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Owen Strand wasn’t a praying man.
Growing up in Santa Monica to some pretty religiously indifferent parents forced Owen to find solace in himself, more than anyone. Even when he moved to New York in high school, Owen never really found the time, nor the energy, to pour himself into a deity that may or may not exist.
Gwen wasn’t much for prayers, either.
Owen had met her; this spunky brunette from Queens, his first day of law school. They had generally similar schedules (if Owen was being honest, he couldn’t remember the majority of law school, just Gwen), and Owen couldn’t help but take her presence in his life to be more than just coincidence. Gwen introduced him to a world of color that he didn’t realize he’d been holding out on, and he figured he should have something to blame for that.
The first time Owen Strand ever prayed was three minutes and twenty-two seconds before he knelt down in front of her and asked for the ultimate commitment. Owen was so convinced that something was going to go wrong; that Gwyneth Morgan would want to stay that forever, because though they had been dating for years at that point, she never wanted to settle down.
To his surprise, she said yes, and Gwyneth Morgan became Gwyneth Strand.
The second time Owen found himself praying was when he was at work, and he got the call that his wife had gone into labor with their first (and only) child. He remembered the risks of someone her stature doing a natural delivery. She was so small, and despite the countless lamaze classes and the mornings spent holding her hair back in the bathroom while morning sickness took its toll on her tiny body, Owen still felt like he wasn’t there enough.
Holding his son for the first time, Owen found himself swearing that he was going to be.
Tyler Kennedy was Gwen’s idea. She’d had it picked out long before she met Owen. She’d always loved the name Tyler, and though the original meaning was not something to admire, really (it meant house-builder, or one who lays bricks in old english), she took it as more of a metaphor.
“Our family starts with him. He’s the first building block.”
Owen recalled her saying that while he took a turn holding onto the tiny creature that he had helped to create. The boy’s eyes were wide open, shining like stars, staring at the man above him with awe and wonder. Owen tried to read his tiny, gibberish baby thoughts, but he was too caught up in his own to recognize that all the boy in his arms was thinking was about how warm his embrace was.
The third time Owen found himself pleading to any almighty was the day he stopped believing there was one.
He remembered the call so vividly that sometimes nightmares still plagued his ever screaming mind.
He hadn’t even made it into work. He was busing through the city on his way to the station when the first crash decided to fall upon his ears. Owen found himself looking up at the situation, his breath seeming to catch more and more in his throat. The moment he stepped out of the bus and into the station, the team was already gearing up, all looking generally surprised at Owen’s lateness. (Frankly, it wasnt his fault that a fucking plane flew into the world trade center. He felt that was reason enough to be a couple minutes late to his shift.)
“Cap.” Someone had addressed him, but Owen was stuck. He was in a mindset. Get up. Get up and get out there and help those people who can't help themselves.
That’s exactly what he did.
Owen Strand spent the next two and a half hours frantically running in and out; up and down the south tower, trying to pull out anyone he could, dead or alive, until his time inevitably ran out.
Owen vaguely remembered saying a prayer upon waking up in the hospital, bits and pieces stuck in his brain, but none truly making sense. He knew he had been mortally wounded, and that was bad news for most of the people that he had walked alongside into that disaster, but Owen did not understand the severity of the situation until the he felt wet tears in his hand, and turned to see his seven year old boy curled up against his hand, mumbling incoherent syllables as his body forced him to sleep through the tears.
“He thought you were dead, Owen,” Gwen had told him. “When he saw that— when the towers came down, he… we thought we lost you.”
Owen still looked confused for a moment, but all at once, everything seemed to flood back to him, sending him into a panic, his free hand trying its best to curl around his chest while he let Tyler sleep not-so-peacefully on his other one.
“The others?”
“Owen…”
Owen found himself zoning out at the sound of her regretful voice. Gwen was never supposed to be in that situation. He could see how much pain it had caused her, just to be there, and tell him that the rest of his crew—his brothers, were never coming back home.
He wasn't going to do that again, no matter how much it pained him. If Owen was gone, then he would never be the reason they hurt. He would never have to look them in the eyes and see how much he had wronged them, just like he did his station, just like he did himself.
Owen didn't say a prayer when the divorce was finalized. He didn't say a prayer when Gwen took Tyler.
He only said one when he got the call that, due to business reasons, Gwen was handing full custody over to Owen.
Tyler was twelve.
A few weeks into staying with his dad, they had rebuilt their relationship enough that Tyler was okay with Owen picking him up from school, and taking him out with his friends. It came to a surprise to Owen, how easily the boy latched onto his father. Most days Owen would wake him up expecting to get an angry flare and a swat towards his face, but as the days mended together, the constant, content medley of, “Good morning, Tyler,” and “Good morning, Dad!” grew to be expected.
What he did not expect was going to work one day, thinking it to just be a normal shift, then getting a call from his son’s principal, as he was riding out to his high school to check on a possible overdose.
Owen never thought it could be Tyler, his sweet, charismatic, happy boy. He’d been distancing, sure, but Owen thought that that was what all teens did. He was prepared for distancing.
He wasn’t prepared to use narcan on his fourteen year old.
