Archive of Our Own

For a frightening moment, Buck thinks the world has collapsed—his ears ring, his breath disturbs stagnant dust in the air, and pain radiates from every inch of his body. He’s stuck somewhere; the ominous creaking and groaning of something big that’s just fallen and hasn’t quite settled yet echoes around him, and all he can think is fuck, fuck, fuck, what the hell?

Groaning slightly, Buck tries to shift his body, but pain skitters up his body and has him halting halfway through his struggling attempt to move. He’s trapped somewhere; that much is obvious, but he doesn’t know where.

He doesn’t know what has happened either—everything is grey, dusty, and he’s pretty sure there’s blood in his left eye. Buck keens in the back of his throat when another wave of pain races up his body, barely able to breathe through it. His mouth opens to suck in dust-covered breaths, nose scrunching at the chalky taste that settles on his tongue as he does. He doesn’t care much to do anything about it, more focused on putting air into his lungs and breathing through the burning agony in his bones. Everything hurts, but the worst pain is in his stomach.

Oh, god, please don’t say there’s rubble piercing his gut, Buck thinks, wincing with each slow, stilted movement as he brings his glove-clad hand—oh, oh, he remembers now, he’s working, it was a structural fire… and the building has collapsed around him, great—to his stomach. It takes a moment of fumbling with the clasps of his overcoat before he peels the fabric apart, finally able to palpate his stomach. Sweaty fabric and pain greet his prodding fingers, making him wince. It’s too dark to see much, but Buck is pretty sure there’s no blood on his fingers. He also doesn’t find anything, oh, you know, piercing him, so he has to say he’s gotten lucky.

As lucky as you can be when a building falls apart around you and buries you in who knows how much rubble.

Just his luck.

Buck has to swallow a whine, instincts buzzing at the base of his skull like a nest of angry bees. He wants his teammates, he wants his captain, he wants Eddie. He doesn’t want to be stuck underneath a ton of rubble without any way to get out, in pain, and with absolutely no idea of the timeline of how quickly they can dig him out of here.

Wherever here is. Seriously, he could be in a basement, a parking garage, a sinkhole—with his luck, it’s going to be some complicated place that they can’t get to for multiple hours until they bring in the heavy, heavy duty machinery so they can dig him out of there.

A tear slips down his cheek, and Buck can feel it slither through the dust that’s caked onto his face, barely able to swallow down a whine. He’s in pain, scared, and alone—all he wants are his friends, his pack, and his boyfriend. God… Eddie. Buck doesn’t remember exactly where Eddie had been when the whole building shifted and decided to swallow him up, but he remembers the Alpha’s voice cutting through the thick smoke as they cleared the condemned building. Eddie’s voice was a soothing crackle in his ear as he called out over the radio which parts of the building he’d checked and which he was heading to next. Even in a building fire, Buck always enjoys the sound of Eddie’s voice.

Buck breathes out a keen of pain and fear, tears starting to streak down his face in messy rivulets. He doesn’t want to cry, but he doesn’t think anyone would judge him for it. Listen, he’s under thousands upon thousands of pounds of rubble, no idea when—or if—rescue is coming, and he’s hurting. The pain in his limbs has settled, but his stomach is tight, and agony flares from it with each breath. It feels wrong, too soft, unnaturally soft—nothing like Buck has ever felt. He’s a pretty muscular guy, and he’s never missed working out his core or abdomen, so typically there’s a hard wall of muscle underneath his skin; however, it’s like his insides have turned to weird, wiggly jello.

It’s a little concerning. Eddie would know what to do. Eddie…

Eddie.

They haven’t been dating for a full year, but Buck feels like it’s been ten years already. Well, that’s almost how long they’ve been dancing around each other, so it might as well be nearly a decade of being together. Buck loves Eddie, and it feels good to love the Alpha without anything stopping him, and Buck has already been thinking of proposing that they get mated at this point. There’s nothing stopping them other than the silly thought of it being too early. Who gets mated ten months into their relationship? People who are impulsive and typically aren’t built to last—that’s who. But Buck knows they’re going to last—his instincts tell him so, and they generally haven’t led him astray.

“Eddie,” Buck breathes into the stagnant air, resisting the urge to sneeze as dust tickles his nose. His hand clenches into a fist atop his stomach, knuckles pressing into his unnaturally soft abdomen. He has to swallow hard through the burst of pain, sucking in a sharp breath and blowing it out with trembling effort.

Carefully, Buck shifts slightly, grimacing when his shoulder drags along a sharp piece of concrete, making him wince as his tender, bruised body zings with pain. He adjusts as best he can, taking great effort not to cave in whatever cavern he’s found himself in as he crawls his fingers up his chest, pats around his turnout coat, and finds his radio. It’s somehow still attached to his shoulder, and the cord feels intact when he runs his fingers along it.

There’s no telling if it’s broken or not; just because it seems undamaged doesn’t mean it actually is in working condition. With Buck’s luck, it won’t be.

Slowly, he clicks the button and says, “Do-Does anyone copy?” Buck lets go of the button, listening to the warbling chirp of the radio, and then light burns through the tiny cavern, and the goddamn radio catches on fire. Buck yelps, tossing the radio away as flames sputter and die just as quickly as they were born, leaving him to grimace at the thing in the darkness. “Guess not,” Buck whispers before tearing the radio from his turnout and tossing the cord in the general direction of where he had thrown the device. “Stupid radio.” Buck blows out a slow breath and winces when his stomach flares with pain once more, a keen of agony ripping from his throat as his head thunks back against a large slab of rubble. Thankfully, his helmet is somehow still on his head, so at least he doesn’t have to worry about a cracked-open skull.

Wait, his helmet… His helmet has a flashlight on it.

Buck’s hand jerks up, but stills halfway through the motion when his shoulder roars with pain. A hissed yelp leaves his mouth as his other hand comes up to gently cup his elbow to balance his quivering limb. “O-Okay, slow it down, Buckley,” Buck whispers, wincing in pain as he guides his hand to grab at his helmet. It’s obvious it’s broken, because Buck can feel the giant crack going straight through the material, but it did its job in keeping his head from having that giant crack in it.

He can also feel his flashlight. Please, please say this one works. Or the one he has as a spare is still somehow in one of his pockets, and hadn’t fallen out during the fall.

Buck very, very slowly takes the helmet off his head, trembling fingers holding onto the thing like it’s precious—which it is, because it might have a way to light up whatever cavity he’s in, give him a way to be found, and see if there are any wounds he needs to tend to immediately. Setting the cracked helmet in his lap, Buck fumbles to find the switch for the flashlight and presses it with tentative hope. Light floods the cavity, blinding Buck for a moment—he winces, closes his eyes, and sees the light flicker rapidly before steadying.

Oh, thank god. Something is actually going right.

Buck peels his eyes open, tears still rushing down his dust-covered cheeks, and sobs a little harder—ignoring the pain in his stomach when his whole chest jumps with the wail—at the steady beam of light coming from his flashlight. He can see, and it’s… not a pretty scene. There’s about three feet of room on either side of him and in front of him, and the rest is… slabs upon slabs of crushed concrete that whines ever so often, the creak and crumble of the slabs making for a very ominous sight and sound.

Buck finds that he’s propped up against a piece of rubble that’s at an angle, with mounds of rebar-filled concrete packed up beside him. It’s like a very, very fucked up nest. He’s never going to joke about rebar with Chimney ever again after this.

If he gets out, that is.

Another sob spills from his mouth, and Buck bites his trembling lip, tasting dust and salt before another wave of agony rips from his stomach. Groaning, Buck leans forward, curling up in a position that makes everything feel less like he’s being stabbed from the inside. In the beam of light from his flashlight, he can’t see any blood darkening the fabric of his shirt, but he’s soaked in sweat. Peeling his shirt up only reveals surface-level cuts and welts that are already starting to take on the ugly hue of bruises. Buck drops the fabric back into place and rests his head on the concrete behind him, groaning into the silent air.

This just sucks.

-

It gets suckier. Buck can’t tell how much time has passed, but it’s enough for something to suddenly flood his pants, wet and sticky, and what the hell? Buck gapes down at his lap, a flush of shame rushing up to his pale cheeks—did… did he just pee himself? Is that what just happened?

Is this seriously happening?

