Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In hindsight, Eddie should have considered the state of his wallet before refusing Buck's offer to drive him back home. He thought he could get a cab. He could have sworn he had money left. He didn't remember spending most of his cash on drinks, but by the time he realized that he didn't have enough to afford a ride home, it was already too late to turn back because Buck was already gone.

Although it was never truly too late when it came to Buck. Eddie could always ring him and hitch a ride back home. But a pang of immense guilt struck Eddie's heart at the thought of making Buck drive back here after he had already offered before. It was an inconvenience, and he would not do that to Buck. Besides, Buck was probably already asleep.

He could feel himself grow sober as he weighed his options, so he did what any other sensible, but still drunk person would do: he walked back inside the bar, found his previous seat, and spent the remainder of his money on more drinks.

He would just have one more, and then he'd go home. The idea hadn't stood out in his mind as a stupid one. After all, he was a firefighter; no one would try to pick on him. Even if he was drunk out of his mind, it wasn't like he would get lost. He most certainly would not pass out in the middle of the street.

He just wasn't careless like that, and he had the utmost trust in himself not to do anything stupid.

So two hours later, after three drinks and two rounds of Monopoly with a bunch of random guys, he finally started his journey back home. His mind was empty as he sauntered through the rain-soaked pavements. If you knocked on his head, you would hear an echo.

He had one fleeting thought about feeling like a wizard walking through Diagon Alley because everything was so big and dark yet weirdly bright at the same time. Every street lamp, every car light, every movement felt enhanced. It also felt crowded, even though the streets were empty. He shivered, and his walking sped. He needed to be home before something crawled out of the shadows.

By the time he stumbled through his front door, his clothes were damp. Raising Christopher had him tiptoeing around the house during nights, but since Chris wasn't home, he could turn on the lights.

After locking the door, his palm patted the wall. He blindly searched for the light switch as he simultaneously tugged off his shoes, leaving him in his socks. It took him a minute, but he did find the light switch.

As the light flickered on, he got a clear view of his surroundings. His shoes were flung to the side, and there were muddy footprints where he walked. He stood dumbly for a moment, but then he saw the light peaking out from his kitchen.

Maybe he would get himself some water, sober up a little? That was smart. Then he'd go scouring through the fridge for that leftover slice of cheesecake. He couldn't remember if he'd eaten it.

Eddie sluggishly walked to the sink, turning the water on and watching as it swirled down the drain. He reached for a glass of water, his foot shifting across the floor, but then he felt a strange little lump underneath his heel. Almost as if he'd… stepped on something?

His mouth gaped. He slowly retracted his hand and lifted his heel. When he peered down to look at it. Little black eyes stared back at him, and pierced his soul as its legs stopped wiggling around.

It was a cockroach.

He blinked, staring at the creature. Eventually, it slipped from his heel and fell onto the floor. However, where a typical roach would regain its ability to move after being back on its legs, this one remained completely still. Eddie could tell that the creature was gone; there was no life behind those eyes. And it was all… because of him.

There was a beat of silence until Eddie's shoulders deflated as he let out a trembling breath.

God, he's so careless. Everyone would be so disappointed if they found out. He didn't even know who to call. Would anyone want to help him after finding out what he'd done?

Maybe… Buck?

He thought about it for a minute, but shook his head. He couldn't drag Buck into this. He couldn't risk Buck seeing him any differently. He was responsible for it, so he should learn how to deal with his problems.

He blinked the tears away from his eye, but they fell anyway, so he stuck his tongue out and licked the salty tear drops that fell into his mouth as he stood solemnly. Soon enough, the volume of his tears increased, and it became too much to lick away.

He stayed like that for what felt like forever, uselessly wiping the tears that refused to stop flowing. When he finally felt okay to move on his trembling feet, he leaned over the counter and ripped out a small napkin.

He knelt on the floor and flattened out the napkin, bringing it towards the dead cockroach. Slowly, with the push of one finger, he nudged the cockroach into the napkin. As he stared down at the creature, he could feel his tears return.

A single droplet fell onto the cockroach's body, and suddenly, he saw a twitch in one of its legs.

He held his breath, waiting for another twitch, but it never came.

The roach was truly gone now, and he needed to get himself together. He could not allow himself to fall apart now, not when he hadn't put it to rest.

