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powderblueblood · 5 months

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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER FOUR — HOT SKIN and a HALL PASS

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summary: rules, you've recently learned, are for breaking– sanity is also, apparently, relative. after making a statement in the cafeteria, you play hooky with eddie in main street vinyl. content warnings: MINORS DNI tension you would need a chainsaw to cut through, farm-to-table snarking, do they even know they're yearning, nancy wheeler i'm sorry i shittalked you again (it will get better i swear) word count: 4k

Dear reader, do you ever feel like you’re completely losing your grasp on reality?

You’ve cruised through life almost seamlessly up to this point. Yours is a well-oiled machine, one you painstakingly built yourself. But do you ever feel like you’ve spent so much time constructing something so carefully that it doesn’t make sense to you anymore?

Like you can’t see the forest for the trees, or the treason for the thrill.

Do you ever want to light your whole life up in flames, just to see what’s really fireproof?

“So, which is it?”

You’re standing at your locker, making a bad job of touching up your now-flaking under-eye concealer when a voice rings out from the other end of the hall. It bounces off the cool metal of the lockers, the tack of the linoleum. It makes your shoulderblades go tense.

“Has little Lacy been hiding a pair of brass balls this whole time, or is she on a suicide mission?”

You’d roll your eyes, but your face is aching.

“Showing up with me this morning would have been one thing, but sitting yourself at my little table of outcasts? At lunch? The most important social event of the day?”

Munson lets out a low whistle from where he leans, a couple of lockers up from yours.

The hallway is deserted save for the both of you; you, out on a forged hall pass and him, probably just ditching to ditch. You peer at him from behind your locker door. He’s standing slanted in a long, lithe line made bold and jangly by his carefully curated metalhead armor.

You, and this comes with a hefty dose of begrudgery, have to hand it to him– he leans great.

“Talk about blowing up your reputation beyond repair.”

You know he’s making fun of you– he’s not exactly subtle about it, nor is he about anything. It’s all in the lilt of his tone, how ridiculous he thinks the interwoven politics of the cafeteria are, how dumb he thinks you are for considering that in the least bit important.

Munson’s idea of survival in high school is attacking conformity with a nuclear bomb, whereas yours is a little more artful.

“I know this might be hard for you to comprehend, Munson,” you sigh, and the sound rattles through your ribcage– you are tired, tired of him, “given that your understanding of object permanence has clearly been stunted at an infantile level, but the world does not revolve around you."

"No?!" he croons, sarcasm slicking out of him.

"I was catching up with Ronnie.”

“Right, because you guys have been such good gal pals up to this point,” Munson scoffs.

His face, framed by those wild waves, materializes in the reflection of your locker’s mirror, peering over your shoulder. You slam the door and pivot to face him properly, impact ringing out like a gunshot.

He does a little jump, a shadow of his shock at you on Harrington’s porch.

That reaction is like a shot of espresso straight to the veins.

Good. Be afraid. Asshole.

You're sure as fuck awake now!

“Lab partner love never dies,” you say, leveling his stare. “You’d know that if you showed up for Biology once in a while.”

“Maybe I need a tutor. I could use someone to help me brush up on anatomy.”

“Sorry. I don’t teach remedial.”

“Maybe you should start. Rehabilitate your image.”

“Again, who died and made you my parole officer?”

His expression cracks; a gasp of a laugh. “Oh, so you remember all that?”

“My hippocampus is alive and kicking.”

“Your hip– what?”

Your lips purse, and just as you’re about to throw another verbal dart at him, the voice of Ms O’Donnell cuts through the both of you.

“I hope you two have a damn good excuse for loitering in this hallway– because if not, Mr Munson, I believe you’re less than one detention away from suspension.”

Munson’s got this terminal disease where he’s more smarm than charm, despite his warped perception of himself. There’s no way he’s going to handle this with the grace that’s necessary, because O’Donnell hates him anyway.

He keens his head in the teacher’s direction, ready to roll out some useless excuse.

Before he’s even got the chance to speak, you cut him off.

“Hall pass, Ms O’Donnell.” You flash the fake yellow slip at her, careful to obscure the names– you’ve usually got one of these forgeries to hand, just in case you need it, and teachers generally trust you enough not to check them out. It comes with the whole work-life balance you’ve been treading for the entirety of your high school career; you’re well-liked and you’re maintaining an impressive grade point average. They don’t give a shit what you do other than that.

“The Weekly Streak has run into a printer snag and Nancy Wheeler’s car is on the fritz. Eddie,” his first name, which you never ever use, feels weird and heavy on your tongue, “offered me a ride to the printers to make sure it gets worked out– it’s a big issue. What with the game this weekend and everything.”

O’Donnell’s eyes narrow. You nudge Munson right in his funny bone– hard enough for him to wince.

“Right?”

“Right! That big game. Front page news, Ms O’D. Gooooo Tigers.”

The teacher clicks her tongue against her teeth, her rock hard stare challenging the delinquent beside you– it’s entirely likely that Munson could have blown it for himself just by virtue of being alive and in O’Donnells sight line, but you know she’s got no reason not to believe you.

See, your reputation at the school newspaper precedes you; it’s just about the only thing that really holds your interest within the monotonous structure of Hawkins High. With your finger on the pulse of Hawkins’ student body, it only makes sense that you serve as a fierce and unforgiving editor of the Streak’s society pages– funnily enough, that hardline professionalism included never giving Munson’s infamously lame Dungeons and Dragons club a single mention in them.

Vetoed, you’d drawled at one of the more well-mannered members that had shyly approached you about writing a piece. Not Ronnie– she knew better than that.

How come? they’d whined, as their fearsome leader glowered near the lockers just like he was doing now.

On grounds of irrelevance. I’m not wasting valuable inches on a make believe board game club.

This activated Munson. Lacy, you wouldn’t know valuable inches if they rammed you in the–

“Make it fast,” O’Donnell decrees, and you feel her watch you as you take off down the hallway. With a snappy quirk of your painted fingers, you gesture for Munson to follow your lead. And you better believe he does, almost tripping over his ratty Reeboks trying to keep in step with you.

You both heave open the double doors, squinting against the unseasonable late autumn sunshine. Heels of your ankle boots clicking against the concrete, you make an unconscious beeline for the parking lot– for Munson’s van.

“So– what now?” he asks, dur-dur dumb as all hell.

“What now is I just got you a free pass to play hooky,” you say, little miss cactus flower, prickly with annoyance. You shield your eyes against the blazing light. “Weren’t you ditching anyway?”

“Yeeaaah,” Munson hums, scratching the back of his head, “But… the plan kind of was to smoke a joint and go to the record store.”

“Doesn’t sound like a complete waste of time,” you hear yourself saying before you realize it, yanking at the van’s passenger door. You pause, raising an expectant eyebrow at Munson. Isn’t this your cue?

Baffled, bewildered, but grinning despite himself, he extends that silver ringed hand and helps you haul your ass into his beat up chariot.

Completely losing your grip on reality.

–

It’s a fugue state. It’s an out of body experience– you’re watching yourself from outside your corporeal form and you have no logical control over what you’re doing.

That’s the only way to explain why you’re standing in Main Street Vinyl, elbow to elbow with Eddie Munson.

But that might also be the weed talking.

You don’t know where the hell he gets this stuff, but it’s strong– way stronger than the shit he’s sold to your friends ever since he started dealing. Well, you guess it makes sense that he’d keep the good shit for himself. You’d do that too, if you were him.

What if I was him, you idly wonder, peering up at him as he flicks through letters R through T in the metal section. His tongue peeks out of his mouth as his ringed fingers work though the vinyl, carefully considering each one.

This is what you mean by obvious– you, for one, would have the good conscience not to look so stoned while you’re so stoned.

You definitely don’t look stoned right now.

No one can even tell that you’re looking at him, up from underneath those thick lashes of yours.

He’s got thick lashes too, come to think of it.

Munson is actually not completely unfortunate looking– but again, if you were him, there’s no way you’d wear your hair like that. You’d keep it long-ish, though, you think. He’s got a point there; a nice curl pattern. Maybe to your ears. And the clothes obviously have to go– that denim vest is a patchwork disaster. Did he sew all those patches on himself?

A vision of him hunched over the thing with a needle and thread in hand flits through your brain, pricking himself more than he can pick up a stitch. He’s gone out of his way to make himself look like this– kind of similar to the way you pick up your skirts so they’re always impeccably just short enough.

Now, the leather jacket you could forgive if at least the collar was different. Maybe one of those Brando-style biker jackets, you could rock that. Or a brown leather number, to bring out your eyes– which are his eyes, of course, his crazy dark empty universes of eyes.

The kind of eyes with the kind of stare that nails you in place and makes you want to do crazy shit like ditch class and get loaded and stand dumbly in a record store. Those eyes.

That are staring at you. He’s staring at you. Right back at you.

“I can read your mind,” Munson monotones, unblinking.

You go flush, heat crawling all the way up to your ears. “Wh–what?”

Then he nudges you and snorts, breaking the spell.

“You have gotta stop thinking such dirty thoughts about me, ice princess. You’re gonna melt.”

You scoff, shaking your head– but the cartoonish move is more to ground you in reality than a reaction to him and his idiocy. You’re Wile E Coyote after blunt force impact with an Acme anvil, shaking the circling birds away.

“They don’t even have what I’m looking for here.”

Stalking around the stacks of records, with no clear direction in mind, you feel Munson’s laser stare follow you. “Yeah, they don’t usually file Madonna next to Motörhead, Lacy.”

They’re both filed under M, aren’t they? is what you want to say. “I don’t listen to Madonna,” you protest instead, all quietly miffed and earnest with a crinkle in your brow.

“Mm, don’t think that’s true,” Munson smirks, rounding on you around the rack. “You gave me a pretty spot on rendition of Like a Virgin– or does your hippocrampus not recall?”

“Hippocampus,” you breathe out, but it’s lost in the din of Main Street Vinyl’s quiet, carpeted atmosphere, “I don’t listen to her, like, recreationally. I can’t help if that song’s an earworm.” A beat. “I also can’t help if you’re a particularly serenadable virgin.”

“She’s gonna touch me for the very first tii-iime…”

“That was a threat.”

You make an active attempt toward tunnel vision as you slowly tread through the store, feeling the high starting to turn on you– this was the part smoking weed that you hated, the few times that you’d imbibed in it. That lack of control over the way you were coming across. For a girl trained in the art of saying all the right things, this was dangerous. Your tongue felt both loose and heavy in your mouth, like it could come out with anything and you couldn’t stop it, it’d just roll on out.

The malevolent presence of Munson and your pathological need to one up him wasn’t helping matters.

Ever since the parking lot at school, you’ve been stalking around like there’s a target on your back. Evidently, you’re not the kind of girl that chills out when you smoke, which is equal parts a relief and a disappointment to Eddie. He wonders what you’d look like, mellowed out and floating. Your eyebrow unarched and your lips not poised for attack.

He’s also acutely aware that he wouldn’t know what the hell to do with you then, either.

But he can’t tear his eyes away from you, a hyperfocus that he’s assuming is a symptom of his own buzz. Every little twitch and jump you do– it’s like it’s begging him to pay attention. Like if he looks away for even a second, he might miss something.

“What are you looking for?” he asks, eyes trained on you while you thumb through the records.

As much as you love music, and you do, you have a tough time describing exactly what you want to listen to. The notes in the songs that you revisit again and again read more like physical feelings, sparking off in your nerve endings. For example, listening to River by Joni Mitchell feels like something heavy is sitting on your chest. Listening to Hong Kong Garden by Siouxsie and the Banshees feels like you have fairy lights at the end of your fingertips.

“I want something that sounds…” you say, noticing the distinct feeling of cottonmouth setting in, “Ticklish.”

“Ticklish,” Munson deadpans back at you.

“Something that sounds like someone’s running a xylophone mallet down my spine.”

He regards you for what feels like an excruciatingly long timewith this terrible, awful look on his face– brows ticked up over his glassy bloodshot eyes, pink mouth peeling into a grin, and this look, this look of wonderment. Like he can’t believe you’re real, and you’re here, and you’re saying shit like this to him.

Join the club.

“... You don’t get stoned a lot, do you?”

“Ugh!” you groan, a little louder than you mean to– the cashier shoots you a glare as you stalk past Munson, stalk past him, cheeks flaring pink. “I know what I’m talking about. I know it when I hear it– I heard a record just like that earlier this year! It’s like, some band from Scotland or something? Totally incomprehensible lyrics, yeah, but that’s what it felt like. It was like… bone deep.”

You hear Munson emit the teeniest hehe! and you just about snarl at him over your shoulder.

Rounding on the alternative section, limited as it is, you feel a welcome sense of familiarity. You haunt this corner when you can, when you’re out of sight from prying eyes. There’s only one other regular purveyor of this little corner of Main Street Vinyl that you know of. You trace a thumb over the spines of the cassette cases–it’s mostly tapes, rarely ever records because tapes are easier to import and harder to damage, and it’s always haphazardly organized–and then you spot it.

Victoriously, you thrust it in Munson’s face, which is right over your shoulder. He’s frequenting that spot a lot recently. “Ha!”

“Oh!” he chirps, sounding almost pleasantly surprised and plucks the tape from your fingers. “... Cocteau Twins?”

You falter, eyelashes flickering as you look up at him. Dammit. He even pronounced it right.

“You know them?” You hate how high your voice sounds.

He runs a thumb over the plastic casing, edging a little closer to you. That came outta left field.

“This shit… sounds like what a haunted music box would sound like.”

Aaand we’re back in the room.

“Okay…?”

“This is creepy, cursed doll music.”

And the room is filled with assholes.

“Alright.”

“This is what you hear right before you’re about to get possessed by the ghost of Tiny Tim. The whiniest little bitch ghost of all time.”

And all the assholes are named Eddie Munson.

“I get it.”

“You better be careful with this stuff, Lacy-Wacy,” he teases, mocking that fraudulent concern ripped straight from an episode of Donahue. He taps the cassette case against your forehead. “Music like this is a gateway drug. A gateway drug to hanging out with, like, Jonathan Byers.”

You reach out and grab his wrist, tugging his hand and that damn tape away from your face. You’re shocked to find that the skin under your fingers is blazing hot–same as you felt through his shirt when he helped you to the door in your drunken stupor.

Does he always run this warm? you wonder. Is it all that Satanic poseur poison coursing through his stupid veins?

“Well, it’s a little late for that,” you tell him, and you’re not quite sure why. Probably because every secret you swore would die with you is slowly but surely punching its gnarly hand from the grave, like fucking Carrie from fucking Carrie.

Munson doesn’t even express any overt shock, like he’s learning to roll with the punches of you revealing bits and pieces of yourself through sheer annoyance with him. He just cocks his head, challenging you with a silent, Really?

This chick. This blink-and-you’ll-miss-it chick.

“I ran into him in this corner a lot,” you explain breezily, tilting a shoulder up like it doesn’t bother you, like it’s never bothered you. “We’d always be standing next to each other at the listening booths, and I’d be listening to stuff I couldn’t take home and he’d be listening to stuff he couldn’t afford to buy and… We like a lot of the same music. We went out on like, one date if you could even call it that, and it didn’t work out.”

“Because he’s a creepazoid?”

“Because he was hip deep in it for Nancy Wheeler,” you supply, a green monster gurgling in the pit of your stomach. “Like every other respectable member of the male species.”

It was the summer before junior year, a punishingly hot one even by Hawkins standards. You’ve never been good in the heat and that summer made your entire body feel ill-equipped, your skin ill-fitting. Main Street Vinyl had those big, big box fans right near the cash desk which was right near the listening booths, so you would spend the majority of your time there when you weren’t being forced to the lake or Skull Rock with your friends.

Jonathan would look at you with alarm at first, like you were trespassing. Then he’d spy what you were listening to and sneak these small, shy smiles at you that you indulged in– at first, because you weren’t copping a lot of male attention from anyone else that summer. Eventually, it was because his shadowy eyes were always ringed with this tenderness, with knowing. Like you two were sharing a secret. It made you be able to look past the greasy hair and crippling social awkwardness.

You know you rocked his world the day you breezed past him at the listening booth, leaned in and whispered, I love Linda Thompson's voice, don't you?

But still, the Love’s Baby Soft scented specter of Nancy Wheeler loomed large. You picked what you thought was a secluded spot in the park for your ‘date’, which included a conversation that was almost entirely cruise directed by you. Said conversation completely flatlined when you both spotted Nancy Wheeler cresting a hill, walking her family dog.

At this point, you and Nancy were most familiar with each other from the school newspaper– she, the peachy-cheeked junior, the rising star that was sure to make editor and you, the girl who knew where the parties were happening and where the bodies were buried.

The picture of coquettishness, she offered you and Jonathan an awkward, stilted wave. Jonathan spoke a grand total of three words after she left, zeroing in on the spot where she appeared like a man possessed.

You didn’t acknowledge his existence after that.

It’s not that you were particularly hung up on Jonathan Byers, but you didn’t expect someone like him to be able to elicit that cold sinking feeling you were used to experiencing at the hands of other boys and their ignorance. Maybe it hurt more because you thought you had something in common– something real, something that wasn’t shotgunning a can of Busch. Whatever it was, it made you sure of two things.

You hated Nancy Wheeler, and she wasn’t going anywhere.

You wished you didn’t hate her. But you also wished she’d dissolve into a fine mist.

“Wheeler’s a priss,” Munson pulls you out of memory lane in a harsh left turn, face contorting into a half-grimace. It’s the general consensus on Wheeler– the shoes are too goody for everyone to be falling head-over-heels with her, if you want Eddie’s honest opinion. There’s no there there, not like with–

“I’m a priss.” It sounds like you’re defending her. In some weird way, you might be.

I know what guys like you think of me.

“No, you’re a bitch.”

His weight on the word bitch makes your knees feel unsteady. The way he says it. It’s not enunciated like an insult. It’s a dagger cloaked in velvet. It’s warm, like he is. It’s almost filthy. It makes you look at his mouth.

“You’re a stone cold killer bitch,” Eddie’s voice hums low in his chest. His heartbeat is picking up, and he wonders if you can feel it where your freezing fingertips are squeezing his pulse point, “and I think–”

“You two truant assholes gonna buy anything today or am I gonna have to call the goddamn dog warden on y’all?”

Heaved back into reality by the clerk at the cash desk. A trickle of cold sweat runs from the nape of your neck into the collar of your sweater. Heaved back into reality to see you’re still clutching Eddie Munson by the wrist, and he’s looking at you like you’re the last Popsicle. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day.

It gets so hot here in summer.

“I think,” you breathe as you unstick your fingers from him, suddenly aware that you’re parched and starving and your face hurts, “it’s time for me to go home.”

“I– yeah,” Munson stumbles, also perturbed by the interruption. His red-ringed eyes gain a little more clarity. He’s seeing something you’re not seeing. He shouldn't be letting himself see that. “Let’s go.”

Let’s go back to the van. Let me make you look at me like that again. Let me see if you’re cold all over. I can fix that.

“No, I gotta…” Your head pounding, your thoughts swimming– the sharp and stupid realness of this whole afternoon coming into perfect view. What are you doing? “I need to walk it off.”

He inhales sharply, a strangled chuckle– oof. That other shoe, that buckled heel of yours, clattering to the floor. He should have expected that, right? There’s no way you’d wanna… Because you’re you and he’s…

Eddie retreats back into himself a step or two; it looks like he’s gone all bashful, a little color dropping out of his cheeks. His hands clasping behind his back. His heart is in his big intestine.

“That’s the second time you’ve turned me down today, sweetheart. Keep it up, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you don’t like me.”

Munson, get the fuck out of here before I ban you again! and Jerry, can’t you see me talking to somebody right now! explode in a cacophony, the boy and the keeper of the keys to the record store hollering at each other. You take this moment of interruption to nudge the door open with your shoulder. But you don’t start into the street without giving him one more look.

“Lacy.” He’s grinning this dumb grin, eyes gone soft at the corners.

He’s giving this one last nudge.

Your heart thumps. A reminder– this is really happening. Shit. Fuck.

“That’s the thing, though,” you say, attempting to smooth your expression out with a frosty smile. “I don’t like you, Eddie.”

author's notes: of course, my eternal eternal ETERNAL THANKS for all the love you have shown this story and the anons you've sent!!! writing is crazy so thank you for caring about mine. onto the fun stuff because you know i love a reference: - he leans great. a shameless my so-called life drop but eddie to me is a kind of stunning midpoint between catalano (left back twice) and krakow (would go down on you for days) - someone in the tags said ronnie and lacy should hold hands and i don't disagree. lab partner love never dies! - there's never a bad time to listen to ace of spades by motörhead - there's also never a bad time to listen to treasure by cocteau twins, which is the album lacy is referencing - i always fee like the zombie hand reaching out of the ground motif is unfairly accredited to the living dead franchises or something like that, but of course the most iconic instance to me is from carrie (1976) because women own horror - god, we really need to bring back listening booths in record stores! like we really need to bring them back lest romance die forever. - richard and linda thompson, also forever!!!!! my headcanon for this re: jonathan byers is this particular record is a joyce byers influenced choice. joyce and lonnie loved this record (when they were happy... lol) and played it all the time when jonathan was a baby. their original copy got lost (or destroyed) and sometimes jonathan will play it in the main street listening booth but he won't bring it home because he knows it's painful for his mom. - all my stone cold killer bitches in the house make some noise - jerry from main street vinyl you will always be rob from high fidelity in MY HEART (eddie is barry even though he doesn't work there lmao) - ok my hellcats! that's all the cultural education for this chapter!! thanks again for reading, reblog and scream at me in the asks because i so appreciate (and need) the support and i'd also love y'all to send me prompts! don't be shy! i love an in-universe blurb!

#published by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #eddie munson x f!reader #e. munson by powder

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medusapelagia · 7 months

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Steddie Week Day 4: The Last Concert

May 25: Familiar / Hurt/comfort / Here Come the Tears by Judas Priest

Rating: Teen and Up Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson WT: shooting guns, violence, hospitals WC: 2064

Steve’s life has been full of fear since he was a child.

