Chapter Text
BELOW
When Buck drifts into consciousness, the very first emotion that floods through him is unrestrained fear. The world comes back to him in fragments and pieces. Sluggishly, he opens his eyes, inhaling a lungful of dust and what tastes like ash.
Buck’s not sure why he’s afraid, only that adrenaline is the only thing dragging his body away from the numbing void. He hurts. Why does he hurt so much? With a groan, Buck uses the back of his arm to rub his eyes, peeling his cheek off of concrete with some confusion. His skin is damp and Buck realizes suddenly that he’s cold and wet. He coughs again when his slight movement dislodges a misting of dust. The world around him is dark, too dark for the wide open windows in his loft. It was safe to say the loft is not where he has taken this impromptu nap.
He closes his eyes and listens, trying to absorb his surroundings so he can reassemble it into something that makes sense. Somewhere nearby, he can hear the constant drip, drip, drip of a faucet or a pipe. Above him, the sound of large objects shifting together stirs the air above him. Crumbled rocks and concrete shower him from above; tiny pieces bounce off of Buck’s back and the exposed side of his face.
Rubble? That didn’t quite make sense. Where the hell was he? Panic settles in, and his hands and toes feel hot and tingly. His brain signals to him that Buck should search for his phone to help decode his situation. He tries to lift himself up; it's the first time he realizes that he's trapped. There’s a little space between his leg, which is throbbing, and the object or structure that pins him down.
For a terrifying moment, the scent of gasoline and asphalt floods his nostrils; it sends him spiraling backward and down. The vibrant, spinning red and blue lights are still imprinted into the back of his eyelids after all these years. They have the ingrained effect of panic on his body when paired with searing leg pain.
Eddie’s hand is almost tangible and warm in his. Buck squeezes his fist, trying to detract from the pain of the ladder truck. His voice was raw for nearly a month after the incident, shredded from his agonizing screams that fateful night.
Eddie. Eddie’s not here, which means he’s definitely not pinned beneath the firetruck all over again; the scent of sulfur is all in his head. He squeezes his eyes closed, struggling to listen to his surroundings, but all Buck can hear is the quick thud, thud, thud of his heart in his eardrums, drowning out any breakthrough noise.
Wait, no. He grasps onto a flash of memory from before he ended up wherever here is. His neighbor had been louder than usual that evening, and Buck had been exhausted from his 48-hour shift. He yanks out his earplugs, which brings the entire world into sharper focus.
The room is both too quiet and too loud. Buck can hear himself breathing heavily, still staving off a panic attack. The drip of water is louder now; he can hear the world above him shifting from time to time, which is unsettling. The noises were always followed by a shower of dislodged rocks.
But, wait. How the hell had Buck gone from sleeping to this? Where the fuck was he? Buck tries to shift again. A whimper slips through his gritted teeth. He was well and truly pinned, and whatever it is that is pinning him feels as if it’s buried in his right thigh.
He lifts his cheek off the concrete again and feels blindly around. His phone is blessedly in his pocket; he maneuvers gently, extricating it. Fuck, his body hurts. He taps the screen, which floods the black void with dim home screen light. His heart throbs a little upon seeing the faces of Eddie and Chris smiling up at him through the tiny screen.
The elation of victory that follows finding his phone is short-lived because the top of the screen reads: No Service. Buck’s hopes plummet. He’s stuck on his stomach, making it difficult to move, but he taps the flashlight application and twists as much as he can to see around.
The panic from earlier returns because all around him is crumbled concrete, debris, shredded singed books, and other shattered and bruised belongings. The telltale scent of smoke lingers around him.
Had there been a fire? Had Buck slept through a fire?
He’s pretty sure the 118 will kill him if he even manages to survive this. “Help!” Buck shouts. “I’m down here!”
Based on the weak amount of light creeping in from above when he switches his flashlight off, it’s safe to trust that he’s either buried too deeply in the rubble to see daylight or that late evening has already fallen upon LA. One glance at the time on his phone confirms that the evening is nearing 8:00 p.m. The 118 is on shift without him today. And Maddie is probably home with Jee Yun, which means that as long as there hasn’t been a citywide earthquake, she is safe.
They were all safe, he hopes. But they didn’t know that anyone should be looking for him. The thought is a terrifying one; for all Buck knew, no one knows that he's here, possibly buried under hundreds and thousands of pounds of concrete.
Buck’s stomach twists with anxiety. He can’t hear anything other than the continuous drip of the nearby pipe or possible blood—the thought chills him. He desperately hopes there’s no one else inside his rubble graveyard with him. Buck wants to scream and beg for help, but he isn’t willing to use up all of his energy before there’s a sign that someone is even close to discovering him.
If the building collapsed, someone would be on search and rescue, surely. In fact, there were probably already multiple stations working search and rescue. They’d find him eventually. They had to. He tries to shift and shine his phone light on his leg, unfruitfully. The other leg shifts easily enough, though the pain of jostling the lower half of his body makes it damn near impossible to breathe.
Buck shouts in terror when something heavy thuds directly over him, following another loud shifting sound. He can feel the vibration in his entire body. He shifts upward, and his back meets the object easily. It impossibly doesn’t collapse on top of him like he expects, but one thing is certain: He’s well and truly pinned now.
He wonders if Eddie is up there right now, tearing at the rubble the way Buck had the night the earth swallowed his best friend whole. The love of Buck’s life. He closes his eyes, thinking about Chris and how close Buck had been to becoming a father without knowing it. And not much longer after that, the sniper struck. Buck wonders: if he dies down here, who might Eddie write into his will instead?
He wonders if the 118 even knows he’s down here yet. Probably not. Envisioning his team up there looking for him is hopeful thinking. Maddie is off-duty; she isn’t there to flag the address as her baby brothers. Or to warn Chimney, who would in turn inform the rest of the team.
At least, not that Buck is aware of. But who really knows how long he’s been down here? Then again, if he’s been unconscious for very long, Buck definitely has an extreme brain injury. He hopes it's still Thursday.