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Eddie stared at the automatic doors through which Buck’s gurney had disappeared, as if staring hard enough might bend reality. As if sheer, desperate will could peel those doors back open and spit Buck out again —alive, breathing, grinning sheepishly like he’d just embarrassed himself in front of the entire department.
His chest felt too tight, his lungs burning like he’d inhaled smoke he couldn’t exhale, and his eyes stung with tears he refused to let fall —until they did anyway, blurring the world into a mess of fluorescent lights and rain-soaked reflections.
The world tilted, sliding off its axis. The sharp beeps and shouted medical commands faded into a dull, distant hum, like he was underwater, watching everything happen through thick glass.
Buck was dead.
For three minutes and seventeen seconds —long enough to fracture something permanent— his heart had stopped beating.
Even when it had started again, jolted back into rhythm by Eddie’s frantic hands and hoarse, barked commands just seconds before they wheeled him through those doors, it had stopped long enough for Eddie to know. To feel.
What a world without Buck was like.
Cold. Hollow. Wrong.
It was unbearable. It was impossible. And it had happened anyway.
“Eddie, h-hey… let’s sit down,” beside him, his voice soft, carefully measured —too careful— like Eddie might fracture if spoken to too loudly. There was a tremor in it he didn’t bother hiding. He placed a gentle hand on Eddie's shoulder, trying to guide him toward the waiting room chairs that looked as cold and uninviting as the dread pooling in Eddie's gut. “We need to let them work. Come on, man.”
Eddie shook his head violently. His mouth flooded with thick, acrid saliva as nausea surged up his throat, coiling there like a threat. He swallowed hard, barely keeping it down.
If he sat down, he would break.
If he stayed still, it would become real.
Because how could he process this?
Losing Buck —the man who had quietly become his anchor, his constant, his partner in every way except the one Eddie had been too afraid to name— meant unraveling everything.
It meant losing the laughter that filled their home, the easy rhythm of shared mornings and exhausted nights, the way Buck’s presence had patched the hollow spaces Eddie hadn’t even known were still bleeding.
It meant facing a future where every shift, every call, every breath reminded him of what was missing.
“I—” His voice scraped raw from his throat. He wiped his trembling hands down the front of his soot-streaked uniform, like he could scrub the feeling off his skin. His breathing fractured into sharp, shallow pulls that didn’t reach his lungs, his heart pounding like it was trying to outrun the pain. “Chris.”
Chim’s grip tightened, firm, grounding.
“Eddie—”
“I have to tell Chris,” Eddie whispered, the words tearing free like exposed nerve. “I—I have to. How am I supposed to tell him?”
His voice wavered, cracked.
“H-He’s his… He’s our... He’s— he’s Buck.”
The name alone undid him.
It broke his voice completely, pitched high and raw on the last word, stripped of any pretense of control.
Eddie wasn’t ready to lose someone he loved again. Not after Shannon. Not after the endless, suffocating grief that had nearly drowned him once before.
And Chris —God— Chris definitely wasn’t ready.
Chris had already buried one parent. Eddie had almost been taken from him too. And Buck… Buck had slipped into their lives without ceremony, without demands, until one day Eddie had looked up and realized they weren’t just surviving anymore.
They were a family.
And now that was being threatened.
Unable to hold it together any longer, Eddie twisted out of Chim’s grasp and bolted for the exit, his boots slapping against the linoleum as he burst through the automatic doors into the parking lot.
Rain came down in relentless sheets —a cold, merciless deluge that mirrored the storm inside him— soaking his uniform instantly, plastering his hair to his forehead. He barely noticed.
He barely felt anything as he slammed against the rough brick wall of the building, hands braced against concrete, bile burning its way up his throat. He doubled over, retching violently, the bitter acid burning his esophagus and leaving a foul taste that mingled with the salt of his tears.
He couldn't stop.
Wave after wave wracked his body, his muscles heaving like they were trying to expel the nightmare itself. Tears streamed unchecked, hot against his face, swallowed by the icy rain soaking him to the bone.
His uniform clung to him like a second layer of despair, the chill seeping into his muscles, making his limbs shake uncontrollably.
Images assaulted him without mercy.
Buck’s body, limp and lifeless, hanging from the ladder. The lightning strike splitting the sky like a cruel joke. The CPR —his hands pounding, begging, demanding Buck to come back.
He gagged again, retching until his stomach was empty and then continuing anyway, like his body needed to purge something deeper than food —fear, maybe. Or grief.
