Chapter Text
When you're a child, you think you're invincible. Nothing can kill you. The world is amazing and you are adventurous and nothing is going to stop you. This was true for Evan Buckley too. He wanted to ride a bike and skateboard and roller skate and jump ditches and creeks and find a forest and explore and climb trees and rocks and mountains.
With parents who were more focused on themselves and their jobs than their kids, it was easy for Evan to get into all sorts of mischief. He rode his bike down hills that made him go so fast he sometimes couldn't stop without crashing, chased after stray dogs and cats and snakes and racoons and only ended up bit around half the time, and snuck out more often than not just to explore the neighborhood after dark.
But that was all stuff his parents didn't see, and after his absent dad spent a whole afternoon with him when he got hurt learning to ride a bike—well, unseen mischief wasn't as enjoyable.
He made rockets that exploded before liftoff, climbed trees in the front and backyard when he knew his mom could see him, and practiced skateboarding and roller skating without pads so any falls left visible proof. In return, his parents bought him gifts and food and took him on trips to theme parks and sporting events.
He got a mountain bike and rode it over rocks and up mountainous terrain, always close to the edge, until one day he slipped off the edge. Totaled his bike. Broke several bones. A miracle he survived, said the doctors. No more mountain biking, said his parents. But they also spent two weeks watching movies and playing games with him in his bedroom, so he didn't complain much.
Maddie did.
"Sometimes I think you're trying to kill yourself," she said, her voice brittle and irritated though her touch was gentle as she cleaned his latest injury.
Evan shrugged the arm she wasn't tending to. "I'm just having fun."
She sighed. "Well, I wish you would find some hobbies that don't end up with another hospital visit."
An idea burst to life in Evan's mind. "Hey," he said brightly. "Maybe you should become a doctor. Then, when I end up in the hospital, you can be the one to take care of me there too."
The look Maddie shot him was hard, and his smile dropped instantly. "Don't put that on me. I hate seeing my little brother hurt. Asking me to treat you in the hospital?" She shook her head. "You'll break my heart, Ev."
"I'm sorry, Maddie," Evan muttered, eyes downcast. "Are—Are you mad at me?"
Getting hurt in ways that were visible got him attention from his parents, but he wouldn't do it if it meant losing Maddie. It was them against the world. A united front. The Buckley Siblings, now and forever. He couldn't lose her.
Maddie finished bandaging his arm—a minor thing, compared to his usual injuries, might not even earn him an extra dessert—and sighed again. She held his hand gently between her own. "No. I'm not—I'm not mad," she said. She squeezed his hand to make him meet her eyes. "I'm scared. I don't want anything to happen to you. What if you get hurt too badly and don't recover? What if you die?"
Evan put his hand on top of hers on top of his. With as much conviction in his voice as he could muster, he said, "I won't die, Mads. I promise." He gave her a wild grin. "Nothing can kill Evan Buckley. Trust me."
With a huff of disbelieving laughter, Maddie reminded him, "Everyone dies eventually, Evan."
…
…
Except maybe not everyone did.
…
…
When Evan was fourteen, after Maddie had moved out and started college and married Doug and left Evan behind, a friend dared him to climb the local water tower. It was old, scheduled for demolition soon, and definitely unsafe. Maddie would never approve.
So of course, Evan did it.
The whole thing creaked and groaned with every step, like just too much pressure would have it crashing down on its own, no demolition required. A rung popped loose under his foot as he climbed, causing his stomach to drop. His entire body would have too if he hadn't still been holding on to the railing with both hands. Down below, his friends whooped and hollered, egging him on—except for Ryan, who had been against the dare the whole time and kept telling the others to make him come down.
By the time he reached the top of the ladder and stood on the walkway that ran the entire outside of the tower, Evan was all tense muscles and sweaty palms. But he was high enough that none of his friends would know how scared he had been of falling, how much he regretted taking the stupid bet more with each step. Up there, he could take deep breaths, calm himself, and wave down to them like he was king of the world.
"You owe me fifty bucks!" he shouted at them.
They groaned back, loud enough to be heard all the way up. Whatever complaining conversation they had after, about who had to contribute how much, was just a quiet babble of noise with no meaning. Evan let out a breathy laugh and raised his eyes to the view.
