Work Text:
It is always a slow process. That’s what they tell you. Whether its recognizing that you’ve been in pain for a long time or trying to heal from that pain. It’s a slow process and he’s been through that slow process over and over and over again for the past however many years.
Buck feels tired—not the kind of tired that goes away after sleeping, not the kind of tired that goes away after you’ve spent a whole day with the people you love, not the kind of tired that comes with his job. He feels tired and it’s slow, not the realization but the recognition—of what it is.
He feels normal—as normal as he’s always felt with that constant nagging in the back of the head that he was never going to be enough—never complete on his own as a person. He felt normal because normal was Buck who didn’t belong. The patches of life, happiness and tranquility are the abnormal in his life. So, Buck feels normal because he doesn’t have to sit in anticipation of what’s going to go wrong in his life next. It already happened and now it’s time to simmer in it until nothing’s left but the bones and flesh that are too weak to carry the burden his mind becomes.
Buck looks down at the plastic cap and the bottle near his feet and slowly he peels his gaze away from it to the pills scattered all over the floor. One. He’d wanted to take one pill—that’s all he needs to stop it for a few hours—the pain, the terror, the wait…oh the wait.
He can’t continue lying down in his bed, staring at the ceiling willing himself to close his eyes and open them in the next instant because behind closed lids—he sees her. She sounds kind, like a mother but what does Buck know about kind mothers?
Sometimes she's Bonnie and sometimes she's Margaret. He is not what they want in any of them. He is never what they want. Bonnie calls him Derek. Margaret calls him Daniel and there's no turning away from either of them.
Kind, grieving mothers who can't see anything beyond their pain and Buck feels miserable with disgust and self-pity because he is not allowed to hate them. He can't bring himself to hate them because that's who Buck is. The person they don't want.
He sighs and peels himself off the sofa, feet dragging along the wooden floor and before he knows his body is hitting the mattress like his bones are not solid. He’s here. He knows. He’s home. He knows. It doesn’t feel like home but he knows he’s here. He wants to raise his hand—hands—both of them. He tells himself he’s going to raise his hands. It’s like he’s preparing himself. It’s like he needs to tell himself everything he’s going to do because if he doesn’t then he’ll forget how many pills had been sitting on his palm before he swallowed them—so he needs to tell himself everything. He can’t miss anything. He needs to be careful.
His hands feel heavy, his arms feel like lead, his mind feels foggy as his hands swim into his vision from his periphery. There. Hands.
He turns them around and stares at his palms before his gaze shifts to his fingers. He frowns. They’re all here? All of them. He counts them. Ten. He counts them again. Ten. He counts them once more just to make sure. Ten. It’s the same number. He knows that number.
He startles out of his thoughts when his phone pings with a notification.
Eddie.
His mind automatically fills in the blanks. The phone screen lights up, Christopher’s smile shines through the darkness of his room. The room feels less suffocating, less lonely.
We’re home. See you tomorrow, Buck.
Tomorrow. Yeah, he needs to be better tomorrow. Better than today. Something like pride sits coiled in his stomach at having fooled his best friend but pride has never tasted so bitter and rancid. Eddie didn’t need to see this side. Didn’t need to know just how difficult it was to wake up in the morning, just how hard it was to drive himself to the fire station, how nauseating it was to be under everyone’s watchful gaze.
Do they know? Does he know? Did they find out? These questions keep him alert throughout his shift and he hasn’t made a single mistake so that’s a win. Questions are important. Questions are good. Did he turn off the porch light? Did he wash the dishes? Did he say goodbye to Chris? Did he bump Eddie’s shoulder on his way out? Did he flinch when Eddie apologized? Did he stutter when he lied to Eddie? Did his eyes betray him when Eddie believed his lies? Questions kept him afloat. Questions were good. Did he lock the doors? Did he water the plants? Did he take his meds? How many pills did he take?
Buck springs up from the bed and grimaces when sweat trickles down his temple. He wipes it away and tries to breathe through his nose. The itch at the back of his throat has his gasping. Not enough air. Every window and door are closed. His gaze finds the door to his bedroom—ajar. He left it open. He left it open?
He’s moving towards the living room and then slowly he shuffles over to the hallway by the door. The pills are still scattered on the floor. Buck doesn’t feel his knees hit the floor but he feels his nails dig into the pills—the powder sticking to his fingers. He cringes at the feeling before continuing to gather them.
“7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12—”
A pill slips out from between his fingers and he smacks his hand down on it before it can roll down the cabinet. It instantly turns in to powder. More powder. The white sticks to his hand like its never going to leave the skin. He returns to the task at hand.
