#but i think it’s actually. fucking. eye-rolling tics. that are making me dizzy because they’re visually disorienting.

[ghostzzy]

tics??? we’re having tics now??

[extasiswings]

Hopping on this train of writing to cope with promo image-induced feelings.  No thoughts, just vibes.  Also on ao3. 

The air inside the warehouse is thick with smoke and blisteringly hot.  A snapping sound splits through the crackle of flame and Eddie is abruptly yanked off balance as Buck grabs his arm and pulls hard just as a beam from above comes crashing down. It doesn’t miss him completely—catches the side of his helmet and knocks it off, making his ears ring with the impact. 

He sees Buck’s mouth moving and shakes his head. 

“What?” 

“Are you okay?” Buck repeats, nearly shouting to be heard over the din of the fire. 

A light fixture groans above them before dropping down as well and it’s Eddie’s turn to push Buck out of the way, even if it means a bit of flying glass catches him in the face. 

“We need to get out of here,” he shouts, and it quickly turns into a coughing fit as he chokes on smoke, his throat and lungs burning. 

Buck nods. “Go! I’m right behind!”

Eddie turns and manages to work out a path to the closest exit with a single-minded focus. His head is aching and he’s dizzy, can feel blood dripping down his cheek as well, and when he stumbles out into somewhat fresher air he nearly collapses into Bobby before he’s passed off to the paramedics. 

Hen had been one of the first ones in and out and has since stripped off her turnout coat and is helping the other medics. Eddie doesn’t argue when she checks his throat and pupil responses before pressing an oxygen mask into his hand. 

“Where’s Buck?” Hen asks as she swipes an alcohol pad over the cut on his cheek and secures it with two butterfly strips. 

Eddie lowers the mask and coughs. “He was right—“

Behind me. 

The words fade on his tongue as he scans the area only to come up empty. And then his eyes light on the door he’d come out of, nothing clear beyond the frame but black smoke and the red and orange glare of flickering flames. 

His world tips on its axis.  His vision swims.   And the feeling—

It reminds him a little of the tsunami, when he’d noticed Christopher’s glasses around Buck’s neck and had felt himself fracturing at such a rapid pace that even now he’s sure he wouldn’t have remained standing if he hadn’t caught sight of his son over Buck’s shoulder. He can feel the same sort of cracks spidering up the foundation of his walls—the ones that he throws up when he needs to be Eddie Diaz, firefighter, medic, soldier, competent professional, any version of himself that has to play at having his life together—and he scrambles internally to shut down the panic, to plaster over the cracks before they can spread too far, because if he lets himself think—

“I need to talk to Bobby,” he says, trying to push himself up to standing. Hen shoves him back down with hands firmly on his shoulders. 

“You need to sit and keep breathing into that mask,” she says, her voice sharp with authority before it gentles. “I’ll get him, but only if you stay here.”

Eddie’s jaw tics, but he lifts the mask back up to his face and takes a few pointed breaths while she watches. Finally, she nods. 

“I’ll be right back,” she promises. 

There’s an itch between his shoulder blades that desperately wants an outlet. Something to do, something to control so he doesn’t feel so much like he’s on the edge of a cliff. So that he can work on a solution instead of his mind unhelpfully focusing on Buck’s still in there.  He’s not an idiot, he knows he’s in no shape to go back in himself, but he needs something. 

“We were in the southwest quadrant,” Eddie reports when Hen returns with Bobby, keeping his words short and clipped.  “It wasn’t overrun but there were a lot of things falling from the upper levels. He said he was coming right after me, but he could have gotten stuck.”

This is easier. Staying mechanical. Sticking to facts. There’s no room for getting overly emotional, no allowance for breaking down.  He has a commanding officer in front of him who needs information, and that is something Eddie can handle. 

“We tried him on the radio but there was no answer,” Bobby says. 

“He may have dropped it.”  When he pulled me to safety. Eddie shuts that thought down. 

“There are windows on that side,” he adds. “If the exits are blocked—“

“We’ll look at all possible options,” Bobby replies.  His face is drawn and tired, face streaked with sweat and soot. 

For some reason it’s the flicker of doubt Eddie catches in his eyes that makes him say—

“He wasn’t being reckless. I know—we all know he can be sometimes, but he wasn’t. If he’s not out, it’s because he needs help, not because he’s trying to be a hero.”