It wasn't a breathtaking view, that was for sure. They were near factories and storage buildings for companies, so he didn't have a view of expansive mountains and he couldn't see a whole city stretched out below him. Still, being that high up—something like a hundred and thirty feet, he'd read once—did give the world a new perspective.
Somewhere far below and a couple dozen roads away, his parents were at work. They had no idea where he was. They had hardly spoken to him since Maddie left, as if it were somehow his fault. Even coming home with a bruise from playing basketball too rough in school hadn't elicited their usual concern and attention.
Maybe that was why he took the bet. Because doing it meant that his friends, at least, had eyes only for him. Because it was stupid and dangerous, and maybe some part of Evan thought that getting hurt, heck even dying, wouldn't matter. Because he didn't matter. Not to his parents. Not to Maddie. Not to anyone.
But from so high up, Evan wondered if that were true. Hershey was a decently big place, and the world was a lot bigger. Maybe, if he could get out of this town, get away from his parents, he could find someone, even just one person, who would look at him. Who would see him, as he was, and find worth there.
Just as that thought passed through his mind, there was an ominous creak of metal. Then the walkway beneath his feet gave way and he fell. Someone far below screamed, but Evan's mind was slow to catch up.
One hundred and thirty feet, his mind reminded him. That was, what, ten stories? Maybe more. Probably more.
Oh shit.
…
…
He woke up fourteen hours later in an uncomfortable hospital bed. Maddie sat in the chair beside him, weeping into her hands. Their parents were nowhere to be found.
"Mads?" he croaked.
She gasped, dropping her hands from her face and rushing to touch him—his arm and his cheek. "Evan? Oh my god, Evan!" He had hoped to make her stop crying by letting her know he was awake, but she only seemed to cry harder, and his heart twisted. "What were you doing up there?! You could've—You almost—!"
Evan had no feeling in his whole body, which could not be good news. He opened his mouth to tell her that he was fine anyway, but what came out instead was a shaky, "How—How bad is it?" Even just asking the question had his eyes prickling with tears and his throat closing up.
Maddie shook her head, opened her mouth, closed it, shook her head again. Evan's heart almost stopped. Finally, she managed, "You—You have more bones broken than—than not. No—No internal organ damage, which is a goddamn miracle honestly."
Whoa. Maddie cursed. She must be really scared.
Her grip on his arm was almost painful, but it was also distant. He must be on a metric ton of pain meds.
"Luckily, your head is harder than steel. No, um, no concussion or noticeable damage to the brain. Though honestly, with you thinking climbing that stupid old water tower was a good idea, I think you already had brain damage before you fell," she snapped, or, snapped as best she could with a throat clogged by tears. She squeezed her eyes shut. "They thought you were dead."
"They?" Evan asked. Like when he fell, his brain was slow to understand.
"Your friends. The paramedics," she listed. "Even with a heartbeat, the doctors didn't think you'd—make it," her voice cracked. She had to stop for several breaths to calm herself down again.
They should have Maddie on a heart monitor, Evan thought inanely. Surely she was about to faint or have a heart attack or something. How could he have ever thought she didn't care? Even with her living somewhere else, married to some dickwad, she was there for him. Buckley Siblings. United Front.
His voice stuck in his throat when he tried to speak, so he cleared it before trying again. It still sounded thick. "I'll be okay." Maddie shook her head, the tears starting up all over again. "Maddie. Maddie, I'm going to be okay."
If he said it enough, even he would start to believe it.
And it turned out to be true. It took weeks of healing, but the doctors were surprised by how soon Evan was up and about, how quickly his bones mended, how fast he put their physical therapy to shame. Physically, Evan was back in top condition within two months.
At first, his friends were hesitant to talk about it, or to him at all. Until Evan turned around in the middle of class and told De'Andre, "You still owe me fifty bucks." Then they all, slowly, got back to hanging out like usual.
Ryan was the hardest to win back. One day, while at a party for Keith's birthday, Evan met Ryan on the back porch. Ryan actually jumped back when he got within arm's reach.
"Why are you being so weird?" Evan demanded.
"The accident," Ryan muttered, unable to meet Evan's eyes.
Evan threw an arm out as if gesturing to something near them. "The water tower? Dude, I told you I don't care. It wasn't anyone's fault. They made a dare. I took it. That's it. And I'm fine! I'm over it, so why aren't you?" he demanded.
Finally, for the first time since the water tower, Ryan met his eyes. "You died," he whispered, then glanced around to see if anyone was close enough to listen in. They weren't, and the music was loud enough to block them out anyway.
