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

Bucks Panic

It was supposed to be just another call. Nothing more than a routine medical emergency.

The fire truck barreled down the streets of Los Angeles, lights flashing and sirens blaring, as the crew headed toward a small residential home. The call had come in as a teenage boy with a possible sprained ankle after an accident. It seemed straightforward—nothing out of the ordinary.

Buck gripped the wheel tighter, the low hum of the engine in the background barely registering as his mind raced elsewhere. Eddie, sitting beside him, chatted casually about his plans for the weekend—nothing important, just passing the time. Buck nodded and made the appropriate noises, but his focus was elsewhere. A restlessness bubbled in his chest, an unease he couldn't shake, though he couldn't quite place the cause.

He swallowed hard and tried to focus on the road.

But that feeling... the one that had been creeping in for days—weeks, really—was gnawing at him again, that gnawing sense that something was off. That the world around him was shifting, that he was barely hanging on.

"Buck, you good?" Eddie's voice was quieter now, more concerned, as if he could sense the tension in Buck's shoulders.

Buck blinked, quickly pulling himself from his spiraling thoughts. He forced a smile, the same one he'd used for years to mask the chaos inside. "Yeah, just... tired, I guess. Long shift."

Eddie raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but didn't press further. "Alright, just checking."

They arrived at the house, a small bungalow with a neglected lawn. The team filed out quickly, grabbing their medical bags and heading toward the front door, which was already open. The woman who met them was frantic, pale, her eyes wide with fear.

"My son! My son!" she cried, her voice thick with panic. "He's hurt, but... but there's something else. Something's wrong!"

They moved quickly inside, following the woman to the living room where a teenage boy sat on the couch, clutching his leg. The boy's face was pale, his breath shallow. He looked no older than fifteen, maybe sixteen, with a mop of brown hair and wide, dark eyes that flickered nervously around the room.

Buck's stomach clenched when he saw the boy. There was something in his eyes—a fear that hit too close to home. A familiar, raw panic that Buck had seen before.

"Hey, buddy," Bobby's deep voice cut through the tension, calm and steady. "What happened? Can you tell us where it hurts?"

The boy winced as he shifted, clutching his leg tighter. "I... I fell. I twisted it when I slipped on the stairs. But... it's not just that. I can't... I can't breathe right."

Bobby raised an eyebrow as he crouched down beside him. "Alright, let's take a look."

Buck knelt next to Bobby, but his eyes were fixed on the boy's face. The panic was there, visible in the tremble of his hands, the way his chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths.

"Take a deep breath for me," Bobby instructed.

The boy tried, but his breath caught halfway, and Buck could see the fear tighten around his features.

"I—I can't," the boy stuttered. "I—I have leukemia."

Buck froze.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Leukemia. The same disease that had taken his brother. The same disease he had failed to fight, the same disease he couldn't save Daniel from. Buck's chest constricted painfully, and before he even realized it, he had begun to breathe faster—too fast.