Archive of Our Own ^omega

Buck wakes to the sun in his eyes. 

He squints, disoriented, panic clawing sharply up his throat before he gets his bearings. He reaches out blindly and his hand meets a warm body, the hard bulk of a shoulder. 

“Woah, easy,” Eddie’s voice says, and then there’s a gentle hand catching at his forearm. His vision clears and there’s Eddie’s face, that same pinch between his brows that has been Buck’s constant companion since he first laid eyes on him at Bonnie and Earl’s. 

Buck blinks, struggling to acclimate to the light in his eyes. They’re still in the car, obviously, but they’re stopped, pulled into the parking lot of what looks like a Comfort Inn. A quick glance at the Esteem’s dated, dusty clock tells him it’s 5:34pm, sun low on the horizon. Through the window Buck sees more desert, sandy plains intercut with vegetation and the occasional building, the sounds of I-10 traffic somewhere nearby but far enough he can’t place it.  

“Where’re we?” Buck slurs. Eddie releases his arm to hand him a bottle of water, which he takes gratefully. His throat feels like sandpaper, and the rest of him—well, it would take days to catalogue exactly how achy and painful every part of his body feels. His head throbs with a dull headache, better than when they began the day but still piercing when he turns his head too quickly. 

“Blythe,” Eddie answers, fiddling with his phone now that Buck’s calmed down. Buck drains half his water bottle before he sits up straight, trying not to groan when it pulls at the worst of the hematomas on his side. 

“Okay,” Buck answers. He can hear how hoarse he still sounds. “Time to walk for a bit?”

“No,” Eddie says, eyes still on his phone. “Or, yes. But we’re staying.” 

Buck frowns. “What? We’re like, four hours from home. Probably less since it’s a Sunday.” 

Eddie cuts a glance up at him, sharp and assessing before it smooths to something more gentle. “You need rest. Real rest, in a real bed, not curled up against the window in this shoebox of a car.” 

“The doctor said—”

“I don’t give a shit what the doctor said,” Eddie snips, eyes back on his phone. His thumbs are moving rapidly across the screen, and Buck can’t even snoop because of the way Eddie’s twisted in his seat towards him. “Beyond stitching you up and making sure you weren’t concussed, I don’t trust a damn thing that came out of their mouths.” 

The words drip with disdain. They haven’t really debriefed properly, both too preoccupied with making sure the other was physically okay and checking in with everyone back home. Eddie was there when Buck talked to the police and told them everything that happened, keeping himself as detached as possible so he wouldn’t fall apart though his hands shook fiercely under the hospital blanket. He felt Eddie’s eyes on him the entire time, and when he finally chanced a look at him towards the end he found Eddie’s jaw clenched, something terrible in his eyes that disappeared the moment he met Buck’s gaze. They haven’t talked about it since, but regardless, clearly something else happened in that hospital that Eddie hasn’t shared yet, something to make him distrust and revile them. 

Buck slept for most of the drive, still groggy from the drugs they gave him to help him sleep in the hospital. Without them, he doubts he would’ve slept a wink. Eddie didn’t begrudge him the naps this time and woke him every ninety minutes like clockwork, the two of them hobbling as slow as old men, gripping the other’s elbow or shoulder for support occasionally. They’d make idle conversation in the car until Buck inevitably nodded off again, slouched against the window with only a bunched up sweatshirt as a pillow. 

“I’ll be fine, Eddie,” Buck tries, but Eddie has that stubborn set to his mouth and shakes his head before Buck’s even finished the sentence. “Seriously come on, we’re so close. I know you want to get home to Chris.” 

His voice cracks on Chris’ name, the memory of the last time he spoke it aloud flashing vividly in his mind. Eddie hears it, Buck knows he does, shoulders going briefly rigid before they relax again. 

“I do,” Eddie admits, softer now. “But he understands.” 

“Eddie—”

“He insisted,” Eddie says, brandishing his phone. He offers it to Buck, and his heart squeezes in his chest when he reads Chris’ last few texts: duh of course. don’t let him argue. and tell him i love him. 

