Chapter Text
It starts with ringing in his ears. He’s on the ground, having scrambled from Gerard’s body - blood rapidly gushing from the back of the captain’s head. The anger is replaced with dread, with fear over what he’s done.
“Oh my god, Buck-” Hen starts, and Buck doesn’t look up at her.
This is it. As his family leaps into action, to save the man Buck’s probably just gotten killed. He stares at the growing pool under Gerard’s head, Eddie keeping pressure on the wound as best as he can, without agitating any potential spinal injury. Realistically, Buck knows the wound is being treated. Realistically , he knows he’s definitely going to be fired. Lose everything he’s worked so hard for. Tackling a captain, injuring one? He’s done for.
“You just saved his life .” Hen finishes, and Buck finally meets her eyes.
“What?”
Hen’s eyes track to the glint of metal, a rotary saw blade embedded in the engine. Oh. Buck chokes on a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He chokes again when he realizes he’s inadvertently saved Gerard’s life. His heart is in his throat as he nods numbly, staring at the unconscious man.
“Buck, I need you to help transfer him to the backboard. We have to get him on a cart and go .” Eddie says, pulling him out of the haze of fear…of relief.
Buck, spurred into action, assists. And soon, Hen and Chimney are in the box, speeding away. Lights flashing. Buck looks down, staring at the shine of metal jutting out. If he’d been one second later. He would have - Gerard would have…
“Buck?” Eddie questions. A hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “You okay?”
Buck nods, sharply, blinking. He tears his eyes away from the blade, taking a step backward. His foot splashes against. God. The blood. He scrambles back further, nearly losing his balance as he shakes, trembling over what he’s done.
He hadn’t meant to save Gerard. Buck is pretty certain that he wanted to kill him at that moment of impact. He has no idea how bad the head injury is. Maybe he had. The blood is slick, and he swallows his rising panic. He’s left footprints. Tracing him back to the…
‘Crime, Evan. You should just say it.’ He thinks, and then he’s falling back on his ass. He’s sweating, heaving for breath. Eddie presses gentle hands to his boot, untying the laces and tugging it off.
“It’s okay, Buck. He’ll be okay. You saved his life.”
“I didn’t mean to.” Buck says, breathless. The tight knot of anxiety threatens to bring him to tears. God, he’s a monster. He had attacked someone. He can’t breathe.
Eddie helps him to his feet, away from the blood. Buck still feels sick, the thought that he was capable of something like that nauseating him. He worries his lip harshly between his teeth, nauseated by the thought.
‘Murderer.’ His brain insists. ‘Even if the saw blade didn’t kill him, you did. You saw the blood.’
Rationally, Buck knows that all head wounds bleed profusely. Gerard’s just knocked out. He isn’t - he can’t be…
Eddie disappears for a moment, out of Buck’s line of sight. Buck crumples his hands into fists, looking around dazedly. He’s on the upstairs couch, tucked against one of the worn cushions. He doesn’t remember walking up the stairs. He closes his eyes, swallowing back the urge to throw up.
Eddie is back, tapping a small trash bin against Buck’s knee with a small pitying smile. He holds a cold water in his other hand, and Buck takes them both.
“You have the same look on your face as Christopher when he’s trying not to throw up.” Eddie explains, eyebrows tilted with empathy.
And god does that hurt. Eddie’s hurt - it’s shared. Because Christopher isn’t here right now. He’s with his grandmother, and has been for a while now. Buck’s fingers tighten around the bin. It’s the one they keep in the bunks, but the liner is clean. Eddie smooths a hand over Buck’s, where the tension is making his knuckles turn white.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Eddie murmurs, softly. Buck swallows again, but when he opens his mouth to speak, he immediately pukes into the trash bin instead. He heaves, spit and bile coating the bottom. He’s shivering with revulsion, both for the action and himself.
“I’m a murderer.” He chokes out. “I attacked him. I didn’t mean to push him out of the way.” He confesses.
It makes him vomit again, harder this time. Choked off and strangled. He coughs, trying to stop.
“That’s bullshit.” Eddie says, voice dark. “Gerard is a tough piece of shit. He’ll be fine. Awful people always outlive everyone else.”
Buck doesn’t feel better. He sets the bin down, after rinsing out his mouth and spitting into it for a final time. Eddie tries to take it, but Buck hesitates, pulling back on the plastic rim.
“I’m not going to make you clean my vomit, Eddie.” He says, embarrassed.
“You aren’t making me do anything.”
“Eddie-”
“ No, Buck. Let me do this for you.”
Buck lets go of the bucket, closing his eyes and curling forward. He presses the heel of his hand into his furrowed brows, and feels a pat on his back before Eddie quietly leaves to dispose of Buck’s mess. Buck stifles back a hysterical laugh, but it escapes a little. Just enough to feel crazy.
His phone rings. With shaking hands, he fumbles with the screen - it’s…Maddie? He accepts the call.
“Buck…” Maddie begins, and god, Buck knows that tone. “They, um…wanted me to be the one to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” Buck says, mouth dry and Eddie in his peripheral vision.
“Your captain. He’s dead, Buck.” She says.
Time gets blurry after that.