Owen found himself praying in the hospital, attempting to hold onto any sliver of sanity as the sight of his son plagued his mind. Owen was forced off duty by his entire team at that point; told to go with his son, and he didn't have to be told twice.
Owen prayed as he waited, and the moment he was able to see his son, he all but sprinted back to his room, just to see the boy absentmindedly picking at the blankets.
“Tyler,” He’d said, but he saw his son flinch.
“You’re not in trouble.”
“I will be.”
“Not if you tell me what’s going on.” Owen vaguely remembered putting his hand on his son’s knee, gently running his thumb over it, though the skin was still under the blanket.
“I thought I was in love.”
In any other circumstance, Owen would have snickered at that. He and TK still joke about it from time to time, but there, sitting in that hospital room, Owen was there to listen. He was there to listen to what his boy needed to say so he could fix this.
“You weren’t?”
“I felt like I was. He gave me pills and told me he loved me.”
Owen stiffened at that, his gentle strokes over his son’s knee ceasing abruptly. He remembered hearing Tyler’s breath hitching. He remembered the boy scooting away from him and wrapping his arms around his chest almost suffocatingly.
“See? See, I told you you would hate me.”
“Why would I hate you?”
“Because.” his son’s tone was exasperated. Owen remembered the feeling; the sound of it cutting through every fiber of his being like a thousand tiny daggers because his son genuinely thought he could hate him.
“Because…?” He’d decided to keep his cool.
“Because I took drugs from someone? Because I thought I was in love with a boy .”
“Tyler—”
“TK,” he corrected, looking at his dad with pleading eyes. “Please, can you just… use TK for now? He always said my name exactly like you say it and I was stupid and—”
“Hey, it's okay, TK.” Owen reached out to grab his hand. He smiled faintly when the other took it. “As for the liking boys thing? I think this one set the bar pretty low.”
Owen remembered the look in his son’s cloudy irises when the joke slid past his lips. He remembered the tiny smile that found its way onto his son’s face; how when he squeezed Tk’s hand, the boy squeezed back.
Owen had only felt the need to pray three times since then.
TK coming home high off his ass from some stupid bender that his friends forced him to go on. Him sending TK to rehab They sent Owen close to the edge of asking for help from the almighty, but he didn’t ask again until the situation presented itself once more.
Walking in on his son, heart refusing to beat, laid on a hardwood floor covered in several pills that he knew TK didn’t have the night before forced Owen back into a perpetual state of prayers, only ceasing when the narcan worked it’s magic, and TK threw himself into his father’s arms, sobbing repeats of, “I’m sorry.”
Owen thought he knew hurt. Owen thought that that was the epitome of hurt; how could it get any worse?
He found himself praying, once more, this time in a hospital chapel, while his son laid in the ICU, clinging to life after a bullet ripped through his chest.
He recalled the feeling of his son’s blood pushing itself up through his fingers. He remembered feeling Tk’s entire body go limp beneath him and this time being powerless to stop it.
Owen was so tired of praying.
He hadn’t prayed since then, and he hadn’t planned on doing it again.
He was sat in his office, staring at his computer, TK sitting across from him, sipping at his water bottle, feet on his desk.
“Would you get your boots off the table? Do I look like a daycare?” Owen had noticed his son had been in quite a chipper mood, and part of him wanted to the bottom of it.
“You called me in here,” TK grinned, looking over at his dad. He set his bottle down on the desk. He tried to make eye contact with his father, but Owen didn't look at him.
He simply laughed dryly, and shoved his son’s feet off the desk. “I enjoy the company,” Owen remarked, turning his attention back to the computer in front of him. He had a few AARs from the few calls that the 126 had actually been called to. It had been a slow day.
“You better be careful, Captain,” TK smirked. “The team’s gonna think you’re picking favorites.”
“You’re barely off light duty, T, they deserve a shot at cleaning the rig.” Owen finally tore his eyes from his computer, up to his son, who had his eyes narrowed, a grin on his face. “What’s got you so smug, anyway? Putting your feet on the Captain’s desk and walking in like you own the place wouldn't fly in other stations.”
“A, I am not at another station,” TK started, his grin unwavering. He thought he could see Owen open his mouth, but TK cut him off. “And B, I’m so smug, as you put it, because of Carlos.”
Owen raised his eyebrows, his own mouth twitching into an identical smirk. “What happened this time? Minus the sex, T, I don’t need that.”
“If only you would respect when I tell you that,” TK grumbled. He let out a tiny chuckle, sitting up a little straighter. “And, for your information, he asked me to move in with him, like full time.”
Owen froze. He took a second to look from his son to his laptop, and back. He closed the computer, clasping his hands on top of it. He saw the excitement drain from his son’s face when he saw Owen’s expression.
“Dad—”
“No, T, it’s okay. I mean, you practically live there anyway. I just need to make sure you're safe.”
“You trust him, don’t you?”
“Of course I trust him, TK,” Owen sighed. “I just worry about you.”
TK pursed his lips at that. He seemed to lean back in the chair again, his eyes struggling to find Owen’s after that remark. “So you don’t trust me?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s what you meant, though, right?”
