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

I'm Just So Tired Eddie..

The hours that followed the phone call blurred into an exhausting haze for Buck. The night seemed to stretch on endlessly, dragging him further into a spiral he couldn't escape. His thoughts wouldn't stop racing—faster than he could breathe, faster than he could think.

By the time Eddie gently knocked on the guest room door to check on him, Buck had pressed himself against the far wall, his knees drawn tightly to his chest. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by Buck's ragged breaths.

"Buck?" Eddie's voice was soft, but it carried concern that cut through the fog.

Buck didn't respond. He couldn't. His chest felt like it was caving in, ribs constricting so tightly he was sure his heart would burst. His hands trembled violently, clutching at the fabric of his sweatpants as if holding himself together was the only thing keeping him from completely unraveling.

Eddie slowly opened the door, stepping inside cautiously. His heart broke at the sight of Buck—the man who had faced flames, collapsed buildings, and impossible rescues—reduced to this. His body was shaking uncontrollably, his face pale and glistening with sweat.

"Hey, Buck," Eddie said gently, kneeling down a few feet away, not wanting to startle him. "You're safe. I'm here, okay?"

Buck blinked at him, his blue eyes glassy and unfocused. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. Instead, he clutched his chest, his breathing coming in shallow, rapid gasps.

Eddie's stomach dropped. "Buck, are you having trouble breathing?" he asked, keeping his tone steady even though panic was building in his own chest.

Buck nodded jerkily, a single tear slipping down his cheek.

"Okay, listen to me," Eddie said, inching closer but still giving Buck space. "I need you to try to match my breathing, all right? In for four, out for four. You can do this. I've got you."

He demonstrated, exaggerating the rise and fall of his chest. Buck tried to follow, but his breaths hitched halfway through, and his hands flew up to his head, clutching at his hair as if he could pull the overwhelming thoughts out of his skull.

"I can't—" Buck's voice cracked, a raw, desperate sound. "I can't—Eddie, it won't stop. My head...it won't stop."

Eddie slid closer now, within reach. He placed a firm but gentle hand on Buck's knee. "I know it feels like this is too much, but you're not alone. I'm right here. We'll get through this together, okay?"

Buck's chest heaved as he choked back a sob. He wanted to believe Eddie, but the weight of everything—his ADHD, his grief, his trauma—pressed down on him like an anchor dragging him into the depths.

"I'm so tired," Buck whispered, his voice trembling.

"I know," Eddie murmured. "I know you are. But you're stronger than this, Buck. You've been through hell and back, and you're still standing."

Buck shook his head, tears spilling freely now. "I'm not. I'm not strong, Eddie. I'm broken. I can't do this anymore."

Eddie's throat tightened, but he forced himself to stay composed. He leaned forward, taking Buck's trembling hands in his own. "You're not broken, Buck. You're human. And everything you're feeling right now? It's valid. But it doesn't define you."

Buck's breathing hitched again, and his body jolted as a sudden wave of nausea overtook him. "I think—I think I'm gonna—"

Eddie reacted instantly, grabbing the trash can from beside the bed and holding it in front of Buck. He rubbed soothing circles on Buck's back as he retched, his body convulsing with the force of it.

"It's okay," Eddie said softly, his voice steady even as his heart ached for Buck. "Let it out. I'm right here."

When Buck finally leaned back, his face was pale, and his whole body trembled with exhaustion. Eddie set the trash can aside and handed him a bottle of water from the nightstand.

"Take small sips," Eddie instructed.

Buck obeyed, though his hands shook so much that Eddie had to help him hold the bottle steady.

After a few minutes of silence, Buck's voice broke the stillness, small and fragile. "I used to call her," he said, staring at the floor.

Eddie frowned. "Who?"

"My mom," Buck whispered. "When I was a kid and I got like this...she was the only one who could calm me down. She'd hum this song, and it would just...help. And now she's gone. I don't—I don't know how to do this without her."

Eddie's heart twisted. "You don't have to do it without her, Buck. You've got me. You've got Maddie. You've got all of us."

Buck shook his head, tears spilling again. "It's not the same, Eddie. She's gone, and I can't—I can't bring her back. I'm so tired of missing her. I'm so tired of...everything."

Eddie didn't have words for the pain in Buck's voice. Instead, he pulled Buck into a tight embrace, holding him as if his strength alone could shield him from the storm raging inside.

"I've got you," Eddie whispered, his own voice thick with emotion. "I've got you, and I'm not going anywhere."

For a long time, they stayed like that, Buck's trembling gradually subsiding as Eddie held him close.