Chapter Text
"Boston is dressed," was the last thing Buck heard before he saw Eddie sprinting towards him, snapping him out of his previously captivated state—something about watching Eddie rush to put everything on, the multi-layered coat, and suspenders, and heavy pants, and protective hood, and helmet, and thick gloves, and steel-toed boots, and...
"Go!"
Eddie's voice cut through Buck's thoughts as did the baton in their hands. And Buck was already turning and pushing off, running before the moment could register as anything more than speed and muscle memory. For Bobby, do it for Bobby. He took this very seriously.
"Boston has opened up a big lead heading into the Shed Hurdle followed closely by LA and Nashville," announced the same lady's voice on the loudspeakers. Buck was in it to win it. Everything he drilled so deep into Eddie's head, all of the film sessions, what to do and what not to do, the strategies and tactics they could use, it was all coming back to him. He was fast, he knew he was. Holding the ten foot ladder was the only thing keeping him from running faster, the way the metal swayed him and his balance with every step he took. But Buck could hear Eddie yelling his name. Go Buck, that's my boy!
Everything was working, until it wasn't. Something shifted. Buck’s foot clipped hard against the rung of another ladder, the impact jarring straight up his leg before he even fully registered what had happened. It was his bad leg too. It was Boston, Buck knew it was Boston. He could see the letters O and N before he couldn't see anything.
The ground came crashing into his face, fast and unexpected. The sound of his head smacking against the cold and hard floor only made his head hurt more, it was so loud.
As he tried to reposition himself, to maybe have a chance of getting up and continuing, he opened his eyes and was met with the much unwelcoming bright lights of the games. He'd forgotten he was here for a moment, until he heard the familiar voice calling his name again. Eddie was yelling his name, but the voice wasn't getting louder or closer. This time, it was only laced with more concern and worry. It was all going in and out, the dark spots in his vision and the headaches stabbing at his head in several places, and for some reason, he could only think about one thing: He wasn't winning this one. They'd lose enough points to get them out of the finals.
"Boston, you stepped..." Buck's ears were ringing now. "out of your lane..." His head was spinning, "that's a penalty..." his head wanted to return back to the cooling temperature that was the floor. He rested his head down again, temporarily soothing the headache, confusion, dizziness, nausea, pressure in the head, vertigo, balance issues, blurred/double vision, sensitivity to light or noise, ringing in the ears; the paramedic in him was trying so hard to diagnose himself, but his thoughts would get pushed away with every wave of nausea.
So he tried. To assess and diagnose himself.
"-k..."
Headache, definite check.
"Bu-..."
Nausea, check.
"-ck..."
Confusion... check?
"Buck!"
Eddie?
"Buck-" Eddie's hands offered a steady grip on both of his shoulders. "Are you okay?"
"Eddie? What happened?" he let out, before the world spun again. "Vertigo," Buck mumbled under his breath.
"What?" Buck, you fell," Eddie explained to him, putting a stable hand on the back of Buck's head, where his curls met the nape of his neck. "Boston scumbag tripped you with his ladder..." Eddie trailed off, quieting himself as two medics hurried over. As if the room wasn't full of licensed paramedics.
"What's his name?" the medic asked.
"Buck."
"Hi, Buck, I'm Amy. Do you know what happened?" she asked him, her voice being the only thing to fill the room. The rest of the stadium had gone quiet, they paused the game, and Boston was getting his ear torn off about penalties and good sportsmanship.
"I-I fell..?" Buck answered, not fully positive. Eddie's hands were still on his shoulder, thumbs mindlessly and slowly rubbing back and forth above his collarbone.
"You took a fall, you hit your head pretty bad. Do you know where you are?" Amy asked.
"Firefighting games," Buck answered, trying to sit up. The flutter of vertigo and nausea had worn off momentarily. He was fine, he could keep going. "I think I'm fi-i.." he lost his balance, putting more weight than he wanted to into Eddie.
"You don't need to try and sit up, Buck. Follow my light," she instructed, clicking a small pen of bright, florescent, unkind light. Buck squinted, but followed. He shifted slightly, like he was going to try and sit up again.
Eddie’s hand came down this time, firm on his shoulder, subtly shaking his head no. He still needed to get checked out.
With the overall confusion and drowsiness, Buck only gathered the few things important to him:
1. He has a moderate concussion.
2. LA was removed from the competition, nobody was there to sub in for Buck.
3. He and Eddie can't take a plane back home, it'll worsen his symptoms.
4. He needs to be monitored for at least forty-eight hours, a certified paramedic.
5. That certified paramedic would be Eddie, taking care of him for the next forty-eight hours.