Bobby looks at Eddie for a moment, something passing across his eyes like recognition before it fades and he’s left looking more tired than before. 

“We’ll look at all the options,” he repeats finally. He doesn’t make promises. Eddie’s not sure whether or not he appreciates that. 

It takes another several minutes for anything to happen, and Eddie’s shoulders get tighter, his mood blacker. His head aches and he snaps at another paramedic, some clearly new young kid, when he notices him dressing a burn improperly. 

It doesn’t make him feel better. 

Finally though, finally, after a heart-stopping moment when the warehouse windows blow out on the side where they’d last been, Eddie hears shouts. And a figure comes stumbling around from the back of the building, knees giving out just in time for someone to catch him. 

“What happened to I’m right behind?” Eddie asks roughly when Buck is helped over, looking worse for wear but alive. 

Buck coughs and closes his eyes. “Part of the catwalk came down,” he says. “Blocked me in. Couldn’t see you. Couldn’t see anything hardly through all the...everything.”

“I didn’t know.”

Buck shakes his head and dutifully brings his own oxygen mask to his face when one is pressed into his hand. 

“Wouldn’t have wanted you to stay even if you had,” he replies. “At least I had all my gear.” 

Eddie wants to keep talking, keep asking questions, keep reminding himself that Buck is sitting next to him and going to be fine, but that irrational impulse wars with the rational thought that Buck needs oxygen not an interrogation. So he drops it.  And they both withdraw into their own heads. 

Eddie watches though. As Buck flickers between present and vacant, numb. The haunted, hunted look that passes over his face every so often a clear indication that whatever ghosts are whispering in his mind, they’re saying nothing good. When the shift ends and they’re cleaned up, Buck still looks half-dead, so Eddie snatches his keys. 

“I’m taking you home,” he says, tone booking no argument. “I don’t want you driving like this.”

Buck sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay.”

The drive is silent, but there’s a tension in the air, the weight of things unspoken. Eddie’s not entirely sure what exactly would roll off his own tongue if he opened his mouth, his head a mess, but when he parks his truck in front of Buck’s apartment, Buck finally speaks. 

“You know what I was thinking while I stuck in that building? Besides that I was going to die.”  He swallows hard. “That if it had to be someone it was good it was me.”

Eddie’s heart stops, his stomach rebelling violently at sheer wrongness of the thought. 

“That’s not true.”

Buck nods and lets out a small, bitter laugh. 

“See, I do know that actually,” he admits. “It’s one of the things I’ve been working on in therapy. Except then my parents rolled into town and it was like none of that work mattered, I was right back to square one assuming I’m not wanted, that no one would miss me—and I hate, I hate that they have that kind of power, that they can make me feel so fucking worthless.”

“You’re not though.” Eddie reaches over before he can stop himself, his hand curling around the side of Buck’s neck, thumb settling over his pulse to feel that steady thrum of alive alive alive. “God, when I thought—you’re worth everything. You have to know—“

You have to know how much you mean to me. You have to know how much I love you. You have to know I can’t lose you.

You have to know. 

Buck makes a small sound of disbelief, his gaze turning searching as Eddie bites his tongue to keep from saying too much he can’t take back. He feels somehow even more precariously positioned on the edge of a cliff than he had in the field, but that cliff was positioned above an ocean of grief. He doesn’t know what’s at the bottom of this one should he fall. 

Somehow that’s almost more terrifying. 

Eddie sways forward unconsciously and Buck presses his forehead to his. Neither of them are breathing steadily. And they stay like that for a long moment until Buck shivers and pulls back. 

“I want to kiss you,” he says quietly, and Eddie can’t quite help the frisson of want that sparks through him, the whisper of yes, please, do it then that threads through his mind. 

“But,” Buck continues, his tongue sweeping out to wet his lips as Eddie watches. “But it’s been a long and really fucking difficult day and I’m not—I don’t want to fuck this up before it even starts. If—if there’s anything to start at all, I don’t want to assume—“

“There is,” Eddie assures. I love you. I’m in love with you. 

That gets him the faintest smile as Buck reaches up to squeeze his hand. 

“Thanks for the ride home.”

“Of course. Anytime.”  