He feels tears well in his eyes, and the last thing he needs right now is to cry. If he starts, he may never stop. He catches a glimpse of Eddie’s earlier texts in the thread too: Buck needs some more rest before we can get home. You okay if I stay one more night to look after him? and has to hand the phone back before the tears manage to fall for real. 

“Well. Chris is the boss,” Buck jokes, and Eddie smiles. One of the few he’s seen since he blinked up at Eddie above him in the grass, whispering, “Yeah. I know,” with his hands on Buck’s neck. 

“You wanna wait here while I check in? Actually,” Eddie interrupts himself, looking suddenly shifty. “Why don’t you come in with me? Be good to move around.” 

He’s as subtle as a brick to the face, but Buck doesn’t call him out on it. He’s too exhausted, for one, and he doesn’t really want to let Eddie out of his sight right now either. 

They clamber out of the car and stagger their way into the hotel’s lobby. The air smells like disinfectant and mildew. Buck lets Eddie do the talking at the counter, and offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile when the front desk clerk keeps shooting him concerned glances. He hasn’t really seen much of himself apart from the Facetime call with Maddie, but he knows he looks like hell. Eddie’s not much better, though his facial injuries are far fewer than Buck’s. 

She’s professional, however, and five minutes later they have their keys. Room 209. Eddie grabs a luggage cart from the entryway and rolls it to the car, leaning heavily on it. Buck watches his gait with a shrewd eye—his leg must be killing him after a full day of driving. Buck’s glad he didn’t fight too hard on staying the night; Eddie needs his rest as much as Buck. 

Eddie shrugs off Buck’s attempts to help him load the cart, even though it’s only a few bags and Eddie’s arm is as fucked as the rest of Buck’s… everything, and again Buck is too exhausted to fight it. They both lean on the cart for support as they make their way back inside to the elevator. 

He was too zoned out downstairs to actually process that Eddie only got them one room. He might have protested if he’d been paying attention, but he knows enough of Eddie’s stubbornness to know it wouldn’t have mattered if he had. For now he says nothing about it, following Eddie into the frigid room dutifully. 

It’s as typical a hotel room as any. Two double beds, a desk and chair in the corner, a TV with a mini fridge built into the dresser. The bathroom is small and dingy with clean towels on the rack and a hairdryer in a bag on the counter. Buck insists on helping unload the cart, at least, and collapses onto the bed closest to the window while Eddie rolls the empty cart into the hall. 

“Dinner?” Eddie asks when he comes back, sitting on the bed opposite Buck and digging through the end table drawer. All he finds is a bible, holding it up to Buck with a sigh. “Don't think this place has room service.” He drops the bible in the drawer with a thump and pushes it closed, running a hand through his hair, looking exhausted. He kicks off his shoes and Buck follows suit, toeing them off and letting them fall to the floor.

“‘M fine,” Buck says, closing his eyes. He can already feel himself start to nod off now that he’s horizontal.

“No, c’mon. Up, Buck. You need to eat before bed.”

Eddie shakes his shoulder gently, and even that tiny movement has Buck hissing in pain before he can stop it. He cracks an eye open in time to see Eddie wincing and retracting the offending hand. 

“Shit, sorry. Come on though. You can have another dose of tramadol after you eat.” 

Buck groans and sits up. He scoots backwards clumsily until he’s upright against the headboard. Instead of sitting on the other bed, Eddie plops down next to him with his own grunt of discomfort. Buck scoots over a bit to make room and raises an eyebrow when Eddie looks at him. 

“Gotta keep you awake, bud,” Eddie says, though there’s a spot of color on his cheeks that doesn’t match the red of the scratches framing his eyes. Eddie manages to get the covers out from under them and tug them up over both of their laps, and something in his bruised ribs tugs at the gesture. 

Eddie turns on some movie and scrolls through a few delivery apps on his phone while Buck tries to follow whatever is happening on the screen to keep himself awake. It’s tough—the room is cold, perfect temperature for sleep, and Eddie’s a warm solid weight pressed against his side, both of them radiating heat under the covers. The air conditioner runs without stopping, drowning out the more shrill sounds from the movie with its soothing white noise. Eddie sighs every few minutes, the way he often does when he’s frustrated with something on his phone. 

