Chapter Text
Buck is dying.
They irony isn’t lost on him.
He’d spent so long in captivity and now, after he finally managed to escape, he’s going to die.
It could be worse, though.
It could be raining.
Instead, the early morning sun is shining, signaling the beginning of a bright new day. Birds sing cheerful tunes as they flit and flap from tree to tree in the canopy above, mocking the severity of Buck’s current situation. The forest air is so fresh it almost tastes sweet - like the freedom he had longed for. The same freedom he’d stolen. What a waste of freedom it turned out to be. Buck is dying. For anyone else the day would be perfect. But Buck is dying. To add insult to injury, he isn’t even going die in his human form. He is going to die as a fox and no one will ever know what became of him.
It doesn’t really matter. Death is death. It does hurts to think that no one will find him. Or, if they do find him, they’ll simply assume he escaped from a zoo. A tragedy, yes, but that won’t be the whole story. No one will ever know the whole story. Worst of all, the evil woman who did this to Buck will get away with it.
He’s so weak. His small body is a mess of shallow gashes and blond fur matted with blood, courtesy of the barbed wire he had crawled through in his frantic bid for freedom. He’d run for as long as he could. Day had turned to night and then the sun had risen and now Buck can’t move. His muscles were made of both water and stone. He’s utterly helpless, curled up under a tree hoping for a second burst of energy to get him further away from the Collector.
He just needs to catch his breath, maybe find some water. What he would give for a drink of something cool and wet.
The sounds of the forest wake with the sun. There must be a hiking trail nearby because Buck’s large ears pick up the occasional sound of footsteps and the soft mummer of human voices. Part of Buck wants to flee further into the woods, away from humans. Part of him wants to crawl onto the hiking path and be found. The risks are fairly equal. If he hides in the woods, he’ll probably get eaten by something bigger than his small, Fennec fox body. If he is seen by a human, well, if he survives the encounter he’ll probably end up as someone else’s pet.
Either fate is a dream compared to the nightmare he just escaped.
“Okay class!” A high pitched voice calls out on the breeze. Distant, but not distant enough. Buck must have drifted off. He hears them now. A group of children - more than enough to be concerned about. Buck feels his hackles raise in alert as the hum of small voices reaches his hiding place. The last thing he wants is to become a victim of a demented child destined to become the next Ted Bundy. Buck knows he’s going to die, he’d just rather it be as gentle of a process as possible given his situation.
“Does everyone have their lists?” The adult woman continues. “Alright, spread out, we’ll meet back together in fifteen minutes.”
The exhaustion weighs heavy on Buck as he forces his battered body to crawl under a near by bush. The lower branches poke at his wounds, snagging his fur and tugging painfully as he shoves his way into its shadow. He’s small, but his blond fur was meant to camouflage with sand, not pine needles. He hears a few kids stomp passed his hiding spot and thinks maybe he’s going to be fine. He can still die in peace. At least he won’t be tortured to death by children.
“Get out of my way,” a voice growls. Another voice laughs cruelly as a small boy is shoved down just within Buck’s view. Buck winces inwardly in sympathy. Kids can be little assholes. The two bullies clamber off, leaving the curly haired one alone on the ground. No one rushes to help the poor kid. All of the other voices seem distant. Buck’s eyes squint as he watches a boy with curly brown hair and thick rimmed glasses fumble with two metal rods. Crutches, Buck’s tired mind supplies.
The curly haired kid grumbles, checking the palms of his hands for damage. Buck notes that no damage seems to have been done. The kid slowly starts to collect the things he dropped when he had been pushed. His pencil had rolled near Buck’s front paw, but Buck has no energy left to move further away. It's doubtful Buck could get much further under the bush, given how tangled in the branches he’s become. There’s no where left to go. He closes his eyes and barely is able to flinch when the boy’s clumsy hand finds him. The boy lets out a squeak and yanks back his hand. For a moment nothing happens. Slowly Buck opens his eyes and comes nose to nose with the child.
“Oh, hello.” The boy says quietly. “Sorry! I-I didn’t mean t-to touch you.”
