9-1-1 One-shots (Buddie And 118)

Heyyy my lovelies!! 💖
I just wanted to say before we jump into this story — I'm SO sorry for being so absent lately. Life has been really really heavy recently, and I just haven't had the heart to write. 💔 A close friend of mine sadly passed away, and honestly, it's been one of the hardest things I've ever gone through. Grieving someone you love is never easy, and I needed a little time to heal.
Also... WTF WHAT DO U MEAN BOBBY NASH IS DEAD?? HE WAS SUPPOSED TO WALK BUCK DOWN THE ISLE AT THERE CUTE BUDDIE WEDDING? WHO IS EDDIE GOING TO ASK FOR PERMISSION TO MARRY BUCK???

On a more serious note however, thank u so muck for supporting me even when I went quiet for a bit. It means more than you know. 🥺💞

I love you all endlessly and I hope you enjoy this story! it was suggested by the lovely @weluvvmaya and it reads "can you write a story where buck is sick and the others take care of him (idc who let you creativity guide you ) and he's just vulnerable and feverish." ofc I can!! It's really soft, a little emotional, and full of comfort — exactly what my heart needed to write right now.

The firehouse was quieter than usual — a rarity that none of them took for granted. A rare lull between calls had the team lounging around, each in their own bubble of relaxation. Chimney and Hen were swapping stories at the kitchen table, Eddie was scrolling through something mindless on his phone, and Bobby was reading a newspaper he probably found three days ago.

Buck, however, looked awful.
He was curled up in one of the armchairs, blanket draped over his lap, cheeks flushed pink with fever. His eyes, normally so bright and restless, were half-lidded and glassy. He'd been insisting all morning that he was fine, that he could push through whatever bug he had, but his body clearly disagreed.

Hen glanced over and frowned. "Buck, you're sweating through your shirt," she said, voice filled with concern.

Buck gave a weak wave of his hand. "M'good," he mumbled, voice hoarse and thin.

Eddie put his phone down immediately, sliding closer to the chair. "Buck, come on. You look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm—" Buck started, but he didn't get far. A harsh, wet-sounding cough ripped from his chest, leaving him hunched over and gasping.

That was enough.
Bobby stood up and crossed the room. "Alright, that's it. You're not working through this."

Without much protest — Buck barely had the energy — they gently guided him to lie down properly on the couch. Chimney grabbed an extra blanket from the bunks, Hen fetched a glass of water, and Eddie stayed by Buck's side, fussing quietly over him.

Buck was half-conscious, fever making his thoughts sluggish. He didn't fight the hands tucking the blanket around him or the cool cloth Hen placed on his forehead. In fact, he leaned into the touch, a vulnerable little whimper escaping before he could stop it.

Eddie sat cross-legged on the floor beside the couch, resting his arms on the cushion by Buck's head. "We got you, Buck," he said softly, brushing damp curls off Buck's forehead.

Buck blinked at him, a tiny, grateful smile twitching at his lips. His fever-bright eyes closed again, trusting them completely.

The others exchanged glances over Buck's sleeping form.
No one said it aloud, but they all felt it — the protectiveness, the fierce loyalty. Buck was their family. And tonight, they'd take care of him, just like he'd always tried to take care of everyone else.

The firehouse settled into a gentle rhythm around Buck's fevered sleep. They dimmed the lights, moving quieter than usual, instinctively protective.

Hen took the first watch.
She sat nearby, reading quietly but glancing up every few minutes to check on him. Every so often, Buck would stir — coughing weakly, shivering despite the mountain of blankets — and Hen would be there, murmuring soft reassurances and smoothing his hair back from his damp forehead.

Around midnight, Bobby took over.
He didn't sit down; he just hovered close, his comforting presence filling the room. Bobby checked Buck's temperature with the back of his hand, frowning at how warm he still was. When Buck whimpered in his sleep, mumbling nonsense, Bobby knelt beside him, whispering quiet words — things he wished someone had said to him once: You're safe. We're right here. You're not alone.

At some point, Chim came padding over with a fresh cool cloth. "He's still burning up," he said under his breath, sharing a worried look with Bobby. "We should get him to drink something when he wakes up."

Eddie barely slept at all.
He was a constant presence by Buck's side, sitting on the floor with one hand always touching — a reassuring weight on Buck's arm or fingers running gently through Buck's curls.

Around two in the morning, Buck finally blinked his eyes open, disoriented and feverish. His whole face crumpled in confusion and exhaustion when he saw the dim firehouse living room around him.

"Eddie?" he rasped, voice small.

Eddie was there immediately, leaning in close.
"Right here, Buck. I'm right here."

Buck's fingers reached out blindly, finding Eddie's sleeve and clinging. He looked so young like that — vulnerable and scared. Eddie's heart broke a little.

Hen appeared with a glass of water, kneeling to help. "Sip this for me, okay, Buckaroo?" she said gently.

Buck obeyed, barely managing a few sips before sinking back into the cushions, exhausted again. His breathing evened out with Eddie's hand stroking slow, soothing lines through his hair.

Bobby stood nearby, arms crossed, watching over them like a guardian.

"He'll be alright," Hen whispered, her hand squeezing Eddie's shoulder.
And Eddie nodded, his eyes never leaving Buck's sleeping face.

Because he would be.
Not just because Buck was strong — but because he wasn't alone anymore.

Not tonight. Not ever again.

okay so that was actually ass.

that's it my loves! have an amazing day and PLEASE give any ideas i loveeee them and i have little to no ideas lol!

have a great day and dont forget to eat, drink and move today! u deserve it<3

- Maz