Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

All that I did to try to undo it
All of my pain and all your excuses
I was a kid, but I wasn't clueless
Someone who loves you wouldn't do this
All of my past, I tried to erase it
But now I see, would I even change it?
Might share a face and share a last name but
We are not the same

Family line- Conan Gray

________________________________________________________________________________

The low hum of the air conditioner barely cut through the stifling heat of an El Paso summer. Eddie Díaz, barely nine years old, sat on the edge of his bed, his hands fidgeting nervously with the hem of his faded t-shirt. The muffled sound of raised voices from the kitchen sent a jolt of fear through his small frame.

His parents were arguing again.

He tried to block out the noise, but it was impossible. His father’s deep, booming voice was sharp and unforgiving, a blade that cut through the thin walls of their modest home. His mother’s replies were quieter, pleading, but no less intense. Eddie hugged his knees to his chest, rocking slightly, as if the motion might shield him from what was coming.

The argument ended as it often did—with the sound of a chair scraping violently across the floor, heavy footsteps, and the slamming of a door. A tense silence followed, broken only by his mother’s soft sobs.

Eddie’s breath quickened as he heard his father’s heavy boots approaching his room. He didn’t have time to prepare before the door was yanked open, banging against the wall.

“What did I tell you about leaving your toys in the living room, Edmundo Diaz?” his father barked, the smell of beer on his breath making Eddie shrink back instinctively. He didn’t know from what toys he could talk, probably it was something that Adri had left there. But he was the big brother, it was his responsibility.

“I—I’m sorry, Papá,” Eddie stammered, his voice trembling.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, boy!” His father’s face twisted in anger as he took a step closer. “You think I work all day, just to come home and trip over your mess?”

Eddie didn’t have an answer. His heart pounded in his chest, his small hands gripping the bedspread tightly.

Before he could react, his father grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to his feet. The grip was firm, too firm, and Eddie winced as his father shook him.

“You want to be a man someday, Edmundo? Then act like one! Take responsibility!” His father’s words were punctuated by the sharp sting of his open palm across Eddie’s cheek.

Eddie stumbled but caught himself before he fell, the shock of the slap bringing tears to his eyes. But he didn’t cry. He knew better than to cry.

“You’re weak, just like your mother,” his father spat, releasing his arm with a shove. “Clean up your mess, and don’t let me see it again.”

Eddie stood frozen, his cheek burning and his heart racing, as his father stormed out of the room. He heard the front door slam moments later, the sound reverberating through the house.

His mother appeared in the doorway not long after, her eyes red and swollen. She crouched down in front of him, her hands cupping his face gently.

“Lo siento, mi amor,” she whispered, tears spilling over as she examined the red mark on his cheek. “Tu papá… he doesn’t mean it.”

Eddie wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that his father didn’t mean the words, the anger, the violence. But even at nine years old, he knew better.

“It’s okay, Mamá,” he murmured, though it wasn’t. It never was.

His mother kissed his forehead and pulled him into a hug, and for a brief moment, he felt safe. But that safety was fleeting, as always.

That night, as Eddie lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he made himself a promise. One day, he would be better. He would make his father proud and then he would find a lovely wife and get kids and be the man of the house. Even though he promised himself, that should he ever have kids those would know nothing but love from him, he wouldn’t raise them like his father him.

And yet, deep down, a small voice whispered a fear he couldn’t shake: What if he couldn’t escape it? What if the anger and violence were already inside him, waiting for their moment to surface?

Eddie turned onto his side, clutching the small stuffed bear his Abuela had given him. In the dark, he whispered the only prayer he knew by heart.

“Dios, ayúdame a ser mejor.”

(“God, help me be better”)

God didn’t answer him.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Edmundo Díaz. Eddie hated that name.

It wasn’t just the sound of it—old-fashioned, like it belonged to someone’s abuelo—it was everything that came with it. The weight of his childhood, the memories tangled up in every syllable. The way it seemed to echo through his life, no matter how far he tried to run from it.

To the rest of the world, he was Eddie. His friends, his coworkers, even strangers—everyone called him Eddie. It fit him: simple, strong, unassuming. But to his parents, he would always be Edmundo.

No matter how many times he had told them, pleaded with them even, to just call him Eddie, they refused. His father would scoff, saying, "Edmundo es tu nombre. Es el nombre que te dimos. No puedes escapar de eso." His mother, more gently but just as firmly, would insist it was a name of pride, of heritage. But to Eddie, it was a chain he couldn’t break, a reminder of who he was supposed to be, not who he wanted to become.

Even now, as an adult, every time someone used his full name, it was like a punch to the gut, a visceral pull back to El Paso, to that house, to those nights.

The memories came flooding back, unbidden and relentless. The heat was always the first thing he remembered—the suffocating desert heat that pressed down on him even when the sun had set. But worse than the heat was the fear. The way it crept into every corner of his childhood, a constant presence, like the air itself.

He could see it now as clearly as if he were there. The small, cramped house with its peeling wallpaper and creaking floorboards. His mother’s hurried whispers, her desperate attempts to usher him and Adriana—his little sister—into the small closet in his bedroom.

"Stay quiet, Eddie," she would plead, her voice trembling as she pressed the door closed behind them. "Look after your sister. Don’t make a sound."

Eddie would nod, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might give them away. He’d pull Adriana close, wrapping his arms around her tiny frame as she clutched her favorite stuffed bunny.