Since the first time his parents left him at home alone and he almost set fire to the entire house trying to cook some pasta.

He learned to lie, to cover his fear, and to show the world another face.

A strong one.

The one he showed Nancy.

And Dustin.

And Eddie.

But deep inside him there is the fear that is devouring him.

Being left alone.

That’s why he hasn’t put a name on the relationship that he has with Eddie.

They bonded deeply after their adventure in the Upside Down.

After Steve saved his life.

After he told the hospital staff that they were brothers.

After he hid him under his own name.

After he took Eddie and Wayne to his house.

They are close friends.

The kind of friends who can find each other in a crowdy room.

The Corroded Coffin just finished their last tour concert and they are going back to the tour bus.

Gareth and Jeff hop on the bus, laughing, Eddie is smoking a cigarette. He always says that he will quit but he never does.

Steve is waiting for him a few feet away, looking at the back of the concert hall.

There are still a few fans and he knows that Eddie will go to sign some autographs. He always does.

He loves his fans and his fans love him.

But there is a guy.

Steve saw him in the crowd during the concert.

There is something familiar about him but he can’t really point out what.

He is not very tall, and he is dressed all in black. It’s not that that attracted his attention, almost everyone is dressed in black, but the man has a hat.

He had a hat inside the concert hall too.

That’s peculiar. Isn’t it?

Steve keeps his eyes fixed on him.

It’s just a stupid feeling but he really can’t stop looking at him.

It’s the voice that finally makes something in his memory click when he calls “Hey, Munson!”

Steve runs toward Eddie, running faster than he ever did.

“Do you remember Chrissy?”

The man takes off his hat and points a gun at Eddie, is fucking Jason Carver.

The few people still there scream and try to escape.

Steve is the only one running toward the gun.

Jason shoots two gunshots one after the other until someone pushes him to the ground.

Steve holds Eddie tight, screaming his name.

He feels the hot blood and searches Eddie's body for injuries but he is dressed in black, like everyone else, and he can’t see where the blood comes from.

He has a buzz in his ears. He can’t breathe.

“Steve?!” Eddie calls panicking.

“Oh my god, Eddie, are you ok?” he asks still looking at him.

“Am I ok?” he asks astonished, and then Steve finally notices it: the blood is not coming from Eddie. It’s coming from him.

He suddenly collapses on the ground, like a puppet whit no strings, while he hears the sound of sirens.

“Are you ok?” Steve asks again, trying to talk it’s so hard.

Eddie has his head in his lap while he tries to push on the wounds.

“Am I ok? Am I ok? You are the one that is bleeding fucking moron!”

Eddie is insulting him.

He is ok.

There are people around them but he can see only Eddie’s big eyes looking at him with worry.

He would like to tell him that he is ok. That everything is going to be ok. But he is short of breath, so he said the only thing that really matters “I love you.”

“What? No! Don't even try this shit, Steve! You are not going to say it first! Not like this! It's not fair! Do you hear me?! It's not fair! Steve! Steve!”

They have been together for almost a year, never putting a label on their relationship but now that it could be the last time...

“I love you...” he repeats, his voice so small that he is not sure that Eddie heard him.

After that there are voices, people, and lights... and then nothing.

***

Eddie is waiting in a fucking waiting room. Ha has still blood on his hands but I can bring himself to wash them.

Gareth and Jeff are at his side, trying to comfort him, but all he can see it’s Steve blood on the ground. The blood pool that he left.

A human body contains five liters of blood... how much blood did he lose? Did they give him a transfusion? Of course, they did. But will be enough?

They have the same blood type.

He should ask them if they need his blood.

He could give it to him.

At his side, Gareth tries to get his attention but Eddie is lost in his own world.

He is still kneeling on the ground of a fucking parking lot, where the man of his dreams confessed his love for him, and then he fainted.

“He is going to be ok.” Jeff tries to comfort him, but the truth is that they don’t know.

He couldn’t get in the ambulance with Steve and he couldn’t follow him on a band bus, so they had to wait for a taxi and they lost precious minutes.

And Steve was alone. Eddie was not at his side when he needed it.

“He told me that he loves him...” Eddie says “You can’t do something like that to the person you love. You don’t say this shit when you think that you are dying! You fucking don’t!” he cries.

Gareth hugs him tightly.

“You will make him a declaration even bigger. I’m sure you will. We can start planning it out right now!”

But Eddie’s mind is blank. His eyes are glued to the door, waiting for a doctor.

When finally a doctor comes out, his scrub is full of blood.

“Are you related to Steve Harrington?” he asks.

Eddie jumps up “I’m his brother.” that’s their cover. They made it almost official thanks to the government's help. It was meant to protect Eddie’s identity, but Eddie did it because he knew that Steve had none who would have taken care of him.

“One of the bullets punctures his lung. He lost a lot of blood and the lung collapsed. It was a long surgery but we were able to bring him back.”

“Bring him back?” Eddie asks scared.

“He died on the table. For a couple of minutes.”

He died.

Steve died and he wasn’t with him.

He wasn’t holding his hand.

He probably was in a stupid taxi.

“But now he is stable. The nurses are going to bring him to his room if you want to see him.”

Eddie has no words, so Gareth and Jeff thank the doctor and ask him where Steve’s room is.

They accompany him, like a kid, and he seats on the plastic chair next to Steve’s bed for hours.

Doctors and nurses come and go but Eddie never leaves the room, not even when they ask him to, and he is in such distress that they do not insist.

Eddie is drowning in his worries, his eyes fixed on the unconscious boy.

“Hey, kid.”

For the first time in what feels like days, Eddie moves his eyes and sees his uncle.

“Wayne...” he whispers, and then he starts to cry like a baby.

“I’m here kid. Everything is going to be ok.”

“How...?”

“Gareth called me and I got here as soon as possible.”

Thank god for Gareth. He didn’t even think about calling Wayne but now that he is here, he understands how deeply he needed him.

“Jason shot him.”

“I know.”

“He died on the table.”

Wayne nods “But now he is alive.” he says, looking at the stable rhythm of Steve’s heartbeat.

Eddie knows it but he can’t get over the idea that, even for a moment, Steve was dead. On a surgery table. Without his friend. Without him.

He died and Eddie never got the opportunity to tell him how much he loves him.

Wayne brings him some horrible coffee and some cookies that they eat in silence, holding each other tight.

When, finally, Steve opens his eyes Eddie has to fight the instinct to punch him.

“You, fucking moron! You died! You said that you loved me and you died!” he screams at him.

It's not the best way of waking up after being shot but Eddie needs to say it.

Steve can’t answer, he has a tube down his throat, but he stretches his arms toward him and pushes Eddie’s ear against his chest, where the steady heartbeat sounds like a lullaby.

“I fucking love you Steve. I do, I did, and I always will. Please never do something like that to me again!”

Steve’s grips get tightest.

Wayne gives them a moment before calling for a doctor.

They leave the room for a couple of minutes, and when they come back Steve is sitting in his bed with no fucking tube and a glass of water in his hand.

“How do you feel?” Eddie asks him, smelling the faint odor of the cologne that still lies in the crock of Steve’s neck.

If a home has a smell, that’s it.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m serious.”

“Maybe it hurts a little bit.”

Stupid Steve. Always pretending that everything is fine.

“Lucky you, our tour ended last night, so I’m going to take good care of you Harrington.”

“Did you already buy a nice nurse’s outfit?” he asks joking.

Eddie shakes his head “No, but I will. And you are not allowed to leave the bed until I say that you can!”

“That doesn’t sound so bad...” Steve says teasingly.

Eddie sighs.

“You told me that you loved me. And I didn’t get the chance to answer you...”

“You know me. I don’t take well rejection.”

“Did you really think that I was going to reject you?”

Steve doesn’t answer but he stiffens.

“Didn’t I show how much I love you? Do I have to do better?”

“We never put a label on our... arrangement.”

“It’s not a fucking arrangement to me! It's a relationship! I love you and you love me. Isn’t it?”

Steve nods.

“I’m sorry I... was worried.”

Eddie takes Steve’s face into his hands “You don’t have to worry about anything sweetheart. I know that your stupid parents made you feel unloved, maybe even unlovable, but I love you so much and I’m going to show you how much I love you every fucking day! Would you like to be my boyfriend?”

Steve has tears in his eyes while he nods happily.

“Oh, and Wayne loves you too by the way.” Eddie adds inclining his head towards the old man in the corner.

Steve blushes a little, he hasn’t noticed Wayne who comes closer.

“Glad to see you are feeling better, kid.”

Steve smiles a little “Thank you for taking care of the little psycho. I imagine he was trouble.”

“Nothing that I’m not used to.” the old man responds with a shy smile “Now get some rest, I’m going to bring our rockstar home.” Eddie tries to protest but Wayne is adamant “You’ll be back after you take a shower and sleep a little. Steve is not going anywhere. Are you, kid?”

Steve lifts the arm with the IV “I don’t think I can.”

“I can stay... if you need something...”

“No, Eddie, you need some rest. I’m good and if I need anything, I’m sure that some kind nurse will help me.”

Eddie looks at him worriedly.

“I’ll be home in no time and you’ll be so pissed when I’ll make you see all the action movies that I like! So go home, rest a little, and come back during the visiting hours. Ok?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“You really have to ask?”

It’s just a soft kiss, a simple touch between lips but it’s enough to make them shiver.

When Eddie leaves the room he knows that something has definitely shifted in their relationship.

He would have preferred that he didn’t take a fucking bullet, but they have finally a label for their relationship.

They are boyfriends.

#steddie #steddie week #steddieweek2023 #day 4: hurt_comfort #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #my fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #violence #gun shoot #hospital #medusapelagia #medusapelagia fanfic

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madaboutmunson · 1 year

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Cryptic Cupid - Part 6 (Eddie's POV)

Part 1 | Part 5 | Part 7

Sequel to Raspberry Riddle So this is set in a government-operated hospital after the events of season 4 but everyone is alive.

Each part has a different POV, Robin, Steve, or Eddie.

Tag List: @marivictal

Apologies for the delay in posting fic updates, some not good stuff happened and I couldn't write for a while

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Eddie pockets the paper, waits until he hears the other door close, and then opens his own for the psychologist, who takes her regular seat. She clicks her pen, Eddie’s brain registers it as a starting gunshot, and he begins pacing backwards and forwards in front of her, looking between her and where he is walking intermittently.

“Did you hear about this morning? I think he’s trying to kill me, man.” Eddie says in desperation, “You gotta help me.”

"By he, you mean…."

"Who-who do I mean?" Eddie says in disbelief and gestures wildly at his now closed door to the hallway, which is still being swamped with pop music, but the Psychologist simply looks over the rims of her glasses at him, making him sigh and sit down, "Steve, my only fucking neighbour, that's who I mean." He says in a much calmer, resigned tone.

"You feel that Steve is a threat to you?" She says very seriously, looking at Eddie intently.

"A threat?! To my life? Undetermined. To heterosexuality? Yes!" Eddie runs a ringed hand down the side of his face, exasperated, "If the clothes clinging onto him within a thread of their existence were not enough. He is shimmering. Or extra shiny or something. Guys don't naturally glisten, ok?! He's doing this on purpose, and-and that smell when I opened the door. What even was that ok? Some weird pheromone potion thing?"

"Why would Steve do those things on purpose, do you think?" She says, scribbling away on her pad. Eddie bets she's just fucking doodling because she's already written off Eddie as insane, and honestly, he wouldn't blame her. He felt insane. One minute he's into Steve and wants him as close as possible the next, he wants nothing to do with him, to never speak to him again, remove him from Eddie's reality.

"Well, I don't know, do I? I don't know what to compel a guy to slather himself in some ungodly lotion…to make his muscles look bigger or more defined, maybe? I don't fucking know," he says with a groan as he kicks his legs over the arm of the chair.

"Well, let's start there, then. What benefit would Steve have in making his muscles appear bigger and more defined?"

Eddie reclines over the back of the other arm of the chair, so he almost looks like a letter 'm' draped over it, pinching the bridge of his nose, "So people look at him more, I guess?"

"Did you look at him more because of it?" She says, crossing one leg over the other like Steve does when he knows he’s right about something. Oh, gods! Stop thinking about that prick. Nope, especially not that, do not think about his prick. NO! NO! Ok. La-la-la-la. Eddie quickly sits up in his chair again with a huff and rubs his face with his hands.

“Yes, regretfully, I did look at him more because of it, but it wasn't on purpose, you know?” He laughs awkwardly, looking at the psychologist, “It was a lot like I couldn't help it. Like my eyes kept going back there, and I didn't want them to, right? No way!” Eddie says, waving his hand in front of him.

“Ok, let's talk about that. Do you feel out of control of yourself, Eddie?” She asks, flipping a page of her notebook, making Eddie's eyes dart towards it.

“I’m not sure what you're getting at”, Eddie says nervously. The last thing he wants is to be sent to Pennhurst on top of everything else. He didn't feel like anything else was controlling him. He just wished he didn't have the longing for Steve that he did. The kind that feels like a demonic hand reaching into your body, pulling at your insides like a visceral web of puppet strings, Whilst Crazy On You by Heart plays in the background. Dragging you into the gravitational pull of the only celestial body that your brain will permit you to think about, despite your kicking and screaming because you know all this can result in is doom and heartbreak. And in this case, that neutron star was Steve Fucking Harrington.

“You say you didn't want your eyes to look at Steve, but they did. That sounded to me like perhaps you felt out of control. Am I wrong in that assumption? You can be honest here, Eddie.” She gives him a small smile of reassurance. Eddie is at odds with himself with what he wants to say. Of course, he could lie, but then what is even the point of this shrink here? If he tells the truth, he has to admit things to himself again that he felt like he’d just started to get over. Though today would indicate, apparently, he had not. At all. She flicks back and forth through the pages of her notes and looks up at Eddie again, “If you feel uncomfortable or want to talk about something else, we can. I’m taking your lead here.”

Come on, Eddie, time to put your big boy pants on. This woman can help, and she’s the only unbiased person you can talk to because everyone else seems to have fallen in love with King Fucking Steve too!

Eddie squeezes his eyes tight and screws up his face, he doesn't want to do this, but he has to figure it out. Finally, he releases and takes a deep breath, “Ok, so. I liked him, no,” he shakes his head, “I like him, in a non-platonic way. I’m usually pretty good at this, you know, having feelings for people that I know don't like me that way back. It's happened hundreds of times. I can accept that it is unrequited, push it down, and be a bit morose about it, you know? Then bounce back and move on with my life. This ain’t my first rodeo.” He laces his fingers together and grips his hands together tightly, “But this is different, and I don’t know if this is because it's Steve, or because we are both trapped in this place, or because I know he was pretty instrumental in saving my life. I can’t seem to get to acceptance; it keeps feeling possible. Still, after I tore into him like that…” Eddie looks out of the window for divine assistance with the next thing, as he can hear her scribbling away, and to not fall apart when he says it. “because of this.” Eddie just about keeps the crack in his voice at bay as he gestures to the scars on his face, “How could someone that fucking scintillates find someone as damaged as me attractive, let alone any feeling bigger than that? By damaged, I mean, let's face it mentally, I'm obviously fucked up, but physically speaking, I wasn't a work of art, but I had a shot at being kinda cute, I guess.” he says with a shrug.

“Is that what you are looking for? Something more than attraction?” She asks with her pen poised.

Eddie shrugs, “Yeah. But, I mean, isn’t that what everyone wants? To be loved for who they are?”

She gives him a half smile, “Let's take everyone out of the equation and let us take out what you think you should want and deserve out of it. What, in a world where anything you want is possible, would you want from a non-platonic relationship?”

Eddie folds his arms and leans back in his chair, thinking for a while, “I guess where I could be myself…Entirely!!" He emphasises loudly he didn't want to be a watered-down Eddie. The person that loved him would allow Eddie to be the weird, nerdy, loud, feral, romantic, furious, kind, disgusting, thoughtful, annoying, and tender guy he was. That's not to say they should accept it all, but that they didn't give him a hard time about it. Maybe Eddie might even balance out a little more or have the time to learn the tells when he was doing one too much. Someone that loved him enough, so he had time with them, time to learn, more than a few secret dates, or a quick affair in the woods or his van, "And so could they, and we’d still love one another, plus, you know, the other stuff” Eddie smirks shyly and then quickly tries to hide it with a cough.

She frowns at him a little, “Without knowing exactly what you mean by other stuff. Though I think I might be able to hazard a guess. The first part of what you said isn't an unreasonable request. In fact, it's actually a very healthy thing to aim for. Well, provided that the personalities in question don't hurt one another.”

Eddie sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah, well, I already did that, didn't I?” She says nothing and simply looks at Eddie, waiting. He's out of his seat again, slapping his hands on his knees as he gets up to walk around the room. "I said mean things because I thought his advances were out of pity, and if seeing my new face wasn't enough to break me, that thought sure was" he grips the back of the chair and leans over it to look directly at her, his weight shifting to his stronger leg. He knows where the next thing he says will take this conversation, right down apology avenue, then making a right onto self-hatred boulevard. "I know what I did was wrong, and I am sorry about it, but I can't bring myself to talk to him because now I know all those times he was staring at my face, it wasn't because he liked me too. It was…". Eddie feels the tears threaten to rush forth. He fights them back by shutting his eyes, biting his lips together and taking a deep breath. It was no good crying about this. It wasn't going to change his face. It wasn't going to magic away the past. All it would do was make him mad at himself for not being able to finish a sentence talking about his new permanent face feature. "It was because of these marks from those monsters". Eddie finishes looking at her intensely. Not because he has bad feelings towards her but because he is focusing on the now. He is trying to stay in the moment.

She shifts in her seat, and for a second, a look of pity flashes on her face but disappears before Eddie can call her out on it. She flicks back through her book. Her eyes scan the pages until she finds what she's looking for, "Now, by all means, we don't have to talk about this, but you mentioned in one of our early sessions about what happened at the ice cream store. That you…felt there was something there but didn't get a chance to pursue it?"

Eddie shakes his head. What didn't she understand about this, "That was before the Upside Down happened. So you know, less to be put off by then", he tries to cover it up with a laugh.

She flicks back to the present area of her notebook, "Ok, what is it about Steve that makes you think he's so superficial?"

"Er…well, that's easy", Eddie scoffs, "He was super popular at school and still kind of is. He focuses on his appearance a lot, so looks are important to him."

"Is appearance not important to you too?" She asks quickly, pulling a rushed answer from Eddie.

"No. I couldn't give a shit…I mean, other than my current problem making me feel hideous," Eddie wraps his arms around himself as she raises an eyebrow at him, "Well, ok, that's not true. I like to wear certain things and look a certain way. I guess" Before he's even decided if he's finished his sentence, she's asking another question.

"Right, so if you had come out of the upside down unscarred and Steve had the scars you had, you'd find him repulsive too, right?" She asks with no emotion, just like she was asking him what size shirt he wore or something mundane like that, but it still makes Eddie feel uncomfortable, almost sad, imagining his scars on Steve's face.

"No, of course not", Eddie volleys back, a little annoyed.

"Oh, but you'd pity him, stop liking him, but pretend you still did?" She says to him like she's stating the obvious.

"Of course, I would feel sorry for him, but he'd be alive, so ultimately...No it wouldn't matter to me," Eddie says, folding his arms and frowning.

"But it would matter to Steve, wouldn't it?" She says finally, and Eddie realises he's walked right into this one.

"Ok, ok. I get it. But I don't think you understand the difference between the two of us. Steve could have, like, anyone, you know? Everyone likes him. He's easy to get on with and normal," Eddie says with a smile.

She crosses her arms over her notebook and leans towards him, "Eddie. Do you think you are a better person than Steve? Or maybe you wouldn't be so kind and thoughtful if you were as popular as Steve?"

The question almost floors Eddie, "No. I'm not better than Steve. He's a good dude. Most popular people seem like bulldozers, you know? Take out anything in their path to get where they are going and don't care about the destruction in their wake. Steve isn't like that. He's good" Eddie goes to say something else, but the music from the hallway seeps into his room. He'd been blocking it out for most of the session, but the soft piano intro steals his words. He knows this one. His Mama used to sing it to him. Obviously, amending some of the lyrics to fit his own appearance, as she danced with him around the kitchen when his Dad was out.

Why do birds suddenly appear

Every time you are near?

Just like me, they long to be

Close to you…

Oh god, that punches him right in the gut, and he swallows hard, shaking it out of his head.

"Everything ok, Eddie?" She says, getting out of her seat to move towards him.

"Yeah, just the song got me, is all," He says, forcing a smile, "He's been playing stuff all morning."

"Do you want me to ask him to turn it down?" She asks kindly. Eddie almost nods silently for a second so someone can finally stop Steve and this weird mission he seems to be on, but Eddie is as curious as he was impulsive, was this just a mistake or was Steve trying to say something? Eddie shakes the ridiculous idea out of his head. It's just a song that doesn't mean anything.

"No, that's…I mean, it's fine." Eddie gives a small reluctant smile, "So yeah, It's not that I think I'm better than him. I just think he's out of my league" She narrows her eyes at Eddie.

"And yet you went back every day for an ice cream that you didn't eat, pretended you needed his help to be close to him, and learned to sign to encourage him to do the same because Steve is losing his hearing?" She asks much more softly, the gentle music a backdrop to a quick flick through Eddie's fonder memories with Steve.

"I guess I was so enraptured I just went for it. Well, more like nudged to see what he'd do. I couldn't help it. When someone gets a scent of a maybe from someone they've entirely lost the plot for, they might look past all the things that would usually tell them not even to try.”

"Someone like you?" She asks, and he nods a little sadly.

"Someone like Steve?" She asks, trying to catch his eye, and Eddie straightens up and looks at the closed door between them, and instead of trying to block him out entirely for the first time in a long time, he wonders what he's doing on the other side of it. Could he? Unlikely, but what of anything they'd been through had been likely. None of it. Even his closest confidantes liked Steve. They hadn't said as much, but if Steve was trying to be mean to Eddie, the people he loved, that loved him unconditionally, his brothers in music, and his Uncle wouldn't like him. Eddie pulls the paper out of his pocket and uncurls its scrolled-up edges to read it.

