Skz oneshotes (Requests Open)

Bleeding Out

Bleeding Out

The fluorescent lights flickered above, casting a harsh, sterile glow across the emergency room. The smell of antiseptic burned at Bang Chan's nostrils, mingling with the metallic tang of blood in the air. Every sound—beeping monitors, hurried footsteps, the distant wail of sirens—was magnified in his ears, each one a brutal reminder of how close he had come to losing control, losing... everything.

Chan sat slumped in a chair beside a hospital bed, his uniform soaked in rain and sweat, but it was nothing compared to the crimson stains on his hands. His chest heaved with exhaustion, yet adrenaline kept him upright. His fingers flexed, twitching nervously as he stared at the unconscious figure before him.

Han.

He had arrived barely in time. The warehouse mission had gone catastrophically wrong—an ambush, miscommunications, and a stray bullet meant for someone else had found Han instead. Chan had carried him through the downpour, dodging enemies, navigating debris-strewn streets, and praying to every god that Han would survive the trip to the hospital.

The doctor's voice had been clinical, almost detached, but Chan had hung on every word. "He's stable for now, but his vitals are critical. Blood loss was severe. Surgery may be necessary depending on how he responds in the next few hours."

Chan hadn't moved from the chair since then, hands resting lightly on Han's. The younger boy's pale face, bruised and swollen, flickered under the harsh lights. A bandage wrapped loosely around his abdomen, a crimson stain seeping through the fabric. Chan's hands itched to touch, to soothe, to somehow erase the pain.

"You're awake," Chan whispered, voice hoarse. Han's eyes fluttered, half-lidded, confusion etched across his face.

Chan exhaled, a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Yeah... yeah, you're okay. You're okay, Han." He gripped Han's hand gently, careful not to hurt him. "You gave me a scare. Don't ever do that again, you hear me?"

Han coughed weakly, a tiny smile flickering despite his pallor. "I... I'm sorry... for worrying you."

"Worrying me?" Chan's voice broke, frustration and relief tangled together. "Do you even know what it felt like watching you go down? I thought—" He cut himself off, swallowing hard. He had promised himself he wouldn't break down, but seeing Han bleeding out in his arms had shattered every ounce of control.

"You... saved me," Han whispered, voice trembling.

Chan's fingers tightened around his hand. "I always will. No matter what."

The door swung open abruptly, and Felix rushed in, eyes wide with worry. "Chan! How is he?!"

"Stable... for now," Chan replied without looking up. "But he lost a lot of blood. We have to wait and see if surgery will be necessary."

Felix approached cautiously, kneeling beside Chan, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You did everything you could," he said softly. "He's alive because of you."

Chan shook his head, voice rough. "I can't... I can't just sit here. He shouldn't be in this much pain. It's my fault he got hurt in the first place."

Felix's grip tightened, firm. "It's not your fault. You saved him. You got him here. That's what matters."

Chan swallowed, blinking rapidly, trying to push back the guilt gnawing at him. "Every time... every time I think I've got control, something happens. Someone I care about... someone I can't protect..." He trailed off, voice breaking.

Han stirred slightly, groaning. "Chan..."

Chan's head snapped toward him. "Hey, hey, it's okay. Don't move too much. Just... stay still for me, alright?"

"I... I'm scared," Han admitted, voice faint. "I thought... I thought I was done for."

Chan's fingers stroked Han's hair, thumb brushing against his temple. "I know," he whispered. "I know you were scared. But you're not done. You're still here. I've got you. I'll never let anything happen to you."

The young boy's eyes fluttered closed again, exhaustion overtaking the pain. Chan kept his hand on his, refusing to leave. Every beep of the monitor, every step of the nurses outside the room, every whispered conversation in the hallway was a reminder of the fragility of life—and of how easily it could slip away.

Hours passed like eternity. Chan remained at Han's side, eyes never leaving his face. Felix returned with a blanket, draping it over both of them as if the warmth could somehow shield them from the harsh reality.

"You need to rest, too," Felix insisted gently. "You can't help him if you pass out."

Chan shook his head stubbornly. "I don't care. I'm not leaving. Not until he's out of danger."

Felix sighed, knowing this was a fight he couldn't win against Chan's determination. Instead, he pulled a chair closer and sat in silence, sharing the vigil.

By midnight, Han's condition stabilized slightly. The doctor returned, glancing at Chan with a mixture of relief and sternness. "He's responding well to the fluids and transfusions. The surgery can wait, but he'll need constant monitoring."

Chan nodded, barely breathing. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

The doctor hesitated, then added, "You've done well keeping him calm. Stress affects recovery."

Chan let out a shaky laugh, shaking his head. "Keeping him calm? I was terrified the whole time."

Felix gave a small smile, watching Chan carefully. "That's normal. Anyone in your position would feel the same."

Chan returned his gaze to Han, who stirred slightly again. "You're going to be fine," Chan whispered. "Just focus on getting better. We'll handle the rest."

Han's lips curled faintly into a small, pained smile. "Thanks... Chan... for everything."

Chan's throat tightened. "I'll always be here for you," he said, his voice steady now, though emotion threatened to spill over. "Always."

Time seemed suspended in that small room. The world outside the hospital continued in its chaos, but inside, Chan and Han existed in a bubble of quiet, fragile relief. Every beep of the monitor was a heartbeat, every small movement a victory.

Felix and the others stayed nearby, their presence a silent reassurance. The hospital staff came and went, offering updates and instructions, but Chan remained resolute—Han was not going anywhere on his watch.

The night dragged on, each passing hour a victory and a torment. Chan slept in brief spurts, always one hand on Han, eyes flicking open at the slightest sound. Each time Han stirred, his relief was overwhelming, each time he winced, his heart twisted painfully.

By dawn, Han's color began to improve. The bruises were still there, the pain still raw, but the immediate danger had passed. Chan allowed himself a deep exhale, though tension still lingered in his shoulders.

Han finally opened his eyes fully, looking at Chan with trust and gratitude. "You stayed... all night?" he asked weakly.

Chan smiled, brushing wet hair from Han's forehead. "Of course. Where else would I be?"

Han's lips quivered, a small laugh escaping despite himself. "Guess... I owe you one."

Chan shook his head, firm. "You don't owe me anything. Just stay alive, and we call it even."

Felix watched them both, relief evident in his expression. "He's going to be okay," he murmured.

Chan's gaze remained on Han, fierce and protective. "Yeah. He is. And I'll make sure of it."

Outside, the sun rose slowly over the city, casting golden light into the hospital room. For the first time that night, Chan allowed himself a moment of calm. The battle wasn't over—the scars, the trauma, the enemies—they were still there—but Han was alive. That was what mattered.

Chan held Han's hand a little tighter, a silent promise: no matter the chaos, no matter the danger, he would always be there. He would never let go.