Chapter Text
It’s 7:00 a.m., and the apartment smells faintly of coffee and toasted bread.
Eddie stands at the counter, mug in hand, watching Christopher methodically finish the last bites of his breakfast. The morning is moving along with the kind of fragile efficiency Eddie has learned not to disturb—backpack already packed, shoes by the door, just fifteen minutes left before they need to leave.
It’s almost peaceful.
Which is exactly why the doorbell ringing feels immediately suspicious.
Eddie glances toward the clock, then the door. Too early for deliveries. Too early for anyone, really.
Christopher looks up, curious. “Are we expecting someone?”
“Nope,” Eddie says, already moving. “Stay there.”
He opens the door—and freezes.
Buck, who is holding what can only be described as an absurd number of cupcakes, is standing on the porch.
Boxes. Stacked. Slightly precarious. One large bakery box balanced against his hip, another braced awkwardly in his arms, and a smaller box perched on top like an afterthought.
Buck, who is also very clearly sick.
His hoodie hangs off him like he dressed in a hurry. His curls are a mess, like he either didn’t bother or didn’t have the energy to care. His eyes are rimmed red, glassy in a way that makes Eddie’s stomach immediately tighten. His nose is pink at the tip, his lips dry and cracked, and even from the doorway Eddie can see the faint tremor in his hands.
Buck shifts his weight, and the boxes wobble.
“Hey,” Buck says, voice rough and congested. “Uh—delivery?”
Eddie blinks. Once. Twice.
“…You brought a bakery.”
Buck huffs a weak laugh that immediately turns into a soft, muffled cough against his shoulder. The boxes tilt again, and Eddie steps forward on instinct, grabbing the top one before it can slide.
“That’s—okay—hang on—what is all of this?” Eddie asks, steadying the stack.
“Cupcakes,” Buck says, as if that explains anything.
Behind Eddie, there’s the rapid thump of crutches against the floor.
“Buck?” Christopher’s voice lights up instantly. “BUCK!”
And that answers the question before Eddie even asks it.
Buck winces slightly at the volume but manages a tired smile. “Hey, buddy.”
Christopher appears in the doorway, eyes going wide at the sight of the boxes. “You made them!”
Eddie slowly turns his head toward his son.
“…You knew about this.”
Christopher hesitates. Just long enough.
“…Maybe? We have a bake sale at school today, I called Buck last night and he said he could make them”
Eddie looks between his son and a clearly feverish Buck, “Why didn’t you tell me you had a bake sale?”
Christopher rolls his eyes, “Because the last time I told you, you drove us to Costco to buy cupcakes. That’s not how bake sales work.”
Buck shifts again, shoulders hitching as he tries to suppress another cough. It doesn’t quite work this time—he turns his head, coughing harder into his sleeve, the motion making the stack wobble dangerously.
“Okay—nope, that’s enough,” Eddie says, stepping fully outside. “You’re coming in before you drop all of these or yourself.”
“I’m fine,” Buck protests weakly.
He is not fine.
Eddie takes half the boxes out of Buck’s arms without asking. Up close, it’s worse—Buck’s skin is flushed under the early morning light, his breathing slightly uneven, and there’s a faint shiver that runs through him despite the hoodie.
“You’re shaking,” Eddie says, frowning.
“I’ve been outside,” Buck says, like that explains it.
“It’s not that cold.”
Buck opens his mouth to argue—
—and promptly turns away with a sharp, breathless inhale.
“Hah hah-hetchiew!”
The sneeze is sudden and harsh, barely caught against his wrist. Buck squeezes his eyes shut, shoulders curling inward as the force of it seems to rattle through him.
Christopher immediately says, “Bless you!”
“Th—thanks,” Buck mumbles, sniffling thickly.
Eddie stares at him.
“You’re sick.”
“I’m fine,” Buck repeats, weaker this time.
“Uh-huh,” Eddie says flatly. “And I’m the Queen of England.”
Christopher giggles.
Buck manages a tired smile, but it falters quickly. “Chris needed cupcakes.”
“Bake sale cupcakes should be baked,” Christopher supplies cheerfully.
Eddie exhales slowly through his nose.
“Okay,” he says. “We’re going to unpack… whatever this is,” he gestures vaguely at the boxes, “and then we’re going to talk about why you thought showing up like this was a good idea.”
