Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The lawsuit had been Buck’s worst decision. His most rash and stupid and it had been completely fuelled by hurt and desperation. So in comparison, calling up Dean Winchester hadn’t seemed like such a terrible idea.

Maybe it’s because he knew Dean would understand. Dean would do anything, unspeakable things just to protect his family and keep them by his side. And that is what Buck had done, he had refused to just roll over and sit behind a desk whilst the 118 risked their lives in active duty. They were his friends, his family and Buck wanted to protect them. Right up until the moment he realised that he had done more damage than he could ever hope to make up for by running into flames after them.

Or maybe Buck was just finally tired of the cold shoulder.

Somewhere between his third and his fourth week back, Buck found himself fiddling with the burner phone Dean had given him four years ago “In case the firefighting gets old, and you want to come back to the big leagues” Buck had laughed at the time; so sure of himself and his choices.

Buck wasn’t quite so sure anymore.

Buck had met Dean a couple of weeks after Maddie had given him her truck and sent him off to ”figure out what he wants to do with his life” He was sitting at the opposite end of a run-down bar with Sam, sipping cheap beer and pouring over ancient newspaper articles. Buck tried to pretend he wasn’t listening, but he’d never had a great poker face. He’d moved down a bar stool towards them, then two before Dean finally snapped and asked him what his problem was.

The sex was incredible.

The sunrise streaming through the motel’s threadbare curtains is what woke Buck. For a few seconds, he just basked in the warmth like a cat before he became aware of soft breaths against the back of his neck and a heavy arm around his waist.

Shit.

Buck had a lot of one-night stands. He was good at them. He could sneak out of any partner’s room in the pitch black without making so much as a squeak. And here he was, sleeping through the night, cuddling with a guy that probably never wanted to see him again. It was awkward, actually, it was downright unprofessional.

But Dean was still snoring, so he had a chance to save the situation and his dignity. He slowly tried to shuffle towards the edge of the bed, slightly lifting Dean’s arm as he did so. Maybe he could put a pillow under Dean’s arm? Or maybe –

Dean stopped snoring. The arm around his waist wrapped around him like a metal band, and he was pulled against Dean’s strong chest with a small oomf.

“Where do you think you’re running off to?” Dean’s voice is low and rough right behind his ear and Buck felt it down his spine and into his toes. He’s so distracted he nearly missed the question entirely.

“Well – I just thought that – ya know- you’d want me to-“ Buck shut up when Dean started to trace lazy patterns on his abs.

“Shhhh. Just stay, go back to sleep” Dean placed a tender kiss behind his ear and Buck was glad the room was dark so his blush wasn’t noticeable “We can get breakfast in the morning” and with that, Dean threw this leg over both of Buck’s and within a minute he was snoring again, pressed as close to Buck as he could physically be.

Something warm curled around Buck’s lungs as he did what he was told, wrapped his hand around Dean’s wrist and drifted off into a dream he wouldn’t remember when he woke up.

-

Dean ended up making good on his promise for breakfast, popping out to grab waffles from a greasy diner next door whilst Buck showered. The water pressure was shit but Dean’s body wash smelled amazing and brought back some pleasant memories and an ache between his legs.

Dean was eating off of a paper plate with plastic cutlery when he got out of the shower, and he had to admit this was a view he could get used to. Dean’s hair was mused like he’d been running his hands through it, and he had syrup on his chin. Dean smiled at him and yeah, Buck was smitten.

He pulled on a pair of Dean’s sweatpants and joined him on the end of the bed where he was silently offered his own plate and cutlery.

Breakfast was easy. Conversation flowed, even when Dean clammed up the second Buck asked him anything about his life, but he soon discovered that once he got Dean talking about his brother, there was no stopping him. He got into Stanford, which Buck gave a low whistle at and Dean agreed. But then took a year out to travel the country after his girlfriend died. Buck could tell it was a sensitive topic, even for Dean, but Buck was Buck and so he still asked, “How did she die?”

Dean looked him in the eyes now, lifting them from a stain in the comforter. He searched Buck’s face for a second, then three and Buck, at a loss for anything else to do, gave him an uncomfortable smile. Dean, seemingly done with his searching, flopped backwards on the bed “House fire. Whole place went up while they were in their beds. Sam got out. She didn’t. I think that’s the part that kills him the most. Thinks it would be fairer if they both died.” Dean shook his head “Satisfy a guilty conscious or some shit.”

Buck lay down on his side to study Dean’s side profile and the way the muscles in his jaw jumped “I think” Buck began “That just because you know a feeling is irrational or wrong, doesn’t stop you from feeling it.”

Dean turned his head to the side and Buck didn’t realise until now how close they were lying. Their noses were nearly touching, and Dean’s breath glanced over his cheeks. Buck felt ridiculous for getting flustered over something as simple as how soft Dean’s lips looked when they had definitely done more than kiss last night.

“Now, how come you didn’t tell me you had some wisdom hidden under all those curls, huh?” Dean inched his face even closer to Buck’s.

“Well, I’m more than just a pretty face.” Buck closed the gap and Dean’s lips were sweet from the syrup and unhurried, simply enjoying kissing without the intentions or expectations of going any further. That didn’t stop Buck’s wandering hands, though, which found their way under Dean’s t-shirt and skirted up his ribs, tracing scars he had discovered but didn’t ask about last night. He followed lines of muscle up his chest to rest over his heart where a tattoo lay.

Dean’s eyes fluttered shut, the lines around his eyes smoothing out, a tension leaving him that Buck didn’t even realise was there until it was gone. Buck’s hand moved down Dean’s chest and across the side of his ribs, feather-light. Suddenly Dean flinched and barked out a laugh. “Hey, that tickles!” Dean’s laugh made him look ten years younger and Buck decided he wanted to hear it again. His hand went back to his ribs and Dean arched away, grabbing Buck’s wrist and then his other when he went in for a second attack. They were both breathless and Buck felt light, like Dean’s hands were the only thing anchoring him to earth.

Suddenly Dean flipped them both, situating himself on Buck’s hips and pinning his wrists to the mattress above his head with a sly grin.

“I don’t know about you, cowboy” Dean rolled his hips downwards and knocked the breath out of Buck “But, I'm getting a sense of déjà vu.”

If Buck had any shame, he would be embarrassed at the needy whine that escaped through his teeth, but instead, he arched his back and presented his neck “I don’t know, Winchester, I might need you to jog my memory.”

Dean’s head was already dipping towards his neck, a mumble of “With pleasure” scattering goosebumps across his skin when a thumping came from the other side of the door, followed by Sam’s voice.

“Dean! Get your ass your ass out of bed! I think I found something on our spirit.”

Dean dropped his forehead onto Buck’s shoulder, laughing humourlessly. “Sorry, Darling, duty calls,” and rolled sideways off of Buck and then off of the bed, landing gracefully on his feet. “This might take a while, but we’ve got the room for the rest of the day so feel free to take your time,” Dean gestured around the room with one hand whilst he tried to force his feet into a pair of well-loved boots “I don’t know, fold your underwear or something – look, I just don’t want you to feel like I'm rushing you out the door, but this is important so-“

“It’s fine, Dean. Thank you.” And it was fine, as nice as this had been, the breakfast and the sex and Dean’s eyes, Buck was under no illusion what last night was. Buck didn’t want a relationship and it didn’t seem like Dean did either and that was fine. Having today was enough to soothe the soft ache of Buck’s loneliness for a little while longer. Dean sent him a grateful smile and slipped out the door and right before it closed Buck heard Dean mutter to Sam.

“Jesus Christ, it’s like you’re a professional cock block, ya know that?” and then the door clicked shut and there was silence, heavy, but for once not sad, just different.

Buck sat for another two moments before forcing himself up and off the bed, he zipped around the room, trying to remember where all his clothes were flung last night. He found his socks and dirty boxers and exchanged them for a clean pair from his backpack; his jeans were in a pile by the front door, and it took ten minutes of searching before he spotted his t-shirt hanging over the curtain pole. The bed was on the other side of the room, but Buck tried making the jump anyway. Surprisingly it didn’t work. He tried throwing random things; a toilet paper roll, the tv remote, even his phone charger and nothing dislodged it.

Sighing, Buck looked around the room and spotted Dean’s duffle. The chances he was going to see Dean again were slim to none, and Buck doubted Dean would get genuinely upset over a missing t-shirt, so he plucked a simple black one out of the bag and underneath was - well. Buck wasn’t quite sure.

He recognised the newspaper articles for the bar, but the rest of it? Buck couldn’t make heads or tails. There were small bags, just scraps of cloth with the corners tied together, some had strange markings painted onto them and Buck didn’t want to know what they contained. There were weapons as well. A couple of knives and a gun, all bearing the same strange markings as the bags.

Buck distantly felt the t-shirt slip out of his grasp and he fell backwards, ass hitting the floor. Who the fuck had he slept with last night? This was devil shit and – what had Sam said earlier? About a spirit? Fuck, none of this made sense. With shaking hands and a racing mind, Buck picked up the newspaper articles.

They must've been from the library, they were over forty years old, but the paper was still pristine and white, a little creased from being in Dean’s bag but completely legible. They detailed a gruesome murder. A young mother, Elizabeth Stewart, found mutilated in one of the confession booths. They never found the killer.

Buck made the error of flicking to the next piece of paper, paperclipped to the back of the article. Crime scene photos. Too many of them. The pieces that were left of her… You couldn’t even tell it had ever been a person. It was a pile of meat and bones and viscera. The walls weren’t painted red, though Buck thought they had been, but no. The walls were supposed to be white but there was so much blood, he didn’t even know the human body had that much in it. That much to lose.

Buck barely made it to the bathroom before the waffles reappeared. The bile burned on its way up and tickled his nose. Even when his stomach had nothing left to give, his mind kept replaying those photos, and he would dry heave into the bowl again.

When he felt settled enough to take his head out of the toilet, Buck sat against the cool bathroom tile and panicked. This is bad. Who even are these guys? Killers? True crime fanatics? Insane? Buck whimpered and knocked his head against the wall.

What the fuck was he going to do? He had to do something. Though if he got the police down here, he doubted they would take his claims seriously. The shit they had was weird, sure, but he needed something concrete.

Or maybe he just needed to get out of here.

Buck crept back to the duffle bag to grab the dropped shirt which he felt much less bad about stealing now. When he got close enough to see the red of the photos and his stomach roiled again, Buck used his toe to flip the paper over to protect what sanity he had left.

However, when Buck leaned down to pick up the shirt, he noticed an address scribbled on the back in blue ink and circled a couple of times.

An address, which turned out to be a church. The church. It looked more run down than the crime scene photos, but the stained glass windows were the same, as was the steeple and the giant oak door. It was late, straddling evening and night and the church should be empty, everyone having gone home to their families. But instead, there was a flickering light illuminating the windows and he could hear noises from within. Muffled shouts and cursing, loud crashes and finally – a gunshot. A scream. It echoed into the night and Buck was already running, the worn metal handle smooth under his hand.

The door creaked obnoxiously as he shouldered it open. The sound was drowned out by the wooden lectern smashing against the stone wall two feet from Buck’s head. He flinched away, covering his eyes - splinters in your corneas probably don’t feel fantastic – and whipped his head around to see who had thrown that – Those things are heavy, aren’t they? – And he came face to face with – Elizabeth Stewart?

It wasn’t right, she wasn’t right. She was pale, like she’d been painted in black and white, and she had an unearthly quality to her, like a dream, she had that flat, two-dimensional look to her. And Buck found that his eyes slid right off of her, like water over oil.

“Evan!” His head whipped round, and there, cradling his arm to his stomach was Dean, there was blood dripping into his eyes and his chest was heaving “What the fuck are you doing here?!”

When Dean got Buck’s attention, he also captured Elizabeth’s who was moving towards him. She wasn’t walking, no, her feet didn’t move, she didn’t take a step but somehow, she was right in front of Dean.

A gunshot echoed in the high ceilings. Buck’s ears were ringing, and all the sounds were muffled, his eyes were working just fine though, and he could see Elizabeth - who was somehow on the other side of the church now - grab a candlestick from the corner and throw it like a javelin at Sam’s head. His reflexes were fast enough that the stand connected with his shoulder instead of his skull.

Buck couldn’t tear his eyes away from Sam, lying on the floor, clearly fighting to remain conscious as his eyes fluttered. He watched in horror as Sam’s shotgun skittered and jumped across the stone floor, only to come to a halt directly at Buck’s feet.

His fingers twitched and Buck knew this whole situation was above his pay grade. Was she a ghost? It seemed like the most likely explanation; it’s what Sam had called her. Buck believed in ghosts, had for his whole life, but he always imagined them more Casper-like, kind hands guiding you from beyond, or maybe just whisps of smoke at the end of your bed, or a figure in the window.

Elizabeth wasn’t any of those, she was angry and vengeful, and she was advancing on Dean. His hands shook and his fingers were numb when he picked up the shotgun. He felt kind of stupid for considering shooting a ghost, but isn’t that what Sam had done? Buck didn’t actually see but what else would he have been shooting at?

Elizabeth had reached Dean now, white, wispy fingers tightening around his throat. And Buck knew it was now or never.

Buck hadn’t shot a gun since he was nine, and it certainly wasn’t a shotgun. The sound was even louder this time and the gun bucked in his hands as his back collided with the church door. But it worked, Elizabeth shrieked, loud enough that it penetrated the ringing in his ears.

Dean slumped to the ground, gasping as Sam struggled to his feet. They looked at each other, silently communicating something that flew over Buck’s head before they both turned to look at him.

“Is-“ Buck croaks out “Is she dead?... Again?”

Dean’s laugh was loud and surprised, cut short with a pained groan and he hugged his arm closer to his chest “Na, if only it were that easy. She’s just weakened for a few minutes, needs time to build her strength back up.”

Okay, that kind of makes sense? “So how do we… ya know… finish her off?” Buck felt gross saying it. She’d been murdered before, mutilated beyond recognition, she deserved peace, to be with her family, but instead, she is trapped here, the site of the worst and last day of her life.

“Salt and burn her bones.”

“Her bones?!” Buck prayed he wasn’t going to be sick again “A grave desecration?” No. that wasn’t right, she had been through enough. She was barely twenty-five when she died. “Can’t we – I don’t know – talk to her or something?”

Sam laughed at that; it looked like it hurt his head “It look like she’s feeling up to conversation to you?”

“We’re trying to put her to rest, sweetheart, this is how it’s done.”

Buck felt sudden anger rise faster than his bile. This is how it’s done? Sweetheart? Buck may not be a part of this secret club these two had going on, and yeah, he only just found out that ghosts exist, and that’s going to be something to process for a few weeks, but Buck knew what was right.

He made his decision at the same time Elizabeth came to hers. A shiver running down Buck’s spine is all the warning he got before he was pinned to the wall. A heavy pressure on his chest refused to let his lungs expand. He distantly heard his name being shouted and a crash, but all he could see was her. She was shorter than him but despite that, they were eye to eye. She looked ready to scream, kill him, or eat his soul, or whatever the fuck ghosts do, and Buck just blurted out the first thing that came to mind “Timothy!”

She paused. The pressure on his chest let up enough that he could suck in half a breath. Her head cocked and Buck knew he had struck gold. “Timothy Stewart?” the pressure on his chest disappeared but Buck still couldn’t unstick himself from the wall. “That’s your son, right?” She didn’t say anything, just continued to stare at him. Could ghosts even speak? He racked his brain for everything the newspaper clippings had said “He’ll be nearly in his sixties now, huh?”

Buck was running out of ideas and was suddenly regretting not reading the articles more carefully.

“Where is he?” Buck jumps when she speaks. It's low, not a voice he would have paired with her petite frame, and it rumbles through the floor and up his bones. “did he get away?”

He casts a glance over her shoulder to Sam and Dean who are staring at him like he’d grown two heads “I can find out. Let you know that he’s okay. Do you want that?”

Buck’s back leaves the wall and he suddenly has control over his body again. Elizabeth looks him over with an indiscernible expression before the doors to the church swing open and hit the wall with a loud crack. It seems none of them have to be told twice, Dean and Sam try and support each other as they stumble out of the church, Buck hot on their heels.

It’s not until they reach Dean’s car that Dean turns on him “Did you just talk down a fucking spirit?!”

“I don’t know – I guess – I just-”

“You guess?!” Dean ran his good hand through his hair “You do realise how stupid that was, right? How badly that could’ve gone?!”

“Yeah, because it was going so swimmingly before I walked in.”

Sam laughed at that, and the fight seemed to drain out of Dean, which left him looking at Buck like he was either going to leave him to walk home or kiss him again.

He did neither, just waved him into the back seat of the Impala with a mutter “Guess we gotta track down her kid now, huh?”

Chapter Text

Buck was right, Timothy Stewart had just celebrated his 59^th birthday which was commemorated by a lovely Facebook post his daughter put up. Timothy Stewart also moved to Germany four years ago, which wasn’t… ideal.

He had three children, teenagers, all with very active social media and Buck just had to hope it was enough. He also read up on the murder a little more, and as it turns out, Timothy, or Tim, now, was in the church when his mother was murdered, and he guessed she had no idea what his fate had been.

Dean whistles long and low when he found out “Yep, that’ll make an angry spirit for sure.”

Buck printed out a few of the photos and even went to a thrift store and bought a few frames. He got made fun of for that, but Buck just ignored them. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.

Elizabeth was there when they arrived, just after midnight. She had no reaction to Buck but sneered at Sam and Dean and Buck was silently praying Dean wouldn’t pick a fight.

Buck should’ve rehearsed what he was going to say, but how do you plan for an interaction like this? Showing Instagram pictures to a ghost. How had his life gotten so weird in the space of two and a half days?

Buck sat on one of the few pews that had survived last night’s fight and Elizabeth rigidly perched on the edge of her seat and Buck wondered if she could fall straight through it if she didn’t concentrate.

She didn’t speak at all, during Buck’s little walk through her family tree, and despite the knots in his stomach and his sweaty hands, he didn’t stop talking, showing her printed-off photos of her son, his wife and kids, the college he went to. He showed her every achievement, every newspaper clipping and every tweet.

Finally, when Buck had exhausted his printouts and websites, and Dean’s hand was resting on his gun, Elizabeth slowly reached one hand towards a picture of a young Tim with his arm around a grinning redhead as they held a baby in a bundle of blankets. And then she was gone. A bright flash of light and a small scorch mark left behind on the pew was all that suggested she’d ever been there.

Buck felt heavy, it had been hard, watching her face crease with sadness when he showed her her boy that she should’ve got to raise but never did. But she was in heaven now and Buck did that, so he pushed himself up from the bench and started towards the door at the back of the church which led to the graveyard where Elizabeth was buried. Dean and Sam’s footsteps followed him.

The sharp sting of the winter air kicked Buck’s brain back into gear and he realised, as he passed a third row of headstones, that he had no idea where her grave was, but he kept walking, turning down the seventh row and stopping before a crumbling chunk of marble and granite, battered by the weather but her name was just barely legible if you knew what to look for.

Buck sat the photo frames he had bought down, full of pictures of her family, her legacy, and he made sure the one she had touched was front and centre. He kissed his fingers and touched them to the top of her headstone before ripping himself away and walking back into the church.

No one said anything until they were back in Dean’s car. He put the keys in the ignition but didn’t turn them, instead, he twisted to look at Buck in the backseat.

“That was impressive back there, ya know. And trust me, I'm not easily impressed.”

“Told you. I'm not just a pretty face” Buck’s chest felt a little lighter, he had helped someone, and he realised that that was certainly a feeling he could get used to.

-

Buck didn’t leave after that. He wasn’t asked to and honestly, he liked the company. Especially Dean’s.

It wasn’t a relationship. At least not a romantic one. They shared a bed on the nights they got a motel room and sometimes Dean would kiss him until he couldn’t remember his own name and the sex was wild and desperate and would ruin the sheets.

But neither of them were ready, it’s not what either of them needed. Buck was constantly chasing closeness, a soothing balm for the sharp prick of loneliness but he knew the second things got serious he would run. Too afraid of being left behind so he would disappear first. And Dean was closed off, untrusting and kept a knife under his pillow. They were each a lovely chapter in the otherwise endless books of each other’s lives.

Buck left after six weeks. It was amicable. Dean clapped him on the shoulder and wished him well, he also programmed his number into Buck’s phone “For emergencies” and winked.

Sam hugged him and told him he was going to miss him, though he wouldn’t miss having to sleep with headphones on when their rooms were next door. Buck laughed through his deep blush and Dean didn’t look ashamed in the slightest, he actually stood slightly taller. Asshole.

Buck’s choice to leave was fuelled by the echoing of Maddie’s words in his ears “What he wants to do with his life.”

Being a hunter was good. Great, actually. If a little bit too bloody at some points and he and Dean knocking heads over how to handle something, but overall, saving people? Buck knew he needed to do that. But he would’ve felt like he’d be doing himself a disservice; like he’d be doing Maddie a disservice if he settled on the first thing that piqued his interest.

So, Buck travelled. He learnt how to surf and how to scuba dive and he fell in love with the ocean; with the animals and the way the salt made his hair feel and the warm sand on cold feet. He was content.

The sun had set hours ago, but the night was clear, small waves lapped at the shore, and there was plenty of firewood on the beach to keep him warm. It crackled and popped, and Buck was happy enough to sit and watch the flames dance into the dark sky.

That was until a scream pierced the calm night.

Buck whipped his head around, trying to spot who was in trouble when the scream came again. Closer, this time and it was coming from behind him. It was coming from the woods.

The trees stopped a short few feet from where the sand started, they were tall, dark and for the first time, they seemed foreboding; rising up until the leaves blurred with the dark sky and it became difficult to see where the trees ended or if they kept reaching up into the atmosphere.

The trees only bracketed half the beach, the other half had been flattened for a car park, which meant that the streetlights stopped well before the trees started, leaving them inky and flat; details lost to the darkness.

Buck ignored every self-preservation instinct, every cell in his body screaming at him to turn and run in the other direction. Because that scream would follow him for the rest of his life, knowing he could have tried, that they’re alive in those woods and there’s a chance of helping.

Running on sand isn’t as easy as you would think. It’s slow and Buck’s legs already hurt and he’s only halfway to the woods. He’s shirtless, his wetsuit unzipped so it hangs around his hips. His breath comes in pants and the salty air nips at the back of his throat.

His feet sting by the time the ground transitions from sand to grass. Buck considers calling out, asking whoever was screaming if they’re alright. He doesn’t get a chance to open his mouth because suddenly someone is barrelling out of the woods and straight into him. Sending him flying onto his back as they landed on top of him. All the air left his lungs in one breath, and he was paralysed, his chest refused to rise, and oxygen couldn’t get down his windpipe. He gaped like a fish on land whilst the person above him placed heavy hands on his shoulders, trying to use him as leverage to push themselves to their feet. But they were clearly disorientated; wild eyes and shaking limbs, scrabbling against him to try and move “It’s coming. It’s coming. It’s coming!”

They eventually get to their feet, kicking up a cloud of dust and sand as they sprinted in the opposite direction of the woods.

Buck doesn’t know what’s going on, but he knows he’s not hanging around to find out what was chasing that person. With his lungs finally working again and a couple of marks that are definitely going to bruise, Buck takes off, cursing the sand as he does.

He can't hear anything behind him. But something is there. He knows it for sure. Every hair on his body is standing on edge, every muscle taught, every prey instinct he never knew he had had been activated. Every cell and system in his body is screaming one thing at him.

Run.

Shells cut his feet and his hair falls into his eyes and Buck doesn’t stop, even when his legs are aching and his lungs are burning, sand scratching his throat.

His campfire is halfway between the woods and the lit car park, his backpack and phone are still sitting next to it and Buck considers making a grab for it. But he needs to know how close it is, that one stumble won't mean it gets him, won't mean he’s dead, just a stain on the otherwise white beach.

Once he reaches the fire, throwing off enough light for Buck to see any detail past a silhouette, he only has a limited time with the light and Buck has to look and he can't bear to, muscles locked up.

Okay. 3. 2. 1. Look!

It’s not moving. Why the fuck isn’t it moving? It had stopped eight feet on the other side of the campfire. Buck could see it now.

Oh, god. He could see it now.

It looked like a person, but it wasn’t right. It was too tall, far too skinny, Buck could count every single rib, could follow the line of its collar bones up to its shoulders and its eyes… they were monstrous, a blood red, feral, set deep into their sockets. And Buck knew he was looking at an apex predator. A killing machine.

And it wasn’t fucking moving.

Its skin was loose, draped over shoulders and hips like an ill-fitting suit. Its teeth glinted in the firelight, dripping saliva and malice and Buck spared a thought to how those would feel tearing through his skin, rending muscle from bone, cracking him open and emptying him out.

A whimper fought its way through his teeth. A noise of absolute fear that he couldn’t have bit back if he tried. And then the noise came again, but not from his own lips. No, the thing had mocked him and his fear, had mimicked his whimper back to him and Buck’s feet moved backwards of their own accord. One step, then two, then – it moved.

Not a full step, barely an imperceptible shifting of weight to the side, like it was getting ready to skirt around the fire. Buck froze, energy and adrenaline thrumming under his skin, but that thing didn’t, it kept shifting its weight, slowly, imperceptible unless every single nerve in your body is focusing on it.

Its bones cracked and popped, joints protesting as it moved around the fire, more graceful than it has any right to be.

It’s avoiding the fire.

The realisation hit Buck like a ton of bricks. It was giving it an unnecessarily wide berth, hell with what he and the Winchester’s had hunted he was surprised it didn’t run straight through the fire at him, so that had to be it.

Buck had to be smart here, this thing was fast, and he only had one chance, so he went against every primal instinct and rooted his feet to the spot, just letting that thing advance on him, playing the deer frozen in headlights.

It kept coming, shuffling feet, body rising and falling like a wave. It smelled like rotting leaves and decay and blood. Buck sucked in a shaky breath between his teeth, shuffling around to try and keep an eye on it as circled behind him like a shark smelling blood in the water.

Buck tensed as it got closer and closer. It clearly thought he was frozen in fear as it flexed, getting ready to pounce on easy prey.

Buck wasn’t ready. He didn’t even have time to flinch. He knew it was fast, but knowing and seeing are two completely different things when Buck doesn’t even have time to process before the searing pain in his chest punches a gasp from him.

His back hit the sand for the second time that night but this time… this time Buck was sure he was going to die. Was sure that red eyes and dripping teeth were the last thing he was ever going to see. The claws dug deeper into his chest and Buck bit his lip so hard so could taste copper.

I’m going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die.

Something glances Buck’s hand. Sharp, sudden, and hot.

That thing’s face was getting closer to him, sniffing, a dark tongue darting out to lick his neck, savouring its meal.

Buck stretched his arm out, ignoring the burning in his fingertips and searing pain in his palm as he wrapped his hand around a log from the campfire.

The noise that thing made, when the flaming log connected with its head, the scream would echo in his head for the rest of his life. The smell of its flesh burning as it went up like a Roman candle. It was light when Buck rolled from underneath it, pushing it sideways into the rest of the campfire.

Buck scrambled away, gagging into the sand. His pain was foggy, the adrenaline numbing his body, trying to help him survive to get to safety.

Buck pressed his hand over the right side of his chest, putting pressure on the wound, trying to keep the blood in, he used his feet and his free hand to push him further away from the sizzling, deformed body. His hand closed around something flat and smooth.

My phone!

His backpack was sitting right next to it and Buck could’ve cried in relief.

His hand shook and he missed the call button three times before the line started ringing.

Dean answered on the fourth ring, right as Buck started to worry he wasn’t going to answer at all.

“Yeah?” Dean still sounded half asleep, voice rough and slightly slurred.

“Dean” Buck opened his mouth to say more but his voice broke and suddenly he was crying. The fear and pain catching up to him in one moment. The sound of Dean’s voice ripping him out of survival mode and every nerve was screaming at him.

“Evan?” Dean sounded more alert now, panicked “Evan, what’s wrong?”

“I - I need-“What did he need? Help? The thing was dead now, what was he expecting Dean to do? Come cry next to it with him? Medical attention? Yeah, probably, but there were faster ways to get to a hospital. Buck didn’t know, so he ended up just sitting on the phone in silence, listening to the waves and Dean’s breathing, and smelling that thing cook.

“Are you – “ Buck could hear Dean’s boots hitting the floor, a door opening and then slamming shut “Evan. Are you hurt?” the Impala starting. Sam’s muffled voice.

“No – I – maybe – I don’t –“  He couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe?

“Are you bleeding?”

“Yes.” Buck choked out. The fire was starting to die, smothered by ash, bone, and bile.

“Okay, okay. Are you keeping pressure on it? How bad is it?” Buck’s mind was starting to fade, everything becoming white noise until his own heartbeat drowned everything out.

“It’s –“ Buck lifted his hand. His chest was bad. The blood had dripped down his stomach and was soaking into his wetsuit. The skin was ragged, and the second Buck took the pressure off of it, more blood was pumped out, in pace with his racing pulse “It’s not good.”

“Okay, okay, where are you? We’re coming to you.”

“I’m at the beach” Buck dug his toes into the cold sand, trying to ground himself long enough for help to arrive.

“What beach, Evan?” Dean let out a little frustrated huff he probably wasn’t supposed to hear over the phone. “You gotta help us find you, sweetheart.”

Buck wracked his brain, coming up horrifically blank. “I don’t – Dean, I don’t know – I – maybe –

And suddenly Buck wasn’t holding his phone anymore. It was like it had simply vanished. He looked down to see if he had dropped it, but it wasn’t next to him, instead, there was a tennis shoe that maybe used to be white but was stained with dirt. Buck followed the shoe up to an ankle, then a leg, then a torso until he settled on the side of a person’s face.

