Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cold fluorescent lights of the grocery store felt too bright—harsh and clinical—burning spots into Buck’s vision as he stared blankly at the soup aisle.

He wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten there.

His hand gripped the handle of the little green shopping basket like it was the only thing tethering him to earth. His fingers were curled too tightly around the plastic, knuckles bone-white. He hadn’t moved in five minutes.

A can of lentil soup sat in the bottom of the basket. Organic. Low sodium. Something he’d read online might be “good for circulation.” Whatever that meant. It didn’t matter. None of this mattered. He just needed to be out of the loft. He needed to move. He needed to not be alone for once.

But the universe, in its cosmic irony, decided now would be the moment he heard voices—familiar voices—rounding the end of the aisle.

Hen’s laugh. Chim’s casual ribbing. And then, that voice. That soft, deep voice that could still pull Buck’s attention across a crowded room in an instant.

Eddie.

Buck’s heart stopped. His grip on the basket faltered. For one wild second, he considered hiding behind the pyramid display of boxed broth—but it was too late. Hen had already spotted him.

“Is that… Buck?”

She sounded startled, like she’d seen a ghost. Chim’s head turned and his expression shifted from surprise to suspicion in an instant.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Chim asked, squinting. Not exactly angry—but not kind, either. Like Buck had just wandered into a place he no longer had permission to exist in.

Buck tried to form a smile. It felt like pulling something rusted from his throat.

“Just, uh…” he held up the basket lamely. “Looking for this food I read about. Supposed to help with blood health.”

Hen frowned. “So you had to come to a store five miles away from your loft to get it?”

Buck opened his mouth. No good reason came. “I like this one better,” he said quietly.

It sounded weak, even to him.

And then Eddie stepped forward. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just close enough that Buck could feel him, warm and real and familiar—and cold in a way that felt like winter in Buck’s chest.

Eddie looked him over. His jaw was tight.

“You’re exhausting.”

Two words. That’s all it took to hollow him out.

Buck blinked, stunned. “What?”

“You are,” Eddie said, louder now. “Exhausting. You make everything harder than it has to be. You drop a lawsuit on all of us, nearly implode the department, and now what? You show up here thinking you’ll run into us and we’ll just—what? Forget it happened?”

Buck’s stomach dropped. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Eddie snapped, bitter. “Just like you didn’t think about the fallout of what you did. Or who you hurt. Or how it shattered everything we built. You don’t think, Buck. You act. And we all pay the price.”

“I just wanted to explain,” Buck said, his voice cracking, desperate to claw back something—anything.

“You don’t get to explain,” Eddie barked. “You get to live with the consequences. Because I have been fine without you in my life, Buck. Fine. So suck it up.”

Buck didn’t realize he’d taken a step back until the cold shelves hit his spine.

Hen gave Eddie a sharp look, but the moment was already too heavy.

Then, outside, a crash. Screaming.

The firefighters were in motion instantly—Hen, Chim, Eddie rushing toward the entrance, instincts taking over.

“Stay here,” Hen said quickly.

And just like that, they were gone.

Buck stayed frozen in place for several seconds.

The world moved on.

⸻

Three Minutes Later

The shopping basket slipped from Buck’s fingers. He didn’t even feel it drop. A jar of pasta sauce tumbled from the top and shattered across the floor with a loud CRACK, spraying glass and thick red sauce everywhere.

It looked like blood.

He flinched hard.

His first instinct wasn’t to step away. Wasn’t to protect himself.

It was to clean it up.

Someone might get hurt. He had made a mess. He had to fix it. He always made messes. He always hurt people.

He crouched low, his knees cracking as they hit the floor. He reached out—right into the glass.

It sliced into his palm almost immediately. Hot pain flared, sharp and electric. But he didn’t react.

He picked up a piece, fingers trembling.

“I can’t hurt anyone else.”

He said it aloud. Whispered it like a vow.

Another shard in his hand. Blood pooled in his palm and trickled down his wrist, soaking the cuff of his hoodie.

“I can’t. I won’t. I’ll clean it up.”

He slid the shards into his hoodie pocket, unaware of how the glass cut deeper with every movement. His blood turned his jeans a darker shade of blue where he knelt.

