9-1-1 Call-based fic with a side of Buddie | rated T | 5.1k | pre-Buddie, Real-World Setting, Post Season 8, Bobby Nash Lives, AU - Canon Divergence, Near Death Experience, Getting Together, Multi-Chapter, Short Read
So, I just returned from an impromptu road trip to LA with my friend, and we decided to visit the La Brea Tar Pits while there. It was fascinating, and I couldn't help but wonder what a 9-1-1 rescue would be like there. Thus this was born.
It was an unusually hot afternoon in Los Angeles, even for July. The sun beat down on the city, casting heat waves over the pavement, sending families and tourists scrambling for shade. At Station 118, the crew had just returned from a routine call and were settling back into their daily rhythm.
The sun streamed through the bay doors, catching dust motes in the air. Buck sat perched on the arm of the couch, flipping through a dog-eared mechanics magazine. Eddie sat across from him at the table, pretending to review a training manual but clearly more interested in watching Buck with veiled amusement.
“You know,” Eddie said casually, “if you stare at that diagram any harder, you’re gonna set it on fire.”
Buck looked up, grinning. “Just brushing up. Might need a second career if I keep getting thrown into sinkholes and natural disasters.”
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Thinking of becoming a mechanic?”
“Or a stuntman.” Buck leaned back, stretching slightly for effect. “Something with danger. Drama. A little grease.”
Eddie smirked. “Sounds like you’re describing your love life.”
Buck shot him a mock-offended look. “Hey. I’ll have you know my love life is…”
“...a cautionary tale?” Eddie offered, eyes sparkling.
Buck laughed, tossing the magazine at him, which Eddie caught without flinching.
“Bold words, Diaz,” Buck said, walking past him with a pat to his shoulder. “Maybe you should worry less about my love life and more about how much attention you’ve been giving it lately.”
Eddie didn’t look up right away, but Buck didn’t miss the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Eddie said, voice low, a touch rough.
The moment hung there just a little longer than usual, charged, quiet, and comfortable.
The calm was broken by the sharp crackle of the radio and bell, which caused the crew to jump to attention.
“Engine 118 respond to a technical rescue at the La Brea Tar Pits. Caller states an individual is stuck waist-deep in tar at the vicinity of the museum, pits 3 and 4. Rescue requested. Time out: 14:32.”
Captain Bobby Nash was already grabbing his helmet. “You heard it, let’s move!” he called. Within seconds, Buck, Chimney, Hen, and Eddie slid into gear, climbing aboard the rig as the garage doors rumbled open.
Buck looked around the engine cab. “Did you know that it isn’t actually tar but rather asphalt bubbling up?”
Eddie just laughed as Buck began to ramble about the tar pits. Two years before, Christopher's class did a short field trip to the pits and the museum that Buck went with as a chaperone. He now knew far more about the tar pits than he ever thought he would. Eddie would never admit it, but it was fascinating.
The scene was chaotic when they arrived. A crowd of onlookers had gathered along the fence near the edge of the tar pits. Phones were raised, and a few people were calling out with concern. But the center of the spectacle was a young man, mid-20s and clearly panicked, stuck up to his knees in thick, viscous black tar. He was bent over at the waist with his arms stuck up to his elbows, as if he tried to claw his way out, but he got stuck as well.
“Engine 118 on scene. Confirm individual is trapped, knee and elbow deep,” Bobby relayed into his radio. “We’ll initiate technical rescue procedures.”
Buck scanned the situation. “Wait…is that… a selfie stick floating in the tar?” Just to the man's right was a selfie stick with a phone attached, half buried in the thick tar, small bubbles popping up around it every so often.
“Only in L.A.,” Chimney grunted. “How much you want to wager that this was a bet gone wrong?”
Bobby pointed. “Buck, Eddie, go grab the engine and ambulance. We are going to need the ladder to assist with this rescue. Hen, try to start his medical assessment from here. Chim, you are with me on the perimeter. We need crowd control and an environmental safety check. That tar is hot and toxic. No one else gets near, and none of us are going over that fence without a harness and the rig.”
The victim, identified as Jason Luke, was sweating profusely, not just from the heat but from fear. His face was streaked with sweat and flecks of sticky black tar.
“I thought it was just like... muddy water!” Jason stammered as Hen approached. “I just…wanted to get a quick picture, and I thought I could quickly walk through.”