"I didn't die," Evan insisted. He held out his arms. "I'm alive. See?"
Ryan shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself as if cold. "No. You died. I swear to god. Your eyes were open but you weren't there. I saw it. I checked your pulse, dude."
Now Evan's heart was racing. Just trying to imagine his own body, lying broken under the water tower, eyes open but dead, heart stopped, was horrifying. Maddie had said they thought he was dead, not that he had died.
"Maybe," he started, then swallowed. "Maybe you just suck as finding pulses."
Ryan let out a derisive snort. "Maybe. Or maybe I let one of my friends die and didn't do anything to stop it." He glared at the ground. "And maybe I need time to deal with that."
By the time Evan escaped Hershey, Pennsylvania in his sister's Jeep five years later, Ryan had only just begun to speak freely with him.
…
…
It took awhile before Evan thought that maybe he had found a place to call home again. He went up to Allentown. Syracuse. Bangor. Then down to Winchester. Richmond. Durham. Greenville. None of it felt right. By the time he got to Augusta, he started to miss Maddie more than he was mad at her for ditching him again, so he started sending her postcards from each city he spent more than two nights in.
In Virginia Beach, Evan found his first love. The ocean.
He stood with his jeans on, barefoot in the sand, and stared out at the endless water. It sparkled in the sun. It was gorgeous. His first stop, before finding a B&B or food or looking for a job, was to buy a bathing suit.
Three days later, while he was soaking up the sun, seawater still dotting his skin, a volleyball slugged him in the gut.
"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!"
The voice belonged to a pretty brunette in a bright yellow striped bikini. Her eyes were caramel in the sun. "Huh?"
She went passed Evan to retrieve the volleyball and then returned. "My friend Grace hits too hard and I missed it. I'm so sorry we hit you. Are you okay?"
Evan glanced over to where a group of five others stood on opposite sides of a volleyball net, all with various levels of concern on their faces. He turned back to the brunette and scrambled to his feet. "Hi, I'm Evan." She narrowed her eyes, confused, and Evan hurried on with, "I mean. I'm fine. I'm totally fine. My name's Evan. What's yours?"
"Eliane." She looked him over as if seeing him for the first time, then appeared to consider what she saw. Just as Evan's nerves started to kick in, she smiled. "Do you surf?"
He shook his head. "Never been this close to the ocean before, so never had a chance."
Eliane's smile turned a bit wicked. "Want to learn?"
Evan's matching smile was full of confidence he didn't entirely feel. "Yes, ma'am."
…
…
Eliane's brother was a bartender. The moment he met Evan, he said "Damn, he's hot," to his sister and then, "You ever thought of being a mixologist? You'd make tons in tips alone."
"Lyam!" Eliane cried in dismay.
"What?" he said, though his eyes never left Evan. "Look at those big blue puppy dog eyes. He'll make a killing."
Which is what got Evan into mixology school. For the first time, he actually liked what he was learning and paid attention in class. Soon, he graduated and started working at the same bar as Lyam. He had a steady paying job, a girlfriend who was hot and as into him as he was into her, and friends that went surfing or skating or hiking together.
Virginia Beach was home, more than Hershey had ever been.
Maybe if he wasn't a thrill seeker, things could have stayed perfect. But he was. The day everything came crashing down, the swells were huge. Probably a storm would hit later.
"Come on, let's hit the beach before all the tourists take over."
"Uh, Ev," Rodney, one of his roommates, said. "Until a few months ago, you were a tourist."
Evan flicked him off with a grin. Then they all gathered up their gear and headed out. Eliane, her brother, and a few of their friends came too. They spent three hours in the waves, trying to one-up each other, and it was awesome.
Then one of the waves crashed too soon. Or maybe there was a dolphin or a shark or something. All Evan knew was that one minute he was riding his board, and the next he was being tossed this way and that by the waves. The line tethering him to his board snapped, and the current ripped Evan away. Something smacked into his back, or maybe he smacked into it, and then all the air in his lungs was gone, replaced by seawater.
He couldn't breathe.
His insides burned.
Everything went black.
And then he sat up on the beach, hurling up salt, water, and even a bit of seaweed. Around his coughing and heaving breaths, he heard crying and gasping that wasn't his own.
