in his notebook with a Sharpie. 

3.2 Electrical appliances

Eddie bought Buck a new phone, the same model as his own. Despite wanting to get him a Nokia so it wouldn’t smash, Buck refused. But after that, another thought came to Eddie’s head. 

Eddie: Should we get another blender to avoid cross-contamination?

Buck: why on earth are you thinking about my blood smoothies at work ??

Eddie: Ravi keeps asking about your protein shakes

Buck: and the correlation is..

hello ?

????

EDDIE 

EDDIEEEE

stop ignoring me :(

is this bc i need spf 100

or sometimes want to hang upside down from the ceiling

idk if that is actually related to being a vampire bc i felt like that before

and i burn easily anyway

EDDIE !!!!!!

Eddie: Bought another blender

Buck: do u think the supernatural world has a way for us to expense purchases 

like an undead Amex?

also we should buy a soda stream next and try to make fizzy blood

like imagine sparkling water but entirely not 

Eddie: You’re insane 

We'll try it tomorrow, make a new Excel column

Buck: yayyyyyy

3.4 Frozen blood

“Look in the freezer.”

“If I see a dead animal in there, so God help me—”

Eddie groaned. “Buck, for the last time, that was a nightmare.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you want me to just suddenly forget that you put a whole rabbit in my freezer?”

“It was Dream-Eddie!”

Buck grumbled under his breath and opened the freezer. “I thought we agreed Chris wasn’t allowed round until I feel better.”

“Where’d that come from?”

“The strawberry popsicles.” Eddie stared blankly at him. Buck picked one up and froze. “Is this your fucking blood?”

“All frozen and ready for the enjoyment of one.”

“Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you?”

“You were just cussing me out for a dream you had.”

“All forgotten,” he said whilst sucking on it, and Eddie just grinned.

4. WEAKNESSES 

4.1 That weird diary TV show

Eddie walked into the apartment with a flower bouquet.

“Hey, did you go to the farmer’s market without me?” Buck asked, sounding irritated. Eddie simply chucked it at him. “You got me flowers?”

Buck sniffed them. They were wild purple flowers and smelled sweet.

“No, this is vervain.”

Shrieking, Buck threw them onto the floor. “What the fuck?”

“I googled that vampire show, and congrats! It’s fake.”

“Next time I make dinner, we’re having scampi.”

“I’m allergic to shellfish.”

“I’m aware,” Buck snapped. His gaze dropped to the vervain bouquet. “At least I can update my spreadsheet.”

4.2 Stereotypes

“Did you get a new necklace? I thought your Saint Christopher pendant was gold—”

Eddie shoved the metal against Buck's hand.

Buck hissed, fangs extending, as his skin sizzled.

“Ow! What- you- what the fuck?” 

Mouth agape, Eddie blinked at the burn developing on Buck's skin.

"Is that silver?” Buck realised. “You’re trying to kill me, you are an active murderer, this is a crime—”

“This is a scientific experiment.”

“Those experiments require consent forms before, dumbass!”

“I got banned from the library printer.”

“Still unethical,” Buck shouted, breathless. He kept his hand to his chest, wary of the necklace in Eddie’s hands. Something so small burned him. “Silver can hurt me then?”

Eddie shrugged, pocketing the necklace. “Only pure silver, it seems. Thank God most of the stuff we work with is alloys, nothing is really pure silver anymore.”

“Tell that to the burn on my hand.”

“Guess we’ll have to avoid jewellery shops.”

5. MISSION TO STOP BUCK BEING WEIRD

Eddie’s notebook had more turned into a checklist of things Buck did. Little notes and observations, like he was a scientist observing a subject. 

5.1 Night vision

Eddie walked into Buck’s apartment after grocery shopping, and it was pitch black. He sighed heavily. 

“Buck, why are the lights off?”

“Oh, hey, Eddie,” Buck called down from his bed. “It turns out I have night vision! I can save so much on electricity now.”

“There’s a fault in this plan,” Eddie said, and Buck remained silent. “I can’t see in the dark.”

Buck sped down to the kitchen. “Oh yeah,” he winced, realising. “But the economy—”

“I can’t see!”

Despite this, Buck still left the lights off, forcing Eddie to turn them on every single day.

5.2 Surveillance?? 

As Eddie turned to his other side on the futon, he blinked himself awake. Only to find Buck staring at him. 

“Goodness,” he gasped, breath hitching. 

“Sorry!” Buck exclaimed, stepping away from him. “Fuck, sorry, I just had this need to like, I don’t know, watch you sleep.”

Eddie rubbed at the corner of his eyes and grabbed Buck’s iPad from the floor. He put in the password and opened the Excel sheet. 

“What are you doing?”

Eddie swiped a tally mark down. 

“This is technically a point to ‘Twilight’.”

“No!” 

5.3 I don't even know anymore - garlic

For some reason, Buck kept haunting Eddie as he slept. One night, when he got up to get a glass of water, he instead walked into Buck deep in the fridge with garlic in his hand. 

“What are you doing?”

Buck stumbled into the fridge door, slamming it on his hand.

“This is a dream. You’re dreaming.”

“Why would I dream that you’re holding garlic?”

“I dunno, it’s your subconscious, make it up yourself.” 

Eddie just blinked at him blearily. 

“I’m testing out if this whole garlic thing is bullshit.”

“And?"

Buck ate a chunk out of the garlic and winced. 

“So yes?” Eddie asked, thinking it was burned his insides. He readied himself to be fed on. 

“No, it just tastes like shit.”

Eddie was exhausted. “Fine, I’m dreaming, goodnight."

“But your water!” Buck called. 

“I’m asleep!” 

5.4 Put me out of my misery - bat

“We should go hiking.”

“Alright, when?” Eddie agreed. Maybe taking Buck out for a walk would be good—not in dog way though. 

“Hm, I don’t know, but we need to find a cliff face.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Do you think if I jumped off it, the adrenaline would force itself to reveal if I can turn into a bat or not?” Buck asked, casually, like this was some experiment not involving the idea of dying. 

Eddie sighed. “So we’re not going hiking anymore.”

“Just think about it—”

“What happens if you don’t turn into a bat?”

Buck shrugged. “Then I guess we have the answer about my immortality.”

Eddie's palms covered his face. For a moment, he was tempted to say yes to the hike—just to be the one to push him off. But he dismissed the thought. 

5.5 Get Buck out of the loft ffs

Eddie's patience finally snapped. He'd had enough of the loft, of Buck just wandering about until Eddie came back. So, he forced Buck into his own home when he was certain Chris wasn't there. He needed to expose Buck to different locations, familiar ones after his 'change'.

As they entered the house, Eddie eyed him closely. How Buck's face twitched, kept changing expressions. His lips twitched, and fangs extended, but this wasn't a hungry reaction. He looked… at ease. 

Buck practically lept onto the couch. He pressed himself into the fabric and pillows. 

“You missed the couch that badly?” 

“I just missed this place,” Buck said, muffled by the pillows. He sniffed it and opened his mouth. 

“Enough that you’re practically eating my pillows?” 

Buck made a noise and threw the pillow away. “Sorry.”

“Is this a vampire thing or a Buck thing?”

“Don’t bring out the Excel sheet right now, I’m vulnerable,” he mumbled, face planted back into the couch. Eddie laughed and sat down next to him. 

He glanced at the front door. “Do you think if I uninvited you from this house, you’d teleport out of it?”

Buck lifted his head from the couch. “I’m not moving, do not even think about testing that out.” 

He dove his head back into the pillows, allowing a silence between them. 

Eddie embraced the quiet. He missed this—Buck in his home, all comfortable. It was different in the loft. Distant space and massive ceilings. Buck's shufflings broke the silence.

“I almost lost control on the walk down the street,” Buck admitted quietly, but Eddie heard every word. “Someone was walking on the other side of the road and I…” he trailed off, sniffing. 

Another shuffle and Buck faced him. Eddie’s chest clenched at the sight of his red eyes. Not from hunger, but because he was crying. Just moments ago, he was happy, content on the couch, and now he blinked away tears. 

“I can’t do this, Eddie.”

He edged closer. “Yes, you can.”

“How am I gonna survive in the field when I’m like this?” Buck whispered, frustrated. “It was just a man walking his dog, and I got hungry.”

“We have time,” Eddie decided on.

He shifted until Buck’s head rested in his lap. He didn't care how close he was to Buck's mouth. He wasn’t in danger, Buck wasn’t a threat—he was his best friend, and Eddie would help him with this. 