“Think pizza’s our best bet,” Eddie announces after a while. Buck blinks, eyes having slipped shut again despite his best efforts. “Think your stomach can handle that?” 

“Sure,” Buck answers. His meds are making him a little nauseous, and the deep bruising of his stomach and ribs from the seatbelt isn’t helping matters. He doesn’t know how he managed to scrape by without some internal bleeding to boot, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He drifts again while Eddie orders and they wait for their pizza. Eddie murmurs that he can nap while they wait, and instead of suffering the agonizing process of shifting his body into a horizontal position, he lets his head fall on Eddie’s shoulder. He feels a brief pressure against the top of his head before he drops off completely. 

“Pizza’s here,” Eddie says quietly after what feels like thirty seconds. Buck lifts his head and Eddie pats the top of his hand, which somehow drifted to Eddie’s lap while he slept. His fingers tingle like they were just threaded through someone else’s, and he shakes away the thought before it can take root.  

“Sorry,” Buck apologizes. 

“Don’t be. Be back in a few minutes,” Eddie says, and then he gets up to meet the delivery driver in the lobby, leaving Buck alone. 

The room feels instantly colder when he’s gone. It’s the first time he’s been truly alone since he woke up in that bedroom, surrounded by children’s toys, trapped beneath scratchy sheets in too small pajamas. The sheets under him now have the same texture, he realizes, irritating and hot where they were cool and comfortable before. He can’t even kick them away, can barely move without pain, and the air is so thin in here, so cold though he’s sweating. He pushes fruitlessly at the covers, crying out when it makes his side twinge painfully, and he swears he can smell the wood rot from Derek’s room, the musty sheets, and in the distance he can hear Bonnie shuffling around, and he closes his eyes, trying to breathe through lungs that aren’t working, heart thudding in his ears so loudly he wants to scream—

The door slams open and he gasps, hand at his throat, sheets twisted around his legs. The room comes back to him in stages. Dark curtains, parted to let the evening light in the room. Empty bed to his left, TV blurring in the background, air conditioning blowing and raising goosebumps on his arms. Eddie, holding two pizza boxes, dropping them on the empty bed when he catches sight of Buck and kneeling in front of him. 

“Hey, what happened? Are you hurt?” 

Buck shakes his head. He can’t speak, not yet, breaths coming too shallow. Eddie’s right there, placing one hand on his shoulder, the other on his chest, two points of warm, steady pressure that help ground him. 

“Okay, Buck, it’s okay. Just breathe. With me, ready? In… out. Good, again, in… out…”

Buck does his best to follow, eyes closed, focused on the exaggerated sounds of Eddie breathing. Eventually it works, the thundering in his ears quieting and his lungs regulating themselves again. He opens his eyes and finds Eddie’s are already on him, focused and concerned. 

“You with me?” Eddie asks quietly, and Buck nods. 

“Sorry,” he rasps. 

Eddie lets him go to grab another water bottle from their gas station bag, and Buck drinks dutifully when Eddie offers it. Eddie turns away to move the pizza to the desk, stacking up napkins to serve as makeshift plates. 

“Stop apologizing,” Eddie says as he works. 

“Sor—okay,” Buck corrects when Eddie gives him a withering look over his shoulder. “I—thanks.” 

Eddie nods and turns back to the pizza. “Of course.” 

Buck lets it lie, swallowing the words that crowd in his throat, the ones that don’t feel big enough or important enough for what he needs to say. He accepts the piece of pepperoni Eddie brings him on an unfolded napkin. Eddie sits on the other bed while they eat, perhaps (mistakenly) assuming Buck needs space after his episode. He eats dutifully and pretends to watch whatever movie is still playing, though his stomach protests almost immediately. Eddie seems satisfied that Buck is able to get down one slice though, and scarfs down three himself. 

“I have some Tums in my bag,” Buck says. Since he turned thirty, Eddie almost always gets heartburn after eating pizza. Buck’s taken to keeping some around the station and at home, just in case, and made sure to pack some when they left for Nashville. Eddie never remembers, or maybe he’s just never needed to when he had Buck. 

