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---- Bobby ----
Buck was a weird kid.
Bobby had thought it from the moment Buck had joined the 118 firestation.
When they were signing the paperwork that first day, he’d asked Buck for his contact details. Buck had fumbled in his pockets for his phone, trying to find his number to give, only to pull out the oldest, clunkiest phone Bobby had ever seen.
Something he’d seen exclusively used by old people and technophobes.
Buck didn’t even know how to turn it on.
“Have you not had a phone before?” Bobby jested, only half-teasing. His smile dropped slightly as Buck earnestly shook head.
“No.” Buck shrugged easily, not seeming to realise how wrong his lack of phone felt in the modern age. Bobby had read his paperwork; the kid was 27 years old. How had he never owned a phone before? “I mean some of my friends had them when I was younger at camp… but they were kind of contraband, so I never had one.”
Bobby released a slow breath.
There were so many things wrong with that statement.
Instead of acknowledging any of them, however, Bobby reached out for Buck's phone. “Okay. Well, this is the ‘on’ button –“
****
They were on a break between calls. Bobby stood at the kitchen counter chopping onions, pretending not to notice Buck peering over at him every two seconds.
Buck glanced over at him for the twelfth time in as many minutes.
Bobby sighed. “What is it, Buck?”
Fiddling with a lighter, one that Buck seemed to carry everywhere, Buck offered. “Do you want some help?”
Bobby’s eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion, before he realised Buck was gesturing at the food preparation he was doing.
“…You want to help cook?” Bobby asked, clarifying to make sure he was understanding correctly. It was the last thing he would have expected a young, brash kid like Buck to offer to help with.
Buck nodded eagerly. “Yeah! I used to cook all the time at camp. People enjoyed my cooking, if I say so myself.”
“Alright,” Bobby agreed, hesitantly. “Why don’t you start continue with the onions, I’ll start on the sauce.”
Buck leapt up.
He picked up one of the cutting knives, spinning it fluidly in his hands, like a circus act. Bobby raised his eyebrows but pointedly didn’t ask.
“Who taught you how to cook?” Bobby asked, instead.
“I’m more self-taught. But my, uh, cousins? Yeah, my cousins –“, Buck settled on. “–always said I had a gift for it.” He smirked to himself, like he was making a joke Bobby wasn’t in on. Buck's ramblings continued as they settled into the rhythm of cooking, one of them chopping another mixing. It was a cathartic exercise, something Bobby used to do with his own –
No.
He wouldn’t go there; not today.
"We used to grow vegetables, as well, since camp was in the middle of nowhere, so there weren't any grocery stores around. Very isolated. But it meant everything was organic and fresh-."
Bobby struggled to keep an impassive face as Buck spoke; was it normal for camps to be so isolated that the kids grew their own food? Bobby had never looked into camps himself, so he supposed it could be a norm he wasn't aware of.
“It’s ready.” Bobby announced.
The team gathered round: Hen, Chimney, Buck and Bobby, as well as a few of the B-Shift stragglers who’d taken a while to shower and change and were unsubtly hanging around for the food Bobby offered.
Taking a bite of the meal, Bobby had to hold back a moan – Chimney didn’t even try to hold back his – it was delicious.
Bobby had been cooking a long time and nothing he’d ever made taste like that. It had to be Buck’s influence; it couldn’t be anything else. Bobby glanced over to Buck, all set on complimenting Buck’s cooking, when he noticed Buck had yet to take a bite.
Instead, he looked as if he was… praying?
Bobby hadn’t been shy about his own proclivity for religion, though he refrained from being too zealous about it, in case he made anyone uncomfortable. If Buck was religious, why wouldn’t he have mentioned it? Bobby would have done his best to accommodate him.
Buck spooned out a small portion and retrieved his ever-present lighter. Bringing it up to his spoon, he lit and burned it like an offering of some sort. His mouth moved, taking the shape of a language Bobby didn’t recognise.
Bobby couldn’t recall any religion that required a sacrifice or ancient languages.
Something 'pinged' in his brain about the types of places that grew their own food, kept isolated from the world around them and practiced sacrifices on the regular. Bobby shook his head before he could spiral too far; he was sure he was just over-thinking things. Instead, Bobby added the interactions simply as yet another item on his running list of ‘Curious things about Buck’.
****
Buck was reckless.
He was still in his probationary year, so a certain level of recklessness and carelessness borne of inexperience was expected. However, Buck’s recklessness was different; there was a level of self-assuredness he had when he ran into danger. He ran into fire with a confidence of a man who knows he’ll come back out.
He was eager, but not inattentive. He listened to orders, though sometimes deviated from them, specifically when he thought he could save someone, even if he’d been ordered to evacuate.
It led to some arguments between him and Buck.
“I’m sorry.” Buck apologised, directing it to his feet.
“I don’t want a sorry, Buck.” Bobby fixed Buck with his strongest glare. “I want you to follow order and evacuate when I tell you to!”
“I knew I’d be fine.”
“That’s not the point, Buck.” Bobby disagreed. “Besides, you were hurt. You were hit by collapsing debris. You got concussion.”
“It was barely a flesh wound.” Buck protested.
If it was anyone else, Bobby would assume Buck was making a Monty Python reference, but Buck had little to no pop-culture reference – despite Chimney’s attempts to educate him on slow days – so Bobby could only sigh.
It was true that Buck had healed from the apparent concussion quickly – almost too quickly – but that didn’t make his propensity to run into extreme danger to save another’s’ life against orders, even at the cost of his own, any less of a danger.
“I heal quickly.” Buck continued, rushing to fill Bobby’s silence. “I always have. I’d always heal quick when hurt at camp –“ Bobby's concern piqued again; how often did Buck get hurt at this camp of his to know that about himself? “ – I wouldn’t take unnecessary risks. I promise.”
Bobby’s eyes softened at Buck’s earnest words.
“Just don’t do it again, Buck.” Bobby conceded, knowing full well that this wouldn’t be the last time they had this conversation.
