Chapter Text
If someone had asked Jisung after the fact what he was thinking when it happened, he would have said he had absolutely, one hundred percent, without a doubt, had no fucking idea.
If you asked him as it happened, one word—one name would have escaped his parched lips: Felix.
It was, luckily, a dress for a performance that they didn’t have until the following day. The boys were trying their hardest, absolutely performing for the audience of about twenty-four technicians, executives and managers. They were running it full out, making sure that all of the equipment had worked properly. Chan had been adamant on running everything, which, obviously, they would have, but special effects on stages could often make them slippery, whether that be confetti or a simple water splash. God knew these boys loved to fuck around with their water bottles.
Not today, though. While they were having fun on stage, it was definitely more Business than pleasure. The waters were there to drink, not to chuck over a gigantic crowd, and they were being treated as such.
Concerts required significant energy. Even just marking some of the dance breaks had been exhausting, but running it full out, making sure everyone knew what mics they would have, how the set worked, and how to stay safe on a foreign stage was enough to have Jisung’s mind officially clouding with overwhelm. He wasn’t trying, truthfully, but he had gotten poor sleep last night, huddled up in a lonely queen bed in a less lonely hotel room. Minho sleep talked, though, so Jisung would constantly get jolted awake by whatever nonsense was in his dream.
So, to be completely honest, Jisung was tired. Surprise, surprise, he knew, but he was going to get through it.
The venue they were at was halfway outdoors, having a lawn behind three sections of chairs, and a pit in front of the stage that was also to be filled with chairs. The lawn had sliding doors in front of it, for now, to keep the boys cool while they rehearsed, but they would open soon, for they had to test everything. They were practicing, today, out of order, because of it. It was hot, a scorching summer’s day, so they needed to get all of their songs without any special effects down first, so by the time they opened up the lawn, all they would need was a couple more.
But, why did a couple songs need the lawn opened?
Easy. Pyro.
Okay, so this tour was already extensive and large, but they had wanted to make it out of this world. It had been an executive decision, in the end. The boys were going to perform through fire, and it was going to be fucking legendary.
They had done it at every other venue, but most of those were indoors. It went off without a hitch. Their technicians were wonderfully talented, and knew the science and tech necessary to make it look as awesome as possible without endangering anyone. They deserved an award. Jisung was pretty sure that, if he had time, Chan would have absolutely run back to the hotel and hand made them little trinkets to thank the staff for how much they helped them. Hell, he’d do it for everyone: The staff, the managers, the vendors, and especially his boys.
But they didn’t have time. They had to rehearse, break, rehearse, break, rehearse, break, repeat.
Jisung’s exhaustion was getting to him by the time the stadium operator had flipped the switch to start the long process of opening up the lawn. Heat smacked into him like a blanket boiled in with his ramen, and he stumbled back, brushing Felix’s arm before catching himself.
“Ah, sorry, Yongbok-ah,” Jisung mumbled, staring down at his shoes in embarrassment.
Felix studied him, eyes narrowing in quiet contemplation as he reached out to steady him. Jisung was clearly tired, but Felix still didn’t like that look on his face. “It’s alright, Hannie,” he whispered, hand gripping onto his elbow in support. “Are you alright?”
“Yes.” Jisung was quick with it; sharp. “Just tired. Lino-yah cannot be considerate when he is asleep.”
Understanding flashed in Felix’s eyes as Jisung ran a hand through his hair, nervously. It was an off day, for sure, but they were all glad that today was the iffy one when tomorrow was when they performed for Stay.
“Ah, yeah. Luck of the draw, I suppose. Channie-hyung snores.”
Jisung stared at him for a second, his lips doing their best not to immediately turn into an imperceivable smile. He glanced at Chan, who was sitting on the floor, water bottle in both hands, sipping from the straw.
“You’re telling me he snores? Isn’t he five?” Jisung paused, holding a hand up before continuing in his best Australian impression. “Sorry: Foive?”
Felix doubled over in laughter, burying his head in Jisung’s shoulder and shaking his head. “Not in the hotel room, he’s not. And he goes to sleep so late, the first snore wakes me up.”
“Are we talking shit about roommates?” Changbin dashed over in a hurry, looking a little mischievous. “Because Seungmin sings in his morning shower. At five. In the morning.”
Jisung let out another much needed laugh, shaking his head. They all knew these things, had switched roommates for every city on their tour, but it was still hilarious, nonetheless.
“Maybe if you did, you wouldn’t be so unstable,” Seungmin quipped, flicking Changbin’s ear. “I mean, my voice doesn’t crack in the recording studio.”