Beautiful homes and ruins (8 letters)

"What's that?" She asks, leaning forward, trying to get a better look at the paper.

Eddie gives a shrug of a smile, remembering better times, "It's a crossword clue, you know, the cryptic kind. Sometimes Steve would ask me for help with them, though I figure he already knew the answers for most of them."

"I've never understood those," She says with a sweet laugh, "Want to talk me through one?"

Eddie's smile broadens at the prospect of being helpful rather than hurtful or doing something stupid. He crouches down next to her and unfurls the paper again.

"So immediately what jumps out at me is the word ruins, which makes it likely this might be an anagram. That leaves us with the three words left over. There is no anagram of and that means beautiful homes, so there must be an anagram of homes and that means beautiful, right? So this one is…" and Eddie freezes when the answer illuminates in neon lights in his head, "it's er…um…handsome. Yeah, the answer is handsome," he says quietly as a blush races across his face.

"Oh, the way you explained it made it seem quite straightforward. Maybe I'll attempt the cryptic ones in tomorrow's paper?" She smiles kindly at Eddie, who is still staring at the paper in his hands, slowly stepping back to his chair before he slumps down into it with a thud.

"Yeah," he says softly, but his brain is being anything but gentle, rifling through his memory banks, the answer to clue the last time he sat with Steve had been adorable. Eddie wonders if these clues had never been part of his puzzles, much like his riddles had never been written on the bubblegum wrappers. Things were starting to stack in favour of maybe he did stand a chance with Steve, perhaps he'd been looking for an excuse to self-sabotage, and the shock of the scars had given him that in spades. Eddie's stomach flips as the maybe glows brightly in the distance, in the middle of a barren wasteland, where his insecurities lay in wait in the shadows that littered the path to his iridescent possibility.

His heart thumps deeply in his chest. He knows that apologising is the first step. He turns his attention back to the psychologist, "If nothing else, I'd like to apologise to Steve but, cards on the table, I am terrified of it being thrown back in my face." He says with a hard swallow, "So I guess maybe what I'm asking is what is the best way I can do that? Bearing in mind the last time I spoke to him, I was a total asshole, but I was hurting, and I know that doesn't excuse it, but under normal circumstances, I would never speak to him like that. Never." Eddie knows she sits in there with Steve, too, she has insider information, though it's all confidential, but maybe she could throw him a fucking bone here.

"Well, I would say the most important part of an apology is that it is genuine. So you aren't apologising to be forgiven, but rather apologising because you are sorry for hurting the other person. So no matter what happens, be kind, be calm, and above all else, tell the truth." Eddie gives her a smile of thanks. "Is there anything else you wanted to talk about today, Eddie?"

Eddie's eyes go to the ceiling, "Well, just in case this goes well…what are the rules around, um, fraternising with other, um, patients?"

"You know, I don't think I've read any, to be honest," She says, closing her notebook, and Eddie has to press his lips together to hide the enormous grin that almost erupted onto his face.

"Ok, great. Then yeah, I'm all done for today. Thank you," Eddie says, getting to his feet and opening the door to let her out, and as he does, he hears a new song fill his room.

You're everything I hoped for

You're everything I need

You are so beautiful

To me

He peers around the door to see the lonely boom box in the hallway but no Steve, just a closed door. He excitedly crosses the hall and presses his ear to the door in case Stevel has company, but all he hears is the sound of occasionally muffled sobs. Eddie's heart sinks at the thought of Steve crying over something he's done. A simple sorry was not going to cover this; he had to think of something grander. He turns on his heel to walk back to his room to begin brainstorming and rehearsing, but a step in that direction and the tape stops with an audible click indicating it has finished. He hears the door behind him open and immediately starts to panic, and is about to lunge towards his own door when a sequence of sounds that seems to weld him to the spot meets his ears. A soft gasp, joined with a sniffle, and finally, a frail utterance of his own name leaves Steve's mouth, "Eddie?" and even with the fear creeping up his spine, not a single atom of Eddie can leave Steve this way.

#steddie #steddie fan fiction #eddie munson x steve harrington #steddie fan fic #steddiefanfiction #steddiefanfic #madaboutmunson #madaboutmunsoncrypticcupid #eddie munson #steve harrington

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killerlookz · 2 years

Text

𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫 (Edward Nashton x Gn! reader)

description: Edward comforts an anxious reader by singing them to sleep <3 (mostly fluff, but some angst i suppose)

warnings: mention of a murder + reader is pretty distressed throughout pretty much the entire fic

word count: 2,914

a/n: i have suuuuch Dano!riddler brain rot rn he is all i think about, so enjoy this little fluffy fic <3 (as always sorry for any spelling and grammar mistakes i may have missed while proofreading)

You had thought living in Gotham your whole life meant nothing could possibly scare you. You'd learned to be tough, to not let a little violence or crime in your area frighten you, you knew what Gotham had to offer by now. You were used to the cruelty of the city, the grime, the brutality, always having to keep a watchful eye at night to keep a lookout in case there was something sinister lurking in the obscurity. You knew to never fully let your guard down and you were sure that by now if you just keep a resilient demeanor you'd be protected from the harsh realities of your hometown. But, a break-in go awry leading to the subsequent murder of the woman who lived in the apartment next door to you had you questioning that idea.

After the incident, after hearing every second of it, hearing that poor woman's pleading cries and screeches of terror followed by the harsh blow of unrelenting gunshots, you couldn't bear to be in your apartment any longer. You would never get to sleep knowing that just beyond your bedroom walls an innocent woman had just brutally lost her life.

After the ordeal, you had questioned if you could even stand to live in Gotham anymore. An incident like this had never hit quite this close to home before. You questioned how long you could keep up like this, always looking over your shoulder, never knowing if today's the day you'd end up on the news. You'd grown sick of it, you were tired, and it took a lot to admit it you were scared.

You had called Edward as soon as the police were done taking a statement from you, calling and asking him with a trembling voice if you could instead stay the night at his apartment. Edward, of course, was more than happy to let you stay with him.

"Let's get some sleep, okay honey?" Edward says as the two of you walk into his apartment, he holds one hand on your lower back, rubbing you ever-so-gently as he speaks. Edward flips the light switch as you step in, revealing his dark, cluttered apartment. You quit your eyes at the sudden bright light, a stark contrast from the dark Gotham streets and the fading lights in the hallways of Edward's apartment. Your eyes slowly peel open as you get used to the light.

"I'm sorry about the mess... I wasn't expecting you to come over." He removes his hand from behind your back and walks in front of you, leading you into the apartment.

"You know I don't mind," The clutter was oddly comforting, it was familiar, it was Edward, and you were glad to be somewhere other than your own apartment.

"I straightened up the bedroom a little bit before I got you. Hopefully, that makes it a bit more comfortable for you to sleep in."

"Anywhere is more comfortable than home right now." You answer. You were still wildly shaken up from what had just taken place so near to you. Your heart still pumping at the speed of light, and your body trembles with anxiety. Edward, taking note of this takes hold of your hand to lead you to the bedroom.

Walking into Edward's bedroom does provide some comfort, now in a surrounding, you associate with only positive things. Edward flips the light on and with a small flicker, it begins to shine around the room.

"Do you need anything?" he asks his hand still gripping firmly onto yours. You look up at him, finally in the light being able to see his face clearly. He is stricken with a look of clear concern all across his face.

"No, no Eddie, I'm okay" you pause, "Well... maybe just a glass of water," you respond reassuringly, unsure if you really were fine, but he has this look in his eyes that makes you feel bad for making him worry about you. "I think I just need to go to sleep,"

"Yeah-yeah good idea, water, sleep." Edward nods, more talking to himself than to you. "You can go lay down, I'll be right there in a second, okay?" he says, bringing your hand to his lips and placing a soft kiss on your knuckles before letting it go.

He gives you a small smile as you bring your hand back to your side. Slowly, you turn to the side and make your way towards Edward's bed as he leaves the room. The bed is hastily made and his army green bedsheets are wrinkled but you don't mind. You approach the bed and climb in, the soft mattress dips down under you slightly as you meet its surface. Once fully on the bed, you pull off both the shirt and pants you have on, tossing them aside and discarding them into a small pile in the corner of the room.

Finally, your head hits the pillow and you wrap yourself up in the blankets. While you tangle yourself up in the bed a familiar warmth drapes over you. The sheets smell just like Eddie which brings a small smile to your face, for just a moment you are able to forego the anxieties of the day and allow for blissful thoughts of your boyfriend to enter your mind. You turn to the side and glance over at the bedside table, the alarm clock that sits atop it flashing the time: 1:17 a.m. in bright red numbers.

The wood floor behind you creaks softly, the small noise setting off your already on-edge nerves causing you to turn around swiftly at the sound as a small gasp leaves your mouth.

"It's just me sweetheart," Edward says calmly as your eyes met his.

As Edward's frame appeared in the doorway you breathe a sigh of relief while silently damning yourself for being so on edge. You sit up from the bed, loosely draping the comforter to haphazardly cover your body as you rose up. With an outstretched arm and a smile, Edward hands you a glass of water.

"There you go," he says with a slight upward inflection. You wrapp your fingers around the glass. It's cold to the touch, ice cubes clink as you tilt the glass back, and finally, a sense of relief as the refreshing liquid passes through your lips.

You can see through the distorted view of your raised glass Edward had begun to pull his T-shirt off revealing the soft, pale skin of his bare chest before removing his pants, leaving him, much like yourself, only in his underwear.

"You mind if I turn out the light?" he asks.

"No, that's alright." You reply, placing the glass of water on the bedside table next to you. With a slight flicking sound, the lights go out and Edward's bedroom is now just barely illuminated by the streetlights from the city outside. The bedroom door creaks closed and you can make out Edward's frame, just a little as he walks closer to the bed, removing his glasses before climbing in with you.

Edward happily greets your presence in bed with a smile that you can just barely see under the dim lights that seep into the bedroom. Still sitting up, you scoot yourself closer to Edward until all personal space is lost.

"Goodnight sweetheart," he says softly before placing a hand on your cheek.

"Goodnight Eddie," you smile, leaning in slightly to his gentle caress. Edward leans forwards slightly and places a soft kiss against your lips, to which you reciprocate and the two of you begin to share slow, delicate kisses. You feel your heart flutter with each kiss, your mind slowly drifting to more positive thoughts.

"I love you y/n," Edward says as he pulls away.

"I love you too Eddie."

Edward wraps an arm around your shoulders and brings you with him as he lays back slowly. When your heads finally reach the pillows Edward wraps his other arm around the front of you, leaving you fully in his embrace. In return, you snuggle up against him, burying your face into the crook of his neck and reveling in the feeling of his bare skin of his against yours. One of Edward's hands reaches around to the back of your head and begins to softly play with your hair.

"Have sweet dreams, okay? If you need anything I'm right here," he assures. You mumble a muffled 'mhm' before placing a couple small kisses against his neck and jaw.

Slowly, your eyelids begin to fall, the steady rising and falling of Edward's chest and the sound of his calm breathing quietly lulling you to sleep.

You're finally on the brink of unconsciousness when the thoughts of tonight start to creep back up into your mind. The fearful shrieks of your neighbor played dully in the back of your brain before becoming louder, and louder, the wails of her last moments now ringing right in the center of your thoughts. The sounds of her screaming agony now plague your senses while your brain begins to think up its own fucked up depiction of the horrors that it believes to have occurred just on the other side of your wall.

Against your own will, the bloodied imaginings of tonight's events play on a constant loop behind your eyelids, pairing horrifically with a twisted mantra of, "It could have been you." over, and over, and over again.

That's what truly frightened you, the fact that tonight could have very well been your last if whoever broke into your neighbor's apartment decided to choose the door just a few steps away instead. You wondered how you would react, would you fight back? Would you panic? Or freeze in fear? Would you have made it out alive? The questions were never-ending. The thought that you could have been met with the agonizing fate that fell upon your neighbor was overwhelmingly bone-chilling.

Your ponderings make you restless, you can feel your heart rate rise. Your breathing quickens yet despite the heaving in your chest you cannot quite seem to push the air out of your lungs. Tears begin to well up in your eyes. You writhe around in Edward's grasp. Your sudden movement makes a half-asleep Eddie start to stir and you try your best to stay more still so as to not wake Edward up completely. Instead, you opt to try to snuggle into Edward a little more in hopes that would maybe provide some comfort. You snake both arms around Edward's body, pushing one between him and the mattress until it reaches around to his back. You make sure there is no space between the both of you, you're clung to him so tight that you worry you may suffocate him by accident. Now on the brink of a sob, you sniffle a few times while pushing your face close to Edward's neck.

Perhaps noticing this newfound restriction or maybe he noticed something was wrong, Edward stirs some more, he lifts his head slightly before noticing that your face is still buried in the crook of his neck,

"Sweetheart?" he begins, sleepily. "Are you still awake?"

You pick your head up from where it resides against Edward's neck, and rest back on one of the pillows, allowing for a good amount of room between the two of you.

"I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?" You answer meekly.

"No, no it's alright." Edward's hand comes up to meet your cheek, he gently brushes his thumb against your soft skin. "Are you alright?"

Without thinking you immediately lose it, "Oh Eddie, it was so terrifying," you choke "The sound, oh god I heard everything. Eddie, it could have been me, it could have been me." You sob.

"Oh, baby," Edward starts, "Come here." Edward's arms fold around you, bringing you right up against his body. You weep into his chest,

"What if it was me? God! It could have been."

"Let's not think about that, it wasn't you baby, you're right here," Edward assures, running a hand through your hair soothingly. "You're alright."

While Edward is right, it wasn't you, you were alright, you were fine, and breathing, you still couldn't seem to help where your mind wanders.

"God, this city," you mumble, "I just want to feel safe."

"Do you not feel safe?" Edward asks, almost pathetically, "Here?" he continues, "With me? Do you not feel safe?" he repeats.

You think about it for a moment, tears still falling silently from your eyes. Edward's embrace is warm, it was genuine like he really wanted you there. There is no place that you would rather be at that moment, he's the only person who looks out for you, of course, you felt safe.

"You are safe," he blurts with a certain sound of desperation in his voice, "I promise. I'll protect you, from everything, the crime, corruption, the greed, and filth..." he begins to ramble, but his voice remains soft and sweet. Edward was always so passionate about the ills of the city, given his upbringing and how wronged he'd been by Gotham throughout his life, he had some strong opinions on the matter. "I will never let anything bad happen to you I promise." Edward's hand is now once again tangled up in your hair, gently running his hands through it at the base of your skull.

Despite Edward not necessarily being the most physical guy, you had to believe him when he said he would never let anything happen to you. Even in his soft, sleepy tone of the late hours of the night, he spoke to you with such conviction that you knew as long as you were with him, you would be alright.

"I think the only place I feel safe is with you," you whimper. You can feel Edward place a reassuring kiss on the crown of your head as his hand continues to comb through your hair. "Eddie, I'm so tired," you say desperately, though your nerves had calmed only slightly, your voice still trembles.

"I know baby," he sighs, "I know."

"I just want to sleep," you cry softly, Edward swears he can feel his heart break into a million pieces when he feels your warm tears graze the skin of his bare chest.

"Come here," Edward says in just above a whisper as he rolls onto his back. His arms loosen around you when he moves. You whine quietly at the loss of contact with Edward, and roll over too, onto your stomach so you're laying on top of him.

Edward wraps an arm around your back, letting his hand graze your skin, you smile at the gentle sensation of his fingertips gently gliding along your back. Edward's other hand finds its way to the back of your neck, where he holds it there gently, before moving it to your cheek and softly stroking your face.

"Comfortable?" he asks. You nod, your head rests right on his chest and you can hear the quiet beating of his heart. "Good," he half mumbles to himself.

You close your eyes and attempt to fall back asleep. Yet still, the haunting memories of tonight still play on a loop in the back of your mind.

You're desperate, and the looming thoughts of gore won't leave the back of your eyelids. Your ears ring with the ever-present screams of your poor neighbor. Your head thumps, the dull pain that envelops your skull reminds you endlessly of your lack of sleep.

Finally.

You were certain of one last thing that could hopefully lull you off to sleep. Something that could hopefully drown out the carnage that looped between your ears.

"Eddie?" you mumble

"Mmm?"

"Eddie, can you... sing, to me?" you ask apprehensively.

Edward, while he doesn't have, the voice of an angel exactly, also isn't entirely tone-deaf. Ever since you'd known him he has had a habit of sometimes humming or singing to himself while doing miscellaneous tasks, and it always brings a smile to your face. Edward is naturally soft-spoken, and that softness in his voice carries over to his singing, which always makes it a delight to listen to whenever you catch him doing it.

"Sing?" he asks.

"Please, baby?" you ask, nearly pleading.

"Okay honey," he nods.

Edward begins to hum what you can faintly make out as Radiohead's Blackstar, you can feel the small vibrations of his throat against the crown of your head.

"I get home from work and you're still standing in your dressing gown, well what am I to do?" he sings quietly, he's only barely off-key. The sound of his soft voice is instantly soothing, you feel at peace, warm. Edward's hand still caresses your cheek as he continues, "I know all the things around your head and what they do to you...what are we coming to? What are we gonna do?"

Edward gently rocks you back and forth in his arms as he continues to sing to you tenderly. You feel your eyelids falling and a gentle spell of sleep seems to be all too close. A slight smile falls across your lips while Edward carries on,

"Blame it on the black star, blame it on the falling sky, blame it on the satellite that brings me home..."

And finally, the sweet release of sleep falls upon you.

"Troubled words of a troubled mind, I try to understand, what is eating you..."

#edward nashton #edward nashton x reader #the riddler #edward nashton x you #paul dano #the batman #dano!riddler #dano!riddler x reader #danonation #the riddler x reader

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wanderingwomanwondering · 3 years

Text

911 Eddie/Buddie Thoughts, eps 413-501

*a long post and no gifs, I’m so sorry*

Can we talk abt the fact that in 413 bathena have an argument about not being partners and how that parallels eddie’s tendency to be an emotional loner, not revealing his heart until his feelings bubble over? He struggles to trust/confide in others bc he struggles to trust/be honest with himself abt how he feels/what he needs. His reasons are diff than athena’s but it’s still a parallel behavior.

Also in 413 eddie is helping a kid who’s mom is hurting him. That feels parallel at least partially to shannon abandoning christopher which caused harm. Eddie is focused on the kid/christopher, focused on helping him…to the complete exclusion of himself and his needs. This is why he chose to continue with ana supposedly for chris’s sake despite carla’s golden advice. Tho we all suspect that chris doesn’t like ana as much as he lets on/as much as eddie wants to believe. But that’s a side note rn.

Then cut to the end of 413, the gunshot scene. Knowing what we know now from 501, basically eddie taking that bullet is a catalyst. The beginning of the end of loner, partner-averse eddie. It’s the start of him needing to reckon with his own wants needs and desires. He’s not going to stop considering chris obviously but he does need to look at himself his life his heart and what makes him happy. Remember Shannon’s complaint in their marriage was that she needed a partner, and now he’s reckoning with the fact that he wants/needs one too, and not just at work.

There are one or two very grounded non-clown ways to read that gsw scene bc dude was just shot out of the blue and there was plenty of shock and fear to go around. But through the clowning glass, we can also see it as a reiteration that buck and eddie are in fact partners in a big way. They just rescued a kid together just like they’ve worked tirelessly together to save countless other people before him. They are partners. At work. I would argue also in life but I’ll get to that later.

Eddie’s prolonged eye contact with buck, reaching for him. Buck’s shock and terror, staring deeply into Eddie’s eyes and watching him bleed. That whole scene begged the question “now who’s going to save eddie?” Literally and figuratively.

The show starts with the literal answer. buck. It’s finally buck. In 414 he hauled him up, dressed his wound, begged him to stay with him and to live. In Eddie Begins, buck was an onlooker, eddie saved himself in true eddie fashion, but in 414 buck ran point on saving him. Buck dragged him to safety, buck lifted him up, buck stopped the bleeding, and buck served as his lifeline begging him to stay/live.

The other interesting thing I noticed about the scene in 414 in the fire truck on the way to the hospital is that *eddie is not wearing his saint christopher medal*. Buck rips open his shirt to stop the bleeding and the medal is not there. It’s absence is loud af. I squinted to see if it had just slid to the side when buck laid him down but i couldn’t see it at all! Please correct me if I’m wrong.

Anyway that choice, to have the medal not be there or not be visible in that particular scene is huge bc that entire sequence from gunshot to arrival at the hospital is just abt eddie (and buck). In a way, in those scenes at least, buck is wo his armor (firefighter uniform) and eddie is wo his armor (the medal). They are vulnerable in those scenes physically (out in the open, exposed to the shooter) and emotionally (not shielded by their personally meaningful protective items). Combined with the staring and the reaching it’s a big indication that things are abt to get deeper between them (fingers crossed).

Back to 501. remember eddie’s been shot before, in combat. I think what makes the sniper situation important is not just that he could have died (he’s been there done that got the silver star) but that he’s not who he was the last time he almost died by gsw. He’s in LA now, he’s not in the military, chris is growing up, he has the fire fam, he has buck, he’s a widower. Eddie is growing, changing. starting to recognize his emotional needs bc for the first time in his life there’s room/opportunity to do that in a big way and not necessarily have it implode his marriage, piss off his family, hurt chris, or ruin his career. IF he actually confronts himself head on and deals with all the stuff beneath the surface. Repressed. This gunshot isn’t exactly abt his mortality but his quality of life. asking him what’s his life abt and more importantly how can he be his whole authentic self complete with his very own emotions needs and desires embracing love care and support leaning on others. Remember in that one therapy session he had those are the things he wants for chris. Now he has to find and choose those same things for himself.