With a shaky breath, he folded the edges of the napkin around the cockroach, enclosing its body and ensuring warmth. But the cockroach would never feel warmth again, because he ended its life.

When the roach was fully secured, he held the bundled creature with his two fingers and leaned over the counter again, grabbing a spoon. He clutched the spoon in his other hand and walked back to his front door.

He opened it and walked down to one of the little patches of grass that were more loosely rooted than the others. The grass was wet by the rain, so it looked easier to dig past, even with a spoon. So he knelt onto the bare, damp grass with nothing but his socks on, and began to dig a hole using the spoon.

And he dug, and dug, and dug. He persisted, even when droplets of rain poured down on him, washing away his tears.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he finally finished; all he knew was that he needed to make things right.

He laid the napkin flatly in his palm, and slowly, he brought his lips to rest a kiss on the wrapped creature. His face scrunched up as he tried to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—" His voice cracked.

He hoped the universe would forgive him; he did not want to go to hell. He didn't want to imagine what the fate of the cockroach was. He hadn't even given it a chance to repent for its sins. It could be in hell right now, and it would be all his fault.

He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply, and he gently lowered the wrapped cockroach into the hole.

It lay there, surrounded by dampened soil as the rain fell onto its wrapped body. The napkin grew translucent as it became more soaked, but it looked like it was melting against the soil, as if it was becoming one with the earth itself.

Eddie chuckled through tear-streaked cheeks and dripping wet hair. Even after all of that, the sight still managed to be beautiful.

Eddie used the spoon to bury it, and there was something almost mesmerizing in the way the soil slowly fell and covered the roach's confined body.

The gritty sound of his digging mingled with the sound of rain pattering against the ground. He remained on his knees throughout, even when he could feel the rain soak through his clothes. Even when he could feel the dirt cling to the underside of his socks.

When he finally rose, he peered down at the lump that stood out from the ground one last time, before walking back to the safety of his home, where he would cry his sorrows away under the scaling shower. He shut the door behind him, let his damp clothes fall to the floor, and walked to the shower, where he would mourn in peace.

Chapter Text

The first thing Eddie registered when he woke up was the insistent pounding of his head. It felt like something was being rammed to the back of his skull.

His eyes were so heavy that he mustered the energy to open them. However, he shut them again with a wince, as the sunlight seared through his brain. He opened his eyes after letting them adjust and stared at the wall.

Everything around him blurred to nothing as he zoned out. He stayed like that for a few minutes, but was snapped back to reality when his nose tingled.

He knew it all too well: the way his nose twitched before he would let out a sneeze. Then he noticed how runny his nose was. But he didn't get to think for long, because his brain went blank as he sneezed twice.

He flopped down on the pillow and shuffled to lie on his side. He wanted to stay here a while. He pulled his blanket to cover more of his body and burrowed himself in its warmth.

He didn't know why he lay there for so long. His mind drifted between sleep and consciousness. He only returned to reality after sneezing three times in a row. That was when he realized he remembered nothing from last night.

He knew he had too many drinks and that he'd been in the rain, which explained his sneezing. However, even though he tried to reconstruct his memories, he only remembered his first few rounds and couldn't figure out what he did after.

A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as the blanket felt heavier. He pushed it away, rising and stumbling into the hall.

He needed to use the toilet.

As he passed his living room, he stopped in his tracks when he peeked into the kitchen and saw a silver object on the floor. He squinted, stepping closer.

It was a spoon.

What's a spoon doing in the middle of his kitchen floor? He scratched his head.

He was never so careless. Christopher wasn't home either. He must've bumped into the shelves last night—it was the only logical explanation.

He picked up the spoon, but its state made him raise a brow.

The spoon was bent back and covered in dirt. Parts of it were scratched, too. He had plenty of questions about last night, but he assumed that he wouldn't like the answer. He tossed the spoon inside the trash can and continued walking.

When he opened the bathroom door, he first saw the heap of clothes in the corner; there was a puddle forming under it. He lifted the clothes and saw that they were also dirty.

On the kneecaps of his pants, there were specks of brown on each one. It looked like he had been kneeling in the dirt.

His face scrunched. He dropped the pants, and it made a soppy sound that echoed. The clothes were still leaking on his floor. If he didn't get rid of it, it would leave a stain.

