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Something’s Off
It wasn’t his smile—too white, too symmetrical—or his handshake—firm, confident, maybe too confident. It wasn’t the polished uniform, the sparkling boots, or even the way he carried himself, back straight like a man who’d read too many manuals on body language. It was something deeper. Something quieter. Something that sat just under the surface like a fault line waiting to rupture.
His eyes.
That was it. They didn’t scan the room—they dissected it. No glance was casual. Every person, every exit, every cabinet was noted like it might matter later. Buck had seen people perform before. Hell, he’d done it himself. But John? His act didn’t slip. Not once. Not even during the chaos of their first call together when most people’s masks cracked a little.
John’s stayed intact.
Unnervingly so.
⸻
Hen noticed Buck watching him. Of course she did. She always noticed.
“You’ve got that look,” she said one afternoon as they restocked the med bags in the engine. “Like you’re about to either accuse someone of murder or adopt another stray.”
Buck didn’t smile. “It’s John.”
Hen raised an eyebrow. “What about him?”
“There’s something off.”
She paused, glancing at him over the edge of the trauma kit. “Off how?”
“I don’t know. He’s…too smooth. He never gets rattled. Never even flinches. And I’ve seen him near the medical supplies too often when he’s not supposed to be.”
Hen closed the bag slowly, her face gentle. “Buck—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” he cut in. “That I’m just paranoid because Eddie’s gone. And maybe I am on edge. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
Hen exhaled. “No, it doesn’t. But sometimes when we’re missing someone, especially someone we—” She stopped herself. “Especially someone we lean on, we start seeing threats where there might not be any.”
Buck didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because if he did, he’d have to admit that everything had been tilted since Eddie left for El Paso. That every morning without a “you good?” from across the kitchen counter made the day feel heavier.
But this wasn’t about Eddie.
This was about John.
And John wasn’t right.
⸻
The night Buck spoke up, it was quiet in the locker room, just the low hum of the vending machines and the soft shuffle of tired bodies winding down. He was unbuckling his turnout pants when he said it, more to himself than anyone else.
“I swear I saw him pocket something from the trauma bag.”
John froze for just a second. Barely a pause. But Buck saw it. Felt it.
“What?” Chimney asked, glancing up from his duffel with a grin. “You think John’s running a black market out of the back of the engine?”
“I’m not joking,” Buck said. “It was during the last call. Everyone was focused on the victim and he was just… lingering.”
Chimney’s smile faltered. “Come on, man. The guy’s just trying to fit in. You know what it’s like to be the new guy. Everyone breathing down your neck.”
Buck turned to Hen. “You believe me, right?”
Hen looked caught. “Buck…”
“I saw him,” Buck said, voice rising slightly. “He was near the trauma kit. He wasn’t helping. He was looking around. Like—like he was taking inventory. And when I turned, he shoved something in his jacket pocket.”
John zipped up his jacket slowly, his reflection visible in the metal of the lockers. He turned toward them with a smile that was too warm. Too precise. Like he’d rehearsed it in the mirror.
“Hey,” he said, voice oozing calm. “I get it. New guy comes in, fills a spot that wasn’t even cold yet, and suddenly people are suspicious. I’d probably be twitchy too.”
Buck stiffened.
John stepped a little closer, hands held out like he was defusing a bomb. “How about we grab a drink after shift? Just you and me. No uniforms. No tension. Let’s start fresh.”
Buck didn’t want to go. Every fiber of his being screamed no.
But everyone was watching. Hen. Chimney. Bobby from the hall. And if he refused, it would only confirm what they were all probably already whispering.
That Buck was spiraling again.
So he nodded.
“Sure,” he said, barely keeping the bitterness out of his voice.
⸻
The bar wasn’t far.
Just a few blocks from the station, tucked between a boarded-up laundromat and a tattoo parlor with flickering neon signs. It had that moody, intentionally rundown feel—dim lighting, weathered booths, and a soft undercurrent of indie music humming beneath the low din of conversations. The kind of place you’d walk past a hundred times and never notice.
John picked the spot.
Of course he did.
He walked in first, all easy charm and casual swagger, like he’d been there a hundred times before. Like he owned the space.