He kept going.

Glass bit into his thigh as he leaned over. A few pieces embedded in his shin. A long, jagged one sliced through the meat of his hand and he whimpered—still not pulling away.

A woman walking past gasped, startled. She doubled back.

“Are you—oh my God. Sir? Are you okay?”

Buck didn’t respond.

Another person approached. A small crowd started to gather, murmurs rising.

“He’s bleeding.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Should we call someone?”

“I think he’s in shock.”

“He’s just picking it up with his bare hands—someone get help!”

⸻

Outside

The injured party was stable. Just a fallen sign, no major trauma.

Bobby turned back toward the store, about to regroup.

A woman rushed over.

“There’s a guy inside—he’s bleeding. He’s on the ground, picking up broken glass with his bare hands. I don’t think he’s okay.”

Hen’s brows pulled together. “What aisle?”

“Six. Soup.”

Eddie looked up. His stomach dropped.

That’s where Buck had been.

“No,” Eddie said. “No. That’s not—”

But he was already running.

The second they turned the corner of aisle six, time fractured.

Glass. Blood. A pale figure crumpled in the center of the chaos like a statue made of paper and grief.

“Buck,” Hen breathed, hand flying to her mouth.

Eddie didn’t breathe at all.

He was moving before his mind caught up—feet skidding on the tile, kneeling hard in the sticky, red-wet floor that smelled like tomatoes and something terrifyingly metallic. A smell he knew from calls. A smell he never wanted to associate with Buck.

“Buck—Buck!” Eddie called, grabbing his shoulders.

No response.

Buck was hunched over, knees folded beneath him at an unnatural angle, arms slack in his lap, palms torn wide open, blood dripping in thick rivulets down his fingers and over shattered glass. His hoodie was soaked. His mouth hung open slightly, breath shallow and ragged. His eyes were wide, vacant, blinking slowly—as if he didn’t even see the people in front of him.

“Hen, he’s not focusing,” Eddie snapped. “Buck. Hey. Look at me.”

He gently touched Buck’s chin, tilting it up.

Buck flinched hard like the contact burned. “No—don’t—don’t touch me—he’s gonna be mad—he’s gonna be mad.”

“Who’s gonna be mad?” Eddie asked softly, gently.

Buck’s eyes darted, unseeing. “Bobby. He’s not gonna let me back. I broke it again—I broke it all—”

His breathing hitched. “He doesn’t need me anymore.” His voice was suddenly so small, it could’ve shattered. “You said it. You said you were fine without me.”

Eddie’s heart fractured.

“Buck. I was angry. I was wrong.” He cupped the side of Buck’s jaw carefully, fingers stained red from Buck’s own blood. “You are not too much. You’re not exhausting. You are enough. Do you hear me?”

Buck shook his head, hard. “No… no, I’m not. I hurt people. I hurt you. I made a mess, and now—I’m cleaning it. I have to. I have to make it stop.”

He moved suddenly—tried to reach for more glass with a shaky hand. Hen caught his wrist midair with a gentle but firm grip.

“Evan, please don’t do that,” she whispered, kneeling beside him now. Her eyes were wet. “You’re bleeding too much. You’re in shock. You need help.”

He looked at her—through her. Like he didn’t recognize her at all.

“Who—who are you?” he asked.

Hen sucked in a breath like she’d been slapped.

Eddie’s jaw clenched. “It’s us, Buck. It’s me. It’s Hen. You know us.”

“I—” Buck looked around wildly. The lights were too bright again. He winced. His body swayed like it couldn’t decide whether to fight or fall. “I can’t—I don’t—I don’t feel right.”

“You’re hurt,” Hen said, voice trembling. “You’re on blood thinners, Buck. That’s why this is so dangerous. Please let us help you.”

“But I deserve it!” Buck suddenly shouted, eyes wide, desperate. “You said it! Everyone’s better without me—I just—I needed to see if it was true—and it is. You’re all fine. You’re okay. And I’m still the problem. I always am.”

“No,” Eddie said, leaning in, voice breaking. “You’re not. You’re human. And you’re hurting. And none of this means we stop loving you.”

Buck blinked slowly. His mouth moved. Like he wanted to believe it—but couldn’t.

