Archive of Our Own ^beta

FIRST UNIVERSE

Buck wakes up hacking up a lung full of dust. This is weird on so many accounts that Buck’s not sure he could list them all, but first and foremost, it’s weird because he lives in a house. And his house is not dusty.

Still hacking, he opens his eyes to find that he is flat on the ground, a sprawling field ahead of him. To his right, far off in the distance, is a large, red farmhouse. To his left, a very sad, lonely-looking plant.

How the hell did he get here?

Someone moans behind him, and Buck jumps, scrambling onto his knees.

He whirls around, hand pressed to his chest, only to find—

“Eddie?” Buck breathes.

Eddie Diaz, the most competent, put-together man Buck knows, blanches entirely.

Sprawled on the ground, covered in dust, Eddie rasps, “Buck?”

“Eddie,” Buck says again, shuffling forward on his knees. His heart is beating out of his chest, and wherever they are, it can’t be good, but Eddie’s here. “E-Eddie, I think we’ve been kidnapped.”

Pushing himself onto his elbows, Eddie purses his lips. For a long moment, he looks at Buck, then he turns his eyes to the field. He scans it, methodical and slow, before nodding.

“Looks that way.”

The confirmation lands like a heavy stone in Buck’s gut. If they’ve been kidnapped, that means they must’ve been drugged. He’s sure they would remember being dropped in the middle of nowhere, otherwise.

Buck doesn’t understand. Why would someone drug and abandon two strangers in the middle of nowhere? Did they want their car? Their wallets?

There aren’t any impressions in the dirt—no tyre tracks, no nothing. So, presumably, their kidnapper dragged them here. Why go to all that trouble for a car? It wasn’t even a nice car. It was a rental.

God, Buck is never getting his deposit back.

“Eddie,” Buck says for the third time in as many minutes, “What are we—what are we gonna do?”

Eddie pats his pockets, so Buck does the same. They lock eyes, and Buck can see the defeat on Eddie’s face. No phones. Whoever kidnapped them must have nabbed them.

Buck lowers himself, sitting on his heels. “We don’t have the car.”

Eddie sighs, and it’s a shaky thing. He’s scared, too, Buck knows. He’s just better at hiding it. He always has been. “So we walk.”

The thing is, Buck knows very little about wilderness survival. When he travelled in his youth, he stuck to the highways, took up residency at motels, or slept in his car on the side of the road. He never ventured too far from civilisation, because he didn’t know how to do that safely. He doesn’t know what to do now except for, maybe, head toward the farmhouse and hope it isn’t abandoned.

…Or maybe they should hope it’s abandoned. He’s not sure he’s up for a brawl, if they run into the wrong kind of people.

He’s about to tell Eddie this when he spots Eddie squinting into the distance. Buck turns, following his line of sight, heart jumping when he spots it—a brown horse. A brown horse and a man. A man on top of a brown horse, heading their way.

Neither of them says a word while they wait, stuck in some kind of limbo. Buck only scrambles to his feet when the brown horse (and the man) is close enough for them to hear the hooves pound against the dirt. He tugs at Eddie, yanking him up by the elbow.

“Howdy!” the man (on the brown horse) yells, fast approaching.

Buck shields his eyes from the sun, and then—

His heart stops.

Because that’s Eddie, on the brown horse.

Eddie Diaz, decked out in cowboy gear — a dark, old cowboy hat tilted downward, red patterned handkerchief around his throat, and sinfully tight jeans — is pulling on the reins, coming to a graceful stop in front of them.

Buck gapes. He turns his head, prepared to shoot Eddie a disbelieving look, only to find that Eddie is frozen in place. He’s wearing an expression Buck’s never seen before—something caught between shock and real, unadulterated horror.

“Huh,” Cowboy Eddie says, and Buck whirls back to face him. He meets his eye, and Cowboy Eddie inclines his head. Buck’s entire face goes red—and it’s not from the sun beaming down on him. “Your fella looks a hell of a lot like me. And you look… well. You look like someone I know.”

Floundering, Buck stutters, “I–uh. Ha, so, um. Yes.”

“Funny,” Cowboy Eddie says. Then, smooth and confident, he slides off the saddle, planting his boots in the dirt. It kicks up a cloud of dust, and Buck forgets to hold his breath because—holy shit.

Cowboy Eddie looks like something out of a western movie. He belongs on the front of cover with a brooding look on his face, gun cocked and pointed at the sky. There would be blood smeared on his cheek. And soot on his chin.

“Funny?” Buck asks, coughing into his hand.

Cowboy Eddie shrugs. “I like a good coincidence. We don’t get too many outsiders this far out. Say, what were you two doin’, lying on the ground like that?”

“I—uh.” Buck wishes Eddie would say something. He cannot handle this alone. One Eddie Diaz is enough to render Buck kind of useless. Two is entirely unprecedented. This is serious; he might faint. (Distantly, his mind offers the word swoon. Buck smacks his mind with a stick).

He powers through it and manages to say, “We were kidnapped.”

Cowboy Eddie’s eyebrows fly up. “Well, shit.” He deliberates for a moment, petting his horse kindly. The horse looks pleased, its eyes half closed and soft, tail swinging like a dog’s would behind it. The horse likes Cowboy Eddie. God, of course it does. How could it not? “I guess you boys better come with me.”

“Why?” Eddie asks—Buck’s Eddie. He’s glowering at Cowboy Eddie, mouth in a thin line.

“He speaks,” Cowboy Eddie drawls. “And it’s easy logic, really. I’ve got shelter. My partner’s a real fine cook, too, if you’re hungry. Or you can take your chances, wanderin’ alone out here, no water, no food…”

“We’ll come,” Buck says quickly, before Eddie has a chance to turn him down. Eddie shoots him a betrayed look, and Buck ignores him. “We’d love to—yeah. If you’ll have us.”

“Ain’t gonna let y’all die,” Cowboy Eddie mutters, clicking his tongue to get his horse moving. He turns, and Buck kicks into gear, following. When he notices Eddie isn’t moving, he takes a quick step back to grab his forearm, tugging him along.

They walk for a long time through dusty earth, hard dirt and sparse foliage. It’s a beautiful landscape, but Buck’s so overwhelmed by the never-ending list of questions he has that he can’t focus on it.

Are you somehow related to Ramon or Helena Diaz?

Do you know what a Doppelgänger is?

Where the fuck are we?

“Hey,” Buck says, jogging up the Cowboy Eddie, trusting that his Eddie will keep following them. “What’s—what’s your name?”

“Edmundo,” Cowboy Eddie says, confirming that he is in fact called Cowboy Eddie. Or—well. Edmundo. He probably doesn’t call himself Cowboy. “But my friends call me Eddie.”

Buck’s stomach drops. He turns, panicked, only to find his Eddie looking almost… serene. Like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Honestly, he almost looks stoned. The sight of it makes Buck’s brain vibrate with bewilderment, but he can’t deal with that right now.

“O-okay,” Buck says. “Cool.”

He falls behind again, knocking his arm into Eddie’s. “You good?”

“This isn’t real, Buck,” Eddie says, like he’s telling him about the weather. A weird giggle escapes him. “I’m deep in psychosis, and my subconscious has turned me into a fucking cowboy. With a bad accent.”

“That’s not—Eddie,” Buck says, lowering his voice. “I’m here with you, okay? I see him too.”

Eddie makes a disbelieving noise.

“Let’s just—”

“We’re here,” Cowboy Eddie announces, and Buck snaps his mouth shut.

Cowboy Eddie’s led them to the farmhouse, now unclasping the gate ahead of them expertly.

“Wait here,” Cowboy Eddie says, eyes flickering from Buck to Eddie.

Because he has no control of his limbs, Buck salutes. Thankfully, no one comments on this, even if Cowboy Eddie’s brows tick up in amusement as he heads through the gate, his trotting steed beside him.

Shuffling on his feet, Buck tilts his head at Eddie in question. Eddie, clearly, does not want to look at him, or even acknowledge that Buck is communicating with him silently. He looks, for all the world, like he’s somewhere else entirely. Maybe he’s dissociating. Or astral projecting.

