🪞 🪞 🪞 and also 🏕️🏕️🏕️
:D thank you!!
here's a bit from alternate universes - in which buck is dreaming. maybe.
As if in a dream, Buck steps closer. He might still be dreaming. The door swings open a little further, and he can see moonlight spilling into the hallway, clean and cold. The smell of the ocean is stronger now. Beyond the open door is a beach—he moves closer still—a beach and a distant ocean lapping at the shore. Moonlight reflects across the water, shivering in constant motion. In the distance and the darkness it's impossible to tell where the ocean meets the sky. His hand is on the door frame. He doesn't remember reaching for it.
and a bit from the camping fic, which i promise is not as sad as this section implies:
It broke right around when he drove into El Paso with the intention of staying there for good, and even months after his return, it wasn't really fixed. He knows that. He knew that. It just wasn't something he knew how to look at, how to handle without breaking it even worse. And then New Mexico. And then Los Nietos, and the diner, and the accident, and that awful, awful stretch of desert out beyond the oil fields, a house with bars on the windows and doors. Earl with the gun and Bonnie with her stained shirt and clutching hands, and Buck collapsing to the dirt. It felt kind of stupid trying to be precious about old hurts after that. Buck needed him, needed them, and that's all there was to it.
(Make me write!)
