Work Text:
How do I know how to make this stop?
When the world keeps spinnin' and I want to get off
Whatever I seem, I was never as tough
I was never as clean as you think that I was
-Erin LeCount
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He was staring at the razor sitting in his bathroom, contemplating.
The day had been absolutely horrible; they lost a kid on a call, he nearly got himself and Chimney trapped underneath a collapsed building, and he got into a fight with Eddie.
All in all, Buck was not too thrilled to be alive at the moment, so he just sat in the bathroom and stared.
Doing something now would undo all of the progress he had made; it would be another secret, another thing to hide from his team, his family just so he could feel better for a couple of minutes. That couldn’t be worth it, could it?
Fuck.
He had to get out of here.
Buck hastily pulled on sneakers and made his way to his car, even though most people would probably advise against him driving in his state of mind.
When his seatbelt was already on and the car was started, he realised that he didn’t even know where he wanted to go.
Eddie was probably still angry at him, plus Chris was asleep, so he couldn’t really bother him right now. Maddie was at work, Chim was at the Lees, Hen and Karen had their hands full because both kids had the flu, which only left Bobby.
Shit. It was way too late to bother him, right?
But Bobby might actually understand; he wouldn’t judge.
In the end, the fear of being alone with the feelings took over, and Buck shifted the car into drive.
The drive stretched for what felt like hours, lights going past him, his brain on autopilot for most of it.
Anxiety constricted his throat as he finally pulled into the driveway.
He shouldn’t have come; this was a bad idea, but staying home like this would be even worse.
He made his way onto the porch, which illuminated as soon as he got into the radius of the motion sensor. At his sides, his hands were sweaty, moving rapidly. A habit he had picked up years ago to disguise their trembling. Once he had rung the bell, he looked around, unwilling to stare at the door for more than a second. One side of the garage was closed, the other open and empty, which either meant that Bobby or Athena were alone, or that no one was home. Shit.
His spiral was interrupted when the door opened with a creak, and Buck was face-to-face with his Captain.
“Buck?” Bobby studied him for a moment, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “What’s going on?”
He really hadn’t thought this through.
“Hey Bobby. Don’t worry, I’m not here to tell you I’m suing the department or anything.” He let out a breathless chuckle.
Bobby’s posture did not relax at that; he opened the door wider and took a step aside.
“Why don’t you come on inside?”
Bobby guided Buck into the living room. The silence between them heavy.
When they had sat down on the sofa, next to each other, both facing the black TV, he finally spoke again.
“Is Athena home?” As much as he tried to disguise it, his voice sounded raw.
“No, she is out with May. Buck, talk to me, what’s going on?”
What wasn’t going on would probably be a better question. Where would he even start?
He cleared his throat.
“Do you remember the plane crash we responded to a couple years ago?”
“Yeah, I do.” The older man turned to him and studied his face for a moment. “What’s this about?”
The concern was etched into every carefully voiced word, and made Buck’s eyes sting threateningly.
His voice was small when he spoke: “After that, you asked for help.”
The words sat between them in the humming night air. Buck’s gaze was fixed firmly on his hand, that were scaping frantically at his cuticles, unwilling to stop and think about what he was about to confess to. Bobby, as always, didn’t push him to speak; he let the silence hang until he was willing to continue.
“Bobby.” It was less of a name and more of a broken sound. “I need help.”
The first tear fell, and his throat constricted. Across from him, there was a sharp intake of breath, followed by Bobby inching closer.
“Whatever it is, kid, you can tell me, and then we’ll get you some help, okay?”
Buck lifted his eyes and was met with a soft, encouraging look from Bobby, with concern laced throughout.
“Okay,” his voice came out shakier than he had hoped. “I need you to know that I don’t want to die.”
It was not a lie, at least not entirely. He didn’t want to die, but he also did not not want to die. Not existing would just be easier than this, but he couldn’t say that without sounding like he did want to die.
Evidently, this was not the best way to start this conversation, seeing as the man across from him visibly tensed.
Buck took a deep, shaky breath before continuing: “I have-, I really don’t know how to say this- I have been hurting myself, and I don’t know how to stop.”