However, before Buck can think much else, a pain similar but greater than before tears through his stomach, and he tosses his head back with a gasp of agony. The noise bounces off the walls of the cavity he is in, making his ears ring as his hands clench into trembling fists, moans of raw pain leaving his mouth as he writhes. The pain doesn’t stop fully, just settles and ebbs enough to let Buck breathe again, raspy pants leaving his mouth as his skin becomes sticky with sweat.

What is going on? Something is very, very wrong.

His inner Omega whines in the back of his throat, fear fogging up his mind. His fists twitch and twist restlessly, grinding his knuckles into his thighs, tiny lances of pain radiating from the spots. He’s scared; he’s so, so scared, and there’s nothing he can do. Buck doesn’t think he could stand with how much pain he’s in, let alone try to dig himself out. All he can do is wait, hope the bright beam of his flashlight shines through whatever cracks are in the pile of rubble he’s trapped underneath, and he’s rescued soon.

For now, all Buck can do is make himself comfortable. He peels off his jacket, feeling trapped and uncomfortable. It takes more effort than Buck would like to admit to peel it off, but he lays it off to the side, staring at the dust-caked and torn-up fabric. It did its job, he has to say. Then, Buck wiggles off his boots—he’s not going anywhere anytime soon, so what’s the need for them?—and flexes his sock-clad feet just to prove to himself that he can, and there’s no spinal damage.

There’s one plus to this whole thing, he guesses.

Finally, once his boots are nudged to the side, Buck leans back and tries to relax. His fingers wring in anxious movements, and his instincts remain a heavy, dark cloud in his mind. He usually has a better hold on them, but he supposes being trapped underneath a ton of rubble for who knows how long warrants some slip-ups in his control. His inner Omega paces like a caged dog, keening and whining in the back of his mind; the heavy blanket of fear, fear, anxiety, fear, pain, fear makes his heart race in his chest, and tears drip from his eyes. He wants out of here; he wants out of these pants, and he wants Eddie.

He wants his Alpha.

Buck cries and shakily undoes his pants, wanting nothing more than to peel the sticky, soaked pants off his aching legs. It hurts, but Buck muscles through, unbuttoning his turnout pants before shoving them down and shakily kicking them off. Then, he gets himself out of his uniform pants, grimacing at the way the sticky fabric peels away from his bruised flesh. It’s uncomfortable, and Buck hates every second of it, but the cold air on his skin is better than nothing. It’s more difficult to get his uniform pants off, along with his boxers, but he manages after a little bit of shimmying and breathing through the pain to bring his hips high enough off the ground to work them off and down.

Then, Buck tugs his jacket underneath his bare ass and sits down. His instincts in the back of his head purr at the obstruction now gone, leaving Buck naked from the waist down, leaning over as best he can with how his stomach feels, and staring at the slick mess between his legs. It’s not pee; sure as hell doesn’t smell like it, but it does smell… sweet?

Specks of blood mar the insides of his thighs, and the sudden realization dawns on him when the clues click in his head. His inner Omega preens when Buck’s idiotic mind finally catches up with the whole situation, and all Buck can do is stare dumbly down at his crotch as it dawns on him: he’s pregnant, and in active labor.

Oh, god. Oh god, oh god, oh god—what the fuck!

He’s pregnant, and- and about to give birth underneath thousands of pounds of rubble! He’s pregnant.

When did he get pregnant?

Was it the time he and Eddie had unprotected sex the day they got together? Was it the time the condom ripped when Eddie knotted him for the first time? Was it the time he and Eddie forewent condoms that one time, but Buck took a morning-after pill? Was it the time he and Eddie had a sex marathon on their one-month anniversary? Was it-?

Well, Buck doesn’t know when he got pregnant, but it’s obvious there have been a lot of chances for him to… At first, their little mistakes of foregoing condoms in the heat of the moment, or the occasional unprotected sex, had them anxious. Their relationship was in its infancy—even though it didn’t feel like that by any means—and neither of them was properly equipped for a baby to come into their life. So, when their little accidents of unprotected sex never led to a baby, they brushed it off, put it out of their mind, and didn’t bring it up until the pregnancy scares passed and Buck didn’t suddenly start showing a baby bump months later.

Plus, all the tests they took as a second precaution turned out negative, so they didn’t think about it.

Only, they should have, and now Buck is at the bottom of a pit, about to give birth alone, and freaking out! He’s freaking out, okay?! Sure, he’s helped other people give birth plenty of times, and has heard time and time again that your instincts will guide you; don’t tune them out in the sex-ed courses he got, but this is different. This is happening to him! He’s about to push a baby out of him alone, with nobody around, nobody coming for him for who knows how long, and, oh god. Oh, god, his baby is going to be born in a freaking cavity underneath a collapsed building that could cave inward and kill them at any second if it’s destabilized at any point of the rescue mission.

Oh, god.

A whine rips from his throat—pain, fear, pain, fear, fear, fear—and bounces around the little pocket in the rubble, tears spilling down his face at a speed unlike before. His breath hitches violently in his chest as another contraction—because that’s what they are!—tears through his body, feeling as if he’s being gutted like a fish. He keens just as his inner Omega does, fear swallowing any proper thoughts other than the register of pain and I want Eddie, I want Alpha, I want Eddie.

The thoughts cloud his head just as much as the pain blankets his body, leaving him a panting, writhing mess. Pain slithers up his trembling thighs, and the overwhelming need to push burns in his belly and steals his breath from him. Buck doesn’t fight the instincts; instead, he braces his shoulders against the angled slab behind him, curls his fingers into white-knuckled fists, and pushes.

A howl of pain rips from his throat, making stray pebbles fall from the shelves of concrete they’ve settled on as he pushes. Buck’s feet dig into the ground, slipping as he hisses and pushes through the burn. It’s terrible—the worst pain he’s ever felt, and he got exploded and had a firetruck land on him, and this is worse. Sobs burn his throat as he tries to keep himself from screaming his head off. His knuckles are a sickly white, and his fingernails are digging into his palms so hard, he’s sure to draw blood soon if he hasn’t already.

The need to push ebbs for a beautifully scarce moment, letting Buck breathe through the tight band around his chest. He gasps for breath, drawing in the dust-covered air in huge, overwhelming gulps—he feels lightheaded and sick, wanting Eddie by his side, but he’s alone in a stupid collapsed building under so much rubble; he can’t even comprehend how much there is.

Belatedly, the realization that Eddie might be trapped as well sends him into a panic. His mate might be dead, dying, or trapped under the same building he’s trapped under, and Buck can’t do anything. Sobs tear from his chest, shaking him with the force of them, and all he can do is scream and sob and push when the need builds in his core once more.

His instincts are going haywire, the keens of agony from his inner Omega matching the ones that slip between his sobs when screaming takes too much effort, and the only sounds that come out of his mouth are moans of agony and hitched breaths. He feels dizzy with anguish—is Eddie dead, is Eddie alive, oh, god, he wants Eddie, he wants his Alpha; his mate—and pain, head lolling back to rest against the cold concrete as he pushes, his entire body tensing. His toes crack with how tightly they’re curled, and his back bows in an uncomfortable angle.

A loud groan falls from his mouth as he writhes, body stiff and uncomfortable. His fingers curl hard, taking on the form of shaking fists that press into the ground and grind tiny bits of debris against his pale skin. It hurts, it hurts so bad—worst pain of his life, he swears. Nothing will compete against this, and it’s even worse when it feels like his chest is starting to cave in, the constant thought between the agony being is Eddie dead? Is Eddie alive?

I want Eddie.

“Ed-Eddie,” Buck mewls in pain, feeling utterly delirious. There’s a thick, angry cloud of buzzing instincts beginning to form in his mind, inner Omega pacing like a caged animal. Buck doesn’t blame it, considering he himself is feeling just like that—caged underneath thousands upon thousands of pounds of debris. “Wa’… wan’ Ed-Eddie,” his words slur, and Buck swirls his tongue around in his mouth, restless and needing to move; only, when his tongue slides around, he pricks it on the sharp edges of his fangs, which he hadn’t even realized had descended from his gums.

Buck blows out a desperate breath, gritting his sharp teeth, and panting in the dusty air as he looks down at himself. Sweat covers the lower half of his body as it quivers, muscle spasms and pain flaring in every patch of skin and muscle. His turnout coat, which he’s sitting on, gives little relief, but it’s enough to keep his bare ass off the cold and pebble-covered concrete underneath him. He almost wants to probe between his legs, try to feel for a head, or something, but he’s far too terrified to. He knows what to do, but damnit, he’s scared—he’s scared that this will all become a reality if he goes, checks, and actually finds a baby coming out of him.