“I’m tired,” he whispered, eyes fluttering shut mid-sentence. “So tired…”

And then he collapsed forward.

Eddie caught him before his head hit the tile.

“Buck!” he shouted, voice strangled.

Hen was already tearing open gauze with shaking hands. “I need pressure on both palms. He’s losing too much. Bobby, call it in!”

Bobby’s voice came through the radio, already summoning EMS. Chim was sprinting back from the ambulance bay.

Eddie pressed Buck’s face gently into his shoulder, whispering over and over, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I didn’t mean it. You’re not exhausting. Please come back.”

Buck didn’t move.

He just lay there, limp and bleeding, safe in Eddie’s arms—and so far away

Chapter Text

Eddie stood motionless in the waiting room, his hands still slick with Buck’s blood, dried in the creases of his knuckles, soaked into his fingernails, staining the seams of his uniform. He couldn’t stop staring at them. They shook.

No amount of scrubbing would fix that.

He could still feel Buck’s weight—heavy, limp, wrong—draped over his arms. The way his head lolled against Eddie’s shoulder. The way his lips had gone pale. The way Eddie had pressed his hands to Buck’s arm and felt the warmth slip away too fast.

His stomach churned with guilt, with memory, with the unbearable what if.

It felt like being back at that fire, when Buck was trapped under the ladder truck. When every second felt like it was slipping away and Eddie had stood there, helpless, terrified. But this time—this time it was worse.

This time Buck was in that store in a daze reaching, yearning, wanting to feel that pain because he didn’t want anyone else to feel it. He thought he caused too much and it hurts.

“Eddie?” Hen’s voice was soft,
careful.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t move.

She stepped closer, heart breaking at the way he was frozen in place, his eyes glassy with shock. “How about we get you cleaned up, okay?”

Eddie looked up at her, slowly, like her words had to travel through quicksand to reach him. His throat bobbed.

“Hen…” he said hoarsely, and his voice cracked so violently it felt like something inside him tore with it. “Hen, he could die.”

Hen’s breath caught in her chest.

Eddie shook his head, like he couldn’t make it stop. “He could die thinking… thinking we all hated him.”

He laughed then—sharp and bitter and broken. “Jesus, the last time I talk to him, I called him exhausting in five different ways saying I didn’t need him anymore, but that would never be true I need him always and he needs to know that he needs to come back.”

Hen’s eyes filled, but she didn’t speak. She knew better than to interrupt a man unraveling.

Eddie’s voice dropped to a whisper, haunted. “Those can’t be the last words, Hen. They can’t be the last things he hears. I just—I just can’t live with that.”

He scrubbed at his face with his bloody hands, smearing crimson over his cheeks, jaw clenched, breath hitching.

“I can’t lose him.”

Hen stepped forward and put her hand gently on his shoulder. “You’re not going to.”

“You don’t know that,” he snapped, then immediately flinched, guilt layering itself on top of everything else. “I’m sorry. I just— seeing him like that on the floor on his knees just picking up those pieces like he was picking up the pieces of himself that he was lost and pulling him away and feeling his cold cold body the way he was just so tired and I I can’t Hen.”

Hen’s fingers tightened on his shoulder. “ I know Eddie it was scary seeing him like that. It was like the person we all know and love was not there, but he always fights to come back to us.”

Eddie finally met her eyes, tears brimming. “But what if we were too late?”

Hen shook her head. “Then we fight harder now. For him.”

A beat passed.

Then Eddie whispered, “I didn’t even know he was hurting.”

Hen’s voice was a rasp. “None of us did. But we will now.”

They stood there for a long time. The buzz of hospital machinery, the occasional call over the PA, the squeak of nurses’ shoes down the corridor—none of it broke through the gravity in the space between them.

Finally, Hen reached for a towel, one from the waiting room’s small kitchenette, and gently guided Eddie’s hands under the tap.

She washed the blood from his fingers like he was a child.

Like it wasn’t the only thing holding him together.

And he let her.

Because right now, none of them could afford to fall apart—not until Buck woke up.

Not until they could tell him—really tell him—that they loved him.

That he wasn’t alone.