Buck looks at him, but doesn’t move other than to curl in on himself a little tighter.
“Hey, a-are you alright?” The boy asks. “N-o. You aren’t, a-are you? You’re hurt. I’m sorry. Could? Maybe I could help? My d-dad, he’s a medic. I could take y-you home to him.”
Buck glances up at the boy and considers. He doesn’t really want to trust anyone, not after what he’s been through. He doesn’t really want to die, either. He definitely doesn’t want to accidentally die in the arms of this sweet kid and traumatize him for life. The kid has bigger things to worry about. Like that asshole bully that pushed him down, for example. The teacher with the high pitched voice, for another.
“P-please? I can help you. If you want.” The boy holds out his hand, leaving it at a distance to offer help, without forcing it. It’s been so long since someone has given Buck a choice. The thought of it makes Buck whine softly in the back of his throat.
There’s another second of indecision, but then Buck thinks, ‘what do I have to lose?’ and slowly, painfully, he crawls towards the boy’s outstretched hand. The kid comes to Buck’s rescue when a few of the branches refuse to release his fur. Slightly uncoordinated fingers gently help free him. Which is good, because Buck is struggling just to keep his eyes open.
With gentle care, the boy cuddles Buck close for a second and then unzips his backpack. “I’ll carry you in here. I d-don’t think Ms. Flores would like me helping you m-much.” The boy settles Buck’s abused body on a soft sweatshirt he had tucked away in the book bag. “Try to stay quiet.” The boy says, gently running his hand along Buck’s large ears. “I’m Christopher, by the way.”
Slowly, with slightly shaking fingers, Christopher zips up the backpack, leaving a little opening so that there would be air circulation. Smart kid, Buck thinks. Sweet kid. Buck really hopes he doesn’t go dying on Christopher before his medic father can take over. Hopefully, if the father can’t save him, he’ll come up with some sort of dad excuse. He’ll say that Buck went to go live on a farm. Or something nice.
Hopefully Christopher’s dad is good like that. Not like Buck’s father, who never considered trying to soften the blows of life. In kindergarten when all of his friends talked about Santa Clause, something Buck had never heard about, he’d been so excited. He told his father that he wanted to bake Santa cookies. Phillip Buckley had simply shattered the illusion. “Santa isn’t real.” There was no room for make believe. When Buck’s pet goldfish Goldie had died, Buck’s father had told him, “That’s what happens when you don’t take care of things properly.” Because, apparently, it had been Buck’s fault. Maybe it had been, but Buck had been like six or seven at the time, so it was hard to remember the details.
So, yeah. Buck really hopes that Christopher’s medic father is kinder.
The swaying motion of Christopher walking rocks Buck into a lulled sense of between. Somewhere in the middle of waking and sleep. The fog or mist of dreaming and not dreaming. The pain isn’t so bad. The exhaustion is heavy, like a weighted blanket that surrounds his everything.
“Everyone ready to head back to the school?” A cheerful voice calls from somewhere in the darkness. Buck stirs, wondering briefly where he is, but slowly remembering Christopher. There are a lot of voices, none of them shouting, but all of them talking at the same time. It’s loud. They must be in a school bus. It’s a far cry from the peaceful forest Buck had been mostly content to die in.
“Ms. Flores,” Buck hears Christopher’s voice as the boy gently hugs the backpack. “Hypo-hypothetically, what would happen if someone f-found an injured animal? One that-that needed help?”
“Well, if it was a wild animal we’d have to let nature take its course. In nature, death is sad, but also necessary. If an animal dies, their body feeds other animals. It enriches and continues the ecosystem. It’s the circle of life.” The woman, presumably the teacher, says with a hint of suspicion in her voice. “Christopher, did you find an injured animal today?”
“I said ‘hypothetically.’” Christopher says in a way that Buck knows the kid just rolled his eyes.