It was a lie, sort of.

Bobby kept messaging Eddie about Buck’s sick leave. Reminders that he needed a proper evaluation from the hospital to either clear Buck or extend his leave. At this point, they had neither. It was just Buck taking sick days, and he didn’t have many left. But Eddie voiced none of this. Not with Buck so close to breaking down his couch. He didn’t want him to be more upset. 

He would handle it. 

“We have as much time as you want.”

Buck hummed, sinking into his touch. Safe in his home. 

Chapter Text

6. MEET THE REST OF THE TEAM WITHOUT KILLING THEM

Eddie shoved the notebook into Buck’s face. It was written in red Sharpie with bubbly lettering. He blamed Chris for the creativity—he knew from their FaceTime calls that Chris had recently become obsessed with it because of his science fair poster.  

But anyway, back to potentially murdering his friends. 

“Killing is a bit harsh,” Buck muttered.

“Would you prefer the words you used against me?” Eddie asked. “Something about draining me dry, ripping my limbs off…?”

“Never mind, ‘killing’ is fine.” He shut the notebook. “I still think we should wait until tomorrow.”

“You said that yesterday,” Eddie reminded him. “And the day before.” 

“I didn’t know you were keeping track.”

Eddie gave him a look and opened the notebook to a specific page. It was full of tally marks, each one darker than the last, like the pen had been pressed harder and with annoyance. He scoffed at the title: Buck being a coward. It marked every time Buck delayed meeting other people. 

“You have your doctor’s appointment tomorrow. It’s time to test it out," Eddie said. 

“So it’s fine for me to eat firefighters but not Dr Salazar?”

“When did I say any of that?”

“You insinuated it!”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I called the hospital, it’ll be a home visit. The equipment needed is portable.”

Buck stiffened. “Y-you did that?”

“What? You thought I’d throw you into the deep end?”

“Yes,” he huffed and ignored Eddie’s glare. “Don’t look at me like that, you hid Bobby’s messages from me.”

“Those were private conversations—”

“Hidden from me—”

“—and it was off the record. Bobby wasn’t about to go all boss on you because you had just—” he cut himself off, and Buck’s eyebrows furrowed. 

He stood there waiting for the words to punch at him, the acknowledgement that he had died. Spent days in hospital, uncertain if he'd ever breathe on his own again. But instead, Eddie lowered his gaze to the ground. 

“He only wanted to know when a doctor would officially see you.” 

Buck shook his head, finger prodding into Eddie's chest. “In secret.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Eddie sighed. Like he knew this was an argument he wasn’t going to win. And it was true, he wasn’t. Buck had held this over his head for the last two days, ever since he found the messages on Eddie’s phone. 

According to Eddie, he didn’t understand boundaries. It wasn’t like he went through his texts without reason. The message popped up whilst he was editing Eddie’s calendar. So he clicked on it and read them all. Bobby’s check-ins, his love for the ‘thumbs up’ emoji, then the shopping lists Eddie sometimes texted him, and Bobby answering back with ingredients he’d missed.

“Cap’s been having issues getting cover for you. He's been cycling between Ravi and others from B-shift, like Clarke,” Eddie explained dryly. “So he wanted some clarity on a timeline for when you’d be back at work.”

Buck’s lips thinned to a line. “You still could’ve told me first.”

Eddie groaned loudly and got up from the kitchen stool. 

“Fine. Be betrayed, I don’t care. I have to pick up Chris from school,” Eddie snarked as he picked up his keys and moved the notebook closer to Buck. “Text someone. Anyone. Just not me!”

“Dramatic,” Buck scoffed and slid the notebook off the counter. It fell on the floor with a slap at the same time the door shut. 

He glared at the door. Silence settled around him, but not really. It was never quiet anymore unless Buck focused. Things had gotten better, though. He couldn’t hear the married couple on the ground floor arguing over whether milk or water went into their tea first. Or the laundry machines in the basement. Only the surroundings in his own loft and sometimes next door. 

He put his phone on silent—no part of him felt ready. He was terrified for tomorrow, even if it were in his loft. Everyone he knew was an expert. Trained in situational awareness, body language and behaviour. Doctors would know if anything was wrong with him, do some tests and find out. 

All it took was the blood pressure machine squeezing his biscep too tightly and his fangs reacting. 

He sighed and grabbed a blood-popsicle from the freezer, sucking on it as he opened the cabinet to his spice rack. He had nothing else to do. So he rearranged them to what would mix best with blood, then by what looked closest to blood in shade. 

Knocking hit the door. Buck didn’t want to move, and Eddie had a key anyway. But then the air shifted. Buck perked up, sniffing and tuning his ears towards the corridor outside. It wasn’t Eddie. There were two people. Earthy scents, like they owned a big garden and always had the windows open. 

Bobby and Athena.

Buck frantically grabbed his phone. 

Buck: SOS 

omg sos, save our souls or whatever

do i even have a soul tho

actually idc

🆘🆘🆘🆘

Eddie: What’s wrong?

Buck: CODE REDDDDD

🚨🚨🚨🚨

❗❗❗❗

💢💢

🔴🔴

Bobby and Athena are here

Eddie: Ok so you could have just texted that first. I’ll be there in 30.

Buck: i’m going to eat them

Eddie: Chris says hi

Buck: hi!!!!!! tell him i miss him 

btw im still a recovering cannibal send help

The last message stayed on ‘delivered’. Buck groaned, pocketing his phone with his teeth clenched. He stepped to the door, bracing himself.

As soon as it opened, this wave of lightness hit him. Something akin to relief, but it was more than that. Delight. A knot twisted in his stomach at the sight of them—he hadn’t seen either of them since the hospital. Athena’s hand lingering on his own, Bobby and his rosary beads. 

“So he does remember us,” Athena said, beaming at him. “You remember how to invite people in too, I hope?”

Buck stammered and opened the door wider. He stood there, mouth agape, longer than he realised, until Bobby stepped forward first. 

“Glad you’re okay, kid,” Bobby said as he wrapped his arms around him. 

Buck screwed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead into Bobby’s arm. He needed to be normal. To behave like the easy-going Buck that loved hugs, unannounced guests, and any type of attention. Not this Buck, who practically screamed, 'I’ve got these teeth that become fangs at random, don’t ask me the biology or I’ll cry'. There was no flannel this time, no Eddie to keep him grounded. 

Just the sole belief in himself to get through this. 

He inhaled Bobby, that earthy scent with the sharpness of his fabric cleaner.

“Don’t hog him,” Athena joked and moved to hug him next.

It was short and sweet, though strong-gripped. 

He schooled his breathing, trying to make it as steady as possible. Shaking, he kept his hand clenched into a fist behind his back. His eyes drifted downwards to a new smell. Athena had a cooler bag on the floor beside her. Full of food—brisket and lasagna in particular. 

“Now, who do I have to blame for teaching you it was all fine to just leave the hospital in the middle of the night?” Athena asked, the teasing tone gone, now all business. 

Buck winced. “Technically, it was early morning.”

Athena levelled him a look.

“Yeah, it wasn’t my brightest hour,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I already got a battering from Maddie.”

“Well, another talk won’t hurt.” 

He smiled without meaning to and instantly shut his mouth. Yep, his fangs were on display, out of fucking happiness. From the familiar banter he had with people he loved. Fuck, he needed Eddie back with those picture cards. Shuffling through each image until his fangs stopped reacting to every stimulus ever. 

“As long as you’re okay now, right?” Bobby asked, his eyebrows lowered in that passively worried look he always had. Something he perfected on calls so his panic wouldn’t impact his team.

It wasn’t as effective when Buck could practically feel that worry now. 

Buck nodded, chest hitching. Bobby kept staring. Face full of things to say, but Bobby had spoken the least. Buck could taste every unsaid word. The slight disappointment of not being contacted sooner, the restlessness, and unease. 

His throat dried, guilt hounding him again. It was just as bad as it was with Maddie. The consequences of his actions right in front of him—the bruises under eyes, anger conflicting with the utmost relief that he was alive. 

“I’ll go put this away quickly,” Bobby said, voice tight as he grabbed the cooler bag off Athena. 

Buck followed him with his eyes, never looking away. He could see it all. The tension in his shoulders. Bobby was still worried. Simply seeing Buck wasn’t enough. 

Athena cleared her throat, catching Buck’s attention. She stepped closer. Her heartbeat was steady. 

“Don’t pull anything like that again,” she murmured, quiet but warning.

