Chapter Text
One thing Evan Buckley definitely knows about himself is that he isn’t crazy. He’s certain of it.
Or at least, he was certain of it. Until a few days ago, more or less.
He thinks he’s hallucinating. Maybe he’s too tired or ate something that didn’t sit well with him, that could be it. But can that cause hallucinations? All the same ones, no less.
He hasn’t seen that car in at least nine years, and now he sees it everywhere.
Leaving the gym? The car is parked outside. Going to work? The car is pulled over on the side of the road. Not to mention when he had the feeling it was following him!
He’s going crazy.
I mean, it’s not every day you see a black 1967 Impala. Let alone three different ones in three consecutive days!
The first time could be a fluke, the second a coincidence, but the third is definitely a pattern!
The universe is playing tricks on him, for sure.
Or maybe he’s just paranoid— it’s not like there’s only one of those cars in the whole world, right? Maybe some rich guy with a weird passion for classic cars spent a fortune to get it. And so have other rich guys.
So it might not mean anything at all. But what are the odds that’s really the case?
“Buck,” Hen’s voice brings him back to the real world, away from his thoughts. “If you keep staring at that coffee table, you’re going to burn a hole right through it. Are you okay?”
“Oh—oh, yeah! Everything’s fine.”
“Well, we have two different definitions of ‘fine,’” she retorts. “What’s on your mind?”
Buck gulps. “Dinner. I don’t know what to cook tonight.”
The conversation takes a completely different turn when Eddie, Chim, and Ravi come up the stairs to sit on the couches with them.
Eddie sits down next to him, and Buck lets himself be carried away by the sense of calm Eddie makes him feel. Eddie spreads his legs and lets their knees bump together in a gentle touch, and Buck smiles.
In the background, there’s a show that no one is watching, so Buck decides to flip through the channels until he finds something interesting. It would help take his mind off things.
It doesn’t work.
Buck stops on the news, and the latest report doesn’t help.
“This morning, another person was reported missing, bringing the total to four disappearances in the last three weeks. The police continue to investigate, considering a possible link between the various disappearances, but there’s still no news.”
“Shit,” says Chim.
“It’s supposed to be a girl this time,” Hen says. “They’ll probably cover it on the news tonight; she just went missing.”
“I don’t get how anyone could think there’s a connection,” Ravi says. “The four victims don’t seem to have anything in common.”
“Don’t call them victims,” Hen says, just as Eddie says: “You can’t know that.”
Ravi glares at him. Eddie replies, “What? It’s true! On the surface, they don’t have anything in common, but you don’t know what they used to do in their private lives, do you?”
“He’s right” Buck says, causing Ravi to roll his eyes.
“You’d never say Eddie’s wrong— your opinion doesn’t count.”
Well, he’s right. Luckily, Hen agrees with Eddie too, so screw you, Ravi.
They keep talking about the disappearances, making wrong assumptions, but Buck can feel Hen’s gaze on him.
“Did you order Thai because you were still undecided about dinner?” Strong arms wrap around him from behind, while a gentle kiss lands on the back of his neck.
Buck snorts, not really annoyed, more like a kid who’s been caught with his finger in the jam jar: “Did you talk to Hen?”
Eddie steps back, turning toward the fridge to grab two beers: “She told me you were lost this morning, and the reason was dinner.”
Now, Hen might have believed that — as unrealistic as it was — but Eddie didn’t. Eddie knows him better than Buck knows himself, which is a problem right now.
“Buck,” Eddie says it with such tenderness mixed with a concern that tugs at his heart, “you can tell me if there’s something bothering you, you know?”
He sets the two beers on the table, then takes Buck’s hand and strokes the back of it with circular motions of his thumb.
Buck knows he can tell Eddie anything; he always tells him everything. He’d tell him this too, if he didn’t have to explain the whole thing. He isn’t afraid Eddie won’t believe him—even though there’s a chance he won’t, since Eddie doesn’t really believe in this sort of thing—so that’s not why he doesn’t tell him; he just doesn’t want his past to come back to haunt him.