In 414 by the time eddie is in the hospital, the medal is back and prominent in every scene. He’s back to framing his relationship with buck in terms of chris. But he’s the one making decisions for chris. What he wants for himself and for buck isnt irrelevant here. If it was all abt chris and only chris i think eddie would have told buck abt the will ages ago. If it was all about chris and only chris eddie maybe wouldn’t have struggled so much to say that he made buck chris’s legal guardian if he dies. Nah. I think eddie sees buck as his partner in life too on some level but he couldn’t accept/say that plainly. He had to make it abt only chris in his head in order to be okay with linking their trio of lives together forever through the guardian decision. I mean eddie didn’t even tell buck abt the legal guardian decision bc he was shot, he told him bc buck thought he was expendable! Instead of shaking him and saying you are not and never will be expendable to me, he chose to disclose the will. It was effective for sure. Evan heard him loud and clear. But wow you gave buck a whole ass person, like the person most important to you in the world?? And didn’t say anything until you survived a sniper an effing year later?? That’s a hell of a choice!

Anyway i really hope eddie and buck are on their way to being together bc i can’t take much more of this. Before they get there tho my dude eddie has a lot of work to do this season!

I reference 408 and go into more thoughts on 501 here. I blab abt the heart transplant metaphor in 501 as well as my spec abt parts of 502 by extension here. I am dying to talk abt these arcs y’all like srsly so feel free to rb/comment.

#911 fox #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #episode 413 #episode 414 #episode 501 #911 meta #911 speculation

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buddiewho · 3 years

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Something occurred to me. Something occurred to me because rarely do we keep it within platonic circumstances. The will change. The notion of a will is something set up between partners, between married people. It’s something, you hear parents or grandparents talking about. It’s something one doesn’t necessarily have unless they’re married and have children. Or they are single/widowed and have one for their child only. Eddie placing Buck in his will seems like a thing I can’t wrap my mind around. Platonically. It’s not like how the Vegas asked the Ryders in 911 Lonestar. It doesn’t have that sort of family friend feeling.

It has that sort of, “I knew after the well incident who are the most important people to me and so I must make that legally binding. My attorney says he could refuse but I know he won’t. Are you sure you want to do this? -asks the attorney. I’m damn sure I want to do this. Buck treats Christopher like the world because that kid is my world so I wouldn’t have it any other way. I may or may not be in love with my best friend but you don’t need to know that.”

*Spoilers ahead for Bad Boys trilogy*

For example, I also keep thinking about how this could play out platonically. Think of the Bad Boys movie trilogy. From the get go, they established Mike as Uncle Mike to Marcus’s kids. They built a partnership that turned into life long family friends and I’m pretty sure Mike would have some guardianship over Marcus’s kids (not really said in any movie), but not necessarily as far as Eddie has gone with a Buck. Uncle Mike didn’t necessarily always want anything to do with kids (movie 3 sorta changed his mind but)... He was the sexy, sleep around, no commitment type (Buck 1.0?) except for a brief time Uncle Mike ended up dating Marcus’s sister which doesn’t pan out. Yet Uncle Mike was present for Marcus’s kids and a part of many milestones. Plus, in Bad Boys For Life [3], Mike gets shot. What does Marcus do? He immediately runs to his friend. Does the normal, hang on Mike. Hang on. Compare that scene to what 911 gave us and a certain couple looks like lovers. Later, in the hospital we see Marcus with hair dye jokingly making sure none of Mike’s gray hairs are coming back as he hasn’t woken up yet from the injury. You gotta go watch these movies, they’re actually pretty good and a prime example of platonic male friendships that might also blossom into a sort of brotherly bond, making each other family because there wasn’t a single moment, a shred of filming or acting or script that implied Mike and Marcus as more than friends.

It begs the question, why do Buck and Eddie look nothing like “buddy cops” and look like something more?

You can’t tell me that there isn’t more to be said in that empty space of the gunshot scene? Sure, we are halfway there with the will change, but that’s still following Chris’s heart. Partly, his own because it’s something from Eddie’s heart for Christopher, but I feel like there’s more following of his heart that Eddie needs to do. Essentially, it sets up the same. Christopher likes Ana. Christopher likes Buck…and Eddie likes/wants/needs….?

#buddie #long post #does this make any sense? probably not

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cyllaeth · 3 years

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hereafter

Hi! It's me again! Your self-proclaimed writer who just can't stop writing about Buddie. This time I offer you angst before the s4 finale ;)

Find it on ao3

Nonono.

This canʼt be happening.

Buck barely even registers it when heʼs brutally pushed by Eddie. He wants to ask him what the actual fuck but he doesnʼt have a chance. It all happens so quickly. He hears a gunshot and—

His heart stops. His world shatters beneath him as he sees in a slow motion that the bullet reaches his friend and Eddie is collapsing, his expression stuck between pain, fear and something else, something Buck canʼt describe. Thereʼs a dark red patch blooming on his uniform in his chest.

Nonono.

This canʼt be happening.

Buck realises with horror that he canʼt move, heʼs like petrified and his body just refused to work. He canʼt even make a sound even if heʼs literally screaming in his mind.

He desperately tries to force his legs to move, to run to Eddie, try to help him, not let him die.

He canʼt die.

He canʼt die, he canʼt leave him alone, he canʼt die not knowing that Buck loves him—that heʼs in love with him. He canʼt leave Christopher, he canʼt do it to this poor kid that has already lost his mother.

Buckʼs vision blurs and he feels tears streaming down his cheeks but he doesnʼt even try to wipe them out.

Nonono. Eddiepleasedontdie.

He falls on his knees, not noticing that the hard concrete is causing him pain. The only thing heʼs focused on right now is Eddieʼs closed eyes, shallow breaths and the pool of blood around him slowly spreading.

He wants to help him, save him from bleeding out but his hands are trembling so much, heʼs not able to do anything. He knows he should focus, push away all the negative thoughts but he canʼt. Heʼs never been more scared and panicked in his life. Heʼs never been so paralysed with fear that it actually prevents him from doing his job. It has never happened before. He canʼt do anything and his best friend is bleeding out right next to him.

He barely hears the sound of another gunshot. Then, he feels burning pain in his arm but he ignores it, he doesnʼt really care if he got shot. Itʼs nothing compared to the dreadful feeling like his heart was ripped out from his chest. Or rather, gouged out with something blunt.

Eddiepleasedontdie.

He doesnʼt notice his coworkers rushing to them to help them, he doesnʼt hear Athenaʼs shouting, the sound of sirens around them, he doesnʼt really feel Bobbyʼs gentle touch on his non-injured arm.

“Buck”, tries Bobby but thereʼs no reaction. He doesnʼt want to do anything sudden, he doesnʼt want to scare him more than he already is.

“Evan”, he tries again.

This time it works. Buck tears his gaze away from Eddie whoʼs already taken care of by Hen and Chim and looks at his Captain.

“Buck, youʼre hurt. We have to check you out. Can you move?”

His voice is filled with so much worry, it makes Buck weep even more.

“Iʼm okay”, he hardly whispers because the lump in his throat doesnʼt let go.

“No, youʼre not. I know youʼre worried about Eddie but heʼs in good hands. Heʼs strong, heʼll get through this. Letʼs go.”

He helps him stand on his feet and wraps his arm around his waist to keep him standing because Buckʼs legs are still like jelly. Slowly, they reach out the paramedicsʼ truck and Buck is examined by another team. They say he got lucky because the bullet only grazed his arm and his recovery will be quick.

He doesnʼt feel lucky at all. How can he? His best friend is a few feet apart from him, fighting for his life. Friend who has a son waiting for him at home. Friend who never should have been shot. It was supposed to be Buck. The sniper was aiming at him, not at Eddie. He was supposed to be lying on the ground with a bullet in his chest. But Eddie—his usually careful, cautious Eddie—did a very reckless thing and saved his life. Knowing that his best friend noticed the sniper and pushed him to protect him makes him physically sick. The guilt is consuming him because he wasnʼt worth saving. Not that much anyway. Eddie has a loving family, a son, a girlfriend and Buck... Buck is just a friend. Not someone who canʼt be replaced.

Eddiepleasedontdie.

His hands are still trembling when theyʼre heading to the hospital Eddie was taken. Bobbyʼs there with him; he doesnʼt speak, doesnʼt try to find some clichéd words; he suspects that they wouldnʼt work anyway because Buck is too lost in his own head. Bobby just reaches to his hands and covers them with his own to keep them more steady.

They arrive at the hospital and find out Eddie already has a surgery.

He canʼt die.

That clean, sterile smell of hospital makes Buck even more sick. Heʼs been there enough times, both as a visitor and as a patient. He hates hospitals and he knows heʼs gonna spend there next few hours—or days. He doesnʼt know how he will survive this, how he will get through Eddieʼs surgery. What will he tell Chris? Carla? Abuela? That Eddie got shot because of him? His brain immediately takes him back to the day when he lost Chris in the tsunami and he tried to tell Eddie. It was one of the worst moments of his life and now it seems like he will be forced to do it again—only this time to tell Christopher which makes everything worse. He needs to stop bringing the Diaz boys such awful news. He should call Carla, tell her what happened, make sure she can stay with him longer than she was supposed to, tell him the truth but he canʼt even hold his phone. Itʼs Hen who does it for him. She calls Carla, she tells her about Eddie, about Buck, about the whole situation and promises sheʼll keep her updated.

Buckʼs grateful for that but he still feels guilty that he wasnʼt the one to share the news. It was supposed to be him but he was too weak to do it.

“Buckaroo.”

Thereʼs a gentle pat on his back, big, warm Henʼs eyes filled with love and a sad smile on her lips.

“You canʼt keep blaming yourself. It was not your fault and everybody knows that. Eddie knows that and he wonʼt be angry at you when he wakes up after surgery. Besides, you would have done the same thing for him. But Iʼm pretty sure if you were the one shot, we would have to restrain Eddie from barging into the police station and killing the sniper with his bare hands.”

Buck lets out a quick, humourless laugh because heʼs not sure Eddie wouldʼve done such thing. Oh, he knows that Eddie cares about him, he knows that heʼs a part of the Diaz family but at the end of the day, heʼs still just a friend. He wouldnʼt be that reckless.

And yet, he decided to put his life at risk for him.

He canʼt die.

Buck has never been a religious type but after two hours in the hospital, he starts to pray. He knows that surgeries can take hours, especially if you have a patient with a bullet in his chest but panic starts to take over him and he canʼt stop it, itʼs stronger than him. What if Eddie doesnʼt make it?

No.

He canʼt think like that. Itʼs not his first time heʼd been shot, he was in Afghanistan, he was almost buried alive, whatʼs a one bullet for him?

He has to fight for his family.

Next few hours blur into never-ending waiting. Buck feels more and more exhausted, the pain in his injured arm is nagging him but he refuses to take pills that could help him ease the ache and lull him to sleep. He will do it, eventually. As soon as heʼs sure Eddieʼs alive and safe, he can rest. Otherwise, heʼll keep vigil. He can do it. Maddie and Athena paid them a quick visit—they brought them coffee, donuts and fresh clothes. Both women talk with Buck and try to reassure him. Athena also scolds him for getting shot and she pulls him into a hug because clearly the whole situation took a toll on her and sheʼs as worried about both Buck and Eddie as much as her husband. Her presence actually helps Buck a little and heʼs calmer than before. He even manages to drink his coffee and he doesnʼt feel like throwing up and he counts it as a success.

After what it feels like an eternity, the doctor finally goes to their room. His expression is unreadable.

“Is there Evan Buckley?”

Buck raises his head sharply because itʼs not something he has expected.

“Y-Yeah. Itʼs me”, he says hesitantly. He really hasnʼt expected to be Eddieʼs emergency contact even though he knows itʼs very reasonable. “Is he...?”

“He is alive and stable, heʼs lucky because the bullet missed the most important organs and he will get through this but he needs to rest. Heʼs sleeping now but you can visit him now. One person at the time.”

Buck lets out a long, deep breath; he didnʼt even realize he was holding it during the doctorʼs speech. The guilt is still there but the weight that has been crushing his chest is definitely lighter.

Eddieʼs alive.

“Go, Buckaroo. Go see him”, encourages him Chim, smiling softly and nudging him in the right direction.

Buckʼs very unsure and tentative but he goes to Eddieʼs room anyway. Seeing him so vulnerable makes him want to cry again. He has never seen him in a bad state like this. Heʼs never seen Eddie being so close to death—not even when he was buried in that well.

He sits on the edge of the bed and squeezes his hand gently. He knows Eddieʼs sleeping so he feels comfortable with doing this. His cheeks are wet again; he didnʼt notice heʼs crying again. All of the emotions he has felt in the last few hours are piling up in his chest and he has to let them out. Heʼs still worried, he still feels guilty but knowing that his best friend is alive, that heʼs gonna get through is soothing. He thinks about how happy Christopher will be and that heʼs probably eager to go to the hospital and take care of his dad. Heʼs relieved that he doesnʼt have to bring him bad news.

Everythingʼs gonna be okay.

He lets the rest of the team see Eddie; he gently refuses Bobbyʼs offer to take him home. Heʼs not ready to go back to his apartment, he needs to stay, be there when his best friend wakes up. Bobbyʼs not happy with his decision because he sees how exhausted Buck is but he doesnʼt argue with him. He only tells him to call when Eddie wakes up. Buck agrees and he settles on the chair next to Eddieʼs bed.

Heʼs alive.

He falls asleep somehow, even though he was sure he wouldnʼt be able to. His sleep is not deep though because he immediately wakes up when he hears a shift on the bed. Eddieʼs eyes are open and he looks a little bit confused.

“Hey, Eds. Itʼs okay. Youʼre in the hospital, you got shot. Iʼm gonna call the doctor now, okay? Iʼll bring you some water”, says Buck. He doesnʼt even let him say a word, he doesnʼt know if heʼs ready to hear what Eddie has to say. Heʼs not ready because the guilt is still there, it doesnʼt let him forget even just for a moment. He calls the doctor and stays back when the man checks Eddie and talks with him. Heʼs even ready to sneak off like a true coward but Eddie must sense it before it happens.

“Buck.”

That one word is all it takes to make him stay. When the doctor goes out, smiling warmly at Buck, the blonde sits again on the chair very hesitantly. He keeps his head down because heʼs not sure heʼs able to look him in the eye.

“Unbelievable”, he hears Eddieʼs voice. It sounds weaker than usually but he can still detect a hint of amusement and teasing. “I took a bullet for you and you still got shot.”

“Sorry”, mumbles Buck, still not raising his head. “I didnʼt really think about it when I saw you on the ground. Besides, itʼs nothing. The bullet just nipped my arm. Although it should have been me with a bullet in the chest.”

“Buck, look at me”, Eddieʼs voice is now pleading and Buck finally looks at his best friend. Eddie has a small smile on his lips and he reaches out to take his hand and intertwine their fingers. “I would do it again if it meant that youʼre alive and safe. Iʼm glad youʼre alive and safe, but I wonder if I should be mad at you for being careless. I wouldnʼt want to wake up and find out that youʼre fighting for his life or youʼre dead. Weʼre not Romeo and Juliet so no dying, okay?”

“Said the dude who was literally fighting for his life a few hours ago”, points out Buck. His eyes are fixated on their intertwined hands; he was surprised by Eddieʼs gesture and he hopes heʼs not misreading this.

“Again, Iʼm fine with it. I would definitely do it again to keep you safe. Iʼm not blaming you for this.”

Buck should have known that Eddie would reassure him, tell him itʼs not his fault. He knows him so well, probably sometimes even better than Buck knows himself.

“It still feels like my fault. Eddie, you have to be more careful, you have to think about people who love you, people you love because—”

“Who says I wasnʼt thinking about people I love?”, interrupts Eddie.

“Then why did you do it? Why did you do it thinking about Chris, your family, Ana—”

“For Godʼs sake”, Eddie interrupts him again, now with a very exasperated look. “Because I love you too, you dumbass.”

Buckʼs heart stops again. It feels better this time, though.

“You... Love me?”

“Yes, I love you. Although I should probably make this clearer for you... Iʼm in love with you. So yes, I was thinking about you and I wouldnʼt forgive myself if I lost you. But youʼre here and I couldnʼt be more happy.”

“I love you too”, says Buck simply and then, heʼs just grinning because itʼs the most beautiful thing heʼs ever heard and his awful day just turned into one of his best.

“So is there a chance that youʼll take care of me when I go back home?”, asks Eddie, doing puppy eyes because he knows Buck wonʼt say no. “You know, I did take a bullet for love so I think Iʼve earned it.”

“Oh my God, I’m never gonna see the end of it, am I?”

“Never.”

#911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buck x eddie #911 fic #buddie fic #buddie ficlet #911 spoilers #911 s4 spoilers #lucy writes #lucy's attempt to write

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riddle-me-ri · 3 years

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My first attempt at a Riddler x reader fic, halp

This is still a real REAL work in progress, but I am liking where it is going so far, and wanted to post what I had. I do plan on finishing this eventually, it’s only meant to be a one-shot anyway, but here’s a snippet!

I just really wanted to post something too..so yeah there’s that

Also this is more towards twojar! Riddler, it’s basically an alternate course of actions after he gets shot by Joker.

“Care to explain how you got yourself in this situation?”

“Riddle me this, in a tunnel of darkness lies a beast of iron. It can only attack when pulled back..what is it?”

“A bullet, yeah, you got shot. I get that. But why? By who? When you escaped?”

Despite having an open gunshot wound, Edward manages a chuckle. Quickly followed with a pained cough. You quickly applied more pressure as you continue tweezing for the slug in your significant other’s abdomen.

“Far from it, my dear. In fact, the guards let me go...willingly.”

No matter what the situation, uncompromising or not, Edward always found a reason to give a smug smirk. You don’t even want to know what or how he pulled that off.

“Still doesn’t answer my question, Eddie..” You point out.

At that moment, you manage to remove the bloody FMJ bullet. Your eyes grew wide, as Edward returns your expression with a content smile. There was your answer.

“You visited the Joker I see...” You sigh as you place the bullet on the blood soak wash rag on the coffee table.

“Very clever my darling. Indeed I visited our tormented clow-AH-”

“Sorry, just let me close this wound.” You are pretty pissed that he went to see Joker and not you as soon as he escaped, but as always with Ed, he had a logical explanation for everything he does.

Nevertheless, his life is in your hands at the moment, and you knew you were one of the few if not the only one he trusted with his life.

He needs to watch his next words...very carefully. At least as long as he didn’t want his wound to get infected...

“The Joker can’t laugh. It’s obvious, he has hit everything from theaters to comedy clubs and stand-up performances.”

“And that is your concern why?” You inquire as you start finishing the stitching.

You begin to grab to turn around to grab the bandages, but Edward grasped your wrists to prevent you from completing your task.

“I went to him, to make an offer I thought he couldn’t refuse. I offered a solution. For us to team up against the Batman...”

“But instead he gave you a slug in the gut and bleeding out?” You continue to grab for the bandages, but he stops you again as he makes a stand, walking towards to bathroom.

However, not without grabbing the scalpel you put out.

“A misstep,” He replies, “but it doesn’t change anything, not my plans anyway...”

“And what exactly is this plan of yours, Eddie?” You ask.

Riddle me this, what is crazier? A murderous humorless clown or a man with a penchant for solving every and any problems, to the point to were he wants to help said murderous humorless clown..?

#dc comics #dc riddler #twojar!riddler #the war of jokes and riddles riddler #riddler x reader #one-shot #snippet #rianwrites #wip #dc riddler x reader #the riddler #edward nygma #edward nygma x reader

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fruitydiaz-archived · 3 years

Text

you can have my back any day

4.14 speculation fic / eddie wakes up in the hospital

6,383 words

part two of healing together

AO3 link

The first thing Eddie feels when he wakes up is panic.

Everything’s a little foggy, a little blurry, and he can’t remember much of anything — and that’s never a good sign.

He struggles to open his eyes, his eyelids feel heavy. And then it all starts to rush at him quickly.

Charlie, Sheila, the eyedrops. She was poisoning him, her own kid, all for money — how sick is that?

But they got there in time and they had just closed the doors to the ambulance and Eddie was just talking to Buck in the middle of the street when — when —

His eyes fly open at the memory, at the sound piercing through the fog in his brain. A gunshot. A gunshot and a bullet cutting through the mass of his shoulder — and Buck.

He vaguely registers the sound of something beeping beside him, a loud, annoying sound — and there’s something in his throat. Panic claws its way up his chest and he feels it taking over his entire body. He doesn’t realize that he’s in a room surrounded by people until the nurses are at his side, gently holding his arms and easing him to relax back down against the bed.

He stares up at them with wild, panicked eyes, before he starts to relax. It’s not really a voluntary reaction, but he feels himself start to disappear into the fog again, his limbs going loose in heavy.

He’s been intubated. He’s awake in the hospital. He’s panicked. They need to sedate him again, just a little, just enough to remove the tube, enough to patch him up.

But he doesn’t want that — he wants to see Buck. The last thing he remembers is Buck, covered in blood, Buck on the ground, Buck staring at him helplessly as he bled out onto the street. He has to know he’s okay.

He tries to open his mouth to speak but, like everything else, it feels heavy. He doesn’t like feeling out of control of his body like this — hates it really. He just wants to see Buck, he just has to know he’s okay, that the shooter didn’t get him too. He has to see him.

Eddie’s unfixed gaze drops from the nurses’ faces, shifting to the foot of his bed while his eyelids start to fall shut. The last thing he sees is a blurry face — a birthmark and dark curls.

Buck.

The next time he wakes up — he’s not as panicked. His mouth and throat feel dry and scratchy, but he can swallow easier. Somewhere in the back of his mind he notes that the tube must’ve been taken out after he woke up the first time. That’s a good sign. His limbs still feel heavy, though, and his thoughts are thick and syrupy like molasses. He keeps sliding from one thought to another, never forming anything complete. It feels a little like he’s floating through time. He hates it.

Eventually, Eddie forces his eyes to open and he stares up at the bright white ceiling, before the sound of someone shifting to the right draws his attention. He blinks.

It’s Carla.

She smiles down at him, and it’s warm and comforting in a way that Eddie didn’t know he needed. Of course she would be here.

“Hey there, handsome,” She smiles, reaching out to brush his forehead lightly. He smiles and leans into the touch for a moment. It reminds him of something his sisters used to do, absentmindedly when they’d pile onto the couch to watch a movie together, when he was younger, way younger, way more innocent, when the only scars he had were from climbing trees and playing sports — not from bullets or fists.