Eddie glances over, mid bite, looking a little stunned. He drops his hand slowly, looking at the last bite of crust in his lap like it holds the answers to the universe. “Um. Thanks.” 

“Sure.” 

Eddie lifts his head and stares at Buck for a long moment, expression unreadable. And then he grins, tousled hair falling into his eyes as he ducks his head. 

“What’s funny?” Buck asks. 

“Nothing,” Eddie answers. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and stands to clean up. “Just—no wonder everyone jumped to conclusions back there.” 

Buck frowns. “What do you mean?” 

Eddie huffs a laugh, trying to condense the leftover pizza into something small enough to fit in their mini fridge. “I mean everyone in that town thought we were a couple, Buck.” 

“Oh, I don’t—it wasn’t everyone,” Buck says, heat rising to his cheeks. “Just those assholes at the diner, a–and that was my fault.” 

Eddie pauses, then turns to him sharply. His eyes are as wild as they were in the diner, and it takes Buck aback. “It wasn’t your fault, Buck. You didn’t do anything wrong, we didn’t do anything—” 

He cuts himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. He opens them after a moment and says, “It wasn’t your fault. They were just backwards assholes. Okay?” 

He’s not sure he agrees, but he nods anyway. Eddie nods too and wraps a couple pieces of pizza in some napkins for the fridge. 

“Besides,” Eddie says as he works, his back to Buck. “It wasn’t just them.” 

“It wasn’t?” Buck asks. 

Eddie shakes his head. He winces when he bends down to put the pizza away, and Buck hands twitch, itching to reach for him. “The sheriff said some things too. Thought I killed you in some kind of lover’s spat.”

“What?” Buck asks. Eddie gives him a what can you do? sort of shrug, and Buck gapes at him. “What did you tell him?” 

“I said I didn’t kill you, obviously,” Eddie answers. He’s digging through their bag from the hospital now, and returns to the bed with Buck’s pills in his hands. He twists the cap off one and nods at Buck to open his hand. “Here, antibiotics first.” 

Eddie shakes a couple pills in Buck’s palm. Buck takes them dutifully, grateful for the brief respite from this mind boggling conversation. “And the—the other thing?” 

Eddie doesn’t quite look at him when he answers, focused on untwisting the tougher cap of Buck’s pain meds. “It didn’t come up.” 

“It didn’t come up,” Buck repeats numbly. “You just said he accused you—”

“He accused me of murder.” 

“And of—of being my. Partner.” 

“It was more an assumption than an accusation, but yes.” 

“And you didn’t correct him?”

Eddie shrugs. “Didn’t feel the need to.” 

Buck’s head swims, and he hasn’t even taken the tramadol Eddie dropped onto his palm yet. If Eddie is affected by this conversation he’s hiding it well, or maybe Buck is still too tired to read him the way he usually can. He decides to change the subject and grabs the pill bottle Eddie left on the end table. 

“Hey,” he says, shaking it in Eddie’s direction. “You too.” 

“I’m fine, Buck.”

Buck glares. “You’re hurt too, and you drove for nearly eight hours today. I know your leg is killing you.”

“I can get by with Tylenol.” 

“Eddie—” 

“If I get worse, I’ll take some, okay?” Eddie says. 

Buck sighs, irritated, but he nods and takes his dose without complaint. Eddie shuffles around for a bit longer, stacking the pizza boxes and putting the rest of their water bottles in the fridge. He unpacks a pair of sweats for them both as well as a couple t-shirts and clean underwear. Buck feels pathetic watching him work. He should get up and help, but he knows Eddie would just insist he let him do it the way he’s done all day. It prickles at his sense of independence, his need to be useful, but these are strange circumstances. And if he’s being honest, a small, selfish part of him wants to be looked after by Eddie, though he’d never admit it out loud.

“Shower?” Eddie asks when he’s done, dropping their bags in a corner where they won’t be tripped over. “And then I think we go to bed.” 

“Best idea you’ve had all week,” Buck says with a grin that Eddie returns. 

