Super Junior {Hankyung/Heechul ; Run (13/13)}
Title: Run (13/13)
Fandom: Super Junior (AU)
Pairing: Hankyung/Heechul
Word count: 3,807
Rating: R (for violence and mature themes)
Summary: Hankyung and Heechul have been living together for four years now, and their relationship seems pretty much perfect. However, Hankyung has more skeletons in his closet than he has let on, and now his past is about to rear its ugly head in the worst way possible. The thing about lies is that they're remarkably difficult to ignore.
A/N: MY FACE RIGHT NOW IS LIKE T________________________________T the delay in this is because I'm sick, and I was tired last night after a train journey and this needs to be PERFECT because T_____T (there's an epilogue)
Run (13/13)
MAKKA NA ITO - Plastic Tree
The shots at them were fired just that second too late; they were already through the doors of the warehouse, somehow managing to slam them shut after them, which would hold up theirpursuers for a few more vital seconds. At some point, Hankyung grabbed Heechul's hand, half-dragged him in the direction of some stairs, pushed him up ahead, then turned and fired on the men just entering the building.
He didn't waste ammunition; he knew that their enemies had plenty, but he had only what was in the gun. He fired just enough to make them retreat long enough to get up the stairs and along the metal secondary level so that they could get down on the other side, where all the machinery was. Hankyung pulled Heechul down behind some sort of textile weaver, and checked how many bullets he had. Not nearly enough.
"What now?" Heechul's voice was shaking.
"We need to get you something to fight with," Hankyung whispered. "And more bullets for my own gun."
Heechul reached out and picked up a metal bar, which dislodged other ones, crashing down around them. "Over here!" one of the men yelled, and Hankyung jumped up, pulling Heechul with him, and ran for their lives.
"A metal bar?" he panted out, ducking a sudden gunshot and changing direction. "Great defence against bullets."
"I figure that I should hit them over the head before they can raise their gun," Heechul answered. "Don't let them fire, that's the best defence."
"Yes, but--" Hankyung cut off as a man suddenly appeared in front of them, back to them, but turning. He lifted his gun, but Heechul got there before him, swinging the bar in his hands and hitting the man on the back of the head. He was thrown forwards, falling to the floor unconscious.
"Like that," Heechul gasped, out of breath.
"I see." Hankyung knelt down, took the gun from the man's hands and then any spare rounds of bullets he could. "Here." He tossed the gun to Heechul, who looked at it like it was the most offensive thing he'd ever seen, but kept it in his hands anyway, along with the bar. "You don't need the bar, Heechul."
Heechul dropped it, without thinking about the noise. A man's head turned in their direction, but Hankyung had already shot at him; the bullet hit him in the neck, and he disappeared from view as blood suddenly spurted from his artery. "Remember," Hankyung said, pulling Heechul closer. "They will kill you. Do not hesitate. Do not falter. Kill them, before they can kill you."
"You make it sound so easy," Heechul said, like he was commenting on an interesting but rather unimportant documentary, and not the life or death situation that they found themselves in.
"It has to be that easy," Hankyung said. "Come on." He took Heechul's hand again. This time, they would try to get back to the doors. Maybe they wouldn't realise, and they'd be able to get a head start on the road. This plan held up until they were in sight of the doors and they realised that a reverse guard was waiting there, standing in front of their exit. Hankyung cursed; they couldn't escape without being noticed somehow.
"We'll have to find another way out," Hankyung whispered. "There'll maybe be one around the other side of the building."
"Then let's go," Heechul said, already on his way. Hankyung took a long breath. Right now, he couldn't see how they could get out of this alive, but he would do all he could to keep Heechul safe. He'd promised to not let these people kill him, and it was a promise that Hankyung would keep above all else.
They were halfway to the other side of the warehouse when a shout went up: they'd been spotted. People descended on them from all directions, it seemed, Hankyung shooting desperately, taking out some foes and missing others. Heechul tried his best, but his training had never been thorough. One guy went down clutching at his arm, dropped his weapon as he did so. Something rolled from his jacket, something small and round and -- they had bombs. Hankyung stopped shooting, took hold of Heechul's hand again and ran.
They managed to duck down between some industrial sized bins, out of sight. It was reprieve of a sort. Hankyung checked his gun again, then took Heechul's from his hands and did the same. "They've got bombs," he said as he did so. "Be careful, watch out for them."
"Hankyung." Heechul was breathless, but his tone was calm. "We can't escape them."
"Yes," Hankyung ground out, "we can."
"No, Hankyung--"
"Heechul, I promised I would protect you, and I will do that."
"There is no way we can get out of here, Hankyung. We should just--"
"Just what?" Hankyung realised his voice was getting too high, and lowered it quickly. "Give ourselves up? They'll shoot us where we stand waving the white flag, Heechul. They don't care about ethics or morals, they just care about revenge. I am not" -- he clicked the gun into place -- "giving myself up."