“Yes, yes you did.” The teacher chuckles lightly. A series of loud mechanical noises emanate from the bus as it starts to move forward. It pulls away from the forest, and Buck remains hidden away in a child’s book bag. The children in the bus start chattering a little louder, laughing, squealing with delight. It’s a lot all at once. So loud. Buck isn’t used to so many noises. His captivity was a lonely, secluded thing towards the end. The only person Buck had seen towards the end was the one in charge of keeping him alive. Some nameless man who whistled obnoxiously while he worked. Buck takes a moment to wonder what his escape meant for the man. He decides he doesn’t care.
The noises meld together. It overwhelms Buck’s senses. His hearing in his secondary form is far more sensitive. Buck pulls his big ears tightly against his head, hoping to cut out some of the loudness.
Eventually the rocking of the bus, the swaying of Christopher, and the pain of his body pull Buck into the dark oblivion of sleep. His last conscious thoughts are hopes of not dying after all.
__
Eddie is not having a good year. The last few months in particular have been, well, devastating. The two things keeping him afloat are his son and his job. His job is active and fulfilling. It felt good saving people. His coworkers are a good group. His son, simply put, is his entire universe.
And then there was Shannon. Shannon, who he fell in love with when he was a stupid kid. Shannon, the mother of Christopher. Shannon, who left, came back, left again and then up and died on them. Shannon, whose death Eddie hasn’t fully allowed himself to mourn.
There hasn’t really been time. Not with work and caring for Christopher.
For a brief, shinning moment Eddie was led to believe he could have it all, only for life to snatch it away from him. Twice. Once when Shannon announced she wanted a divorce and then again when she died.
Now his work was keeping him alert when all he really wants to do is drift. Christopher misses his mom. Eddie is just, hurt. Lost. He came to LA to start something new, but so far everything has been a disaster.
At least he doesn’t have his parents breathing down his neck, threatening to take away his child.
Thinking of his son, Eddie hopes the kid had a good time on his field trip. Christopher has been struggling lately and Eddie’s been at a loss on how to help. Carla, his home health care nurse, is a godsend. Without her, Eddie genuinely has no idea where they’d be.
“Dad!” Christopher cries as he comes through the front door. Carla follows in behind him, big smile on her face as she spots Eddie sitting on the couch. It startles Eddie, momentarily. This is the most exuberant greeting his son has given him since his mother’s funeral. Not that he’s about to question it.
“Well hello, Eddie! I didn’t think you’d be awake yet.” Carla greets him as Christopher slowly walks to him and wraps his arms around his neck. It’s the slowest Christopher has ever come through the front door. Usually his kid flings himself at Eddie. He must be tired from all the walking he did earlier in the day.
“Yeah, I managed to get in a few hours in before I, uh, woke up.” Nightmares, not that he was going to admit that in front of her or his kid. “Thought I’d wait for my favorite person to come home.”
“Well, in that case, if it’s okay with you boys, I’ll head home a little early.” Carla smiles, ruffling Christopher’s hair before she leaves them.
“Did you have fun at school?” Eddie asks as Christopher shifts his backpack gently off of his shoulder and onto the ground in between them.
“Okay, don’t be mad.” Christopher says instead of answering. His words slightly rushed as he tilts his head down at his backpack and then looks up at Eddie with big eyes that are never a good sign.
“Why would I be mad?” Eddie asks, keeping his voice calm even when he feels his anxiety spiking. Most people probably think that their kid is the best in the world. Eddie knows his kid is the best in the world. It’s a fact. So, it’s a bit out of character for Christopher to do something that he knows might upset his father. Which clues Eddie in on the fact that he really, really needs to not react poorly to whatever this is. It’s a test. As a father. He needs to pass it.
Slowly, Christopher unzips his backpack and folds it back, revealing a very dead looking animal curled up on his kid’s sweatshirt.
“Chris.” Eddie frowns, looking at the bloodied creature. It’s some sort of canine, or maybe a fox? Its blond fur is matted with blood and it - oh, it’s breathing. Panting, really. Quick shallow breathes. Its big ears twitch a little, though they are mostly limp. The tiny creature’s eyes crack open and slide up to give Eddie a very judgmental look.
“I told him you could help.” Christopher says with such confidence that Eddie’s heart jumps into his throat. Because to Eddie, this isn’t a fight he can win. “Please help him.”