“I was experimenting, you little—“
“Boys.” Chan stood up, childlike innocence gone as he did so. He set his water down, taking off the hoodie that he had on. “We still have a couple songs, before we murder each other.”
“A couple songs is equivalent to murder,” Hyunjin piped in, fanning himself. “We’re gonna have to do the whole show tomorrow in this?”
“Yeah, but we’ll figure it out,” Chan replied. He took off his cap and fanned Hyunjin with it for a couple moments. “I’ll see if we can talk to the stylists, get something lightweight, breathable.”
“My hero,” Jeongin sighed melodramatically.
“I try,” said Chan, a curve to his lips. “For now, we gotta push through, though. If you think it’s too hot, take off your jackets. If you don’t have a jacket on… sorry.”
“No you’re not,” Minho piped in, wrapping his arm around Chan’s shoulder in a brotherly fashion. “But you will be, once we run these.”
“With fire,” Seungmin added with a grin.
“Fire? That’s so hot!” Jeongin gaped, but Hyunjin hushed him by dragging a hand down his face lazily.
Felix and Chan shared a knowing look. Neither of them seemed too bothered by it, and for a moment, Jisung was absolutely jealous of their heat tolerances.
“It’s gonna be cool.” Felix stood up, getting in his place for the top of the number. “C’mon, guys. Sooner we do it, sooner we get back to the hotel.”
That had the members scrambling up next to him, now that the lawn was open. Running it was muscle memory, mostly, but starting meant that they had to be tedious about marking it, where on the stage they started, what to hit, so they weren’t scrambling aimlessly without any clear direction.
Jisung found, not even ironically or metaphorically, that it was often very much him that was the problem child in that regard. Even when his brain wasn’t friend from lack of sleep, he often got so lost in it that he had to muck around with the crowd awkwardly while the guys finished the dance break without him.
The guys found it annoying. The fans found it endearing. He figured there were two sides to any coin.
Maybe there were. Jisung wasn’t going to wait for the universe to tell him which side was right. He simply had to do his job effectively enough that both sides of that coin got a kick out of it. Maybe, if he teetered on the line enough, it would get stuck on equilibrium, and it would be fine.
He doubted it, but, hey, that was why he rehearsed.
Running the songs with pyro didn’t take nearly as long as he thought he was going to. The technician was backstage, just behind the live band, a muted black box with a switchboard in front of him. If Jisung didn’t know any better, just watching him work would have convinced him of the fact that he was playing an instrument of his own. Mindlessly, Jisung wondered what percentage of talent and brains the guy had. Maybe he was too smart for music. Then again, depending on how he looked at it, maybe he was too stupid.
Jisung didn’t quite care as they finished off the last number. As soon as the lights went out, he collapsed on the stage, feeling a few of his other members—mainly Minho and Seungmin, because they could never just leave him be—collapse on top of him. Jisung pretended not to care, but the whine he made caught their attention.
“‘S wrong, Hyung?” Seungmin prodded, a playful smile easing its way into the edge of his voice. “Don’t like cuddles?”
“How dare you make me say no to that question?”
He was sure he was about to get some smart ass reply about how ungrateful he was, but a voice over the speaker came on, and in their ear pieces, they were told to run the last number once more. Apparently, they had a lighting malfunction.
Jisung noticed the flicker, but he hoped they could have ignored it.
Getting into position, this time, was much easier, and Jisung was very thankful for muscle memory as the exhaustion was starting to ebb at his bones. He wanted to go back to the hotel and sleep, with headphones. Minho was a wonderful roommate in all other regards, and Jisung really did appreciate him, but… come on.
Maybe Jisung was better off alone.
Chan would chastise that thought if he found out Jisung had even thought it, swatting it out of his head like a mosquito in the dorms, but Jisung bit his tongue as the music started.
The song was fine. It was easy, to dance it, to sing it, to rap it, it didn’t matter. Jisung was simply happy for it to be almost over. He wanted to get to tomorrow, where the energy was palpable and contagious. Performing for an empty arena was just tiring.
Creak.
They were rounding to the last chorus, almost home free, when it happened.
Call it intuition, psychic ability, or creepy witchy shit, as Changbin had once deemed his incredible sense of déjà vu, but Jisung could tell something was up. It was a natural lull in the music; one where if they were truthfully onstage for a concert, they would have been overwhelmed with cheers for, but the only sounds Jisung could hear was his in-ear counting an breathing. For a moment, he totally believed they stopped the track, but no. It was absolutely just his head.