Buck followed, stomach twisting tighter with each step.
They took a booth near the back. Shadowed. Quiet. Isolated.
John ordered two beers without asking. Buck mumbled a thanks when the drinks arrived, but he didn’t touch his. Not yet. His fingers wrapped around the glass out of habit, but it felt heavy, too cold. His gaze stayed fixed on the man across from him.
John looked relaxed.
Too relaxed.
One arm slung over the back of the booth. Leaning forward just enough to seem interested, but not so much as to look desperate. His smile never slipped, not once. Every laugh was well-timed. Every question crafted to sound sincere.
It was the performance of someone who’d practiced being liked.
And Buck didn’t trust a damn second of it.
“So,” John said, swirling his beer slowly. “You always this suspicious of people, or is it just me?”
Buck gave a half-smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Just you.”
They both laughed, but there was a weight behind Buck’s words. One John didn’t acknowledge.
John leaned in a little. “You know, I get it. You’ve been through a lot. Team loses a guy like Diaz? That leaves a void. Maybe I filled it too fast.”
Buck tensed. “Don’t talk about him like you knew him.”
“Hey,” John said easily, raising a hand. “Just saying—no hard feelings. I’m not trying to replace anyone.”
Buck didn’t answer. The silence stretched. His beer sat untouched.
Eventually, he stood. “Bathroom,” he muttered, and walked off without waiting for a reply.
His phone was already out by the time the restroom door swung shut behind him. The second he heard the lock click, he was hitting Eddie’s contact without thinking.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Then—“Buck?”
Eddie’s voice. Soft. Groggy. Safe. The sound alone nearly broke him.
“Hey,” Buck whispered, heart racing. He glanced toward the door like John might be listening through it. “I don’t have a lot of time, but I think I might’ve really messed up.”
“What happened?”
“That new guy. John. I’m at a bar with him—everyone told me to go, to ease up—but he’s…” Buck swallowed hard. “He’s too nice. Too perfect. His smile’s fake. His stories are vague. He wants me to like him and I—God, Eddie, something’s wrong. I know it is. I can feel it.”
There was a pause. Then, Eddie’s voice, clipped and low: “Do you feel safe?”
Buck stared at his reflection in the mirror. His pupils were dilated. His pulse throbbed in his neck. “Not really.”
“Then leave. Right now. Don’t wait. Just get out, Buck.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I just… I needed you to know.”
“I’ve got you,” Eddie said, no hesitation. “I’ve got you, Buck. Text me your location. I’ll call Hen. We’ll—”
But Buck ended the call.
He didn’t want John to hear his voice when he stepped out. Didn’t want to give away that someone was coming.
He splashed water on his face. Tried to slow his breathing. His hands were trembling.
When he returned to the table, his beer had been topped off.
Fresh glass. Too full.
John smiled as he slid it closer. “Thought I’d get us another round.”
Buck hesitated. But refusing would look suspicious. And he needed to play it cool. Just long enough to get out.
So he nodded.
Lifted the glass.
Took a sip.
It was bitter, and a little warm. Nothing strange. No taste out of the ordinary. But the second he swallowed, something inside him recoiled.
Ten minutes later, he knew something was wrong.
His mouth was dry again, despite the beer. His limbs felt heavy—weighted. Like he was underwater. The music in the bar sounded distant now, warbled like it was playing through a wall.
His stomach twisted. The floor shifted.
He blinked, tried to clear his vision, but the lights above him stretched and blurred like long tunnels.
He tried to stand.
His legs buckled.
John was there instantly, catching him under the arm with that same, easy voice. “Whoa, buddy. Easy now. You okay?”
Buck’s tongue was thick in his mouth. “I—I need to…”
But he couldn’t finish the sentence. He couldn’t even remember what he’d meant to say.
He tried to pull away, but his body didn’t respond right. Everything was sluggish, wrong. His head lolled.
John’s hand tightened on his elbow. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
No.
Buck tried to shake his head, but his body betrayed him again. His arms hung limp. He couldn’t form the words.
John led him outside. Buck barely registered the cool air or the night sky above. He stumbled. Felt himself being lifted, maneuvered.
