Archive of Our Own

9:00 PM

“Look, there’s a motel up ahead, let’s just stop for the night,” Buck says with a tired sigh, pointing up ahead at a glowing, blue sign. Motel. Very to the point, no frills. There’s a vacancy light blowing in the breeze beneath it. It’s not ideal by any means, but it’s the first thing they’ve seen for miles and miles on this road.

It had been nice, driving without the distractions of his usual commute. Devoid of all of the lights and traffic, he’s able to see the stars, to appreciate the beauty of nature. It’s been nice, but he knows it’s only temporary, that he’s driving closer and closer to home, the oppressive feeling returning to his chest after a week of lightheartedness.

“I’m fine, Buck,” Eddie answers. “I can keep driving.” Even as he speaks, he blinks wearily, reaching up to rub one eye with the back of his hand. “Shit, maybe you’re right.”

Nashville had been fun, too much fun, not enough sleep. It would have been fine, had Buck not had last-minute reservations about the flight. He knows Buck hates flying and had let him squeeze the hell out of his hand on the flight to Nashville. Their flight back got cancelled, and Buck burst out that they should roadtrip it instead. Eddie could hear the unease in his voice and had agreed instantly, despite being well aware of just how long this roadtrip would be.

Eddie veers off into the motel parking lot. It’s a motel with a little diner attached, with a bright red neon sign attached: Diner. Again, very to the point. The whole place is kind of creepy, honestly. There are only two other cars in the parking lot, and neither looks like it’s in good shape, covered in a fine layer of sand. There must have been a windstorm or something recently. It doesn’t stop Eddie from pulling into a parking spot, one pointing directly at the motel entrance.

“Are we sure we want to stay here?” Eddie asks, hands still gripping the steering wheel, his own feelings of unease creeping up.

“What? Eddie, it’s fine,” Buck says, already opening the passenger door and getting out. He ducks his head back into the rental car when Eddie stays still. “Are you worried about bedbugs? We don’t have to bring our bags in. We’ll get some sleep and get back on the road.”

Eddie sighs heavily, finally unbuckling his seat belt. “Okay.”

Buck beams, and for Eddie, that makes it worth it.

They decide to stuff a few items into one bag: shampoo, body wash, and one change of clothes each. Buck clutches the bag in one hand and leads the way forward, holding the glass door open for Eddie to step into the lobby.

The first thing Eddie notices is that it’s yellow. The walls are an ugly, muted yellow. The lighting is warm and yellow. The carpet is mustard yellow. He thinks vaguely of Chris trying to explain ‘the backrooms’ to him. It feels a lot like this.

“Eddie?” Buck asks, stuck in the doorway as Eddie has only taken one step inside.

“Sorry.” He mumbles the apology, stepping out of the way.

The front desk is enclosed behind glass and wood; there’s a little cutout in the bottom of the glass lining up with a dip in the wood of the desk, clearly for the exchange of money and room keys. There’s no one manning the desk at the moment, but there’s a wooden door in the back that stands ajar, more yellow light illuminating the gap.

“Move,” comes a gruff voice from behind them, bumping both Buck and Eddie to the side as he pushes his way past them, rushing up to the desk. “Lorna! I need my room!” He shouts, pounding a fist against the desk. The man looks to be an inch or two taller than Eddie, with an average build, a messy mop of dark brown hair covers some of his face, making his features indiscernible.

“Hold your horses, Ronnie.” The voice, belonging clearly to a woman who has smoked for decades, calls out from behind the door.

Eddie turns and looks at Buck, who is looking at the guy—apparently Ronnie—with a pinched expression. “Let it go,” Eddie murmurs softly, reaching out and nudging Buck with an elbow.

“He was a dick,” Buck whispers, though louder than Eddie. “He could have said excuse me.”

“It’s fine.” Eddie pulls his phone out and looks at the screen; his single bar of service is still there, all either of them has had for miles now. He probably won’t get the chance to talk to Chris tonight, not unless the motel phone works. He’s not too sure he wants to try. “Don’t mess with the guy,” Eddie adds when Buck refuses to fix his face.

Buck grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Fine.”

They both stay back in silence, letting Ronnie and Lorna finish their conversation. Eventually, Ronnie rushes past them again, key clutched tightly in his fist. Buck and Eddie both take a step to the side, avoiding getting bumped again.

“Don’t mind him. He’s on the road a lot, it’s made him grumpy,” Lorna says from behind the glass partition. “Can I help you boys?”

“Oh, yes,” Buck says, stepping forward. “Can we get a room?” He asks, looking from Eddie back to Lorna. “Uh, just one night. Two beds.”

Lorna’s pink painted lips tug downward in a heavy, exaggerated frown. “Sorry, boys. Only one room available. Queen bed.”

Buck looks back at Eddie again, who nods. “We’ll make it work.” They’ve shared a bed before; they can do it again. He can survive one night.

“Okay, we’ll take it,” Buck says, tugging his wallet free from his pocket. “What do I owe you?”

“Sixty-five dollars. Cash only.” Lorna’s long, manicured nails tap against the glass behind a big sign on what was once white paper, yellowed over time, stating ‘Cash Only’.

“Right, got it.” Buck rummages through his wallet, pulling out the bills and passing them through the cutout.

“Room three, just around front,” Lorna says, passing the key through to Buck. “Diner’s open all night. Checkout is at ten.”

“Okay, thanks,” Buck says with a nod before turning back to Eddie. “Ready?”

Eddie nods, hands shoved in his pockets. He’s not sure exactly what it is about this place, but it has him on edge. He supposes it has to do with the lack of life around it. There aren’t many people, there aren’t any other buildings for miles, just dark, dark road and desert. He follows Buck to the room wordlessly. No matter how he feels about this place, he doesn’t put up a fight or mention it at all, not when Buck seems fine with it. He must just be paranoid, on edge after being away from Chris for a week.

“It’s not so bad,” Buck says as they get into the room. “Definitely been in worse.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. The carpet is an ugly navy blue with a red and gold pattern, one that shows burn marks and stains from years of use. Against one wall is the bed, with a shiny, polyester, maroon-colored comforter atop off-white sheets. The opposite wall has a dresser with an old, thick television mounted, crookedly, to the wall above it. Across the small room is the bathroom, the wooden door ajar. “Definitely.”

“Look, man, I know it sucks. I’m sorry.”

“What?” Eddie asks. “Sorry for what?”

“For dragging you out on this road trip because I got freaked out before the flight.” Buck sighs, sitting down on the bed, tossing their shared bag up on top of the dresser. “I’ll buy your dinner. Like, all of them if you want.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Eddie says quickly. “I’m a grown man, dude. If I didn’t want to come, I’d have flown back.” He smiles at Buck, reaching out and clapping a hand against Buck’s shoulder. “We’re both exhausted. Why don’t we take a little rest before we go to the diner? We’re both shitty when we’re tired. And when we’re hungry. We’ve got until 10 to check out. We can nap, go eat, and come back here and get our game plan together for tomorrow, get showers. We’ll be rested and ready to go in the morning. ”

“Yes, oh my god, yes,” Buck says with a laugh, flopping back onto one side of the bed. “I’ll set an alarm if you want, but please can we turn off efficient dad mode? I’m not gonna fight you on your plan.”

“Shut up.” Eddie rolls his eyes, sitting down on the bed before gingerly lying down next to him. Spending all of this time with Buck away from any of their friends or family has been…enlightening. He’s felt freer than usual, a little more touchy with Buck while they were in Nashville, talking more about his past while they were driving. Buck’s been the same, always having a hand on Eddie, never leaving his side.

This feels different, though. In a bed. It’s not like they’ve never shared a bed before. They’ve done it loads of times now, but not a motel bed, not after spending the week half-flirting and not acknowledging it. They’ve just carried on like normal, like Buck always walks his fingers up and down Eddie’s thigh while he drives, like Eddie always calls Buck big boy.

“Set that alarm,” Eddie says, shutting off the light before lying on his back, arms pinned down at his sides, an effort to make himself as compact as possible.

“Already done,” Buck says, sounding half-asleep already.

11:00 PM

Eddie wakes to the sound of an alarm, the whimsical chime letting him know it’s Buck’s alarm before he’s even remembered where he is. He has the plain, blaring alarm, the one that he hears in movies. It’s loud, it wakes him up. Buck had tried once to convince Eddie to switch to his, saying the calming tone puts him in a calmer mood when he wakes up, unlike with Eddie’s alarm, which he says fills him with panic and dread. Eddie’s never changed his, but whenever they’re together, they always use Buck’s.

Rolling over, he buries his face in the pillow as he tries to wake himself up. Why is he so exhausted? Oh. Right. The roadtrip back to LA. The strange motel. He’s sharing a bed with Buck.

Buck.

Eddie sits up quickly, groaning as his back screams at him for the quick movement after sitting in a car all day. The bed is empty. He tries to feel to see if the bed is warm, like he’d only recently gotten up, but he can’t tell. It’s been a while since he’s shared a bed with someone on a regular basis. He can’t remember what the warmth feels like. He does miss that part of dating, the warmth, the closeness, the familiarity. He doesn’t miss the part where everyone felt wrong, like something was missing.

Buck is what had always been missing. Buck, who is missing right now. Eddie sits up, looking around. Nothing looks amiss, but it’s not like they’d brought much in. There’s no real reason for him to be jumping to the worst-case scenario here, but something has Eddie on edge. It doesn’t help that suddenly there are a number of loud thumps from the room next door.