Buck clambers painfully out of bed, but thankfully the tramadol has already started to work, and moving isn’t quite as agonizing as before. He trudges to the bathroom, Eddie on his heels. He knows somewhere in the back of his mind that Eddie is going to have to help him, but it doesn’t really sink in until Eddie turns on the water and starts pulling off his own clothes what he intends. 

“Uh,” Buck says eloquently. 

Eddie just raises a brow and wiggles his jeans over his hips. He has bruises and scrapes across his chest, similar to Buck’s though not as dark. Buck’s eyes track over them, as well as the bandage on his left arm and the way he cradles it to his chest a bit. Eddie ignores him and takes off his socks one foot at a time, left in nothing but a pair of dark boxers. There’s cuts and scrapes on his legs and hands too, though the brunt of his injuries are on his torso. He unwraps the bandage on his arm and tosses it in the trash, revealing an ugly deep cut that he’s shocked didn’t require stitches or a sling. 

“It’ll be faster if we help each other,” Eddie says when Buck still doesn’t move. “And I need to make sure you don’t keel over when the tramadol kicks in. Do you need help with your shirt?” 

Eddie already knows he does, he’s just being polite. It was hard enough getting it on by himself in the hospital. Buck nods and Eddie slides his hands under his sweater, lifting it up to Buck’s armpits before he has to cooperate and bend his elbows to get it off. He makes a soft noise of pain that is unfortunately not drowned out by the shower. Eddie’s frowning when Buck can see him again, making quick work of his undershirt too. Buck manages to bite back his groan for that one, but Eddie isn’t fooled. 

“Button ups only tomorrow,” Eddie grumbles, and Buck cracks a smile despite the stormcloud around Eddie’s head. Buck manages to peel off his own jeans and socks, and then they’re standing together in the tiny bathroom in their underwear as the air turns damp and muggy.  

Eddie sucks in a quiet breath when he catches sight of the bruising painted across Buck’s chest and stomach. He hadn’t seen the full extent in the hospital, as Buck had been quickly ushered into a gown and sent off to CT while Eddie was looked over in another room. Eddie reaches out now and touches Buck’s ribs gently, fingers grazing across the worst of the bruising, and it makes Buck shiver despite the warmth of the room. 

“Jesus Buck,” Eddie says softly. His eyes track across the rest of his torso; Buck knows the medic in him is making a mental catalogue, and Buck sees icepacks in his future in a way he really doesn’t enjoy. Eventually, Eddie’s eyes land on Buck’s face. The bruising there is pretty bad too, darkening by the hour and probably hideous in the fluorescent lights. Eddie doesn’t touch him there, hand still holding Buck’s waist carefully. 

“Could’ve been worse,” Buck says quietly.

Eddie blinks and shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. He takes his hand off Buck’s side and pulls off his underwear without fanfare, gesturing for Buck to do the same before he ushers him into the shower, climbing in behind him. 

The heat of the water is as heavenly as it is abrasive, making the worst of his cuts flare with pain, but he welcomes it. It keeps him alert, prevents him from slumping into Eddie’s body or letting his eyes wander as Eddie washes Buck’s hair. He falters once when Eddie’s fingers catch a snag, biting back a sound and letting his head fall forward onto Eddie’s shoulder for a brief moment. Eddie is gracious about it, just scratches at his scalp for a second before he lifts Buck’s head up again. They don’t speak but for Eddie’s quiet instructions to turn this way or that as he runs a soapy washcloth over his torso, to lift his arms or tilt his neck to rinse the conditioner from his hair. Buck has enough mobility to wash his own legs and junk, thankfully, and Eddie cleans himself perfunctorily while he does so. He wishes he could lift his arms well enough to wash Eddie’s hair for him, watching in a kind of trance as Eddie does it himself. 

The pain meds start to kick in in earnest after a while, making everything feel fuzzy and disconnected. One minute he’s watching Eddie carefully rinse the cut on his arm under the shower spray, and the next he’s standing against the sink with a towel around his waist. Eddie runs another over his hair gently, careful of the many cuts across his forehead. Buck watches in a strange fugue state as he dries himself off and retrieves the first aid kit from his toiletry bag on the counter. 

“Let me,” Buck says, breaking the silence at last. Eddie glances up at him and nods. 

