#there will never be a fic I write that Eddie isn’t alive unless it’s for extreme angst purposes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

buckleysjareau · 4 years

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when i’m walking in my sleep

anonymous asked:

Hii, i love your writing, just finished your new buddie fic. Loved it! If you have inspiration for a storyline like the following i would be so happy to read: Eddie taking care of Buck after the screw removing surgery.

I deleted the original post due to it not showing up in the tags, so sorry if you didn’t see it, anon! But here it is again :)

trigger warnings for this: use of painkillers even though taken as prescribed, mention of an unspecified nightmare, and to be safe emetophobia as it’s mentioned

Eddie has always had the innate need to care for the ones he loves and the ones who need it. When he was five, he tried his hardest alongside his sisters to save an injured squirrel that ended up at their doorstep. He’d take care of his parents when either one of them was sick as he grew up. The need to help everyone never simmered, only grew when he joined the Army, boiled over when Christopher was born. Firefighting was the perfect job for Eddie, he got to feed his desire to help those in need and find the camaraderie within his team that he’d been missing since his Army days.

Helping people helps him, so he really can’t stop himself from jumping at the opportunity to take Buck home after he gets his screws out when everyone else’s schedules are too busy. He cares about Buck a lot -- maybe too much and not in the way someone cares about their best friend -- so making sure he’s okay and comfortable after a surgery he knows Buck was scared shitless for, it’s not a big deal for Eddie.

He finds that maybe he’s a little in over his head when Buck greets him with a loopy smile. He’s just a tiny bit in love with Evan Buckley, and having dealt with post-surgery Buck before, Eddie is sure his heart might burst with every zany grin and stage-whispered expression of appreciation.

Buck’s surgeon, who Eddie has met more times than one should have, strolls into the dimly lit recovery room with an amused smile. “Good to see you awake.”

Buck snickers. “You say that every time, Doc. Soon you’re going to have to stop acting surprised that I’m invincible.”

Eddie can’t tell if what Buck just said makes sense, a twenty-four hour shift with very little sleep does things to your common sense, but his doctor seems like he’s heard it before.

His doctor shakes his head, albeit fondly, as if it’s something he expects but can’t believe he’s hearing. “How many times am I going to have to warn you that you’re not invincible before you stop ending up in my OR?” Eddie suspects every time. “Hopefully, there won’t be a next surgery for you Mr. Buckley. The screws are out, everything should be smooth sailing after that, unless you decide to test that invincibility theory.”

Eddie can’t hold back the laugh as Buck’s face displays his disbelief. “I may be stupid, doc, but I’m no idiot.”

His doctor turns to face Eddie as he facepalms. “I wish you all the luck and patience in the world taking care of this one.” He jests.

“You know I’m always gonna need it, Doc.” Eddie grins. “There anything I should watch out for or steer clear of with him?”

“You know, the usual; don’t let him walk without his crutches, make sure he eats before he takes his next dose of pain medicine we’re sending home with him, and keep him off the leg as much as possible. Elevate it, ice it if the pain gets too much, spare some time for your own sanity.”

Buck grumbles. “I’m not that bad, right? Tell him, Eds.”

“My mom taught me to always tell the truth.” Eddie teases but relents when the pout Buck gives goes straight to his heart. “Fine. You’re a joy to be around, Evan Buckley.”

“You heard him, Doc! I’m a joy to be around!”

“Never said you weren’t, Buck, just saying your joy is here more than either of us would like.” He smirks. “Alright, alright, I’m sure Eddie wants to get out of here as much as you do so you’re free to go. Everything looks fine post-surgery and as long as you take correct care, it’ll stay fine. You know to call me if there’s an infection or it takes longer to heal than it should, you know the drill. I will see you in six weeks, Buck. Please not a second sooner?”

Buck sends him a sloppy thumbs up and thanks him, says he can’t promise anything but he’ll try his best and Eddie doesn’t want to think about waiting through another one of his surgeries. He’s fine with the aftercare, but waiting to see if Buck came out of each surgery alive is something similar to hell, he’s sure.

When the doctor leaves, Buck looks Eddie’s way. “Eddddieeeeee, my man, a little help?”

Eddie shakes his head and grabs the bag of Buck’s clothes before going to help Buck sit up on the side of the stretcher he was on.

Buck giggles. “My hospital gown is open in the back so don’t look. My ass isn’t really my best feature.”

Well that’s a straight up lie.

“Aw, Eds, thank you. Your butt’s pretty great too.” Buck grins like the compliment means the world to him. The implied compliment that Eddie definitely did not mean to say aloud.

The only thing that keeps him from hiding himself in embarrassment is that Buck is as high as a kite on his painkillers and most likely won’t remember even leaving the hospital.

He prays the blush doesn’t show on his face as he helps Buck into his basketball shorts. He couldn’t tell you why he gets flustered every time he had to help Buck this way. They were adults, it wasn’t anything domestic, really, just… intimate. He’d help whenever and whatever way Buck needed, because if Eddie Diaz was anything, he wasn’t shy. He was never uncomfortable. Just flustered beyond belief.

Buck falls back onto the stretcher dramatically after he’s got his shorts on, taking Eddie down with him. He’s laughing hysterically as he wraps his arms around Eddie’s body in a side hug.

“Hey, Eddie?” He looks up at him. “You’re strong. Can you carry me to your truck?”

Eddie lets out a surprised laugh. “I don’t think so, buddy. I can ask for a wheelchair?”

Buck snorts. “Being wheeled out is just embarrassing, man,”

“And being carried out isn’t?”

He responds with a whine. “You don’t have to be smart all the time, you know? My bones feel like they’ve been replaced by jelly, you won’t even try?”

Eddie fondly rolls his eyes. “You can lean on me, okay? I don’t have to carry you to not let you fall, Buck, I’ve got you.”

“You’ve got me?”

“Yeah, I’ve got you. Now, up you go.”

By the time Buck is settled in Eddie’s living room, foot elevated under a pillow on the coffee table and more blankets than Buck could ever need by his side, they’re both exhausted. Eddie plops down next to Buck on the couch and doesn’t question it when he leans his head on Eddie’s chest.

Eddie raises an eyebrow when Buck moans. “You alright?”

“I don’t wanna throw up.” He whines. “Make it go away.”

“You’re nauseous?” Eddie asks, already standing to get the trashcan from his bathroom for him but is stopped by Buck. “I’ll be right back, just gonna get you the trashcan just in case.”

Eddie has always hated pain medicine. He hates not having any sense of control of what he’s saying if he’s going to remember it the next day, he hates the nausea that comes with, and he hates that every time, without fail, it makes Buck cry.

His lip is quivering as he looks up at Eddie, and it’s just then that Eddie realizes how actually gone he was for Evan Buckley.

“Don’t leave me.” Eddie probably would have teased him if Buck had been whining but he wasn’t. There was real fear in his voice, like Eddie would leave out the bathroom window or something.

“So you’re not nauseous anymore?” He goes with instead, eyebrow raised and arms crossed. He remembers Buck calling it the dad stance, but if it gets Buck to let go of his shirt so he can grab something to stop him from vomiting on his floor, he’ll use it.

Buck shakes his head, stopping abruptly as he pales.

Eddie snorts. “Don’t lie to me ever again.” He reaches for Buck’s face, cupping his jaw in his hand and rubbing his thumb across his cheek. “Let me at least get you a bowl. You’ll be able to see me better in the kitchen.”

Buck finally lets go of the grip on Eddie’s shirt and turns to watch Eddie walk away. Eddie hates himself for the way he subconsciously walks to maybe impress Buck. Thanks to the painkillers, he knows that Buck thinks his ass is nice, he can feel Buck’s eyes watching the back of him, and Eddie prays that Buck is at least the slightest bit interested in him.

What is he thinking? There’s no way Buck could be interested. They’re best friends, that’s all they are, it doesn’t matter how stupidly and pathetically in love Eddie is.

Buck is half asleep by the time Eddie is back with a bowl that shouldn’t be missed.

The second Eddie sits down next to him and hands Buck the bowl, he holds it to his chest and goddamnit why is this so adorable?

“I doubt you’ll make it through the first minutes of it, let alone an episode, but you down to watch Avatar?”

Buck smiles tiredly, eyes refusing to open. “As long as you’re talking about The Last Airbender and not the creepy movie.”

Eddie chuckles. “You think Avatar is creepy?”

“You don’t?” Buck raises an eyebrow, still not opening his eyes, and gives Eddie a look that says he’s shocked no one else feels the same. “I read somewhere there’s a new one coming out in 2021, like, why?”

Eddie snickers. “I can kind of understand your fear of Child’s Play because it’s supposed to be horror, but c’mon, Avatar? I cried, if I remember correctly.”

Buck gasps. “Child’s Play is horror, thank you very much, and terrifying. End of discussion. Put on The Last Airbender so I can stop thinking about that thing.”

“That thing has a name, Buck. Chucky. He’s your friend ‘til the end.” Eddie teases but opens Netflix on his TV, quickly selecting from his Keep Watching list.

Buck doesn’t say anything after that and Eddie assumes he’s asleep, until Buck mumbles something.

“What was that?”

“Would you stop being my friend if you knew I was in love with you?” Eddie hears him loud and clear this time but he’s stunned at what comes from his best friend, disbelief that he even heard him correctly.

“Come again?”

When Eddie doesn’t get a response, he turns and finds that Buck fell asleep right after he gives him a heart attack.

Fantastic. Fan-fucking-tastic. Though he thinks he heard Buck loud and clear, it can’t be right. He dreamed of Buck reciprocating his feelings many times before, but that’s all Eddie could ever believe it was. Dreams. He hadn’t even known Buck was interested in men, let alone interested in him.

Eddie doesn’t know how long he’s in his head for, but when he notices the sweat glistening on Buck’s forehead, none of it matters. He places the back of his hand on Buck’s forehead, fearing a fever due to an infection or flu, but he doesn’t have a fever.

Then Buck jolts and suddenly Eddie knows what’s going on. It’s not the first time he’s seen Buck in the middle of a nightmare, it’s not his first time dealing with nightmares, either, so he knows what to do.

He distances himself from Buck as far as he can and still is able to shake him. He knows from personal experience to never stay close when waking someone from a nightmare, the black eye he’d accidentally given Buck one night being proof.

“Hey, Buck, you gotta wake up, buddy.” He shakes his shoulder lightly. “It’s just a nightmare, you’re not there.”

When Buck doesn’t wake up after a third try, Eddie tries a different tactic and scoots a little closer, grabbing Buck’s shoulder and shaking heavier than before. “Evan, Evan, wake up!”