Outside the closet, the sounds of their father’s rage filled the house like a storm—furniture being shoved, doors slamming, his voice a booming thunder that shook the walls. Eddie didn’t know what had set him off this time. Sometimes it was a bad day at work. Sometimes it was a comment from their mother that he didn’t like. Sometimes it was nothing at all.

Inside the closet, Eddie would do his best to distract Adriana. He would tell her stories, silly ones about superheroes and princesses, anything to make her giggle, to drown out the terrifying noise outside. But even at six years old, Adriana wasn’t stupid. She knew what was happening, and her big brown eyes would fill with tears as she whispered, “Eddie, is he going to hurt us?”

Eddie would shake his head, lying through his teeth. “No, ratoncita. He’s just mad. He’s not going to find us. I promise.”

But he didn’t know that. Every crash, every shout made him flinch, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Sometimes their father didn’t find them. Sometimes the storm would pass, and their mother would come to the closet, her face pale and tear-streaked but otherwise unharmed. Other times…

Other times, the door would burst open, and Eddie would shield Adriana with his body, bracing for whatever came next.

Even now, Eddie could still feel the phantom weight of his father’s hand on his arm, dragging him out of the closet, his voice roaring, "Sal de aquí, Edmundo! Hombres no se esconden como cobardes."

His father’s words had burned into him, branding him with an impossible standard of manhood he could never live up to. He remembered the sting of his father’s slap, the way it knocked him off balance but not enough to let him fall—because falling wasn’t allowed. Crying wasn’t allowed. Weakness wasn’t allowed.

And through it all, Eddie had clung to Adriana, shielding her from as much as he could. He was her protector, her safe harbor in a house that offered none.

Now, decades later, Eddie still carried those nights with him. The scars weren’t visible, but they were there, etched into his soul. Every time someone said Edmundo, he wasn’t Eddie Díaz, firefighter and father. He was that scared little boy in the closet, holding his sister close and praying for the storm to pass.

He’d escaped El Paso, built a life for himself and for Christopher, a life that looked nothing like the one his parents had given him. But some nights, when the world was quiet and Chris was asleep, Eddie would find himself staring at the walls of his own house, feeling that old fear creeping in around the edges.

Don’t be weak, don’t cry, don’t even flinch, he thought bitterly.

No matter how far he ran, some part of him was still that little boy. Edmundo Díaz

____________________________________________________________________________

Eddie and Buck were sprawled out on the couch, watching Die Hard. It was Buck’s idea, of course. After binge-watching all eight seasons of Brooklyn Nine-Nine in less than a month, Buck had insisted Eddie join him in watching what he called "the greatest Christmas movie of all time." Eddie didn’t quite understand the connection—something about it being Jake Peralta’s favorite movie—but Buck had looked so excited, rambling on about it, that Eddie had caved.

Now, the movie was over, the credits rolling quietly on the screen. Eddie was considering whether to get up and head to bed when he felt Buck’s gaze on him, sharp and focused. He turned his head slightly, raising an eyebrow.

“What?”

Buck didn’t look away. Instead, he tilted his head, a curious expression spreading across his face. “Tell me something, Eddie. What’s the deal with your first name? I mean, Edmundo doesn’t sound that bad.”

Eddie froze. The comment hit like a sucker punch to the gut, and for a moment, he couldn’t even form a response. His pulse quickened, and he felt a knot of tension tighten in his chest. “Why are you bringing this up now?” he asked, his tone sharper than he intended. He silently prayed Buck wouldn’t notice how the air in the room seemed to shift, how Eddie suddenly felt like he was drowning in memories he tried so hard to bury.

Buck leaned back, unfazed by Eddie’s reaction, and crossed his arms. “Earlier today, when that woman at the DMV called you Edmundo—because, you know, it’s on all your official paperwork—you flinched like she’d slapped you. And now, you’re doing it again. Then after, you went completely silent, like you’d shut down.”

Eddie studied Buck for a moment. He’d thought about telling him the truth before—about Edmundo, the little boy hiding in the closet, trying to protect his sister from the storm raging outside. Late at night, when Eddie stared at the ceiling, his mind too restless for sleep, the words almost escaped his lips. Almost.

Instead, he deflected, like always. “What about your name?” he shot back, his voice sharper than he intended. “What’s so wrong with Evan?”

Buck gave him a long, searching look, his blue eyes filled with something Eddie couldn’t quite place—concern, maybe, or quiet understanding. After a moment, Buck just shrugged and let it go. “Fair enough,” he muttered before turning his attention back to the TV.

Eddie heard him mumble something about not understanding why Jake Peralta loved this movie so much, but the words barely registered. He was too tired to think about it, too drained to pick apart the comment for hidden meaning.

They’d just come off a brutal 48-hour shift, and all Eddie wanted was to collapse into bed. He glanced at Buck, who was slouched on the couch, letting out a massive yawn. Eddie hesitated, unsure if he should suggest Buck head home or just let him crash here like he’d done so many times before.

“Can I just stay here tonight?” Buck asked, cutting into Eddie’s thoughts. His voice was thick with exhaustion, and another yawn escaped him before he could finish the sentence. “I’m too tired to drive home.”

Eddie nodded automatically. “Yeah, of course,” he said. Then, without really thinking, he added, “You sure you don’t want the bed? I can take the couch—”

“Forget it, Eddie,” Buck interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re sleeping in your bed, end of story.”

Eddie didn’t argue. Buck was right; he’d be more comfortable in his bed anyway. As tired as he was, the idea of sleeping on the couch didn’t appeal to him in the slightest. He stood up, stretching as he did. “You know where everything is,” he said over his shoulder as he started toward his room.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it,” Buck mumbled, already pulling a blanket over himself.

