Station 81

The call came in just after noon, slicing through the half-lazy rhythm of a late lunch break like a blade.

"Vehicle accident. Possible multiple injuries. Location: Highway 9, mile marker 47. Car over the edge."

Remus was halfway through a turkey sandwich. He dropped it instantly, snatching his turnout coat as the klaxon began to blare. Around him, Station 81 snapped into motion.

Frank's voice echoed from the garage. "Let's go, team! Marls, prongs, you're on extraction. black, with me. Remus, you're lead medic."

They piled into the rig, the siren screaming to life as they peeled out of the bay. James's leg bounced with nervous energy. Sirius had his jaw set, eyes narrowed. Remus checked his medical bag twice, not trusting his fingers, which felt too slow, too cold.

"Car over the edge?" James muttered. "That can't be good."

"Cliffside," Frank confirmed from the driver's seat. "That stretch has no guardrail. If the car's gone over, we might be looking at a full-blown recovery."

Remus glanced at Sirius. His grip on the bar above his head was tight, knuckles white. They all knew what that kind of scene could mean.

Death.

--

When they arrived, the wind hit them first.

Sharp and cruel, it whipped off the cliffs and tugged at their jackets. Below, the world dropped into forest and stone. The edge loomed like a predator.

The car was still visible—barely. A silver sedan had plowed through a patch of brush and rolled partway down the slope, caught between two trees. Its back end dangled, precariously angled over a sheer drop. One wrong move and it would be gone.

"Dispatch says two occupants," Frank called as they ran toward the scene. "Unconfirmed ages. No fire risk yet. We secure, assess, and extract. Safely."

Remus slid to a stop near the edge. "Jesus. That thing's hanging by a thread."

"More like a root system," Marlene muttered, eyes scanning the ground. "If the soil shifts—"

"We're all going with it," Sirius finished.

James had already grabbed the ropes and harnesses from the truck. Marlene helped him anchor them as Remus clipped on, testing his line. "I'll go first."

Sirius shot him a look. "You sure?"

"I'm lighter. Less likely to shake the car. If they need medical attention, they need it now."

Frank gave him a nod. "Be careful, Lupin."

Remus descended slowly, boots sliding over loose dirt and gravel. The smell of metal and engine oil filled his nose. He reached the driver side and pressed a gloved hand to the cracked glass.

Inside: a woman in her late twenties, dazed and bleeding from the forehead. In the passenger seat, a boy—maybe ten—clutching his arm, pale and shaking.

"Hey," Remus said, voice calm. "I'm Remus. I'm a firefighter and paramedic. You're going to be okay, alright?"

The woman nodded, sluggish. "My son—his arm. I think it's broken."

Remus peered in. The boy’s arm was swelling fast, and there were red marks across his chest where the seatbelt had locked.

"I need you both to stay very still. I'm going to stabilize your boy first. Then we'll get you out of here."

He radioed up to Frank. "Two patients. Driver has a head wound, stable. Child has a suspected fracture and possible seatbelt trauma. I need a backboard and pediatric collar."

"Copy that," Frank replied. "James is coming down with gear."

Minutes ticked by like hours. James rappelled down and passed Remus the equipment. Together, they stabilized the boy, wrapped his arm, and secured his neck.

And then the car creaked.

All three of them froze.

A shift in weight. The sound of something snapping below.

"We need to move, now," James said sharply.

Remus looked at the boy. "Alright, buddy. We're gonna get you out. You're going to feel a tug, but James here is going to lift you up, okay? Just breathe for me."

The boy nodded, eyes wide.

They clipped him into the lift harness, and James guided him up slowly, carefully, each inch tense with risk.

Next was the mother. She was weak, dizzy. Remus had to support most of her weight as they hooked her in.

Sirius was at the top now, helping James pull.

Remus stayed behind, watching every inch of rope. When she was clear, he gave one last look to the car—the broken glass, the dangling wheel—and began to climb.

He was halfway up when the ground gave way.

It was only a foot, maybe two—but the whole world tilted.

He swung against the cliffside, slammed into the rocks, rope jerking taut.

"Remus!" Sirius’s voice.

"I'm okay! Just keep pulling!"

He reached the top on adrenaline and aching muscles, helped over the edge by Marlene and Frank.

"That was too damn close," Sirius muttered, not letting go of his arm.

"Tell me about it," Remus said, breathless.

The car groaned.

And then it fell.

The sound was deafening. Twisting metal, snapping branches, then silence.

--

They rode with the victims to the hospital, sirens blazing.

The boy was stable. Scared, but okay. His mother drifted in and out of consciousness. Remus stayed close, monitoring vitals, checking pupils, talking to them softly even as exhaustion clawed at him.

They wheeled them into the ER, passing through the familiar automatic doors.

And then there she was.

Lily Evans.

Hair tied back, scrubs wrinkled, eyes sharp as ever. She spotted them instantly and was moving before anyone else.

"Two trauma patients? Room three and five. We have Dr. Singh ready for the kid. I'll take the mother."

Remus caught her eye as she passed. Her hand brushed his arm.

"You okay?"

He nodded. "Close one."

She paused. "That car was over the cliff, wasn’t it?"

"Held on just long enough."

Lily gave a soft whistle and squeezed his arm once more. "You did good. Go get checked. And then get some rest."

Remus watched her walk away, commanding the trauma room like a general.

Behind him, Sirius stepped up, helmet under his arm. "She never even broke stride."

Remus smiled faintly. "She never does."

--

They rode back to Station 81 in silence, each of them wrapped in their own thoughts.

As Remus sat in the back of the rig, watching the city pass by, he felt the weight of the day settle in his bones. The near-misses. The luck. The skill.

And through it all, a thought kept circling back:

This is why we do it.

For the kid who lived.

For the mother who would wake up tomorrow.

For the cliff that didn’t win.

And for the people waiting at home, hoping we make it back.