They were talking on the phone, his phone, brows pinched with worry. Then they turned to look at him and their eyes. He recognised their eyes, he had seen them, wide and wild with a primal fear that had etched itself onto Buck’s heart as they grappled together next to the trees. They just stared at each other for a beat or two before he turned his head away again and started rattling off addresses and directions.

Buck tried to tune into the one-sided conversation, but he was tired. The sun wasn’t peeking over the horizon yet, but it would be soon, the sky had changed from pitch black, swirled with the milky way to an indigo blue, the stars hiding behind it.

Buck didn’t even realise he was falling backwards until rough hands caught him and lowered him gently onto the sand. It was a nice change, instead of hitting the sand hard enough he couldn’t breathe.

“Just stay awake, mate. Okay?” Buck hummed but he couldn’t really bring himself to speak, his mouth was dry, and his throat ached, and Buck wondered if it was all the sand he accidentally swallowed.

The person spoke and Buck only caught every few words or a sentence here and there. He felt rude for not listening, but the sky was so pretty, and his muscles had turned to liquid and all he wanted to do was sleep. Every time he blinked his eyelids stayed closed longer, the stranger tried to shake him, asked him questions, and demanded answers but eventually even that couldn’t rouse Buck. The last thing he saw was the blue sky awash with pink and orange and he faded happily.

Chapter Text

Buck knew where he was without having to open his eyes. The rumble of the impala was unmistakable, as was Sam and Dean’s bickering. He was laid out in the backseat of the Impala, the sunlight turning his eyelids red. Memories and the bitter aftertaste of fear tried to push to the forefront of his mind, but Buck was already drifting back to unconsciousness.

-

The sun was lower in the sky when Buck reluctantly peeled his eyes open. The car had stopped, and he rolled his head to the side to find the front two seats empty. Panic sliced clean through any remaining drowsiness and Buck put a hand down to push himself up. Pain laced up through his fingertips and up his arm, sudden, piercing, and hot. It forced a pained grunt up through his dry throat and he ended up sending himself into a coughing fit, cradling his arm to his chest.

The door behind him opened and Buck jumped, plastering his back to the opposite back door, pain blacking out his vision. It’s here, it’s back. It got a taste, and it followed me. Oh, god, I’m gonna die.

“Woah, woah, calm down, Evan. It’s just me, its Dean.” Buck’s swimming vision came into focus to see Dean’s face, mouth in a tight frown. “You back with me, Buckley?”

Buck nodded his head; afraid talking would send him back into a coughing fit. Seemingly reading his mind, Dean held out a water bottle to him. Buck went to reach for the bottle with his left hand when he caught sight of the bandages, bright white and wrapped loosely, so thick he could barely bend his fingers.

Of course. The fire. The memory brought the fresh pain back to the surface and Buck quickly grabbed the bottle with the other hand.

The water was soothing, and he drank most of the bottle in one go, water dripping down his chin.

When he dipped his head back down to look back at Dean he was met with that same worried frown.

“How you feeling? Any pain? Sam’s stocking up on pain meds now.” Dean gestured behind himself, and Buck realised they were parked in front of a convenience store. Buck didn’t want to think about his pain, he wanted to go back to sleep and forget last night ever happened. But Buck had been sleeping for hours and his legs were cramped from being curled up on the back seat, so Buck just ignored Dean’s question.

“How long was I asleep for?”

Dean checked his watch, mercifully letting him dodge the question. “About twenty hours or so. You lost a lot of blood,” Buck glanced down at his chest, more white bandages covered the right side and Buck was thankful he couldn’t see the wound, remembering what the torn skin looked like last night was enough to make his stomach roll. “It needed stitches” Dean was looking at his chest as well, eyebrows pinched “Will leave a hell of a scar, very badass” Buck appreciated Dean’s attempt at levity, but it didn’t work when Buck’s entire body felt like a bruise.

Buck sagged against the door again, giving up on finding a position that didn’t hurt. Buck felt stupid, he felt like a child, the brothers had faced monsters hundreds of times scarier than whatever that mockery of a human had been and escaped without a scratch. Hell Buck had been with them a couple of times but the second he was on his own and didn’t have Dean or Sam telling him what to do, he's bleeding out on a beach, frozen in fear and he needed someone to come pick him up.

He wonders if they were busy, if they were in the middle of something, maybe a hunt, saving lives, and they had to drop everything to save Dean’s one-night stand that wouldn’t leave them alone.

“You know you saved that person, right?” Dean was still looking at him with poorly masked concern “They told us over the phone that you were about to go barrelling into the woods after Them. Fucking stupid? Yes, but you killed it, and you saved a life.”

Something clicked into place in Buck’s chest, in Buck’s soul. A restless animal was finally satisfied, and Buck knew what he needed. He had been content for the last four months, but he hadn’t been satisfied and this is what he needed; to help people, to save lives.

Dean looked like he had more to say but Sam opened the passenger side door and climbed in, a shopping bag swinging over one arm. “Hey, Evan. How you doing?” Buck smiled and this time he meant it.

“I’m good, Sam.”

-

His chest healed slowly, his hand even more so. Buck never thought he would miss having two hands so much, it felt like he couldn’t do anything for the first week those bandages were on, fingers too clumsy to button up a shirt or leaf through a book. His healing was accompanied by Sam pointing out that at least the cops won't be able to trace him thanks to his now lack of fingerprints and Dean making jokes about everything he could be doing with his left hand, Sam slapped him over the back of the head every time.

Buck’s first hunt back was a ghoul. It was a simple hunt, but it was also violent, bloody, and disgusting. His least favourite thing on the job was the salt and burns. They were easy and efficient, but they always left a bad taste in Buck’s mouth, his mind always drifted, and he wondered how the family would feel, to find the dirt and grass of their loved one’s graves disturbed, their last resting place desecrated.

So that was why Buck took such a vicious satisfaction in chopping the thing’s head off. It took three swings, but the thing stopped fighting after two. Its face was still covered in rotting corpse, nails black with the dried blood of its latest meal when it went limp.

Buck was covered in the spray of arterial blood, and he had pulled at the stitches in his chest. But he felt good, accomplished, and a laugh that felt inappropriate for a torn-apart graveyard bubbled in the back of his throat.

Over the next few months Buck got into the swing of things, he felt more like a partner to the Winchesters rather than a burden. Dean even let him drive the Impala a couple of times.

They had been the most stressful drives of Buck’s life; Dean was a real backseat driver.

He was happy, he saved people from werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters and a hundred other things that went bump in the night. He still shared a bed with Dean and ate shitty diner food and had an impressive collection of fake IDs courtesy of Bobby.

Then Buck got possessed.

He didn’t see it coming. They weren’t even hunting a goddamn demon.

They had picked the lock to an old, rundown, diner where the cook had shoved his head into the deep-frier, one of the waitresses had eaten broken glass, and the cleaner had drunk a cocktail of cleaning chemicals. Pretty fucking suspicious as Dean had put it.

Sam had begun searching the kitchen, ducking under police tape, and stepping over the outline of the victims. Dean was investigating the windows and Buck went in search of the janitor’s closet, to see what he could find.

It was a cramped room, the walls were raw brick, and there was a rusty sink stuck to the right wall. A collection of mops and buckets were collecting dust in the corner, and metal shelving against the opposite wall held rags and spray bottles and jugs of chemicals. Logically, Buck knows that the police would have taken the bottle that the cleaner had drank from, but that didn’t stop him from giving the metal shelf a wide berth.

Buck had only been searching for a couple of minutes when Sam called out “Guys! I’ve got sulphur in here!”

Then the door slammed closed. And Buck was plunged into darkness. He threw himself against the door until he was sure his shoulder was going to give out and he could hear Dean doing the same on the other side.

Buck knew about demons. Dean and Sam had given him a run down, so he knew what sulphur meant. It didn’t mean he was at all prepared for when smoke crushed itself down his throat and into his lungs, scorching his insides and clogging up his nose.

When it was finally done pouring itself into him, he tried to breathe, to take in massive gulping gasps, but instead, he just stood there. The lack of oxygen was making him lightheaded and yet he just breathed at his normal, steady, pace. Buck wanted to sit, but he couldn’t, his body wouldn’t listen to him, and he didn’t understand.

Panic laced up his spine because this wasn’t happening. This was one of those awful things that happened to other people, but it wouldn’t happen to him. But then he was reaching for the door handle, and Dean was still yelling from the other side, now joined by Sam, and Buck couldn’t stop himself, he tried to scream, to beg, to warn them but he couldn’t get any noise past his teeth, couldn’t get his hand to reach for his holy water or his salt.

Buck was locked inside his own mind, whilst something else controlled his body. He could feel them, roiling about, in his lungs, in his veins, in his mind, he could feel them infecting him, branding him from the inside and picking him apart, sifting through memories and thoughts and dreams. Every dark thought and secret insecurity was being ripped open and if Buck could, he would be screaming. But he couldn’t so he resorted to begging. The thing inside him could hear him. He could feel it.

Its voice was low and rough, like leaves blowing along a sidewalk and it made the hair on his body stand up when it snapped at him to shut up.

The door to the closet swung open and Dean and Sam were standing there. Dean lifted his arm like he was going to reach out to him but then something flickered across his face, too quick to read and then his features darkened. They both pulled knives out of their belts, Buck knew from experience that they were made from iron. He flinched, no he didn’t flinch, but the thing inside him did.

“Evan…” Sam crept forward, filling the space between them with the knife.

“Evan isn’t here right now” It took him a second to realise that his mouth was moving, that that was his voice. It was deeper, rough, tinted with malicious joy. Buck didn’t even know his voice could sound like that, it made him sick “I can't believe you didn’t even bother to protect him” Buck’s cheeks pulled into an unnatural grin, pulling the skin so wide he thought it would tear, “Guess you’re just keeping him around for the view, huh? So you won't mind if I do this?” Buck’s hand reached up to the metal shelf, grabbing a bottle and unscrewing it. It burned when he lifted it to his mouth, it smelled like artificial lemon and the sterile cleanliness of a hospital.

Buck thought his hand should be shaking, but he was steady, still grinning over the lip of the bottle at Sam and Dean. Right before Buck could take a swig of the cleaning agent, something burned up his arm, like acid and he dropped the bottle, it rolled along the floor, stopping at Sam’s feet, spilling a thick, clear liquid over his shoes. Sam was holding an empty flask, one that used to be full of holy water. Rage that wasn’t his but felt like it was, rose up inside him and Sam was flung backwards, sending tables and chairs clattering to the floor.

Dean was standing there, breathing heavy, his teeth bared. All the things the demon wanted to do to him were flashing through Buck’s mind, every torture and mutilation, every scream and whimper. Buck wanted to throw up, but instead, he charged at Dean. Throwing fists and elbows. When his knuckles cracked over Dean’s jaw he wanted to scream and when he brought a knee up to crack against a rib that he knew was already bruised Buck wanted to cry.

Dean was pulling his punches. They both knew that Dean could put Buck on his ass any day, and yet all he was doing was dodging, putting tables or chairs between them when he could and Buck was still advancing, he wanted to yell at Dean, to tell him to hit him, to fight back, to fucking kill him if he needed to, but instead he just kept dancing out of the way of his vicious attacks.

Buck was all bloody nails and snarling teeth and he felt like more animal than man when hands landed on the back of his shoulders and dragged him backwards onto a table. Sam’s face loomed over him and placed a vicious-looking blade to his throat. The demon went still for a second and then renewed its fight with the desperation of an animal stuck in a bear trap. But then Dean was over him as well, pulling the collar of his shirt down and pressing a cross onto his collarbone. The demon let him scream this time, loud and desperate and punctuated by curses and threats.

He could hear his own skin sizzling, smell it. He wanted to beg Dean to take it away, it felt like it was going to melt through him, to turn bone and tissue to liquid and come out the other side. He didn’t even realise Sam was speaking, chanting until the thing inside of him began shifting, and suddenly his body didn’t seem to fit quite right anymore, it thrashed and fought against his lungs and heart and beat against his rib cage and then Buck’s vision went black.

He couldn’t breathe. He was coughing and his throat burned, and his stomach heaved threateningly. But when he rested his head back on the table, his muscles listened to him. Not quite daring to believe it, Buck tried to lift his hand, and it cooperated, he nearly smacked Dean in the head as he did it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, he wiggled his fingers and bit his lip to contain a hysterical laugh.

His muscles had turned to mush and when Sam tried to help him off of the table, his knees gave out and his vision went black.

Chapter Text

Buck couldn’t sleep. Every night he couldn’t control his body, he tore people apart, Dean, Sam, his sister, even the nice barista in the coffee shop. They all died bloody and broken by his hands, all while he pounded on the inside of his own skull, begging it to stop.

He always woke up, choking on his own scream, clawing at himself, trying to get himself to stop.

He started getting his own motel room after it became obvious that his nightmares were keeping Dean awake just as much as Buck.

He thought the tattoo would help, that it would give him security, reassurance that it would never happen again. But he would wake up to that thing from the beach, the wendigo, having sliced through the other side of his chest, through the tattoo, and black smoke was choking him, and Buck wanted to die.

No one was surprised when three weeks after the incident Buck announced he was leaving again. He just needed to breathe, and he couldn’t do that whilst hunting nightmares. His departure this time was accompanied by a sense of guilt and grief that Buck pushed aside. He just needed to get his feet on solid ground again.

Maybe that’s why he joined the seals. It gave him control; the heavy kit and the demanding training made him trust his body again. It carried him through gruelling runs and even worse swims. He held his breath for minutes and flew over obstacle courses. He gained thirty pounds of muscle and a whole plethora of skills which he couldn’t help but visualise how he could use to kill monsters.

No one was surprised when he dropped out of training just before graduation, he knew from the get-go that he couldn’t kill a person, he thought maybe all the monster hunting would make him capable, but they weren’t the same thing, and they never would be.

So Buck packed his life into a backpack and moved to Peru. He got a bartending job in one of those straw-roof huts on the beach and he enjoyed it. He always got a little on edge if he was the last one working after dark, but not afraid, no, because he knew how to handle himself now, his reflexes were faster, he was stronger and he knew a hell of a lot more about monsters.

Like how to spot a vampire.

He’d been in Peru for a month and had his job for three weeks when the first person died. They were found beaten against the cliff rocks, broken but not bloody. ‘Drained completely of blood’ the newspaper had said, it had also speculated that the victim had been gnawed on by sharks, considering the bite marks on their neck and arms.

That had been Buck’s first warning, and the next day he replaced one of the decorative machetes on the wall with a real one, and he kept a syringe of dead man’s blood on him at all times.

The second body came three days later, found in the jungle not too far from the beach. Chewed on by a jaguar this time, apparently. This body was also drained of blood. This one was a regular, Buck hadn’t really spoken to her much, just to take her order in broken Spanish. But she had always been patient with him whilst he was learning the ropes, patting him on the hand and giving him a warm smile. Buck felt the well of grief in his chest grow that much larger.

A week after the first killing, Buck was on the late shift. He went to the beach early to surf, it was a gorgeous day, and the waves were particularly good; half an hour before his shift, just as the sun disappeared behind the horizon, Buck carried his board up to the bar. There was a small fenced-off section at the back of the bar, it was just where they stored their bags of trash and empty bottles, so tourists didn’t have to see it when they came to the beach.

Buck tugged his backpack containing his change of clothes for his shift further up his shoulder and stretched onto his tiptoes to reach over the gate and unlatch it. He was so concentrated on not hitting his board off of anything or knocking anything over in the tight space that he didn’t notice the man huddled between two dumpsters until he was standing right in front of him.

“Hey man, are you okay?” Buck propped his board against the back of the hut so he could get closer. “You hurt?”

The man just shakes his head, chin down, long, greasy, black hair hid his face and Buck thought he was maybe homeless, just looking for somewhere to spend the night. Buck crouched down to his level, trying to appear less threatening. “Do you need help?” the man shuffled back, squeezing so close to the fence it seemed like he was trying to melt into it “I can't let you stay here, but I could get you something to eat?”

Suggesting food got his attention, the man froze, every muscle in his body turning to stone, before his head inched up, hair falling away from his eyes. Buck had to bite his cheek to try and keep his expression neutral. Half of the man’s face was covered in angry, red, veins which crawled up from under the collar of his shirt and disappeared into his hairline. The eye on that side of his face was also discoloured, the white was bloodshot and irritated looking.

Buck knew better than to ask what happened, despite his curiosity. “You’ll… uh… you’ll have to leave when we close. Obviously. But there’s only two of us tonight and Maria is lovely, so she won't have a problem with you staying.”

Buck tried to smile but there was a heavy, sick feeling dripping down his throat and he couldn’t figure out why. The stranger looked him in the eyes for a split second before his gaze darted down to Buck’s neck, where his pulse was thrumming against his skin and his anxiety spiked even higher. The sense of wrongness settled into his bones as the man stood, using the dumpsters to pull himself up.

Buck’s anxiety was pushed to the back of his mind as the stranger stumbled, knees buckling and arms shaking. Buck reached for him on instinct, getting his arms under his armpits and dragging him from out between the dumpsters so he could duck under one of his arms, supporting the stranger’s weight. A hesitant arm wrapped around Buck’s shoulders.

The stranger was lighter than he expected, a lot lighter. Where his arm was around the man’s waist he couldn’t feel ribs, and he didn’t look worryingly skinny, but Buck felt like he could pick him up with one arm. He shoved that thought back into the rude to ask about box right next to the man’s face and swung the back door open with his free arm.

The bar was quiet, which wasn’t surprising, there was always a lull between the afternoon when the tourists flock to the beach and the evening when most of the regulars arrive for the stronger stuff they keep underneath the bar.

Maria was standing at the sink, cleaning glasses, and humming a tune to herself. She doesn’t look up when Buck struggles in but she does when he dumps the stranger onto a stool at the end of the bar. Maria had been working at the bar for just over a year, she was originally from Italy and the Peru sun had turned her skin a lovely bronze colour. She was tough as nails, never took any shit from the customers and her single judgmental eyebrow raise was more lethal than anything in Dean’s trunk.

“Evan?” Maria looked between him and the stranger, clearly expecting an explanation.

“He, uh-“ Buck grabbed onto the straps of his backpack, just for something to do with his hands “Wasn’t feeling well, thought he could at least get a seat in here.”

Maria looks at him for another moment before the corner of her mouth quirks up and she shoos him off to the bathroom to get changed.

He was gone less than five minutes but by the time he got back Maria and the stranger were chatting up a storm. She was grinning behind her hand and there was a faint redness on her cheeks. The man certainly looked better, using the bar as leverage to push himself closer to Maria. Buck didn’t even realise he was moving until his hand landed on the man’s shoulder in a not-so-friendly squeeze. “I just realised; I didn’t get your name.”

The man looked pissed and wasn’t trying very hard to hide it, Maria just rolled her eyes, used to Buck’s overprotective streak. When the man didn’t speak Buck stubbornly held out his hand “Evan Buckley”

His hand was eyed for a second before the stranger offered his. The hand was smooth and surprisingly cold, it was like shaking hands with a marble statue. Had the man always been this cold? Buck tried to think over the last twenty minutes, but he was coming up blank. Maybe he was ill? He was so distracted he almost missed the man’s name.

“William Burke”

Buck released his hand and grinned “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Will”.

“William”

“What?” Buck cocked his head.

“It’s William, not Will” The stranger – William – spat out the words like they were poison, and Buck was beginning to regret giving this rude man somewhere to stay for the evening. Maria had been distracted serving other customers that were starting to trickle into the bar to notice the tense staring match, grip on the handshake getting slowly tighter and more painful.

“Right,” Buck bit out “Sorry about that. Won't happen again.” He pulled his hand back and turned to start serving customers, trying to shake William’s oil-slick glare off of his back.

After a couple of shots and the bar starting to properly fill up, Buck was able to push William to the back of his mind, but it didn’t stop the spike of inexplicable anxiety when he would turn around and William was staring at Maria, or sometimes, staring directly at him like he was staring at a four-course meal. Buck was used to hungry stares, it’s how he had a bed to sleep in most nights, but Will’s was different, it looked like if given the chance, he would eat Buck whole.

It was getting near closing and William hadn’t moved. He looked a lot better, though, the veins on his face looked more like pink scars now than the angry red they had been before. Maria had probably been giving him bar snacks and Buck hadn’t noticed; too busy chatting to the older women who ordered a sex on the beach with a wink and a nudge. Buck was glad he looked better. Sure, the dude was rude and had a serious staring problem, but he looked so frightened, crouching between the dumpsters and Buck’s heart bled for him a little.

It was nearing 4 am when Buck and Maria managed to herd Luis, a regular out the door and lock it behind him. Buck turned around to address William, hands on his hips and the promise of a headache behind his eyes.

Buck jumped about a foot in the air, a yelp escaping him that Maria would never let him forget. William was standing directly behind him. Close enough that he could smell his rancid breath. See his second set of teeth as they slid into place.

Buck pushes Maria out of the way just as William reaches for him, sharp nails, and slashing teeth. Buck is fast, and he’s got some experience under his belt, so he manages to dodge around William and ducks under his arm, making a run for his bag under the bar. He only makes it halfway before he’d being gripped by the back of the neck like a cat and flung backwards.

He crashes into a wooden set of chairs with the force of a freight train.

“You think I didn’t know what you were!?” William demands, stamping over to where Buck is lying in a pile of broken furniture “I smelt this” He holds Buck’s syringe of dead man’s blood in front of his eyes, waving it back and forth tauntingly “The second I saw you. Thought I was done for, so imagine my delight when it turns out I’ve just been found by the dumbest hunter ever.”

Spit hits Buck’s face and shame makes his lungs too small. It was obvious, looking back at all the signs. He had ignored his gut, something Dean would hit him round the head for and offered himself and Maria up on a silver platter. The monster reached for him, and Buck was scrambling, looking for anything to defend himself, but the syringe was shattered against the far wall, right next to Maria’s terrified face. And then Buck couldn’t breathe.

William pinched his nose with one hand and used the other to cover his mouth, keeping his teeth clenched and jaw closed, and Buck couldn’t breathe.

William leaned down so his mouth was inches from Buck’s ear as he thrashed against his hands “Stop struggling, or I’ll just tear her apart in front of you. I was planning on changing her, but honestly? I'm not that attached” Buck’s vision was going black at the edges and his head felt like it was going to explode, but he forced his limbs to be still, though violent twitches still shook his body and he could barely hear with the blood rushing in his ears “It would be a shame to waste such a pretty face though.”

The body above him tenses and Buck flinches, getting ready for the bite that would end him. But it never comes, instead, the hands leave his face and Buck gulps in air greedily, gasping around coughs and the ache in his jaw. William gets off of him and turns on a shaking Maria.

That’s when Buck sees it: the reason he was let go. William has the end of a chair leg sticking out of his back, the sharp end was probably nestled in his heart right now and Buck had to curse modern media for pedalling the myth that vampires died from steaks through the heart.

Maria walked backwards until she hit the wall, William matching her step for step. Buck tried to get up, tried to help her, but his head was spinning, and his limbs were made of lead, he felt like a baby lamb when he finally got to his feet, joints shaking. Every breath burned and he definitely had a bruised rib. He got them regularly enough to know the feeling.

Maria was pinned to the wall with a hand on her sternum, William’s other hand grabbed her wrist and brought it to his mouth. Buck acted on instinct, throwing the closest thing to him which happened to be an empty bottle of beer that had ended up on the floor during the fight.

It smashed against William’s back, though it didn’t even make him flinch, it got his attention back on Buck. He made a mad dash for the machete on the wall behind the bar.

“Buck, the machetes are fake!”

As he planted a hand on the bar to vault it, he chanced a look behind him. Maria hadn’t moved from her place against the wall, but William was slowly strolling over to Buck, teeth bared in a smug, lazy smile. He clearly believed Maria and just thought Buck was scrambling, which, okay, he was, but he knew something that vampire didn’t and that meant he finally had an edge on him.

The handle was smooth in his hand, the weight familiar. It wasn’t his go-to weapon of choice, but Dean had given him plenty of lessons with every shape and size of weapon. He held it tightly with both hands and met William’s gaze over the bar. When neither of them moved Buck slowly climbed onto the bar, getting his neck as far away from the vampire as possible. William just laughed, a mocking sound that was too harsh for the silent room. Buck didn’t waiver, having a weapon in his hand grounded him, put him back on an even keel.

William twitched, the beginning of a step and Buck was not too slow this time. He launched himself off the bar, tensing every muscle in his arms and swinging down with a vicious strength.

The head hit the ground with a wet thump, rolled a couple of times and came to a stop in the middle of the room, the body collapsing a moment after. Buck stood there for a few seconds, catching his breath, just feeling the adrenaline under his skin, making it tingle and feeling the satisfaction of killing something evil.

Maria was still plastered to the wall and Buck felt sorry for her, compared to this, his introduction to the supernatural had been much less sudden and violent, whilst she had been dumped in the deep end.

Buck climbed down from the bar, trying not to step in any lukewarm blood and that seemed to break a spell. Maria turned on him and from the other side of the room, Buck couldn’t tell if she was about to turn tail and run out of there or if his head would be joining William’s on the floor “Start explaining. Now.”

“Em – okay – so this is going to sound insane…” Buck found himself struggling for words, tongue tripping over itself. He’d never had to explain this to someone before and he wasn’t sure where to begin.

“That right there, is a vampire” A new voice joined them, a man walking in from the back door and Buck was getting fucking sick of surprises. “A dead one” he eyes the machete in Buck’s hand and gave him a nod.

“No, it’s not” Maria shook her head “I staked him, and unless his heart is on the wrong side, I hit it.”

The man eyes her for a moment and Buck takes a second to stare. He’s tall, he’s even got a few inches on Buck. His brown hair had sun-bleached ends and grey at the temples, it was a strange mixture, but it didn’t look bad, just distinctive. He looked strong in the same way that Dean did like he had never stepped foot in a gym, but he did physically demanding work, strong like a steel wire. “Steaks don’t kill vampires-“

“Yes, they do! Everyone knows that!” Buck had to commend Maria on how well she was taking the news that vampires existed, though he never really doubted her. He was equally impressed that she wasn’t withering under the new man’s glare.

“Oh, really? And what’s your source? Twilight? The vampire diaries? Buffy?”

“Actually – “

“No! the only way to kill a vampire is lobbing it’s head off and –“

“Burning it.”

The man turned to Buck and quirked an eyebrow “You a hunter?” Buck paused at this. He’d hunted, sure, he’s killed, or at least helped kill a lot of supernatural things at this point, but that was only with Sam or Dean, he didn’t really do much on his own.

“Part time” Buck settled on “You?” He raised his eyebrows at the dumb question but answered it, nonetheless.

“Yeah, been tracking down a nest that’s been preying on tourists. You just finished off the last one for me, so thanks” he held out a hand for a handshake and Buck swapped the machete to the other hand so he could take it.

“Evan”

“Musharraf”

“Good to meet you. You need help burning the body?” Musharraf shook his head.

“Na, thanks though. But it looks like you have your hands full cleaning up this place” Buck looked around at the ruined furniture, the blood soaking into the floor and several smashed glasses and his heart sank.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I’d love to get your number though” Buck smirked at him, and Musharraf glared right back “In case I need help on a case, you overconfident gilipollas” he shook his head, still muttering in Spanish but handed Buck his unlocked phone, already open to the add new contact screen.

Maria and Buck gave Musharraf a few large black trash bags to drag the body onto a secluded part of the beach to burn it, though there wouldn’t be anyone else on the beach for hours, it always pays to be cautious.

Buck thought that he should hate the beach, it seemed that anytime he got near one, supernatural creatures were trying to take a chunk out of him, but he couldn’t bring himself to; the beach made him happy, the ocean, the sand, even the sound settled something restless in his chest. And at the end of the day, he knew it wasn’t the beach, it was him, he attracted pain and suffering and blood. It took him over twenty years to realise it but now he did. His parents had realised it a lot sooner, distancing themselves before he could hurt them. Even Maddie knew it, sending him away with a jeep and the clothes on his back to protect herself. And Buck knew, that as he cleaned the congealed blood off of the floor, he couldn’t blame any of them, they were just protecting themselves.

Maria and Buck stayed till opening, with an airtight cover story of what happened to the broken furniture and why there were so many scratches on the floor. The manager wasn’t happy. Obviously. But they couldn’t prove a thing so Maria and Buck got off scot-free.

For the next three months, Buck helped Musharraf on quite a few hunts. Sometimes he’d get a text and other times he would call and invite himself along. Hunting with someone other than Dean and Sam was eye-opening. Musharraf used different techniques and tools, plus, the supernatural creatures in Peru, seemed to vary quite significantly to the ones in the states, which meant a whole new learning curve.

He hunted a chullachaqui, a shapeshifting creature which lures its victims into the forest by presenting itself as a loved one. When it encountered Musharraf, it changed itself into a little girl with bronze skin and pigtails. Buck drove a steak through its heart, and they never spoke of it again.

Musharraf saved him from a runamula which grabbed him on his way home from a girl’s studio apartment. Apparently, they target “People who have had improper behaviours” which, yeah, okay, fair.

A Chupacabra took a chunk out of his calf and ripped his favourite shirt before he put a silver bullet between its eyes.

Peru also had the standard creatures that Buck guessed you’d find no matter what continent you are on, angry spirits, werewolves, shapeshifters, and demons. Demons still made Buck shiver, the phantom feeling of his body betraying him leaving as fast as it would come. The tattoo gave him the confidence to load himself up with holy water and help exorcise it.