He didn’t want it before, and he certainly doesn’t want it now. Especially not now, because he finally has everything he’s ever wanted. And the same goes for Eddie — he doesn’t want to ruin it all for him, not after seeing him fight so hard to get it.
Buck chuckles and takes Eddie’s hand in his: “I know,” he sighs, “but there’s nothing to worry about, just… tired, I guess.”
Eddie seems to be looking into his soul, as if searching for the truth, but in the end he nods: “Okay, because I didn’t believe a word about dinner.”
Buck’s laughter intensifies: “Yeah, I figured as much.”
Eddie doesn’t let go; he stands there, holding his hand. Buck finds it reassuring, almost forgetting everything that’s on his mind right now, just to make room for Eddie’s touch.
“But seriously,” he says, with those doe-like eyes that only Eddie Diaz can make, “if there’s anything you feel the need to share with me, you can.”
Buck nods because he knows. One day he’ll tell him, probably. But right now? Right now he’s enjoying his clear mind together with his boyfriend.
It’s the following Tuesday when Buck decides it’s time to check himself into a psychiatric hospital.
Why? Because that damn car was parked outside the fire station.
He blinks a couple of times, even though it doesn’t do any good—the car is still there! So he’s not crazy!
Or maybe he’s too crazy.
He stops thinking about it for a few seconds. He heads straight for the locker room, head down, greeting the others with just a nod. Inside the locker room, he finds Hen, busy lacing up her boots.
Buck sets his duffel bag on the bench before saying, “Hey, um, whose car is parked out there?”
She looks up at him: “You mean the gorgeous black car that’s been circling the station for at least two days?”
That's— an important detail he’d missed but could certainly have done without hearing.
“It belongs to a man; he got out a little while ago. Suit and tie, very authoritative,” she tells him. “He’s talking to Chim in his office right now.”
Buck’s heart skips a beat.
He shouldn’t jump to conclusions, though, right? It could be anyone, even a regular civilian — with a lot of money — who needs to talk to the captain. Simple.
Besides, they usually went out in pairs.
“In any case, it shouldn’t be much longer,” he says, standing up. “Now finish getting changed, let’s go.”
Buck nods, but in reality he might have nodded at anything, because he stopped listening after 'it belongs to a man.'
He finishes getting dressed, but shows no sign of leaving the locker room.
He has a strange feeling building up in his chest. Something’s wrong; he can feel it. He hasn’t felt this way in a long time, and it scares him.
He decides to leave the locker room. He’s taken the first step up the stairs when he hears behind him: “Buckley, just the man I was looking for!”
Buck turns slowly. Chimney is right behind him, hands on his hips. Buck walks toward him, his hands trembling.
“Do you need something?”
“I don’t, but Agent Ross does, apparently,” he says. “He’s with the FBI.”
“Excuse me?” Buck feels like he’s just lost at least ten years of his life.
Why would a federal agent want to talk to him? He doesn’t think he’s done anything illegal. Not that he can remember, anyway.
Unless it’s an agent with a fake badge. Shit.
“Yeah, apparently he needs to ask you some questions about Tommy”
Tommy? Tommy as in his ex-boyfriend Tommy? Why would he ask him about Tommy?
“What— what does Tommy have to do with this?”
Behind Chimney stands a man. White, in his forties, dressed smartly. He’s typing something on his phone, without looking around too much.
Buck thinks he’s seen him somewhere before, and that terrifies him.
“Agent Ross,” Chimney begins, placing a hand on Buck’s shoulder, “this is the firefighter I was telling you about: Evan Buckley, Tommy’s ex-boyfriend.”
Buck’s worst fear comes true when the agent’s head snaps up at the sound of his name. He sees the man’s face go pale, and Buck hopes his own expression isn’t giving his feelings away too obviously.
Fuck.
“Evan Buckley?”
He doesn’t know what the agent’s tone is supposed to mean, and maybe he doesn’t even want to know.