Of course, it’s all going to become very, very real when said baby actually exits his body, but he’s allowed a little delusion, alright? He’s all alone, and he’s coping the best he can.

“M’g-gonna make you sleep on the damn c-couch for the rest of your life, Eddie,” Buck whispers, trying to bring some humor to the situation by cursing Eddie. Seriously, stupid Alpha and his stupid handsome face, and stupid hate of condoms, and stupid big, delicious knot.

Stupid Alpha. Stupid, stupid Eddie. Buck is going to bite him the next time he sees him, and then curse him. Then he might cry a bit—all in due time. First, he needs to get this baby out of his body so they don’t die a miserable death down here, and then he can tend to them while Eddie—who isn’t dead, god, he better not be dead, the asshole, Buck will figure out necromancy if he has to in order to bring Eddie back—and the 118 digs him the hell out of this place.

This place will not become his coffin, even if it’s feeling a little more like that with each passing moment.

“I-I can do this,” Buck whispers, and shuffles slightly further down the slab that’s behind him, gritting his teeth at the pain of each movement. A whine rips from his throat that’s loud enough to make the debris around him creak, and Buck’s breath is stolen from his lungs for a scarce, vicious moment. Thankfully, nothing collapses inward, and Buck continues to move slower than a sloth to find a more comfortable position. “I can do this,” Buck mumbles as he finds it, and a moment later, is struck with the need to push.

Buck’s head thunks against the concrete, sending sparks through his vision as his muscles clench, his toes curl, and he pushes. Buck grits his teeth, presses his tongue against the back of them to keep his screams locked away, and feels like his entire body is being ripped apart. Breath leaves his lungs and does not return, but Buck doesn’t care—all he cares about right now is pushing, and damning Eddie and his stupid knot to hell.

Seriously, he might never let Eddie come near him again if he has to go through this again with another kid.

A growl rips from his throat at the agonizing pain, the wisps of remaining air in his lungs whistling out of his nostrils as he continues to push. The feeling ebbs, and Buck lets the momentary reprieve hit him like a train. His brain feels fuzzy, and Buck thinks he should be worried about it—blood loss, concussion, all the other terrible things that can go wrong with giving birth—but all he can focus on is sucking in dust-covered air into his lungs, and trying to starve off the need to push for another second. Just another moment, and he’ll be good to go.

Buck’s teeth gnash, sharp tips cutting into his delicate gums and drawing blood; the taste of the blood on his tongue makes his head spin, and Buck feels like he wants to vomit. He can barely breathe through the sudden nausea, stomach rolling, and body revolting against the taste. Everything hurts, and this situation is already indescribably sucky, and he thinks it’ll be even worse if he throws up on himself.

A whine of quiet agony leaves his mouth, tears slithering down his cheeks. He’s so, so incredibly tired, and all he wants is for all of this to stop: to sink into this concrete slab, admit defeat, and waste away here. He can’t do this; he can’t—not… not without Eddie. Not without Eddie holding his hand, whispering sweet nothings even when Buck screams at him to shut up and shove it. He doesn’t want to do this without Eddie.

He’s always thought about what’d happen when—not if, with them, it’s always been a when—he’d get pregnant, daydreaming about an idealistic labor with Eddie by his side, there through every step of the way. The pain would be terrible, he knew, but he thought having Eddie there would help. Eddie’s always been a balm to his pain, the Alpha’s scent filling his nose and soothing his agony. Then he’d get to see Eddie cradle their newborn, show Chris his new, itty-bitty baby sibling, and it’d all be good. Idealistic; the one thing that could actually go right in Buck’s life.

That hope was quashed underneath the rubble Buck is currently giving birth under.

A breathless sob rips through his mouth as his sock-clad heels dig into the ground, gasps of agony leaving his mouth as he pushes again. The fog in his mind is getting worse with every push, and Buck thinks he might actually have to start worrying about blood loss and dying down here, but he can’t focus on that right now. What he needs to do right now is get his baby out of him, and worry about everything else afterward. He needs his baby safe. He wants a healthy, happy baby to present to his Alpha—who can’t be dead, damnit; Buck doesn’t know if Eddie is dead or alive, because they aren’t mated, and Buck can’t feel Eddie through a mating bond that doesn’t exist—after this whole ordeal.

Buck swallows sharply, throat clicking in the tiny cavern he’s inside, breath sharp as it exits his nose. Each inhale and exhale feels like a sharp knife in his side, making him wince and keen slightly in the back of his throat, wanting the pain to stop. He wants it all to stop, and he wants Eddie and his baby, but Buck can only have one of those right now.

He keeps pushing.

It’s agony—true, unbridled agony. Buck doesn’t think any type of pain he could experience from here on out could hold a candle to the pain of giving birth. He doesn’t think he wants to do this again. If he does, he wants Eddie by his side the next time.

“Ed-Eddie,” Buck moans, miserable and his hips aching something fierce. His whole body hurts, but the fire in his hips feels worse than the fire in his leg when it had been crushed by the firetruck. “Wa-n… want you,” Buck groans to nobody, gritting his teeth until they shriek and his jaw aches enough for him to try and focus on loosening the tension there. Breathing in the tiny respites he gets from the pain and need to push, Buck sucks in air like he’s been afflicted with the sin of greed—heavy, full inhales of dusty air that quell the burn of his lungs, but leave his mouth feeling like he just ate a bag of climbing chalk.

It’s a miserable side effect.

“Unnnnnnghhh, ff-u-uck,” Buck whimpers, wanting nothing more than to scream his lungs out, to vocalize the pain overwhelming his body, but he’s terrified of shifting the debris around him and causing a cave-in. “H-Hurts, hurts,” Buck says to nobody, because nobody is there to hold his hand, smooth a hand through his sweat-slick curls that stick uncomfortably to his forehead, or comfort him. All he has is himself and the echo of his voice bouncing off the walls, a depressing comfort.

“C-C’mon B-u… Buckley,” Buck says to himself, keeping his voice low because that’s all he can muster the strength to do now—screaming seems nice in theory, but the aforementioned terror of shifting the debris with it is an issue, and it would take far too much energy that he needs to focus on pushing this gigantic baby out of him. Seriously, he feels like he’s about to tear something fierce, but Buck is banking on not tearing.

He’s seen far too many dams bleed out quicker than what can be managed from tears during childbirth. “Push, damnit, p-push,” Buck’s words lose force at the end as the need to push washes over him, and Eddie’s distant voice—a memory, though Buck would exchange anything to hear the man’s actual voice—echoes in his head, a temporary balm and the encouragement he needs from the words: C’mon, Buck, don’t give up now.

He isn’t going to give up now.

Not when Eddie, Chris, and the 118 are holding out hope that he’s alive down here.

Buck grits his teeth, feels the sharp bite of his fangs digging into his gums, and growls in the back of his throat as he pushes. The pain itself feels as if it’s slithering into every nook and cranny of his body, making a home there, and multiplying with flawless and streamlined effort. He feels like he’s been set on fire, ripped apart, and stabbed a thousand times simultaneously. The scream settling in the deep pit of his throat is something he can barely hold back, toes curling so hard they crack and pop, but he doesn’t focus on that. All that he can focus on is pushing, more pushing, and a little more.

Until, blissfully, the pain ebbs, the heavy fog in his mind lifts for a moment, the tears sliding down his cheeks pause for a blink, and the shattering cry of his baby—his baby, his pup, his baby, his and Eddie’s baby, their pup—echoes in the cavern he’s in. The pain falls away like Buck is shrugging off a coat, leaving it behind as his mind zeroes in with sharp, unwavering clarity on the messy, squirming baby between his legs, lying on the inside of his turnouts, caked in filth and fluid, and there.

Alive. Okay. Screaming. Baby, his baby is okay; his baby is crying, red in the face, squirming, and okay.

Buck sobs harshly, the sound ping-ponging around the walls and making his head feel like someone is holding a tuning fork against it and just hit it about a thousand times. He doesn’t care, though. He doesn’t care about the way his hips, and really his entire body, protest with the way he almost folds in on himself to scrabble for his baby.

It takes a moment to realize he still has his gloves on, and he tears them off with his teeth, spitting them off to the side so he can scoop his baby up. Flushed cheeks, clammy, wet skin, fat with rolls that have rolls, Buck stares at his pup with a sharp, loving focus that leaves all the pain, agony, and misery in the background.

