Chapter Text
The call came in like any other.
Multi-vehicle collision.
Unknown number of victims.
Possible entrapment.
They’d all moved fast.
Bobby giving clear, clipped orders.
Hen and Chim took the first two vehicles.
Eddie and Buck circled around to the third.
Smoke curled up in the air.
Screams echoed faintly.
The smell of gasoline, burnt rubber, and blood hung heavy.
Buck had been moving on instinct.
He always did in chaos—it was where he worked best.
Eddie at his side, a silent but solid presence, helped anchor him.
The two of them moved in perfect sync.
The third car had flipped.
A man lay slumped over the steering wheel, clearly already gone, the glass spiderwebbed and glinting red from the lights.
But the passenger—a woman in her mid-thirties—was still breathing.
Barely.
“She’s alive,” Eddie called, already slipping into triage mode. “Pulse is thready, but it’s there.”
Buck crouched, bracing her neck. “Hey, ma’am. I need you to stay awake for me, alright? We’re gonna get you out of here. You’re safe.”
Eddie worked quickly at the passenger side door, crowbar in hand, while Buck held her head still, trying to offer what comfort he could.
He could feel the woman trembling under his touch.
“Almost got it,” Eddie grunted, metal shrieking as he pried.
And then—
A crack.
Louder than any car alarm.
Louder than the sirens.
One moment, Buck was looking into the woman’s eyes.
The next—
Her skull snapped back. Blood exploded across the windshield.
Across Buck.
Across Eddie.
Buck didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
Eddie was screaming.
“BUCK—DOWN, GET DOWN!”
But Buck didn’t move.
He was frozen.
Because this had happened before.
Blood in his eyes.
Deafening silence.
And Eddie, unmoving, on the pavement.
A second crack.
Not as loud.
Somewhere distant.
LAPD shouting.
Chaos all around them.
“Buck,” Eddie said again, voice rough, terrified, as he tackled Buck sideways, dragging him down against the side of the car.
Buck hit the pavement hard, still holding his hands in the same position they’d been in. His knees scraped.
Blood soaked into his pants.
None of it his.
Eddie’s body covered his.
Shielded him.
Protected him.
Just like Buck had done for him once.
“I’ve got you,” Eddie whispered, over and over. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re okay, Buck.”
But Buck wasn’t okay.
Because the blood on his face wasn’t hers.
Not this time.
It was Eddie’s.
That was all he could see.
It took fifteen minutes for LAPD to clear the scene.
The shooter—some deranged ex-husband of one of the victims—had fired from a nearby rooftop.
Taken down by SWAT.
Too late for the woman in the car.
Too late for Buck’s peace of mind.
He hadn’t spoken since the shot.
Not a word.
Not a sound.
Eddie practically lifted Buck into the firetruck once they were cleared to leave.
Hen and Chim stayed behind to wrap up the rest of the scene, Bobby already calling in a backup team to relieve them.
Buck sat rigidly in the back seat, face blank, blood dried in his hair.
His gear was crusted in it.
His gloves had left smears on his face when he’d unconsciously rubbed his eye.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Eddie said, voice low. “We’ll just get the blood off. That’s all.”
Buck didn’t answer.
Just followed where Eddie led.
Eddie turned on the shower in the locker room.
Stripped Buck’s gear away slowly, gently, like he was undressing a wounded animal.
The smell of iron and smoke clung to every inch of fabric.
When the gear hit the floor, Buck didn’t move.
Didn’t lift his arms.
Didn’t speak.
Eddie sighed softly.
“Okay. Okay, I’ve got you.”
He guided Buck under the spray, clothes and all.
Warm water pelted them both.
The blood ran in rivulets down the drain.
Buck blinked, staring blankly ahead.
Eddie stayed with him the whole time, hands firm, steady.
It was only once they were back in their shared locker room, Eddie towel-drying Buck’s hair, that Buck finally spoke.
“I’m okay.”
Eddie froze.
“You—what?”
Buck’s voice was hoarse.
“It’s just shock. I’m fine.”
“You didn’t say a word for over an hour, Buck.” Eddie crouched in front of him, trying to catch his eye. “You were covered in blood.”
Buck shrugged slightly.
“It’s not mine.”
“That’s not the point.”
Buck finally looked at him.
His eyes were clear, but far away.
“I said I’m fine.”
Eddie didn’t push.
Just pressed a soft kiss to Buck’s forehead and handed him a hoodie.
“Here. You’re shaking.”
Buck pulled the hoodie on, wrapping it tight around himself.
Bobby knocked gently on the locker room door a few minutes later.
“I’m giving you both the rest of the shift off,” he said. “Go home. Get some rest. We’ll check in later.”
Eddie thanked him, one hand curled protectively around Buck’s shoulder.
Their house was quiet when they got home.
Eddie had called Carla from the truck, asking if she would pick Chris up from school today.
Buck curled up on the couch the second they walked in, the hoodie still pulled over his hands.
He still hadn’t eaten.
Still hadn’t smiled.
Eddie knew that wasn’t normal.
Eddie tucked a blanket over him and sat at his side, arm wrapped around him.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “Just rest, Buck. I’ve got you.”
Buck’s head rested against Eddie’s shoulder.
His fingers twitched in the fabric of the hoodie.
Chris burst through the door just after four, backpack clattering to the floor.
“Dad! Buck!” he called—and froze when he saw them. “Is Buck okay?”
Eddie nodded.
“Rough call. He just needs some quiet, okay?”
Chris climbed up next to them on the couch, careful, small.
He curled against Buck’s other side, a warm, gentle presence.
“’m okay,” Buck murmured eventually, but Eddie didn’t believe it.
That night, Eddie and Buck crawled into bed together, while Christopher was already snoring down the hall.
All safe.
All together.
But Buck didn’t sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Eddie.
Shot.
Bleeding.
Unmoving.
Not the woman in the car.
Not the shooter.
Not the chaos.
Just Eddie.
Because the last time this happened, it had been Eddie’s blood on his face.
And Buck still wasn’t sure he’d recovered from that either.