AN/Disclaimer: First off, I don't own anything to do with M7, if I did the show wouldn't have been canceled, or would have been carried on as a graphic novel or something. Second, hello fanfiction people :) This is my first dip in this neck of the pond, and I hope you like it!
Also, this fic is an angst train. You have been warned.
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Buck lazes against the ancient sofa in the corner of Miz Nettie's garage, grinning as JD manages to tap out a half-decent rendition of Billy-Jean on his keyboard. "I'm telling you," JD enthuses when he finishes, spinning around on his stool with a flourish, "we're gonna be famous." Ordinarily Buck would tease the crap out of him, but he's feeling it too, the possibility thrumming through them all, so he slaps the side of the couch enthusiastically instead.
"Hell yes we are! You can play, Inez can sing, lil' Casey ain't half bad on that banjo of hers-" A cry of outrage hits his ears right before the yellow tennis ball Casey had been bouncing off the wall careens nearly into the side of his head. Buck slaps it away as he ducks, laughing as she snaps, "It's a fiddle! And I'm not little!"
"You are the youngest," JD points out with another swirl around on his stool, the girl scowling up at him from her perch on the edge of the square of old blue shag carpet that Buck is pretty sure had been pulled out of one of the bedrooms.
"Careful JD, she goes for the eyes when she's really mad," Vin says, coming out of the house with a tray full of snacks, Miz Nettie's soft spot for Vin paying off in extra goodies. Casey huffs, suddenly deciding their childishness is beneath her dignity as she looks pointedly away from Vin. 'Course, she might also be annoyed that Vin can get more cookies out of her aunt than she can, Buck figures. Inez, uncurling herself from a beanbag Vin had gotten from...somewhere, pats Casey's shoulder in sympathy as she stands. Buck idly admires the view of her very nice backside as he contemplates whether it's worth getting up from where he's sunk into the sagging couch just for food. Maybe he can get JD to snag a couple pizza rolls for him.
"Often," Inez announces, pausing slightly for effect, "I feel as though I am babysitting when I come here. Only, no one pays me." Even knowing it was a shot at him at least as much as everybody else, probably more, Buck grins wider. He likes her grit and the way she doesn't think twice about putting any of them in her place. Really, he thinks, watching her bite into a slice of apple, her lips closing around it, he likes her. A lot.
They shove pizza rolls and fruit and cookies down their gullets, eating eagerly, like it will disappear, though Buck can see there is enough to feed even the bottomless pit that is Vin, talking about how good they're getting, and the next practice and what songs they want to play and gigs, playing on stage, in front of people-maybe, someday; and it feels like the world is bright and fun, electric with possibilities.
Buck's cell-phone buzzes in his pocket, he swallows the mouthful of sweet, crumbly cookie he'd just taken, swipes his hand on his shirt, and tugs his phone out to read the text message. It's from Sarah, saying that she's about to wrangle Adam into his car seat and head towards Miz Nettie's, so get him and his half a drum kit ready to go please. Also, he really needs to move his laundry to the laundry room himself if he doesn't want her to see things like the history test he got a D on lying in the middle of his floor when she goes in to get it.
Which is basically Sarah's way of saying 'busted, Bud,' even if she can't quite pull off Chris's crooked grin. Crap. Flopping himself sideways down onto the couch, and ignoring the 'Buck is soooo weird' looks his friends are passing around, Buck groans. What he is is soooo dead.
He knew he should have burned it.
Buck tries to forget his impending doom while he waits, Casey's tennis ball getting used for keep away in the front yard, who they keep it away from changing every few passes, tossing the ball here, there, and everywhere. JD's it, running to get the ball, and misses that Buck was only faking, didn't actually toss the ball to Vin, and when he turns to charge after Vin, Buck bounces the ball off the back of his head and nearly falls over laughing at his outraged squawk.
Only, then it's been more than half an hour and Sarah still isn't there. He frowns at his phone and the time stamp for a minute then shrugs it off. Probably, Adam is being more of a hellion than usual, or Sarah is picking something up from the grocery store. That's all.
Another twenty minutes and Buck is worried and also kind of wondering if she forgot about him. He might have tried walking, only he's sure Sarah will show up the second he's around the corner if he does. He calls her once, then twice, then sends her a text. No answer. Buck sends Chris a text, not quite daring to call him when he's in court, because if by some crazy chance the phone is on and not on silent he has no doubt his brother will kill him. He doesn't want to die twice in one week. Especially when Sarah's probably just stuck in a traffic jam. She never answers her cell-phone when she's driving.
He's confused more than anything when Ezra's car pulls up to the curb, the dark green mustang shining in the sun. Miz Nettie likes Ezra just fine now, even if she didn't at first, but he's still wary around her, like she'll snap his head off if he moves wrong. Why is he here?