The only thing he knows is that the man in front of him is Dean Winchester.
He opens his mouth but no sound comes out; his brain has probably shut down. Dean looks at him, probably thinking of saying something to break the deafening silence they’re creating.
Buck finds the strength to speak after a moment: “I— yeah, um, Evan Buckley, but you can just call me Buck,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, with little success. “Did you need to talk to me, Agent?”
He tries not to notice the change in Dean’s expression at the mention of 'Buck.'
Meanwhile, Dean also seems to snap out of his trance: “Uh, yeah, that’s right,” he says, before turning to Chimney: “Captain Han, would you mind leaving us your office? I’d like to speak with Buck in private.”
Chim gives them both a strange look: “Sure, no problem. Take all the time you need.” Before leaving, Chim gives him a pat on the shoulder.
After a few moments, Dean speaks up: “Alright, after you.”
Buck walks past him without looking him in the face. He enters the captain’s office, and as soon as Dean follows him in, he locks the door and leans against it.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Buck looks up, confused, finally meeting Dean’s gaze: “What am I doing here? I work here, so what are you doing here!”
“I’m doing my job.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says, letting out a hysterical laugh right in the other guy’s face. “You— you’ve got to be kidding me! Tell me you’re kidding me.”
“I’m not kidding, Buckley, I’m here for work,” Dean says. “We’re here for work.”
Ah, perfect, so Sam’s here too. Great.
“And you drove twenty-one hours for a case?” Buck exclaims. “How does that car even still run?!”
Dean points a finger at him: “First of all, Baby can go anywhere, okay? And second, this isn’t the first time.”
Buck rolls his eyes at the car’s name, and this distracts him a bit from the real problem.
“The disappearances,” he says, “you’re here for those” and it’s not a question.
“Bingo,” comes the reply. “And that’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Wait— Tommy’s gone missing?”
Dean pulls a notebook — or at least what looks like one — out of his jacket’s inner pocket and starts flipping through the pages: “Yeah, he disappeared last night.”
It seems like that’s the end of it, but then he snorts a laugh and adds: “Sure, you’ve always had questionable taste in men, but you’ve really hit rock bottom with that one, man.”
Buck glares at him: “Seriously? Someone’s gone missing, and you’re worried about my terrible taste in men?”
“So you admit it,” Dean replies, finding it far too amusing for Buck’s liking. Jerk.
“I don’t have terrible taste in men!”
Buck starts taking it personally, forgetting about Tommy’s disappearance, because maybe he does have questionable taste — Tommy was a dark moment in his life, okay? — but Eddie isn’t questionable.
There’s nothing questionable about Eddie.
Eddie is sex. Eddie is love. Eddie is home. Eddie is basically everything.
(Above all, he’s everything Tommy never was, but he shouldn’t speak ill of him, he’s gone, after all.)
Dean snorts, amused: “Sure, sure. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Buck has no intention of arguing about it — not now, at least; he’ll definitely do it later — so he just snorts.
He’s tired of it all; he doesn’t even feel like continuing the conversation because he’s afraid of where it might lead.
Still, seeing Dean standing there in front of him, after years of silence, has a strange effect on him. He feels this sensation in his chest, different from the anguish he’s felt over the past few weeks.
Deep down, he’s missed that guy.
“You’ve built a nice life for yourself, I have to admit,” Dean begins, and Buck certainly can’t deny it, even though it’s had its ups and downs. “I’m glad for you.”
Buck chuckles. “You, on the other hand, would rather die than give up that life,” he says. “When you’re ninety, you’ll probably still be chasing vampires in a wheelchair.”
“Yeah, well,” Dean shrugs with a chuckle, “saving people, hunting things… the family business, isn’t it?”
Buck nods, not really knowing what else to say.
“I see you’re still saving people, though,” he continues. “You’ve always liked that part of the job.”
“It was the only reason I did it” Buck replies.
“You’ve always been one of the best hunters I’ve ever known, even when you were just a kid who ran away from home,” Dean continues, “but it’s good to know you’ve found your way. That’s why I’m sorry to have to interrupt your peace by barging in like this.”