"Then we die anyway."
"We're not going to die. I will not allow it to happen."
Heechul's voice was soft. "Hankyung--"
"Shut up, Heechul." Hankyung shut his eyes against the sudden hot tears. "Just, please, shut up."
Heechul fisted his hands in Hankyung's shirt, dragged the material towards him, and rested his forehead against his collarbone. Hankyung wound his arms around his shoulders and held him so close that he felt as though he could pull Heechul into his veryveins and keep him safe that way. "The boy that we adopt," Heechul said. "The one in America. We can call him Donghae, can't we?"
"Yeah," Hankyung said. "Yeah, we can. We will." Slowly, Heechul's mouth found his own, lips seeking lips, and Hankyung couldn't help the tears that he felt against his skin. He kissed Heechul desperately, not wanting to think that this could be the last time, but unable to stop himself. When they broke apart, Heechul lowered his face and rubbed at it, hair falling forward so Hankyung couldn't see anything. Hankyung looked up. Thought the coast was clear.
"Come on," he muttered, reaching out to take Heechul's hand, finding cold fingers slightly wet, and didn't mention it. They pushed through the bins until they were standing as out in the open as they dared to get. "We'll go this--"
Hankyung cut off as something clattered at his feet. A man, younger compared to the others, had appeared to their right, grinning all over his face. Hankyung looked down to see a grenade at his feet. He reacted so quickly that it was if he'd almost been expecting it. He dropped Heechul's hand to snatch it up and throw it in some direction that he didn't even pay attention to, but it was too late. It exploded in mid-air, the shockwaves causing the shelving opposite, piled high with machinery, rusting and old, to collapse.
Hankyung scrambled for Heechul's hand as he dived to the left to get out of the way, but missed it, couldn't get near it -- Heechul had tried going to the right. Dust rose in huge clouds; a couple more shelves fell, until a semi-wall lay between him and Heechul. Hankyung hit the floor hard, and, winded, blacked out for a minute. When he woke, there was the sound of someone screaming, high pitched and helpless, in pain. With a catch in his breath, he realised it was Heechul.
Hankyung lifted his head up, already twisting to somehow get across the pile of stuff to Heechul to find out what was wrong, heart pounding against his chest so hard that he almost felt like crying out in pain himself, but something in the corner of his eye made him pause. Feet. Expensive shoes. Looking up, a black suit, stretched over a familiar frame. He almost didn't want to look at the face, but forced himself to. Yuan Yi.
His gun was lying to his right on the floor. He reached out as quickly as he could, but not quickly enough. Yuan Yi brought his shoe down on his arm; Hankyung heard the crack of the bone breaking and yelled out in pain. The noise joined with Heechul's screams like a terrible, horrific harmony. Yuan Yi laughed and lifted his foot. Hankyung brought his arm back in, tucked it under his body, blinking back tears in order to focus. His other arm was tense, ready to lift him to his feet.
There were two other guys with him. Hankyung wasn't sure if that meant the rest were dead, or if there were others still roaming around. He was taking no chances. Somehow, he had to get out of this, get to Heechul -- he had promised to protect him, and he was hurt. The thought made Hankyung want to physically throw up.
"Han Geng." Somehow, Hankyung's mind made the shift from Korean to Chinese; Mandarin seemed odd to him now. "I've been looking for you."
"I know." Hankyung answered mildly, eyes trying to work out an escape.
"I've had men all over the major cities in Korea. Incheon, Seoul, Busan, Mokpo." He paused, let it sink in. Hankyung's stomach twisted. So that's how they'd been followed on the train. "Watching the airports and the train stations. Trains, Han Geng? Risky."
Hankyung stayed silent this time. They'd been watching the airports. They'd never have been free in America. Heechul had stopped screaming; instead now they could only hear pained sobbing. He darted his eyes to the wall of stuff separating them. Yuan Yi saw, and spat on the floor.
"I suppose that's your lover? Crying like a girl." He quirked his lips. "Well, I've seen the pictures, for all intents and purposes, he is. I think we'd better put him out of his misery."
He motioned to one of the men standing behind him, who grinned and drew his gun and started for the mound. "No!" Hankyung burst out, realising what was about to happen, and he pounced up and tackled the man to the ground. It happened too quickly for anyone to do anything about; Hankyung had the reaction times of both a dancer and someone trained in escaping, and once he'd shot the first man at point blank range, he twisted and shot the second man in the heart before he could lift his own gun.
Yuan Yi, however, was not so slow. Hankyung whipped around, gun still outstretched, only to find Yuan Yi pointing his own at him. Slowly, Hankyung got to his feet. "Yuan Yi," he said, shaking his head. "You've wasted so much man power and time chasing me around this country, just in the name of revenge."