Buck jolts awake, Bobby’s name on the tip of his tongue, swallowed by a scream. He can’t catch his breath, Eddie can tell he hasn’t fully grasped that wherever he just was in his nightmare was long gone and that he’s safe so he does everything he can to clear that fog.

He takes Buck’s shaking hand in his own and squeezes. “Hey, Evan, you’re at my place, on my couch, nowhere near any danger. You’re safe, okay?”

He can practically see the fog clear from his mind, taking in his surroundings and squeezes Eddie’s hand in his. “Eddie?”

“Yeah, man, I’m here. Feeling calmer?”

Before Buck can respond, he winces and muffles a scream of pain by biting on his lip. Eddie jumps into action as Buck grabs onto the bottom of his cast tightly, as to squeeze out the agony he was feeling.

Eddie checks the time. “You’re due for your next dose of your painkiller at least.”

But Buck isn’t listening to him. He’s too focused on the pain that Eddie can only now vaguely remember after getting the bullet removed from his shoulder. Before long, Eddie realizes Buck is mumbling something in between choked sobs and muffled screams of agony.

“Evan,” He tries to use his name again in hopes it’ll get him to focus on Eddie and not the pain.

Buck’s face is twisted in pain when he finally looks at Eddie and not for the time, he wishes he could take Buck’s pain away.

“I hate Freddie Costas. I hate him so much.” He sobs freely, still holding his bad leg like it’s a matter of life or death. “Fuck, it hurts.”

Eddie stands. “I’m gonna get your pain pills and an ice pack.”

Buck gulps the pill down with no water and Eddie has to stop himself from finding that oddly one of the most attractive things he’s seen Buck do. He also holds back a cringe, never one for taking pills in any way.

As Eddie unwraps the beginnings of Buck’s cast, Buck starts to calm, his tears slow, his body relaxes against Eddie’s side.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers.

“Don’t be. Trust me when I say I get it.” He looks Buck directly in the eyes. “Never feel sorry about feeling things.”

He doesn’t ask if he wants to talk about it. He knows Buck will talk about it if or when he wanted so it ends up being a useless question.

It’s quiet again after that. The only sounds that could be heard around Eddie’s was their breathing and the air conditioner running. Avatar is paused on the TV and Eddie doesn’t make any move to unpause it.

Then Eddie is in his head again.

If he heard right, why would Buck be into him? He wants more than anything for it to be true, but he couldn’t see how it would be true. But he knows he heard what Buck asked, knows he should be thrilled Buck loves him back, but the doubts eat him up. What if he was just asking in general, not personally? What if he thought he was talking to someone else? Maybe he’s exaggerating his gratefulness for taking care of him and he means it platonically?

It’s killing him not knowing.

Eddie clears his throat. “Hey, uh- earlier you asked- before you fell asleep, do you-”

He’s a stuttering mess, hasn’t stumbled over his words this much since he asked Shannon out in their senior year.

Buck cuts in, putting him out of his misery. “If you’re asking if I remember asking you if you’d still stay my friend if you found out I was in love with you, then yes, I do remember and I’m so sorry.”

Sorry for what? I’m sorry I was just loopy, it was just a question, I’m not actually in love with you?

Buck swallows hard. “Do you hate me?”

Eddie’s eyes widened completely at the question. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because I’m in love with you and continued to be your friend without telling you as such?”

His heart is racing a mile a minute because Evan Buckley loved him back and he’d had no idea the entire time. He shakes his head with a smile and unshed tears burning his eyes. “I would be the biggest hypocrite if I hated you for that.”

It looks as though Buck hadn’t heard right as he shook his head, but he hopes he understands.

“Come again?” Eddie can’t help but snort at how similar Buck and him are sometimes. “Why are you crying? Don’t cry!”

“I’m crying because I love you and I just found out it’s reciprocated, okay? Give me a second here.” He lets out a mix between a laugh and a cry. “Holy shit, you love me!”

Eddie’s mind is reeling. The more the shock wears off, the more joy and excitement he starts to feel.

“You love me!” Buck grins and leans forward, stopping to look Eddie in the eye and ask for permission -- which he eagerly grants -- and soon, what Eddie dreamed of since the Grenade Incident is happening. Their lips touch and Eddie Diaz tries not to be a cliche, but it’s a whole show of fireworks, kissing Buck. More than he could have ever imagined.

It’s an hour later, and they’re laying in Eddie’s bed, bodies pressed up against the other. Eddie hasn’t felt so secure in years, can’t even remember a time when things felt right until then. Lying next to Buck, things feel light for the first time since he doesn’t know how long, and the feeling of security is what lulls Eddie to sleep.

Until Buck starts to sniffle and then Eddie is wide awake again.

“You okay, Buck?”

Buck shakes his head rapidly with a pout. “No, I have to pee.”

He tries to keep in his laughter, he really does, but the shock and amusement outweighs his ability not to laugh at things that aren’t funny to other people.

Buck sniffles once more. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re adorable and I love you.” Eddie’s lips quirk into a soft smile. “Now, c’mon, up you go.”

Buck grumbles. “Love you too.”

When he’s done, Eddie turns back to get his crutches and gets the surprise of a lifetime when Buck reaches out to slap his ass.

“Hey!”

“What? I did tell you you had a nice ass.”

“Oh my God.”

#eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #soft eddie diaz #911 #buddie fic #my fics

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seeaddywrite · 5 years

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give me strength so i can see (buddie; 9-1-1)

wow, okay, this is absolutely not something i should have written before i finished one of my wips, but this is what happened. i fully blame 9-1-1 & the chemistry between Buck & Eddie, because i couldn’t NOT write fic after the tsunami arc ended. this is my first foray into the fandom & their heads, so please be kind. also, this fic would not exist in its entirety without @soberqueerinthewild, who is always the best cheerleader, beta, & person around. <3 i’ve been in a bit of writing slump lately, so it feels really good to actually finish something!

warnings for self-loathing, references to depression, & excessive amounts of adverbs.

The moment that Buck sees Christopher safely reunited with his father, all of the stress and adrenaline that had kept him going for the last several hours floods away instantaneously. He collapses forward, uncaring of the hard ground that rushes up to meet him. Hen and Chimney stop him from face-planting on the floor of the emergency hospital, but Buck barely tracks their reassurances or their hands as they try to assess the damage he’s done to himself in his frantic attempts to find Christopher. Buck wants to tell them to stop, that he’s fine, that all he ever needed was to witness the scene unfolding in front of them, with Eddie and Christopher, but he can’t quite manage the words through his chattering teeth. Blood loss is a bitch, and teamed with exhaustion, Buck knows it’ll take a while before he’s fully able to interact with the world again.

Right now, that feels like a positive. The only two people he wants to talk to are half a hospital away, wrapped up in each other. Even when he regains feeling in his legs and is steady enough to leave the hospital, he doesn’t try to go near them. Instead, Buck watches from a distant cot as Christopher is checked out by a doctor and his father’s careful, assessing gaze, and slips through Chim and Hen’s guard to leave the makeshift hospital a moment after Chis is pronounced healthy, if tired and cold.

It’s cowardly for him to leave like this, he knows, without so much as an apology to the brave little boy or any attempt to make this up to Eddie, but Buck is too tired to fight, and he’s not sure he could remain standing under the direct onslaught of Eddie’s entirely justified anger that night. Buck would face up to his mistakes later, but for now, it seems kinder for all of them to slip back to the apartment that doesn’t quite feel like a home and hide away under the blankets that still reek of depression and listlessness.

It’s hard to sleep that night, despite the exhaustion plaguing him. The day’s events play on repeat in his head, waking him with a jolt every time he manages to doze off. Every mistake is so obvious in retrospect -- had he really expected a child with cerebral palsy to keep himself steady on top of a floating fire truck? If he hadn’t had to play the hero, if he’d just stayed up there with Chris, it never would have happened. Buck would have had the little boy securely in his arms the entire time. He would never have been lost, or dependent on the kindness of strangers to get him to a hospital. Buck would never have been forced to look Eddie in the eye and tell him that he’d lost his son, or watch that familiar, impossibly deep gaze fill with grief and horror and blame before Chris’s miraculous reappearance.

If Buck hadn’t had to play the fucking hero, maybe he would have finally been able to tell Eddie the truth about how he felt in the rush of victory, of survival and reunion. Maybe he would’ve finally had the guts to admit that being a best friend isn’t what he wants anymore, to say the words he’s been mulling over for what seems like forever. Maybe, just maybe, he could have discovered whether or not there was a chance for them to take things further -- but none of that matters now. The fear of being into guys -- or at least Eddie? Buck hasn’t quite figured that part out yet -- pales in comparison to the pain of losing a best friend and Christopher, who’d managed to get under his skin and cuddle in close to Buck’s heart when he wasn’t looking.

In the end, Buck gets out of bed earlier than usual, giving up on sleep. There’s a slim chance that leaving his bed will stop his thoughts from continuing on that same, downward spiral, and Buck’s nothing if not a gambler. He winds up at the kitchen table, staring out at the sunrise with a beer sitting half-empty in front of him -- just staring out as the new day begins. It’s incredible, he muses, that from here, he could almost pretend nothing catastrophic had happened the day before. The sun is still rising, the birds are still chirping, the neighbors below him are still arguing at decibels loud enough to wake the dead. It’s the same as always, and just as he had for the last six months, Buck finds himself wondering how the world outside can simply keep going when his own personal world had come to a screeching halt. Only today, it’s worse than just losing his job, his identity. Now he’s lost his best friend, too, and the trust of a child he cares about. The losses are far more grievous.

A knock at the apartment door shakes him out of the self-loathing stupor, and Buck drags his aching body out of the kitchen chair with a groan. His bad leg throbs with the addition of his weight, but Buck has a lot of practice at ignoring that, these days, so he continues on with barely a limp, and opens the door, expecting to find Maddie, with her relentless optimism, or Bobby, with yet another pep talk prepared.

Instead, Eddie stares back at him from the hallway, his hands resting comfortably on Chris’s small shoulders as the little boy totters forward on his back-up crutches to hug Buck with a wide, blameless smile. Buck stands, stiff with astonishment, and pats Chris awkwardly on the back, still staring at Eddie, trying to figure out what the other man is playing at. Old instincts make him defensive, stiff, as Eddie leads Christopher into the apartment and begins rattling off the contents of the bag he’s plopped on the table next to Buck’s half-empty bottle.