I am a strong, independent man, Buck thinks. I can totally deal with shell-shocked Eddie.

In the distance, Cowboy Eddie strides over to another man in a cowboy hat. The man is taller than him, with a plaid shirt stretched over his wide shoulders. His back is turned to Buck and Eddie, and he’s carrying a bundle of hay in his arms. Right as Cowboy Eddie reaches him, the guy tosses it over the fence into the cowpasture. The bale goes an impressive distance.

Then, the cowboy turns to the side. Even from this distance, Buck sees the little dark red splotches of a birthmark around the guy's brow. His breath catches in his chest.

Oh, fuck. That’s—him. That’s Cowboy Buck. Holy cow. And he’s hot too.

Cowboy Eddie takes Cowboy Buck’s hand, lifting it, pressing a lingering, unbelievably sweet kiss to his knuckles, murmuring something to him. Buck wishes he could lip-read, suddenly. Eddie, beside him, is as still as a corpse twenty-four hours into rigour mortis.

“Um.” Buck swallows. “So they’re— really good friends?” He doesn’t mean to phrase it like a question, but even to his own ears it sounds like one.

Tightly, Eddie responds, “Seems like it.”

God. Damage control. Buck’s got to do damage control. But how does one do that when they are not the culprit? How does one rein in a pair of cowboy Doppelgängers? After being kidnapped, no less?

Reassuring himself this isn’t his fault, Buck asks, “You okay?”

“No.” Eddie presses a hand to his forehead. “I’ve lost my mind, Buck. Of course, I’m not okay.”

“Eddie, I don’t think you’re crazy.”

Huffing, Eddie grabs Buck by the jaw. Buck swallows thickly, tongue suddenly ten times too large to fit in his mouth. Eddie jerks Buck’s head to the side, pointing his face in the direction of Cowboy Buck and Cowboy Eddie. “Wanna tell me that again while looking at our Western Doppelgängers?”

“Well,” Buck says, voice thready. “I mean. Kim.”

Eddie’s hand drops. “Jesus Christ. This is not like Kim.”

“Well,” Buck repeats, slower. “It’s kind of like Kim. She was a dead ringer. The—the cowboys are our twins. It’s—”

A whistle catches their attention. Cowboy Buck and Eddie are looking at them expectantly. Cowboy Eddie gestures for them to come closer. “C’mon, boys.”

With Eddie in tow, Buck heads on over, feeling a little like he’s floating through a dream. He stands in front of himself. He’s literally standing in front of himself. They’re the same height, same build, same everything. Except this Buck is wearing assless chaps, sun-faded denim jeans and the coolest cowboy hat Buck has ever seen.

“This is so weird,” Buck blurts.

“Sure is,” Cowboy Buck says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But, uh. We ain’t gotta—you know, get into all this. I’m sure you boys are hungry.”

As if in agreement, Buck’s stomach growls.

Cowboy Eddie huffs. “Come on.”

They follow their cowboy counterparts into the farmhouse, and Buck is at once hit with the warm, comforting smell of stew.

Cowboy Eddie makes a pit stop to tie up his horse—which they learn is named Chimney, as Cowboy Eddie speaks to him softly, double-checking his water is full. Neither Buck nor Eddie has the time to process that before Cowboy Buck is politely shooing them inside.

It’s a beautiful home, its walls covered in all sorts of art: landscapes, portraits, animals. They’ve hung wooden ladles above the stove and stacked pots and pans in the corner. Buck catches sight of what looks like a kid’s drawing, and quickly looks away. He doesn’t think he can handle finding out if Christopher exists in this universe, too. It’s not for him to know.

Once inside, Cowboy Buck waves at the dining table, telling them, “Sit yourselves down. It’ll only be a minute.”

Awkwardly, Buck and Eddie sit. They only have to wait a moment before Cowboy Eddie starts piling the table full of hearty, meat-based dishes. The bowls in front of them are hand-painted, with little flowers in different shades of blue along the sides. Despite his faraway look, Eddie eyes the sausages.

No one seems eager to talk once the plates and utensils have been dolled out, instead focused on piling their plates. They eat in silence, save for the few appreciative hums Cowboy Eddie sends Cowboy Buck’s way.

“This’s amazing,” Buck says, mouth full.

“Swallow,” Eddie reminds him. Dutifully, Buck does.

Cowboy Buck eyes them curiously, but doesn’t say anything.

Eddie clears his throat.

“So, the two of you are…” Eddie says slowly, his sentence trailing off.

Cowboy Eddie takes a long sip of water. Buck tries not to watch his throat work. The afternoon light is slipping in through the window, setting Cowboy Eddie’s skin aglow in a way that makes him look—breathtaking. In the way Eddie does after he pulls his helmet off, skin damp with sweat, dark eyes deep enough to drown in. Buck ignores the extremely ill-timed heat pooling in his gut.

Shrugging, Cowboy Eddie says, “Partners.”

“Oh.” Eddie nods. He still looks a little dazed, but his eyes are clearer. The food probably helped. “Buck and I used to be partners.”

Cowboy Buck blinks at them, eyes flitting to his Eddie before turning back to them. “You boys split up?”

Buck fumbles his fork, choking on air. “N-No, no, no, no.” Clearing his throat, he explains, “We—ah. We work together. We were work partners.”

“Ah,” Cowboy Eddie says. “So, you’re nothin’… intimate?”

Eddie flushes so red that Buck worries, momentarily, that he’s having an allergic reaction.

“No,” Eddie insists, voice high. “Just best friends.”

Cowboy Buck throws an arm around Cowboy Eddie’s shoulder, grinning widely. “Yeah, he’s my best guy, too.”

Cheerfully, he plants a kiss right on his partner’s cheek, a loud mwah accompanying it. The tips of Cowboy Eddie’s ears go pink as he poorly hides a smile, sipping his water.

Faintly, Eddie says, “We are not supposed to be here.”

This catches Cowboy Buck’s attention. “No? Where did y’all come from?”

“Somewhere else,” Eddie says, distantly. He shrugs his leather jacket off, folding it in half and dropping it against the table. Wow. He really is sweating.

Cowboy Buck huffs a laugh. “Okay, well. I don’t know how helpful we’ll be, getting y’all back to this elusive somewhere else, but you’re welcome to stay put here while you figure it out. As long as you help out, earn your keep, the works.”

“We really should go,” Eddie insists, this time grabbing Buck’s arm, squeezing him once, firmly.

“Okay,” Buck says, turning his attention to Eddie. “So, how do we leave? If we—let’s say, hypothetically, we’re in the wrong universe. Or—or dimension, whatever. Let’s say we fell into the wrong world, and we don’t know how to get back, how do we— shit, wait, what if we mess something up here? We’re not supposed to be here. Hypothetically, we really would have to figure out what we’re supposed to figure out to get out of here.”

“Holy cow,” Cowboy Buck says, eyes wide.

“All hypothetical,” Buck rushes to say.

Cowboy Eddie frowns, meeting Eddie’s eyes momentarily. Neither of them seems willing to say anything. Like they’re in some sort of silent stand-off. Or a strange identical-twin staring competition.

“Don’t know,” Cowboy Buck says, slow and measured. He, at least, looks like he’s thinking about it.

Buck frowns at his Doppelgänger, and then, at the same time, they say: “Sex.”

Eddie reels back. “Sex?”

Buck realises as Eddie gawks at him that his Eddie lost the stand-off. Damn.

“Y’all think copulation’s gonna fix this?” Cowboy Eddie asks, deeply unimpressed.

Buck and Cowboy Buck shrug at the same time. And then, quite suddenly, Buck realises that sex means he’d have to have sex with Eddie, which—no. No, no, no. That cannot happen.

“A-actually, bad idea.” Buck laughs nervously, avoiding Eddie’s gaze. “Maybe we just… wait?”

A second ticks by. Two. Then, unceremoniously, Eddie shoves away from the table.

“I’m leaving.”