Buck sways slightly on his feet.
Eddie doesn’t miss it.
“Inside,” Eddie adds, softer now.
Buck doesn’t argue this time.
The kitchen table disappears under cupcakes.
Chocolate. Vanilla. Frosted. Sprinkled. Some with careful piping, others a little uneven but clearly made with effort. There are far too many of them.
Christopher is practically vibrating with excitement as Eddie opens box after box.
“Buck, these look amazing!” he says.
Buck leans against the counter like it’s the only thing holding him upright and points to the smaller box meant for Eddie and Chris to keep at home. “Baker’s dozens,” he says, voice hoarse. “Didn’t wanna come up short.”
“How long were you baking?” Eddie asks, not looking at him yet.
There’s a pause.
“…Most of the night.”
Eddie looks up sharply.
“Buck.”
“I napped,” Buck adds quickly. “A little.”
“You have a fever?” Eddie asks.
“I don’t—” Buck stops, presses his lips together, then admits, “Maybe a low one.”
Christopher looks between them. “You’re sick?”
Buck tries for reassuring. “Just a cold, buddy. No big deal.”
Eddie steps closer, reaching out before Buck can protest and pressing the back of his hand to Buck’s forehead.
Buck leans into it.
Just slightly.
It’s enough.
“You’re burning up,” Eddie says.
“I’m not burning—”
“Hh—HA HA-HETCHIEW! CHOO! CHIEW!”
Buck turns away again, sneezing thrice in quick succession into his elbow. He groans quietly afterward, shoulders sagging.
Christopher frowns. “That sounded like a bad one.”
“I’b okay,” Buck insists, voice thick with congestion.
Eddie is not convinced.
“Right,” Eddie says, already shifting into problem-solving mode. “New plan.”
Christopher perks up. “Bake sale?”
“Bake sale still happens,” Eddie says. “But Buck is not going anywhere except the couch.”
“I can drop them off—” Buck starts.
“No,” Eddie cuts in. “You’re not driving like this.”
“I drove here.”
“And that was already a bad decision,” Eddie shoots back.
Buck opens his mouth again—
—and then just… stops.
The fight drains out of him all at once, like someone flipped a switch.
“…Okay,” he mutters.
That, more than anything, makes Eddie uneasy.
Buck doesn’t give in easily.
Christopher, oblivious to the shift, starts carefully picking out boxes. “We should take the chocolate ones to school,” he says. “Those always sell first.”
“Good call,” Eddie says automatically, though his attention is still on Buck.
Buck has gone very still, leaning heavily against the counter, eyes half-lidded.
“Hey,” Eddie says quietly.
Buck hums in response.
“When’s the last time you slept?”
Buck shrugs. “Couple hours. Maybe.”
“That’s not enough.”
“I had to finish them.”
Eddie exhales.
Of course he did.
Because that’s who Buck is—too big-hearted for his own good, too stubborn to stop even when his body is clearly begging him to.
“Couch,” Eddie says again, more firmly.
Buck nods this time without argument.
That’s how Eddie knows it’s worse than Buck is letting on.
By the time Eddie and Christopher are ready to leave, Buck is curled up on the couch under a blanket Eddie had insisted on tucking around him.
He’s half-asleep, breathing through his mouth, one arm tucked awkwardly under his head. There’s a box of tissues within reach, already used.
Christopher hovers near the couch, hesitant.
“Can I still go to school?” he asks quietly.
Eddie glances at Buck, then back at his son.
“…Yeah,” Eddie says. “We’ll just make it quick.”
Christopher nods, then carefully steps closer to the couch.
“Thanks for the cupcakes, Buck,” he says softly.
Buck stirs slightly, eyes fluttering open.
“‘Course, buddy,” he murmurs.
Christopher grins, then leans in just enough to whisper, “Feel better.”
Buck smiles faintly.
Eddie watches the exchange, something tight in his chest loosening just a little.
“Alright,” Eddie says. “Let’s go.”
He grabs the boxes, helps Christopher with his backpack, and heads for the door.
But before he leaves, he looks back.
Buck is already drifting again, curled in on himself, a faint shiver running through him despite the blanket.
Eddie hesitates.
Fifteen minutes to drop Christopher off.
Then he’s coming straight back.
Because there’s no way in hell he’s leaving Buck like this for long.