****
It was six months into Buck’s probationary year when Hen approached him.
A knock rapped on his door.
Hen’s head popped out from behind it. “Cap, can I have a word with you?”
It had been a quiet shift, one spent more on recreational activities, eating or sleeping. Buck had spent most of it either restlessly bouncing his leg or listening to Chimney’s tutorial on how to use Facebook.
“Come on in, Hen.” He waited until she closed the door to gesture to the seat before him. He shuffled the papers on his desk together. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I’m worried… about Buck.” Bobby paused in his shuffling of papers; attention immediately caught. “He has these scars, and he says weird things sometimes. It made Chim and me worry –”, She paused, as though wondering what to divulge. “–that the ‘camp’ he’s always mentioning was some sort of, I don’t know, conversion camp.”
“A conversion camp?” Bobby questioned, startled.
“Or at least one of those camps for at risk teens.” Hen amended. “Though he has mentioned he was sent there to be ‘with others like him’ and that he hadn’t be able to leave afterwards.”
It makes a weird amount of sense. Bobby thought, sickened by the thought of young, happy Buck in the care of a conversion camp or anything of the sort. The lack of familiarity with phones or other technology; the isolation from outside society; the almost overt hyper-sexuality with women; the prayers and ancient languages; his familiarity with being hurt; and the scars Hen had seen. It all makes sense.
Still, Hen had come to him as her Captain, not as her friend, so he kept his face impassive and asked. “Do you think anything he’s doing or saying affects his ability to work?”
Hen hesitated, then shook her head decisively. “No.”
“Then, we’ll keep an eye on his well-being and if he wants to tell us anything about his past, we’ll be there. But until then, we won’t speculate too much. We’ll let him come to us.” Bobby gave Hen a firm look. “We don’t ask uncomfortable questions. And we give him a safe space to talk. Alright?”
Hen nodded.
“Okay then,” He returned to his papers, dismissing Hen. “ – thank you for coming to me with your concerns.”
****
Despite his discussion with Hen, this wasn’t something Bobby would be letting go. In fact, he had a good idea of who he should go to: Sergeant Athena Grant.
---- Athena ----
Athena met Buck on a call, as she often did for the First Responders she knew.
Her first impression of him was a young, hot-headed upstart who thought a lot of himself, exuding arrogance from every pore. However, Athena could admit when she was wrong and, in this instance, she couldn’t have been more wrong.
The more time she spent with him – and it was becoming a lot more now she and Bobby had begun dating, not that it was common knowledge yet – the more she realised how open, honest and caring he really was.
There were, however, red flags.
Not the ‘I’m a danger to others and need to be watched like a hawk’ red flags, but more of the ‘I’ve had tragic things happen in my life that I can’t talk about’ red flags. The type the brought-out concern for Buck, not concern of him.
“Sargent Grant!” Buck greeted as she entered the Firehouse. He watched her from the balcony, a delighted grin spread across his face. He was wearing his customary sous chef apron, the one that spoke of a more relaxed shift than a rushed one.
“Hey there, Buckaroo.” Athena replied, kissing Bobby on the cheek, as she moved past. “I bring gifts.”
She laid donuts on the countertop.
“Alright! You are a Goddess among men, Athena!” Hen praised jokingly.
Buck fumbled with his knife, uncharacteristically, cutting himself with a hiss.
“You alright there, Buck-o?” Chimney called out, all of them watching Buck with concern.
Buck forced out an unconvincing laugh. “Y-Yeah, I’m alright.”
“Come on, Buckaroo. Join us.” Athena encouraged, half out of concern and half out of the genuine desire for his presence.
“As you command, Sargent Grant.” Buck acquiesced with a smile. Athena frowned, lightly.
“We've known each other how long now, Buck?” She asked with an air of casual questioning. Though anyone who knew her well would be able to see her minute shift to ‘business’ mode.
“Uh, six months?” Buck ventured.
“About so.” Athena agreed, as if she didn’t know the exact day they met. “How come you’ve known me for over six months, and you still can’t call me by my first name?”
Buck winced. He attempted to cover it with another forced laugh, but Athena’s discerning eye had already caught it.
Maybe it was a fear of authority figures? She’d been hearing Hen’s concerns for months now about Buck’s scars and his unusual stories about this so-called ‘camp’ of his. She could only hope they were reading too much into things, and he hadn’t actually been hurt by someone he trusted.
“I can!” Buck objected. His face made a complicated expression, as he paused, a mix of apprehension and fear, before it was smothered by a determined look. “I can call you by your name, ‘Thena.” He said her name slowly, emphasising some parts weirdly.
He glanced around the room – looking for what Athena didn’t know – before coming to the conclusion that no-one was going to strike him down for something as small as using Athena’s name.
“See, ‘Thena?” He repeated, more confidently this time.
Whatever his hang-up over using her first name, it was disappearing quickly.
“Hey, Buck. I’ve been curious –“, Hen cut in. “Where’d the nickname Buck come from?”
Bucks had drifted to his pocket, where his trusty lighter was held. A nervous gesture he’d yet to grow out of; something he’d do when asked a personal question or something pertaining to his ‘camp’.
“Well, Buckley is my last name. And there were at least four other Evans at camp when I was dropped there –“ Athena’s detective instincts stored that information in her head, in case it became relevant later on. “ – and they thought I was something of a good luck charm. And Buck rhymes with Luck.”
He shrugged self-consciously.
“It’s a lovely nickname!” Hen hurried. “It’s better than how Chimney got his name –“
“Hey!”
With a curious tilt to his head, Buck asked. “And how did Chimney get his name?”
****
“Do you like owls, ‘Thena?”
Athena bit back a sigh at the question. She lifted her eyes to the sky, silently asking the world: Why me?
She’d had a long day at the station and even longer in the field; it was 2am and she was at the scene of a crime. Buck was waiting outside the ‘CAUTION’ tape, beside the ambulance; the suspect for a string of arsons was being treated inside a Warehouse and only strictly medical professionals were being allowed inside.