So he would get rid of it. Just... after he showered. Although he hadn't figured out what happened last night, all the signs pointed to something involving dirt. The urge to shower gnawed at him now.

He hoped he didn't go playing in the dirt, but it seemed like a possibility. He stripped, letting his clothes fall to another heap.

If he did play in dirt, then he probably didn't get all the filth off him. He no longer trusted himself as a drunk person to clean up properly, not when he'd done a bad job at disposing of his dirty items.

He turned the shower on. However, as the water touched his skin, there was a burn on his knees. He sighed, leaning down to look at it.

There was no bad bruising; however, both of his kneecaps were flushed red and had minor scrapes. It aligned with the dirt on his pants.

His knees hurt more than they look. It meant he was kneeling somewhere outside. He didn't know why, but he almost didn't want to find out.

Eddie slumped in his bed, draping the blanket over his shoulders. His skin was hot, despite him feeling chilly. He shivered lightly, even though he was wearing the largest sweater in his drawer.

After drowning in his blanket, the shivers had calmed down. However, the cold didn't. He shouldn't have gotten out of his bed to shower. He should've basked in the heat longer, even if it meant he would've stayed dirty. But now, he was unable to stay warm.

At least Christopher wasn't home. He'd hate for his son to catch a nasty cold.

He exhaled, grabbing his phone. Most of the team would notice that he didn't show up to work or call in sick. He could see a few missed calls and texts from them.

He wanted to burrow under his blanket and hibernate, not respond to texts. However, he didn't want them to worry either. So, he opened the texts and responded to them each. He reassured everyone that he was just having a bad hangover, even though that was technically a lie.

Everyone is content with the explanation, except Buck.

Are you sick?

Did you get a cab last night? It was raining.

Buck was reasonably suspicious. They'd both had enough drunk sleepovers to know that a hangover wouldn't deter either of them from showing up to the firehouse. There was no point lying to Buck, and it wasn't like Eddie felt embarrassed about being sick.

He was just confused because he didn't even know what happened after his third or fourth round of drinks. He didn't even know how many drinks he had.

So he reiterated it to Buck. He told him about the weirdly bent spoon on his kitchen floor, the dirt on his pants, the scratches on his knees, and his lack of memory.

Well, that's concerning.

I'll make you some soup.

Eddie's attempt at persuading him not to was futile. Although soup sounded better than whatever was in his fridge, he didn't want Buck to get sick, too. But ultimately, the conversation ended with Buck saying he'd be over in two hours.

Eddie smiled, shaking his head.

After closing his messenger, his finger hovered over the screen.

Christopher was out, and Buck would be here soon with food. Eddie was all by himself, and he didn't want to talk to anyone. He was more comfortable now that his shivering and sneezing had stopped.

Since he had nothing productive to do, he opened Facebook and scrolled through random videos for the next two hours.

Buck knocked at the door again. He'd been standing outside for three minutes, and there was no answer. He had texted Eddie earlier, but it went unread. Buck frowned because Eddie's phone was always with him.

Eddie was home. There was no way he went out while sick. Buck had the courtesy to knock, but he became uneasy. Why wasn't Eddie answering?

He couldn't just waltz into Eddie's house, but what if something happened?

Buck dug the spare key from his pocket, and the door creaked open to reveal a dark and silent house. He walked to Eddie's kitchen and rested the soup bowls on the counter.

Buck wandered down the hall until he reached Eddie's bedroom. He knocked a few times and called Eddie's name. After a beat of silence, he pried the door open.

Eddie was lying still on the bed.

Buck rushed to him, but when he got a proper look, he realized that Eddie was just asleep. His shoulders deflated.

But then he noticed the loud music playing on Eddie's phone. It was an ear-crushing sound that was looped. Buck needed the music to stop, so he turned Eddie's phone off.

Eddie was in a deep sleep, judging from the way he slept through that awful music.

Buck glanced back at Eddie. He didn't want to wake him up. He wanted Eddie to get rest. But the soup was still hot, and Eddie was probably sleeping on an empty stomach.

Buck weighed his options, but ultimately, he decided to leave Eddie.

Besides, the soup could always be microwaved later. He'd just leave a note on the counter.

Buck sighed, turning around. He stopped by the doorframe to glance at Eddie again, but just as he was about to leave, Eddie stirred.

