Chapter Text
The supply closet is, objectively, not built for two full-grown firefighters.
Eddie knows this because he’s currently pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Buck, his back against a shelf that is definitely digging into his spine, while Buck is halfway twisted, one arm braced against the door like that’s somehow going to help.
It doesn’t help.
“Okay,” Buck says, far too optimistic for their situation. “Don’t panic.”
“I’m not panicking,” Eddie replies, which would be more convincing if he could actually move his arms.
Buck nods like that settles it. “Good. Great. Because we are definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent stuck.”
Eddie closes his eyes for a second. Breathes in.
Big mistake.
It smells like industrial cleaner and Buck’s laundry detergent, which is somehow worse because now his brain is doing things with that information.
“Did you try the handle?” Eddie asks, because maybe—just maybe—there’s still a shred of hope left in the universe.
Buck twists it again for emphasis. The door doesn’t budge, “Yep. Super tried.”
“Kick it.” Eddie says with no real heat, can’t exactly break a door down with no room.
“Already did.”
Eddie opens his eyes, in disbelief, “You kicked it?”
“Yeah.”
“In a supply closet?”
Buck shrugs as much as their current arrangement allows. “I thought maybe it’d be, like, dramatic. Y’know? Door flies open, heroic escape, Bobby slow claps—”
“Bobby is not going to slow clap you for breaking his door.”
“Okay, wow, way to crush my dreams.”
Eddie makes a noise that is definitely not a laugh.
There’s a beat of silence. Somewhere in the distance, the station is too quiet.
“Hen and Chim are out,” Eddie says.
“Yeah, I heard the ambulance leave.”
“And Bobby’s upstairs.”
“Probably.”
Eddie stares at the door like he can will it open. “We don’t have our phones.”
“Left mine on the table.”
“Same.”
Another pause.
Eddie does the math. It’s not great math, “…so we’re trapped in a closet.”
“With no phones,” Buck adds helpfully.
“And no one knows we’re in here.”
Buck brightens. Actually brightens, “Oh, we’re good.” Like he just remembered having his phone in his pocket.
Eddie narrows his eyes. “Why are you saying that like you just solved something?”
“Because I did.”
“…Buck.”
“Me and Bobby? We have a thing.”
Eddie immediately regrets everything. “A thing.”
“Yeah. Like a bond.”
“Uh-huh.” Eddie says suspiciously.
“Father-son type situation.”
Eddie blinks at him. “You’re going to need to explain why that helps us right now.”
Buck grins.
Eddie hates that grin.
“It means,” Buck says, lowering his voice like he’s about to share classified information, “I can call him.”
“…you can what?”
“Telepathically.”
Eddie just… stares. There are a lot of moments in Eddie’s life where he questions his choices. This is rapidly climbing the ranks.
“Buck,” he says carefully, “you cannot telepathically call Bobby.”
Buck waves a hand, “Not with that attitude.”
“That’s not…” Eddie takes another deep breath, “attitude has nothing to do with—”
“Shh,” Buck interrupts, closing his eyes.
Eddie watches, helpless, as Buck straightens as much as he can in the cramped space, face going weirdly serious.
“…what are you doing.”
“I’m focusing.”
“Oh my God.”
Buck inhales deeply. Then, “BOBBY,” he yells loudly.
Eddie jerks, not expecting him to yell, “What—”
“Shh!” Buck hisses. “I almost had him.”
“You yelled his name, Buck.” Eddie points out.
“Yeah, in my mind.”
“You said it out loud.”
“That’s just, like, a backup.”
Eddie drags a hand down his face, which is difficult because Buck is still right there, taking up entirely too much space.
“This is how I die,” Eddie mutters.
Buck cracks one eye open. “In a supply closet?”
“Yes.”
“That’s kind of loser-ish of you.”
Eddie turns his head, meets Buck’s gaze, and there’s something dangerously fond sitting right behind his irritation.
“Not because I’m stuck in a closet,” Eddie says.
Buck frowns. “Then why—”
“Because,” Eddie cuts in, voice quieter now, “I’m in a closet with you, and you think you can psychically summon Bobby, and I—” He stops.
Buck blinks at him. “You what?”
Eddie exhales, something in his chest going soft and doomed, “…I still think you’re the best person I know.”
Buck goes very still, “…Eddie.”
“And that’s the problem,” Eddie continues, because if he doesn’t just say it now, he never will. “That’s why this is how I die. Not because you’re an idiot—”
“Hey—”
“—but because you’re an idiot,” Eddie presses on, “and somehow that just makes me…” He swallows.
Buck’s not joking anymore. Not smiling. Just watching him like this matters, “Makes you what?” Buck asks quietly.
Eddie huffs out a breath, something like a laugh tangled up in it.
“Hopeless,” he admits. “That’s the word, right? Hopelessly—”
The door slams open.
Both of them jolt.
Light floods in, and there’s Bobby, standing there, taking in the scene: Buck half-leaning into the door, Eddie pinned against the shelves, cleaning supplies precariously balanced around them.
Bobby stares for a full 10 seconds, “Why are you two in my supply closet,” Bobby asks.
There’s a long, stunned silence.
Then Buck turns, eyes wide, and points at Bobby like he just proved a scientific theory.
“SEE?!” he says, triumphant. “Telepathy.”
Eddie stares at him.
Then at Bobby.
Then back at Buck.
“…I’m going back in the closet,” Eddie mutters, and tries to turn around, which is impossible, which just makes Buck laugh, which…
Yeah.
This is how he dies.