That left Buck and Athena stood together, waiting for Chimney and Hen to bring the man out on a gurney.
Athena gave in, sighing irritably. “What kind of a question is that, Buck?”
She glanced over at him, catching a rigidness to his frame that wasn’t there before. Whatever the reason for his question, it was clearly important to Buck.
“No, Buck. I don’t like owls.” She noticed the tension leak out of him instantly. “I think they’re liable to destroy garden furniture and leave droppings on my car… Happy?”
Buck smiled, eyes relieved.
****
Athena entered the Firehouse, immediately noticing the increase in activity; the team had either just come back from a call or were heading to one and judging by the lack of sirens, she could assume it was the former.
She stepped further into the station, giving a cursory glance to the lower level moving already to the staircase, when her attention caught.
There was a man in the changing room – the see-through glass changing room, which Athena thought was a poor decision on many levels – who was pulling on a shirt.
His muscles were rippling as he did so, but that wasn’t what Athena was focussed on.
Across his back were small, circular burn marks, similar to ones left by cigarettes or cigars but larger. Overlapping the burn marks were a number of small vertical and horizontal lines, ones that cold only have been made by a sharp implement. A knife or a dagger of some kind? From the side, she could also make out similar cuts on his arms.
But before she could search for more, the figure turned around, noticing her.
“’Thena!”
It was Buck.
She knew Buck had scars; both Hen and Bobby had confided in her about them, expressing their fears about what had happened to Buck. But seeing the range of scars – burns and slash marks, even a stab wound if she’d made it out correctly – and the various ages of them – spanning several years, meaning prolonged abuse perhaps, made it more real.
Buck had wormed his way into her heart; he’d found a way in and set up Home there. She would be damned if she didn’t do her best from now on to protect him and – if possible – find the bastards who’d hurt him and make them pay.
****
Not a few weeks after she saw the scars, Bobby came to her with a new theory, one that she couldn’t deny seemed more probable by the day: Buck had been victim of a conversion camp.
---- Eddie ----
Eddie liked Buck.
He’d been at the 118 a month and knew Buck was a game-changer for him; he’d gone out of his way to both befriend Eddie – and his son – as well as give Eddie a way of keeping himself afloat, without making Eddie feel ashamed for being unable to cope.
Buck just had a way about people.
That didn’t mean Eddie didn’t notice the weirdness.
First one he noticed were the scars. Eddie had made a note not to ask about the scars yet; it wasn’t something he could see going over well a month into knowing a person, he’d settled instead for sharing a meaningful, concerned look with Hen and Chimney in the changing room.
Chimney had subtly shaken his head, silently advising Eddie not to ask.
The other parts, though, made Buck an interesting puzzle to solve.
It was the way he cut up his favourite piece of beef and, instead of digging into the best and juiciest parts of it, he’d wait an extra beat and burn the first portion of it with a silent prayer. Eddie had thought – at first – that it was some subtle way to check if his food had been poisoned or drugged. When he’d voiced this concern to Hen and Chim, on Q-word night, Hen had genuinely pulled out a full list of ‘Weird Things about Buck’ from who knows where and added ‘concerned about being drugged?’ to the list.
It wasn’t just him who found things weird then; the others had a list.
One night, a few months into knowing each other, Buck was hanging out at his after work, wine in hand. He’d struck Eddie as more of a beer drinker but, when offered, he’d opted for a wine saying something along the lines of he ‘liked to toast someone when drinking it’.
“What’s that around your neck?” Eddie asked curiously.
He’d seen Buck fiddle with his lighter, whenever nervous, but another less frequent tell was him reaching up to touch his necklace.
Buck peered down, pulling out the elusive necklace from underneath his shirt. It was a full of hand-painted beads, ten of them from what Eddie could count. They were of varying colours and patterns, ones that were difficult to make out.
“It’s my necklace. From camp.” Buck answered, fidgeting and twiddling the beads round as he did.
Camp.
Eddie had heard a lot about this ‘camp’ of Bucks, primarily rants from Chim and Hen about how abusive it sounded and what they wanted to do to the people in charge of it. He’d also heard a lot tangentially about the camp from Buck; the sentence ‘ – at camp I did this’ or ‘When I was at camp I did that–“, but Buck rarely gave identifying information about the camp out. He sounded weirdly fond of camp, from his stories, which had Eddie wondering if Buck had ever acknowledged how bad it was.
“What are the symbols of?” Eddie leaned into Buck’s space slightly, aiming to get a closer look. Buck’s breath hitched minutely in response.
“Uh, they depict different Greek myths –“ Buck answered breathlessly. “ –with a modern twist. Like this one –“ He pulled forwards one with a painted Golden Fleece and a pine tree. “ –it was based on the story of the Golden Fleece.”
Eddie wasn’t familiar with the Greek myths or stories, but he nodded along with Buck anyway; used to listening to Buck ramble on about various subject or articles that caught his interest.
Eddie was now close enough to Buck that he could make out some of the other images, too. They were: Three symbols on one bead, a Trident on the second, the golden fleece and a pine tree on the third, a maze on the fourth, the Empire State Building on the fifth, a golden dragon on the sixth and the number ‘7’ on the seventh.
Buck’s fingers lingered on the Empire State Building one, twisting it until he found what he wanted to, he rubbed the part – it looked like a series of names of some kind – before dropping the necklace back to his neck.
“It comforts me, having these on. It’s like your St. Christopher’s medal.” Buck explained. “It reminds me of what we all went through.”
Eddie reached for his own neck, clutching at the medal in question. His St Christopher’s medal was something he wore to get him through a war… what did Buck’s get him through?
****
It was a full-moon, Eddie’s first full-moon with the 118, in fact.
He hadn’t expected the day to go any differently, but given the uniqueness of the 118, maybe he should have.