A hand landed on his lower back —gentle, supportive— but it felt wrong, hollow.
Because it wasn’t Buck’s hand. The one that always knew exactly how much pressure Eddie needed. The one that had anchored him through panic attacks and late-night confessions and everything unsaid between them.
When the gagging finally subsided, Eddie gasped for air and lifted his head, letting the rain hit him full-on, like it might wash the image from his mind —Buck, lifeless, blue, silent.
He dragged a trembling hand through his hair, wiped his face, tried to breathe like a normal person.
“Is Chris home?” Chim asked quietly from beside him, his voice cutting through the downpour without judgment.
Eddie was grateful —god, so grateful— that Chim didn't comment on the breakdown, didn't try to placate him with empty words.
He just nodded once slowly, his throat too raw to speak.
“Come on, I'll take you home so you can change and talk to him,” Chim said, his tone firm but kind, anchoring Eddie back to reality.
Eddie’s gaze snagged on the glowing hospital entrance through the sheets of rain, on the doors that had swallowed Buck whole.
Leaving felt like betrayal, like abandoning Buck when he needed him most.
“He was just admitted,” Chim assured him quickly, reading the reluctance in Eddie's posture. “We have time to go and come back. Bobby’ll call if anything changes. But… Eddie, it’s better Chris hears it from you.”
Eddie nodded again. One step. Then another.
Each movement felt borrowed, mechanical, until he was climbing into the ambulance, hands shaking as he buckled himself in.
The ride home stretched into an eternity, the city lights blurring past like mocking streaks.
Eddie stared at the empty space behind them —the place where Buck had been lying, where Hen and Chim had fought death itself, where Eddie hadn’t been allowed except as a driver, useless and begging the universe for mercy.
The scent of antiseptic and ozone lingered, a ghost of chaos.
When they pulled up to the house, Carla was already waiting in the doorway, silhouetted against the warm light inside. Her eyes were red-rimmed, swollen from crying, and her hands trembled as she hugged herself tightly, as if holding her own pieces together.
“H-He…?” Carla started, her voice breaking, and Eddie felt fresh tears prick his eyes. He pressed his lips together, shaking his head, unable to voice the horror.
“They're working on him,” Chim finished gently, and Carla’s shoulders sagged as she released a shaky breath, clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.
“Chris's in his room,” she whispered, stepping aside to let them in. "He was playing on the computer with some friends when I saw the news. I-I don't think he knows."
Eddie knew better.
He trudged toward Christopher's room on autopilot, muddy boots leaving tracks across the floor he didn’t notice, didn’t care about.
He knocked softly, twice, steeling himself for the sight of his son —calm, oblivious, lost in a game, his curly hair tousled just like Buck's.
The door opened.
And Eddie knew he was too late.
Christopher stood there with a flushed face, eyes red and swollen, tears carving tracks down his cheeks, his hands shaking like leaves in the wind.
"Daddy," Chris sobbed, the word ripping from him like a plea from the past.
Eddie shattered.
He dropped to his knees as Chris threw himself into his arms, the word echoing through Eddie’s chest like a fracture.
Chris hadn’t called him that since he was five, back when nightmares about monsters under the bed were the worst thing in his world. The sound of it now —raw and desperate— undid whatever composure Eddie had left, because his boy was breaking under the weight of loss.
He clutched him tightly and carried him to the bed, shutting the door behind them.
They sank onto the bed together, Eddie cradling his son as Chris's body wracked with sobs, his small frame shaking like the world had just cracked open beneath his feet.
“It’s okay,” Eddie murmured, even though it wasn’t. “I’ve got you.”
His hand slid through Chris’s hair —those soft curls so eerily similar to Buck's that it had become a running joke at the station, people mistaking them for biological father and son. But now, it just twisted the knife deeper.
“He’s going to be okay. Our Buck’s strong. He’s fought through worse.”
Chris clung tighter, his nails digging into Eddie's arms through the damp uniform, a desperate anchor, like he was afraid Eddie might disappear too.
Eddie held him closer, but Chris pulled back slightly, creating just enough space to look up with those wide, red-rimmed eyes that mirrored Eddie's own pain.
“Is he alive?” Chris asked, his voice small and trembling, laced with the terror of a kid who'd already buried one parent.
Eddie nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"Yeah, buddy. He's alive. They're taking care of him right now."
Chris let out another gut-wrenching sob, pressing his face into Eddie’s shoulder, relief and fear crashing together. Eddie rubbed slow circles on his back, trying to soothe them both.