“Do you guys have any leads?” Buck asks automatically.
“Actually, no, we haven’t found anything,” Dean replies. “We’ve been here for weeks now.”
Dean steps closer, but Buck doesn’t budge. He stays glued to the door, as if it gives him a sense of security.
“Listen, I’ve never believed in bullshit like destiny and stuff like that,” Dean begins, sounding too serious for Buck’s liking, “but if I ended up here talking to you, there’s a reason.”
Buck frowns worriedly, already knowing where the other guy is going with this. “Dean, please—” he says.
“I’d never ask you to do this if it weren’t important!” the other retorts. “Sam thought about asking the local hunters for information, but you know how much I hate working with other people"
Buck nods: “But now you’ve found me.”
Dean nods, but says nothing in reply. Buck starts to get worked up. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid, and now he’s right in the middle of it.
“One last hunt, Evan.”
Evan.
When Dean called him Evan, it was because something serious was at stake. It was the same as when Dean called Castiel by his full name and not ‘Cas’.
Buck gasps. He points his finger at him and says in a trembling voice: “No, absolutely not!” Nerves are getting the better of him, but he doesn’t want to shout too loudly. “I can’t do this, Dean! I left that shit behind a long time ago, and I’m not going to throw myself back into it headfirst in a dramatic way after a decade.”
“I know, and I’m a jerk for asking you this, but Buck,” Dean puts a hand on his shoulder and looks at him seriously, “I know that with you, we can do this.”
“I’m not part of that life anymore,” he says with a sigh, “that life isn’t part of me anymore.”
“That life will always be part of you.”
And he’s right, Buck knows it. He doesn’t say it, though; he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of that.
Countless times during calls, he finds himself snooping around a little too much, looking for anomalies, or asking the patient if they’d smelled or heard anything strange.
That life will never leave him, and he knows it, but he can try to push it away. From himself, from others. From Eddie and Chris.
“I can’t…”
He’d like to say it with a firmer voice, but he’s also trying not to let it tremble so much.
He really wants to help them, he really does, but he knows that if he goes back to that life, it’ll be even harder to break free from it again later.
Dean seems to understand. He nods, letting out a soft chuckle, as if the conversation were amusing.
“Okay, fine. Just… want to swing by tonight? We’ll be at a pub not too far from here; I’m sure the guys would love to see you again.”
He nods vigorously. It’s no big deal, right? Just an old reunion. He’d like that too.
“I— yeah, sure. I’ll be there.”
Dean nods. “Good, good,” he says, before reaching out and hugging him.
Buck is surprised but happily returns the hug. “I missed you too, Dean.”
Dean chuckles over his shoulder, and Buck chuckles back. Just like old times.
They step out of the office after composing themselves a bit. They’ll talk about Tommy at the pub with the others.
Outside the office, Eddie is leaning against the wall. Buck almost feels sick when he sees his face.
Eddie rushes over to them as soon as the door closes. Buck feels a warm hand on his lower back, and he could melt at that touch.
He doesn’t miss the glances Dean shoots their way, with that smug grin on his face.
“Everything okay?” he asks, then turns toward him and looks him in the eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Don’t worry, Eds, everything’s fine.”
Eddie nods, not entirely convinced, but Buck lets it slide.
Dean clears his throat: “Well, um, we’re done here. Don’t hesitate to call me if anything else comes to mind, okay?”
“Sure thing, Agent, don’t worry.”
And after saying goodbye to both of them, Dean leaves, waving as he goes.
“Did you do something? You can tell me, you know?”
Buck laughs at Eddie’s exaggerated concern: “I didn’t do anything, don’t worry. He wanted to know about Tommy.”
“Tommy?” Eddie asks with a disgusted look on his face. “Tommy, as in Tommy Kinard?”
“Yeah, apparently he went missing last night.”
“Oh.”