Jumping up, Eddie backs away from the wall, backs up until his ass hits the dresser, his hands flying back to grip the lip of the wooden top. There’s another noise, like a cackling laugh, and Eddie shakes his head. There’s something off about it, but he knows he’s overreacting. It’s probably just the lack of sleep lately finally catching up to him. They hadn’t slept a ton in Nashville, and they’d been driving for 13 hours. It’s no surprise Eddie’s feeling off.

He just about gets himself calm when the door handle jangles and turns. His adrenaline spikes as he tries to figure out how quickly he could grab the lamp off the nightstand. And then the door opens, and Buck steps in.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says. His lungs feel like someone’s squeezed them, sucked the breath right from him. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry.” Buck chuckles, shrugging his shoulders as he shuts the door behind him. “Woke up after an hour, couldn’t fall asleep again. They have Vanilla Coke in the vending machine.” He holds up the plastic bottle, lips spread in a wide smile.

As Eddie takes in more of Buck, he realizes he must have been up for a while. He’s showered, his curls wet, pushed back from his forehead. He’s in a plain, white t-shirt and dark sweats. Looking to his side, Eddie sees their bag, open on the dresser, Buck’s clothes from earlier stuffed inside.

“You showered?” He asks.

“Yeah?” Buck tilts his head. “That okay? Should I have waited for you or…?”

There it is again. The flirting. They don’t do this at home, and every flirty joke hits Eddie harder than it should. Still, Eddie smiles, a blush coloring his cheeks.

“No, I-” Eddie pauses. “I don’t really know why I asked that. I noticed that’s all.”

“Yes, you do.” Buck laughs, tipping his head back. “I was supposed to shower after we eat. That was your plan.” He’s grinning something wicked, like he knows how much it gets under Eddie’s skin.

He doesn’t do well with changing plans. He likes order and routine, and to know the plan front to back. It does sometimes make him a little insufferable, especially on vacations. Or roadtrips. Buck knows this, and there’s no way the grin on his face is a sign of anything other than mischief.

“Shut up,” Eddie says. “It’s fine.”

He hears another noise, this one is the HVAC system kicking on. It reminds him of the noises he’d heard before Buck had entered the room. He doesn’t say anything, sure that it’s nothing. It’s probably a couple having a good night, or a family with some rowdy kids. He knows what it’s like. Chris had always gotten rambunctious whenever they were in a hotel.

“Mhm, sure,” Buck teases again, turning the cap to the bottle and taking a drink. Eddie tries not to stare at the way his throat moves. He tries and fails. He wants to reach up, to run his fingertips over the undulating skin. Buck catches him staring and raises an eyebrow as he reaches out, offering the open bottle to Eddie. “Did you want some?”

Eddie snatches the bottle quickly, letting his fingers brush against Buck’s. “Why didn’t you get me one?” He asks before he tips the bottle back, taking a drink as well.

“You were asleep!” Buck holds his hands up, palms facing Eddie, a sign of surrender. “I didn’t think you’d want one.”

“It’s like you don’t even know me,” Eddie says, voice full of faux hurt. He passes the bottle back to Buck, who screws the top back on. “Wanna watch something before we eat? I can’t eat right after I get up.”

“Oh, I know,” Buck says with a laugh. “You push around the breakfast I make you and Chris until you’re finally hungry.”

“You noticed that?” Eddie asks, and he’s sure he looks a bit like a deer in headlights.

“I mean, yeah?” Buck says it like it’s obvious, like everyone pays attention to what Eddie’s doing. He moves to sit on the bed, back against the headboard, remote in his hand. “Sit,” he says, patting the spot next to him.

“Demanding,” Eddie murmurs, moving to sit where Buck indicated. “What are we watching?” He asks, but he doesn’t care, really. He’s already focusing on the way their arms brush against each other.

“Whatever this TV gets, I guess.” Buck turns it on, and all that shows is jagged static.

“Not looking good,” Eddie says, reaching over and grabbing the Coke bottle from the bedside table next to Buck.

“You could have asked. I’d have passed it over,” Buck says, flipping through more channels, finding nothing more than static.

“Maybe I just wanted to be in your space. Ever thought of that?” Eddie’s heart races, being flirty with Buck here, in this space, in this bed.

“Oh, is that right?” Buck turns his head, catches Eddie’s eyes, and winks. It makes Eddie’s cheeks warm, just like all of the flirting in Nashville had.

Eddie’s about to say something more, about to give in to the flirting, but Buck hits a channel that isn’t just static.

“Aha!” He shouts, turning the volume up. “Something!”

“What the hell is this?” Eddie asks, face pinched.

He can’t tell if the quality is poor because of the TV itself or because it’s old. It has to be some kind of old, B-list horror movie. There’s someone running through what looks to be an old, half-abandoned farmhouse. He can’t tell who or what is chasing them because whoever it is, it is the camera’s point of view. The ominous music is unsettling even for Eddie.

“I have no idea.” Buck laughs. “Kinda cheesy.”

“More like kinda creepy.”

“Aw, come on. It’s got a little charm to it. You usually appreciate this kinda stuff for the cinematography or whatever. You don’t get scared.”

"I’m appreciating how creepy it is.” He laughs. Buck’s not wrong, Eddie loves a horror movie, and usually loves an old one in particular, but this, whatever mess is playing on the TV now, is not doing it for him. “And I’m not scared.” He gets a little defensive, maybe, but he knows it’s this lack of sleep that’s got him on edge, and he will not have his reputation be ruined for it.

“Whatever you say,” Buck says it with a smirk, but doesn’t add to it. Eddie doesn’t speak either. This has gotten more common the closer they’ve gotten to home; the silences between them have grown, heavy with the weight of words unsaid. After a while, Buck finally breaks the silence, muttering, “It’s okay to be afraid, you know. Of all kinds of things. movies, calls, dating.”

“I am not afraid of dating, Buck,” Eddie answers calmly, like he has the other dozen times he’s been asked about why he isn’t dating. He knows the question is coming, and like always, Eddie’s not ready to answer it. Because the truth is, that he is kind of afraid, but not like everyone thinks he is. He’s not worried about Chris, not anymore. He’s worried about losing the best friend he’s ever had because what he wants is Buck.

“Then why aren’t you? Chris is fine with it, so don’t pull that card.”

“Is there a reason you are so invested in my dating life?” Eddie avoids Buck’s eye, looking down at his phone. There’s still no service.

“Is me being your best friend not enough?” Buck lets out a little laugh, keeping it lighthearted like he always does. Eddie supposes it’s because Buck knows him so well, knows that if he gets too serious, Eddie will clam up.

“Who says you’re my best friend?” Eddie teases, glad to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Do you have other friends?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Eddie says with a laugh. “You remember what happened last time I made a friend.”

“Shit,” Buck says, laughing. “I guess you got me there. That was a mess.”

“Yeah, it was fucking shitty of him to break up with you that way.” Eddie tries to hide the malice in his voice. He hates that fucking guy. He didn’t deserve Buck, didn’t care about him enough to get to know him. He’s pretty sure the dude just wanted a hot guy on his arm. He pretends the malice doesn’t come from jealousy.

“Yeah, that mess.” Buck sounds…guilty.

“Buck?”

“Fuck. Okay, I might have hooked up with him again after. Once. When you were in Texas.”

It feels like Eddie’s blood turns to ice in his veins, a feeling washing over him that he isn’t prepared for. Buck hooked up with Tommy in his house. He’s sure Buck would remind him that technically it was Buck’s place at the time, but it doesn’t matter to Eddie. He wants to run a lap, he wants to pout, he wants to scold Buck for such a stupid decision, he wants to ask for more details, he wants to never hear about it again.

Eddie stands abruptly.

“Let’s go get some food now.” Eddie feels sick to his stomach.

He’s at the door before Buck can protest.

12:00 AM

They have to walk around the exterior of the building to get to the Diner. It’s on the opposite side as the motel part of the building. It’s a little chilly out, but the walk isn’t long, their feet carrying them quickly over the cracked, weathered sidewalk bordering the large, L-shaped building. Eddie almost wishes it was longer, that he could have more time to process what he’d just learned.

As they pass the entrance to the lobby of the motel, Eddie peeks inside. It’s empty again, that same back door open. Lorna, or whoever is working the front desk at this hour, must be back there again. He assumes a little lounge area is back there, but he can’t be certain. The oppressive darkness doesn’t ease Eddie’s weird feeling. The lights of the motel are bright, but the darkness swallows them up quickly, making it nearly impossible to see what’s going on past the parking lot.

“There’s the vending machine,” Buck points out as they round the corner to the diner.

“Good to know,” Eddie says with a laugh, pulling the door open, allowing Buck to walk in first.

The lights feel like they’re hanging on by a thread, significantly dimmer than they should be. As soon as they step inside, it’s apparent that cleanliness isn’t the top priority, their shoes sticking to the floor, making a noise with each step they take. There are a handful of dingy, red and white striped booths with shiny tables between them. There aren’t any other people here, either, but it’s not really that surprising. It’s midnight in the middle of nowhere, after all.

Buck picks a booth against the wall, and Eddie follows, sitting across from him. The table is sticky, too. Eddie wishes he’d worn a long-sleeved shirt so his forearms didn’t touch the tabletop. He’s definitely going to need a shower after this.

“Know what you want?” Buck’s voice cuts through the sticky thoughts.

“Hm? Oh, Pancakes?” Eddie pauses. “Seems like a safe bet.”

“Maybe they’re good, and that’s why everything’s sticky. Everyone gets pancakes.” Buck’s trying to make light of the situation. He always does, the ray of sunshine he is.

Eddie laughs, quickly shushing Buck. “Stop it.”