When Ezra gets out of his car he has one of his almost blank faces on, skin pale, and Buck can see his hands are shaking and fumbling. He has to swallow the urge to puke, to scream at Ezra to get back in his car and go and not tell him something terrible. Something that will hurt like fire. Like Ma.
He walks slowly up the driveway. Buck cannot take his eyes off him the entire time.
^.^.^.^.^
Buck sits in the hospital waiting room, terrified and numb, Ezra at his side, not sure what to do. Josiah is trying to talk someone, anyone, into telling him something, more than once moving into roaring. Buck hardly notices, can't think and can't escape his thoughts at the same time. He wants his brother, Chris will fix it, make the world make sense again. Chris had gone to court, he knew that, knew it was a three hour drive back from where he'd had to go, but it feels as though it had been that long twice over.
Sarah and Adam are alone back there. They shouldn't be. They shouldn't be. Adam must be so scared.
Buck is halfway across the room before he realizes it, heading towards the back with a single minded purpose, hearing and not hearing the voices calling out to him, questioning what he's doing, as he walks. Josiah's arms on him hauls him back, trying to hold him close while he yells for him to let him go, yells, "They need me, I should be with them, please! They need me! Josiah, please!" Shouting please even as he elbows and scratches and kicks, acting like a kid less than half his age, hysterical, and all Josiah will do is hold him, won't let him go, won't help. He's crooning to Buck now, like he really is a tiny kid, and he feels himself start to fold, start to collapse, because if Josiah can hold him back he can hold him up and he's not sure his legs are going to do the job much longer.
Chris appears, tugging at his elbow, and Buck turns to him needily as Josiah unwraps his arms and steps back, expecting to be held, expecting him to make the world make sense again, expecting anything but what he gets. "What the hell are you doing? You trying to distract the damned doctors? You'll get somebody killed!" Chris hisses it, in a tone Buck has never, ever heard from him before, and then he's gone, whirling away with a flap of his duster towards the nurse's desk, as Buck gapes after him, not sure what to do now that the last of the solid ground has fallen from beneath his feet. Josiah's arms wrap around him again, pulling him close, and this time Buck doesn't fight it. He doesn't do anything but stare at where his brother stands, his ears buzzing, though he can imagine the words that the preacher is saying, things like, 'he's just scared, Son', and 'he didn't mean it like that'.
Only, Buck is pretty sure he did mean it.
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It's Chris, face strange and broken, who wakes him up where he's passed out on a waiting room chair. Buck shoots up, looking at him like he's expecting a miracle because he is, because they're due one, goddammit.
He knows the second he sees Chris's eyes. He shrinks from those eyes, but Chris, for all he looks as though he's holding himself together with spit and a prayer, is gentle. He doesn't say it, doesn't have to, so why would he? But he pulls Buck close, holding him maybe too tight, holding him like he's the last thing he has, Buck knows because he's squeezing him back the same way. It hurts so bad, only he can't quite feel it either. It's too big, too scary, too impossible to be real. It feels like a nightmare. It is a nightmare.
They can't be gone. Adam with his shining eyes, following him around with constant cries of, 'Buck, Buck!' scrambling to tell him whatever was important right then when Buck answered, 'Yep, little Bud?', he can't be...dead. Sarah who teased and joked and just like his Ma wasn't shy about kicking his ass when she thought it needed it. Dead. His mind pokes at the word like it's a physical thing, shying away from the hugeness of it. Dead. Sarah is dead. Adam is dead.
Dead. And not coming back.
The sobs erupt, spewing out of him, a torrent he can't control and he pushes himself into his brother, gripping on so he can't be ripped away too, as his brain chants, 'no, no, no, no, no, not true, not real, it's not real,' but he knows it is. It is. Chris is gripping him even tighter, for all it should be impossible, Buck's face pressed half into his neck, half into his duster, tears streaking down both leather and skin. He can't hear Chris crying, not loud like he is anyway, but he can feel the tears running into his thick hair, enough to wet it.
He wakes up at home. In his bed. He stares at the ceiling and prays to God that it was all a terrible, terrible, dream.
^.^.^.^.^
At the funeral, Buck and Chris sit together, not talking. Just like they haven't talked at home. The silence stretches everywhere, surrounding them no matter who is speaking. Pretty stories, for such an ugly day. Hesitant, since Chris is so brittle, so tight with rage and grief Buck has felt like a bomb was going to explode any minute for days now, he pushes his shoulder into his brother's a little. Just needing to know he's there, that he's real. Chris lets him, his hand moving after a long minute to squeeze Buck's knee. There is still so much silence.
They walk across rolling fields of dead, generation after generation, and Buck wishes it felt peaceful, wishes it felt like the sort of place his family could rest easily, but it doesn't. Not to him.