Just out of arm's reach, his friends were huddled together. Eliane had tears making tracks through the salt on her cheeks. Lyam's arms were limp where they weakly wrapped around her. Rodney looked like he'd been caught halfway through running a hand through his braids and never lowered it. And all of them were staring at him with wide eyes.
Voice rough, still coughing a bit, Evan asked, "What—What happened?"
Steven, another bartender, was the first to find his voice. "What the fuck? Dude, you were dead."
"What?" Evan asked weakly.
"You…drowned," Rodney managed, finally lowering his hand from his head. "We couldn't get you to breathe. It's been, like, eight minutes." He glanced to the road, then back to Evan. "Man, the ambulance just got here." He motioned to the truck that had just pulled up, paramedics hurrying out and their way.
The paramedics checked him out. There was evidence that he had swallowed salt water, sure, but his lungs sounded fine. He didn't have a concussion. Heck, his back was hardly bruised from hitting a rock or whatever. His blood pressure was perfect, even.
Things were different after that. His friends stopped calling, only responding when Evan called them, and half the time only to tell him they were too busy to hang out. When prompted, badgered, nagged enough, they admitted that seeing him dead was why. It wasn't just that he had almost died, that they almost lost him. Like Ryan had years before, they talked about his eyes being open and empty, his heart not beating, how he was well and truly dead.
Like Ryan, they were freaked out and asked for time. Even Eliane shied away.
Unlike with Ryan, Evan didn't stick around to see how much time they needed.
…
…
It kept happening.
Evan was in Florida for three weeks, helping build houses, when he accidentally touched a metal rod that was touching a live wire and electrocuted himself. Straight up fried himself. Cooked goose. And then he sat up, somewhat singed on the outside, but definitely not as dead as his coworkers expected him to be. He just figured the shock hadn't been as bad as everyone claimed, but they were super freaked out, so he left.
He moved west, to Montana, and started working on a dude ranch. They taught him how to run the ziplines, and how to tend the horses between guests. He, of course, preferred the ziplines. He preferred them right up until he went out to retrieve a guest who had gotten stuck—a relatively common occurrence—and, right as they reached the end and the guest was unhooked, the line snapped. He fell almost two hundred feet, into the river below, and lost consciousness pretty much immediately. He woke up somewhere downstream and had to hike back to the ranch, every inch of him aching. There were cops involved, and a body retrieval team, and baffled doctors, and people calling him a miracle, and—
He fled to Arizona, where he helped run a Haunted Tour Bus in the evenings. It seemed right up his alley since he loved learning random facts about stuff and places. Then one night, after he had turned in the bus, he heard a commotion.
Around the corner, in an alley, a guy was robbing someone at gun point.
"Hey!" Evan shouted, grabbing the guy's attention. He hurried over and shoved the man away from his target.
The gun turned on Evan. "You mind your own fucking business," the guy threatened.
Hands up, Evan said, "Maybe you should mind yours. Robbing people? Not cool." He moved so that the mugger's back was to his original target. Then, he jerked his head, silently telling them to run.
They didn't need to be told twice. Immediately, they took off out of the alley, out of sight. The mugger turned at the sound of their footsteps and cursed, moving to follow. Evan jumped forward, grabbed the hand holding the gun. They struggled for the weapon for a few seconds, and then—
Bang!
"Fuck," the mugger cursed, stepping back. There wasn't a mark on him, but his face was white.
Evan collapsed to the concrete, a bullet in his chest. The mugger stumbled back, away. Evan reached out, silently asking for help, but the man only turned and ran away.
He felt the life leave him that time, seeping out along with his blood. It was terrifying. It wasn't a sudden stop at the end of a fall. It wasn't the painful but quick rush of water into the lungs. It wasn't the near instantaneous failure when electricity met the heart. It hurt, and it was slow, and no one was around to save him.
He was alone, wishing he'd given Maddie a call instead of just sending all those stupid postcards. Glad that she hadn't come with him, because then what if she'd been there and gotten shot instead? Scared, because he didn't want to die.
He didn't want to die.
And then he woke up. The sky was still dark with stars, but the moon was beginning to set, so several hours had passed.
"What?" Evan gasped, sitting up.
Something rolled off his chest into his lap. With shaking hands, Evan held it up at eye level. A squished bullet. A bullet that had met its mark. The bullet that had killed him.
Evan dropped it like he'd been burned and scrambled away. He got out of the alley where he'd been—where he'd been killed—He'd been killed!—and into the Jeep.