Buck smiles apologetically at Cowboy Buck, pushing himself up to his feet. “Eddie, hold on—”

The room sways. Buck catches himself on the table, blinking quickly against the sudden black dots swimming in his vision, ears ringing like someone’s just banged a gong.

Like the universe itself is in agreement with Eddie’s exit, Buck feels himself slip.

The ringing grows louder and louder, and then — just like that — Buck and Eddie are gone.

SECOND UNIVERSE

This time, Buck wakes with a crick in his neck.

He groans, peeling his eyes open to find that he is, once again, outside. He recognises this grass, though. He regularly mows this grass.

This is Eddie’s backyard.

Holy shit. Are they back home? Or was Buck just—sleepwalking, while having the most vivid, strange dream of his life?

Did they even go to Nashville?

He has to take stock of the situation. He’s good at that.

So: it’s nighttime. He’s in Eddie’s backyard, which means he’s in Los Angeles. He’s cold, the air cool enough to raise goosebumps on his arms—so it stands to reason he’s been here for a while, which means he just… wandered out here. Alone. Like a weirdo.

“What the fuck,” Eddie rasps behind him. Oh. So Eddie’s here, too.

“What the fuck,” another voice says, hissed and sharp.

Buck’s head flies up in time to see the backdoor slam open, and there stands Eddie Diaz.

Except it’s—oh, God.

It’s Eddie Diaz as a woman. Buck can’t explain how he knows. He just does. From the battered sneakers to the furious set of her shoulders (holy shit, her shoulders), to the dark eyes burning holes straight through him. Buck immediately just knows it’s Eddie.

She’s stunning, despite how unhappy she looks, a bat raised above her head. Her hair is cut short, soft locks falling into her eyes. And she’s strong, arms flexed, core engaged and revealed thanks to the tight, cut-off tank she’s wearing.

Holy shit, Buck thinks. She might actually kill us.

“H-hi,” Buck stutters, scrambling to his feet so fast he nearly trips over himself. “Hi, sorry. We didn’t—we can explain.”

“Babe?” another voice calls from inside the house. “Are you—”

And then, because God is trying to give Buck an aneurysm, another woman appears. A woman with the same birthmark as Buck, kissing the skin above her eye. Her curls, unruly and blonde, cascade over her left shoulder, and when she spots Buck and Eddie, she steps in front of Lady Eddie.

Buck squeaks.

Eddie, who is still on the ground, barks a laugh. Buck’s head snaps to the side, and Eddie’s laugh dissolves into … cackling. No, that’s not even— he’s giggling. Genuinely, honest-to-God shoulders-shaking giggling. He has a hand over his mouth, barely muffling it, and his eyes are filled with frightened delight.

Okay. So. Maybe Eddie is going crazy. But that doesn’t make what's happening to them any less real.

“Are you—is your name Buck?” Buck asks, looking at his female counterpart.

She narrows her eyes. “Yeah. How did you…?”

“I’m Buck. I’m—we have the same birthmark, see? And, uh, we have a—a sister. Maddie. She’s great. She’s married to Chimney?”

“I don’t have a sister,” Lady Buck says. She doesn’t look any more convinced. “I have a brother. Martin.”

“O-oh.” Buck blinks quickly. It makes sense, in the weirdest way possible. Maybe everyone in this universe is the opposite gender to what they are in Buck and Eddie’s universe? “Okay, yeah. That tracks. But your brother, Martin, he’s married to Chimney?”

“He’s married to Stove,” Lady Buck says, like Buck’s being dense on purpose.

“Stove,” Eddie wheezes between giggles, clutching his chest.

“Eddie,” Buck hisses, then turns back to Lady Buck and Lady Eddie. He tries to smile. “This has been a—a very weird day. Night, I mean. Can we—please, can we just explain?”

Lady Eddie and Lady Buck exchange a long look. Then, huffing, Lady Eddie drops the bat.

“Fine,” she says. She does not sound pleased. “Come in.”

“Get up,” Buck hisses, tugging at Eddie until he relents, clambering to his feet.

Eddie is wiping his eyes, still giggling intermittently, like he can’t help himself.

“Get it together,” Buck begs, dragging him toward the door. “Please. Lady Eddie is scary. What if she kills you?”

“You’re calling her Lady Eddie?” Eddie asks, giggling finally dissipating, but he doesn’t look any less amused by all of this. “Is she a princess, Buck?”

“I’m trying to be a gentleman,” Buck stresses. “I don’t know what else to call her. It feels reductive, calling her, like, Woman Eddie. I can’t do that. I can’t call her Woman Eddie.”

“Okay,” Eddie acquiesces. Then, serenely, he says, “But she’s not real, Buck.”

Okay. Eddie is still shell-shocked. That’s fine. They can deal with that later. Right now, they need to focus on the ten steps between the grass and the back door. “Just—come on.”

Inside, the house looks exactly the same. Which is odd, given that they’re in another universe. There are so many pictures scattered around the house, faces that almost look familiar, but are just—different. He feels a little dizzy looking at them.

Once they come to a stop, Buck is confronted with the undeniable truth again: Eddie Diaz, as it turns out, is beautiful both as a man and as a woman.

Fuck my life, Buck thinks faintly.

Unfortunately, his mild panic does not go unnoticed.

“You—you like me?” Eddie asks quietly, voice disbelieving. “Other me? Me as a woman?”

Buck turns wide, panicked eyes to Eddie. “No!”

“I know what your face looks like when you’re into someone, Buck,” Eddie says under his breath. “You’re—looking at her.”

“Politely. I’m polite,” Buck stresses. He bumps into the counter and comes to an abrupt stop. He realises only then, of course, that both Lady Eddie and Lady Buck are staring at him.

There’s an energy to Lady Eddie that is just—slightly different from Eddie. Eddie is a confident guy, always has been, but Lady Eddie carries herself in a way that is distinctly new to Buck—like there’s a comfort in her skin that Eddie doesn’t quite have. Buck doesn’t really know what to do with that.

He doesn’t even realise he’s still staring till Lady Eddie narrows her eyes at him. “Are you gonna be trouble?”

Buck flushes from head to toe, valiantly stomping on the butterflies suddenly swarming his stomach. “N-no. No, I’ll be good.”

Lady Eddie looks unimpressed. “Don’t flirt with me. I’m a lesbian.”

Next to Buck, Eddie freezes.

“That’s great!” Buck squeaks. “I—I support that, that’s awesome. I’m bisexual! Eddie’s straight.”

“And the cashier at our local Trader Joe’s is pansexual,” Lady Eddie says flatly. “We done listing everyone’s sexualities?”

Buck snaps his mouth shut. Nodding very seriously, he says, “Totally.”

Lady Buck dithers before nodding toward the living room. “Let’s sit.”

Together, as the weirdest group on planet Earth (if they’re even on Earth, Buck thinks darkly), they settle in the living room. Buck and Eddie take the armchair, meaning Buck’s perched on the arm of it, and Eddie’s sitting on the plush centre, while their lady counterparts sit on the couch.

It’s only fair they’re relegated to the armchair. Buck and Eddie did sort of… spawn in their backyard with no forewarning.

“Explain,” Lady Eddie prompts.

Gearing up to answer, Buck opens his mouth, only for Eddie to beat him to it.

“We’re dimension-hopping,” he says flatly. “We don’t know how, or why, or… or how to stop doing it, but it’s happened twice now. So, I’m thinking we’re stuck like this.”

Lady Eddie’s eyebrows crawl up her forehead. “You’re me, from another dimension?”

“Yep.”

“Wow.” Lady Eddie gives him a pitying look. “I’m glad I’m not, you know. Literally you.”

Gritting his teeth, Eddie says, “Thanks.”

“My Eddie’s great,” Buck defends, hand fluttering over his shoulder. “And—and he’s right. We’re just trying to understand why we’re here.”

Lady Eddie shakes her head. “I don’t believe you.”

“I do,” Lady Buck says, nodding earnestly. “It—it could totally happen, I’ve read about it before. I bet it’s like… like the universe is trying to set something right, don’t you think? Like —fix the timeline, or something. Did you guys do anything? Did you go somewhere new? Kill—kill someone?”

