Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Badlands county fire department was comprised of seventeen, well, eighteen members now; who dwelled in two different firehouses.

The BLU firehouse, as it was nicknamed, was known for their blue turnout gear. The group was somewhat solitary for public servants, and not much was known about the people within. It was under the command of Chief Blutarch, who was known for being old and belligerent. Captain Misha 'Heavy' watched over his battalion well, despite his harsh demeanor.

The RED firehouse also had a strange color to their turnout gear. Bright red. They often participated in community outreach. They opened their firehouse every year for Halloween, and served free donuts and cider. Hans 'Medic' Ludwig held CPR classes every month, free of charge. He had heard that the community was better off with it.

Though not apparent to outsiders, the two firehouses had a slight animosity between them. Though, they never let that get in the away of saving lives. The truth was, that the bad blood most often dwelled between the two fire chiefs, Redmond and Blutarch, who had been at odds since they were just babes.

Despite the small amount of people involved, both teams had a great amount of specialists, which came in handy often. Badlands (though hardly on the map) had a great range of disasters. Spanning from sprained ankles to bombs in office buildings (which they let Tavish 'Demoman' Degroot deal with) it was a strangely exhausting assignment. Comparable to that of Gryphon Rock. That was a government testing site, though.

Jeremy Willis walked anxiously into the Badlands firehouse. Five bright red, shiny apparatuses stared back at him. The ceiling high, and a large American flag was hoisted on the wall. He had nothing on his person. Just his blues. He repeated to himself mantras from the academy. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Hurry up, show up, and wait.

He'd already met the assistant chief. A man named Jeán Allard (assistant chief Allard to him) who spoke with a thick French accent. A surprisingly multicultural fire station, then. Fortunately for Jeremy, he didn't seem to be in the bay.

Who was there was Dell, Hans, and Misha. Dell was the first to approach Jeremy.

"Hello, son! Are you our firefighter?" He asked. He already knows. It's just a formality, really.

Jeremy tried to remember the academy greeting.

"Yes. Hello Sir, how are you?" He asked, pointing his arm out stiffly for the southern to take. The other man laughed and took it.

"I'm well, how are you?" Dell asks. Humored by the other man's nervous energy.

"I am well sir." Jeremy replied, near robotically.

Dell grasped Jeremy's shoulder, and guided him deeper into the bay. To the table between the apparatuses. He noted the aerial, and tried not to look too amazed by it's size. He hadn't seen many of them during his ride alongs. Yet again, he hadn't gone to many. One of the many victims of his procrastinating. The sound of heavy footsteps made Misha's head perk up, but Hans continued his inventory check of their medical bags.

Dell turned to Jeremy. "You ain't got anything to be afraid of. Nobody here will give you any problems." The encouragement helped Jeremy a little bit.

"Hello Captain Misha" Jeremy sticks out his arm "how are you?"

The captain cracked a small smile, and shook the firefighters hand. "I'm good, you?"

"I am good as well."

"Do you know any of the apparatuses yet?" Misha asked. One of the most important first steps of joining a department.

"No sir. I don't even have my gear. Or a department shirt" the younger man said. It's true, he was wearing his *academy blues*. He nearly made himself sick that morning looking for them. He really should have joined a department when he was in Boston, but he never had the time. Or so he had told himself. Now he was just nineteen. Fresh out of the womb.

"Well, we received your gear" Misha said. "The people who join this department, they aren't nobodies." He told him. "You were selected. Your paperwork has already been sent in. Your gear already bought and shipped. You're already in our system."

That did feel good to know.

"Find a way to memorize the engines, squad, trucks. All of it. Engine one and Squad one are the most important. Squad one is what we use most often, a lot of medical calls. Makes me thankful for Hans over here." He gestured to his Lieutenant. His head picked up and he squinted at Misha. "Damn right you're thankful for me." Is all he said before getting back to his work. Misha laughed.

"I out rank him here, but he's a trained paramedic. We are good friends outside of the station." Misha explained.

Jeremy understood what he ment. Hans is a special case. That reaction was *not* an invitation to treat Misha with the same familiarity and slight disrespect.

After being showed his locker (next to some bloke named Jane), he had the full house tour. He also had his Chief 360 set up, and received his department shirt.

At the end, they're in the bay. Misha hands him a large broom. "So, do you know how to sweep?" Misha asked, crows feet crinkling around his eyes. Jeremy fights the urge to sigh.

Chapter Text

Jeremy wasn't allowed on any calls until he memorized all the apparatuses. He spent the better part of his first week going over them countless times. Not just that, but grunt work. Cleaning the engines. Sweeping the bay. Doing dishes.