It’s hard, but Buck manages to tear his attention from Christopher, who’s sitting happily on the coffee table in front of the TV, to try to get a read on Eddie’s expression. Is this some kind of test? Is Buck supposed to play along, or is he supposed to blow up so Eddie has an easy excuse for Chris about why he’s not allowed to come over anymore? Buck has no idea, and the indecision makes him swallow harshly. He doesn’t want to fuck anything up any worse than he already has— by some miracle, he has both of the Diaz men in his home again, and God, Buck wants to keep them there. The sense of family they’ve given him in the last six months of hell is better than anything he’s had since he left home, and losing it once almost killed him. Losing it a second time, now, before he’s had the chance to say something? Buck doesn’t think he could do it.

“You want me to watch Christopher?” The words are incredulous, and not half as even as Buck would have liked, but he manages to keep his voice from cracking, so he takes the win where he can.

Eddie’s less than a foot away now; Buck has closed the distance between at some point, but he honestly couldn’t pinpoint when. There’s no waver in his dark gaze, no uncertainty or anger, and Buck has no idea what to make of it, especially when his response is teasing and light. “It’s easy— he’s not very fast.”

Buck swallows the surprised response that threatens and schools his expression into something resembling calm, but his gut churns nervously. Everything about this interaction screams too easy, and if he’s learned anything through physical therapy, it’s that if something seems too easy, it probably is. No pain, no reward, his therapist is fond of reminding him, and Buck has always agreed. Then again, he’s never feared physical pain. This? The emotional toll of facing Eddie and Chris after his failures? That’s fucking terrifying.

“After everything that happened-“

“A natural disaster happened, Buck.”

Part of Buck wants to scoff, to point out everything that had happened after the natural disaster couldn’t be blamed on nature, not unless it was Buck’s. It is in his nature to tend toward making stupid fucking calls in the heat of the moment, after all. The other part of him soaks up Eddie’s words like a plant does sunlight. He keeps his eyes averted, though, still unable to accept it, unable to even fathom the possibility that Eddie doesn’t hate him. Because he should. Buck knows, because he’s pretty sure he hates himself.

“I lost him, Eddie,” he manages, the reminder a low, defeated croak. Memories from the day before flicker in the spaces between words, broken images and impressions of the desperate search for Christopher, and Buck has to swallow once, twice, to defeat the nausea threatening to overcome him. Buck’s not a parent, isn’t sure he’ll ever be one, but he loves Christopher like his own, and the idea of losing him for good is more than enough to bring him to his knees.

But Christopher is alive. He’d made it out of the tsunami despite Buck’s hubris, and is happily watching cartoons in the living room.

The mental reminder is enough to stop Buck from vomiting on Eddie’s shoes, at least.

“You saved him. That’s how he remembers it.” Eddie pauses, like he’s trying to let the weight of his words sink through Buck’s thick skull. And it’s not like Buck doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to stop seeing every moment of that horrible day on repeat every time he closes his eyes. There’s not much he wouldn’t do to stop the sinking pit of guilt in his stomach, or the squirming sense of self-loathing when he comes close to meeting Eddie’s gaze. But he can’t. The fact that Christopher made it out alive doesn’t make up for Buck’s mistake, and Eddie knows that. Buck had read the blame in his eyes before Christopher showed up at the hospital, seen the way his entire body had shifted away from Buck and into tight, tense lines that spoke of a strong desire to punch him in the face -- at the least.

It had hurt, torn open whatever parts of him weren’t already bleeding with Christopher’s loss, and Buck couldn’t forget it, so this entire conversation felt almost dreamlike, a fantasy that Buck isn’t sure he can trust, no matter how much he’d like to.

“And now it’s turn to do the same for you,” Eddie continues, oblivious to Buck’s internal conflict.

And God, Buck wants that. He wants to put the entire disaster behind him, ignore all of the ways he’d fucked up and cling to the second chance Eddie seems to be offering without talking about it -- but Buck’s played that game before. He knows how it always ends. Bottling difficult things never works for long, and the resulting explosion is usually worse than whatever the actual problem was.

So Buck trails Eddie into his living room, staying just a step behind, and shakes his head when he feels himself become the focus on that intense gaze once again. “I was -- I was supposed to watch out for him,” he tries again, stumbling over the words he doesn’t really want to say. Buck doesn’t do shy or shrinking; his entire life has been about taking up space, being unapologetically himself, but this is different, somehow. This is Eddie, whose opinion has meant too damn much to Buck since the first day they locked eyes at the station, who’s such an integral part of Buck’s life and happiness that the idea of losing him sucks the air from Buck’s lungs. This matters, in a way that nothing but firefighting and Maddie ever had, and Buck won’t screw it up again. He can’t.

“And what, you think you failed?”

Damn it, did Eddie have to sound so nonchalant about this? Of course Buck failed! Christopher had been missing for six fucking hours -- no matter how that equation’s set up, the answer is still the same.

“Buck, I’ve failed that kid more times than I care to count, and I’m his father.”

The words are layered in empathy, in a sense of understanding, that makes something constrict tightly in Buck’s chest. Eddie shouldn’t be comparing Buck’s failure to the trials of being an actual parent -- the two aren’t even remotely close. Christopher has always been safe, happy, and cared for with his father, and Buck knows it because he’s seen it. He’s seen Eddie fight for his son to have the best education, the best childcare, the best of everything. He’s seen Eddie cut himself off from dating on the off chance Christopher would get hurt, seen him leave his own home and family in order for Christopher to be closer to his. There’s nothing Eddie wouldn’t do for the boy, and knows that Eddie’s never really failed his son. Not when it counted. So he can’t help the short, instinctive shake of his head at the reassurance, because it’s just not true.

“But I love him enough to never stop trying, and I know you do, too.”

Unnamed emotion clogs Buck’s throat, and he glances down at the floor, swallowing hard. It’s been hard to play the tough, cool guy the last several months, so Eddie’s already seen him as weak and vulnerable as Buck can get -- career-ending injuries, a lack of mobility, and obvious depression hadn’t done great things for his rep around the 118, not that Buck had particularly cared at the time. Eddie’d been around the most, though, only slightly less often than Maddie, and had seen it all. So it should be easy to admit to loving Christopher, to caring more about his best friend’s son than he cared about anyone outside of Maddie and the 118 squad.

It isn’t.

Buck doesn’t get a chance to say anything, which is probably a blessing. One of Eddie’s large, work-roughened hands claps his shoulder, and warmth bleeds through the thin cotton of Buck’s t-shirt and sends a thrill down his spine. He still doesn’t manage to meet the eyes waiting on him until he hears his name, the single syllable infused with an order that Buck can’t quite ignore.

But once he gives in, Buck’s immediately lost to the intensity of Eddie’s familiar dark gaze. He’s so close, now, and the heat his body throws off is slowly seeping into the icy chasm in Buck’s chest. Maybe, he realizes, he can trust this -- trust Eddie. Because no matter what has gone on between them, no matter how much of an ass Buck has been, there’s never been any reason to doubt Eddie’s sincerity; and there’s no way he’d so cruel as to dangle forgiveness and understanding in front of Buck only to yank it away at the last minute.

“There is nobody,” Eddie begins firmly, and the open honesty in his face makes Buck shiver. Paired with the soft tapping of his thumb against the exposed skin of Buck’s collarbone, it would be all too easy for Buck to sway into the broad chest in front of him and know that Eddie would catch him. “ -- in this world that I trust with my son more than you.”

It’s the last thing he expects to hear, and Buck blinks rapidly at Eddie, trying to understand how it could possibly be true after the previous day’s terror -- but there’s no hesitation in Eddie’s stance, no hint of uncertainty or the blame Buck knows he caught yesterday at the hospital. Buck swallows again, the sound of his throat working audible in the sudden quiet. Thanks and emotional confessions jam in his mouth until he can’t say anything, and Eddie doesn’t give him a chance before he’s squeezing Buck’s shoulder and dropping the point of contact to go say goodbye to Christopher in the living room.

Though his skin is cold where Eddie’s touch lingered, Buck’s grateful for the reprieve. He turns his head and wipes at damp eyes, trying to regain some of the composure he’s lost. Eddie is too good at stripping down every defense, at seeing past all of his walls and leaving Buck open and vulnerable. It’s why he was the only one who could cajole Buck into going to PT after his last surgery, when things were looking hopeless, why he alone could drag Buck out of bed when even Bobby and Athena got shown the door -- hell, Eddie had even wound up with a fucking spare key to the apartment when Maddy didn’t even have one. And Buck is tired of being weak and vulnerable, of needing constant reassurance that he’s wanted and forgiven. This broken-down, over-emotional man he’s become isn’t who Evan Buckley is, and Buck suddenly needs to make that really damn clear to Eddie.

But Eddie’s already on his way out the door with a few teasing comments about staying in-land, so Buck lets him go with a chuckle that feels natural, even if the circumstances don’t. He pivots on his good leg to join Christopher in front of the television, only to stop short when Eddie pops his head back in the door.

“Thank you,” he says, in that same voice that’s sent chills down Buck’s spine at least twice that morning. “For not giving up.” And Eddie’s gone before Buck can summon any sort of response beyond the frustrated yearning that builds in the pit of his stomach when he vanishes out of the doorframe. Buck stares after him helplessly -- and god damn it, it’s not fair that Eddie can be so damned perfect when Buck is still reeling. He’s had months to come to terms with the fact that Eddie is ridiculously good-looking; and it’s never been a big deal that he likes to watch him work out, once in a while. So does pretty much everyone at the station. But this want, this desperation for Eddie’s approval, for his care and closeness -- that’s not normal. That’s not straight. And yeah, okay, maybe Buck’s had a few hints that he could be into guys before, maybe he’s considered and discarded the idea a few times over the years, but it’s never been like this. It’s never been so all-consuming, so impossible to ignore. It’s never been so terrifying. Not because Eddie’s a guy; Buck could care less about that. But Eddie is Buck’s best friend. Hell, outside of the others at the 118, Eddie’s his only friend. The rest have all disappeared, lost in the gaping chasm that separates first responders from civilians who could never understand the pull of the job, no matter how dangerous it might be. And then, of course, there’s Christopher -- the kid who’s still sitting in the living room in front of the TV, patiently waiting for Buck to get his shit together and join him.

Right. Crisis later. Babysitting now.

He can do this, one step at a time. Eddie’s not mad at him, and if he says that Chris isn’t either, then Buck can take him at his word. Buck drags in a slow breath, straightens his shoulders, and goes to join the child on the couch with a genuine, if small, smile.

