#episode coda

[loucifersbitch]

8x04 episode coda

“Hey,” Tommy said when Buck walked through the door, pulling him in and placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Hey.” Buck smiled, resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder briefly. “What’s all this? It smells amazing,” he said, walking over to the stove to peek into one of the kettles.

Tommy slapped his hand away before he could lift the cover, Buck squawking in mock offense.

“It’s nothing big,” he said, picking up a wooden spoon to stir something in a sauce pot. “I thought you should have a nice homemade meal to come home to after the week you’ve had,” he added with a shrug. He was trying to seem nonchalant, but Buck wasn’t buying it, eyebrows shooting up.

“Uh huh. And what’s the actual reason for all this?”

Tommy huffed a laugh, not looking at Buck as he continued to give all of his concentration to the stovetop.

“Do I need a reason to cook a nice meal for you?”

“No, but - I don’t know, Tommy,” he started, moving over to lean against the counter next to his boyfriend. “This seems like - like too much.”

Tommy finally looked at him, setting down the spoon and placing his hands on Buck’s waist.

“Evan,” he said, his tone almost a reprimand, “there is no such thing as too much when it comes to you. I like doing things for you. I know you’ve had a hard time dealing with Gerrard at work and worrying about Hen and Karen and their daughter, but that’s all over now. Bobby’s back, and Mara is home, and I get to see you be happier again. So I wanted to celebrate a little. Okay?”

Buck ducked his head then looked shyly up at Tommy. He felt cared for in a way he hadn’t since his childhood.

“Okay,” he said. “Thank you, Tommy.” He placed a kiss next to Tommy’s mouth, right on one of the dimples he loved so much.

“You’re welcome. Now, can I get back to my sauce before it burns?” he asked, that smile tugging at his lips.

“Y-yeah, of course.” 

Tommy began stirring again, and Buck couldn’t help but watch the way Tommy’s muscles shifted beneath his henley. Muscles he would get to enjoy later, he knew.

“Would you drain the pasta for me?” Tommy asked, breaking into a smirk when he noticed Buck staring.

“Sure, I think I can manage that.”

Resting a palm on Tommy’s hip, he reached around to the other side to grab the colander, making Tommy chuckle. He drained the pot of pasta - “Did you make fresh spaghetti?” - he let Tommy take over, tossing the pasta in the sauce. Buck moved on to opening a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses before sitting at the table as Tommy walked over.

“Bon appetit,” he said, setting a heaping bowl in front of Buck. “Spaghetti all’Arrabbiata.”

“Wait,” Buck said, suddenly struck. “Is this your Nonna’s recipe? The one you made the first night we - ?”

“It is,” Tommy said, shrugging.

“Tommy, are you sure there’s nothing going on?”

“Why are you suspecting something?” Tommy asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“This all feels - I don’t know. Something feels different.”

Tommy sighed, dropping his head. When he looked up again, his eyes were glinting with something Buck couldn’t decipher at first glance.

“I was trying to be so subtle, but you never miss anything, do you?” Tommy asked, holding out a hand for Buck to take. It felt like Tommy wasn’t done speaking, so Buck waited him out for a few moments. “After dinner, I was going to sit you down and talk with you for a while. Catch up after not seeing each other for a few days. But you’re too smart, too perceptive.”

“Tommy -”

“Move in with me.” It wasn’t a question, but it was a request all the same.

Buck was speechless for a moment, processing the idea that Tommy wanted to live together.

“I - Tommy, it’s been six months. Are you sure you want me around all the time? Always in your space? All my things taking up residence here?”

“Yes, Evan. I want you around all the time. Every day. I want to go to sleep next to you every night and wake up to your snoring every morning.”

“I don’t sno-”

“And I want all of your things here,” Tommy pressed on. “I want your clothes in the closet and your dishes in the kitchen and your fancy bath towels in the linen closet.”

“Tommy, this is big.” 

“I know. But I know this is what I want. Every day I come home, and it feels like something’s missing. And I realized that that something is you. I want you, Evan. You’re home to me now.”

Buck couldn’t stop himself from surging forward, pulling Tommy into a searing kiss.

“You’re absolutely sure about this?” he asked. At Tommy’s insistent nod, he said, “Okay. Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Great.”

Neither of them could seem to stop smiling.

[homerforsure]

Saw the episode. Ascended to a higher plane. Wrote a small Coda that is as messy as my brain is right now. Bone Apple Tea.

"Heyyyyyy Buck!" Eddie answers the phone with a drawn out salutation that proves Tommy was not lying about him being sent away from the hospital with the good drugs. Or, not lying about the prescription, but about Eddie actually taking them. It wasn't so long ago that Eddie would take enough medicine to avoid being in agony, but never quite enough to actually feel relief. He wouldn't do that for Tommy, however close they are. It's something that Eddie's doing for himself. Buck's stomach was a swarm of butterflies three seconds ago, but that and the floaty happy way Eddie still says his name, has him smiling again in his kitchen.

"Hey Eddie. I, um, I'm sorry to call so late. I just wanted to see how- how you were doing."

"Eh, I'll miss a shift or two. But Doc says I'll be ready to go for playoffs," Eddie answers.

Guilt twists through him, harsh and acidic and Buck says, "Well I'm glad to hear that. They say the team doesn't have a chance without you and your, um, sky dunk." Eddie laughs, giggles really, in reply and Buck says, "I'm sorry, Eddie. I don't know why I did that. I mean- I- I know why. I was jealous of you and- and Tommy-" Buck's heart flips as he says his name and he's afraid the kiss is going to come flying out of his mouth and down the phone line- "But I never wanted you to get hurt like that."

"You wanted me to get hurt different?" Eddie asks, still laughing, but Buck feels stricken.

"No! I- maybe. I don't know what I wanted. I lost my mind for a little bit."

"You were jealous," Eddie repeats.

"Yeah, I was."

A long sigh and Eddie says, "I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for. I was the asshole. I could have- I knocked you out of your shoe."

"Do you have my shoe?" Eddie asks, more focused than he has been the rest of the conversation. Buck can hear him sitting up on the couch.

"Uh, no. No, I gave it to Chim. He's gonna give it to you when he sees you. And probably make about 50 Cinderella jokes."

"Right. He texted me. I remember."

"I'm sure he'll bring it by sooner if you need it. Or he could give it to Tommy." The flush is there again, hot down the back of his neck. Buck doesn't know how he's supposed to do this. Where is he supposed to keep all of this heat and possibility while he waits for Saturday.

"You don't like him."

"Who? Chim? He's growing on me."

"Tommy," Eddie answers in a tone that says duh. "You can't even say his name normal."

Of course Eddie can hear that. Of course he assumes that's the problem after the way Buck has acted since the moment they met the man. He thanks god that he decided to call instead of driving across town and checking on Eddie in person. His cheeks and his ears are burning like fire.

"He can tell, you know. We both can. He said he's going to come talk to you. Gave him your address. Wants to apologize." Eddie must have settled back down on the couch. He sounds sleepier, his sentences getting shorter and more breathy.

"He did. He um. He came by. We talked it out. I told him you guys didn't have anything to apologize for. I was the one who made it weird."

"So weird," Eddie agrees and Buck laughs. "You guys should be friends. He's awesome and you're awesome and we can all hang out together and it would be..."

"Awesome," Buck finishes. He thinks it might be.

"I forgot you don't know that."

"Know what?" Buck asks, when Eddie's mumble doesn't come with any additional clarification. "Eddie?"

"Hmm?"

"Never mind. Hey, you should get up and go to your bed. Sleeping on that couch is not going to help your ankle heal any faster."

"Tommy said that."

"Tommy's right. Come on."

Eddie groans as he sits up, cursing at Buck in what he thinks is under his breath, and asks, "You talked to Tommy?"

"Yeah, he just left."

"And we're okay? You like him now?"

Buck's blood roars through his ears and he wants to throw up and start laughing all at the same time. "Yeah, I think I do."

"Good."