Musharraf was skilled, clinical, and unemotional with his hunts, and Buck couldn’t help but feel like a child next to him, all tightly wound tension and ill-timed jokes. Still, Buck got as much knowledge out of Musharraf as he could. He had started a journal on the supernatural after he saw John’s. Dean wouldn’t let him touch it, but Buck got a general idea anyway, and he was filling up pages as fast as he could, adding notes, newspaper clippings and even his own drawings sometimes. It kind of reminded him of Maddie’s scrapbooking she used to do when he was young, except bloodier.

Buck was happy. So that’s probably why it ended.

Summer ended and the cooler autumn weather chased the tourists away. The bar let go of nearly half of their employees, including Buck, with a promise that they would be hiring again when spring rolled around, and they would be welcome to apply again. Maria went home to Italy and Buck went back to the States.

Musharraf, in an uncharacteristic show of emotion, gifted Buck a necklace as a goodbye and a thank you for his help. It was a circular pendant decorated in Nordic runes, hanging from a braided leather cord. “Made of pure iron,” is what Musharraf claimed, “Should be good for doing some damage to some nasty motherfuckers.” Buck didn’t cry, but it was a near thing. He left with a firm handshake and a promise to never take it off.

He called Dean on his way to the airport. They were in LA hunting down a demon. He was cagey about details on the phone but gave him the address of the motel they were staying in.

One long flight and an expensive Uber later and Buck is knocking on the door of a run-down but not too run-down motel room.

Chapter Text

Dean claps him on the shoulder and Sam smiled at him and something in Buck’s chest loosened. He didn’t realise how much he missed his friends until they were neck-deep in trouble, eating greasy diner food and sleeping on lumpy mattresses. He told them a bit about Peru, though he kept Musharraf to himself. Sam asked him about the local wildlife. Dean made lewd comments about his navy-seal-acquired muscles.

The demon had taken up residence inside a middle-aged dentist, Daniel Reid, living in a block of luxury high-rise apartments. Dean showed him a photo of the guy, he looked nice, normal, with a straight white smile, salt and pepper hair and neatly trimmed stubble. Buck mourned for him because even though his body is still walking about, he has been dead for weeks, they were just here to lay him to rest.

Dean and Sam were dressed as building inspectors pressed suits, and fake credentials. Unfortunately, Buck hadn’t given them much notice, so he was given a high-vis vest and a clipboard; he was their ‘trainee’ for the day. Dean got a lot of kicks from ordering him around and speaking to him in long, drawn-out sentences like he was a toddler.

They didn’t know what apartment Daniel lived in, so they split up, taking a third of the building – four floors – each and knocking on doors. They talked their way into any apartment who answered the door, looking for any evidence of demon activity under the guise of ‘inspecting’. Anyone who didn’t answer, their number was noted down so they could come back and pick the lock when there weren’t so many eye-witnesses.

Buck had taken the top floors. It was on the eleventh floor that it happened. He knocked on the door to apartment eleven-B and announced “Building inspector” with his most authoritative-sounding voice, he’d gotten pretty good at it after all his time pretending to be the FBI.

The door stays stubbornly closed and Buck is about to note it on his clipboard and walk away when there is a thump from inside the apartment. It’s not followed by a crash or a grunt, absolutely no human noise. It could just be a cat, or a dog, or even a turtle or something. But a shiver runs down Buck’s spine and goosebumps raise on his arms. Buck had ignored his gut in Peru, he wasn’t about to do it again.

He slammed the side of his fist against the door, dropping all pretence of being official and demanding for them to open the door.

They didn’t. Which was as unsurprising as it was annoying. Buck didn’t have time to pick the lock, there were alarms going off in the back of his head, every cell in his body hyped on adrenaline and tightly wound with the promise of a fight. The door burst inwards on his second kick and Buck charged in, holy water first.  

It was dark in the apartment when he stumbled through the door, like the world had been dipped in ink. The light from the hallway illuminated the cardboard that had been duct taped to the windows, blocking out all sunlight and muffling the sounds from the street below, so the cars were nothing but a soft background hum.

There was no sound in the apartment. No movement, no sign of life but he was certain someone was in there. Like how your body instinctually knows someone is staring at you, Buck’s body knew that danger was near, it felt like it was breathing down his neck.

He reached for the light switch next to the door and flicked it on. It did nothing. He tried a couple more times but was only met with a pathetic, hollow clicking every time. He sighed, not surprised, and grabbed his phone to use the torch.

The living room to the right of the front door was ordinary, exactly what you would expect; eggshell walls, a cream couch with loads of accent pillows, tasteful art on the walls and elegantly placed family photos depicting two parents, one of them being Daniel, with a blonde little girl between them no older than five. It was attached to a kitchen left of the front door, decorated in the same colours. The only thing that was out of place was a candle, clearly decorative, never been lit, lying on its side on the shag rug, which must've been what Buck heard fall.

There were three doors branching off of the living room, two were hanging open, and when Buck cast his torch over them, he saw that one led to a bathroom, large with a separate shower and tub and a set of twin sinks. The other door opened to what Buck assumed was the parent’s bedroom. A king-size bed with deep, plum sheets and light grey walls, artificial flowers and plants dotted about.

The third door was closed, and Buck’s steps faltered. Suddenly the door seemed much taller than before, more foreboding. Darkness leaked out of the bottom and stained his shoes, threatening to swallow him whole.

Then there was a noise from the other side of the door. A human noise. A small whimper kicked Buck back into motion. The door handle was cold under his hand, covered in a fine layer of frost that flaked off when he twisted and threw the door open.

It was dark. Unnaturally so. Like any light was too afraid to pass the threshold. Buck just stared into the black abyss for a few seconds, feeling that he was looking upon something no human should see before he remembered that he had a torch.

Black eyes were the first thing he saw, sitting deep into the skull of Daniel Reid. The demon launched itself at him with an animalistic fury, biting teeth, tearing hands and unnatural strength. Buck was tackled out of the threshold and back into the living room, the demon landing on top of him, pinning him down with messy movements and cold hands. The door slammed shut behind them with a bang and a cry.

Neither he nor the demon made the noise. It was high-pitched, choked with tears. The daughter.

Buck thrashed with renewed desperation. Now that the demon wasn’t there to keep her quiet, the little girl was crying, great, heaving sobs and shouting for her mommy and daddy. Hands closed around his throat, immediately crushing in their strength and the black at the edges of his vision began to mix with the black of its eyes.

Buck scratched at the hands, drawing blood but nothing could make its grip let up. With the last of the air in his lungs, Buck choked one word out past a swollen throat.

“Why?”

The demon laughed at that, a great cackling thing which threw its head back and echoed through the room.

“God, you aren’t very bright, are you?” the weight on his neck let up a tiny bit, just enough for him to suck in shallow breaths in past his teeth to keep unconsciousness at bay “Those Winchester boys keeping you in the dark, huh?” he smiled down and Buck noticed he was missing a canine tooth. “Not surprising I suppose. You’re just a helper huh? A little puppy that follows them around, begging for scraps?”

One hand left his throat, and he dragged his knuckles down the side of Buck’s face in a mockery of a lover’s caress "I remember you; you know? From the diner”

No no no no no. not again. Please not again.

A whine worked its way out of his throat, dragging a cough with it “Sammy boy sent me back to hell, but guess what?” the demon leaned down, its breath ghosting over Buck’s ear like frost over a windowpane “His brother opened the gate, so I could crawl my way back out.”

Buck didn’t know what to say. He had never felt so helpless, lying under this demon with a little girl in the next room begging for help. He didn’t even have enough oxygen to form a coherent thought “I still remember all that self-doubt. All that pain. Mommy and daddy didn’t hug you enough, huh? You’re rivalling Dean when it comes to self-hatred”.

“Just let her go. Please. You can have me” his voice was wrecked. Every syllable hurt and his chest was wracked with coughs. tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

The demon tutted at him, shaking its head with a patronising frown. “No can do, you see,” the demon took its other hand off of his neck, sitting up straight whilst still straddling his hips. He swung an arm behind him to gesture at the bedroom door “She was born on Halloween, under a full moon” he was distracted, a feral look in his eyes and a genuine grin on his lips. Buck began to try and slide his hand underneath himself, to the back pocket of his jeans where he kept his flask of holy water. “Do you know what that means, pretty boy?”

Buck shook his head, still inching his hand slowly, ever so slowly towards his pocket. “It means she’s a seal, Buckley. It means I'm going to skin her and make her into a nice little coat for daddy-dearest here.”

Buck’s hand closed around the flask at the same time the demon’s hand closed around his wrist, squeezing the small bones together.

“Answer me honestly, Evan. Do you think I'm stupid?”

“I think you’re a god damn moron” Buck reached up with his free hand and grabbed the pendant around his neck, snapping the cord as he pressed the raw iron to the demon’s face. It made an awful sizzling noise, followed by a choked-off scream as the demon jerked to the side and rolled off of Buck, cradling the charred skin on its cheek. The apartment was filled with the sickening smell of burning hair and blistering skin.

Buck dragged himself to his feet and bolted to the kitchen, leaping over the couch on his way. He could hear the demon recovering as he frantically tore through the cabinets. The demon was climbing over the breakfast bar when he found it; a large saltshaker, shaped like an overweight tiger. Not ideal, but he has done more with less.

Armed with his pendant in one hand, a fat tiger and his holy water in his back pocket, Buck was feeling a lot more confident.

However, between him and that little girl was a kitchen island, a couch and a seriously pissed-off demon. He silently wondered what was taking Sam and Dean so long and prayed they were looking for him. Buck wrapped the leather strap around his wrist so he could hold the holy water as well.

The demon made the first move, predictably, and launched itself at Buck like a wild thing, Buck dodged, not interested in trading blows with the demon, just interested in the girl.

He heard plates and cabinets crash as the demon hit them and Buck made the most of the distraction, leaping over the countertop and nearly making it to the couch before a vice grip wrapped around his elbow. Buck didn’t even look behind him, just threw holy water over his shoulder and he was released to the sound of sizzling skin and a scream of rage.

Buck dropped the now-empty flask and burst through the door into the little girl’s room, adrenaline pushing him through his fear of the unnatural darkness. The second he was over the threshold he smashed the tiger on the ground, using his hands to spread the salt just as a furious and very injured Daniel threw himself against it.

He just stood in the dark for a few seconds, trying to catch his breath through a swollen windpipe, watching the demon throw itself against the salt over and over again. He’d never seen a demon act like this, so laser-focused on one person, usually they got their kicks out of hurting anyone and everyone indiscriminately. So why this girl? What had the demon called her? A seal? Buck doesn’t give a shit.

Sniffling brought him out of his head. The windows in this room were also coated in cardboard, and he had dropped his phone during the fight so the only light source he had was a shitty metal lighter he’d stolen from a stranger whose face he couldn’t remember.

The lighter was enough to illuminate the little girl, blonde hair pulled back into a messy braid. Pink pyjamas covered in unicorns. She was sobbing, tears running over rosy cheeks, a snotty nose, and a bad case of the hiccups. She was curled in a ball in the middle of the floor and Buck got down to her level, simultaneously trying to appear less intimidating and trying to block her view of the door so she couldn’t see the man that used to be her father as much as it pained him to turn his back on danger.

“Hey, hey. I'm not going to hurt you” She eyed him up and down not moving from her spot but also still crying.

Buck shuffled forward a bit more and she didn’t move back so he considered it a win, “My name is Evan. What’s yours?”

The tears didn’t stop but the sobs ebbed to stuttered breaths. He had to calm her down and fast. If Dean and Sam burst in here, she’s going to have to watch her dad be exorcised, as if she isn’t already traumatised enough. He whipped her head around to her bed which was filled with a healthy collection of stuffed animals. He made an educated guess and picked up a well-loved bunny sitting front and centre on her pillow. He slowly held it out to her as an olive branch. She snatched it from his hands and buried her face in fur that was once white, now grey.

“I’m Layla” Her voice was muffled in the rabbit’s head but unmistakable.

“Layla.” Buck repeated, “Well, Layla, its nice to meet you.”

“Can you help my dad? He’s not feeling well” Buck’s heart broke on the spot. He wanted to tell her that everything will be okay, that her dad would be right as rain, but he knew it was a lie. Instead, he said.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? And some people are gonna take care of your dad, but we just need to give them some space to do it.”

She gave a small nod and half crawled half shuffled into his waiting arms. Buck scooped her up and placed her on his hip, tucking her head into his neck so she didn’t see anything.

Now they just had one problem.

The demon guarding the only exit.

The demon currently holding a lit candle and a bottle of vodka.

“No, no no! wait! Please don’t!”

The demon dropped them both, the alcohol immediately going up in a pillar of flame that blocked the door entirely. A small shriek was muffled against his throat, and he could feel his adrenaline turn sour, and saltwater fear fill his lungs. The fire was already creeping up the walls, moving unnaturally fast, smoke coating the ceiling.

Buck pulled his t-shirt up, over his nose and reached down with a gentle hand to do the same for Layla.

Buck would consider running through the fire if he were alone, but he couldn’t take that risk when he had precious cargo. He rubbed a soothing hand up her back, trying to calm her renewed cries. Buck was panicking. He had no phone, no exit and the flames were already reaching the ceiling, paint curling and peeling, pink to black.

The window wouldn’t budge and even if it would, there was no fire exit, and they were on the eleventh floor. They were trapped like animals.

Buck sat on the bed, rocking Layla, trying to speak in a calm voice, to say anything that would make this better.

He wondered where Dean and Sam were. Had they forgotten him? When he was in Peru that was the longest, they’d been apart, after all. Or maybe they just didn’t care as much as he thought they did.

The smoke was burning his nose and was starting to make him dizzy. He pushed Layla’s head closer to his neck. Buck didn’t want to die like this, energy was thrumming through his veins, and it took all of his willpower to remain still and composed for Layla. At least neither of them would be alone.

That’s when he heard it.

“LAFD! Call out!”

Chapter Text

Beams creaked and popped, glass shattered, and walls collapsed. And Buck screamed louder than all of it. He didn’t even know if he was coherent, if his words were anything more than a garbled mess of screams and coughs, but he kept making noise.

“LAFD! We can hear you! Keep calling!”

It was like fate had it out for him. That he had pissed off god personally because the second he saw a flash of the black and red uniform through the smoke, the ceiling collapsed, bringing apartment twelve-B down around their shoulders.

Buck doubled over, covering Layla with his own body. It sounded like a freight train was over them. Every muscle hurt from tensing, ready for the chunk of debris that would crush him, that would suffocate him beneath a mountain of rubble and ash. But it never came.

When the dust settled around his ears Buck looked up, there were support beams everywhere, piercing through the ceiling and the walls. Dry wall and chunks of furniture lay everywhere. It resembled a war zone more than a little girl’s bedroom.

“You okay in there?!” came a shout from what used to be a doorway, but now it was blocked by a wooden support beam and a mish-mash of metal pipe. Buck’s heart sank. He dipped his head to look at Layla who looked back up at him with watery eyes but a brave smile.

“Yeah, we’re okay!”

“Good! We can’t get through here so-“ Panic shot through him like a bullet.

“No! Please! I’ve got a kid here! Take her! Please!”

“Sir, it’s going to be okay! We’ve got a team on the roof! They’re gonna relay down from there! We’ll come in through the window!”

The next few minutes were the longest of Buck’s life. just cradling a little girl surrounded by the wreckage of her home. Waiting either for rescue or for the next collapse that will finish them off.

He nearly misses the man at the window, vision clouded by smoke and his streaming eyes. Buck uses one hand to shove the window open. The wood and metal burn and Buck bites on his lip to stop from yelping. He puts on a brave face for Layla, even as his skin bubbles. But the firefighter is in now and Buck can't stop shaking.

They clip Layla in first. It’s difficult when she latches to Buck like a limpet and refuses to let go but they make it work. Buck gets a harness next. Apparently, it’s against protocol to take down two victims at a time but they’re racing the clock here. Something sours in Buck’s chest at being referred to as a victim, but he ignores it and focuses on calming a panicking Layla. He knows in the still sane part of his brain that they’re strapped in with sturdy ropes and metal clips, but he still holds on to the rope with his ruined hand, ignoring the blood that wells up. The pain keeps him from panicking for a precious few more minutes to get Layla to the ground, who is holding onto him with a vice-like grip around his neck.

He doesn’t remember being lowered to the ground. He remembers his first breath of fresh in what felt like years. How his throat burned, and his skin broke out in a sweat despite the cool evening air. His knees went out from under him when they got on solid ground again, but he was still holding Layla so he stayed on his feet through pure force of will and a hand on the firefighter.

He walked her over to the ambulance in a daze, breaths desperate but slow. Desperate for oxygen and desperate for the pain to stop. And then she’s being lifted out of his arms, his head snaps up and he desperately tries to focus his eyes. There is a woman reaching out for Layla, and Layla is reaching back with a call of “Mommy!” The woman, her mother, lifts her out of Buck’s arms and it’s a struggle to let her go, but then he’s being hugged. A series of muttered thank you’s against his neck and she’s rushing away, over to the series of ambulances. And something warm blooms in Buck’s chest, filling a hole he didn’t even realise was there.

The paramedics are so worried about the little girl covered in soot that it’s easy for Buck to walk straight past them, only having to wave one EMT off with a reassurance that he's fine, just a little dirty. He makes it five steps past the police line before he’s falling. His knees hit the ground first, his face about to follow when something stops him, catches him.

He can hear Dean’s voice. Feel his hands on his face before darkness takes him.

-

Buck wakes up and immediately regrets it. He tries to go back to sleep, but every muscle is tense, and his throat feels like sandpaper. He tries to swallow but it feels like his very body rejects the idea, and he shoots upwards to avoid choking on his own phlegm. Sitting up sends his body into a new world of pain. Every cough and retch sends an ice pick through his skull. His ribs feel like they might break from the force of it.

A trash can appears in front of him just in time to spit out everything he coughed up. His eyes are streaming when he meets Dean’s.

“You good?”

Buck tries to answer but it feels like his throat is trying to collapse in on itself. A water bottle is shoved in front of him and Buck isn’t quite sure what to do with it, not certain that his ruined insides could handle anything. But Dean is nothing if not stubborn and he doesn’t move until Buck takes a small sip, nothing more than wetting his tongue.

Buck just sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the stained motel carpet, Dean sat in a desk chair in front of him. Not saying anything, just staring at him with this indescribable look on his face.

His memories flicker in his mind like the fire, smoke hazy and tinged with the sour taste of raw, animalistic panic; no coherent thoughts, no plan, just flames licking at his heels and no way out.

Except there was.

The firefighter.

Even in a collapsing building, the man’s voice had been steady, patient, like a beam of light in a dark room. They would be dead without him.

And then there was her mother. He absentmindedly reached up to his neck, where her tears had wet his skin. He’s saved people before, he doesn’t know why this time it feels so significant, maybe because he wasn’t covered in blood this time. Her tears, her arms around him feel branded into his skin. Layla’s brave face and utter faith in him, even when he thought they were going to die in there.

“Evan? Something real interesting about that carpet that I should know about?”

Dean’s voice brings him back to his own body. He takes a bigger sip of water before answering “No, no. I was just – uh… thinking. Ya know?”

“Well don’t hurt yourself” That gets Buck to smile, just a twitch of his lips but Dean seems satisfied. “Seriously, are you sure you’re good? We didn’t take you to the hospital, Sammy bandaged your hand here so if anything on the inside isn’t right, you gotta let us know.”

Buck blinked at the white bandage on his hand, he could remember the pain of the burn now, but in the moment all he could feel was adrenaline. He flexed his hand a little, wincing when the tight skin stretched. He looked at his other hand, the healed scar from the wendigo and got a little comfort in the fact that they matched again.

As for the other thing Dean said… Buck knew he was referring to his lungs and not his mental state. But it doesn’t matter because Buck doesn’t think he has the words to tell Dean what is swirling around in his head.

Instead, he goes back to sleep. And preys that everything will be fine when he wakes up.

By the third day in the motel room, Buck feels like he’s going stir-crazy. Breathing still takes a little more effort than it should, though his cough is all but gone and his voice is back to normal. That’s when Dean starts talking about a new hunt and something in Buck just cracks.

He doesn’t want to be covered in blood anymore. He doesn’t want the screams of monsters ringing in his ears and entrails tattooed onto the back of his eyelids. He wants more. A life. A house that he can go back to every day. A mattress that is moulded to his shape. He wants to learn how to cook and maybe join a gym.

He still wants to save people, and that need will overrule any other thought, but now he has an option. For the first time ever he sees a different path where he can have it all.

He doesn’t know how to tell Dean.

Sam will understand, he’d done the same thing himself with Stanford. And sure, Buck had left before, but this was different before he was going to see the world, but he always intended to return to hunting one way or another, but now? He was going to be shedding that skin permanently, carving out a new life for himself which didn’t have room for silver knives and shotguns full of rock salt.

Sam was asleep in the next room. Hopefully deeply. Hopefully with headphones on.

Dean was in their room, packing a duffel bag and humming along to a song in his head. A Hendrix one, if Buck had to guess. They were leaving for New Mexico in the morning, so it was now or never.

“Hey Dean?” Dean lifted his head and made a noise, inviting Buck to continue. Buck took a deep breath and braced himself “I’m not coming with you.” Saying it felt like throwing himself off of a cliff, cutting the rope holding him to familiarity and letting gravity take him.

“What?” Dean’s eyebrows furrowed; he dropped the bag he was packing onto the floor with a thump and straightened up fully “What are you talking about?” Dean wasn’t angry, just confused and that hurt more.

“I mean –“ Buck ran his hand through his hair and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, trying to look anywhere but Dean’s face. “I want a job. You know? Like an actual job”

“We have a job.”

“Dean-“

“Is this about the fire?” Dean crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles in his jaw jumping “Because we apologised for that. You know me and Sam tried to get to you”.

“It’s not just the fire, Dean” Buck didn’t know how to explain to Dean what he was feeling, what he wanted when he didn’t really know himself.

“So you’re leaving? One bad job and you’re running again?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me” Dean stepped closer, and Buck met him step for step, Dean’s eyes were thunderous, and Buck could feel anger bubbling under his skin, hands clenching and unclenching “The second something goes wrong you go running again and either me and Sam have to watch you go or we have to drive halfway across the country to come and get you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, I think you’ll find it is. All you do is turn tail and leave the second something gets hard, and you leave the rest of us to clean up the mess.”

Buck was breathing hard now, indignation welling up beside the anger “Stop treating me like a child.”

Dean got even closer to him; Buck could feel his hard breaths on his face “Maybe when you stop acting like one.”

“Fuck you” and then Dean was kissing him.

It was harsh, more teeth and tongue than lips and Buck was giving it back just as good as he got. Dean marched them back until Buck hit the wall with a thump. His hands went to Dean’s hips and one of Dean’s hands came up to grab his jaw, the other splayed across his collarbones, a couple inches too low to wrap around his throat.

Dean pulled Buck’s bottom lip between his teeth, biting just hard enough to border on pain before he let go and started to attack Buck’s neck. Sucking marks and biting hard enough to bruise. Buck’s anger was still thrumming beneath his skin, joined now by a contradicting heat that had all of his blood flowing downwards.

He grabbed Dean’s hips hard enough to bruise and pressed them to his own. Dean moaned into the junction between his neck and shoulder where he had been working on a deep bruise. Buck then slotted his knee between Dean’s legs, pushing him off of his neck long enough to harshly pull his t-shirt over his head, messing up his hair.

Suddenly Dean flipped them, pressing his own back to the wall and pushing down on Buck’s shoulders to force him to his knees. He hit the floor hard enough that there was an audible thump. But the pain was secondary when Dean was pulling his cock out of his pants with one hand and grabbing Buck’s hair hard with the other.

Buck teased the head of his cock with kitten licks, grinning up at Dean. In retaliation Dean gets a thumb in his jaw, prying it open and shoving his dick into his mouth, Buck briefly considers biting it but before he can finish the thought Dean is shoving all the way in. Buck gags and Dean just grins down at him, giving him a second to relax his throat before he’s fucking his face in earnest.

Tears stream down Buck’s face and Dean’s thrusts are so erratic he can't get a breath in. His grip on Buck’s hair is vice-like.

And suddenly Buck is being pulled off and pulled to his feet by his hair, struggling to get his feet under him. Dean shoved him back until his knees hit the bed and landed on his back with an oof. Dean immediately straddled Buck’s hips, whipping his t-shirt over his head before pinning Buck’s wrists beside his head.

Dean just stared down at him, chest heaving, lips bruised and spit slick. His voice was wrecked when Dean choked out a “Jesus Christ” before attacking Buck’s drooling mouth again, grinding their hips together. Buck was breathing so hard he didn’t have the air to keep kissing, so they just rested their foreheads together, harshly sharing air. Dean moved Buck’s hands above his head and held both of them with one hand. The other hand reached down, undoing Buck’s belt with one hand and shoving his hand down the front of his boxers. Buck arched into his hand, biting his lip to stop the slew of curse words that wanted to escape.

Dean reached back up, dragging his lips over Buck’s chest as he went, making him writhe. He reached into the drawer next to the bed, as he rummaged around looking for the lube, Buck took the opportunity to lean up and bite his neck. Hard. Dean’s hand faltered, a little more of his weight resting on Buck and he choked out a moan.

Once he found the lube, he moved down to lie between Buck’s legs, pulling his jeans down as he went. Buck didn’t lift his hips to help him, but that didn’t stop Dean, he just tugged harder and soon Buck was naked.

Dean’s breath ghosted over his cock, and it jumped. He just chuckled and threw a wolfish smile up at Buck who tried to glare back but couldn’t quite get his eyes to focus through the haze of pleasure. Dean continued to tease him with feather-light touches, making Buck arch and moan.

“Will you please hurry up” Buck snapped, and Dean’s smile turned mean, some of that earlier anger returning and Dean swallowed him down in one go. Buck couldn’t hold back the borderline scream that punched its way out of his throat, tossing his arm over his eyes and holding onto Dean’s hair with the other to ground him, pulling harshly.

Dean usually took his time taking Buck apart piece by piece. Stretching and scissoring him slowly until Buck was begging, unable to form words, just incoherently babbling. This was different, he slobbered over Buck’s cock, alternating between swallowing him down his throat and sucking on the tip, teasing the slit with his tongue, keeping Buck just on the edge, but not giving him enough to fall over it, He held Buck down with a hand on his stomach when he tried to thrust into Dean’s mouth, making him choke.

He stuffed Buck with his fingers, a harsh stretch that was just on the right side of painful. Good, he wanted it to hurt. He felt too full and too tight and get Buck couldn’t stop rolling his hips down onto the hand, his body begging for more.

“Dean. Come on” Buck bit out, putting as much venom into his wrecked voice as he could. He didn’t even know what he was asking for. More? Slower? Dean just shushed him and pulled his fingers out. Buck whined at the empty feeling and Dean laughed. Buck’s indignation rose back to the surface, and he used Dean’s hair to drag him back up to attack his lips again. Dean held himself up with one hand, panting into Buck’s mouth and used the other one to line himself up. He threw one of Buck’s legs over his shoulder, practically folding him in half as he pushed in with a groan. The stretch forced his breath out in one go, a whine in the back of his throat.

Dean barely gave him time to adjust before he set a punishing pace, grabbing Buck’s hip so hard he knew it would bruise in the morning. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. Buck dragged his nails down his back, maybe harder than he needed to but it made Dean’s pace stutter and mutter a curse against his sweaty skin. Dean grabbed Buck’s other leg and pushed his knee to his chest, driving himself in even deeper, hitting a spot inside Buck that had him seeing stars, a borderline scream escaping from behind clenched teeth.

Dean’s face turns wicked, and he begins to hammer that spot. Over and over and over. Buck’s eyes are watering and there are tears escaping into his ears. Dean’s hand comes up to wrap around Buck’s throat and one squeeze is all it takes to send Buck over the edge. Muffling his yell by biting into Dean’s shoulder.

Dean doesn’t falter, doesn’t slow down. He grabs Buck and flips him over onto his front, pushing his head into the pillows with one hand and chasing his own release. Buck can barely breathe, but the musty motel pillows smother Buck’s whines of overstimulation. His nerves were raw, stripped back and abused and he revelled in the pain.

Eventually, Dean’s thrusts turned sloppy. He leaned down, dusting sloppy kisses and nips along his spine until he stilled, spilling into Buck with a groan and flopping his weight onto him with a pleased sound.

Neither of them moved for a few seconds, basking in the ache and the afterglow. Eventually, Dean slid out of him with a grunt and a slap on Buck’s ass, he walked to the bathroom and Buck could hear the tap running. He couldn’t remember Dean coming back into the room, only the slight dip of the bed and an arm around his waist.

Chapter Text

Buck was alone when he woke up. And fucking sore. Every joint felt like it had turned to liquid, and he wanted nothing more than to bury deeper into the faded floral duvet and stay there until the sun goes back down, but he could smell dried sweat on himself and he’s pretty sure he’s still lying on a wet patch.

Dean is sitting on the unmade bed when Buck gets out of the bathroom, towel on his hips and legs a bit steadier than when he got up. Dean looked at him over his shoulder and didn’t try to hide the way his eyes raked over Buck’s neck and chest, admiring his handy work, and Buck is pleased to see that he can see his own marks poking out of the collar of Dean’s t-shirt.

Buck doesn’t know what to think about what happened last night. He enjoyed it, sure, but it was rough, mindless, a power play which left a bad taste in Buck’s mouth. He’d never felt like this in front of Dean before, exposed, but in a bad way, like a frayed live wire, a pulsing nerve and Buck started grabbing clothes to cover himself with.

Dean didn’t say anything, just watched as Buck pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie.