"You're weak, pathetic, you don't understand the concept of revenge."
Hankyung quirked his lip. "Believe me, if the sobbing on the other side of that barrier stops, you'll be dead before your finger can even find the trigger."
"Bold words." Hankyung moved closer to the pile of shelving and machinery; Yuan Yi moved to the other side to keep the same amount of space between them. "But I'm not speaking of revenge for a lover. That, that is what makes you weak, Han Geng. Lovers can be replaced as easily as clothing. No, I'm taking about revenge for yourself, for your loss of honour or dignity." His voice rang out in the warehouse; "You took six years of my life!"
"You took the life of my friend! You could still live after prison, you still had your men and your businesses, but he -- he had a promising life. He could have achieved his dreams! And you took that from him -- and from me."
"See," purred Yuan Yi. "That's the kind of revenge I'm talking about. It angers you, does it, that by sticking to your guns, you lost your dreams? You could have been famous, Han Geng. You could have ruled the stage, the international star!" He spat on the floor again. "Don't blame me for that, you bastard. That wasn't me who took that from you. You took that from yourself, Han Geng, when you stood up to me!"
In his anger, he banged his hand down on the shelf before him; the tremor moved along until it shifted something in the pile that had been created in the explosion. Heechul screamed out; Yuan Yi took his eyes from Hankyung for a second to glance at the barrier. It was all Hankyung needed. He tightened his finger around the trigger, and pulled.
It wasn't enough to kill Yuan Yi -- well, at least not straight away, but Hankyung was saying nothing about the wait time for an ambulance. He had aimed carefully, hit Yuan Yi in the side where it would hopefully hit no organs, but cause damage enough, which apparently it did. Yuan Yi hit the floor screaming in pain, curled up, blood spurting between his fingers. Hankyung paid him no more attention; now that he was down, he had more pressing matters. It was like his gaze had been blinkered. He wrenched at the jacket of the man he had first shot until he found a pocket containing a mobile phone. Then, already on his way to phoning the emergency services, he ran out of that row of shelving so he could go around and come in on Heechul's side without risking the pile.
SET FIRE TO THE THIRD BAR - Snow Patrol
The scene was bloody. The man who had thrown the bomb was on the floor; his head, separated from his body by a sharp slice of metal which had fallen on him, lay several feet away. Heechul was half buried under the pile. His eyes were closed, lips still moving, curses that he could not longer find the breath to say. Hankyung heard the click of being put through, and then a voice asking what he needed.
"Ambulance," he said. Heechul's eyes shot open. "And some police, but mainly just an ambulance." Hankyung was running now; Heechul was making no move to move, which made Hankyung think that he was trapped. "No, I don't know where I am. It's a warehouse. It's just outside the city, in the industrial park, do you know that? I don't know where exactly. There'll be two black cars parked out--"
Hankyung stopped. The woman in his ear continued asking questions, which he ignored. Now he saw why Heechul couldn't move. A bar, some piping, perhaps, attached to a heavy machine, had fallen on him, impaled him in the side. Blood dripped steadily from it; there was a pool around Heechul. "Hankyung," he whispered, voice faint. He stretched out a hand.
"Hey, babe," Hankyung said, smiling at him, the effect marred only by his tears. He dropped to his knees, took the outstretched hand and pulled Heechul's head into his lap. "You're okay, aren't you? You're okay."
"It hurts, Hankyung."
"Grit your teeth through it," Hankyung advised, forcing out a laugh. Forcing himself to be casual. Like that could possibly help. "There's help on the way, see, so you're going to be fine." He lifted the phone to his ear with his free hand. "Please," he whispered. "Please get here."
"A warehouse in the retail district, with two black cars outside?"
"Yes."
"We'll try our best, sir. Please stay on the line until they arrive."
"Thank you." Hankyung dropped the phone to the floor next to him, where he'd still be able to hear any voice issuing from it. He put both hands on Heechul's head, stroked his hair, matted by sweat and dirt and blood. It made his fingers stick together. The knees of his jeans were wet with blood. "Hey."
"It hurts so much, Hankyung."
"I know, babe, I know. Hey, tell me about Donghae."
Heechul's eyes were fluttering shut, but his voice was still somewhat scornful when he said; "Donghae? It's a city."
"Open your eyes," Hankyung said sharply. "Not that Donghae. Tell me about our Donghae."
Heechul smiled dreamily. "Our Donghae is -- nine years old. We never found out when his birthday was, did we? Maybe he's ten, I don't know, but he was -- I need him, Hankyung, he was supposed to be ours, the most amazing kid I've ever met. We should have adopted him, Hankyung."