Where he promptly hyperventilated until he passed out.
…
…
Ryan had been right. Rodney had been right. They had all been right. Evan had died. How many times had he died? How many of those hospital visits should have ended with him in the morgue? Why didn't he stay dead?
He spent a lot of time reading comics after that, looking for anything in the origin stories to explain why he couldn't die—or if there might be something that could actually kill him.
Wolverine could heal from pretty much anything, and died of adamantium poisoning when he was, like, super super old. In another timeline, he died from suffocation after he was sealed in adamantium. But Evan had survived drowning, and also the chances of him being encased in any metal were unlikely.
Some dude named Elixir could heal—and, like, a lot of other stuff—and died from being shot but then resurrected himself. But that was a conscious decision, whereas Evan's wasn't, and the powers didn't quite match. And Deadpool could heal from basically anything, including decapitation. Evan did not want to test if that were true for him. And Blade was literally a vampire, so he didn't count.
Wait. Evan wasn't a vampire. Right?
No. He had never craved human blood. He loved going in the sun. And he didn't have super strength or speed or anything. No, definitely not a vampire.
Finally, he gave up looking at comics, unable to find any answers there. He thought about asking his parents, or Maddie, if they knew about it, but no. Maddie had always been upset to see him in the hospital, or injured, and she had never mentioned anything about being immortal. If this was genetic, surely Maddie would have told him, right?
So, somehow, some way, Evan was a freak. Some sort of mutant. Some creature that couldn't die.
He drove away from Arizona like that would take him away from his reality and back to a time when he still thought he was normal.
…
…
Maybe it was all the comic books, mixed with his usual adventure seeking, but Evan's next stop was in California to become a Navy Seal. If he couldn't die, he could at least put that skill to good use defeating bad guys, right?
Except the Seals wanted him to shut off his emotions, to follow orders exactly, to do as he was told without thinking, without worrying about any collateral damage that might result, to not care about the people he met. He couldn't do it. Evan had always cared about people, had always made friends easily. He didn't want to change that about himself too, when so much was already changing.
So much for being a superhero.
…
…
Peru was beautiful. Beaches and mountains. Forest and field. Evan wasn't a fan of the humidity, but he loved all the people he met tending bar. They told him about the tours and trips they went on, about their lives back home. Everyone had a story, and Evan wanted to hear them all.
This far from Hershey—hell, from the U.S.—Evan sometimes remembered his thoughts from before his fall from the water tower. How he had thought that if he could only escape Hershey, he would find someone that would see the real him and accept him for everything he was. Well, he had gone halfway around the world and hadn't found anyone yet. No one who would stay once they experienced an Evan Buckley Not-Death. Hell, even Evan didn't want to stick around after one. He had a lot of one-night encounters with anyone who caught his attention, but nothing that lasted.
Sometimes he sat on the beach, or on a hiking trail, or in his apartment, and the crushing feeling of being alone was almost too much. He wanted a family—a real family. Parents who loved him. Cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews. Maddie. He wanted someone to love him, all of him, and to love them in return.
That was what brought him back to California, to L.A.—a group of guys who called themselves 'family.' His new roommates, who surfed daily and went clubbing and drank way too much alcohol, but who were generally good people. They had fun together, and it was almost like having a bunch of brothers.
They all had jobs though, steady ones, and Evan was tired of part time. If he was going to make it work with his new 'family,' he had to get something more substantial.
Then he saw the firetrucks responding to a call. Then he ran into an off-duty firefighter helping out at a volunteer event in a park. Then he saw posters for a new movie involving a firefighter.
Evan took it as a sign and joined the firefighter program.
"Evan Buckley."
"Here."
"Evan Johnson."
"Present."
"Evan Short?"
"Gotcha."
"Three people named Evan? Do any of you have a nickname?"
Johnson said 'No,' and Short said 'Shorty, but I'd prefer not to be called that here.' When the instructor turned exasperated eyes on Evan, he said the first thing that came to mind. "Buck. People call me Buck."
The new name was unplanned but felt liberating. Evan was the kid ignored by his parents. Evan was the guy who got tossed out by every group of friends or coworkers after he freaked them out. Evan was a nomad, constantly on the move with no place to call home. Buck lived in L.A. and wasn't about to leave. Buck's life was going to be vastly different than Evan's.
…
…
tbc