“How did you know?” Eddie asked gently, his hand never stopping its rhythmic motion.
“One of my friends asked how I could be playing when one of my dads was hurt,” Chris explained, his words punctuated by hiccups and sniffles. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand, a gesture so identical to Eddie's habitual one that it made Eddie's chest constrict. “I didn’t believe him at first— I thought he was messing with me. But then he sent me the video... the news clip. Buck on that ladder, the lightning... ”
Eddie closed his eyes.
“It looked so bad, Dad. He's going to be okay, right? He has to be." Chris said, more plea than statement.
He felt his breath hitch, his own vision blurring again. But he nodded firmly, drawing on every ounce of resolve.
"He is”, Eddie said, even as his lungs burned. He glanced down at his sodden uniform, the mud and grime tracking across Chris's floor, a tangible reminder of the night's horrors. “He's in the hospital. I wanted to tell you myself. I didn't think you'd find out like this. I'm sorry, Chris. I should've been faster."
Chris nodded, sniffling as he leaned back against Eddie's shoulder, his body still quaking with residual fear.
“It's okay, Dad. I just... I'm scared.”
Silence enveloped them for a few minutes, broken only by Chris's hiccups and Eddie's labored breathing.
“Buck said the same thing about telling me when it happened to you,” Chris whispered after a moment, his voice barely audible.
The memory hit Eddie like a punch— Buck stepping up during Eddie's recovery from the shooting, being the rock for Chris when Eddie couldn't.
It only reinforced what Eddie had known deep down for years: Buck was family, woven into their lives in ways that went beyond blood or badges.
"Can we go see him?" Chris asked, his eyes pleading.
Eddie sighed, resting his head atop Chris's, inhaling the familiar scent of shampoo and boyish energy.
“Not yet.” He pressed a kiss to the messy curls. “They’re still working on him. Tomorrow. After school. If the doctors say it’s okay. What do you think?”
Christopher huffed in frustration, crossing his arms in that stubborn way he got from both Eddie and Buck.
It stung Eddie's heart to deny him, but letting Chris in now might mean exposing him to the worst —tubes, machines, a lifeless form that wasn't the vibrant Buck they knew. It would mean that he wouldn't have the opportunity to see him in better condition afterwards.
And Eddie couldn't accept that as a possibility, he refused to let death win this round.
“I want to be able to talk to him,” Chris said, his voice cracking, small and vulnerable. “I-I couldn’t talk to Mom before... before she was gone. I-I don’t want... I don’t want him to go without knowing how much I love him. Please, Dad."
The words hung in the air like a fog, conjuring images of Shannon's accident, the finality that had stolen her from them.
Eddie pulled Chris into a tighter hug, ignoring the fresh tears tracking down his own cheeks and the nausea clawing at his throat again.
“You’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Eddie whispered fiercely, his voice breaking. "He’ll still be here.”
And Chris nodded. Slowly.
They stayed like that for what felt like hours, wrapped in each other's arms, the only sound the occasional sniffle and the rain pattering against the window.
Eventually, a soft knock interrupted them. Chim poked his head in, his expression apologetic.
“Eddie, the LAFD notified Maddie and she's on her way to the hospital,” he said quietly, glancing at Chris with a warm, if strained, smile before looking back at Eddie. “You understand, right? I need to be with her.”
Eddie nodded slowly, easing away from Chris.
“Give me five, please?” He looked at Chim, then nodded toward his son, a silent request to give him a little more time.
Chim nodded, his lips curving into a smile that aimed for hope.
“Buck will be okay. He's strong, and he's got a lot to fight for —you two chief among them.”
"I know," Chris whispered, managing a watery smile as he sniffed. "Thanks, Uncle Chim. Tell Aunt Maddie we're thinking of her."
Chim nodded once more and slipped out, leaving them alone again. Eddie rose slowly, kneeling in front of Chris to meet his eyes. He kissed his forehead gently.
"Try to get some sleep, okay? Buck will need to see you full of energy tomorrow —none of that zombie mode from staying up."
Chris let out a weak chuckle, allowing Eddie to tuck him in like he was little again, pulling the covers up and smoothing them down.
With the fragile hope Chris had sparked in him, Eddie changed quickly into dry clothes and headed back to the hospital with Chim.
He collapsed into a waiting room chair, his eyes locked on the corridor leading to the ICU, ears straining for any update, his mind replaying every moment with Buck in a torturous loop.
The next day dawned gray and heavy, the rain finally tapering off but leaving a chill in the air that matched the one in Eddie's bones.