And, Oh. He really should not have looked at Bobby after this statement, because the utter devastation written all over his face pulled at every single one of his heartstrings, and a sob bubbled out of his throat.
Bobby moved swiftly, gathering Buck into his arms.
“Oh, Buck.”
A hand was rubbing gentle circles on his shaking back.
When he had calmed slightly and pulled out of Bobby’s grip, he spoke again.
“How long have you been struggling with this?” The words were wobbly, like Bobby, too, was holding back tears.
“On and off since I was thirteen.”
A single tear fell from the older man’s eye.
“Have you talked to anyone else about this? Maddie or Eddie?”
“Maddie knew; she thinks that I stopped at like eighteen, though,” he sighed deeply. “I’m sorry that I came here so late. I didn’t know where else to go, and I really did not want to be alone with my thoughts.”
“Buck, I’m glad you’re here. You can come by anytime, with anything you need, okay? You don’t have to be alone with this.”
The heaviness on his shoulders lifted slightly.
“I’m sorry, but I have to ask: Are there any wounds that need medical attention?”
The words were quiet, tentative, almost like Bobby did not want to hear the answer to his own question.
Buck felt his throat close up further.
“No,” he coughed. “I- I didn’t do anything.”
A little more quietly, he added: “I wanted to, though.”
He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up at the man across from him.
His eyes were soft and sad, and there was a tear making its way down his cheek. Still, he smiled at Buck.
“Kid, I am so proud of you.”
Buck’s eyes widened in confusion. Hadn’t he just confessed his deepest darkest secret?
“I know how hard it is to deal with something like this, and that it is even harder to ask for help when you need it, instead of engaging in destructive behaviours. I am glad that you are here.”
He sniffled softly.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He sighed: “Not really, but I think I have to.”
Bobby didn’t speak, just waited him out with a gentle look in his eye.
“The thing is, I really want to stop, but I also kind of don’t, if that makes any sense?”
“It does,” Bobby swallowed harshly. “For some, self-harming behaviours can become addictive. What you describe makes sense. You know, I had similar thoughts when I was struggling.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. The only way I got out of it was with help, though.”
The room went quiet again; the only sound filling the silence was the occasional cars passing by on the street outside. Buck’s gaze fixed on his hands again.
“But how- how do you want to get better?”
“You already did the first step; you want to want to get better.”
A laugh choked out of him: “That’s some funny wording you’ve got there.”
Bobby chuckled softly: “But it’s the truth.”
“And what then?”
“Now we figure out a system to put in place when you want to do something; we figure out what works for you. It’ll take time and a lot of energy, and there probably will be hiccups, but the most important thing is to try.”
“Yeah, try.” A rattling breath came out of him.
The cushions of the sofa were soft as he sagged back onto them, all of the fight and tension leaving his body at once.
Next to him, Bobby was silently regarding him, eyes soft.
“You know what the stupid thing is?”
The other man hummed in question.
“The stupid thing is: I am so desensitised to these behaviours, they don’t even scare me anymore; I mostly just feel annoyed that after so many years of trying, I still just feel like the teenager that couldn’t cope when he was left alone with his thoughts. I know it’s not, but it feels so fucking pathetic.”
Room went quiet again. Neither man broke the stillness for a long moment, Bobby probably trying to keep Buck talking; it worked.
“The longest I’ve ever been clean was like eight months, and I really thought I beat it; I really thought I would not have to cope like that ever again, but like a week later it happened again. And I got clean again until a minor issue set me off. It always goes like this, the same cycle, over and over again.”
He sighed deeply, rubbing his hands down his face.
“I hate how secretive it makes me, and how much shame is tied to it. I can’t even say the word self-harm without feeling sick, which is totally stupid because it’s not even that uncommon. But when people hear about this, they automatically assume that you want to die or that you are just doing it for attention. Which is completely dumb because it is so secretive.”
Next to him, Bobby was nodding along attentively. The crease between his eyebrows and the shine of his eyes felt like a punch to Buck’s gut.
“It’s kind of funny how the coping mechanism that you use to try and deal with your problems eventually becomes your biggest problem.”
The breath caught in his throat.
“I just want to feel normal.” It came out more like a sob than an actual sentence.
Bobby’s arms wrapped around his shaking frame again.
“You will, kid.”