Hankyung was pulling his t-shirt off and balling it up. "We will," he said. "Look, now I owe you a new phone, car and a kid." Heechul laughed faintly. "We will adopt him, Heechul, it's all over and we can go back to our old life. We can adopt him because we're both going to get through this." Heechul cried out as Hankyung pressed his t-shirt around where the pipe had entered, trying to stop the blood flow. The blood already on Heechul's skin was nauseatingly warm against his hands. "I'm sorry," Hankyung whispered.
Heechul's eyes were fever-bright, staring at Hankyung solemnly. "You promise?"
"I promise."
"You promise a lot, Hankyung."
"I sure do, but I'll follow through later." Heechul was silent. "Hey, tell me about your book. Heechul. Babe. Heechul, tell me about your book."
Heechul didn't speak, eyes closed. Hankyung bent over him, wanting nothing more than to shake him. "Heechul," he gasped out, tears streaming down his face. "Heechul, come on, don't do this to me. How can I -- what can I -- what can I possibly do without you, Heechul? I can't do this without you, Heechul, I'm useless without you, that's the only thing that's been certain through this entire ordeal, the only thing that is written in my bone marrow. I cannot even fucking breathe without you, Heechul, so don't you fucking dare do this to me, not now."
"I will write about," Heechul said, voice so faint that it was almost non-existent, "a couple who are on the run from psychopathic crazy fucks and who end up all over the country trying to escape them until they ended up in a warehouse, in a final showdown kind of thing, something that they both survive, because you're supposed to write what you know."
"That's right," Hankyung said, laughing through his tears. "That's right."
Later on, Hankyung could see why they pulled them apart, airlifted Heechul to hospital while he was thrown in the back of a police van and drove to the station and, after his arm had been set in a cast, thrown in a cell, without a word. He was the only apparent survivor of what seemed like a shoot-out. A couple of the men had escaped; Yuan Yi had died of his wounds. He was under suspicion for all their murders, and he couldn't deny that he had killed them. He didn't even try, he was proud of it. That was later on, however. At the time, Hankyung had screamed and hollered and banged on the door of his cell, desperate to know what was happening with Heechul, desperate for any scrap of news that he could get.
They kept him there overnight, until the only man left in the building who had survived, the man that Heechul had knocked out with the metal bar, had come around and was able to confess exactly what had happened there. After running Hankyung's details through the computer, they confirmed that he was on the Chinese witness protection program. He felt like screaming at them that if they'd just done that originally, none of this would have happened. Uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed, a preliminary verdict of self-defence was noted down, and he was released.
The hospital was white and clinical and quite the worst place Hankyung had ever visited. It felt like it was closing in around him, suffocating him with how pure andunblemished it was, even as people died from illness and wounds. The room that he was brought to didn't make him feel any better. It was too white. Heechul wouldn't like it. The light wouldn't look good on his skin.
Heechul himself was lying in a bed, hooked up to machines that beeped and buzzed and terrified Hankyung into not touching anything in case he made something do wrong. He was asleep, his left leg, which had been broken when he'd been trapped, held up in a cast. There was an oxygen mask on his face. He was almost as white as the walls around him, cheeks sinking in with each slow inhalation. Hankyung touched his hair.
"We don't know how he'll be," the doctor confessed in one of the consultation rooms. "He appears to be stable, now, but his situation could change. The pipe, luckily, missed any vital organs, but he lost a lot of blood, and there's a high risk of infection."
Hankyung didn't have a place to stay, couldn't even bear the thought of having to find somewhere, so they brought a futon into the hospital room and let him sleep there. An infection Heechul caught, even with the antibiotics his body was pumped full of. His body fought it while Heechul remained unconscious, knocked out by the cocktails of drugs that they fed into his arm, and by the trauma of what had happened to him. The infection swept through his body, causing the doctors looking after him to exchange worried glances and up his dosage.
Hankyung could no longer sleep in the same room; but since he didn't want to leave, he stayed awake, days on end, dozing only when it got too much. He felt like he was simply existing. He could feel himself growing thin, felt like he was just skin and bones; then he felt like it was just in his mind. He was fairly certain he was descending more firmly into insanity with each slow inhalation of Heechul's cheeks.
A week passed, culminating in one night where Heechul's fever hit its pitch, and Hankyung, ringing for a doctor or a nurse, really thought it was the end. He pulled his seat as close to the bed as he could get and took Heechul's hand in his own, clutching it tight and bending over it so that his tears dripped hotly onto Heechul's warm skin.
He didn't say anything, just sobbed, unable to put the fear into words. After all they had gone through, he couldn't believe that he was going to lose Heechul to a blood infection. He was so lost in his premature grief that he almost missed the way Heechul's fingers contracted around his own. He lifted his head, startled, to find that Heechul was blinking at him with eyes bright from fever, but open nonetheless. He said something, muffled under his oxygen mask, squeezed Hankyung's hands again before he drifted off to sleep.
"You were crying," he would say later.