It also lets him look at his baby and wonder how on earth he managed to hide that inside of him for nine months. Seriously, his and Eddie’s pup has some heft to—… to him. A little boy, chubby as can be, and perfect. Buck might be a little biased, considering he just pushed said baby out of him, but he doesn’t care.

His and Eddie’s son—sons, really, because Chris has been his for a long, long time; longer than any of them would like to admit—is perfect. He has a tiny tuft of slick blond hair; he’s as red as a brick, and once he’s done crying his eyes out, safe in Buck’s arms, Buck can see the rich brown eyes—Eddie’s eyes—staring back at him.

Buck cries. He sobs just like the baby in his arms, still in so much pain; it’s become a distant buzz, akin to that of TV static drowned out by the elation he feels right now. He swipes a hand over his baby’s cheeks, purrs deep in his chest, and breathes without the incessant need to push, push, push hanging over his head.

Instead, something darker looms over his head: not safe, not safe, baby isn’t safe, we aren’t safe, protect baby, keep baby safe, not safe. It’s a mantra that fills Buck’s mind as he realizes that they are still under a couple thousand tons of rubble; he has no idea when rescue is coming, and he just gave birth alone, unsure if he’s going to be bleeding out in the next few moments.

Panic swirls in his mind like a whirlpool suddenly popping up in a tranquil ocean. It churns the waves, pulls anything into the inky black pits in the middle of the pool, and ends Buck’s elation at having his pup in his arms.

Buck swallows, spit tasting like dust and ash. He looks down at his baby, who has calmed significantly, with little whimpers and tiny huffs occasionally leaving his mouth as he’s cradled against Buck’s shirt-clad chest. His little hands have balled into tiny fists, fingers wiggling, and toes curled up. He’s so perfect, and he has no idea how much danger they’re both in.

A soft whine crawls up Buck’s throat as he grapples for his uniform pants, tears open his pockets to grab the tiny first-aid kit he always carries, and starts cleaning off his baby. He’s still attached to the placenta by his umbilical cord, but Buck allows his claws to come forth, winces as he uses the tiny clamp tucked in the kit, and cuts the cord with a claw-tipped finger.

It’s not at all sanitary, but it’s as good as it’s going to get when Buck is encased in a dust-filled cavern, okay?

Buck rips open a few packets of gauze to wipe off all of the fluids, tossing them off to the side when they get too dirty. He doesn’t feel bad for the mess he’s making because all he cares about is getting his baby as clean as possible. His sweet pup wiggles slightly, but Buck shushes him with a soft, radiating purr in his chest that quells any discomfort for his pup.

The tension in his body leaks out of his muscles as his pup finally settles, the scrunch between his brows dissipating as he drifts off into a dreamless sleep, as Buck wipes the last dregs of fluid off of his tiny, chubby body. Well, he’s not that tiny—god, he’s so big and fat, and Buck could just eat him up—but he’s so small and precious as he rests against Buck’s chest, his own rising and falling in perfect, sleepy breaths. Buck tracks them with a narrowed, hawk-eyed focus, letting each inhale and exhale calm his nerves.

Buck strokes a thumb over his pup’s hair, his wrist pressing against slick hair to scent his baby. It’s a slow, methodical scenting that leaves his pup reeking of Buck and that milk-sweet scent that pups have, making him smile softly as he gazes down at the perfect baby he somehow housed for nine months without any idea. Seriously, he has no idea how he did that, but he supposes he’s seen odder things—the human body is extraordinary, or something like that.

Blowing out a soft breath, it halts in his chest when the whole building—or whatever is left of it; Buck isn’t quite sure of that, considering he’s stuck in a pocket of debris—groans and wheezes. His mind hisses, and his body reacts quickly; even with the agony simmering in his belly that flares with a vengeance when he moves, Buck curls around his baby to shield him from the dust that falls all around them.

Buck’s sharp stare whips around frantically, looking at the walls of his prison—which are really just a bunch of slabs and shattered debris packed tightly together and on top of each other, preventing him from moving anywhere—for any signs of collapse. Thankfully, none make themselves known, but Buck doesn’t feel relieved; instead, a deep pit of dread begins to open in his chest. Buck gnaws on his lip, the fear and worry about not making it out of here alive making the pit in his stomach even worse.

What is going to happen to him? To his baby? His pup, just barely an hour—if that—old, born underneath the remains of a building that fell on top of Buck, doesn’t deserve to be in this position. To be sentenced to possibly dying under this building when it inevitably collapses once more, his life that waits ahead of him ripped away from him if that does happen.

A sharp, hitched whine leaves Buck’s mouth as he stares down at his baby. His face is peaceful, though smudged with dust, and he continues to rest in Buck’s arms, unaware of anything—especially not the danger they’re both in. Buck can feel the tears slipping down his cheeks as the building groans again, and Buck bears his teeth at it uselessly. His heart hammers in his chest as he huddles against a corner, protecting his baby with his body, and allows himself to retreat into a dark, warm space in his mind as his instincts take over.

He doesn’t know when—or if—help is coming, but he can give himself this quiet mercy of drifting along inside his own head for the time being.

-

It’s been hours; hours, and hours of waiting around, digging through rubble, and trying to keep his chest from caving in on itself. Eddie’s been quietly beside himself the entire time, from when the building groaned as it died, buckling in on itself and burying his best friend—his boyfriend, his mate, his Omega—in thousands upon thousands of pounds of rubble. They aren’t mated yet, so Eddie cannot even have the relief of feeling Buck through a mate bond, so he’s flying blind, praying to a god he hasn’t believed in for a very long time, for his boyfriend to be alive as they dig through the ruins.

Eddie blows out a shaky breath, swallowing thickly as they clear away another piece of concrete. Rebar sticks out of the crumbled edges, dust falling off of it like water as it’s slowly pulled upward. The sound of concrete on concrete has been grating on Eddie’s nerves since they pulled away the first piece four hours ago. The sound hasn’t stopped being ear-piercing and horrible since.

Eddie watches the concrete slab lift away, the heavy-duty crane groaning slightly underneath the weight of it as it’s hauled off to the places where no signs of life have been confirmed. It took hours to clear everything and make sure they weren’t accidentally burying Buck underneath even more debris.

Three out of the four quadrants of the downed building have been checked, and of course, the last one they excavate is likely the one that Buck is to be in. Buck’s luck, he supposes.

The thought leaves a sour taste in Eddie’s mouth. He has to stop himself from spitting out the spit in his mouth, swallowing it down with a grimace hidden by his face shield, fingers clenched tightly at his sides. The material of his gloves presses into his sweaty palms, exhaustion creeping into his muscles, but Eddie presses on. He has to; he’s not leaving Buck down here, underneath this building. He absolutely refuses to, and he knows the rest of the 118 share the sentiment. He’s not leaving Buck to rot here—not that he would be rotting, because Buck isn’t dead, damnit.

“Light! There’s a light!” Hen’s cry makes Eddie jerk, nearly tripping over himself—and the sea of rubble he’s been wading through for the last hour—to get to where Hen is. He goes as slow as he can, holding himself back from breaking into a dead sprint lest he bring the whole damn thing down on all of them, or make something unsteady shift.

Eddie picks his way through the debris, hopping carefully over everything to get to where Hen is pointing. Chimney comes around the other side, coming to stop right next to Hen a moment after Eddie does. Bobby isn’t too far behind either, his hands tucked into fists by his side; Eddie gets how he feels—if anyone else on the team feels the same as Eddie does, it would be Bobby. Buck is basically Bobby’s pup at this point, the older Omega having adopted the younger one over the years, drawing Buck into the Grant-Nash fold officially. Even though there’s no paperwork or adult adoption, Buck is Bobby and Athena’s kid, and Eddie can sympathize with how terrible Bobby is feeling right now, because he’s right there with him.

“Where?” Bobby says, and turns his gaze to where Hen is frantically pointing. They all do the same, squinting at the debris field that used to be a building, trying to find the light Hen is seeing, but nobody can. “I can’t see anything, can you two?” Bobby asks, turning to Chimney and Eddie, but both of them shake their head.

“I-It’s right there, I swear I can see it,” Hen pants, her finger shaking as she points once more. Bobby shakes his head, blowing out a slow breath that fogs up his face shield before he knocks it back with a rough hand.

