Chapter Text
It happens because Buck is overconfident.
Which is, frankly, on brand.
The morning has been suspiciously calm. No calls. No sirens. No teenagers filming wildlife documentaries across the street.
Bobby is awake and occupying the center of the bay like a sentient boulder. Hen is conducting silent oversight from above. Ravi is pretending he is not curled into a turnout sleeve like it’s custom housing.
Eddie is doing perimeter checks.
Again.
Buck decides — for no defensible reason — that he should be on top of the engine.
Not because he needs to be.
Because he can.
I am still agile.
I am still extremely capable.
I am not simply a golden retriever with feelings.
He launches up onto the side step with confident momentum.
He misjudges the landing.
Just slightly.
His paw slips on smooth metal.
There is a sharp, startled yelp.
The kind that punches straight through instinct and lands somewhere vulnerable.
The entire bay goes silent. Eddie is moving before the sound finishes echoing.
Buck has already hopped down, attempting dignity, as though the yelp hadn’t echoed off the bay walls.
I’m fine. That was nothing.
He puts weight on the paw.
He shouldn’t.
Pain flares sharp and immediate, and his ears flatten before he can stop them.
Eddie is around him in an instant, circling once in a tight, restless arc before lowering his head to nudge at Buck’s leg, examining, searching, checking for something he can fix.
Buck tries to pull the paw back.
Eddie doesn’t let him.
A sound rises from Eddie’s chest — low, strained, and very much not part of any standard operating procedure. It isn’t a growl. It isn’t command.
It’s a whine.
Raw. Uncontrolled. Distressed.
Buck’s breath stutters.
Oh.
Eddie licks the injured paw quickly, urgently, as if sheer determination might reset bone and tendon. He presses his forehead against Buck’s, another small, broken whine slipping out before he can stop it.
It isn’t tactical.
It isn’t controlled.
It’s fear.
The absurdity of everything — the fur, the spell, the perimeter checks — drops away in one suspended second.
Eddie would take the injury if he could.
That’s the truth of it.
Across the bay, Christopher grips his crutches tighter but doesn’t move. Hen is frozen. Ravi has gone statue-still. Even Chim is silent.
Eddie nudges Buck again, frantic now, checking, rechecking, like there must be something he missed.
Buck shifts closer without thinking.
I’m here.
Eddie presses in tighter.
And the world tilts.
Not violently. Not dramatically.
Just… adjusts.
Warmth floods between them. Edges blur. Fur recedes. Weight redistributes. Concrete feels wrong against skin instead of paws.
The bay is suddenly very quiet.
Eddie is kneeling.
His hand is wrapped tightly around Buck’s. His other hand hovers at Buck’s ankle.
He hasn’t let go.
Buck sits there, human again, breathing uneven, staring at their hands like they might vanish if he blinks.
Eddie’s thumb is moving over Buck’s knuckles.
He hasn’t noticed that either.
Christopher’s voice cuts gently through the silence.
“You were whining.”
Eddie freezes.
Two realizations hit him at once:
He is human.
He is still holding Buck’s hand.
Buck looks up at him.
“You were,” he says softly.
Eddie swallows. “I thought you were hurt.”
“I was,” Buck answers.
And before Eddie can retreat—
Buck squeezes.
Small. Intentional.
Eddie inhales sharply like the floor just shifted again. Instinct scrambles for control — distance, recalibrate, pretend this didn’t happen.
He starts to pull his hand back.
Buck doesn’t let him.
Not forceful. Just steady.
“I’m okay,” Buck says.
No bravado. No grin. Just simple truth.
Eddie looks at him. Really looks.
And this time—
He stays.
Across the bay, Chim clears his throat.
They all glance up.
He opens his mouth, voice soft and devastatingly precise.
“Good boy.”
Silence.
Buck huffs out a laugh he didn’t know he was holding.
Eddie closes his eyes briefly, as if preparing to file a formal complaint with whatever cosmic department approved this shift.
Outside, beneath the jacaranda tree, the witch watches through the open bay door. In her palm, the carved charm turns brittle, cracks, and crumbles to dust.
Inside, the 118 stands human again.
Bobby exhales deeply. Hen drops from her perch. Ravi stares at his hands like they’re suspicious. Christopher smiles faintly.
Eddie is still holding Buck’s hand.
The spell has lifted.
The formation hasn’t.
And from somewhere near the ceiling, in a voice that is fully his again, Chim mutters:
“…hello.”