Eddie paused in the hallway, glancing back at Buck. The thought crossed his mind to offer Buck the other side of his bed. They’d shared close quarters before—bunking at the station during long shifts or cramming into tiny motel rooms on road trips—but this felt… different. Too intimate, maybe. Too much.

He shook the thought away and headed to his room, shutting the door behind him.

Eddie went through the motions of getting ready for bed, but his exhaustion didn’t translate into sleep. Instead, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the familiar anxiety creeping in around the edges. It was one of those nights—the kind where the memories came back, vivid and inescapable.

He tried to shake them off, but the harder he fought, the stronger they clung. He was back in the closet, holding Adriana close, whispering reassurances he didn’t believe. He could feel the suffocating fear, the sound of his father’s voice echoing in his ears.

Eddie clenched his fists, willing the memories to fade. He thought about Buck, just a few feet away in the living room. He knew that if he went to him, Buck would find a way to chase the fear away, to ground him in the present.

But that would mean admitting he needed help. And needing help felt like weakness.

So Eddie stayed where he was, staring at the ceiling, too afraid to close his eyes. Because in the darkness, Edmundo was waiting for him—the scared little boy who couldn’t escape the closet, no matter how far Eddie had come.

_______________________________________________________________________________

 Eddie knew there were three stages of nightmares. Stages one and two were familiar, almost routine in their intrusion. They would jolt him awake, his heart racing, his breath coming in shallow gasps. But by the next evening, the details would have faded into the background noise of his life, indistinct and forgettable. Stage three, though—Stage three was different.

Stage three lingered. It clung to him, sharp and vivid, refusing to let go. And it was always the same. The same dream, the same fear, the same suffocating helplessness.

In the dream, Eddie wasn’t a child anymore. He was his current self—older, stronger—but somehow back in his parents’ house, sitting at the kitchen table. Across from him sat Adriana, his little sister, no older than six. She was talking to him, her tiny hands gesturing animatedly as she chattered away. But her words made no sense; they were muffled, garbled, as though he were underwater.

Then came the sound he dreaded most—the door slamming open, the heavy thud of boots stomping down the hallway. Eddie’s pulse spiked, his muscles tensing as the familiar figure appeared in the doorway. Ramon Diaz, drunk, furious, a storm of anger and unpredictability.

He shouted Eddie’s name, his voice a roar that echoed in the small space. Eddie tried to respond, to stand up and face him, but his voice wouldn’t come. His father didn’t seem to see him, his eyes scanning the room as if Eddie weren’t even there.

Adriana’s small voice cut through the chaos. She told their father that Eddie wasn’t home, that he was out somewhere. Eddie tried to protest, to tell her that wasn’t true—he was right there—but no one heard him. He was like mist, intangible, invisible.

His father’s fury turned toward Adriana then, his rage growing as Eddie sat there, powerless to intervene. Adriana’s face twisted with fear, her small body trembling as their father advanced on her. Eddie did everything he could to stop it, to protect her—he shouted, he waved his arms, he even tried to throw himself between them. But it was useless. His father didn’t see him. No one did.

And then it happened. The part that made his stomach twist and his heart shatter every time. Ramon Diaz hurt Adriana, made her cry, broke her spirit. Eddie screamed, pleaded, begged for it to stop, but he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t stop it.

Then the world would go dark.

Out of the darkness, his father would emerge, his face cold and mocking. He always said the same thing, the words cutting deeper each time.

"See that, Edmundo? You can’t protect her. You want to be a man? You can’t even protect the people you love. Pathetic. You’re a disgrace. You couldn’t protect her. You couldn’t protect your mother. And you couldn’t protect Buck."

That last part—the thing about Buck—was new.

It was like a fresh wound, raw and bleeding, added to the old scars. After that, the dream would repeat itself, looping endlessly. Adriana’s fear, his father’s rage, the darkness swallowing him whole. Over and over, until Eddie woke up screaming, his body drenched in sweat, his throat raw from the effort.

But this time, there was something different. A new element, a fresh layer of torment.

Eddie found himself standing in the rain, on a dark and stormy scene that he knew all too well. His heart sank as he recognized it—the night Buck died. He could see his team working frantically, their movements hurried and desperate. He tried to shout, to warn Buck, to stop him from going up the ladder. But, just like before, no one could see him. No one could hear him.

He watched, helpless, as Buck made his way up, and then it happened—the collapse, the chaos, and then nothing. Buck was gone.

The darkness swallowed him again, and Eddie found himself back in his parents’ house. Adriana’s terrified face. His father’s taunts. Then the rain-soaked scene returned, playing out once more in front of him.

And again.

And again.

Adriana. Buck. His father.

The helplessness built to a crescendo until Eddie couldn’t take it anymore. He screamed, a raw, guttural sound that tore through the dream, through the darkness, through the night.

And then he felt it. A hand on his arm, warm and grounding. A voice, familiar and desperate, cutting through the chaos.

“Eddie, wake up! Please, calm down. It’s me—it’s Buck.”

Eddie’s eyes shot open, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His room was bathed in dim light, the nightmare still clinging to him like a shadow. Buck was kneeling beside him, his hand firm on Eddie’s arm, his eyes wide with worry.

Eddie stared at him, the lines between dream and reality still blurring. But Buck was here—alive, real, solid. His voice was steady, soothing, as he whispered reassurances.