“9…9? No,” he mumbles under his breathe with a confused tilt of his head, “Was it 9?”
Counting isn’t hard. It shouldn’t be hard. But he can’t really see very well. His eyes shift to find the light overhead and he groans seeing it on. Why did it feel so dark?
His hand hits the floor—cold and unfeeling and he instantly retracts it as if the floor is going to bite him. He pushes himself back—back and back until his back in plastered against the furthest corner from the door.
The air is still not enough. His lungs feel too big for his body. His hands are sweating. His eyelids are too heavy. His eyes are too watery. His arms are weighing him down. His legs are frozen and there is a sound. Tuk…Tuk…Tuk…
It’s a light knocking sound like someone is hitting him in the back of the head as a reminder because he forgets. Did he take his medicine? He looks down and surely there are pills in his hands. They can help? They help. They let him sleep without the dreams. The dreams—they stop when Buck takes them. His blood stops stuttering and slamming into his veins like unrestrained storm.
There is another sound. Like the hiss of air. Like someone is chocking. He can help. He should help. But first he needs to remember something. He’s forgetting something. Something crunches in his fist. He slowly opens his palm and grimaces seeing even more powder. His medicine. That’s what he was forgetting. Did he take them? How many did he take? He should take them if he wants to help someone else. He should take it so he can function alright tomorrow.
See you tomorrow.
Eddie.
Buck feels his chin wobble and his hands shake as he tries his level best to remember how many pills he took. He just can’t seem to figure it out. He has to. He has to.
See you tomorrow, Buck.
The body feels like its not his own as he drags himself back to his room. His phone still rests on the bedside table but this time when he turns it around, there are more notifications. He opens the messages.
Hey, Buck.
I don’t know if you’re awake or not but thought I’d let you know that I might make a round tomorrow before breakfast. Chris accidentally left something at your place.
I was thinking we could do breakfast pancakes?
Chris is very excited. He says it’s been too long since we last had breakfast together.
Chris wants to come—
He doesn’t finish reading the rest. There are too many. He can’t keep track of what was said before or what Eddie’s saying after. Eddie isn’t a texter. He almost always calls. His eyes find the last text and he doesn’t finish it the second time either. His finger hits the call icon and his eyes start to water. The jitters increase as he waits for Eddie to pick up.
One ring. That’s all. Eddie picks up and then his voice filters through the speaker of the phone like a line. A line in the vast ocean that he’s drowning in. He can just grab it—hold it and Eddie will pull him out.
“Buck?”
His lips peel away from each other—he breathes out but the words get stuck in his throat.
“Buck?? What’s wrong? Say something!”
It’s on the tip of his tongue. He can almost hear it in his head but the sound just won’t come out. The powder in his hands becomes sticky with sweat—seeping into his skin, into his veins, into his blood, into his head—he coughs feeling suffocated by the sound of his own silence.
“Buck??” The concern in Eddie’s voice makes his chest tighten.
“help” That’s all that he manages before he’s chocking on the words that won’t come out—that he can’t swallow back.
“Stay right where you are. Don’t move! I’m coming okay. I’m coming right now. Stay with me, Buck.”
Buck nods despite the threat his lungs give with a jolt as the air gets stuck somewhere between his chest. Eddie’s coming. Eddie can help him count. Eddie will know what to do. Eddie can make it better. He always does.
There’s urgent shuffling on the other end of the line before Eddie speaks again. “Chris! Listen—”
“No!” He’s yelling into the phone before the next breath becomes a noose around his throat. “Y—you can’t bring Chris here!” He sputters and doubles over when there’s no reprieve—no release. His chest feels heavy, his limbs feel off. He’s gripping the phone too tightly and there’s a shrill sound bleeding into his ears before a distant voice becomes clearer the longer he tried to listen to it.
“Buck! Buck! Stay with me!”
“Chris…no—”
“I’m not bringing him. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
Suddenly he’s not sprawled on the floor of his bedroom, choking on air—there’s sand under his fingernails and there’s dust in his eyes and Eddie’s crouched over him. “You’re gonna be okay! Just stay with me!” There’s a hand on his cheek and there are fingers pressing into his neck, trying to find a pulse that shouldn’t be there because he’s supposed to be asleep. “You’re gonna be okay. You hear me? You’re gonna be okay!” He’s supposed to be sleeping in his bed.
See you tomorrow, Buck.
Yeah…tomorrow. He’ll see Eddie tomorrow. He needs to sleep.
“Buck!! Buck!”
The voice is too far for his liking but that’s fine. Eddie is a fast runner. He’ll reach Buck soon. Eddie’s good at reaching Buck. He’s good at finding Buck. Buck just needs to wait. Eddie’s a fast runner.
