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Donor baby.
Savior sibling.
The words float into his head as he storms from Maddie's apartment, flying out into the street full tilt. He can't slow down, can't stop moving. The rage and despair and confusion are swelling inside of him, making it impossible to think straight. To breathe.
And he knows that if he stops now, he's going to blow.
He's not sure he isn't going to anyways.
He's furious. At his parents, for what they did, choosing to have him in the first place. At Maddie, for lying to him his entire damn life. At himself, for feeling like this at all.
Growing up, he knew his parents didn't care. They showed little to no interest in him or anything he did (with the possible exception of when he was hurt or sick). But deep down, he'd always held onto that childish belief that they still loved him. That even if they couldn't show it, couldn't express it like his friends' parents did, that they still felt it.
He was their son, after all.
But now. Now he knows better.
They didn't have him because they wanted another child, a new baby to lavish with love and complete the family they'd built. They had him solely to save the son that they did want. The son that they loved.
It's no wonder they hate him. Buck turned out to be an epic failure right from the day he was born. His sole purpose in life was to save his brother, and he failed at that before he'd even been able to form a memory of the lost little boy.
The weight of it all is crushing, an unrelenting pressure that sits on his chest and threatens to suffocate him and it hurts and he wants to scream but can't fucking breathe.
He's several blocks away from his sister's apartment before he finally stops, bending in half with his hands on his knees as he gasps for a breath that refuses to come. His vision goes spotty, tunneling ever so slightly until he finally manages to suck in a shuddering gasp.
And then another.
His blood still feels like it's vibrating, pulsating in fits and starts throughout his body, leaving him shaking and vaguely nauseated. He shuffles over to the wall of the building next to him, leaning back against the sun-baked brick, letting the heat soak into his body in an attempt to soothe his frayed nerves.
It doesn't work.
And the longer he stands there, letting the anxiety bubble and swell inside of him, the more jittery he gets. That urge that used to consume him when he was younger begins to claw to the surface, ripping him open with jagged claws as the need to do something extreme and reckless and dangerous builds inside of him. It's the same impulse that landed him in the hospital over and over with broken bones and scars that never fully healed.
The same impulse that nearly killed him more than once.
He thought he'd buried that part of himself long ago. Sure he's still a hot head, still makes impulsive decisions sometimes, but ever since he found his purpose in life with the 118, he's been calmer. Almost at peace.
Right now, he doesn't feel that way at all.
Right now, he can feel that old Buck, Buck 1.0, trying to take over.
And he doesn't want to be that version of himself anymore.
His feet are carrying him at a breakneck pace before his mind's even caught up to the fact that he's moving. Startled pedestrians, vehicles, and buildings — residential at first and then commercial, back and forth, back and forth — fly past him as he runs, refusing to stop even as his lungs threaten to burst and his heart starts to falter in its rapid-fire rhythm.
He runs until he's standing in front of Eddie's door.
He doesn't remember half the journey of getting there. Doesn't remember banging on the door. But that fog in his mind dissipates in an instant as soon as Eddie opens the door.
"Buck?" Eddie sounds equal parts surprised and concerned, immediately reaching out to place a hand on Buck's bicep, steadying him, providing the grounding touch that Buck needs so damn badly.
He hates himself for it, but with just the simple touch and the softness of Eddie's voice, there's a hot prickle building in the back of Buck's eyes. It's only a matter of seconds before the tears begin to well, threatening to spill over.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Eddie is tugging him through the front door, tugging him into a firm embrace, before Buck even has a chance to answer.
His lungs are still heaving — a mixture of the tsunami of emotions that are tearing through his chest and the fact that he just ran God knows how long to get to Eddie's house without ever stopping. And as his body trembles in Eddie's arms, he realizes that he's not even sure why he's there (he knows exactly why he's there), isn't sure what he's supposed to do now that he's arrived (though he knows what he wants to do), and he doesn't know what to say (Help me. I need you. I love you).
So he wraps his arms tight around Eddie and buries his face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of the Alpha he knows so well. The Alpha he's been secretly in love with for over a year now.
"Buck, talk to me, what happened?"