“You still want to leave?” Buck opened his mouth to snap at Dean of course I want to leave but then he saw Dean’s face, the down-turned eyes, the tense line of his mouth and the stiff way his shoulders were held like he was trying not to collapse into himself.

Buck blew out a breath and fell onto the bed next to Dean, barely suppressing a wince. Dean noticed, of course, and chuckled a bit, and just like that the tension was broken.

“Yeah, I am, I just-“ Buck fell backwards onto the bed, legs still hanging off “Yeah, I am.”

“Any plans or are you just gonna wing it?”

“I was thinking fire fighter” Buck held his breath. Sure, Dean didn’t have any say in what he did with his life, but Buck would be lying if he said he didn’t care about Dean’s opinion.

“Okay then” Dean stood and grabbed Buck’s arm, pulling him back upright with a groan. “You’re gonna need this,” Dean kicked a duffle bag sitting at his feet. “It’s got all your basics in it, holy water, salt rounds, the works” Dean shrugged, not looking at Buck. “Just don’t want another call like the wendigo one, you hear?”

Buck stood up as well, grabbing Dean’s shoulders to look him in the eyes “Thank you.” He said with as much conviction as he could muster.

Dean shrugged his hands off “Yeah, yeah. No chick flick moments, okay?” and then Dean reached into his back pocket and pulled out a burner phone, passing it to Buck .“In case the firefighting gets old, and you want to come back to the big leagues” Buck just laughed, and Dean clapped him on the shoulder one final time and left.

-

It was late when Buck called, sitting on his couch in a pair of sweatpants, in a big empty loft he was supposed to share with Ali. He couldn’t sleep, he was too hot, a sweat breaking out on the base of his neck, yet he couldn’t stop shaking. Usually, after a night like this, when his leg ached and his lungs were full of salt water, he’d make a stop at the Diaz’s, or he’d drop by Maddie’s, just so another person could get him out of his head, and he would come home will his chest full and feeling more stable.

Now, he was going to sit in this soulless fucking loft, and when he couldn’t stand that anymore, he would go for a run at a punishing pace until his leg gave out from underneath him and he’s having to limp his way home. Then the pain would distract him for the rest of the day.

Unless.

Buck couldn’t feel his fingertips as he lifted the phone to his ear. It rang once then twice until Dean answered it with a rough “What?”

“Dean?”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Bu- Its Evan” and Buck felt like he had just lost something; like he had just cast off an important piece of himself. He had worked so hard to leave Evan behind, the scared little boy who hid behind temporary adventures and strangers who were gone when he woke up. And now he was right back there, all his progress, all his relationships. Gone.

“Evan?” Dean sounded more awake now “Are you okay?” What a question. He wasn’t hurt physically. But he was curled up on his couch with the knowledge that not a single person would care if he never moved from this spot again and Buck tried to muffle his sob. But Dean heard it, “Evan, are you bleeding?” And he had to laugh because it seemed like Dean had a script for these kinds of calls. He wondered if he got many people sobbing over the phone, or if was strictly a him thing.

“Evan”

“I – I’m fine” and that felt like a lie, a disservice to all he had lost, all he had thrown away in a childish tantrum. Buck heard a sigh from the other side of the phone and the tell-tale creak of motel bed springs “I’m sorry for waking you, its stupid. I’m fine –“

“I swear to god Evan, if you hang up” Dean grits out and Buck goes silent. Well, as silent as he can be when he feels like he’s falling like he’s untethered and one second away from hitting the ground. “Now,” Dean starts, sounding calmer, “What happened?”

It might’ve been the gentleness behind his words or the fact that this was the longest conversation in what felt like weeks where he wasn’t begging for forgiveness only to be given the cold shoulder, but everything just overflowed. “I ruined it, Dean” he choked out between sobs, wrapping an arm around himself “I fucking ruined everything and I can't –“ he shook his head hard enough to make himself dizzy “I can't fix it, I don’t know what to do. They all- they all hate me, Dean and I-“ grief wells up inside of him and the wounded noise that escapes him makes him feel all the more pathetic.

“Shit, okay. Evan. I don’t know what you’re saying, you gotta breathe for me here, okay?” Buck shakes his head again, uncaring if Dean can't see him. There's a vice around his chest and his lungs can't expand and he wants a hug from someone who means it. Dean is saying something, but the blood is rushing in his ears and his breaths are coming in gasps and he can't process anything apart from the ice filling his chest, wrapping under his ribs, and threading between his joints.

“Evan! Evan!” Buck didn’t realise he had dropped his phone until he had to lean down with a shaking hand to pick it back up.

“Yeah?”

“Do you need us to come and get you?” Buck didn’t think. He couldn’t because if he did, he would talk himself out of it and he needed someone.

“Yes”

-

The impala was quiet, not even the quiet hum of the radio to break the silence. Buck didn’t know where they were going. Sam had told him, but he wasn’t listening, just staring out of the back window at the world racing by. They kept sending him concerned glances in the rearview mirror, but they didn’t ask any questions and for that, Buck is grateful.

He’d had a few hours between his phone call with Dean and the brothers arriving at his loft, so he’d packed a bag, just with practical clothes, one of Eddie’s hoodies that he’d stolen, and a drawing by Christopher.

He had also grabbed the duffel Dean had given him the last time they’d spoken. It had barely been touched in the last four years. He only opened it twice. Once to ensure his loft was safe, planting hex bags in secret little nooks and crannies, holy water in the plant vases and devil’s traps in invisible paint. The second was a spirit, a violent one. He’s seen the ectoplasm at the home of a patient. She’d had a young son and he knew he couldn’t leave them at its mercy when he could help.

The little boy reminded him of Christopher. But Buck couldn’t think about that right now. He felt like he was being held together by spit and gum and even thinking about the 118 would be enough to shatter him.

You’re exhausting.

Buck flinches and he can't bring himself to regret leaving, even as they leave the outskirts of the city behind them.

The truth is anything Buck has ever let go of has claw marks in it. And he refuses to do more damage to his team than he already has. He’d betrayed them all and then swanned back into work like everything would be fine. Buck knows what he has to do, he’s a rotten tooth, leaving it in will only cause more pain, ripping it out hurts at first, but then it gets replaced and it was like it was never there.

He left Maddie a note. She’d read it once he doesn’t answer his phone for a few days and she swings by his loft to check on him. He’d considered leaving the team a note; but what would he say? They’d made their opinion on him pretty clear. He doubts they’d mourn his loss very long. Hell, maybe Bosko could come and fill his place. She’d probably be a better partner to Eddie.

Eddie.

-

Dean and Sam left him alone in the motel room. He thinks he was invited on the hunt, can't quite remember, but he knows that regardless he wouldn’t’ve gone. He just lay on this uncomfortable bed with its rough sheets and lumpy pillows and stared at the water stain on the ceiling.

He’d found one of the notes he’d written in his pocket. He’d written at least ten drafts before he was halfway satisfied. He knew no words would placate Maddie, but he owed her his best anyway. He owed her a lot more than that.

The note didn’t tell her anything about where he was going. No clues, no loose threads for her to pull on because he knew she’d find him. The FBI couldn’t find Dean and Sam but Buck’s sister sure as hell could.

The letter in his pocket was balled up in a fit of hopelessness and rage. Buck had never been a poet, but standing there, hunched over his kitchen counter trying to pick words out of thin air to make his sister understand why he had to do this. Why he couldn’t stand people who he considered family, who he would give up everything for, looking at him like he was dirt on their shoes. Their anger chipped away at him, and his desperation to be loved again just dragged them further apart.

The shame of not belonging had burned under his skin until he had nothing left.

He had left the letter on his coffee table, next to his phone, keys, and wallet. He wouldn’t be needing any of them anymore.

He knew what the letter said by heart, each deficient and unsatisfying syllable and pen stroke. But he still reread his half-finished draft. Some of it was smudged and creased, tear-stained. The penmanship was shaky, almost illegible at some points. But that’s not the reason this version of the letter was scrunched up. No, it’s the last line, omitted from the final version of the note.

Tell Eddie I love him.

Buck’s not sure when it happened. But he knows that one day Buck was sitting on Eddie’s sofa, one arm around Chris and he looked up and there was Eddie. He was handing him a bowl of popcorn, it was a mundane action, a routine they had performed hundreds of times.

And yet.

Eddie was smiling at something Christopher had said, eyes crinkling at the corners, hair messy from a long shift and there was a toothpaste stain on his shirt. He was the most beautiful thing Buck had ever laid his eyes on. Maybe that was a cliché, but it was true. Buck didn’t feel fundamentally different after his realisation, maybe it was because he’d been feeling it all along since Eddie clapped him on the shoulder outside the smouldering ambulance and told him he could have his back any day. Or maybe it was when Eddie tried to cook dinner for him for the first time and sheepishly came into the living room smelling of smoke and suggested they ordered a pizza instead.

It had been a million tiny moments, a few big ones, but they all led to the same destination. Falling in love with Eddie had been like the tide coming in. Slow but unstoppable. And then Buck was underwater and swimming for the surface didn’t even cross his mind.

-

To say that Buck wasn’t doing well would be an understatement. One moment he’d be feeling everything. Every ounce of hate and pain and raw fucking hopelessness and it would all collide in his brain until he was too paralysed to do anything but lay in bed and listen to Dean speak to him, but do nothing to respond, all his energy was put towards holding his skull together, so his shit didn’t spill out and infect everyone around him, so he didn’t drive the only people he had left away as well.

On other days he couldn’t feel a goddamn thing like something fundamental had been ripped out of his chest and replaced with a block of ice. Those days were worse, he tried everything to get himself to feel a fucking spark of emotion, to get a peek at the old Buck. He searched for himself at the bottom of a bottle and between any willing stranger’s legs and he got nothing but fucking apathy.

He's not a whole person anymore and he doesn’t think he ever will be. Part of him died under that fire truck.

-

Angels were a thing.

That should have surprised him, should have sent his world spinning on an axle but to be honest, his world had been spinning ever since that dinner with Bobby and he didn’t have the energy to spare Castiel anything but a hello.

However, it turns out that angels complicate things, and if Buck was going to keep travelling with Sam and Dean, he would need a little more protection. They’d offered to carve them into his ribs which was an allegedly painless process but Buck thought that might raise a few eyebrows if he ever got an x-ray. Dean and Sam shrugged, and Buck knew it shouldn’t bother him, he’d chosen a life of transit, of dodging doctors and cops and he wasn’t wanted yet but the longer he spent around the Winchesters the more inevitable it would become.

And yet, there was a small part of him, a part that he had tried to crush so many times that whispered to him when he tried to sleep, that maybe he could go home he could see Christopher and hug Bobby and beg Eddie for forgiveness. But Buck didn’t do any of those things. Instead, he got a tattoo.

Castiel had instantly produced a sketch of the design upon Buck’s request, and Buck blew out a low whistle when he saw it. The tattoo spanned the length of his shoulders and down the spine, ending at the small of his back. Its shape was like that of an upside-down triangle. The runes, however, were what Buck couldn’t tear his eyes off of. They looked so organic, so alive, in the way they flowed and curled around each other, he couldn’t tell where one rune ended, and another started. Straight lines softened by curving ones, overlapping each other. He could almost see the way they would shift over muscle and bone. The design was so intricate he knew a regular tattoo artist would never be able to do it without it turning into one big splotchy mess.

Luckily for him, Castiel was no regular tattoo artist. It took him less than five seconds and Buck felt the ink sink into his skin with a strange pressure before the runes settled in with a buzz down his spine and settled into a pleasant hum.

And life continued. They fought a tulpa, fairies, a rugaru, and even a trickster at one point, not to mention a fuck tonne of demons. Castiel turned up sometimes when they were in a sticky spot and could feel the reapers breathing down the back of their necks, but he didn’t speak to Buck much, and Buck tried to be okay with that, just another person to add to the list of people who don’t like him. Besides, he may not be the most observant but even he could see something was between Cas and Dean, and he didn’t want to interrupt them when they were standing that close together and Cas looked at Dean like he hung the stars.

It was a Djinn that grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him from his grief-stricken mind.

Dean briefed him, then briefed him again, and then once more “for good luck” as they pulled up to the abandoned warehouse. He knew what to look for, what it would do to his mind if it got him. He had to fight it; it wasn’t real no matter how much he wished it was. He thought he was ready; he wouldn’t be fooled by this thing. He could fight it.

And then it grabbed him.

And then he was lacing up his boots in the locker room of the firehouse.

And Buck never stood a chance.

Chapter Text

The fire truck was the root of Buck’s problems. The fire truck led to the pins, and the pins led to the blood clots, which led to the embolism, which led to the blood thinners, which led to the lawsuit. It was simple cause and effect, and Buck couldn’t tell you how many times he’d wished the fire truck had landed just three feet further away from him.

And it came true. Here he was, in the locker room of the station, his leg was fine, better than fine, it didn’t even ache! His phone told him it was the date after he was crushed by the fire truck and Buck seriously debated heel-clicking, maybe bursting into song.

He had to restrain himself from grabbing Hen and Chimney by the shoulders and hugging them when they walked in. He instead settled on an enthusiastic hello. They both gave him a weird look instead of the fond eye roll or an exasperated head shake he usually got. Chimney even looked a little pissed.

Buck ignored their weird energy and followed them around like an over-excited puppy as they went upstairs. Buck’s stomach grumbled at the smell of Bobby’s cooking; it had been so long since he’d tried it. The team had started eating without him after he got reinstated, it was petty and left a bad taste in his mouth, all of them sitting around a table with portions too big for them to finish and nothing left for him. But now, Bobby was making enough omelettes to feed an army and Buck couldn’t wait.

“What’s got you so chipper?” Chimney’s sour tone threatened to derail Buck’s good mood and he had to fight to keep his smile from slipping off completely. He’d heard that tone from Chim before, the judgement and reproach; it sent Buck’s heart racing, uneasiness blooming in his stomach.

Buck swallowed, “Can’t I just be in a good mood?”

Everyone sucked in a breath and Buck knew he had said the wrong thing. He wanted to backpedal but he didn’t even know how or what he had said that was so wrong. He just wanted them to stop looking at him like that, with those cold disapproving eyes that picked Buck apart until he was nothing but an exposed nerve.

“Buck,” Hen began, slowly, “Did you hit your head last night?”

What the fuck is going on?

“What? No.” he looked at Bobby for an explanation, but he didn’t look up from the stove, so he turned to Chimney.

“Then maybe stop being so fucking chipper, Buckaroo.”

The room descended into a frosty silence as Buck tried to figure out what the fuck he had done wrong so quickly. It seemed that no matter what he fucked things up. It wasn’t the ladder truck or a tsunami or a blood clot, it was all just Buck. He was the problem, not anything else.

Buck was pulled out of his spiral by the bell going. He bolted up on instinct, following everyone else down the pole and starting to pull on his turnout gear. It was only when they were piling into the truck that Buck noticed they were missing someone.

“Hey, where’s Eddie?” Everyone froze, and Buck knew he had said the wrong thing. Again. Hen was looking at him, concern open on her face. Bobby just looked like he was going to be sick.

The truck started moving and Hen leaned forward in her seat, “Buck, what did the doctors at the hospital say last night?”

“What? What hospital?” Buck didn’t understand, why would he have been at the hospital last night? He felt fine, he was fine, but everyone was looking at him like a bomb ready to go off.

“What do you remember from yesterday, Buck?” And Buck couldn’t breathe. He was so cold like someone had dumped ice water over him and his arms ached, there was something around his wrists, what was it? His vision swam and for a moment he was somewhere else, somewhere grey, and cold and it smelled like decay. And then he was back in the truck, three pairs of eyes on him. No, he didn’t remember what happened yesterday, but they were all looking at him with concern, with careful compassion that he hadn’t seen in so long and Buck was addicted.

“The ladder truck?” And Buck nodded, it seems like that had still happened, but he’d gotten out mostly unscathed and a bolt of relief made him boneless.

“The explosion,” Buck nodded to himself, “Yeah”.

“And Eddie,” Buck snapped his head up to look at Hen. “You remember having to lift the ladder truck off of him, yeah?”

No

-

Buck hated hospitals. He was in them often enough, but they never lost the alien, impersonal feel that made him scared to breathe too loudly. This time, though, it wasn’t Buck in the hospital bed.

Eddie looked pale, with sunken cheeks and wrapped in bandages. His leg was suspended in the sling and Buck knew just how uncomfortable it was. He felt sick as he just sat there and watched the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest, listened to his heart rate monitor, and wondered how he could let himself do something like this.

Buck’s body ached from sitting in the same uncomfortable hospital chair for hours. But no nurse or doctor could get him to move. The fear he had felt when he woke up after the surgery, the certainty that something was deeply wrong with him, no, he wouldn’t let Eddie be alone with that.

He woke up an hour later, grumbling about the lights being too bright and reaching a hand up to rub his eyes before he froze.

“Eddie?” his head lolled to the side.

“Buck? Wha- oh,” he lifted his head to look down at his leg before dropping it unceremoniously back onto his pillow, “That’s not good.”

“Yeah, that’s one word for it,” Buck’s joke fell flat. He was choking on the guilt. He’s the reason Eddie is here, he might as well have mangled his leg himself, “I’m so sorry, Eddie” Buck didn’t cry, god knows he wanted to, but he wasn’t going to make this about him, not again, so he sucked it up and was ready to do anything Eddie might need him to.

“It’s not your fault,” Eddie broke off into a coughing fit and Buck grabbed a cup of water off of the table next to him and helped Eddie drink, “How – how bad is it?” Buck took a deep breath and rattled off everything the doctor had said to him when he woke up, a metal rod, pins, Buck tried not to think about how those pins are basically a death sentence. He needed to speak to a doctor and see if he can get Eddie on blood thinners or something. Anything to stop a clot from forming.

Eddie just nodded along, not saying anything, just absorbing the information as Buck gave it to him.

Eddie was already drifting back off, blinks becoming longer and more frequent, “At least I kept the leg.”

Buck laughed despite himself; Eddie was handling this a lot better than he did. But that didn’t really come as a surprise. “Yeah, and you’ll get a cool scar as well. Very badass”

“Yeah, I'm trying to catch up with you.” Buck smiles a real genuine smile. He still remembers the first time Eddie saw his scars.

-

If you told the 118 that they had never seen Buck shirtless Hen would scoff, Chimney would fall out of his seat laughing and Eddie would just tell you you’re wrong, because, well… it's Buck. He runs headlong into danger, he likes to announce it when he hits a new personal record on the bench press and hell, they all shower together, so obviously Buck has taken his shirt off at some point. However, if you asked them to think about it, asked them to name a specific time, well… they couldn’t.

Somehow, Buck, during his nearly four years with the team, had managed to avoid showering with any of them, always managing to find some excuse or reason that he can't immediately hit the showers with the team, and no one thought to question it because, yeah, they’re dumb excuses but he’s Buck, those are the only excuses he has.

He wears an undershirt under his uniform, but he wears it under his civies as well, so he really only exchanged his jumper for his shirt. No one ever questioned it; Bobby does the same thing.

Eddie’s starting to question it now.

Buck followed him straight from work, the shift had run over and if he had gone back to his apartment to change, especially with the LA traffic, he would’ve missed dinner with Christopher, and that, in Buck’s words was unacceptable. Besides, he has some spare clothes at Eddie’s. He’s not quite sure when that happened, but he won't lie and say it doesn’t warm some long-frozen thing in his chest to see Buck effortlessly move around his home, pulling his clothes from Eddie’s dresser and his favourite cereal from Eddie’s cabinet.

They’d just finished dinner, enchiladas courtesy of Buck, and were settling down to watch some new Disney movie Christopher has picked when Buck announces he’s going to change out of these uncomfortable jeans. Eddie just hums his acknowledgement, his attention torn halfway between helping Chris navigate to the right app on the tv and answering a work email.

Eddie assumed Buck was getting changed in the bedroom because that’s where Eddie got changed, so the last thing he expected when he opened the unlocked bathroom door, was Buck standing there, shirtless with a hoodie in his hand.

The first thing he noticed was the tattoo, a splash of black against pale skin. And then he saw everything else, and his stomach dropped. Scars. There wasn’t a single place on Buck’s chest or stomach that Eddie could look that didn’t have some sort of mark of violence and Eddie couldn’t contain his gasp.

Buck, who had been a deer in headlights up to this point started at the sound and spun on his heel, curving his shoulders in, like he was trying to hide from Eddie. Buck’s back, at least, compared to his front, was less abused. There were still scars, but they were minor, pale lines that had healed well and clean, nothing like his chest.

Eddie reached out, slowly placing a hand on Buck’s shoulder, taking note of the tightly wound tension and his slight tremble, “Buck…”

He flinched violently and Eddie’s heart broke. Buck was always a tactile guy, sitting as close to Eddie as he could, pressing them together from shoulder to ankle, swinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and nudging him when he’s laughing. So, to have Buck shy away from his touch, chips off a little of Eddie’s soul.

“Eddie…” Buck starts breathing again, Eddie didn’t even realise he had stopped until his shoulders started moving again, “Can you just, give me a second?” Buck’s voice cracks and Eddie snatches the hoodie out of his hand when he moves to put it on. “Eddie, what-“

“Show me.” Buck shakes his head and leans forward, resting his hands on either side of the kitchen sink, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and Eddie had put it there.

“Eddie, you don’t want to see it, trust me.”

“Why?”

“Because –“ Buck’s weight sinks a little heavier into his locked elbows, “Because, its ugly, Eddie! And I –“ He blows out a breath, “I just didn’t want you to see this,” Buck lifts a hand from the sink and waves it around in front of himself like his skin was something to be ashamed of.

Eddie places his hand on Buck’s shoulder again and considers it a victory when he doesn’t flinch. He carefully turns Buck around, he resisted at first, but Eddie muttered a heartbroken please to his back and Buck painstakingly turned to face Eddie. He still won't look at him, instead fixing his gaze, filled with unshed tears, over Eddie’s shoulder, his jaw tense.

Now Eddie had time to really look at Buck, look at his skin, and how life has branded itself upon him. He traced shaking fingers over knotted tissue, there was no careful surgeon’s precision, no thoughts given to aesthetics or making the scars lie flat, they were old, but still raised and angry. Christ, they looked like they were sewn up at home. Eddie wonders if Buck did it himself, shaking in some dirty bathroom, trying to get the bleeding to stop, or if someone else did this to him, holding him down whilst he screamed into a cloth. Eddie shook at the thought, lying his hand over Buck’s heart, just to feel it racing under his hand.

Eddie traced the tattoo. It wasn’t Buck’s usual style, all bold harsh lines. Not to mention the pentagram and the flames “What does it mean?” Buck shrugged, eyes darting around the bathroom, looking anywhere but Eddie.

“It- em – we got them when we were young,” Buck’s voice was barely above a whisper and Eddie doubts he would’ve heard him if they weren’t standing practically chest to chest “Pentagrams… they get a bad rap,” Buck tried to laugh but it was a strained, humourless thing that fell flat, “They actually protect against evil”.

Eddie hummed, still tracing the tattoo. He knew Buck believed in ghosts, but he didn’t think it would extend this far. Though he said they were young, maybe just a drunken teen rebellion? Eddie’s fingers trailed up to Buck’s collar bone and every thought went out of his head. His breathing stopped and it felt like ice water had been dumped on him, “Buck…” Eddie’s voice was strangled, even to his own ears, “Is this… is this a brand?” It was a cross, only a couple inches on its longest side, but it was still a burn, it still would’ve been agony and Eddie doesn’t realise he’s touching it until Buck’s gentle grip removed his hand by the wrist.

Buck still wouldn’t look at him, but he didn’t let go of his wrist, his thumb rubbing back and forth across his pulse point absentmindedly, like he didn’t even realise he was doing it.

“Buck, what-“

“Don’t ask.” Buck’s eyes finally met his and they were swimming with a hurt that seemed so old, too old to be held in a body so young, “Please don’t ask, Eddie. Because if you ask, I'm gonna have to lie to you and I don’t want to lie to you.” A stray tear escaped down his cheek and only when Buck went to wipe it did he seem to realise he was still holding Eddie’s wrist. He dropped it like it had shocked him and Eddie immediately felt cold without it.

“Can you just…” Buck crossed his arms over himself, shrinking in like he wanted nothing more than to disappear, “Can you give me my hoodie. Please.” And Eddie’s mind replayed what Buck had said earlier.

“Buck, you’re not ugly,” Eddie grabs Buck’s hands, peeling his arms off of his body. He was stiff as a board, but he let himself be manoeuvred. ”Buck. Evan. Please look at me,” Buck looked up at him through his lashes and Eddie wanted to hold him, wanted to protect him from all the evil of the world, protect him from whatever caused this. But that would have to wait, because he needed Buck to hear him, to believe him.

“You’re beautiful. You hear me? And there’s nothing. Nothing. That could ever change that” Eddie put as much conviction into his voice as he could. Because it was true. Buck had this glow about him. This goodness, separate from the way he looks that just pulls people in and keeps them in his orbit.

“Yeah?” Buck’s voice was so fucking small, and Eddie would do anything to wipe the uncertainty off of his face.

He felt himself swaying forward, pulled in by a magnetism that has always existed between them, and Buck felt it too, rocking onto the balls of his feet. They were so close; he could feel Buck’s breath on his face and then-.

“Dad! I think the popcorn is burning!”

They sprung apart like they’d been burned. Eddie was breathing hard, and Buck had a blush tinging his ears red.

“Coming, buddy!” Eddie just stared at Buck for a few seconds before wordlessly handing his hoodie back, the energy between them dissipating.

“I’ll be out in a second, yeah?” and Buck’s voice was rough, but they were smiling at each other. Eddie just nodded and went to save Christopher’s popcorn.

-

Buck didn’t move from Eddie’s bedside. He just watched him sleep and tried not to feel creepy. Eddie would wake up occasionally, smile at Buck or say something funny that made his heart flip flop in his chest and Buck knew he missed Eddie, he had felt his absence in every cell and nerve, but having him back, having him here like nothing had happened between them, because nothing had. There was no strain, no awkward pauses when someone mentioned the lawsuit. It was easy again.

That just made the guilt worse.

Chapter Text

Eddie healed slowly, it was a painstaking process that Buck had gone through before, but seeing it from the outside? It made Buck sick. He helped Eddie get around his house, helped get Christopher to and from school, cooked dinners and he still couldn’t look at himself in the mirror.

He was a fucking monster. How had he let this go on for so long? Eddie was in pain and Buck was the one causing it. And Christopher. He hates to see his dad struggling. Eddie can put on a brave face, god knows he can, but he can't hide the limping, the crutches, the muscle cramps that knock the breath out of him. And Buck just wants it to be over.

The flashes started to come more frequently. Moments of grey concrete, leaking pipes, and a tattooed face. His stomach drops and it takes hours for his hands to stop shaking. Eddie asks about it, but Buck just waves him off, telling him to focus on healing himself and don’t worry about Buck.

And Eddie does get better. He loses the crutches and he’s requalifying and everything is on the up.

And then Eddie is coughing up blood. And all Buck can see are glowing blue eyes.

-

Buck is on shift when it happens. The text alert has everyone’s phones going off at once. The word tsunami makes lightning strike through Buck’s brain and the only reason he doesn’t drop his phone is because all of his muscles seize at once.

No

This doesn’t happen for another month, at least. This isn’t right.

Except

The date on his phone is correct. Buck has lost time; this can't be happening. But then Bobby is shouting orders and he’s piling into the truck on muscle memory.

Buck lost time again. Now that he’s noticed it, he can't stop it. Every boring or mundane call just faded away. Every lonely evening or monotonous workout just passed by, and Buck was living his life in moments. His life was death-defying calls, movie nights at the Diaz house and glowing eyes.

The water made him sick. He knew what it felt like to be trapped below it, for it to enter your lungs and kill you from the inside. When you’re shivering and covered in dirt for so long it feels like the mud is running through your veins.

There are so many bodies. Buck doesn’t remember there being so many bodies. How easily could it have been Buck or Christopher, floating face down past the boat? And he’s silently happy that this time around, Chris doesn’t have to live through this nightmare.

There’s no one on top of the fire truck when they pass it. Buck tries to shake the faces out of his head, the faces of everyone who had sat up there shivering with him and complimented how brave Chris was. The head shaking sent another bout of nausea through him and Buck closed his eyes, so he didn’t throw up.

When he opened his eyes, his hands were above his head and the ground was still beneath his feet. His mind felt more solid here, for once. And then there was movement. His head flopped towards it, loose on his neck and he readied himself for blue eyes and ugly tattoos. Instead, he saw the back of a very familiar leather jacket, and a knife coated in blood.

Buck came back to himself with a stuttered gasp. Bobby is giving him a concerned glance over a patient’s head and Buck just gives him a shaky thumbs up, too disorientated to be more convincing.

And then he looks up and they’re somewhere else. Further out to sea and there’s blood on his hands and he doesn’t know who it belongs to but there’s also an open med kit next to his leg.

They’re coming up on a Ferris wheel, drifting in the middle of all the water and looking like it’s about to tip any second and it gives him something to focus on other than the way his mind is splitting in two, the way his vision keeps glitching and he’s no longer losing insignificant moments. He’s treating people, interacting with them and it’s like he’s not even in his body. He hopes he was nice to them, that even when his mind is a million miles away, he still showed them kindness on what was probably the worst day of their life.

He was stepping into his harness, checking the connections when Bobby came up to him, “You sure you got this, Buck? I know it’s a lot.”

“Don’t worry cap,” and Buck’s smile was only half fake, it felt good to be cared for again, to be looked upon with fatherly concern instead of derision. “I’ve got this. Just gonna pretend it’s on land,” and Buck goes to begin climbing next to the other firefighter, Bosko before Bobby can come up with another reason for him to not go up.