They remain silent for a second, then Eddie says: “Can I—”
“No, you can’t say anything mean! A person has gone missing!” but in reality Buck doesn’t really mean it; he’d like to hear Eddie’s meanness.
“But that person is Tommy.”
“Eddie!” the person in question replies, raising his hands in surrender, walking away to go upstairs with the others.
Buck is about to follow him when his phone vibrates in his pocket.
Dean-o:
yeah, your taste has definitely improved.
He never changed his number. Huh.
Buck chuckles at the message and then joins the others upstairs.
Eds🩵:
Text me when you get home
I love you
Buck rereads Eddie’s messages before walking into the pub.
He’s actually been standing out there for at least half an hour, deciding whether to go in and see the people who used to be the closest thing he had to a family, or to go home to his boyfriend and spend a quiet evening with him and his son watching some silly early-2000s romantic comedy.
He’s still in time to go home, right?
Okay, maybe it’s a little late to back out now.
He makes his way through the crowd until, at a table in the corner, he recognizes Sam’s hair. Now, he may not have seen him once in the last nine years, but he’d recognize that hair anywhere.
Dean is the one who spots him and calls him over to the table.
“The kid’s grown up, guys!” he exclaims, taking a seat next to Castiel.
“Buck!” Sam exclaims, standing up to hug him. Buck hugs him back immediately. Castiel, on the other hand, greets her with a nod, since Dean doesn’t seem to want to move.
He takes a seat at the table. He didn’t feel this nervous even on his first day at 118. Yet he shouldn’t be—those three have seen him at his worst, so really, there’s nothing to be nervous about.
A waitress arrives shortly after, taking everyone’s orders. She delays the usual questions you ask when you haven’t seen someone in years.
“So,” Sam begins, “Dean said you’re a firefighter.”
Buck chuckles and nods: “Yeah, I’m a firefighter.”
“You know, when you left, I thought about it, you know?” he admits. “I always believed you were meant to save people, just… in a different way.”
Sam is right, because Sam has always been right. Most of the time, at least.
They remain silent. Not an awkward silence, absolutely not—it’s a comfortable silence. They used to sit in silence like this, every now and then, years ago. It usually happened after a hunt: they’d sit there, maybe over a beer or whatever, and not talk. They’d just enjoy each other’s company.
But Buck wants to say something, because he thinks it’s the right thing to say. It’s weighing on his chest, ready to burst out, because he thinks they need to know.
“I kept Buck,” he blurts out. “At work, I mean.”
Dean smiles, because of course he knows. Castiel and Sam, on the other hand, look at him strangely.
“Why?” Castiel asks, tilting his head in confusion. “You said you didn’t want anything to do with any of this anymore.”
And Castiel isn’t entirely wrong; Buck hates that whole life, but…
“I know,” he replies, “but I wasn’t ready to leave everything behind. Especially something you guys gave me,” he admits. “It was a way to, I don’t know, not drift too far away.”
Buck could see the tears welling up in Sam’s eyes, but he pretended not to notice.
Meanwhile, the waitress returns with their orders.
“Well,” Dean begins “we’ve made up and all that, but we’re actually here to talk about your mysterious ex and your terrible taste” he said with a smile.
Castiel gives him a strange look: “Wait, that Tommy is your ex?”
Buck snorts: “Yeah, Tommy is my ex. Yeah, we broke up — thankfully — a long time ago. Yeah, he’s not exactly a looker, but in my defense, it was a dark period in my life.”
“Very dark.”
“Yeah, Dean, whatever.”
“But like, a total blackout— no candles or emergency lights” Dean continues. Castiel nods while Sam laughs.
Oh, okay, they’re back to teasing him. Great.
“We get it!” he replies. “Besides, I’ve improved now.”
Dean takes a sip of his beer: “Oh, I have to agree with you on that.”
“Excuse me?” says Buck, while Castiel says: “Dean?”
“What?” he says indignantly. “That Diaz guy is a real hunk, you can’t deny it!” Then he looks at Castiel with that stupid grin and adds: “But not like you, that’s for sure.”
