Work Text:
“All firefighters, evacuate now. I repeat, evacuate the building. It is coming down, you need to get out, now!”
When Bobby cracked his eyes open, for a moment, he thought he was dead. There was nothing but darkness, silent save for the quiet buzzing in his ears. Minutes passed, where he lay staring up, mind worryingly blank as he struggled to piece together a coherent thought, a memory of anything that had come before. Eventually, his eyes began to adjust and it became apparent that he wasn’t dead - just alarmingly closer to it than he had been that morning.
Above him, steel beams and jagged blocks of concrete stacked precariously, raining dust and dirt down in gentle clouds. A single beam of light shone through a tiny crack about 12 feet up a nearby wall - well, ‘wall’ was a generous word, it was more of a pile of rubble that met the destroyed ceiling, but still. Vague memories flashed through Bobby’s mind; a call, a sinkhole, evacuate the building, it’s coming down–
– and now, here . Groaning, Bobby took stock of himself. His head was pounding, but he’d had enough concussions in his life to know it wasn’t quite at that level - his helmet was still on, which he was sure had saved him at least a little. He could feel his arms, shoulders, legs and feet, which unfortunately meant he could feel the pain there - an undoubtedly broken ankle, and horrible bruising everywhere else, but he would gladly take any amount of pain so long as it meant he could feel it.
Cautiously, he slowly shifted up onto his elbows, and then pushed himself to sit fully upright - it made his head swim and pulse, but gave him a better view of his surroundings. Considering he was trapped in the wreckage of a caved-in multi-story office building, it was a relatively open space. Piles of rubble and wreckage dotted the area, but he had been in the lower-level parking lot of the building when it went down, and so it was mostly clear. He squinted in the half-light of the space, but it quickly became apparent there was no obvious route out, and so he moved to his next port of call; radio.
“This is Captain Bobby Nash of the one-eighteen, requesting assistance. I’m trapped in the lower level of the structure, does anyone read me?”
There was a short pause, then a crackle, and then: “Bobby? Bobby, it’s Hen, are you injured?”
Bobby sighed in relief, immediately reassured knowing his team were aware of his situation. He had no doubt they’d get him out in no time. “Nothing time-sensitive; lots of bruising, a few scrapes and cuts and, what I suspect is a broken ankle - simple fracture. Is everyone else accounted for?”
Any reassurance that Bobby had felt before is immediately outweighed by the intense dread that hits him when Hen hesitates.
“Hen?” He presses, wondering wildly for a moment that maybe his radio had cut out.
There’s another brief silence, a short crackle. “Everyone is safe and accounted for except for you and Buck. He…he hasn’t reached out over the radio yet. But, Bobby, you need to stay still - the building isn’t stabilised yet, and with your broken ankle you need to stay put so that we can get to you, okay? Stay -”
Bobby was on his feet before she had finished her first sentence.
“Where was he when it went down?” Bobby asked, trying and failing to mask the wince in his voice as he put pressure on his ankle.
“Bobby-”
“ Hen.”
“...The floor above you. It’s…it’s not there anymore, Bobby. Please, stay where you are, let us look for Buck.” Hen replied, and her tone was serious and stern in a way she only ever got in the field. When she was worried. Bobby’s stomach turned at the realisation that Hen considered it a very real possibility that Buck hadn’t made it.
Bobby didn’t reply, which he knew was bad radio etiquette, especially in a situation like this, but he was hardly going to sit there and be told not to look for his –
– for Buck .
Walking - or rather, hobbling - around the wreckage was a long and painful process. Multiple times, his ankle gave out on him and he’d slammed his knees into the ground enough times that he was sure the bruising would be there for weeks, but still he moved forward. The wreckage above him shifted and groaned, and after a particularly jarring sound, Bobby was reaching for his radio again.
“Hen, when you said the building wasn’t stabilised yet, what exactly are we looking at? How likely is another collapse?”
Hen replied quickly, and Bobby could hear the frown in her voice. “We’ve got units on it now, we should have it in the next ten minutes to a half hour. Are you experiencing any-”
“Wait, Hen -” Bobby interrupted, eyes wide, because he could hear Hen. Not on his own radio, but echoing out just past some rubble to his left. He could hear his own voice echoing back to him, loud in the silence he’d grown used to. “Buck? Buck, can you hear me?” He asked into the radio, eyes widening as he heard it again and limped towards it as quickly as he could.
“Bobby, what are you doing?” Hen asked, but her voice was hopeful and it was clear that she understood, she just needed the verbal confirmation. “You’ve- you’ve got him?”