Eddie swallows down the keen of pain, his heart continuing to hammer against his ribcage; it’s been like that for hours, and it’s not getting any better. He feels faint, honestly; Eddie is on his last legs, and he feels like he’s failing Buck by feeling this way. He knows Buck wouldn’t quit until he’s got his hands on Eddie if the blond were in his position—that’s exactly what Buck did when Eddie got trapped in that well, and Eddie intends to return the favor.

“Cut the lights,” Bobby commands once he keys the radio. Eddie blinks, wondering why Bobby is making the crew outside cut the lights, but he realizes if Hen is seeing light—Buck’s light—then they’ll be able to see it when it’s completely dark out; instead of trying to find a stray beam of light in the plot of land the building once resided in that’s swathed with industrial lights guiding the way for the late-night excavation, it’ll be much easier to find it when it’s pitch black outside. “Did you hear me? Cut the lights!” Bobby barks after a moment of nothing; their radios are silent when it comes to replies from the crew outside on the street.

There’s a loud click, and then they’re plunged into darkness. A new moon rests in the sky, providing no light, and the power to the street was cut hours ago when the building fell, damaging power lines and the generators; nobody wanted to deal with an electrical fire or a generator exploding on top of finding Buck. With none of the industrial lights they brought in lighting up the downed building, they’re left standing in the dark.

Eddie blinks sharply, willing his eyes to focus and adjust to the dark more quickly. His breath hitches when they finally do, and Eddie can see the light Hen was talking about. About ten feet below them, in the unfinished beginning of the underground parking garage that got scrapped when the building’s owners declared bankruptcy, is a pile of debris creating a dome-like shape. Most of the debris—heavy slabs of concrete full of rebar piercing the crumbled sides, broken pillars, and smaller pieces packed into the cracks—is tightly packed, but in one tiny spot, there’s nothing.

And it’s enough to let a beam of light shine through, slicing through the darkness like a saber; a quiet beacon that makes Eddie’s heart slam harder against his ribcage, his breath hitching and rattling his chest. “I see it,” He croaks. “I see it.”

“I told you!” Hen barks and keys her radio before anyone else can speak. “We found him! Turn the lights back on, and get everyone out here; we’re going to need all hands on deck,” She calls into the radio. A moment later, the lights return, blinding all of them—groans rip from all of them, and hands clap over their eyes to allow some semblance of relief to their eyes as they adjust to the bright lights once more.

Eddie feels blood rushing in his ears, and through the roar of it, he hears the rest of the firefighters who have been working with them to search the entire plot of the building rushing toward them to help get Buck out. His inner Alpha howls in his head, not understanding why Eddie isn’t rushing down there, tearing away rubble to get to Buck right this instant; it doesn’t understand proper safety procedures, and the fact that Eddie cannot move thousands of pounds of rubble by himself. He can damn well try, but his failure would just set the team back in getting Buck out.

“Eddie, I want you checking to see where we can anchor the ropes to pull the debris off. Hen, I want you to check your medical supplies and grab anything from the rig you don’t have right now. Chim, check if you can make contact with Buck and see if the pile is unstable. I want all hands on deck checking the integrity of that pile! Let’s go, people!” Bobby’s voice cuts through the static filling Eddie’s ears, and he’s off like a shot—well, off like a shot with the reminder that every step could make him trip and impale himself on all of the debris and rebar strewn all around, or cause the earth to shift and collapse the gigantic dome of rubble that Buck is trapped under, squishing his mate—toward the rubble.

Toward Buck.

Eddie skids down the slight incline, boots shifting dirt and crumbled concrete no bigger than pebbles underfoot. His hands hover over the large slabs of concrete resting on each other, eyes scouring every inch of it. Chim comes to stand beside him before looping around the entire thing as best he can, his soft mutters disappearing as he does so around the bend. “I’m coming, baby,” Eddie whispers under his breath, putting his palm to the concrete, but leaving a gap. He’s terrified of touching this thing and having it come down like a house of cards. “I’m coming, Buck.”

Foot traffic grows heavier as other firefighters spill into the area, clearing a path for extraction and carrying down a backboard for the stretcher, no doubt already waiting on the street, flashing red and blue lights scattering over the scene. However, the majority of the lights are washed out by the large floodlights held high above the scene.

Time passes slowly as Eddie and Chim work to figure out the best way to deconstruct the dome of debris that’s formed around Buck. Bobby infers from above, using the fact that he’s standing about six feet above them to see if their plans will hold. It takes a while, and more than one hissed argument between him and Chim—he wants to shout, oh, he does, but he’s also terrified of bringing this thing down on Buck if he raises his voice—before they have a plan hammered out. The entire time, he and Chim have been walking the outline of it, poking holes where they can, and seeing if they can get a visual inside.

“Oh, I got something,” Chim murmurs as he gently wiggles another rock free, tossing it to his feet and brushing away dust. Eddie is beside him, holding his breath as Chimney plays a very, very dangerous game of real-life Jenga. Only it’s with debris that weighs thousands of pounds that could be held up by one of these rocks. “Booh-ya,” Chimney mutters softly, a sharp grin on his face as he grabs his flashlight, clicks it on, and flashes it in the hole.

A low, rumbling growl echoes from the hole, making Eddie’s hair stand on edge. He knows that growl; he has heard it more times than he’d like to admit, and knows that Buck is very, very unhappy and scared. Terrified, even. Eddie doesn’t blame him, but there’s… something off about the growl. It grates at his instincts and makes his teeth feel on edge.

“Ooh, someone’s not happy to see us,” Chimney jokes, but Eddie doesn’t bother replying. Instead, Eddie listens closely, butting Chim out of the way with a soft shoulder nudge. His boots crunch on the stones and dirt, making enough noise to elicit another growl from Buck. This one is louder and meaner, ending with the beginning of a snarl that makes Eddie’s hair on the back of his neck stand.

“Something is wrong,” Eddie announces softly, the words heavy and frigid on his tongue. His blood feels like ice as he looks at Chimney, whose face is a picture of confusion. He doesn’t doubt that Chimney has no idea what he means, considering the man is a Beta and doesn’t have the instincts to distinguish between sounds on an instinctual level. “There’s something wrong with him, Chim. That’s… That’s not a good-sounding growl.” Eddie’s tongue feels like lead, and his heart continues to hammer against his chest, listening desperately for another sound. He’d take anything: Buck calling out to them, Buck whimpering, anything.

Instead, the only thing that greets them is silence, and the faint sound of panting.

“Cap, I think there’s something wrong with Buck,” Eddie calls into his radio, keying it with a shaking hand. He steps away from the small hole as Chimney clicks his flashlight off, looking between Eddie and the debris dome concealing Buck from them.

“What do you mean, Eddie? Have you made contact with him?” Bobby asks, his voice strained through the radio. Eddie has no doubt the words he’s speaking are putting dread in Bobby’s stomach.

“Not exactly, I… Chim and I found a small hole in the wall; we wanted to see if we could see anything in it, or if Buck would react if we shone a light in it… He did, and it’s… not a good reaction, Cap,” Eddie swallows thickly, desperate to keep the quiver out of his voice. Chimney’s staring at him with open worry in his eyes now, no doubt clocking the fact that Eddie’s free hand is shaking.

“Eddie, what’s going on with Buck?” Bobby asks, in unison with Chimney, who has put his hands on his hips and stares worriedly at the dome.

“I think… I think he’s feral, Cap. I think Buck has gone feral,” Eddie delivers the news with dread in his heart, and his inner Alpha howling in the back of his head, a mournful and terrified braying that makes him feel nauseous. Going feral is bad; retreating into your head and letting your instincts take over even for a moment is hard enough on someone, but there’s no telling how long Buck has been feral for. Eddie’s seen too many cases of someone going feral for ten minutes, even less, and watching it ruin them mentally and physically. For Alphas, it can sometimes mean being locked up in an Aggressive Alpha facility until you croak, or are humanely put down—like a dog—because being in that state is often described as torture.

For Omegas? It can be a death sentence. Going feral and remaining feral for an extended period of time can put stress on the Omega’s brain and body—so much adrenaline and stress hormones that it can flatline an Omega within hours, not days.

And Buck has been trapped down here for hours, and nobody knows—probably not even Buck, considering he’s pretty sure the man isn’t wearing a watch, or it got broken in the fall—when he went feral.

“Are you sure, Eddie?” Bobby asks, breaking Eddie out of his mind. Eddie wants to be wrong, dios mio; he’d give anything to be wrong, but the way his instincts are reacting to Buck’s growl, it cannot be anything else. Plus, if Buck weren’t feral, he’d be calling out or talking to them, considering he is conscious.

