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The worst part of the coma dream was the nightmares that followed.
Buck hasn’t told anyone, but every time he wakes up with images of a dead Bobby, of a life without the 118, he can’t help texting Bobby.
He knows that he probably shouldn’t be bothering him. That this shouldn’t become his problem, but Buck needs this. He needs to make sure that Bobby’s okay, no matter what time of day or night it is.
So, he texts him.
And within a minute, Bobby texts him back. Hey, kid, what’s on your mind?
Just like always over the last few weeks.
He makes something up – almost always using a recipe or something. Sometimes, he’ll tell him about whatever random rabbit hole of research that he’s fallen down. Sometimes, he’ll tell a story that he just couldn’t wait to tell him. Truthfully, he could, but he just wanted an excuse to explain the texts in the middle of the night.
Bobby never asks him why he’s taken to texting him, just accepts it and chats with him until he falls back asleep.
But it’s something Buck knows that he has to deal with sooner or later.
***
Bobby’s up in the middle of shift.
It’s hard to sleep at the firehouse knowing that the alarm can blare at any minute.
So, he’s up and in the lofted area of the firehouse, messing around with a recipe that he’s been trying to perfect.
But he’s not surprised when he sees Buck rushing out of the bunkroom, looking a bit harried and concerned. Clearly, another nightmare.
Bobby knows that he’s been having nightmares, not that he’s told Bobby that, but there’s no other explanation for the late-night check-ins that have suddenly started happening since the lightning strike. Bobby’s been having them himself, part of the reason that he has almost always been awake when Buck’s checked in.
Not that he’s told him that, of course.
Buck was the one that died, not Bobby. He has no business having nightmares about losing him, and he doesn’t want to put that on him when he’s clearly struggling himself.
Still, Bobby’s not surprised when his phone rings a second later. Not a text this time, and clearly, Buck can hear it because he turns around in the middle of the app floor to look up at the loft where Bobby has moved to wave to him.
He ends the call and rushes up the steps.
“Hey, Cap, what are you up to?” Buck questions.
“Oh, I couldn’t sleep, wanted to mess around with the recipe for this stew I’m trying to prefect, want to help?” Bobby offers.
He knows that Buck won’t hesitate to help him. He always does. Especially when he’s got something on his mind.
“Of course.”
Bobby silently directs him to cut up some of the ingredients as he stirs the stew, and he waits. He wants Buck to come to him. To admit whatever’s wrong, so that he could help. He knows he will.
They work in companiable silence aside from the bubbling of the stew and the sound of the knife as he cuts up the stew.
That is, until, Buck asks, “You weren’t up because I’ve been waking you up, were you?”
“Wouldn’t you have had to call me before I got up for that to count?” Bobby half-teases.
Buck shrugs. “I just – I know I’ve probably been annoying –”
“You haven’t,” Bobby states, plainly.
“I keep texting you at all hours… talking about recipes and things…” Buck says, trailing off.
Bobby hums. “I love when you text me random things on your mind.”
“Yeah, but in the middle of the night?” Buck questions, and Bobby can see from the corner of his eye how uncertain Buck looks. Not looking at him but shuffling uncertainly side to side.
He turns to him and says, “Kid, if I admit something, will you tell me the truth about whatever’s been going on with you?”
Buck freezes, for just a second, before he looks up at him. “Yeah, I – I guess I could do that.”
Bobby takes a deep breath and looks him in those expressively worried blue eyes. “I’ve been … having nightmares,” he admits. “About you – not making it to the hospital, sometimes days of praying and nothing and – and frankly, your texting is the only thing that stops me from calling you first.”
“Wait, really?” Buck asks, mouth agape. “Really?”
Bobby nods. “Even tonight, I went to check on you. And most nights, I’m up cooking when you text me.”
Buck lets out a relieved breath. “Yeah, I – that makes me feel better.” He pauses then adds, “Not that you’re getting nightmares, just that – that you – that I’m not waking you up.”
Bobby smiles and hums. “Now, your turn.”
“Can’t we pretend –”
“Nope.”
Buck huffs. “Alright, I’ve been having nightmares, too. About what happened in my dream – you – you died from alcohol poisoning.”
It made sense.
There was a reason that Buck hadn’t exactly told him much about the dream.
“I suppose without you pushing Hen to come see me that day –”
Buck nods. “Yeah, and I – I don’t want to live in a world that you’re not a part of.”
“And so, you check on me like I want to check on you,” Bobby states, picking up some of the ingredients and adding them to the stew.
“Yeah, yeah, I guess I do,” Buck admits. “I just – I need to know that you’re okay to fall back asleep.”
Bobby nods, he gets it. “Well, kid, you can text time me anytime you want.”
“You, too,” Buck assures him. “You don’t have to wait for me.”
Bobby smiles. “I won’t, anymore. We’ll get through this together.”
“I like the sound of that,” Buck admits as Bobby pulls out the spoon with the stew offering him to try it.
“Well?”
“It’s perfect.”
“Great,” Bobby says, gleefully. “Then, I’ll put this all away and you can go back to bed, assured that I am perfectly fine.”
Buck nods. “Sounds good,” Buck says, giving him a hug. “Good night, Bobby.”
“Good night, Buck. Sweet dreams,” Bobby offers as he moves towards the stairs.
Buck smiles and nods back at him. “Sweet dreams.”
And sweet they were.