“Hey, buddy …”

******

They spend the day in the apartment, this time. Buck wants to say that it’s because they deserve a lazy day after previous one’s mess, but really, there’s a large part of him that’s afraid to set foot outside with Christopher, no matter how slim the chance of a second natural disaster. So they spend hours on the floor of the living room building increasingly complex structures with Legos and order that pizza Eddie prescribed and devour the entire thing -- if Buck eats a little more than he normally would, it definitely isn’t because Eddie told him to. It’s light and uncomplicated, just easy camaraderie that Buck never expected himself capable of finding with anyone, let alone a little kid, and the ease of it all is enough to allow some of his anxiety to bleed away. For the first time in the last thirty-six hours, Buck is truly able to relax.

Christopher’s energy starts to wane after dinner, so Buck takes the initiative to put in one of the movies shoved in the bag Eddie packed for him. They end up in a pile of blankets and cushions on the floor -- Buck’s leg is stiff and sore after yesterday’s exertions, and Christopher hasn’t said anything, but he’s moving a lot more slowly than usual, and taking extra care when he does, so Buck guesses that he’s in some pain, too. Cerebral Palsy isn’t something he knows a whole lot about, but a lack of muscle tone is pretty obvious, and clinging to poles and other floating refuse during the tsunami had to have taken a toll on his little body. Not that Christopher had ever complained -- and that, right there, is yet another reason for Buck to be in awe of what that child is capable of.

“Buck?”

The small voice interrupts whatever animated crap is on the screen, and Buck glances down at Chris in askance. From this angle, all he can see is blonde curls; Chris has his cheek pressed against Buck’s chest, and is curled up beneath one arm. The warm weight against his body has Buck half asleep himself, but he rouses enough to ask, “Yeah?”

“You didn’t lose me.” The simple, sleepy words make Buck’s heart seize, and he stares down at the top of Christopher’s head, trying to form words with numb lips. “I heard you tell Daddy that you did, but you didn’t.” Buck is struck speechless. He freezes, and the silence in the room seems a condemnation of his inability to speak, but Christopher doesn’t seem to mind. He presses on, unconcerned. “You found me, and I kept swimming, just like Dory, and I found you and Daddy. And I’m safe, and you’re safe, and we don’t need to be scared anymore.” The matter-of-fact, blunt sentiment is hard for Buck to swallow, but he runs a hand over Christopher’s disheveled curls and down his back, anyway.

“I’m sorry you had to be scared at all, buddy,” he says honestly, and manages to keep his voice level and calm, despite the uncertainty he feels. “But you’re right. You’re safe now, and that’s what matters.” It seems like the most natural thing in the world to drop a casual kiss to the crown of blonde hair, and Buck doesn’t allow himself to second-guess the impulse when it’s done. “Come on, kid, you’re falling asleep. Let’s get you up to bed, huh? Your dad won’t be here for another few hours, and I think we both deserve a nap.” It’s not his most graceful or subtle subject change, but Chris is young enough not to notice -- or tactful enough to let it go, Buck’s honestly not sure which.

Mock complaints and grumblings get tossed around, but Christopher clings to Buck’s neck as he carries him up the stairs and helps him settle into the bed with a minimum amount of fuss. They lay on the mattress together for half an hour, until Christopher’s breathing is slow and even, and there’s no hint of wakefulness on his young face. Buck knows better than to ruin his progress with sleeping during the day; that’s a one-way ticket back to the land of depression and hopelessness, and he refuses to fall back into bad habits. Instead, he slides from the bed, careful not to jolt the other occupant, and heads downstairs. He hadn’t had a chance to do his stretches and exercises from physical therapy that day, yet, and he knows he needs to -- firefighter or no, he’s not losing any mobility. The stretches have the added bonus of requiring all of his attention and focus, so his mind won’t wander to any dark places. Or any Eddie-shaped places, which Buck is pretty sure he should avoid, too.

So that’s how Eddie finds Buck an hour or so later, sweat-soaked and lying, arms and legs akimbo, on the living room floor. He hadn’t heard a knock, or even the door opening, over the pounding of his own heart, and Buck flails upright into a sitting position when he hears the familiar chuckle from the entryway.

“Only you would spend an entire day fighting a tsunami and still feel like you need to work out the next day,” Eddie says lightly as he enters the room, dressed in the same casual outfit from this morning. There’s a cut above his eye that hadn’t been there before, and Buck knows him well enough to read the fatigue in the set of his shoulders and the lines around his mouth. He recognizes that look from a hundred rough shifts, and can imagine what Eddie’s seen today on clean-up duty from the tsunami. He shudders, then carefully picks himself up off the ground and leads his guest into the kitchen to grab them both a beer without asking if Eddie wants one.

“Can’t slack off on PT,” Buck explains as they both settle down at the tiny kitchen table. “I may not be a firefighter anymore, but I’m not going to get stuck working behind a desk somewhere.” He can’t quite look directly at Eddie, but it’s easier now than it had been this morning to try. The sucking pit of desolation in his chest is gone, replaced by a stupid, schoolgirl flutter of nerves in his gut when they stand too close, and Buck doesn’t really know what to do with that -- but it’s easier than waiting to hear if Eddie’s decided to close him out of his and Christopher’s life for good.

“You’re not going to end up behind a desk,” Eddie says firmly. There’s a frown forming between his brows, and something distinctly unhappy in the way he’s staring at Buck. Before the latter has a chance to question it, Eddie stands up and grabs both bottles of beer from the table. Without a word, he shoves both of them back in the fridge, then turns to face Buck again with his chin raised in challenge. “Unless you keep drinking your breakfast, lunch, and dinner, that is. Did you even eat today?”

Buck’s spine stiffens defensively. “Chris ate lunch and dinner,” he says carefully. There’s good reason for Eddie to doubt that Buck’s been taking good care of his son, after all, even if this morning it had seemed they were passed it. “And I wouldn’t drink when I was watching him, Eddie.”

A complicated series of emotions flickers over Eddie’s face, but it’s hidden behind one large hand before Buck can even try to translate it. “I didn’t ask if Christopher had eaten,” he says quietly, and drags his hand down his face to rest on the table directly in front of Buck. The movement has him leaning down, leaving them so close that their faces mere inches from each other. Immediately, the speed of Buck’s heartbeat kicks up a notch, and he curses himself for reacting so inappropriately to mere proximity. “I told you this morning, man -- I trust you with my son. I know you wouldn’t drink while you were watching him, or forget to feed him, just like I know you never gave up on him yesterday.”

Buck chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment, then deliberately leans back in his chair, trying to put some space between them before he answers. “Then what’s up with the third degree?” he demands, trying for some semblance of his usual bravado. “If you really thought I was taking good care of Christopher, why are you --”

“Because Christopher isn’t the only person I care about, Buck,” Eddie cuts in sharply. Frustration emanates from him in waves, and Buck wants to offer reassurance, but he’s too busy trying not to read too far into those words to manage it. Eddie cares about him. He’s known that for months -- caring isn’t the same as wanting to be with someone romantically. The two of them are friends. Best friends. And Buck needs to get ahold of himself before he says or does something to ruin that.

“What --”

“Don’t sit there and act like you don’t know what I mean!” Eddie shoves away from the table and paces in a circle around the table, never taking his eyes off of Buck as he does so. Unlike other moments when Eddie looks at him, Buck finds he doesn’t like this sort of scrutiny. It leaves him feeling like all of his weakest, most fragile parts have been put on display, and Buck’s never been good at admitting to his own problems. “It was bad enough when you were laid up from surgery, but now you’re either drinking or sleeping, or pushing yourself way too hard in PT. You’ve been losing weight for weeks, and it’s not healthy, Buck! I’m worried about you!”

Silence reigns in the kitchen for a long moment as Buck tamps down hard on the impulse to bellow that he’s fine, and no one asked Eddie to worry about him -- that’s the response of a scared man-child, not the person that Buck is trying to be. And truthfully, it’s nice to know that someone’s looking out for him. The others at the 118 and Maddy try, Buck knows, but they’re easy to reassure. A grin here, a cock-sure comment about his prowess there, a playful slug to the shoulder, and almost everyone sees him as the same old Buck who’d gotten into the fire engine the night of the bombings.

Eddie’s not that easy to fob off, and as much as it makes Buck feel uncomfortable, it makes him feel seen.

“I’m okay, Eddie,” he says instead, and lifts his chin to hold the skeptical gaze aimed at him. “I am, really.” The words feel honest, for the first time in quite a while, and Buck even manages a genuine smile. “You were right, when you dropped Chris off yesterday. Hanging out with him -- it was what I needed.” Buck shakes his head in remembered awe of the little boy and his strength. Even stranded in rushing water higher than his head, clinging to a pole for dear life, Christopher had been braver than Buck ever could be, and his courage and grace under pressure had shown Buck exactly how much work he had to do to deserve any part of the life he felt entitled to. “You and him -- even with everything yesterday -- you guys made me realize I needed to do something different, or I was going to end up somewhere I never wanted to be.” His smile thins, slightly, and Buck reaches out to touch one of the arms crossed over Eddie’s chest. “Even if I’m still not sure how you forgave me so easily, after what I did.”

An exasperated huff escapes Eddie’s mouth, and gives the impression that if this were a cartoon, he’d be tossing his hands in the air. “Buck, there was never anything to forgive!” he says, voice pitched just low enough that it wouldn’t wake Christopher. “You got stuck in a tsunami. I know you’ve got an ego, but you can’t really take credit for a natural disaster. And Christopher is fine!”

“But he almost wasn’t!” Buck interjects, tired of being the rational one in the room. If Eddie seriously wants to have this conversation, then he’s going to have to face the truth, too. “Give me a fucking break, Eddie -- those two mintues between me telling you I’d lost him and that woman showing up with Chris in her arms? You did blame me. You looked at me, and that’s all I could see, okay? You did blame me. And you were right. I messed up. I was supposed to look out for your son, and I failed, and it’s okay for you to blame me for it.”

God, Buck’s tired. He hasn’t been until this moment, but it’s like this argument and facing these awful truths have sapped every last bit of energy from his veins, and he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be up for arguing with Eddie in his kitchen. He leans forward on his elbows over the table an exhales gustily, then lifts his chin again, determined to catch the moment when Eddie finally admits the truth to himself.

But instead of the realization Buck has been expecting, Eddie’s face is only showing that same frustration. They freeze like that for a moment, Buck leaning against the table and trying hard to hold himself together, Eddie staring down at him from his position against the wall of the kitchen, arms folded over his chest, that guilt-laden frustration obvious in his expression.

Then, faster than Buck can track, Eddie’s standing in front of his chair, grabbing his elbows and pulling him to his feet. It’s a gentle yank, and Buck could have ignored it if he chose, but he’s shocked enough by Eddie’s closeness that he goes along with it. They end up toe-to-toe, close enough that Buck can feel warm breath on his cheek, and there’s nowhere to look that doesn’t end with him staring back into Eddie’s dark eyes.