“I don’t want to be right, Cap,” Eddie replies, his voice thick with a wobbling anguish that makes his eyes sting. “But I’m almost positive Buck has gone feral. He’s conscious, and you know if Buck is conscious, he’s talking, but he’s not right now, and… the way he’s growling at us, Cap…” Eddie trails off. He swallows thickly, squeezing his free hand into a fist to stop the trembling of his hand. Chimney stares at him with a hollow expression, shoulders slightly slumped, no doubt running through all the calculations the paramedic knows about feral Omegas and what happens to them afterward.

It’s not good.

“Okay,” Bobby replies thickly, his slow exhale crackling through the radio as he keeps it keyed. “We’ll… deal with that later. Right now, focus on getting him out of there, alright? Put it out of your mind as best you can, and focus on clearing away all of this debris.” Eddie hates it, and so does his inner Alpha, but he knows it’s for the best.

“Roger, Cap.” Eddie lets the hand on his radio fall away, relaxing his entire body before shaking himself out, flipping his face shield down, and pulling on a mask of determination. “Let’s get him out,” Eddie declares, his breath fogging the face shield for a moment, and he lets the devastation show on his face for the time it takes for the fog to melt away. By the time it does, Eddie’s face is a stony, resolute expression of determination. Chimney nods wordlessly, and they get to getting Buck the hell out of this debris dome.

-

“Slowly, slowly,” Eddie mutters as they pull away another slab of concrete. The top came off easily, but Buck has somehow tucked him into a place where nobody can see him, and nobody is willing to climb up in there until they have a good route in and out of the debris dome. Thankfully, after taking off the two slabs that made the makeshift roof, the walls are easy. None of the ones at an angle are load-bearing and come away easily, leaving the ones stacked atop one another to be tugged away slowly to make said route in and out.

Chimney and Hen are standing away from the big slab being tugged away—the fourth one—ready to jump in once they get it clear. Eddie is in the same position, only he’s a little closer, as he’s the one signaling to the people above with the winch on when to pull.

The slab comes away with a crack forming in the center as it slams into the ground, kicking up dust that Hen, Chimney, and Eddie slice through as they scramble into the dome. However, their frantic movements are halted by a sharp, dangerous snarl. Eddie feels his breath freeze in his chest as he gets his first look at Buck in hours. The Omega is huddled in a tiny corner of the dome, pressed tightly against the concrete slab wall, and he’s half… naked?

Buck’s bare legs are tucked against his chest; his inner thighs are slick with blood, and they quiver minutely. Eddie drags his eyes away from Buck’s bare legs to look at the blond’s face; however, on the way there, his eyes catch something else: something in Buck’s arms. Buck is curled around it, growling at them with not a hint of recognition in his eyes, but Eddie can make it out well enough.

There’s a baby in Buck’s arms, a baby that begins to whimper softly as Buck’s growls pitch in volume when he, Hen, and Chimney remain frozen at the sight in front of them, too shocked to move away.

There’s a baby in Buck’s arms; that’s the thing that gets Eddie. It’s the thing that wakes up his inner Alpha with a vengeance, his mind running desperate calculations—the baby looks fat and healthy, and that’d mean full term, which would mean… Unless Buck has cheated on him, that’s Eddie’s baby. It’s Eddie’s baby, without a doubt. Buck gave birth to their baby under thousands of pounds of rubble, and went feral afterward.

The keen that comes from Eddie feels like it’s been ripped from his body. Buck’s eyes snap to him, a shred of recognition in his pale blue eyes making Eddie stumble forward. Buck doesn’t growl at Eddie, but he does when Hen and Chim finally shake themselves free of their stupor, following Eddie’s stumbling steps forward.

Hen’s hand shoots out to grab his arm, wrenching him to a halt. Eddie’s head whips around, swallowing a growl when Hen pins him with an uncomfortably perceptive look. “Easy, cowboy,” She says, gripping his arm with a strength that makes him halt completely. “We don’t need two feral firefighters on our hands. Clear your head, Eddie. Maybe talk to him instead of going all growly,” Hen states, knocking Eddie out of his stupor. The sub-vocal croon in his throat dies after Eddie realizes he’s been making the sound for more than a second, and he blows out a slow, shaky breath.

“Sorry,” Eddie rasps as he returns his gaze to Buck, who has huddled deeper into the corner, splitting his focus between growling at them and crooning softly at their baby, shushing little whimpers and the beginning of cries. Eddie’s chest warms as he watches Buck be an attentive dam to their baby, but Eddie has already known that Buck is a good dam—he’s been an amazing dam to Chris for years, longer than Eddie would like to admit to. It doesn’t feel different, because that’s their kid, just like Chris is their kid.

“Buck,” Eddie calls softly as he shuffles forward, bringing Buck’s sharp, pale blue eyes toward Eddie. “Hey, amor, it’s me,” Eddie murmurs, watching Buck’s eyes shift from him to Hen and Chimney, who are standing back but are obviously anxious to get to checking Buck out. Eddie doesn’t blame them; he’s right there with them.

Eddie walks forward slowly, watching Buck’s minute facial expressions with each step. Buck doesn’t growl at him, but he does eye him warily, some base recognition in his eyes that gives Eddie enough leeway to make it to Buck without any snarling. He crouches in front of Buck slowly, shushing the blond when he lifts his lip to try to growl at him. “It’s okay, baby. It’s just me, Buck; it’s just Eddie,” Eddie soothes, and watches the way Buck’s pupils flex at his name. “See? Just me, mi vida.” Eddie croons softly as he crouches on the ground and starts to tug his gloves off. Buck eyes Hen and Chim warily over Eddie’s shoulder, but watches him with curiosity in his eyes and with not a shred of hostility.

Eddie lets his gloves fall between his legs as he works to undo his turnout coat, shucking it off himself. Buck watches him as he does so, a soft, shushing purr leaving his mouth when their pup starts to fuss in the silence. Eddie smiles softly, watching Buck for a moment before he pulls his turnout coat off fully and focuses on picking off the patches on his scent gland. While there might be no mating bite on either of their necks, Buck will recognize his scent, and it could be the very thing that anchors Buck to humanity and doesn’t let being feral break him from the inside.

The first patch peels off, tugging at the small hairs on his neck, but Eddie doesn’t care about the slight sting of pain. Instead, he discards the transparent, oil-soaked patch and moves to the one on the other side of his neck, then to the ones on his wrists. He can see the way the idle permeation of his scent is already beginning to hit Buck: the blond’s nostrils flare, his pupils dilate, and he shifts closer to Eddie unconsciously. “See, baby? It’s me. I’ve got you, amor, you’re safe now, you and our pup,” Eddie croons softly as he discards the last scent patch, ripping it off his wrist gland and tossing it off to the side.

Buck’s breath hitches violently in his chest, eyes wandering toward Hen and Chim, who, when Eddie looks back at them, look absolutely pained to be sidelined by Buck’s need to protect his pup from anyone. Eddie knows the two medical professionals are dying to get to Buck’s side to check him and their pup out, but they can’t come closer now—not yet, at least.

“They’re fine, Buck. It’s just Hen and Chim,” Eddie draws Buck’s attention back to him with soothing words and a push of his scent—cinnamon whiskey, bittersweet dark chocolate, and the smell of ash and dust diluting the spiced undercurrent of his scent—that makes Buck’s shoulders relax a minuscule amount. It’s enough for Eddie to shuffle forward, hand out, letting Buck choose whatever he wishes to do next.

Buck stares at him warily, nostrils flaring as he takes in lungfuls of Eddie’s scent. With each breath, it isn’t non-feral awareness that fills Buck’s eyes, but the bone-deep recognition of Eddie’s scent, of Eddie, that has Buck shifting where he’s sitting, looking unsure but wanting. Eddie smiles softly, crooning softly in the back of his throat, and smiles a little wider when Buck returns the sound with a nervous chirp of his own. The chirp gives Eddie the confidence to shuffle forward—as awkward as it is to do so in a crouched position—until he’s right in front of Buck, looming over the blond slightly. “Hi, amor,” Eddie whispers softly, “who do you have there?”

Buck stares silently at him, breathing in and out slowly, before he shifts his legs forward slightly to allow Eddie to see their pup. Pale blue eyes stare up at him, an anxious flutter to his lashes that Eddie soothes with a gentle croon that builds naturally in the back of his throat.