The climb is hard, nothing he hadn’t done before but his shoulders were aching by the time they reached the couple at the top. He stabilises the man’s neck whilst Bosko secures the cervical collar.

And then Buck is gone.

Someone is touching him, lowering his aching arms and his entire body feels like it's cramping.

Dean’s eyes are the first thing he can focus on. There’s blood dripping into his eyes and he’s saying something. He’s grabbing his face and annunciating something like he is a child and Buck can't fucking hear him. His head is swimming and Dean’s voice sounds like it's coming through water.

A pipe clatters somewhere and it echoes through the warehouse. Buck’s hearing comes back in a painful rush and there are blue eyes and tattoos and Dean hits the wall with a painful thud. Buck is slipping, his eyes won't stay open and there’s saltwater on his skin.

“Evan!” Dean’s voice splits his head in two. His body is separate from his mind, and it feels like his skull might burst. “Evan, listen to me” A clatter and a painful-sounding grunt “You have to kill yourself! It has to be you! It’s the only way you can-“

And the ground is shifting beneath him, and the Ferris wheel is falling. Bosko is grinning at him like they just shared an inside joke and then she jumps. He watches her head disappear below the murky water and panic seizes him.

He remembers being in that water. The current that drags you down again and again and again until your lungs are full of rubble, and you can't tell which way is up and you know you should save your breath, but you scream anyway. And he’s falling towards it. He holds onto the twisted metal skeleton like it might save him and someone is telling him to jump but they’re drowned out by the screeching metal and then he can't hear them past the water in his ears.

The water greets him like an old flame, wrapping itself around him and trapping him there. He flails and kicks but all he does is bruise himself against the metal girders. His chest is on fire, and he can feel the bubble of a scream rising in his throat. Buck lashes out with the last of his energy and his head hits something with a crack. He must've lost his helmet. When did he lose his helmet?

Dean is still struggling to get off the ground. The silver knife is in his hands and his teeth are bared like a wild animal.

Buck’s head breaks the surface of the water, and he sucks in oxygen greedily. There are hands on his turnout coat dragging him into a boat. Buck tries to help them, but his head hurts and the water weighed down his clothes and all he manages is a pathetic wriggle.

“Dammit, Buckley! I told you to jump!” and he wants to defend himself, to try and explain that he didn’t mean to, that his muscles froze up and his body wouldn’t let him go into the waves voluntarily. The salt burns his eyes and when he closes them, he knows he’s going to drift, going to let his mind slide between the minutes and hours of his life and this time, he can't bring himself to care.

Buck is holding a clipboard when he comes back. And he spares a small smile at what Chim would say about that. There’s a pressure behind his eyes that promises a migraine later and a sharp pain laces up his leg when he shifts his weight onto it. All in all, though, it could be worse.

He’s at the triage centre, he realises. When did he get here? Where’s Bobby? But then he lifts a hand to run it through his hair and instead feels a soft bandage wrapping around his forehead. There’s gauze secured on the back of his head and Buck realises he must've been brought here for treatment.

Idiot.

He could be out there saving people, but instead, he’s here, all because he couldn’t get over his irrational fear. Shame burned more painfully in his chest than any fire. He glances down at the clipboard and realises it’s got his handwriting on it. As well as a list of names.

He’s recording the names of people that come in for treatment. Okay, so maybe not saving lives but at least he’s made himself useful in some capacity.

Buck’s not sure how long he stood there, directing people to their loved ones, triaging as best he could and sometimes giving hard news, but his feet have moved past pain and are now numb and every time he looks down there are more names on the list that he doesn’t remember writing down.

Doing this job means he has a lot of time to think, though, and Buck spends the whole time thinking about Dean, and what he said. He knows what this place is, it’s all in his head, he’s been here for months but in reality, it’s only been a few hours. Dean is trying to save him, and the thing is.

Buck isn’t sure he wants to be saved.

This is the most selfish thing he has ever done, and he knows it. But the thing is… He went to Bobby’s for a team barbeque last week. And he babysat Hen’s kids. And Eddie responded to his texts. He has his family back and Buck doesn’t think he could survive losing them again, he just couldn’t.

Anyone stronger than him would do the right thing. They would snatch a scalpel out of a nurse’s hand and end this. They would help Dean, be brave and face reality, not hide behind hallucinations and falsehoods.

But Buck is weak.

His family is his soft spot, and they always will be. To go back to a time when they hate him, To when Bobby won't let him on calls, Chim’s teasing had turned mean, and Eddie won't let him see Chris? No. It's selfish and weak and wrong but Buck won't do it.

Until.

“Buck! Buck, oh thank god!” Buck would know that voice in his sleep, even when it’s dipped in such icy panic. Whipping his head around so quickly he’s sure he pulls something in his neck, Buck is met with the sight of a dripping-wet Eddie running towards him, no, not running, sprinting. Buck’s stomach doesn’t just drop, it breaks through the crust of the earth at the same time his heart lodges itself in his throat. There’s no way. This isn’t supposed to happen.

Buck’s body moves before his mind can catch up and he’s running towards Eddie, ignoring the pain in his leg and the way his vision spins. He doesn’t slow even as he noticed Eddie is carrying something.

Not something.

Someone.

Someone wearing a yellow t-shirt and red glasses and Buck is going to be sick. He’s pale. Too pale and he’s limp, and Eddie is crying as they reach each other.

“Buck please!” everyone has turned to look at them, but Buck can't look away from the tiny slack face, rigor mortis already setting in. “We were on the pier when the tsunami hit, and he hit his head and now he won't wake up!” Eddie is lowering him to the ground and Buck follows without thinking about it, cushioning Christopher’s head with his hand as he’s lay down. His hand comes back bloody.

He's so still. Too still for a kid that usually never sat down. Buck’s voice cracks right down the middle when he interrupts Eddie’s panicked rambling, “Eddie, he’s not breathing.”

“I know!” Eddie screams at him, “I tried to give him CPR, but I couldn’t find anywhere to put him down. But we’re here now, so please fix him!” Buck can't move, he gapes like a fish when Eddie starts pumping his chest, quietly begging Christopher to come back, “Buck! Go get someone!”

And Buck rises on numb legs and stumbles over to the nearest triage tent. Even from this far away, he could still hear ribs breaking and Eddie’s painful sobs. Buck doesn’t speak to a nurse, instead, he grabs a scalpel.

It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.

But it feels pretty fucking real when Buck shoves the scalpel deep into his wrist. He pauses, hesitates and a blinding crescendo of pain travels up his arm. But then he looks at Eddie, still pumping Chris’s chest but eyes on him, devastation written so plainly on his face that Buck forgets that all he is is a figment of his imagination.

He swaps the scalpel into his other hand, it's shaking and cold by now so he can't cut as deep on his other wrist, but he still slashes and twists the blade, trying to do as much damage as possible.

The nurses have taken notice now. The sobbing firefighter covered in his own blood. Buck doesn’t even remember when he started crying.

A nurse tries to wrestle the scalpel out of his hand, but he shoulders her out of the way. He stumbles and falls to his knees with a crack that on another day, in another life, might’ve been painful, but right now? All he could think about was saving Eddie this pain, saving Christopher, and saving himself. So he could wake up and the crack of ribs and wails of pain would be nothing more than another nightmare to echo in his brain.

Goosebumps erupted all over his skin and he was so close to Eddie, but he couldn’t reach him, squeeze his hand to tell him it was going to be okay, that he would fix this, that this was him doing something good for once. So instead he said, “I love you.”

And jammed the scalpel into the side of his neck, as deep as it would go, aiming for his carotid artery, and roughly dragged it across his throat. Blood immediately filled his lungs and spilt down the front of his turnout gear. It’s not real. But the look on Eddie’s face, as he listed to the side would stay with him regardless.

Chapter Text

Buck could breathe. He was breathing. Clearly and deeply, no gurgling sounds, no foreboding whistle as the air escapes out of the slash in his windpipe. He sucks in air greedily, revelling in the way his chest expands.

Then he opens his eyes.

Grey walls. Dripping pipe. Cracked floor. And Dean. Lying a few feet in front of him, unmoving. Panic stabs through Buck. Not again, please, dear god, not again. But then his eyes catch movement, the light rise and fall of Dean’s back where he lies facedown, and Buck allows himself a second of relief before trying to get himself out.

One of the leather cuffs around his wrists is undone, courtesy of Dean if the whisper of memory is correct. The other hand, however, is still bound above his head and each shift sends a stab of pain lacing through the muscle of his shoulder, all the way up to his fingertips.

There’s also an IV inserted into a vein in his elbow, slowly draining him of blood. He didn’t know how long he had been here, certainly not the months it felt like, but long enough that the lack of blood had him shivering and the tips of his fingers were nearly translucent.

He ripped the IV out first and watched as beads of blood welled up before moving his attention to the leather binding. It was fiddly, and the trembling in his fingers didn’t help but he eventually got himself loose. Without any support, he immediately fell forward onto his hands and knees with a thump and a pained groan.

Once he was confident, he wasn’t going to pass out, he crawled over to Dean, every time his weight shifted into his shoulders another sharp stab of pain went through him and by the time, he reached him, he just flopped onto his back next to him, too weak to do anything else but breathe.

Eventually, though life had to catch up with him. Slow footsteps echoed through the abandoned – warehouse? Factory? – a slow and even pace, unbothered and unhurried. Only one thing could be so fucking glib as to not feel an ounce of anxiety when it had two experienced hunters under its roof.

A sudden and burning anger rose in Buck. This thing, this monster had placed images, sounds in his head that he will never be able to escape. He knew what Chris looked like when rigour mortis locked up his face, he knew what Eddie’s uncontrollable sobs sounded like. He saw his family broken and torn apart and then Buck had torn himself apart, filled his own lungs with blood and drained himself dry.

He rolled Dean over onto his back and winced at what looked like a nasty gash just over his eyebrow. He ignored that for now, though, and searched the inside pockets of Dean’s jacket, looking for a weapon.

He found a gun, some holy water, a series of small knives which Buck slid into his back pockets and finally, the silver blade, dipped in lambs’ blood if his reading was correct. It was a steady weight in his hand. Everything in Buck wanted to track that thing down and make it pay, make it regret ever dipping its disgusting fingers into his head. He wanted to remove those blue eyes and cut the tattoo’s right off of its body.

But contrary to popular belief, Buck is not an idiot, despite the fire thrumming through his veins, he’s not at his full strength right now and this thing is powerful, it took down Dean. He only had one chance.

So, Buck plastered his back to the wall just inside the door and waited with bated breath. The footsteps faded then came closer a couple of times and that just gave Buck more time to stew in his fury, to replay the scenes in his head, to hear Chris’s ribs echo in his mind.

His breath escaped through clenched teeth and his grip on the dagger was white-knuckled. After what felt like hours but also no time at all, the footsteps grew closer, closer than they ever had and Buck could hear whistling, the thing was whistling. It was a jolly tune, carefree as if this thing hadn’t killed Christopher, dumped Eddie in the freezing ocean and personally seen to the worst moments of Buck’s life.

Every muscle tensed, ready to pounce as it crossed over the threshold of the room. He could see the moment it realised Buck was missing, its head whipped around to face Buck, and he could see fear in its eyes.

Good.

Buck didn’t wait, didn’t hesitate, he launched himself at it, tackling it to the ground and straddling it's hips. It put its hands up to try and protect its face but Buck put the silver knife between his teeth and held one of its hands down. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out one of the smaller knives and stabbed it straight through its palm, pinning it to the floor. The pain seemed to bring the djinn out of its shock, and it started struggling in earnest. Buck rose onto his knees and brought one foot up and placed it on its bicept help pin the djinn’s other arm in place so he could stab the knife through that palm as well.

It screamed and thrashed and cried but Buck didn’t care now that its hands were out of the way. He wanted this thing to see him, he wanted to look it in its eyes as he took its life. This wouldn’t make him feel better, wouldn’t erase his memories, but this wasn’t about revenge, this was getting even.

It begged when he took the lamb blood dagger from between his teeth and wrapped two hands around it, raising it above his head. It cried as he brought his hands down and it screamed as the knife broke through breastbone and pierced straight through its heart.

And then it was dead and still, and Buck was still angry. So he pulled the dagger back out with a spray of blood and brought it down again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

He doesn’t remember when he started screaming or when he started crying. But when Dean pulled him off of it, its chest and abdomen were mush and Buck could taste copper. He thought about struggling when Dean hooked his arms under his armpits and dragged him off, but Buck was hit with a wall of exhaustion, and he went with Dean willingly.

One arm was slung over Dean’s shoulder, and he marched them both out of the cold warehouse. Dean clearly knew where they were going, taking confident turns but Buck just stared at the ground and focused on taking one step at a time and not tripping over his own feet.

There wasn’t a single inch of skin that wasn’t covered in blood, even his hair was weighed down by it, occasionally flopping into his eyes. Buck wasn’t sorry. He never would be. Anything that evil should be dead. And Buck ensured that.

The night air was cold and caused a shiver to wrack his frame, Dean must've felt it because he started to walk them faster towards where the Impala was parked.

“Dean, wait,” Buck’s voice was rough, hoarse, probably from the screaming but Dean froze, “I just – can you give me a sec?”

“Evan, let’s just get you in the car, okay?” Dean started to move them again, but Buck dug his heels in.

“Dean, please, I just need –“ panic started growing in his chest. It had been months and he was suddenly back here in the reality when his family hated him, and he had lost everything. He just needed a second. “Please”

Dean looked at him for a second before letting Buck’s arm drop from his shoulders. “Fine” Dean sounded pissed, “But don’t go far.”

Buck stumbled off, nearly slipping on the gravel road but righted himself before he fell. He walked to the side of the warehouse and round the corner, so he could have the illusion of privacy. His back hit the wall hard and he’s pretty sure he ripped his t-shirt when he slid down it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He put his head between his knees and just tried to breathe. But every time he closes his eyes all he can see is Eddie’s face, denial clear in his eyes as his features crumple. Between breaths, all he can hear is cracking ribs and rushing water.

Buck feels a strange sense of déjà vu when he pulls his burner phone from his back pocket and types in a number he hadn’t meant to memorise, yet the digits come easily. He had a moment of hesitation but then all he can taste is salt water and he hit the call button.

It rings for a while and Buck curses himself. Of course, he’s not going to answer, it's – Buck takes the phone away from his ear to check – four in the morning. He’s about to hang up when:

“Hello,” Buck’s throat closes up, instantly transported to the last time he heard Eddie’s voice, when he was begging his son to come back to him, and Buck can't speak past the lump in his mouth. So, he just sits there, breathing into the receiver.

“Hello?” Eddie says again and Buck muffles a sob against his knee. A beat passes then two then, “Buck?” Eddie’s voice is small and rough and Buck is a weak man.

“Eddie?” he doesn’t have the spare thought to be embarrassed by his voice breaking, just the way his chest loosens at Eddie’s voice, the way the name rolls off his tongue, all hope and soft concern and it feels like Buck can breathe again.

“Buck, oh my god,” he can hear the creak of Eddie’s bed, that one squeaky floorboard in front of his closet, “Are you okay? Where are you?”

Buck shakes his head despite the fact that Eddie can't see it. He wants to tell him everything, wants to lay himself bare and beg for Eddie to love him anyway but instead, he says, “Is Chris okay?”

The movement on the other side of the call stops and Buck holds his breath. Is Eddie going to hang up on him? Had he crossed a line asking about Chris? “Of course he’s okay, Buck.” And Eddie’s voice is soft and a sob escapes from between his teeth, “Please tell me where you are, I’ll come and get you,” and Buck has to shove a fist in his mouth because he could never deny Eddie anything, he always wanted to do what he asked but right now, he couldn’t give him that.

“Please, just go check on Chris,” Buck would beg if he had to, right now there was nothing he wasn’t above.

“Buck-“

“Please,” there was a sigh, then shuffling and the next time Eddie speaks he was whispering.

“He’s all good. He’s asleep.”

“And he’s breathing?” Eddie makes a noise over the phone but after the longest two seconds of Buck’s life, he answers.

“Yes, Buck. He’s breathing,” and every muscle in Buck’s body goes limp. Buck wants to ask what pyjamas he’s wearing, wants to ask if the stuffed t-rex that Buck got him from the zoo is still his favourite, and wants to ask if he’s made any new paintings. But he doesn’t because he doesn’t deserve to know things like that anymore. He left. In more ways than one and Chris deserved someone better, someone more than Buck.

His words are tangling themselves together on his tongue and he can't decide between what he wants to say and what he should say, which is nothing. There are more footsteps, and the next time Eddie speaks he isn’t whispering anymore, “Buck, please, tell me where you are. Or just if you’re okay.”

Buck looks down at himself, covered in now-drying blood. He can hear the pleading in Eddie’s voice and Buck feels selfish because he can't tell him a thing.

“Eddie, please don’t make me lie to you,” there's a pregnant pause where Buck is sure he’s about to be hung up on.

“Buck-“

“Who the hell are you talking to?”

“Buck?” Eddie’s voice had lost its calm tone, panic starting to creep through, “Who is that?” Eddie is still firing questions at him when he takes the phone away from his ear. Dean is standing over him, hands on his hips, and even though his face is only illuminated by moonlight he can still make out the thunderous expression. Buck suddenly feels like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Evan.” Dean’s voice is low. Dangerous. “Please don’t tell me you’re this stupid.”

“Dean, please –“ his phone is snatched out of his hand, the call still connected.

“Come on, the cops are gonna be on our asses any second now, thanks to this little stunt,” he waves the phone in his face right before throwing it hard at the wall next to his head, where it explodes. And then just for good measure, Dean grinds it under his heel.

Dean is patronising him, and Buck knows he should be angry, demand what his problem is, but he’s wrung out and can't quite bring himself to feel anything apart from a desperate longing to be sitting on Eddie's couch. So, he gives the phone one last look, before taking Dean’s hand and pulling himself to his feet. The drive back to the motel they had set up in, where Sam was benched thanks to a few broken ribs was tense and silent. Dean grins his jaw in silent anger and Buck oscillates between apathy and chest-crushing worry over what Eddie will think.

At least he knows Chris is okay, that they both are. Even if Eddie is going to call the police or try and track him down personally.

When he sleeps that night, he dreams of Eddie.

Chapter Text

Eddie called Athena before he could take a breath. He paced his living room trying not to let his panic wake Christopher and tugged at his hair whilst the phone rang.

God, Buck had sounded wrecked. His voice was rough, and he wasn’t hiding his crying as well as he thought he was. Not to mention his questions, “Is he breathing?” Why would he ask that? Was it a code that Eddie was supposed to understand? A cry for help that he missed? Was Eddie his last hope and he had let him down?

And Dean. That’s what Buck had called him. A familiar anger settled in his muscles and his nails bit into his clenched fists. How dare he. How fucking dare he. Buck had sounded so small, and he just snatched the phone right out of his hand.

“Eddie?” even at this time of the night, when she would’ve been sleeping, Athena still managed her perfect mix of authority and concern and under any other circumstances Eddie would’ve found it comforting.

“Athena. Buck called me. He’s in trouble”

-

“Now, Mr Diaz, are you sure that’s everything Mr Buckley said?” Eddie sighed and massaged his temples; the interrogation room light was too bright for his sleep-deprived eyes.

“Yes, detective, that’s everything, word for word.” Eddie is certain, the phone call is still echoing in his head, in his chest.

Athena had pulled out all of the stops when Eddie told her what happened and within the hour Christopher was dropped off with a confused Hen who he promised an explanation and free breakfast and he had given his account of the phone call at least three times.

There was something restless in his bones, the need to be out there and do something. Buck is out there hurting or in trouble and Eddie was just sitting here, drinking mediocre coffee, and twiddling his thumbs.

He didn’t even realise the detective had left the room until Athena walked in and settled heavily into a seat across from him. They just sat in silence for a moment, Athena looking like she was trying to find the right words and Eddie’s mouth was too dry to actually say anything.

“The case is being handed over to the FBI.”

“What?” Eddie’s voice was squeaky. The FBI? Why would they have any interest in it?

Athena sighed, and Eddie could see the cop mask slide on, the one she would wear when she had to deliver bad news to a family, Eddie thought he might cry, “He called the man on the phone Dean, yes?”

Eddie gave a jerky nod and Athena sighed like he had been hoping he would say no. “I’m going to ask you to listen to a recording, and I need you to tell me if it’s the same voice you heard over the phone,” Athena set a recorder on the table and waited for Eddie to nod again before she pressed play.

Please state your name for the record

What? You forgotten already?

That’s him. There wasn’t a single doubt in Eddie’s mind, but he didn’t tell Athena, he kept his body still and his face neutral. He wanted to hear what other glib comments this guy has to say.

There’s an uncomfortable pause on the recording and then a shuffle.

Dean Winchester

Well, that just confirms it.

Are you aware of the charges you have been detained on?

Is it for being too good-looking?

God, this guy seems so punchable.

No, Mr Winchester, you have been arrested on suspicion of –

Athena clicked the recording off and gave Eddie a few moments before asking, “Does that sound like him?”

Eddie was nodding before she even finished her sentence, “Yeah, yeah that’s-“ he runs a hand through his hair, “Winchester? He’s been arrested before?”

“Yeah,” her mouth twitches, “He’s a slippery one, but the FBI are headed to his last known location.”

“And where is that, exactly?” Eddie asks, already rising from his seat.

“Don’t you dare, Diaz-“

“Athena! You can't expect me to just sit around and –“

“Not without me,” Athena’s got that look in her eye, the same one she gets when one of her kids is in trouble. “My shift ends in an hour,” she starts shuffling the papers in front of her and pulling them back in their manilla folders, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

The next hour was the longest of Eddie’s life. The first fifteen minutes were boring, so he decided to do some research himself and google this Dean Winchester. Eddie still doesn’t know if it was a good idea or not. What he does know is that Dean Winchester is wanted on multiple counts of grave desecration, murder, kidnapping, torture, and mutilation. Eddie’s dinner made a reappearance on the sidewalk.

Despite the pit of dread that each news article made worse, Eddie couldn’t stop reading. He had to know exactly what this man was capable of, and every word he read seemed to damn Buck further. His mind could only provide him with worst-case scenarios, full of blood and bone and Buck’s screaming. Eddie still remembers the noises that ripped out of Buck’s throat as they moved the ladder truck off of him, screams that he never wanted to hear again. He wondered if Buck was screaming right now, if the phone call had led to a beating, or maybe something worse.

Athena mercifully didn’t mention his red eyes or the puddle of vomit next to the driver’s side door when she got in, she had changed out of her uniform, though he was willing to bet she had her gun tucked away somewhere on her and Eddie was grateful.

“You know, Eddie,” Athena began, just as they reached the outskirts of the city, they had left early enough to beat the majority of the early morning traffic and Eddie was creeping closer and closer to the speed limit as the highway cleared, “This could be a wild goose chase. Do you know how many Dean’s there are in America?”

“It was him, Athena, I know it,” Athena looked like she was going to argue with him, but she just closed her mouth and turned back to look out the window. The FBI had said that Dean and Sam Winchester had been last spotted on CCTV cameras at a rundown motel near Salt Lake City along with an unidentified male.

“Scene techs are at the motel now,” Athena says, breaking the silence they’d been sitting in for an hour. “I know one of the agents on the case and he promised to keep me in the loop, we’ll know what they know when they know it,” Eddie just grunts an acknowledgement and presses harder on the gas pedal. There was still six hours’ worth of road between them and Buck.

-

Athena’s phone ringing made Eddie jump and swerve. He straightened the car with a curse and sheepishly looked at Athena who just raised an eyebrow at him before answering the call.

Eddie strained to hear the other side of the call over the rumble of the engine and the crunch of the tires on the road, but he got nothing, and Athena wasn’t giving anything away either, only giving small hums and one-word answers. Eddie was practically vibrating out of his shoes when she finally ended the call with a “Thanks, keep me updated.”

“What did they say? Did they find him?”

“Eddie, keep your eyes on the road, and no they weren’t there when the techs arrived but there’s evidence that they were there recently.”

“Athena, you’ve got to give me more than that. What evidence?” Athena looks like she’s going to sigh again but doesn’t.

“They’ve got receipts for some diner dated yesterday, half eaten food that hasn’t gone mouldy, and they found both the Winchester’s fingerprints all over the room”.

“Any evidence pointing towards Buck?”

She shook her head, “No, but there was definitely a third person, they ordered three portions of food, three dirty towels were found and,” she held her fingers up to do air quotes, “fingerprint shaped marks,” she put her hands down, “Though the tech says they were smooth, and lacked the swirl pattern so they’re pretty much useless as evidence.”

“Buck doesn’t have fingerprints.” Athena just sighed and nodded.

“I know, but he’s not the only one in the world, or even in the States to not have fingerprints. It’s actually more common among criminals than you would think.”

“Buck isn’t a criminal.” Eddie snapped.

“I know, I know. But the Winchesters are, so is it really such a stretch to think that this could be one of their criminal friends?”

Eddie didn’t have anything to say to that. It made sense, but Eddie was certain it was Dean on the phone, and Buck was upset, he sounded hurt and even if he was safe, if he was relaxing on a beach somewhere, Eddie had to see him, had to touch him, and just make sure he was alright, make sure he was happy and felt safe.

“He left a note Eddie…” Ah, yes, the note. The one awful piece of doubt in the back of his mind. The note had seemed so cut and dry, but now? Eddie wasn’t so sure. Everyone thought it was strange that he left his wallet and phone behind as well, it seemed unnecessary. Sure, Bobby had to practically hold Eddie back, to stop him charging after Buck, tracking him down and hugging him. Holding him long enough to tell him he was sorry, and that he wasn’t mad at him, it wasn’t his fault. He needed to tell Buck how loved he was.

But now it felt like it was too late. “It could’ve been written under duress” he choked out. It wasn’t a stretch. Athena had analysed the note when Maddie first found it, the handwriting was shaky and there were tear stains soaked into the paper.

Athena just nodded, keeping her own opinion under lock and key. “CCTV shows them heading west before they lose them, so keep your eyes peeled.”

-

They were about three hours out from the city when it happened. Athena was the one driving now, she said Eddie should get some sleep, but he couldn’t, too hyped up on nervous energy and the coffee he bought from the last service station. Plus, he had to keep an eye out for Buck, it was a one-in-a-million chance, but it was better than zero. His refusal to take his eyes off of the road is the only reason he spotted it.

A black Impala.

It was driving the other direction down the highway and the sun glared on the windshield so he couldn’t see the occupants, but he was so goddamn sure. He grabs the wheel from Athena, throwing them into a messy U-turn that had several other cars honk at them, but he didn’t care.

Athena cursed at him and hit the brakes, taking the wheel back from him and righting the car on the opposite side of the highway, “Have you lost your mind, Diaz?!” Eddie is sure he’ll feel sorry for giving her a fright later, but right now he just pointed at the Impala wordlessly.

Athena didn’t need to be told, she hit the gas pedal and followed at a distance, weaving in and out of other cars in a bid to not be noticed.

The Impala finally got off of the highway in Nevada and started heading South, down towards Arizona.

As the houses were left behind them and their surroundings became more and more barren desert, there were fewer cars and thus, it was that much harder to pretend they weren’t following the brothers.

Eventually, there was a long stretch of dusty road, no other cars in sight for miles and Eddie was beginning to panic. Athena had a gun, and he could hold his own in a fight but if both the brothers were in that car Eddie didn’t rate their chances.

“Athena, I don’t like this, we’ve been behind them for nearly two hours. They definitely know we’re following them.”

“Half of that has been on this same damn stretch of highway.” Athena counters, annoyingly calm.

The universe, it seems was desperate to prove Athena wrong, as the second she finished her statement, the Impala slammed its brakes on with a squeal and jerkily pulled over to the side of the road in a cloud of dust.

Athena hit the brakes so hard to avoid rear-ending the other car the seatbelts locked and everything on Eddie’s back seats flew onto the floor. Athena cursed and jerked the wheel to the side, more out of reflex than thought and they rolled to a stop behind the Impala just as Dean Winchester climbed out of the car.

Eddie felt a familiar rage curl up his spine, lighting his lungs on fire and he was getting out of the car before he could even think. He had seen his face on the internet, on the goddamn FBI’s most wanted list, but seeing him in person? It’s so much worse, the tense stance and the hard glare.

“You have five seconds to tell me why the hell you’ve been following us,” His brother climbs out of the passenger seat and Eddie starts at how tall he is, broad, could clearly pack a punch and as if he and Athena weren’t screwed enough, they both reached into their jackets and pulled out a gun. Athena answered with her own weapon, but Eddie had nothing, so he just stared down the barrel of Sam’s gun, a silent challenge that he knew he couldn’t back up.

Eddie was clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to stop himself from doing something stupid, like trying to punch the guy pointing a gun at him.

“Alright,” Dean sighed, cocking his gun, “We really don’t have time for this.”

“Dean Winchester, LAFD, you are under arrest. Drop your weapons,” Dean just raised a smug eyebrow and Eddie took a step forward, teeth grinding together so hard his jaw ached. The sound of Sam’s gun cocking halted him with a jerky twitch.

“LAFD?” Dean actually had the nerve to look amused, “Long way from home. Look, I don’t know a lot about jurisdiction but I'm pretty sure that here? Your badge don’t mean squat.”

“You’re right. But no matter what state we’re in, I guarantee that when I shoot you, it’s going to hurt just as much.”

Dean opened his mouth, to probably say another smart-ass comment, but the sound of a car door opening interrupted him.