Buck pats Eddie’s cut dry with a fresh pad of gauze. Eddie doesn’t react but for a silent tightening of his jaw. Buck makes quick work of applying the antimicrobial ointment and then he wraps Eddie’s arm, careful not to make it too tight. 

“Thanks Buck,” Eddie says when he’s done. 

It all clogs up in his throat again, everything he’s been too tired and beat down to look at properly. Eddie looks at him with something like understanding or recognition in his eyes, and he almost breaks. But then Eddie turns away to find his toothbrush, and the moment passes again. 

Buck pulls on the sweats that Eddie offers once their towels are hung up to dry, opting for no shirt after the difficulty he had with the last one. Eddie changes too and plugs the phone into the charger. He takes extra strength Tylenol at Buck’s insistence, and pushes another bottle of water in Buck’s hands in retaliation. The TV is playing some Tom Hanks movie he’s never seen when they climb into their respective beds. He wishes Eddie was still close, but doesn’t know how to ask for it. Not when Eddie’s given him so much already, including his very life. 

He dozes off quickly, before Eddie’s even turned the bedside lamp off, and slips almost immediately into a nightmare. He’s back in Derek’s room, thrashing beneath the covers but unable to move, pain lighting up his spine with every breath. He hears a gunshot outside and knows it’s Eddie but he can’t reach him, and he screams and twists and cries but it doesn’t matter, Eddie is gone and it’s his fault, it’s his fault, it’s his fault—

“Buck!” Eddie cries, and Buck makes a desperate sound of relief, but he still can’t find him, he’s still out of reach. 

“Buck!” he hears again, and someone grabs his shoulders and he screams, he’s going to wake up in the shed again, he’s—

His eyes fly open and he sees Eddie hovering above him, face pale in the moonlight shining in through the window. Eddie’s hands are on his shoulders, hair wild and chest heaving with exertion. It takes a minute for Buck to come back to himself, blinking away the vestiges of the nightmare trying to take root in his brain. His cheeks are wet, lungs working overtime in a way that makes every breath painful. He pushes against his own chest fruitlessly, heart trying to beat its way straight out of his chest. 

“Shhh, hey, you’re okay. You back with me?” Eddie asks when Buck’s calmed somewhat. 

“Y–yeah,” Buck stutters. He scrubs a hand down his face, temporarily forgetting the bruises and groaning when it hurts. “Sorry I woke you.” 

“You didn’t,” Eddie says. He’s still holding onto Buck, one hand curled around the junction of his neck and shoulder. His thumb presses into Buck’s collarbone. “I was still up. Felt like I was back on that mechanical bull trying to keep you from hurting yourself though.” 

Buck winces. “Sorry.” 

“What did I say about apologizing?” Eddie asks, and he’s smiling a little as he gently thumbs away the tears on Buck’s face. He needs to stop doing this, or Buck’s going to do something he’ll regret. “Scooch over.”

“What—Eddie—”

“C’mon. Neither of us are gonna get any sleep otherwise,” Eddie says. It’s disarming in its honesty while still circumventing the larger truth, the one that haunts them as doggedly as what they left behind in New Mexico. 

Buck scoots and Eddie climbs in next to him, turned on his side facing Buck. Buck’s lids are so heavy but he doesn’t want to close them just yet. He shifts on his side and focuses on Eddie instead, the delicate lines of his face, the red cuts that somehow only serve to make him look even more beautiful than usual, particularly when accompanied by a mess of bedhead. Eddie moves around to get comfortable, grimacing slightly as he goes, and this time Buck can’t help the way he reaches for him. His hand curls around Eddie’s forearm, just beneath his bandage, and Eddie stills. Their hands are both mottled with bruises and cuts, matching remnants of the trauma they survived together. Deliriously he kind of hopes they scar, a permanent bodily reminder of their connection and devotion, something so monumental that he still doesn’t fully comprehend it. Eddie’s other hand twists free from beneath his head, and his fingers curl around Buck’s wrist with gentle pressure on his pulse point. 

“Thank you Eddie,” Buck says quietly after a few heartbeats.