While it frustrated him slightly, he knew this would happen. The frustration was good. It encouraged him to get to his tasks quickly and effectively. He understood the psychology of it.

Jeremy quickly learned that the people he would find most in the station the longest was Hans and Misha. Though they tried to keep their work life separate from home, he could tell by their body language that there was something going on between them.

There were various quirks and preferences of the men that he had pushed himself to recognize. Hans doesn't dawdle. Misha is kind but firm. Dell is the good cop if any given situation. Jeán seldom left his office, except for calls. There were other men too, that he met later.

A man named Jane who was particularly good at carrying excruciating amounts of weight and being a show off. According to Dell, he was engaged in a 'friendly pissing match' with Aodh, an appropriately named firefighter from their sister station.

A strange individual nicknamed 'Pyro'. They always managed to scribble their name off of any rosters and write Pyro before anyone got there. They always wore a medical mask. According to Hans, Pyro had been something of a pyromaniac in their youth before the figured out that there was a job that had them interacting with it every week.

A man named Mick who had his certifications in rope rescue. He was also rather quiet, but you could always tell when he was in. On account of his constant whistling. Sometimes Jeremy recognized the song. It was kind of nice.

When Jeremy could correctly identify the location of tools on squad one, Misha let him go on a medical call. Jeremy didn't love being treated like a cadet. That's just how that was though.

It was astonishingly boring (an elderly woman who had fallen over) but part of it reminded Jeremy of what he liked about the job. Misha and him, they helped her. *She trusted them to help her.* It's not a privilege to be taken lightly.

All her vitals were stable, and recorded. Blood glucose levels, heart rate, respiratory rate, ect. She refused transport. Clean enough.

"How was that?" Misha asked as they drove back to the station. His thick Russian accent making it hard to understand him.

"It was good." Jeremy said. "She looked real happy when we got her up and fed her dog!" He smiled at Misha. Misha smiled back at him.

"That woman calls us often. She is old, and struggles to get around now that her husband is dead." Misha said matter of fact-ly. Jeremy nodded along.

That night, Jeremy left the station at six in the afternoon. Misha and Hans did as well, and well, Jeremy did not miss the fact they left in the same truck. It played some German polka fusion on the radio.

Jeremy laid in bed. Misha's words stuck in his head. He was selected. Selected on what basis? For what reason? It scared him. He tried to roll over and sleep when his pager went off.

He threw on his Blues and drove to the station. A patient in critical condition, suicide attempt. Hans will definitely be there then. Jeremy was just there to run tools between him and the apparatus. There was less than a minute between him arriving at the station and the apparatus leaving the station.

His heart has beat rapidly in his chest as Misha drove. Lights. Sirens. The whole shebang. He did it during the call earlier today as well, but, it felt more real this time. The ambulance whipped around corners. Bumpy.

Hans took immediate control of the situation.

"Fire Department, is anyone in there?" Hans called as he knocked on the door. A cry let him know that there was, in fact, someone in there. Jeremy desperately fought the urge to say 'BSI SCENE SAFETY' out loud.

Hans didn't wait before opening the door and 'walking with purpose' into the house.

In the living room, the lady was on the ground. Agonal breathing. Pale and clammy. Unresponsive to auditory commands. Respatory rate of four breaths a minute (non conductive with living, mind you), pulse at twenty beats per minute. Also non conductive with life. Blood oxygen levels low. Jeremy was writing it as fast as he could.

"Looks like an opioid overdose. Misha, grab the stretcher." Hans wasted no time giving out commands.

"Jeremy, we need to get an airway established and chest compressions started. Do you know how to do that?" Hans asked. Jeremy knew CPR, but he had never used an IGEL before.

His hands felt heavy as he watched Hans put in the IGEL. He held the patients chin and tilted it up, securing the BVM to the face and started rescue breaths.

Jeremy felt like he sprung to life as he cut off the patients shirt and put his hands at the nipple line. The first compression came with a sickening crack. It was bad. It was very bad. It was wet and disgusting and Jeremy knew he couldn't just stop.

"One, two, three, four, five, six..." Jeremy counted them out, just for himself. Just to make it feel easier in his head.

The stretcher did not come slowly. The patient was secured to the backboard so they could use the Lucas.

Jeremy felt shot.

The ride to the hospital felt blurry. 50 mgs of Narcan administered at 2356, again at 2359. Vitals retaken every three minutes. AED used.

Jeremy wrote it all into the PCR and tried not to let his uneasiness show. He had a sinking suspicion that he should not have been on this call. Should not have been one in an only three person team.

Hans spoke with the nurse at the receiving hospital, and the handoff was done.

The drive back to the station felt strange. Most of all, it made Jeremy wonder if he was really cut out for this.