“No. Jesus,” Eddie breathes. He sinks further into the armchair, but doesn’t shake Buck’s hand off. “We were on our way home from Nashville, for the firefigh—”

“The Firefighter Games!” Lady Buck exclaims. “We were there last week, holy shit. Our timelines must be, like, synced.”

“That’s so cool,” Buck breathes. Tentatively, he asks, “Did your Bobby also…?”

“Bobbina,” Lady Buck corrects, gently. “She, um. She died, a while back. But she had signed Eddie and I up before then. I’m guessing your Bobbin—Bobby did the same for you.”

Buck watches Eddie swallow, nodding jerkily as he asks Lady Eddie, “Were you here when it happened? In Los Angeles?”

Lady Eddie furrows her eyebrows, looking half-offended and half-confused. “Yeah? Where else would I be?”

“Oh.” Eddie opens and closes his mouth. “So there was… there was really nothing you could do?”

Something shifts on Lady Eddie’s face, then. Like she understands, despite not knowing the full story, that this is important.

“There was nothing I could do,” Lady Eddie confirms, voice patient for the first time since they arrived. “There’s nothing anyone could’ve done.”

The four of them let the words sink in. It’s a comforting thought, despite how morbid it is, to think that nothing could have changed the outcome. That Bobby would have died no matter where Eddie was—which Buck already knew, but Eddie probably needed the confirmation.

Clearing his throat, Buck says, “Any ideas? For how, uh. How to get back to our reality?”

Biting the inside of her cheek, Lady Buck shrugs. “I think my earlier theory was correct.”

“My fiancée’s got a better grasp on this kind of thing than me,” Lady Eddie says, hand landing on Lady Buck’s knee.

Fiancée.

Buck’s eyes dart down to their hands, spotting for the first time the rings they’re both sporting. They’re black and sleek, probably work-safe. A good choice, for two firefighters. Very maturely, he does not react to this information.

“You’re… together,” Eddie says faintly.

Buck’s eyes dart to Eddie, wondering if he’s about to have some sort of breakdown. At least he’s not zoning out anymore. Or giggling.

“We’re together,” Lady Buck confirms easily, smiling like simply saying it is a joy.

Something almost tender flashes on Eddie’s face. “How, uh. How long?”

“Six years,” Lady Eddie replies, a soft smile overtaking her face. She laces her hand together with Lady Buck’s, stroking over her knuckles with a thumb.

“Awesome,” Buck says, but it does not feel anything close to awesome. It feels—he doesn’t know what it feels like. Something is twisting in his guts, something painful and hot. He kind of wants to cry.

He doesn’t cry. That would be insane. Instead, he prods carefully at the feeling, examining it with caution. He’s felt this way before. At the basketball game, when Tommy had put his hands on Eddie. At dinner all those years ago, when Eddie had invited Buck and Taylor over, and Buck had had to leave with Taylor, forgoing his spot on the couch.

It’s jealousy, he realises with a start. He’s jealous. Of his and Eddie’s counterparts.

It’s because they look so happy, Buck justifies. They’ve found happiness, and it just so happens to be that they found it together. With each other. They’ve settled down, with a house together, a whole life intertwined. Like the cowboys had, too.

Buck wants that too. In general, of course. Everyone knows that. Buck wants to settle down, and the sky is blue.

His eyes drift to Lady Eddie and Lady Buck’s engagement rings again.

This doesn’t mean anything, Buck tells himself resolutely. The voice in his head wobbles as he says it.

“Anyway,” Lady Buck continues, smiling at Lady Eddie—at her fiancée. “With your whole situation, I think—I think it’s like what happens in the Christmas Carol. You guys need to do something differently, or—or realise something. I think the universe is playful.”

“Solvitur ambulando,” Lady Eddie says, lips twitching. At Buck’s questioning look, she explains, “If you want to solve a problem, it’s best to do it practically. Commit to it, work through it physically.”

“Don’t rely on abstract thinking,” Lady Buck adds.

Buck nods slowly. He gets it, understands what they’re saying. Maybe they really are dimension-hopping for a reason. Maybe he should be looking for signs. “Huh.”

“Jesus,” Eddie mutters. “The universe screams, the universe is playful, the universe is practical. I’m done.”

He stands, and Buck hesitates. Should he follow?

Like Eddie can sense his worry, he turns, giving Buck a weak smile. “I just need a minute.”

Buck doesn’t have time to warn him. The second Eddie’s left the room, the world sways. Buck blinks once, twice, and then the living room fades away.

Once again, his vision goes dark.

THIRD UNIVERSE

This time, Buck’s prepared. He wakes with his face plastered to the floor of a foreign house, and he does not panic. Instead, he rolls over onto his back. The floor is cool. Marble or tile, maybe. It’s very nice.

The room is pitch black. He hears Eddie stir awake next to him, groaning softly.

Eddie, thankfully not back in giggle-town like he’d been in the backyard, rolls over, too. He realises, suddenly, that Eddie is not wearing his jacket. Did they leave it with the cowboys? Will he ever get it back? What if he gets cold?

It is kind of cold in the house. Not uncomfortably so, just enough that the tip of Buck’s nose is a little chilly.

“I think we’re in purgatory,” Eddie says. He keeps his voice hushed, like they’re at a sleepover. Buck wonders if they’ll drop into a universe where they met as kids. Or maybe they’ll be kids. Buck’s always wanted to meet Young Eddie. He thinks Young Buck would’ve been a lot happier if he’d had him.

“Purgatory?”

Eddie hums. “We were bad, bad people, and this is our cosmic punishment.”

Buck turns his head, flickering his eyes between Eddie’s. Barely audible, he says, “I don’t believe that. Don’t try justifying this.”

“I’m not. I’m jestifying it.” Eddie smiles, and it’s so similar to Bobby’s mysterious smile that Buck reels back. “We are living in a circus, Buck. We are the clowns. Honk.”

Jesus. Maybe they’re both losing their minds. Buck would be cool about that, it’s just—well. If they’re both crazy now, who’s going to take care of Chris? Who’s going to babysit Jee-Yun?

He realises, with a pang, that he really wants to go home. He’s homesick.

Exhaling shakily, Buck says, “Okay, Eddie.”

“Okay, Buck,” Eddie sighs.

Maybe silence is better. Except it’s definitely not. Buck’s head starts spinning almost immediately, scenario after scenario appearing unbidden, all of which end in disaster. What if they’re trapped here forever? What if they land in a universe where the world’s ended? What if they die, or get stuck somewhere, or—

“Did you think she was hot?” Buck blurts, whispering into the dark. “Lady— Lady me?”

Eddie, abruptly, chokes. “What?”

Fuck. Okay, he’s committed now. Haltingly, he asks, “Did you think she was pretty?”

A beat of silence. Then, “Sure.”

Okay. Buck’s not sure if he should be offended or not.

Nope, he’s offended. Thoroughly offended, actually. Buck would even bang Lady Buck. He’d show her a great time. “Wow.”

Eddie sighs. “I mean, yes. She was pretty.”

“And me?”

Gruffly, Eddie says, “Jesus. You’re pretty, too, sure.”

Something warm and delicious curls in Buck’s gut. Satisfaction, maybe. In a sultry drawl, he asks, “Which of us is prettier?”

“Buck.”

“Just … objectively speaking.”

“I—”

Making them both jump straight out of their skins, the lights flick on, followed by a voice that is identical to his own, booming: “What. The. Fuck.”

Buck flails, hand slapping to his left to find purchase against cold, marble flooring before he shoves himself up. There another Buck stands, in a very fluffy blue robe, curls askew, blinking rapidly. He’s notably older-looking. There’s far more grey working through this guy's hair than in his. Are they time-travelling now?

And the guy is also, Buck realises… missing a tooth?

Buck blinks. Blinks again. Yep. He’s missing one of his bottom teeth. Is this an alternative universe where dentists don’t exist? Did someone punch him? Did he deserve it? Is this Buck a mafia boss or something?

Is that why the house is so nice?