Bobby rounded the rubble, eyes wide. “I’ve got him.” He confirmed, crashing, again, to his knees but he couldn’t even feel it. Buck was laying there on his side, eyes closed, head bleeding. His breathing was shaky and laboured, his face pale and ashen, coated in dust. There was a trickle of blood running down his cheek and over his nose from a cut above his eyebrow, pooling on the floor beneath his face. The longer Bobby looked, the worse it seemed - ribs that are bruised at best and broken at worse; a cut along his bicep that will need stitches and is bleeding too much; a dislocated knee and a swollen wrist that Bobby is willing to bet is sprained. It’s bad.
“I’ve got him.” He repeats, though it was more of a reassurance to himself because, although Buck was physically in front of him, he definitely wasn’t okay. “He’s in rough shape. Do you have an estimate on when you can get us out of here?”
Hen sucks a breath in through her teeth. “We’re looking at at least a half hour before we can start digging for you, probably closer to an hour, maybe more, before we actually get to you. What are you seeing down there?”
“He’s still unconscious… probable concussion, bleeding from a small but deep cut on the forehead. Ribs that are…” Bobby cut himself off, feeling gently over Buck’s ribs. “... bruised, he’s bleeding heavily from his upper arm, and he’s definitely injured his left knee and right wrist - I’m thinking dislocated knee and sprained wrist.”
“Okay…okay, that’s okay. When you say bleeding heavily, do we need to be worried about blood loss? Is it still actively bleeding?”
“His arm is slowing now, I’m applying pressure with some fabric from the sleeve of his turnout. The head wound is clotting by itself, but it looks like it was bleeding a fair bit before I got here. I don’t think we're in dangerous territory yet, but the sooner he can get out of here and get stitched up the better. I’m going to reset his knee whilst he’s still unconscious.” Bobby replied, shuffling down toward Buck’s legs as gently as he could, careful not to jar his own ankle. He felt around the joint as lightly as he could and then, with measured, practised ease which only comes with years of experience, he snapped the joint back into place. Buck flinched and groaned, and his eyes fluttered slightly.
“Buck, kid, can you hear me?” Bobby asked, scooting back up to Buck’s head and bracing his hands on the younger man’s shoulders to keep him still. Buck’s face twisted into a grimace, a low moan rumbling in his throat and Bobby has rarely been so relieved to see Buck’s baby blue eyes opening. “Hey, you’re okay. Deep breaths, alright? Take your time, don’t rush, Buck.”
Buck blinked, hazy and confused, but when he tried to take a deeper breath it rushed out of him in a deep cough, eyes scrunching in pain.
“I know, I know. Your ribs, huh, buddy? I know, it’s okay, just do your best to breathe through it.” Bobby coached, and even he was a bit surprised by how softly his voice was coming out, but he could hardly help it when Buck was laying there, concussed and confused and hurting. “We’re okay, the team are on their way. You’re a little banged up, I won’t lie, because I’m sure you can feel it but you’re going to be just fine.” He continued, unsure how much Buck was taking in. Then, turning to his radio, he said; “Buck’s awake. Knee’s back in place but it’s taking him a while to come back around.”
“Buck? Buddy, are you awake?” Eddie’s voice came through both Bobby’s and Buck’s radio, and Buck blinked and then lifted his head, looking around in confusion. Like he couldn’t quite grasp the idea of a radio. Like he thought Eddie would be there .
“Here, Buck, honey, the radio.” Bobby explained gently, pressing Buck’s own radio into his uninjured hand. Belatedly, he realised that ‘honey’ was a new one, especially when speaking to his 20-something-year-old coworker but, well, there was no one around to hear and he doubted Buck would remember. He’d examine that later, when he was no longer trapped in an actively collapsing building. Buck blinked wearily at the radio, before dropping his head back with a gentle thunk that made Bobby wince. A small huff of breath left Buck’s lips, and he looked completely and utterly defeated in a way that made Bobby’s heart ache. This was so unlike Buck - even injured beyond belief, Buck would normally be up and about, desperate to do anything to help. “Eddie, can you say that again?” Bobby asked into his own radio, guiding Buck’s hand up to his ear.
“Hey, Buck. Are you with us, buddy?” Eddie repeated dutifully, and Bobby had to admit that he did an admirable job of masking the worry in his voice.
Buck’s eyes trailed down to the radio in his hand, staring at it for a moment before slowly, shakily, pressing down the button. “Eds?” He croaked, and Bobby couldn’t help but grin.
