Chapter Text
Eddie spent most of the car ride home in silence. When they first got in the rusty old piece of metal, the engine sputtered often enough that Eddie started letting out a silent prayer to keep it going every time. Partly because his whole body ached and his head kept pounding, and he just wanted to get home. Home to his bed, and a long hot shower, and to Christopher. God, he wanted Christopher. He wanted to take his son, wrap his arms around him, and squeeze. To feel his curls, ones that Buck taught him how to style, brush against his cheek when he smothered his head in kisses - probably much to Chris’s dismay.
But mostly, he spent the ride in silence because by the time Eddie had figured out how to get on the highway from the hospital parking lot, he had glanced to his right, his chest tightening. He didn’t hear anything. He glanced, and he saw Buck. But he didn’t hear anything.
His body reacted before his mind could; he grunted at the pain that shot up his arm, into his shoulder, but he kept reaching. Reaching until his fingers found Buck's neck, until the steady thump of his heart registered. Eddie puffed out a breath, his own heart hammering in his chest. He was fine. Buck didn’t stir at Eddie’s touch; in fact, he started snoring, his breath evening out. Eddie isn’t sure how long he kept his fingers on Buck's pulse after that, but he knows it was long enough that the thumping of Buck's heart calmed his own. Until he knew, even without checking, that their hearts beat in rhythm. That Buck was alive, and he was alive, and they were both beaten and bruised and probably more fucked up than Eddie cared to admit at the moment, but they were going home, together.
Buck’s pulse kept beating under his touch. Alive, alive, alive.
The only reason Eddie let his arm fall was because Buck’s snoring grew louder as the minutes dragged on. So he spent the ride in silence, but it wasn’t really silent, because the sound of Buck’s breathing replaced the music, and Eddie couldn’t bring himself to wake him up. He only woke Buck up every 90 minutes. Laughing each time he grunted and complained that he didn’t want to get up and walk. Buck was doing his best imitation of Chris in the mornings when Eddie came in to open the curtains, ripping the sheets off his head to ruffle his hair. As soon as Buck got back in the car, he fell right back asleep.
The third time it happened, about four and a half hours into their journey home, Eddie still thought it was funny, slightly jealous of how easily Buck could fall asleep, anywhere and anytime.
The fifth time it happened, Eddie sat in the driver's seat, his hands on the wheel. The engine sputtered, sitting idle in the rest stop parking lot, but Eddie didn’t move. He watched Buck, watched the rise and fall of his chest, his brow slightly furrowed in sleep, which made Eddie grip the wheel tighter, his knuckles going white. He thought about his exhaustion, how on call, Eddie could watch Buck stay awake for hours and hours, not just from adrenaline or caffeine, just because he could, because he wanted to. Eddie thought about how this exhaustion was different.
It made him want to reach over and nudge him awake so that he could talk to him. So many situations were running through Eddie's head as he sat and stared at his best friend. Eventually, he shook himself out of his trance and got back on the highway.
The sixth time they stopped, Buck stopped snoring even with his head tucked against the window, his eyes shut.
The last stop they made, Eddie reached for the keys, killing the engine even though he was 80 percent sure it might not turn back on. He nudged Buck awake and got out of the car. He stood there and listened to Buck groan in pain as he got up. The sound made Eddie want to drive all the way back to that godforsaken town to make them regret a lot of things. Instead, he gritted his teeth, leaned against the car door, his hands crossed over his chest, and he watched Buck walk away. He walked to the edge of the lot and stopped. He ran a hand through his hair and just stood there. Five minutes in, Eddie’s jaw ticked; he was about to go tell him he needed to be walking around, knowing Athena, from wherever she was, would know and that she would have words to say, when Buck finally turned. He paused when he saw Eddie exactly where he had left him, watching him like a hawk. Eddie noticed it. He also noticed when Buck tried to brush it off and finally started walking around. Some time later, he made it back to the car, opened the door, and got in without a word. Eddie followed suit, slamming the door shut a little more forcefully than was needed. He shoved the keys back in the car, and when it miraculously turned back on, he turned to Buck, who was already slumped against the door, his eyes closed again. Eddie’s mouth snapped shut.
When he pulled back on the highway for the last time, Eddie glanced over at Buck, expecting to see him asleep. He was surprised when he saw Buck's eyes, bruised and red, looking back at him. But when he glanced again, having to do a double take, Buck's eyes were shut once again.