“Look at me now,” Eddie tells him quietly, and Buck has to quell a shiver as two solid hands land on both of his shoulders, squeezing with just a little too much pressure to be truly comfortable. “I want you to stand here, and look straight at me while I tell you this: I do not blame you for what happened yesterday. I’m grateful to you for not giving up on him, okay? I know you love him, and I can’t even tell you how relieved I am that he has you in his corner.”

This feels like the conversation they should have had this morning, when more was being left unsaid that wasn’t, and this time, Buck isn’t going to pretend. “I do love him,” he admits, still looking straight into Eddie’s face. Vulnerability is hard, but it would be harder to keep pretending -- and Buck’s so damn tired of pretending. “And I, uh … I believe you.” Because there’s no denying reality, not when it’s quite literally staring him in the face. No matter what he saw, or thought he saw, yesterday, Eddie really doesn’t blame Buck for losing Christopher. They’re still solid, still good, and Buck’s not losing anyone.

Relief swamps him as hard as any of the waves from the day before, even though Buck had thought he’d stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop that morning. Apparently, anxiety isn’t that easy to get rid of, even when it’s not screaming in the back of his head. He shifts to take a step back, to carry himself out of Eddie’s gravitational pull, before he ends up falling into his chest or something equally embarrassing, but Eddie’s grip just tightens on his shoulders, not allowing Buck to go anywhere.

A second passes, two, and Eddie leans in a little closer, until they’re sharing the same breath. Buck swallows convulsively, telling himself over and over that he’s misreading the situation, that this can’t be what it feels like, but he can’t stop his eyes drifting down Eddie’s face to catch stubbornly on his mouth. Full lips quirk up in a smirk, and heat rushes to pool in Buck’s belly. He doesn’t know what this moment is or how they got here, doesn’t know where they’re going next, but that smirk tells him everything that he needs to know: Eddie knows what Buck wants. Knows how he feels. Probably has for a while.

And he hasn’t gone anywhere.

“I keep waiting for you to figure it out,” Eddie says in a low voice, and Buck’s eyelashes flutter before he can remind himself that he wants to be wholly present in this moment and doesn’t want to miss a damn thing. “I don’t go around telling everyone I meet that I trust them with my son’s life, Buck. Outside of my family, you’re it, do you get that?” It’s Eddie’s turn to swallow, and Buck tracks the movement of his throat with wide eyes. “You’re it.”

There’s a different meaning to the words the second time Eddie says them, and Buck feels like a kid at the eye doctor, putting glasses on for the first time. When he looks back at every interaction he’s had with Eddie since the bombs, he can see the same want reflected in Eddie’s face that has stared back at him in the mirror every day. When he runs his eyes over Eddie’s expression, he can read the same nervous hope, the same uncertainty, beneath his confident exterior.

And this time, when Eddie leans further into his space, Buck leans back.

Their lips bump together, almost incidentally, a soft kiss that’s more of a test than it is a true embrace. Buck’s heart leaps, and the anxious flutter in his stomach is back as he tips his head to correct the angle. The second time their lips meet, it’s better -- Eddie lets out a soft, surprised huff of air, and Buck takes advantage, pulling him closer with impatient hands at the belt loops of his jeans. He’s not thinking anymore, stopped sometime around when Eddie’s fingers tightened around his shoulders, and it feels so good to lose himself, to trust that Eddie will catch him as he falls.

“You could’ve just said,” Buck mutters against Eddie’s lips, his hands roaming over the forearms revealed by the style of his button-up shirt. “I thought I was going crazy.” He wants to be annoyed that Eddie’s known all this time and waited for Buck to make the first move, but he can’t quite work up to it. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he needed the chance to wrap his head around this new truth about himself, and if Eddie had made a move before he was ready, Buck knows he wouldn’t have reacted well.

“I’m pretty sure your sanity has been in question for way longer than I’ve been in LA,” Eddie shoots back with another teasing smirk. At some point, his hands slid from Buck’s shoulders to the planes of his back, and Buck’s not ashamed to admit that he pushes back into the touch, arching his spine like a cat seeking attention. He rolls his eyes at the joke and presses his face into Eddie’s neck, taking a long, slow breath to steady himself. The last two days -- hell, the last several weeks -- have been a riot of emotion that he’s still trying to sort, and as happy as he is in this moment, Buck knows that there’s still a lot for he and Eddie to talk about and work through. And Buck’s life is still a shambles, no matter how unexpectedly good his personal life has become.

“You’re thinking too much,” Eddie tells him, his arms snug around Buck’s waist, holding him comfortably against his chest. “The world is complicated, Buck, but you and me? That doesn’t have to be. We can figure it out as we go.” A steady hand smooths over Buck’s spine, and he relaxes incrementally. It sounds too good to be true, but Buck has no intention of giving this up now that he’s got it. And Eddie’s gone to great lengths to make sure Buck knows that he can be trusted when he says something, today -- it wouldn’t make any sense to stop now.

Buck lifts his head and smiles at Eddie with an echo of his old, rakish grin. “You’re going to have to do better than one kiss if you want me to stop thinking,” he says daringly, throwing caution to the wind and jumping headfirst into the unknown. Overthinking and panicking isn’t who Buck is, and he’s not going to let recent events change him. He’s stronger than circumstances, and Evan Buckley is more than a job title or a patient ID bracelet.

He’s a fighter, and this time, all he wants to fight for is happiness for him, Eddie, and Christopher.

“Hmm, that sounds like a challenge,” Eddie observes, head cocked to one side in a faux-thoughtful expression. “I guess I don’t have much choice but to try harder then, do I?”

Buck lets his satisfaction show on his face as he meets Eddie in another kiss. As in everything, practice makes perfect; this time, his knees get weak embarrassingly quickly, and he finds himself with his arms tossed around Eddie’s neck to keep his balance. He’s still smiling as they trade kisses back and forth, unable to quell the overwhelming contentment swelling in his chest. Eddie’s flushed and breathing hard, too, though, so Buck doesn’t waste a moment on embarrassment. They both want this; there’s no reason to start overthinking now.

“Da-aad!” The whine from behind them stops the kiss in its tracks as both men take a hurried step back and spin to face the doorway. Christopher is leaning heavily on his crutches just past the arch, a blanket draped over his shoulders and hair mussed from sleep, and staring at them crankily. “Buck’s s’posed to be taking a nap with me. You can kiss him when we wake up.”

Eddie and Buck glance at each other, and the bubble of tension - romantic and otherwise - surrounding them bursts with a synchronous peal of laughter. Christopher gives them an unimpressed look, and Eddie recovers first, stifling another chuckle to tell him, “Sorry, buddy. But everyone’s awake now, right? So maybe we can watch a movie or something, and we can both spend some time with Buck before we have to go home.” He shoots a sidelong glance Buck’s way, like he needs permission or something stupid to talk about them with his son, or to stay longer. Like Buck is going to complain about getting more time with them.

“What you think, Chris? Should we let your dad watch the rest of Hotel Transylvania with us?” Buck asks, and reaches out to grab Eddie’s hand -- just in case he’d gotten some ridiculous idea that this thing between them was going to be a secret.

Christopher isn’t the kind of kid who’s grumpy for long, even right after a nap, so he beams at them and nods excitedly. “We have to start over, though,” he says seriously. “Daddy hasn’t seen the beginning, and he might get confused.”

Buck nods his agreement, and Eddie just laughs. He tosses his free hand over Chris’s shoulders, and the three of them start toward the living room together, as a unit. As they settle together on the couch with tangled limbs and shared quips and laughter, Buck takes a second to breathe in the reality of this moment. He’s truly, incandescently happy, and he wants to take the memory and hold onto it forever -- through whatever job-related heartbreak and medical emergency comes next.

Because now, Buck’s got Eddie, and he’s got Christopher, and that’s more than enough to make him want to keep fighting.

#my fic #buddie fic #911fox fic #buck x eddie #buddie #i will put this on AO3 at some point when it doesn't sound like way too much work

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tthael · 4 years

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Hi, english is not my first language so if I don't make any sense you know why. I'm sorry if i gave you the wrong impression with my ask.I've never read the book so "the shape" of these characters for me personally comes from the movie where Richie is gay. I've recently found out that people that read the book consider him bi. That's why when i read a fic where it's not explicitly stated i always wonder. I saw that you have a tumblr so i was like why not ask.

Hi nonny! Thank you for coming back to clarify, I’m sorry for the defensive tone of my response. Thank you very much for reading my stuff. Nothing about the phrasing of your question was what made me respond that way, just the topic, because I know it’s a hot button issue in fandom at the moment. Nobody wants to be responsible for erasing a sexual minority or a canonical sexual identity--and while in the book Richie’s sexuality is only coded, I’ve been told that André Muschietti explicitly stated that the film portrayal of Richie is gay. So of course, I think that film!Richie is portrayed as gay, and if I were to write Richie based on the film alone, I most likely would write him as gay.

The thing is, I don’t really write exclusively film!Richie. I think that there’s a very rich vein of characterization to be found in the book, which is of course door-stoppingly long, and compared to the limited amount of screentime the movies could spend on each of the Losers, not to mention the changes to their backgrounds the films made (looking at you, tween!Ben who suddenly morphs into adult!Mike), I like to pull from the greatest evidence pool available. That’s why I like to include the teenage werewolf, I like to include Stan’s bird book of North America, I like to include Eddie’s fascination with cars and trains and other mechanical transportation, I like to include Bev’s mother as having been alive during Bev’s childhood, I like to include Ben’s outrunning the track team out of spite, I like to include Bill’s uncanny charisma and his compelling nature, and I like to include Mike with a kinder more curious childhood than he’s allowed in the film. Also, I studied literature in college and I’m just more comfortable with analyzing that than I am analyzing film.

I also really liked the film casting for the adult Losers! It’s very shallow of me but I like how they look, I think they’re all very attractive, and I’m more interested in writing with their physicalities in mind than I am in, say, the actors for the 1990s miniseries. This is a personal preference, just because I myself do not enjoy Bill’s ponytail or Richie’s mustache or Bev as a brunette. I’ve also only ever seen clips of the miniseries. And honestly, I like Bill Hader as Richie in glasses, despite book!Richie wanting to wear contacts as an adult; I find without glasses I have difficulty perceiving him as the character. So I can’t claim to be a book purist--I like writing about the 2016 setting and those are mostly the faces of the Losers I see in my head. I tweak them sometimes--I don’t think I’ve written Richie with blue eyes yet, for example.