“It’s okay, Eddie. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

He felt the wet streaks of tears on his cheeks, his mouth dry as sandpaper. When he looked up, he saw Chris standing in the doorway, his son’s small frame outlined by the faint glow of the hallway light. Chris’s eyes were wide, his expression a mix of fear and concern.

“Dad? Are you okay?”

Eddie’s breath hitched, but he nodded. What else could he do? Chris was everything to him—his priority, his purpose, his reason for staying grounded when the nightmares tried to pull him under.

“Mijo, I’m fine. I promise,” Eddie rasped, though his voice cracked on the words. “Go back to bed.”

Chris hesitated, clearly unconvinced. He stood there for a long moment, studying Eddie’s face with an intensity far beyond his years. Before Eddie could find the strength to say something more reassuring, Buck stepped in, his voice soft and steady, a balm in the tense air.

“Hey, Superman. It’s okay. I’ll be right there, okay?”

Chris wavered, looking between the two men. Finally, he nodded, though his reluctance was evident. “Okay,” he said quietly, and then he turned and disappeared back down the hallway.

As soon as Chris was gone, Eddie crumbled. The sob tore out of him, raw and unrelenting, his shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“Oh, Eddie,” Buck murmured, his voice full of something Eddie couldn’t quite name—compassion, maybe, or heartbreak. Buck didn’t say anything else; he didn’t need to. Instead, he just wrapped his arms around Eddie and held him close.

In the safety of the dark, Eddie let his walls fall. He clung to Buck like a lifeline, burying his face in Buck’s chest as sob after sob wracked his body. It was messy and loud, and it hurt in ways Eddie didn’t think it was supposed to hurt, but he couldn’t stop.

Buck didn’t flinch. He didn’t shy away from the rawness of it all. He just stayed there, solid and unyielding, his hands running gentle circles on Eddie’s back. He didn’t let go until Eddie’s breathing finally started to slow, the sobs turning into quiet sniffles.

Then Buck left, and for a brief, terrifying moment, Eddie thought he was alone again. But then he remembered—Chris. Of course, Buck had gone to check on Chris.

A minute later, Buck returned, a glass of water in his hand.

“Here. Drink this,” he said softly, holding it out to Eddie.

Eddie took it with shaking hands, the coolness of the water soothing his parched throat. “Thanks,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

Buck nodded, then, without a word, climbed into the bed next to him.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Buck looked at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m staying with you.”

There was no hesitation in his voice, no room for argument. But then he caught the flicker of doubt in Eddie’s eyes, and his tone softened. “Unless you want me to go,” he added, giving Eddie an out.

Eddie didn’t need to think long. “No. Stay.”

Buck smiled, that warm, reassuring smile that Eddie had come to rely on more than he cared to admit. “Okay,” Buck said simply, settling in beside him.

Eddie didn’t know why, but something about Buck’s presence, his quiet strength, made it easier to let go of the weight he carried. For tonight, he decided, he would allow himself this moment. He would take the comfort being offered, even if it felt weak, even if it felt like too much.

Eddie shifted closer, pressing himself against Buck’s side until there was no space left between them. Buck’s arms came around him naturally, holding him in a way that was firm but gentle, protective but not suffocating.

Normally, Eddie would have hated himself for this—for needing comfort, for leaning on someone else. He’d always seen it as weakness. But tonight, was different.

With Buck, it was okay.

With Buck, he didn’t have to be Edmundo, the frightened child hiding in a closet, desperate and powerless.

With Buck, he could just be Eddie.

Buck freed him; he freed that little boy out of his closet.

Chapter Text

I remember, I remember everything

I remember everything- Zach Bryan

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“Edmundo, are you coming to the party? I still haven’t received your RSVP!”

His mother’s voice rang in his ears, as persistent as it had been for weeks. She was relentless about his father’s retirement celebration, and Eddie could feel the dull throb of an impending headache as he held the phone to his ear.

He didn’t want to go. Not even a little. But deep down, he knew he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Mama, I’ll come, okay? I promise. I’ve got to go now. Talk soon.”

He hung up before she could press further, exhaling heavily as he shoved the phone into his pocket.

“Hey, Cowboy,” Buck’s voice called out, snapping Eddie out of his thoughts. Buck was approaching with that easy grin of his, the one that always seemed to put Eddie a little more at ease. They had plans for dinner—a tradition of sorts, a way to catch up even though they already spent most of their time together. Not that either of them would ever admit it was mostly an excuse to hang out more.

Eddie attempted a smile. “Hey, Buck.”

But Buck wasn’t buying it. His brows furrowed as he slid into the booth across from Eddie. “Everything okay? Who was that on the phone?” he asked, nodding toward the device Eddie still had a death grip on.

Eddie sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like it could erase the tension. “Just my mom. She wanted to know if Chris and I are coming to my dad’s retirement party next week.”

Buck nodded slowly, his curiosity evident. “And? Are you going?”

Eddie shrugged, accepting the menu the waitress handed him without meeting Buck’s gaze. “I don’t think I really have a choice,” he muttered, flipping the menu open more to distract himself than to actually decide on food.

Buck, of course, wasn’t letting it go. He never did.

“What?” Eddie asked, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles. He knew Buck well enough to see the gears turning in his head.

To his credit, Buck didn’t just wave it off. That wasn’t his style. If Buck had something on his mind, he said it. And that was one of the things Eddie… liked about him. Appreciated. Respected. Maybe even…

“I’m just wondering,” Buck began carefully, leaning forward, “the last time I saw your family was at Shannon’s funeral. You guys didn’t exactly seem close then. So why are you flying out to El Paso now?”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but Buck wasn’t finished.