They were in the back of the firetruck, on route to a call involving a woman who claimed her face had been bitten off by a real-life wolf. Eddie scoffed; she likely was just high and had an accident.
He said as much to the truck as a whole, only for Hen to groan quietly. “Don’t get Buck started.”
“You seriously don’t believe in werewolves? There’s statistical evidence that shows that the full-moon does have an impact on psychiatric functions of the brain. The ‘Lunar’ effect –“
“You do believe in the Lunar effect?” Eddie laughed, eyeing Buck sat across from him. His laugh petered out slightly as he noticed the genuine discomfort and frustration in Buck’s body language.
“Okay, okay,” Eddie pacified. “ – Let’s say we believe that the moon has an effect on people. What can we even do about that?”
Buck smiled. “If people are experiencing side effects of the full-moon, it’s recommended for them to spend time at Home resting and recuperating with family. They say the benefits of a home-cooked meal and a warm fire can outweigh any holistic medicine you can get.”
Chimney interjected, laughing. “You’re saying we should all be booking the full-moon off? Why didn’t I think of that?”
Buck frowned at Chimney's unintended derision, turning to look out the window. Eddie nudged Buck with his knee, raising a questioning eyebrow. Buck shook his head in response.
If Buck wanted to believe in the powers of the full-moon or it's supernatural impacts, who was Eddie to stop him?
---- Chimney ----
Chimney enjoyed educating Buck in the ways of the world; in some ways it felt just as much of a calling as being a Firefighter, if not more. The sheer joy Buck exuded on being shown something as simple as Candy Crush bemused him. He assumed it was something in the way Buck grew up that had him more sheltered and naïve than the rest of the world.
It was only when Chimney met Buck’s sister, Maddie, that he realised it had nothing to do with Buck’s family and everything to do with Buck’s camp.
Maddie was normal.
Far more normal than Mr. ‘I burn an offering before every meal’ and Mr. ‘I can read Ancient Greek and never told anyone’.
One night, when he and Maddie were hanging out – not dating, definitely not dating – with take-out and a movie, he finally asked her about it.
“So… what’s with Buck?” He could have put it more mildly, but after an easy night of both casual and deep conversations, Chimney hadn’t felt the urge to obfuscate.
“What do you mean?” Maddie looked up curiously at Chimney.
“I mean the whole camp thing.” Chimney clarified, cautiously. “The whole scars, ancient Greek and prayer circle stuff.”
Maddie’s mouth opened and closed multiple times, as though she was going to speak and then stopped herself. Finally, she asked, “What are you talking about?”
It was in that moment Chimney realised, he fucked up.
****
“Are you trying to tell me that my parents dropped him at some summer camp – one that you think actively abused him – and they never thought to question it?!” Maddie demanded.
“Uh, I think it was more of an all-year round kind of camp actually.” Chimney amended, regretting it instantly at Maddie’s contrite look. “Buck sort of implied he lived there full time.”
He cringed as he spotted tears welling in Maddie’s eyes. “How old was he when they dropped him there?”
Chimney shrugged. He did some mental calculations based on things Buck had said. “…Maybe nine, ten years old?”
Maddie was silent, her face twitching slightly, as though she was rummaging in her mind for evidence to either support or counter what Chimney was saying.
“That’s around the time they stopped mentioning him as much.” Maddie spoke quietly, voice thick with emotion. “He started sending postcards instead of calling from the home phone.” She affixed Chimney with a determined look. “Tell me everything you know.”
****
Here’s the thing, Chimney wasn’t a very good secret keeper; anyone at the 118 could verify that, it’s why no-one ever told him about birthday presents or surprise parties. So, when Maddie asked him to become an unofficial mole in the 118 and to keep a record of anything concerning that Buck mentioned, Chimney went straight to Hen.
“What should I do?”
Hen gave him an unimpressed look. “How is that any different to what we were already doing with the list? And the talks with Cap and Athena?”
“I – I –“, Chimney gesticulated wildly, trying to articulate why it felt more spy-like and, subsequently, more uncomfortable. “I don’t know. It just feels more official, like she’s asking me to spy on Buck. And I don’t like it.”
“Then don’t do it.” Hen stated, simply. “It’s not a big deal.”
“But –“
His continued existential crisis was cut off by the sires, he pointed his finger at Hen, as threatening as he could – which didn’t end up looking very threatening at all. “This isn’t over!”
It was a multi-story apartment fire, all hands on-deck.
It meant multiple firehouses and ambulances units all setting up shop, with alternating teams evacuating and tending to the residents, across the space of half the night.
Five hours in, Buck, Bobby, Eddie, Hen and Chimney were sat having a much-needed water break – having had the 127 take over for the time being – with a couple of the 136 panting beside them.
One of the 136, a man with overalls saying ‘Logan’ on the back of them, fumbled with his water canteen, managing to spill most of it on the floor beside him.
“Deodamnatus!” The man cursed, rushing to pick the canteen up before it spilled more. Chimney couldn’t accurately confirm what language he’d cursed in but, if he was a betting man, he’d have said it was Latin.
Buck’s head swivelled round to the man.
With a small smirk, Buck yelled across the room. “Ave!”
The man snapped to up to his feet and to attention. “Ave!”
Breaking from the spell, the man looked around for the source of the yell, only to find Buck creasing with laughter. A scowl stole across his face. “Ah. I see. You must be a ‘Friend of Percy’s’.”
He said the phrase ‘Friend of Percy’s’ like an insult, which it must be as Chimney couldn’t recall Buck ever mentioning a friend called Percy.
“You must be a ‘Friend of Jason’s’.” Buck retorted, before wincing slightly.
“Not anymore.” The man commented with a wry look. “Given that he’s dead and all.”
They both watched each other warily for a beat, unaware of the attention they’d garnered from Bobby, Chim, Hen, Eddie and Firefighter Logan’s colleagues. After another moment of silence, they both cracked into matching grins, moving to hug each other warmly.
“So, you’re a Jupiter kid then?” Buck asked, when they pulled back from the hug.