An older woman comes to their table quickly, loudly smacking chewing gum. She’s definitely related to Lorna somehow, just a bit younger. After they both order the same thing, she makes her way back behind the counter.

“Buck,” Eddie says. “Does the kitchen look weird to you?”

“Huh?” Buck leans forward, trying to look from Eddie’s perspective. “What do you mean?”

“It’s too small, right?”

“Are you good, Eddie?” Buck asks, not answering Eddie.

“Yeah, of course.” Eddie’s still looking at the kitchen.

“You’ve been off since we got here. Since we left Nashville, really.”

That gets Eddie’s attention.

“It’s nothing. Just been nice being away,” Eddie lies. It has been nice, but that’s not the reason. The bell rings, and Eddie turns to look at the door to see the man from earlier walking in, Ronnie. He looks right at Eddie, but doesn’t linger, making his way to a seat at the counter. “There’s that guy again.” Eddie speaks softly, not wanting to be overheard.

Buck looks over, sees Ronnie, but doesn’t let himself be deterred. He simply turns back to Eddie. “Okay. Is it something with Chris?”

At the mention of Christopher, Eddie freezes, immediately shushing Buck. “Don’t bring him up.”

“Eddie, what is going on?” Buck sounds worried now, and Eddie can’t really blame him.

Eddie’s not paying much attention to Buck, instead his eyes keep darting between Buck and Ronnie. Ronnie keeps turning back to look at them. It’s not a long stare, just a quick look, like he’s making sure they’re still there. It settles heavily in Eddie’s stomach. Between Ronnie and the knowledge about Tommy, Eddie really doesn’t feel hungry.

“It’s nothing.” Eddie brushes him off.

“Eddie.” There’s no lighthearted playfulness in Buck’s voice this time.

“Can we just talk about it later?” Eddie pauses as he sees the waitress heading their way, plates in hand. “Just. When we’re back in the room, okay?” His voice drops to a whisper, trying to prevent anyone else from hearing him.

“Okay, you’re freaking me ou—”

Eddie quickly shushes him as the waitress, Doreen, drops off their food. It looks safe enough.

Once she’s turned back to the counter and out of earshot, Eddie leans forward. “This place is freaking me out.”

“You’re serious?” Buck says, already bringing a huge bite of pancake up to his mouth. “Oh, you are.”

“Can we just talk about this later?” Eddie looks over and catches Ronnie looking back at him again, an unsettling smile splitting his face. “Please?”

Buck’s still smiling, amused, but he does at least let silence fall between them while they eat. Buck pays, Eddie makes sure he tips—not like he doesn’t usually, but Eddie double checks anyway.

Eddie is granted more silence as they make their way back to the room. Buck even hangs back with Eddie’s leisurely pace, allowing him time to peek into the lobby again as they walk past. He spends most of the walk looking up into the sky. The stars are bright, easily visible with the lack of light pollution. He hadn’t been able to appreciate it when Buck pointed it out on the drive.

As soon as they’re back in the hotel room, the door closes behind them with a loud click, and Buck rounds on Eddie.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Like I said, this place is creepy.” Eddie realizes he’s not sure how to put his feelings into words without sounding a little silly.

“Right, got that. But why do you think it’s creepy?” Eddie huffs, and Buck continues quickly. “No, seriously, man. All I’m seeing is an old, kind of outdated place. What are you seeing that I’m not? Is this about the kitchen in the diner? I really think there’s just a storage room or something back there."

“Maybe. More than that, though. You don’t get a weird vibe? Buck!” Eddie scolds Buck as he starts laughing, his brow furrowing. “Stop that. I’m serious!”

“I know you are, that’s why it’s so funny.” Buck mocks wiping a tear from his eye. “You, mister superstitions and curses aren’t real, is getting a ‘bad vibe’ and now you’re spooked.”

“Just because I don’t believe in superstitions and curses doesn’t mean I don’t believe in evil people!” Eddie must look upset because Buck seems to settle down pretty quickly. “You saw that guy in the lobby.”

“I mean, yeah, he was a dick, but I don’t think we have to worry about him.”

“He was in the diner, too.”

“Okay, a little weird, but not—”

“He kept looking at us.”

“Probably because you were whispering like a crazy person.” Buck pauses. “Wait, is that why you didn’t want me to bring up Chris?”

“I’m allowed to be paranoid, I’m his parent.”

Buck’s hands go up, and he smiles. “Sorry, not judging, not judging.”

“I just don’t trust that guy. Or this place.” Eddie turns to look at the wall he’d heard the noises through earlier. “There were noises.”

“Noises?” Buck asks, his eyebrows furrowing as he takes a half-step closer to Eddie.

“Yeah. Thumps, I guess?”

“Uh, Eddie? This is a motel, you know. That kind of thing happens here.” Buck’s affording Eddie the grace of at least trying to fight the smile tugging at his lips.

“There was a laugh, too. A weird one.” Fuck, he really doesn’t sound any more convincing.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything and kept it to himself, but Eddie struggles with that, especially when the safety of someone he loves cares about is at stake, because here’s the thing, the guy isn’t usually wrong. He may not always pick up on a bad feeling, but when he does, he’s rarely ever wrong, and something about that guy and this place is setting off loud, screaming alarm bells in his head.

“Maybe they were having fun sex. People laugh during sex.” Chuckling, Buck lets himself fall backwards onto the bed.

“Buck, if you laughed like that during sex, I would run.”

Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

Buck sits up abruptly. “Yeah? Would you?” There’s a look in Buck’s eye that Eddie would love to explore, but he can’t. He just can’t. Nashville had been one thing, but they’re about to be home, where reality lives. He can’t let himself have that, not now. Maybe someday.

More importantly, Eddie’s too fixated on this strange feeling to inquire further. Instead, he steers the conversation back, though he feels heat burning his cheeks. “I’m serious, it was bone-chilling,” Eddie says, leaning back against the dresser, facing Buck as he lies back on the bed.

“More like boner chilling.” Buck’s face pulls in tight. “That didn’t work, did it?”

“Not dignifying that with a response. Look, maybe we should go? I’m wide awake, I can drive.” Eddie doesn’t think he’s going to be able to sleep here. There’s no way his body is going to relax enough to let him get there. He was lucky to have gotten the couple of hours earlier, but maybe sleep comes easier to him when he’s next to Buck.

Buck sighs, falling back against the bed again. “Come on. It’s late. Driving is just going to make you tired again. The room’s been paid for, we might as well get a few hours. Then we can leave first thing in the morning, okay?”

When Eddie looks over at Buck, Buck is looking back, boring into him, trying to will him to agree. He can’t help but laugh. “Okay, fine. Fine.”

“It’ll be morning before we know it.”

1:00 AM

They get themselves situated in bed again, shoulder to shoulder. The room is dark and mostly quiet, but neither of them is asleep. They’re both lying on their backs, staring at the ceiling, arms pressed together, unmoving. The air in the room is thick and stale, and it’s not just because of the stuffiness of the room. It’s just the space between them.

There are so many things Eddie wants to do. He wants to roll over onto his side, pull Buck into him, and kiss him, spilling every secret truth between them in one kiss. He wants to throw a leg over him and straddle his waist and just look at him, spending hours taking in his blue eyes and precious curls. He wants to pull Buck on top of him, get him between his legs, and feel Buck’s broad body against him as they grind together until the fabric of their clothes is soaked in sweat.

More than anything, though, he wants to give him a kiss right against his birthmark. Tonight, and every night after. If only he could let himself have it, if he felt like he deserved it, if he were willing to risk it all. He tells himself all the time. One day, he’ll be stronger, strong enough to fight the instinct to blow his life up when things go well, strong enough to fight the voice in his head that tells him he can’t have what he wants. One day.

He hopes one day comes before it’s too late and Buck’s moved on to someone willing to give him what he deserves. It’s not like he questions Buck’s feelings. It’s a mutual thing, one where Buck is just waiting on Eddie, patient and without pressure. Sometimes Eddie wishes he would put the pressure on. Maybe that would help break him out of whatever cell he’s locked himself in, refusing himself happiness. Joy.

Eddie rolls on his side, facing away from Buck, hoping that maybe—just maybe—he’ll be able to push the thoughts of him away long enough to fall asleep. Only a moment after he rolls over, he feels Buck do the same. He’s facing him, one reach away from spooning.

He can’t do this.

“I can’t do this,” Eddie says with a groan, getting out of bed and turning to look at Buck. “I can’t sleep. I’m gonna get a shower, I think.”

“Yeah, I can’t either,” Buck says, sitting up.

Going to their shared bag on the dresser, Eddie rummages through, tugging his things free. “You gonna try and find another channel?” Eddie asks, nodding toward the TV. “There’s gotta be something better than that last one.”

“Yeah, probably. I’m gonna get drinks and ice. I’m pretty sure there was an ice maker in the lobby.” Buck gets out of bed quickly, full of energy. Eddie almost wants to ask one more time to just leave now and keep driving, but he pushes the feeling down, deciding he isn’t interested in dealing with Buck making fun of him for it again.

“I don’t think caffeine is going to help you sleep,” Eddie points out, but he’s met with a dramatic side eye from Buck.

“Okay, whatever, I was going to get you one, but if you don’t want—”

“Well, if you’re already getting one, you might as well get me one, too,” Eddie says quickly, a cheeky grin on his face.

“That’s what I thought,” Buck says, laughing as he gets up. “Go shower, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Alright, be careful.” The warning is offhanded, the same thing he tells Buck anytime he goes somewhere, but once the door closes behind Buck, Eddie has a moment where he wonders if maybe he should have stressed it.

No, he’s just being silly.