“Yeah, Buck, it's me. We’re on our way, okay? I’ll see you real soon but you gotta stay awake for me, yeah? Bobby’s going to help you.”
At the mention of Bobby’s name, Buck looked up at him and blinked like he had just noticed his presence. “Bobby? What…?”
“Hey, kid. You took a pretty nasty hit to the head, huh? Don't worry, alright, we won’t be here too long. D’you remember what happened?” Bobby asked, stroking a gentle hand through Buck’s damp curls.
Buck paused for a second, eyes scrunching in concentration. “We were on a call. For a…a sinkhole? I don’t really remember…I’m guessing the building went down?” He asked more than said, but he relaxed a little as Bobby carded through his hair, so Bobby considered it a win.
“That’s right. I’m pretty sure you’re concussed, and I’ve just reset your knee where it was dislocated, so that’ll be tender. Is anywhere else hurting?”
Shaking his head, Buck sighed and glanced around. “No, no ‘m good. Is everyone else okay?”
Unimpressed, Bobby rolled his eyes. “Mmhm. So your ribs don’t hurt? Or your wrist? Everyone else is fine, we’re just worried about you .”
Now it was Buck’s turn to look unimpressed. Bobby would be irritated if it wasn’t a relief to see Buck acting more like himself, even if that did mean hiding injuries. “So that was a trick question, then?”
“It was a test,” Bobby corrected, though he couldn’t stop the small smile that twitched at his lips. “And you failed. Spectacularly.”
Buck just hummed, eyes slipping closed before he forced them open again. “S’not my fault that everything I do is spectacular…What about you? Are you okay?”
“Don’t worry about me, kid.”
That seemed like the wrong thing to say, because Buck was suddenly suspicious, eyeing Bobby up. “That wasn’t a ‘yes, I’m okay’. You’re injured. Where?” He demanded, before pushing himself up into a seated position. Bobby barely had time to protest, just managing to reach out and catch his shoulders when his concussed, lightheaded brain couldn’t keep up with the movement. Buck at least had the decency to look sheepish once he’d recovered enough to realise his cheek was smushed against Bobby’s chest. “I’m- I’m okay. Sorry, just- where are you hurt, Bobby?” Buck asked, trying to extricate himself from Bobby’s arms before seemingly deciding it was too much effort, and letting himself slump against Bobby’s shoulder.
“My ankle is broken, that’s all, Buck.” Bobby relented, adjusting his hold so that Buck could rest a little more comfortably against his chest.
“Oh, is that all?” Buck scoffed, his words mumbled against Bobby’s shoulder, but the tone was clear as day and still made Bobby laugh.
“Yes, Mr. Concussion-bruised-ribs-dislocated-knee-sprained-wrist-lacerated-arm, that is all.” Bobby snarked right back, and Buck snorted.
“Buck?” Eddie’s voice came through the radio again, and Bobby realised that Buck never actually replied beyond a croaky, weak call of Eddie’s name.
“ ’m okay.” Buck replied, shifting just enough to activate his own radio. “Are you okay, Eds?”
Eddie laughed through the radio, and Bobby was pretty sure he could hear Hen and Chim laughing, too. “I’m fine, you idiot. You gotta start thinking about what movie me and you and Christopher are going to watch on Thursday. Don’t think a little concussion is going to get you out of Diaz movie night.”
For Buck’s sake, Bobby pretended not to notice the pleased flush on Buck’s face at being included as a ‘Diaz’.
“Not so sure I’m goin’ to be allowed screens, Eds.” Buck replied, laughing softly, cringing when it jarred his ribs and head.
“I think you might be doing movie night at the hospital this week, boys.” Bobby agreed, shaking his head and glancing down at Buck, whose face was still buried against Bobby’s shoulder.
“Right, okay, well…how about you choose a book then? Me, you and Chris can all sit together and I can read us a book.” Eddie offered, and Bobby’s heart swelled at the instant adjustment Eddie made. The mental image was adorable, and Bobby was sure he could hear Hen laughing quietly in the background.
“Yeah, that sounds nice, Eds.” Buck mumbled into Bobby’s shoulder, and Bobby felt an odd pang of concern and amusement as he realised Buck hadn’t remembered to engage his radio. Carefully, he reached down to turn it on for him, and then gently nudged his shoulder.
“Say that again, bud.” He instructed quietly, hoping the radio didn’t pick it up, though he was sure it did.
Buck blinked tiredly against Bobby’s shoulder, shuffling to get a little more comfortable and then repeated; “Yeah, Eds, that sounds nice. I’ll think of something.”