He opens his mouth to speak but she shushes him, grabbing a paper cup with ice chips from the side table.

“I imagine you’re pretty parched after what you’ve been through,” She says, pulling a chip out of the cup and lifting it to Eddie’s mouth. He stares at her for a second and she stares back before he eventually opens his mouth and lets her slip the chip in. It's an instant relief, even though the cold is shocking. She slips him a couple of more before he nods to her and she puts the cup down and settles into the chair by his bed.

“I’m sorry you’re in a hospital again,” Eddie says eventually. His voice is rough, and it takes a lot of energy to speak, but he’s desperate to fill the silence, to hear the sounds of life around him.

“Especially so soon. I can’t imagine it’s easy being here after your dad. When Shannon died — for a couple of weeks I couldn’t even drive by a hospital without wanting to cry.”

He’s never said that before — and he’s surprised at how easily the admission slips out. But he doesn’t have a chance to feel embarrassed about it. Carla reaches out, covering his hand with her own.

“I know you’re not apologizing for getting shot by a sniper, Eddie.” He shrugs his good shoulder. “I would be here for you anytime, any day, you know that.”

He looks at her and he knows it’s true. It’s weird, if he thinks about it too long, the way that Carla has become such an important part of their lives. He was used to fighting for things, to having to do things on his own, to having to explain himself to everyone, to defend himself.

But Carla, Buck’s ex-girlfriend’s dead mom’s caretaker, wasn’t anything like that. She just stepped in and graciously offered her care. He knows that’s her job, but he also knows that she loves him and Christopher like they’re family. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t. And that’s something Eddie never had in his life before.

“It’s no wonder you and Buck are such good friends,” She says, changing the subject. “You two are a lot alike.”

At the mention of Buck, Eddie can’t stop the emotions from shifting over his face. They move so quickly he’s not even sure what they all are — but they’re suspicious and he knows it. He’d been expecting to see Buck when he woke up, he had been wanting to see Buck when he woke up. All he’s been able to think about, in his conscious moments and unconscious, is Buck. He just has to see that he’s okay, and then he’ll relax.

“I thought he would be here,” Eddie chances saying, eventually. Carla nods, a small smile on her lips.

“That boy has been here more often than not. You’ve been in the hospital for a couple of days, honey. We’re taking turns. He took Christopher for some real food and a change of clothes a couple of hours ago. But I texted him as soon as I saw you were waking up and they’re on their way now.”

And that — right there — that makes everything okay. All of the fear, trepidation, tension in Eddie’s body basically vanishes. Buck’s okay. More than okay — he’s with Christopher. And more than just being with Christopher, he’s looking after him. Making sure he’s well fed, clean, and comfortable. It’s more than Eddie could ever ask for, and the fact that Buck just does it, no questions no complaints — he does it happily — that has Eddie choked up.

Then he realizes.

“Did he — who told you? About what happened?” Carla frowns.

“He came by the house an hour or so after getting you to the hospital. He said Bobby made him go home and clean up but he had to come tell us the news. I offered to tell Chris — but he wanted to do it. It was...not easy. For either of them.”

Eddie can imagine. He remembers having to get down on one knee in front of Christopher and tell him that he would never see his mom again. A couple of hours after getting Eddie to the hospital means there was no way they knew whether or not he was gonna make it at that point.

Buck had to prepare Chris for his dad’s death.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever repay Buck for this — for everything, for saving his life, for taking such good care of Christopher, for looking after him like he was his own son. For having to hold it together for all of them.

But he knows what Buck would say if he mentioned any of this to him.

It wasn’t some favor I was doing you, Eddie. I have your back, always. You never have to repay me.

Eddie leans back. Buck’ll be here soon, with Christopher. That’s all he needs. Everything’s okay.

He realizes it all, several minutes too late. He glances at Carla, who’s looking back at him expectantly.

“Ana,” He says. Carla nods. Eddie’s mouth works as he tries to figure out exactly what to say next. Nothing comes to him.

“She’s downstairs grabbing us some coffee,” Carla says, folding her hands over her lap. She fixes Eddie with a look and he sighs, turning away from her.

“Can the fact that I just had a bullet in my shoulder get me out of whatever conversation I know you want to have with me right now?” She smiles and it’s not unkind. It reminds him of the way his sisters used to smile at him — right before they would expose some deeply buried truth about him that sent him into a week-long existential crisis.

“Honey, we don’t have to have any conversation that you don’t want to have. Not right now. But you should be having a conversation with Miss Flores soon, because you and I both know where your heart is, and it’s not with her.”

Eddie frowns. Ana’s nice. He likes having her around. She makes Christopher laugh — fills the house with his laughter which, really, to Eddie, seems like everything in the world.

In some ways — she reminds him of Shannon. It’s the way she carries herself, the sundresses she wears, the quiet shyness, the way she smiles at Christopher, runs her fingers through his curls.

But they don’t fight like he and Shannon did. They don’t fight at all, really. Eddie thought their polite tip-toeing-around-each-other stage would’ve ended months ago — but it hasn’t. And it’s not that he wants to fight, he hated fighting with Shannon. But he’s started to realize that fighting was the most exciting part of their relationship — the throwing down and the making up, the passion that followed.

It was undeniably toxic and unhealthy for the both of them, and as much as Eddie hated Shannon for leaving him again — she was right. They didn’t really work together.

And Ana...he’s beginning to see that they’re not working together either. Maybe it took him longer to figure out because they weren’t fighting, because all he’s ever known in his relationships is fighting — fighting with his parents, fighting with his sisters, fighting with Shannon. He thought this...this pleasantness was good. The easiness was good.

But ever since Carla planted that tiny little seed of doubt in his head at the dinner table, he’s felt the whole thing unravel.

He doesn’t want Ana here. He just wants to be with Christopher and Buck and Carla. He didn’t want to wake up to see Ana sitting next to him — was pleasantly surprised when it wasn’t her, but he wanted to see Buck. He didn’t care that Ana knew he was safe — he wanted to make sure Buck was safe.

But, most importantly, Ana wasn’t with Chris. Ana wasn’t the one who told him that Eddie was in the hospital, wasn’t the one who bravely broke the news to his son, wasn’t the one who held him and comforted him, wasn’t the one taking him to and from the hospital, wasn’t the one making sure that he still ate and took care of himself, even though he’s sick with grief.

Ana’s not with Christopher. Buck is. And that’s the most damning piece of evidence of all.

He doesn’t want anyone else in his life. He has Buck.

When Ana appears in the doorway a couple of minutes later, Eddie doesn’t even have enough energy to feel sick about it. She smiles at him, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and he smiles weakly back.

Carla picks her purse up.

“I’m going to give you two a moment alone. Buck and Christopher will be here soon, so I’ll see you again when it’s my turn.” She steps over to Eddie’s side and leans down to kiss his forehead. “I’m glad you’re with us still, Eddie.”

He doesn’t want her to go but he knows she has to. He doesn’t really want her to be here for what’s about to happen either. And if she’s down in the lobby she’ll be able to fend off Chris and Buck until Ana’s gone. The last thing he needs is them walking in on...whatever’s about to happen.

Ana slides into Carla’s spot, smoothing her hand over the top of her hair. She looks worn and tired — Eddie imagines they all do. He hates when people worry about him. It reminds him of when he was younger, when he would do something foolish with his friends and end up with a couple too many scrapes or a broken bone — and he would sit in bed while his parents fretted over him, bringing him soup and pain meds and whatever else he might need. It wasn’t the care that bothered him — it was the way it always came with an edge of disappointment, like he should’ve known better to get hurt, like it was an inconvenience for them.

He swallows.

“It’s good to see you awake,” Ana says, her tone falling just short of the bright and cheery Eddie knows she was aiming for. He forces a smile. “You had me really scared for a minute there.”

Eddie bites back the urge to say sorry. He didn’t ask to get shot.

“Yeah, thought I was done being shot at once I left the army,” He comments drily. Ana nods and her mouth twitches like she wants to smile, like she wants to laugh at the joke Eddie’s trying to crack, but it’s probably too on the dark side for her, because her face crumbles just a bit.

“Sorry,” He tacks on sheepishly. She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything.

The silence stretches over them and Eddie hates the fact that it’s making him itch, that it’s making him angry. He’s just been shot, just woke up to a tube in his mouth, and woke up again — waiting to see the two people he wants to see most in the world, so he thinks he should be allowed to get a little angry.

But Ana hasn’t done anything, not really. And she deserves better than Eddie lashing out at her right now.

“Ana,” Eddie starts, but his throat feels dry again. He glances at the cup of ice chips that Carla left and Ana’s up immediately, lifting a piece of ice to Eddie’s mouth just like Carla had moments before.

Her hands are shaking.

Eddie sighs and lets her slip a couple of chips in his mouth before he feels like he can talk again. She stands by his side.

“I really...I don’t want to have to do this right now,” He says, lifting a hand up to rub at his face. He wants to lift his right arm but quickly remembers its in a fucking sling, draped across his chest, and he’s quickly losing his patience.

“I know,” Ana says quickly. He looks up at her and sees her blinking back tears. “It’s us.”

“I’m sorry. This is...shit timing.”

“Nothing like a bullet in your shoulder to make you realize what you really want,” She jokes. He surprises both of them when he snorts a laugh.

He looks up at her and she’s smiling down at him, but she looks sad, not angry. He really does like her.

“Thank you for being here,” He says honestly. She reaches down and brushes her fingers against his forehead.

“Of course, Eddie. Things between us...I think we’ve both known where this was heading for a while. But...I’d always be here for you.”

“You’re really great, you know,” Eddie says. Ana tilts her head to the side and Eddie’s surprised when a tear slips down her face and onto his forehead. She moves to wipe it away with her thumb quickly, scrunching her face up, a move Eddie now knows she does when she’s embarrassed.

It’s weird, knowing that he’ll always have these tiny quirks cataloged as Things Ana Does When in his mind. He has a list of things that Shannon does too — he sees them in Christopher all the time. It took a while for him to get used to the dull ache he feels in his chest every time he sees it.

He has a list of things Buck does too, that Chris has also picked up on. He’s never quite understood how that made him feel, but he’s beginning to.

“I know,” Ana says, faking a smile. “I’m just not what you want.”

Eddie twists his mouth into a sympathetic smile.

“I don’t really know what I want,” Eddie says — and at that moment Ana’s phone pings with a notification. She quickly steps away from Eddie, turning her back to him while she digs in her bag for her phone. He hears her sniffle a couple of times but pretends he doesn’t — he knows she’s trying to hide it.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I do,” Ana says distractedly, straightening once she has her phone in her hand. She wipes away her face dry as she turns back to him. “Christopher and Buck are here — so...I guess this is the last time I’ll see you.”

Eddie’s stomach turns uncomfortably at that. He’s never liked goodbyes — even when they’re necessary. He knows it’d be unfair to ask Ana to stick around, and he doesn’t even want her to, but he feels like he needs to make it up to her somehow.

She steps up to him, brushing her fingers against his forehead again. She lets them trail down the side of his face, running along his jaw like she’s trying to map his facial features, committing them to memory. Her face starts to crumble again and before Eddie can say anything to try and soothe the pain, she presses her lips to his forehead, whispers a shaky goodbye, and disappears out the door.

He feels like shit about it for about a minute before he remembers that her absence means that Chris and Buck will be there soon.

His boys.

He feels a complicated series of emotions at that realization. First, it’s pure elation that he gets to see Christopher. He never likes to be away from him for long, it makes him feel like he’s missing a part of himself, and he knows Chris has had a hard couple of days while he’s been in the hospital. And then the reality of what he’s been through comes crashing down on top of him.

He was shot . He was shot and he almost died — he knows that. He knows he lost a good amount of blood, knows that the surgery was touch and go. He knows it was devastating for Christopher — 12 years old and grappling with the fact that he might lose his only remaining parent.

Guilt settles heavy in the pit of his stomach and he’s breaking down crying before he knows it. He almost left Christopher alone. He almost lost his boy.

And then he feels anger, anger at the fact that this is the hand he’s been dealt — this life of fighting, of feeling like he never does a goddamn thing right. He couldn’t when he was a kid, couldn’t when he started dating Shannon and got her pregnant, couldn’t when he committed to marrying her because he thought it was the right thing to do, couldn’t when he enlisted, couldn’t when he re-enlisted, couldn’t when he picked up job after job to support his son, couldn’t when he relocated them to California, couldn’t when Shannon came back, couldn’t when Shannon died. He couldn’t even live right.

He wasn’t supposed to be getting shot at anymore — he left Afghanistan long ago. How was he supposed to leave Christopher again, put on that uniform, and know that any day something could happen and he could be ripped out of his kid’s world?

He’s always known the job was dangerous, always accepted that any scene could go the wrong way and anything could happen. But he’s never come this close before.

But then he remembers that he didn’t die, he didn’t die and he didn’t lose his son, and his son is on his way to see him right now. So he pulls himself out of the fear, guilt, anger spiral quickly. He’ll deal with that again some other day, he knows it. He knows that he has months, maybe years of new nightmares ahead of him, knows that eventually, he’ll have to sit down in Frank’s office again and slowly, painstakingly, piece his life back together.

But for now — he’s about to see his son.

And he’s about to see Buck.

The wave of guilt threatens to wash over him again — because Eddie can never really escape it.

Buck who saw him get shot, Buck who got covered in his blood, Buck who watched him bleed out, Buck who risked his life to physically carry the weight of Eddie’s body to safety, Buck who got him to the hospital in time, Buck who sat in the waiting room, traumatized and shocked, Buck who went home to tell his kid, Buck who cared for his kid like he was his own.

Buck. Buck who...is his best friend...but is maybe more than that.

He loves Buck, he’s always known that. Ever since the tsunami, ever since Buck ran himself ragged walking all over the city looking for Chris — he’s known. But loving his friend and being in love with him — that’s a different thing.

Or at least, he thinks it is? He’s not sure. He just knows that in his last moments, when he was standing in shock and Buck was in front of him — something changed. Or, rather, something shifted, in his mind.

He doesn’t know exactly how he feels about Buck or exactly what he wants their relationship to look like and if he thinks about it too hard he knows he’s going to get a headache. But he knows that he loves Buck, and that for a moment he was terrified that he would never see him again, and that he never wants to leave him, and that he wants him woven into his life forever.

Thankfully, Eddie’s managed to pull himself together by the time Buck comes skidding into the doorway, Christopher over his shoulder. It’s such an entrance that Eddie’s stunned for a second, and his eyes lock with Buck’s before he breaks down laughing.

It feels good to feel such pure joy.

“We were gonna walk but Christopher was so excited to see you that he insisted I carry him and run here — and I wasn’t really gonna deny him the opportunity to see his dad as quickly as possible,” Buck explains, a little out of breath as he lowers Christopher down to the ground.

“Used his puppy dog eyes on you, didn’t he?” Eddie teases. “You’re too easy, Buck.”

“Yeah, well, I already accepted that I’m not immune to the Diaz puppy dog eyes a long time ago. I’d do anything for you two.” Buck says this naturally, as he slides Christopher’s glasses off of his shirt collar and hands them for Chris to put on. He shifts Christopher’s crutches from one hand to the other, eyes still focused on the kid.

“Do you want to use your crutches, buddy, or are you good to walk around?” Eddie’s a little stunned at how natural Buck is with Chris — and he’s not really sure why, because he always has been.

“I don’t need them,” Chris says, nodding. Buck nods back and settles his crutches down on the chair.

Eddie can’t hold back the tears. Christopher looks at him with such unfiltered joy — and the guilt lingers in the back of Eddie’s mind, the knowledge that he scared the crap out of his own kid. He holds out his good hand.

“Here, let’s go around the other side so we can be on your dad’s good side,” Buck suggests gently, ushering Chris over to the other side of the bed. Eddie can’t help but notice that Buck’s not looking at him, but he can’t focus on it for too long when Christopher’s collapsing against the side of the bed, falling into Eddie’s arm. Eddie pulls him close, presses his head against his chest, and buries his face in Christopher’s curls, pressing a solid kiss to the top of his head.

He closes his eyes and loses himself in the familiarity, in the comforting scent of Christopher’s shampoo, in the feeling of his son in his arms, where Eddie would keep him forever if he could.

“Oh mijo,” Eddie mumbles into Christopher’s hair, not wanting to pull away from him for a second. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Chris asks, pulling away. He reaches out to brush his hand against Eddie’s jaw and Buck’s hit with the startling memory of when Chris did that to him, on the pier, just before the tsunami. He wonders if that’s something he picked up from Shannon or Eddie.

Eddie smiles at Chris sadly.

“Because I scared you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Christopher says, and Buck clears his throat behind him.

“Come on, buddy. We talked about being honest about all of our emotions, remember?”

Eddie quirks an eyebrow and looks up at Buck, but he’s still avoiding his eyes.

“Sorry. I was scared at first. I didn’t want to lose you too. But Buck said that he would never lie to me and he was pretty sure that you were gonna be okay because...you’re the strongest person he knows and that the doctors here are the best!”

Eddie doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he just pulls Christopher back in and presses another kiss to the top of his head. He looks at Buck again, and this time he waits, keeping his gaze steady until Buck’s eyes finally meet his.

And it knocks all of the air out of his lungs.

Because the last time he looked into those eyes — everything was hazy around the edges. He could feel himself slipping away and the only thing that kept him anchored, the only thing that kept him tethered to the earth, was the piercing blue of Buck’s eyes. The last thing he remembers is the fear in them, and the anger. He knew as soon as he recognized it that he was going to be okay — because he’s seen that determined look in Buck’s eyes a million times before.

He knows Buck’s remembering it too, he’s pretty sure that’s why Buck’s been avoiding his eyes the whole time, because he goes pale the moment they meet. He watches him swallow, watches the flashbacks echo in his mind.

Buck looks away quickly and clears his throat. He’s trying really hard not to throw up his breakfast right now, remembering Eddie lying lifeless on the street, bloody and pale. It’s not a sight he’s soon to forget, no matter how hard he tries.

He slides into the seat behind Christopher, too far for Eddie’s liking, so he stretches out his hand to him.

“Come on, Buck,” Eddie mumbles. Buck hesitates before scooting the chair closer. He stares at Eddie’s hand for a moment before he slips his hand into it. He rests their linked hands down on Christopher’s back.

They talk for a bit, Christopher catching Eddie up on the few things that have happened in the last couple of days. He’s been out of school, which makes sense. His parents are in town — he wonders when he’ll have to see them. He’s not excited about it; he knows that what’ll follow will be remarks about how it’s not safe, how Eddie could’ve died, how Chris could’ve lost him, how he’d be safer at home.

By the time Carla shows back up in the doorway, Christopher’s eyelids are drooping closed and he keeps dropping his head against his dad’s shoulder. It’s time for him to go home and rest but he protests — because of course, he wants to stay with Eddie.

“Go on, Christopher. I’ll be back home tonight and then we can stay up late and watch a movie and enjoy our fun time before your dad comes back and ruins it with his boring rules and grumpy face.”

Eddie’s heart warms at Buck calling his house home — and he wants to roll his eyes at the teasing, but he also recognizes the way Buck deflects with humor, and it makes his chest ache. It works for Chris, though, and he’s out the door with Carla after a solid hug and a kiss on his cheek goodbye, leaving Buck and Eddie alone.

Neither of them says anything for a minute. There’s a weight that settles over them without Christopher there. Something that rests heavily on their shoulders — the memory of the moment that neither of them want to talk about — when they were feet apart and watching the other lose their life.

The silence becomes unbearable for Eddie quicker than usual — he’s just not used to Buck being quiet. Buck is always full of this nervous energy, it keeps him moving at all times. He’s usually the one filling awkward silences with random facts, anything he’s read over the last couple of days, something that happened with Maddie, a random joke — anything. But right now he’s sitting in total silence, hands gripping his thighs, eyes fixed on the end of Eddie’s bed.

Eddie’s pretty sure he knows what he’s thinking about.

He reaches out his good hand again and it falls short of Buck’s knee. His fingers stretch out, flexing for a moment before curling back in, and he’s temporarily transfixed by that movement. It’s a little thing, but it reminds him so much of how immobilized he was once he got shot, once he went down, how he couldn’t even stretch out his hand to Buck like he wanted to.

He glances up at Buck, wiggles his fingers again to get his attention. He clears his throat and Buck blinks, once, twice, and then looks back at Eddie, eyes wide. He looks down at Eddie’s hand and then back at his face with the blankest, furthest off stare Eddie’s pretty sure he’s ever seen on Buck, before he shakes his head, flushes, and slips his hand into his.

“I wanted to do this so bad when I got shot,” Eddie admits, lacing their fingers together. He’s surprised at the lack of filter he’s had today. Maybe it has something to do with the drugs, or the recent brush with death, but he can’t find it in him to mull over every single thought that comes to him right now, no energy to vet the words before he says them to make sure they don’t leave him in a vulnerable spot. It’s too late for that.

Buck looks surprised but squeezes Eddie’s hand in response.

“I’m here,” Is all he says. Eddie nods.

“Thank you,” Eddie says and he watches as Buck freezes, as the words click into place in his brain, and his face twists.

“Eddie — I don’t know what you’re thanking me for. You shouldn’t.” Eddie shakes his head, cutting Buck off.

“Look, Buck, I know you. I know you’re probably all up in your head blaming yourself for me getting shot, for not doing enough. But you saved me.”

Buck looks like he wants to argue again so Eddie pushes on.

“Listen, I never thought I’d get shot at again,” He laughs bitterly. “Thought all that would end when I left Afghanistan. But...when our helicopter went down over there...we were under heavy fire. We were already transporting injured soldiers, then I got shot — it...I thought I was gonna die out there.”

Eddie pauses. He’s never really talked about any of this before with Buck. He’s mentioned having nightmares every once in a while, offhandedly mentioned getting shot at a couple of times — but he’s always tried to keep it casual. He’s always tried to cut out the dark reality — for himself and for Buck.

