You earned it.

he held [him] with the type of intensity that only happens when a person wants something that isn't quite theirs

There are two kinds of fire in the world. Fire and fire—the fire that burns and the fire that gives warmth, the fire that sets the world ablaze and the fire that puts a puppy to sleep after a long day outside.  Eddie dreams about the kind that burns.  The burning house is large and unfamiliar; it’s dark but the fire behind him is bright, flashing orange and yellow and red and blue where it’s hottest, nipping at his heels like the hounds of hell. It’s terrifying and it has his heart racing, a thud-thud-thud in his chest that hurts his ribs, but he doesn’t stop.  He doesn’t stop.  He’s not sure where he’s supposed to go, but he keeps running and running and running. He passes a melting bathroom full of dripping mermaids and bedrooms full of toys that have gone up in flames and a kitchen that glows meaner than the surface of the sun, red like blood.  The fire rages behind him, eating up the space he puts between it and him.  He finds Buck in the living room, standing in the center on an ugly rug. He’s barefoot and wearing the t-shirt Eddie bought him for his birthday, a dark blue thing with Niagara Falls on the front he found at a resale shop. It makes his eyes bright.  He grabs Buck’s wrist. “Come on, Buck,” he says, hoarse. “We have to go.”  Buck shakes his head. “I can’t get out.”  The fire following Eddie pours into the living room; the curtains, faded yellow with stitched butterflies, are the first to go up. Eddie tugs again, but Buck stays still. “Buck—” “Eddie.” He smiles, soft and content. “I can’t get out.” 

St. Christopher. The patron saint of travelers. To protect you and keep you safe. And to remind you that you have a family to come home to. I love you. Both. And no matter what happens, I'm always gonna fight to come home to my family.

He wished he had time to look at Eddie, to meet his eyes and shake him and make him understand, but the coyote was tossing aside the part of the branch that it had ripped out of Eddie’s hands and turning again to attack. Christopher shouted for his dad and blood dripped from Buck’s arms and there was no way to stop any of it. No time to say what he needed. Eddie tried to flank Buck on his left side and Buck threw a bloody arm across his chest.

“Eddie, if it gets through both of us…”

Maybe if it was just the two of them alone, they could keep fighting together. They’d overcome worse than this assault of teeth and fury and pain and come out the other side. But they weren’t alone and they couldn’t take the chance. Buck would never ever tell Eddie that he was glad to be the one bleeding, but it was true. And even still if he’d been in Eddie’s position, if he’d had to be the one to run, he would have gone. One of them had to.

Beside them, Marisol takes a small step back, and Buck fights a thousand different feelings he hates himself for as he slides seamlessly into her place, helping Eddie into the shirt. He kneels before him and buttons it deftly, starting from the bottom. He stops level with Eddie’s clavicle and pats the last button gently when he’s done. “Looking sharp, Diaz,” he tells him, giving him a playful onceover. “Blue’s your colour.” Eddie rolls his eyes. “Okay, Molly Ringwald.” Buck barks a surprised laugh. “Excuse me?” “You know,” Eddie says, holding his gaze with a grin, woozy and lopsided. “Pretty in Pink.” He gestures at Buck’s hoodie, worn and faded baby pink. Then he’s reaching out, and Buck can’t even chastise him for lifting his arms unnecessarily because he’s pressing his thumb to the centre of Buck’s lips. Buck swallows, suddenly very aware of the position they’re in. On his knees before Eddie feels like the most natural supplication in the world, only intensified by the vulnerability Eddie’s trusting him with. Before he can reach for some levity for the sake of everyone in the room, Eddie’s thumb travels up, up, up, stopping when it reaches the birthmark splotched rosily across his brow. “Pretty in Pink,” he murmurs again. Marisol drops a hairbrush where she’s repacking the duffel, Hen waltzes back in with the completed paperwork, and Buck leans back on his heels, away from Eddie’s touch, before springing upright.