9-1-1/Chicago Fire OneShots x Male Reader

You Just Gonna Stand There? - Eddie Diaz

Eddie's POV:

I thought I'd never felt more panic than getting the radio static screech: "21 year old male, pulled from a Ford Ranger 2018, with a broken leg and two fractured ribs and multiple lacerations." but being stuck in the waiting room is even worse. Not knowing if Peter is okay, if he's going to make it or just how badly injured he is.

"Eddie?" I spin to see Buck stood there, the rest of my team in the 118 are there behind him. Neither of us think when we pull each other into a hug. It's the straw that breaks the camel's back and I'm sobbing, heaving and snotty as all I can imagine is the worst. Peter being trapped in that truck, unable to yell for help as we were there pulling people out. All because of that stupid drunkard. She could have killed someone, including her own goddamn son, let alone the number of people she injured, Peter included.

"Mr. Diaz?" A tentative voice speaks before clearing her throat, "He's resting now but you re welcome to go see him. One of you."

I've never moved so quickly, so much adrenaline pumping through my veins as I have no idea what to expect when I get there. It hurts to see him laying there, almost lifeless. He's bandaged up and skin ashen except the bruises beginning to bloom. I want to reach out to him but I'm terrified to even get close to his bedside, scared to make him hurt more.

"You just gonna stand there?" His voice is gruff and broken and it breaks my heart to hear. I can't stop the hesitation before he's the one reaching out, wincing as he does and it hurts me just as much.

"Hey, hey, don't exhaust yourself," I finally find the will to move and I'm by his side instantly, "I'm here. Right here." I do the only thing I think will hurt him the least and run my fingers through his usually soft and curly caramel locks, finding damp and greasy tangles, "Oh Peter, I-I was right there... I-"

"You had a job to do now lay down and stop fussing." He grumbles, sounding like sandpaper, and of course I do as he says. It's a heartbreaking process, hearing his whine of pain as I gently roll him on his side so I can slip in beside him before laying him back so he's pressed against my chest. The relief to have him here; against me; in my arms. Alive. He's okay, "Edmundo," Peter breaks through my thoughts, so I just hum in response, "I can hear you thinking."

"Sorry," I chuckle, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and wincing slightly when I realise the damp I felt was blood, "Oh baby," I can't stop the tears now, holding him and feeling him hold me back. Oh god I could have lost him... I could have- "You're safe with me."

"I love you Eddie."

"I love you too Peter."

"Good. Now shut up and sleep with me."