That they were sorry it took this long to say it

Chapter Text

The hospital room was too quiet.

The kind of quiet that rang in Eddie’s ears, oppressive and unnatural, like the whole world was holding its breath.

Buck lay motionless in the bed, bandages wrapped around his hands and forearms, IV lines trailing down to machines that beeped too softly for Eddie’s peace of mind. His skin was pale—ghostly against the sterile white sheets—and his lashes cast shadows like bruises against his cheeks.

Eddie hadn’t moved from the chair in five hours.

He was still wearing the same shirt, blood stiff in patches across the sleeves. His phone buzzed every now and then—Hen, Chim, even Athena checking in—but he ignored them all. He didn’t want to speak. Didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to do anything but watch Buck breathe and hold on to the proof that he still could.

He kept replaying it all in his head.

The glass. The blood. The vacant stare.

Buck had been gone, not physically—but mentally, emotionally, spiritually, like something inside him had unraveled and floated away. And Eddie had watched it happen. He had helped it happen.

Because he’d told Buck he was exhausting. Told him he was fine without him. Spit words like daggers into someone already bleeding on the inside.

You’re exhausting.

Eddie pressed his hand to his mouth, smothering the sound of his own guilt. His eyes burned, throat raw.

And then—movement.

It was small. Barely there.

Buck’s fingers twitched beneath the blanket.

Eddie shot upright, heart in his throat. “Buck?”

Another twitch. His eyelids fluttered. A crease appeared between his brows like a nightmare had followed him into consciousness.

“Buck,” Eddie said again, more desperate. “Hey, I’m here. You’re safe.”

Buck’s eyes opened.

For a moment, they were unfocused. Wide. Almost wild.

He blinked several times, breath stuttering.

Then, softly, like a child, he whispered, “Is it bad?”

Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat. “You’re okay. You’re in the hospital. You lost a lot of blood, but the doctors said you’ll recover.”

Buck didn’t look reassured.

“Did I hurt anyone?”

The question punched the air from Eddie’s lungs. “No. No, Buck, you didn’t hurt anyone.”

Buck turned his head away. His voice was flat. “That’s new.”

“Buck—”

“Did you mean it?” Buck asked suddenly, still not looking at him.

Eddie stilled. “Mean what?”

“What you said.” Buck’s eyes finally met his, glassy and hollow. “At the store. That I’m exhausting. That you don’t need me. That you were better off.”

Eddie felt the words like knives in his mouth.

“No,” he said, low and sure. “I didn’t mean any of it. I was angry and scared and unfair. And I’m sorry.”

Buck didn’t blink. “You were right, though.”

Eddie stood, moved to the bed, sat on the edge so he was eye-level. “Stop. Don’t do that.”

Eddie reached for Bucks tightly bandaged hands gently and Buck let him.

“You said you were tired,” Eddie whispered.

Buck’s eyes squeezed shut. “I still am.”

Eddie’s voice broke. “Then let me help carry it. Please.”

Buck’s lip trembled. “I didn’t want to die.”

“I know,” Eddie whispered, voice thick with emotion. “But you didn’t want to live like that either. And that matters. That means you’re still fighting.”

Buck nodded, barely. “I don’t know how to stop hurting.”

“You don’t have to stop,” Eddie said, leaning in, forehead nearly resting against Buck’s. “You just don’t have to do it alone.”

⸻

Later, when Hen and Chim arrived, they found Buck sitting up slightly in the bed, Eddie’s hoodie bundled under his arms for warmth.

Hen walked in slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she said gently. “You scared the hell out of us.”

Buck tried to smile, but it cracked before it reached his eyes. “Sorry.”

Chim didn’t say anything. Just stepped forward and carefully set something on the tray table. It was Buck’s shopping basket from the store.

The same one. Cleaned. Intact. With the label still on the can of lentil soup inside.

Buck stared at it, throat bobbing. “You kept it?”

Chim finally spoke, quiet and raw. “We didn’t want to lose anything else.”

That’s when Buck cried.

Not loud, not sobbing. Just silent tears that slipped down his face like they’d been waiting for permission. And no one told him to stop. Hen leaned over the side of the bed and held him. Chim hovered awkwardly, then rested a hand on his shin. Eddie never let go of his hand.