Eddie couldn’t help it; he rolled his eyes, “I can tell you’re faking it.”
Buck didn’t respond, just kept pretending.
Eddie finished the ride in silence.
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The sun had long since dipped below the horizon when Eddie pulled into Buck’s driveway. This time, he didn’t even bother reaching over to wake him up. He got out, slamming the door again. Buck's motion sensor light went off, causing him to wince. His concussion, he thought, had not calmed down as much as he originally thought. He popped the trunk, grabbed the remains of Buck's bag with his good arm, and walked towards the front door.
Buck was standing on his side of the car, giving him a long look as Eddie walked past. “I could have grabbed that, you know.”
Eddie didn’t respond; he only reached under the fire hydrant-shaped flower pot Buck got a few months ago and grabbed his spare key. He unlocked the door and pushed it open for Buck, who now stood behind him. When Buck didn’t move, Eddie raised his eyebrow, lifting his arm in a gesture that said, Well, what are you waiting for?
“Are you okay?”
Eddie froze. Those were the first real words Buck had said to him in hours. They made him want to scream.
“Just peachy.”
Eddie saw Bucks' jaw clench before he shoved past him through the door. He let out a breath, stealing himself before following. While Buck went around and turned on all the lights, Eddie dropped his bag on the floor beside the couch. He looked up, eyes squinting against the brightness and the pounding that had returned to his head, and met Buck’s eyes. Eddie didn’t know how they had gotten here, to this weird awkwardness as they stood facing each other from across the room.
“Buck-”
“You should get home to Chris,” Buck interrupted.
“Buck.”
“No, really, I think you should get going, it's the least you deserve. To see him. A-after everything.”
Eddie watched as Buck stuttered. He swallowed, his eyes dancing around the room, catching on to everything except Eddie. Eddie, hours earlier, had begged him to look at him. He had to look at him. He needed Buck to look at him because in the moment Buck had collapsed, and the time it took Eddie to get to his side, legs giving out as he knelt, Eddie had thought he might never get to see those eyes, wild and blue and safe, again.
“Buck, I-” Eddie hissed when he shifted; his head hurt so much. “Buck, I really think we should talk about it.”
“I’m fine.” Buck walked towards him and past, opening his front door. “Chris needs you more.”
Eddie stood rooted to the spot. He was going to kill Buck, for real this time. He would actually take the fork; he was so mad. Of course, Buck wasn’t fine. He had just been taken by a crazy lady who thought he was her son, and he was trying to just deal with it. Worse, he was trying to deal with it without him, and that's what made him more upset. His head pounded, and his vision blurred slightly. He needed to get out of the light; he needed Buck to understand that he wasn’t alone, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to help, and Buck knew how to push him away. Chris needs you more.
They faced off for a few more seconds, both in the same room, but Eddie felt a world away. He willingly walked out the door Buck opened, grumbling out a pathetic "goodnight,” as he went.
He was ashamed of it. Ashamed of how the click of the door shutting made him feel relieved that he didn’t have to stand in there for another minute. He didn’t have to fumble his way through a conversation he desperately wanted to have but didn’t know how to have. Only because he wasn’t sure it could happen without something else coming out. Something that Eddie didn’t know he was ready for just yet— a thing that had bubbled up and choked him over and over in the hospital when he first woke up when Buck wasn’t in the bed next to him, when he yanked the tarp off revealing that jacked up old pickup his stomach dropping with the cocking of a gun, when he knelt holding Bucks head in his hand begging him, the universe, anything because he wouldn't open his eyes.
He got back in the car, and the pounding in his head slowed as he sat there long enough for the motion light to go off. When the pounding dulled enough, he hit the steering wheel so hard he cursed at the pain. But then he was cursing at more than just the pain. He cursed at his parents for making him so unsure, for not teaching him what it meant or how it felt for people to be there for him. He wanted to be there for Buck so desperately that it made his heart ache and his breath shallow and his eyes blur with tears that he brushed away, his cut-up face stinging. But he didn’t know how. Then, for good measure, he cursed at Bobby for leaving, for not being there for him or for Buck when they needed him most. For forcing them to go to Nashville in the first place, for doing nothing but what Eddie didn’t want him to do. For making it easy and safe for Eddie to be himself and then pushing him and Buck together again and again from beyond the fucking grave. He let himself be angry, at Bobby, at Buck for pushing him away, at himself for letting him.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed once he turned the car on again and slipped out of Buck’s driveway.