He confirmed to Carla over the phone that Buck still hadn't woken up —he was in respiratory failure and now had an ECMO machine oxygenating his blood for him, breathing in place of his lungs. He hoped she'd catch the undertone: not yet time for Chris to see this version of Buck, pale and still, a shell of the man who tossed him over his shoulder in piggyback rides.
But Chris insisted, his determination unyielding, a trait he'd inherited from both his parents and amplified by Buck's influence.
With Carla's help, they navigated the hospital corridors —distracting whoever they needed to— and soon Eddie was leading his son down the sterile hall to Buck's room.
The little strength Eddie had mustered evaporated the moment he saw Chris's face crumple at the sight: Buck lying there, intubated, monitors whirring, a tube with blood coming out of his body into a machine and then returning it there.
“Is he sleeping?”, Chris asked, looking at Buck with a sad expression.
Eddie managed a nod.
“Something like that. He’s resting,” Eddie whispered, as he ran his hand over his face, wiping away the tears that ran down his cheeks, “So the machines can do all the work. Make him feel better.”
But even that much made the nausea surge; he didn't want to dwell on how the machines were doing the work of living for Buck, keeping blood flowing, lungs inflating. It felt too fragile, too close to the edge.
Chris, ever the curious soul —fueled by Buck's endless explanations of how things worked— started asking questions immediately, his voice wavering but insistent. Eddie tried to answer, but the words stuck in his throat.
He was grateful when Hen stepped in, her voice calm and professional yet laced with warmth.
“That's part of the ECMO machine,” Hen began, crouching to Chris's level, “It takes his blood and puts extra oxygen in it. And then that blood goes back into his body.”
Chris absorbed it all, his eyes wide, then shuffled closer to the bed. He reached out a tentative hand, placing it over Buck's still one, careful not to disturb the wires.
“Can he hear me?” Chris asked curiously, and Hen could only nod.
“I bet he can.”
“Hey, Buck,” Chris said softly, his voice cracking with emotion. “It's Christopher. I know you're sick, but it's only temporary. You're gonna be okay. That's what all the machines are doing. Making you better.”
Tears streamed freely down Chris's cheeks, and all Eddie could do was try to hide his own, his heart breaking at the way his son was begging Buck for something he couldn't control.
“Dad brought me to see you. You gotta wake up, okay? We miss you at home.” Chris's voice was soft, delicate, and carried that tinge of pain that made Eddie's insides clench. “Remember that time you taught me how to make those epic pancakes with the chocolate chips shaped like smiley faces? We need more of those. And... and I need you to help me with my science project. It's about electricity —ironic, huh? But you're the expert now, right?”
He paused, swallowing hard, tears slipping down his cheeks.
“But wherever you are, you have to come back. Wherever you are right now, you have to come back.” Eddie could see the way Chris squeezed Buck's hand, and with every passing second he hoped Buck would return that pressure, even though he knew there was no chance. “I know you're fighting in there. You're the strongest person I know, next to Dad. We love you, Buck. Don't leave us.”
Eddie stood frozen, his own tears falling silently as he watched.
It was the same plea Chris had whispered in his nightmares about Eddie or Shannon —begging them to return from the dark.
When Chris finally said his goodbyes and they managed to get him out of the restricted area and into the waiting room, he hugged Eddie tightly, burying his face in his side.
“He'll answer us soon, Dad, I know it,” Chris whispered, his voice carrying a spark of unwavering faith that Eddie hadn't felt since this nightmare began. “He always comes back for us.”
And he did.
Buck woke up.
Not immediately, not after one more day —without a ventilator, without sedatives, his chest lifted on its own, and hours later the monitors shifted, his eyes fluttering open, a weak smile breaking through the haze of pain.
Eddie watched as Buck hugged Chris gently, mindful of the tubes, his voice raspy but laced with that familiar humor.
“Hey, superman,” Buck croaked, ruffling Chris's hair.
Chris laughed through fresh tears.
“You scared us, Buck. Don't do that again.”
“Sorry,” Buck promised, his eyes meeting Eddie's over Chris's head, a silent vow passing between them. “Wouldn't miss more time with you two for anything.”
And just like that, the pressure in Eddie's chest eased, the world righting itself inch by inch.
Because the risk of losing him would always linger —shadowing their shifts, their lives, whether they fought fires together or not.
But so would the love.
And Eddie swore, silently, fiercely, that he would never waste another second of it
For Buck. For Chris.
For the family they were —messy, unconventional, and utterly unbreakable.