“Yeah, that’s me. What’s your name?” Firefighter Logan gave Buck an assessing look. Chimney caught eyes with Eddie, his confused expression matched in Eddie’s. Did Buck not actually know this man?
“I’m Buck.” Buck said, grinning. “What’s yours?”
“I’m usually just called Logan. Names and power, all that jazz.” Buck nodded along, as though Logan was making sense. “Who’s your –?”
Buck brought out his lighter from his pocket, handing it over to Logan. The man stared at a symbol on the side – one that looked more like a blur to Chimney – he seemed to understand the answer though.
Logan exclaimed. “Nice. Makes sense with Firefighter and all! You got any –“ As though predicting Logan’s question, Buck pulled out a small bracelet and handed it to the man. He regarded it a moment, before slipping it onto his wrist. “Thanks, man.”
At Buck’s questioning look, the man startled. “Right.” He pulled out a small keychain, which held a pocketknife-tool kit, similarly with another symbol on it. “It’s Vulcan. I don’t have anything on me to give you but – “
“No need,” Buck laughed. “I’ve got one this from one of your counterparts.” He pulled out a compass from his pocket – one Chimney had never seen him use before – and handed it to Logan.
Logan turned it around in his hands, fascinated. “Where does the needle–?”
“Home.” Buck grinned.
He and Logan shared an amused smile.
The exchange reminded Chimney viscerally of times where he'd seen videos of active service men and women meeting other military personnel; exchanges where they would swap caps or shirts from their respective branches. He didn't know what it meant for Logan and Buck to be doing the same.
As though remembering the rest of them existed, Logan looked around awkwardly before glancing back at Buck. “It’s not often I meet one of your lot. Especially not out our way. Gods forbid we mix or something. But I suppose it’s been easier for you to be here since everything went down." There was some strange inflection in the way that the man spoke, as though the words had some extra meaning that the 118 just couldn’t parse; lacking the much-needed context. “Maybe we can grab a drink sometime? How should I contact you?”
“Not by phone.” Logan scoffed in amusement at Buck’s glib remark, a mumbled ‘Obviously not’ confirming to Chimney that this guy had to be part whatever ‘camp’ cult-ish shit that Buck had going on.
“If you know how, ‘IM’ me, okay?” Chimney internally rolled his eyes at Buck’s incompetence; surely, he meant to say DM. Chimney blinked at the implication. Was Buck flirting with Firefighter Logan… and was Logan flirting back?
Chimney peeked over at Eddie, who looked like he’d swallowed a lemon.
“I’ve heard how to IM, don’t worry. You heard much from anyone else? Any of your lot had trouble recently?” Logan asked.
Buck shook his head. “It’s been pretty quiet, other than the recent earthquakes.” Here they seemed to share another strange look of understanding that Chimney struggled to decipher.
“Us too. Not much since the Trials. Not sure if you would have heard anything about that.” Trials? Did someone they know get arrested? Or did was someone they knew involved in something serious?
The meaningful looks being exchanged between Buck and Logan were starting to piss Chimney off.
“Yeah, even we couldn’t miss the Lester stories. Honestly insane, I couldn’t believe it.”
What’s a Lester? Or rather, who’s Lester?
A number of Firefighters barrelled into the make-shift headquarters, ready for their own turn at getting refreshments. Break was over.
Buck grabbed his helmet, pausing as they exited the gazebo. “Well, if you see any of my lot in your travels, send them my way to the 118. I’m always happy to help them find their ways Home.”
****
The next morning, Chimney, Eddie and Hen had a debrief.
“It’s like the whole ‘Friend of Dorothy’ thing in the 1900’s.” Chimney declared, eyes watching the kitchen area to ensure Buck was otherwise occupied. "It's an allegory for being gay!"
“How do you know about that?” Hen asked Chimney, eyebrows raised.
“I read." Chimney rebuffed. "And I happen to know a little bit about queer history... Something to do with having some out and proud friends.”
Hen smiled, appreciatively.
--- Hen ----
Hen didn’t often go to her colleagues’ houses; excluding Bobby and Athena’s house, which was the designated ‘gathering’ house and Chimney’s, which she went to whenever she needed a break from child-rearing and to gossip, of course.
The first time Hen went to Buck’s house was a few months after Eddie joined the team and after Buck had moved into his loft.
It was a fancy place, different from how she expected it – cleaner, too.
There were photo frames lining the walls of the living room area. One or two were of the 118, a few weeks after Eddie had joined them, a candid from them teasing each other on the couches of the Fire House. One was of Buck, Eddie and Chris at what looked like a fun fair.
Hen kept her thoughts on how much like a family photo it appeared to herself.
The others, however, were older.
One showed a group of teenagers and younger, one in the middle undeniably a pre-teen Buck – maybe around thirteen years old – all of them dressed in orange tops, faded black words blurred on the front of them. They all had necklaces, like the one Buck wears, with varying numbers of beads. Instead of his current eight, Buck had three.
There were twenty or so kids in it, some of whom shared familial traits while others – like Buck – did not.
There was another photo next to it of Buck with a pair of twins, Buck’s arms thrown around both of them. The boys appeared a few years older than Buck, with blonde hair and freckles.
A third photo had only five people in it. Two of whom Hen recognised from the first group photo, which included one of the blonde twins and a girl. They were older – perhaps between sixteen and eighteen – with various scars and bruises between them. They looked tired.
The difference between the first group photo and the last was stark.
As Buck came barrelling down the stairs, keys in hand, Hen took the opportunity to gather more information. “Who are the people in the photos?”
She pointed in particular at the ones with the orange-shirted people; she had no doubt in her mind that they were part of Buck’s camp.
“They’re my friends from camp.” Buck responded, with only a hint of hesitation. He joined her, peering at the photos. His expression a mix of fondness and sadness.