Shaking off the feeling, he turns toward the bathroom. Once inside, he pulls the door almost shut behind him and surveys the room. It looks clean enough. It’s not spotless, and it’s certainly not updated, but it’s fine. Like with the rest of the room, Eddie’s seen worse. He turns on the shower, keeping his hand under the stream until he feels it getting warm. After a moment of searching, he finds a clean towel, Buck’s discarded one on the floor in the corner.

Eddie strips down quickly before stepping into the warm water. It’s definitely not hot, but it’s tolerable. It’s warm enough that it feels like it’s cleaning him, at least. He doesn’t waste time, though, quickly getting shampoo into his hair, scrubbing haphazardly with his fingers. Face covered in shampoo suds, Eddie hears a noise in the room. Assuming that it’s just Buck back from getting drinks, Eddie pushes the noise from his head, focusing on rinsing the shampoo from his hair.

It’s almost rinsed clear when, through squinted eyes, Eddie’s sure he sees a shadow through the shower curtain. Tearing it back, he sees nothing, just an empty bathroom and a half-closed door. With a racing heart and heaving breaths, he quickly washes his body, trying to get out of the shower as quickly as possible.

2:00 AM

Eddie rushed through his shower, thinking Buck would be sitting on the bed waiting for him, drinks and ice ready to go. Instead, he comes out to a still-empty room. He knows he rushed through his shower, eager to have his eyes on the room again, but Buck should be back by now. He fishes his phone out of the pants he’d been wearing, checking the service to find there is none, as he’d expected. Still, he pockets the phone.

He tries sitting on the bed and waiting, but his mind whirls with worst-case scenarios, driving him to stand and pace the length of the room, reminding himself that he’s just been in a mood all evening, and that’s what’s going on. The likelihood of something bad happening is low, Eddie reminds himself. Any minute, Buck is going to walk through that door with drinks and a funny story to tell. The guy can talk to anyone and everyone, so he probably just got caught up in the lobby talking to Lorna.

He hears something, another thud, but this time coming from the opposite direction, sounding much further away. It’s probably just someone in another room, someone from one of those other cars.

All Eddie wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep until it’s late enough that he can convince Buck to get back on the road. His head turns, snapping to look at the door as soon as he hears something crash against it. The doorknob turns quickly, and Buck shoves himself in, shutting it behind him and turning the lock.

“Eddie, we have to go. Ronnie, he-he’s fucking crazy,” Buck says, his breath labored, his arm held against his torso, and that’s when Eddie sees it.

Buck’s white t-shirt is stained, blooming dark red patches growing from where his arm is held against him. Everything stops for half a second, Eddie unstable on his feet as he wraps his head around what he’s seeing. Buck’s been hurt. Ronnie hurt Buck. That’s a lot of blood. He’s been hurt badly. They need to leave. He has to patch up Buck. Okay. Buck. Bag. Patch. Leave. He’s got this.

“What happened?” Eddie asks, rushing to Buck, gingerly cupping his hands under Buck’s forearm, trying to get a better look at it.

“Ronnie, that fucking creep,” Buck explains, slowly extending his arm for Eddie to inspect. “I was in the lobby trying to get ice, and he came running out of the back room with a knife. He wouldn’t even say anything. He was just l-laughing.” Buck sounds weak as he explains what happened, everything catching up to him as he stands still, back against the door. “Held my arms up to protect my-myself, but you s-see where that got me.”

“Fuck,” Eddie murmurs. “Let me get a good look.”

Buck’s right arm has a few knicks and cuts, nothing serious, nothing that requires his attention. His left arm, though. Fuck. It does not look good. There are a few shallow slice marks on the top side of his arm, oozing slow streams of blood, the dark red liquid dripping around his arm to meet the gaping wound on the underside. There’s a long, deep gash spanning nearly the entirety of space from wrist to elbow. The skin on either side is jaggedly cut. It’s long enough for the wound to sag, blood pouring from it, dripping steadily onto the floor now that it’s not held up against his chest.

“S’bad, huh?” Buck asks, head tilting back to bump against the door.

“I have a medic bag in the trunk. From Nashville. I’m gonna go get it, we’ll get a tourniquet on this, and get the fuck out of here.” Eddie sounds a lot more confident than he feels, but instinct takes over. “Where are the keys?”

“Left ‘em on the dresser.”

Eddie scans the top of the dresser, quickly shoving things around, looking and listening out for the keys, but nothing. “They aren’t here. Are you sure you left them here?”

“Mhm, left them there before I took a shower. I’m positive.”

There isn’t time to argue about the keys, not when Buck is bleeding like a stuck pig. “Okay, okay. We’ve gotta get that wrapped up.” Eddie bursts into action, racing to his jeans from earlier, tugging both his pocket knife from his pocket and his belt off the loops with shaking hands before picking up his discarded towel. He helps Buck move to sit in the little armchair under the window, pressing the towel against the gash, instructing Buck to hold it there. “Hey, I’ve gotta wrap this arm for now. This is gonna suck, okay? Hold this.”

Buck nods, squeezing his eyes shut. “Got it.”

“Okay,” Eddie murmurs, mostly to himself, dropping the belt onto the floor and turning back to the bed. He tears the blanket back, tugging the sheet free. It fights him, tucked tightly under the corners of the bed. He can’t think straight, too worried about Buck. All of his training is coursing through his head at lightning speed, blood loss calculations, proper tourniquet technique, and stitching if it comes down to it. There are Steri Strips in his bag. Those would be helpful. Not in the long term, but at least until they can get something better.

Eventually, Eddie wrestles the sheet free from the bed with the help of his pocket knife, cutting strips of fabric he can pad and wrap around the wound. He tosses the towel aside, trying not to think about how much blood had already soaked into it. He gets the belt wrapped around Buck’s bicep, pulling it taut and then tugging it again, making Buck groan loudly, sucking air through his teeth. He grabs the knife, puncturing a new hole in the leather, and threads the buckle through. God, this isn’t ideal. But if it can hold long enough to get his bag out of the car, they’ll be fine.

Pushing the skin together, Buck’s blood pours over his fingers. It’s so hot, his body temperature, another reminder that this is real, that Buck is here in front of him and needs him. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he repeats as he works. He pushes the wound closed, layering fabric over it before wrapping more around it.

By the time he’s done, he can already see red spots blooming around the edges of the first layer of fabric. This is bleeding too much; he can’t keep bleeding like this. “I gotta find the keys, Buck. I’m gonna find them.” He has to find them.

He rips open the bedside drawers, rifling through them. He lifts up the phone—the phone. He can call someone. Surely, 9-1-1 at the very least. The receiver slips from his grasp when he picks it up the first time, due in part to his shaking hands and in part to the slippery crimson blood on his fingers, all over the room now. Finally, he does get it in his hand, holding it up to his ear as he dials the numbers, and nothing.

There isn’t even a dial tone.

“Fuck!” Eddie shouts, slamming the phone down before lifting it to his ear again, groaning as he’s met with nothing but silence on the other end. He checks the cord. Maybe it’s not plugged in. As he starts to pull the cord, it feels loose, and he thinks maybe they’ve lucked out and the phone just got unplugged.

He keeps pulling until there is nothing but the cut end of a cord in his hand. It’s not unplugged. It’s cut.

Eddie wants to scream, cry, throw up, fight. He wants to get the fuck out of here. Get Buck out of here.

“What is it?” Buck asks. He sounds okay, and Eddie glances at the makeshift bandage to see that it hasn’t completely soaked through, but it’s not doing great.

“Cord’s been cut,” Eddie says flatly, throwing the cord down and standing up, looking around the room. “Where are those fucking keys?!”

“I swear I left them on the dresser,” Buck says again. His color isn’t coming back quite yet, but he isn’t looking any worse, and that’s something in itself.

Eddie nearly spins around the room, surveying every surface on the hunt for the metal glint of keys, or even the bright yellow paper tag attached by the rental company, and then it hits him.

“The noises,” Eddie says, as if Buck would understand.

“The noises? The thumps?” Buck half scoffs. “We have bigger problems than that.”

“No, while I was in the shower, I heard something,” Eddie explains. “I assumed it was you coming back. I thought I saw something- someone, too, through the shower curtain. I just thought it was you. I forgot, but…the keys.”

“I don’t think he can be in two places at,” Buck pauses, coughing, wincing as he does so. “At once.”

Buck’s right. Even if the guy is some crazed murderer, he can’t have stolen the keys and attacked Buck at the same time. Buck hadn’t been gone long enough for both things to have happened.

“Then they have to be around here.” Eddie knows they don’t have all the time in the world to look, but still, he throws everything from the dresser onto the bed, and then starts picking up the little bits that made their way onto the floor, peering behind the large, cheaply-made wooden dresser, thinking maybe they slipped behind it. He finds nothing of importance, just decades worth of dust and some change.

Every time he looks back at Buck, his eyes land on the makeshift bandage wrapped around his arm. He doesn’t trust the belt to do its job, and he knows they’re on a countdown with it on. Two hours is the ideal maximum amount of time Buck should keep the tourniquet on. It’s not quite as tight as a real one, so they can squeeze a little more time. He probably won’t suffer any major damage with a few extra hours, but the last thing Eddie wants is for Buck to suffer any more damage than he already has, especially something that might make it difficult for him to do the thing he loves: his job.

“What are we gonna do, Eddie?” Buck sounds scared, and it grips Eddie’s already knotted up stomach, squeezing it and forcing the contents to rise, nausea bubbling in his throat.

“I’m going to go to the car,” Eddie answers, no room for questions.

It doesn’t stop Buck.

“Why? We don’t have the keys, what good is that?”