He breathes through the sudden headrush as Eddie grumbles and hops his way off the couch and down the hall. Buck knows where he's finding his handholds by the echo off the walls and he winces when Eddie takes a misstep and swears again. He thinks for a second that he should be there, that he should help Eddie to bed, but Eddie would never let him. Buck wonders if Tommy would let him. He's wondering about so much now and he never did before.

"Hey, Eds?" The question is out before Buck realizes he's asking it, small and vulnerable, and he wants to claw it back and swallow it down before Eddie notices, but he doesn't have a chance.

"Yeah?"

Tommy kissed me. I want him to do it again.

"No, nothing. Just. I'm sorry. I was out of line."

"You were," Eddie answers. "And I forgive you."

Something settles in Buck then. A piece that had still been sitting off kilter and jamming painfully under his ribs. He takes a deep breath, and joy washes fully over him, calming and centering. He doesn't ask the question again though. He thinks he wants to keep this tiny, glowing treasure to himself. At least for a little while.

"Bring me my shoe back and we'll call it even."

Buck laughs, letting the sound ring out through his apartment and he can hear Eddie smiling on the other end of the phone.

[chronicowboy]

Buck is stood staring at his couch with a wrinkled nose when a frantic knocking rips him from his thoughts. Frowning, he skids over to the door on socked feet and yanks it open to reveal a harried Eddie and sheepish Christopher.

"Tell me you aren't busy," Eddie pleads, already pushing into the loft to set down two dangerously full grocery bags on the kitchen island.

The loft suddenly seems a lot brighter, feels a lot warmer.

"I'm not busy," Buck replies as he shoots a questioning look at Christopher who only bites his lip and looks away.

"Oh, thank God." Eddie grabs him by the shoulders with a grateful smile before taking a deep breath. "I am. Busy. Like incredibly busy."

"Okay..." Buck narrows his eyes at him. "So, I'm hanging out with my favourite Diaz then?"

"Hold the thought on that favourite bit," Eddie huffs, dropping his hands. Buck's shoulders turn cold at the loss, he shrugs the absence off. Eddie turns to Christopher with his arms folded over his chest and an arched eyebrow. "Want to tell Buck what you decided to tell me at four pm this afternoon?"

"Fine," Chris sighs, looking up at Buck guiltily. "I need to bake cookies for my whole class."

"Sure, we can do that." Buck frowns, sharing a look with a still frantic Eddie. "When do you need them for?"

Christopher averts his eyes. Realisation dawns on Buck, and he shares a knowingly unimpressed look with Eddie.

"Tomorrow," he mumbles.

"Chris," Buck groans.

"I know, okay?" Chris groans right back. "I forgot. I'm sorry. Will you help me? Please?" He breaks out his patented puppy eyes, and Buck has to try hard not to laugh at the notion he wasn't going to help Chris all along.

Buck steals a look at an apologetic Eddie, shakes his head in a way he hopes conveys I've got your back.

"Of course I will, Chris, you know that." His eyes snap to Christopher when Eddie's face melts into that dangerously fond expression. He's been seeing a lot more of it ever since he woke up from his coma, and it makes him feel a little like a lightning bolt trapped in a human body. He doesn't know what to make of it.

"You are a lifesaver," Eddie tells him seriously, pulling him into a quick hug. "I've gotta get over to Pepa's, but I'll be back around dinner time, okay?"

"Oh, I see," Buck tuts. "You just want to reap the benefits of all our hard work."

"Obviously." Eddie pulls one of his patented frog faces. "I wasn't trying to hide that."

"Lazy good-for-nothing," Buck says, except it comes out sounding much more like you're everything.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Who here was asleep for a wholeass week?" Eddie retorts.

"Ass," Chris snickers.

"Don't," Buck and Eddie scold in unison, sharing a bashful smile. Chris just rolls his eyes.

Buck tries not to preen at how natural all of this is, thinks of Bobby's words in the engine just before lightning struck.

Life's too short to take those relationships for granted.

Buck has seen his world without the Diazes in it, he'll never take them for granted again.

"I don't think a coma is technically considered sleep," Buck argues, just happy that Eddie isn't flinching away from the reminder of the accident like he used to.

"Well, you weren't snoring," Eddie concedes.

"I don't snore!"

"Buck, the only reason I felt okay leaving you sleeping on the couch to make Christopher's lunch was because I could hear you breathing all the way from the kitchen." Buck tries not to think about a worried Eddie hovering over him, fingers itching to reach out and find a pulse, lingering in the doorway to the kitchen because he didn't want to leave Buck alone. "You snore."

"You snore," Chris agrees.

"Betrayal!" Buck gasps. "We're making oatmeal raisin cookies."

"Nooooooo!" Chris cries. "Buck, please!"

"Do I snore?" Buck demands.

"Nope." Chris grins.

"Chocolate chip it is."

"Double chocolate chip?" he tries, eyes wide and sparkling. Buck loves him desperately.

"Nice try, kid." Eddie drops a hand onto Christopher's head. "You get double chocolate chip when you tell us more than one day in advance."

Something warm and content settles in Buck's gut at the ease of Eddie's us.

"Buck?" Chris pouts up at him.

"Nah, not gonna work on me." Buck shakes his head, folds his arms over his chest. Eddie sends him a smile, the small and private one that tucks itself into Eddie's rosy cheeks, the one that Buck's pretty sure he'd return from the dead just to see again.

"Okay, well, you two have got it under control." Eddie ducks down to drop a muah! on Christopher's head, presses a quick one to Buck's cheek. "I'm off! Love you both, see you for dinner!"

Eddie sweeps out of the door in a whirlwind of frantic energy. Buck just watches him go, mouth half-open in a soft 'o' as the skin of his cheek tingles where Eddie's lips had been. He stares at the closed door with wide eyes, stares for so long his mouth goes dry.

Maybe he does have the answers, maybe he's had a couch all along.

A sharp tug on his shirt pulls him from his trance, and he looks down at Christopher.

"Cookies?" he says, entirely too knowing for an eleven-almost-twelve-year-old.

"Cookies," Buck nods.

[h50europe]

Summary:

Post mortem 8.06. Digging into Tommy's past. About two months into their separation. Neither is happy and wants to admit that things shouldn't have ended that way. TOMMY: The look in the mirror shocked him. Last night was a huge mistake, and the guy he just kicked out of his bed didn't deserve the way Tommy treated him. No, they didn't get down to business. Tommy was so wasted that he fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

[jamiesfootball]

Summary:

Five voicemails Ted left for Jamie after he was sent back to Manchester.

Whumptober Day 1

Prompt: "If only we could hold on"

[aashiqeddiediaz]

of reassurances and reflections

idk why i wrote this coda but, enjoy

[AO3 Link]

Word Count: 2345 words

Buck’s thinking about something.

Eddie can’t stop looking at him from across Christopher’s lunch box, over the bologna sandwiches and bottle of energy drink and pouches of applesauce. 

Part of him still doesn’t believe that Buck’s here, in his house. Alive, whole. Undamaged.

Well. Almost undamaged.

He can see the cracks in Buck’s composure clear as day, can see the fissures that drove him out of his apartment into Eddie’s house. He can see the fragile thoughts underneath, built up behind a mask that would fool everyone but Eddie.

On a normal day, they’d be racing to see who could finish making Christopher’s sandwich first. On a normal day, Eddie would have to slap Buck’s hands away from the extra pouches of applesauce. On a normal day, Buck would wrinkle his nose as Eddie spread mustard over the bread.

Today is not a normal day.

Buck watches him make Christopher’s lunch with a stillness that isn’t him, not even reacting when Eddie accidentally puts a little too much mustard on one side of the bred. He’s almost blank, watching Eddie go through the motions. Eddie can’t help but watch Buck from across the table as he sips his water leisurely, crossing his arms over his chest as if bracing himself for something.

His next words are both expected and unexpected.

“Hey, what do you remember about getting shot?”