“Are you my evil clone?” Toothless Buck asks. Well. He’s not toothless. Okay. He really needs to find out more about this guy before he can classify him. Toothless Buck feels like a mean nickname. Or like he’s a character from How To Train Your Dragon, Christopher’s favourite movie for three years running.

“No, I’m not evil. Or a clone,” Buck says quickly. Eddie finally stands up next to him, hovering close. “I’m—okay, this is going to sound crazy.”

Eddie, beside him, asks: “Are you bisexual?”

Buck whips around to him, arms thrown wide in disbelief.

That’s not—relevant. In the slightest.

Every Buck so far has been queer. Presumably, in every universe they visit from here on out (if they get sucked into more, Buck kind of wishes this were over already), Buck will be queer. It’s inherent to him. Which is nice, in a way. Like a universal constant. Like gravity. He wonders if they all found out in the same way he did—through blinding jealousy and a surprise kiss.

Why the hell is Eddie asking now, though? Why does he care? And why has Eddie still not commented on the fact that in literally every universe they’ve landed in, the two of them are apparently happy and in love—except in theirs?

Toothless Buck blinks. Blinks again. “Are you gay?”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie laughs. “Fucking seems like it.”

Oh.

Okay.

Toothless Buck looks deeply amused now, eyebrows lifting. “You’re not sure?”

Eddie, much to Buck’s dismay, does not answer. Instead, he peers down the hallway over Toothless Buck’s shoulder. “Am I back there?”

Toothless Buck hesitates for a second before nodding. “Yeah. Eddie’s asleep. We had a home game tonight and he, uh… passed out basically the second we got home.”

“Sorry,” Buck cuts in, frowning. “Game?”

Toothless Buck’s gaze slides back to him slowly. His arms fold across his chest.

“…You two aren’t hockey players?”

Eddie, a little predictably at this point, giggles. “You’re a hockey player?”

“I’m the Captain of the Habs,” Hockey Buck (way better name) corrects. “One of the best players in MHL history.”

“Humble too,” Buck mumbles under his breath. Jesus—is he this cocky?

“If you’re not hockey players, you’re…?”

“Firefighters,” Eddie answers. “We— well. We were heading back from the Firefighter Games. Roadtripping from Nashville. The car crashed. Then we woke up in a Western Movie. Then, we dropped into some world where I was a lesbian. So.”

Hockey Buck opens his mouth and closes it again a few times before settling on saying, “Right. Okay.”

“We’re stuck being dragged through alternate dimensions to learn a life lesson,” Buck explains. “We think. It’s— it’s been a really weird day.”

“Do you even know where you are right now?” Hockey Buck asks.

“Uh—not really, we were somewhere in New Mexico when the car flipped.” He swallows. “And then… whatever happened, happened.”

“Fuck. You two are far from home.” Hockey Buck exhales a long breath. “You’re in Montreal.”

Eddie, beside him, giggles. “Sorry, what?”

“You’re in Canada,” he clarifies.

A beat. Nervously, Buck folds his arms over his chest.

Hockey Buck exhales, scrubbing at his eyes. “I’m going to— I need to get dressed. And get my—” His eyes slide past Buck and land on Buck’s Eddie, his expression softening like butter post-microwave. “I need to get my Eddie.”

Buck narrows his eyes at the robe Hockey Buck’s wearing, giving it a slow, sceptical once-over. “Are you naked under there?”

Eddie smacks his arm.

Shaking his head, Hockey Buck turns and starts down the hallway. He makes it about halfway before stopping short, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Just—keep it down,” he tells them. “Chris is sleeping.”

Eddie stiffens beside him, then steps forward. “He’s uh— Christopher is here?”

Hockey Buck nods, like it’s obvious. “‘Course. He’s our kid.”

The words land like a slap to the face. Buck has to steel himself, clenching his jaw tight to keep from reacting.

Our kid. He’s our kid.

Valiantly, Buck does not think about this at all. Not one bit. He stays exactly where he is, feet on the cold marble floor, and does nothing. Eddie, unsurprisingly, takes Buck’s lead and also does nothing.

When Hockey Buck returns, the missing tooth is no longer missing. A white tooth is in its place.

Okay. Maybe Buck is going crazy.

Or—oh. Duh. The guy’s wearing dentures. Because he’s a hockey player.

Behind him, shoulders drawn tight, is a very buff, tired-looking Eddie. He’s as gorgeous as he is in every universe, with the same dark eyes, and the same freckle beneath his eye. Here, though, he’s bigger. It’s clear he spends his life training, on and off the ice.

Hockey Eddie’s hand folds around Hockey Buck’s waist, and Buck pretends his mouth doesn’t go dry. His hands are just really, really nice. Strong, and veiny, and—identical to his-Eddie’s hands, actually.

Ha. So.

“Baby,” Hockey Eddie says, voice rough like gravel, “What the fuck is happening?”

Baby. Baby. Baby.

“Well, uh—” Buck laughs awkwardly, answering for him. “You know A Christmas Carol?”

Hockey Eddie looks at him, frowning. “Sure.”

“These two are The Ghost of Christmas Future, I think.”

“Right.” Hockey Eddie blinks at him, then looks at Hockey Buck. “Sweetheart, I’m going back to bed. This is a weird-ass dream.”

“Wait!” Buck says, too loudly. Lowering his voice, he says, "Please, wait. Just… it’s real.”

Beside him, unhelpfully, Eddie snorts. “No, I’m having a psychotic break.”

Buck glares at the side of his face. “You’re just coping, Eddie.” He turns his pleading eyes back to their hockey halves. “Please ignore him.”

Hockey Buck hesitates. “I—”

They all catch the sound at the same time, falling silent. The tell-tale sound of crutches, click-clacking down the hall.

Christopher appears beside Hockey Buck, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He’s not wearing his glasses. More notably, he’s at least eighteen years old.

Holy fuck.

Christopher’s—he’s practically an adult.

“What’s going on?” Chris asks, voice so much deeper than Buck’s ever heard it. Eddie sucks in a sharp breath beside him. Buck’s fingers twitch by his thigh. He thinks about reaching out and taking Eddie’s hand—to offer comfort, obviously. But something stops him.

Taking a step in front of him, shielding Christopher’s eyes, Hockey Eddie says gently, “Go back to bed, kiddo.”

“Are we being burgled?” Chris asks, and Buck’s heart aches.

“I—I don’t think so, buddy,” Hockey Buck says, also shielding Chris’s line of sight with the bulk of his body. “We’ve just, um, got some friends over.”

It’s impossible to miss the scepticism in Chris’s voice as he says, “At three in the morning, Dad?”

Buck jolts. Under his breath, he repeats, “Dad?”

Fuck. He feels his eyes getting wet. He so, so badly wants to shove past them and pull this Christopher into his arms, tucking him tight against Buck’s chest. This Chris doesn’t even know Buck—not him, not really, but he’s just Chris. The kid Buck dives into a tsunami for, the kid Buck used to build Legos with, the kid Buck would walk through hell or high water for.

Not his kid, never his kid, but just—something. Just Chris.

“Buck,” Eddie whispers.

He flushes when he realises Eddie had heard him, swallowing hard as he averts his gaze.

Eddie’s hand ghosts over the small of Buck’s back. “It’s not that crazy, Buck. He’d call you that back home.”

Eyebrows flying up, Buck stutters, “What are you—”

Chris chooses this moment to push Hockey Buck’s arm out of the way, peering directly at Buck and Eddie. He stares, and no one says anything.

Then—

“Why am I seeing double right now?”

Hockey Eddie sighs. Under his breath, he says, “I hope I’m dreaming.” Louder, he says, “I told you to go back to bed.”

“Dad, what’s—”

Hockey Buck clears his throat. “Chris, buddy, go to your room. Please. We’ll explain in a minute, okay?”

This gives Chris pause. He’s always been intuitive, and he seems to pick up on the tension in the room as the seconds tick by. Slowly, clearly not pleased, he says, “Fine. Bye, dads-from-the-past.”

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Buck chokes out, “Night, Chris.”

Softly, in the voice he only ever uses with his own Christopher, Eddie says, “Night, mijo.”