"I was," Hankyung would admit simply.
Fandom: Super Junior (AU)
Pairing: Hankyung/Heechul
Word count: 3,807
Rating: R (for violence and mature themes)
Summary: Hankyung and Heechul have been living together for four years now, and their relationship seems pretty much perfect. However, Hankyung has more skeletons in his closet than he has let on, and now his past is about to rear its ugly head in the worst way possible. The thing about lies is that they're remarkably difficult to ignore.
A/N: MY FACE RIGHT NOW IS LIKE T________________________________T the delay in this is because I'm sick, and I was tired last night after a train journey and this needs to be PERFECT because T_____T (there's an epilogue)
Run (13/13)
MAKKA NA ITO - Plastic Tree
The shots at them were fired just that second too late; they were already through the doors of the warehouse, somehow managing to slam them shut after them, which would hold up theirpursuers for a few more vital seconds. At some point, Hankyung grabbed Heechul's hand, half-dragged him in the direction of some stairs, pushed him up ahead, then turned and fired on the men just entering the building.
He didn't waste ammunition; he knew that their enemies had plenty, but he had only what was in the gun. He fired just enough to make them retreat long enough to get up the stairs and along the metal secondary level so that they could get down on the other side, where all the machinery was. Hankyung pulled Heechul down behind some sort of textile weaver, and checked how many bullets he had. Not nearly enough.
"What now?" Heechul's voice was shaking.
"We need to get you something to fight with," Hankyung whispered. "And more bullets for my own gun."
Heechul reached out and picked up a metal bar, which dislodged other ones, crashing down around them. "Over here!" one of the men yelled, and Hankyung jumped up, pulling Heechul with him, and ran for their lives.
"A metal bar?" he panted out, ducking a sudden gunshot and changing direction. "Great defence against bullets."
"I figure that I should hit them over the head before they can raise their gun," Heechul answered. "Don't let them fire, that's the best defence."
"Yes, but--" Hankyung cut off as a man suddenly appeared in front of them, back to them, but turning. He lifted his gun, but Heechul got there before him, swinging the bar in his hands and hitting the man on the back of the head. He was thrown forwards, falling to the floor unconscious.
"Like that," Heechul gasped, out of breath.
"I see." Hankyung knelt down, took the gun from the man's hands and then any spare rounds of bullets he could. "Here." He tossed the gun to Heechul, who looked at it like it was the most offensive thing he'd ever seen, but kept it in his hands anyway, along with the bar. "You don't need the bar, Heechul."
Heechul dropped it, without thinking about the noise. A man's head turned in their direction, but Hankyung had already shot at him; the bullet hit him in the neck, and he disappeared from view as blood suddenly spurted from his artery. "Remember," Hankyung said, pulling Heechul closer. "They will kill you. Do not hesitate. Do not falter. Kill them, before they can kill you."
"You make it sound so easy," Heechul said, like he was commenting on an interesting but rather unimportant documentary, and not the life or death situation that they found themselves in.
"It has to be that easy," Hankyung said. "Come on." He took Heechul's hand again. This time, they would try to get back to the doors. Maybe they wouldn't realise, and they'd be able to get a head start on the road. This plan held up until they were in sight of the doors and they realised that a reverse guard was waiting there, standing in front of their exit. Hankyung cursed; they couldn't escape without being noticed somehow.
"We'll have to find another way out," Hankyung whispered. "There'll maybe be one around the other side of the building."
"Then let's go," Heechul said, already on his way. Hankyung took a long breath. Right now, he couldn't see how they could get out of this alive, but he would do all he could to keep Heechul safe. He'd promised to not let these people kill him, and it was a promise that Hankyung would keep above all else.
They were halfway to the other side of the warehouse when a shout went up: they'd been spotted. People descended on them from all directions, it seemed, Hankyung shooting desperately, taking out some foes and missing others. Heechul tried his best, but his training had never been thorough. One guy went down clutching at his arm, dropped his weapon as he did so. Something rolled from his jacket, something small and round and -- they had bombs. Hankyung stopped shooting, took hold of Heechul's hand again and ran.
They managed to duck down between some industrial sized bins, out of sight. It was reprieve of a sort. Hankyung checked his gun again, then took Heechul's from his hands and did the same. "They've got bombs," he said as he did so. "Be careful, watch out for them."
"Hankyung." Heechul was breathless, but his tone was calm. "We can't escape them."
"Yes," Hankyung ground out, "we can."
"No, Hankyung--"
"Heechul, I promised I would protect you, and I will do that."
"There is no way we can get out of here, Hankyung. We should just--"
"Just what?" Hankyung realised his voice was getting too high, and lowered it quickly. "Give ourselves up? They'll shoot us where we stand waving the white flag, Heechul. They don't care about ethics or morals, they just care about revenge. I am not" -- he clicked the gun into place -- "giving myself up."