Eddie brain screeches to a halt. Absently, he knows he’s still busying his hands with something, he knows he’s peering back at Buck, but the rest of it...the rest of his mind is filled with nothing but the imagery of that day.

The screaming.

The blood.

The splatters.

The ruined white shirt.

The shock.

The fear.

Eddie remembers the agony first, and his shoulder twinges with the phantom memory of the bullet tearing through his flesh. But he also remembers the stark fear that Buck had gotten hit, too, the idea that Buck’s pale skin could be marred too unfathomable for Eddie’s pain-soaked brain.

There’s something fragile in Buck’s eyes right now — something curious, tentative. They haven’t broached this topic before, in the two years or so since. It’s just one of those things that lives between them quietly, laying roots that tug them together and root them in place.

Sometimes, though, those roots scream. They spit emotions, they drag up memories, they remind Eddie of all the things he, Buck and Christopher have gone through — but they also remind Eddie of the things they’ve have gotten through. 

Right now, Buck doesn’t need the reminder of how Eddie thought he was dead two years before he actually died, and he doesn’t need to see the tremble in Eddie’s fingers as he thinks of those horrible, horrible days waiting for Buck to wake up.

So he rips the crusted edge of the bologna off, steadies himself and says, “There was a searing pain. It felt like I got hit by a bus, and I was still standing.”

It takes every ounce of his courage to keep looking at Buck as he talks, only breaking eye contact to grab the rest of Christopher’s lunch ingredients before he forgets. “I remember falling, and everything got dark. And I thought…this is it. This is the last moment of my life.”

He meets Buck’s eyes, sees the residual grief in them from what he’d been through while Eddie was under. But he also remembers Buck’s face being the only thing visible in the sea of darkness, his voice tugging Eddie up before he could sink. He remembers Buck shoving his St. Christopher’s medal into his hand. He remembers Shannon’s words, about how Christopher needs him. 

He remembers seeing Christopher’s life flash before his eyes — the life they’ve built together, and the future Eddie didn’t think he’d ever get to see. He remembers the sound of his son’s laugh, of his stubbornness, of his wild hair and bright, inquisitive eyes. He remembers seeing his happy kid, and wanting to make it back to him.

But he remembers Buck most of all. 

And in that moment, I saw you. 

You were the last thing I wanted to see before I died, and I thought I’d gotten my wish.

Somehow, thankfully, Eddie doesn’t say that. 

He forces some levity in his tone as he finishes, “Then I woke up in the hospital.”

It feels like he’s paying some sort of penance when Buck looks up at him with a furrowed brow. There’s disbelief in his eyes, almost like he can sense that Eddie’s not telling him the full truth.

The conversation stretches, emotions flying across Buck’s face too quickly for Eddie to pinpoint. 

Something happened in this coma of Buck’s. He hasn’t told Eddie about it, but Eddie can tell when Buck holds something back from him, and right now, the questions alluding to the trippy mind puzzles speak volumes.

He collects his penance by asking for a truth in exchange for him sharing that memory, and when Buck gives it to him, his hear soars.

“Honestly, Eddie, I-I don’t know.”

Eddie tries to coax him through it, even though the reminder of Buck dying is still too painful for him.

“It’s not the physical thing, is it,” Eddie says, moving to gather ingredients for another sandwich (without mustard this time). “There’s something bothering you, something that you can’t really explain.”

“Not without being tossed into a psychiatric ward,” Buck mutters, petulant. He reminds Eddie of his son when he thinks he’s gotten away with something.

Eddie has eyes at the back of his head when it comes to his family, and he can see the toll that this is taking on Buck to hold it all in.

“Hey,” Eddie starts quietly, stacking lettuce and tomato on top of the bread. “I will always believe you, okay? You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready, but…but you can, is what I’m saying.”

Whatever he’s expecting Buck to say, it’s not: 

“You keep saying I died.”

Eddie’s eyebrows crawl into his hairline, even while those words send a sharp lance of pain through his chest. The cheese nearly slips from his fingers at the reminder, and Eddie has the thought that it would hurt less if Buck had just shot him. “Because you did, Buck.”

Buck’s already shaking his head. “Yeah, I know. But since I’ve woken up, you’re the only one that…I don’t know. You were the only one that trusted that I could move forward with it. Everyone else is…making schedules and setting up a routine, and filling my fridge with stuff. And don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for it, but I just….why? Why aren’t you doing that?”

There’s something embarrassed in Buck’s gaze, as if he’s afraid to take too much, but Eddie doesn’t know how else to explain that he’s already given everything he has over to the other man — his son included.

Eddie’s quiet for a second, mulling over how to explain this to him without revealing his whole hand.

“When we…when we rolled you into the ER, we didn’t even have your pulse. You were…” his throat closes up, but he moves past it, staring at his hands. “We managed to get you back, but it was touch and go for way too long, Buck.”

The terror at never getting Buck back swamps Eddie again, and he has to turn towards the sink under the guise of washing his hands to take a second for himself. His voice trembles, and he prays Buck doesn’t hear it as he continues. “It wasn’t like any of the other times. You were unconscious before I even got to you, before anyone could reach you. So everyone making these schedules and getting groceries and trying to help you out with things even when you’ve been cleared for those things, it’s just our way of making sure you’re still here. Making ourselves useful in exchange for some reassurance that we’re not going to feel your heart so still again.”

“But not you,” Buck repeats, just as soft.

The words hang between them, and Eddie looks out of his kitchen window as pressure builds behind his eyes.

“If it were up to me, Buck, you would never leave this house.”

It’s too silent. Buck’s shock hangs in the air right with Eddie’s confession. He thinks he owes it to Buck to be honest, too, but something about those words feel a little too honest. They feel like Eddie’s stripped the flesh from his bones and presented it all to Buck, wrapped in a lace of shaky emotion.

“Eddie,” Buck breathes out, and if Eddie listens closely, he can hear the press of tears in his voice.

“I took my turn, too, remember?” Eddie turns back to him, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. He can’t look at Buck directly, the memory of his blank eyes hovering too close to the surface. “I showed up when Maddie put me on the schedule, too, but honestly, Buck, the truth of the matter is that I know you. You were overwhelmed before you even left the hospital. You didn’t need me piling on that, even though I can’t close my eyes without seeing...without seeing you gone, sometimes.”

“You knew I’d come here.”

Eddie smiles. “I was hoping,” he corrects gently, gesturing to the couch outside. “I, at least, have a couch that fits you.”

He knows the metaphor, knows what the thinly edged meaning of his words will do to them. He thinks there’s a reason Buck feels comfortable enough to swing his feet onto Eddie’s coffee table, feels vulnerable enough to knock out the second he sits, feels safe enough to be sprawled out when he does so.

Buck turns his head, looking in the direction of it like he’s pondering the fit of two puzzle pieces, and Eddie takes advantage of his distraction to catalog every last detail about him, the way he’s started doing since Buck woke up.

“Here,” he says, sliding him a sandwich. He grabs the Brita out of the fridge and fills up the water cup, reaching for the grapes and setting those in front of him, too. “Eat.”

Buck’s still watching him like he’s looking for whatever Eddie’s hiding, but he complies, taking a huge bite out of the sandwich. Eddie watches him wolf down half of it before he sighs.

“I’ve never felt fear like that before,” he admits quietly. “I didn’t know if you would come back to us. And if I’m honest with you, sometimes, I’m terrified that I’ll look away from you and you’ll be gone again, just like you were that night. That’s why I didn’t want to hound you — I was afraid I’d never let you leave my sight again.”

Buck nods like he gets it. “But I’m here.”

“You’re here,” Eddie agrees, smiling despite himself when Buck grins around a mouthful of his sandwich. “Here and still grossing me out with your eating habits.”

Buck swallows his bite before letting out a small laugh, peeking up at Eddie from between his lashes. “It was…I saw something in the dream that was terrifying. I like it better here, anyway. With my family.”