“I know an apology isn’t enough—”

“He would wake up in the night, grab his phone like a dream told him to, and receive nothing.”

Buck gulped, eyes dropping to the floor. He couldn't face her, not when he knew it was all his fault. But he couldn't hide anymore—not in his loft, not with Eddie as his only company. 

He looked up, pouring everything inside him into his expression. Each sliver of regret, every shred of sincerity. 

“I won’t do that again,” he promised.

Athena hummed to herself, considering, and nodded. 

“I had to get a new phone.”

Her eyebrows rose high. “Do I wanna know why?”

“Post-coma Buck pleads the fifth.”

Athena scoffed, letting out a laugh. Her seriousness faded, alongside her need to protect Bobby. 

"I’m just glad you’re good now.”

Buck’s mouth gritted into a tough smile. “Yeah, no unnatural symptoms, nothing irregular going on here. All good, all natural.”

She chuckled again. "Never change, Buckaroo.”

A hand landed over his shoulder, patting him gently. Buck exhaled in relief. Bobby had finished stocking up his fridge. The interrogation was over, at least for now. 

“What’s this about changing?” Bobby asked. 

Buck panicked at the wording, then quickly realised Bobby wasn’t referring to Buck changing into an undead being who frequently drank his best friend’s blood in various forms. Because Bobby had no way of knowing that.

“Just letting Athena know nothing has changed. Limbs are intact, head on shoulders and all that. No complications here.”

Bobby shot him a look. “Buck, you died.”

“I prefer to use the term ‘rested’.” 

“Buck,” Bobby scolded. 

He winced, instantly regretting it. He couldn’t do this with them—they weren’t like Eddie. They didn’t have context, that they had bigger problems than dealing with the coma or lightning strike, because he was a fucking vampire now. 

“Was it bad?” Buck asked weakly. “Eddie hasn’t talked about it yet, in full, about that night.” 

Bobby stilled, and Athena reached out to take his hand. 

“For the first time, we crossed those doors during a call,” Bobby said at last. “When it happened… I didn’t care about that fire anymore. It was all about you, getting you down from there, away from the rain.” 

“I’m fine now,” he reminded them, hating how Bobby’s normally even voice trembled slightly. 

“We didn’t know that,” Bobby said, shaking his head. “Instead, all I got was a call about how you’d left the hospital without being discharged.”

“I’m sorry for making you worry. For all of it."

“That’s not your fault,” Bobby reassured adamantly. Buck guessed the excuse he told Maddie had made itself around the whole 118. 

In the sudden silence, something twinged at Buck, a need to say something. Words that would ease that tension in Bobby's shoulders, to stop the twitching in his hands, like Bobby needed to hold something tight. 

“I saw you praying,” he whispered, and Bobby faltered, face dropping for a second. “I don’t know how, but I saw you when I was in a coma. You were praying for me.”

Bobby nodded, eyelashes clumping together. “I prayed harder for you than I did for my own forgiveness.”

A wounded sound escaped Buck. He swallowed harshly, unsure where to go from here. If he should mention more about the coma—about the world where Buck was a teacher with an older brother. Where his sister was still unsafe in her own home and marriage, with Bobby dying without a sobriety chip, and Eddie all lost and angry. 

He hated it, how carefree Bobby was. The patronising way he said ‘kid’, how easily he took swigs out of the whiskey flask. It wasn’t the same Bobby who asked Buck for help all those years ago after the plane crash. 

“Thank you,” he said finally, voice breaking. Even if he didn’t believe it, Bobby believed in him. 

“Just don’t pull away again,” Bobby said, eyes brimming. 

“I won’t,” he whispered.

Despite how he could hear every bit of Bobby's body working, from his stammering heartbeat to his pulse, Buck focused on his face. How earnest and open it was, Bobby's expression full of reassurance. Something fatherly Buck had never known. Someone in his corner, without the worry suffocating him. Someone who wanted him to get better, not secretly hoping he had died instead of an older brother.

He sniffed, rubbing at his eyes. Bobby did the same, the corner of his mouth uplifting.

Athena clasped her hands together. “Well, who’s up for cards?”

Both Buck and Bobby welcomed the suggestion.

Eddie had probably broken many traffic laws and maybe now had an outstanding speeding ticket. But he'd rather pay a fine than find Buck subdued and tied to a chair in his own loft. He was certain Athena could overpower him. Maybe she had some emergency pepper-spray or taser in her purse. 

He rushed into the elevator, crucifix tucked in his pocket. It was from his house for his next experiment. Number seven was reserved later for this evening, but it might be pushed up to now depending on what he walked into.

Hastily, he unlocked the door and rushed inside. His eyes searched the place, and he stopped suddenly. There was no blood or shouting. It was Buck with a fork in his hand, digging into Bobby's food, and the three of them playing fucking cards. Not running for their lives after finding out about their friend’s new vampiric abilities. 

“Oh, hey guys!” Eddie said, over-enthusiastic and seething. “If it isn’t some of my favourite people who check their phones.”

Buck at least got the hint and grabbed his phone. He winced as he looked at the screen. At all the missed calls and unread messages, Eddie checking if Buck was okay, if nothing bad had happened. Eddie had double, triple and even quadruple texted. 

Buck laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, imagine not doing that.” He put his phone down. “You want a drink?”

He glared at him. 

“Eddie, is there a reason you have a crucifix in your pocket?” Bobby asked. 

Blinking away from Buck, he clutched at his pocket to try to hide it. “Oh, there’s been a bunch of break-ins in the neighbourhood around here, and you can never be too careful.”

“And that would help?”

“Satanists! They’re satanists,” Buck blurted out. 

Eddie nodded, frantic. “Yeah, a new gang on the streets. Athena, I’m surprised you haven’t heard of them.”

The two of them just stared, heads turning from Eddie to Buck. 

“I’ll keep an eye out on patrol, I guess,” Athena said, sceptical. 

“Yeah, youth these days,” Eddie said, chuckling uncomfortably. “Anyway! Buck, you got a sec?” 

He didn’t let Buck answer and dragged him up the stairs. He hated this loft sometimes—there were no doors to slam for dramatics, no areas for privacy. 

As soon as they were upstairs, Eddie stepped back and observed Buck. There were no marks on his palms from his own fingernails—though he didn’t really know the extent of Buck’s healing acceleration. Bobby and Athena were still intact. Buck didn’t look guilty or distressed. No teeth bared, no veins, or dead bodies in the kitchen. 

The surprise visit went well then. A success with a kill rate of zero. 

He grabbed Buck’s phone from his pocket, unlocking it. 

“What are you doing?”

“Texting the government your location,” he deadpanned, before fixing Buck with a blank look. “I’m telling everyone you’re up for visitors.”

Buck yanked the phone off him, but he underestimated his roughness. Eddie’s back hit the wall. Buck hissed with one hand gripping his phone and the other holding Eddie there, keeping him plastered to the wall and helpless. 

Though Eddie didn't struggle. He made no move to resist or get out of Buck's grip. There was an oddness to it—he had read about a vampire's potential to enthral their ‘prey’. To compel their victims, entrap them. 

He gulped, body practically vibrating at the idea of whether Buck could do it. 

“Take it back,” Buck growled.

He smirked. “Already sent.”

“Eddie, I’m barely getting through this right now,” he whined, grip tightening, like Eddie was his own stress ball. 

“But you got through it without me.”

Buck gritted his teeth, fangs flashing.

“I’m not ready.”

“You are,” he argued, exhaling sharply as Buck thrashed his grip. His head hit against the wall, his shoulders and back pinned. 

Yep, he was literally a stress toy right now. Like those you’d squeeze, and balls popped out. It didn’t hurt. Sure, it was an odd angle, but the heat of it, the pressure, knowing that he was entirely at the will of another... If he were in any pain, he wouldn't even notice.

“You gonna do this here in front of Bobby and Athena?” he taunted, head tilted upwards.

Buck blinked harshly and staggered, like the entire world had come back to him. He let go of Eddie, no longer pinning him. But one hand was still bundled in Eddie's shirt. 

“See? You’re still in control.” 

Buck ripped his hand off Eddie’s shirt, breath hitching.

“Someone who was rabid, so lost in those thoughts you have, would’ve just taken me then and there,” Eddie continued, baring his neck. “But you didn’t,” he whispered, grinning with a mixture of smugness and pride. 

Buck’s eyes flickered down to his neck. Eddie caught it, and his smirk widened.