Their pup is adorable. Slick blond hair has already begun to fluff up, creating a little puff on their baby’s head. Long blond lashes drape over apple cheeks, fluttering with each sigh and soft whine their pup lets out as Buck cradles them to his chest, the ample pudge of their baby’s body making Eddie want to nibble on the fat rolls. Eddie absolutely wants to eat their pup up; they are precious.

He and Buck make a hell of a cute kid, if he does say so.

“Look at them,” Eddie croons, and watches Buck’s cheeks color slightly, lashes fluttering as the purr in Buck’s chest gets stronger. “You did such a good job, Buck. Such a good job, amor,” Eddie praises sweetly, leaning close—very slowly, so he can wrench back if Buck tries to bite his face off; not that Eddie thinks he would, but he’s dealing with a feral Omega here; they’re quite unpredictable—to run his nose along Buck’s sweaty forehead.

He drops a kiss there, shuffling forward and gently bringing his turnout coat around Buck’s legs to drape it over him, giving him some covering on his lower, nude half. “My good Omega, look at how perfect our pup is.” Eddie looks down at their pup, who has finally opened their eyes, and stares up at Eddie with the same eyes Eddie is staring down at them with: deep, rich chocolate brown. Then, Eddie catches sight of something, and his croon gets heavier in his chest. “Look at how perfect our son is.” Eddie can feel the way his eyes go hot and dewy as Buck mewls a soft sound and adjusts his hold on their son to allow Eddie to see him better.

Eddie shuffles to the side slightly, coming to rest on his knees and calves to stare at their son. He’s perfect, and Eddie is already soaring over the moon with love for his second pup. Buck stares at him for a moment, pupils thin daggers in pools of blue before they drift behind his lashes as the Omega leans to the side and tucks himself into Eddie’s open, awaiting arms. The Omega’s nose slides up Eddie’s neck, pressing into the meat of it with a half-keen, half-growl muffled there. Eddie croons harder in the back of his throat, hand coming up to cup Buck’s head and pull him deeper into his embrace, holding his mate close. “I’ve got you, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

Buck purrs into his neck, but it morphs into a growl when Hen and Chim’s shuffling feet crush debris under their feet, the sounds echoing in the space. Buck pulls his head off of Eddie’s shoulder to growl at them, big, dangerous fangs bared as he curls into Eddie, using his body to shield their pup from view. “Buck,” Eddie chides with a rumble in the back of his throat. Buck’s growls cut off, his wide eyes looking at Eddie. “They’re friends; they’re pack. They aren’t here to hurt you or our pup,” Eddie rumbles.

The dubious look of confusion on Buck’s face says it all; he’s too feral to know Hen and Chim as anything other than a threat. Buck growls softly at him, trying to make him understand the threat without words—Eddie gets it, but he’s thinking rationally, not based on instincts.

Eddie growls back, shaking his head and nosing at Buck’s forehead. He lets Buck sink into his embrace, staring at Hen and Chim with distrust in his eyes. Buck shifts further into his chest when Hen takes a cautious step forward, stalled by Buck’s vicious hiss. It doesn’t seem anyone other than Eddie will be allowed close to Buck any time soon.

“Did you find him?” Bobby’s voice booms, the crunch of debris underfoot echoing as he rounds the corner. “Is he okay? Nobody was speaking into the radios, so I came down to check,” Bobby’s voice, laced with obvious but well-hidden anxiety, makes Buck growl softly in the back of his throat. Bobby steps through the hole they made in the dome, his breath hitching when he sees Buck. “Buck,” Bobby croaks, his eyes wide, and his hand falling away from where he was halfway through grasping at his radio.

Buck stares at Bobby for a long, quiet moment before the older Omega moves forward, skirting right past a frozen Hen and Chim. “Cap, wait!” Chimney yelps, his attempt to grab Bobby and wrench him back circumvented by the way Bobby jerks away, and he continues to walk forward. “You can’t—… okay, yeah, you can do that,” Chimney groans softly.

Eddie watches warily as Bobby comes to a stop about five feet away from them, knocking his face shield up, before taking his helmet off completely. “Hey, kiddo,” Bobby murmurs, staring at Buck with the same adoration and love Eddie had been staring at his own pup with just a moment ago. “Oh, pup, look at you…” Bobby whispers, and Buck chirps softly, shuffling against Eddie’s chest. Buck adjusts their son in his arms, and Eddie steadies him with a hand on his big coconut head, letting Buck use his free hand to reach out toward Bobby, seeking comfort in the older Omega. “I’m here, Buck, I’m here.”

Bobby moves closer, uncaring of the way his knee creaks and pops as he moves closer in his crouch before coming to sit on Buck’s right, mirroring Eddie’s position. He leans back slightly to unclip his turnout coat, pulling his radio off of it as well, before draping the larger coat over Buck’s shoulders. Buck purrs softly as he’s enveloped in two turnout coats, keeping his body covered and warm. “There you go, Buck. All safe,” Bobby murmurs, scrubbing a hand through Buck’s damp curls. Eddie smiles softly at his Captain, watching Buck lean away from him just slightly to drape himself against Bobby’s chest, taking comfort in his dam while trusting Eddie to keep a supportive hand on their son so he doesn’t go rolling out of Buck’s arms.

Buck’s lashes flutter weakly, his purr weakening as the exhaustion no doubt catches up to him. He sags into Bobby’s chest more, and Eddie gently plucks their pup from his arms. He doesn’t move away with their son, keeping him directly in Buck’s field of vision as he cradles their chubby pup in their arms, shushing and crooning at him when he stirs with a whimper at the move. “I’ve got you, mijo,” Eddie murmurs softly, bending down to press a kiss against the poof of hair on his son’s head, nosing along his forehead and smelling Buck’s scent all over their pup. It makes Eddie smile as he adjusts his son to rest him along only one forearm so he can add his scent, letting it swirl perfectly with Buck’s and their son’s milk-sweet pup scent.

“Hen, Chim, come here,” Bobby calls into the radio, and Eddie returns his gaze toward Buck, who is slumped in Bobby’s hold, lashes fluttering, but his eyes never close for more than a moment, watching Eddie and their pup, and Hen and Chim’s slow walk toward them, worried about setting Buck off again. “He’s spending all of his energy on keeping his eyes open; you guys are safe to come over.” The declaration from Bobby seems to give Chim and Hen the confidence they need to finally rush over; true to Bobby’s words, Buck barely manages a weak growl, but Bobby silences it with a soft purr, and Buck slumps further into the older Omega’s embrace.

“Hey, Buck,” Hen murmurs, her hand coming down to squeeze Buck’s ankle as Eddie shifts more toward Buck’s head to get out of the way so Chimney can take his spot. “We’re all here now; we’ve got you.” Hen soothes as Buck stares at her, gaze listless and exhausted. He doesn’t even stir when Hen gently takes Eddie’s turnout coat off his legs to check him.

“She’s got him, so I guess I get the little guy,” Chim says, and shifts his body toward Eddie and their son, an eyebrow raised. Eddie feels reluctant to adjust his arms to let Chimney look at his son, protective instincts flaring inside of him, but he tamps it down, knowing that his son’s health is more important than a little protective instinct. “Hello there, aren’t you cute?” Chimney coos as he snaps his other glove on, wiggling his fingers as he begins all of the rudimentary checks of the pup.

Eddie watches Chimney like a hawk, as does Buck; even through his drooping eyelids, Buck’s pale blue eyes remain locked on the Beta, completely ignoring Hen as she checks him out for internal tears, bleeding, and anything else. Chimney coos at their son, wiggling his hands in his face gently before he checks his airways and listens to his heart and lungs.

“Strong, healthy baby,” Chimney declares with a flourish, smiling at Eddie before grabbing a shock blanket from his kit and unrolling it so Eddie can swaddle their pup in it. It comes easily to Eddie; muscle memory from doing this with Chris and other babies he’s had the blessing of helping bring into this world makes swaddling his son quick work. The shock blanket crinkles with each move, but before long, their baby is tucked away in the blanket, swaddled and resting in Eddie’s arms once more after a moment. “Think it’s time to get them out of here? It’s getting cold, and temps still have a few degrees to drop before it hits the lowest.” Chimney turns to Hen, who is pulling off her gloves and replacing them with new ones so she can begin to tend to Buck’s scrapes and minor wounds.