"Then we die anyway."
"We're not going to die. I will not allow it to happen."
Heechul's voice was soft. "Hankyung--"
"Shut up, Heechul." Hankyung shut his eyes against the sudden hot tears. "Just, please, shut up."
Heechul fisted his hands in Hankyung's shirt, dragged the material towards him, and rested his forehead against his collarbone. Hankyung wound his arms around his shoulders and held him so close that he felt as though he could pull Heechul into his veryveins and keep him safe that way. "The boy that we adopt," Heechul said. "The one in America. We can call him Donghae, can't we?"
"Yeah," Hankyung said. "Yeah, we can. We will." Slowly, Heechul's mouth found his own, lips seeking lips, and Hankyung couldn't help the tears that he felt against his skin. He kissed Heechul desperately, not wanting to think that this could be the last time, but unable to stop himself. When they broke apart, Heechul lowered his face and rubbed at it, hair falling forward so Hankyung couldn't see anything. Hankyung looked up. Thought the coast was clear.
"Come on," he muttered, reaching out to take Heechul's hand, finding cold fingers slightly wet, and didn't mention it. They pushed through the bins until they were standing as out in the open as they dared to get. "We'll go this--"
Hankyung cut off as something clattered at his feet. A man, younger compared to the others, had appeared to their right, grinning all over his face. Hankyung looked down to see a grenade at his feet. He reacted so quickly that it was if he'd almost been expecting it. He dropped Heechul's hand to snatch it up and throw it in some direction that he didn't even pay attention to, but it was too late. It exploded in mid-air, the shockwaves causing the shelving opposite, piled high with machinery, rusting and old, to collapse.
Hankyung scrambled for Heechul's hand as he dived to the left to get out of the way, but missed it, couldn't get near it -- Heechul had tried going to the right. Dust rose in huge clouds; a couple more shelves fell, until a semi-wall lay between him and Heechul. Hankyung hit the floor hard, and, winded, blacked out for a minute. When he woke, there was the sound of someone screaming, high pitched and helpless, in pain. With a catch in his breath, he realised it was Heechul.
Hankyung lifted his head up, already twisting to somehow get across the pile of stuff to Heechul to find out what was wrong, heart pounding against his chest so hard that he almost felt like crying out in pain himself, but something in the corner of his eye made him pause. Feet. Expensive shoes. Looking up, a black suit, stretched over a familiar frame. He almost didn't want to look at the face, but forced himself to. Yuan Yi.
His gun was lying to his right on the floor. He reached out as quickly as he could, but not quickly enough. Yuan Yi brought his shoe down on his arm; Hankyung heard the crack of the bone breaking and yelled out in pain. The noise joined with Heechul's screams like a terrible, horrific harmony. Yuan Yi laughed and lifted his foot. Hankyung brought his arm back in, tucked it under his body, blinking back tears in order to focus. His other arm was tense, ready to lift him to his feet.
There were two other guys with him. Hankyung wasn't sure if that meant the rest were dead, or if there were others still roaming around. He was taking no chances. Somehow, he had to get out of this, get to Heechul -- he had promised to protect him, and he was hurt. The thought made Hankyung want to physically throw up.
"Han Geng." Somehow, Hankyung's mind made the shift from Korean to Chinese; Mandarin seemed odd to him now. "I've been looking for you."
"I know." Hankyung answered mildly, eyes trying to work out an escape.
"I've had men all over the major cities in Korea. Incheon, Seoul, Busan, Mokpo." He paused, let it sink in. Hankyung's stomach twisted. So that's how they'd been followed on the train. "Watching the airports and the train stations. Trains, Han Geng? Risky."
Hankyung stayed silent this time. They'd been watching the airports. They'd never have been free in America. Heechul had stopped screaming; instead now they could only hear pained sobbing. He darted his eyes to the wall of stuff separating them. Yuan Yi saw, and spat on the floor.
"I suppose that's your lover? Crying like a girl." He quirked his lips. "Well, I've seen the pictures, for all intents and purposes, he is. I think we'd better put him out of his misery."
He motioned to one of the men standing behind him, who grinned and drew his gun and started for the mound. "No!" Hankyung burst out, realising what was about to happen, and he pounced up and tackled the man to the ground. It happened too quickly for anyone to do anything about; Hankyung had the reaction times of both a dancer and someone trained in escaping, and once he'd shot the first man at point blank range, he twisted and shot the second man in the heart before he could lift his own gun.
Yuan Yi, however, was not so slow. Hankyung whipped around, gun still outstretched, only to find Yuan Yi pointing his own at him. Slowly, Hankyung got to his feet. "Yuan Yi," he said, shaking his head. "You've wasted so much man power and time chasing me around this country, just in the name of revenge."
