It was me in there( 9-1-1 )

Back At Eddies

The drive to Eddie's place had been silent, the kind of silence that swallowed everything. Buck could barely focus on the road, his body still trembling from the confrontation with his father. The sting in his chest hadn't faded, and neither had the weight of the words his father had spat at him. He could still hear them echoing in his mind, sharp and cutting, like they were carved into his soul.

When Eddie had finally pulled into his parking spot, Buck hadn't said a word. He just stepped out of the truck, his legs unsteady, and made his way up to the door, Eddie close behind him. The man didn't say anything, didn't ask questions. He just led Buck inside and shut the door behind him, locking it, like it was some kind of shield against the outside world.

"Sit down," Eddie said softly, guiding Buck to the couch. His tone was calm, measured, but there was a hint of urgency in his eyes. Eddie was worried. And Buck could feel it, the weight of it pressing down on him as he collapsed onto the couch, feeling every inch of his body aching with tension and pain.

Eddie didn't waste any time. He moved to the kitchen, grabbing a first-aid kit from the counter, the soft sound of the plastic box opening filling the quiet space. Buck barely registered it. His mind was elsewhere—his father's words still echoed in his head, and the pressure in his chest wouldn't let up. He was struggling to breathe, struggling to control the panic that clawed at him, but nothing seemed to help.

"Let me clean you up," Eddie said gently, coming back to Buck's side. He sat down next to him on the couch, his presence comforting in the chaos of Buck's mind. "I'm not gonna let you suffer alone, okay?"

Buck didn't respond. He couldn't. His throat was tight, and the tears that had threatened to spill out for hours were finally breaking free, hot and relentless. He didn't know when he had started crying, but there they were, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the blood from his split lip, his hands trembling in his lap.

Eddie's touch was gentle as he cupped Buck's chin, lifting it slightly to inspect the cuts on his face. "This won't take long," he said softly, his voice full of care as he dabbed at Buck's face with a damp cloth. He worked quickly but carefully, wiping away the blood, cleaning the small wounds that had started to bruise, but his touch never wavered. He treated Buck as if he were the most fragile thing in the world.

Buck wanted to pull away, to escape, but the panic had its claws in him. It was like he couldn't breathe, couldn't catch his breath no matter how hard he tried. His body was shaking uncontrollably now, the tears coming in harsh gasps, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

"Buck," Eddie said, his voice full of concern. "Talk to me. Please."

"I can't," Buck gasped, shaking his head violently as he pulled away slightly. "I can't tell anyone. I just can't." His voice cracked on the words, the fear overtaking him in waves.

Eddie paused, his hands hovering in mid-air as he watched Buck, his expression a mix of worry and frustration. "You can't keep bottling this up, Buck," Eddie said quietly, his voice almost a whisper, as if he were afraid the words would break Buck even more. "You can't keep this all inside. The team, they care about you. They need to know what's going on."

Buck wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing tears and sweat across his skin. He felt like he was suffocating, like the air around him was too thick to breathe. "I don't want them to see me like this," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I don't want them to know."

Eddie's hand moved to rest on Buck's knee, steady and grounding, but it did little to stop the spiral that was quickly taking over Buck's mind. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, the panic suffocating him. "You think they won't understand? You think they won't be there for you?" Eddie asked, his voice soft but insistent.