Quietly, Jisung looked in front of him, staring at the two he was sandwiched between in the windows. It was Felix and Hyunjin, both dancing their hearts out. Jisung didn’t know why a cold chill washed over him, until he glanced over at the pyro tech, who looked concerned and frustrated and Jisung nearly called it, himself.
He watched, helplessly, as the man gave the button one last push, and realized he was standing directly in front of the source of the lighting issue.
A faulty confetti cannon? Okay, yeah, sad, only half the stadium gets confetti and that sucked.
A faulty flamethrower?
Jisung was so, absolutely, unequivocally fucked.
The jet, he would learn later, hadn’t been working properly at all since they started their tests for this show. The flames were too short, and fizzling out, and the tech was frustrated over it. He was trying to do anything to get it to work, as per orders of the director of the set, but Jisung truthfully would never, ever care about the reasoning behind what happened. He knew it was foolish to even expect such an outcome.
The creaking he had heard was metal expanding, within the cannon, under the stage, a chemical reaction happening within the faulty equipment that he could never put his fingers on, but he knew, the minute that the tech’s finger pressed that button, something was going to happen.
And Felix was right in front of him.
Fuck the dance, fuck the song, fuck the formations, Jisung found himself moving to stand between Felix and the cannon, babbling something into his microphone about running, moving, getting to safety, but it was too late.
As far as explosions go, it wasn’t huge. It wasn’t like the entire arena went up in flames, killing everyone instantly in a tragic turn of events. No, it was much smaller, but much more sinister than that.
Jisung could feel fire on his back, his feet leaving the ground unceremoniously as the pressure behind him became so thick that his bones vibrated. He could feel the way his ears popped and his eyes rattled in his skull as he was sent flying off the edge of the stage.
It was torturous, actually, to land, bleeding and broken, slumped into a barricade, but Jisung was only happy that he could protect Felix. He didn’t need his back getting tweaked.
However, as he sat there, both hot and cold as if his body was taking a grotesque screenshot, Jisung thought, for a second, that maybe he wasn’t able to protect anyone at all.
—
Chan should have called it when he noticed the staff frustrations. He had the power and the means and everyone was tired. All he wanted was for them all to be happy, even while they were doing their jobs.
He was lucky enough to love what he did, never truly having done anything else, but some days felt mundane. Studio Sleepovers with Jisung and Changbin were more often than not, these days, and his meetings with managers and executives were absolutely not his favorite part of it, but when he could feel the energy getting sucked out of performing, that was when it was time to call it.
But he was stupid. He was stupid and bright eyed and excited to perform and he thought that the techs knew what they were doing (they did, in hindsight, but he was upset) and now he was here, lying on the slick stage, stinging in his elbow and bicep, wondering what the actual fuck happened.
It took him a moment to recover from his dazed state, but once he did, he sat up, coughing slightly as his ribs hurt. They were likely broken, which was something he had dealt with before, so he would ice them, rest them, take it easy on the dancing and not push his lungs so far when he sang.
Chan, himself, would be absolutely fine.
That didn’t mean any of the guys would be.
That thought was motivation enough; sent a big enough chill down his spine, that he focused his eyes as hard as he could, trying to do a headcount, based off of where he was before the explosion.
He spotted Hyunjin crumpled on the floor, wailing in pain, clutching his shoulder—his bad shoulder. Chan wanted to puke, knowing how much the joint had caused him issues already, but he couldn’t. Not when there were six others that he needed to see to.
Felix was behind him, looking relatively unharmed, besides the intense scrapes on his face and arm. Chan felt a pang of guilt for telling the boys to take off their jackets. Maybe that could have spared them a little bit of the pain that they were inevitably in, now. Felix could have lost the polyester of his sleeve, instead of the first layer of skin.
Minho was… up?
He was standing, stumbling and fumbling around, clutching a nasty purple wrist and calling out for a medic in a dazed state. He had this glassy stare; one he normally would sport when he zoned out from a particularly rowdy conversation, but Chan could see that he was desperately trying to check back into reality.
Reaching out to stop and steady him, his eyes landed on Changbin’s unmoving form, clutching into Jeongin, who was screaming.
Chan couldn’t tell what was happening. Not really, but he knew that it must have been bad to get their maknae so riled up. There had been some sort of explosion, yeah, but—
“Hyung! Hyung, wake up!”
Chan was up in an instant, standing and stumbling to where Changbin and Jeongin laid. He had to help. He had to figure it out. He had to do something.
Even if that something consisted of careful, terrified hands reaching out and pressing against Changbin’s jugular vein.
Chan almost collapsed when he felt a pulse, strong and steady, but instead, he chose to run his fingers through his hair. “Binnie.”
