#has anyone said 6x11 speculation fic from christopher's pov? 👀

[writtenmemxries]

revelations and heartaches make you realise

rated t | 3.7k words

His eyes are wide and disconcerted, then something seems to settle in his head, like the question has finally sunk in, and his face morphs into something else.

It's defeated, trodden down, wearied. It makes Christopher's heart ache even more, like his ribs are shattering and his chest is about to explode, and he thinks, not again, please, not again.

"Chris..."

"Is Buck dead?" Christopher asks again, desperate, and he's yelling, and he's crying, and he's clutching at his father's shirt like he wants to rip it out, like he wants to wrap it around himself, finding comfort in his dad's scent.

Except—except he breathes in, and it's not Eddie's scent that fills his nostrils. He takes one look at the t-shirt, all wrinkled and gross now, smeared with tears and snot, and suddenly he realises—Dad is wearing Buck's shirt.

———

A few choice words can sometimes be the life raft that gets you home.

6x11 speculation fic

Christopher knows what the word coma means. He doesn’t know its etymology, nor what it feels like to be in one, but he’s twelve years old and he’s seen people he loves get in and out of hospitals – of comas – one too many times. He’s seen people he loves slowly fall into a state of unconsciousness and never wake up, like his mom. 

(He tries not to think about it.)

He knows his classmates haven’t been through what he has. They didn’t go through the overwhelming grief of losing a parent a few weeks after you’ve finally gotten them back, nor did they cry themselves to sleep when their other parent got shot, or when he locked himself in his room and wouldn’t come out despite Christopher’s cries.

(He tries not to think about it.)

He’s glad they don’t know what it feels like. He’s glad they think the word coma isn’t even an actual word, that he made it up. That it sounds funny.

Christopher supposes it does sound funny, in a way—when your dad’s best friend, your best friend, the closest thing to a second father you’ll ever have, isn’t lying in a hospital bed, fighting tooth and nail against death.

[continue on ao3]