Car door open. Seatbelt. Click.
The world tilted again.
His last thought, before darkness swallowed him whole, was that he should’ve listened to his gut.
And that if Eddie didn’t find him in time—
He might never make it back.
————————————-
Buck woke up slowly.
The room was dim and smelled of mildew and dust. Concrete walls. One flickering light above. He was lying on a mattress on the floor—no sheets, just rough padding. His wrists hurt. When he tried to move, he realized why.
He was cuffed to the radiator.
Panic surged through him, cold and blinding. He twisted, yanked, but the cuffs didn’t budge. His mouth was dry, his head splitting. When he reached up to his scalp, he winced. Sticky. Blood.
Footsteps echoed beyond the door.
Then it opened.
John walked in, dressed casually, like nothing had changed.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he said with a smirk, setting down a bag. “Rough night?”
Buck’s throat was raw. “What—what the hell—”
John knelt beside him, opening the bag. He pulled out a bottle of water and a granola bar. Left them just out of reach.
“You said you didn’t trust me,” John said, voice soft. “Guess you were right.”
Buck glared at him. “You’re insane.”
John tilted his head. “You know, I thought they’d believe you. That maybe one of them would listen. But they didn’t, did they?”
He leaned closer, voice colder now.
“They never believe you. You’re the emotional one. The impulsive one. Buck breaks, Buck spirals. That’s what they think, right?”
Buck flinched. He didn’t want to admit how true that sounded.
John smiled wider. “They love you—until it’s inconvenient. Until you’re too much. Too loud. Too suspicious. And now?” He stood. “Now you’re just gone.”
Buck thought John was getting up to leave when he grabbed a familiar bag. “Hey you were right about one thing.” John states while rummaging through the bag. “I do steal a bunch of supplies , but I don’t like to waste the good stuff on you people so I’ll use the hard stuff the stuff from the streets.”
Finally John settles on a syringe and a small bottle of clear liquid.
“NO! GET AWAY!!” Buck screams trying to get away. Clawing at his wrists. Kicking his legs. Anything. But it isn’t enough for John’s strong body against Bucks to weak one.
“Nighty Night Buckley”
Johnny pushes the needle in to his neck. All the clear liquid is gone. And so is John. Buck fights so hard to stay awake. For Maddie. Chris. Eddie.
But the drugs acted fast and before he knew it he was consumed by darkness once again.
⸻
His head was pounding. He slowly cracked opened his eyes and he saw a familiar face. Shit. John. Oh yes. It’s all coming back to him now.
Buck’s throat was raw, but he still managed to rasp, “What the hell did you do to me?”
John crouched beside him, eyes alight with a terrible calm. “I took you home. Like I said I would.”
Buck pulled at the cuffs again. “You drugged me.”
John tilted his head. “Don’t be dramatic. You should be happy. I’m giving you the hard stuff.”
“You’re insane,” Buck spat.
John’s face didn’t change. “See, that’s the thing. Everyone thinks you’re the one losing it.” He stood, walked to a small table in the corner, unwrapping a sandwich like they were roommates or something. “Hen told me you’ve been off since Eddie left. Snapping. Suspicious. Even Bobby thinks you’re grieving the guy harder than you’re willing to admit.”
Buck’s vision swam as the concussion throbbed behind his eyes. He blinked hard.
“You said something about me stealing,” John went on, casual. “Not very nice. But helpful, honestly. You gave me the out I needed. Now when people ask where you went? ‘Guess Buck couldn’t take it. Probably needed to blow off steam.’” He grinned. “They won’t come looking for a while.”
“You’re wrong,” Buck hissed, low and sharp. “Eddie will.”
John chuckled. “Oh, Eddie. The hero. What’s he gonna do from El Paso?”
Buck didn’t answer. He just glared, jaw clenched so tight his teeth hurt.
John leaned in close, voice dropping to a whisper. “They don’t believe you. They don’t love you. Not like you think they do. They replaced you once. You really think they wouldn’t do it again?”
And before Buck knew it another stab came into his neck and he was out much faster than the last time…
⸻
Two days later, the shift changed without Buck.
