Chapter Text
When Buck wakes up, the first thing he notices is the noise. Not sirens. Not the low hum of the city outside Eddie’s place. Voices. Loud. Overlapping. Laughing.
He frowns, still half-asleep, eyes fixed on a ceiling that isn’t—
He freezes.
This isn’t Eddie’s ceiling.
Buck pushes himself up too fast, heart already kicking into overdrive. The room spins for a second, familiar in a way that feels wrong, like stepping into a memory you weren’t supposed to revisit. The walls are bare in places he knows should be filled. The furniture’s different. Older. Cheaper. But not unfamiliar. That’s the thing that makes his stomach drop.
He knows this place.
He just—
“Yo, Evan, you alive in there or what?”
The voice comes from somewhere beyond the door, followed by a sharp knock that makes Buck flinch. Buck’s breath catches. Slowly, carefully, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. The floor is cold. Real. Everything is too real.
He stands, hesitating for only a second before crossing to the door and pulling it open.
One of his old roommates is standing there—half-dressed, towel slung over his shoulder, hair still wet from the shower. Grinning. Exactly like Buck remembers.
“Dude,” the guy says, “you’re gonna be late on your first day if you don’t haul ass.”
Buck just… stares at him.
Because that’s—
That’s not possible.
“...What?” Buck manages, voice rough.
The roommate snorts. “Wow, okay, nerves got you bad, huh? Relax, man. You’ve done the training. Top of your class at the fire academy. Now all you gotta do is impress the captain.”
The Fire academy. The captain. The 118.
The words hit like a punch to the chest.
Buck’s grip tightens on the doorframe.
“No,” he breathes, more to himself than anything.
The roommate raises an eyebrow. “Oookay. You’re being weirder than normal.” It was a statement Buck could care less about.
Buck doesn’t notice when he walks away. When he closes the door. He doesn’t hear the way it slams against the frame nor did he care. Buck stands there for a long moment, pulse roaring in his ears. Then, slowly, he turns back into the room. And that’s when he sees it.
Laid out neatly at the end of the bed.
The uniform.
Navy shirt. Dark pants. Boots lined up perfectly underneath.
Waiting.
His breath stutters.
“No,” he says again, louder this time, shaking his head like that might undo it. “No, no, no—”
Because he knows that uniform.
He knows this day.
His first day.
At the 118.
Buck stumbles back a step, running a hand through his hair, trying to think, trying to make it make sense.
Last night—
He was at Eddie’s. The roof. The kitchen. The bottle.
Bobby—
Buck’s chest tightens painfully.
Bobby was—
“Dead,” Buck whispers, the word foreign and wrong in his mouth now.
But if that’s true, then—
Then what the hell is this?
Is it another coma dream? Did something happen to him on the job that he doesn’t remember? Buck had thought the tests were over. What lesson is the universe trying to teach him now?
His gaze drops back to the uniform.
To the life he’s already lived.
To the beginning of everything.
A horrible, creeping realization starts to take shape in the back of his mind.
This must be another coma dream. He was sure of it. He may not remember what accident he had, but he didn’t remember last time either, right?
That’s what this must be. He decides.
“…Okay,” he mutters, like he can talk himself through it. “Okay, think. Think.”
If his coma dream took him back to his first day at the 118 that means Bobby would still be alive. He’ll know what to do. He helped him last time, so he can do it again.
Buck shivers at the thought of repeating it again, but the only way to get out of his coma is to face it.
The lesson sits at the back of his mind. It has ever since that day.
—
Buck doesn’t remember deciding to put it on.
One minute he’s staring at it, frozen, and the next he’s pulling the shirt over his head with shaking hands, fingers fumbling with buttons he knows he’s fastened a thousand times before.
Everything feels off.
Too tight. Too new. Too familiar. By the time he steps out of the apartment, his heart hasn’t slowed down once. The drive is a blur. The city looks the same—but younger, somehow. Or maybe that’s just him. Maybe he’s the one who’s different.
By the time he pulls up to the station, his hands are gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles ache.
Station 118.
Exactly like he remembers it. Exactly like it shouldn’t be. Buck sits there for a long moment, staring at it.
