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

Phillip Comes To The Station

The firehouse was busy, as usual. Laughter filled the air, the comforting sound of camaraderie in the midst of the chaos. Everyone was going about their tasks—Chimney was putting together a new piece of equipment, Hen was reviewing some paperwork, and Bobby was deep in conversation with the rest of the team about the next shift. The chatter provided a comforting background noise, a temporary escape from the whirlwind of emotions that Buck had been battling all week.

Buck stood by the lockers, trying to focus on getting his gear together, but the anxiety had a vice grip on his chest. He couldn't shake the tightness in his throat, the panic still swirling from last night. His father's words echoed in his mind, cutting deeper than the bruises on his face. You're nothing like him. You'll never be him.

The thought made him flinch, made him want to retreat into the quietest corner of the station, away from everyone. Away from the world that didn't seem to understand.

Just as he closed his locker door, the sound of the front door swinging open caught his attention. He didn't think much of it at first—people came in and out of the station all the time. But then, he heard the voice.

"Buck!"

It was unmistakable. His father. Phillip.

A chill ran down Buck's spine. His blood ran cold. He froze in place, his heart skipping a beat as the all-too-familiar anger crept into his veins. He couldn't let anyone know. Not here. Not now. His mind raced as he quickly scanned the area. The rest of the team was still busy, oblivious to the sudden tension that had taken root in the room.

Eddie, however, was already looking up. His eyes locked with Buck's for a brief moment, a flicker of concern passing between them. Buck's hand shot out, as if to stop Eddie from coming over. He couldn't let anyone get involved. Not this time.

Buck turned, moving quickly down the hallway that led to the back door, the one that was typically used for emergencies or deliveries. But Phillip was fast. Too fast.

Before Buck could react, the cold hand of his father gripped the back of his shirt, yanking him around the corner of the hallway, out of sight from the others.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Phillip hissed, his breath sour with the remnants of alcohol from earlier in the day. His voice was low, controlled, but there was no mistaking the venom behind it. Buck didn't dare to respond. He couldn't. He knew better than to fight back, knew better than to try and argue. The last thing he needed was to escalate this further.

But then, before Buck could even process what was happening, his father's fist came down hard across his cheek. The pain was sharp, immediate, burning with an intensity that made Buck gasp, his vision momentarily blurring. He staggered back, but Phillip was relentless. Another punch landed on his ribs, sending a wave of nausea through his stomach.

Buck's knees buckled, but he caught himself on the wall, his hands scrambling to hold onto something, anything, that could stop him from collapsing. He tried to breathe through it, but it felt like his chest was caving in, like he couldn't get enough air.

"You think you're better than me?" Phillip growled. "You think you can run around here like you're some fucking hero? You're just a disappointment. Always have been."

Buck closed his eyes, swallowing hard, trying to shut out the world around him. His hands were shaking, his body trembling, but he knew he couldn't make a sound. He couldn't let anyone hear. Not here. Not at the firehouse. Not where it might get back to the team.

A final shove sent him stumbling forward, his forehead slamming against the corner of the wall. He gritted his teeth against the wave of pain that spread through his head, trying to steady himself.