There’s something haunted in Buck’s eyes when he talks about the dream, in the way that he trails his eyes over Christopher’s lunchbox, over the calendar on the fridge, complete with photos of Chris. There’s a raw grief that flashes in Buck’s eyes when he looks at Eddie sometimes, too, and Eddie knows that whatever the dream was about, it was something too horrifying to put in words.

Eddie knows a little bit about the horror, and while he’s desperate to get the conversation back to a place where it doesn’t feel like it’ll drag them under, he can’t resist offering one last hand.

Before he can stop himself, the word leaves his mouth. “Stay?”

Buck looks at him quizzically. “Really? I just knocked out on your couch after coming here to hang out with you. Why would you want me to stick around?”

Eddie shrugs, reaching for the zipper of Christopher’s lunch box and securing it closed. He doesn’t want to admit that it soothes him to have Buck in his line of sight. “Maybe I need the company, if you don’t.”

“I’ll tell Maddie to make you a schedule — or better yet? You can have mine,” Buck teases, but there’s something grateful in his voice, too. Something that feels a lot like the relief spreading through Eddie’s chest with warm fingers.

“So…you’ll stay? There’s still more beer if you want it,” Eddie says, jerking a thumb towards his fridge.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

It’s not until they’re seated on the couch, mindlessly flipping through the channels with their shoulders pressed together, that Buck elaborates.

“Hey, Eddie?”

“Hm?” Eddie looks over at him, arrested by the gleaming blue of his eyes, blazing with some unknown emotion.

“You remember what I said about safe spaces?”

My therapist says everyone needs a safe space. A place where you can fully be yourself.

“Your apartment was that place,” Eddie whispers.

“It was,” Buck agrees. “It still is, sometimes. But sometimes, that’s a person and here…”

The words trail off, leaving an open-ended blank for Eddie to fill in. 

It’s obvious, in the way Buck had come to him, had dropped into sleep immediately on Eddie’s couch, and had stayed asleep for nearly an hour. It’s obvious in the way Buck had looked towards him for answers, any answers. 

It’s obvious in the thrumming tension between them, the one that stretches her arms as they grow closer. Buck’s hand twitches where it’s pressed against his knee, a bare millimeter away from Eddie’s own.

He musters up the last bit of his courage and drops his hand over Buck’s, entangling their fingers together.

If he’s Buck’s safe space, he needs Buck to know that he’s Eddie’s, too.

“Yeah, Buck. Me, too.”

Buck smiles and squeezes his hand once.

For Eddie, that’s more than enough.

[imthedr3amer]

📖 Fic rec: SPN, Wincest, Mature📱

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Supernatural

Relationship: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

Character: Sam Winchester

Additional Tags: Episode Tag, Angst, Demon Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Masturbation, Episode: s10e01 Black [Extra tags by @imthedr3amer: Voicemail Messages, Canon Compliant]

Language: English

Stats: Published: 2014-10-09 Words: 2,000

For Your Lover's Lover's Alibi

(orphaned fic)

Summary: Tag to Black (10x01). “This is Dean’s other other cell. So you must know what to do.”

[This fic may be orphaned, but I believe all effort deserves kudos and a comment. 🫶]

[marjansmarwani]

I need you so much closer

7.8k || ao3

Carlos Reyes was loved.

Yes, by TK, but not only by him.

— — —

Or, a 4x04 coda in which we get to hear from everyone else and fill in some missing scenes.

This was not supposed to be this long, but it’s done! All the love to @moviegeek03 and @justaswampdemon as always for helping from start to finish (and making sure it actually got finished). 

-------

Gabriel Reyes thought he knew fear. 

He had been a Texas Ranger for most of his life. He had been in law enforcement even longer than that. He had seen the worst of the worst; had stared down hardened criminals that would end his life just as soon as blink. 

He thought the peak of fear had been finding out that his son’s home had burned down while he was inside. The knowledge of exactly how close he had come to losing his only child had nearly been enough to topple him, and the fact that he had been at least partially responsible didn’t help. There was the day-to-day fear of his son’s job (because of course he had followed him into the same line of work), the occasional instances of bad things happening, and feeling that rush of fear. But this? Looking down at his son’s still body as his fiancé worked to keep his heart beating? Seeing his son lying there and knowing that the only thing keeping the blood flowing through his veins was the force of a distraught TK desperately pumping it through his heart? This was the deepest and most primal fear he had ever felt. 

Somewhere deep inside he had known that this was a possibility. From the moment TK had showed up at their door with that fear in his eyes the thought had been whispering in the back of his mind. But being here and seeing it, knowing that they had been not even fifty feet from Carlos that morning; that his son had been hurt and in trouble and he had been so close but had done nothing, made it all so much more real. 

He didn’t even need to ask TK for his professional opinion of the situation, he knew how bad it was. He also knew that if they had been just a few minutes sooner Carlos could have been fine.  Just as much as he knew if they had been just a few seconds later any hope they did have (tenuous as it may be) would have expired, right along with his son. It was a cruel trick on the part of the universe; to bring them here so close to saving him but just maybe a little bit too far. 

[continue reading on ao3]

[daniclaytcn]

interlude.

Summary:  “It felt…good,” Eddie says, after a pause. “You know, it’s funny. I was just talking to Linda today, about…I don’t know, a sign from the universe about what to do next—”  

“You don’t believe in signs,” Buck can’t resist pointing out, and Eddie glares at him, no real heat behind it.  

“Well, those were mostly Linda’s words, not mine,” He amends. “Anyway, I’m not saying this fire was a sign—that sounds awful—but, I—I guess I’ve—” Eddie glances up at Buck, strangely bashful. “Being out there and helping people, working with y—with the 118 again, it made me feel more like myself than I have in months.” 

Buck feels like his heart has grown three sizes.

or, a look at the conversation buck and eddie had in the hospital after the dispatch fire.

(read on ao3)

In the time it takes between getting off the fire truck and going through the hospital doors, Buck somehow loses sight of Eddie. 

He lingers in the foyer uncertainly for a moment, trying to keep his breathing calm, tries not to let himself spiral over whatever complications could arise out of Bobby’s injuries. Lucy’s reassurance back at the scene had helped some, but Buck doesn’t think he’ll be able to fully relax until he knows for sure that Bobby will be alright. 

“Buck.”

Eddie’s voice shakes him out of what might have been another near spiral. He’s shrugging out of his turnouts as he walks over, looking slightly concerned. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks. “You seemed far away for a moment.”

Buck tries to smile. “Everything’s fine, just…” He sighs. “I’m worried about Bobby.”

Eddie nods, understanding. “I get it. Hearing that over the radio was…” His eyes cloud over and Buck wonders what he’s thinking. Wonders if he still feels guilty over his argument with Bobby, if that guilt had factored into the matching terror in Eddie’s eyes when they’d looked at each other after Lucy’s call on the radio came. “But he should be okay,” Eddie says with finality. “His injuries looked superficial. We got to him just in time.”

They move into a secluded corner, as more people begin to crowd through the hospital entrance. Buck tosses his turnouts over a chair and turns his attention to Eddie.

“So, how was it being back in the field?”

He means it to be slightly teasing, but there’s concern behind it, too. Eddie had quit—however temporarily because Buck refuses to believe anything but—for a reason. He’d seemed fine out there, but now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Buck couldn’t help but worry that it was all too fast, all too soon. If this could lead to a setback, somehow.

Eddie only shrugs, though, and absently runs a hand through his tousled hair. It takes all of Buck’s willpower not to track the movement with his eyes.

“It felt…good,” Eddie says, after a pause. “You know, it’s funny. I was just talking to Linda today, about…I don’t know, a sign from the universe about what to do next—”

“You don’t believe in signs,” Buck can’t resist pointing out, and Eddie glares at him, no real heat behind it.

“Well, those were mostly Linda’s words, not mine,” He amends. “Anyway, I’m not saying this fire was a sign—that sounds awful—but, I—I guess I’ve—” Eddie glances up at Buck, strangely bashful. “Being out there and helping people, working with y—with the 118 again, it made me feel more like myself than I have in months.”