“Christopher.” Eddie whispers and looks back down at the likely dying wild animal his son brought home.
“Please?” Christopher’s eyes are wide and wet and looking at him with such hope.
What can Eddie do? Say no? Of course not. “I’ll try, but, Mijo, it looks pretty hurt.”
“You can save him.” Christopher insists. “I know you can.”
Eddie wishes he could have as much faith in himself as his son has in him. “I’m going to do my best.” Eddie promises and gently reaches into the bag and takes the fox in his hands. The poor thing makes a squeaky noise of protest, or maybe pain, but doesn’t move to bite Eddie - so he takes it as a small win. He directs Christopher to get a towel from the closet in the hall and moves into the kitchen, setting the fox on the counter and turning on the faucet. He grabs a bowl and fills it with water and gently lifts the creature. It doesn’t take much coaxing to get the tiny creature to drink. It’s small, pink tongue darts out and laps up the water between panting breathes.
The poor thing must be hungry, too. Eddie has no idea what fox eat. Small rodents, right? Although this fox looks like it could pass as a small rodent in the right city.
Eddie looks at the cuts littering the creature’s body. None of the cuts look particularly deep, but they were dirty and the chance of infection is high. Christopher returns with a towel and Eddie folds it, using it as a pillow for the creature who manages to hold its head up and continue to lap up the water. Eddie grabs a clean hand towel and starts to clean the dried blood and grime off of the fox’s coat.
Gently and with his son’s help, Eddie cleans each of the wounds. The fox seems to have his fill of the water and warily watches Eddie’s movements.
“Don’t you dare bite me.” Eddie mutters under his breath. The creature looks up at him with strange blue eyes that look downright unimpressed. His small head lulls and his ears limp and haphazard. “We’re almost done.” Eddie tells the animal who side eyes him before his eyes slide closed and the small body goes limp. “Crap.”
“Dad?” Christopher asks, worry staining his voice.
“He’s pretty tired, buddy.” Eddie tells his son, hoping that it isn’t lying. The animal is clean, the wounds are clean. Nothing looks overly infected. Eddie moves over to the sink and washes his hand. He goes to the fridge and finds some lunch meat and cuts it up, setting it on a small plate next to the bowl of water.
“Is he going to be okay now?” Christopher asks. He sounds tired. Eddie himself is exhausted.
“I don’t know, mijo.” Eddie says truthfully. “But we’ve done what we can. I’m going to fix you some food and then you need to work on your homework, okay? We’ll check on your fox friend a bit later.”
The fox doesn’t eat. Eddie isn’t sure if it’s because he feels sick or because lunch meat isn’t appetizing to him. Christopher checks on him several times and eventually says goodnight to the fox, though Eddie doesn’t let his son touch the creature. He claims its because they need to keep the fox’s wounds clean, but it’s mostly because Eddie doesn’t know what kind of diseases the fox might carry.
Once Christopher is safely tucked away in bed, Eddie walks slowly back into the kitchen and looks at the creature with calculating eyes. It’s awake again, it’s eyes half open and watching Eddie’s every movement. It makes no effort to move. Maybe it can’t, at this point.
“Okay, listen up.” Eddie says in a harsh whisper. “I really don’t care if you live or die, the thing is - my kid does. So you aren’t going to die, do you hear me? You are going to live.” Eddie frowns and adds. “And if you bite him I’ll break your neck myself and say you jumped off the freaking counter.”
The fox huffs, then starts to tremble. Eddie’s breath hitches, taking a step forward, uncertain how to help. The trembling stops abruptly and the fox goes limp again with a soft whine. Eddie reaches out, checking to see if the little beast is alive. It is, but it’s clearly either asleep or unconscious.
“Please, don’t die.” Eddie begs, using the tip of his finger to rub the space between the poor creature's eyes in a gentle way. “I don’t think Chris can take another death so soon after…” Eddie cuts himself off with a sigh and pulls back. He makes sure that the water bowl is full and after a quick google search adds a few more things to the fox’s food dish before heading to bed himself.