“After, I promise,” he said, face flushing at Buck's whine. Like a puppy whinging in front of an empty bowl, not understanding what the plastic bag in their owner's hand meant. That they just needed to wait.

Buck shuffled further away, eyes downcast and cheeks glowing.

“You interrupted our game of Old Maid,” Buck said hoarsely.  

“It seems I did.” 

Buck dragged him back downstairs into the kitchen.

“Fancy another player after this round?” Eddie announced.

Bobby and Athena readily agreed, resuming and utterly unaware of whatever had happened in Buck’s bedroom. 

“How’s Christopher been, Eddie?” Athena asked as Bobby dealt the cards. 

Eddie embraced the small talk, going on about the science fair Chris had last week. About the hell he'd been through with having to buy specific markers and learn a style of handwriting, all for a poster. 

“So Buck, Eddie told me you have a doctor's appointment coming up tomorrow,” Bobby said as he picked up a card from the pile. 

Eddie pointedly ignored Buck’s kick under the table. 

“Yeah,” Buck said. “Dr Salazar is coming over here since I’m still kinda sensitive.”

“That’d be good, you’ve spent too much time in the hospital for a lifetime,” Bobby commented. “It’s a checkup, right?”

Buck nodded, still glaring at Eddie.

“It’ll be quick, I think, just vitals, an official assessment, all that,” Buck said as he anxiously rubbed at his wrist. Eddie kicked him under the table to get him to stop. 

“Don’t sound too excited,” Athena said.

Eddie nodded, now staring at Buck. “Nothing will go wrong.”

“Right,” he exhaled. 

“Something is wrong.”

Just kill him now. 

"This much recovery in such a short time isn't possible."

Murder him, string him up and call the feds. Dr Salazar would probably call them first with a safety button hidden in her bag for home calls. Perhaps she even had a special button for people who shouldn’t be alive. 

“Maybe I have really good genetics.”

Dr Salazar frowned at him. “You have a family history of juvenile leukaemia.” 

He bit his lip, he needed to stop talking sometimes. 

“There’s too much iron in your blood, and you have low blood pressure. Have you had any headaches recently? Fatigue or vomiting?”

“No, I’ve been fine. It might be this raw meat diet I’m trying.” For fuck's sake, he really needed to stop talking. 

“Well, I highly recommend that you reduce your red meat intake. You should increase your fibre and calcium instead. I’ll give you a more detailed diet in our notes.”

Buck nodded, not trusting himself to speak anymore. He could put some of those ingredients into his blood smoothies or even make soup.

“And let me know if you have any symptoms. If this escalates, we may need to drain some of your blood to get rid of the red blood cells containing the iron.”

Buck paled. He’d never researched that before—if a vampire donated blood. It sounded like the start of a shit joke. 

“So am I all good to return to work?” 

“Yes, I recommend lighter duty first, not to rush into things, but yes, full recovery.”

It was all up to Buck now, then. To learn how to not be a cannibal on the field, in unpredictable situations, with no context except fire codes and locations. No information about whether the patients were bleeding or if they were already dead.

He exhaled shakily, glad the heart rate monitor was off him now.

As he watched Dr Salazar pack up her kit, Buck read over her notes. Potentially if he missed anything in code, any clues that she could know something else was wrong. Like the undead kind. 

Just as she was about to leave, Buck couldn’t help himself. 

“Have you ever encountered weird things?” he asked, and she looked at him, questioningly. “Like, I got struck by lightning. Has anyone ever got powers from that? Or weird side effects you couldn’t explain.” 

Dr Salazar put her kit down on the floor momentarily, thinking it over. 

“There are still things we do not understand about the human body and mind,” Dr Salazar started, carefully. “Cases where the impossible happens. Whether it be surviving a pole to the head, or Lazarus syndrome with the body essentially reviving itself."

Buck wasn’t sure he fit into that category of resurrection. 

“Everything can eventually be explained, Mr Buckley. All it takes is a first recorded patient and a pattern.” 

He bit his inner cheek. For him to be the first recorded patient, he’d probably be underground in some federal science prison. 

“Now, if that’s all the questions out of the way,” Dr Salazar said as she picked up her kit again. Buck rushed to open the door for her. “Good luck on the job, Mr Buckley, and please don’t escape from our care again.” 

“Scouts honour,” Buck said, internally smacking himself because why did he say that? He wasn’t even a scout. 

She left before he could further embarrass himself. He sighed heavily, still staring at the closed door. Not entirely convinced the doctor wouldn't come back, but with back-up this time, SWAT at his door, guns blazing.

“Can I come out now?”

He flinched, forgetting he had locked Eddie in the bathroom during the visit. 

“No, you can stay in there for another ten minutes. Think of it as punishment for lying to me about Bobby.”

“I’m changing my phone password.”

“Fine! Fine,” he huffed and let Eddie out. He opened it to see Eddie sitting on the chair in the shower, something he had installed for when Chris occasionally slept over. 

“I’m seeing no dismembered body parts, so I’m guessing it went fine,” Eddie said as he walked back into the kitchen. 

Buck shivered at his words. “Don’t say it like that,” he groaned. “But yes, you’re right. No murder here, and look, I’m all cleared.” He gave Eddie the piece of paper. 

“At least try to sound happy,” Eddie chided. “You said it yourself that you’re getting bored doing nothing."

Buck sighed, settling down onto the kitchen stool. He had what he wanted, a purpose again, to be able to return to his job, to stop stressing Bobby out with finding cover for his shifts. But it meant he had to return now. Be in the field and normal. 

He could fuck it all up, lose control on a scene, endanger civilians instead of saving them. Maybe even endanger his team. He’d never forgive himself if he hurt someone, lead to a delay in saving people. 

Eddie stood in front of him, face serious and no longer pissed off like he was in the bathroom.

“Stop thinking like that,” Eddie muttered.

“I can’t."

“You keep thinking of the negatives.”

“I think potentially vamping out and killing those we are called to save is a good reason to think of the negatives.”

“You’re also faster now, and stronger,” Eddie said. “I bet you wouldn’t even need a ram to knock a door down.” Buck’s body flushed at the prideful tone in Eddie’s voice. “You had my back before all this superhuman crap. Think of how safe I’ll be when you’re like this.”

His face twinged, hot. No longer cold. Now, he felt heat and sweat. 

“I’ll always have your back,” Buck said. 

Eddie grinned and slapped Buck on the shoulder. “Glad to have you back, Firefighter Buckley.”

Once Eddie left to go back home, Buck texted Hen and Chimney to come round. He wanted to lump all the doctor and paramedic visitors into one day. 

Hen arrived first, breathless at the door when Buck let her in. 

“You have too many stairs,” she panted, leaning over with her hands on her legs. 

“This building does have an elevator,” he said, confused. 

“Chimney took it and shut the doors on me,” Hen said, and Buck huffed out a laugh. “And I needed to do this first.”

Buck braced himself, expecting a hug or something. But instead, all he got was a flick to his forehead. 

“Ow!” 

“Chim might still do it anyway, but at least I'm first,” she grinned, finally coming into the apartment. “That’s what you get for freaking everyone out this whole week.”

“Sorry, I’ll just ask the universe not to hit me with lightning,” he snapped, rubbing his head. Her nails hurt. 

“Do you want another one?” Hen made a gesture to flick him again, and he backed away. 

“Nope, no, all good, well received. No more lightning jokes.” 

“Good,” she nodded. “Now come here."

Hen pulled him into a hug. Buck breathed out, steadying himself. He was getting better at this. He heard movement over Hen, Chimney now arrived at the door. For some reason, Buck thought he’d smell like smoke, for name's sake reasons, but it was just amber. 

“You are fast,” Chimney gasped, and Hen eased off Buck. “No, no, group hug, c’mon, get back to it.” 

Chimney shoved his way in between them both, making them all laugh. As soon as they separated, Chimney whacked Buck on the back of his head.

“Stop abusing me!” Buck glared at them both. “I’m vulnerable.”

“Eddie told us you’re in the clear, so don’t pull the coma-card on us.”

Buck scoffed, and Hen grabbed the paper slip on the counter from Dr Salazar. 

“I’m surprised they didn’t want you in the hospital for this, or even to stay overnight for observation.”

“The staff are probably glad not to have you overnight,” Chimney said and scoffed at Buck's offended face. “Firefighters are the worst patients, you know you are.” 

He grumbled under his breath, but agreed nonetheless. 

"Dr Salazar was pissed off that I left without being discharged, but temporary insanity does that to a man.” 

“Only you, Buck,” Hen said, smiling as she shook her head.