“No, TK, that isn't at all what I meant,” Owen frowned. He stood up, crossing around his desk to TK’s side. “I meant that I worry about you. I will never stop worrying about you, which means I will have high expectations for Carlos, and though I trust him, I need to know that he’s ready enough for the both of us.”
“Then talk to him,” TK whined. He reached for his water bottle, watching Owen back up a little. “If you have expectations for my boyfriend, you need to tell him, because, in case you haven’t noticed, you both are a pretty huge part of my life.”
Owen sighed, taking a hesitant approach before ruffling his hair. “You know I’m happy for you.”
“Yeah,” TK smiled. “I am, too.”
Owen was about to say something to his son, but he was stopped by the alarm going off. He pursed his lips, opting to pat him on the shoulder and sigh, “Suit up.”
TK rolled his eyes, leaving his water bottle on his father’s desk after a quick sip. He headed downstairs with his dad. He was a little too eager, almost, running down and suiting up in record time. He was in the rig before Judd even managed to grab his turnout coat from his cubby.
“You sure you’re ready for field duty, man?” Paul asked as he climbed into the rig next to him. “How’s your leg doing, hm?”
“Paul, I’m fine,” TK said.
He had broken his leg on a call about three months ago. They were responding to a car accident, and had gotten there before PD, so there wasn’t really any traffic control, so when another car came down the road, TK had been in it’s path. He narrowly dodged it when he jumped away, but the car’s bumper had still managed to knock his calf. The break was clean, and TK had gotten out of his cast six weeks after being put into it. He hadn’t had a real call since that one.
“You’ll let us know if it starts bothering you again, right?” Paul asked him.
“You sound like Cap,” TK retorted.
Paul rolled his eyes, lightly shoving TK’s shoulder when Owen climbed into the front of the rig. He smiled a little, adjusting his headset when the sirens were turned on.
“Alright, guys, this is a sixteen story hotel, dispatch has classified it as a five-alarm. We go in sharp or we don’t go in at all, you hear?” Owen shot a glance back at Judd, who had gone pale, then to TK, who was practically bouncing with excitement.
Don’t get him wrong, TK felt awful for the victims of the fires, and all the loss, and the carnage, but he loved his job. He was born to do his job, and not being able to do so for three months was a bit excessive. TK wanted to get back in the game. What better way to immerse himself back into firefighting than to fight fire?
“Copy that, Cap.”
“Okay, dispatch has informed me that our job is mainly going to be the rescue part of fire and rescue. Fire started on the third floor, it’s currently burning through the sixth. The top floor tenants are trapped. They’ve got 121 and 154 on fire control, currently, and I’ve been told, with our ETA, we’ll be last to show. You know what that means.”
“It means we’re going in,” He answered, but it was a little quieter this time. TK had no problem with the rescue aspect of his job. As a firefighter and field medic, he recognized that he was more equipped than others (excluding Judd and Marjan) to diffuse situations regarding injured people. He was excited to go in, but it als kind of scared him. What if his dad kept him benched? What if he was told to go be the 121 and 154’s monkey, swinging from hose to hose, outside, missing all the action.
However, upon arriving, TK recognized that being benched from this rescue was not a possibility.
The building was halfway engulfed, the fire licking at the sides, through the windows. There were around ten stories above the fire, some people waving their hands from their balconies, screaming for them to help.
This was an all hands on deck situation.
“Alright, everyone,” Owen said, pulling to a stop next to the other fire engines. He switched off the siren, letting the team get out and gather what they needed. “Buddy system, every twenty minutes, we chack radio. “Marwani, Strickland, start on floor sixteen, work your way down. Ryder, Chavez, you have fourteen. Strand,” TK looked up at his father at the sound of his name. “You’re with me. Start on five, work our way up, meet in the middle.” Owen narrowed his eyes at his son, before lightly tugging at his wrist, a warning look on his face.
I’ve got my eyes on you, kid.
TK nodded, glancing around at his teammates before looking at his father. “Best point of entry?”
“There’s a back exit that leads to the northwest staircase. It should be clear of the fire for now. Clear those stairs and bring civilians down when you descend. Got it?”
“Yes, Cap,” they all said.
Owen nodded, locking eyes with TK. He could see the other was excited to be back in action, and actually do his job, but the look in TK’s eyes betrayed the distaste for the assignment. “Dad—”
“I don’t wanna hear it, T.”
“You want to go to the fifth floor; the one filled with ash and smoke, with lung cancer, Dad. Are you sure that’s a good idea?” TK followed behind him, biting his lip gently. The moment they opened the door to the staircase, the stench of smoke was strong, and TK almost recoiled at the scent.
“I’m not making you climb sixteen flights of stairs with a bum leg, TK.”
TK flinched, working his way up the first flight, easy, no problem. He’d been doing well, recently. His injury was almost not noticeable, at least not to him, but he knew Owen was going to be keeping a watchful eye on him, no matter what. He needed to prove himself.
And yet, his dad was doing the same thing to protect him. “Dad, you don’t have to do that, seriously, I’m fine,” he muttered when he surpassed the second story. The smoke started to thicken halfway to the third floor. TK found himself reaching out to his dad, seeing the other slow, just a little. “Dad,” He said. “Dad, you don’t have to do this. We can go back down; wait on everyone else. The 126 needs their captain in top shape.”