He was met with silence.
“Binnie, hey, bud. C’mon.”
Changbin mumbled something weakly, like he was a sickly child calling for his mother. It came out as a whine, so true to Changbin, but Chan couldn’t be annoyed. Not when Changbin was at least semi-conscious. Jeongin collapsed into his chest in relief.
“There you are,” Chan muttered, fingers still grazing against his scalp. He could feel a sticky substance, and a substantial bump on the side of his head, and Chan quickly concluded that he was concussed, and he had a notoriously-bloody head wound.
That was fine (it was very much not). He could work with that. He could. He needed to, but maybe he could help some of the others.
“Minho-yah,” he called, catching the dazed member’s eye. “Keep—keep an eye on Changbin.”
His Korean was broken, for the first time in years, but he hadn’t lost consciousness, so it was fine. They were all probably concussed. He was not special in the slightest.
Seungmin was… somewhere. He hadn’t seen him since he woke up. He and Jisung were nowhere to be found, truly, but Chan was not going to allow himself to panic. He was too strong for that. His members needed him, right now, and if that meant shoving down his own needs for them, well…
What else was new?
He found Seungmin when he turned back around. He was on his knees, blood coating his ear and the side of his head. He looked bruised, but otherwise unharmed. He likely needed butterfly stitches.
He was slotted next to Felix, eyes wide as he tried to calm Hyunjin down. Jinnie was absolutely wailing, unable to stay still as he writhed in pain. His arm was lying limply next to him, his hand clutching his shoulder the same way it had been just moments ago, but Chan had never seen him this distraught. It tugged at his heart strings enough to have him stumbling over to the three, and taking Hyunjin’s face in his hands almost immediately.
“Jinnie,” he muttered, voice firm. “Hyunjinnie, you need to breathe.”
“Can’t.”
“Yes. You, you, ah…” Chan really needed his full working brain right now. “Yes, you can.”
“Hurts.”
“Let me see.”
Hyunjin’s eyes widened, and he tried to shake his head before regretting the decision immediately. Chan hushed him, gently peeling his hand away from his almost certainly dislocated shoulder.
It was swollen and purple, too, and Chan noted, with a heavy heart, that his collarbone seemed to bend awkwardly before it turned into a mess of blues and indigo.
Yeah, of course it hurt.
Chan sighed, running his fingers through Hyunjin’s hair in an attempt to calm him; to soothe him. It took him a second, as most things tended to, but to his surprise, Hyunjin’s screams calmed down to pained cries.
He needed a hospital, though. They all probably did.
Chan gently squeezed Hyunjin’s hand, glancing up at Felix and Seungmin. “Are you two okay?”
“Yeah.” They spoke at the same time.
“Good.”
“What about Binnie-Hyung?” Felix whimpered, “and Innie?”
Distantly, Chan heard Jeongin sobbing as well, but when he looked back, he was up and clutching onto Minho, more shaken than anything.
It took a lot to shake their maknae.
“Binnie responded to my touch,” Chan decides to go with. It’s not a lie by any means, but it does give off more hope than Chan truly believes there might be. He had to prepare himself for the worst case scenario, here, even if he didn’t want to.
God, he didn’t want to.
Changbin was so stupendously integral to this operation. He was the heart, the lungs, the reason at least half of them were still alive. Changbin often was characterized as mean, unhappy, whiny and ungrateful. The tough guy that could put anyone in their place, but he was none of that, besides tough. He couldn’t hurt a fly. He had allergies that put him in the hospital when they visited the US, and he had written music from his hospital bed, instead of taking a long needed rest. He knew how to record, knew exactly what notes to give, and most importantly, he knew how to care for this family. He was always the one to listen to problems over tea, even if he offered to fight them. He was the one to get everyone into karaoke night, and dance around until everyone’s faces were burning red with laughter.
Changbin was a hyung to all but two of them, and at times, Chan felt like he was to him, as well. From the late nights in the studio, where Changbin often ordered food or ran out to the 7/11s to grab them something to eat, to the days when Chan couldn’t force himself to get out of bed; the way Changbin would lift him out and stand him up and give him a pep talk because he deserved the kind words. Binnie was one of his best friends. Chan wasn’t prepared to lose that.
He swallowed down all of that raw emotion, and sighed. “Innie’s just shaken up.”
They nodded in understanding, hands still rubbing comforting circles across Hyunjin’s uninjured arm, until Felix looked up with wide, horrified eyes.
“Jisung.”
Chan blinked, glancing around the stage. He did a mental headcount, and got seven, only to realize he had included himself.
Where was Jisung?