Hen frowned when she realized his bunk hadn’t been slept in.
“He said he’d text,” Chimney offered, rubbing his eyes. “Maybe he just crashed somewhere.”
“He went with John, right?” Hen asked.
Bobby nodded. “They grabbed a drink. John said Buck left early.”
“He didn’t seem off to you?” Athena pressed.
John shrugged. “Little drunk. Said he was tired. I called after he left, didn’t answer.”
The team exchanged glances, but no one jumped to conclusions.
“Did something happen between the two of you?” Hen says
“ Well he did say he was done talking to you guys for taking my side. I’m sorry guys. This is all my fault.” Johnny says looking devastated.
“No no John. We are sorry. Buck can be very sensitive. So we understand he is probably just ignoring us.”
After that the team looked a little bit more calm and they believed John.
One person didn’t though.
⸻
Eddie’s phone rang late.
He and Chris had just gotten back from dinner with his parents. Awkward and tense but he had finally said his piece and so had Chris.
“We have to call Buck dad!! He going to be so exited to hear we are coming home!!” Chris said excitedly
The thing is Buck would be thrilled. If he answered his phone. And Buck always answers his phone. Like always. FaceTime? Audio call? Text? Buck was already there.
But since Buck’s tense call from the bar. He hadn’t heard from him since. He knew something was wrong. Then suddenly he gets a message from Bobby
Have you heard from Buck?
He nearly dropped his phone. “Dad? Is everything okay?” Chris says with a concerned look. “I’m going to be completely transparent with you Chris but I don’t think so.”
“It’s buck isn’t it” Chris says. “Yeah it is” Eddie sighs. “Well what are you waiting for let’s pack and go! Buck needs us.”
——————————————-
“You’re flying out?” Hen asked the next morning on the phone. concerned.
Eddie didn’t answer at first. “I told him to leave. That bar. He called me. He knew something was wrong. And now he’s gone.”
“Eddie. John said he was very upset when he left the bar. Maybe he is just ignoring us.”
“Buck wouldn’t ignore me Hen. I don’t care whether you believe Buck or but I will find him.”
⸻
Buck was in and out for a while.
He always saw flashes of John whether it was in his uniform or regulars clothes giving him these shots. Buck felt hot and cold all over. He couldn’t move anymore. He felt numb and in pain all at the same time.
They needed to find him before it was too late.
———————————————-
Eddie stormed into the station like a hurricane.
“Why the fuck aren’t all of you out there searching the ends of the earth for him??” Eddie spits out
“Calm down Eddie we are doing everything we can” Bobby says
“Athena is looking into it with the little evidence we have right now.” Hen explains.
John? He stood in the back, silent, calm.
“I told you guys,” Eddie snapped. “He called me. He knew. And now he’s missing and none of you are even treating it like foul play?”
“Eddie—” Bobby started.
“I don’t trust him.” Eddie jabbed a finger at John. “He was the last one with Buck. And now Buck’s just gone?”
John shrugged. “You’ve got no proof.”
“I don’t need proof. I know him.”
Athena, watching quietly, stepped forward. “You said he called you from the bathroom?”
Eddie nodded. “Told me John felt off. He didn’t feel safe. Told me he saw him messing with the trauma bags.”
Hen stiffened. “Wait… we have been missing a few things. But I thought—”
“You thought it was Buck,” Eddie finished flatly.
Silence.
Athena’s eyes narrowed at John.
“Get me every security camera from that bar,” she said. “Now.”
⸻
Buck lost track of the days.
Sometimes John would be gone for what felt like hours. Sometimes just minutes. He always came back. Always with the same words.
“They don’t believe you.”
“You always push people away.”
“Maybe this is what you needed—someone to take care of you.”
One night John came in and found him half-asleep, shivering on the floor. Johnny wasn’t his normal calm self. No he was angry.
“Fuck!!” He yells pushing down an old book shelf.
“You just had to call that boyfriend of yours. Because of it there on my ass now!!” John gets closer to Buck now.
“You will fucking pay you piece of shit!!”
Before Buck could fully process the words there was something big slamming across his head. He went down immediately.