“You’re not going up alone, TK.”
TK sighed, running a gloved hand over his helmet, realizing how nasty this call was going to be. He looked up at his father as they passed onto the fourth floor, taking the exit into the hotel hallway. TK squinted at the amount of smoke, not quite wanting to leave his dad’s side. He only let go of him when Owen pulled a fire extinguisher from the wall. “TK, call out, if anyone needs help they gotta know it’s here.”
TK sighed, giving his father a curt nod before taking a deep breath and shouting out through his mask: “Austin Fire and Rescue! Is anyone in here?”
There was no response but the crackling of the fire. Still, Owen and TK continued down the hall until they cleared the floor, eyes scanning for anyone alive in the rooms, but by the time they got to the alternate staircase, there was no one with them.
It went on like this until around floor seven, when the fire just barely started licking up the sides of the hotel. There were people rushing up the stairs, instead of down. Both Owen and TK understood why. You never really wanted to run towards a fire, especially not when a building could land on top of you, but the idea of sprinting up towards the top, where the civilians would most likely be trapped made both Owen and TK’s skin crawl.
Owen’s more so.
The fire was spreading fast, licking at people’s heels, taunting them with its burning, angry, flames. They didn’t have equipment. They didn't have oxygen masks or turnout gear or PPEs. They had themselves, and their survival instincts, which, both Owen and TK could agree, that untrained, was worse than a death wish in some instances.
TK started to feel it around floor eight.
The fire had been chasing the men up the stairs, and though Owen and TK had sent every single person they came across down the stairs, quickly. There were still at least three floors to go by the time TK started to limp.
But Owen noticed the moment his son stopped leading his wheezing father, and they fell into a similar rhythm. He looked at TK, staring at him with a few nervous blinks, as TK’s face contorted in the slightest bit of pain. “You good, T?”
Eight floors up with a healing broken leg, TK started to doubt himself.
“I’m okay, Dad, are you? How’s your oxygen?”
Owen shook his head and tugged at TK’s turnout coat. He grabbed his radio, narrowing his eyes before he pressed the button. “This is Captain and Firefighter Strand. This is check in. We are on floor eight, copy?”
“Firefighters Marwani and Strickland, thirteen.”
“Ryder and Chavez, ten.”
Owen closed his eyes in relief, glancing around him to see smoke beginning to billow out from under the doors. It was dark, and eerie, and Owen was worried about his son, but they had a job to do, and neither of them were going to get it done while worrying about each other.
So, he let TK yell for people, screaming the same, “AFD! We’re here to help!” Mantra even as his son’s limp became harder and harder to ignore.
Owen bit his lip, watching TK shove in door after door, hoping to find more and more people, but most of the rooms were empty, and TK was limping and the smoke was getting darker and Owen swore he felt the building beneath him lurch and—
“Dad!” TK’s hands were on his shoulders in an instant, bringing him back to the situation at hand. He tapped on his father’s mask for extra measure, before he gestured under some of the doors. “The smoke.”
Owen furrowed his brows for a moment, before realizing that, mixed with a lot of the white and brown smoke, flecks of ash and splotches of black smoke started to flood through the bottom of the doors. Owen stared at it for a moment, before moving his hand back up to his radio. “126, this is Captain Strand. Evacuate, now. Structure is compromised. I repeat, evacuate now.” He looked back at TK, who nodded, and tried to hobble over to him. “Son, are you okay?”
“Yeah, Dad, just… give me a second,” He said, leaning against the door frame. He made sure to look up at his father with an at least somewhat reassuring smile, but it was wiped from his face the moment there was a rumble from beneath them.
Vaguely, Owen could hear footsteps sprinting down the stairway behind him; the sounds of crying people, accompanied by Judd and Mateo’s soothing, yet assertive voices, but his eyes were locked on his son.
Owen had shoved his entire team into a jenga tower, and as the pieces from the top seemed to file down, the bottom had to compensate. The fire licked away at two blocks, leaving the remaining center block all that was left, and the two Strands were teetering on top of it, hoping the tower would stay in place.
“TK, we need to get out of here.”
TK nodded, lifting himself off the wall and limping over to his father. The strain his leg had endured made it difficult for him to walk, at this point, plus all the gear, and the severity of the situation. If Owen and TK actually had anything to hold onto, maybe they could speed up, but at this point, it was slowing both of them down, and TK was not going to stand for it.
“Dad, go. I’ll catch up with you.”
“Like hell you will.”
If Owen wasn’t on the clock, and TK had made such a stupid insinuation at home, Owen would have smacked him upside the head, but for now, Owen had to settle with a sharp response, and a fatherly gaze that told him, politely, to
shut the fuck up, Tyler.
TK shook his head, the smoke becoming unbearable when they got to the stairs. By the time they made it to the doorway, Owen saw Marjan and Paul sprinting down the stairs with several civilians.
“I knew I should have kept you on light duty,” Owen snarled, wrapping his arm around his son. “You get shin splints just looking at PPEs, TK.”