So I blend the canons when I decide what to draw on for the fic. That means that, for me, unless it’s explicitly stated, I probably don’t have an intention one way or the other when I write Richie’s sexuality. So far I’ve always written him as a man who loves men, and always as involved and in love with Eddie. I know that for some people that won’t be good enough, that for some people it’s very important to them to see their characters explicitly identify as one label or the other, but I’m afraid that just isn’t a priority for me in my portrayals.

This is informed by 2 things: 1) I like to write the Losers as 40-year-old adults in 2016, and we know that Richie produces a host of problematic content in his career. This of course shouldn’t mean that my portrayal of Richie /should/ be problematic and that’s not my intention--instead, I’m suggesting that when I write Richie, I write a lot about self-loathing and internalized homophobia, and so I focus a lot more on his attraction to men, which in my fic he’s usually not comfortable with, than any potential/past attraction to women. Of course I don’t feel that self-loathing is the necessary response to same-sex attraction, but I also think of the Losers as adults of a certain age who might not always be accurate or thoughtful in discussing the changing world of sexual identities (finding words for them specifically, filling the lexical gap).

I wrote a scene in Things That Happen After Eddie Lives where Richie runs across a gender non-conforming person and initially reads them as female, but then during the conversation remembers that isn’t always the case these days and switch to trying to avoid pronouns for them or trying to refer to them with gender neutral pronouns. But Richie and Eddie still call Jordan and Sarah lesbians, without asking whether they’re a romantic pairing of two bisexual people, or without considering that Jordan might be a man. Richie even wonders if “girlfriend” is being used romantically or platonically the way that women of previous generations do. I have a bead on Jordan’s and Sarah’s identity--but only because Jordan’s me! I think that, as a man born in 1976, growing up extremely closeted, and never engaging in the wider discussion around LGBTQ culture in a constructive way, Richie might be prone to simplification. This, of course, doesn’t mean I’m opposed to a Richie who openly identifies as strictly gay or strictly bi!

2) The second thing that informs the ambiguity of my portrayal of Richie’s sexuality is my own experience with my sexuality and gender. I am closeted in real life. In recent years I have tried a number of identities that, at the time, I believed to fit, but the labels were never clear-cut for me. I am coming to accept, slowly, that in the same way the physical body doesn’t grow to exact neat clean specifications, I might never be able to describe myself accurately and totally in one term. That’s all that I’m willing to share about my experience at this time. My personal philosophy is much like the one Eddie professes when he comes out in Indelicate: it doesn’t seem important to me that people know my preferences unless I’m a) sleeping with them or b) actively dating and trying to put myself out there.

Again, some people have completely different experiences! For some people being closeted is intolerable and having an identity--a word for what they are--really helps them self-actualize and live their truth! For some people, they’re very excited about their identity and participate in Pride events and take joy in asserting that this is who they are to the world! For some people, they never have the awareness that this or that idle feeling might mean they actually /don’t/ fit with how the world sees them. And while I’m a great advocate of self-exploration (comes of being vain as I am), some people don’t do that, and that’s fine!

I know that ambiguity is not a neutral answer when it comes to these questions. In the summer of 2019 when the Good Omens miniseries was released, many fans reached out to author Neil Gaiman asking for confirmation that the angel Aziraphale and the demon Crowley were gay. Gaiman said, “Theirs is a love story.” He said, “They’re not human and I can’t ascribe human sexual identity to them.” He said, “My coauthor is deceased and I can’t make such confirmations without him.” (These are not direct quotes and I don’t have sources, I’m sorry, it’s been a year.) This was not satisfactory to all parties. For some people explicit confirmation of that gender identity is important. And why shouldn’t it be? Their own is important to them.

But I’m from a school of literary analysis where I welcome different interpretations of my works, which are in this case of course derivative and dependent on evidence from the canons I draw on. I write Richie in love with Eddie, and that’s enough for me. If it’s not for the reader, either I feel there’s ample room to interpret my Richie the way they prefer--not just limited to gay or bi! After the first sex scene in TTHAEL Richie is stunned by how he enjoyed that far more than any other sexual encounter he’s ever had, and I think that’s welcome to interpretations of Richie with demisexuality /or/ Richie just finally having fulfilling sex with a man because he’s gay or bi /OR/ Richie has had good sex before but this was just WAY better because he likes sex better when he’s in love with his partner. And every portrayal of Richie I write is slightly different, so Richie from Indelicate might have different sexual attraction/orientation than Richie from Automatic - Mechanical - Pneumatic or Richie from TTHAEL. BUT I don’t want to say that my interpretation is the only valid one--just know that when I write Richie, I write him as a man in love with another man. If I were to write a story about Richie involved with someone other than Eddie, I would tag for it up front.

Again, I know this is a very long answer and probably not as concise or clear as you might like it to be. Thank you so much for coming back around to explain your logic, I apologize for my wariness the first time around, thank you for asking these questions in good faith. “Why not ask” is of course the simplest way to settle an issue and I don’t want to discourage anyone from asking me questions about my fic. If there are other things you have questions about, please don’t hesitate to ask, either here or by sending me a private message, I don’t mind either way.

#my fic #things that happen after eddie lives #tthael #now what i'm gonna say may sound indelicate #indelicate #nwigsmsi #automatic - mechanical - pneumatic #a-m-p #Anonymous

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phantomchick · 4 years

Note

Can I ask what are your fav ships pretty, pretty please?

!!! Okay sure.

I’m uh a multi shipper so I’m gonna put a read more after the first 3 if that’s okay?-

Wonderbat - Diana and Bruce are the one’s in control of the justice league’s shared braincells and I love their harmony and their commitment to helping people as much as they can whenever they can. I watched the Justice League Animated series as a child and I’ve never stopped loving their dynamic since. That show is the lens through which I look at this ship. It’s the Yearning. It’s the attraction. It’s the wonder. It’s the way they smirk at each other. It’s everything.-

Superbat - It’s the trust. Clark gave Bruce kryptonite because he was the only one he could trust to be Superman’s watchman. He gave him the ultimate power to destroy him and trusted that he wouldn’t unless it was necessary, he trusted him to be selfless and think of everyone even if it meant hurting a friend, and he trusted him to be the one to end him if he ever went bad because he didn’t want to die to someone who didn’t love him. On the other hand, Bruce trusts Clark with his secrets and also is the one he turns to for advice as an equal. He trusts Clark to be a good person and to remind him that he’s one too when he doesn’t feel like one at all. Also the way they troll each other is fantastic.

SuperHood - Because Kara and Jason both have anger issues and daddy issues and abandonment issues and trust issues and ptsd and yet they’re both fundamentally good people. Also the fic writers and fan artists really brought their A game even if canon didn’t so now I’m infected, it’s too late for me, I will go down with this ship.

RedRed - Red Devil x Red Hood - Eddie was Jason’s penpal as robin and they’ve had zero interaction since Jason came back from the dead. But seeing as Eddie remains the only canon character who actually maintains that Jason was a good robin I am fucking sold on the potential of this dynamic. Also they can be old movie nerds together.

BruTalia - Because Talia isn’t what morrison and recent canon made her. She’s the morally complex daughter of an assassin overlord and Bruce is her father’s most dangerous enemy and her greatest love. In a black and white world full of Villains and Heroes, Talia and Bruce connect in the grey. Talia believes in The Batman and the good he’s capable of more than almost anyone on Earth and I will die on that hill. Bruce believes that Talia’s more than where she comes from and how she was raised, and also has a soft spot for intelligent/beautiful women who can handle his world both as a Wayne and as a Bat. She makes Bruce remember what’s most heroic and noble about himself when he’s at his lowest most self loathing points, and he makes her remember that there’s always a choice. I love this ship because it’s Romantic, in the relationship sense of the word and in the ‘stories of romance and daring do’ sense.

Ren/Kyoko - diving out of the dc fandom here, Tsuruga Ren and Mogami Kyoko’s love story has been making me swoon since I was in secondary/high school. It’s the good stuff.

Merthur - Merlin/Arthur - because it’s hilarious and dramatically romantic all at once. And the fic writers reeeeally bring their game.

Spirk - Kirk/Spock - It’s the premise and we approve. *Salutes the fandom elders who grew this ship from the seeds* Let’s boldly go motherfuckers!

Spike/Buffy - because angel’s condescending and can’t match the sheer witty banter of this dynamic even on his best day. Also Spike is hot.

Germany/Italy - hetalia was an adorable junk food for the brain kind of show that should really have been more blatantly anti nazi even still. But… the fandom as a whole really brought their passion for this ship? Like the pure Creativity and taking silver and turning it into gold with nothing but personal investment in the characters’ dynamic to do it with, kind of passion. There are a lot of fancomics set in the modern era where these anthropomorphic personifications of countries are not currently under the sway fascist governments … and it’s adorable. A guilty pleasure kind of ship.

Joker/Harley - I’m gonna get a lot of flack for this one, but as a dc fan I just find comics with them together more entertaining. Also batman: the animated series made it impossible for me not to love seeing this twisted mess of a ship!Yes it’s an unhealthy relationship, do I still find them fun and enjoy seeing and exploring said fucked up relationship? Uh Yeah! This ship makes me remember the good old days when Harley’s character wasn’t all over the place depending on whether the writer woke up feeling like she’s a hero, an anti hero, a villain or something inbetween - with no discernible transition or actual redemption arc to justify any of it. Also back when The Joker wasn’t the most annoying character alive but actually a highlight in Batman’s arsenal of rogues and a fun antagonist to read about. This ship is mostly sunk by canon and also poison ivy, but I still have fun when I see the fan art.

Kataang - because Aang is always there for Katara and is the first person to believe in her and really listen to her about her dreams and desires for the future. And because Katara grounds Aang and actually cares about his wellbeing more than his abilities as an avatar. Also they’re just cute.

Toph/Zuko - because I like it and for no deeper reason than that.

Clark/Lex - because the identity porn of Lex loving Clark but hating Superman is fantastic and also canon.

Bruce x good writing - the ultimate rarepair when will canon let them be together? WHEN.

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eddiekasp · 7 years

Note

what about reddie's first fight? 👀

Sure thing!!! Again, thank you so much the the lovely amazing @beepsrichie who helped with some of these HCs! Get ready for angst:

- Richie and Eddie bicker all the time about tiny things. Which movie to watch, who won in their game of cards, things like that. These go away after minutes though, and are totally out of affection. Because of these tiny tiffs, most of their anger dissipates during them.

- They’re also very honest with each other (sometimes brutally honest) so real fights between them are very, very rare.

- Their first fight, however, was a couple weeks after they started dating during their Sophomore year of High School.

- By this time, Richie’s home life was really bad. His mom was drinking severely, often barely able to function and left under the care of her only son, and Richie’s father was home but nearly out of the picture. They were pretty much complete strangers to each other.