Automatically he goes to cover his head but his arms are still chained. Then came the punches.
To his side.
His face.
His head.
And when John was done he was heaving. And walked back over to the bag.
He comes back to Buck. Crouching in front of his bleeding body.
“You’re better than this,” he murmured, brushing hair from Buck’s face. Buck flinched, violently. John just laughed. “Or maybe not.” And stabbed came and went like its usually did. This time Buck was glad. He didn’t have to bleed and hurt alone. And the black swallows him whole.
⸻
Three Days
It took three days for Athena to get the footage.
Three days of silence and sleepless nights.
Three days of Eddie pacing His well Bucks house like a caged animal.
Three days of Bobby fielding every single one of his calls, hearing the same question again and again:
“Have you found him?”
Athena’s hands were tied. The bar wouldn’t release the footage without a warrant. And she needed probable cause.
“What about the guy?” Eddie had snapped at her over the phone. “What about John? That’s his name—John. Evan left with him. He was the last one to see him.”
“We’re not even sure if that’s his real name,” Athena said tightly. “No fingerprints, no history, nothing on facial recognition. That man’s a ghost.”
“Well,” Eddie had growled, “ghosts don’t drug people and make them disappear.”
He hung up before she could respond.
⸻
Day 1
The house was too quiet.
Eddie sat on Buck’s couch with a hoodie that didn’t belong to him balled in his fists. It smelled like Buck. A little like vanilla, a little like aftershave, a little like something warm and safe. He’d found it discarded behind the bathroom door.
The coffee table was still messy from the night Buck had gone missing. Half a glass of water. A snack wrapper.
Hen and Chimney came by that afternoon.
“Where’s Chris?”
“He’s with Karen right now with the other kids.” Hen says.
“Still nothing?” Hen asked softly.
Eddie shook his head.
Chimney looked down, guilt clouding his face. “I should’ve gone after him that night. He wasn’t acting right. I thought he was just—”
He stopped, the words catching in his throat.
Hen finished it for him. “We thought he was upset. Emotional. Nothing new.”
“He was drugged,” Eddie spat, standing abruptly.
The silence that followed was thunderous.
Eddie closed his eyes, dragging a hand over his face.
⸻
Day 2
Athena called him early.
“I’m getting somewhere,” she said. “Bar security has a policy—they delete footage every 72 hours. We’ve got until tomorrow morning before it’s gone. I’ve got a judge reviewing the warrant now.”
Eddie was already out the door before she finished.
He ended up at the station, hovering near Athena’s desk like a shadow. Bobby tried to get him to eat something. He refused. Chimney brought him a coffee. It went cold in his hands.
“Eddie,” Athena said gently, finally looking up from her screen. “You need to rest. You’re no good to him like this.”
Eddie snapped.
“Don’t tell me to rest! He’s out there somewhere—drugged, scared, probably hurt, and we’re just waiting around for permission to look at a goddamn camera?!”
Her eyes flashed with fire, but she didn’t raise her voice.
“We do this the right way, or we don’t do it at all.”
Eddie turned and walked out without another word.
⸻
Day 3
The footage came in at 2:17 a.m.
Athena didn’t wait until morning.
She called Eddie. He didn’t answer.
He was already at her door ten minutes later.
She didn’t speak—just turned her laptop toward him.
There, in grainy color, was Buck sitting across from John at the bar. They were talking. Buck looked… not quite right. Fidgety. Sweaty. He barely touched his beer.
John leaned in. Slid something across the table. Sleight of hand. The camera caught the glint of a vial, the flick of fingers, the way he distracted Buck with a question while tipping something into the glass.
It took a second to hit.
Buck blinked. Then blinked again, slower. His head swayed.
His mouth moved. A question.
John stood. Reached out like a friend. Buck followed.
Like a puppet on strings.
Athena paused the video.
Eddie stood so fast the chair fell behind him.
“That’s all I need.”
⸻
The sun was setting when they arrived.
Flashing red and blue lit up the overgrown lawn, casting jagged shadows across the broken porch. The derelict house crouched in the middle of the lot like it was waiting for them—windows boarded, the siding bowed and rotting. A crime scene begging to be cracked open.