"You're weak, pathetic, you don't understand the concept of revenge."
Hankyung quirked his lip. "Believe me, if the sobbing on the other side of that barrier stops, you'll be dead before your finger can even find the trigger."
"Bold words." Hankyung moved closer to the pile of shelving and machinery; Yuan Yi moved to the other side to keep the same amount of space between them. "But I'm not speaking of revenge for a lover. That, that is what makes you weak, Han Geng. Lovers can be replaced as easily as clothing. No, I'm taking about revenge for yourself, for your loss of honour or dignity." His voice rang out in the warehouse; "You took six years of my life!"
"You took the life of my friend! You could still live after prison, you still had your men and your businesses, but he -- he had a promising life. He could have achieved his dreams! And you took that from him -- and from me."
"See," purred Yuan Yi. "That's the kind of revenge I'm talking about. It angers you, does it, that by sticking to your guns, you lost your dreams? You could have been famous, Han Geng. You could have ruled the stage, the international star!" He spat on the floor again. "Don't blame me for that, you bastard. That wasn't me who took that from you. You took that from yourself, Han Geng, when you stood up to me!"
In his anger, he banged his hand down on the shelf before him; the tremor moved along until it shifted something in the pile that had been created in the explosion. Heechul screamed out; Yuan Yi took his eyes from Hankyung for a second to glance at the barrier. It was all Hankyung needed. He tightened his finger around the trigger, and pulled.
It wasn't enough to kill Yuan Yi -- well, at least not straight away, but Hankyung was saying nothing about the wait time for an ambulance. He had aimed carefully, hit Yuan Yi in the side where it would hopefully hit no organs, but cause damage enough, which apparently it did. Yuan Yi hit the floor screaming in pain, curled up, blood spurting between his fingers. Hankyung paid him no more attention; now that he was down, he had more pressing matters. It was like his gaze had been blinkered. He wrenched at the jacket of the man he had first shot until he found a pocket containing a mobile phone. Then, already on his way to phoning the emergency services, he ran out of that row of shelving so he could go around and come in on Heechul's side without risking the pile.
SET FIRE TO THE THIRD BAR - Snow Patrol
The scene was bloody. The man who had thrown the bomb was on the floor; his head, separated from his body by a sharp slice of metal which had fallen on him, lay several feet away. Heechul was half buried under the pile. His eyes were closed, lips still moving, curses that he could not longer find the breath to say. Hankyung heard the click of being put through, and then a voice asking what he needed.
"Ambulance," he said. Heechul's eyes shot open. "And some police, but mainly just an ambulance." Hankyung was running now; Heechul was making no move to move, which made Hankyung think that he was trapped. "No, I don't know where I am. It's a warehouse. It's just outside the city, in the industrial park, do you know that? I don't know where exactly. There'll be two black cars parked out--"
Hankyung stopped. The woman in his ear continued asking questions, which he ignored. Now he saw why Heechul couldn't move. A bar, some piping, perhaps, attached to a heavy machine, had fallen on him, impaled him in the side. Blood dripped steadily from it; there was a pool around Heechul. "Hankyung," he whispered, voice faint. He stretched out a hand.
"Hey, babe," Hankyung said, smiling at him, the effect marred only by his tears. He dropped to his knees, took the outstretched hand and pulled Heechul's head into his lap. "You're okay, aren't you? You're okay."
"It hurts, Hankyung."
"Grit your teeth through it," Hankyung advised, forcing out a laugh. Forcing himself to be casual. Like that could possibly help. "There's help on the way, see, so you're going to be fine." He lifted the phone to his ear with his free hand. "Please," he whispered. "Please get here."
"A warehouse in the retail district, with two black cars outside?"
"Yes."
"We'll try our best, sir. Please stay on the line until they arrive."
"Thank you." Hankyung dropped the phone to the floor next to him, where he'd still be able to hear any voice issuing from it. He put both hands on Heechul's head, stroked his hair, matted by sweat and dirt and blood. It made his fingers stick together. The knees of his jeans were wet with blood. "Hey."
"It hurts so much, Hankyung."
"I know, babe, I know. Hey, tell me about Donghae."
Heechul's eyes were fluttering shut, but his voice was still somewhat scornful when he said; "Donghae? It's a city."
"Open your eyes," Hankyung said sharply. "Not that Donghae. Tell me about our Donghae."
Heechul smiled dreamily. "Our Donghae is -- nine years old. We never found out when his birthday was, did we? Maybe he's ten, I don't know, but he was -- I need him, Hankyung, he was supposed to be ours, the most amazing kid I've ever met. We should have adopted him, Hankyung."