“The doctor said I was good to work,” TK argued, unsure if he was trying (and failing) to prove himself, or if he was defending his father’s poor judgment. He looked over at his dad as he took the first couple steps down the stairs. “You have enough oxygen, right?”
“TK, of course I do,” Owen snarled. He watched TK, slowly moving his way down the stairs, Owen right behind him. TK was moving slower and slower, wincing with every step, and for a moment, Owen thought that TK had rebroken his bone entirely, and hadn’t just overworked it.
He was so focused on his boy that when his radio chirped to life, Marjan’s voice nearly made him yelp in surprise.
“Cap, where are you? We’re out. I thought I saw you on eight. What’s taking you so long?”
Owen cursed to himself, but heard Judd follow up with, “Captain Strand, what is your status?”
“Floor six. TK’s leg is bothering him pretty badly. We’re coming out, now.” He looked at TK. The boy was still trying to fake it through the pain, but a moment too late, Owen spotted the hole in the staircase below them. He watched as TK’s good leg got stuck in it, forcing his son’s entire body forward, the hold latching onto his leg.
“TK!” Owen barked, stumbling down next to his son. The boy’s face had contorted into an expression of excruciating pain, and normally Owen would be right by his side; right there comforting him, but he had to get out. They had to get out, together. “TK, get up.”
“Dad, go,” TK tried a third time to which Owen shook his head. He tugged at TK’s shoulders a little, but his leg was stuck pretty good. The movement forced a scream out of TK, so he stopped.
But the fire was so large and moving so fast and put so much fear in Owen’s heart that he knew, the moment he stopped, his son would be lost, and Owen wouldn't be able to deal with that. He tried again.
And this time the step gave way.
Along with every other piece of staircase around them.
Owen didn’t register much. Just that he was falling, and he was screaming, and so was TK, and he could hear muffled cries from the people outside, using his radio to contact him.
He managed to take a hold of TK’s hand as they fell, but as he hit the ground, the two broke apart, and both firefighters’ worlds went completely black.
—
Owen awoke with a start, only able to hear the crackling of flames and the creaking of metal around him. He didn’t know how he was so lucky as to wake up on top most of the debris, but he wanted to thank whatever higher power that he did.
Owen peeled his head up from the mound of concrete and metal beneath him, but his shoulder screamed in protest when he tried to move his arm to support the weight of his upper body. He almost yanked it back, but realized it would be useless to move at all if his suspicions were correct and he had dislocated it, so he sat up on his own, taking in his surroundings.
The only light inside the cavern of brick and metal and insulation was from a fire in the corner, blazing against the wall. With that light, though, Owen was able to piece together that half of the staircase had come down around him, and if he wasn’t careful, any shift could most likely cause the mound beneath him to collapse in on itself. He also established by the number on the wall that he was somewhere in between the second and the third floor.
Owen reached for his radio, only to find a cord torn from the communication device.
He sighed, pressing his palm to his eyes in an attempt to see a little clearer. The smoke was thick, he had limited oxygen, he had no communication with the outside world, and he was trapped, all alone in this stipid stairwell.
Wait .
Owen let the gears in his brain dust themselves off and start to turn, allowing him to think about what had happened before the fall; what he’d been doing, what the call was.
It took him a moment to remember, but as soon as he did, Owen no longer cared about the instability of the mound beneath him. He was pushing himself up with frantic eyes, panic setting deep into his chest. “TK!”
There was no response, which forced Owen’s heart to beat a little faster. He stood, practically sprinting around to the edge of the cavern to get a better vantage point. His eyes were wide, his breath was shaky, and as he looked, Owen couldn’t seem to focus in on anything. “TK! Can you hear me?”
Nothing.
“TK, please! Say something! Anything.”
Still not a word.
So, Owen narrowed his eyes, tried to wipe the tears away (before he remembered he had a mask on) and sprinted back over the pile of rubble to start digging.
“TK! TK where are you, Buddy? Talk to me, It’s Dad! TK!”
Owen almost forgot his shoulder was most likely dislocated until he started picking at the heavier pieces of rubble. Letting it dangle helplessly while he dug for his son was not the best idea, but Owen didn’t seem to care. What’s a little bit of pain when TK was hurt? His son could be dead. There was no time to care about himself.
He waited for a moment to catch his breath, panicking, already halfway mourning the loss of his son when his useless arm caught a hold of something. Owen looked down, eyes still narrowed and tear-ridden, to see a gloved hand, gently squeezing his.
“Oh my god.”
Owen started to dig a few inches to the right of where he initially had, crying out when he spotted TK’s near-unmoving head, eyes staring back at him in horror. “Dad,” He choked.
Owen shook his head, shushing him as he assessed the situation. TK had been pinned beneath a slab of concrete, presumably from the side of the staircase. His feet were barely visible, covered in smaller bits of debris. Owen was quick to attempt to tear the concrete away from his son, but as soon as it shifted, even a little, TK was screaming in pain, squeezing his father’s bum hand.
“Dad, don’t,” He whimpered, eyes trying desperately to focus on his father’s. “You don’t… you don’t want to see what’s under there, trust me.”