- Richie was so embarrassed of them and of the fact that he didn’t know how to deal with the situation that he didn’t tell anyone about it for a long time. Bev and Eddie got hints, but no details. None of the Losers were allowed over at his house.

- After Richie and Eddie start dating, Eddie encourages Richie to open up more and talk about things that are bothering him. He always puts this facade of humor over his problems, and it was difficult for him to crack his shell and start to be honest with his feelings to other people.

- After Eddie finds one of Richie’s notebooks that had jokes, drawings, writings, etc. in it, Richie let Eddie take it home since there was a lot about him in there (see my fic for more about this!!). However, in there were some pretty concerning things that Richie wrote about his home life.

- Eddie tries to ask Richie about it one night when he can tell Richie is feeling really fucked up about it, but Richie only drops hints at what’s really going on. He refuses to go into detail and fully open up. Eddie knows it’s not because Richie doesn’t trust him, but rather because this is the hardest thing he’s had to deal with in his life, maybe even more so than It when they were in Middle School.

- Eddie is the person that Richie is the most comfortable with, and will even go through with Eddie coming over to his house as long as they have a place to hang out alone. His parents don’t care and never check up on them even if Eddie sleeps over or they’re being loud or anything. His parents totally cannot care less, which is nice when they just want a private place to hang out together, but of course in general doesn’t have the best implications.

- Eddie can come over under the condition that they sprint straight up the stairs and into Richie’s room, locking the door behind him. Eddie isn’t allowed to go around Richie’s house unless Richie’s there, and he DEFINITELY cannot talk to Richie’s parents under any circumstances. By having these informal boundaries set, Richie hopes he can avoid this embarrassment.

- However, a couple weeks after Eddie first started pressing the issue of Richie’s family, he’s over at Richie’s house one night when his mother has an episode.

- She barged into the room completely drunk and making loud comments, telling Richie to go clean up after her mess downstairs. She had left empty cups and glasses all over the counters, and the smell of vomit recently washed down the sink was permeating through the house.

- Richie thought he’d rather drop dead right then and there than have to give Eddie any sort of explanation or see his face after he witnessed this. Richie’s mom yelled at him to go and clean, and Richie was so infuriated he nearly shoved Eddie out the front door and locked it after him.

- Richie cried the whole night, not knowing how to explain or face Eddie after the one thing he had been trying his hardest to avoid in his life. Eddie couldn’t sleep because he was so worried about Richie. He wanted to call him but didn’t think it was a good idea at 3 in the morning.

- The next day, Eddie goes to Richie’s house and persuades him to go for a drive with him. At first it’s completely normal; they talk and laugh as though nothing at all had happened the night before.

- The two finally pull over into the parking lot of the park and Eddie brings up the topic he had been thinking about all day. He asks Richie about the night before and instantly sees his face get dark. Typical for him, Richie attempts to divert the awkwardness by cracking a joke, and Eddie tells him that this is serious and that he was so worried he couldn’t fucking sleep the night before.

- He tells Eddie he doesn’t want to talk about it and that they better drop it or he would leave. He is not budging, completely reluctant to tell Eddie the details of the hell he’s been living in the last couple of years.

- Finally, after 30 minutes of attempted persuasion, Richie can’t hold the hot tears in his eyes anymore and lets them spill, telling Eddie everything he can think of while Eddie holds his hand from the driver’s seat.

- Eddie’s trying to stay calm and just listen to Richie because he knows that’s what he needs right now, but nothing in the world infuriates him more than learning about how his parents had been treating and neglecting him.

- After Richie finishes, Eddie can’t hold in his anger anymore. He starts yelling, not at Richie but about the situation in general. He tells Richie he has to get the fuck out of there, try to prevent his mom from drinking, do things to get his dad to pay attention, talk to them, anything. He needs to see Richie do something to make it better or he feels like he’ll explode, since he knows he himself can’t do anything to ameliorate the situation.

- Richie gets really defensive. He knows he himself can’t do much, either. He tells Eddie that he doesn’t get to tell him what to do since he has no clue what it’s like to be in his situation.

- Eddie just wants to help but is totally terrified and overwhelmed by it all. The idea of someone hurting Richie and Richie feeling like he has no one to talk to makes Eddie tear up, but he knows he’s not helping by reacting the way he was. He didn’t want to offend Richie and knows how personal this is for him, but he’s so angry he can’t help the angry words that spill out. He tells Richie to fucking do something about it.

- They fight back and forth and Richie exclaims how he’s kinda stuck in the situation with not much he can change. Richie always puts up the front of humor because being vulnerable in front of someone is unthinkable to him. He feels like the one time he decides to let his guard down, Eddie reacts horrible. He’s so angry and upset.

- Eddie tells him that he’s just worried and wants to make sure Richie can be happy and okay. Richie tells him that he never asked him to be worried. He says that he thought they would just be hanging out normally, and didn’t sign up for this intervention bullshit. He tries to get out of the car, and Eddie grabs his wrist to pull him back down.

- Eddie can’t understand why Richie won’t let Eddie help him. Eddie says that it’s insane to him that Richie isn’t seeing that he just wants what’s best for him and to help.

- Richie tells him to stop butting into his personal life, and that he doesn’t want his help.

- Eddie nearly shouts, “Richie I just want to fucking be here for you. You don’t always have to put a wall up. I know this is really hard for you, so let me help you deal with it!”

- Richie replies, “Fuck off, you don’t know anything about this. You don’t know about anything I’m going through or how I’m actually feeling, ever.” This is a huge slap to the face for Eddie, who thought they were each other’s closest people.

- Eddie gets super hurt and says that he doesn’t know what Richie means. He says that Richie is like, the most important person in his life. He looks like he’s on the verge of angry, sad tears.

- Richie starts to feel bad for cutting Eddie so deep, and tells him that he feels the same about him. But Eddie’s done by that point, and tells Richie that if he doesn’t want his help or his shoulder to lean on, why was he still here anyways? Why were they even together if Richie couldn’t trust him or allow him to help?

- Richie says he’s not sure himself. He decides to leave and walk home since he wasn’t all that far.

- Richie lingers a bit and keeps looking over his shoulder to see if Eddie was going after him. Eddie keeps checking the mirrors in his car for the same thing. Neither of them go.

- A couple days pass of them not speaking to each other, but Eddie is so filled with guilt and worry that he finds he can barely even eat or focus on school at all. He feels like the most horrible person alive, making Richie feel guilty even though he was the victim. He just wanted to support him and he fucked everything up. He worried that Richie could never confide in him– or anyone– after getting a reaction like that.

- He wouldn’t be able to completely distance himself from Richie though, so he calls Bev every day if not twice a day to ask if Richie’s doing okay.

- Neither Richie nor Eddie told the other Losers what had happened between them, but it didn’t take much to gather that something really bad had happened between them and it was their job to fix it and get them back together.

- The group ends up attempting to trick them to come to the Barrens at the same time. Before then, anytime either of them would go down there they would ask Bill if the other was coming (part of them hoping they wouldn’t so they wouldn’t have to face them, but the other part desperately needing to see them even if they didn’t speak).

- On the day they finally get the two to meet up again, the group has a whole speech prepared about how the two love each other so much and shouldn’t fight. However, the speech goes unused because the second the two see each other, they’re nearly cry and hugging each other for like 15 minutes. Mike laughs and says its like a romance movie come to life.

- The rest of the group lets them be alone, and the two profusely appologize for everything. Richie lets his guard down and is totally honest with Eddie, and Eddie just tries to listen and be there. He tells Richie that he’d do anything to make sure he was happy and that he loves him more than anyone in the world, and just hearing those words (and knowing they’re true) after thinking he was so unworthy of being loved or even entertaining the possibility of someone loving him makes him feel like they’ll be fine.

- They’re totally inseparable again after that, even closer than they were before if that was possible for them.

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years

Text

Coldflash Week

I wrote two short snippets. Here's the longer one, for days 3 (forced to work together) and 5 (alternate earths). More of a set-up to a longer story that I will likely never write, so if anyone wants it, it's yours - no need to ask permission, just go ahead and link me to it when you're done.

Fic: When The Bat Comes In Fandom: Flash Pairing: Leonard Snart/Barry Allen (pre-slash)

Ao3 link

-------------------------------------------------

“Hey, Bear! Got another one with your name on it!”

Barry groans. He’d be so damn close to getting out early, just once.

“Sorry, man,” Julian says from the next desk over. “You know what they say: crime doesn’t sleep –”

“– and neither do the detectives,” Barry finished.

Sometimes he regrets not going in to be a CSI instead of following in Joe’s footsteps to become a detective. Still, Joe’s detective work – along with his deep and abiding faith in the innocence of his best friend when he had been suspected of killing his wife – had been the only thing that had thrown enough doubt on Barry’s dad’s case to win him an acquittal. Everyone else had assumed was open-and-shut and hadn’t bothered looking deep enough: only Joe had bothered. Only Joe had found the questionable evidence, thereby sparing Henry Allen the agonies of being imprisoned unfairly and letting him stay home to raise his son.

Barry was determined to be that person to someone else.

He just wished crime slept a little bit more, that’s all.

In fairness, it wasn’t exactly Joe West’s police force anymore.

“Hey, Iris,” Barry says, sliding into the seat next to her. “You know what happened?”

“Nope,” she says, buzzing with energy. “They say it’s related to the Big Five.”

Barry’s eyebrows shoot up. “JLA?” he asks. “In our town?”

“Central’s a perfectly good town, Barry,” Iris sniffs. “We may not have a major superhero of our own, but we’re a presence.”

“But why are we involved, then?” Barry asks. “Don’t the capes usually prefer not to work with the local authorities?” He frowns. “Except for Superman. And even then, it’s on his terms.”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie says, walking in with – thank god – cups of coffee for everyone. “From what I hear, we have a Bat.”

“In Central?” Iris exclaims.

“Central’s a perfectly good town, Iris,” Barry reminds her.

“Shut up. We never get a Bat.”

“And more to the point, none of the Bats are exactly police-friendly,” Barry says.

“He needs the manpower,” Captain Singh says, walking through the door. “Anyone who wants to go home because they don’t feel like being recruited into an unlicensed vigilante with too much money’s plan which he won’t share with us in full, you should feel free – sit down, Allen, I was being sarcastic – but I have been assured that this will save the world from something terrible beyond the ken of us mere mortals.”

Barry tries to hide a smile. Like most honest policemen, Singh doesn’t always appreciate interference from the capes.

“Terrible beyond our ken,” Eddie says dryly, not even bothering to hide his own smile. “That doesn’t quite sound like Central, I must admit. Have they finally decided to go up against our supervillains?”