Police went first.
SWAT cleared the perimeter.
Athena stood at point, bulletproof vest strapped on tight, weapon drawn. Officers fanned out in a trained pattern—silent, practiced, lethal. No assumptions. No chances.
Behind them, the 118 waited at the edge of the property.
Helpless.
They weren’t allowed to carry weapons. That didn’t stop Eddie from vibrating with tension, fists clenched at his sides like he wanted to punch the door down himself.
Bobby tried to calm him. “We wait until they clear it. You rush in and it could cost Buck his life.”
Eddie didn’t look away from the house. His voice was hoarse.
“If he’s still alive.”
Hen, Chim, and even quiet, grounded Hen stood in grim silence. The smell from the house was already seeping through the air—rot, damp, and something sharp that no one wanted to name.
Athena’s voice crackled through the radio.
“Front door’s unlocked. Proceeding.”
Eddie couldn’t take it anymore.
The moment the officers vanished inside, he started moving. Bobby caught his arm.
“Eddie. Not yet.”
“I’m not standing here while he’s in there.”
“They’ll call us when it’s clear.”
“I don’t need clear. I need him.”
The sound of something slamming inside the house made everyone flinch.
Ten more seconds passed before Athena’s voice came through again.
“Kitchen—trapdoor. We’re opening it now.”
The trapdoor gave way with a groan like a dying animal.
Athena’s flashlight pierced the void first, beam jittering across damp, concrete walls. The stench rolled out—rot, urine, something chemical and thick. A basement turned into a tomb.
She called down the stairs to the officers, then turned back. “It’s clear. Let’s move.”
Eddie pushed forward first.
He didn’t wait for protocol, didn’t care about procedures. Hen and Chim followed, fast and low. Bobby brought up the rear.
The stairs were steep and slick with moisture. Wood creaked under every step, threatening to give out. Their flashlights danced along the walls, illuminating broken furniture, garbage bags… and something worse.
The second Eddie’s light hit the far wall, the breath was ripped out of his lungs.
“Buck—”
It was a whisper. A prayer. A scream.
And it didn’t even sound like him.
⸻
Buck was there.
Chained to a radiator in the back corner like a discarded animal.
He didn’t look real at first—just a crumpled, human-shaped shadow in the dark.
His clothes were shredded and soaked through. His head hung low, hair matted with dried blood and sweat. His wrists were still bound behind him, but the worst was the thick, iron cuff digging into his ankle, bolted to the radiator with a heavy chain. The skin underneath was raw and purple, crusted with blood and infection.
Eddie was there in an instant—on his knees, flashlight clattering to the ground.
“Buck? Buck— hey—look at me. It’s me. It’s me. I’ve got you. You’re okay now. You’re okay.”
Buck flinched violently at the sound of his name.
His head snapped up like he expected a blow. The open eye—the only one not swollen shut—was unfocused, glassy. He looked right past Eddie.
Then tried to scramble away, but the chain jerked him back.
“Don’t—!” Buck cried out, voice a broken rasp. “Don’t—please—I didn’t say anything—I didn’t—please don’t hit me again—”
Hen was already pulling gloves on, flashlight clenched between her teeth as she assessed from behind. “He’s dehydrated. Malnourished. Concussed. There’s signs of withdrawal too—shaking, sweating. He’s been drugged and left to rot.”
Buck’s lips moved again.
“…so hungry…”
The words were so small Eddie almost missed them.
He reached for the zip ties—his hands shaking. “Get these off him. Now.”
“I can’t—” Hen said quickly, panic in her voice. “They’re melted into the skin—he’s bled through the ties—if I cut now, I could hit a tendon—”
“Then do it carefully!” Eddie snapped, his voice high and cracked.
Athena moved to his side. “We need to break the chain first. He’s not leaving this place like that.”
She called for bolt cutters. Bobby and Chim scrambled back upstairs to the truck.
Eddie leaned in close, kneeling in blood and piss and grime. Buck was trembling under his touch, teeth chattering despite the summer heat.
“I’ve got you,” Eddie whispered, voice hoarse. “You’re okay. You’re not alone anymore. I’m here. You’re safe. No one’s ever gonna hurt you again.”