Buck’s eyes widen: “How do you know about Eddie?”
Dean turns to him: “You didn’t deny it. And his name is Eddie.”
“I—” Buck stammers because he’s been found out; he can’t deny it anymore. But he tries: “We’re not together.”
“I never said you were.”
Oh, fuck.
“So you are together?” asks Sam, thoroughly amused.
So Buck gives in: “Yeah, we’re together. For a couple of months now, actually.”
He knows he’s saying it with that dumb smile on his face, but he can’t help it, he’s talking about Eddie.
“It’s just that we’re keeping a low profile,” he adds. “We want to see how it goes before we tell everyone. But we’re not doing a very good job of it, are we?”
“No,” Dean replies. “Definitely not.”
Buck throws his head back, sighing in exasperation. The other three, on the other hand, laugh at his exasperation. Some things never change, huh?
“You couldn’t hide it either,” Castiel says suddenly. This catches Buck’s attention.
“Cas is right,” Sam says, smiling. “You were unbearable. I was afraid you were harassing him, the way you were all over him. You have no say in this, Dean.”
Ah! Hit and sunk, fuck you, Dean!
He starts laughing too, while Dean seems to have taken it a bit personally.
Every now and then he thinks about how his life might have turned out if he hadn’t taken a different path. He would never have met 118, he wouldn’t have seen his sister again, he wouldn’t have met Eddie.
(And probably not Tommy either, but that can’t really be considered a bad thing, right?)
“Okay, okay, we get it, I was just as desperate as Buck is right now! Can we focus on something else now?”
Sam chuckles, probably agreeing with him given his total change of expression.
“Okay, it pains me to admit it, but I have to agree with Dean.” Sam turns fully toward him. “What can you tell us about Tommy?”
What is there to say about Tommy? He hasn’t seen him in ages; he can’t tell them anything recent.
“I haven’t seen him in a few months actually, since before Eddie and I got together. I don’t know what he’s been up to all this time.”
“Do you know, maybe, what kind of places he used to hang out at outside of work?”
Buck shrugs. When they were together, they didn’t go out often, so he can’t give a real answer.
“I know he likes basketball; he used to play with some other firefighters on certain afternoons. Eddie was there with him, too.”
“He was?”
“Let’s just say they’re not on as good terms as they used to be.”
Sam nods, jotting down the two likely useless things he’s said in his black notebook full of Post-its and notes.
Now, he really wants to stay out of this, okay? But he wants to know, so, instinctively, he asks: “Is there anything that connects the victims?”
Dean smiles mockingly over his beer, as if to say, 'I told you so, kid.' Buck will deal with that later.
“No, actually,” Sam flips through the pages of his notebook as he speaks, “there are both women and men; they don’t have the same hair or the same eyes, and they hang out in different places. Literally, there’s nothing right now that connects them.”
Okay, so Ravi was right after all.
“Aside from the married couple,” Castiel says “they don’t have much in common either, other than their last name.”
“But they still don’t connect to the others,” Dean adds.
A married couple? Odd.
“Maybe they have something else in common, right?” he begins, because it could be—it wouldn’t be the first time. “They must have something in common, otherwise it doesn’t make sense.”
The others nod in agreement, but no one says anything else.
“We assumed it was a demon at first,” says Sam.
“I don’t see a connection, the victims are missing, not dead from strange causes,” Buck retorts. “Unless demons have changed their modus operandi.” He hasn’t been in the business for a few years, after all.
“In fact, we’ve ruled out a demon’s involvement too” Dean finishes, a bit too smug.
“Unless there’s no demonic pact involved,” Sam says “it could just be a bored demon, right?”
“Not all demons are Crowley, Sam.”
In response, Sam looks at Castiel, because he’s actually right, not even Crowley is that desperate.
“As for other possibilities, well, there’s everything else” Dean concludes. “There’s nothing connecting these people, nothing at all. It could be anything or it could be nothing.”