Hankyung was pulling his t-shirt off and balling it up. "We will," he said. "Look, now I owe you a new phone, car and a kid." Heechul laughed faintly. "We will adopt him, Heechul, it's all over and we can go back to our old life. We can adopt him because we're both going to get through this." Heechul cried out as Hankyung pressed his t-shirt around where the pipe had entered, trying to stop the blood flow. The blood already on Heechul's skin was nauseatingly warm against his hands. "I'm sorry," Hankyung whispered.
Heechul's eyes were fever-bright, staring at Hankyung solemnly. "You promise?"
"I promise."
"You promise a lot, Hankyung."
"I sure do, but I'll follow through later." Heechul was silent. "Hey, tell me about your book. Heechul. Babe. Heechul, tell me about your book."
Heechul didn't speak, eyes closed. Hankyung bent over him, wanting nothing more than to shake him. "Heechul," he gasped out, tears streaming down his face. "Heechul, come on, don't do this to me. How can I -- what can I -- what can I possibly do without you, Heechul? I can't do this without you, Heechul, I'm useless without you, that's the only thing that's been certain through this entire ordeal, the only thing that is written in my bone marrow. I cannot even fucking breathe without you, Heechul, so don't you fucking dare do this to me, not now."
"I will write about," Heechul said, voice so faint that it was almost non-existent, "a couple who are on the run from psychopathic crazy fucks and who end up all over the country trying to escape them until they ended up in a warehouse, in a final showdown kind of thing, something that they both survive, because you're supposed to write what you know."
"That's right," Hankyung said, laughing through his tears. "That's right."
Later on, Hankyung could see why they pulled them apart, airlifted Heechul to hospital while he was thrown in the back of a police van and drove to the station and, after his arm had been set in a cast, thrown in a cell, without a word. He was the only apparent survivor of what seemed like a shoot-out. A couple of the men had escaped; Yuan Yi had died of his wounds. He was under suspicion for all their murders, and he couldn't deny that he had killed them. He didn't even try, he was proud of it. That was later on, however. At the time, Hankyung had screamed and hollered and banged on the door of his cell, desperate to know what was happening with Heechul, desperate for any scrap of news that he could get.
They kept him there overnight, until the only man left in the building who had survived, the man that Heechul had knocked out with the metal bar, had come around and was able to confess exactly what had happened there. After running Hankyung's details through the computer, they confirmed that he was on the Chinese witness protection program. He felt like screaming at them that if they'd just done that originally, none of this would have happened. Uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed, a preliminary verdict of self-defence was noted down, and he was released.
The hospital was white and clinical and quite the worst place Hankyung had ever visited. It felt like it was closing in around him, suffocating him with how pure andunblemished it was, even as people died from illness and wounds. The room that he was brought to didn't make him feel any better. It was too white. Heechul wouldn't like it. The light wouldn't look good on his skin.
Heechul himself was lying in a bed, hooked up to machines that beeped and buzzed and terrified Hankyung into not touching anything in case he made something do wrong. He was asleep, his left leg, which had been broken when he'd been trapped, held up in a cast. There was an oxygen mask on his face. He was almost as white as the walls around him, cheeks sinking in with each slow inhalation. Hankyung touched his hair.
"We don't know how he'll be," the doctor confessed in one of the consultation rooms. "He appears to be stable, now, but his situation could change. The pipe, luckily, missed any vital organs, but he lost a lot of blood, and there's a high risk of infection."
Hankyung didn't have a place to stay, couldn't even bear the thought of having to find somewhere, so they brought a futon into the hospital room and let him sleep there. An infection Heechul caught, even with the antibiotics his body was pumped full of. His body fought it while Heechul remained unconscious, knocked out by the cocktails of drugs that they fed into his arm, and by the trauma of what had happened to him. The infection swept through his body, causing the doctors looking after him to exchange worried glances and up his dosage.
Hankyung could no longer sleep in the same room; but since he didn't want to leave, he stayed awake, days on end, dozing only when it got too much. He felt like he was simply existing. He could feel himself growing thin, felt like he was just skin and bones; then he felt like it was just in his mind. He was fairly certain he was descending more firmly into insanity with each slow inhalation of Heechul's cheeks.
A week passed, culminating in one night where Heechul's fever hit its pitch, and Hankyung, ringing for a doctor or a nurse, really thought it was the end. He pulled his seat as close to the bed as he could get and took Heechul's hand in his own, clutching it tight and bending over it so that his tears dripped hotly onto Heechul's warm skin.
He didn't say anything, just sobbed, unable to put the fear into words. After all they had gone through, he couldn't believe that he was going to lose Heechul to a blood infection. He was so lost in his premature grief that he almost missed the way Heechul's fingers contracted around his own. He lifted his head, startled, to find that Heechul was blinking at him with eyes bright from fever, but open nonetheless. He said something, muffled under his oxygen mask, squeezed Hankyung's hands again before he drifted off to sleep.
"You were crying," he would say later.
"I was," Hankyung would admit simply.