“I’m getting you out of here,” Owen repeated, pushing the slab a little further to the right.
TK cried out again. “Dad, stop!”
Owen shook his head, and TK tried to reach up to his father’s face. He fell short, though, and instead yanked his mask off, trying to shove it in Owen’s direction. A fit of coughs consumed him, and Owen shoved the mask back over his son’s head with a scowl.
“You don’t get to do that, TK. I’m the captain here, and I order you to keep that on.”
TK laughed, obviously drowsy. He felt his mouth turn up into a gentle smile when he squeezed his dad’s hand again. He could see the panic in Owen’s eyes, only accompanied by the tears, but TK didn’t want to add to them. He figured smiling would help.
It didn’t though. It just scared Owen even more.
“TK, tell me what’s wrong.”
The boy looked up at his panicked father, chest heaving. He let out a tiny cough, gesturing to the slab of concrete that still sat over his abdomen. “There’s… I think it’s railing, or rebar, or something, Dad. In my back. I can’t really feel it but I feel it, you know? It’s kind of all I feel.”
Owen closed his eyes, shaking his head. Of course this was happening. Of course his son was in front of him, in obvious pain, not knowing how he was still there. TK Srand had had too many brushes with death. Each time it happened, Owen found himself growing more and more afraid that it would be the last time; that he’d run out of luck.
He couldn’t let himself believe that, though.
“Alright, T. Here’s the game plan.” He let himself meet TK’s eyes, looming over him for a minute before running leaning back. “I’m gonna get this off of you, we’re gonna see what’s really going on, and you and I are gonna get out of here, safe and sound, okay?”
“Do you have your radio on you?” TK whimpered.
Owen hesitated, giving TK a disappointed look before murmuring, “I did before the fall, but it’s broken. What about yours?”
“Same as me. Got crushed by a concrete slab.”
“TK,” Owen warned, but TK didn’t take it seriously. He knew his father was worried. He had every right to be, but Owen was in no position to chastise him for attempting to lighten the mood.
“How are we gonna get out of here without any communication?” TK asked, and Owen shook his head.
“First, I’m gonna get this rock pancake off of you, and then I’m going to yell very loudly.”
TK wanted to laugh at that. He did, but as soon as his father finished speaking, he was lifting the plate of cement off of him, and TK was screaming once again.
“I know!” Owen said as soon as the material was cleared. He turned his attention back to TK, grabbing his face and gently holding him still. “I know, I know it hurts TK, but you’re doing so good, okay?”
Tk swallowed hard and opened his eyes to look back up at his father. He let out a tiny sob. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Dad, I didn’t—”
“Hey, you’re okay,” Owen said. “You’re doing just fine. Let me check on you, okay? We don’t need to apologize for anything that hasn’t happened yet.”
In his heart, Owen knew why TK was so panicked; what he was apologizing for. Though his son was a perpetual worrier, and apologized for everything, Owen could tell when he was being genuine, and this was one of those times. He knew TK thought he was dying. He knew his son was probably scared out of his fucking mind. So was he, but he had to shove it down so he could check TK out.
Owen averted his gaze, singling in on TK’s abdomen. Almost dead center, there was a shard of railing, peaking out, just enough for Owen to see the sharp point above his son’s turnout coat. He closed his eyes to collect himself, before muttering, “TK, buddy, can you wiggle your toes for me?”
“I’m not stupid,” TK retorted.
“I know you’re not, but I need you to wiggle your toes, okay?”
“Can you even see them through my boots?”
“TK—”
“Can you? How will you even know, Dad? What if I—”
“TK, wiggle your toes.”
“I can’t.”
Owen sucked in a breath, biting his lip as he turned to his son’s face again. “Hey, it’s okay. That’s okay, it doesn’t mean anything.”
“We both know what it means, Dad,” TK whimpered, his head throwing itself back against the concrete. His chest was starting to ache, and his hands felt as if they were detached from his body. Everything felt like it was coming and going in waves, but all he could really continue to focus on was his dad. “You have to go.”
“I am not leaving you.” Owen took TK’s hand again, keeping his eyes trained on TK’s green ones. “I’m not going anywhere, Son, you hear?”
“Dad, please—” TK was cut off by a gentle wheeze overtaking his airway. His chest hurt. It really hurt, but he wasn’t going to let his father know that. If anything else was wrong with him, Owen would stay. He’d stay until his oxygen ran out, or the rest of the hotel crumbled and crushed them both.
“TK, there’s no way out,” He whispered, letting his hand drag to his son’s shoulder. “You can’t force me to leave; I don’t know where to go.”
“Dad, I—” TK wheezed, letting a couple tiny coughs escape his mouth. He stared up at his dad, who had just watched the blood spatter onto his mask. They both stared at each other for a moment, TK’s blinks growing slow and weak. “Get help. Get out of here.”
Owen was panicking. He was holding onto his son’s hand while he struggled to breathe, hoping, praying that everything was okay. That his son would eventually pull himself out of whatever deep dive his mind and body was forcing him into, but with every passing second, TK’s grip on his hand got weaker and weaker, and Owen didn’t know what to do.
