#hooooooooo boyyyyyyyyyyyyy this fic turned into a bit of a monster for supposed to being a short lil drabble

[moonlightperseus]

SLEEP ITS ALL RIGHT ILL KEEP WATCH ,,,, FOR SOMEONE OF UR CHOICE ,,,,,,,,,

1.3k // set in a 911 post-apocalyptic au that i may or may not expand on in the future (hooooo boy, much like bastille's extended edition of the doom days album— this got out of hand )

“You should get some sleep,” Buck says as he uses some rope to secure the door shut.

“No offense, but I don’t think that rope tied to a hook on the wall is gonna be any good if we’re attacked in the night.”

Buck shoots the other man a look, “well no, but it’ll at least keep us out of sight—and keep out any scavenging animals.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest—sitting on the floor and looking petulant in a way that reminds Buck oh-so-much of a certain eight year old. 

Buck looks away. 

“It’s alright,” he ties another knot in the rope for good measure, “I’ll keep watch. You need to rest, your ankle—”

“It's not broken,” Eddie insists, “it’s just a sprain.”

“—is injured, in order to do any healing you have to get some rest.”

Eddie huffs out a sigh and Buck takes it as the closest thing to acceptance that he’s going to get.

“Here,” Buck moves to where he sat down his backpack, takes off the attached bedroll and tosses it to Eddie, “no reason for you to lie on the bare shitty ass concrete—and don’t give me the ‘I’ve slept on worse’ speech—healing has no room for macho tough guy shit.” 

Eddie stares down at the bedroll in his lap for a moment and then looks up at Buck with an unreadable expression on his face, when he turns his attention back on the bedroll, he wordlessly begins undoing the straps keeping it rolled tight and spreads it out next to him.

Before Buck can offer to help him, Eddie unceremoniously shifts himself over onto it, hissing quietly when the movement jostles his ankle. Buck winces in sympathy.

Just as quickly as he had moved to the makeshift bed, Eddie removes his jacket and peels off the flannel underneath, leaving him in just a thin black tank top, Buck finds himself looking away for a reason he can’t quite explain. 

When he looks back, a small part of him is relieved that the tank top remains on, while the jacket is folded somewhat neatly on the ground beside Eddie and the flannel shoved under his head as a makeshift pillow. 

Eddie catches his eye and pats at the jacket, “no reason for you to sit on the bare shitty ass concrete.” 

Buck laughs, shaking his head a little, but obediently moves towards Eddie, pausing only before sitting down, “won’t you get cold?” 

“I run hot,” Eddie says simply, patting at the jacket with a little more insistence, “I’m saving your ass—literally—it’s the least I can do, so don’t go all macho tough guy on me here.”  

Buck laughs again, softer this time, “alright, alright, as long as it means you’ll get some rest.” 

Eddie settles back onto the bedroll once Buck sits down on the jacket—it provides little cushion but manages to prevent the cold of the cement from seeping through to his skin. 

Buck flicks off the small lantern providing them with light and leans back against a wooden support beam, a hand reaching out to rest on the hilt of his axe.

There’s just enough moonlight coming in from the few narrow windows lined along the top of the shed for him to make out Eddie’s figure beside him, eyes closed, but Buck can tell he’s not asleep yet, his breathing not yet evened out and body a little too stiff. 

Sleep isn’t something that comes easily to anyone these days. 

Buck turns his attention back to the door of the shed, Eddie’s eyes being closed doesn’t make him feel any better about staring. 

They remain like that for a while, bathed in soft moonlight and silence. It would almost be nice—were they not in an old musty shed tucked away at the edge of a ghost town, hiding out in an actual goddamn apocalypse.

Buck has no idea how much time has passed when Eddie breaks the silence, but he startles slightly when he does, hand instinctively clenching around the axe. 

“Would you—” Eddie hesitates, and Buck resists the urge to look down at him, “would you—I know you said he’s doing as best as any kid could be doing right now, and that he’s remained uninjured—but would you tell me some more about how Chris has been doing? It’s been—it’s been so long and I—”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Eddie,” Buck says softly, “of course, I’ll talk to you about Chris. What do you want me to tell you about?”

“Just—anything really.” 

Buck nods, more to himself than anything. “Okay, hmm, well—a little while back, I found this wal-mart that by some small miracle still had some functioning electricity—most of the useful shit had already been raided, but I managed to find a few hidden gems. That bedroll you’re lying on, for example, and a whole—fully frozen and completely untouched quart tub of ice cream. I was able to keep it cold enough to get it back without it melting, but there was no way we were gonna be able to keep it from melting, and Chris was so excited—”

“Tell me you didn’t let him eat the whole tub of ice cream,” Eddie interrupts, the amusement laced in his voice undermining the tone of his words.

“He insisted on sharing with me and Maddie,” Buck says with a small laugh, his voice sounding so incredibly fond to even his own ears, “so more like half a tub.”

“Pretty dumb move there, Buckley, how was the sugar crash?”

“Not as bad as I thought it would be, honestly, he talked our ears off about dinosaurs and space, Maddie and I took him outside to stargaze when he wound down a little bit and he fell asleep out there. It was honestly—it was one of the best nights Maddie and I have had since before the world went to shit—maybe even since before then. You’ve—you’ve got a real great kid, Diaz.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says, his voice going soft, “not just for—saying that—but, thank you for looking after him, keeping him safe and for—giving him the chance to still be a kid despite—everything.” 

Buck’s heart stutters a little in his chest and he finally gives in to the urge to look at Eddie, it’s hard to be certain in the dim light, but he’s pretty certain Eddie’s looking right back at him. 

“I’m glad it was you,” Eddie continues, “I’m glad you were the one who found him.” 

Buck has to look away again, blinking back the tears suddenly stinging the corners of his eyes, grateful for the bit of privacy provided by the dark. “You—uh, you hardly know me.” 

“You saved my life—two times over basically—since you saved Christopher too, and I’m pretty damn certain—based on that and what I do know about you—getting to know you better will only affirm my feelings.”

“I’m also glad I found him,” the words feel like some kind of confession on Buck’s lips, “and I’m really glad I was able to find you, too.”

Buck swallows back whatever the feelings are building in his throat, “you should—you should really get some sleep, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover tomorrow.”

Eddie makes a quiet noise, something close to a hum, “would—would you keep talking—just until I drift off?”

Buck thinks—a little ridiculously—that he would do just about anything Eddie asks him. 

It’s easy, lapsing into stories about Christopher and random facts he’s learned over the years and it doesn’t feel like long before Eddie’s breathing begins to even out.

He keeps talking even once Eddie’s fallen asleep—quieter murmurings of useless knowledge, more to keep himself from drifting off.

There’s a chill in the air, and Buck removes his jacket—grateful to be wearing a long sleeve shirt underneath—carefully draping it over Eddie before settling himself in for the remainder of the night. 

x