The second the click-clacking of the crutches have disappeared down the hall again, Hockey Eddie turns to level them with an almost-pleading expression. “Look, I don’t— I’m sure you guys are great, but—”

“We’re just lost,” Eddie says, talking over him.

“Seriously,” Buck says, accidentally giving his counterpart a polite white-man smile. Buck realises at once that his hands are trembling. But it’s fine. He’s fine.

Hockey Buck, after looking wearily at him for a beat, hangs his head. He leans his weight against Hockey Eddie, nodding tiredly. “Okay, let’s sit down. Talk.”

“I’ll check on Chris,” Hockey Eddie says, and Buck decides that, actually, he’s done talking.

He casts his gaze around frantically, heart suddenly pounding. It’s as though the air has been sucked out of the room.

“I can’t—”

Everything around him is wrong. It’s—this isn’t his life. It’s not his fucking life. That’s not his Christopher down the hall. That’s not his Eddie. That’s not his fake tooth.

Buck laughs, crazed and thready. “I have to go.”

Shrugging Eddie’s hand off of him, he takes long strides toward the door, feet heavy against the marble.

“Buck—”

“I just have to go. I can’t—I can’t be here. I’m not here. We’re not here.”

He can hear Eddie chasing after him. Wherever Buck goes, Eddie will follow. But unfortunately, despite what he’d said during the beenado-fiasco, Buck is faster. He breaks off into a sprint toward where he assumes the front door is.

And then, familiarly, the world starts to spin.

Groaning, Buck stumbles. “Not again.”

The ringing comes faster this time, like an ear-piercing whistle. Almost like the universe is screaming at him.

Then his vision blacks out.

FOURTH UNIVERSE

Half-conscious, Buck tries to sit up and immediately smacks his forehead on the ceiling.

The ceiling?

Hissing, he cracks his eyes open. His bed sways. He takes a moment to recalibrate, and then it hits him: he’s on a bus. Presumably, Eddie is also on a bus with him. A bus with bunk beds.

Groggily, Eddie’s voice floats down from the bunk above him, “What the fuck was that?”

“My fucking skull, asshole.”

A moment later, Eddie’s head appears, peering down at Buck. He looks like a mess, hair sticking up, eyes halfway open, mouth pouty. He’s beautiful.

“Know where we are, bud?” Eddie asks. Then, theatrically, “Sorry, I meant asshole.”

Buck deflates. “Sorry. I hit my head pretty hard. You’re not—I didn’t mean that.”

Eddie’s face softens. His head disappears before his legs swing down. He’s still wearing the same shoes he was when they left the motel this morning, when they were still in their universe, Buck notes. Skillfully, Eddie manages to crawl into Buck’s bunk, plopping down in front of him. They both have to sit with their backs bent and legs crossed to fit. Eddie pulls the curtain closed behind himself, securing them the little privacy one can get while on a bus in a bunk bed.

“You okay?” Eddie asks, hand pushing Buck’s hair back, eyes on his forehead. It feels nice, being touched by Eddie like this. Being worried about.

“I’m fine,” Buck assures him, voice leaving him too breathless. Too revealing.

“Motherfuckers!” someone yells, banging what sounds like two pots together. “Rise and shine. Madison Square Garden waits for no man. Up we get!”

Buck and Eddie lock eyes, and Buck thinks this is perhaps the closest he’s ever been to someone. They’re sharing the exact same kind of panic, the exact same fear, the exact same inevitability.

Thank God it’s you, Buck thinks, bracing himself.

The curtain is ripped away from their bunk, and yet another Buck — Buck with bright pink hair — gapes at them. Noticeably, too, this Buck is absolutely covered in tattoos. Buck has his fair share of ink, but Pink Buck’s arms are absolutely covered. He wonders if his legs are, too. Or his back. Holy shit. Would Pink Buck take his shirt off for them to see? Would that be weird to ask?

“Y-you’re, uh.” Pink Buck blinks very quickly. “You’re me?”

Buck’s used to this now. He knows how to play it cool. “Sure.”

“Am I high?”

“No drugs on the bus,” someone yells from the front. Hen. Buck would recognise her voice anywhere. “And no hallucinogens on tour, Buckley. We’ve talked about this.”

“I—I know,” Pink Buck replies, dazed. “I just—there’s two of me.”

As he speaks, Buck notes a flash of silver in his mouth. Pink Buck has a tongue piercing? Holy shit.

“Two of—?” footsteps approach, and then Hen — glorious, clever Hen — appears. She’s wearing a leather jacket and the thickest eyeliner Buck’s ever seen on someone.

Her eyes bug out, flying from Buck to Pink Buck, then to Eddie.

“I just spoke to Eddie,” Hen says. “You are not him.”

“Ha—uh, so,” Buck says, laying a protective hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “We can explain.”

Chim materialises behind Hen, eyebrows flying up. His hair is spiked in about five hundred different directions. Both of his eyebrows are pierced. Sure. Why not? “You two from another universe?”

“I—” Buck blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, exactly.”

“You guys realise we’re there, right?” another voice – Eddie – yells. “I’m pulling into the parking lot now.”

Oh my God. Eddie’s driving the bus. Of course, Eddie’s driving the bus. Who the hell else would be driving the bus? It’s not like Eddie’s the craziest driver Buck’s ever seen. (They are in danger. Thank God they’re at their destination. Wherever that is.)

Everyone eyes each other suspiciously, but there’s no delaying the inevitable. They’ve got to face the music, some of them literally.

“Green room,” Ravi says, when Eddie asks where they’re going. Because Ravi is here, too, apparently. Ravi looks exactly the same — no hair dye, no piercings, no tattoos — which is somehow even more suspicious than everything else happening.

“Because we’re a famous band,” Ravi says, when Buck asks why they’re going to the green room.

Stepping out of the bus, Band Eddie, who had in fact been driving the bus, rounds the corner, and bumps right into Buck.

“Holy fucking balls,” Band Eddie says, and Buck’s eyes bug out as he stumbles to catch himself on the bus.

Band Eddie has neon green hair. Neon green. With the sides shaved. And a line of piercings up both ears and a set of snakebites adorning his bottom lip. Next to Pink Buck, he looks—well. It looks like they belong together. Like Cosmo and Wanda.

He looks fucking hot, too. Like a real rockstar.

Oh, Buck’s going to pass out.

“Hi, hey, wow,” Buck breathes. Behind him, Eddie scoffs.

Green Eddie’s eyebrows jump. “You’re, uh. You’re…”

“Not your Buck,” Buck supplies helpfully. “But I am a Buck. Just from—another universe.”

Green Eddie eyeballs him. Wow. His eyes are kind of red. His eyes flicker to his counterpart, Buck’s Eddie, for a moment. Then, eyes fluttering shut, he takes a deep breath. “Okay. Sure. You guys coming?”

He starts walking, gesturing for the rest of the band to follow. Buck falls into step beside his Eddie, confused and weary.

“H-hey!” he yells. “You’re not curious about—us?”

“Sure!” Green Eddie yells back. “I bet the paparazzi will be, too.”

Buck’s stomach swoops. Right. Shit. They’re, like, famous here.

He catches Eddie’s eye. “Green room.”

Eddie nods. “Green room.”

The green room, as it turns out, is not as fancy as Buck had always pictured it would be. It’s cool, don’t get him wrong, but it isn’t exactly modern. Sparse as it is, it fits them all, and together, they sprawl around it.

“So,” Green Eddie says, eyeing them both with a Dr. Pepper in hand. “You’re from another dimension?”

“Yes,” Buck says, fighting the urge to add sir.

Then, uncharacteristically, Green Eddie grins. “Sick.”

And that’s that. The band accepts this as fact, and they move on.

One by one, the band members trickle out of the room, dispersing to complete their own pre-show rituals. None of them seem too bothered by Buck and Eddie’s existence, which is… oddly comforting. If they can be chill about it, so can Buck.

And, hey. It’s not every day you get to see what you’d be like as a famous rockstar. Or — perhaps more importantly — what your best friend would look like with green hair and piercings.