Eddie had been so convinced Buck had been with them, but to see him, for the first time in months, climbing out of the back seat of the Impala, was still hard to believe. God, he looks awful. His skin was pale and the circles under his eyes were so dark they looked like bruises. There was heavy exhaustion on his shoulders, and he walked with a limp.

Eddie didn’t even know where to start. Should he apologise? Everything Buck had said about him in the note had been true, after all. Or should he hug him? Eddie’s skin buzzed with want, he wanted to soothe all of Buck’s aches and run a hand through his hair, it was longer now, curling around his ears and Eddie wanted to smooth back the lock that had fallen in his face.

Buck stumbled and Eddie stepped forward to reach for him, uncaring of the guns, because its Buck. And no matter what Eddie would always reach for him, whether it was to nudge his arm or pull him from danger. Buck was his person, he trusted him more than anyone, ever since he volunteered to get in an ambulance with a live grenade when Eddie was prepared to go in alone, or after the earthquake when Eddie’s car had been crushed by a downed telephone pole, Buck just opened his jeep door and ushered him in to pick up Christopher.

Christopher.

Buck was so good with him, even when the worst happened Buck saved me, he played games with me on top of the truck. And then he had dragged himself, half-dead, and bleeding through a disaster zone to save his son.

Eddie wanted his partner back, in any capacity, in any way Buck wanted him, that’s what he would be. Buck was his person, and if these motherfuckers thought pointing a gun at his head would stop him from grabbing Buck, they had another thing coming.

Dean clicked his tongue and suddenly there wasn’t a gun pointed at Eddie’s head anymore. It was pointed at Buck’s. “Stop moving.”

His breath stilled in his lungs and Eddie felt Athena stiffen.

Buck didn’t even flinch, didn’t slow his pace and Eddie wanted to scream because he knew what getting shot felt like, his scars ached with the memory and Eddie wouldn’t wish it on Buck, not in a million years. So Eddie did the hardest thing he has ever had to do and stayed still whilst Buck walked other to Athena, right into her line of fire.

“Athena…” Buck spoke like she was a spooked horse, hands up in a placating gesture like two guns weren’t pointed at him.

“Buck. Out of the way,” Athena snapped.

“Athena,” and Buck’s voice was pleading, “I’m so sorry, but I can't do that.”

“Buck, it’s okay, we can protect you,” Athena was lying and from the looks on their faces, everyone knew it. She shifted her gun, so it was pointing at Dean over Buck’s shoulder, but he just sidestepped into the line of fire yet again and Eddie wanted to scream.

“Dean!” Buck didn’t look away from Athena, just tilted his head to throw the name over his shoulder. “Back in the car.” Buck took a step back.

“Evan-“

“Both of you, just get back in the car,” The Winchester’s actually did what he said, they both slowly start walking backwards to the car, keeping their guns trained on them.

“Buck, what are you doing.” Athena still sounds calm, all clipped words and relaxed shoulders, but Eddie can see the tense lines around her eyes and the way she is grinding her teeth.

“I’m sorry, I'm so sorry, but I can't let you shoot them, Athena, I just can't.”

“Buck, please,” Eddie’s voice cracked, and he realised with a start that this was the first time he had spoken, all of his energy had been put into trying to get to Buck. And Buck’s eyes turn to him, and Eddie can't breathe. His eyes pinned him like an insect, and there was nothing in heaven nor earth that could get Eddie to look away.

“I’m so sorry,” and his eyes were so blue when they were swimming with tears. And then Eddie couldn’t see them anymore. Buck turned on his heel and got back into the Impala. Eddie wanted to grab him and shake him, demand that he tells him what’s wrong. But instead, Eddie’s feet are rooted to the dusty ground as the engine roars to life and carries the love of Eddie’s life away with it.

Neither of them moved for several long minutes, not until the cloud of dust the impala was kicking up disappeared into the horizon.

Athena drove, probably for the best, Eddie's not even sure he could feel his hands. What did they have on Buck? Blackmail, maybe? It had to be something for Buck to put himself between a bullet and Dean Winchester. But then again, they did what he said, they trusted him like Eddie had trusted him and he didn’t know what to do with that.

The scenery passed in a blur and Eddie couldn’t stop thinking about Buck. Clearly, something was wrong, he was so pale, and his hands shook when he raised them in the air, but he had such a calm demeanour that it wasn’t fear.

Eddie couldn’t wrap his head around it, maybe he didn’t want to. There was a choking pressure in his throat and a burning behind his eyes.

-

The house was quiet when Eddie got home. Christopher was still at Hen's and that was for the best, Eddie isn’t good to anyone right now, he was dead on his feet but every time he closes his eyes there’s a bullet between Buck’s eyes and he’s screaming for help and Eddie just let him go.

His fist hits the wall with a force that travels up his arm and into his shoulder. The pain snaps him back to some semblance of normal and he rinses his hand off in the bathroom before he can get any blood on the carpet.

Eddie spots it in the mirror first, a flicker of movement in the corner. He spins on his heel, already itching for a fight, not caring if he wins or not, he just wants to hurt.

Black smoke is the only thing he sees before its cramming itself down his throat.

Chapter Text

Buck silently watched the scenery go by, letting whatever was playing on the radio fade into a background hum. Sam tried to include him in conversation a couple of times but when Buck made it clear he didn’t want to talk to anyone the car lapsed into silence.

Buck couldn’t stop seeing Eddie’s face, the panic when everyone pulled their guns out, the way his body leaned towards him, his hands twitching at their sides like they wanted to touch Buck as much as Buck wanted to touch Eddie.

And Athena. The undertone of pleading in her voice, the look of surprised hurt when Buck said he wouldn’t go with them. The betrayal.

But Buck couldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back to the cold shoulders and withering glares and always being the man behind. If he went back, there was no promise that anything would change. Just because they cared that he was gone doesn’t mean they’ll care if he comes back. They probably just like having someone to do all the cleaning.

That didn’t mean that seeing Eddie didn’t nearly cripple him. It had only been a few months, but Buck had felt Eddie’s loss acutely. He’d looked tired, but with that pissed determination, Buck had seen a couple of times. Buck had wanted to hold him, to relax his shoulders and sweep his thumbs under his eyes and chase away the bags. But he couldn’t. And having Eddie there, right there and not being able to reach out, not allowed to hold him, he felt something vital being ripped out of his chest.

He sulked in the back of the Impala, his mind switching between Eddie smiling at him, asking him to come back, and to the grocery store, where Eddie had found all of Buck’s insecurities with pinpoint accuracy and threw them all back in his face.

The town they ended up in was dusty and quiet and he couldn’t help but think of those old western movies.

It was only about four in the afternoon when they dumped their bags in the tired motel room and the boys started their investigation.

A series of missing persons who were all driving along the same stretch of road during the summer months. Their cars were all found, abandoned, in the middle of the road, with no signs of struggle.

Their first stop was the sheriff’s office, armed with sharp suits and fake badges. Buck hung back, content to let Sam and Dean grill Detective Anderson and his lack of investigating. He had a headache and one of the overhead lights was buzzing, which was driving him up the wall.

Every single victim had left their phones behind, which, according to their family was very unusual.

“Yeah,” Sam began as he pulled his laptop out in a diner they had chosen for dinner, “One of the victim’s fathers said she practically had that thing glued to her hand, so I don’t see them leaving them behind voluntarily.”

Dean shrugged, taking a bite of a burger, “Could be something smart, didn’t want to be tracked.”

Buck swallowed a mouthful of pasta before chiming in, “Yeah, but all the cars were in the exact same place, no prints or physical evidence to speak of and it only strikes during the summer months?”

“And that’s a gold star for Evan.” Sam turned his laptop around which was open to a news article, “Charlotte Davis. Killed in a hit and run about ten years ago. Driver was a teenager, on their phone but because they were so young the judge let them off easy.”

“That explains the hatred for phones.” Dean nods, “That thing say where she’s buried?”

Sam dips his head closer to the computer and Buck can see his eyes jumping around the page “Uhh… the cemetery behind the local church in town.”

Dean threw his napkin down on the plate, “Perfect, simple salt and burn. I say we’ve earned an easy one, huh, Evan?”

Buck tries to school his face into a smile, but it feels more like a grimace, so he just drops his eyes back to his pasta which looks much less appetising now.

They headed back to the motel room to get out of the suits and to kill a little time since they couldn’t exactly dig up a grave right after the dinner rush. Sam sat at the table and opened his computer back up, while Buck sat against the headboard of one of the beds and Dean flopped backwards onto the other one, sending up a plume of dust.

“So…” he began once he’d stopped wafting the dust away from his face, “Are we going to talk about it?”

“About what?” Buck asked.

“The fact that me and Sammy here just pointed guns at your friend’s melons.” Buck sank into the pillows with a sigh. He’d been hoping to avoid this conversation, hoping that everyone would silently accept that it happened and move on. He should’ve known better.

“It’s fine,” Buck shrugged because it was. Dean and Sam were just doing what they had to do to protect themselves, they weren’t bad people. Still, when he thinks back to the barrels pointed at Eddie and Athena’s heads, his heart rate ticks up and his palms get sweaty.

“The dude is literally your lock screen picture, man.”

“Eddie.”

“What?”

“His name is Eddie.”

Sam shifts, looking uncomfortable, “Evan, you gotta know, I would never have actually shot him, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, Sam, I know,” Buck closes his eyes. He doesn’t ask Dean to say the same thing because he knows Dean, and if Athena had turned her gun on Sam for even a second, she would’ve been a goner.

“Still,” Sam, continues, “It must've been weird to see them again. Seems like they missed you.”

A well of bitterness rises in Buck's throat and he turns in the bed to face the wall, “Yeah, seems like it,” the bite in his words ends the conversation.

Buck doesn’t sleep, but Sam and Dean leave him alone anyway which he is grateful for. He’s still not a hundred percent after the djinn, mentally or physically, though his weakness is nearly gone, so it’s just fatigue and headaches he’s fighting. Dean offered to ask Castiel to heal him and whilst the offer had been tempting, Buck said no. It didn’t feel right to erase all the physical evidence of what had happened when his mind couldn’t stop torturing him with the images of destruction, death, and Eddie.

It didn’t actually happen, that’s what he could tell himself, but it isn’t true. Because it happened to him. Eddie didn’t get crushed by the fire truck, but Buck still had to sit by his bedside, just listening to his heartbeat. Eddie didn’t have a blood clot, but Buck’s hands were still stained red by the time they got him to the hospital. Christopher didn’t die, but seeing him lying there, pale, and cold, a part of Buck did. He had been marked for life; images tattooed onto the insides of his eyelids. It wasn’t real, but it sure as hell felt like it was.

It was nearly two in the morning when Dean dragged himself out of bed. Buck moved to follow him but a heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him.

Sam quickly looked away, focusing on packing shotgun shells into a duffel. He looked up at Dean, “Look, Evan. Want to leave this one to us? You still look a little like death on legs and it’s a salt and burn, basic stuff.”

If it was any other case Buck would’ve fought. That crippling insecurity as familiar as the taste of bile in his throat would rise up and he would insist, plead a case good enough for court as to why he was fit enough, good enough to join them.

But Buck had never hidden how he felt about digging up someone’s grave. He knew it was necessary, and the lead-heavy guilt in his stomach never stopped him from doing what needed to be done, but if he was given an out, he would take it.

The blood and viscera and never-ending colours of goo that monsters produced never really bothered him, god knows he’s been covered head to toe by it enough times that he’s desensitised. There was something about the bones, though, dressed in their Sunday best, hands folded over their chest, sometimes there were valuables in there, a wedding ring or a diamond necklace. Once, there was a wooden toy, half eaten by the damp. He had had to step away that time.

Buck just slumped back down onto the bed, his pride taking a hit, but his bones were too heavy for him to do much about it.

“Right, yeah,” Buck scraped a hand over his face, “Guess you’ve got a point.”

Dean’s shoulders dropped a tiny bit, either disappointed Buck didn’t put up much of a fight or relieved they didn’t have to argue.

They both slung their duffels over their shoulders and Sam threw a, “Be back in a few hours,” over his shoulder as he closed the door.

Buck was suddenly at a loss for what to do. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually been left alone since he’d been back with the brothers. At first, Dean was worried that he was going to self-destruct and then Buck did. He was either sharing some nameless person’s bed or someone had to stay with him after he drank half the bar to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit. And now here he was, alone with his thoughts for the first time since he broke down on his couch. Not ideal.

He has nothing to do, nothing to distract him from the constant buzzing in the back of his head and he can feel his thoughts crushing him. Eddie’s face, Bobby’s sneer, his lawyer’s smug look. Every image. Every insult. Every insecurity has wrenched itself from the small, too-small box he had shoved them into, they ripped out of his brain and echoed in his ears, mocking him and everything he had done, every failure and mistake, every cowardly and selfish action.

Buck frantically pawed for the remote for the tv, hoping to drown out his life screaming like a train wreck in his ears. His hands were shaking when they tried to press the buttons and he dropped the remote on the bed twice, slippery from his tears, when did he start to cry? Before he hit the power button. He was immediately assaulted by the sound of static at full volume, every channel, no matter what button he pressed. Even the mute button didn’t do anything, just the ear-splitting sound of static.

Until there wasn’t. But he hadn’t hit a button, he had dropped the remote in favour of covering his ears, but the tv went black and the sound stopped, even though Buck could still hear the buzzing in his head, feel it in the tips of his fingers.

“Sorry, I tend to have that effect on these things.” There was a man standing next to the tv that hadn’t been there before. He was leaning on top of it, one ankle crossed over the other whilst the other hand was holding the plug to the tv, swinging the cable around in circles.

Buck didn’t even dare to breathe. He stilled, perched on the side of the bed, tears drying on his face. His eyes scanned the man, dirty blonde hair, a solid build, looks blue collar, he was searching for anything that would give away what he was because there is no way a regular human snuck in here and Buck didn’t even notice.

The man stared back at him, lips curling into a malicious smile. And then it blinked, and blue and white became black.

Buck jumped to his feet, reaching for his holy water, but it grabbed him, he was too slow, always too slow.

His back hit the floor hard, and Buck immediately began struggling, trying to shuffle back and get his feet under himself. He didn’t care that all the air had left his lungs, or his head was ringing, because every nerve, every muscle fibre and cell in his body was screaming one thing.

Survive.

He twisted and writhed as the demon sat on his thighs, pinning his legs. He struck out randomly in blind panic, but his wrists were caught easily and forced above his head. His vision tunnelled as he became more and more trapped, blocking out his peripherals until all he could see was black, his own panic-stricken face reflected back in the void.

The vessel the demon had picked was big, wide hands and powerful arms, teamed with demon strength and Buck felt like an insect pinned to a board, entirely helpless and just waiting for the end. The small bones in his wrists creaked as the demon moved them to one hand.

Dread stunned him still when the demon slid its hand under his back, and with a confident hand, plucked the flask of holy water from his back pocket and threw it against the far wall where it left a dent in the plaster.

How did it know that was there? How did it know it was holy water?

And then it reached back up towards Buck’s face. He twitched and squirmed away when it dragged its knuckles down his cheek, in a mocking gesture of comfort. It reached his chin, where it ghosted its fingertips down his collarbone and sternum, pulling his shirt out of the way to reveal his pendant. It clicked its tongue, shaking its head before yanking the leather cord hard. It cut against the back of his neck with a severity he thought might draw blood before, mercifully, the cord snapped, and his pendant joined his holy water on the floor.

“How?” Buck’s voice was pinched, terror in a way he had never experienced forced his thoughts out of his mouth, “How did you know?” The demon just smiled a too-white, too-straight smile and spat out words with a venom that didn’t suit its face.

“Fool me once? Shame on me. Fool me twice…?” It shook its head and clicked its tongue. “That really stung, ya know?”

That’s when it clicked. Buck had only ever used his necklace on a single demon. The demon. The one from the diner, the one from the fire.

“You.” Buck choked out, pure rage pushing the syllable past frozen lips.

“Me!” It grinned, looking far too pleased with itself.

“Why?” if this is how Buck was going to die, killed slowly by this demon, then he fucking deserved to know why. Why him? This thing had been hanging over him like a dark cloud, soaking him with cold fear for years, he deserves a reason.

“Why?” Its expression went dark, and it leaned more of its weight onto Buck’s wrists, bringing its face inches from his. “You took her from me, the seal. That was my shot. Help Lilith bring about the apocalypse? That was practically a first class ticket into the big leagues.”

“But they stopped it.” The apocalypse, Buck still remembered it, the earthquakes, the floods, the death. He’d never done so much overtime in his life. He tried not to think about it, how close he came to losing everyone he loved, to losing everything and he never even knew it until Castiel popped out of thin air for the first time. He’d been angry at first, that they’d kept such a big thing from him, he felt useless, like the biggest fight had come and gone and Dean hadn’t even picked up the phone. Though Buck hadn’t been in his loft in a week so he couldn’t have answered anyway.

They had explained what a seal was after Buck asked about it though and was pleased he stopped one being broken even if it didn’t matter in the long run.

“Yes. Those two pain in the asses did. But for a few glorious months, those demons who helped her break seals feasted like kings, celebrated for what they had done. And where was I? Eating up scraps. All. Because. Of you.” He punctuated the end of his sentence by poking Buck harshly in the chest.

The demon then pulled his shirt to the side again, swiping a thumb almost tenderly over his tattoo. Buck froze again, holding his breath. He hated when people touched it, scared to scratch even one line. He hated a demon touching it even more. “It’s a shame you did this to yourself” It must be able to feel Buck’s rabbiting heart rate, hear it, maybe, but it’s ignoring it, still touching his tattoo. “I didn’t have much time rummaging around in your brain, but every second was bliss. It’s rare to find a person so broken, down to the core. Though looking back on your life, it’s understandable to see why you hate yourself so much. After all, everyone leaves you and its always for a reason.”

“Go to hell,” Buck spat out, keeping tears at bay through pure force of will.

“I've been. Didn’t take.” With a final tap on his tattoo, the demon’s hand finally left his chest. “Since I can't have you. I wonder if your boyfriend would make a good meat suit?”

“No!” he snarled “Don’t you fucking dare! I’ll –“

“Eddie? Was it?”

“No! no, no, no!” Buck resumed his fighting, wrists threatening to break and his muscles aching, but he still thrashed like a bear caught in a trap. The demon didn’t flinch, didn’t even acknowledge that Buck had started moving again. It just leaned in close and breathed directly in his ear.

“I’ll be in touch.”

Chapter Text

The stranger’s body slumped on top of him, dead weight as the black smoke escaped through an open window. Buck didn’t stop to check if the man was breathing, he just pushed the body off of him with adrenaline-fuelled strength and flung himself out of the motel door on shaky legs.

He took off running down the street, panic filling his lungs with salt water and eyes burning. At this time of the night the roads were deserted, so no one stopped Buck, no one slowed down to ask if he was okay, to ask where the hell he thought he was running to or what he was running from. No one asked if he had just gotten the love of his life killed in the most terrifying and horrific way possible.

Buck always remembered the helplessness, the fury mixed with terror as he was pulled this way and that by invisible puppet strings. The bleach had burned but not as much as the cross. Buck would rather die than have his body used against him like that again. He would rather die than have Eddie go through that, to wake up with nightmares choking on black smoke or tearing your loved ones apart. It’s a violation of his very soul, a stain that Buck will save Eddie from.

Buck didn’t know how long he ran for, but there were beads of sweat rolling down his back and his leg muscles were screaming, getting steadily louder with every heavy footfall. His heart was rabbiting against his chest, but he did not stop, he didn’t falter or slow because he is running for Eddie, to save Eddie.

Buck used to run back in LA, when old scars ached, and old memories screamed for attention, he would run until he couldn’t move, and he was too tired to dwell over past mistakes. He was thankful for that nasty habit now, thankful that he knew how to mentally override his body so when it demanded that he stop and tried to buckle his knees from beneath him, he could power through, he didn’t give his body permission to fail.

The town was small, the type where there was a town hall and a statue in the middle of the square, where everyone who passed in the street said hello to each other. The church was just off the town square, where it backed onto woodlands. Buck stumbled over cobblestone and leapt over the rotting, white-picket-fence surrounding the church instead of finding the gate.

Seeing Baby parked in the church parking lot gave him the last burst of energy he needed to run around the side of the stone building to the small graveyard where Sam and Dean were already piling dirt back into a grave. The ground was gravely, and his feet slid on the rocks and dry grass.

He made quite the entrance as he stumbled and finally, his trembling muscles refused to hold him up any longer. He stayed on the ground, sucking in oxygen and trying not to pass out or throw up long enough to communicate that they have to go now.

Both the boys dropped their shovels and crouched down to his level, one of them put their hand on his back but he couldn’t tell through the sweat dripping into his eyes. He didn’t have enough oxygen to speak, he dug his nails into the loosely packed ground, begging his vision to stop spinning.

He pawed at Dean’s sleeve, trying to drag him back to the Impala. They didn’t have time for him to explain, he’d already spent the better part of an hour sprinting across town and that thing might’ve already gotten to Eddie. God knows those things are fast when they don’t have a meat suit holding them down.

“We have to…” another gasping, shaky, breath “We have to go right now” Sam tensed, and Dean pulled his gun out, head whipping around, as hypervigilant as always.

“Evan? What’s the matter? What’s happened?” Sam ducked his head, hunching over as far as he could trying to see Buck’s face.

Buck shook his head violently until he saw double “No time, get in the car” They don’t have time for questions and Buck’s breathing is starting to come easier. Sam has his gun out as well now and Buck spares a thought to his which he left in the motel room before he starts to get to his feet, legs still shaking. Sam swoops in to help him up whilst Dean watches their backs, not dropping his guard for a second.

Buck pushes his hair out of his eyes – when did it get so long? – and wobbles towards the car. “Evan, you gotta explain what’s going on here, man” Dean calls from behind them, hastily picking up the shovels so they don’t leave something covered in their fingerprints behind.

The car is still locked when Buck tugs on the handle, despite hearing Dean fumbling for the key out of his jean pocket, he still tugs on the handle again and again like it would magically open if he wished for it hard enough. “Eddie’s in trouble” Buck shook his head, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat “Demons. It’s all my fucking fault but you guys have to help me save him.”

Dean finally fishes the key out of his pocket “Yeah of course we’ll-“ Dean is cut off by the shrill ringing of a phone. All eyes snap to the rusty, old payphone, sprouting out of the sidewalk like a weed just outside of the church’s fence.

The town had been silent before, not a soul in sight, but the harsh ringing of the phone just exaggerated the emptiness of the town, like they were the only three souls left in it. Something cold settled over him, a juxtaposition of the white-hot fear from earlier, now it was frigid dread, dripping down his spine.

Buck’s legs were numb as he walked to the phone. Despite the rusted hinges, the gate at the front of the church opened silently, like the ringing of the phone was the only thing allowed to interrupt the pregnant silence.

Buck didn’t let himself guess who would be on the other side of the phone, if he did, he wouldn’t answer it, frozen by fear and the belief that if he didn’t answer it, it wouldn’t be true.

He took a while to get to the phone, too long, and yet, it never stopped ringing, there was never a long pause for someone to redial, it just kept an even, steady scream for attention. Buck's fingers were stiff and frozen despite the warm night as they wrapped around the dented, plastic phone. The phone cut off mid-ring and the silence felt choking. Buck felt like he was about to step over a cliff, the feeling of his stomach dropping out, hairs on the back of his neck raising as he lifted the phone to his ear.

Buck didn’t speak, there was barbed wire wrapped around his neck and his jaw was clenched shut, fighting back a sob. On the other side of the line, there was just breathing, a slow and steady inhale and exhale that Buck would know blind, he would know it deaf or if he hadn't heard it in a million years. Like how he knows Eddie’s footsteps and the way he sags when he sits down after a long day. The way he smells and the way he grinds his teeth when he’s stressed.

Buck’s fingers ache from clutching the phone too hard, like if he lets go, he will float away, it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth, to Eddie. He locks his knees to keep himself from falling. He doesn’t know what to say, scared that breaking the silence will shatter some faint hope that he’s dreaming, or maybe Eddie just decided to prank call him, despite the fact he hasn’t picked up the phone in weeks.

Buck wants to say something, anything, but he is a coward and it’s the person on the other side of the phone that breaks the silence first.

It laughs. And it’s worse than anything Buck could have ever imagined. Because it’s not Eddie. It’s his voice, his vocal cords, and his mouth but it’s not Eddie. Eddie’s laugh is infectious, it's light and sometimes he snorts, and it never fails to make Buck feel invincible.

This is not that laugh. This is high-pitched and cruel. More of a cackle than an expression of joy and every hair on his body stands on end. His muscles turn to rock and there's nothing Buck can do. He’s hundreds of miles away, hunched over at a payphone and Eddie is being used like a puppet, something is violating his very soul and Buck isn’t there to stop it.

He doesn’t feel the pain of his knees hitting the ground, the only sense working is his hearing, and that was the one he wished would turn off.

Through the cloudy Perspex of the payphone booth, Buck sees the church, and he silently preys. He’d never been a religious person, not even when he discovered angels, he hadn’t preyed after the fire truck or the tsunami, none of it. but right now, in the dirt, it seemed like the only thing to do, it felt like everything had crumbled around him to dust and there was no human being on the planet capable of putting it back together, so he prayed, and he listened.

On the other side of the phone, Eddie but not Eddie was starting to wind down from his laughing fit. Cackled had been replaced with mean-spirited giggles and deep breaths.

“What do you want?” Buck’s voice was choked and rough, barely above a whisper yet every noise on the other end of the receiver stopped at once, there wasn’t even breathing. It was so sudden that Buck thought for a second that he’d hung up.

“What an interesting question” The voice, Eddie’s voice, was slurred slightly, like the demon was getting used to the shape of the mouth and teeth, just learning how to use the tongue. Still, it managed to inject some psychotic glee into every syllable. ”What do all you hunters say demons want? Death, destruction, suffering? What makes you think that I'm special?”

“Because you’re coming after me and my family specifically. You fuckers usually just get off on tormenting random people, but now you’re targeting me.”

The demon clicked its tongue and made a noise like it was thinking. Eddie made that noise sometimes, and Buck dug his free hand into the dirt, just to try and stop himself swaying. “You know why.”

“I know!” his voice was hysterical, high pitched “I fucking know! So come back here and have me! Kill me! Leave Eddie out of this, please!”

“No.”

“Please!” Buck wasn’t above begging, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do.

“No, and do you want to know why? Because this is the worst torture. I could slice you and beat you and skin you, but nothing will make you beg quite like the knowledge that this meat suit tore his own family apart. And it’s all your fault.” Its voice was quiet, deadly serious and sounded nothing like Eddie despite stealing his voice.

“Please don’t hurt Chris.”

“That snot nose brat? No, that’s easy prey, we’ll come back for him. Right now… what’s the name of the station? The one-eighteen?” The sound of a car door slamming and an engine turning over was the last thing Buck heard before the line went dead.

“No! no, no, no, no, no!” Buck slammed the phone into the ground, once then twice then on the third time it shattered into sharp chunks of hollow plastic. He continued to beat his fists against the ground in a silent rage. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Buck’s hands began to bleed, raw from the dirt and sliced by the plastic when someone dragged him away from his small pool of destruction. He flailed and writhed, blind with panic and rage.

He can't feel his limbs, his lungs refuse to take in a full breath and he’s desperately trying to scramble to his feet, but someone has him by the armpits. He has to get to Eddie. Where is he? How many miles is between them? it doesn’t matter, none of it matters. He’ll run, he’ll swim, he’ll crawl if he gets too tired, he has to get to Eddie now, but his shaking body won't fucking cooperate.

“Evan! Evan! You’ve gotta calm down, man.” Evan? Only his parents call him Evan, or Maddie when she’s mad at him. Or Eddie, sometimes when Buck is being stupid, and Eddie needs him to listen.

“Eddie?"

“No, it’s Dean” and just like that Buck is back in his own body, the church spire materialises in front of him and his hands hurt. His breath still won't come easily but he stops fighting and goes limp in Dean’s arms. “You back with us, cowboy?” Buck nods jerkily and makes an attempt to get his feet under him. He half succeeds but Dean and Sam help him the rest of the way.

“We have to-“ Buck gasps for breath “We have to-“ Sam shushes him and nudges him towards the car.

“It’s okay, Evan, just take your time.” Buck shook his head, he couldn’t take his time because it wasn’t his time, it was Eddie's, it was his team’s. He lurches out of Dean and Sam’s hold, catching himself against the Impala.

“Jesus, dude. What happened?”

“Eddie’s in trouble. That fucking demon. We have to go. Right now. Please”

Buck could’ve kissed them when they piled into the Impala without any more questions.

Buck explained on the way through stuttered breaths and panic attacks. They made a pit stop past a church to get more holy water, but the Impala was stocked for this kind of job. “Usually its easy” Dean explained, they had a knife that killed demons, but it also killed the host, off the table. So they had to be smart and plan this, they couldn’t go half-cocked.

It was a long drive. Made longer by Buck’s restless energy and Sam trying to help him memorise exorcisms.

The sun was coming up just as the Hollywood sign came into view.

Chapter Text

“What the fuck is this?!” Maddie strides into the 118 station, smoke coming out of her ears, brandishing a piece of paper in the air. All motion in the station stops at her entrance and all eyes go to Bobby, standing at the loft railing.

The team sat around the dining table, whilst Maddie paced at the head of the table, getting herself increasingly more agitated.

“Maddie,” Bobby began, trying to keep his voice as soothing as possible “Do you want to tell us what this is about?”

“That!” Maddie snaps stopping dead to point at the empty seat at the table. Buck’s seat “Have a single one of you stopped to wonder where he is?! When was the last time he showed up for a shift, huh?”

