Chapter Text
***
„Goodbye to you my trusted friend
We've known each other since we were nine or ten
Together we've climbed hills and trees
Learned of love and ABC's
Skinned our hearts and skinned our knees.“
-Terry Jacks- 🎼Seasons in the Sun
***
Eddie
Eddie dragged a tired hand over his face. The steady, monotonous beep of the heart monitor and the soft hiss of the ventilator’s rise and fall kept pulling his eyelids closed.
A small procession of doctors had just finished their rounds… and left him with yet another hopeless shake of their heads. Buck’s condition had been unchanged for weeks. Machines kept him trapped in a life he had tried to end himself. Pure chance was the only reason Eddie had found him in time.
Buck had stood on the edge between life and death more times than Eddie could count; and every single time, he had fought his way back. No matter how hopeless it had looked.
But this time, there was no fight.
This time, there was only the steady hiss of the ventilator and the monotonous beep of the heart monitor.
Eddie drew a shaky breath. His eyes burned with exhaustion, his heart stabbing painfully in his chest.
“Come on, Buck. You have to come back to us… I know how much you miss Bobby. I know… God, I know how much you miss him. I miss him too. But losing you… I wouldn’t survive that. I need you.”
Eddie reached for Buck’s hand and flinched all over again at how limp it felt in his own. He stayed like that for several minutes, eyes closed, focusing all his attention on that quiet, still hand. Hoping for a twitch… wishing, so desperately, that Buck’s fingers would finally curl around his.
But the hand remained motionless. The muscles stayed slack.
Eddie’s gaze drifted to the bedside table. He still hadn’t dared to open the small wooden box he’d found on the floor beside Buck that night. He knew what he would find inside; and he wasn’t ready for it. He probably never would be.
And yet the conflict burned inside him, because he knew how important it had been to Buck that…
No.
How important it is to Buck.
Buck is alive.
That the contents of that small box ended up where they belonged.
The knot in Eddie’s throat tightened. His heart hammered helplessly against his ribs, and as he reached for the box, tears of desperation slid down his face. His fingers finally closed around the dark, smooth wood. He lifted the box carefully and opened it with trembling hesitation.
Five letters lay inside, each one carefully tucked into an envelope and labeled with a name.
His envelope was on top.
Eddie had never really noticed how beautiful Buck’s handwriting was. The letters were even and neat, lined up perfectly as they formed his name.
More tears caught in Eddie’s lashes, blurring his vision before spilling freely down his cheeks. His heart twisted painfully, his lungs gasping for air.
He didn’t want to read this letter; and at the same time, he knew he owed it to Buck.
He didn’t want a goodbye, and yet it stood in front of him, unavoidable.
He wanted Buck to wake up,
to look at him,
to finally talk to him.
He wanted to hear his voice one more time.
His hands trembled as he unfolded the carefully folded page.
Then he began to read.
**
Dear Eddie,
I’m sorry. I really am. But I want you to understand me.
Since Bobby died, everything feels so different. So wrong.
You know what I mean, right?
The 118 isn’t what it used to be. Everything is falling apart; even our friendship, and I honestly don’t know why. I don’t know what I can do to fix it.
It feels like you’re light-years away from me. Much worse than a few months ago, when you were still in El Paso. But maybe I’m the one who’s far away, drifting alone somewhere out in space.
I really don’t know.
Bobby was one of my anchors. The other one was you… and the 118 was my family.
Now all of that is gone.
I feel so alone, and I don’t want to feel alone anymore. I hope you understand that.
I don’t want to come home to an empty apartment anymore. I don’t want to be alone.
Yeah, I know; The Life of Evan Buckley: A Drama in 97 Acts.
That hurt. Because the truth is, I never wanted to be a burden to anyone.
So now comes the final act, and the curtain falls.
(I’m actually pretty proud of that metaphor… turns out there’s a real writer hiding inside me.)
What I’m trying to say is: I finally understand what you meant back then.
That I only ever see myself… and yeah, maybe you’re right.
But if I don’t see myself, who will? Then no one will see me at all, Eddie.
Bobby saw me. And when he was gone, I became invisible to everyone.
I was there. I wanted to help. I wanted to be there for all of you.
But nobody needed me. Nobody.
All of you have someone who’s there for you. You have Chris. Chim has Maddie. Hen has Karen; which is wonderful, really (please don’t misunderstand me). But I come home to an empty table, just like I do when we’re at the station. No one comes together for dinner anymore. Everyone keeps moving forward.
Somehow, I’m the only one who stayed behind.
Maybe that’s unfair to you. And honestly? Very likely this is my fault… like always.
I’m just one big mistake.
Bobby told me all of you would need me. That I would be okay.
But I’m not okay. And nobody needs me.
I want to be with Bobby.
In my coma dream, Bobby was actually dead; and yet he was there… because my mind wanted him to be. Kind of scary, right?
When I had that coma dream, I came back for two things I couldn’t fix there: Bobby’s death… and you.
Did I ever tell you that Bobby was dead in that coma reality?
What I definitely never told you is that you were gone too; because your parents had taken Chris back to El Paso.
And I think maybe that was a warning. Because everything came true.
I lost you both.
The coma dream was a warning, and I was just too stupid to understand it.
Maybe I could have changed something.
Oh; before I forget. I wrote a letter to Chris too. I didn’t write anything bad, I promise. Trust me one last time; I would never hurt Chris. Give him the letter when he’s ready, but don’t force him. I think you’ll wait a long time before you can really hold this letter in your hands and read it. Thank you for that.
There’s also a letter for Connor and Kameron. Well; really for the little one.
Did you know he’s turning three this year?
He was born on my couch. I was the first one to hold him, and I don’t even know his name anymore. I don’t know where they moved to either. But that was the deal.
Sorry; I’m rambling.
What I wanted to ask you is this: please read the letter before you give it to Connor… and if you think it’s stupid, just throw it away. I don’t even know why I wrote it. It just felt right.
Don’t think about me too much. I’m really scared, but I’m okay; because I’ll be with Bobby soon.
I love you, Eddie. And I wish we had met in another life.
Love,
Buck