“I got you! I got you, bud. I got you.”
Warm. He feels warm after so long. His face feels warm where fingers press into his flesh. His ashy skin burns wherever the familiar touch lands. Someone gently raises his head and a soft touch pushes his hair back. Some of the pressure building in his lungs releases. He breathes just a tiny bit easier.
“Buck? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes for me buddy?”
He opens his eyes—or he tries to. He feels frustration replace the weight on his chest. He needs to open his eyes. He’s good at listening. He’s supposed to be good at listening despite everything. He wants to listen to this voice because he knows this voice. He knows it like the familiar noise his heart makes in an attempt to leave the cage of his body.
“There you are,” someone above him whispers like a relief—like a sigh after a prayer gets answered.
Eddie’s face swims in his eyes. He blinks. He continues to blink—maybe he’ll be able to see Eddie clearly if he keeps blinking. A gentle hand rests on his forehead before wiping away the sweat gathering in his eyebrows. The same hand wipes away at the tears clumping his lashes and everything gets a lot clearer.
Eddie is hunched over him as if his body can shield Buck from whatever is hurting him. He weakly garbs at Eddie’s shirt to get his attention because Buck’s hurting himself and Eddie can’t stay like this forever to protect him.
“Buck?”
Buck feels tears sting his eyes again as he looks at Eddie. He looks wrecked. Bloodshot eyes, circles under his eyes—as if his attempts to sleep had been futile as well, fatigue evident and heavy on his shoulders but most importantly—fear. The fear swimming in his eyes is so familiar and yet Buck can’t reassure him. I’m good, Eddie. Look at me. I feel fine.
All the lies are crushed and scattered on the floor of his bedroom. White and powdery.
“Help me count,” he pleads, pushing his fist towards Eddie.
“Count?” Eddie’s eyebrows gather in confusion as he holds Buck’s hand—waiting for him to open his palm. His shock feels dull to Buck’s senses as Eddie’s horrified eyes find Buck.
“How many?” Eddie’s voice is tense as he shakes Buck’s hand so the powder sticking to his palm falls. There are some pills intact in there but for most part, it’s all powder.
Buck’s eyes waver before his chin wobbles. “Don’t know. Don’t remember.”
Eddie gently pulls him up until he’s on the bed and then Eddie skitters out on his heels anxiously. He returns with the bottle and some of the color has returned to his face as he throws it in the trash. He finds his spot on the bed once again and feels Buck’s forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Something cold touches his lips and he obediently opens his mouth. Water. Just for a moment he feels afraid that the water will start filling his lungs but Eddie’s the one holding the glass. Eddie won’t let him drown. He feels a little better when the glass is pulled away. “Why, Buck?”
He doesn’t sound accusing. He sounds so so helpless as he fiddles with Buck’s cold, sweaty and clammy hands as if they’re most interesting thing in the whole world.
“I didn’t mean to,” he confesses, like he’s confessing to a sin. “I just wanted to feel normal. Didn’t want it stuck to the back of my lids like a nightmare forever. I couldn’t sleep…couldn’t sleep for nights.” He feels his eyes fall shut but the sensation of a thumb rubbing back and forth on the back of his hand serves as a reminder that Eddie is here. He didn’t leave. “I was finally able to sleep, Eddie. Everything went quiet for the first time in my life. I could sleep Eddie,” he pleads, eyes finding Eddie’s eyes as soon as he opens them. He leans away from the head board and almost sobs when Eddie’s hand shoots out to catch his shoulder with a gasp. “I could sleep without feeling scared.”
“Buck—”
“I wouldn’t have called you—I—you don’t understand—”
“Buck—”
“I had to! I had to call you! If—if something had happened and you and Chris found me first—I—I’d never be able to forgive myself. I couldn’t do that to Chris, Eddie. I couldn’t. I couldn’t let him find me—I—I’m sorry, Eddie. I’m so sorry, Eddie. I’m so tired. I’m so tired—”
He gasps on the sobs bubbling up in his chest as strong arms pull him in and he feels the erratic beat of an anxious heart. Arms wrap around him—a voice shushes him—lulls him into tranquility as if he’s a child who’s woken up terrified from a nightmare.
“I’m here. I’m right here. You’re gonna be okay,” He thinks if Eddie says that enough times, it might become true. “You’re not alone.”