When Eddie gets home, he pauses long enough to check on Christopher before falling into bed. And only then does he think back over the day and finally, finally let himself shatter. 

[elowenp]

Miles can’t stop looking at the sword.

Gavin, the guy who owns the antiques store where Miles works, said that he got it at some car boot sale. When Miles had asked if Gavin got any contact information for the previous owner he had just shrugged and said no because it was ‘probably a fake’.

The sword is not a fake.

Miles isn’t quite sure how he knows that, nothing about the sword or Miles’s slightly vague knowledge of antiquities should inform him of the fact, but he’s certain it’s true. The sword is real and powerful and important. He just can’t figure out why yet.

It’s in a glass case in the centre of the shop although you can barely tell that the glass is there from the number of times Miles has polished it. All in an attempt to see the sword a little more clearly. The metal is shining silver steel, while the handle is well worn and a brassy colour. Twisting patterns cover the cross guard and worm their way up the base of the blade, eventually narrowing into a single line that reaches all the way to the tip of the blade. Whenever Miles focuses too hard on those patterns they seem to move and shift and it makes him dizzy enough that he has to look away.

A part of him worries that if he didn’t look away the patterns really would begin to move.

He’s sat at the till and the shop is empty so he turns his gaze towards the books he keeps behind the counter. He shouldn’t really keep them there, they belong to the shop and should be kept visible where someone might buy them. The problem with that is the fact that Miles knows no one would buy them. He knows it the same way he knows the sword is important and the patterns on it would start to shift if he dared look to long and his older sister is the most important person in the entire world. Miles knows that no one would buy the books if he left them out in the shop because they’re meant for him.

He picks up one of the books. It’s a deceptively thin volume with writing so dense he sometimes has to use a magnifying glass to read it. The pages are wafer thin but surprisingly strong, enough so that when Miles tried to tear one once, just to see if he could, he hadn’t even managed to leave a mark. The content of the book is an eclectic mix of folklore, the occult and religion. The different areas should clash horribly but somehow this book, just like all the others Miles has stashed away, presents it all in such a cohesive manner that it’s hard to remember why the different subjects shouldn’t fit together right.

Just as he’s getting into it the loud rumble of a motorbike engine pulls up outside the shop and he’s broken from his stupor. He looks out the window to see Ariana, his sister, get off her bike and take off her helmet to release a swishing curtain of golden hair.

She walks with an aura of complete confidence that Miles has always admired. The bell over the door dings as she comes in and she grins as she pushes her hair out of her eyes. The movement reveals a multitude of glinting, silver piercings in her ear that for some reason shimmer with the same aura as the sword.

Ariana approaches his desk and Miles shakes himself from his thoughts.

“Your engine’s way too loud.”

Ariana shrugs. “It’s exactly as loud as it should be, you’re just jealous.”

“It makes you sound like you have a small dick.” Miles replies, going back to his book as Ariana lovingly flips him off.

She leans back from his desk and scans across the shop like she does with every room she enters. Miles has never quite figured out why she does that but he supposes it’s just a tic of hers. As soon as Ariana’s eyes alight on the sword she begins to walk towards it, her movements somewhat trance like.

“What’s up with this?” she asks.

Miles looks up at her, not quite sure how to answer. “What do you mean?”

Ariana turns to look at him, squinting. “Don’t you get a weird vibe off it?”

“Huh.” Miles puts his book down and sits up a little straighter. “Yeah, I do. Thought it was just me.”

Ariana just nods. “Can I hold it?”

Miles is meant to say no. The shop is still open. Gavin is just in the back room and could come through to see him fucking about at any moment.

“Sure.” he shrugs.

Ariana grins the way she usually does when Miles does something she approves of. She tends to think he lives his life a little too safe so these moments are few and far between but Miles appreciates them whenever they arrive. Miles gets up from behind the counter, grabbing the key to the cabinet from the hook it’s kept on. As he unlocks the door he realises that he’s leaving smudge marks on the glass and feels a moment of annoyance that they’re going to make it a little harder to keep his eyes fixed on the patterns of the sword later. He takes the sword and hands it very carefully to Ariana. The edges are wicked sharp, a fact he knows from experience.