Everyone went quiet, trying to subtly avoid her eyes and failing. “He didn’t answer the phone for two days, so I went over to his apartment to check on him and you wanna know what I found?” She places her hands on her hips, clearly waiting for an answer. She felt like an angry schoolteacher disciplining a classroom.

Chim was finally the one to break the silence “Mads…”

“This!” Maddie’s yelling was attracting attention from the other crews, but she didn’t care as she slammed the piece of paper on the table. “A fucking goodbye letter!” her voice broke and the anger keeping her sadness at bay flickered for a moment, exposing the raw hurt and worry underneath, but it was soon back in place, a brick wall to keep her together just long enough for her to get this out of her system.

“A goodbye letter?” Eddie sounded angry at the thought like Maddie had come here and made a scene just for a prank. Like it was so preposterous, that Buck, fun-loving, golden retriever Buck, actually had feelings.

“Yes!” her voice pitched up even higher “Do you want to know what it said?!” She unfolds the letter, giving it as much care as her shaking hands would allow. She has to blink the tears out of her eyes as Buck’s shaky handwriting came into view again, god he must've been so sad.

She clears her throat, scans a few lines, and clears her throat again. Reading Buck’s words, the insecurity and the self-hatred laced through every syllable breaks her heart all over again and as angry as she is at the team, she’s just as angry at her herself. How could she not have noticed? Buck said that she had Chim, and he could look after her, but did Buck really think that she could just push him to the side? That she wouldn’t need him anymore?

“The team hate me, Mads” her voice wobbled, dropping her volume so only the loft could hear, the rest of the station doesn’t get Buck’s words. “They’re never going to forgive me, and I know I don’t deserve it but part of me had hoped that we could mend things. I realise now that we can't. This is worse, I think, being around them all the time, seeing my family act as if I had never existed, I’ve lived through a lot, but this isn’t something I can survive”.

Maddie stops standing in silence, waiting for any of them to say anything, do anything apart from stare resolutely at the tabletop.

“Three pages. Three pages he waxes on about how much better the station will be without him and how this is for the best and how he can't live like this anymore. It reads like a fucking suicide note!”

Everyone sucks in a breath at that, and it just makes Maddie angrier, it’s the biggest reaction she’s managed to get out of them so far “Do you even care?! I mean, he’s been back to work for what? A week? Two? How vile must you have treated him for him to think this is his only out?”

“Maddie…” Chimney tries again, lost for words seemingly. She just tosses the note on the table and sinks into the free seat at the head of the table, facing Bobby.

“Read it. Go ahead. See exactly what my brother thinks about himself.”

The team shuffles out of their seats and crowd around Bobby who folds open the sheets of paper at the first page. The letter is read in tense silence, only interrupted by small gasps and Hen’s increasingly stuttered breath.

Bobby spoke first, it was just a hushed whisper, but it might as well have been a gunshot in the silent room “I – I had no idea he was feeling like this. I –“

“Oh come off it, Bobby! you were the worst, you get that right?! You were like a father to him but when it really came down to it, you let him down too!” Bobby, for what it’s worth, looked guilty and maybe if Maddie had had a couple of hours to calm down, she wouldn’t have said what she did, but she was here, and she was angry, and she was going to make sure everyone took responsibility for exactly what they had done to Buck.

“I don’t-“ Hen had taken the letter from Bobby’s limp hands and was reading through it for the third time “There's no way he’d actually do this, right? Okay, sure, we gave him the cold shoulder and that wasn’t right, but running away? It just – I don’t get it.”

“The cold shoulder? You think that’s all it was? Buck’s entire childhood was the cold shoulder. Do you know what it was like for him, growing up with parents that couldn’t even be bothered to look at you, to ask you how your day was? And when he finally thinks he’s found a family that treats him how he deserves? Bam! He's twelve years old again and alone!”

Maddie dropped her head into her hands and didn’t bother trying to break the silence. Buck had said he was fine, every time she texted and asked how he was he always seemed cheery, still using those dumb emojis incorrectly. There should’ve been signs, there had to have been signs and she’s just missed them, wasn’t looking hard enough.

Maddie had exhausted all she needed to say, but still, it felt like something was missing, something in her chest, in her throat, still itching to be known, she looked over at Eddie, the tense line of his shoulders and the shameful arch of his back, for a man so large he seemed to be an expert at making himself look small.

“Do you have anything to say? Mr best friend.” Maddie initial explosive rage was gone, and all she was left with was icy anger that hurt worse.

Eddie started and shrunk even further in on himself. He’d always been a man of few words, she’d seen him, content to let Buck ramble about him day whilst he just sat and listened, Maddie usually found it endearing, it highlighted what a good match they were, but right now? It just irritated her more “He used to talk about you and Christopher all the time, you know? What you thought of his cooking, what Christopher was learning at school, what video games you kicked his ass at. You were his best friend, and he was hurting, he needed you and you left him.”

When it was clear she wasn’t getting a good answer from any of them, she pulled her bag further up her shoulder and stood “I have to leave for work. I'm sure you all have a lot to think about” As she passed Bobby, she moved to take the letter back from him, but he shifted his hand away “Bobby…” she practically growled.

“I know, I know. Can I just – can I give it to Athena? Just in case.”

“In case of what?” Maddie was getting impatient, still holding her hand out for the letter.

“In case he left any clues to where he was going” She huffed out a breath and shook her head.

“You read the same letter as me, he didn’t say a thing about where he was going.”

Bobby opened his mouth to respond but Chim beat him to it “Yeah, but Buck loves all that mystery, super spy stuff! When it comes to Buck it’s not out of the possibility!”

Hen nodded along enthusiastically “I actually found invisible ink in his apartment one time; he said it was for a craft project.”

Seemingly outnumbered and emotionally exhausted, Maddie turned back to Bobby and pointed at him “I want it back the second Athena is done with it, are we clear? The second.”

And with that, she stomped down the stairs, ignoring the curious looks from the rest of the station.

-

Josh was sitting in the break room when she arrived, sipping a coffee, and scrolling through his phone which he put down the second she stormed into the break room. She took a quick look around and realised they were the only ones in there, thank god.

She dropped into the seat opposite him like a puppet with its strings cut.

“What happened?”  Maddie just shook her head; she didn’t even know where to start. Josh was patient, letting her get through the stuttering beginnings of Buck not answering his phone before ending the story at the station, screaming at someone else because she couldn’t scream at herself.

“I just don’t know what to do, Josh, he could be anywhere and he's sad. And I wasn’t there for him.” He grinds the heel of her hands into her eyes, trying to push back the tears.

“Look, Mads, I'm gonna give you some truth here, okay?” Maddie nodded despite the fact that a strong breeze could knock her over right now and when it came to tough love, Josh could be brutal. “Is it really so surprising?”

“Excuse me?” Maddie was immediately ready to jump to her brother’s defence, but Josh just held up a hand.

“Just let me finish, and then you can tear me a new one, okay?” Maddie nodded. “You told me about when he left your parents place and was travelling, right? How long did he actually stay in one place? A couple weeks? A few months if you count the seal training.” Maddie didn’t have anything to say to that, so Josh took it as an invitation to keep talking “Look, what I'm saying, is that Buck doesn’t strike me as someone that stays in one place very long, do you think that maybe this was always going to happen?”

Maddie was shaking her head before he even finished “No. No josh, no way. This is different. Before, he was living out of my jeep, and he was young! He was still finding himself, he’s older now, he’s settled down!”

“Maddie, he has lost everyone that made LA his home, do you think that maybe he’s back out there, looking again?”

“He didn’t lose me!” a tear finally escaped, and she harshly wiped it off her cheek, uncaring of her makeup.

“Maybe that’s the reason you’re the only one who got a letter.”

-

“Eddie where are you going?” he managed to reach the top of the staircase before Bobby spoke up. Eddie had been the first to move from the table after Maddie’s exit and Bobby’s hushed phone call to Athena.

“Where do you think I'm going? I'm gonna find Buck.”

“Eddie…” he didn’t look at Hen, his eyes still locked on Bobby’s. “He has a two day head start; he could be halfway across the world right now.”

“So we’re not going to even try?! He deserves more than that! You read the letter, you heard Maddie, we’re supposed to be his family and we failed him!” Eddie turns to start down the stairs, but Bobby catches his wrist, Eddie pulls it from his grip with a snarl but doesn’t move his feet.

“He left, Eddie. And yeah, it was our fault, but you can't go running after him and drag him back if he doesn’t want to be here.”

“Of course he wants to be here! Its Buck! We forced him away. I just need to find him! If I find him then I can say how god damn sorry I am, and he can come home. He’d do the same for us!”

“He would, I know that.” Bobby’s calm voice just worked to make him angrier, everyone seemed shocked, maybe a little choked up, but Eddie was the only one trying to do something, trying to make up for the damage they had caused. “But going on a wild goose chase isn’t going to help anyone. Athena is looking and will let us know if any leads turn up. For now, as difficult as it may be, we need to keep doing our jobs. It’s what Buck would want.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me about what Buck would want!”

Chapter Text

The sun was sitting heavy on the horizon as the Impala rolled into LA. Dean had put his foot down on the gas and it was barely 6 am by the time they came to a stop a few blocks from the firehouse. Buck had had the whole drive to worry and agonise over what he was going to find in there. The phone call had been nearly three hours ago, and Buck had seen first-hand what a demon could do to a human body in half that time.

Still, Buck had only had two long-term jobs in his life, a hunter, and a firefighter, and he’s become a little bit of an expert at putting his nerves aside and dealing with the task at hand. And that’s exactly what he is going to do.

Dean had tried preying to Castiel and gotten no reply, so Sam had given it a go and even Buck, but no luck, Dean said something about a civil war in heaven that Buck will have to wrap his head around at a later date. But as a result, they were going in blind. They had no idea if the demon was alone or if it had brought backup, it would be stupid not to considering it had been taunting the Winchesters. However, luck isn’t often on their side so as a precaution, they are armed to the teeth. Buck is surprised he doesn’t rattle when he moves.

The Impala, as powerful as she is, is not a quiet car and tends to draw attention wherever she goes, so that’s why they left her a few blocks down. All three of them got out, doing final weapons checks, Buck himself had the demon knife, a pistol on each hip and a shotgun strapped to his back. He had his usual flask of holy water plus a plastic bottle in his jacket pocket. His pendant, rescued from the motel room, was heavy around his neck.

Buck was surprised when he had been given the demon blade, usually, Dean never let it out of his sight, however, when Buck asked, he had pulled out a silver, tripled-edged dagger that Buck would admit he was a little jealous of. Dean called it an angel blade, a gift from Cas so even when he couldn’t be here to help them fight, they wouldn’t be defenceless. It was a beautiful weapon, but Buck thought Dean might smack him upside the head if he suggested a swap.

“Okay,” Dean began, finishing his own weapon pat down “You know the plan. Give us a five minute head-start then head over.”

“What if it takes you longer than five minutes?” Buck hated not having a plan, too many what-if’s, too many things that could go wrong.

“It won't take us longer that five minutes, if it does, we’ve been caught, maybe killed and then you’re screwed either way” That didn’t make Buck feel better and his face showed it. Dean did a little closed-mouth smile and punched him lightly in the shoulder “Chin up, cowboy. You know we’ve faced worse than a couple of lousy demons. Your boyfriend will be fine.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Buck didn’t believe him, not in the slightest, but what else is there to do? If he gave up hope what else would he have left? So he returned Dean’s friendly punch and gave Sam a wave, hoping to look more confident than he felt.

He leaned against the Impala, trying not to think as he slowly counted down five minutes in his head. He knew the 118 station like the back of his hand and the map that he drew for the boys, whilst not a piece of art, it was accurate, and that’s all they really had to go on. This has to work.

Buck has gone over every worst scenario in his head a million times. he walks in there and they’re all dead, reduced to a puddle of mush on the floor, or maybe he didn’t make it that easy, what if he gets there and they’re still alive? But in the worst way possible, tortured out of their minds, Eddie’s hands stained with blood, throwing himself against the inside of his skull but unable to stop himself. Demons are creative, he’s seen the victims first hand and also whilst he was possessed, torture methods, screams, blood, and gristle all flashed through his mind and he knew how to make someone hurt, how to make someone writhe and beg and wish death upon themselves just to get it to stop.

Or what if he’s not there? what if this demon has just sent them on some random goose chase? And he walks in there covered in guns and everyone is fine, Eddie’s body burnt through too fast for it to do anything. Buck shook his head, faintly aware that his breathing was getting shallow. He glanced down to check his watch; two minutes to go, get yourself together.

He pushed off the side of the car and began to pace, shaking out his limbs and doing a little jump to psyche himself up. The car wasn’t parked in a public place, they had pulled into a parking lot behind an abandoned building, Buck had thought of it on the way over, it used to be full of offices, but it had caught on fire, no casualties but they were the third crew on scene and by the time they got there it was more or less a smouldering shell. But it was hidden from the street and the security cameras had all been deactivated, some had been stripped for parts and only left behind wires, like twisting fingers reaching out from the building. Buck shuddered and looked away.

Finally, after what felt like hours, his five minutes were up, and he pulled his jacket on over the shotgun. It wasn’t very inconspicuous, but he didn’t need to get very far, and people tended to mind their own business in big cities.

Buck thought he’d feel nervous, maybe a sense of dread or terror, but instead, he felt a certain level of anticipation, he and this demon had had this coming for quite some time and despite the circumstances, Buck was ready for it to be over, he just had to ensure that he didn’t lose his family in the process. But this demon made one mistake. He thought Buck would be too afraid, too traumatised, too broken to do anything but run the other way, forever haunted by the ghost of Eddie. But to quote Dean Winchester “Nothing fucks with my baby.”

The large door at the front of the station was closed, which was unsurprising. Though it also meant he couldn’t tell where the demon was in the building, he’d just have to walk in and hope for the best. He could really use Cas right about now.

Right next to the large door was a smaller one, the one pedestrians are supposed to use but never really do. It's closed, but upon further inspection, there's no chain, or padlock on the door like he had expected to have to cut his way through, peering at the gap between the door and the wall, a trick Dean had taught him, it didn’t even appear to be locked. So, either this demon is expecting him and is so incredibly arrogant that it didn’t even bother to take precautions, or it expected him to turn tail and run, rather than face it for a third time. Buck will admit that maybe the demon had some right to be cocky, considering Buck’s losing streak against it, but you know what they say, third times the charm.

With a deep, steadying breath, Buck dumped his jacket on the floor and swung the shotgun around, so it was nestled into his side, more easily accessible and kicked the door open.

The place was silent, still, clearly, he had been expected, just not so soon as there had to be about a dozen demons milling around, patrolling in a lazy march which fell to a halt. In the centre of the floor, next to the ladder truck, there were three people all tied to chairs, cloth tied around their mouths to form a makeshift gag. Chim was openly staring at him, Hen was shaking her head frantically at him and Bobby had a cut on his forehead, dripping blood into his eye, but he wasn’t staring at Buck, he was staring at-

Eddie

It was like a punch to the chest. Upon first glance he looked unharmed, though Buck knew not for much longer, these things burn through vessels at a rate of noughts, he wanted to check him fully over, make sure nothing was broken, or missing.

But then the door slammed shut behind him.

And all hell broke loose.

Where the hell is Sam and Dean?

The demons swarmed him, broken out of their trance. Buck panicked for a moment, only a moment because they covered his view of the team and Eddie. And Buck was no longer Buck. He was simply an extension of the demon knife, a tool, a weapon forged for one purpose. And he was going to fulfil it.

He had always heard that love is supposed to make you soft, weak. But as demon blood coated his face and one after another, bodies fell around him with a jerky twitch and a flicker of light, Buck had never felt more brutal.

Whilst trying to keep himself alive he kept half an eye on his team, firing off the shotgun or a pistol when one of them stepped too close for comfort. His aim was spot on, as it always has been, though the shotgun would buck in his hands and echo loud enough to deafen him for a few moments.

He didn’t feel it when one of them landed a lucky shot, his body was in survival mode and adrenaline kept him from feeling anything but a desperate need to clear out this infestation.

He was, however, only one man, trained by the Winchester brothers themselves, sure, but he was still one man. As he pulled the knife out of the neck of one demon and tossed holy water at a second, he was shoved harshly from behind. His face hit the floor with a crack and red and black mixed.

He scrambled, trying to get his feet under him but the floor was coated in blood and his boots slid, struggling to grip the shiny surface. Something grabbed the back of his hair with an iron fist and dragged him backwards to his feet. He latched onto the hand, trying to ease the pressure on his scalp. He silently cursed himself for not taking Dean up on his offer of a haircut.

His back was pulled flush to the chest of a demon, whilst the remaining slowly prowled up to them like tigers stalking their prey, content to play with their meal. There were six bodies littering the floor that they had to step over, and Buck was silently glad he had managed to rid the universe of that many before he gets torn limb from limb. But then he looks at the team.

Hen is openly crying, and Bobby’s bleeding is worse, but he doesn’t seem to care about that as he fights tooth and nail against the rope securing his hands behind his back. Chim is trying to say something through the cloth gag, probably something along the lines of Run, you idiot. Buck has no plans to run but he also has no plans to die today, or at least until his team is free.

He resumes his struggle again, dropping his hands from his hair, uncaring about the pinprick points of pain, just trying to get to one of his weapons without aggravating the demons even more. He spots the demon blade, dropped in his attack, sitting too far away to reach, next to the fire engine. He needs a distraction, just a moment where this grip loosens, and he can slip free. He needs a miracle, he just needs –

“Hey assholes!”

Dean fucking Winchester.

He’s standing on top of the ladder truck, firehose in one hand, angel blade in the other and a wild look on his face. In one practised motion he throws the angel blade in Buck’s direction. His hand flies up on instinct, hand wrapping around the handle inches from his face. He takes the moment of shock to peek dramatically around the blade and send Dean an exasperated look, before gripping the blade tighter and thrusting it blindly behind him where it sunk into flesh with a squelch and spray of black blood.

The demon's grip on him disappears immediately and Buck dives out of the way just in time to avoid getting sprayed by a fire hose. The sound of sizzling and crackling is immediate, as well as the familiar smell of burning flesh, as pungent as it was the first time he smelled it. Dean kept up the spray of holy water to give Buck time to put some distance between him and the pile of demons.

He stooped down to pick up the demon blade on his way, sliding a little in the blood but quickly righting himself just as the hose ran dry. This had been Buck’s issue with the plan, the trucks themselves didn’t carry much water at all, usually when they got to a scene there was a fire hydrant to attach the hose to.

Already he could hear the demons righting themselves and getting to their feet. Dean jumps off the ladder truck and Sam comes around from the back of it, still holding a rosary, and they run towards each other, the team are tied up in between them, Chim is trying to strain his neck to look behind him at the ladder truck, more specifically who is next to the ladder truck.

“Aw man, Evan! I’ve always wanted to do that!” Buck can't help but crack a smile at Dean’s childlike excitement. The boys reach the team first, weapons drawn, and Buck is so close, so close.

And then Eddie is in his way. It's Eddie’s face, his clothes, his body and yet he looks nothing like himself. The way he holds himself, the sneer on his face, his very essence is gone, and Buck knows that he’s in there, somewhere, and he’ll do anything to save him, to see him smile one, last time.

The other demons clambered to their feet, cursing him in a language no human could pronounce. They are closing in on both sides. And Buck doesn’t know where to look. Does he turn his back on Eddie? Prey that the demon won't do something unspeakable to its own vessel just to watch Buck suffer? Or does he turn his back to the hoard, which will undoubtedly kill him?

“Buck!” he snaps his attention back to the people behind Eddie, and for a second, he is struck dumb. Not the best situation, he will admit, but at one glance he can see Dean, Sam, Hen, Bobby, Chim and even Eddie. And he realises that he isn’t alone. For the first time in his life, Buck genuinely believes that he has someone in his corner, and that makes him feel invincible.

He flexes his grip around both the angel and demon blades in his hands and makes eye contact with the brothers. They both send him a small, almost imperceptible nod and that’s his cue. He drops both blades with a deafening clang and shoots forwards towards Eddie. Dean and Sam run past him, sliding to snatch up a blade each and throwing themselves into the fight.

The demon clearly hadn’t been expecting that and Buck hits him like a tonne of bricks. He wraps one hand around the back of Eddie’s head to protect it from the fall, but they still hit the ground with a clatter. Buck, on reflex, reaches for his holy water, straddling the demon to try and control it.

It's only when he is unscrewing the lid on his water bottle that he realises it has gone completely still. The demon isn’t even struggling, just lying underneath him without a care in the world. Buck’s grip on the lid goes slack and for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“What’s wrong, Evan? Or should I say Buck.” The demon is more used to Eddie’s body now, its voice sounds strikingly more like Eddie’s than it did over the phone. “Aren’t you going to use that on me?” it nods to the bottle in his grip “You remember how it felt, don’t you? The way it ate away at your skin like acid. Make me feel that. Burn me, Buck. Make me scream.”

Buck throws the bottle away with a jerky motion and pays no attention to where it rolls to a stop. The demon just snickers at him “Pathetic. You’d rather have me infected by this demon, suffering inside my own mind than do what needs to be done? No wonder none of us liked you.”

“Shut up!”

“Or what, huh?” You gonna burn me? Torture me? Kill me? No. Because you’re too fucking spineless to do the right thing.” Buck shook his head, hoping he could shake the words out of his ears, shake the way Eddie’s voice picks away at every shameful truth. “I didn’t look for you, you know that? It was actually a fucking relief when you left. Finally, I could stop having to entertain this man-child that wouldn’t leave me and my kid the fuck alone.”

“No. No, that’s not true. Maybe not at the end but before – before, we were friends.”

The demon – Eddie – starts laughing, a mocking horrible sound that sprayed Buck’s face with spit. “Don’t kid yourself, Buckley. I was just too nice to tell you the truth, but I couldn’t fucking stand you. Having you around all the time? It was fucking exhausting. Bosko wasn’t just a replacement, she was an upgrade.”

Buck keened through gritted teeth and fought against tears that made Eddie’s smirking face blurry.

Suddenly, something splatters across his back, and he cranes his neck to see the brothers, holding their own against the demons but not for much longer. The demon blood soaking into his hair reminds him of what he came here to do.

The exorcism is still clunky on his tongue, but the words come easily from all the practice on the drive here.  He barely gets through the first line before the body below him tenses, and Buck’s back hits the ground, hard.

Their positions had swapped, and Eddie loomed over him, a too-wide smile looking almost painful on his face.

“Did you really think that was going to work, Buck? Come on, we both knew you’re stupid, but that is just embarrassing.” Buck’s lungs stutter and he tries to draw in a deep breath but all he can get are stuttered gasps. “No… you know what is going to happen now? My men are going to tear your boy’s limb from limb, and when they’re reduced to teeny tiny pieces, I'm going to tear your team limb from limb, not because I'm evil, no, actually it would be a mercy, so they don’t have to keep listening to your bitching and moaning, whilst they pretend to give a shit about your pathetic feelings.”

Buck opens his mouth to protest, but Eddie just clamps a supernaturally strong hand around his mouth to keep it closed. “And then…” he leans in, so close Buck can feel his breath on his ear, standing his hair on end “I'm going to go home and take my time with the little kid, hours, maybe even days I can keep him alive, and I’ll make sure he knows it’s all your fault his daddy is hurting him.”

A cold dread washes over Buck like ice and he writhes under the pressure, but despite all his strength, it’s like fighting against an ocean current, no matter how hard you kick, it will just keep pulling you down. The hand over his mouth finally leaves and his words are punched out between gasps of air, breathy and desperate. ”Eddie – Eddie I promise I won't let that – it’s gonna be fine – Eddie – please – I promise –“

The punch across the jaw is unexpected, it whips his head to the side and the hearing in his left ear goes out, but he hears Eddie’s voice fine when he spits out “You’re promises are just like you. Worthless.”

The next punch that lands fills his mouth with blood. He doesn’t have the chance to spit it out before the next one. And the next one. And the next one. He can't even breathe under the constant barrage of violence. And there's nothing he can do to get him off. Nothing that would be painless, nothing that wouldn’t leave Eddie with a permanent reminder of what has been done to him. He lifts his hands in a pathetic attempt to protect his face, but they are swatted to the side easily. His nose breaks with a crack at one point and his eye stings with blood, yet Eddie still doesn’t let up.

Buck thinks that maybe, this is what love is. To disobey every survival instinct, every flight response, every primal fear instilled in him through generations of evolution just so he doesn’t have to cause Eddie an ounce of pain. The thing is, when Buck pictures himself, he is always leaving. He couldn’t draw his own face if god asked him to. But right now, lying on the cold concrete floor, blood pooling in his mouth, his life in rubble around him, Buck decides to stay.

The punches stop. For a second Buck thinks he’s dead. But no, because his head is still throbbing and when he tries to move his arms only his fingers twitch. He cracks his eyes open, though he doesn’t remember closing them and finds that one is stubbornly swollen shut.

Above him, is still Eddie, haloed by an unnaturally bright light. His bloody fist is pulled back and his teeth are bared in a snarl. But he’s crying. Fat teardrops are rolling down his cheeks and despite everything, despite the aching pain radiating through his own body, through his soul, Buck wants nothing more than to reach up and wipe those tears away.

“Eddie –“ his voice cracks and he chokes for a second. He thinks he’s missing a few teeth, but still, he powers on, gritting the words out through pure will “Eddie, this isn’t your fault. You gotta –“ Another painful cough “You gotta know that. Its okay. It’s all gonna be okay. I love you” Black starts to creep in the corner of his eyes, tunnelling his vision until all he can see is Eddie “I love you so much.”

The light behind Eddie gets brighter and brighter and Buck wonders if this is the light. The final light. He wonders if he will get into heaven. Wonders if he deserves it. he knows that wherever he ends up, as long as Eddie is there, it's where he's meant to be.

But then the light fades. Eddie still has his hand raised above him and he would remind Buck of a statue if he wasn’t trembling.

And then a hand lands on Eddie's head.

And the light is back.

And Eddie is back.

Eddie. Really Eddie. Falls forward like a puppet with its strings cut, completely boneless, onto Buck’s chest where he buries his face into his neck with a sob. Filling the space in front of Buck was Castiel. Better late than never is what Buck wants to say but the words get lost on a clumsy, swollen tongue and he can't even bring his face to give him a grateful smile.

Cas approaches them both and slowly crouches down. He places two fingers on Buck’s forehead and suddenly the pain was gone. It happened so suddenly his head swam like his brain couldn’t quite process it. but Buck could move his arms again, and Eddie was still lying on top of him, clinging to him like a baby koala Buck didn’t waste a second in bringing one arm around Eddie's waist, and the other to the back on his head, cradling it,

They squeezed each other tighter and tighter, like if they tried hard enough, they could become one person, safely protected in each other’s chests.

And Buck stayed like that. Holding his world in his arms and filtering out every sound that wasn’t Eddie’s soft sobs and hiccups. He didn’t try to console him, no one had the words to make this kind of thing okay so he just held him and squeezed him tight until he couldn’t tell where he ended, and Eddie began.

“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop it.” It was the first words muttered in what felt like hours. They buzzed against Buck’s skin and settled in with a kind of warmth that reached his bones. Even tear-soaked and broken, Eddie's voice sounded more like his own than that demon ever had.

Buck shushed him softly and ran a hand through his hair “It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault.”

Eddie shook his head in response, which was a hard feat considering it was still tucked under Buck’s jaw “no, its not okay. The things I did. the team –“ Eddie’s head whipped up so fast Buck’s reflexes were the only thing that stopped him from getting hit on the chin “The team, oh my god, where –“

Buck twisted his head to the side and looked over to the team. Bobby was still sitting in his chair, though the blood and head wound were gone, courtesy of Cas, probably. The rest of the team were huddled around the back of his chair, looking skittish but unharmed, staring at Dean and Sam, who were covered head to toe in demon blood, it looked like they’d been dipped in it.

It felt strange, seeing the two halves of his life stuck together in a room like this. He had always fought to keep his past hidden from the team, and now everything was on display, for everyone to see. his past, present and every possible future laid bare for everyone to point and judge.

Buck didn’t have time to panic before Chim looked over and caught his eye “Oh no, don’t rush. You two have your moment. We’ll just hang out with…” Chim waved his hand in the direction of the dripping Winchesters and Cas, who had now joined them “These guys.”

Chapter Text

Buck didn’t know what to say, I mean how the fuck do you even begin explaining this?

It had taken a few minutes to untangle Eddie from him. Every movement Eddie made seemed like it took a gargantuan effort and Buck wondered when the last time he slept or ate was. Demons weren’t considerate like that, though Cas had healed the physical damage left over, there was no simple, quick fix for exhaustion.

Everyone was waiting for an explanation, that much was obvious, but they had bigger matters to attend to right now Like the pile of bodies staining the floor and Eddie’s hundred-mile stare.

“Right. Okay.” Buck climbed to his feet. He kept bracing, waiting for something to hurt, for bone to crunch and blood to start flowing, but nothing happened, he just got up steadily and pulled Eddie with him “can you guys – “ he cleared his throat. Buck had never felt so alien, so out of place in the station before, but looking at everyone in their uniform, and down at himself in stained jeans, he felt like he was somewhere he shouldn’t be. “Can you guys take Eddie up the stairs, and we’ll sort all of” He waved his hand at the bodies “This.”

The team, still at a loss and oddly quiet, shuffled up the stairs with an exhausted Eddie in tow. Buck didn’t need to stay; Cas would handle the mess with a snap of his fingers, but Buck needed a second. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, there was so much swirling around in his head. How was he going to explain all of this to the team? How was Eddie going to handle it? is this the only attack?

