Chapter Text
Now, things almost felt like they used to.
Now, things almost felt like they used to.
When Eddie left for Texas, Buck had taken over the house—kept it warm, kept it standing, kept it ready. It had been Eddie’s, but Buck had done his best to fill the space with something that still felt like them.
And now they were back.
Eddie, back on the rig like he never left, moving through calls and chaos with that same steady rhythm that Buck had missed more than he’d ever admit. Christopher found back his old room, almost like nothing had changed. Buck had tried to keep it untouched during the time they were in Texas.
Until Eddie found a new place, they were all living together. Buck had told him to take the bed, that, it didn’t matter, but Eddie had insisted. Said the house was Buck’s now, that he wasn’t about to kick him to the couch in his own home. So Eddie took the couch without complaint, like he didn’t mind, and Buck let it slide. But sometimes, in the quiet late hours, Buck would pass by and see Eddie asleep there, one arm slung over his face, and feel that gnawing ache in his chest all over again.
Still, movie marathons were back on. Chris would lean against Buck’s side, quoting lines from memory while Eddie threw popcorn at them both from across the room. And Buck—Buck felt whole again, even if he’d never said those exact words out loud.
So when the call came in on the tail end of a long 48-hour shift, Eddie was there beside him, shoulder to shoulder like he’d always been.
Forty-one hours.
That’s how long this shift’s been. Two full days of running calls, hauling equipment, and downing bad coffee in the engine bay. But it’s been manageable. Busy enough to keep from getting bored, not so crazy that they’re running on fumes. Mostly medicals, a few false alarms, a cat stuck in a wall (still don’t know how it got in there), and now, hour forty-one, they get dispatched to a fire.
Structure fire. Rural area. Old farmhouse. Horses reported inside.
When the call comes through, Buck is already halfway to the truck. He doesn’t even think—just moves. It's what they do. What they’ve always done.
By the time they get there, flames are already licking at the roof, smoke curling into the sky like a warning. The place is isolated, surrounded by acres of dirt and wild grass. The family is safe—thank god—but they’re frantic about the animals.
“There are horses inside,” the woman says, her voice cracking as she clutches her husband's arm. “You have to save them, please.”
Bobby nods. “We’ll do everything we can.” They go in fast, masks on, moving like they’ve done this a thousand times before—because they have. Buck stays close to Eddie, as always. There’s comfort in the rhythm of it, in knowing that Eddie’s six is covered, and his is too.
It takes time, but they get the horses out—spooked, panicked, but alive. One nearly kicks Hen in the ribs, but Chim calms it down with a few steady murmurs. And just like that, it's done. Almost.
“Everyone out!” Bobby’s voice cracks through the comms. “The structure’s unstable.”
Buck’s heart kicks. They all heard the creak of wood, the groan of something old giving way. No time to argue. They start moving.
Smoke is thicker now. Heat curling against their gear like a warning.
Chimney, Hen, and Ravi are ahead, almost clear of the front door. Bobby’s ushering them out. Buck and Eddie are right behind—
Then the floor just gives.
“Eddie!”
Buck’s world lurches as he sees the floor beneath Eddie crack and cave. In a split second, Eddie disappears into the hole with a deafening crash of splintering wood and choking dust.
“Eddie!” he screams again, dropping to his knees, crawling forward without hesitation. He doesn’t even think. “Eddie, grab my hand!”
Below him, Eddie’s covered in debris, but he’s conscious—reaching up with one arm, trying to get a grip. The smoke is thick. The building groans again above them.
Buck stretches out across the jagged edge, one hand bracing against the weakening floor, the other outstretched. “C’mon, man! Take it!”
“I got it—hold on!” Eddie grits out, grabbing Buck’s wrist, fingers slick with soot and blood.
The roof above them lets out a long, eerie creak. Wood shifts. Somewhere, something snaps.
“Buck, Eddie, do you copy?” Bobby’s voice crackles over the radio. “Get out of there!”
But neither of them responds. Buck can’t. He’s too focused—hands straining, back burning as he tries to pull Eddie up. Eddie’s weight, the pull of gravity, the broken floor beneath them—
It’s too much.
The ceiling groans louder.
“Come on!” Buck yells again, voice hoarse. “You’ve got this, Eddie! Just a little higher!”
“I’m trying!” Eddie’s voice is rough. Scared. Determined.
Another snap. Louder. The floor shakes again—only this time it’s not just the floor.
It’s the whole damn building.
Buck hears Bobby shouting again—his voice sharper now, scared in a way Buck doesn’t hear often.
And then—
The world collapses.