When Eddie didn’t reply beyond a pleased hum, Bobby shifted Buck, supporting him to sit up against a piece of wall that was still standing. Buck made an annoyed huffing noise, but didn’t otherwise protest the movement, which Bobby was glad for. “Okay, kid, I need to take a look at your arm, it was bleeding a little bit earlier. You need to stay awake though, so how about we brainstorm some book ideas whilst I’m checking?”
“Book ideas?” Buck mumbled with a small frown.
“For Eddie to read with you and Christopher.” Bobby reminded gently, patiently, as he carefully pulled the fabric away from where he’d had it pressed to the wound.
“Oh, right.” Buck nodded half-heartedly. “Uhm…’m not sure.”
Bobby smiled, swiping over the wound with the material as gently as he could. “That’s alright. What sort of books did you like at Christopher’s age? How old is he now?”
Buck relaxed a little as he became distracted, a small smile on his face. “He’s goin’ to be 12 in May. I liked…I liked Percy Jackson. Don’t think Chris has read it.”
“Oh, Percy Jackson?” Bobby asked conversationally, grimacing in sympathy as he pressed the fabric back firmly against Buck’s arm. He wished they had something to clean it with. He knew vaguely of Percy Jackson - Brooke had liked it, back in the before of Bobby’s life. Some of the ache from the memory was soothed by this familiar feeling - speaking to his kid about Percy Jackson. “That’s about the Greek gods, right?”
“Yeah ‘s…it’s about, like…yeah.” Buck mumbled, eyes slipping shut again.
“Hey, hey, look at me. What’s it about, Buck?” Bobby asked, tapping Buck’s cheek. At Buck’s slightly fuzzy look, Bobby sighed softly. “What’s Percy Jackson about?”
Buck took a deep breath, forcing himself to sit further upright. He blinked, hard, and then nodded clumsily, clearly trying to focus himself. “It’s about, uhm, this kid who…finds out he’s the son of Poseidon. Kick-started a huge hyperfixation on Ancient Greece an’ mythology when I was, like, twelve. The author’s started writin’ new ones again now, I bought the newest one the other day.”
Bobby chuckled lightly, horribly endeared by this new information about Buck. Underneath all of the muscles and bravado, Buck was a dork at heart. It was sweet. As painlessly as he could, Bobby reapplied the dressing, content that the bleeding was slowing now, almost stopping. As long as he kept it covered and the others could arrive to treat it soon, then it should be fine.
”You still read them?” Bobby asked, trying not to sound as fond as he felt. At Buck’s slightly affronted look, he amended; “Not a judgement, kid. It’s cute.”
Buck huffed, grumbling slightly. “It’s not cute , ‘s just…nostalgic.”
”Sure,” Bobby agreed, indulgently. “So you think Chris’ll like it?”
Shrugging, Buck adjusted slightly to let Bobby tie the material off around his arm, then leant clumsily back against the wall behind him, head lolling ever so slightly. “I hope so. He likes fantasy an’ stuff, so I don’t see why not.”
Bobby hummed in acknowledgment, pulling the fabric tight until Buck made a small sound of pain, face tightening. “Sorry, sorry.” He murmured, holding Buck’s arm still and stroking his thumb back and forth over the makeshift bandage in apology.
“ ‘s okay. I’m good. D’you need me to do anything?” Buck asked, glancing blearily at Bobby’s ankle, and then sweeping his eyes over their surroundings.
Bobby couldn’t help the small huff of laughter, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah, actually,” He nodded, smiling softly at the way Buck’s eyes lit up at the prospect of a task. “I need you to sit still and not get injured any more than you are. And wait patiently for help to get here.”
Buck immediately frowned, rolling his eyes before he could think better of it and then wincing when it made the world spin around him. “Someone should look over your ankle.” Buck pointed out, though the slur in his words didn’t help his case.
“Someone already did. Someone who isn’t concussed out of their mind.” Bobby replied, voice gentle but teasing. “I checked myself earlier, I’m good. I’ll let Hen take a look when they get to us.”
Buck sighed but didn’t argue, knowing that he couldn’t do any better of a job than Bobby could, not with the way his brain felt like soup. Tiredly, Buck lifted his hand to his radio, engaging it. “What’s goin’ on out there. Anythin’ we can do?” Buck asked, sounding no less tired but at least more aware now; more like himself.
“Just sit tight, Buck.” Hen replied, mirroring Bobby’s own instructions, which clearly bothered Buck. “We’ll be there soon enough. Jones found another way in, we’re looking at maybe ten minutes now.”