But what happened to him, getting shot in the middle of the street, for Buck to see, it’s dragging all of that up. And he can’t cut it out right now, because the dark reality is this .

When he goes to therapy again he’ll start to unpack his time in the army again. He’ll start to piece together his conscious moments from when he got shot to when he was in the ambulance. He’ll start to remember the fear, the anger, the deep sadness he felt that this was happening to him again.

He’ll remember hearing the sound of helicopter blades in the fire truck. He’ll remember the constant sound of gunfire, the way he screamed as Buck lifted his body. He’ll remember calling out to him, calling out for Christopher.

But he’s not unpacking that all right now. He just wants to make sure Buck knows that he knows that this time was different.

“I thought...I was never gonna come home again, never gonna see Shannon again, never gonna see Christopher. I felt helpless...and — alone.”

He turns back to Buck again, locks their eyes, and squeezes his hand.

“This time I had you. And I knew that you would do whatever it takes.” He can’t keep his voice from shaking anymore, and stops trying to keep it even, stops trying to hold back the tears. He needs Buck to know how much this means to him — how much he means to him.

Buck’s eyes are red and watery and Eddie knows he’s trying his best to not break down. In the back of his mind, he knows Buck’s had his fair share of breakdowns over the last couple of days. The guilt echoes in the back of his mind.

“I said I’d have your back,” Buck says, voice small as he squeezes Eddie’s hand. “I — I’ll always be here for you. But I’d really like it if you never got shot again.”

He laughs as he says it, but he also cries a little too, tears falling freely down his face. He forces a watery smile and grabs Eddie’s hand with his other, sandwiching his good hand between his. And then he’s fully crying, leaning forward and pulling their hands up to his forehead as the sobs rack his body.

All Eddie wants to do is pull him in, wrap his arm around him and hold him close, remember that there’s not this distance between them anymore, remember that they’re both alive and there’s no blood on either of them and they’re safe, they’re safe.

But that illusion of safety has been shattered, and for that Eddie cries too.

Eventually, they’ll pick themselves up, dry their tears (or rather, Buck will reach out to dry Eddie’s with his free hand, because his other refuses to let Eddie’s go) and they’ll talk about their experience.

Buck will tell Eddie how he felt paralyzed, stuck standing there when he watched Eddie get shot, how he could still taste and smell his blood for hours after.

And Eddie will tell Buck how he didn’t register that he’d been shot at first, that he looked up and saw the blood on Buck and how at first it scared him, until he realized it was his own, and that comforted him.

They’ll talk about that moment their eyes met under the truck, how they were both so desperate to hold onto one another’s gaze because it meant they were alive.

Buck will talk about how he had to drag Eddie’s body, how it felt listening to Eddie in pain, how Buck and the medics had to do their best on the floor of the fire truck to stop the bleeding and keep him alive until they got to the hospital.

Buck will tell him how he couldn’t get all of the blood off him until Bobby sent him home and he scrubbed every last bit of it off in the shower — before putting on fresh clothes and going to tell Carla, Ana, and Christopher. He’ll tell him how Chris broke down, how he was so scared, and how Buck held him while they both cried. And Eddie will cry at that too.

Eddie will tell him how he woke up wanting to see him, because he couldn’t remember anything after his eyes closed on the pavement, how he wanted to make sure Buck was okay.

He’ll tell him that he had to end things with Ana, because it wasn’t fair to her and he couldn’t drag her through all of this if they didn’t love each other. He’ll tell him how the last time he got shot, it was too much for Shannon, and she left them, weighed down by her own struggles and grief.

Buck will squeeze his hand gently.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Eddie,” Buck will say, sincerely.

“I was alone when I came back from Afghanistan,” Eddie will respond. Buck’s face will twist and he’ll lock eyes with Eddie.

“You have me now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

And it’ll be hard and it won’t be pretty. They’ll spend weeks staring at each other, reminding themselves that they’re okay. They’ll spend months having to adjust to loud noises that make them both jump. Eddie will struggle to regain full motion in his hand and his shoulder.

They’ll have nightmares and therapy sessions and breakdowns that make everything seem impossible.

But they’ll have each other — and they’ll be okay.

#911 fox #911 spoilers #speculation #writing #al talks #buddie #:)#idk if this is good ;sklfs i rushed to finish it but! it's done #the title is so original i know but i had to

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neworleansspecial · 3 years

Note

For the black!au... maybe something where Eddie hears Buck’s phone ringing whilst he’s in the shower and tries to answer it? What happens is up to you!

Eddie likes to think he knows almost everything there is to know about Evan. He knows Evan's favorite food, the way he likes to be held, how to kiss him, what to do in the event of nightmares. He has a mental inventory of every one of Evan's facial expressions and their meanings. His hands intimately know the feel of Evan's skin beneath them in bed.

The one thing he doesn't know about is Evan's job, and this is by design. Evan only asks three things of him- not to ask about the job, not to post about him on social media, and not to answer his work phone. However cryptic the requests, Eddie has done a great job following them in the years since he first met Evan. However, this doesn't take away the temptation when Evan's work phone rings while he's in the shower.

The little black flip phone is buzzing on the nightstand where Evan left it when he went to wash off the sweat from his nightly run around the neighborhood, something which Eddie has long suspected is about more than just getting one last workout in before bed. He's not certain enough to call Evan out on it, but he's fairly sure that there's another purpose.

On the phone's third ring, Eddie swallows his anxiety and picks up the phone. He has to know, even just a little, what Evan is doing when he disappears for "work" for days or even weeks at a time. As he lifts the phone to his face, his heart is pounding out of his chest.

"Hello?"

"You're not Buck."

The person on the other end of the line promptly hangs up, leaving Eddie with the phone in his hand and even more confusion. Who's Buck?

Unfortunately, that's the moment when Evan walks out of the bathroom, water still dripping down the planes of his chest and a fluffy towel wrapped around his waist. The lazy smile on his face drops the moment he sees what's in Eddie's hand.

"Eddie," he says, his voice carefully neutral. "What did you do?"

"Who's Buck?"

"Nobody, just give me the phone."

"No." Eddie clutches the flip phone against his chest. "Not until you talk to me. I've been patient for a long time, Evan. We've been married for two years now. Whatever your job is, you can trust me to tell me."

"It's not about trusting you."

Evan sits beside him on the bed and holds out his hand. Eddie guiltily hands him the phone, even if he doesn't want to, and waits for some sort of explanation for everything.

"Eddie, what I do for a living, it's..." Evan pauses, contemplating his words. "It's not very safe. I know you know that, you've- you've seen what it does to me sometimes." Memories of bruises and cuts and broken bones and even a gunshot wound come to mind. "I trust you with my life. But I need you to understand that the more you know about my work, the more danger it puts you and Christopher in, and I can't handle the idea of something happening for either of you. If my boss found out I was married, Eddie- I don't want anything to happen to you. Please, I need you to trust me when I say that you can't know."

It's not often that Eddie hears genuine fear in Evan's voice, and it's that which forces him to acknowledge how serious Evan is being right now.

"Tell me who Buck is."

"Me. I'm Buck."

"Why?"

Evan gets up to get dressed, setting his phone back on the nightstand in the process. "It's safer not to use my real name. Even something as close as Buck is pushing it."

"Are Christopher and I in danger?"

"Right now? Absolutely not." Evan pulls on a tee shirt and boxers before digging in the dresser for his favorite pair of pajama pants. He also digs out his handgun and carefully checks that the chamber is loaded before depositing it on the nightstand as well. "I'm here with you, you're safe."

"And when you're gone?"

"You're even safer when I'm not here."

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #emwrite #black!au

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half-bakedboy · 3 years

Text

he is your heart (and you are his) (read on ao3)

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rated: Teen Summary: Eddie couldn’t remember why he was flicking aimlessly through the blank channels on the television. He couldn’t remember getting to his house. That wasn’t… right.

A knock on the door echoed in his ears like a gunshot.

“Shannon?”

Or... What happened in Eddie's subconscious after being shot changed everything for the better.

Eddie couldn’t remember why he was flicking aimlessly through the blank channels on the television. He couldn’t remember getting to his house. That wasn’t… right. He turned off the screen so he could focus and glanced around the room, barely recognizing what surrounded him. The photos that should have been on the wall were blurred, but even when he blinked his eyes repeatedly, his vision didn’t clear.

A knock on the door echoed in his ears like a gunshot.

He stood up and walked over mindlessly, reaching out his hands in front of him to slide his index finger through the splatter of what looked like blood on the back of the door. He leaned forward and through the peephole was the last person he had ever expected to see. He threw the door open, uncaring for the mess it might have made when it hit the wall, and tears rushed to his eyes.

“Shannon?”

“Eddie,” she said, her voice like music to his ears.

He pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his nose into her neck, breathing in the scent of cinnamon and… burning rubber? He shot back, holding her shoulders tightly as he took in her presence. She was standing right in front of him, looking as beautiful as the day he met her. In fact, she looked exactly as she did the day he met her, white sundress and all.

“What’s going on? Why are you— How are you here?” he asked, breathless. He tried to hold in the sobs that threatened to burst out of his mouth, the pressure on his chest almost too much to bear.

“Because you needed me, silly. Can we sit? We’re going to miss the show!”

Her smile lit up the room, as it always had, and she pulled him toward the couch, joy never faltering even as he hesitated to follow her. When they sat, she laced their fingers together and pulled them up to her mouth, kissing the back of his hand gently. She rested them back on her lap and turned toward the television as if waiting for the black screen to light up on its own.

“You have to turn it on, Eddie. Christopher isn’t going to wait forever,” she noted, patting his shoulder lightly.

“Where is Christopher? Where am I?” Eddie stared unblinking at Shannon as if she would disappear if he looked away. “How are you here, Shan?” he asked again, pleading through a barely contained sob.

“We have to watch the show, okay?” she urged again, eyes still unblinking as she stared. “Eddie, we don’t have much time.” Even though her voice sounded pleading, the smile stayed wide on her lips.

“Okay, what do I do?”

Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the remote and pressed the power button. The TV sprang to life and the telltale sound of a baby crying resounded through the room. There was a hospital room on screen and doctors he recognized surrounded Shannon’s bedside. He even saw himself on the other side of the bed, tears of joy springing to his eyes.

“God, he was so small. Do you remember him being that small?” Shannon asked, leaning her head onto Eddie’s shoulder.

“He was six pounds, two ounces of pure love,” Eddie said and Shannon nodded in response. “He’s almost up to my shoulders now, you know. I swear he’s going to be taller than me,” Eddie noted with a laugh.

“He gets that from my side of the family,” Shannon responded. Eddie leaned over to kiss the top of her head as the screen switched.

Christopher was six years old, Eddie remembered. He had surprised his family by being home for Christmas and he and Shannon spent the entire week fighting. He remembered how much Shannon resented him for coming back for such a short amount of time. Every time he came back meant she would have to watch him leave again and she didn’t think that was fair to her.

“It wasn’t, but we made it through,” Shannon said. He didn’t think he was speaking out loud, but he didn’t allow himself to put much thought into how she knew what he was thinking.

“We made it through and Christopher still talks about that Christmas like nothing bad ever happened.”

Eddie remembered that he had brought it up a few months ago. He still had the coloring books Shannon had bought him and the stones for his rock collection Eddie had found in Afghanistan. He loved that Christmas and looked back on it fondly, not as the last one before his mom left, but as the one he spent with the woman he admired most.

“Who’s this?” Shannon asked as another memory popped into view.

It was Ana.

Eddie’s heart warmed. She was sitting on the couch with Christopher leaning into her side and Eddie just a few feet away, leaning against the doorframe to watch them. Christopher seemed happy and Ana was as content as one could be. She was reading him a story, one that Christopher had picked out because she apparently sounded like the female character looked, and Eddie was listening and admiring, just taking it all in.

“She’s really good with him.”

There was no jealousy or sadness in her tone, just… quiet observation.

“She’s wonderful, but—” Eddie choked on something in his throat, but pushed the feeling aside in favor of turning toward Shannon again. “She’s not you, Shan.”

Shannon’s laughter was bright but she looked understanding when she reached over to cup Eddie’s cheek in her hand.

“Of course she isn’t, Eddie. If she was, no one would allow you to keep dating her,” she noted, a hint of sarcasm in her tone that almost had Eddie chuckling.

“It wouldn’t matter what they thought, you know that,” he said instead, pressing his hand over hers.

“You are stubborn. It’s part of why I fell in love with you.”

“You always were the one to knock me down when I got too high and put me back in my place, weren’t you?”

A few memories filtered across the screen of the first time Eddie had met Shannon and their first few dates up until he asked her to marry him. It had been one of the most incredible days of his life, only matched by the arrival of Christopher and maybe when he started at the one-eighteen.

“As I was saying,” Shannon began, making sure Eddie was staring into her eyes. They looked exactly how he remembered them but maybe just a little less sadness and more peace in them than before. “No matter what you do, Eddie, Ana is never going to be me.”

“I know that, I—” She silenced him with a finger on his lips.

“Because as much as you loved me—and I know that you did, I never doubted that for a second—we were never meant to be together. You never wanted me the way that I wanted you and that was only solidified between us once Christopher arrived.”

“What does that mean? I always wanted you, Shannon. I’d take you back in a moment if I could,” Eddie pleaded, closing his eyes and breathing her in, hoping that if he just focused enough he could stay with her forever.

“You stayed with me because you thought that’s what was best for Christopher and I stayed with you because I didn’t think I could ever find another man that would choose him one thousand times over.” She took a breath and ran her thumb over his eyebrow, a source of comfort she always provided to both him and their son when they needed it.

“Christopher is everything,” Eddie whispered.

“He is, but that doesn’t mean you have to set what you deserve aside. He has the biggest heart because of you, Eddie, which means sometimes, you have to follow your own above his.”

Be sure you’re following your own heart, not Christopher’s, okay?

Eddie hiccuped, “I just— I miss you so much.”

He pressed their foreheads together, holding onto her face as tightly as he could without hurting her.

“I miss you, too, Eddie. But keep watching, okay?” Shannon urged, pressing her palm against his cheek and pushing his face back toward the television.

He didn’t care what was on the TV, though, because he wanted to look at her . He wanted to take her in; the floral dress she was wearing seemed to blow in the nonexistent wind and her wavy hair framed her sharp jaw, softening her features and making her look almost angelic. He wanted to gaze into her eyes and see the light in them that he had watched dim to nothing only a few years prior.

He didn’t care what was on the screen, he just wanted—

“Christopher!”

Buck.

The crack in his best friend’s voice had Eddie’s eyes glued to the television again. Buck was covered in dirt and drenched to the bone. He was trembling and his skin was red and raw. He had a limp in his walk but he kept pushing forward.

“Christopher!”

“No, I— I don’t want to see this,” Eddie begged.

He grabbed the remote and pressed whatever buttons he could, but the remote he thought he grabbed wasn’t that at all. It was Christopher’s glasses, shattered in his hand. He dropped them like they burned his skin and suddenly his arm was on fire, burning deep into his core. He screamed and held onto Shannon’s hand tighter, squeezing so hard that it must have hurt her. She didn’t even flinch.

“You have to, Eddie. You have to keep watching,” Shannon urged.

Eddie loved her smile and while it usually calmed him down and settled the nerves under his skin, that time it caused fear to tingle down his spine instead.

“Why? Why are you here, Shannon?” he asked; pleaded.

“Look!” she said with a laugh. “I used to love playing I-Spy with Christopher. He would always figure out exactly what I was spying so quickly because he was so smart. He is the smartest kid, isn’t he?” Shannon asked, leaning back against Eddie as if to try and calm him down.

Eddie watched as Buck wrapped his arm around Christopher’s shoulder and pointed up at a building halfway underwater. They were on a firetruck, that much Eddie noticed. He could see the bright red through the grimy water and the yellow stripes of Christopher’s shirt stood out starkly against it. His son was grinning up at the building, too focused on whatever Buck was pointing at and saying to notice the flood of bodies moving behind them.

“Why are you showing me this? Why are we watching this?” Eddie closed his eyes to try and stop the tears that threatened to fall again.

“Because Eddie, you’ve never been good at following your heart,” Shannon said with a shake of her head. “You always listen to your brain and make decisions you deem as logical without letting what your heart is screaming at you have any say.”

“That’s not true,” Eddie began, but Shannon cut him off with a raise of her eyebrows.

“Your brain made the choice to enlist even though your heart told you to stay with me and your son.”

“That’s not fair,” he sobbed, bringing her hand up to his lips and letting his lips rest on her skin. “I had to do what was best for our family, for Christopher.”

“Did you ever think that what’s best for Christopher might be having a father who shows him that he can follow his heart? That what’s best for you might be exactly what Christopher needs?” Shannon asked.

At that moment, memories of Buck flashed across the screen.

Buck with Christopher. Buck with Eddie. All three of them together, like a family.

He watched his son and Buck skateboarding, surfing, picking up groceries, at the movies, out to dinner, grabbing ice cream, going to a baseball game. Everything under the sun that they had all done together played across the screen. There were moments that went on longer where Buck had picked up Christopher from Abuela’s house and soft kisses on cheeks were exchanged with those Eddie cared about most. There were clips of Buck helping Christopher with his math homework even though he had no idea what he was doing and showing up with stacks of books on whatever interested Christopher that week.

Eddie had to look away or risk his heart bursting out of his chest.

“Keep watching,” Shannon whispered, her smile widening. “This is my favorite part.”

Her favorite was apparently their moments alone, just Buck and Eddie existing without any other cares in the world. In each one, Eddie could see his feelings bright as day on his face and hoped it wasn’t as obvious as it looked on the television. He knew how he felt—it was almost impossible to avoid it—but to see it on screen as clear as day was almost hard to watch.

He could see how much he wanted with everything in him to reach out and pull Buck into a hug when he was sad or hurt. And when Buck was so happy he didn’t know how to contain the smile on his face, Eddie grinned right back like nothing could possibly bring them down. His eyes shone when Buck so much as glanced in his direction and when possible, Eddie was pressed right against his side as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

His heart seemed to explode inside of his chest at the small gestures of love he saw between them. He leaned forward in his seat, loosening his grip on Shannon’s hand subconsciously as comfort flooded through him. He yearned to reach out to the screen and put himself back in front of Buck, finally take the chance to touch him a little more than platonically or kiss him like he had meant to for the last two years.

Then he recoiled and his heart shattered into a million tiny pieces, the pain in his shoulder radiating throughout his entire body at what he saw next.

He watched himself stare, barely any emotion on his face when Buck was crushed beneath the ladder truck and saw his own face fall into panic as Buck coughed up blood at Athena’s house, eyes locked with Eddie’s like a silent plea for help. He blinked away tears while Buck dug at the mud that had trapped Eddie underground, screaming and sobbing his name as Bobby pulled him to comfort.

The last memory seemed to move in slow motion. One second he was standing in front of the ambulance that was bringing Charlie to safety and then next, Buck was covered in blood. He looked as if he had seen a ghost and all Eddie wanted to do was reach out to him and make sure he was okay. There was so much blood.

Eddie reached toward the screen and everything went black.

“What happened? Shannon, what’s going on?” he asked, grabbing for the remote again but that time, cold metal was in its place.

The gun was too heavy in his hand and he felt wrong to be holding it in the home he had worked so hard to keep his horrible, violent past out of. Before he could discard the weapon, it went off. He flinched, checking himself for injury before he saw the blood darkening the white sleeve of Shannon’s dress. Eddie pressed at the wound instinctively with his palm, grabbing the closest thing in reach to put pressure on it.

An eerily familiar white shirt.

“Shannon?! Shannon! Oh my god, Shannon. I got you, I’m here, okay? I got you,” he pleaded, holding onto her smiling face with one hand while keeping pressure on the hole in her chest. He sobbed over her, tears streaming down his face and his stomach twisting in fear.

When the shirt had soaked through, he pulled it away to change it, but the gaping wound was gone. It was like it never existed. The blood still stained her dress, but instead of a puddle of red, it was splattered across her chest and face, small droplets that fell down her cheeks like tears. She reached out to touch over his heart and when she did, her fingers grazed a bullet-sized hole in his own shoulder.

He found himself unable to breathe as she laughed joyfully in front of him.

“Can’t you see, Eddie?” Shannon asked excitedly, practically bouncing where she sat.

“See what?” he pleaded.

“He is your heart, Eddie. And you are his. He needs you.”

“I can’t breathe, I can’t— Shannon, wait,” he broke off, panicked as she started fading right in front of him. “No, no, no! Please, don’t go. I can’t do this without you,” he begged.

He didn’t care for the way his shoulder seized in pain or how his heart bled out of his chest, his uniform covered in the sticky substance that would never wash away. He didn’t want her to go, not yet. He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to say to her, to make sure she knew.

“I know, Eddie. I miss you, I love you, I would give anything for you to come with me,” she said, running her thumb over his eyebrow again before cupping his jaw in her hand, “but I know of two—and a lot more—people who miss you right now and who love you more than I can even begin to show you.”

“I’m scared, Shan,” Eddie admitted, leaning into her touch even as it drifted away. She was practically a ghost, cool touch and transparent skin, in front of him. “What if I can’t do this without you?” he asked, frozen.

“You have been,” she said simply. “Now, go. Think about what we’ve talked about, okay? You deserve to be just as happy as you’ve made our son.”

Eddie wanted to hold onto her tighter, stop her from floating through the front door because he knew he would never see her again, not like that. He didn’t want to lose the memory of her smile or the way she felt against his hands now that it was so clear in his mind. He stood up to follow her, but behind him, he heard a voice.

He heard Buck.

He wandered down the hallway until he stood in Christopher’s doorway, watching Buck sit next to his son, a worried look on his face like he was holding back tears. Eddie wanted to wipe them away and wondered why he was crying. He hated seeing Buck sad.

“You know, your dad is, uh... he's tough as nails. He's a fighter, right?” Buck said to Christopher. He sniffed back emotion and Eddie kneeled in front of them.

“Hey, I’m okay, I’m right here. I’m not fighting anymore,” Eddie reminded them, but neither looked away from each other. They had no idea he was there.