“Maybe it’s unlocked. Maybe I can get my bag. That’ll help until we can get out of here.” Maybe, maybe, maybe. Eddie’s holding onto maybe like his life depends on it.

“No.”

“What?”

“It’s not safe out there!” Buck’s good arm swings out, gesturing toward the door, toward the inky blackness beyond it.

“You were attacked in the lobby, Buck. It’s not safe in here! The room keys are all in there. How long before he decides he wants to finish you off, and he comes back, and we’re trapped in this fucking room with him?” Eddie sits on the edge of the bed, tugging his shoes on. “I’m going. I’ll just check and see if any of the doors are unlocked, and then I'll come back in.”

“You can’t,” Buck pleads. Oh, there are tears in his eyes. Eddie hates that

“Buck, I have to.” And Eddie feels like he does. He doesn’t see another option.

“It’s dark. He could be out there, waiting for you. What if something happens?” Buck stands, wincing as he swings his arm, the pressure changing.

“I’ll be okay. I’ll pay attention. It’ll just be quick, I promise.” Eddie steps forward, a hand gripping Buck’s shoulder. “Just let me check the car. I’ll come right back.”

Buck’s eyes find his. “You have to come back.” He doesn’t look away until Eddie answers.

“I will. I’ll be fine, Buck. You can watch from the window. Just- just sit back down, okay?”

Buck nods, resigning. He takes a step back and sits in the chair again before adjusting it so he can look out the window. “Be careful.”

3:00 AM

Getting out of the hotel room is easy; he slips past the door and pulls it shut behind him after shutting off the light in the room, determined to avoid letting any light shine past the door, alerting anyone watching to his presence. Eddie glances back, seeing Buck’s face pressed up against the window, watching him. He can hardly make it out in the darkness, but he knows a Buck-shaped blur anywhere.

He wishes he hadn’t parked directly in front of the lobby door, or that he’d had the hindsight to move the car closer to their room, but how was he expected to prepare for a situation like this? His eyes track everything around him, any perceived movement caught by him, but in the end, he sees nothing on the way to the car, and it eases his worries a bit.

As he approaches the car, he hears a laugh, something in the distance, muffled behind layers of brick and mortar. It makes every bit of Eddie’s being freeze, hand outstretched to reach for the passenger door handle. Once a moment passes, he lets out the breath he’d been holding and reaches for the handle, tugging it.

Nothing.

It’s locked. Of course, it’s locked.

Crouching down, Eddie creeps around the perimeter of the car, trying each door handle in turn. Each one remains locked, refusing to open and allow Eddie into its cocoon of safety.

He looks back at Buck, who has turned the light back on in the room, illuminating his figure sitting in front of the window, and shakes his head, letting him know he didn’t have any luck. Buck waves him back, urging him back to the protection of the room, but Eddie’s head turns to the lobby door. There has to be a phone in there, something he can use to call for help. And there’s Lorna, the woman working the desk; he should check on her and make sure that she is okay, too.

Buck taps on the window, loud enough for Eddie to hear, and it brings his attention back. Eddie points toward the lobby, and Buck vehemently shakes his head. He can see Buck’s mouth moving, surely telling him not to go, to come back to the room, but Eddie can’t. There’s no way out in that room; there’s nothing he can do to protect Buck and himself while they’re in there. They have to find a way out, and the lobby seems like the best chance for escape, the only chance for escape. Eddie brings his hand to his ear, mock holding a phone, miming information to Buck.

Buck pounds on the window this time, desperate to get Eddie’s attention, but Eddie doesn’t listen. All he does is hold a hand up, indicating that Buck should stay in the room while he creeps toward the lobby door. He steps carefully up onto the sidewalk, avoiding a broken piece of concrete, and crosses the distance to the door, pulling it open to see Lorna kneeling down on the floor, scrubbing at the thin, worn carpet. She’d been blocked by the vinyl sign on the door, but after taking a few steps inside, he sees her and the dark red stain she’s scrubbing, clearly.

“Are you okay?” He asks quickly, rushing closer to her, thinking she’d been hurt, as well.

“Oh, dearie, I’m just fine. Don’t worry about me. Ronnie just gets a little messy when he plays sometimes,” She says with a wide, sickly smile, too many crowded, yellowing teeth showing between painted lips.

“What?” Eddie asks, dumbstruck.

“Well, I tell him to keep it to his room, but he doesn’t always listen. Silly guy.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open, gaping wide at this seemingly harmless woman. Something is very, very wrong here.

“Oh, Auntie Lorna, you didn’t tell me we had company,” comes a wild, gruff voice from behind Eddie.

Eddie knows who it is. He doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s Ronnie. He’s had his voice in his head since their first meeting, something about it catching in his mind, keeping him aware. Lorna is smiling something wicked, and it tells Eddie everything he needs to know. Ronnie probably has the knife held up behind him, and he’s just waiting for the right moment to plunge it into Eddie’s back. The only exit Eddie knows is the one behind him. It’s stupid to turn and look, but he has to. He has to figure out if he can get past him and out, back to Buck.

He turns, meeting Ronnie’s eye to see him standing right behind him, effectively blocking the doorway. Eddie only has a split second to move as he sees Ronnie’s arm swing forward. With a lunge and a leap, Eddie runs toward the only door he sees, the one behind the front desk. He rushes through the little half-door that separates the desk from the public, and immediately swings a right, heading back into the back room.

There’s so much more back here than he’d thought. What he’d anticipated was a little room with, hopefully, a back door. What he finds is a larger room that leads back to a hallway, with lights on and illuminating more rooms. Not only that, but the room is filled with things, all sorts of haphazardly placed, mismatched items. The shelves that line the walls are overflowing, items stacked atop each other in an attempt to make room where there is none. It’s not even so much the number of things packed into the room, but the kinds of things they are. Nothing looks like it belongs together, and there are an alarming number of weapons; old knives and saws and strange implements Eddie doesn’t have names for. None of it is within reach, or he’d think to try and grab something to arm himself with; instead, all he can do is move. The only “clear” space is an old, lumpy living chair facing a television. It’s on, he can hear sound coming from it, but he doesn’t get a chance to look at it, too busy looking ahead at the doorway.

Ronnie catches up to Eddie before he makes it to the doorway, hand flinging wildly in front of him, slicing into the back of Eddie’s shirt. Eddie keeps running through the hall, avoiding any of the dark rooms along the side. He knows if he turns into any of those he’s fucked, he’ll never be able to navigate a room in the dark, especially one his attacker is most definitely familiar with. He can’t let himself get caught. Who would save Buck? Who would take care of Chris?

The hallway isn’t clear, either. There are boxes lining the walls, stacked half a dozen high. Eddie uses them to his advantage, pulling stacks down behind him in an effort to slow Ronnie down. It works, sort of. He slows, but he doesn’t stop, and Eddie doesn’t find a way out. Instead, he ends up in what looks like a living room and kitchenette. There isn’t a door, and Ronnie is closer now. Eddie feels the bite of the blade as it slices into his back. It stings and makes him cry out, but it doesn’t feel deep, whether it’s really shallow or just the adrenaline coursing through him, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t have time to think about that. He has to find a way out.

He turns around, not backing himself up to a wall, but facing Ronnie, and what he sees terrifies him. The guy doesn’t look exhausted at all; he looks thrilled, like he’s having the time of his life. Eddie has to get the fuck out of here, right now. Ronnie lunges for him, but Eddie steps out of the way, the blade narrowly missing him. They go a few rounds like that, Ronnie haphazardly swiping at him, and Eddie narrowly avoiding most of the attacks. He feels nicks and cuts along his torso, and his shirt is sticking to his back, likely from blood rather than sweat, but he isn’t deterred.

“You don’t wanna do this, man,” Eddie says, less trying to talk him down and more trying to distract him, maybe he’d be able to get the knife from him, or get around him. “You can just let me go, Ronnie. No one has to hear about this.” A lie, but he has to say something. He’s running out of options.

“But I do wanna do this,” Ronnie says with a sick smile. “I really wanna do this.”

Ronnie jumps forward, and Eddie catches the sound of keys, eyes dropping to Ronnie’s belt loop, the rental keys attached to a carabiner. Holy shit, this is it. The keys. His escape. The literal key to saving Buck, but his discovery comes at a cost. He isn’t able to jump out of the way of the attack, Ronnie’s knife plunging into his side, a searing, burning—well, stabbing—pain coursing through him.

That’s not good. Oh fuck, that’s not good. Luckily, or unluckily, depending on how you look at it, Ronnie pulls his arm back as quickly as he’d pressed in, the knife not going hilt-deep, only about halfway, and retreating quickly. With a loud groan, Eddie manages to step out of the way of the next jab, turning and shoving Ronnie to the ground.

Eddie doesn’t quite have the same strength as he normally does, and the shove does little to slow Ronnie down. It does afford Eddie the ability to get around him, running as quickly as he can while holding his side, warm blood bubbling over his fingers, dripping over Buck’s blood that’s long since dried. He can’t fucking die here. Not in some no-name motel in the middle of god damn nowhere. He doesn’t want to die in Texas.

He clawed his way out of here years ago, and he will not let it trap him again.

In the hallway, he has to step around and leap over the wreckage he’d left behind, stacks of boxes spilled open, paperwork, cards, and clothes strewn everywhere. Ronnie missteps where Eddie does not, and he comes crashing to the ground. Eddie only has a quick second to decide what he’s going to do next. He knows he needs the keys, but reaching into the mess of limbs and stuff—with a knife in the mix, mind you—is dangerous, especially in his current condition.