“TK? TK! Hey, hey, buddy, you can’t close your eyes on me right now.”
“Get help, Dad. Please, just… just help.” TK felt his eyelids begin to close, panic setting into his body, but he coudn’t feel much of it. It was overshadowed by the ever-closing-in numbness that blanketed his entire body.
But there was no way out. Owen knew it. They were between floors; the food to the third floor just out of reach, and the door to the second, most likely buried in rubble.
So he did what he could.
He screamed.
“Someone, help us!” Owen cried, watching Tk’s chest rise and fall rapidly. He kept his good hand over his neck, right at his pulse point, making sure his son was still alive; that his heart was at least beating. “Anyone! Please, just… just help!”
Owen felt his voice crack on the last syllable, his chest heaving with panic. He was holding tightly onto TK, gripping at the firefighters shirt, sobbing, “Help! Please! Someone! Anyone, help!”
Minutes turned to hours. Hours turned to days. Time stopped having meaning the moment his son’s eyes shut. He was holding onto his son, throat dry, eyes wet, oxygen tank beeping, realizing that there was no way out of this; that he and his son were going to die in a hotel stairway.
So, Owen did what he never wanted to do.
He took his son’s hand, placed it to his chest, hoping that the feeling of his father’s heartbeat would be able to keep TK alive, and he prayed.
It wasn’t a church, or a chapel, but Owen was still on his knees.
He prayed.
“God, or anyone… anyone is listening, please don’t let this be the end. Please, just, dont take him away from me again.”
He prayed.
“Cap?”
Owen thought he imagined the voice, so he didn't answer. He kept his eyes trained on his unmoving son, holding his breath until he heard it again.
“Cap!”
Owen’s head snapped up, his eyes taking a moment to adjust against the dim lighting and the smoke, but when it did, he saw a tall figure at the third floor door, and he let out a sob of relief.
“Paul! Strickland, down here!”
He locked eyes with Paul for a moment before the other man turned to murmur something into the radio on his shoulder. He looked relieved, yet defeated, and horrified at the same time.
Owen knew it was because, next to him laid TK’s still and lifeless body, but his hand was still on his neck, and his son’s heart was still beating, no matter how slow and little it was. TK was still there. He was still alive and breathing. His heart was still beating, and as long as Owen had that then nothing would ruin him.
“He’s alive, Paul.”
Owen saw the other man sag with relief.
“Get us out of here, would you?”
—
“Where is he?”
Owen had been staring at a particular fleck of beige on the white linoleum for around two hours, now, dreading this very moment.
“Where’s TK?”
“Carlos,” Owen whispered, finally dragging his gaze up to meet the other man’s. His expression was shaken, his face guilt stricken. Owen could tell that Carlos had barely gotten the call. He felt tiny traces of guilt at the realization. He was supposed to call Carlos; tell him what was happening, but Owen was so focused on the situation at hand; so focused on his son’s life that he nearly left out the biggest part of it. “Why don’t you sit down.”
“Owen,” Carlos sniffed. The two syllables were somewhere between a sob and a warning, understandably so. Every time TK got hurt, Carlos got defensive. He didn’t know how to stop himself. TK was everything to him; to both of them, and Owen knew that if he was in Carlos’s shoes, he would be doing the exact same thing.
“It’s going to be a little while before we know anything concrete, Carlos,” Owen replied, using the arm that wasn't in a sling to snake around his shoulders and pat him on the back.
“What do we know? Concrete or not?” Carlos looked over at Owen with frantic eyes, eyeing the sling before bringing his eyes back up to Owen’s. “Do we know anything?”
“He’s still in surgery,” Owen said, his voice barely above a whisper. His speaking voice was more and more of a rasp when he talked about his son’s condition. It was obvious that it was hard to talk about, which scared Carlos even more. Owen could tell. “His heart stopped twice in the ambulance—”
“Oh my god…” Carlos soon found himself taking up Owen’s offer to have a seat. He collapsed in a chair next to where the older was standing. Owen sat next to him.
“They got it started, Carlos, but he’s… he’s in pretty bad shape. Broken ribs; chest trauma, a bruised lung. Both his legs are busted up pretty good, ruptured intestine, and there’s a…” Owen took a breath, feeling his throat close just the slightest bit. “There’s a possibility of paralysis.”
“What?” Carlos blinked. He was looking; staring at Owen for any sign of deceit, but the man looked as if he was about to break, himself.
Carlos leaned back into the chair. “Why did… Why did he go in? Wasn’t he on light duty? He shouldn’t have been in there.”
“His doctor cleared him for regular field duty three days ago. It was an all hands on deck situation, Carlos. I thought if I kept him with me—”
“You shouldn't have been in there, either, Owen!” Carlos barked. His face contorted into a grief-stricken wince, hands reaching out to latch onto Owen’s wrist. “You… you walked into one of the worst fires in the history of Austin with lung cancer and brought your son with you, what the hell were you thinking?”
Owen really wanted to make a backhanded comment about how Carlos sounded like his ex wife, frustratingly so, actually, but he knew he was right. Both he and TK would have been of more use outside, directing; actually fighting the fire.