Eddie smiles softly. “You don’t have to—”

“No, Eddie, listen. I mean. I mean thank you,” Buck says. He watches Eddie’s shoulders stiffen. “I didn’t get to. To say it yet. Thank you for finding me. For saving me.” 

Eddie says nothing for a while, eyes flicking slowly between Buck’s. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks. “You saved me too.” 

Buck shakes his head. “It’s not the same. I can’t imagine what you had to do, I—I mean I pieced some of it together from the cops, but… Eddie. What you did for me, I—I can’t ever—” 

“You got yourself out of there, Buck,” Eddie interrupts. He closes his eyes, and Buck squeezes his arm reassuringly until he opens them again. “I would’ve—I would’ve done awful things to find you. I almost did. But you made it out of there, and if you hadn’t, we might both be dead.” 

It’s easier somehow, in this liminal space, far from home in the late hours of the night. His body is heavy and relaxed, mind a little hazy from the drugs, from Eddie’s closeness. It’s easier to speak truth to what he’s avoided for so long, what couldn’t find words for before. What he thought just a few short hours ago he would take to the grave. 

“I would’ve stayed for you,” Buck admits quietly. That line appears between Eddie’s brows again. His thumb strokes gently across Buck’s wrist, an unconscious gesture, and it makes him brave. “I—I almost did. They were going to kill you when you found us, and I—I begged them to make you leave. Told them I’d do anything, that I would stay, a–and—be him. As long as you and Chris were safe.” 

Confusion melts to shock and then horror on Eddie’s face as Buck speaks. Buck doesn’t look away, though everything in him wants to. Eddie pushes himself up onto an elbow, and for a second Buck thinks he’s going to leave. Instead Eddie cradles his face like he did back at Bonnie and Earl’s, fingers digging into Buck’s nape. 

“Buck,” Eddie breathes, mouth gaping as he tries to find his next words. Eventually he closes his eyes and leans down to press his forehead to Buck’s. It hurts a little, but Buck doesn’t dare pull away. He lets Eddie hold him like that for a long time, the soothing motion of Eddie’s fingers against his scalp nearly lulling him back to sleep. 

“It scares me, Buck,” Eddie admits sometime later, hushed like he thinks Buck’s asleep. Buck nudges against Eddie’s forehead to let him know he’s listening. “What I was willing to do for you. And what you almost did for me, after everything they had already done to you, I—that fucking terrifies me.” 

“Me too,” Buck says. He takes a deep breath and adds, “A lot of things scare me about—about the way I feel about you.” 

Eddie pulls away. Buck’s head aches in the absence, and he keeps his eyes closed. Eddie’s hand moves to cradle his cheek, and he feels Eddie’s thumb graze over the swollen skin beneath his eye. 

“Buck. Look at me.”

Buck huffs a short little laugh. It’s exactly what Eddie said to him as he fell to his side, the first words he’d heard clearly from his mouth after twenty plus hours of fearing the worst, thinking he’d never hear Eddie’s voice again. How could he do anything else?

He opens his eyes. The way Eddie is looking at him—he’s hit with a sense of deja vu so intense it could almost trigger another panic attack. He looks the way he did when Buck opened his eyes after he collapsed; fear, relief and wonder all at once. 

“What scares you, Buck?” Eddie asks. 

Buck inhales shakily. There’s no running now, not anymore. “Everything you just said. Or that—that I’ll lose you. And Chris.” 

“You won’t.”

Buck presses his lips together. “Even if I love you?” 

“Buck,” Eddie says with a soft laugh. “Did you not hear the part where I almost shot someone for you?” 

“That doesn’t mean you—you protect your friends, Eddie, that’s who you are. That doesn’t mean—”

“It does,” Eddie says quietly. He lets his hand trail down to Buck’s neck, thumb against his pulse. “It does, Buck. You’re not the only one who’s scared. I’ve been running from it too, for longer than I even—but then they took you and I thought. I thought you were dead. I felt what my life would be without you, and I can’t—I don’t want to run anymore. Not from this, not from you.” 

“Not wanting to lose me isn’t the same as wanting me,” Buck argues. 