She grasps the handle and for a moment Miles thinks that the patterns are about to shift. That they’re about to twist and shift and creep up Ariana’s hand the same way they appear to creep up the flat of the blade. There’s a second where Miles thinks his sister’s body is about to become shot through with the silver glint of metal and instead of feeling worried he’s entirely ready to watch the process in fascination.

That’s not what happens. Nothinghappens.

Ariana lets the tip of the sword droop, a mirror of her disappointment. “I thought that something-” She waves her hands in the air, lacking the words to explain what unnatural event she was actually hoping for.

Miles nods. He gets what she means. “Not this time I guess.” Then, despite not having thought of the words before they’re out of his mouth. “It will though, when it has to.”

Ariana looks at him in confusion and Miles imagines that the expression must match his own fairly well. Instead of questioning him though she just looks back to the sword, eyes tracing the patterns that flow over it. “Okay,” she says, and puts the antique gently back in its case.

She sticks around to chat a little after that but heads off when it becomes apparent that the both of them are too distracted to make good conversationalists. Miles notices that as Ariana’s motorbike peels off she keeps the sound of the engine a little quieter than when she came in and he feels a moment of pride over her heading his advice.

~

Weeks pass.

Ariana keeps visiting Miles at work. Keeps staring at the sword, staying still for longer than he thought she had the patience for, while Miles keeps reading his books full of strangeness and tradition and magic.

On one visit she brings her girlfriend, Grace with her. Miles likes Grace. She’s been around since before Ariana even thought of forming her definitely-not-a-biker-gang. When Ariana introduced the two of them Miles may have gained a small crush on Grace but that quickly faded in the face of how an alliance between the two of them could be used to torment his sister.

“Have you come to see the sword?” Miles asks once the two motorbikes are parked outside and Ariana and Grace are coming through the door. He has an open history textbook in front of him instead of one of his more arcane times this time. It feels like a waste of time to be studying something for his a-levels instead of something he enjoys but needs must and all that.

Grace grins at him, brown skin crinkling mischievously as she raises her hands to do finger quotes. “You have to see the weird sword Grace, it’s weird and I want to have it and I would look so badass killing a dragon with it.”

Miles snickers while Ariana pulls a face of mock betrayal. “Killing dragons? Bit ambitious. Maybe you could kill a lizard or something. A small one.”

Ariana sticks her tongue out like the mature twenty year old she is and walks towards the sword. Miles throws her the keys since she’s come over for this enough times that he’s stopped being nervous about being spotted by Gavin who’s never around anyway.

Ariana unlocks the door and holds the sword carefully in her hands for a moment before passing it to Grace who takes it gamely.

“Huh,” Grace says once it’s in her hands, eyes fixed on the ever shifting patterns of the blade. “Y’know, it kind of is weird.”

“I told you,” Ariana crows triumphantly as Miles rolls his eyes and turns back towards his textbook. Ariana and Grace pass the sword between them for a little longer, commenting on the patterns and feeling the warmth of the metal in their hands. They get bored of this fairly quickly and begin to mime out some sword fights which Miles has to put a stop to as apparently his great seventeen years of life experience make him the most mature person in the room.

At least Grace looks slightly sheepish as she hands the sword back.

“You’re coming over for dinner on Sunday, right?” Miles asks as some sort of peace offering.

Grace grins. “’Course I am. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The three of them smile the kinds of smiles at each other that require a near lifetime of knowing and loving to summon up.

It’s a shame that everything goes to shit before they can make it to Sunday dinner.

~

Ariana does not panic. Ariana is a born leader full of charisma and certainty and a sly cunning that no one ever seems to expect from her. She does not panic.

“Shit shit shit shit!” Gabe yells from the bike next to her, just loud enough to be heard over the wind, and Ariana wonders if a bit of panicking might be in order.

The monster behind them, made of shadows and starlight and darkness, is gaining. Their bikes can only go so fast and apparently eldritch abominations go faster. Ariana thinks faster though.

She sticks an arm out to signal where they should turn, not confident that everyone will be able to hear her voice over the rushing wind and thunder of engines. She’s been utterly certain of the path she’s been leading the others on but it’s only now that she realises that she’s taking them to the antique store. She’s taking them to the sword.

She’s also leading the monster in the direction of her little brother. But she’ll deal with the moral implications of that at a later date.