(Hot, by the way. Really, really hot. Like, will be appearing in Buck’s wet dreams level of hot. Will be haunting Buck’s wank bank to the end of time hot).

“What kind of music do you guys make?” Buck asks, trying not to focus on Eddie’s hand, which has migrated from Buck’s shoulder to his forearm.

“Rock,” Green Eddie says at the same time as Pink Buck says, “Pop.”

“Pop-rock,” Green Eddie concedes. Pink Buck nods.

“Nice,” Eddie says, a little awkwardly. He only listens to music when Buck listens to music — unless he’s blasting Pepa’s favourite CDs while cleaning the house — so this must be extra strange for him. Buck, personally, believes he could be a musician now, in his own universe. It’s just that he got into firefighting first. He’s actually pretty good on the guitar. He perfected Wonderwall when he was twenty-four, but then had to sell his guitar for gas money.

The room has emptied entirely now, save for Buck, Eddie, Green Eddie, and Pink Buck. So, tapping a nervous rhythm into the couch, Buck clears his throat.

“So, uh. How long have you two been together?”

Pink Buck and Green Eddie stare at him.

Pink Buck laughs, wiping his hands on his thighs. He suddenly looks very sweaty. “T-together? Like, as a couple?”

Buck blinks. “...Yeah?”

“Oh.” Pink Buck cuts a short glance Green Eddie’s way. “Uh, we’re not—no way. We’re just friends. We’re—buddies. Pals.”

“The best of friends,” Eddie says, drily. Subtly, Buck elbows him.

Green Eddie’s face is doing something very interesting. He looks a bit, well—green, like he’s going to be sick.

Oh no. Is Green Eddie secretly pining? Or is Pink Buck secretly really, super straight?

But that doesn't make sense. In every single universe they’ve been to so far, Buck has been queer, in some respect. So chances are, he is in this one, too. So why wouldn’t Pink Buck and Green Buck be together?

Is it a legal thing? Maybe they’ve signed some sort of contract with their band manager? Or the label? Buck doesn’t know how the music industry works. This world is entirely foreign to him.

Green Eddie shifts on the couch, and Buck spots it then—a tiny pride pin on his shirt. A little rainbow flag.

Oh.

So Green Eddie’s definitely queer. Another universal constant. Maybe—maybe in theirs, too.

Buck shuts that line of thinking down, yanking on its leash hard.

“You’re bisexual?” Buck asks Pink Buck, like a crazy person.

Eddie laughs, hand snapping over his mouth as another giggle attack gets him at full force.

Pink Buck startles. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Buck’s eyes dart to Green Eddie’s pride pin. Very slowly, he says, “Right. You too?”

Glancing down at the pin, then back up, Green Eddie says, “Nope. Gay.”

Butting in, flustered, Pink Buck leans closer. “Um, but— like I said. Just best friends. Just two queer buds. Platonic with a capital P.”

Beside him, Eddie’s shoulders are shaking. The bastard is still laughing.

“Right,” Eddie chuckles. “Right, sure.” He looks up at the ceiling and says, rather loudly, “I get it. I get it, oh mighty Universe. You can send us the hell back home now.”

Helplessly, Buck watches.

“I think your boyfriend’s gone crazy,” Green Eddie says.

“We’re not together,” Buck says quickly. “We’re not like that.”

With a heavy sigh, Eddie slumps. Tiredly, he says, “He’s right. We’re not together.”

Pink Buck’s mouth turns downward. “Oh. I thought…”

Eddie shrugs. “Nope. Western Eddie lives on a beautiful fucking ranch with the love of his life. Lesbian Eddie has a fiancée and didn’t fuck her life up. Sportsman Eddie was— fucking married. Married to Buck, can you imagine that?”

Pink Buck swallows thickly. “Ha.”

Eddie lets out an incredulous laugh. “Yeah. Ha. Fuck. I just… they were all together. Except you two. And us.” Another laugh—this one more pained. “And get this—every version of me? Gay. Every single version.”

Green Eddie softens, leaning forward. “You… this is news to you?”

Something stark and complicated flickers in Eddie’s eyes. He breathes, “Fuck. No. It’s not, but it’s—” He inhales shakily, raking a hand through his hair. “I thought I would just get over it. But I keep popping into new universes, gay. Every time. I—I can’t escape it.”

The nice thing would be to reach for Eddie’s hand. Maybe offer encouragement, support, anything.

Buck does not move an inch. Buck thinks he might have died.

Gently, Pink Buck says, “It’s not something you can escape, Ed.”

Eddie hangs his head. Voice ragged, he says, “Don’t— fuck. I know. I know, man.”

Buck knows that tone. That’s Eddie’s please-give-me-a-minute tone.

This, at least, is something he can do. Even though his heart is thundering wildly in his chest, like it wants to burst right out of him and throw itself at Eddie.

He lays a tentative hand on Eddie’s thigh. Miracle of miracles, Eddie lays his hand atop Buck’s.

“How did you know you were gay?” Buck asks Green Eddie.

“Pete Wentz,” Green Eddie answers immediately, then flushes. “I mean—”

“I fucking knew it!” Pink Buck yells, suddenly sitting up very, very straight, pointing a finger at Green Eddie, then at the two of them. “I knew— this guy kept telling me it was David fucking Bowie. Which—smokeshow. But so not Eddie’s type.”

Buck cracks up. “Mine was a, uh. A pilot.”

He’s lying. He’s lying so hard. The first man he ever looked at and thought huh about was his ninth grade teacher Mr. Peters, a forty-five year old man with a stamp collection, thick eyebrows and the sharpest jawline in the universe. He decides at once to take this to the grave.

Quietly, to his lap, Eddie says, “Harrison Ford.”

“Ooh,” Pink Buck says. “Good one. Which movie?”

Clearer now, Eddie says, “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.”

Green Eddie sighs, almost wistfully. “Fuck. Yeah. I get you, Normie Eddie.”

“What about you?” Buck asks.

Interestingly, Pink Buck averts his gaze. “Uh. I don’t—I don’t remember.”

Looking from Pink Buck to Green Eddie, Buck quirks an eyebrow. Right. “Anyway—”

“Soundcheck!” Chimney says, flying into the room. “We’ve got food on the way, too. Eat up, gentleman. Buck, absolutely no weed. Di-az, some weed. Other-universe BuckandEddie, smoke whatever you want. See you idiots on stage.”

Green Eddie shouts after him, hands cupped around his mouth, “I’m already high!”

For the next two hours, Buck and Eddie do their best to stay out of the way. Buck knew, logically, that tours were a whole production, but it all really seems exhausting. He can’t imagine himself doing this after all, keeping tabs on his own equipment, making sure his voice is up for the job every night…

Man. He can’t wait to go home.

They’ve just got to figure out how.

First, though—

“We’re never going to get to do this again, Eddie,” Buck says, gesturing to the stage. It’s showtime, and the band has just started making its way on stage in the dark. The crowd has no idea they’re there yet. “We’re literally at Madison Square Garden. We’re backstage at a huge concert, a—and we’re headlining, technically.”

Wordlessly, Eddie keeps staring at the stage. A spotlight finds Hen, who strums a beautiful, dreamlike chord—to loud, raucous applause. The bass kicks in, and Chimney makes a face like he’s smelled something disgusting. Musicians. They’re so weird.

When the strobing lights start swaying, it paints Eddie’s face in green, blue and pink. He looks kind of like a moving painting—far too beautiful to be here, dimension-hopping with Buck. Far too perfect to be with him—despite all the other universes not believing so.

He shakes the thought from his head, forcing a grin.

“Come on,” Buck says. “Let’s just watch.”

“Okay. We’ll—”

Pink Buck yells. There’s no other way to describe it. It’s an artful yell, one that slides into the same note as the synth is playing, and the crowd erupts. Pink Buck turns, cheeks split wide from grinning, and locks eyes with Green Eddie. Green Eddie – who is a drummer, God rest Buck’s soul – is keeping the beat going, the kick drum a loud, booming heartbeat. The heartbeat of the song, Buck thinks. And Pink Buck is the soul.