Eddie huffs a little disbelieving sound and presses his forehead to Buck’s again, speaking his next words close to his mouth. 

“Then it’s a good thing I want you. I love you, Buck. I want everything with you.” 

Buck swallows hard. His eyes burn, and the dam he’s been holding together with mud and sticks crumbles at last. He chokes on a sob, and between one hitched breath and the next he’s pulled against Eddie’s chest, crying against the warm skin of his neck. 

He cries for a long time. Eddie holds him through it, murmuring things in his hair that Buck can’t make out over his own sobs. He hasn’t cried like this since the first few weeks after Bobby. He makes deep, ugly sounds barely muffled by Eddie’s shirt, and when he starts to hyperventilate Eddie rubs his back and coaches him through catching his breath again. Everything hurts by the time he calms down, but he feels a sense of release too. 

“Gonna get you some water,” Eddie says, pressing a gentle kiss to Buck’s forehead before snaking out of his hold. He walks the few steps to the mini fridge, and Buck sees him wipe his eyes on his sleeves when he bends to retrieve a bottle. 

“Eddie,” he croaks, voice rattly. Eddie turns and Buck can clearly see the tear tracks, the way his eyes are rimmed in red. “Come here.” 

“Drink first,” Eddie instructs when he returns, opening the bottle and helping Buck sit up to drink. It’s heavenly and cold. Once he’s had his fill he tugs on Eddie’s shirt until he’s back in his spot and reverses their positions, tucking Eddie against his neck. 

“Careful, your ribs—”

“My ribs are fine,” Buck says. “Just need you.” 

“I’m here,” Eddie says, hands roving over his back again. Buck threads a hand through Eddie’s hair and Eddie hums contentedly, sniffling conspicuously against Buck’s neck. 

They lay there for a long time, Buck petting at Eddie’s hair, Eddie’s hands wandering across Buck’s torso, careful of his injuries. He could fall asleep this way but he has more he needs to say before the light of day breaks the spell they’re under. 

“What do we do now?” Buck asks. 

Eddie shifts out of Buck’s grip and holds his gaze for a long moment. Before Buck can prepare for it, Eddie leans up and presses a gentle kiss to Buck’s mouth. Eddie tilts his head for a better angle, nose brushing Buck’s, and he can’t help his sharp inhale at the way it stings his swollen cheek. 

“Sorry,” Eddie murmurs against his mouth, kissing him softly one more time before pulling away. He brushes the injured cheek carefully with a thumb and says, “How about we start there?” 

“Fuck, Eddie,” Buck swears and kisses him again, cheek be damned. 

Eddie lets him, kissing him back as feverishly as Buck for a long, blissful minute until he starts to gentle the kiss, holding Buck at bay with a thumb on his chin when he tries to chase his mouth. 

“Careful, baby,” Eddie says, and Buck melts.

“I want you,” Buck complains, and Eddie chuckles. 

“I know. I do too, but not like this. I don’t want to worry about hurting you the first time I touch you.” 

Buck groans and tucks his face back against Eddie’s neck, pressing a few open mouthed kisses there. Eddie’s hands tangle in his hair again, and it helps calm his racing heart. He sighs, dreading what he’s about to say. 

“Eddie, I don’t—I don’t know if I’m ready,” he admits quietly. 

“Then what was all that whining about just now?”

Buck huffs and sits up to look at him. “No, I mean… I love you, and I want you so much, but I—I think I need some time. To be—what you deserve, I’m not. I’m not okay, right now. I’m sorry.” 

Eddie softens. He picks up one of Buck’s hands and presses his lips to the worst of the bruises, and Buck’s chest aches. “This week fucked with both of our heads, Buck. You don’t have to be anything but yourself for me to want you. But I’ll wait, as long as you need, just… just promise you won’t shut me out. I need you too.”

“I know.” 

“Then promise. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Buck agrees. Eddie kisses him again and then pulls him close, carefully shifting them both so they’re pressed together head to toe. 

“Go to sleep. I love you,” Eddie says against his hair, and Buck shudders. He’ll never get used to that. 

“I love you.” 

“Sleep, Buck.” 

And they do, the whole night through, Eddie warm and safe in his arms.