Plus, he could tell that all of this was out of an desperate love for his son, so he took it.
He took it because Carlos was just as afraid as he was.
“You know if I had a choice I wouldn’t have made this one.”
Carlos sighed, shoving his head in his hands as the first sob of many racked his body. “I know, Owen.”
—
Upon waking up, TK felt cold.
He was freezing, breathing shallow, and he knew even before he opened his eyes, exactly where he was. There was the steady beeping that matched the thrum in his ears, the itchy sheets that forced him to lay completely still, and a warm presence pressed up against his bicep.
But there were steady sobs, too.
They filled the room, wet and pained, and TK didn’t even have to open his eyes to know it was his father.
Owen Strand never broke down, but upon peeling his eyes open, TK realized that that was exactly what he was doing.
His head was in between his knees, his body trembling like a leaf in the autumn wind. He wore a black sweater and black jeans, presumably to keep his tear stains from actually showing up. TK couldn’t see his face, but he could see the pain within his father’s shaking body.
“Dad?” He whispered. He wasn’t even sure if his father heard him, but even if he didnt, the warmth on his upper arm was gone at the syllable.
TK craned his neck over to see Carlos, his eyes shining brightly in the artificial lighting. He looked exhausted, the circles beneath his eyes giving away truly how much he hadn’t slept. TK managed to reach over and brush his fingers against Carlos’s cheek, and the other let out a wet laugh. “Hey.”
“Hey,” He whispered, his focus wandering back to Owen. “Why’s he crying?”
Owen’s head snapped up as soon as he realized what was going on. He dropped his feet to the floor, his good arm pushing him out of the chair. “Hi, T,” He whispered, slowly approaching the bed.
“Hey, Dad,” TK rasped. His eyebrows knitted together at the sight of the other man, but there came no answer from looks alone. “Why are you crying?”
Owen looked from TK, then to Carlos, biting down on the inside of his lip. “Carlos, do you want to get his doctor?”
“No,” TK whispered. “No, Dad, don’t make him leave.”
“TK, I really don’t know if—”
“Dad, please?” Tk sniffed.
Owen deflated in defeat, running a hand before his disheveled hair before reaching down and grabbing TK’s hand. “Okay,” He said. “Okay.”
“Why are you crying?” TK repeated, a little more urgent this time. He could tell that Owen was holding out on him; not giving him the full story, and it scared the fuck out of him. “Dad, please, just… talk to me?”
“When we were in that hotel, you were trapped. You fell on a piece of rebar and got sandwiched between that and a huge chunk of concrete. That… That rebar went near dead center, T.”
TK could feel his face pale, and Carlos was quick to grab his hand. He let his brain think; catch up to itself.
“TK, wiggle your toes.”
“I can’t.”
TK sucked in a breath, staring down at his body like it had betrayed him; like his own body had managed to turn on itself, forcing him into the prison of his mind. He tried to move, but came up short. His eyes narrowed at his feet, zeroing in on his toes, laid under the blanket, but nothing happened. He was trapped; unable to move. Why couldn’t he move?
This could not be happening.
“No.”
“TK, I know it—”
“No, no, no, no, Dad, this can’t… This can’t happen. What about work? What about driving you to all your appointments? What about…” He managed to glance up at Carlos before the panic set in. “What about us?” He whimpered.
“This changes nothing, TK,” Carlos whispered. He lightly reached his hand to grasp his face, his thumb catching the tears and wiping them off his cheekbones. “Absolutely nothing, okay? You are the love of my life, no matter what. Nothing is going to alter or jeopardize that, ever.” He kept his hand rested on his cheek, staring at him with wide, gentle eyes. “I love you, okay?”
Tk leaned into the touch, expression contorting into a mystified pain. He felt his father climb up onto the bed next to him, and slowly lean in, so TK was in the center of the two men he loved most in the world.
Yet, he never felt so alone.
“I just... I just wanted to help. It’s my job to help!” TK let out a harsh sob. He tried to move; he really did, but the best he got was a gentle twitch from his right leg. “Is it irreparable?”
Owen closed his eyes and pressed TK’s head into the crook of his neck. “They said… They said you may be able to regain some mobility down the line, with several operations, but it won’t really… It won’t be the same.” He didn’t want to break it to his son; not this way. None of this ever should have happened. If Owen had followed his instincts; if Owen had kept him out of there, TK wouldn’t be facing this.
TK took a sharp breath in, freezing. In his mind, he couldn’t tell if he wanted to shove them away; never see them again, or if he should hold them closer; never let them go.
So he let them choose, and neither man wanted to leave his side.
So he cried, alternating shoulders to cry upon, hands clutching onto both of theirs. He cried, heaving sobs hard enough that a nurse was alerted to come in by the spike in heart rate. He cried, letting the only things he ever really cared about take some of that pain.
Even if it was just for a little while.
And in that moment; minutes after waking up, holding his boyfriend and his father close, TK realized that the world may have more to offer if he would take it’s gifts, so he sagged into the embrace, knowing that he may not feel okay now, but he would someday.
“I love you guys.”
Carlos glanced up at Owen, who forced a tiny smile, before both of them muttered, “We know.”