“So, uh, he—he’s with the doctors now,” Buck explained. Eddie tilted his head as the pain in his shoulder increased minutely.

“Like the ones that fixed you?” Christopher asked. The smile on his face looked just like the one on Shannon’s and Eddie’s heart squeezed in his chest. He tried to reach out but he couldn’t move his arms.

Why couldn’t he move his arms?

“Uh-huh, yeah. Like the ones who fixed me,” Buck agreed.

After a few brief moments of silence, Christopher asked, “Then he's gonna be okay, right?”

“I’m going to be fine, Christopher. I would never leave you. I would never leave either of you,” Eddie said firmly.

As he tried to stand, to pull the two of them close and remind them that he was right there, the pain in his shoulder intensified and a heavy weight pressed down on his chest. He felt like he was being ripped in half and he screamed in pain as an invisible force started to pull him toward the door.

“No! Not them, too! I won’t leave them!” Eddie swore, grabbing onto the doorframe as Buck’s phone chimed in his hand. When he opened the message, a breath of relief pushed from his lungs and he smiled for the first time since Eddie had walked into the room.

“Yeah, I think so, buddy. I think so.”

As Eddie let go of the frame, his screams intermingled with the sobs that poured from Buck’s mouth.

“It’s gonna be okay, Buck.”

If Christopher said it, Eddie had to believe it.

--------------------------

He woke up slowly, the telltale sounds of machines whirring and beeping solidifying what he already knew. He was in a hospital room and he was hurt, badly if the pain radiating throughout his entire body said anything.

“You gonna stay awake this time?” Ana asked. She pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles gently, taking a deep, relieved breath. “You gave all of us quite the scare, Edmundo.”

“What happened? I— Is Charlie okay? Buck, he— There was blood. He was covered, is he—?”

Ana was already pressing a hand to his chest to keep him laying down before he could even think about getting up. His eyes scanned the room but he only saw Ana. He hated how disappointed that made him. She deserved more than that.

“Charlie is okay, Buck is okay. Everyone is okay,” Ana said slowly, pushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead gently. “Charlie is up in the pediatric ward until the social worker comes by. He’s going to be staying with me when he’s out,” she noted.

“You’re going to foster him?”

Ana nodded and said, “I’ve thought about it before, but something about him just pushed me to my decision. His mom is getting the help she needs and they think she’s going to be okay to reunify with him at the end of it. It’d be nice to have some company, you know?”

“I didn’t know you had thought about that. I didn’t realize—”

“Buck saved your life,” she said quickly as if she was ripping off a bandaid from a wound she wasn’t sure was healed.

“He did?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, he did.”

He pressed his eyes together and tried to remember what had happened. He felt the sting in his shoulder and the numbness that followed. He saw the bright red blood splattered across Buck’s face and soaking his stark white shirt. He felt the rough concrete scraping against his back and the insurmountable worry when he regained consciousness and Buck was still covered in blood.

“I need to…” He wasn’t exactly sure what he needed to do, but Ana was already smiling softly over at him.

“He’s on his way. I called him when you woke up about fifteen minutes ago but you know how L.A. traffic can be,” Ana explained.

“Why isn’t he here? Where’s Christopher?” He glanced up at the clock and realized it was after the time he was supposed to be home to relieve Carla. “Did anyone check on him? Carla was supposed to—”

“Eddie, it’s been three days.” His heart sank. “Between Carla and Buck, they had it covered.”

“Oh,” he breathed, running a hand over his face. “Ana, I—”

“I’ve never heard someone so worried for another person before,” she interrupted. “When Buck called me, I was sure you were dead,” she said almost conversationally.

“It always seems that way,” Eddie explained. He remembered watching his friends, his army family, be injured in the line of duty. Every one had the worst-case scenario flashing through his mind first and foremost.

“You don’t understand, Eddie,” she began, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “When Buck called me, I had to console him. I had to calm him down enough so that he could actually tell me what was going on. I was worried, of course, but Buck? He was devastated. ”

“He’s my—”

"If you say best friend I swear to God I’m walking out of this room without saying another word,” Ana threatened. Eddie kept his mouth shut. “I have to ask… Did you know that he’s in love with you?”

Eddie thought about the question. Did he? Wasn’t he sure that Buck would never leave him and Christopher’s lives, so positive he made Buck the legal guardian of his son in case of his demise? Wasn’t he positive that Buck was the one taking care of Christopher at that very moment, not worried about his son because he knew he didn’t have to be? Wasn’t that the love that Shannon told him all about?

“I don’t think either of us knew,” he said honestly. He couldn’t look at her, opting instead to focus on the IV dripping what he thought must have been morphine into his arm. “I’m sorry, Ana.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Eddie. Moments like this put things into perspective. You weren’t the only one who made some realizations the last few days,” Ana said with a small laugh. When Eddie sent her a questioning gaze, she explained, “I always thought I needed a husband in order to have a family. That’s what I was taught growing up, what society has pushed on me. It was the only way I thought I would ever have worth.”

“That’s not true,” Eddie interjected, running his thumb over the back of her hand.

“I know that now. I could have fallen in love with you. I could have married you and been a parent to your child, but I don’t know if that would have ever made me happy. What I’m about to do, with Charlie? That’s what I’ve always wanted. To open my home to those in need while still maintaining the independence I didn’t think I could have.”

“You’re incredible, Ana Flores, you know that?” Eddie asked, reaching up to stroke her hair gently. “Any person would be lucky to have you in their life in whatever way you want them,” he noted, “and I hope that doesn’t mean we can’t…” He trailed off in hopes that she would fill in the blanks to what he was thinking.

“I will always be there for you and Christopher.” After a moment, she added, “And Buck.”

Eddie laughed, “Yeah, I guess we are more of a package deal than I originally thought.”

“It would be great for both of you to talk, maybe… now?” she asked, glancing through the glass that surrounded them.

That’s when Buck came into view. He ran down the hallway like he was running to a scene, his breath panting out of him as he stopped at the door, the brightest smile Eddie had ever seen tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie whispered.

“Hey,” Buck responded, relief clear even with only one word.

“I’m going to get going,” Ana said as she stood. She leaned over and pressed a kiss between Eddie’s eyebrows and then his cheek before whispering, “Remember what I said, okay?” He nodded and kissed her right back, holding her hand until she was far enough away that he had to drop it.

She walked over to Buck and pulled him into a tight hug, pushing up on her toes to whisper something in his ear as well. Eddie couldn’t hear what she said, but the shock on Buck’s face was enough to have him pressing his lips together to contain a laugh. She patted his cheek gently as she pulled away and turned enough to shoot a quick wink in Eddie’s direction before walking out the door.

Buck stood where he was for a second, seemingly thinking about whatever Ana had said to him, but Eddie didn’t like him so far away.

“I’m okay, Buck, thanks to you, I’ve heard,” he said, holding out a hand and smiling when Buck instantly took a few steps forward, taking it in his own.

They had never held hands before—at least, not out of happiness instead of hurt—but somehow it felt right. It felt like they had done it a million times before and would do it every chance they got in the future.

“You know, I’ve always been worried about you running into fires or being lowered into wells, but being shot was never on my radar,” Buck said as an attempt at humor. Eddie laughed but Buck couldn’t seem to make the sound. “I wasn’t sure I was going to get you out of there and then once I did, I wasn’t sure I could keep you alive,” Buck whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Hey,” Eddie said, urging Buck to look at him with a squeeze of his hand, “I’m okay.” He repeated the words even though they were obvious. “I’m more than okay, Buck. I— I saw Shannon,” he said quickly.

When he expected Buck to stare at him like he was insane, Buck just tilted his head in worry.

“How is she?” he asked and Eddie fell just a little more in love.

“She’s still beautiful, happier, I think. She still knows how to put me in my place,” Eddie commented.

“Well, someone has to when you’re unconscious and I can’t do it,” Buck retorted, smacking Eddie’s hand playfully.

“She, uh, showed me a lot of… she made things more clear for me. About myself, about… well, you.”

“Yeah? What about me?” he asked. Eddie recognized that hopeful tone and it healed him more than rest ever would.

“She said that I don’t follow my heart and that I listen to the logical part of my brain more than I should,” Eddie noted. He could tell Buck wanted to agree, but he stayed silent, nodding for Eddie to continue. “She made me realize that I’ve spent so much time making decisions for Christopher, I never stopped to think about what I deserve.”

“What Christopher needs is the most important,” Buck pointed out.

And suddenly, he understood what Shannon meant a little more. Eddie would choose Christopher one thousand times over, but so would Buck. His heart matched the size of Christopher’s and Buck had given it to both his son and Eddie from the moment they met.

Buck was Eddie’s heart and he deserved to finally follow it.

“I love you,” Eddie blurted out. “I love the way that you love my son and the way that I know you love me. What Christopher needs is more important, but I guess we’re pretty lucky,” he noted.

“Why is that?” Buck asked, that hope still shining in his face as he leaned closer as if he couldn’t control it.

“Because what Christopher and I both need is you.”

And it really was that simple.

When he kissed Buck, it was like all the pieces of the puzzle slotted into place and what everyone else had apparently already known was made as clear as day to the two of them. Eddie didn’t want to pull away, but he had no say in it when Buck pulled his head back and sent Eddie an inquisitive look.

“So, your ex-wife and ex-girlfriend really did all this, huh?” Buck teased.

“Shut up,” Eddie said with a roll of his eyes.

What he knew Buck heard, though, was I love you, I’m never leaving you, I need you in my life forever, and I’ll try not to get hurt again.

And Eddie was grateful Buck said as much right back.

#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #shannon diaz #911 #911 on fox #911 fic #my writing #i am so proud of this one #i hope you all enjoy it #<3 <3 <3 <3 #buddiefanfiction

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backtothestart02 · 3 years

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Hazy - 11/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Another chap! I hope you enjoy! It is sans Iris, since this whole fic is in Barry’s POV and Iris is obvs not with him atm. Hopefully it’s still an enjoyable read. Reviews are love!

Commissioned by @andie1223

...

Chapter 11 -

Linda paced back and forth frantically as she talked to the 911 operator about Joe’s condition while Barry did his best to keep Joe conscious and put pressure on the wound. In his heart, Barry knew this wasn’t real, this wasn’t the timeline he belonged in. It didn’t change the fact that this Joe West looked just as much as the one he knew, felt like him, loved like him. He couldn’t let him die. And he couldn’t shake the fact that if he’d had his speed, he would’ve been able to stop that bullet and keep Iris from being kidnapped. He would’ve been healed from Eddie’s beating him up just two days ago too.

“Come on, Joe, stay with me. Stay with me,” he repeated over and over.

Joe just nodded on the floor, trying to help him put pressure, but he was losing feeling in his limbs, and it was a fight to stay conscious.

“What the hell is taking so long?”

Barry reared his head up, glaring at Linda unintentionally.

“I don’t know,” she whisper-mouthed back, then repeated the insult into the phone to a far too calm operator, as far as the two of them were concerned.

Luckily though, paramedics burst through the door just shortly after and put Joe on a stretcher. Barry wanted to go with him. It was his first instinct. But given Linda had told the crime that had taken place over the phone, police also showed up and refused to let either of them leave until they’d taken their statements.

“He’s going to be fine,” one of the paramedics said, as they took Joe down the hall.

Barry really wanted to believe that.

After what felt like forever, both he and Linda were escorted out of her apartment, and it was taped off as a crime scene. Barry turned to Linda immediately, about to ask the inevitable, but she held up her hand.

“I’d drive you, Barry, I really would. But right now, I’m shaking so bad I don’t think-”

A stab of guilt hit him in the middle of his chest. Of course she’d be shaken up. She might not be close to Iris or Joe the way he was, but a gun had gone off in front of her, at someone she knew, and then someone else she knew had been dragged off.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, swallowing hard. “Do you have money for a cab?” he asked after a beat.

She managed to suppress a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, I have that much.”

They found their way out on the street and were able to hail a cab in no time at all. Traffic was brutal, but within half an hour they were let off at the hospital entrance.

Barry burst through the doors as Linda paid the cab driver and then followed him inside.

“He’s still in Emergency,” he told her, fuming after what the nurses had told him. “We can’t see him, because we’re not related.”

He was furious. He didn’t even know if he’d grown up in the same house with Iris and Joe in this reality, so he couldn’t push that angle with confidence. This was hell.

“Oh, Barry, I’m so sorry.”

He ran his hand through his hair with his good hand and forced himself to take a seat in the waiting room. Linda asked one of the nurses at the front desk for some water for herself and for Barry, which he refused, and then sat down beside him. She set the little paper cup of water on the small table between the chairs for when he was ready.

Barry couldn’t get a grip. He felt like an idiot. This whole time in this timeline he’d just been trying to cope, adjust, win Iris back somehow. He’d felt stuck. Never did it occur to him to make regaining his speed a priority. He’d been 100% focused on getting his relationship with Iris back on track. When he started to lose his speed, he figured that was at least something he could work towards. But now that he was injured and Iris was gone, Joe in critical condition…

He hated that he hadn’t just done that first, hadn’t tracked down Wells and Cisco and Caitlin to devise a plan, to convince them somehow to help him. Yet, thinking on it now, on how much of a one-track mind he had when it came to Iris, he couldn’t imagine him doing things any other way if he had the opportunity to try again.

Linda shifted beside him, and it was enough to pull him from his thoughts.

“How are you doing?” he forced himself to ask, her well-being the furthest thing from his mind, but he knew it was important.

She forced a smile and held up her hand.

“Not shaking anymore, so that’s good. I think it helped to get out of my apartment. Though…I don’t know where I’ll stay until the investigation is resolved.” She frowned.

“You’ll stay with me,” he said instantly.

She looked up, surprised.

“Though…I don’t have a guest bedroom,” he admitted.

“I do well on couches,” she informed him, resting her hand on his constantly moving arm to still him. “I’m short.”

He forced a smile from that, then licked his lips. He had to tell somebody about the timeline he was from, and he knew she was the only one left he could tell. He didn’t know if she’d believe him – who would? But it was worth a shot.

“Thanks, Barry. I don’t know what I’d do withou-”

“Do you believe in past lives?” he interrupted her.

She blinked.

“Uh…random topic.” He waited. “You mean, like…reincarnation?”

His lips twisted.

“No, not exactly… Like, say, you’re living your life and everything’s normal. Then you go to bed and when you wake up everything is different. It’s like a living nightmare that you can’t wake up from. Like a…new timeline on your life.” He frowned and looked up at her crestfallen face. “Does that make sense?”

“Barry.” She reached for his hand. “I know things seem really bad right now, and they are, but that doesn’t mean we won’t get through this. It doesn’t mean this isn’t your life.”

He looked away and sighed. He’d known it would be hard getting through to her. In the aftermath of something traumatic like a gunshot, maybe it was normal to imagine that this wasn’t the life you thought you were living. He didn’t want her committing him to a mental hospital though, so he chose his words carefully.

“Do you have any money left?”

She frowned.

“Some. Why?”

“There’s somewhere I need to be.”

She rose to her feet as he did, blocking his path to the exit.

“What about…Mr. West? Don’t you want to be here when he wakes up?”

He swallowed. He did, but suddenly he’d realized that if he was going to fix what a mess this had all turned out to be, he was going to have to do it alone.

“Can you stay here?” he asked gently.

She blanched. “Me?”

He nodded.

“Why me? He doesn’t even know me. He met me like a minute before he got shot!”

“I…I know.” He tried to soothe her by squeezing one shoulder. “But there’s somewhere I’ve got to be, and it’ll help Joe in the long run. And Iris and…hell, even Eddie.” His lips twisted. “Maybe.”

“Talk to me, Barry. What are you up to?”

He shook his head.

“I need to do this by myself.”

“In your condition? Your pain meds are going to wear off any second now. Then what are you going to do?”

He shrugged helplessly.

“No, no, I am coming with you on whatever crazy adventure you’ve cooked up in your head. I’m coming with you, and that’s final.”

“Linda-”

“Barry-”

The staredown didn’t last long.

“I need to go to STAR Labs,” he finally said.

“The laboratory? Why? Do you know someone there?”

He sighed. “I…used to.”

“What do you mean you u-” She held up a hand to stop both of them from that line of thought. “You know what, nevermind, if that’s where you need to go, then that’s where we’ll go.”

“I really don’t think you should come, Linda,” he tried again, but she was having none of it.

“Well, that’s just too bad, Barry Allen, because I promised you I would take care of you until you were all healed up, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing.”

He pursed his lips, then said, “Okay…”

“Okay, then, let’s go. I’ll call the cab when we get outside. It’s getting crowded in here anyway.”

And then she was out the door, not even waiting for him, but getting on her phone as soon as she was outside, just like she’d said she would.

Barry went to the front desk again and left both of their numbers with the nurse, asking that one or both of them be contacted once Joe was settled in his hospital room or set for release. One of the nurses was a bit of a stickler about how they were bound to be too busy by whatever point that was, but a young nurse cut in and assured him she would make a point of reaching out.

Barry decided to take that with a grain of salt and forced a smile of gratitude before turning around to an impatient Linda, who was waiting by a cab outside.

“STAR Labs,” she told the cab driver once they were inside. “And make it quick!” she said when the guy raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered under his breath, then took off out onto the street.

Barry didn’t say a word, just sat with his head against the window the whole way there. He kept his hands to himself incase Linda would try to comfort him again. He couldn’t afford that right now. He needed a plan, and he knew there was only one person he could get it from.

Dr. Harrison Wells.

…

The laboratory building loomed large when they arrived. It was bigger than Barry remembered, and bustling when they got inside. The crowd seemed to be a mix of visitors and employees, and it dawned on him then that maybe the STAR Labs Museum was operational at this point. But if that was the case, why did the cab driver seem so surprised at their location.

“Museum will be closing in five minutes. Please finish what you are doing and find your way to the exit. Have a great rest of your day!”

Caitlin.

That was her voice alright, and it sounded so…chipper. He wondered if Ronnie was still alive in this timeline, and if he was about to wreck her entire life by making him dead again if he changed things.

Barry weaved through the people, abandoning Linda unceremoniously to get to the customer service desk where, in all her glory, stood the chipper Dr. Caitlin Snow guiding people graciously to the exit with her outstretched arm.

“Caitlin?”

She froze and searched the crowd for who had called her name, and so casually at that. Barry strode forward so he was directly in front of the counter she stood behind. She tilted her head in confusion.

“It’s uh, actually Doctor Snow,” she corrected, pointing to her clip-on nametag. “Do we know each other? The museum’s about to close for the day. You can come back tomorrow though!” she said brightly. “10am sharp.” She smiled.

“I’m not here for the museum.”

She frowned. “Oh? Then what are you here for?”

“Caitlin! Caitlin, Caitlin!” A flustered, suited up Cisco Ramon came sliding in, in between them, and then completely blocked Barry’s vision. “We have an emergency in Room 102,” he said under his breath. “If you know what I mean…”

Her eyes widened. “Cisco, what do y-?” Her eyes narrowed and then widened again, according to whatever face Cisco was making. “Oh. Ohh.”

“Yeah, so if you could stop flirting for two seconds, I would-”

She scoffed. “I was not flirting. I was-”

“I don’t want to hear it. You’re just lucky Ronnie’s not hear to see it.”

“See what?!”

But he’d tugged her from behind the counter and was dragging her away.

“Sorry, Mister, museum’s closing for the day. Come back tomorrow. Oh, and she’s engaged!” Cisco called back to an offended Barry. “Find somebody else.”

Barry scoffed, irritated by his best friend from another life and his assumptions. If it was his real timeline, he would never-

“I think they’re closing,” Linda said, finally having found him.

Barry sighed. “Yeah, I got that much.”

“Should we go?” she asked, looking around at everyone leaving.

But Barry was determined.

“No. There’s got to be someone else here who can help.”

“Help with what? Your…other life?” she asked, only half-jokingly, really wanting to be entirely joking, he guessed.

So he ignored that, searching instead for another employee, one he did not have any personal relationship with in another life and could help him somehow.

“Excuse me, sir, it’s time to leave.”

Ugh. Not who he was hoping for.

Hartley Rathaway appeared before the two of them. There was no kindness on his face, no politeness. Just determination to stick to the rules and get anyone resisting out by force if necessary.

Probably just by insulting them though, if Barry had to guess.

“Actually, I was hoping you could help me before I go.”

Resigned to the inevitable, Hartley folded his hands in front of him.

“With what exactly, sir?”

“I’d like to set up a meeting with Dr. Harrison Wells.”

Hartley laughed. Just once. Just to show how incredulous of a request it was to his ears.

“Uh, I’m sorry, Mr.?”

“Allen. Barry Allen.”

“Right, Mr. Allen. Dr. Wells does not do meet and greets with civilians. So, if you were hoping to get his autograph…or something? Just, wait for his next book signing. It should be listed on the website. I’m sure you know what that is.”

Barry’s brows narrowed.

“I’m not some sort of…star-struck fan needing an autograph,” he said, even as he realized the irony of his words, because that was in fact who he was once upon a time.

“No? Well then, you won’t find it hard taking no for an answer then.”

“But-”

He reached for the microphone behind the counter.

“Museum is now closed. Please find the exit.” He paused for emphasis. “Now.”

Barry scoffed, but Hartley had no more time for him. He backed away and went to anyone else he saw in the main lobby, ushering them in a gentle manner towards the exit.

“Unbelievable.”

“Maybe we should go?” Linda urged, and Barry sighed.

She had a point, but had he really come all this way just to…give up?

“We can come back tomorrow. Maybe you’ll have better luck then.”

He hung his head, then nodded.

“Yeah, maybe.”

She looped her arm through his, then tugged him towards the doors they’d come through on entering the building.

“Come on, I told the cab driver to wait.”

Barry suppressed a groan. Had she had that little faith in him? He supposed he couldn’t blame her.

“Do you have-”

“Enough to get us back to the hospital? Yeah.” She rubbed his arm encouragingly. “Mr. West should be waking up soon. You’ll want to be there.”

He nodded and followed her into the cab, looking back at the glass-encased building only once before focusing back on the road, unaware of a pair of steely eyes behind glasses watching him closely as he disappeared from sight of the STAR Labs front window.

