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Buck realized he was drowning. Lungs burning as he tried to breathe in the saltwater, arms moving to grab onto something to stop his body from tumbling through the water. His eyes burned when he tried to open them, skin bleeding as he was dragged over sharp surfaces. Finally, his back collided with a solid surface, bringing his body to a standstill. He grabbed onto what he believed was the surface, kicking himself upwards with his legs.
Lungs stinging as they filled with air, Buck took a moment before taking in his surroundings. Gasping for air, arms grasping desperately at the side of the building, surrounded by water on all sides, Buck realized he was alone.
“CHRISTOPHER?!” Buck's voice carried across the rushing water. Things were rushing past him in the swift stream: stuffed animals, signs, trash, and people. Buck took more breaths, steadying himself as his eyes continued to skim the water, looking for the telltale bright red shirt and glasses. But he was alone, the only sound he could hear was rushing water and screams.
“Fuck…FUCK.” Buck realized he would need to move again. He pulled himself to the corner of the building, preparing himself for the strength of the water that was about to push him back against the ground.
Buck let go, this time more prepared. Letting himself be carried rather quickly towards the buildings that lined the edge of the pier. He was swept past them, down the main street, past cars lodged against buildings and bent trees. He was going to continue to let himself be carried away when his arm was roughly grabbed.
“Grab on!” A voice carried to him. The grip on his arm tightened and pulled Buck roughly upwards. Buck swung himself around, grabbing at the vehicle as it smacked into his side. Buck recognized it, truck 136, without its crew. Buck hauled himself upwards onto the roof, joining what appeared to be three other people.
“Are you okay?” Buck grunted a response. The person who pulled him up backed off after helping Buck get stable on the shaking vehicle. Buck's eyes continued to scan the water, ignoring the other people. Still, he saw nothing. The ache in his side grew sharper with every breath. He touched it tentatively, checking for a wound.
His hand pulled away red. Shit. Buck quickly applied pressure, hissing at the sting of the dirty, wet shirt digging into the open wound. He didn’t stop checking the water, though. Seconds passed, maybe minutes, as Buck stood on the truck, watching the water. The other people took notice, helping him search the water; he did not tell them who he was searching for.
Eventually, the water stilled enough that Buck took notice. Eyes drifting from the surface of the water to the other people who sat with him. Two women and a man, all head to toe drenched, scratched, and bleeding.
“Are you guys okay?” His voice hurt in his throat. Heavy, painful, like he swallowed too much seawater.
“Bleeding but alive,” one of the ladies says.
“Do you think we should try moving further inland?” The guy eyes Buck. Buck knows this would be the smart choice, but moving inland means moving further away from the place he last saw Christopher. The guy seems to take notice of Buck's eyes drifting back towards the water.
“I don’t know who you’re looking for, and I’m sorry. But the best choice right now in finding them is getting you help first.” Buck agreed silently. The pain in his side is growing worse, and he knows he needs medical attention. He doesn’t mention that he’s on blood thinners to the three other people; the last thing he wants them to worry about is keeping him alive when there are three of them.
“Okay, but we need to wait. If that was the first wave, there’s going to be another.” Buck shifted on the firetruck, looking towards the front end. He noted the windows were rolled up, the side compartments sealed. He knew one of them had a first aid kit. He shifted slowly, hissing as pain seared up his side again.
“Stop, tell me what you need.” The younger lady shifts forward, hands held up to stop Buck from moving further. Buck nodded, grateful.
“Right-hand side of the truck, third compartment from the front. There will be a small red bag, grab it for me.” The lady nodded, moved slowly to the side of the truck, and climbed over the edge, not once letting go of the side rail. When she reappeared, she held the red bag.
Buck was thankful for small miracles. He did a rough bandage, accepting that not much else could be done before finding a hospital. So they sat and waited.
Buck, if asked later, would say that the first wave was the worst. The feeling of getting dragged over glass and trees for miles on end would be a painful memory he’d never erase. If you asked him in the moment, though, sitting on that firetruck, Buck would tell you that the second wave was terrifying.
The water rushed up quickly, moving to meet the edge of the firetruck. The force of the second wave moved the firetruck a couple of feet, jolting the four survivors around roughly. More screams in the distance as Buck watched people get dragged past, more crashing as he watched windows concave on buildings, walls topple down to join the rush of the water.
Buck watched closely as screams drifted past him, he watched over the edge of the truck, pants growing wet again as the salt water grew higher. He watched, and watched, until he noticed.
There. Something red.
Buck sprang forward without realizing, his body falling into the water below. Moving swiftly, he kicked and dragged himself across the street towards the rapidly disappearing red object. He struggled to keep his head above water, tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he reached out in a sad attempt to grab whatever, or whoever, was right there.
Fingers gripping around fabric, Buck ripped the object upwards. Heavy in his palm, he pulled until the red object became a shirt, and heavy became a person. There, in Bucks, shaking hands, was the bleeding body of his best friend's kid.
Buck didn’t have time to think, legs already moving him and Christopher back towards the firetruck. The three other people helped him up, gently laying Christopher down on the roof as Buck scrambled up the side.
Buck watched closely for the rise and fall of the kid's chest, hands already moving to start CPR. A hand grabbed him. Buck looked to the male survivor, who shook his head, moving past Buck to do CPR himself. Buck watched closely, listening to the cracking of ribs as he prayed that Christopher would wake back up.
He watched, and watched, and watched. Until the water had fallen, and the screams were silent. Until the two women climbed down the side of the truck and flagged down a moving vehicle in the distance. Headlights grew brighter, voices grew heavier between the two women as the truck came to a stop a few feet away.