The gravestones are too much, the teddy bear carved on Adam's like a spike in his heart. It's like the world is telling him again, taunting him with these great honking slabs of stone as proof. They're gone. They're gone, just like Ma, and he's not ever going to get them back.
Then Chris is gone, just gone, not by the graves; and he can't find him, can't see him, and Buck is trying not to panic, but all he can think is, 'why does everyone leave me?' Josiah's hand comes down on his shoulder as he prepares to hunt the parking lot, his gentlest voice telling Buck that Chris has asked if he can stay with them for a few days.
^.^.^.^.^
JD and Vin show up at Josiah's three days after the funeral. Buck has only talked to Chris twice. He almost understands. He hasn't answered any of his friend's calls, doesn't know how to talk to them anymore.
But he doesn't.
They go out in the backyard. It's bright and sunny and all he can picture is that BBQ they had last month, Sarah chasing after Adam with a wet nap while the sauce covered boy giggled and shrieked. Half of a sob escapes him before he can stop it, but then he decides he doesn't care. Sarah and Adam deserve to be cried over.
Later, JD makes Buck laugh. He wishes he could hate him for it.
But he doesn't.
^.^.^.^.^
Buck missed his room, missed his house, so even though it's musty smelling and there's whiskey spilled on the coffee table he grins wide at his brother; no matter that part of his heart is clenching because how can this be his house when there is no baby nephew tackling his legs, no Sarah tussling his hair and telling him to 'stop growing already, you're not supposed to be this much taller than me yet.'
Chris doesn't grin back, but he looks relieved to see Buck, claps him on the shoulder, takes his bag from him to carry up to his room even though it doesn't weigh anything at all. Buck follows right behind him with hardly a goodbye to Josiah, needing to be close, not wanting to be left behind again. He follows Chris back out of his room like a puppy, down the stairs and into the kitchen where there is a casserole someone has brought over heating up in the oven. "It'll be hot in a minute. We got four more in the freezer, so eat up," his exhausted looking brother says as he gets himself a beer out of the fridge.
"Cool," Buck answers, because he doesn't know what else to say. All his stories, all his jokes, it's like they've dried up.
^.^.^.^.^
Chris drinks his glass of whiskey like it's the milk Sarah would have served as Buck forks up the runny Mac and Cheese and hot dogs he'd made for lunch, wanting to cry because he can't even make mac and cheese right, because nothing is right and it never will be again.
^.^.^.^.^
Three days after he comes home Chris finds Buck in Adam's room holding onto the little stuffed cougar he'd given him when he turned three, trying to not cry. He screams at him for being in there, yanking the toy out of his hands as he backs him up into the wall, face not just angry, but hateful, spiteful, like Buck has committed the worst crime in the world just by wanting to hold something Adam had held.
Buck, Buck who has been so hesitant, so careful around his brother while he seems like he is going to break apart into shards of glass, screams back. He tells him that he loves them too, that he misses them too, that Chris isn't the only who's hurt so bad they can't think, can't breathe, can't be.
Tells him that he's still here. That they're still a family.
The silent question in his words is answered by Chris turning his back, taking the stuffed animal with him. He turns his back and walks away like Buck is nothing.
He guesses that's his answer. Buck sinks to the ground trying so hard not to sob that they almost choke him, pushing their way up as he pushes them down. He wraps his arms around his legs and buries his head in the tops of his knees, shaking and crying and wanting his Ma as bad as he did the day he lost her six years ago, and knowing he can never ever have what he wants.
Chris doesn't come home that night, not before he's dragging himself off to bed, and Buck isn't sure whether he should lock the door or not. He leaves the porch light on and latches the screen door, but doesn't lock the deadbolt.
^.^.^.^.^
Chris isn't there in the morning. Buck can feel the silence filling the house like a living thing as he stares at the ceiling wondering whether he's going to bother getting up. He lulls his head to the side and blinks as a tawny face with blue buttons for eyes fills his sight. 'Couga' stares back at him from his nightstand, a greasy McDonald's bag sitting next to him. Buck freezes, not daring to blink, then almost lunges for the toy, snaking it back to his chest and holding it close, pressed so tight he can feel the black plastic nose gouging into his skin. He doesn't care. He might not ever let it go.
Later, when his shoulders stop trying to shake, Buck sets Couga to the side, tucked close, and, sitting up, reaches for the McDonalds bag. Two sausage and egg McMuffins, two hash browns and an apple pie. It's exactly what he always gets, and not caring at all that it's cold Buck shoves a huge bite of McMuffin in his mouth, only realizing how hungry he is when the food passes his lips. It's gone in record time, and he leans back against his pillows when he's done, looking at the stuffed animal.
He guesses Chris took his first answer back.
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