“These guys –“ He pointed at the first group photo, the one with twenty or so kids in. “ – were part of the cabin I stayed in. The other – “ Here Buck’s voice faltered slightly. “They were my best friends at camp. Castor and Pollux. Twins. “ Buck added, as though Hen couldn’t have guessed from the identical faces.
“And the other?” Hen asked, pointing at the third photo.
“Um. They’re the ones who are still alive... after, well after everything.”
“Still al–?” Hen cut off her own words, watching visible grief cross his face. “They all look like wonderful people.”
“They were.” Buck’s fingers traced the side of the photos with the pair of twins. “Castor fought hard. He really did. We’d all be struggling for months… Castor wasn’t the first we lost nor the last.”
There was nothing more Hen could say after that.
****
Hen sat in Chimney’s apartment, recounting the interaction.
“It wasn’t one or two kids, Chim! There were at least twenty of them!” Hen’s voice wobbled. “And he said they all died. The way he was talking I don’t know if it was from inhospitable conditions or… or if some of them killed themselves.”
Chimney slid across the couch, pulling Hen into a one-armed hug.
“They were all just kids.” Hen repeated, a tear falling down her face.
Chimney pulled her into a tight, all-encompassing hug.
****
It was a slow day in the Fire House, one that happened to coincide with Valentine’s Day. Buck had even brought in some baked goods as an offering to the Fire House, ones which were snatched up quickly by A-Shift, in case B-Shift saw them as they were leaving.
“These are so good!” Hen praised, causing Buck to blush lightly. “They feel like they were made by Aphrodite herself.”
Buck choked.
Pressing his fist into his chest a couple of times, Buck disputed the statement, proclaiming almost too loudly to the room at large. “N-Never. Aphrodite is a Goddess that could never be compared to a mere mortal.”
Chim and Hen exchanged a side-eye, opting to ignore it as one of Buck’s ‘Buck-isms’.
“We were talking before you came in, Buck, about first crushes.” Hen mentioned, slyly. “And first kisses. Do you have anything to add?”
Buck blushed.
It was strange; anytime Buck mentioned a hook-up or relationship, despite the frequency he did it at in his probationary year, he appeared shy in a way that contradicted Hen’s initial ‘fuckboy’ impressions.
Eddie leaned forward, interestedly. “Yeah, Buck, do you have anything to add?”
“I had my first kiss at seventeen,” He admitted, hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “ – now that guy could’ve been a child of Aphrodite if I’d ever seen one.” Buck smirked as he said this.
“At seventeen?!” Chimney exclaimed, looking shocked. All of them making a solid effort at not reacting to the confirmation of queer or bisexual Buck; they wouldn’t want to make it into a big deal if Buck didn’t think he needed to. “I thought you –“ Chimney gestured to Buck’s biceps pointedly. “ –would have had your start earlier in life.”
“Weeeell,” Buck edged. “They didn’t really encourage dating each other at camp.” Buck, once again, oblivious to the worried looks Bobby and Hen exchanged over his head. “We were all busy with… well, just busy, I guess. But people got a bit more open with things, after… everything.”
Forced repression and trauma tended to do that to you, Hen thought grimly.
---- Maddie ----
Maddie hadn’t wanted to believe it when Chimney first mentioned it. But somewhere, deep down, she felt like she had known; that it was something her brain had protected her from, until she could no longer deny it.
And now it was time to face it: Evan had been abused.
Not just abused.
Abandoned by her parents and then abused.
At best, they had no idea about it. At worst, her parents had known the entire time and enabled it. And now, she had to know.
What really happened to him? Just how bad had it really been? How had he managed to stay the cheery and hopeful Evan – no, Buck – that had helped her get back on her feet, given her a safe place to stay and then given her a whole family – Chimney – and everyone else?
And so, Maddie had been gathering stories and evidence, both from Chimney and the 118, as well as from Buck himself. Unknowingly from his accounts over the years of course, or from his old postcards he had sent her while they were apart.
Ever since Chimney’s reveal that their parents had abandoned Buck at a camp – allowing who knows what to happen to him – she’d been paying attention.
So far, her list read:
- When he’d visited her at 15 years old, he’d had bruises.
- He had scars – countless of them – which he kept covered up with long sleeves - Maddie had never seen them herself, but she'd heard all about them.
- She re-read the postcards she received from him, where it mentioned ‘kids have been leaving or getting hurt’ and ‘things are tough right now, but it’s nice to hear from you.’
- He'd had a nightmare – one time when staying over at her house – and screamed and screamed at imaginary figures not to 'kill them' or to 'leave them alone'.
At best, all of it implied a level of neglect that was beyond criminal, at worst it implied that Buck, from only nine years-old, was systematically hurt and abused and she’d never even known.
There was one way to find out for sure; she had to confront their parents.
****
Her Mom picked up on the second ring. “Maddie! It’s so good to hear from you; your father and I were just talking about maybe coming out to see you sometime next year.”
Maddie could hear the sound of her father in the background, watching TV.
“I want to talk to you. About B-Evan.” She had to remind herself that her parents – if they really hadn’t spoken to their son in nearly twenty years – wouldn’t know Evan as Buck.
There was a stunned silence on the other end of the phone.
Margaret let out a shrill laugh. “W-Why would you want to know about Evan? I’m sure he’s fine.”
Maddie was reminded of all those times, when she’d asked about Evan while at university, that her mother had deflected her questions. Answering in ways very similar to how she was now. How had she never noticed?
“But you wouldn’t know that, would you?” Maddie accused. “Since you abandoned him when he was nine!”
There was a moment, a very brief moment, that Maddie hoped she’d been wrong. That her parents would refute what she said and come up with another – less horrible – reason to explain what they saw in Buck.
And then that moment ended.
“What did you expect us to do, Maddie?!” Margaret cried into the phone. “He wasn’t like you! He was a difficult child. Always getting into trouble. He was different, Maddie; we couldn’t cope with it. So, we sent him to that camp, where he could be with people like him.”
Maddie couldn’t breathe. It was true; everything Chimney had said was true.