Buck halted at the movement.

Eddie's eyes fluttered open. He was drowsy at first, but when their eyes met, Buck couldn't help the amused grin that flashed on his face.

He walked closer, but out of nowhere, Eddie's face scrunched up. Buck didn't have a chance to get out of the way—Eddie sneezed on him.

Eddie cringed, "Sorry."

Buck sighed, "It's fine."

Chapter Text

By the time Wednesday came, Eddie was back to work. Their first call involved a man hanging onto a tree. His leg was on top a branch, concealed by large leaves. Although they couldn't see properly, they noticed blood dripping from the leaves. The severity of the bleeding seemed to grow as more spilled down.

The tree had been holding him for two hours. Although it was strong, they could see the branches wear thin. The man had exhausted himself with all his thrashing around until he ran out of energy. Now, he was slumped on the branch, not responding to any of their shouts, and staring blankly ahead.

Eddie climbed up the ladder with a rope. He was within a few inches of the man when he heard a rustle in the leaves. His head snapped to the side briefly, but since the leaves were too bulky, his eyes couldn't pinpoint the source. As he continued climbing, he heard more rustling.

It was probably just a squirrel, he thought.

When he reached close enough, he tried to extend his hand. However, just as his hand reached out, the man jerked back and shrank in on himself.

Eddie frowned, retracting his hand and observing. Faint tremors raked over the man's body as his eyes darted between Eddie and the leaves. It looked like he was trying to signal something to Eddie.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, "Sir? I know you're scared, but—"

Another rustle in the leaves interrupted Eddie. The rustle was closer this time. The man let out a whimper, and an idea clicked in Eddie's head.

If he could convince the man that nothing was hiding in the leaves, then he'd be able to get him out.

Eddie exhaled. He extended his arm to the leaves and started peeling them back. One push sent a pigeon flying out. Eddie watched the pigeon sit on top of a branch, and he turned to the man.

"See? It's just a pigeon, nothing else."

The man glanced at the pigeon, back at Eddie, and then nodded slowly.

Eddie extended his arm again, and a beat of silence passed between them, before the man took his hand. As Eddie helped him climb halfway down, he saw that the bleeding wasn't as bad as they'd anticipated. At the end of the ladder, Buck stood, guiding the man down.

Eddie watched them, still high up.

He was about to climb down himself, when he heard a rustle.

"Oh great, another idiot rescued." The voice came out of nowhere. "That's the third one this week."

Eddie's eyes darted around in pursuit of the sound, but the only thing in proximity was the pigeon.

Eddie exhaled sharply, shaking his head and swallowing hard.

It had sounded so close. There was no way he was hearing things.

People didn't just hear vivid voices out of nowhere.

That was crazy, right?

He probably still hadn't recovered from his cold. He just needed to go home, maybe have some more of Buck's magical soup, and then go to sleep.

He took a deep breath.

But then another voice came through.

"He's on the ground and still trembling like a leaf." There was a scoff, and the pigeon turned around. "Hey Paul! Come take a look at this!"

Eddie's eyes snapped to the pigeon. Why was its beak moving in sync with the words?

Another pigeon joined, sitting on top of the branch next to the first one, and Eddie's blood ran cold.

Distantly, he could hear them snicker. The words muddled together as they kept speaking.

He almost missed when the pigeon looked at him directly.

"Hey, you. Helmet guy. Can you… hear me?" The pigeons stared at him with beady eyes. They tilted their heads.

When Eddie didn't respond, they glanced at each other.

"I said, can you hear me, helmet guy?"

Eddie stumbled back on the ladder, clutching the sides for balance.

His grip tightened as the pigeons moved closer. They mumbled something unintelligible to Eddie.

"You humans are so weird." The pigeon fluffed its feathers, and then it flew away. Eddie stared with wide eyes.

His hands trembled as he stood, rooted to the spot.

The pigeons talked to each other. They talked to him. They were having a conversation.

Animals. Pigeons. Talking.

When the next one flew away, Eddie's eyes darted back to the ground.

Everyone was staring at him. He could hear Buck call his name from below.

His breaths came quickly as he swallowed hard. The others could tell something was wrong.

Eddie mustered his most stable voice. "I'm coming down!"

Below the tree branch, a lizard observed, with raised eyebrows.