Buck feels like his heart has grown three sizes. He desperately wants to ask, was it just being back in the field, or was it the added factor of being Buck’s partner again? Of them working together seamlessly like they shared a mind, comfortable and in sync?

Because it’s certainly made Buck feel more like himself than he has in months. Maybe an entire year, even. Maybe even since—

Buck forcibly cuts off that train of thought and is about to stutter out a reply when he sees that Eddie is no longer looking at him, but at something over Buck’s shoulder, his forehead creased with confusion. Buck follows his gaze, and. Well.

Taylor is talking to Lucy, just a few feet away from them. 

And, Buck—thinks he should be alarmed. Scratch that, he definitely should be. Taylor doesn’t yet know the full details of that night in the bar, she doesn’t know that it was his co-worker he kissed, not some random girl. He doesn’t even know why he didn’t tell her the full truth. It’s hardly the worst of his crimes.

And yet.

Maybe it’s the fire. Maybe it’s how personal this one felt, right in the middle of Maddie and Eddie’s place of work, with May caught in the middle of it all. Maybe it’s the shock and horror, and eventually, relief, of nearly losing Bobby but managing to save him. 

Maybe it’s Eddie, right beside him, who has been beside him all day. By his side, where he belongs. Like a missing piece of Buck slotted back into place.

He can’t bring himself to care anymore.

Buck turns back to Eddie, who is regarding him carefully, eyebrows raised. “What’s that all about?”

Buck has a good idea, of course, but he can’t quite bring himself to say it. Eddie doesn’t know—to Buck’s knowledge, at least—what happened between him and Lucy. Of course, someone (Hen or Chimney, those gossips) could have told him, but Buck doubts Eddie wouldn’t have brought it up if he’d known.

Somehow, it’s harder to fathom Eddie knowing. Buck doesn’t want to imagine the change in his expression, the disgust in his eyes.

In lieu of a better answer, Buck just shrugs. Eddie’s frown deepens—though Buck is sure it's directly more at Taylor, not Lucy. He hasn’t exactly been subtle in his dislike of her, and somehow, it doesn’t bother Buck as much as it should.

A thought occurs to him, and Buck straightens. “How’s Carson doing?”

“Oh, he’s fine,” Eddie affirms, seeming a little thrown off by the change in topic. “I saw him right before they loaded him into the ambulance. Josh was with him,” He adds, an afterthought.

“Josh?”

“Yeah. I think he’s got a crush,” Eddie shrugs. “Can’t blame him. Carson was pretty cute.”

Buck almost chokes on air, and then firmly tells himself that the affront he feels at Eddie calling a guy cute, is just because of how unexpected it was. Eddie doesn’t even go around calling other women cute! 

“He’s not that cute,” Buck mutters petulantly, blushing when Eddie only looks at him like he’d grown two heads. Yeah, that’s fair. Buck hastily changes track, desperate to move on from the subject.

“So, does this mean you’re coming back?” He asks, unable to disguise the hope in his voice. Buck is trying not to push Eddie, he really is—he’d learnt his lesson when the reality of what Eddie was going through had finally struck him, when he’d received that frantic call from Chris, when the dead silence behind Eddie’s door had turned his blood to ice, when he’d perched in an uncomfortable chair that entire night, unable to stop thinking of what might have happened if he’d been too late. 

Still, Eddie is doing a lot better. His face has lost that hollow-eyed look, he’s put on more weight, he’s finally sleeping through the night, and he’s quicker to laugh and smile. He’s put in the work, he’s better and he can come back. God, Buck wants him to come back.

Eddie tries for a smile but looks uncertain. “I want to,” he says, honestly. “I just—I think there’s maybe more work for me to do. On myself, I mean. I don’t want to rush into things and fall into the same mistakes again.”

Buck nods. It’s not quite a confirmation, but it’s more than he could’ve hoped for all those months ago, when he was still hovering around Eddie after Christmas, trying to convince him to come back to work. It’s only a matter of time, now.

“Anyway, you can survive a few weeks without me, I think,” Eddie’s voice turns teasing. “Besides, you have your new partner. Lucy.”

His voice is light, but there’s a vague undertone of…something. Jealousy? Buck instantly dismisses the thought, that’s not possible. Maybe he was wrong, and Eddie knows about the kiss somehow. The idea makes him feel queasy like Eddie was the one he’d cheated on, and not Taylor.

“Lucy is not my partner,” Buck protests. “Not officially, anyway.”

“You do a lot of rescues together.”

“Only a few,” Buck huffs. “Honestly, I think Cap pairs her up more often with Ravi than with me.”

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you two seem to make a pretty good team.”

There’s that tone again. It really does sound like jealousy. Inexplicably, the notion of Eddie being jealous of Lucy makes Buck feel unreasonably pleased.

“Look, Lucy is great,” Buck says honestly, because she is. She’s a good firefighter, she’s experienced and reliable, she always has a quip or joke ready on hand and best of all, she hasn’t brought up the night at the bar at all. Having her on the team has ceased to be awkward. “She’s great. But…she’s not you.”

Any hint of teasing drops from Eddie’s expression, and his eyes go impossibly soft. “Yeah?” he asks, voice so low that Buck might’ve missed it if he hasn’t been hanging on to Eddie’s every word.

“Yeah,” Buck confirms, feeling himself flush. He wants to reach over and take Eddie’s hands in his, and thread their fingers together, so he curbs the urge by hooking his fingers through his suspenders, tugging them back and forth as he leans in a little closer. “It’s not gonna feel the same until you’re back on the team,” By my side. “You know that.”

Because he’s Eddie, and because they’re BuckandEddie, Eddie seems to pick up on what Buck isn’t saying, anyway, and his lips tug into a small, genuine smile. “Good,” He murmurs, his eyes shining with affection.

Buck would like to do anything, say anything, to keep the moment as it is, to keep Eddie looking at him like that forever. He’s vaguely aware that in their periphery, Taylor has finished saying whatever she wanted to say to Lucy, and is walking away, but he doesn’t even turn to look. 

“Do you wanna, um,” Eddie licks his lips, uncharacteristically nervous. “Do you wanna come home with me after we’re done here? See Chris?”

Buck is suddenly reminded of how months ago, Eddie had said, I’m gonna go see mine, and had caught Buck’s eye for a brief moment before he turned and walked away, leaving Buck to feel like their relationship was fracturing apart, like them being taken hostage at gunpoint was the final straw.

“Yeah,” Buck says softly. “I’d really like that.”

The road to recovery isn’t quite over, Buck knows that, he knows that there’s still so much that they’re avoiding and talking around. But, this…this feels like they’re finally being put back together. Like things are finally slotting back into place.

The rest can come after.

[dyed-red]

I voted for priest Sam hair! Not only because it was the correct choice, but, hey, bribery! So for a mini Dickey, a choice between outsider POV of the boys being weird about each other or late seasons domestic!Winchesters? If neither of those work for you, write something you like 😁

I love that my bribery accomplished nothing, because everyone taking me up on the offer is someone who was already going to (or already had) vote for the correct choice anyway :D truly net zero impact on the poll, which is likely for the best.

and ahh, i do love both outsider PoV and domestic!chesters, so this is good. and in my typical fashion, my answer is:

Set after 12x11, "Regarding Dean".

They're very beautiful boys is the thing. Well, not the thing, but certainly part of it. Rowena thinks that anyone would be hard-pressed to judge her somewhat embarrassing lack of self-preservation in this regard, if they too got to experience the full effect of Sam Winchester imperious gaze or Dean's intermittently roguish and boyish smiles.

That or, like so many before her, she truly just did contract Winchester Derangement Syndrome. Oh well.

She'd wanted to skirt out of town quickly, after helping fix up Dean's memory. It would be the prudent thing to do. But it was also an opportunity, one that might not drop into her lap quite so easily again anytime soon, to get a read on the brothers without being observed herself. One had to wonder how they did it, held the world together with duck tape and a can-do attitude, considering how ordinary and brutish they'd seemed at first.