“How could you leave him there?!” Maddie yelled, righteous fury filling her. “Do you know what happened to him? Your son! He has scars, Mom. They hurt him. So many of his friends died there, he could have died there.”
“Maddie, you don’t understand, when Daniel was ill, we prayed for a–“
Maddie hung up the call.
Whatever Margaret wanted to say, whatever excuses she was going to give, Maddie didn’t want to hear it.
****
It was evening and yet, after that fraught call with her parents, Maddie couldn’t help but get into the car and rush over towards Buck’s Loft.
She needed to see that he was okay.
Why had Buck never told her he’d been abandoned? Why had he not asked to come live with her?
Maddie had a set of keys, ones to use in case of emergencies, but she considered this to be up there as an emergency. With shaking hands, she pried the keys from her pocket and – not bothering to knock – she let herself in.
Whatever she expected to find, especially knowing Buck had just got home from a twelve-hour shift, it was not Buck lounging on his sofa reading a book written in ancient Greek.
She’d never even known he knew ancient Greek. Her parents sure hadn’t taught him. This was the kind of thing Chimney had been asking about.
Attention caught by the sound of the opening door, Buck called out. “Maddie? Are you okay? Is everything alright?”
“You’re okay.” She said, her eyes roving over him.
He was dressed in sweatpants and a faded orange t-shirt – the black words on the front faded partially with time. He looked tired, as they all did after a long shift but no worse for wear. A concerned look painted across his face.
Maddie burst into tears.
The concern increased tenfold.
“Hey, hey. You’re okay–“ At this Maddie cried harder, feeling the moment that Buck scooped her into his arms and hugged. “ –what happened? Whatever it is, I’ll help with it.”
Maddie pulled back from the hug, still sniffling. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Buck froze beside her, expression turning wary. “Tell you what?”
“Why did you never tell me that mom and dad abandoned you?!”
Buck’s mouth dropped open in surprise.
“How did you find out?”
“How did I find out?!” Maddie cried, a shrill quality entering her voice. “I had to find out from Mom and Dad! I had to ask them outright after Chimney mentioned something about your camp. Why did you not tell me yourself?!”
“I – I,” Buck stuttered. He looked caught off-guard, as anyone would after events from nearly twenty years before were brought up after a twelve-hour shift on a random Tuesday.
“I’m sorry.” He settled on. He brushed a hand roughly over his face, not seeing the way Maddie’s face crumpled at his apology. It wasn’t him who should be apologising, Maddie thought viciously. It was their parents. “They left me at camp after I found a photo of Daniel.”
Maddie’s face whitened; the redness around her eyes and nose from the tears, made prominent by the new ashen colour of her cheeks. “Daniel.” She stuttered. “You know about Daniel?”
Buck nodded.
“I’m sorry for never mentioning him to you. It must have been hard keeping him a secret.” Buck looked at her understandingly, as though Maddie hadn’t been the one in the wrong. As though she hadn’t been actively keeping a life-altering fact about a secret sibling from him for his whole life.
“It was the final straw for them,” He continued,” They decided they’d had enough. That I needed to be with people like me… away from them. They dropped me at camp. And I found a home there… it was hard, of course, but I made friends.”
Buck moved towards some photos on the wall, pointing at them – repeating the descriptions he’d told Hen about not long ago. The moment he mentioned some of the kids’ deaths, Maddie’s horror solidified.
“Did… did they hurt you?” She asked.
Buck – still looking at the photos, only half-listening – shrugged. “Some of us got hurt… but that was more our faults than anything–“
Anger.
That was all Maddie was feeling now. Anger at the fact Buck thought him getting hurt was somehow his fault. It was an all-consuming rage that blocked out the sound around her, she didn’t hear the next sentence.
“–They tried to tell us when they trained us, that it was knowledge that would save our lives. Maybe if we'd all trained more then they wouldn’t have got as many lucky shots. At first, we didn't take things as seriously. And then kids started to die, it became turned into a war instead of mini-battles.”
She refocussed on the conversation as Buck continued. “Some of us fought more than others. Some of us died. But the people – family – I found there were worth it all.”
A tear slid down Maddie’s cheek, one she rushed to wipe away. “I’m, uh, glad you found friends during such times. Maybe one day I could meet some of them?”
She would have pushed more, for more information, more details of who was responsible, exactly what happened to him. But maybe, after all this time, it was best to start with the positives; ask about his friends, his family. And work from there.
But, as Buck moved to grab one of his baked goods, Maddie vowed, she would find out more.
****
Since her realisation, Maddie found herself more regularly used as a ‘sense check’, to see if the things Buck said were a ‘Buckley’ thing or a ‘camp’ thing. Similarly, now the floodgates had opened, Maddie was privy to all the weird things Chimney saw about Buck; up to and including his and Hen’s List. The things she’d had to ‘sense check’ included: whether the Buckleys had taught either her or Buck to shoot a bow and arrow – no, they hadn't – if either of them had known how to deliver first aid early in life – due to Buck’s recklessness, yes, that was a Buckley thing – and if the cooking skills ran in the family – absolutely not.
They were all sat at Bobby and Athena’s house for their Housewarming dinner, the one day all of the 118, Maddie, May, Harry and Athena’s ex-husband, Michael, could get off.
They were all telling stories of their wildest calls, Chimney yelling over the hubbub. “And then, still fully naked, they both stood up and said –“
A loud, piercing phone ring cut through the story.
Everyone glanced round or checked their phones respectively, not finding the ringing phone. They glanced to the noise at the end of the table, only Buck who had yet to check.
“Uh, Buck.” Chimney started, “Is that your phone?”
Buck startled, “It can’t be… the only people who’d call me are –“ Here, Maddie’s mind supplied grimly. “Wait.” Buck finally pulled the phone out of his pocket, the volume increasing obnoxiously. Checking the screen, Buck went ashen. “Gods, I need to take this. It’s my brother, Will. And he never phones unless it’s urgent.”