“And don’t tell me it’s to see your parents,” Buck added pointedly. “I don’t know everything, but I know enough to say that if it were up to you, you’d probably never talk to them again.”

The words hit a little too close to home, and Eddie went quiet, his fingers tightening slightly around the menu.

Finally, he exhaled and said, “I think… I think I just want Chris to have family, you know? People outside of me, Abuela, Pepa, and, well… you.”

Buck raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing there was more. Eddie hesitated before mumbling, “And I want to see my little sister again.”

“Adriana, right?” Buck asked, his tone soft.

Eddie nodded. “Yeah. She was nineteen the last time I saw her. She just turned twenty-five a few days ago. I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend until they broke up. And how do I know that? Instagram. Buck, I didn’t even know she was dating someone. Do you get that?”

Eddie’s voice had risen slightly, the frustration and guilt bubbling to the surface. Buck watched him carefully, giving him the space to vent.

After a moment, Buck’s expression shifted to something more resolute. “Should I come with you to El Paso?”

The offer was so sincere, so straightforward, that Eddie’s heart skipped a beat. For a fleeting second, he was tempted to say yes. Having Buck there, as a buffer between him and his parents, sounded like the best idea he’d heard in a long time.

But instead, he shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll handle it.”

Buck didn’t push. He just shrugged, his trademark grin returning. “Okay, but if anyone says anything mean, call me. Tell me who I need to beat up.”

The casual way Buck said it, the humor in his voice, made Eddie chuckle despite himself. And just like that, the heaviness in his chest felt a little lighter.

Buck flagged down the waitress to place their orders, completely unaware that Eddie’s heart had just softened in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

It was a little unfair, Eddie thought. How Buck could just be Buck and make everything feel… manageable. But maybe that was why Eddie let him in so much more than he let anyone else.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A few days later, Eddie and Chris found themselves on a plane bound for El Paso.

The cabin was filled with the low hum of the engines and the murmur of passengers settling in for the flight. Eddie glanced out the window at the expanse of blue sky and scattered clouds, his mind racing as fast as the aircraft climbing into the air. Beside him, Christopher was already engrossed in his tablet, headphones snug over his ears as he watched one of his favorite movies for the hundredth time.

Eddie couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his son. Chris had always been so adaptable, so resilient, even when Eddie felt like the ground beneath him was crumbling. He was the one constant in Eddie’s life, the reason he kept going no matter how heavy the weight of his past felt.

But now, heading back to El Paso, that weight was pressing down harder than ever.

“Dad?” Chris’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He had paused his movie and was looking at Eddie curiously. “Are you okay? You look kinda… nervous.”

Eddie blinked, realizing he’d been gripping the armrest a little too tightly. He forced a smile, one he hoped looked convincing. “I’m fine, buddy. Just thinking about seeing everyone again. It’s been a long time.”

Chris nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. “Do you think Abuela will make tamales? She always makes the best ones.”

Eddie chuckled, the sound lighter than he felt. “I’m sure she will. You know how much she loves spoiling you.”

Chris grinned at that, and Eddie’s chest tightened with affection—and a hint of guilt. Chris deserved all the love in the world, and Eddie wanted to give him everything. But going back to El Paso wasn’t just about reconnecting with family for Chris’s sake. It was about facing the ghosts Eddie had been running from for years.

As the flight attendants moved down the aisle with the drink cart, Eddie shifted in his seat, trying to push the memories back into the corner of his mind where they belonged. But it was impossible not to think about his father’s looming presence, the man who had shaped so much of Eddie’s life in ways he wished he could undo.

He glanced at Chris again, his heart aching with both love and determination. No matter what, Chris would never know that kind of fear. Eddie had promised himself that a long time ago, and he intended to keep that promise, even if it meant sitting through an uncomfortable family reunion and enduring his father’s cold stares and sharp words.

“Dad?” Chris’s voice broke through his reverie again. “You sure you’re okay?”

Eddie reached over, ruffling Chris’s hair gently. “I’m sure, Mijo. Don’t worry about me.”

Chris studied him for a moment longer, then seemed satisfied, turning back to his movie.

Eddie leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes for a moment. He could hear Buck’s voice in his head, teasing him about needing backup. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? I make a great distraction, you know.”

Eddie had brushed him off, but now, as the reality of returning to his childhood home crept closer, he found himself wishing Buck were here. Buck had a way of making even the heaviest moments feel lighter, like they weren’t impossible to get through.

But this wasn’t Buck’s battle. It was Eddie’s.

The captain’s voice crackled over the intercom, announcing their approach to El Paso. Eddie opened his eyes and took a deep breath. The skyline of his hometown came into view, a mix of familiarity and dread washing over him.

“Here we go,” he murmured to himself, glancing at Chris.

Chris didn’t hear him, too focused on the action playing out on his screen, but Eddie felt a sense of calm settle over him. He reached over and took Chris’s hand briefly, squeezing it as if to ground himself.

No matter what awaited him in El Paso—his father, his mother, the memories he had spent years trying to forget—he wasn’t alone. Chris was his anchor, his reason for everything.

And with that thought, Eddie braced himself for what was to come.

His parents picked them up from the airport.

The moment they spotted Chris, their faces lit up with so much love and excitement that Eddie couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. It wasn’t a malicious kind of jealousy—more like a quiet ache in his chest, a longing for something he’d never quite had. The guilt followed immediately, creeping in like an unwelcome shadow. Chris deserved every bit of their attention, every ounce of their affection. Eddie wouldn’t begrudge his son that, not for a second.