“I’ve been waitin’ my whole life,” Pink Buck sings, not yet looking away from Green Eddie. “And I know what I want. I’ve just got to reach out, but will you stick around?”

“Not bad,” Eddie yells over the music.

On stage, Green Eddie winks at Pink Buck. Pink Buck laughs breathlessly and whips back around to look at the crowd, and points the microphone at the crowd.

The crowd erupts into: “Kiss me! Kiss me! Kiss me once before you goooo!”

Pink Buck crouches, microphone pressed to his mouth again. He only sings for a minute before he turns to look at Green Eddie once more, eyes wide. Even from here, Buck swears he can see little hearts swimming in them. God, this guy really is so, so obviously in love with his best friend.

He sings, “‘Cause I’m so in love with you, and I’ll take anything at all you give me.”

Under his breath, Eddie says, “In every damn universe.”

Buck’s heart stutters. He can’t have heard that right. Adrenaline is roaring in his ears, the crowd screaming even louder. Buck swallows thickly, his hand lifting to his own chest. Even his chest is vibrating with the music.

“What—Eddie. What did you say?”

Eddie turns to him, eyes finding Buck’s immediately. His gaze wavers, tripping down to Buck’s mouth. And then, soft and small, he smiles, almost disbelievingly. “Fuck. In every universe.”

A jolt runs through Buck. “Eddie, I can’t— I can’t hear you.”

“Buck,” Eddie exhales, voice rising over the music. The crowd is singing again—Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me once before you go— “I lov—”

The music suddenly halts, a high-pitched screeching noise cascading like sand around them. He hears—metal crunching, glass shattering.

No.

No, no, no. He’s so close. Eddie figured it out, he figured it out, and he was going to tell Buck—

Fumbling, Buck reaches out, grabbing Eddie by the wrist. Eddie’s face goes blurry, features undefined.

“No, no, please, two more seconds, come on, two more—”

Darkness floods his vision from the outside in, swallowing up Eddie and his surroundings. Into the pitch black, Buck sobs. The noise echoes into the void.

HOME

Buck’s eyes fly open.

The first thing he registers is the dull, throbbing pain in his knee. The second thing he registers is the fact that he’s back in the car, in the passenger seat beside Eddie.

He’s also upside down.

“Eddie,” he croaks, fumbling his hands to the side, reaching for Eddie blindly.

He’s blinking fast, trying to clear his vision of the dancing black dots. Sucking in a breath, he blinks one more time, hard, and he sees him.

Eddie Diaz, the most competent, put-together man Buck knows, is smiling at him. He’s got dirt streaked across his cheek, a thin cut above his eyebrow, but beyond that, he looks unharmed. Beneath him, on the car ceiling, are tiny little shards of glass—glittering like the night sky. But no blood.

“You’re okay,” Buck breathes. He grabs Eddie’s hand, flipping it to press his thumb to his pulse point.

Strong, steady. A little too fast, maybe. Not quite tachycardic.

“I’m fine, Buck,” Eddie says gently. “You’re good?”

“I am. I’m—I’m good.”

Eddie nods, eyes flitting away to take stock of the car. “We’re upside down.”

A laugh bursts out of Buck. He realises, then, that he’s crying. “Y-yeah. Yeah, we are.”

They work in tandem, freeing themselves of their seatbelts, careful not to extricate themselves so quickly that they fall into the crushed windshield. But this is what they’re good at—they’re firefighters. More than that, they’re a team.

It takes them all of five minutes to crawl out of the wreckage, assessing the damage before they sit down, exhausted. Slumped against the side of the car, legs kicking up dust, Buck grabs his phone out of his pocket.

He calls 9-1-1, and Eddie offers him the route they were driving down, which Buck dutifully relays. Once he hangs up, he tosses his phone to the side. It’s cracked anyway. A little dust won’t kill it.

For a long minute, neither of them says a word. It’s nice, in a way. Letting themselves breathe in the aftermath of dimension-hopping. Because that did happen—it wasn’t some sort of car-crash-induced fever dream. Buck’s pretty sure he can still taste the soda he nabbed in the green room, for one.

For another, Eddie looks changed. His shoulders aren’t drawn quite so tight anymore, and the constant furrow in his brow has smoothed out. He looks light. And — unfortunately, because Buck really liked the dark red leather jacket — Eddie is only wearing a black t-shirt and jeans.

“Backstage,” Buck says quietly. “Before we woke up here again, what were you going to say?”

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a beat. Just inhales. Exhales. Buck doesn’t mind waiting, he realises. He’s happy to wait, staring at the side of Eddie’s face. He takes his time drinking in the familiar features he’s seen so many different versions of Eddie wear in the last day, different lives layered over the same bones, the same muscles, the same heart. He looks best like this, Buck thinks. Just Buck’s Eddie.

“In the green room,” Eddie finally says, voice rough with emotion, “I said that there was one thing constant in every place we went. I was wrong. There’s uh— there’s two. Firstly…” Eddie’s sentence pauses. He takes another steadying breath, turning his head to look at him with wet eyes. Underneath the New Mexico sun, they glisten like stars. “I’m gay.”

Pride blossoms inside Buck. He’s struck by an image of a younger Eddie, a teenager watching Indiana Jones with flushed cheeks and wide eyes. He thinks about that Eddie tucking the butterflies in his stomach away and refusing to look at them, fighting the unfamiliar feeling with all his might to smother it—for the sake of his parents, because of the world around him.

The urge to grab that Eddie and hug him is so overwhelming that Buck can’t breathe. He wants to tell teenage-Eddie that there’s an idiot football player from Hershey, Pennsylvania, with abandonment issues the size of Texas waiting for him. He’ll have your back, he’d say. Now, and forever.

Instead, he reaches out, settling his hand on Eddie’s knee.

“It’s okay, Eddie,” Buck says, voice shaking. “That you’re– it’s okay.”

Eddie lifts a hand, fingers trembling slightly. He hasn’t seen that many times before—Eddie’s hands have always been so, so steady. “The second thing.”

Buck swallows hard. “Y-Yeah?”

“Every place we went, every one of them, including this one—I’m gay,” he says, his hand coming up to cradle Buck’s jaw. “And in love with you.”

Buck’s heart, tucked behind his ribcage, clenches so tight that it hurts. He knew it was coming, he thinks, but hearing it is a different ballgame entirely. Suddenly, he’s fighting the urge to leap forward, pin Eddie to the dirt and kiss him stupid. Eddie is clearly gearing up to continue speaking, so, very politely, Buck waits, nodding.

“I think there’s a thousand versions of us out there—pirates, figure skaters, chefs, fucking— teachers. I don’t know.” Eddie smooths his thumb across Buck’s dirtied cheekbone. A small, shaky smile pulls at his mouth. “You and I are together in every single one of them, side-by-side. And we love each other. Even if we don’t quite know in what way yet.”

Buck feels a single tear slip down his cheek, landing warm against Eddie’s hand.

“But not because the universe wants us to, or because we have to, but because there’s no version of you that a version of me wouldn’t fall for,” Eddie whispers. “You’re you.”

Breathless, Buck croaks out, “E-Eddie—”

The air between them feels fragile now. They’re teetering into territory they can’t come back from. To prove the point, Eddie crosses the line with an easy, comfortable confidence that even Lady Eddie would admire. “I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Please,” Buck whispers, barely able to breathe.

Tipping closer, Eddie ghosts his lips over Buck’s.

“You asked for two more seconds,” Eddie whispers, swiping his thumb beneath Buck’s eye. “Is a lifetime okay?”

“Eddie.” Buck laughs, teary and overwhelmed. This is it. This is everything he’s ever wanted. The universe had to drop the answers into their laps (and throw them haphazardly onto the ground a few times), but they got there. Together. “Eddie, I’ll take any lifetime with you. Every lifetime. What—whatever you want.”

“I like this one,” Eddie whispers, leaning in to finally, finally, slot their mouths together.

Buck wouldn’t break this kiss for the world, but he focuses really hard (in case the Universe is listening), on thinking: I like this one, too.