“If this really is another coma dream,” he mutters, “it’s a messed up one.”
Then he forces himself out of the jeep. Each step toward the station feels heavier than the last. Like he’s walking toward something inevitable. Like he already knows how this story goes.
He hesitates in the open bay–
Then he finally moves forward.
—
The familiar sounds hit him first. Voices. Movement. The low buzz of a place already in motion. Buck barely registers any of it.
Because there—
At the kitchen table—
Is Bobby.
Alive. Breathing. Right there. For a second, Buck can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. Because he knows this. He knows how this moment is supposed to go.
But all he can see is—
Bobby.
Alive.
Buck takes a step forward without meaning to.
Then another. His vision blurs slightly, chest tightening so hard it almost hurts.
Bobby looks up. Their eyes meet. And for a split second, something in Buck almost breaks completely. Because he’s here. He’s really here. But he shouldn’t be.
“Evan, right?” The question lingers in the air, because no. He wasn’t Evan. He hasn’t been for nine years. But that’s the dream isn’t it?
“Uh…” His voice is rough, like sandpaper. He goes to say no. Evan was not him. It’s not who he wanted to be. But the words don’t come out. Last night he said he wished he could rewrite fate. If he chooses to stay away from Bobby, it’ll save him more pain down the road.
Maybe it’s not a coma dream. Maybe the universe was giving him a chance to rewrite fate. What he says next could determine how the next ten years of his life goes.
He clears his throat, stepping back, not enough to be noticeable, but enough to matter.
“Yeah. That’s me.”
“Welcome to the 118, Evan.”
The name sits wrong in his chest.
Evan.
It echoes louder than anything else in the room.
Buck—Evan—forces himself to move, to step fully into the space, even as every instinct in him is screaming to do the opposite.
This is fine, he tells himself. This is just the dream.
He knows how this goes. He can control this.
Bobby gestures toward the rest of the table. “Grab a seat.”
Buck hesitates. Just for a second.
Then he nods, but instead of taking the open chair closest to Bobby—the one he knows he took the first time—he circles around, choosing one farther down.
Small. Unnoticeable. But deliberate.
If Bobby notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“Hen, Chimney,” Bobby says, motioning between them. “This is Evan Buckley. New probie.”
Hen gives him a once-over, sharp and assessing. “Evan, huh?”
Buck forces a small shrug. “Yeah.”
Chimney grins. “You look like trouble already.”
Normally, Buck would’ve leaned into that. Smiled. Said something cocky.
Instead, he just huffs out a quiet breath and looks down at the table.
“You have no idea.”
The words feel sour in his mouth. Too restrained. Too careful.
Hen’s eyes narrow slightly. Bobby notices that, too. Buck can feel it—the weight of Bobby’s attention, steady and curious. It makes something twist in his chest.
Don’t, he thinks. Don’t look at him.
Because if he does– If he lets himself–
He’s going to forget why he’s doing this.
—
The morning passes in a blur of introductions and routine. Buck keeps his head down. Answers questions when he has to. Nods when expected. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t joke. Doesn’t shine. Every instinct he has is fighting it. This isn’t who he was back then. This isn’t who Bobby noticed.
Good, Buck tells himself. That’s the point.
At one point, Bobby steps up beside him while he’s checking equipment.
“You settling in okay?” he asks.
The concern in his voice is quiet. Measured. Familiar. But it’s unwanted.
It hits harder than Buck expects.
“Yeah,” Buck says quickly. “It’s… it’s good.”
Bobby watches him for a second longer than necessary. Like he’s trying to figure something out.
“Okay, well, if you need me you know where to find me,” he says.
Everything feels off.
Buck forces a tight smile. “I’m good, Cap.”
The word slips out before he can stop it.
Bobby’s expression shifts, just slightly. Noticing.
Buck clears his throat, looking away. “Captain,” he corrects, more distant this time.
That one lands. There’s a beat of silence.
Then Bobby nods once. “Alright.”
But he doesn’t look convinced.
—
The first call comes in just before noon. Buck’s body reacts before his brain can catch up—moving, grabbing gear, sliding into place like the muscle memory never left. This part is the same. This part he knows.