“Christopher!” His mother enveloped Chris in a warm hug, kissing his forehead and peppering him with questions about school, his hobbies, and how tall he’d gotten since she last saw him. Eddie stood a few steps back, watching the scene unfold. His father was smiling too, an expression that looked so foreign on him that Eddie had to remind himself not to stare.

After a few moments, his mother turned her attention to him. “Edmundo,” she said softly, her voice carrying the warmth of a thousand unsent letters. She pulled him into a hug, and for a second, Eddie let himself sink into it. Her embrace was familiar, comforting even, but it couldn’t erase the bitterness buried deep in his heart.

To be fair, his mother had never really hurt him, not in the way his father had. But she hadn’t stopped it, either. She hadn’t protected them.

His father was next. Ramon Diaz approached him with the same commanding presence that Eddie had grown up with. The man extended a hand, his grip firm and unyielding. “Edmundo, my boy,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of something Eddie couldn’t quite place—pride? Amusement? It didn’t matter. “You look old.”

Eddie swallowed hard, ignoring the sting of the comment. He returned the handshake, his own grip steady but not as strong. “Good to see you, Papa,” he replied, his voice even.

As if to lighten the tension, Chris immediately launched into a story about their flight, his excitement spilling over like a burst dam. He described the turbulence with dramatic flair and talked about the snacks he’d picked, even pulling out a half-eaten bag of pretzels to show off.

Both of his grandparents listened intently, showering him with attention. Eddie trailed behind them as they walked to the car, feeling a strange mix of relief and unease.

On the drive to the house, Chris kept up a steady stream of chatter, his enthusiasm filling the silence that would have otherwise felt suffocating. Eddie sat in the passenger seat, his hand occasionally tapping his knee in a subconscious rhythm as he tried to ground himself. The familiar streets of El Paso rolled past, each one carrying memories he wasn’t ready to confront.

When they finally pulled into the driveway, Eddie let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Home sweet home,” his father said, his voice carrying a trace of sarcasm as he killed the engine.

Eddie glanced at Chris, who was already unbuckling his seatbelt and grinning from ear to ear. “It’s okay, Dad,” Chris whispered, giving Eddie’s arm a reassuring squeeze.

And just like that, Eddie felt a little steadier. It wasn’t the homecoming he would’ve scripted for himself, but it was a start. A tentative, fragile start. And for now, that would have to be enough.

They approached the house, its silhouette looming against the pale evening sky, and the moment Eddie laid eyes on it, a flood of memories surged forth—memories he had spent years locking away, burying deep in the recesses of his mind where they couldn’t hurt him. Yet, here they were, rushing back with a vengeance, like a dam finally breaking under the pressure of time.

The house itself hadn’t changed much over the years. The paint, once a vibrant white, had faded into a dull gray, peeling in long strips that flaked away in the desert wind. The porch creaked under its own weight, and the shutters hung crooked, as though even they were tired of holding up appearances. But to Eddie, it was more than just a dilapidated structure—it was a battleground, a prison, a place that had seen the best and worst of him.

As he drew closer, the air seemed heavier, thicker, like the house itself was exhaling its ghosts to greet him. Eddie’s pulse quickened, his palms slick with sweat. He didn’t want to go inside. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to turn around, to run. But he couldn’t—not now, not after all this time.

Unbidden, the memories began to unfold, vivid and relentless. He was a teenager again, standing on that very same porch. The summer heat was oppressive, wrapping around him like a suffocating blanket. He could feel the dry wind against his face, hear the distant hum of cicadas in the air. It had been a day like any other—until it wasn’t.

Eddie closed his eyes, and the memory consumed him entirely.

Eddie was seventeen, the summer heat of El Paso pressing down on the city like a weight. The air was thick and still, but it didn’t bother him much—not when he was with Alex. They’d spent the day riding their bikes through the desert trails, racing each other until they collapsed in the shade of a lone tree. Eddie had laughed so hard his stomach ached, and Alex had teased him about his crooked smile.

Now, they were sitting on the porch of the Diaz family home, sharing a soda and watching the sun dip below the horizon. The house was quiet—his parents were supposed to be out for the evening. Eddie had relished the rare freedom from his father’s watchful eyes, the constant criticism, the suffocating expectations.

Alex leaned back against the porch railing, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He was saying something, his voice easy and light, but Eddie wasn’t really listening. He was too busy watching the way the fading sunlight hit Alex’s face, the way his laugh seemed to make the oppressive heat feel a little less heavy.

“Earth to Eddie,” Alex said, waving a hand in front of his face. “You okay, man?”

Eddie blinked, realizing he’d been staring. His cheeks flushed, and he tried to cover it with a laugh. “Yeah, sorry. Just tired, I guess.”

Alex smirked. “Tired? You? The guy who never shuts up about how much he can bench? Sure.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help smiling. Alex always had a way of making him feel like everything was okay, even when it wasn’t.

Before he knew what he was doing, Eddie leaned forward and kissed him. It was quick and clumsy, more instinct than thought, but it sent a shock through his whole body. For a moment, the world seemed to pause, the cicadas in the yard falling silent, the heat retreating.

Alex pulled back, his eyes wide. “Eddie—”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie blurted, his heart pounding. “I didn’t mean to—”

Before Alex could respond, the screen door behind them slammed open. Eddie froze, his stomach dropping like a stone.