Buck missed this—the normality, just having conversations and jokes. Nothing to do with the supernatural or vampire tests.

“Now, I've bought all of my sick-day favourites,” Chimney said, bringing his bag onto the counter. It slammed against the surface. He pulled out many DVDs, before Buck’s time and even older, or maybe when he was four. 

“You know I have Netflix, right?”

“Does Netflix have ‘Die Hard’?”

“I’m guessing not.”

“Nope!” Chimney exclaimed. “Netflix will randomly delete your favourite movies, but DVDs live on forever.”

He began setting it up, and Buck was glad Eddie forced him to get a couch. He really didn’t feel like sitting on the floor. 

“We heard Bobby and Athena came around with food. Where are your plates again?”

Hen made her way to the kitchen, and Buck sighed. He was being invaded—used for the food in his fridge and his nice TV. And he’d have it no other way. 

Just as Buck was scheduled for his bedtime FaceTime call with Chris, instead of a notification popping up from Chris, it came from Eddie. 

Eddie: I’m outside, get in.

Buck: why

Eddie: Just come outside. 

Buck: i’ll tell my landlord ur using my parking space without permission

He waited for a response, tuning his ears to the parking lot outside, ready to hear Eddie curse under his breath. But instead, he flinched hard. Eddie slammed down on his horn and kept it going. 

Buck: im coming jesus christ stop

He rushed downstairs and saw Eddie parked with a smug grin on his face, laughing. Buck scowled and got into the front seat. 

“You’re evil,” Buck snapped. “Be glad that the Equality Act doesn’t include the supernatural.”

“Because you have such a good track record at suing people.”

Buck bristled. “What am I here for? Chris is gonna call me any second.”

“Oh, I know,” Eddie said as he started up the car. “That’s where I’m driving you to.”

Panic slammed into him, bile rose in his throat. 

“No, no, Eddie, I can’t. I needed a bloody flannel to get through seeing my sister. And- and the past two days could’ve been a fluke. I can’t do this, Eddie,” he begged, chest heaving. 

“I’ll be there,” Eddie said with no sense of panic or worry on his face. He was confident and still. “I trust you with him.”

“You trusted the old Buck with him. Not me.”

Eddie's expression hardened. “You wouldn’t hurt him. Even like this.”

Buck seethed in silence. His legs shook as Eddie continued to drive. Because he didn't know. Last time he went over to Eddie's house, he freaked out over a dog-walker. But this… he'd drive a stake into his own heart, decapitate himself somehow, if he ever hurt Chris. He wouldn’t even run because he couldn’t live with himself if he did. 

“Just try,” Eddie said earnestly. "He wants to see you. And not over the phone.”

His words tugged at Buck's heart, guilt-tripping him. And it was working. 

His leg still bounced, but he nodded. He could do this. He didn’t want to disappoint Chris, because Eddie had probably promised Buck would come over. Becoming a vampire didn’t mean Buck wasn’t immune to manipulation. Especially from Eddie. In fact, he might be more susceptible to it now. 

The journey went quickly, and before Buck knew it, he stood in front of Eddie's house. With the door unlocked, he stepped inside. It was just like before, with an overwhelming sense of home. Something safer than the loft, more compact and alive. Warm with no cold spots. 

He didn’t feel any of the narrowed vision before. No part of him wanted to stick to the walls or shadows. To camouflage and hunt. Instead, it was the opposite. He felt alive and in control. 

“Buck!”

Chris came crashing into him, grabbing his legs. 

Buck let his instincts take over. He almost collapsed, his knees too weak, and leaned down to catch Chris. To hold him. 

He hadn’t been this close to him in ages. Chris had become ‘too cool’ to hug people who weren’t his classmates. He shied away from forehead kisses and ‘love you’s in the car for school runs when he knew his friends were looking, waiting for him by the gates. But Chris let Buck hold him close. He rested his head on Chris’, burying his face in that curl shampoo Buck recommended so Chris' curls wouldn't frizz. It was familiar. Like home. It was the brand Buck used, and that vulnerable part of him marked Chris as his own. 

“Hey, Superman, I missed you,” he whispered, voice breaking. He was almost fucking crying. 

“Dad said it wasn’t safe to see you,” Chris said, muffled in Buck's arms.

He froze, filled with dread. 

“Because the hospital said so, right, Chris?” Eddie corrected quickly. 

“Yeah, something boring about quarantine, like before.”

Buck relaxed. It wasn’t the case of Eddie forewarning his son that Buck was a monster, unsafe and dangerous. It was an excuse. He didn't deserve any of this. The love, this comfort, not when there were thoughts in the back of his head, dormant for now, but there. But he didn’t want to let go. He didn't want to leave. Instead, Buck allowed himself to be selfish for once. 

He looked at Eddie, though not for reassurance, but to mouth a simple, “Thank you."

His eyes glistened with tears, and his lips ached from smiling so widely. 

"I need to show you my science fair poster. It is so much cooler in person. Dad got me glow-in-the-dark pens."

Chris dragged him into his bedroom, all excited. 

He needed this. To feel human again. 

Chapter Text

Twelve hours. 

His first shift back was only twelve hours.

But it still stressed Buck. Even with limited hours and light duty, anything could happen. He had gone through so many scenarios with Eddie—about his reactions, what he should do if anything unpredictable occurred. They had practised various coping methods in case he felt his face itch or his gums hurt. Yet, that was all hypothetical. In Buck’s living room, Eddie’s home or the local park at late hours. 

Nothing could prepare him for an actual shift.

It was why he stood in his bedroom changing shirts every two minutes. 

“Buck, this is the fourth time you’ve changed, and they’re all the same.” 

He screwed up another navy blue shirt. 

“It just doesn’t feel like it did before,” he exclaimed. “This one is weird on my arms, like I’m trapped, and the fabric is scratchy.”

Eddie pinched the skin between his eyebrows and checked his watch again. 

“We’re gonna be late.” 

“Fine, fine, pass me that one.”

He gestured to the shirt in Eddie’s hands. Eddie looked as if he’d forgotten what he was holding. But he didn’t give it over. Instead, he gripped it tighter. 

“Eds, you’re the one rushing me, so just,” he huffed and motioned for the shirt again. Eddie glanced up, then down at Buck’s bare chest, before throwing it over. 

He put it on quickly and stiffened. Something was wrong. It was tighter for different reasons, like it clung to him, smaller in certain areas and comfortable in others. And it smelled like…

Eddie. 

This was Eddie’s shirt, and he just gave it to him. 

Coughing came from the top of the stairs. Eddie had moved away, now facing over the railings. 

“You finally ready?” Eddie asked, still not looking at him. 

Buck grabbed his gym bag.

In Eddie’s t-shirt. 

It was safe to say on the drive to the station, his mind didn’t shut up about that. But at least he wasn’t worrying about work or potentially killing the entire firehouse now. 

As he parked in his usual space, he readied himself. The hangar doors were closed. Buck hadn’t tried this before, but he knew from all those vampire shows that it was possible. He focused, eyes shut and ears straining. Not on the whistling of leaves from the trees, not the traffic or Eddie’s heartbeat. Just inside the firehouse. 

Muffled speech suddenly cleared.

“If you do this every time one of us almost dies, you’ll be bankrupt.” 

It was Chimney.

“Me bankrupt? Check your Venmo requests, this has all been divided,” Hen replied. 

“Equally?”

“No, Eddie has a ‘Buck’ tax, and there’s an organiser commission.”

Chimney scoffed, “How much are you getting?”

“Five per cent.” He could hear Hen shrugging, the brushing movement her shoulders made against her clothes.

“And I don't get a discount?” Chimney asked. From the silence, he guessed Hen's face said it all. “Daylight robbery.”

Buck faltered, a hand on his shoulder disturbing him. Eddie looked at him expectantly, as if Buck had missed his question. 

“They’ve totally got banners set up, right?” Buck asked instead. 

Eddie frowned. “Can you see through walls now or…?”

Buck grinned and tapped his ear.

“Oh,” Eddie mouthed, cheeks flushing slightly. 

To be honest, Buck would rather gain X-ray vision than cannibalistic thoughts. 

As they stepped inside the hangar, Eddie stopped him. “Act surprised.”

Turning the corner, a confetti canon exploded and sprinkled all over them. There were banners across the railing, glitter painted 'Welcome Back Buck! (Again)'. Hen had a tray of cupcakes in her hands, with lightning stickers on the top. He didn't question it because he was back. 

