Way Down We Go//Hans Gruber x Reader

Chapter 2

You knew you must be crazy to bring him home, but something about him made you pity him. Perhaps it was how helpless he looked covered in his own blood, or maybe it was the way he held your gaze only to squirm a moment later, uncomfortable with the eye contact. Whatever it was, you had decided it was enough to trust that he wouldn’t hurt you.

The car ride was silent and neither of you spoke until you helped him through the front entrance of your house. Your home was small and cold and untidy, but you hadn’t neglected to decorate for the holidays. As you lowered the man onto your sofa, you couldn’t help but notice the sparkle in his eyes as he gazed at your Christmas tree, lit up with bright white lights and adorned with dazzling ornaments. For a moment, he looked like a child seeing Christmas lights for the very first time.

“Don’t they celebrate Christmas where you come from?” You teased, watching as he stared at the decorations. 

“Oh...yes. But I haven’t celebrated since I was quite small,” he confessed, his eyes still trained on the tree. “And with my line of work, I rarely have time to admire the finer things.” He was astounded that he was even alive to see another christmas tree.

“What do you do for work?” you asked, setting a pillow behind him and slowly guiding him to lean back against it. You had very little experience tending to injuries, and you had no professional medical knowledge by any means, but you were good at helping others feel comfortable. 

The man stalled, his brows furrowing and his right shoulder rolling back as if he were uncomfortable. “I...travel...for work. I work with money and other...goods,” he explained, leaving out any possible detail that would give away who he truly was. “I had an accident during a job tonight. I’m meant to be on my way to vacation by now.”

You felt another pang of pity for him in your heart, though for all you knew he could be a bank robber or a hit man. “I’m very sorry to hear that, Harry.” He didn’t respond to that name, his expression vacant as if you had just addressed someone else entirely. “That is your name, isn’t it?”

“Hmm?” His gaze turned towards yours momentarily before his eyes flicked down to your hands nervously. “Yes, that’s right. Forgive me, I’m not feeling myself.”

You watched as he began to fidget with the hem of his sleeve, his eyes traveling back to the Christmas tree as if he were signalling he was done with the conversation. With his eyes dazed and unfocused, he took a moment to get lost in his own thoughts and tune out the rest of the world, including you. Hans was a man who tried to keep up public appearances, always putting on a front that he had control, but he was so exhausted and in too much pain to even try to mask his true nature. All he wanted now was to keep a low profile and stay off the radar. 

“Can I get you anything? Water? Pajamas? Tea?” You suggested, trying desperately to think of anything that would help him feel better. 

He remained silent for a moment, thinking over your proposal, then finally after a moment his answer came. “Yes, could you get me a razor and shaving cream? I’d like to do away with this beard.” The more changes he made to his appearance, the better. A clean face coupled with the dark bruise forming over the bridge of his nose wouldn’t nearly be enough to avoid being recognized in public, but he had to start somewhere. 

“Certainly. Would you like me to help you shave? I’ve helped my dad many times and I don’t mind at all.” In truth, you’d prefer to do it for him. You were worried he would cut up his face with how hard it was for him to even raise his arms. “I’ll bring a washcloth and a cup of water and I’ll do it here.” 

You left him no room to protest, leaving him at his place on your couch as you headed to your small bathroom. Flicking the light on, you rummaged through the untidy cabinets until you found everything you were looking for and a few other things to help him. You set everything in a small basket; the razor, a can of shaving cream, lotion, a bottle of pain relievers, a small cup of water, and a small wash cloth. When you returned to the living room, you were amused to see your cat stretched out in his lap.

“She likes you,” you teased, setting the basket down on the coffee table. “She doesn’t do this with just anyone. Maybe I was right to trust you.”

The man couldn’t help but chuckle, his shoulders rolling back once again, his head tilting slightly. You were amused by his tics and mannerisms and every second you spent with him just added more depth to his character. The most intriguing thing of all was how his tone of voice was constantly changing. “She’s quite a charmer, just like yourself.” This time his tone was friendly.

“You flatter me. Wait until you get to know me before you say things like that,” you warned, though your lips curved into a slight smirk. “Alright, sit still now so I can shave you.”

The man obeyed, seemingly calm now that his hands were running through the soft fur of your tabby cat. He sat as still as he could as you gently spread shaving cream over his chin, your hands delicate and careful. As you brought the razor to his cheek, he showed you the same trust you showed him by bringing him to your house. Perhaps a mutual bond was forming. He remained silent until you were done, his breathing soft and slow as you wiped his face clean with the washcloth.

“There. All better?” He was certainly handsome.

He brought a hand up to run over his smooth face and you noticed his fingers tremble slightly, perhaps off put by the texture. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone without a beard. I suppose I look younger?”

“I suppose.”

His hand lowered back onto his lap, his gaze briefly meeting yours. “It’s incredibly hard to breathe in this suit, I don’t suppose you have a change of clothes that would fit me?” He wasn’t opposed to wearing your clothes if he had to, anything that gave him more room to breathe would suffice. To his relief, you nodded and got to your feet.

“I have some of my dad’s clothes. My parents spend the night occasionally, I’m sure something of his would fit,” you explained. “But if you’re having trouble breathing I really should get you to the hospital-”

He cut you off with a groan, rolling his eyes. “Again with the hospital? I’m fine! You said so yourself, nothing felt broken.”

“I’m not a doctor, I don’t know what a broken rib is supposed to feel like! I could be wrong, and something could be seriously damaged,” you fussed. “But if you’re too proud to go to the hospital, I guess I’ll just let you suffer here on my couch.” 

He looked up at you with an incredulous expression. “How very kind of you,” he said dryly, arching a thick brow. “I’d much rather suffer here on your couch than on a plane headed to Barcelona.”

“Barcelona?”

“I told you I was supposed to go on vacation, but you wouldn’t let me go to the airport.” His tone was mocking but you could tell he was serious and you felt a small hint of guilt tug at your heart. He didn’t seem to pick up on your feelings, continuing with his teasing. “Now if you get me out of this suit and into something more breathable, perhaps I’ll take you to Barcelona with me one day.” If Hans was good at anything, he was good at demanding.