Buck sucks in one last breath, the Alpha's subtle scents of sycamore trees and ozone flooding his senses and lending him the hint of calm he needs to ease his hold on Eddie. Even still, he has to force himself away, physically pushing back while still holding on to Eddie's shoulders with a death grip, his hands refusing to let go of the only comfort he's likely to know.
He finally manages to pull one hand away, scrubbing it over his face to wipe away the tears that have already stopped flowing.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come," Buck says quietly. He really shouldn't have come. He has enough trouble keeping his feelings for the Alpha under wraps at the best of times. He's strung too tight right now to conceal anything convincingly. He should definitely leave.
He just doesn't want to.
"Hey, no. I'm glad you came. What happened? Are you hurt?" Eddie takes half a step closer, his scent wafting out in front of him, blooming in the presence of an Omega in distress. It makes Buck's stomach flutter and sends a warmth flooding even lower.
"I. Uh," Buck takes a step back, finally releasing his grip from Eddie's shoulder. "Where's Christopher?"
Eddie looks at him for a moment before he answers, obviously trying to figure out what exactly Buck is hiding. "At a friend's birthday party. Why don't we go sit down?"
Eddie pulls him to the couch but Buck is still far too keyed up to sit. He winds up pacing instead, wearing a hole in the floor as Eddie settles into the cushions and watches him with a growing trepidation.
"I uh. I found out that my parents never wanted me." Saying the words out loud somehow makes it infinitely worse. Makes them true. And it hurts.
"What do you mean?" Eddie asks, sitting up a little straighter.
"I had a brother," Buck states, and suddenly that seems more real, too, and the grief of losing a brother that he can't even remember settles heavy in his heart. "He was sick. They had me for spare parts. To save him."
The shock on Eddie's face would be comical if Buck wasn't so damn close to a mental breakdown.
"Didn't work, obviously," Buck adds while his pacing picks up speed. "God, no wonder they hate me. I'm useless."
"Buck, they don't—" Eddie tries to break in, but Buck can barely hear him over the noise in his head.
"Their son died because of me. Oh God. Now I know why mom could never look at me."
"Buck, stop."
"I never should've been born," Buck's movements have become frantic, frenzied, and before he knows it he's angling himself towards the door, ready to run again. He doesn't know where — doesn't think it matters — but he needs to burn off the feelings inside of him before he combusts.
He's spiraling.
And he doesn't know how to stop it.
He makes a break for the door, but Eddie's voice fills the room with an intensity that Buck doesn't think he's ever heard from the man.
"KNEEL."
It's a command, not a request, and Buck is helpless to disobey. His knees hit the ground so fast that the thud of his bones hitting the floor echoes through the room in the sudden silence that follows.
And Buck can finally, finally breathe.
He doesn't give much thought to the fact that an Alpha's order should only work so wholly and completely on their mate. Doesn't give much thought to the quiet purr that falls from his lips as Eddie walks over and crouches down in front of him, his scent enveloping him completely. Doesn't give much thought to much of anything, just kneels there with his eyes closed, letting the sudden and unexpected peace he's feeling wrap around him like a blanket.
"Buck. Look at me, please." This time it's a request and nothing more. But there's a desperation in Eddie's tone that makes Buck's eyes open sluggishly, searching those gorgeous brown eyes for answers to a question he's not even sure he knows. "You didn't fail them. Your brother was sick and he died. It's tragic, but it's not your fault. And whatever reason your parents had for having you, I am so glad they did."
Eddie reaches out slowly, his hands coming to rest softly on either side of Buck's face, the touch so tender that Buck feels like he just might break, but in all the best ways this time.
"Look, I—" Eddie pauses, his gaze raking over Buck in quick strokes, taking in his pliant form, arms lax at his sides and entirely too calm compared to his near mania of only moments ago. "Shit. We can't do this. Not when you're like this. Come on."
Eddie tugs him to his feet and leads him back over to the couch, lowering him down and taking the seat next to him, so close that their bodies press together from shoulder to ankle.
It's nice.
Buck comes back to himself slowly, and with his renewed awareness comes a torrent of confusion and embarrassment. There's no way Eddie failed to miss Buck's reaction to his order, and while Buck himself doesn't quite understand what happened, he knows it's impossible to deny that deeper feelings than those of friendship are clearly involved.
