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

Walk it off

The weight of the night hung heavy in the air as Eddie sat awake on the couch, the soft glow of the lamp casting long shadows on the walls. He couldn't bring himself to sleep, not after seeing Buck like that. The sound of his sobs, the desperation in his voice, it all replayed in his mind on a loop.

Eddie stared at his phone on the coffee table, debating whether to call someone—maybe Bobby, maybe even Maddie. But he hesitated, unsure if Buck would want them to know. After everything, Eddie wanted to honor Buck's privacy, even as he grappled with his own helplessness.

He glanced toward the hallway leading to the guest room. The door was closed now, but Eddie could still hear the faint echo of Buck's uneven breathing, even in the silence. It wasn't as panicked as before, but it wasn't steady either.

Eddie rubbed his hands over his face and let out a shaky sigh. You're doing your best, he told himself. He's safe. He's here.

But that reassurance wasn't enough to quiet the knot of anxiety in his chest. He couldn't shake the image of Buck's pale face, his trembling hands, the way his voice cracked when he called out for his mom.

He leaned back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, and let his thoughts wander. Buck had always been so full of life, so resilient. Even after everything he'd been through, he had this uncanny ability to find the light in the darkest situations.

But now?

Now, Buck felt like a shadow of himself, his energy swallowed up by the weight of grief, trauma, and the ever-present hum of his ADHD.

Eddie exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. He thought back to the therapist's words from weeks ago, about how ADHD wasn't just about focus or restlessness—it was about how Buck processed the world, how it amplified his emotions, how it made him vulnerable to overstimulation.

It's not a flaw, Eddie reminded himself, echoing the therapist's mantra. It's part of who he is.

But even understanding it didn't make it easier to see Buck like this.

The morning came too quickly, the soft light of dawn creeping through the windows. Eddie barely registered the change, his eyes gritty from lack of sleep. He stood from the couch and stretched, his muscles stiff and sore.

A soft creak from the hallway made him turn. Buck emerged, looking as though he'd barely slept. His hair was a mess, his eyes bloodshot and shadowed with exhaustion. He had a blanket draped over his shoulders, clutching it like a lifeline.

"Hey," Eddie said softly. "How're you feeling?"

Buck shrugged, avoiding Eddie's gaze. "Fine," he mumbled, but his voice was hoarse, betraying the truth.

Eddie didn't push, knowing Buck well enough to recognize when he wasn't ready to talk. Instead, he gestured toward the kitchen. "You hungry? I can make some eggs or—"

"Coffee's fine," Buck interrupted, his tone flat.

Eddie nodded, moving to start the coffee maker. The silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. Eddie risked a glance at Buck, who had slumped into a chair at the table, his fingers nervously tugging at the edges of the blanket.

"You know," Eddie began carefully, keeping his tone casual, "you don't have to pretend you're okay."

Buck stiffened but didn't respond. His gaze stayed fixed on the table, his jaw tightening.

Eddie poured two cups of coffee and set one in front of Buck before sitting across from him. "Last night was...a lot," Eddie continued. "For both of us."

Buck's fingers tightened around the mug, his knuckles turning white. "I don't want to talk about it," he said quietly, his voice barely audible.

"Okay," Eddie said, nodding. "But when you're ready, I'm here."

Buck looked up then, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and guilt. "I just—I don't even know where to start."

"You don't have to figure it all out right now," Eddie said. "One step at a time, Buck."

Buck nodded, but his expression remained distant. He took a small sip of coffee, wincing at the heat, and set the mug down.

"Thanks," he said after a long pause.

"For what?" Eddie asked, leaning forward slightly.

"For not giving up on me," Buck said, his voice breaking.

Eddie reached across the table, placing a steady hand over Buck's. "Never," he said firmly. "You're stuck with me."

Buck let out a soft, watery laugh, but the sound was short-lived. His shoulders slumped again, the weight of everything pressing down on him once more.

Later that day, Eddie found himself back in the living room, folding the blanket Buck had left behind. He heard the soft creak of the guest room door opening and turned to see Buck standing there, looking hesitant.

"Hey," Eddie said, straightening.

"Can we...go for a walk or something?" Buck asked, his voice tentative. "I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin."

"Of course," Eddie said without hesitation. "Let me grab my shoes."

They ended up walking through the neighborhood in comfortable silence, the cool breeze brushing against their faces. Buck kept his hands shoved in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the ground. Eddie stayed a step behind, letting Buck set the pace.

Eventually, Buck broke the silence. "Do you ever feel like...you're just too much?"

Eddie frowned. "What do you mean?"

Buck stopped walking and turned to face him, his expression raw. "Like you're too loud, too emotional, too...everything."

Eddie's heart ached at the vulnerability in Buck's voice. He stepped closer, placing a hand on Buck's shoulder. "You're not too much, Buck," he said firmly. "You're exactly who you're meant to be."

Buck's lip quivered, and he looked away, blinking rapidly. "I just...I don't know how to be okay again."

Eddie squeezed his shoulder gently. "You don't have to figure it all out today. We'll take it one day at a time. Together."

Buck nodded, his throat working as he swallowed back the lump in his throat. For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to believe Eddie's words.

As they continued their walk, the world around them felt just a little bit lighter, the weight of the night before easing with each step.