They twist and turn though narrow streets, taking every shortcut they can. Even despite how hidden their route is, Ariana is struck by the thought that they should have seen someone by now. The sun only went down, what, half an hour ago? The streetlights have barely turned on but she hasn’t spotted a single person since the abomination started chasing them.

For a moment she wonders if Miles will even be there when they get to the antiques store.

No, she thinks, No he’ll be there.

And since when has Ariana’s little brother let her down?

They screech up to the curb and Ariana is reminded slightly hysterically of all the times when Miles told her that making her engine sound so loud was annoying. None of them bother with kickstands, letting motorbikes that all of them have put a lot of work into crash to the pavement. The sound is barely audible over the crushing, crunching, roaring the creature behind them makes as it moves but Ariana still sees some of her friends wince at the noise.

Miles must have heard the commotion coming towards him because he’s stood there holding the door open as the group of them run from their fallen steeds to the shop. Ariana breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of her brother even as fear rises in her gut over what might be about to happen to him.

Gabe gets in there first, he’s always been the fastest. Then Lance, then Grace. The rest of them follow quickly with Ariana taking up the rear so no one gets left behind.

The moment she’s in the door slams behind her. Penny and Lance, the strongest of the group, are the ones who hold it closed. Ariana turns to see the rest of the group staring slack-jawed either at each other or at the monster which has backed up in order to take a run up towards the door.

The rest of the group, with the exception of Miles.

“Miles, give me the key.” Ariana instructs.

He should know that that’s what he’s meant to do. Miles always seem to know what he’s meant to do a little better than anyone else and Ariana needs the sword. But instead of giving her the key to the glass case Miles is flicking through the strange books he keeps behind the counter faster than Ariana’s eyes can follow.

“Miles, the key,” she insists. Then when no response is imminent, “Fuck this.” She walks over to the sword’s case and shatters the glass with her elbow. When she grabs the sword it feels warm and right in her hands. The patterns appear to shift and swirl and morph more desperately than ever before and Ariana thinks that they must be mere moments from attaining the right shape.

Before she can turn to face the monster, Miles has vaulted over the desk and is right in front of the door with an open book in his hand. “It’s not ready yet.” he calls back to Ariana. “We need a few more minutes.”

“We don’t have a few more minutes.” Ariana grits out, tightening her grip on the sword.

“We will.” Miles says and cuts himself on a knife Ariana’s pretty sure he pick-pocketed from Lance.

Ariana’s pretty sure that Lance is about to make a move to stop her insane little brother but remembers just in time that it’s his job to keep the door closed. The monster is going to be crashing into it in the next three seconds so it’s probably a good thing that he does. Beside him and Penny, Miles is using the blood of his cut to scrawl weird symbols into the door frame, muttering words that Ariana doesn’t recognise under his breath.

He takes a step back the moment before the monster hits the door and for one shining instant Ariana hears the sigils sing.

The creature hits the door and glass that should have shattered holds firm, the magic Ariana now realises is reinforcing it gleaming in the hazy brightness the streetlights offer. It’s impossible. It’s wonderful.

“Nice one.” she chokes out towards Miles, a relieved grin on his face.

“Everyone get some of their blood on the sword.” Miles instructs as he stands, back straight and a level of confidence to him that Ariana isn’t sure she’s seen before. “It’s the only way this works.”

Ariana was expecting Grace to step forward first but Gabe manages to beat her to it, lowering himself to one knee with a grin on his face and exposing some of the skin of his shoulder once he’s in front of Ariana.

“Knight me!” he cries, loud and brazen and not entirely joking.

Ariana smiles in return and touches the sword to his shoulder. The blade sinks into his skin with barely any effort on her part at all. Once Gabe’s blood has touched the sword Ariana moves on to the next person. She wishes that she could linger on every one of her friends but Ariana is far to pragmatic for such things.

Everyone kneels in front of her. Grace and Lance and Kay and Ben and Penny. She touches her sword to the shoulders of every one of her closest friends and watches their blood sink into the metal. After a couple of people she realises that the blood is rising again along the patterns nearer the hilt, highlighting them in red. Eventually she gets to Miles.

“I’m not kneeling to my sister.”

“Smart,” Ariana replies with a smile. “I might kick you.”

“Go for my hand. Just above the first cut.”