He rushed from the room, uncaring of the bombshell he’d just dropped.
The entire 118 turned slowly to Maddie, questioningly.
She looked back at them, none the wiser.
“Why are you looking at me?” She sighed exasperatedly, answering their unspoken question. “We don’t have another brother. Not unless you include Daniel –“ She rushed at the raised eyebrows, not wanting to explain the whole debacle if she didn’t have to. “But he died not long after Buck was born.”
Hen glances around the group, “We’re all thinking it… is ‘brother’ more of a religious or cult-ish term? Like the church does.”
“Have you ever heard Buck refer to one of his ‘camp’ mates as brother?” Eddie asked.
“I’ve heard Buck mention a few cousins and a sister once. But he made it sound more like a pseudo-family thing.” Bobby chimed in.
Maddie shook her head. "Both of my parents were only siblings. We don't have any cousins. Nor any other siblings."
Athena’s eyes narrowed, as they often did when Buck’s camp was mentioned.
“So it is a camp thing then.”
Chimney cut in, awkwardly. “I know we’re all wondering about the brother thing… but is no-one more weirded out by them calling him? Like, I didn’t even know Buck knew how turn on his phone, let alone accept a phone call.”
---- Ravi ----
Ravi joined the 118 and the first thing he noticed was how odd Evan Buckley was.
He’d have brushed it off as individual idiosyncrasies if it weren’t for how, when Buck said something incredibly bizarre or concerning, Hen and Chimney would rush to write it down on an increasingly large piece of paper.
It wasn’t until he was asked to cover one of the A-Shifts that he found a moment to ask.
They were all sat around the table in the kitchen of the 118, Ravi pausing to apologise every few minutes for saying the Q-word; he hadn’t believed the curse at the start of the shift, but after responding to a variety of calls including: a man stuck naked on a billboard, helium tanks falling on a man, a live power line taking out their truck, fireworks taking out some man’s house and someone stealing the Firetruck, Ravi couldn’t help but buy into the ‘curse’.
Real or not, he endeavoured not to use the Q-word on shift again. Ever.
“So…uh, Buck?” Ravi asked, watching the man in question set fire to a piece of his dinner, and no-one around him acknowledging it. “What’s with the sacrifice stuff? Is it to do with the cult you were in?”
Everyone around him froze.
Turning to him, as though he’d made some sort of critical error – horror filling their faces – Ravi swallowed reflexively.
“What?” Buck asked, confusedly.
“Um. Well.” Ravi glanced at the faces around him and then at Buck. Like with the Q-word, Ravi had already made the mistake of mentioning the cult to Buck; he may as well continue on the track and see where it led. “You were in a cult, right? The camp you mentioned earlier, with the whole ancient Greek, prayers and growing vegetables. It was a cult you escaped…?”
“No!” Buck glanced around at the rest of the table, as though expecting someone to back him up, only to see a sea of blank faces staring at him. “Wait… have you all thought I was part of a cult this whole time?!”
At the continued silence, Buck yelled. “I’ve been working here for over four years! Why has no-one just asked me?!”
Eddie and Hen exchanged a glance, then turned back to Buck pityingly.
“No. No, don’t look at me like that! I would know if I was part of a cult. It wasn’t a cult!”
Ravi cringed.
He’d waded straight into a landmine, unaware that Buck didn’t realise he’d absolutely, undeniably been part of a cult.
Today was the worst day.
---- Buck ----
A cult?! Is that really what they’d been thinking about Camp Half-Blood this entire time?
Buck thought back to the conversation he’d had with Maddie and the rest of the 118 across the last few years and winced. It definitely hadn’t sounded good.
“I think I’m going to head to the bunks.” Buck stuttered out, escaping the uncomfortable silence of the kitchen.
The moment he closed the door to the bunks, he reached to pull out his phone. Typing out ‘Signs you’re part of a cult’ with slow, deliberate typing – he’d never quite learned to touch-type like a lot of the 118, causing Chimney to mock his ‘Granddad-typing’ frequently.
The signs listed were:
- Authoritarian Leadership
They definitely had a leader in both Mr. D and Chiron… but they were a God and a thousand-year-old centaur respectively, how could campers not take advice or direction from them?
- Isolation
They weren’t able to use phones due to the signals sending out a homing beacon to monsters. The only reason Buck found himself able to use his phone more frequently was due to the 'Home' wards he’d asked Hestia to help him erect around his Loft and the 118. Even then, he opted not to use his phone often; all the people he'd call worked with him or could 'IM' him instead. And maybe, there was the issue of being isolated from mainstream media or news while at camp, which often left Buck struggling to understand the pop-culture or general conversation of his colleagues.
- Lack of Accountability
They were unable to change things within leadership; why would Gods listen to them? Criticism of the Gods was absolutely not tolerated; even saying their names was considered taboo or sacrilegious, depending on how you did it. Percy Jackson was the only one Buck could recall who'd gone toe-to-toe with multiple Gods and come out none the worse for it, even getting them to agree to pay child support as a result.
- Loaded Language
‘A language, jargon or phrases that were unique to a group’, Buck groaned aloud reading that one; it’s not like Ancient Greek was considered widespread and it did serve as a quick identifier of who was a demi-god or not, similar to Latin for Camp Jupiter. It's what had made it so easy for him to identify Logan at the multi-story fire.
- Fear of Leaving
There was a fear of leaving or moving on; the idea of being out in the world again, fight monsters alone was frightening. Many who lived at Camp Half-Blood often stayed or were still within mythological spheres, even after ageing out, to avoid civilians getting caught up in their messes. Buck was one of the exceptions in that regard; having moved onto a more regular job and lifestyle.
All-in-all, it didn't look good for Buck. No wonder they'd thought he was part of a cult for the last nearly four years.
Buck fell into the pillow on the bunk. He pushed his face into the pillow, partially muffling himself, and screamed.
There was no way he was going to let them keep on thinking Camp Half-Blood was a cult. Which meant, he might need to call in reinforcements.