Ramon Diaz stood in the doorway, his face a mask of barely-contained fury. “Edmundo,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Eddie scrambled to his feet, panic surging through him. “Papá, I—”

“Get inside. Now.”

Eddie looked back at Alex, who was already backing away, his face pale. “Go,” Eddie whispered. “I’ll—I’ll talk to you later.”

Alex hesitated, but the look on Eddie’s face must have convinced him. He turned and ran, disappearing into the twilight.

Eddie stepped inside the house, his father close behind. The door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the empty rooms.

“What the hell was that?” Ramon’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a whip.

“It was nothing,” Eddie said quickly, his hands trembling. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“Nothing?” Ramon’s laugh was cold, cruel. “You call kissing another boy nothing? Under my roof? In front of this house?”

Eddie’s mouth went dry. “I—it won’t happen again. I promise.”

Eddie locked eyes with his father, the fear in his chest growing heavier with every second. Ramon’s face twisted in rage, his fists clenched at his sides.

“A Diaz man doesn’t act like this,” his father hissed, his voice trembling with fury. “A Diaz man doesn’t bring shame into this house. You disgust me, Edmundo.”

“Papá, please—” Eddie tried, his voice cracking, but the words didn’t matter. They never did.

Before he could say anything else, Ramon’s hand came down hard, striking Eddie across the face. The force of the blow made him stumble, his back hitting the wall behind him.

“You think this is a joke?” Ramon roared, advancing on him. His fists connected with Eddie’s ribs, his arms, his shoulder—anywhere he could reach. Each hit landed with brutal precision, the pain exploding in Eddie’s body like fire.

“I’ll beat this sickness out of you!” Ramon spat, his voice echoing through the house. “You think God forgives this filth? You think I will let you ruin this family? You’ll go to hell and I won’t let you take this family with you!“

Eddie tried to shield himself, his arms coming up to protect his head, but it didn’t help. Every hit made him feel smaller, weaker, more helpless. He bit down on a cry, refusing to give his father the satisfaction.

“Papá, stop!” A small, trembling voice cut through the chaos.

Eddie’s heart lurched. Adriana.

She stood in the hallway, her big brown eyes wide with fear, clutching a stuffed bunny to her chest. She couldn’t have been more than nine years old, her face pale as she watched her father towering over her older brother.

“Adri,” Eddie croaked, his voice hoarse. “Go back to your room.”

“No!” she cried, stepping closer. “Leave him alone, Papá! You’re hurting him!”

Ramon froze, his chest heaving as he turned to his daughter. His fists unclenched, but his glare remained cold and furious. “Adriana, this is none of your business. Go back to bed.”

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “You’re the one who’s wrong, not Eddie! He’s not bad. He’s not!” Her voice wavered, but she stood her ground, her tiny frame shaking with fear and defiance.

Ramon’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. For a moment, Eddie thought he might turn his anger on her, and he forced himself to straighten despite the pain radiating through his body.

“Don’t touch her,” Eddie said, his voice low and steady, though his knees threatened to give out beneath him. “I’ll do whatever you want, just—don’t hurt her.”

Ramon looked between them, his face twisting with frustration and something that almost resembled shame. Finally, he stepped back, his hands dropping to his sides. “You’re both lucky I’m too tired for this,” he muttered, his voice sharp and bitter.

He turned and stormed down the hallway, slamming the door to his bedroom behind him.

Adriana ran to Eddie’s side as soon as their father was gone, dropping to her knees beside him. “Eddie, are you okay?” she whispered, her small hands hovering uncertainly over his bruised arms and face.

Eddie nodded, though his body ached with every movement. “I’m fine, Ratoncita,” he murmured, forcing a small, shaky smile. “You shouldn’t have come out. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“I couldn’t let him hurt you anymore,” she said fiercely, her tears spilling over. “You always protect me, Eddie. I had to protect you this time.”

Her words cracked something inside him, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her close despite the pain. “I’m so sorry, Adri,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

She clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder. “I’m not scared of him. Not when I’m with you.”

Eddie’s chest tightened, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He didn’t feel strong, not after what had just happened, but for her, he would pretend. For her, he would be the protector their father refused to be.

He brought Adriana back to bed, tucking her in gently. Her tiny hands clung to his for a moment before she let go, her big, tired eyes searching his face. “You’ll be okay, Eddie?” she asked softly, her voice filled with worry far too heavy for her small frame. Eddie forced a smile, though his body screamed in pain and his heart felt like it was splintering apart.

“I’ll be fine, Ratoncita. I promise,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.

She nodded hesitantly, finally closing her eyes, and Eddie stood in the doorway for a long moment, ensuring she’d drifted off before quietly retreating to his own room.

Once there, he collapsed onto his bed, his body aching with every movement. His ribs throbbed, his face stung, and his pride was shattered. He stared at the ceiling, trying to suppress the tears welling in his eyes. Crying wouldn’t help. It never did.

Then, a light tapping at his window startled him. Eddie groaned, pushing himself up slowly, wincing as his muscles protested. His father had really done a number on him this time. He crossed the room cautiously, his heart racing, and peered out.

Standing outside was Alex.

Eddie’s heart stuttered. For a split second, he considered ignoring him, but Alex caught his eye and gestured impatiently. With one last glance at his bedroom door—praying his father wouldn’t reappear—Eddie unlocked the window and slid it open.

“Alex, what the hell are you doing here?” Eddie hissed, keeping his voice low. He tried to turn his bruised face away, hiding the evidence of his father’s fury.

