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He knows he shouldn't be doing this. Nothing that's happened these past few days calls for something so drastic. But it feels right. Buck knows he was overcompensating, trying to prove his worth to Bobby because the only way he could interpret not being considered for temp cap was that he was a failure. His mind kept repeating what his parents had always told him as a child. He wasn't good enough, if he tried he might be worth something, and he was selfish and lazy and a burden. Buck knows that's not what Bobby meant, not by a long shot, but his parents’ voices plague his mind like shadows in the night. They are everywhere, impossible to escape.
All this to say, he can't get the thought out of his head that he isn't good enough. Not for Abby or Taylor, hell not even for his team, no matter how much anyone tells him he is good enough. It takes a lot of white paint to cover one black mark. He shouldn't be so hard on himself, he knows. He knows Hen is a fantastic candidate for three shifts as captain, but maybe if he hadn't been so lazy and loud and a fool these last two shifts, he could have been good enough.
Those thoughts lead him all the way across his apartment, to the downstairs bathroom, and behind the locked door. Even if he did have a couch, he wouldn't be doing this there, either. No, this is private and dark and only for him and the demons he carries. Buck shuffles through a drawer under the sink until he finds it: an old metal bandage tin that no one even cares to look in because dinosaur bandages are cooler than beige ones anyway. He grabs a black hand towel and lays it over the top of the closed toilet lid. He empties the contents of the tin, plucking a fresh razorblade out of the pile of supplies. He hasn’t cut in weeks, but he needs it now, before all his emotions flood and spill over.
Buck removes his shirt, planning to cut his upper arm instead of his thighs again. The spot has become increasingly populated with scars since Taylor left, no one would see them anyway. He takes the blade gingerly between his fingers and presses it to his upper arm(above the deltoid muscle if we're being specific) and slices himself open in one fast swipe. The warm pain blooms from the area as blood pools in the cut. He dabs it away with the black towel to admire the light pink-ish white layer of dermis now peaking through. If he looks close enough, he can see tiny little bubbles of fat poking through. He runs over the cut with his blade again. Blood drips down his arm in an awkward pattern until it runs off and onto the towel below. He makes a list of reasons for each cut. It’s kind of how he counts them.
1, for doubting Bobby about the temp cap choice. 2, for being jealous, trying too hard, and looking like a fool. 3, for doing this in the first place, oh god what would the team think? 4, for being a fuck up. Cuts number 5-8 have only pain behind them, no thought or intention as buck carves into his skin. Then: This Is Who You Hurt, each word punctuated by a deep cut that leaves subcutaneous tissue visible.
Buck doesn't even care how much he's bleeding, how bad it all looks. He just rinses the blade, stores it and the bandages back in its tin, and presses the black towel to his wounds. He abandons the towel for a moment to pick up his discarded shirt, bringing it and himself up the stairs to his bed. It's times like these that he wishes he had a couch again, sitting on his bed doesn’t feel quite right. His phone makes its presence known by buzzing in his pants pocket.
Buck has half a mind to leave it be, but takes it out and reads the text anyway. It’s from Eddie and simply says “Hey, what are you up to?” and suddenly he is reminded that he does have a couch. Well not exactly, but the stupid metaphor- whatever, it doesn't matter. Instead of just texting back, Buck clicks on Eddie's contact and calls him. It only rings once. Eddie sounds so happy when he answers. “Hey, buck! I just texted you, whatcha up to?” Buck sniffles, clears his throat, and manages to squeak out “Eddie,” his voice gravely and broken from misuse. There's panicked shuffling on the other end, a jingle of keys, and the sound of eddies front door slamming shut. “I'm on my way, ok? What's going on, are you ok? Tell me what’s happened” buck can only hum in reply, pressing the towel firmer to his arm. He can already feel the blood soaking through, that's not great. The next ten minutes are filled with Eddie talking at Buck, and Buck mumbling or humming replies.
Just as Buck’s eyes begin to get heavy and blood starts to drip through the towel and down his bare arm, his front door flies open, and Eddie comes charging in, straight for the stairs. He stops at the top for a split second to take in Buck’s form. He’s slightly pale, got blood dripping down his arm and his eyes have dark, tired circles under them. He marches to the bathroom, grabs the first aid kit hidden under the sink, and brings it back next to Buck on the bed. They haven't said a word, they don't need to. It's just how they are, knowing just what each other needs. Eddie gently grabs the towel and Buck’s hand away, dabbing at the extra blood so he can see the wounds. What he sees breaks his heart.
Eddie isn’t stupid, he knows what they are. He knows what self-harm looks like and the patterns people exhibit, and now Eddie is truly upset he didn't notice before. Had he known to look for it, it would have been so obvious.
“Jesus, buck, I- how didn't I notice?” he’s only half saying it to Buck, half saying it to himself. “Cus I didn't want you to” Buck slurs, and Eddie hates to think of how much practice buck must have had at hiding it.”
They both stay quiet as Eddie patches Buck up, none of the cuts need stitches. Both of them let silent tears slide down their cheeks. Eddie is warm and calm and gentle, and Buck doesn’t question if he deserves it. Eddie wouldn’t give it if he didn’t. Buck lets himself be led to the bathroom to get the blood wiped from his arm with a damp cloth. He complains when Eddie runs downstairs but feels much better when he takes a sip of the water he brought Buck. From there, Buck opens up. He spills to Eddie how the past few days have felt. He tells Eddie of his parents’ harsh words, and how they bend his thoughts and bring him so much pain. Eddie listens intently, and when buck pauses for a moment, he opens his arms for Buck. Buck sobs, then burring himself in eddies embrace, feeling safe and comforted in his bed, tucked as tiny as he can be against Eddie. He cries and cries, lets everything out and Eddie holds him. He buries his nose into the top of Buck's head, pressing a kiss there and whispering soft reassurances to the man he loves. Eddie wishes there were more he could do, more than patch Buck up and hold him. He wishes he had the magic words to make all of Buck’s pain disappear. He wishes he could show buck he was enough in every way he wanted to, but they aren’t there. Not yet, at least. As the sun begins to set, the crying dies down, and talks of where Christopher is and what to eat for dinner ensue. Later on at the table, while the two eat dinner, Buck lets out a tiny giggle. “Hm? What's so funny?” Eddie asks with a mouth full of fried rice.
“You’re my couch” buck giggles.