Well. Maybe not entirely brutish. Sam's command of Latin and spellwork had always intrigued her. But that was neither here nor there, and he wasn't accomplished enough a spellcrafter to see through the glamour that she wove around herself -- an angling and aging of the face, a darkening and straightening of the hair, a thinning of the lips and tinting to the eyes. Enough that, with an outfit passably dull, she could opposite to them in the pub where they made their way for dinner and rest before they'd set out in the morning. A quiet place on the outskirts of town, locals trudging work boots in and tired or sore from the day. Sam and Dean fit right in. They seemed to fit in most anywhere they went.

Better chameleons than even her glamour could afford her. A few hundred years and Rowena wasn't sure she'd perfected the art of invisibility as well as two men gorgeous enough to be on magazine covers. That was something.

She'd followed them in, waited across the parking lot, and wondered if Dean had injured himself somehow on the day's misadventures. She didn't recall anything, not much action except for at the end there, otherwise just Sam pasting sticky notes to objects and Dean becoming cuter and more bearable by the minute. She didn't recall anything, but Sam's hand never strayed from Dean's back as they made their way across the lot, and Dean never shrugged it off.

By the time she slipped inside, found herself a stool at a table with a view of their booth, they were seated across from one another. She'd never noticed, never bothered to, how far their legs stretched under a table, tangled up into each other's foot-space. At her height, not an issue she had frequently. But Sam was leaned back, fingers on the table, leg, ankle jostling against Dean's calf underneath it. He looked relaxed, and something in Rowena's chest eased at seeing it.

The curse was properly fixed then. Of course she wouldn't wait around in town just to be sure, she wasn't their minder and anyway she'd been certain it was fixed before they parted ways. Still though, confirmation never rankled.

Dean looked around and Rowena turned her gaze to the bland offerings on the menu and in her peripheral she heard his voice, not the words, and then Sam's laughter, loud and startled for a moment then quieter.

When she glanced over, Dean was grinning, leaned in, and Sam's face was so fond her own stomach felt a little gurgly, as if caterpillars (never butterflies) might take up residence.

There was a motion, quick dart, and Sam's hand was on Dean's. Overtop, maybe on his wrist. Rowena's caterpillars turned to lead -- waited with bated breath as their waitress came over and they separated, expressions shifting quick like guilty schoolboy -- and then burst forth into winged insects instead, fluttering around her insides. She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes alight, and ignored the moths taking up residence inside of her.

Well, that was something then.

It wasn't all that scandalous, that kind of sin. Proscribed by the law of every place and time, but something you saw a time or twenty if you lived long enough. It wasn't as if she hadn't suspected. Her imaginings had been more brutal though, more teeth gnashing end-of-world anger with each other, clinging and messy and mad with it. Hand touches across the tables and -- the memory surfaced from earlier in the day -- delighted grins over the potential for a front row seat to some 'live skinemax', that hadn't been what she'd conjured up.

And oh, to be the live entertainer with Sam, to have pleasure made into a show for Dean's affections. Too bad Sam had to be so focused on fixing his brother, they could have had some real fun that afternoon. She certainly wouldn't have complained.

She ordered something herself, a salad and, because life was short, two types of dessert to follow. If there was some thing cold-blooded American capitalism had done right, it was egregiously portioned and delectably indulgent desserts.

The brothers ate, and laughed, and sighed across their bench from each other, seeming weary but well. Ordinary, but far from it. Their legs tangled deeper into each other's space. Dean's fingers drummed an absent pattern, no doubt from one of those rock bands he liked, and Sam nudged him with his leg and directed him to where some dart boards were setup. They brushed shoulders and elbowed each other, were close enough for her to catch snatches of their conversation. Teasing, mostly. Challenging, boyish one-upmanship. Flirting, quite obviously, when Sam's voice dropped to growl something in Dean's ear she couldn't catch, the tone of which had her stomach swooping anyway.

They left not long after, when her second dessert arrived. A little flavourless, in comparison. She left without bothering to finish, left town that night without dawdling any longer. The boys were good, and were comforting each other, and they owed her one. The rest was between them.

[rachelfivehundred]

Memory Monday! This H50 coda for the character of Jenna was written 13 years ago this month!

[the-coda-project]

The Coda Project | 1.05 Sinking in the Quicksand

Dean knows Sam noticed his eyes bleeding when they were fighting Bloody Mary, but Sam hasn't asked why. Dean spirals as he wonders what that means.

Toledo is three hours in the rear view, and Dean still has dried blood flaking at the edges of his fingernails. Itching under his collar.

He desperately needs a shower, but getting out of town before more cops arrived at the trashed antique store was a whole lot higher on the priorities list than stopping to wash up, and he'd had to settle for wiping the worst of it from his face with an ancient KFC wet wipe and a wad of napkins as he'd steered the car toward the interstate with his other hand. He's been fantasizing about hot water and a fresh change of clothes ever since. Now, as he glances down at the dashboard, he silently thanks his baby for the excuse that her near-empty fuel tank is giving him.

"Almost outta gas," he says aloud when he takes the next exit ramp, and in his periphery he sees Sam flinch at the sound of his voice. "You mind filling the tank while I hit the head?"

"Yeah, sure."

It's the first time either of them have spoken in hours.

Keep reading

[chronicowboy]

Eddie is a big enough person that he can admit he's being difficult. He feels like a dick, okay? A nurse's job is difficult enough without a stubborn firefighter wriggling away from their relentless offers of pain medication, and he feels truly terrible about making it ten times worse.

But his team, his family, all came way too close to death today. And what did Eddie do? Lie there like a fucking damsel in distress just waiting for Buck to come rescue him.

Hell, even Hen performed a rope rescue whilst heavily concussed. Eddie was about one tenth of the muscle power behind lifting the slab of concrete off Bobby, that's it.

And, look, maybe that's not a good enough reason to snap at the very nice nurse pursing her lips into a smile for him. But Athena had dropped him down on the closest bench when they'd arrived, and everybody else was being dealt with because their injuries were more serious, and Eddie's alone. He's alone, and he has no idea what's happening to his friends, and no one will tell him anything.

The curtain hooks squeak as a dusty figure slips into his little nook in the corner of the Emergency Room, and something coiled tight in his chest loosens into warm relief when he meets their eyes.

"Hey, heard you were being difficult." Buck quirks an eyebrow at him, and Eddie can see the way his mouth twitches as it desperately tries to fight off a smile.

"I'm not being difficult," Eddie insists because maybe he's not as big of a person as he thought he was. The nurse shoots him a dirty look, and he withers under the attention. "Okay, maybe a little."

Buck huffs a laugh as he drags a spare stool over to the bedside unoccupied by the needle-wielding nurse, collapsing into it with a poorly hidden grimace. His eyes flick around Eddie's face for a moment, and Eddie swallows thickly at the attention, suddenly afraid Buck might see something on him that Eddie can barely see himself - that tends to be how they work.

(Its a lot that he's choosing not to see. Or, well, its impossible not to see, but Eddie has never cared to look too closely, never cared to take a step back and look at the whole picture.

The magnitude of it terrifies him because what he can't see he can feel. The loosened coil in his chest that had turned taut at Buck's grimace, the way the throbbing in his ribcage had eased up ever so slightly when Buck's voice had crackled through his radio, the leap of something behind his sternum when Buck's hand had found his in the chaos.

And the details of it that Eddie has spent hours staring at just for them all to blur together into an answer he's never dared read. The spot on the couch that always sits empty on Christopher's other side, the cookies Christopher's teacher had complimented him for at pick-up, the cartoon heart tucked away in the box at the bottom of the closet with all of Christopher's old drawings.

God, part of him hopes Buck reads it all right then and there, puts them both out of the misery and drags the answer out into the daylight.)

"Take the meds, Eddie," Buck murmurs gently. There's something on Buck's face, something Eddie wants to read into, something Eddie wants to find an answer in. "Please."