Instead, he grips the closest stack of boxes and sends it tumbling down on top of Ronnie’s prone form. He doesn’t waste any more time, turning and rushing through the initial room, foot catching on a small, dusty side table, shaking the table itself, and sending a little bowl of keys toppling to the floor. His other foot slips as he steps on them, and he has to catch himself on the doorframe, a bloody handprint left in his wake.

Eddie peeks his head around the doorway, looking out for Lorna, knowing she cannot be trusted. He doesn’t want to think about how many people could be in on this. Buck. He has to get back to Buck.

Deeming it safe, he steps into the lobby, still behind the desk. Taking a second, he swipes his hand over the set of room keys hanging under the desk, grabbing as many of them as he can before rushing around the desk and out the glass door, leaving a trail of sporadic blood drops behind him.

Buck spots him before he makes it to the room, the door opening while Eddie is still a few steps away.

“Are you okay?” Buck asks, stepping through the doorway. “What happened? Was it Ronnie? You shouldn’t have gone in there, Eddie!”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just lets out a groan and waves Buck back into the room, releasing a breath as the door shuts behind him, the room keys dropping to the floor.

4:00 AM

As soon as the door closes behind them, Eddie leans back against it, exactly as Buck had done. Adrenaline still courses through him, keeping him upright, but fuck does he feel like shit. In the temporary safety of the room, Eddie’s brain finally slows, his eyes closing as he processes what just happened.

Buck, on the other hand, springs into action. He still babies his injured arm, the red spreading over the white sheet, as he grips the hem of Eddie’s shirt and pulls it up, gingerly working Eddie’s arms free, and tugging it over his head, muttering, “I’ve gotta get a look at it.”

Eddie looks down once Buck has his shirt off, inspecting the wound alongside Buck. It’s bad. There’s a clear gaping wound on Eddie’s side. Blood is streaming down his side, soaking into the waistband of his pants. It’s nowhere near as jagged as Buck’s cut, but it’s deeper. Eddie doesn’t want to think about how deep it is. Buck presses around it gingerly, inspecting it, and Eddie has to grit his teeth, more blood squelching out, bubbling up out of the wound like some sort of spring. Instead of a spring of eternal youth, it’s an omen of death to come.

“Where’s your knife?” Buck’s voice catches Eddie’s attention, his head tipping up to look at him.

“My knife?”

“Yes, your knife, where is it? We have to cover this, get it to stop bleeding or–” He pauses. “Just tell me where it is.” There’s something there that Buck doesn’t want to say, but Eddie knows. He knows what a wound like this left untreated leads to.

“Bed?” Eddie suggests, unsure. He’d moved damn near everything onto the bed, so it has to be there.

Buck scrambles over to the bed, shoving things around until he finds it, raising it high in his clasped hand. Eddie watches as Buck repeats the same motions he’d done earlier, taking what’s left of the sheet and cutting less precise pieces, his hands trembling uncontrollably.

“Buck, it’s okay,” he says, quietly.

“No, it’s not fucking okay. You’re bleeding out, we lost the keys-”

“He has the keys.”

“What?” Buck’s head whirls around to face Eddie, swallowing hard. “What do you mean?”

“Saw ‘em. On his belt loop. Couldn’t get ‘em.”

“Fuck, okay,” Buck says under his breath, bundling up a strip of fabric with shaking hands and bringing it, along with the rest of the sheet, over to Eddie. He drops down to his knees, getting eye level with Eddie’s torso, looking closely at the wound after pushing Eddie’s hand away.

If this had been any other moment, Eddie’s mind would have wandered; he would have had to fight the urge to thread his fingers through Buck’s hair, savoring a moment he wasn’t meant to have, but the situation is too dire.

“What are you looking at?” Eddie asks after a moment of Buck just staring.

“There’s something in it, I-I have to get it out.”

“Just do it.” Eddie grits his teeth, eyes closing again as Buck’s fingers start pressing around the wound.

“It’s a fiber or something,” Buck says softly, finger dipping into the stab wound. Eddie sucks a sharp breath in through his teeth, his body tensing as pain courses through him. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” he repeats as he digs into the wound, fishing out the foreign body. Blood continues to spill over Buck’s hands as he speaks, his voice getting thicker, his eyes watery.

“Just fucking get it, Buck. Fuck!” Eddie cries out loudly as Buck finally retrieves the frayed fabric fibers, shaking his hand to send the bloodstained material to the floor before pressing the folded cloth tightly against the wound. “Jesus,” Eddie hisses, his head loudly knocking back against the door. “Holy shit, that sucks,” he says as Buck wraps the remainder of the sheet around Eddie’s torso, tying it tightly over the wound.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I-I have to!”

“I’m not mad,” Eddie grunts. “Thanks, Buck.”

Buck slowly rises to his feet again, grabbing Eddie’s shirt from earlier, the one lacking blood stains and slice marks. “You should put this on.” Eddie pulls the shirt over his head, wincing when he stretches his arm, the skin and muscle on his side shifting and stretching. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I t–”

“Eddie, I swear if you say ‘I told you so’ I will never forgive you.”

Eddie forces a smile as he moves to sit in the chair, deciding against making the joke. He doesn’t actually blame Buck for not believing the bad feeling he’d gotten from the place. If the tables had been turned, he wouldn’t have believed Buck either. What he needs to focus on is making a plan, figuring out how they’re going to get those keys and get out of here.

“The keys!” Eddie shouts, Buck looking at him, confused.

“You said Ronnie had them, right?”

“I mean the room keys,” Eddie says, getting up and slowly, painfully crouching down to pick up the keys he’d dropped when he’d come through the door. “If we have the extra key, we’ll be safe in here. Maybe until light.” It would be easier to navigate outside in the light, maybe someone would even stop by the diner, and they’d be able to flag them down for help.

“Let me help you,” Buck says as he rushes over to help Eddie pick up the keys. “Eddie,” he gasps, tossing the keys onto the bed. “Your back!”

“My back?”

“You’re bleeding, did- is there another?”

“Just shallow cuts I think. Not a big deal.” Eddie tries to brush him off, but Buck gets behind him, pushing the back of his shirt up to reveal his carved-up back.

“Shit,” Buck says softly as he trails his fingers up and down the broad expanse of Eddie’s back, carefully avoiding the slowly oozing wounds. “This looks like it hurts.”

“Probably looks better than your arms,” Eddie says, a desperate attempt to lighten an abysmal mood.

Buck laughs, short and harsh. “Fair,” he agrees before helping Eddie back into the chair, and turning back to the bed, looking through the keys. “It’s not here.”

“What do you mean it’s not here?”

“The extra for our room, it’s not here,” Buck explains, and Eddie’s heart sinks to his gut to be eaten away by stomach acid and bile.

“I tried to grab as many as I could.” Eddie thinks back to how haphazardly he’d grabbed for the keys, not checking to be sure he’d gotten them all. “I didn’t have time.”

“It’s not your fault,” Buck says quickly. “We just have to figure something else out. We have to get the car keys.”

“How the hell are we going to do that?” Eddie asks.

“I don’t know!” Buck shouts, falling back to sit on the edge of the bed. “I have no fucking clue, but we’re going to figure it out. We have to. We have to get back to Chris.”

Chris.

The mention of his son is enough to motivate him, to pull him out of the pit of despair he’d been mentally wallowing in. He can’t give up. He’s survived so much, always holding on for Chris, and this time can’t be different, especially not when he has Buck with him. He can’t give up when he and Buck are both in danger, when the result would be his son stuck with his parents. He’d thought letting Chris go with his parents had been the right decision, that it had been what would be best for him, but after being proven wrong, he refuses to let it happen again. He won’t put his son through it again.

“We can’t stay in here,” he says abruptly.

“Where are we supposed to go?” Buck asks, gesturing around. “There’s nothing out here.”

“Well, we can’t just wait in here for him to come and finish us off.” Eddie slowly rises to his feet, pain and fatigue swallowing him. “There’s gotta be something. Maybe we can try walking around back?”

Buck pauses, studying Eddie for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, might as well.” He doesn’t sound confident, and honestly, Eddie isn’t either, but they don’t have a better solution.

They decide against lugging around their bag, sacrificing it for a better chance of survival. Instead, they exit their room, leaving the light on, a mask they hope will distract Ronnie, with just their phones–still without service–the extra room keys, and Eddie’s pocket knife stowed away in their pockets. It’s still so dark, only the flickering neon sign and the stars for light. It would be better if they could use the flashlights on their phones to guide their way, their shuffling feet catching on the cracked and broken sidewalk outline the building. Neither of them is at their best, slowed by blood loss, pain, and suspicion.

As quickly as they can, they make it to the corner, turning around to the back of the building.

“What the fuck?” Buck asks, stopping.

Eddie had expected a dumpster, maybe some back doors, somewhere they could sneak into the motel and sneak up on Ronnie. What should be empty space is littered with old vehicles, stripped down to little more than the frames. Eddie’s heart races when he thinks of what this could imply. How many people had been in Buck and Eddie’s situation? How many people had spent their final moments here in this motel?

“There,” Eddie says, gesturing to a dilapidated RV. “We should hide out in there.”

Buck agrees, helping Eddie over to the RV. He’s slowing down, the pain is setting in, feeling stronger, both sharp and radiating. Getting up into it isn’t fun; the steps are broken, and the core strength required to get into it causes excruciating pain. It requires a lot more of Buck’s help than he wants to think about, and once Buck gets him turned around, all he can do is collapse back, his back resting up against an old seat, legs out in front of him.

