Chapter Text
“C’mon, man, that was awesome,” Buck crows, shoulder bumping against Eddie’s as they amble out of the office building to head back to the engine after a call. Eddie just sighs and shakes his head, but it’s his fond sigh-the one he always lets out when Chris does something cute but exasperating–so Buck doesn’t mind.
The call had been a weird one, with reports of multiple people down after some sort of potentially poisoned luncheon, and had necessitated two stations responding to cover everything. It was more of a medical call than a fire call, though, so Bobby had sent the two back to the engine to start loading up the unnecessary gear and get everything ready to go.
“Why do I feel like the entire ride back to the station is going to be you babbling about statistics of accidents in office buildings?” Eddie teases, returning the gentle shoulder bump with one of his own.
“Because, Eds, no one ever really thinks about how dangerous these places are, you know,” he replies, shoving one of the go bags back into its designated locker and shutting the door.
Squawk.
The sound is plaintive, weak, and close enough that both of them start looking around. They’re used to hearing seagulls in Los Angeles, but this one sounds hurt.
Squawk.
Buck is the first one to start narrowing in on the location of the bird, moving slow so he could stay as quiet as possible. He rounds the front of the engine, squinting as he steps from the shade into the bright afternoon sun, and there it is.
The seagull is splayed on the ground in front of the truck, wings spread and feathers a mess, barely able to lift its head to watch him with its beady eyes. “What–” Buck breathes, feeling more than seeing Eddie come up behind him to look at the bird too.
“Must’ve flown into the windshield,” he comments, nudging Buck’s side and nodding toward the very visible afterimage of what appears to be a seagull indeed flying into the windshield. “It’ll probably be okay, ‘s just dazed.”
Buck wrinkles his nose, worried by the third weak call the bird lets out. “We gotta move it or something, or we’ll end up running it over when we leave,” he insists. Eddie opens his mouth to protest, but Buck is already shedding his turnout coat and moving towards the seagull, so slow and careful he almost doesn’t look like Buck. “It’s okay, little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he murmurs, getting more and more worried with every step he’s able to take without the bird screeching and flying away. He kneels by it and lets out a low noise of concern. “Eds, he’s hurt,” he says, glancing back at where Eddie is steadfastly refusing to come any closer.
“Okay, but he’ll be fine if we just move him out of the way of the truck, man.”
“I dunno, his wing looks broken. Pretty sure that’s important for birds to, y'know, bird right.” He looks back at the bird and his heart aches. The poor thing looks so out of it, still struggling to keep its head up off the hot asphalt and weakly flapping its good wing like it wants to get up and get away from this strange human looming over it. Slowly, carefully, he lowers his coat over it and starts gathering it up, wincing when the bird lets out a pained screech and fumbles with its beak to try and bite at the coat. “I know, bud, I know, I’m sorry,” he mumbles on repeat, standing back up with the bird safely (if a bit chaotically) wrapped in his coat.
“Alright, the 136 ended up transporting the patients, so I am so looking forward to snagging a–Eddie? You good?” comes Chimney’s voice from around the truck, and Buck freezes.
“Buck.” Bobby steps out next to Eddie and sees Buck standing there, and there’s such a weird storm of emotions that happens on his face that Buck can’t read, before he just sighs. “You were gone for two minutes,” he says, prompting the current owner of the seagull to grin ruefully at him. Hen and Chim join Bobby and Eddie, but Hen almost immediately excuses herself to go back behind the truck, where she soon starts laughing.
“He’s hurt!” Buck protests, holding up the bird as if none of them had seen it clearly.
“Put the bird down,” both Chim and Eddie say in unison.
Bobby’s already keying his radio, calling for animal control as he steps away. Hen reappears, but she’s clearly holding back another burst of laughter. “Buck, what made you pick it up?” she asks, voice trembling with barely restrained mirth. He just huffs, shifting to hold the bundle against his hip so he can free a hand to wave at the smudged windshield.
“He was on the ground in front of the truck when we came out, and I didn’t want him to get more hurt! Eddie’s the one who said we should move him!”
Eddie hides his face in one of his hands with another long-suffering sigh. “I meant just put him in one of the bushes so he could recover, Buck, not wrap him up.”
“He’s hurt! I said I’m pretty sure his wing is broken.” The seagull tries again to bite at Buck, this time catching a loose fold of his shirt as it pecks at his side. “Hey, that’s not nice,” he scolds, frowning down at it. “I’m defending your honor here.” Hen cackles at that, the sharp burst of noise startling the bird into letting out the loudest squawk it had since the beginning of this whole incident.
“Buck Buckley, I am not going to be the one telling your sister that you got bird flu because you decided to pick up a wild seagull,” Chimney says, pointing at him. Buck takes a step forward, so he can show them the weird angle of the bird’s wing, but both Chim and Eddie take a large step backwards.
“He’s not a threat, guys,” he says just as Bobby reappears.
The look on Bobby’s face isn’t good.
“Animal control won’t come handle a wild animal,” he says simply, though at least he has some good grace to at least look a little sad about it. “They said there’s a sea bird sanctuary up in Burbank that might take it if we can get it there, but they didn’t answer the phone when I called.” Buck deflates.
“C’mon, Cap, he’s not gonna survive out here on his own with his wing like this,” he begs. Bobby just sighs.
“Buck, where are we going to keep him?” he asks in that voice that he always uses when he’s trying to get Buck to realize he’s not exactly being rational about something. The problem is, Buck knows he’s not being rational this time. He just doesn’t care.
“We just got that shipment of supplies at the firehouse, we can use one of the bigger boxes to make him a little nest,” Buck suggests, pointedly ignoring the way Chim groans and covers his own face.
“What if that sanctuary never calls me back?” Bobby challenges.
Buck shrugs. “Then I’ll just take care of him myself.”
“Bro, you don’t know anything about taking care of an injured bird,” Eddie protests, gesturing at where the bird has finally settled in the bundle of turnout coat. “It’s a wild seagull, Buck!”
“Who got hurt on our truck,” Buck grouses.
“I’m not letting you bring him in my rig,” Chimney says, earning yet another snort from Hen, before turning around and practically fleeing to the ambulance.
Bobby sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, not even bothering to say anything to Chim’s retreating back. “Fine, Buck, you can take him back to the station–” he starts, with all of the energy of a parent relenting when their kid brings a stray animal home, “-but, but, you have to take him home with you when shift ends.” Which is a staggering 42 hours from now. Buck grins, looking down at the seagull.
“Welcome to the 118, bud,” he says.
Eddie just groans.