And he's more than a little worried that he's going to lose Eddie because of it.
But just as his muscles are starting to tighten, tension coiling inside of him, Eddie slides an arm around him and tugs him closer, until Buck's head is resting in the crease of Eddie's neck and shoulder.
"You know, I heard a rumour once," Eddie says quietly. His thumb begins drawing senseless patterns on Buck's arm, a soothing repetitive motion that Buck finds himself liking an awful lot. "That if two people love each other enough and feel like mates so fully, that there's a sort of mirror-bond that forms between them. Even if they haven't actually bonded yet."
The words float through Buck's head, connections forming in his mind only to be viciously disregarded as he refuses to believe it could be true. He can't allow himself to hope. Not for this.
Eddie, though, is dropping a tender kiss to the top of Buck's head that sets off the butterflies in his stomach again, and hope begins to bloom deep inside of him despite his best efforts to tamp it down. He's not sure how long they stay like that, but eventually, Buck starts talking, finding it easier to say the words while he's not actually looking at Eddie.
"Growing up, the only love I knew was from Maddie, and she was just a kid herself. My mom could barely look at me most days. Dad was a little better, but not much," Buck takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, deliberately. He doesn't want to dwell on that right now. Eddie — wonderful, perfect Eddie — gives him the time he needs to collect his thoughts, holding him close the whole time, providing the safety and feeling of acceptance that Buck is only now realizing he was lacking as a child. "I know why, now, but that doesn't change the fact that I never really knew what love was, you know?"
As much as Buck wants to just stay like this, curled in Eddie's arms forever, he knows he either needs to tackle this head-on right now or let it go forever. He can't keep carrying this secret.
He learned first hand today how much damage secrets can truly cause.
Tilting his head to breathe Eddie in a little deeper, he fills his lungs with the Alpha's scent, letting the soothing tones give him the strength to see himself through what he's about to do. Then he pulls himself up, away from Eddie's embrace, and shifts himself sideways on the couch to look Eddie in the eye.
"You don't need to say anything back, okay? But I love you, Eddie. And it took me a really long time to realize what that feeling inside of me was because I didn't have a frame of reference for it." It feels like he's messing it up. Like all those big feelings inside of him can't be boiled down into such simple words. It doesn't help that Eddie is absolutely silent, motionless next to him. He's quiet long enough that Buck starts to second guess whether or not he should've said anything at all. Whether or not he just made the biggest mistake of his life. "Shit. I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."
Buck starts to move, ready to remove himself from Eddie's house (from Eddie's life, a cruel voice in the back of his mind whispers), but before he's even gotten off the couch, Eddie is reaching out, keeping Buck from going anywhere. His left hand wraps gently around Buck's, while his right slides around the back of Buck's neck, guiding him forward, and suddenly their lips are sliding together in a tender kiss that steals his breath away.
It's perfect.
It's everything he'd been afraid to let himself dream of and more. When Eddie's tongue swipes across Buck's lower lip, Buck opens his mouth in a quiet moan that he'd be embarrassed about any other time. But right now, Eddie's tongue is pressing forward, sliding against his own as he begins to explore Buck's mouth, and Buck couldn't possibly be more pleased about the sudden turn of events.
They kiss until they finally need to break for air, but Eddie doesn't pull back far at all. He keeps their foreheads pressed together as both of them breathe deep, sharing the air between them.
"I love you too, Buck." Eddie says it like it's the most simple thing in the world.
Perhaps it is.
There's an awful lot to discuss — they work together (Bobby will definitely have some concerns), their friendship is far too important to either of them to risk on any sort of misunderstandings, there's Christopher to consider (though Buck has a sneaking suspicion that Christopher will be pleased as punch about the unexpected shift in their relationship), and Buck has a whole lot of personal drama to sort through right now — but for the time being, there are more pressing things to focus on.
Like kissing Eddie senseless.
He nudges Eddie back against the couch and crawls into his lap, crashing their lips together as he moves, drinking in the moan it pulls from the Alpha. His Alpha.
They've already said the words that matter most. Everything else is just details.
Everything else, Buck decides as Eddie's hands slide down his back and settle on his hips, can wait a little longer.