“I I miss you guys so much it hurts” Buck says through tears.

“You’ll never have to miss us like this again” Hen says

⸻

Hours later, when everyone else had gone home to sleep, Buck opened his eyes in the dark room and whispered into the stillness:

“I don’t know how to fix it.”

Eddie, who had never left his chair, whispered back: “You don’t have to. Just stay.”

Buck turned his face toward him. “And if I break again?”

“I’ll be here,” Eddie said simply. “Every time.”

Chapter Text

Hospital — 2:38 a.m.

The room was too quiet.

The kind of quiet that didn’t feel like peace—it felt like the sky moments before a storm, so thick with static it buzzed in your ears.

The only sound was the slow, steady rhythm of the heart monitor, and the low hum of the IV pump.

Hen sat beside the bed, one hand wrapped tightly around Buck’s bandaged one. The bleeding had finally stopped, but the damage was already done. He was pale, too pale, skin almost translucent against the hospital linens, lips tinged blue at the edges. His chest rose and fell in uneven, shallow breaths. He hadn’t woken up. Not once.

Eddie stood at the foot of the bed. Still soaked in tomato-stained blood. He hadn’t said a word in nearly two hours.

He couldn’t look at Buck’s face—not directly. Every time he tried, he saw it in that grocery store. The blank stare. The blood pooling. The way Buck flinched from touch and mumbled about cleaning up the mess. About being the problem.

About Bobby being mad.

This was deliberate.

This was pain Buck had carried until it broke him.

And none of them had seen it.

Not even Eddie.

Especially not Eddie.

Hen sniffled. Quietly. She rubbed her thumb along the back of Buck’s still hand like a grounding wire. “C’mon, sweetheart. You made it through worse. You always come back to us.”

The monitor beeped.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.

Slower now.

Eddie looked up sharply.

“Hen?”

She froze. Her eyes flicked to the screen. Then to Buck’s face.

He wasn’t breathing right.

His chest stuttered, jerked, then stilled.

“Buck?” Hen’s voice cracked. “No, no, hey—hey, stay with me, baby, stay with me—!”

The monitor gave one final warning beep—

—and flatlined.

A piercing, endless tone filled the room.

Hen leapt to her feet. “WE NEED HELP IN HERE!” she screamed, banging the Code Blue button.

Nurses and doctors swarmed the room in seconds. CPR started. A crash cart rolled in. Defibrillator pads were slapped to Buck’s chest.

“Charging to 200!”

“Clear!”

His body jolted.

No rhythm.

“Again!”

Jolt. Nothing.

Eddie was shoved backward into the hallway by a nurse trying to create space. He didn’t fight it. He couldn’t move.

He pressed his back to the wall and stared, wide-eyed, at the sliver of light beneath the door.

Hen’s screams.
The doctor’s voice calling time.
Another jolt.
More chest compressions.
A tone that wouldn’t stop.

He couldn’t feel his legs.

His ears were ringing.

His body felt far away.

Then the door opened.

Hen stepped out.

Tears streaked her face. Her hands were shaking.

Eddie’s heart shattered right there, before she even said it.

“They called it.”

Time stopped.

“What?” he rasped. His voice didn’t even sound like his.

Hen took a breath that sounded like it tore her in half. “At 2:41 a.m.”

Eddie shook his head. “No. No—Hen, no—he was breathing. He was breathing. I heard him. He was breathing!”

She reached for him, but he stepped back like her touch burned. His own were already clawing at his shirt like he couldn’t breathe. “I was right there! I was right there! I didn’t leave him. I didn’t—I didn’t—”

Hen cried openly now, but her voice stayed gentle. “He didn’t suffer, Eddie. He—he just let go.”

“No,” Eddie whispered, choking. “He promised. He said he’d stay. He said he didn’t want to die. I know it! He wouldn’t leave Chris like this!”

Hen didn’t know what to say to that.

Because Eddie was right.

But sometimes, even when you fight, the weight is too heavy.

And now Buck was gone.

2:54 a.m.
Saint Francis Hospital – Family Room

Hen sat on the edge of a gray vinyl couch, hands still covered in blood. It had dried into the creases of her fingers. She didn’t care. She stared at the space where Buck had been, replaying it all: the trembling in his hands, the way he’d whispered “I’m tired”, and the long, flat tone that had followed.