“Are you saying these might just be ordinary disappearances?” Buck asks. “Perfect. Now we don’t have to worry about anything supernatural, just a maniac serial killer!”
“We don’t know if it kills people—”
“He’s still a maniac, Dean!”
Well, at least he doesn’t have to worry anymore, right? He doesn’t have to go back out hunting. If they find out anything, he can report it to Athena, and the police will handle the rest. End of story.
At least, that’s how it should be.
“Anyway, we’ll stay at least another couple of days to see how the situation develops, and if we don’t find anything, we’ll leave and hand the case over to the professionals.”
There, good. Two days. He has to survive the anxiety for two days, no more. He can handle it.
They don’t talk about any cases after that; they enjoy each other’s company, catching up on what’s happened over the years, drinking peacefully late into the night without a care in the world.
It’s almost 1 AM when Buck decides it’s time to head home. He finishes his beer, taking his time, listening to what the others have to say, then decides to say goodbye.
“Sorry, guys, but I have to go. I’m on shift tomorrow.”
He goes to leave some money on the table when Sam stops him and tells him not to worry. “Consider this an invitation to hang out again; next time, you’re paying" he says.
“Alright, um,” Buck stands up cautiously “anyway, you have my number. Keep me posted. And—and I’ll see if I can find out anything from a friend of mine; she’s a cop.”
“Oh, that could actually be helpful.”
They say goodbye, and then Buck leaves the bar, ready to head home.
He should text Eddie, telling him he had a good time and that he’s on his way back. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t because he doesn’t want to go home—not to his own home. He wants to go to Eddie’s.
His head is too full to be alone.
Then Eddie texts him.
Eds🩵:
Wanna come over? I know you’re not home
I miss you
And who is Buck to say no to Eddie? Buck could never say no to Eddie. Never.
On the way to Eddie’s house, he just tries not to think. He’s been trying so hard to ignore his thoughts that he can’t even listen to the music. Maybe that’s okay, though.
Two days later, Buck could consider himself free of everything. Really.
A whole day of doing absolutely nothing awaited him, and he was determined to spend it with Eddie.
(Buck will never thank Chim enough for this)
Besides, the guys were leaving.
Don’t get him wrong, okay? He doesn’t really want them to leave — seriously, he’s missed those guys — but he’ll be happy to see them later when there aren’t any supernatural disappearances involved.
They hadn’t seen each other in the last two days; they’d only exchanged messages. Buck managed to get a couple of tidbits from Athena, but they didn’t help much, and they haven’t found anything new that could point to a supernatural creature.
So yeah, Buck can really consider himself free of it all.
They’ve planned the whole day: takeout and a movie marathon on the couch. All day long.
(They still have to decide between The Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, or Harry Potter. They’ll probably end up doing a mix of everything.)
“So,” Eddie plops down on the couch — not very gracefully — and pushes Buck aside. “Have you decided how we’re going to fry our brains?”
“Don’t put it that way! It sounds bad.”
“It’s a whole day of doing nothing, glued to the TV watching teen movies,” Eddie points out “what else am I supposed to call it?”
“You’re despicable.”
“You love me.”
Buck rolls his eyes, defeated by the truth. “You like to win easy” he says.
“I like to be honest,” he replies. “If it’s any consolation, I’m madly in love with you, too.”
Buck lets out a chuckle. “It would be weird if you weren’t.
“Probably.”
Buck chuckles again and shakes his head, actually finding it too funny. He settles more comfortably on the couch, moving closer to Eddie.
Eddie takes Buck’s arm resting on the back of the couch as an invitation to get closer — which was exactly the point — so he snuggles up to Buck.
“Have you picked anything out yet?” Buck asks, reaching for the remote.
“Should we do a mix of everything? I haven’t watched them in ages.”
“Don’t your brain cells burn out anymore?” Buck laughs in response.
“Yeah, but it’s a slow, gentle burn,” Eddie replies, batting his eyelashes. “All neurons deserve a death like that.”
“You’re not Eddie Diaz, what did you do with him?”