Miles holds his hand out and Ariana rests the sword where he directed her. It sinks into Miles’s flesh just like it did everyone else’s. The patterns on the sword take on a sheen similar to whatever had lit up the door when magic had been all that was holding it closed.

“You have to do it as well.” Miles says once the sword has taken his blood. “We’re all equals here.”

He says it like it’s a joke but Ariana can’t imagine why he wouldn’t be entirely serious about such a thing.

“Grace?” she asks, because she wants everything to put her on the same level as her friends, “Would you do the honours?”

Grace smiles and takes the sword, grip on it firm and gentle and strong. Ariana kneels to her, thinking hard about how much she loves the woman in front of her, how much she loves everyone in the room. Grace touches the sword to Ariana’s shoulder and it burns.

Ariana pushes the pain to the furthest reaches of her mind and stands to take the sword back. All the blood that’s been offered to it now flows in rivulets through the patterns, bright and shining. As Ariana looks at the sword she realises that the patterns have finished shifting but there isn’t enough time for her to inspect their shape properly.

“What next?” she asks Miles, since although she doesn’t like to cede authority to someone else, particularly her little brother, for some reason they will definitely be discussing later he seems to have a better idea of what’s going on than anyone else in the room.

Miles shrugs rather unhelpfully. “I don’t know. Where we go from here is up to you.”

Distantly Ariana thinks that the words are meant to fill her with some sort of foreboding. That the pressure of seven lives that aren’t hers on her shoulders should be too great a burden for most twenty-year-olds to bear. Instead it just feels right. Like the weight is resting exactly where it should be.

“Okay.” she says, allowing the authority she normally tries to tone down take full control of her voice, “Here’s the plan.”

~

The plan is to hit it. Really hard.

“Is anyone else not loving this?” Miles asks uncertainly as everyone gets ready to rush the creature with whatever weapons they’ve managed to scrounge up. “I am very much not loving this.”

“You’ve already agreed to bow to my far superior judgement, so quit complaining and figure out whatever magic you can use to hit it.” Ariana calls back to him

Lance claps Miles on the shoulder. “There, there.” he grins, “Ariana hasn’t got any of us killed yet.”

Miles groans louder and Ariana gets ready to tear the door down.

“On three I’m charging.” she calls loudly. “Everyone ready?”

A shout of “Yes,” echoes through the room. Even Miles partakes in it.

Ariana takes a breath.

“One.” she shouts. Lance readies his stance a little, the wooden pole he’d found steady in his grip.

“Two.” Grace shifts slightly. The switchblade in her hands glinting in the dim light of the shop.

“Three.”

Miles makes a gesture as if cutting through the air and the glimmer that had covered the door disappears. Along with the door. The creature is so surprised at the sudden lack of resistance that it stumbles. Stutters.

They charge and edge of Lance’s pole reaches it first, pinning the creature to one of the shop’s walls. Grace gets there next, or at least her blade does. She throws her knife towards the mass of creature that had been reaching towards the pole to tear it out. The glinting silver of the knife disappears into the monster’s blinding darkness and the rumbling, crowing, crying noise the creature makes rises to deafening volumes as it flinches.

With all that distracting the thing, it isn’t so difficult for Ariana to drive her sword deep, deep into the centre of the mass of shadow and light and wrongness.

Red light arcs through the monster like lightning. It flashes from its insides in a fireworks display of destruction until the creature crashes. Shatters.

Ariana is splattered with the remains of the first thing she’s ever killed.

“Holy shit.” Kay whispers, the old metal bedpan she’d been holding like a baseball bat drooping slightly.

“Yeah.” Penny agrees. She isn’t holding anything and Ariana wonders if she’d just been planning to punch the monster into submission. “Holy shit.”

Everyone stands in stunned silence at their victory for a moment. Then Miles walks slowly forwards and pulls the bloodied sword from the remains of the creature where Ariana had dropped it. He bows down, the movement only seeming to be half-joking, and holds the sword out in his hands for Ariana to take.

“My liege,” he says, and something in his tone isn’t quite right. It’s sarcastic, sure, but it isn’t quite as sarcastic is it’s meant to be.

It’s then, looking down at the sword in her brother’s hands, that Ariana realises that now the swirling patterns are still you can just about make out that they spell the word ‘Excalibur’.

“Wait, what the fuck?”