Eddie hadn’t moved from the corner.

He was on the floor, back against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees. He wasn’t crying. Not yet. He was too quiet for that. Too still. The kind of still that only came when something inside you had snapped.

No one had asked them to leave the room. No one had needed to.

Buck’s body was still in Trauma 3. Covered now. Silent. Small.

Dead.

Hen finally stood. She pulled her phone from her pocket and stared at the screen. Her hand hovered over Maddie’s contact.

Eddie didn’t look up. “I should do it.”

Hen hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“No.” His voice was low. Broken. “But I have to.”

⸻

3:01 a.m.
Maddie’s Apartment

Maddie was already halfway to the door when her phone rang—Buck hadn’t answered her texts, and she’d seen an alert about a medical emergency near a store downtown. It was a gut feeling. The kind she’d learned to never ignore.

She picked up.

“Hey Eddie?”

He didn’t speak right away.

Her heart stuttered. “Eddie? What—what’s wrong?”

“I—” He cleared his throat, but it didn’t help. “You need to come to Saint Francis. Now.”

“Why? What happened? Where’s Buck?”

He was silent.

Maddie’s hand clamped around the phone. “Eddie. Where’s Buck.”

A breath. Barely there. “He’s gone.”

She stopped breathing. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

“He was hurt. Bad. We—we found him on the floor. He was trying to clean up broken glass. He’d cut his hands open. He lost too much blood, and by the time the ambulance—by the time we got him here…” Eddie’s voice broke. “They couldn’t bring him back.”

Maddie sat down without meaning to. Her legs gave out beneath her.

“No,” she whispered. “No. He’s always okay. He always makes it. He—he survived the tsunami. The ladder. He always comes back—”

“Not this time,” Eddie said, voice cracking.

And Maddie screamed.

A sound so sharp it woke up the whole neighborhood…

⸻

3:34 a.m.
Bobby’s House

Athena was the one who knocked on the door.

Karen had called her when Hen couldn’t find the words.

Bobby opened it bleary-eyed, in sweatpants and a T-shirt. “What’s going on?”

Athena didn’t say a word.

She just wrapped her arms around him and held on.

“What?” Bobby asked, confused, heart hammering. “What happened to him?”

Then he saw Hen behind her.

Her shirt was soaked in red.

And Bobby knew.

“No.” His voice dropped. “No. No—he’s not—”

“He’s gone, Bobby,” Hen said, quietly. Her chin quivered. “Buck’s gone.”

Bobby staggered back like the words physically hit him.

He sat down on the step. Hard. Like his legs had stopped working.

“That’s not possible,” he said, staring into nothing. “He’s—I was just thinking of calling him. To talk. To check in.”

Hen knelt beside him, holding his arm.

Bobby let out one long, broken breath. “He died thinking I was still angry. He died thinking I didn’t forgive him.”

Hen didn’t lie.

She just whispered, “He loved you anyway.”

⸻

3:58 a.m.
Outside Trauma Room 3

Maddie arrived not long after. She was crying before she got through the front doors. Chim met her halfway, face pale, unsure whether to touch her or collapse himself.

Eddie stood nearby, staring at the door where Buck’s body waited inside.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” Maddie whispered. “I didn’t get to tell him I’m proud of him.”

Eddie finally spoke. “He knew.”

Her hands curled into fists. “Then why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t he ask for help?”

Eddie looked down. “Because he thought we hated him.”

“No,” she said instantly, too fast. “No, that’s not true.”

“I told him I was fine without him.”

Chim turned, eyes wet. “So did I.”

Hen added quietly, “We all did. In our own ways.”

Silence.

The weight of guilt suffocated the air in the room.

Then Bobby appeared, walking slowly down the hall. He looked older. Smaller. Hollowed out.

He stopped in front of the group, and when he finally spoke, his voice was gravel.

“We don’t move on from this.”

Nobody argued.

Because Buck wasn’t someone you moved on from.

He was the center of it all.

And now?

Now there was only quiet.

And broken glass.

And the terrible ache of too late.