And most importantly; Would he be allowed to stay? After all, he’d brought pain and tragedy right to their doorstep, this demon was after him, he put his family in the line of fire. And he didn’t even warn them, he could’ve told them about the supernatural years ago. But he didn’t. He kept his bloodied hands tucked deep into his pockets and plastered on an innocent smile that kept all his violence behind his teeth. And it was all for nothing because like everything in Buck’s life, it all crumbled down around his ears and now he has to wait for the dust to settle before he can assess the damage.

Dean clapping him on the shoulder drew him out of his head “Do you want us to do the whole supernatural is real your lives are changed forever speech?” Despite the sarcastic finger quotes, Dean’s offer seemed sincere, and Buck was half tempted to take it. but he knew that would be the cowards way out, running from his problems yet again. So, he took in a deep breath, shook his head, and squared his shoulders.

“Thanks, but no thanks. This has got to come from me” Dean patted him on the back and Sam gave him an encouraging nod and smile.

That was the thing about the Winchesters, and Cas as well now, they were a steady constant in his life, even when they hadn’t spoken in months or years, he knew that all he had to do was pick up the phone and he wouldn’t be alone. He had relied so heavily on them when he was young, once he joined the 118 that was supposed to change, his circle had grown, and he had more people to rely on.

Until he didn’t. It was his own fault, of course, his desperation to claw his way back to the station had torn it all up in the process, taken something fractured and shattered it.

You’re exhausting.

It was actually a fucking relief when you left.

Buck shook his head. It was the demon talking. The demon that had access to every single one of Eddie's thoughts, feelings, and memories. Maybe it was just getting some stuff off of Eddie's chest for him.

Only the three sets of footsteps behind him gave Buck the strength to keep walking.

The team sat around the dining table. Bobby had a hand rubbing slow circles on Eddie's back, who had his elbows resting on the table and his head in his hands. Hen and Chim were whispering frantically to each other, but they came to an abrupt stop when Buck sat down in the furthest away seat from the rest of them.

Dean and Sam didn’t sit, instead leaning again the railing behind him, arms crossed, features schooled.  Cas stood stoically beside them; posture perfect. He couldn’t help but feel like there was an invisible line cut between them all, he didn’t want this to be an us versus them situation. He didn’t want to have to choose a side. He wanted to fix this and when Buck opened his mouth, he hoped it was his first tentative step in the direction of just that.

“So… that was a demon.”

Buck tried to keep his story brief, only covering the main supernatural creatures that affected them. They didn’t need to know about wendigos or wraiths, they just needed an explanation. He also didn’t reveal a lot of his own story, only how he met the brothers and hunted with them for a while. Bobby and Eddie were silent, Buck wasn’t sure Eddie was actually listening. But Hen and Chim fired questions at him so often that he had to tell them to hold all their questions until the end of his little story. He kept it clinical, and unemotional, hid his scars and fears behind fun facts and scientific explanations.

He ended his explanation with a flourish, an unsuccessful attempt at lightening the mood. He was met with a heavy silence which Chim broke “so let me get this straight. Monsters are real” Dean and Sam nodded “and so are demons” Another nod “And he's an angel” Chim pointed at Castiel “And you guys hunt them for like what? Fun?”

“We’re saving lives” Dean speaks up “It’s the family business.”

“Okay…” Chim looks like he’s battling between making a joke or asking a serious question, so Hen takes the opportunity to butt in with her questions.

“Okay, family love. Great. But five minutes ago your face looked like a smashed papaya” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Eddie flinch – so he is listening – if Hen noticed she didn’t acknowledge it “What did he do?” she pointed at Cas without looking away from Buck. He opened his mouth to answer but apparently, she wasn’t done “and, what was with the lightshow? And he grabbed Eddie’s head? And he was back to himself?”

Buck ran a hand down his face. He’d been drunk for four days straight when someone explained this to him and at the time he couldn’t have cared less, so how was he supposed to stand in front of his family and explain an absent god and a civil war of heavenly proportions?

“I am an angel of the lord” Ah. Guess he didn’t have to. All eyes went to Castiel, wide and full of cautious reverence. Buck took the time to study Bobby. He already had faith, does that mean he’s going to take this better or worse than everyone else? Is he going to have to stop him from worshipping Cas? Or is this going to destroy his faith? His lifeline?

Buck has ruined their lives. With Castiel’s droning voice in the background and the sight of Eddie’s shaking shoulders, it’s like a bucket of ice is dumped over him. He knows what this knowledge is, it’s a life sentence. Once you know, once your eyes are opened to what is really out there, you can never close that door. Hunting had been his salvation, yes, but Hen, Chim, Bobby and Eddie, all had happy lives, fulfilling lives, and here comes Buck, charging in like a bull in a China shop, pulling the rug from underneath them.

“I’m so sorry.” The apology bursts from him, wet and ragged at the edges. Buck doesn’t even know who he interrupted. “This is all my fault. I’m the reason these things showed up. I put you guys in danger. It’s my fault and I – “ Buck didn’t know what to say. I never should’ve come back? I never should’ve left in the first place? I never should’ve chased after this pathetic dream of a normal life when clearly hunting has put a target on my back? He doesn’t have to find the right words, though, because suddenly he’s wrapped in someone’s arms.

Bobby’s grip was strong, fatherly, and Buck just melted into it. he couldn’t remember the last time Bobby hugged him, and he couldn’t believe he had gone without one for so long. He clings to the back of Bobby’s uniform and buries his face into his shoulder. He tries to stutter wet apologies, but Bobby just shushes him and rocks them in place gently.

“God” Buck pushes himself away from Bobby and harshly wipes at the tear tracks on his cheeks “Sorry, I – I don’t know where that came from.”  He turns away from the team, just staring at the wall, taking measured breaths, and trying to hold himself together. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, all his hurt and loneliness was rising back to the surface, all made worse by the fact that Eddie wouldn’t fucking look at him. He almost missed his side-eye glances and withering glares because at least he was paying him some attention, but now, he hadn’t lifted his eyes from the table. Buck didn’t know what to do, there were so many things he could say wrong and only one he could say right.

“Okay,” Buck turned back to his team but avoided looking straight at them, and focused on the wall above their heads. “Again, I'm so sorry –“

“Buck-“ Bobby tried to reach out to him, but Buck raised his hand, shuffling out of reach.

“Please, just let me finish.” Buck cleared his throat “I know this is a lot. And I know I’ve just kind of dumped this on you. But they’re all dead now, you know what they were and why them came after you so I don’t see what more I can do here.” Buck began towards the stairs. “I’m not going to force myself on you guys, not again, but you have my number for questions or if you need help.”

Buck didn’t run to the stairs, but it was a close thing. Hen and Chim’s seats made a scrapping noise as they stood up, and Bobby reached out to stop him, but ultimately it was Eddie’s hand around his wrist that brought him to a grinding halt. Buck hadn’t even noticed him get up.

“Don’t go” his eyes were glossy, red-rimmed and full of a wild fear that Buck knew intimately. The fear that it would happen again, the fear that it wasn’t over, that your body is no longer your own and your bones are forever attached to puppet strings. And yet, Eddie, his incredible, brave Eddie, was touching him, was asking him for something in front of everyone, laying himself bare, and for what? For Buck? It didn’t make sense, but these things rarely did. “Please, don’t go.”

And at the end of the day, Buck could never say no to Eddie.

“Okay”

Chapter Text

It was… awkward. Bobby had offered to cook them something and then turned to the stove before anyone could object. After some silent pleading from Buck, Sam, Dean and Cas had taken a seat. Chim looked at them with a mixture of fear and awe whilst Hen was focused on Castiel like he held the secrets of the universe; maybe he did.

Buck tried to subtly shuffle his chair closer to Eddie’s. But the metal legs made an obnoxious squeaking noise, so it wasn’t so subtle. Regardless, Eddie's ankle hooked around Buck’s, and even through the layers of clothing, the touch burned. It branded itself on his skin and on his soul like every single one of Eddie’s touches, smiles, frowns, and words did. He basked in the burn, keeping his foot still so he could savour the touch for as long as possible.

“Sooo…” Chim broke the silence and interrupted Buck’s touch-starved spiral. “You guys’ hunt monsters.”

“Chim.” Buck threw his head back “We’ve been through this.”

“Oh no we haven’t, we haven’t even scratched the surface.”

Hen nodded along with him.“Exactly, I have so many questions.”

“Me first!” Chim rested his elbows on the table.  “To be a monster hunter, is it a requirement to be insanely good looking, or just a bonus.”

Buck couldn’t help but smile, Dean started chucking, sitting up straighter, chest puffed out. Sam ducked his head, ears going red, but Buck could still see the bashful smile on his face.

“Na, it’s not a requirement,” Dean started with a smile “Majority of the hunters we know would be out of the game if it was.”

“Hey!” Buck tried his best to look angry, but it was undermined by the smile he was fighting “Be nice to your fellow colleagues!”

“Oh, like how these guys were nice to you?”

And just like that the mood immediately sobered. Eddie snatched his ankle back and Bobby dropped a plate. Sam harshly nudged Dean who went on the defensive, shrugging like he didn’t have the worst possible timing.

“Dean.” Buck hissed across the table.

“What, so were we just not going to talk about it?” Buck wants to throw something at him, wants to grab Eddie and be warmed by more than just his ankle, he wants to leave like he never came back. He wants to come back like he never left.

Dean is just doing his usual protective big brother thing. After all, he was the one who sat with Buck to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit in his sleep, who chased his one-night stands out of his room and made sure he ate something before starting in at the booze again. The brothers had seen him at his lowest, had seen first-hand the damage that had been done. He supposed it was too much to expect them to sit back and welcome the station with open arms.

“Dean-“

“No, he’s right.” Eddie's voice was like a gunshot, steady for the first time like he was standing on solid ground again after days of uncertainty. “We read your letter, Buck, and I can't tell you how sorry I am.”

Hen and Chimney nodded, murmuring agreements as Bobby placed down a dish full of his famous mac and cheese in the centre of the table, but no one moved, just stared at him.

Bobby cleared his throat and took a seat. “I’m supposed to be the captain of this team Buck, and I let you down. I was so desperate to make sure you were safe and then so angry about how it backfired that I didn’t even see how far away I had pushed you.”

Buck nodded, scared that if he tried to speak his voice would crack. He turned his head to the side, willing away the pressure behind his eyes and the tightness in his throat. He didn’t know how to feel. They’d apologised, he could come back, and move on with a safe, stable life. But sitting here, next to Dean, Sam, and Cas, he felt different. The Buck that came back is not the same one that left. He’d spent years in this fire station, surrounded by good food and kind people, and he almost felt like he could leave hunting behind.

And then he threw himself back in. And every bloody kill and ruthless trigger pull came flying back like it had never left. He could no longer pretend that the callouses on his hands were just from firefighting. These past few days had left him strung out, nerves fried from the anxiety, but he also knew that he could be dropped into a vampire’s nest right now and walk out without a scratch.

He always separated his life into hunting and firefighting, but the reality is life is never that clear cut, as he could try and keep these two halves of his apart but it would never work, they bleed into each other and the line becomes muddled, proved by the protection sigils in his home and the tattoo on his chest.

“Well!” Dean clapped his hands together, doing his best to break the tense silence that had settled over the table. “I don’t know about you guys but I can't remember the last time we ate, so-“ and with that the grabbed a serving spoon and dug in, followed closely by Sam. Now that Buck’s stomach wasn’t tied in knots for the first time in days, he realised how hungry he was and how good Bobby’s food smelled.

He reached out for the spoon but stopped at the last second and dropped his hand. When was the last time he had eaten Bobby’s food? Before the fire truck? Certainly not after the lawsuit, where he had been effectively banished from mealtimes or suffer under death glares the entire time. Uncertainty locked up his arm. Was he allowed? No one had offered and they were all tucking into their plates by now. They apologised, but that didn’t mean he was welcome back.

He was snapped out of his thoughts as a plate, with a generous helping and then some of macaroni landed in front of him. He turned to Eddie who was levelling him with a look he usually directed at Chris, it meant eat your dinner. Buck didn’t have to be told twice.

He kept half an eye on Eddie the whole time, who ate ravenously. Demons didn’t usually remember to feed their vessels and with a pang of guilt wondered how many days he had gone.

They ate in relative silence, broken by someone asking a question about the supernatural and when Cas got up to excuse himself, citing heavenly business needed attention. Bobby got up to shake his hand and thank him, still looking a little starstruck but holding it together.

The food warmed a cold part of him and looking around at every person who mattered to him, eating comforting food around the same table, made something hurt and angry, finally settle in his chest. He knows it can't last. Sam and Dean would get back into the impala and his team will stay here and Buck will have to make a decision. Still, it feels like a bridge has been built.

“Man,” Dean stretched his arms over his head with a groan “I’m beat, me and Sammy are gonna find a motel, you coming, Evan?” Eddie's foot catches his so quickly he’s sure he’s going to have a bruise on his shin in the morning. He’s delighted.

“Tell you what, why don’t you guys crash at my place? Its free.”

“Sure.” Dean shrugs.

“Thanks, Evan.” Sam smiles. And turns to Bobby to thank him for the food, always the sibling with manners. Whilst he’s doing that, he asks Eddie for his spare key, since his set of keys could be anywhere, probably at Maddie’s – Who I definitely need to call -  Eddie's hands shake as he works the key off of the loop, but he gets there and tosses the key to Dean who catches it with one hand.

“Catch you later, swetheart.” Dean smacks his ass on the way out because he’s a prick.

Hen wolf whistles and Buck just glares at her, suddenly getting a sense of déjà vu, from before everything, back when it was just them and everything is okay, and the desperate, childlike longing in his chest forces him to look away. His gaze, as it always seems to, lands on Eddie, who’s falling asleep still sitting up.

“C’mon, let’s get you home.” He places a hand on Eddie's shoulder to get his attention who absentmindedly leans into the touch. He stands like his bones weigh too much and Buck hooks an arm under his elbow to help him up. Eddie’s eyes clear of their fog and he glances at Buck, then immediately finches out of his hold. He doesn’t let his hurt show on his face, holds down every bad thought and salty tear with a desperate iron grip and lets Bobby take his place and lead Eddie down the stairs towards the jeep.

His jeep was parked in its usual space, with an empty one next to where Buck’s used to sit.

The keys are tossed to him as Eddie climbs into the passenger seat.

“You sure you’re okay with me driving you home, Eds?” He didn’t acknowledge the flinch with words, but he saw it on Eddie’s face when he tried to give him a reassuring smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

The drive was silent, Eddie just stared out of the window the whole time, watching the world go by. Buck thought about speaking, but the words were stuck in his throat and his tongue was clumsy at the end of the day, there were no words that could fix this, no cliche platitudes that could scrub the memories from his head or the blood from under his fingernails. So Buck kept his jaw clenched and focused on the one thing he could do which was get Eddie home safely.

Eddie’s house was familiar, it was comforting, and it was where he ran to when things got too much, but now, pulling into the drive, all Buck could feel was dread that tied his stomach in knots.

He didn’t know what Eddie wanted, what he needed. God Buck used to be able to read him like a book, and now he’s stuck here, feeling like he’s back at square one.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna tell Chris.” Eddie curled into himself as he quietly spoke, he said it like a shameful admission like he had any control over what happened to him, and Buck’s heart broke into even smaller pieces.

“Once I got the phone call,” Eddie winced but Buck kept going “I called your abuela to pick him up, so you have some time to think.” Eddie jerkily nodded, still avoiding his eyes “Plus…” Buck started uneasily, scared that this was pushing too far “I can hang around, whatever story you decide on I’ll have your back.”

Eddie didn’t answer, just opened the door, and climbed out. Buck scrambled after him, still unsure if he was welcome or not. Eddie had been giving him mixed signals the whole time, silently clinging to him but flinching away from him at the same time. It was hurtful and confusing, but regardless, he hadn’t been there for Eddie for a long time, he’d run off for months, cradling his battered and bruised heart instead of standing up for himself. Well, he wasn’t going to leave like that again, not unless Eddie said the exact words to send him away.

Eddie didn’t close the door behind him, which Buck took as a good sign. Eddie wandered to the living room and Buck followed him, Eddie was so quiet, it felt like the calm before the storm and even breathing too loud would set something off.

He just stood in the doorway and stared at the couch, shoulders bunched up to his ears, fists clenching and unclenching. Buck knew how he felt, to walk into a room after your life has imploded and for everything to be exactly as it was, Buck felt like that in the first motel room he walked into after he called Dean. He was angry at the cream walls and the floral comforter and the stained carpet and being so… normal, didn’t they know what he had just lost? What has just fallen apart? How could they just stand there, indifferent to his pain?

They stood there, Eddie staring at the couch and Buck staring at Eddie until Buck couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Eddie –“

“How can you even stand to be in the same room as me?” Eddie didn’t turn around, but his question was like a punch to the gut. Buck opened and closed his mouth a few times, lost for words.

“What are you-“

“I felt your nose break.”

“Eddie-“

“No!” Eddie spun on his heel, fat teardrops dripped down his cheeks­ and his teeth were clenched in a pained snarl. “How the fuck can you just stand there? asking me if I'm okay, making sure I'm not about to fly off the handle when your blood is still under my fingernails?!” Eddie harshly wiped his hands down his shirt, trying to wipe off stains that would never go away.

“It wasn’t you, Eddie.”

“No?! Well, it sure as hell felt like it! Eddie begins to pace, three even steps before turning on heel. His hands grab his hair, pulling it harshly. “I hit you so hard I broke my hand! And then – and then I finally get one bit of control back, a sliver, and you just lie there! you don’t fight, you just tell me it’s okay! It’s not my fault and then –“ Eddie's body falls still; his hands drop to his side, and he turns to look Buck in the eyes and Buck feels a shiver run down his spine. “And then… you told me you loved me.”

Buck had to fight to keep eye contact, though he felt heat crawling up the back of his neck “I’m-“

“Did you mean it?” Eddie stepped closer to him, and Buck mirrored it, being pulled in like gravity.

“Of course I meant it.”

“Thank god.” Eddie closed the remaining space between them in two long strides and then they were kissing.

Eddie’s lips were chapped and rough and it was perfect, he was perfect. His calloused hands cradled his face like he was something precious. Buck’s hands fall to his waist, pulling him closer, desperate for every inch of contact. Their kiss was languid and unhurried, taking the time to explore one another.

And just as quickly as it started, it was over.

Eddie didn’t go far, dropping his hands to Buck’s shoulders and taking a step back. But every step felt like a mile and every part of his body felt cold with the loss of contact.

“Eddie…” Buck didn’t know what to say, how to end that sentence, maybe he just wanted to feel Eddie’s name on his lips, muttering it like a prayer, like Eddie alone could save him.

“What if it happens again?” Eddie’s voice is small and broken and Buck is ripped back to reality where he is a fuck up and Eddie is just looking for comfort and – you’re exhausting – Buck drops his hands, they feel useless by his side and already his fingers twitch to hold Eddie again, but he resists, he controls himself.

“What if –“ Buck’s voice breaks, cracking open to reveal his mess of emotions underneath and he looks away, clearing his throat “What if what happens again?”  

“The smoke – the de- the thing-“ Eddie's breath came faster, short, sharp. Eyes dropping to the floor and hands tightening on his shoulders he thought they would bruise.

Buck could see the panic and confusion coming from a mile away, he’d seen it in the mirror enough times. “Hey, no. it’s –“ Fine. Buck was about to say it's fine. But it’s not. And it never will be. This is not something someone works through and forgets about. It’s something you learn to live with, like the pain in his leg that has never really faded. Buck gropes around for some action, some words that could translate how fucking sorry he was, how he never wanted to risk his team with this knowledge and that if he could go back and take Eddie's place, he would, in a heartbeat.

Instead, Buck steps out of Eddie’s grip, not far, just so his hands would fall. And Buck slips his pendant off from over his head and before he can hesitate, slips it over Eddie’s head.

Eddie freezes, a second reprieve from the storm inside his head “Buck – what?”

“It will protect you. I promise. It’s made of iron and –“ he picks it up and grazes his fingers over the runes “These will keep them away. This won't happen again.”

“Buck… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take this off.” Eddie is right, all this time out of the hunting game and he still wore it. Eddie can't know the significance of giving him this, there's no way he could. But, sliding this protection over his head, he might as well have slipped a ring around his finger.  “What about you?”

The question takes Buck off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You said its for protection.” Eddie looks up from the pendant and Buck sucks a breath in at how close they are “What’s going to protect you?”

Buck doesn’t answer for a second, too focused on staring at Eddie's lips to process the question. ”Em… right – Uh. Remember this?” He pulls his t-shirt down to show off his protection sigil. Eddie grazes a hand over it and raises goosebumps in his wake. Buck sucks in a sharp breath and Eddie snatches his hand away like he’d been burnt.

“Sorry. You probably don’t want me- ya know.” Eddie gestures at the tattoo and steps away. Buck can practically hear Eddie’s walls going up and he panics, floundering, trying to find the right words to draw him back out.

Buck follows him, matching him step for step until Eddie’s knees hit the arm of the couch. Buck didn’t want to crowd him, but god, did he want to touch him, did he want to kiss him, taste him again. Instead, Buck tentatively took Eddie’s hand and brought it up to rest over his tattoo through his t-shirt. He cradled Eddie’s hand there, uncaring if he could feel Buck’s rabbiting heartrate.

“I’m not scared of you, Ed’s.”

“How?” Eddie’s voice cracked viciously down the middle.

“Because I love you.”

Chapter Text

Like a puppet with its strings cut, Eddie sagged into Buck’s arms, unleashing ugly sobs that rattled his chest. Buck just held him, rubbing a hand up and down his back as he dug his face further and further into Buck’s neck like he could hide away in there forever.

Buck didn’t know how long they stood there. Buck would’ve held Eddie for a lifetime if he could.

Eddie peeled himself from Buck’s arms but didn’t go far. “So-“

“Don’t you dare apologise, Diaz.”

Eddie smiled, it was tired, but it was there, and it seemed to lift some of the grief from his shoulders, at least for a second.

“I’m gonna head to bed.” Buck nodded, and stepped back, giving Eddie room to squeeze past him to the bedroom. Buck suddenly found himself at a loss for what to do. He wasn’t leaving, that’s for sure. He knew that the nightmares were about to be atrocious, and he wouldn’t leave Eddie alone to face them. However, standing in a house that he used to think of as home, but now he felt like a stranger in made his skin crawl. He was too afraid to touch anything, lest he stain it.

“Buck?” Eddie popped his head out of his bedroom door. “do you wanna- I mean – I know it's early but if you wanted to…” Buck tripped over his tongue a couple of times before giving up on speaking entirely, nodding stiffly and stumbling down the hall like a clumsy puppy.

Eddie had already changed into a pair of pyjama bottoms, though his chest was bare, save for the pendant sitting on his sternum. Buck’s hand drifted towards the necklace without thinking, ghosting fingers over something that protected him for so long and now it would protect what he held most dear.

Eddie tossed him a pair of sweatpants. The dance felt so familiar, yet so foreign it made Buck’s skin feel too tight. He struggled to swallow as he got dressed, unsure how to navigate the situation, unsure what Eddie wanted, what he was ready for. Was he going to wake up in the morning and realise that there was too much baggage? That Buck had put him and Chris in harm’s way? Was he going to wake up and realise he could never forgive Buck for what he had done?

“Buck?” Buck looked up and realised Eddie was looking at him with that concerned expression. He opened his mouth but all that came out was a stuttering breath as his eye landed on Buck’s chest

“Eddie… you’ve seen the scars before.”

“Yeah, I know… but” Eddie’s fingers glanced down his sternum and Buck forgot how to breathe. “I guess now I know how you got them.” Eddie gazes into the middle distance over Buck’s shoulder, fingertips still ghosting over the wendigo scars “How long have you been doing this?”

“I – um” Buck has to clear his throat to stop it from breaking. “I ran away at eighteen, so I guess since I was nineteen.”

“God you were so young.” Eddie's fingers move to the tattoo on his peck. Buck shrugged his shoulders lightly, careful to not dislodge Eddie's gentle touch. He was young, huh? At the time he felt so mature but looking back? He was just a kid with his sister’s jeep.

“You told me not to ask” Eddie's hand moves to the cross on his collar bone “Back then. You said you would have to lie. You were always protecting us from this side of you.”

Something in Buck snaps at that and his voice is thick and breaks in several places when he gasps out “I never wanted you involved in this. I never wanted you to get hurt – Eddie – I” The sob burst out of him with such force it hurt. Eddie pulled him into his chest. Despite being an inch taller, Eddie could always make Buck feel small, like something delicate to be protected “I’m so fucking sorry, Eds” Eddie just shushed him, running his hands through his hair.

“I like this.” Buck sniffed and hiccupped and looked up at Eddie. “Your hair. I always loved when it would get wet so I could see it curl. Felt like seeing a younger version of you.”

Buck hummed and ran his own hands through it “I’ve been meaning to get it cut” he sniffs, silently thanking Eddie for the distraction “Just been a bit preoccupied”

“Don’t you dare get it cut.” Eddie's voice leaves little room for argument and Buck nearly laughs for the first time in a long time. “I love it. and I love you by the way” Buck smiles so wide it hurts his cheeks. Eddie leads them to the bed and Buck once again is in awe of how calm Eddie is, how he is handling this so well. They climb under the comforter together, and despite it being a double bed, they are pressed together side by side from ankle to shoulder. Buck leans his head on Eddie's shoulder as they try to relax against the headboard. “Will you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Everything.” Buck lifts his head, shifting onto his side to look up at Eddie. He knows him, like the back of his hand, knows the stubborn set of his jaw and the determined glint in his eye and Buck knows if he doesn’t tell him he will find out himself. So with a huff, he climbs out of bed, grabs his journal from his bag and opens it to the first page.

They go through it together, unveiling monster after monster. Eddie's gaze would drift to the corresponding scars on Buck with a look of devastation, but he didn’t interrupt. With every new beast, Buck also went into detail on how to defeat it, small tricks and tips, where he stored the correct weapons, how to cast the spells and collect the ingredients.

He and Eddie both knew what he was doing in too many words. He was saying I can protect us. This will never happen again. Please don’t worry. Please stay

Buck's throat was dry by the time he finished flicking through the thick pages. Eddie sat in silence, trying to digest it and Buck just stared at Eddie. He loved staring at Eddie. The slope of his nose, the furrow in his brow, his strong jaw. Not for the first time he compares Eddie to a Greek god in his mind.

“You know you’re gonna have to go over all of this again with the team?”

Buck snorts. “Bobby wouldn’t let me have my job back before, you think what happened will make him change his mind?

“Buck…”

“Everyone pushed me away Eddie. And I know why. I know I was stupid. But you guys are my family and –“

“- we’re always gonna be family Buck, but you were the one that left.”

“No.” Buck shook his head “You don’t understand. You have Chris and Carla and your Abuela and your whole family. My whole family is the 118. And no one- no one would look at me, Eddie. And I didn’t know how to fix it. I just wanted my home back” Buck was gasping for breath “I felt so alone and scared, and I thought no one would care so I called Dean, and I ran.” He blew out a breath of air “the one thing the Buckley’s are good at.”

Eddie placed a lingering kiss on his hairline ”I cared. Everyone cared. I’d never seen Bobby like that. I'm so sorry we made you feel like that, carino. I’ll spend as long as you’ll let me make it up to you.”

“Well, I got you possessed by a demon, so we can just call it even.”

Eddie nuzzled his hair “Not even close.”

-

3 months later

“We brought pie!”

“Dean?!”

“Hey Evan.” Dean smiled, him and Sam strolled through Athena’s patio door.

“What are you doing here?”

“Bobby invited us.” He smiled and nodded his head towards Bobby who was cooking burgers on the grill. “You think we’d miss your big ‘back to work’ bash?” Dean put the pie down just in time for Buck to pull them both into a hug.

“I missed you guys.”

Sam smiled and patted him on the back “It's good to see you, Evan.”

Dean pulled away “okay, guys, no chick flick moments.”

“I can't believe you guys drove all the way here.”

Dean shrugged “eh, we had a hunt in the neighbourhood.”

Sam leaned in conspiratorially “We didn’t.”

Dean glared at him “We wanted to make sure there wasn’t years between calls this time, ya know?”

Buck was already nodding. “Yeah, I’d like that. You know you guys are welcome anytime.”

Sam nodded “and you’re welcome to the bunker anytime. Though we might need warning so Dean and Cas will keep it down.” Dean punched Sam in the arm, a scandalised look on his face.

“Bitch”

“Jerk.”

Buck smirked “So you and Cas, huh?”

Dean threw his arms in the air. “I have been here less than five minutes and you two are already being assholes." he huffs before stomping over to see what Bobby was cooking on the grill.

Sam grinned, before his gaze caught something over Buck’s shoulder “I’ll give you all the details later.” Before wandering over to catch Athena in conversation.

 Eddie came up behind him, resting his head on his shoulder and his arms around his waist. Buck leaned back, sighing as he watched the 118 so readily accept his other family.

“You know, I never thought I would get this.”

Eddie hummed in his ear, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

“Ya know, seeing everyone together like this. Sam and Dean were always a dirty little secret. Seeing them here, having you… everything is going to be okay, isn’t it?”

Eddie squeezed him a little tighter. “Yeah, it is.”

Dean looked over and winked at him. He did it to get under Eddie's skin and it worked every time. Eddie grumbled in his ear “As long as he learns to keep his hands to himself.”

Buck had to laugh. He liked Eddie's jealous streak and teased him about it. Eddie would always respond that it wasn’t jealousy when Buck was his, he was territorial.

“Easy, cowboy. You don’t have anything to worry about.”