#westallen #fanfiction #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #hazy #chapter 11 #fic commissions #for andie1223

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imyourbuddie · 4 years

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Christmas Comes A Knockin'

January 5th, 2019

Dear Eddie,

I know you’ve only just left, but I already miss you. And Christopher misses you. Tonight we made your favourite for dinner and Chris accidentally set out three plates. It was rough, but he felt better after Papa Buck’s special hot chocolate.

You know, I never thought I’d have much use of this notebook you gave me last Christmas, yet here we are.

Anyway, missing you. Stay safe.

Buck

January 30th, 2019

Eddie you jackass,

I don’t know how to send you letters. They told me you’re on some sort of highly classified mission and there’s no communication. Seriously? Some secret military black ops bullshit and you didn’t tell me? If you die on me, Edmundo Diaz, I will kill you. You hear me? I will fucking kill you.

Buck

March 23rd, 2019

Hey Eddie,

Chris got his first ribbon today at the science fair. He’s so proud and we have pictures that we’re saving for when you get back. I know he’s not supposed to get cookies and hot chocolate before bed, but I figure we make an exception for a special night. Hope all’s well.

Missing you.

Buck

April 1st, 2019

Hen and Chim can walk off a cliff, together. They’re too damn old to be playing April Fools tricks on me! I’m going to be eating glitter for days. Days!

Anway, missing you. Loving you.

Buck

April, 16th, 2019

Feliz cumpleaños, mi amo! See, I’m learning! Chris helped me make you a cake. It’s chocolate and we ate a slice on your behalf. Wherever you are, I hope you’re celebrating.

Missing you. Always missing you.

Buck

May 1st, 2019

Chris was called into the principal’s office today. The other little fuck face claims Chris tripped him on purpose with his cane. His bitch of a mother wanted a written apology and one day suspension. I can’t even right now. Why are people such assholes? Chris says he didn’t do it and I believe him. God, I hate people sometimes.

I don’t know how much longer I can do this without you.

Buck

May 13th, 2019

Chris and I went to the pier for his birthday. It’s kinda special and it felt easier being there when it’s just us. We had churros, cake, lemonade, and maybe that was a bit too much sugar, but he’s passed out now. Yay sugar crash.

He says you owe him a birthday present but I got your back. Now you owe me for being so brilliantly considerate. I’ll be collecting when you get home.

Loving you,

Buck

June 28th, 2019

I heard gunshots coming from the cemetery while we were answering a call. I don’t know if it was a military funeral, but...they’d call me if something happened, right? You’re not so off the grid that I’ll be left wondering for the rest of my life? I’m you husband. They can’t not tell me, right?

Eddie, please, I miss you so much.

Buck

July 3rd, 2019

Chris gave me a miniature fire truck for my birthday. He’s the sweetest child a man can ask for. Really. The gang got me a cake and Chim shoved my face in it. That asshole. It’s a good thing I love him.

It’s not the same without you here, though. I hope you’re thinking of me.

Buck

July 16th, 2019

We went to the aquarium today. They played Baby Shark on repeat and now all I can think about is baby shark do do do do do do do and it’s driving me nuts. Chris thinks it’s hilarious. I may or may not have thrown an octopus plushie at him over it.

Anyway, we saw all sorts of crazy stuff, and Chris loved the dolphin show. We’ll have to go again when you get back. The mango slushie at the cafeteria is magnificent.

Missing you always.

Buck

September 15th, 2019

I miss summer vacation. I know, getting child care is always a pain in the ass, but I loved hanging out with Chris. When I’m with him, it’s like being with a small piece of you, and that made things a little easier. Now that he’s back in school, it feels like you leaving all over again.

It gets pretty lonely at night sometimes. Stay safe and come back to me. To us.

Loving you.

Buck

November 11th, 2019

We’re thinking of you. All of us.

Love,

Buck

November 28th, 2019

I made us Thanksgiving dinner at the station. Chris had a blast and the guys loved having him there. We’re both so stuffed right now we’ve not left the couch even though bedtime was half an hour ago. Chris wanted to say hi, he says I can write for him while he talks, so here goes.

Hi Daddy,

Papa gave me the biggest slice of pumpkin pie tonight, and it was so huge I almost didn’t finish it. But I did. Denny and I got to ride in the fire truck and it’s so cool you get to ride it every day at work. Papa says it’s time for bed now, I love you Daddy, and I miss you.

Christopher and Buck

December 5th, 2019

Why are Hallmark’s movies out already? I’m not ready. We don’t have enough tissues at the house. I need to buy more tomorrow because I used up the last box watching The Knight Before Christmas.

Wherever you are, have a pumpkin spice latte for me.

Buck

December 5th, 2019

Eddie I couldn’t sleep, so I stared at the ceiling talking to myself, pretending you’re here next to me. Remember when you first kissed me? I thought I was drowning and you kissed me. I know it wasn’t a real kiss, you were trying to keep me alive, but our lips touched, and it brought me back, you know? You brought me back when I thought I was dying. When I was ready to give up.

You’re not here to kiss me now, but I’m not giving up. I’m going to wait until you get home to me, to Chris, and I’m going to kiss the shit out of you.

Always loving you.

Buck

December 16th, 2019

Chris had his Christmas concert at school today. The whole unit came to watch. Mama Grant had a camera so we can record it for you. She’s really good with that thing too, even ran to the front of the stage so she could get some closeups. Chris was fantastic. Voice of an angel, I swear. We all went for ice cream after, and no, Edmundo, it’s never too cold for ice cream.

We put up the tree last weekend, and Chris came home with these cookie ornaments they made at school. There’s one for you, too, with your name on it, so come get it, big boy.

Cap says we’re going to have our Christmas party on the 23rd so people can go home and celebrate with their families for actual Christmas. Carla offered to watch Chris, but I’m considering taking him with me. It’s a family friendly party, so maybe Denny will be there too.

Anyway, this is getting long. Loving you,

Buck

December 23th, 2019

Gonna take Chris to the party with me. He’s pumped. Who knew being a parent could feel like this?

I’m always so grateful that you let me into your little family. You gave me Chris, and he’s the best present a guy could ask for. For every Christmas for the rest of my life.

Loving you.

Buck

===

Buck closes his notebook and tucks the pen into the elastic loop attached to the cover. His finger twitches, and he wants to open the book and write our every little thing going through his head right now. Every emotion. But he can’t. It’s too damn painful. And Eddie’s not here.

“Papa?” Chris calls from the bathroom. “Can you help me?”

Buck scrubs a hand down his face and clears his throat, willing the prickle of tears to go away. “Yeah, bud, be right there.”

When he pops his head into the bathroom, Chris is struggling with his bowtie. Buck wanted to get him a pre-tied one, but Chris insisted on the real deal. There’s a little card that came with the tie with diagrams on how to make the bow. Buck studies it, tries and fails a couple times, but eventually he gets a semi decent looking bow that sits snug under the collar of Chris’ shirt.

“There you go,” he says, patting down the lapels of Chris’ suit jacket.

“Thanks, Papa.”

Buck’s chest swells, like it does every time Chris calls him Papa. It started as Papa Buck, but somewhere between Buck moving in and his and Eddie’s wedding, he became just Papa. It was a little strange at first, but it didn’t take long before Buck forgets that Chris isn’t his biological son. He loves Chris the same way he loves Maddie and his parents, but even more so because he never knew he could be so fiercely protective of a single human being.

Some days, Buck muses he loves Chris more than he loves Eddie, and that’s saying something.

Buck stares into the mirror, his eyes meeting Chris’, and they both smile. “Ready?” Buck asks as he straightens his tie.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” Chris leads the way, and Buck follows him out of the bathroom, through the living room, and out the front door. December in LA is mild at best, but Buck shivers as he helps Chris into the car. He looks behind him, then around, but there’s no one there.

“Hm.”

“What’s wrong?” Chris asks.

Buck looks over his shoulder once more, then shakes his head. “Nothing, little man, let’s go.”

The drive to the station is uneventful, but Buck can’t shake that weird feeling swirling in the pit of his stomach. They pull into the parking lot just as Hen, Karen, and Denny pile out of their car, and Buck’s glad he decided to bring Chris afterall.

Bobby’s whole family is here too, along with Michael, and as the spiked eggnog got passed around more than once, that uneasy feeling dissipates into something warm and fuzzy. Buck’s a little buzzed, but only enough to take the edge off.

Chris, Denny, and Harry are off playing somewhere. Buck finds a spot with line of sight to the children and takes a seat, cradling his overstuffed stomach. He doesn’t know why he does this, but he just can’t stop himself from overeating when it’s a holiday. It’s a good thing he’s surrounded by LA’s finest paramedics incase he keels over from too much turkey.

The upstairs lounge is buzzing with people. Firefighters and their families, and Buck tries not to let Eddie’s absence dampen his Christmas spirit. The rest of his family is right here, and he loves and cherishes them, and having Chris here makes up for the fact that Eddie isn’t.

And that’s enough. It has to be.

Buck contemplates a third eggnog, but decides against it. They still need to get home after, and Buck will be damned if he puts Chris’ life in danger just because he’s feeling a little maudlin and a lot lonely. He heaves out of the chair and heads for the trays of cookies and pastries laid out on a long table. If he can’t drink his sorrows away, he’ll just eat his feelings tonight instead.

Somewhere behind him, Chris gasps. Buck’s heart drops through the floor and he spins to find Chris making a mad dash for the stairs. He acts before he’s had time to process, and he’s running up behind Chris, who’s half way down the first flight of stairs, before he sees what Chris is running towards.

Or who.

Down in the engine bay is a lone figure dressed in army fatigues with the brightest hazel eyes Buck’s ever known. His heart jumps into his throat, and the hubbub of the party fades as his eyes meet Eddie’s for the first time in what feels like a lifetime.

They stand there, frozen, staring at each other, and a million things pass in that wide chasm between them. A whole year’s worth of fear and sadness and loneliness. Of love and longing and hope. Buck gets a little lightheaded, and that’s when he realizes he’s been holding his breath. He huffs, and with that single breath, every doubt he’s had this year flows out of him.

Eddie’s lips twitch into a rueful smile, that smile splitting impossibly wide when he sees Chris coming around the corner and down the second flight of stairs.

“Daddy!” Chris’ jubilant shout breaks the freezing spell Eddie and Buck are under, and they move in sync.

“Christopher, mijo. I’ve missed you so so much.” Eddie’s muffled voice drifts up as he clutches Chris to his chest.

When Buck finally, finally makes his way down the steps, he stops just short.

He’s dreamt of this moment, played it in his head over and over and over, imagined every possible way it could play out, but everything he imagined pales in comparison. Buck’s chest aches in that bittersweet, delicious way he never knew he could feel, and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from crying.

Don’t fucking cry. Don’t ruin the moment. Just don’t, Buck.

Eddie looks up over Chris’ head, and his red-rimmed eyes glisten with unshed tears. And that fucking does it. Buck’s eyes burn, and his nose stuffs up even more as he heaves for breath. His vision blurs, and everything turns into a watery mosaic. Eddie reaches for him, Chris still tucked against his chest, and Buck steps into the embrace like his life depends on it.

When Buck’s arms wrap around Eddie’s actual, solid form, every dam he put up breaks, and the first of many sobs heaves out of him. Chris turns around, wrapping his arms around Buck’s neck, and then Eddie’s lips are on his skin. Warm, dry, and a little chapped.

They’re on the floor, and Chris is in Buck’s lap, and Eddie’s hands are cupping Buck’s cheeks and Buck can’t fucking breathe. Can’t fucking see because his eyes are leaking like broken faucets. But he doesn’t need to see to know Eddie’s here, in his arms, and his presence is answer enough to all of Buck’s unanswered letters.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie rasps, his lips hovering on the corner of Buck’s mouth.

Buck wants to say something, anything, but all that comes out is another sob. Eddie chuckles, then his lips press against Buck’s in a soft, chaste kiss. “Evan, Ev, I’m here. It’s okay.”

“Papa missed you,” Chris pipes up between them.

Eddie’s eyes mist, and his arms slip around Buck’s shoulders. “I missed Papa too. Missed you both so, so much.”

“Are you coming home, Daddy?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and his bright eyes lock on Buck’s with a conviction. “I’m coming home. For good.”

#buddie #buck x eddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie christmas advent #coming home #discord buddie advent #imyourbuddie writes #my writing #merry christmas

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lamalefix · 3 years

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Hey the anon who asked for angst here! I want what you did wirh Eddie in your story with Buck now. Like stopping functioning and things like that... But i'm a sucker for happy endings! Maybe even bittersweet and uncertain. So to answer you, yes yes yes. I know what I'm asking fpr. I want you to hurt my feelings. do your worst!! and thank you!!

Hey there angsty anon! (now that's your name)

You asked for this, so... here we go, this is going to be a multichapter thing, but somehow i was inspired? So please read it carefully.

thank you for your words, I hope you find this of your taste

Relationship: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Characters: Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV),Evan "Buck" Buckley Tags: Medical Procedures, Blood, Major Character InjuryDeveloping Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Episode: s04e13 Suspicion

Can’t have you disappear [1/3] (also on ao3)

When deployed, soldiers need to complete a range of physically demanding tasks. And they train for those tasks. It occurs that you have to move under fire, carry equipment, transfer ammunition and… well, the worst of all evacuate casualties. A casualty drag is excruciatingly challenging and involves dragging a fellow soldier from a hazardous environment to a safe location as quick as possible.

That’s what comes to Buck’s mind after a few seconds. He’s on the ground. Asphalt tastes weird in his mouth, copper-like, strong and salty.

He blinks and takes in, drinks in, the body, the pair of eyes that look lost, not so far away.

There’s the voice of someone barking orders in the radio, the same person that’s holding him down. And when Buck blinks again, he clearly sees that person, that body, not so far away.

Eddie. That’s Eddie. That’s Eddie in the middle of the road, a pool of blood under his face. Hand outstretching slightly, fingers trembling. Eyes fixed on something. On him maybe? Or maybe lost.

Asphalt doesn’t have that weird, coppery and salty taste. But… blood has.

He needs to do something.

Do something.

He blinks again ad remembers his preparation as a Navy SEALS before the other one as a firefighter. Close down, bottle up, no emotion. Nothing.

He needs to move. Do something.

When he first started casualty drags simulation during training, he dragged dummies all covered in gears that could even weigh 132 kg total, crawling as fast as he could.

And at some point, he moves.

He doesn’t even notice when he does, with an impossible ache, urgency, he just moves. It’s like muscle memory, it’s like some other part of him kicks in and takes his place. It’s like the gear rolls backwards and clicks in that very spot, the right one and he reacts as he knew, as he was before. A Evan Buckley that was so long forgotten in his new almost-happy life over here. The Evan Buckley who at some point decided that being a Navy Seal was a good idea, that maybe was even good at suppressing emotions and being like a robot.

It’s fun that at some point you need to do what you resent the most, uh?

But, well.

He needs to do something.

That’s how he grovels and takes Eddie, dragging him while crawling back between the ambulance and the firetruck. Muscle memory, soldier training, casualty evacuation.

Fast.

He needs to be fast. Faster maybe. The fastest he can.

That captain, whose name he doesn’t remember, barks something and he growls a guttural, raw sounds that escapes his throat and sounds like an echo from another distant memory. But that gear runs backwards again, and clicks back in.

He needs to do something.

Do something.

And so, he focuses on the wound.

Not on the blood that soaks Eddie’s uniform and spatters on his own white shirt, that wedges in the bed of his fingernails, that moistens his palms.

He needs to focus on the wound.

He tears Eddie’s uniform shirt, and assesses the breathing, uneven, labored, almost strangled, there’s a sound like a hiss.

Sucking chest wounds happen when an injury causes a hole to open in the chest, usually are caused by stabbing, gunshots or other injuries that penetrate the chest.

It’s about the size of a coin, the blood looks like boiling, at every hissing breath, as it’s being sucked back in the chest at every inhale and sputtered out at every exhale. And the blood doesn’t even look like blood anymore, around the wound, it’s more like foam, bright red, maybe pinkish.

When he moved, when he dragged Eddie in a safer place, between the truck and the ambulance, Eddie made a weird sound, like a protest, that ended up with coughing blood.

But he needs to move, he needs to move, he needs to do something.

And it’s became a silent mantra.

No emotion, get your shit together.

He would stop, a part of him would stop and talk, because he talks a lot, a whole lot, and that’s maybe what he does best, but now there’s Eddie bleeding out, so he has to focus and do something.

So he repeats the drill. Sucking chest wounds care. He knows how it works. He just needs to act.

Sterilize your hands. No time for soap and water, but he has a sanitizer gel in his pocket (thanks covid-19?), he doesn’t have time to put on gloves, he couldn’t even find ‘em if he wanted now. He has to focus.

Maybe he mutters something, a silent prayer, Eddie is someone who prays so he should do that for him, or maybe he just says sorry, sorry, sorry when he points his hand hard over the wound. You’d usually ask someone else to keep a hand over the wound while preparing a dressing, maybe even the patient, but Eddie lies there, still, not even moving his chest to breath, eyes open.

That’s when Buck moves his hand to cup his cheek. That’s when he finds his voice back.

“Eddie? Eddie, stay with me? Please, please, please. Stay with me” it’s all he manages to say. “We need to get you back home to Chris, y’know?”.

And that’s when Eddie coughs again, and blinks, and his eyes roll back for a moment, a weird staggering sound that comes from his mouth.

“Hey, hey, no. Okay, no weird sounds. Just stay awake for me” he murmurs, and moves to get something from Eddie’s medic bag. Because God, he has that bag with him! There should be a fucking Halo Chest Seal, there better be one.

But he needs to focus, he needs to.

The best way to do this is to spill the contents of the bag on the ground, maybe not the right choice, but the only one if you are working with only a hand, while the other is still applying pressure on the wound.

The gear rolls back in place. And he repeats the drill from where he left off.

Find a chest seal or a sterile, medical tape or plastic to seal up the wound.

“Eddie breathe, please. Breathe out” he asks, and Eddie, ever the good soldier, breathes out, a broken, painful breath.

Someone is barking orders around them, but Buck has to move. Buck has to do something.

Do something. Faster. Faster. The fastest you can. Even faster than that.

That’s his mantra. He doesn’t have that much time. Eddie doesn’t have that much time.

The Halo Chest Seal is one of the very first chest seals made commercially. It’s no-frills, and works very simply. It’s essentially a sterile piece of plastic with an adhesive backing.

He cleans the wound, wiping off the blood with a gauze he found in the bag before spilling its content on the ground, so that the adhesive can stick and he murmurs something that sounds to his hears like a prayer, but then again is maybe something he is asking Eddie. Stay awake. Stay with me.

When he applies the right pressure Eddie groans softly.

Then he needs to move him on one side, he needs to be fast. Faster. Because Eddie lost a lot of blood, and even if he just coughed up blood only once, once too many.

He tears the remnants of the shirt off, and uses another gauze to wipe again the blood and the dirt, from the entry hole on his back, and this time Eddie groans louder.

And maybe in his head he plays a weird conversation with him, maybe a reassuring one. I know it hurts. But you are safe now. We are going to save you.

The captain of 133, Matha? Metha? Whatever barks something again and that makes the other gear, the one on which he usually moves slip in the place and take over.

But Eddie does a thing, a odd sound with his mouth. Shortness of breath, eyes lost and glassy. The seal is trapping air that’s escaping from the lungs. No. Not the right time to develop a pneumothorax. Not while there’s a fucking shooter on a roof. Not while their aid isn’t here yet.

A needle, he needs a needle. A fourteen, or maybe a sixteen gauge needle, an eight centimeter needle is more successful than a five centimeter one, but increase a risk of injury to underlying structures. He maneuvers him back supine, and when Eddie does that sound again, Buck just moves faster.

Do something.

Faster.

The preferred insertion site is the second intercostal space, in the mid-clavicular line, not even a inch above his wound, so he will have to insert the needle anywhere in that same hemithorax to decompress the developing pneumothorax. He just uses his antiseptic gel to prepare the area. And he should really find lidocaine to provide anesthesia, but there’s no time, Eddie has no time. And even if it will hurt like hell, periosteum and parietal pleura are highly pain-sensitive, he can’t waste time.

He pierces the skin over the rib below the target interspace, a couple of inches below his wound, and then directs the needle cephalad over the rib until the pleura does that little pop, that’s hard to hear when your heart beats like Buck’s now, but there’s the sudden decrease in resistance.

It’s when Eddie breathes better and doesn’t do that ominous, strangled sound again, that he inserts the chest tube. And while he does that, there’s the whistle of the ambulance siren that fills the air.

He shouldn’t hop on the ambulance, but that’s what he does, when the paramedics start to move Eddie. They are all under held targets, but they need to move, and bring Eddie to the nearest hospital.

His legs tremble when he sits near Eddie, his hand in his, his fingers trembling.

He outstretched his hand as if to come to Buck, to comfort him somehow, as he always does, with his touchy-feely show of affection. But what communicates the most, of Eddie, are his eyes. Expressive, soft, caring. Every single thing Eddie tells, comes before in his eyes, and seeing that the only thing he could do at that point was to look, glance at Buck maybe, it was his own personal way to comfort him.

And out of muscle memory, now, Buck 4.0 kicks in, and just lowers his gaze. Emotions showering over him, intense like a hurricane, but he can't, he can't break. No emotion, not now. Maybe it's time for Buck 5.0. The only thing he can do is focus on that hand, clammy and still, fingers cold and his. And he sturts humming voiceless prayers, an invocation to whoever is God and Holy to not take Eddie away.

Not from him, not for himself. He wouldn’t ask anything like that, not of Eddie, because he is very serious with Ana, but for Chris.

That’s how prayers work, right?

Something that’s not for you, asking for something that’s for someone else. And what’s more important than a child’s sake?

They saved a kid today, they earned this. Right?

#lamalefixwrites #s04x13 coda #911 spoilers #evan buck buckely #eddie diaz #major character injury #blood #graphic depiction of medical procedures #angst with a happy ending #angsty anon's tag #askbox always open

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