“I think so. From what I can feel, he didn’t break anything, which I’m shocked by, and everything else is scrapes and bumps. Let’s get the backboard down here and get him loaded up.” Hen says as she tapes another pad of gauze onto a freshly cleaned, weeping wound on Buck’s shin before wiping up the saline solution and blood. “Let’s get the backboard down here,” Hen calls into her radio, and a minute later, as Hen continues to clean and bandage wounds, a few firefighters from the 136 descend with a backboard in tow.

“Backboard incoming,” one of the 136’s firefighters calls, flashing them a smile behind his face shield. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah, Buckley… and co…?” The firefighter’s cheery words fade away as he—Eddie’s pretty sure his last name is Smith, or Smithy—catches sight of the baby in Eddie’s arms and quickly puts two and two together. “Well, I think this is going to be quite the story for the little one’s wedding, huh?” Smith(y?) calls, smiling good-naturedly as the joke makes Eddie huff a sound of amusement, and Hen, Chim, and Bobby crack a few chuckles.

Loading Buck onto the backboard takes little to no effort, thanks to the mild sedative Hen pushes as the guys from 136 prep the backboard. Buck is nothing but a limp, growly lump of limbs that Eddie shushes with soft croons, and staying close to his mate so Buck doesn’t freak out when he’s strapped in and picked up.

All things considered, getting Buck out of the place he’s been in for hours is a breeze. The 136 cleared an easy path up to the street, and all that’s left is marching up that path with Buck on the stretcher, their son in Eddie’s arms, and Hen, Chim, and Bobby behind them. Buck’s head remains tilted to the side as best he can manage, keeping Eddie and their son in his line of view as he’s carried out of his makeshift prison of the past few hours.

Eddie smiles softly at Buck, watching lucidity and exhaustion mingle in Buck’s eyes as his eyelids continue to flutter, fighting sleep and the sedative as he’s transferred to a stretcher and loaded up in the 118’s ambulance. Eddie hops in with him, gratefully taking the new swaddle that isn’t a shock blanket to re-dress his son in. He’d put their son on Buck’s chest for skin-to-skin, but Buck’s shirt is being cut off, and the wounds previously hidden are being treated by Hen and Chim, so there’s no room for his son to rest on his dam’s chest.

That’s alright. Eddie carefully straps himself in on the bench and holds his son tight for the ride to the ambulance. Eddie’s warm enough for both of them, and he’s more than happy to share that warmth with his son.

-

“H-He’s so cute, Dad,” a voice whispers to Buck’s left, catching his attention as he drags himself through the fog of sleep and utter, bone-deep exhaustion. “His rolls ha-have rolls.” A giggle breaks through what feels like packed cotton in his ears, this muffling wall that makes Buck want to groan.

“Yeah, he does, doesn’t he?” Another voice murmurs, and Buck can tell that it’s Eddie—even through the cotton in his ears and the fog filling up his brain, he knows that’s his Alpha. “You were a lot smaller than he was; you were so little that I was worried about breaking you half the time.” Eddie’s voice is a soothing rumble that Buck desperately latches onto, letting the Alpha’s words drag Buck to total consciousness.

“Hi,” the first voice whispers, giddy but gentle in tone. “I-I’m your big brother. We’re going to be the coolest brothers ever.” Chris, that’s Chris. Buck can hear him clearly now as he fights through the haze he’s in; it feels like he’s wading through molasses, but Chris and Eddie’s voices are the anchor Buck holds onto as he begins the slow, arduous battle of dragging his eyes open or making any noise to let the two know that Buck is awake.

He wants to see his Alpha and his pup.

Or… pups, actually. Buck remembers now; he gave birth while buried under thousands of pounds of debris after a building fell on top of him. The reminder of the fact that he now has a second son—because his instincts have been claiming Chris as his pup for a long time, longer than Buck would like to admit—makes him fight even harder.

Hard enough that his obvious spike in heart rate—if the quicker beating on the monitor that’s grating on Buck’s nerves is any indication—gets Eddie’s attention. He can tell it does, because a gentle hand lands on his forehead, pushing his curls back as a soft kiss is pressed there. “Are you with us, amor?” Eddie murmurs as his thumb strokes a mindless, looping path on his skin. It gives Buck something to latch onto, and with a sudden burst of strength, Buck finally peels his eyes open.

Thankfully, the lights are dim, and Buck doesn’t have to squint at the harsh onslaught of bright, overhead hospital lights that attack his poor eyeballs when he usually wakes up in a hospital. Eddie’s face comes into focus after a monumental effort to blink the blurriness out of his eyes. The Alpha has a soft smile on his face, and Buck keens softly in the back of his throat, wanting desperately to reach out to him, but his limbs feel like they’ve simultaneously turned into jello, or gotten filled with lead and concrete since the last time he was conscious.

Speaking of which, when was the last time he was conscious?

Eddie seems to read his face—likely the confused furrow between his brows that takes more effort than he’d like to put there—and smooths a hand through his hair before answering the question on his face. “You’ve been asleep for three days, and before you ask, yes, our son is okay; no, I have not named him—though I have fended off Chimney’s attempts at offering up Howard the II a few times—and yes, our other son is absolutely in love with him. Everything is okay; son number two is happy, healthy, and is resting right now. Son number one is-“

“Right here!” Chris chirps, his head butting against Eddie’s, and filling Buck’s view with his Diazes smiling faces. “Hi, Buck,” Chris’ hand wraps around his, sliding his fingers between Buck’s before squeezing gently.

Buck smiles back, energy slowly returning to him—he’s still utterly exhausted, but it’s less now that he’s awake and lucid. “Hi, Superman,” Buck murmurs, throat dry and hoarse around the greeting. Eddie ducks out of his view and comes back a moment later with a paper cup and a bendy straw that he guides to Buck’s lips, letting the blond suck down slow gulps of water.

“There ya go. I’ll get you more water if you need it, okay? Better now?” Eddie asks, and Buck nods after polishing off all of the water in the cup, a low groan leaving his mouth as the coolness of the water soothes his poor throat.

“’eah,” Buck murmurs, squeezing Chris’ hand once again. It elicits a smile from the teenager as he sits on Buck’s bedside, giving Buck the perfect view of the clear bassinet holding his second pup. A soft whine crawls from his throat as he turns his head and nearly smacks his forehead against Eddie’s nose to try to see his son more clearly. “Pup,” he croaks, his free hand fisting the bedding weakly, wanting nothing more than to push himself up into a sitting position, but he has no energy.

“Okay, amor, I’ll grab him. Easy, now,” Eddie soothes, pressing his lips to Buck’s forehead in a soft kiss before pushing him down by his shoulder to keep him from moving. Eddie’s quick but gentle in grabbing their son, taking the few steps toward the bassinet to grab their pup out of it. He looks so small in Eddie’s arms, but Buck knows it’s an illusion; he remembers pushing that gigantic baby out of him. It was not fun.

“Here he comes,” Eddie croons, rounding the bed so Chris doesn’t have to move. Buck rocks his head to the right, watching Eddie sit down carefully, their son safely held in his arms as he adjusts himself to press against Buck’s side before helping Buck move his arms so he can take his son into them. “There we go,” Eddie whispers, his arm coming to rest under Buck’s so he can help Buck hold their son.

Buck looks down at his son, tracing pudgy features, sun-kissed skin, and the puffball of wispy blond curls on his head. “He’s perfect,” Buck murmurs, smiling at Chris, who moves to lie on his left, the teenager carefully resting his head on Buck’s shoulder. Buck leans over to press a kiss to Chris’ head before returning to look at his second son, who has opened his eyes to stare at Buck with the same chocolate eyes that Eddie has.

Silence lapses in the room as Buck takes in being surrounded by his first son, his Alpha, and his newest baby. His head still feels like a mess of fog, and his body is weighed down by fatigue Buck knows will take time to shake, but Buck doesn’t care. All that matters is he’s surrounded by his Diaz boys, holding his healthy baby. “I think we should name him Megatron,” Chris whispers, startling a crackly laugh out of Buck. “Or Christopher the II, I’m o-opening to negotiations.”

“Chris, we are not naming your baby brother Megatron. We talked about this!” Eddie admonishes, but Buck is too busy snickering and laughing so hard that it upsets his perfect little fat bundle of joy, who whines and scrunches his face up at being jostled.

Buck thinks they’ll be okay. Baby Megatron doesn’t seem to share that sentiment, but Buck thinks he’ll come around.