He presses his arm against his side, applying painful pressure. His shirt is still dry; he’s not dying. Not yet. But he doesn’t feel good, that’s for sure. He’s long since lost the mental capacity to try to calculate how long he can stay like this, hopefully til daylight. He lets himself rest, head back and eyes drooping as he makes a desperate attempt at gathering his thoughts.

It turns out, he doesn’t have to. Buck comes up to him—when had he left his sight?—crouching down and catching Eddie’s line of sight. “I’m gonna go back out, try and see if I can see him. Or any of them.”

Eddie wants to stop him; every fiber of his being is screaming that he should take Buck’s place, but he doesn’t have it in him. He’s exhausted, a little dizzy, and weaker than he’s felt in a very, very long time. “Wait,” he says instead, swallowing pain and emotion long enough to speak. “Behind the lobby. There’s..there’s an apartment back there. Some-something like that. No exit.”

“What?” Buck asks quietly, confused.

“You should know. Don’t get trapped, get out.”

“I’m not going in anywhere. I’m just going to look, okay?” Buck’s voice wobbles as he speaks, eyes shining even in the moonlit darkness. “I’m coming back. Not going anywhere without you.”

“If you can get out—”

“Fuck off,” Buck says, standing. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“Buck,” Eddie starts, but Buck shushes him.

“I’m going. I’ll be back. Like ten minutes tops.” Buck leaves no room for argument, and Eddie doesn’t fight.

He thinks of Chris while he waits, tucked in at Hen and Karen’s, sleeping, blissfully unaware. When will they find out? When they don’t show up, they’ll know something happened, but will they ever really find out? Will his son spend the rest of his life with a dead mother and a missing father? He doesn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to lose his mother. He hasn’t deserved any of the things he’s been through. He’s perfect. He’s his. He’s the one thing Eddie feels like he’s done right.

He wishes he were there, at the Wilsons’, cramped onto a couch with his teenage son, uncomfortable and sleep-deprived. He closes his eyes, bows his head, and despite his tumultuous relationship with religion, he tries to connect with the only being he can, the one he only calls upon when he feels all else is lost. He prays for Buck, for himself, and above all else, for Chris.

Eddie keeps his phone out, checking the time, and true to his word, Buck is only gone for nine minutes, and Eddie feels a bit better having rested. How quickly he’d become exhausted is pushed to the back of his mind, eager to find out if Buck had seen anything.

“Well?” Eddie asks as soon as Buck returns.

Buck lights up hearing his voice, and Eddie’s chest aches. “He’s in the room next to ours.”

“The one with the—”

“Yes, the one with the thumps.” Buck rolls his eyes, and Eddie nearly laughs. “If we sneak up on him, we might be able to take him.”

Eddie mulls the plan over, if you can call it a plan. In all honesty, it sucks, but what other choice did they have at this point? “Yeah,” he agrees, slowly, nodding. “I think we’ll have to.”

“I can help you down,” Buck says, stepping up to help Eddie to his feet. “We should go now before he leaves.”

“Wait,” Eddie says, panic overtaking him for a moment, choking the words out. “Before we go. Before we do this.”

“Eddie?”

There’s so much Eddie wants to say. He’s overcome with it. He wants to tell Buck he loves him. He wants to apologize for never being ready, for taking too long. He wants to tell him it’s been him for so fucking long, Eddie doesn’t even remember when it started. He wants Buck to know he regrets waiting.

“You have to know. How, um, how I feel—” Buck presses a hand over Eddie’s mouth, muffling the sound.

“Tell me when we’re out of this.” Buck understands instantly, and if the wavering nature of his voice is saying anything, Eddie’s overwhelming emotion has spread. “Tell me when we make it home, Eddie.”

Unable to wait, Eddie pulls Buck’s hand down from his mouth, but not to speak. With his free hand, he grips Buck’s shirt, pulling him. Buck reacts instantly, his hands cupping either side of Eddie’s face as their lips meet. There’s nothing gentle about the way they meet, both of them pouring their all into the kiss, both knowing this may be all they ever get. Eddie’s lips slot perfectly against Buck’s, and together they tell a silent story of friendship and love and loss and everything in between spanning nearly a decade.

Buck keeps his hold on Eddie’s face, his thumbs pressing against the corners of Eddie’s lips, a metallic taste bursting on Eddie’s tongue. He doesn’t know whose blood it is, and he doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters beyond Buck’s lips.

They pull back, chests heaving, cheeks wet. The kiss, like their story, feels unfinished, but they’ve run out of time.

“Just in case,” Eddie says, blinking wetly up at Buck.

“Just in case.”

Getting down the stairs is a little more precarious, but a little less painful, and it doesn’t take long to cross the dark lot back to the front of the motel.

“You should take this,” Eddie says as he passes the pocket knife to Buck, already holding the room key, ready to unlock the door and barrel inside.

Buck nods, taking the knife and holding it in a shaking hand.

Eddie steels himself, preparing for the upcoming scuffle and how much it’s going to fucking hurt.

Buck quickly unlocks the door and takes a quick step inside, Eddie following behind for one, two steps before—

5:00 AM

The first thing Eddie notices is that his head hurts, the second that his mouth is dry. Eddie has a bottle of muscle relaxers that he sometimes takes before bed when the muscles in his shoulder seize up, but he doesn’t remember taking them last night. He’s in pain, too. His side, shoulders, and back are all aching, screaming for relief. 

“Fuck you!” Buck’s voice rings out, snapping Eddie back, the memories of the past few hours flooding back to him as his eyes open. 

They’re back in the same kitchenette that Eddie had been stabbed in. His side aches at the memory, reminding him of his bleeding wound. He looks down, grateful to see his bandages haven’t been stripped, and when he looks to the side, he sees Buck’s have not, either. Both of their hands are tied behind their backs with a thin rope, and attached to the wooden chairs they’re sitting on. 

Eddie doesn’t say anything at first, lips set in a firm, fine line as he watches. 

“Fuck me? I don’t think you’re in any position to be mouthy,” Ronnie says with a laugh, a hand winding back and clapping Buck on the side of the head, making him cry out in pain. 

That is enough to make Eddie speak, the words erupting from his mouth before he has time to think. “Don’t fucking touch him,” he nearly growls, fighting his restraints, instinct screaming at him to reach out and comfort Buck, but all it gets him is pain around his wrists where the rope rubs against them. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Ronnie says, smiling with his teeth exposed as he reaches out and ruffles Eddie’s hair. Eddie jerks back as much as he can, swinging his head around to try to get Ronnie’s touch away from him. It doesn’t work. Ronnie grips Eddie’s hair in a tight fist, tugging backward until Eddie’s neck is strained, head back, and looking directly up at Ronnie. “I suggest you stop moving, pretty boy.”

Pretty boy?

“Make me, asshole.” The pretty boy comment isn’t enough to throw Eddie off his guard. He wants Ronnie to keep focusing on him, keeping his attention away from Buck. And from the way Eddie’s fingers are working the ropes around Buck’s wrists, trying to undo them. 

“Eddie, don’t,” Buck tries to warn, but Ronnie speaks over him. 

“I can do that,” Ronnie says, and Eddie feels sharp pressure against his chest. He can’t drop his head to look, not with the tight grip Ronnie has in his hair, but from Ronnie’s maniacal grin, and what he can see of his other arm, Eddie knows it’s the tip of the knife pressing against his chest. “And I will. Eventually.” He lets go of Eddie’s hair and takes a step back. 

Eddie’s head falls forward when Ronnie releases him, only righting itself after Ronnie steps back. “Are you okay?” He asks, head turning to look at Buck, his hands still working behind him, fighting with the ropes. It’s loose enough that he can work a finger underneath the individual wraps; he just has to hunt for one he can pull. 

“Y-yeah,” Buck agrees, nodding, only looking at Eddie for a split second, his eyes trained on Ronnie otherwise. “What do you want? You’ve probably already gotten our wallets, just let us go.” His eyes narrow as he speaks to him, his turn to distract. 

They work seamlessly in that way, not needing to communicate what the other needs. Buck talks to him, goads him into focusing on whatever Buck is saying, rather than the way the muscles in Eddie’s arms move and ripple as he moves his fingers. 

“I don’t want anything. See, I’ve got just what I want right here.”

“Why?” Buck asks, voice louder, an attempt to feel some sort of control in an uncontrollable situation. 

“Why?” Ronnie repeats, still grinning ear to ear, a low, dark chuckle filling the pause. “Because you were here.” 

“Rooooonnnnnieeeee!” Calls out a raspy, familiar voice. The woman from the diner. “Are you back here?” The voice gets closer, and finally she rounds a corner, coming into view. “There you are! Oh, I see you’ve found your fun for the night.” She talks to him the same way Eddie hears people talk to their pets who bring dead animals to the porch. An amused sense of pride in her voice, masking a long-buried sense of distaste. It’s like she knows this is in his nature, something that cannot be unlearned or trained out of him. “It’s good you’ve got them on the tile. You know how Lornie gets about her carpets.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Ronnie answers back with a roll of his eyes. He waves her off, and she just lets out a little laugh, shaking her head, before disappearing into one of the other rooms, the door squeaking as she almost closes it, no sound of it latching or closing. 

While Ronnie had been distracted, Eddie hadn’t stopped trying to free Buck. He’s getting increasingly frustrated, unable to see what he’s doing and struggling. Buck doesn’t miss a beat, though, opening his mouth to speak as soon as Ronnie turns back from watching his mother leave. 

 “Let us go or fucking kill us,” Buck spits. 

Eddie freezes for a moment, not sure that was the right move, but he gets back to work quickly, wincing when a fist connects with Buck’s jaw, his head flying back before dropping forward, spraying blood forcefully onto Ronnie. 

