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The call came in as a gas explosion at an apartment complex. Fire. Trapped civilians. High stakes. The kind of call that always made Buck’s adrenaline spike.
“Roof access,” Bobby ordered. “We need eyes on ventilation and secondary fire spread.”
“I’ll take it,” Buck said, already slinging the hose pack over his shoulder.
Buck climbed fast, breath ragged behind his masks. The roof was scorched but intact—for now. Smoke poured from a vent near the edge.
“We’ve got fire in the walls,” Buck radioed. “Might be climbing to the attic—”
Then came the hiss. A low, rumbling growl.
BOOM.
The explosion was thunder. A gut-punch of sound and fire that turned the roof into a battlefield.
Buck had been seconds from turning back to the vent. He was looking around the roof while radioing to Bobby when the world went white-orange and lifted him off his feet.
They saw it happen.
From the ground, Bobby, Hen, and Chimney watched Buck get thrown. One heartbeat he was there—the next, he was flying through the air like a ragdoll. He hit the roof edge hard. Rolled once. Then vanished.
“BUCK!” Eddie’s scream was pure terror.
They stormed the building. Fire crackled around them as they reached the collapsed rooftop. Smoke choked the air.
“There!” Chim pointed.
Buck lay face-up in a pile of scorched debris. Helmet gone. Mask broken. A beam had crushed across his torso. His arm was twisted unnaturally. His leg was bleeding—no, gushing—from a deep, jagged puncture in his thigh.
But worse was the blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.
Eddie stumbled forward and dropped to his knees. “Buck? Buck, can you hear me?”
Buck’s eyes fluttered. He tried to breathe—and choked. A wet, terrible noise followed.
Then he coughed hard—spraying dark, blood across his lips and chin.
“No no no no—” Hen was suddenly beside them, gloves on, ripping open his turnout coat. “His lung’s collapsed. He’s bleeding internally. We need to decompress now.”
“He’s going into shock,” Chimney said, pulling out the needle kit with trembling fingers. “Heart rate’s crashing—he’s not going to make it if we don’t stabilize right now.”
“I’ve got you, Buck, I’ve got you,” Eddie whispered, gripping his unbroken hand, his voice cracking. “Stay with us, man, just—stay with us.”
Buck blinked once. Blood bubbled at his lips. Then—his body seized.
Flatline.
“NO!”
“Starting compressions!” Chim threw himself forward as Hen prepped the defibrillator. “Come on, Buck, come on—don’t you do this!”
Bobby’s voice was hoarse in their radios. “What’s happening? Do you have him?”
“He coded,” Hen snapped. “We’re trying to bring him back.”
They shocked him once. Twice. Still flatline.
“Damn it, come on, Buck!”
“CLEAR!”
Third time. Beep.
A sluggish rhythm appeared. Weak. Barely there. But there.
Buck gasped—a desperate, shuddering sound. He coughed again, more blood spilling from his mouth, splattering onto his chest. But he was alive.
“Keep pressure on the leg,” Hen said. “He’s losing too much blood.” Chim shoved gauze into the wound. Eddie didn’t let go of Buck’s hand for a second.
Forty minutes later – Hospital ER, Trauma Bay 3
Bobby stood outside as trauma surgeons worked on Buck through the glass. He’d been intubated, hooked to every machine they had.
Spleen rupture. Multiple broken ribs. Crushed left lung. Compound femur fracture. Severe blood loss. And yet… he was still breathing.
“I thought we lost him,” Bobby whispered, voice raw.
“We almost did,” Eddie said quietly. “But we didn’t.”
Hen nodded, tears still in her eyes. “Because we were there. And we didn’t stop.”
48 hours later – Hospital ICU
The beeping was steady, but quiet. Too quiet.
Buck lay pale beneath a mess of wires and tubes. He looked smaller—fragile. Swallowed by the machines keeping him alive.
The nurses called it “medically induced.”
But everyone knew the truth. Buck hadn’t woken up. And now his vitals were starting to slide again.
“He’s not stabilizing,” Hen said softly, glancing at the monitor. “Every time they try to lower sedation, his blood pressure tanks.”
Eddie sat at his side, elbows on knees, not looking up. “He was doing better.”
“He was surviving,” Hen corrected. “But that’s not the same as healing.”
The silence between them was heavy.
Then Buck made a sound. A rasp. A twitch. His hand shifted beneath the blanket.
“Buck?” Eddie leaned in fast.
The heart monitor began to race. Not erratic—alarming.
Hen hit the code button just as Buck convulsed in the bed.
“Seizure,” she said instantly. “He’s seizing—!”
The room flooded with nurses and a trauma doctor.
“Get him on his side—protect his airway!”
Bobby arrived just as the crash team pushed Eddie and Hen back. “What happened?!”
“He started to wake up, then—he just—” Hen was shaking her head. “Something’s wrong.”
The monitor flatlined again.
“No—”
“Code blue, ICU 3!”
Eddie’s back hit the wall. His knees nearly buckled.
Chimney shoved through the crowd, eyes wild. “Not again. Not again.”
Inside the room, they shocked Buck twice. Three times.
“You’re not leaving us,” Hen whispered. “You hear me, Buck? Not like this. Not now.”
Finally— Beep. Beep. Beep.
The monitor came back.
Weak, erratic... but alive.
“He’s in a coma,” the ICU doctor said later. “Not induced. Natural. His brain’s overwhelmed. It’s trying to recover—shut down to survive.”
“How long?” Bobby asked.
“We don’t know. Could be hours. Days. Or—”
He didn’t finish.
Two weeks later
Buck still hadn’t woken up.
Eddie barely left the room. Chim brought food, but it always went cold. Hen made sure Buck’s chart was reviewed twice a day. Bobby called Maddie who was out of town every night with updates he tried to keep hopeful—but couldn’t fake it for long.
Then—on the fifthteenth night—Eddie was talking softly about nothing, just to fill the air.
“...And you still owe me dinner for that bet you lost. I don’t care if you were technically right. Rules are rules.”
Buck twitched. Eddie stopped breathing.
Then—Buck’s eyelids fluttered. His brow furrowed. He grimaced like something hurt.
“Buck?” Eddie stood up. “Buck—”
The monitors started going crazy again—but not crashing this time. Climbing.
Buck blinked, just once. His lips parted around the breathing tube and started gagging.
Eddie pressed the call button for a nurse. “Hey, it’s okay. Calm down, the nurse will be here soon to take the tube out.”
A nurse ran in and quickly removed the tube and checked his vitals and chart. Then left to go talk and grab the doctor.
Eddie looked down at Buck. “Hey,” he whispered, tears instantly welling. “Hey, welcome back.”
Hen ran in. “He’s waking up?!”
“Yeah.” Eddie nodded, breath shaking. “He came back.”
Chimney barged in next, Bobby close behind. Bobby stopped cold at the sight—and just let himself breathe for the first time in days.
Buck didn’t speak—couldn’t yet—but his eyes were open, and they knew he saw them.
And that was enough.