“The Rogues, as ever, remain at large,” Singh replies. “Consider them armed and dangerous.”

This time, no one bothers hiding their laughter.

Some five years ago, when the superhero craze had really been getting into high gear, several supervillains, several super-strength types and one super-intellectual, from other cities had noticed Central’s lack of a superhero and had decided that it made Central the perfect base from which to plan and launch their attacks on their home cities.

That was when the Rogues had formed, a loose association of thieves and criminals with the sort of tech that would make them supervillains in another city, and they’d told the newcomers to butt out of their city.

They’d made their point emphatically.

City Hall had howled in panic about the idea of having a homegrown supervillain threat, but the Rogues were remarkably good about minimizing collateral damage. Their heists were mostly aimed at the rich corporations, too, none of which headquartered in Central anyway, so the only people really being hurt were the politicians that were being funded by them.

The Rogues also imposed a pretty strict ‘no killing cops’ rule, which they enforced throughout Central. In return, the CCPD made only token efforts to catch them when they weren’t actively engaged in a heist.

Barry was about 70% sure that the guy who haggled with the fresh fish people at the farmer’s market every Saturday was Mick Rory – it was a little hard to tell, given that his usual Rogues suit involved goggles to protect him from his heat gun – but he wasn’t going to check, either.

“Anyway, boys,” Singh says, raising his hands for silence. “And girls, of course. We’re canvassing the area. Batman – and yes, the main one, not one of the promoted Robins, I know, I know, I’m surprised too – said to look for anything unusual.”

“Define unusual,” Iris says, slouching back in her seat. “Man dressed as a giant bat running around, that’s pretty unusual.”

“He said we’d know it when we saw it,” Singh replies, sounding equally unenthused. No one liked the high-handed way the superheroes treated the police, like they were side characters in a penny-novel instead of hard-working men and women trying to serve a city in which the crime had only gotten worse and worse as the years went on.

“So, porn,” Barry says.

Everyone bursts out laughing.

Singh is trying to keep order, but Barry sees the smirk tugging on his lips. “Enough, enough. If the Bat’s come personally, it’s probably something really unusual. Which we’ll know when we see.” He pauses, considering. “Someone should probably survey the sewers, but avoid the GZ. While that might fit Batman’s criteria, it’s not really unusual…anymore.”

Grodd’s lair was something of an open secret in Central.

People were slowly adjusting.

“You’ve each been assigned a district to survey – keep your radio and back-up close by. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here,” Singh says. He’s managed to eliminate most, but not all of the resentment in his voice.

“No problem,” Iris says. “You know how these things go – we do all the legwork, and in the end, the Bat does the grand finale. We’ll all be back in time for dinner.”

“Knock on wood,” Barry says, and grins at his oldest friend.

“I’m telling you,” she says. “Piece of cake.”

Barry coughs, his eyes tearing up from the dust. He crawls forward, too dizzy to get up. His face feels slippery.

He might be bleeding. Probably a head wound. Those bled like crazy; he’s more worried about the untreated concussion he probably has.

The box…thing…is still glowing, even after that explosion.

The Bat is gasping for air. There’s something on his chest.

It’s glowing, too.

Barry pulls himself forward. One of his legs isn’t working. “Bat –” he hacks another cough.

Eddie’s slumped over in the corner; he can see that from where he is. He doesn’t know where the others he’d called in for back-up are.

He hopes they’re still alive.

“Batman,” he rasps. “Bat…”

The Bat’s head slowly turns and his eyes fix on Barry. His mask is broken in three places, but there’s so much blood, it’s not like Barry can see anything.

He crooks his fingers.

Barry’s not sure if that was intentional, but he pulls himself forward anyway.

It’s hard.

It’s much harder than it ought to be; Barry’s legs have stopped working and his left arm is going numb and it feels like there’s an anvil tied to his chest.

But damnit, Barry was born stubborn and he grew up stubborn and he’s not going to let this weird magic bullshit stop him.

He gets within a foot of Batman before suddenly Batman’s hand shoots out, gauntleted fist seizing Barry’s collar and pulling him in, right up to Batman’s face.

“Get – plan,” Batman rasps, his voice even thicker and lower than usual. He’s barely understandable.

“What plan?” Barry asks, blinking.

“Genius,” Batman hisses. “Need – genius. Don’t–”

“Don’t?”

“Don’t trust,” Batman gasps, his chest rattling in an unhealthy way. “JLA.”

Barry’s eyes go wide. “Wait,” he says, “wait, you –”

He feels Batman’s hand curl around his own, pushing a scrap of paper into his fist.

“But –” Barry starts helplessly.

“Go!”

And he throws Barry away from him with surprising strength, less than a second before the box explodes a second time.

Everything goes fuzzy for a while after that.

In the end, they keep Barry in the hospital for about 48 hours before letting him out.

He desperately wants to go home, but he goes down to the station, instead.

“Barry,” Iris shouts, jumping over a desk to grab him into an embrace. Eddie rushes forward from behind him to stabilize him. He got to go home with Iris after a brief consultation with the EMTs.

“How are you?” Eddie asks.

“I’m okay,” Barry says. “They were really just keeping me to make sure I wasn’t traumatized or something.” He tries to smile. It doesn’t feel right on his face.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Iris says. “They shouldn’t have released you.”

“I’m not actually hurt, Iris.”

“You nearly got killed,” Iris says. “You watched a cape get killed.”

“Batman’s not dead,” Barry says. He hesitates. “Unless you’ve heard something?”

“No,” Iris says, disgusted. “The capes flew him away, and that’s the last we’ve heard – apparently capes get treated at the fancy-smancy JLA HQ.”

Barry shrugs, but privately he agrees. The least they could’ve done would be drop him off at the hospital, but they’d been concerned with getting the Bat home. Or to the JLA HQ. Whatever.

Capes were kind of shitty to people they assumed were collateral damage.

But they were heroes.

At least –

Barry’d always thought they were.

Don’t trust the JLA.

“Iris,” Barry says. “Can I talk to you?”

He trusts Iris more than anything. They practically grew up together, joined at the hip. She was his first crush, nursed for far too long, before his dad gave him a talk about expectations and friendship and encouraged him to make his move, resulting in her shutting him down and him moving on.

Iris he trusts with anything.

“Sure,” she says. She kisses Eddie lightly on the cheek – they’re engaged now, still recently enough for it to be exciting – and heads after Barry.

He goes to the roof where the smokers go because there are no cameras there.

“What’s up, partner?” she asks.

Barry swallows. “I need to tell you something,” he says. “And I know you’re busy with your wedding plans and all that, so if you don’t want to be bothered –”

“Nah, we’re not actually planning on getting married for at least a year,” Iris says dismissively. “Need to give both our families time to freak out first. Also, you’re my partner and I’ve got your back. Now spill it.”

Barry tells her.

Tells her what happened in that abandoned warehouse.

Tells her what happened to the Bat.

What happened to Barry.

What the Bat said to him, in a hushed whisper, like he thought someone would overhear.

And, more than that, Barry shows her what it was that he got from the Bat.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” she says, staring at the incomprehensible squiggles.

“That’s what I thought,” Barry says. He runs his fingers through his hair. “The Bat said I needed to give it to a genius.”

“Do we even know any geniuses? If we give it to any of the eggheads in the department, they’ll probably alert the JLA. Not even on purpose; I would bet money that the JLA has spying programs of all sorts in all the police databases, even though they’ve never admitted it.”

“I don’t disagree,” Barry says. “So I’ve been thinking.”

He pauses. Licks his lips.

“Well?” she says.

“You’re not going to like it,” he warns her.

Iris crosses her arms. “Tell me.”

He tells her.

“No! Absolutely not!” she shouts.

“Shhhh!” Barry hisses, waving his hands. “And it’s not like I have a better alternative, okay?!”

“You have –”

She hesitates.

“Wells turned out to be evil, remember?” Barry reminds her. “He was deliberately sabotaging his own Particle Accelerator in an attempt to make this city a hotbed of metahumans; we wouldn’t have found out about it if it wasn’t for Hartley Rathaway turning evidence.”

“And you believing him,” Iris reminds him.

Barry shrugs. That had been his biggest collar so far, the one that made him feel like he deserved the title of detective instead of just wearing it.

“But still,” Iris says, “Snart?”

“He is undeniably a genius,” Barry says.

“So is – Tina McGee!”

Barry looks at her.

“Cisco Ramon?”

“Do you think either of them is the type of genius that Batman meant?”

“…no,” she concedes. “But how are you going to even find Snart? The Rogues don’t just sit around wherever you can find them – and even if you do find him, how in the world will you convince him to work with you? You’re a cop! Snart hates cops! Everybody knows that.”

“First,” Barry says, “let me find him. Then I’ll worry about convincing him.”

“But how will you find him?”

Barry smiles a little crookedly. “I think I’m going to go get some fish. You want me to pick you up something from the farmer's market while I'm there?”

"I want you to still be alive come nightfall, that's what I want," Iris grumbles.

“You’d better not fuck this up, kid,” Rory warns him gruffly. “I’m only doing this ‘cause you seem sincere, but if you use this against us...” He trails off warningly.

Barry nods, swallowing. “I won’t. I promise.”

They reach the bar at the end of the street.

Saints & Sinners.

“Is this the place?”

“Yeah,” Rory says. “We’re just about always here. C’mon.”

He leads the way inside.

The inside of the bar is – well. It’s like any other dive bar.

If any other dive bar had distinctly identifiable Rogues hanging out in the bar stools, in the booths, playing pool, watching TV.

And one of the ones sitting at the bar, watching a game of hockey, is the single most beautiful man Barry’s ever seen, wearing a instantly recognizable blue parka and a heavy gun strapped onto his thigh.

Rory doesn’t say anything, but it’s less than a moment before Snart is turning to regard them.

A faint smirk curls his lips.

“Mick,” he drawls, the voice that put Central City’s accent on the map. Leader of the Rogues, the man who mastered absolute zero, he who was widely recognized as the finest thief in the entire country, courted by other supervillains, and member of at least three different Leagues, Legions, and Societies.

Defender of Central City.

“What did you bring us?” Snart asks.

“A cop,” Rory says, mincing no words. “Name of Barry Allen. He’s got something to ask of you.”

“I see,” Snart says. His eyes show no discernible emotion as he scans Barry from head to toes and back. “Well then, Allen. I suggest you start talking.”

Barry swallows again, gathers his courage –

– and speaks.

#my fic #coldflash #coldflash2017A #barry allen #leonard snart #batman #iris west #david singh #mick rory

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