“Ah, so the Flash returns,” Chimney declared, waving around his own party popper. 

Buck's smile widened. “Just wait until you get struck by lightning,”

“I think I’m good with rebar to the head.”

Hen agreed, “It’s an easier concept to put on a cake.”

“Is that why you’re holding sleep masks with lightning cupcakes?” Eddie asked, taking one off her. 

“No one appreciates my creativity,” Hen said, shaking her head. 

Everyone from C-shift was there, too. Each person took turns in welcoming him back. They mentioned something about the A-shift curse in the midst of pats on the back and fist-bumps. Bobby was the last to greet him. It was less personal and intimate than last week’s home visit. No hugging this time, but there was still that outstanding relief in having Buck here. 

“Now, this is much lighter duty than you'll like,” Bobby said, handing Buck a sheet of his assignments for this shift. He read it quickly, mostly administrative tasks and logistics. “You won't be man-behind, but you'll act as more of an assistant on calls.”

He nodded, grinning when Bobby gave him a sceptical look, like he expected Buck to resist. But Buck preferred this. He needed to lean into calls so he wouldn’t be the reason someone got hurt.

“Got it, Cap, no running into burning buildings until I'm ready,” he said, and Bobby's face twitched, so he corrected himself. “Until you think I'm ready.”

Bobby looked satisfied, but still sceptical. Buck took that as a good time to now eat all of the cupcakes before Eddie got to them first, which he already had a head-start on. 

The first hour was fine. No massacres or accidental cuts whilst manning equipment. Nothing to make Buck react. He could feel Eddie's eyes on him. For some reason, it didn't bother him. This constant surveillance. Though whenever Eddie's eyes would drift down to his shirt—or really to Eddie's t-shirt—he'd have to leave the room. Yeah, he was never living this one down. 

A ringing pierced through his skull, and Buck flinched. His hands pressed against his ears. It was the alarm.

Words rang out about a rescue call in a camping ground near the San Gabriel Mountains. With his ears still ringing, Buck grimaced as he readied himself in the truck with the others. Eddie clasped him on the back.

“Sorry, I forgot about that sound,” he said, and Buck rolled his eyes. 

For the past week, Eddie had been playing random loud sounds from his speakers to get Buck used to them. Screaming, windows shattering, and car crashes. His YouTube recommendations looked very weird now and all for nothing, because they'd both forgotten about the alarm bell. 

As soon as his ears stopped buzzing, Buck found himself excited. He missed this, the normalcy of riding in the truck, with his headset and turnouts on. Eddie knocked his knees against his own, slotting opposite him. Bobby went over the protocol in the front seat, talking to dispatch to get more information. 

Though when they arrived, Buck didn't expect this on his first call. To see a teenage boy with a life jacket alone on a mattress in the middle of a lake. 

Bobby sighed, as if he wasn't paid enough for this. He grabbed the megaphone. 

“Anthony, dispatch told us you're stuck there, wanna tell us what happened?”

“They left me here!” the kid called back, waving his hands in anger, but stopped when it moved the floating mattress. “This was supposed to be a camping weekend, and they pulled this shit.”

“Who brings a mattress to a camping trip?” Chimney asked.

“Maybe that’s why they left him,” Hen said, trying to hide her own amusement. 

“Guys, this is serious, dispatch said he can’t swim,” Bobby muttered, and then made sure the megaphone was switched off before continuing. “Even if he has a life jacket, and these aren’t deep waters.”

Buck smothered a grin in his gloves. He glanced over to see Eddie doing the same. 

“How long have you been out here, Anthony?” Bobby asked. 

“Uhh, I don't know, since I woke up.”

“And when did you wake up?”

“A while ago.”

Bobby managed to stop himself from throwing the megaphone. 

“Alright, just stay there, we're coming for you.” He turned back to his team. “Buck, get the rescue raft off the truck.”

Buck nodded and jogged to retrieve it. He slid up the compartment door and looked in the normal spot. But there was nothing there.

“Uh, Cap, it's- uh, it's not here.”

Chimney winced. “Ah, yeah, Anderson was telling me about a water rescue they had returned from when we clocked in, maybe they forgot to stock it back.”

Bobby’s mouth pressed into a tight line. He hid his annoyance well, but Buck could sense it anyway. 

“We'll have to do this old-school, then.” Bobby looked between Buck and Eddie. “Diaz, suit up, and we’ll get the rope ready.”

Eddie made a face. “Isn’t this something Buck can do?”

“You want me to get hyperthermia on my first call back?” Buck said, a hand clutched his chest. Eddie threw a glare his way, causing Buck to grin. 

Once Eddie had finished suiting up with the proper protective gear, Buck helped Bobby with the rope. As he extended it towards the lake, he waited by the shoreline. When Eddie approached, still looking just as annoyed and glaring, Buck attached it to him and stepped into the lake. 

He expected to feel the cold, but instead it was hot. He stumbled back. His ankle burned. Flesh sizzled under the wet turnouts. As he reached forward to heave the rope, his hands singed. He took off a glove. 

“Buck, any problems?” Bobby asked from further behind him. 

Buck stared down at the burns forming on his hand. A shiver crept up his searing skin as he pulled his glove back on. 

“No problems, Cap, ready for Eddie to go.”

As Eddie swam, he kicked his legs above the surface, soaking Buck on purpose. He froze, bracing himself for more pain. But it didn’t burn him. The water clung to him, dampening his turnouts. Confused, he regained his balance, stepping forward again, and fuck. The boiling heat spread across his forearms and legs.  

It was when he stepped forward into the water. His stomach dropped. That myth must be right then. About vampires not being able to cross running water, whether it was a river or any stream of flowing water. 

His grip tightened on the rope, taking on the pain so he wouldn't let go. He had to step forward again once Eddie reached the teenage boy and began pulling the mattress back to the shore. 

It was only when Eddie got closer that he noticed something was wrong. He waited until the patient was secure with Hen and Chimney before rushing over. 

“What is it?” he asked firmly.

Buck took off his glove. He gasped as his skin brushed against the fabric. It was red and bloody, patches uneven as it started to heal.

“I can’t cross running water,” he whispered, his hands shaking. “Eddie, this is real, I can’t—”

Grimacing, Eddie put the glove back on. He peered over his shoulder at the others before winding the rope up. 

“Not now,” Eddie whispered back. “It’s healing, that’s a good thing.”

“I’m the rescue specialist, Eds, how am I gonna rescue in water when I can’t fucking get in it?” he choked out.

“We’ll figure it out,” Eddie replied confidently, his eyes focused on the rope. Once he was finished, he placed a hand on Buck’s shoulder, dragging him back to the others. “Later.” 

Buck tried to calm his breathing, but his hands didn't stop trembling under his gloves. This ruined everything. How could he be a firefighter when he couldn’t do this? He was more of a liability than an asset. 

“All good you two?” Bobby asked.

He gave Bobby a fake smile and nodded, willing everything inside him not to wince aloud. Hen handed Eddie a towel to dry himself. He tried to get involved, to join Chimney in making fun of Eddie. But he couldn't. His hands and legs continued to sting. He sat silently for the rest of the trip to the nearest hospital and then back to the firehouse.

As they arrived, Buck followed Eddie into the shower rooms. 

“What are we going to do?” he asked weakly, quiet even though there was no one else around. 

“It might be something we can desensitise you to,” Eddie said as he took off his damp gear and put the wet towel in the laundry basket. “You heard Bobby, you’re on light duty for now, so we have time.”

“What if something goes wrong when you’re doing a rescue?” he panicked. “How am I gonna have your back then?”

“I’ll manage,” Eddie dismissed.

His fists clenched at his sides. “Eddie,” he hissed. 

“I’m not worried,” Eddie stated, now shirtless.

Buck fumbled, not realising how close he stood. He could practically see every water droplet on his chest, how it clung to his skin, from the lake water. 

He stepped away, trying not to get distracted by his smell. It was natural with nothing artificial covering him. 

“Bobby is on our calls too, and he’s trained. And don’t count out Hen or Chim.” 

“But they’re not me.”

Silence struck between them. Quiet except for the water rushing in the drains and the hitching of Eddie’s breath. Eddie gave him a long look, eyes a deep brown and flickering all over Buck’s face. 

“You’re telling me that if I was stuck on a rescue call in water, that this,” he grabbed Buck’s hands, healed but still tingling, “would stop you?” 

Buck already knew the answer. 