Buck couldn’t stop watching. The man had slowed down, watching for any sign of life from Christopher, moving to check his pulse.
“Why are you stopping?” Buck growled. Anger boiled over, eating away at the pain in his side, pushing away the stinging in his lungs. Buck moved to take over the CPR, grabbing at Christopher's chin and blowing air into his lifeless lungs. Buck heard banging as heavy boots made their way up the side of the truck to join him. Buck heard shouts as people clad in safety gear tried to move him out of the way. Buck heard pleas as he realized he was crying when he finally removed himself from Christopher's body.
“We need to get you to medical immediately,” a voice said into his ear, pulling him back to reality. His side was bleeding again, warmth rushing down his side, seeping into his already wet pants. Buck grew tired quickly, really tired, and really weak. Letting himself be pulled off the firetruck, into the safety vehicle. Buck's tired eyes watched the firemen gently lower Christopher onto a backboard, sliding him into the vehicle on the floor next to Buck.
Buck felt the vehicle start to move, eyes never leaving Christopher's face.
Incident command was busy, loud, and people were moving around him quickly as he tried to follow the medic closely. Buck watched them carry Christopher into the tent next door, a quieter tent, a darker tent.
The bandage was slowly removed from his side. Cursing loudly, Buck watched the paramedic evaluate his side.
“The bleeding has slowed, but not stopped. I’m going to reapply the bandage and give you fentanyl for the pain.” Buck nodded in agreement, accepting the clean bandage wrapping around his abdomen. He sat in silence, watching the medics rush past, listening to the voices around him for any word on other survivors. He doesn’t know where the three strangers ended up.
“Here’s a clean shirt,” fabric is shoved onto his lap, “we can give you IV fluids, but we’ll move you to the green tent for that.”
He picks himself up slowly, legs shaking as he moves out of the tent, eyes blurring in pain as he pulls the shirt over his head. He heads for the bright green tent, steps slow and careful on the rough ground, legs heavy as anxiety fills his chest. He doesn’t make it halfway across the yard before a hand is grabbing his arm.
Buck can’t focus, his eyes are blurring, and the pain in his side is stabbing. The person is saying something, two hands grabbing him now, holding him steady.
“Buck? Buck, can you hear me?”
“Chim?” Buck's voice is rough, his throat feels like it’s bleeding with every word. Chim laughs, pulling him into a hug. Buck revels in the warmth Chim gives off, wet body shaking as he breaths in shakily.
“I lost him, Chim.” Chimney pulls back, taking in Buck's pale face, littered with red cuts. His eyes travel downwards, taking in Buck's weak stance, the way Buck winces when his hands try to grab his sides instead.
“Lost who, Buck?” Buck's mouth moves to speak, but he sees others approaching them. Others he recognizes.
“Buck?!” A bewildered voice meets his ears. He winces in pain; he just wants to lie down. Eddie grabs his shoulders, taking in Bucks broken form.
“What are you doing here?” Eddie's eyes move from Buck's face to Chim, who stands there quietly.
“Buck…where’s Christopher?” Buck's eyes go black, and his knees crumple out from under him.
Buck opens his eyes slowly. The noise has died down, but the lights are just as bright as before. His lips are dry as he opens his mouth to call for someone, side aching as he tries to sit up from the bed he lay on.
“Take it slow, Kid.” A large hand meets his shoulder, slowing Buck's ascent. Cap holds him steady as tears start to streak down Buck's face, shoulders jolting with silent sobs. He couldn’t stop crying even as other hands held him, even as the warmth of others surrounded him on all sides.
His body hurt, his head was bursting at the seams, and his lungs ached with every gasp for air.
When time had passed and Buck's body could no longer supply sorrow, he accepted the words of others. Chim apologized for not helping him sit down sooner. Hen held his hand and explained they had been out there helping for hours, trying to find other survivors. Cap offered words of kindness, telling Buck how proud he was, proud that Buck survived, proud that Buck found others and helped them, proud that Buck made it out. The obvious truth hung in the air, heavy with anticipation. The truth was that Buck had failed.
Buck had failed so miserably, and he didn’t know if he could face Eddie ever again. The three firefighters settled in next to Buck's cot, hands settling on different parts of him as if grounding him. Buck accepted the touch, albeit his skin was still on fire from being tossed around a few city blocks. They sat in silence for what felt like hours.
Soft footsteps entered the tent at hour four, approaching the small group slowly. Buck looked up, meeting the red eyes of Eddie.
Eddie was broken, his hands shaking where they held in front of his chest, eyes red and puffy, face full of sorrow. He cleared his throat to talk, but his lips quivered and he snapped his mouth shut again. Hen reached out and held his hands, holding him steady.
“He drowned. They told me he likely didn’t even feel anything as it happened too fast.” Eddie met Buck's eyes, “They told me his ribs were broken, that somebody did CPR for over thirty minutes on him?”
Buck nodded, “It wasn’t just me, a stranger helped me.”
“Thank you…for trying.” Eddie's voice broke, new tears cascading down his face. Hen stood and pulled him into a tight hug, holding him as loud sobs filled the once quiet space.
“I looked, I swear I did. I looked and looked and looked, but I couldn’t find him. I even stayed at the pier during the first wave. I promise I tried my best.” Buck's throat screamed for him to fall silent, the pain eating away at his very being. Eddie sobbed harder into Hen's shoulder.
Cap squeezed Buck's knee, showing he was listening. Buck watched his friend break, watched as all life and hope left the once strong Diaz’s soul. Buck watched in silence.
He realized his pants were still wet.