“It’s my day off, and it’s starting to show,” he replies. “I think my brain has completely shut down.”
Buck shakes his head amusedly, without saying a word, and turns on the TV.
The news is on — why is the news always on when he wants to watch TV? — but he doesn’t pay attention to it; he doesn’t want to, so he goes straight to one of the streaming services he pays for.
(Eddie didn’t want them, but obviously Chris and Buck won.)
Then he suddenly stops and listens.
“New information has come to light regarding the recent disappearances: a second body has been found: the body of Ali Martin, abandoned in a shed just a few blocks away from the shed where Natalia Dollenmeyer’s body was found this morning.”
Buck is frozen; he’s not even sure he’s breathing.
Ali and Natalia? He hasn’t heard those names in years. And now they’re—
Oh.
Oh no.
Ali, Natalia, and Tommy? It can’t be…
“Wait,” Eddie stands up and sits up straight on the couch, “they— weren’t you dating them?”
“I—” he glances briefly at his phone on the coffee table in front of them, “yeah, I was dating them…”
The reporter keeps talking about the discovery, but Buck isn’t paying attention. Eddie is saying something to him, too, but his mind isn’t registering it.
Another glance falls on his phone. Should he…?
“Buck?” He turns toward Eddie at the sound of his name. “Are you okay? You look—”
“No, no, I’m great.” Buck doesn’t want to lie to him. Seeing Eddie look at him with that worried expression and lying shamelessly right in front of his eyes hurts him. “Seriously, I’m just— going to the bathroom for a second. I’ll be right back.”
He grabs his phone so quickly it feels like he’s a thief. By the time he reaches the bathroom and locks the door behind him, he’s already dialed Dean’s number.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up!” he whispers frantically, as if that would help Dean answer any faster.
But maybe it works, because Dean picks up the phone a few moments later: “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty, did you just wake up?”
“Have you guys left already?” He doesn't even say hello.
“Aww, were you already missing us? How sweet,” he replies. “Anyway, no, we're just finishing up loading the car now, we have to–”
“Thank God!” Buck lets out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “So, they found two missing girls today. Did you see?”
Strange noises can be heard on the other end of the line, probably several heavy bags being thrown into the car.
“They found another one? I only saw the one from this morning,” Dean says, grunting from the effort a moment later. “At least this one was alive?”
“Um, no. No, they found her dead, not too far from the first one.”
“Oh Christ,” Dean says as he hears the trunk slam shut, then adds: “So, did you call to update us?”
“I, um—” Buck isn’t sure he wants to do this, because it would mean doing the opposite of what he’s always hoped for. But if he’s right — and he probably is — there’s much more than his own life at stake. “I wanted to know the names of the other missing people,” he says.
“You want to know the names? Why?”
Buck lets out a frustrated sigh. “Please, just give me those names” he says.
Dean is silent for a moment, then Buck hears him close a door — probably the one to the motel room — and call out to Sam.
“You’re on speakerphone,” Dean says. “Go ahead.”
“Sam, I need you to tell me the names of the missing people.”
“Um—” Sam can be heard fumbling with what looks like a small notebook. “Okay, sure. Um, Natalia Dollenmeyer was the first to go missing, followed by Jade Williams and her husband Zane, who disappeared from their home four days later.”
He hears the pages turning again, then Sam continues: “Then Ali Martin was kidnapped; she went out to the pub and never came back, and finally there was Tommy.”
Buck struggles to breathe. The air won’t go in, and the little air he has inside struggles to get out. He almost loses his balance; to steady himself, he has to lean against the sink.
“Shit…” he says, gasping, “shitshitshit… shit!”
“Buck?” He doesn’t know if it’s Sam or Dean speaking. “Are you okay, man?”
He’s not okay, damn it!
“It’s me…” he almost whispers.
“What the hell does that mean, Buck?” Dean says. “Explain yourself.”
Buck takes a deep breath — sort of — before answering.
“It’s me” he repeats. “I’m the link between the disappearances.”