"Buck..."

"I saw how much pain you were in, Eds." Buck shakes his head, shoulders hunching tight with tension. He looks smaller under the fluorescent hospital lights, not the competent saviour of his team, but the little kid terrified of losing his family. "I saw it."

Eddie doesn't need to read that answer, hears it instead. Hears the: I saw the pain this time, let me fix it like I couldn't then. Hears the: I see you whether you like it or not.

"I heard it," Buck whispers. Eddie isn't sure whether or not he's meant to hear that, but then Buck is turning blazing eyes on him. "I heard it when I pulled you out, Eddie, and it killed me because I was the one making it worse."

"No, Buck." Eddie shakes his head in disbelief. "You saved me. You saved everyone."

"Please, just..." Buck drops his head with a sigh. "Let the nurse give you the meds, so she can get the hell away from you."

"Do you know anything about the others yet?" Eddie asks, too afraid of the raw quality of Buck's voice to worry about his own. Buck squints at him before his face softens.

"Hen's CT came back clear. She just pushed herself too much. Karen's already drafted up a screentime allowance for when she gets to take her home in a couple of hours." Eddie takes a deep breath, swallows down the fear that had gripped him when Hen had thrown up. Buck shuffles a little closer, the wheels of the stool squeaking with the movement. "Bobby's X-ray says his ankle's only sprained, shoulder's only dislocated. But they're keeping him overnight to keep an eye on any complications in his chest. Just in case." Another deep breath, another relief, another lingering fear. "The rebar missed everything important in Chim, but they're still in surgery patching him up, pumping him full of all the fluids he lost." Eddie exhales, a long, deep thing that makes his eyes water with gratitude. "Everyone's okay, Eddie," Buck reassures him.

Eddie turns to look at him fully then, examining Buck in a way he hadn't been able to at the bridge what with the pain, the fear, and Buck running around putting out whatever metaphorical fires combusted as they popped up. The right side of his face is caked in a paste of blood and dust that makes Eddie's stomach turn worse than the pain in his chest.

Before he can think it through, Eddie reaches up to cup Buck's jaw, swiping his thumb over the stubbled skin just under the lacerations.

"What about you?" he rasps, suddenly exhausted. Buck blinks lazily at him, blue eyes startlingly clear when they meet Eddie's, a small smile shifting the skin under his palm.

"Just some cuts and bruises," Buck tells him. "Nothing you need to worry about."

"If I promise to let you stick me with the drugs without bitching," Eddie turns to the sharp-eyed nurse, "will you let me clean and patch him up?"

"Deal." The nurse sighs heavily like its the best news she's heard all week and stabs him with the needle before he can even draw his next breath.

"Ow," he mumbles under his breath.

"Deserved it." Buck snorts.

The nurse slips through the curtain, gone just long enough for the meds to warm his veins, the pain fading into an aching hum under his skin. She returns with a box of wipes and an array of gauzes that Eddie accepts both gratefully and apologetically.

"I'm fine," Buck insists, but he makes no move to resist when Eddie tenderly cups his left cheek and reaches up to clean the right.

"Mhm." Eddie grits his teeth as inconspicuously as he can when the movement tugs uncomfortably at his ribs, unwilling to let Buck use his pain as an excuse to not be looked after. "They check you for concussion?"

"Yes, dad." Buck rolls his eyes, and Eddie tries not to think about the way Buck refers to him as dad with Christopher. Something must show on his face because Buck reaches out to touch gentle fingers to the medallion resting against his chest. Eddie's eyes sting with fresh tears. "I'll drive you home when Chim's out of surgery."

"Okay." Eddie uses the clean side of the wipe to clear Buck's face of dust. "Does Chris know about..."

"Yeah." Buck nods. "Told him we'd be a little late, but that we're both okay. He's gonna be gentle when he hugs you."

"Just as long as I get a hug, you know?" Eddie laughs wetly, dropping his head back against the wall. His eyes roll back to Buck. "Thank you."

Eddie doesn't know what magic words will erase the lingering tension in Buck's frame, but he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Christopher will because Chris always knows just how to save Buck. Has saved him over and over again.

My best friend's daughter...

Eddie grabs Buck's hand where it had dropped onto the edge of the mattress and squeezes once. Buck squeezes back twice in return. Neither of them knows what it means. Not yet.

For now, they just sit together and wait.

[h50europe]

I had to write another episode coda for episode 8.03, and this time, I found a way to integrate Tommy into the plot. Hope you all like my take on it. (Chapter 1/2 now available)

Excerpt:

Tommy enjoyed flying, but he wished he could skip the paperwork that followed each mission. Thankfully, everything had been digitized some time ago, but it was still a hassle. He had just started typing when one of the probies burst into the office and said, “Sir, don’t you have your cell phone on? We have someone from 118 on the line who needs to speak with you urgently.”

Concerned, Tommy patted his pockets and found his cell phone in his left breast pocket. The display was dark, and nothing happened when he tapped on it. Meh, he'd forgotten to charge it. The landline hadn't been working for a while. The offices were in desperate need of an overhaul. Judging by the look on Probie's face, it seemed highly important, so Tommy jumped up and hurried after the young woman.

Tommy wondered what could be so urgent that someone from the 118 would call him on Harbor Station's main line.

“Kinard?”

“Thank God, Tommy. Where have you been? I've been worried and trying to reach you for a while. It's terrible. So much has happened here and Athena, and the thing with the flight she's on, and then the crash with the private jet.”

“Evan, hey Evan, that’s too much input,” Tommy interrupted. Buck tended to talk too fast and too much when excited, making it hard for Tommy to keep up.

“Oh, sorry, Tommy. So sorry. I can tell you about Gerrard later. What's important now is that we need you. Athena needs you. I told you that she's transferring a prisoner. And things went wrong on the flight here. This swarm of bees has affected us all, and although we don't notice much of it down here, the swarm was probably the cause of the crash between the passenger plane Athena is on and a smaller plane.”

There was a brief silence at the other end of the line. Buck was obviously trying to organize his thoughts.

“You mean goodness, is the plane about....” Tommy didn't dare think any further.

“No, no, it's not. That's why we need you now. The pilots are both down. The captain of the flight was sucked out of the cockpit after the impact, and the other one doesn't seem to be responsive.”

"Holy shit," Tommy muttered. “And who's flying now?”

“Athena."

[moviegeek03]

Hear Me Out Gabriel (Tarlos 4x18 coda)

3k | AO3

Summary: Carlos’s has been grappling with the idea of his father’s legacy. Does he follow in his footsteps and become a ranger? Does he stay in the job he always thought was right? Does he go for the detective job? With all the applications laid out before him, he doesn’t know what to do. Thankfully, his husband knows a thing or two about trying to live up to a father’s legacy.

Special thanks to @marjansmarwani and @lire-casander for encouraging and reading over this. Love you both for all the help and support with everything that’s been happening .

The loft was silent, eerily so. It was rarely like this. There was always noise. Car horns echoed up from the streets below. Neighbors downstairs shuffling about. People knocking and coming over, loud and excited. Hell, even the lizard in his cage usually let out soft sounds, his claws scratching against his glass.

But not tonight.

No.

Tonight was silent.

It was not welcome. There had been days in the past weeks where it would have been. When there were too many people coming and going. Too many worried faces knocking on the door. Too many muffled cries and sniffles. Too many condolences.

But not tonight.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. It came away damp. He hadn’t realized he’d started crying. He’d been too focused on the various papers and files in front of him. It was a familiar sight, yet very different tonight. He cleared his throat and poured another shot in his glass. It had been a gift. From someone. He didn’t remember who. There had been lots of gifts over the past month, for good and bad reasons.

He knocked the drink back, relishing in the burn. Tequila . Not his drink of choice. Not straight. Not like this. But it was someone’s favorite. Before. He poured more.