“Maybe I should sew your pretty mouth shut, I’m sure mom’s got a needle around here somewhere,” Ronnie says, unbothered by the blood, as he runs the tip of his knife slowly over Buck’s jaw, not applying much pressure, just enough for Buck to know it’s there. 

Everything in Eddie wants to fight, but he’s almost got Buck free now, unwrapping his wrists and shoving the extra rope between Buck and the chair so Ronnie can’t see. He’s almost got it. They’re going to get out of here. 

“Thought I was the pretty one,” Eddie says as soon as Buck starts working on his ropes. It’s going much more quickly with Buck’s freed hands. Still, he’s smart, keeps them behind his back without letting Ronnie see, getting straight to work. The connection between them shines through again, wordless plans followed to a t. 

Ronnie turns, looking Eddie in the eyes. “Want me to hurt him again?” He asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Eddie’s eyes go wide, shifting from Ronnie to Buck before resting back on Ronnie. “You think I don’t have eyes and ears all over this place?” He laughs. “Quite the show you two put on.” When Eddie remains silent and stoic, staring at him, Ronnie continues, “gonna keep your mouth shut?”

Eddie nods, silently cursing himself for never considering the RV was meant to be a trap, one they’d escaped only to walk into another. He feels the last of the bindings around his wrists coming free. Buck turns to look at him at the same time Eddie turns to do the same. Their eyes meet for just a moment, setting the grand finale in motion, before they both move. 

Throwing all of his weight and energy forward, Eddie slams into Ronnie. One of Eddie’s arms flies out to the side, trying to hold down the hand with the knife in it, digging his nails into the flesh to get a good enough grip to lift and slam the hand onto the ground again and again. He doesn’t know where he’s getting the strength from. It’s got to be adrenaline, or maybe it’s hope that gives him the extra oomph he needs, knowing that they are so close to getting out of here. 

“The keys,” Eddie grunts as he struggles to keep Ronnie’s arm and body pinned. He has a much bigger build than Ronnie, pounds and pounds more of pure muscle, but in his current state, it’s barely enough. “Get the keys, Buck, c’mon.” 

Buck scrambles forward from where he’d been, standing and surveying the room, looking for something. Eddie wasn’t sure what, but it couldn’t be more important than the keys. He hits the ground on his hands and knees, crawling over Ronnie and trying to feel for the keys. It was more difficult than it should have been, but with Eddie’s body on top of Ronnie as well, it was hard to see, much less fit his hand between them. “Got ‘em,” he says when he does get them ripped free from the belt loop. 

Eddie’s straddling him now, leaning forward with an elbow against Ronnie’s jaw, holding his head down while his other hand wrestles with his knife-wielding arm. “Drop it. Come on. It’s over,” Eddie spits through gritted teeth, but he still keeps his ironclad grip on the knife. No amount of pressure on Ronnie’s jaw does anything either, unless the wild laughter he lets out is something of note. “Fucking drop the knife, man. Make it easy. Drop it and let us go.” 

Ronnie does drop it this time, but he doesn’t just let it go; he tosses it, lets the noise distract Eddie, and uses the distraction to get on top of him, overpowering him. He lands a blow against Eddie’s face, pain blooming over him. His side stings, too, Ronnie’s knee pressing into it. Eddie tries to get his hands up to block the next blow and narrowly protects himself. He jerks to the side, dislodging Ronnie from atop him. The downside of it is that he ends up on his front, trying to crawl forward, and Ronnie easily reaches out and grabs him by the hair again, dragging him back. The pain burning along his scalp is sharp, the pull preventing him from moving away, helpless to do anything but follow his leading hold.

The next thing Eddie hears is a loud thump and then an even louder one. With the sounds comes Ronnie loosening his grip on Eddie’s hair. When Eddie turns around, scrambling to right himself, he sees Buck holding a skillet in shaking hands, staring down at Ronnie. 

“A skillet? Really?” It’s not really that he’s judging; he’s just surprised. 

“It’s heavy! First thing I could find.” Buck takes his eyes off of Ronnie to look at Eddie, and in that short time, Ronnie grabs him by the calf, trying to climb up him, dodging when Buck brings the skillet down again. Buck lets out a yell as Ronnie brings him to the ground. He’s somehow gotten the knife again, holding it above Buck as he straddles him. Buck’s hands are wrapped tightly around Ronnie’s forearms, arms shaking as he tries to hold him away or throw him off. 

As soon as Eddie realizes, he jumps into action, throwing himself on top of Ronnie, using his size to his advantage. He digs an elbow into Ronnie’s side, but Ronnie swings an arm back, getting Eddie where he’s already wounded, the damp bandages shifting as the three of them begin some semblance of wrestling for dominance. The knife clangs along the floor, ending up under a table, forced from Ronnie’s hand by Buck. 

Ronnie’s smaller than the two of them, but he’s still strong. Eddie knows he should be able to take him, especially like this. He’s got the experience, but everything’s moving so fast. They’re so close to being free. Buck is almost safe. He is almost safe. They might make it out of this. All of the thoughts are taking up far too much space in his brain, not allowing him to use logic in the fight. None of them are saying anything, but the room is full of noise: grunts and groans, bangs and thumps, and lastly something that makes the three of them separate, a gunshot. 

“Hey!” Doreen shouts, holding out a gun with shaking hands. “Get off’a my boy!”

Eddie and Buck both scramble backwards, getting far away from Ronnie. Their eyes meet for a second before they move to Ronnie, who is lying motionless on the floor. Oh fuck. This is either very good or very bad. Eddie’s chest rises and falls quickly as he breathes, wide eyes flitting between Buck and Doreen. Buck is doing the same, both of them waiting for Doreen to turn the gun on one of them. 

Instead, she comes running forward, directly to Ronnie before dropping to her knees and letting out an anguished wail, one only a parent losing a child can produce. Eddie would feel bad; his usual built-in, burning urge to comfort lying cold and dormant while he watches her, if her son hadn’t spent the night terrorizing them, trying to kill them. 

She doesn’t drop the gun, but she isn’t pointing it at either of them, so Eddie locks eyes with Buck and nods toward the doorway. Buck nods quickly in agreement, slowly making his way toward the hallway, and Eddie does the same. They make it nearly to the start of the hall before she seems to notice.

“You killed my son! I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you!” She screeches through sobs.

Neither of them turns back to see what she’s doing. Instead, they both take off running down the hall.

“Last room on the left,” Eddie calls out. “It leads to the lobby!”

Bang.

A gunshot rings out, making Eddie and Buck both duck, but it doesn’t stop them. They cross the length of the hall quickly. Bang. Bang. Bang. More shots ring out as they turn into the first room, the lobby straight ahead. Lorna could be out there, but neither of them stops to check before bursting through the little half-door against the front desk, rushing toward the doors.

Bang.

Searing heat burns across Eddie’s arm, but he doesn’t let it stop him. He makes his way around the car to the passenger side, frantically trying the door handle while Buck fumbles with the keys.

“Buck, come on,” Eddie pleads, eyes darting from Buck to the lobby door. “We gotta go. Right fucking now.”

Finally, Buck unlocks the door, and they wrench the doors open, practically throwing themselves inside. They don’t wait to put their seatbelts on. Buck jams the key into the ignition and puts the car in reverse, backing up hastily, switching to drive without coming to a full stop. The resulting squeal of tires as they speed out of the parking lot and onto the road feels a lot like a victory cry.

6:00 AM

They don’t say anything for a while. They finally put their seatbelts on after a few minutes, but they still don’t talk. Eddie makes a mental count of injuries. He’s been stabbed, cut, bruised, and the last bullet had grazed his arm. Okay, maybe slightly more than a graze, but it hurts a hell of a lot less than last time. Buck has a bloody nose, a cut lip, a black eye, the worrisome gash on his arm, and a number of other cuts. They’re not dead.

They’re not dead.

It takes fifteen minutes before Eddie realizes he still has his phone in his pocket, and he laughs when he feels it, pulling it out and staring down at it, the one flickering bar of service giving him hope that they’ll have some soon.

“What?” Buck asks, looking over as Eddie laughs.

“I still have my phone,” he answers, still laughing as he holds it up.

Immediately, Buck pats his pocket and laughs, too. “Holy shit, so do I. Wallet, too.”

Eddie laughs even harder. “What a fucking idiot.”

“I can’t believe we almost got killed by an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, softly, staring into the distance. They made it. They’re out. They’re really fucking out. They didn’t die in that motel. “Never staying in a motel again.”

“Agreed,” Buck says, laughter gone, his eyes focused on the road.

Eddie’s been through horrors, and sometimes he thinks nothing will ever be worse than the last, but in these moments afterward, survival coursing through his veins, pain settling in, he knows that it’s impossible. Every terrible situation is terrible in its own right, each one leaving a lasting impact on him. He can’t just say he can get through anything because he’s done this, or because he’s done that, or because he has a silver star. Anything could happen at any time, and no matter what he’s been through, it could be the moment that takes him.

He’s spent a lot of time denying himself, telling himself he’s not ready, that he doesn’t deserve it, yet, but if there’s anything a near-death experience does, it’s put life into perspective.

“Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?” He asks, reaching over, squeezing Eddie’s thigh.

Eddie grins, looking down at it. It’s like he always knows what he’s thinking. “Can I tell you I love you, yet? Or do I have to wait until we’re home?”

Buck grins, squeezing his thigh again. “Yeah, you can tell me. It always feels like home when we’re together anyway.”

“I love you,” Eddie says, finally, his chest feeling immediately lighter.

Buck intertwines the fingers of his right hand with Eddie’s left. “I love you, too.”