Ten minutes wasn’t bad at all, Bobby thought, but he could tell that Buck was restless. He could understand it, to an extent; if Buck didn’t feel useful, then he felt use less . It was something he’d had to learn to balance as his Captain, and something he’d come to be endeared by as his friend.
“Ten minutes, bud. We can do that.” Bobby said quietly, shooting him a reassuring smile before turning to his own radio. “Copy that, Hen. We’re all good in here.”
Buck shifted again, and then a second time, and when he grimaced and shifted a third time, Bobby spoke. “You okay?”
”Yeah,” Buck replied, wincing. “Just…head hurts. Probably ‘cause I smacked it.”
Bobby felt the corner of his mouth twitch up, even through the sympathy. “Yeah, probably.” He agreed, nodding. He reached out, feeling gently over Buck’s head, hand threading through his hair. It was pointless, really, because he’d already checked earlier for any cuts, but the action seemed to soothe Buck a little and ease his worry, so Bobby did it anyway. When Buck leant a little heavier into the touch, Bobby sighed fondly. “C’mon, come here.” He grinned, pulling Buck against his side, letting him rest his head against his shoulder again. It was amazing how, almost immediately, most of the tension leaked from Buck’s muscles.
“...Does your ankle hurt much?” Buck asked quietly after a few minutes of silence.
“A bit.” Bobby acknowledged. In truth, it hurt like a bitch, and he knew he’d caused a not-insignificant amount of damage, walking around on it like he had, but Buck didn’t need to stress about that now. “Does your… everything hurt much?”
Buck hummed more than answered, moving his head in a clumsy approximation of a nod against Bobby’s shoulder. “Think m’knee’s busted.”
“It is, kid. Dislocated, remember? I reset it for you, but I’m sure it’s still hurting.”
Craning his neck to try and get a look at it, Buck frowned. “Mm, ‘s not good.”
Bobby chuckled, gently pushing Buck’s head back down. “Not really, no. But it’ll be okay. Are you comfortable like this? Shouldn’t be too long, now.”
“Yeah, I’m okay… You think Athena’s gonna be mad?”
“Not mad. Worried.”
“...A bit mad?”
Bobby snorted. “Not with you, I promise.”
“She told me I had to stop gettin’ hospitalised.” He pointed out, guiltily.
“I don’t think this one was your fault, bud. The floor you were on doesn’t even exist anymore.” Bobby replied, squeezing his arm around Buck’s shoulders.
There was no reply after that, but when Bobby glanced down, he found Buck’s eyes open and at least somewhat aware, so he didn't push for one.
Behind them to their left, a loud crash sounded, and then Bobby could see beams of warm, yellow light cutting through the dusty air.
“Bobby? Buck!” Chim’s voice echoed out, and Bobby sat up straighter, trying to see without jostling Buck around too much.
“Chim! Over here!” Bobby called back, waving his free arm around even though he couldn’t actually see them yet. Evidently, it was enough, because only a few seconds later came the sound of heavy footfalls, and Hen, Chim and Eddie were crouching down in front of them, equipment in hand and checking them over in a flurry of movement and quick words.
Various other members of the LAFD were there too - both from the 118 and from other stations - and they were securing the structure from the inside, setting up a backboard and a stretcher.
The time from the crumbling ruins of the building to the back of the ambulance passed quite quickly - Bobby would apologise later to Hen and Chim for his blatant refusal to get on the stretcher, insisting on hobbling out with an arm around Eddie’s shoulder, ignoring the way his ankle protested. Just because his physical body was bruised, didn’t mean his ego had to be, too.
He just hoped Buck didn’t hear, or he’d never hear the end of it. He’d certainly have no ground to stand on next time Buck insisted he could carry on through an injury. (Sometimes, privately, he thinks Athena might be onto something when she says Buck is just a younger version of Bobby).
It’s not until many hours later, once Bobby had been casted and bandaged and fitted with one of those stupid moon-boots, that he found himself sitting on a padded chair in Buck’s hospital room, his foot propped up and cushioned on Buck’s bed against all of his nurses’ better judgement. Hen, Athena, Maddie and Chimney had squeezed themselves around the outside of the room, and Eddie and Chris had wormed their way onto the narrow hospital bed either side of Buck, bracketing him in. Eddie had one arm around Buck’s shoulders, his hand resting in Chris’ hair, and the other was holding open a book, braced on his bent knee.
“You ready?” Eddie asked quietly, and both Buck and Chris made small noises of agreement. Everyone else fell dutifully silent. Eddie smiled and took a deep breath. “
Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood.”