“You’d burn yourself to dust first, wouldn’t you?” Eddie asked, voice low and pressing. Buck nodded slowly. “We’ll get you used to it so that doesn't happen. Everything will be fine.”

The assured promise lingered until Eddie made a grab for Buck’s phone. He started to type into it. 

“Exposure therapy starts on the weekend. You’ve always said you wanted to go river rafting.”

Buck faltered at how quickly everything shifted. Eddie's expression was no longer watchful and sombre, but teasing, and he still wasn’t wearing a shirt. 

“Since when?” Buck asked, confused. 

“We can even take Chris.”

“Yeah, because nothing says family bonding like watching me burn alive,” he scoffed and then froze. He had just called that family bonding, like he was a part of it.

“Exactly,” Eddie agreed easily. “Now, can I shower, or are you still worried?”

Buck moved out of Eddie's way, not letting him see how his face flushed. As he exited, he nearly collided with Chimney. He gave Buck a strange look, glancing towards the shower door and a very obviously unwashed Buck. 

“Do I even wanna know?”

Buck gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I’m on laundry duty.”

“With what laundry?” Chimney asked, amused as he eyed Buck’s empty hands. 

He groaned and walked away, ignoring Chimney's chuckling. He might as well do laundry now anyway. Only, he’d wait until Eddie was finished in the showers before going in there again. He completed his list of tasks quickly. Super-speed and not feeling fatigue probably helped with that. Once he finished stocking the rescue rafts back into the truck, he went into the gym. And that went even faster. 

Just as he went to lift the bar again, a hand came down to stop him. 

“Normal people can't lift reps like that without a break,” Eddie muttered.

Buck swallowed hard. He was ice cold, not even sweating. No part of him even ached. 

He sucked at being a person now. No wonder that ‘Twilight’ film had vampires practising blinking. 

“Do you think I can still gain muscle mass?” he asked as he wet his face with his water bottle. “Like, am I not an alive body anymore? Can my hair grow?”

Eddie tugged at his hair, uncaring of Buck’s wince. 

“Your hair has grown.”

“How can you tell?” he asked, trying to swipe away Eddie’s hand. 

“It’s grown.” Eddie kept his hand in Buck’s hair a second longer before letting go. “You’re not a dead body. You have a heartbeat.”

That was what confused him, really. His lungs worked and all that—no aversion to sunlight or mirror reflections. But for some reason, rivers and silver hated him. 

The alarm sounded, and he almost dropped a dumbbell on his foot. If Eddie noticed Buck practice rushing over to the truck at a normal-ish speed and breathing regularly, he didn’t say anything about it. 

“Car crash, at least we’ll know finally if those videos helped,” Eddie murmured as they suited up. “Oh, and why did you skip over here?”

Buck gaped at him. He did not skip. 

He was more in his head on the way to the call. Eddie was right—not about the skipping, but about the videos. So those car pile-ups and window-shattering sounds he ruined his YouTube with should be useful. 

“Buckley, you’re on perimeter,” Bobby instructed, and Buck nodded, clapping Chimney on the shoulder as he walked by to grab the cones. 

He set them quickly and returned to Bobby, helping with crowd control as Eddie handled the jaws' extraction. The scene didn’t last long, with traffic moving as smoothly as it could with only two lanes open. With one patient requiring an ambulance for a proper check-up and the rest triaged, Buck returned to the engine. 

“It’s good to have you back, Buck,” Bobby praised, and he preened. 

It was only in the ride back to the firehouse that this heaviness suddenly pressed itself into Buck’s gut. A sinking feeling, gravelling deep. Guilt.

This wasn’t how he usually worked. Before, he hadn't moved this fast, wasn’t this alert and ready. He hesitated, took a couple more seconds to finish jobs. Right now, he was praised for cheating. He was cheating Bobby. Tricking him into thinking this was all Buck, but instead it was just a hollow version of someone who used to be able to handle blood without wanting it in his mouth. Someone who wasn’t dependent on Eddie’s wrist. 

Not even the bashing of Eddie’s knees against his own could get him out of his thoughts. He bet Bobby would be disappointed if he found out about this change.  Disgusted that all this time, he had been complimenting a monster who didn’t deserve any of it. Maybe even Eddie would grow sick of this, too. He imagined that after a gruesome forty-eight-hour shift where Eddie ran hot and exhausted, seeing Buck in perfect form would irritate him. None of his team could relate to him—they would get annoyed eventually. 

His teeth gritted. 

As soon as he had cleaned the engine, Buck made his way into Bobby’s office. He needed to do something. He knocked on the door, making sure his fist didn’t punch through the glass. Bobby didn’t seem surprised to see him, which didn’t help his thoughts at all. 

“Buck, come, take a seat.”

He stood awkwardly until Bobby gestured at him again. Slowly, he sat down, hands hidden by his side. 

“Something has changed about me,” he started with, not letting Bobby take the lead. But then his head blanked. He didn’t even know where to start with this. “Do you think your church would still accept me?” 

Now, why in the fuck did he word it like that? Buck bit his cheek to stop himself from grimacing. 

Bobby’s eyebrows furrowed. “You’re always welcome there, Buck, you know that.”

“Something has changed, though, you- you must have seen that,” he stammered. “Like, on the call we just had, I was different.”

A silence stretched out. His eyes didn't leave Bobby, watching every movement he made—his breathing, the blood flowing through him, his heartbeat. Bobby’s hands moved to his desk. 

“I’ve noticed a difference,” Bobby said slowly, “and it’s okay.”

Buck recoiled. It’s okay? The practising Catholic was okay with blood-sucking demons? What happened to exorcisms and blasphemy? 

Bobby’s hand skimmed to his top drawer, and he brought out paperwork. Buck’s full name was printed out in the corner. 

There were HR forms for when your employee comes back from the dead? 

But then Eddie’s name marked the other corner.

“You two have been partners for years and still hold professionalism, so this new development should be fine to clear with the chief.”

Buck’s mouth fell open. 

“Cap, wait—”

“Obviously, there will be new rules in the firehouse, but—”

“No, no, Bobby, I’m not dating Eddie.”

“What?” Bobby asked as he put the paperwork back down. “But- what’s the difference then? What’s this about?” 

Buck’s chest tightened. He couldn’t just say he was a vampire now. 

“I’m not straight,” he admitted and sat up rigidly. “Just not dating Eddie, can you put those away? Please?” 

Bobby stopped shuffling the papers. 

Why was this more nerve-wracking to admit than being something undead and soulless?

“Well, my sentiment stays the same,” Bobby said as he finally put the paperwork back into the drawer. Buck frowned, expecting him to put it to the side or in the shredder. “I’m proud of you, kid, and whatever beliefs some churches may have, I don’t share them. You’re always welcome to come with me on Sundays.”

Warmth rushed inside him, a smile twitching on his lips. Bobby was proud of him. He nodded fast. As much as he loved this affirmation, he needed to get out of this office before he admitted to something else. 

He smiled tightly. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds good, thanks, Cap.” 

He left his office, hands in his back pockets. As he turned the corner, he bumped into a hard surface. Eddie steadied him, and Buck jumped away. This was Eddie, his best friend, not HR-form-Eddie. 

“Wanna tell me what’s up with that?”

“I almost exposed myself as a vampire to Bobby,” he whispered breathlessly.

Eddie’s eyes widened, and his hands went to Buck’s arms again. He backed away, blinking away the text that kept overshadowing his eyes. Personal Relationship Disclosure Form.

“It’s all fine! A misdirect, I’m going to church on Sunday now,” he blurted out, and Eddie looked even more confused than before. “I’m gonna go and y’know… go.”

He walked off—okay, maybe ran off—ignoring Eddie calling out his name. As he went downstairs to the racks, he grabbed a random uncoiled hose and began wrapping it up. He needed a routine, something to keep his head busy and had nothing to do with paperwork. 

“What did the hose do to you?”

He startled, dropping it. Hen walked towards him from the ambulance.

“Nothing, just a little off,” he said, honest for once. “Mentally off, physically I’m fine.”

Hen hummed like she didn’t believe him. 

“It’ll take time to get used to this again,” Hen said. “I remember after my honeymoon, coming back to work was hell. One moment I’m with Karen having cocktails every day, and then I’m back to cleaning engines.”

“Have you never had a real break from work that you have to bring up your honeymoon?” Buck asked.

“Well, if I had to compare a coma to anything, it would be the spa in the Bahamas.”

Buck let out a startled laugh. He needed this, jokes about it, rather than Eddie’s omission about what really happened that night. 