Buck carefully drove the engine up as close as possible to the fenced-off pit and quickly got to work stabilizing it. Eddie pulled up right behind him.
Hen knelt on the ground at the edge of the fence. “Okay, Jason, listen to me carefully. You’re safe now, but we need you to stay as still as possible. The more you move, the more the tar grips you. We’re going to get a harness on you and lift you out. You’re not the first one this pit has tried to keep.”
Jason blinked. “Wait - others have done this?”
Hen smiled dryly. “More than you'd think, but mostly just animals. I don’t believe a person has been stuck in at least a decade.”
“2013, actually,” Buck said as he approached Hen and finished tightening his harness. “But that was an LAPD officer who was over in the Lake Pit doing a dive to try and recover evidence from a murder. And he didn’t really get stuck stuck, just his swim fins. Over 2,000 saber-tooth cats have been found, more than 4,000 dire wolves, and at least 300 ancient bison have been pulled from the pits!”
“Not helping Buck!” Hen said as she got to her feet and headed over to the Ambulance to prep the gurney.
Bobby came up beside them with a grim look. “Ok, I have Chim doing crowd control. Eddie is over grabbing some plywood from the excavation group down the way, and he will assist in lowering Buck down to rescue our guy here.”
“Dispatch, this is Captain Nash with Engine 118 on scene at La Brea Tar Pits. Be advised, we have confirmed exposure to unknown chemical substances in tar pits 3 and 4. Request HazMat response for environmental assessment and containment. Over.”
“Copy that, Engine 118. HazMat 56 is en route to your location. ETA approximately 12 minutes. Advise if you need additional units or LAPD for scene control. Be advised, decontamination procedures may be required on-site. Recommend isolating the patient and securing all contaminated gear. Over.”
“Understood, Dispatch. Will advise if further assistance is needed. Engine 118 out.”
Eddie came jogging over, carrying a piece of plywood roughly 4 feet square to throw over the fence and place over the tar pit. Thankfully, Buck was tall enough to easily lift it over and drop it down fairly close to the stuck man.
After Eddie finished extending the ladder over the fenced-in pit, Buck carefully repelled down to the piece of plywood. “Hey Jason, I need you to be really still while I secure this strap around you.”
“O-Ok just please hurry. My back is starting to cramp up.”
Buck quickly got to work, although stepping on the plywood over the tar felt a bit like standing up on a boat on rough water. The plywood made it possible for Buck to get just close enough to safely rescue Jason without risking his footing. With the harness carefully secured around Jason’s upper chest and attached to the rope to pull him up, Eddie slowly retracted the rope.
The tar clung stubbornly, stretching in long, thick ropes as Jason's arms were gradually pulled free with a long, squelching sound. As soon as they were free, his tar-covered arms threw themselves around Buck.
“Eddie, stop!” Bobby yelled out. The rope immediately stopped retracting. Buck stood on the plywood with sticky tar-covered arms around him. “OK, Buck, clip into his harness. I guess we are bringing you both up at once.”
The rope jerked as it started to pull them up. Jason yelled out as their bodies began lifting. Buck had wrapped his arms under Jason’s and tried to pull gently, but the tar was holding on rather tightly.
After several rather drawn-out seconds, the tar gave way, and Jason finally pulled free. He gasped, his body slicked in black ooze from the knees down, jeans heavily weighed down in tar.
“Let’s get him over to HazMat, get him rinsed and checked out,” Hen said, guiding him onto a gurney they’d prepared nearby with protective sheeting. “You’ll probably need a lot of baby oil and patience to get this stuff off.”
Buck raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, man… why would you try to walk into the tar pits?”
Jason coughed and shrugged weakly. “I was trying to get a shot for my fitness page. You know, ’surviving the La Brea Tar Pits challenge.’ Hashtag prehistoric hustle.”
Buck snorted. “Hashtag lucky we got here in time.”
As the team packed up their gear, a few reporters had started to arrive. Bobby quickly waved them off. “Just a routine rescue,” he said plainly. “No fossilized humans today.”
“Think the museum will put his shoes in a display case?” Buck joked, pointing to the half-buried sneakers Jason had left behind.
Hen rolled her eyes. “Let’s just hope no one else thinks this is a TikTok trend.”
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