He climbs into the truck, but instead of taking the seat he used to fight for—right up front, close to Bobby—he hangs back. Puts distance between them. Physical. Intentional. Safe.
Or at least… that’s what he tells himself.
—
The scene is chaotic.
Car accident. Two vehicles. One rolled. Buck knows this call. He knows it. He knows where to go. What to do. What Bobby will say before he says it.
“Buckley, with me,” Bobby calls.
The name—his name—pulls at him.
Buck hesitates. Just for half a second. But it’s enough.
Chimney moves first instead. “I got you, Cap.”
Bobby doesn’t argue. Just adjusts.
And Buck—
Buck stays back.
Helps Hen instead. Keeps his hands busy. Keeps his focus anywhere else. It’s safer this way. It has to be.
Once Bobby is done helping Chimney, he heads back over to Buck–Evan.
“Buckley, a word?” Tension envelops his body at the sentence. It was only three words, but they hit more than he’d like to admit.
Slowly, Evan gets up from the ground where had just been helping Hen, and walks over to his captain.
“Is there a problem?” It’s quiet. Almost like they were standing more than 2 feet apart.
“If you want to be in your own little world at the station then that’s fine. But out here?” Bobby strains his voice, trying to be heard over the chaos. “We work as a team, which means when I tell you, I want you with me, you will do as I say. Am I clear?” The words are stern. Unusual. Bobby always had a tendency to ream Buck for his choices, but there was always a level of concern hidden underneath. Not here. Not this time.
“Yes, sir.” Buck nods his head slightly, and for a moment he thinks Bobby is going to walk away, before something softer takes over his features. Almost like the Bobby he used to know. The one before he got killed.
“Look, you can’t hesitate out in the field, alright?” He pauses. “Hesitation will get you killed.”
All Buck could think was–
Did you?
Did you hesitate saving Chimney’s life before sacrificing your own life?
Because I don’t think you did.
The thoughts stay hidden within his chest. Buried in a tomb of denial and agonizing pain.
“I understand.”
They leave it at that. Bobby walks away, heading back towards the car.
But something feels wrong. Off-beat. Like the rhythm of the call is just slightly out of sync. Buck’s gaze flicks over without meaning to. To Bobby. To where he should be. Bobby’s handling it. Of course he is. He always does.
But there’s a moment—
A small one—
Where something shifts.
A misstep. A delay. Buck’s stomach drops. No. That didn’t happen before.
“Cap, watch it—” Buck starts, instinct overriding everything else.
But he’s too far. Too late.
There’s a car hurling down the road, too fast. Unrealistically fast. Out of control in a way that feels familiar.
And then—
Everything moves at once.
“Bobby!”
The name tears out of him before he can stop it. Time fractures. Noise rushes in. Shouting. Movement. Orders being thrown out too fast.
But what’s done is done. It’s too late. Too late for Bobby to be saved. And too late for Buck to save him.
Buck’s already moving now, pushing forward, heart slamming against his ribs like it’s trying to break free.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. This isn’t how it goes. He knows this call.
He knows—
Except he doesn’t.
As Buck’s feet take him forward, he can see Bobby’s hand poke out from underneath the vehicle. Unmoving. Unrealistically so. Yet somehow, real.
Buck drops to his knees beside Bobby, hands shaking as he reaches for him.
There’s blood. Too much. This is wrong. This is all wrong. He’s seen this before. Just not like this. Not because of him. Not because he wasn’t where he was supposed to be.
“I’m sorry.” It’s barely a whisper. Buck can’t handle anything more.
He doesn’t feel the hands on his shoulders, trying to drag him away. They go through him, like he was the ghost in this story. And maybe he was.
The world fades out in sirens.
In shouted orders.
In the weight of something irreversible settling over everything.
—
When Buck wakes up, the first thing he notices is the noise. Voices. Loud. Overlapping. Laughing.
He frowns, still half-asleep, eyes fixed on a ceiling that isn’t—
His blood runs cold.
“No,” he whispers.
Because he already knows what he’s going to see. And he’s right. He’s back. Again. In the same old room, with the same old voices as the day before.
“Oh god.”