The papers stared up at him from the coffee table. He hadn’t been back in this spot in awhile. Not since the night he’d argued over what it would mean to be a Texas Ranger. And now, well, he was starting at the damn application. It felt like a standoff. It felt pointless. He sipped at his drink.

Continued on AO3

[wikiangela-fanfics]

Fine - 6x10 coda

Words: 1622

Ao3

***

Eddie’s foot feels heavy on the gas pedal, while his hands grip the steering wheel tightly, to prevent them from shaking. He’s driving almost on autopilot, while trying his best to compartmentalize and focus on just getting to the hospital, trying not to think about Buck- about what’s happening in the back of the ambulance right now. 

He can do it, he’s great at compartmentalizing, no one does it better. He can focus on this one thing, on driving, and push everything else away for now. 

Otherwise he will break down, and he can’t afford to do that right now, not with… not with Buck’s life at stake. 

He can barely hear the sounds of Hen and Chim trying to- trying to save- He does his best to shut those sounds out, to ignore them, to focus.

Buck’s gonna be okay, he has to. Eddie can’t imagine a life without him, and he doesn’t even want to try. He doesn’t even know if he’s still- he just caught a glimpse, before Bobby took him away and told him to drive, he only saw Buck’s pale, unmoving face for a split second, and Chim was doing chest compressions, which means- but he doesn’t know if Buck- He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine and in no time he’ll come home to Eddie and Chris, and everything will be fine.

He feels tears well up in the corners of his eyes, but he refuses to let them fall, and blinks them away. Not now. Now’s not the time.

He can’t fucking think about it now. Compartmentalize, Diaz, for fuck’s sake. The hospital. Getting to the hospital, that’s the priority right now.

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, jaw clenched. If he wasn’t driving, he’d be losing his mind. But he can do that later. For now, he has to keep his shit together.

So, he focuses on taking even breaths, trying to keep the panic, that he feels arising, at bay. He focuses on the feeling of the steering wheel in his hands. On shifting gears when necessary. On controlling the speed, trying to drive as fast as possible without an accident. On the cars around them, that make way for the ambulance. On taking the right turns – even if knows the way to the hospital all too well now, and could drive there in his sleep. 

He’s silent the whole drive, tuning out all the sounds, until all he hears is his own breathing. When they get to the hospital, and Hen and Chimney get Buck out of the ambulance, and Bobby jumps out to go with them, Eddie doesn’t move. He doesn’t know for how long, it could be a few seconds, maybe a minute, an hour, maybe longer, it’s like time doesn’t exist anymore. His breaths become more shallow, while breathing starts becoming a challenge, his hands shake, his chest feels heavy, his heart hammering against it, and he feels dizzy, while tears start falling down his face. He can’t- he can’t see Buck like this. He’s not ready. He’ll never be ready. They’ve had their fair share of near-death experiences, but this is… 

He needs to keep it together for just a while longer. He needs to get out of the ambulance, he needs to make sure that Buck is- but what if he’s not? Eddie’s not sure he’d survive that.

“Eddie?” he hears Bobby, who comes up to the driver’s side, probably to check on him, after they gave Buck over to the doctors. The doctors, who will help him. Right? He’ll be fine. He has to be fine. “Eddie, you need to get checked out, too.” Bobby’s voice is soft, tentative, as if Eddie was about to break. Well, maybe that’s true. Eddie feels like he’s about to crumble into a million little pieces, and the only person who’d be able to piece him back together was just wheeled into the hospital, unconscious, maybe possibly even- Bobby opens the door, and reaches out for Eddie to take his hand. “Come on, let’s get you some fresh air.” he says, clearly seeing the state Eddie’s in. 

Eddie nods, gripping Cap’s hand so tightly, as if his life depended on it, and jumping out of the car. Bobby’s touch grounds him a little, but the world still spins, and he stumbles, but Bobby catches him and helps him stand on his feet.

“Eddie, look at me. Hey.” Eddie finds Bobby’s eyes. “Hey, breathe. Let’s breathe, together, alright?” Eddie feels even worse. Instead of being in the hospital with Buck, finding out if he’s- Instead of being there for, let’s be honest, basically his son, Bobby’s stuck out here with Eddie, because he can’t keep his shit together. Now is not the time to lose it, not yet. He still needs to go home, he needs to tell Chris- he hears himself sobbing, almost choking on air. He’d managed to keep himself from thinking about it until now… “Eddie. You can do this, come one, breathe. I’m right here with you.” his grip on Eddie tightens, and starts taking deep breaths, and Eddie tries to follow, tries to focus on Bobby, but the whole world is blurry and he feels like he’s dying, like he should be dying, because if Buck- his breath quickens again. “Eddie, hey, can you talk? Can you tell me what you need?” Bobby asks, continuing to guide Eddie’s breathing.

“Buck.” he whispers, barely audibly, it feels like he’s been saying nothing but his name since- since it happened. He’s not sure he’ll be able to say anything but his name ever again. He needs to see him, he needs to- 

“Buck’s inside, being taken care of by doctors.” Bobby’s voice is calm, somehow, he’s keeping his feelings in check, and it helps Eddie calm down a little, too. “They got his pulse back, he’s alive.” he adds, and even in his frantic and panicked state, Eddie can hear what he’s not saying. ‘For now. But he’s still unconscious. But he’s in critical condition. But he doesn’t have much time.’

There’s a part of Eddie, a part of his heart, that’s in this hospital, fighting for his life. And he’s still here, by the ambulance, barely holding it together, instead of going where his heart is being pulled to. He needs to calm down. He needs to go and see him, he needs to go home to his kid- to their kid. Shit, he can’t believe this is the first time he consciously thought this, and he might never have the chance to let Buck know what role in this family he really occupies, that he already has a kid, and that Eddie- that Eddie wants to spend the rest of his life by his side, if Buck will have him.

It takes a few minutes, or longer, or shorter, he’s not sure, he feels like he’s outside of his body right now. But finally, he gets his breathing under control. He’s still not able to utter even a ‘thanks’ to Bobby, who finally lets go of him, and claps him on the shoulder, when Eddie nods to indicate that he’s fine. Well, he’s not having a panic attack anymore, but he’s certainly not fine. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be, if he’s not able to look into those lively, cheerful, beautiful blue eyes again.

Without saying anything, he follows Bobby into the hospital, where they wait. They wait, and wait, and wait. Eddie’s pacing, he can’t sit in one place, he feels restless, his whole body longs for Buck, he needs to see him, touch him, make sure his heart is beating. He’s almost certain that if Buck’s heart stops, so will Eddie’s. He has to be fine. Has to, there’s no other option, because the world without Buck- the world without Buck would lose all its color, light, and happiness. And Eddie would have to- he’d have look into their kid’s eyes, and tell him once again, that his parent is-

He feels like he’s going to throw up. He can’t even think those words.

He doesn’t know how long it takes until he can see Buck. It might be hours, maybe days, maybe weeks, hell, he might as well have spent years just pacing this corridor, waiting for news about his- about his Buck. It feels like it, at least.

Buck’s in a medically induced coma. And when Eddie finally sees him, lying there, a tube in his throat, plugged into all the machines that keep him alive, he loses it again. It’s not a panic attack this time. He walks up to the bed and, with shaking hands, takes one of Buck’s lifeless hands into his, and then promptly falls to his knees, onto the floor. He starts crying, sobbing, bawling, and he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t care if anyone sees him, he’s not even sure anyone else is in the room right now, no one else exists but Buck and him. 

“Buck.” he whispers shakily, then repeats it a bit louder. “Buck.” His voice is hoarse, and he notices that his throat is sore. He remembers screaming Buck’s name at the top of his lungs earlier. He wants to keep screaming it, keep saying it, keep whispering it, keep repeating it, until Buck finally hears, and opens his wonderful eyes, looks at him, and flashes him the most charming of his smiles. But all he can do is sit here, hold Buck’s hand, and pray, pray to whoever’s listening, that his heart comes back to him, to them, to him and Chris. That his love will be fine. Because if he doesn’t… Eddie’s not going to be fine ever again.