Buck’s swollen mouth twitched.
His voice cracked around the words:
“You… said you didn’t want me anymore…”
Eddie froze.
“No,” he breathed, “no—no, Buck, I never said that. Never. You were drugged. I promise I’m not leaving.”
Tears started falling down Buck’s cheeks—quiet, uncontrolled.
Buck was ice-cold in Eddie’s arms. His skin burned with fever, and his pulse was faint under clammy skin. One eye was nearly swollen shut. The cuffs had torn open both his wrists—red and raw and caked with blood. His lip was split. The back of his head was sticky with dried blood from where John had slammed him against the wall days ago.
“Medic kit—now!” Athena barked behind them as Chimney and Hen moved in fast, hands practiced but trembling.
“Didn’t believe me,” he whispered. “No one believed me.”
Eddie’s eyes filled. “I did. I did, Buck. I swear. I came as soon as—”
“You were the only one,” Buck breathed, and then his eyes rolled back, his body slumping into unconsciousness.
Eddie choked on a sob. “Stay with me. Stay with me. Please.”
Hen reached forward and laid a gloved hand on his knee. “You’re going to live, Buck. You’re going to make it.”
Bobby returned, panting, with the bolt cutters.
He didn’t hesitate—grit his teeth and snapped the chain off the radiator. The sharp sound made Buck flinch so hard he vomited onto the floor. Nothing but bile and foam.
“Eddie, we need to carry him out. Now,” Hen said. “We can’t wait. His vitals are tanking.”
“I’ve got him,” Eddie said, already pulling off his jacket. He wrapped it gently around Buck’s shoulders, ignoring the wetness, the filth. He slid his arms under him, careful around the ribs.
Buck screamed—a raw, animal sound—as Eddie shifted him. Blood soaked through the hoodie in seconds.
“I know,” Eddie whispered. “I know it hurts. I’m so sorry. I’ve got you.”
Buck couldn’t stop crying.
“Thought I was gonna die down here,” he rasped. “Thought you hated me…”
Eddie’s throat closed. He couldn’t speak.
He just held Buck tighter, pressing his forehead to his temple as he carried him out of that hellhole, step by agonizing step.
⸻
Outside
The sun was too bright.
The air too clean.
The 118 watched in stunned silence as Eddie emerged carrying Buck like something sacred, like he might fall apart in his arms.
Hen was already calling vitals into dispatch. Chim was prepping oxygen and IVs. Bobby cleared the path to the gurney.
Buck barely reacted as they loaded him in—eyes fluttering, lips blue, hands twitching.
But when Eddie tried to let go…
Buck grabbed his shirt.
“Don’t leave me,” he gasped. “Please—don’t leave me again—”
Eddie climbed into the ambulance without hesitation.
And held him the entire way to the hospital.
——————————————-
The ER was chaos—nurses calling codes, machines beeping, Buck’s body barely registering a normal temperature. The drugs in his system had interacted badly with a head injury no one had treated. He was lucky to be alive.
They admitted him for a week.
Eddie never left his side.
Neither did Christopher, once Carla brought him in. The second he saw Buck in that bed, tubes in his arm and bandages around his head, Chris broke.
“Why would someone hurt him?” he asked Eddie quietly.
Eddie kissed his temple. “Because he saw something no one else did.”
⸻
When Buck finally woke, he blinked up into soft hospital light. His head throbbed, throat sore, muscles stiff and aching.
“Buck,” Eddie whispered, standing from the chair beside him.
Buck swallowed. “Still alive?”
Eddie huffed a soft laugh, eyes wet. “Yeah. You’re alive. You’re safe.”
Buck looked away. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
The door opened. Bobby, Hen, Chimney, Athena.
Buck flinched.
Hen was the first to speak. “I am so sorry.”
Buck’s voice cracked. “You all thought I was just losing it.”
No one spoke.
“I begged someone to listen.”
Athena stepped forward. “We failed you. But we’re going to fix that. Starting with putting John away for good.”
Bobby knelt beside the bed. “I will never forgive myself. But I will never stop proving to you that we believe you. From now on, always.”
⸻