If I wake up, will I be dead?
Buck wished he was dreaming right now. Wished all of this wasn’t true. He was too busy running. He was running as fast and as far as he could from his kidnappers. All he wanted was for the pain to stop. He just wanted to silence the screams of his siblings and the gleeful laughs of the others. He just wanted to go home, wherever home was. Even with all his half siblings there, the compound wasn’t home; not even for a single second of the two years they had spent trapped there. He may have gained a father and siblings, but he and his siblings never expired the fatherly love and care they craved.
It was cold and dark in the basement in a way that seemed to drain the life from them where their torturers couldn’t. It was set up like a prison or dungeon, each cell surrounded by concrete walls and floors with a single iron bed frame and bucket in opposite corners. He could still hear the thud of the heavy doors slamming behind the soldiers. It echoed in his mind, in his dreams. He heard it so many times in the day, and then heard it even louder when his eyes were shut. He could never escape. The display floor was grand and luxurious. The very best for the captors and their sponsors. High ceilings and rich carpeted floors with the very best technology in every available space ready to make the lives of those upstairs that much easier. Buck and his siblings didn’t deserve such luxuries unless they were to put on a show. The last time Buck had experienced any luxuries was back in New York with his family.
He wondered if his fire family back in New York had noticed he was gone. If they did, were they even looking for him? Did they really care? He hadn’t left on the best of terms beforehand. Would they believe him if this break out even worked? Would he even tell them the truth about who he was and what he could do? He didn’t think they would care whether he showed up at the station covered in blood and grime after two years of no contact, or if he eventually showed up in a body bag on the floor of Lake George. He didn’t think he had a right to hope they would shed a tear or wish they could have had a chance to make up. He didn’t deserve anything.
Buck saw the bright flash of golden light surrounding his siblings as the snarling faces of the soldiers and his biological father closed in around them. Buck closed his eyes against the light and just hoped that where he was going, it would be better than here. Anywhere was better than here. He hoped at least one person would shed a tear when he finally joined the blazing inferno below.
Hell wasn’t what he thought it would be. It was loud, for one; full of car horns and the typical sounds of the bustling streets he was used to back in his New York loft. Maybe it was a cruel joke to make him think he was home before he opened his eyes and realised he was never going back there again. But they, whoever they were, had really gone to town on the joke.
Buck had always known he was going to die one day. Being a firefighter came with that reality that there were only two guarantees in your life - birth and death. Buck was sure it was going to come earlier to him than his teammates. He was childlike, reckless, and impatient. At Least that was the persona he allowed his fire family to see. He wanted to complete the daring rescues and tended to jump into situations way before others would find it safe. He wanted to protect everyone even if that meant sacrificing himself. Besides, he had an extra layer of protection that the others didn’t have when it came down to running into burning buildings. Maybe that was why he felt so invincible. He always knew the bad things he had done would put him down below with Hades as company, but always wondered if the fiery pits would still feel like home when he was six feet under, or if they would finally claim him as another victim of its blazing destruction.
He could smell the sandalwood candle he had carefully placed on his bedside table after Christopher had decided his loft must have a candle. He had never figured out the reasoning behind that one. He could feel the soft touch of the bedspread he had carefully chosen after deciding he wasn't going to come home from a 24 hour shift to lie on scratchy, irritating bed sheets anymore. Any firefighter willing to come home to cheap bed sheets was a psychopath and Buck wouldn’t be argued with on that. God, he could feel himself sinking into the memory foam mattress underneath him as he tried not to get too comfortable. What was the point when this was all fake anyway. He supposed he had to rip the Band-Aid off eventually and open his eyes. Supposedly the dream had to turn to ashes eventually right?
Buck squeezed his eyes shut one more time to take in the sense of home; the sounds, the smells, the feeling. To enjoy it one last time.
Maybe he should say a prayer; a final goodbye to those he loved. But it was too late for that. What was the point in saying a prayer when he was already dead? What was the point in saying goodbye to loved ones that didn’t love him back? Prayers probably didn’t work in hell, anyway.
Buck took one final breath and opened his eyes.
Well. This was a surprise. What the fuck did Ron do?