Cocked & Loaded. (Hans Gruber x reader)

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TW: descriptions of bodily harm, stitches, and smut.

* "maus" = mouse.

You were in and out of consciousness as your head rested against Hans' chest, lightly bouncing with each hurried step he took down the empty hallway. It didn't take you long to realize he was taking you to the nearby bathroom, kicking the door open with the heel of his foot and moving to carefully sit you on the counter near the ceramic sinks. The pain in your hamstring was excruciating, burning and throbbing as you felt the warmth of your own blood begin to coat the counter beneath you.

Hans glanced down at his own hands, which were also covered in your blood now, and turned on the sink right beside your slumped frame. You turned your head as best you could within your semi conscious daze and sported a surprised frown. Was he really washing his damn hands at a time like this?!

A soft little hum sounded from his chest and resonated throughout the otherwise deafeningly silent bathroom. You panted, mouth agape as you stared in disbelief at how calm he was.

"Are you...really?!"

He stole a sideways glance at you and flashed a toothy grin as he shook his wet hands, ridding them of as much of the water as he could before grabbing a paper towel. Cocky son of a bitch, he was. You were literally bleeding, on the verge of passing out and he was meticulously drying each finger with a thin paper towel.

"Patience is key, maus," he purred with a deep chuckle laced within each vowel.

Your head thumped back against the wall and your eyes rolled, fluttering closed as another wave of throbbing pain thundered throughout your wounded leg. "Well now would be a good time to maybe, I don't know, stop the bleeding?"

He tossed the wet paper towel into the trash and turned, starting to inch his way back toward the bathroom entrance and that alone was enough to make you startle and nearly slip off of the counter.

"Ah, shit!" Your leg moved in the process and pain shot right up through your thigh, to your hip, and all the way back down to your toes. Your face scrunched up into a tight and very obvious expression of distress but Hans still seemed to be far too calm.

He leaned up against the frame of the entrance, one foot crossed over the other and hands planted on his hips as if he were a disappointed school teacher. "Would you stop moving? There's a first aid kit just outside in the hall, I'm going to get it."

Your hands gripped the edge of the counter as the pain started to subside, but only slightly, as you blinked and watched him curiously.

"Don't move while I'm gone. Not that you're really in any shape to move..." Hans was halfway out of the bathroom at this point, poking his head back around to flash a terribly cheesy wink before quickly dipping back out.

Your eyes widen and you attempt to lean over and catch him before his disappeared but you nearly caused yourself to fall once more, gripping the wall just in time.

"Fuck you, Hans!"

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                             Head pounding like a steel drum, breath short and raspy, pain numb, you knew you were close to either upchucking what was left in your stomach or passing out in the dirty ass bathroom floor. Hans returned just in time as your hand slipped from the counter and he, somehow, wrapped an arm around your waist without dropping the first aid kit and kept you secure.

Neither of you said a word just yet, simply grateful that he was there to catch you. Your insurance didn't cover knocked out teeth. Not like your insurance would cover any of tonight's events, anyway. Fucking terrorists. Shot in the leg. Who knew.