Alex, however, wasn’t fooled. As he climbed into Eddie’s room, his eyes locked onto Eddie’s swollen eye and split lip. “Jesus Christ, Eddie. Was it your dad? Did he do this?” His voice cracked with worry, and he reached out instinctively, his hand brushing Eddie’s arm.

Eddie flinched and stepped back, his jaw tightening. “Alex, just go. You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, his voice harsh.

Alex froze, hurt flashing across his face. “Eddie…”

“It was a mistake,” Eddie cut him off, his words coming out sharp and hurried. “What happened before—it was a mistake, okay? I was confused. That’s all.”

Eddie’s voice shook with desperation as he clung to the lies he’d been repeating to himself since that moment in the shed. Spending time with Alex had blurred lines Eddie wasn’t supposed to cross. Boys didn’t kiss boys. That wasn’t what men did. It wasn’t what God wanted.

Alex’s eyes softened with something like understanding, though it was tinged with sorrow. “Eds, don’t do this to yourself. You’re not confused. You—”

“Stop!” Eddie snapped, his voice rising before he caught himself and lowered it again, glancing nervously at the door. “Just stop. You don’t understand.”

Alex stepped closer, his hand lifting to gently touch Eddie’s bruised cheek. “I understand more than you think,” he said softly.

Eddie slapped his hand away, retreating further. His body trembled with a mix of anger, fear, and something he couldn’t name. “Get out, Alex,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Eds—”

“I said, get out!”

When Alex didn’t move, Eddie lashed out. His fist collided with Alex’s face, the impact sending Alex stumbling back. For a moment, they both stood there in stunned silence. Alex held his cheek, his eyes wide with hurt and disbelief.

“You’re just like your father,” Alex spat, his voice filled with venom.

Eddie’s chest tightened, shame washing over him in a suffocating wave, but he didn’t say a word. He couldn’t.

Alex turned on his heel and climbed back out the window, his movements stiff and angry. Eddie didn’t call him back. He didn’t try to stop him. He just stood there, frozen, until the sound of Alex’s footsteps disappeared into the night.

When he finally moved, Eddie sank onto the edge of his bed, burying his face in his hands. His body ached, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his chest. A tear escaped his eye, and he swiped it away furiously, his frustration boiling over.

He whispered the same prayer he had since he was six years old.

“Dios, ayúdame a ser mejor.”

(“God, help me be better.”)

Over and over again, Eddie whispered the words, clutching them like a lifeline. He sat there, rocking slightly, his ribs screaming in protest every time he shifted, but he didn’t care. He just kept repeating the prayer, hoping—begging—for some kind of absolution.

The hours dragged by, and he didn’t know how long he sat there, mumbling the words into the darkness. At some point, exhaustion finally won. His body crumpled back onto the bed, and he drifted into a fitful, restless sleep.

Alex—his name was a shadow Eddie had never dared to share with Buck. It was a chapter he had sworn to close, a story meant to be forgotten. But standing here now, in this place that was at once so achingly familiar and yet so alien, Eddie felt the past clawing its way back to the surface. Forgetting Alex had been the plan, but plans were easier made than executed, especially when the walls around him whispered memories he had tried so hard to bury.

“Edmundo, are you coming inside?” his mother called, poking her head out of the front door. Her voice, warm and tinged with a touch of impatience, pulled him out of his reverie.

Eddie blinked, startled to realize that his family had already entered the house while he stood frozen on the front steps. The weight of his suitcase in his hand reminded him where he was. Taking a steadying breath, he straightened his shoulders and stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the house of his childhood.

The air inside was dense, laden with a mix of familiar scents—faint traces of his mother’s cooking, the sharp tang of cleaning supplies, and something indefinable that seemed to belong solely to this house. Memories threatened to overwhelm him, but Eddie shook them off, forcing himself to focus on the present.

He dropped his suitcase in the hallway, the sound echoing louder than he intended, and headed toward the living room. Chris’s excited voice carried through the house, drawing him in.

There, in the middle of the living room, Chris sat cross-legged on the floor, eagerly unwrapping gifts. Wrapping paper was strewn across the carpet, and Chris’s face lit up with pure, unfiltered joy as he tore into another package.

“Why is he opening presents?” Eddie muttered under his breath. The sight was strange, almost surreal, but Eddie didn’t have the energy to question it. Whatever the occasion, Chris seemed happy, and that was enough for now.

Without lingering, Eddie turned and headed for the kitchen, his footsteps heavy against the hardwood floor. The house seemed smaller than he remembered, the ceilings lower, the rooms narrower. Or maybe it was just him—too much time and life lived since the boy who once called this place home.

And then he saw her.

She was standing by the counter, her back to him at first, but as he entered the room, she turned. The sunlight streaming through the window caught her hair, and for a moment, Eddie forgot how to breathe.

She was beautiful—so effortlessly, achingly beautiful that it hit him like a punch to the chest. Her smile was soft but radiant, a delicate mixture of surprise and warmth.

“Eddie,” she said, her voice wrapping around his name like a melody he hadn’t heard in years but still knew by heart.

“Ratoncita,” he replied, the nickname slipping from his lips before he could stop it.

Her smile widened, and for a second, it was as if time hadn’t passed, as if they were still kids sharing secrets and stolen moments in this very kitchen. But the years were there, etched into the lines of her face, subtle but undeniable.

Eddie’s throat tightened, and he wasn’t sure if it was from joy, regret, or something in between. All he knew was that standing here, looking at her, felt like coming home and being a stranger all at once.