The tears are pouring down his eyes before he can reel in all the emotions he’s feeling at once. He raises his hands—shaking and trembling and finds purchase on Eddie’s shirt. Fists clutching around the soft fabric. He tilts his head down—presses his forehead, his eyes into Eddie’s chest and then moves a little so that his eyes are resting on Eddie’s shoulder and his nose is pressed somewhere against Eddie’s collarbone. The smell of the cleaner that Buck picked up for Eddie all those months ago is fresh and it soothes him enough that he melts against his best friend.
“Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay. You can rest now, Buck. I’m here. I’m not leaving.” There are gentle fingers brushing through his hair before Eddie leaves his hand resting on the back of his head. His other hand comes to a rest on Buck’s back. It’s gentle as Eddie pats him in soft, rhythmic thumps in a familiar motion that Buck uses to put Jee and Robbie to sleep and more of the tension ebbs away from his body.
“Eddie,” he calls, fearing he won’t get an answer and this is all his wishful thinking but Eddie’s hum reverberates through his own body. “I’m sorry, I thought I made it out of New Mexico too but I can still feel the dirt under my nails and the dust in my throat whenever I close my eyes.”
“It’s okay, Buck. You weren’t alone then and you’re not alone now.” He tightens his arms just a fraction and feels Buck’s breath hitch—not in an uncomfortable way. “I’m here and I’ll keep finding you no matter how many times you get stuck in New Mexico. You trust me on that, right?” Eddie pressed down, nose in Buck’s curls as he breathes in the distinct smell that is Buck hidden beneath the shampoo and the smell of bitter pills that keep you away from one nightmare only for you to wake up in another.
“Yeah.” Buck nods against him before slumping down. They maneuver around each a little and end with Buck’s head in Eddie’s lap, legs dangling over the edge of his bed. His eyes fall shut involuntarily as Eddie continues to brush his fingers through his curls. “You’ll stay?”
Eddie chuckles above him in disbelief as he leans over him with a smile. “Do you even have to ask?”
“Chris?” This—he needs to ask. He looks up at Eddie with red rimmed—clear eyes.
Eddie rests his hand on Buck’s cheek. “I cashed in a favor from Hen.”
Buck nods, air coming and leaving him a lot easier now. “I can taste it, you know.”
“What?” Eddie asks, attention snapping to his mouth as Buck fixes his gaze onto the ceiling.
“The ash,” it’s a terrifying thing to hear—especially with the way Buck’s eyes get slightly dazed before he rests his hand on his chest. “It’s like everything’s burning inside and I can taste the ash in my mouth.”
Eddie waits for a beat before he leans down—snatching Buck’s attention. “What does it taste like?”
Buck slowly raises his hand up to his mouth and feels his lips—like something unfamiliar. “I don’t know actually. Does that make sense?”
“It doesn’t have to,” Eddie provides easily.
“I want to know,” his voice drops a little in disappointment.
Eddie leans down even more—there’s just a breath’s distance between them. Buck can feel the warm air hit his cheeks every time Eddie speaks. He feels it burn and no ash makes his tongue heavy. He can feel his cheeks flush under the attention of Eddie’s eyes. “Do you want me to—”
Buck’s breath hitches like a hummingbird trapped in his chest as he gives a minuscule nod. Who else, if not Eddie? Who can kiss a mouth full of ash and still stay stubbornly? Later he will realize that he never asked Eddie what it tasted like because Eddie makes him forget that his mouth is full of ash and his lungs are full of ambers.
His eyes flutter shut as Eddie leans down just a little more. His lips are soft, his mouth is warm unlike Buck’s lips that are cracked, abused and patchy with skin peeling off them and his mouth—his mouth is dry or maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe his lips are dry and his mouth is peeling from the inside. He can’t tell and he’s not trying to figure it out either because Eddie’s hands migrate to brace his face like he’s the most precious thing they’ve ever held and Eddie’s breath tastes like everything Buck has ever wanted and the ash in his mouth doesn’t seem as bad as it did before despite it clinging to the roof of his mouth now.
“hmm”
Eddie hums into his mouth—something content before finally pulling back. He looks dazed as he opens his eyes to look down at Buck. “Where are you right now?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper.
It’s a very cruel thing to ask when Buck’s eyes can’t pull away from his lips. He doesn’t know how to answer it because there is still ash in his mouth, there is still powder stuck to his palms, there is still dread coiled in his stomach, there is still the anticipation of sleepless nights awaiting him but there is a warmth pulling at his chest, there is gentleness seeping into his skin, there is a light in the hollowness of his mind and there is Eddie—above him, resting his hands on Buck’s face reverently—lovingly.
So, he answers truthfully. “In your arms.”
He doesn’t know if the truthful answer is the right answer but he doesn’t want to lie to Eddie anymore. Eddie smiles, leaves a small breathy peck on his lips before pulling away. “Good.”