“All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t push yourself to be normal,” Hen said. “You experienced something traumatic, Buck, we all did, but you the most. We don’t expect you to be the same after that.”

He winced. Because he wasn’t the same. He couldn’t ever return to what he was. 

"Oh, hey Clarke, you're here early," Hen greeted over his shoulder. Buck turned around. It was the same firefighter who covered for him when he was off.

Buck nodded, smiling at him, and Clarke patted him on the back as he headed to the locker room. A chill passed through him, hard against his skin. Buck shrugged it off, picking up the hose again. 

Just as he set it back on the rack, the alarm rang, somehow louder than last time. It was a house fire, another unit needing backup. Buck grabbed his turnouts and jerked back as Clarke sat next to him in the truck. 

“Captain said I should come, seeing as they need all the men they can get,” Clarke said, and Buck nodded, shuffling closer to Eddie once the doors shut. 

It was hard this time to calm down. To accept that he wasn’t the primary lead in this call, not the one to be ordered to go into the home, to grab the hose or go up the ladder. Instead, Bobby instructed him to set up the perimeter to keep civilians away and maintain the hose. 

He did as he was told, stopping himself from looking back at the house for any sign of Eddie inside. It was hot, his eyes watered from the sight of it. How orange and red it was, the heat emitting into the air. Every crumble of the house cracked inside his ears, he could hear the structural beams shatter. The snapping of fire burning against every surface it could reach. Just as he went to place down another cone, his ears twitched. 

“All clear second floor, coming back down.”

He could hear the radio from the 133 firemen. 

“Side B clear.”

The static on the line, each callout and order. 

But then there was something small. Almost unnoticeable. Buck stopped in the street, facing the house. From Side B, there was a noise. Not the rushing sound of flames or the rumbling of debris falling. It was a thumping sound, unsteady and erratic. Panicked. It was a heartbeat in the house. Not belonging to the firefighter currently making his way outside. 

There was still someone in there. 

Buck ran and grabbed the nearest breathing mask. 

“Buck, what are you doing?” Bobby called after him, hand on his radio. “Buck, slow down- Buck stop! Don’t you—”

His shouts grew louder and more strained, but Buck didn’t care. As he ran, the sound exploded. The running heartbeat, the desperate breaths, and quiet begs for help.

It was a child. 

As he breached the house, he let himself go. He sprinted up the stairs, too fast for it to even break under his weight. Everything blurred—the walls, the smoke and heaviness—but he could hear the child. Her heartbeat, the crying, the rocking back and forth. 

Buck pushed through the smoke, eyes clenched shut and mouth closed. He slammed open a door and there. In the wardrobe, trapped by fallen ceiling boards. Buck ripped it off the wardrobe. Screaming filled his ears, muffled by the fire crackling. But Buck heard her clearly. He pulled her close and secured the breathing apparatus over her face. She needed air to survive, but Buck didn’t right now.  

“Close your eyes,” he shouted, choking as he inhaled. 

He moved, evading everything around him as the air pulled slowly around them. He was able to sense every weak point of the crumbling house. Each step avoided what would send them tumbling to the ground. As soon as he reached the outside, he willed his legs to slow down.

He didn’t cough, he didn’t wince or flinch. He was sweating, but from the adrenaline, not the heat. He felt fine, more than fine. He pushed the little girl towards Hen and the closest ambulance. He dusted the soot and debris off himself, eyes locked on the child. 

They didn’t hear her. The 133 didn’t even consider if a kid could be hiding, scared, either under a bed or behind doors. They cleared the room, and she would have died. 

Roughness grabbed at Buck’s arm, forcing him to face away from the ambulance. 

“What was that?” 

Buck blinked, unsure. Bobby stood in front of him, face hard and twisted. His voice was angry, rough. 

“Bobby—” Buck tried, looking back over at the girl. 

“You need to be looked over,” Bobby interrupted as he dragged him further away from the triage area. “You disobeyed direct orders, I told you not—”

“I’m fine! Cap, there’s not a scratch on me,” Buck said, gesturing to himself. 

“You went into an evacuated building without orders, without backup or even the correct equipment. This isn’t fine, it was suicide.” 

“I knew someone was in that house, Bobby,” Buck gritted out. He didn’t need this right now, he needed to be with the girl, to make sure she was okay. 

Her heartbeat wasn’t as erratic or unstable, but it still kept skipping. 

“But how?”

“I heard her.”

Bobby scoffed harshly. “Try again, Buck, and at least think of a good excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse!” he shouted, not caring about the other crew around him. 

He saved someone. He prevented a funeral, white lilies on a plaque engraved 'Taken Too Soon'. There wouldn’t be any grief, no darkness in that family’s life, only dismay over a burnt-down home. Because he heard her heartbeat, her screaming and desperate breaths under all that crackling. 

He did that. 

“Maybe I was wrong,” Bobby snapped. “I thought you could do this, take a step back, but no, you just needed to do that.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Your head- it’s not in the right place.”

“Oh, don’t start this again,” he shot back, eyes burning. “You don’t get to do this again. I’m fine. Y’know what? I’m better than this, I’m the best I’ve ever been! There is nothing wrong with me.” 

He should be gripped on the back, given a proud nod, appreciated. Not called a liar. But instead, Bobby just sighed, staring at him with such profound disappointment. It stung, how it propelled off him in splashes. 

“You're off shift as soon as we get back.”

“Bobby, come on,” he went to continue, but Bobby rose his eyebrows, daring him. “You’re making a mistake.”

“Am I?” Bobby retorted sharply. “Walk it off. Get cleared by Han.”

His jaw clenched, fists curled beside him. His body throbbed. Strength coiled in his hands. A thought pricked at him. He wondered what he could do with this, if he could pierce through flesh with his fists. Rip into someone, tear out arteries. If he didn't need claws, but just himself. A simple twist of his hands and a neck to snap. 

The red glow from the fire twinged in his eyes. 

Fangs sliced his inner lip and tongue. He spat the blood on the ground, uncaring. He ripped off his turnouts, not needing them buttoned up anymore. He ignored it all. Other firefighters, Clarke’s poor attempt to get him back to the hoses. He found the 118 engine and shut the doors. He stayed silent, breathing heavily, fangs still digging into his lip, and he didn’t feel a thing. 

Whistling surrounded his ears. Like a kettle was screaming. He rested his arms on his elbows, burying his face in his hands. He needed to hide, to calm down before he matched the redness of the truck doors. Eventually, the door opened again. He knew who was there without needing his eyes—they were back, smelling of smoke and agitation. Rage from the front seat, concern from beside him. 

Knees knocked against him. A woody smell came from opposite him. 

“Don’t,” he hissed out, shoving Eddie off him. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, digging them more roughly into the palms of his hands. Anything to stop them from itching. He didn't move when the engine came to a stop, and everyone else got out. With knots twisting in his empty stomach, Buck didn't trust what he would do to the first moving object he'd see as soon as those doors opened.

Banging pounded from outside the engine, vibrating everything around him.

“Buckley, you heard the Captain.” It was Clarke’s voice. Not someone he was close to, not Eddie’s voice—not something to keep his head clear and grounded. 

He gulped at the reminder that he was essentially told to go home. 

Jaw locked, Buck slammed the door. Everything blurred after that. He somehow changed and clocked out. As he closed his locker, footsteps sounded on the floor. 

He took in another breath to keep himself from twisting around too fast and throwing whoever came around the corner to the floor. Hands on their shoulders or throat. Whatever felt smoother. 

It was Bobby’s footsteps—the earthy scent sharpened, now charred and fiery. 

“This will be an informal reprimand,” Bobby declared, and Buck kept his forehead against the cold metal of the locker. Forcing him to think of anything other than the blood rushing through Bobby, the reminder that he was just a body. “Sleep it off, and we’ll talk about it more when you’re not like this.”

“Like what?” he lifted his head off the locker, eyes glaring at Bobby. His face twisted, and God, he hoped the itching under his skin was only rage and not veins.

Bobby shook his head. So full of disappointment that it made him sick. 

“You know what,” Bobby said, exasperated. “Six a.m next shift, my office, understood?”

He clamped his teeth together, so close to being fangs again. A part of him wanted it, to give him, to fight back and show how much stronger he was now. 

Redness narrowed his vision, and Buck nodded, blinking away tears. 

He needed to get away. 

As he reached the parking lot, he spotted the car he and Eddie had carpooled in this morning. 

Metal itched against the healed burns on his hands. 

He threw the keys into the bushes and ran.