“He was behind me,” Felix blinked, switching to English in an attempt to quell the anxieties of the Korean members around them.
Seungmin was too smart for that, though.
“Did you see him leave?” Seungmin asked in Korean, too tired to do all of the mental heavy lifting himself.
“No, no, I felt him… he grabbed me, covered me, I thought he would have landed on top of me.” Felix answered Seungmin with a terrified voice, head darting around in every direction. “Jisung! Han-ah! Hyung!”
Chan hushed him, grabbing his hands with calloused fingers. “Felix, we can’t panic.”
“He was behind me.” Felix stared Chan down like it was a challenge, and maybe it was, but he didn’t care. Jisung was hurt and he was gone and Felix could feel his heart pounding in every limb.
“I know.”
“You don’t.” Felix pushed Chan away, standing up as quickly as he could. Chan could see the dizziness on his face as he did so, but Felix pushed on. “It was behind me. We were the closest. Channie—“ Felix took a breath, then, in English: “Chris, he’s hurt.”
Chan stared up at Felix blankly, his eyes struggling to focus through the panic that he was starting to feel. Felix was closest. It was Jisung, Felix, and Hyunjin in the formation directly in front of the defective equipment, and based on Hyunjin’s state, if Jisung had… if he had taken the brunt of it…
Chan took approximately three seconds to stand up and stumble to the edge of the stage before he was letting his stomach contents loose over the edge. Shaking fingers gripped the edge of the stage like it was a lifeline, but only when his stomach stopped producing such angry gurgles and heaves, and he could take a breath, did he notice the blood on the floor in front of him.
The blood that led straight to Jisung.
Fuck.
His eyes were half lidded, his hands strewn next to him, burns coating the skin on his left. For a second, Chan had to be thankful that Jisung wasn’t left handed, because that looked like it would take a while to heal, and if he was stuck immobilizing his dominant hand, he couldn’t write. Chan knew Jisung needed to write.
Jisung looked pale, and frightened, and his lips were parted as he tried to say something, but he couldn’t get the words out. He was near silent, even as his lips and tongue moved sluggishly in an attempt to catch anyone’s attention.
Or, maybe it was a prayer.
(If Jisung could remember any of this, he would have told him that was exactly what it had been.)
Chan forced himself off of the stage, not caring to take the steps. He forced his legs to work, to walk forward, to get to Jisung before it was too late.
God, he was so pale.
Han Jisung, his first kid. Eight or nine years ago, everything seemed so different.
It had been different. Heaven knew Chan was. He was beaten down, frustrated, and wanted nothing more than to give up, but he couldn’t have made himself do it. He couldn’t admit failure, and Jisung admired him for it. He had been so tired, so sure that if he worked a little bit harder, made himself a little bit better, then maybe they would like him. Maybe he would finally get to debut, and see his friends at award shows and make music like he always wanted to.
Jisung was the first one to see that, and want in. He wanted in on him. His creation process, his group. Jisung had faith in him when Chan had lost nearly all faith in himself.
Maybe things hadn’t changed much, after all.
“Han-ah,” Chan whispered, making it to his side. His hands shook, and he frantically tried to find a spot to provide comfort that wasn’t going to hurt him. He couldn’t. He didn’t know how bad it was, yet.
His eyes travelled across his body, trying to take in what he could help with, what the triage protocols were for something like this, but they got stuck on his abdomen. Jisung’s light blue shirt was stained with a burgundy that Chan could never forget. It was a sight that would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.
A piece of shrapnel, or something must have acted as a bullet, or a knife, jagged pieces ripping into the skin of Jisung’s abdomen. Chan could see it. It was rough and rugged and it stuck in the wound like it was made to do so; like it’s only purpose was to sit right there, sucking the life away from his beloved friend while Chan could do nothing to stop it.
He couldn’t help the scream that tore itself out of his throat.
Of course, it caught Felix’s attention. Of course, Chan couldn’t think of a cover fast enough, because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bleeding boy in front of him, even when he heard Felix cry out, or when he heard the first coherent word besides medic! come from Minho’s chapped lips.
“Jisung!”
Chan was half expecting Minho to be down here within a second, but to his surprise, it was only Felix who fell, trembling as he scrambled to his side. With that added security, Chan looked back to see Minho still staring intently at Changbin, who was coming to, as if he was trying to erase the image of Jisung’s bleeding form from his memory, and Jeongin rushing over to Hyunjin, relieving Seungmin of his duties so he could sprint to the edge of the stage and join them.
That… that was good. Yes. Seungmin was always good at helping Jisung. They were close. This was good.
Chan turned back to face Jisung, his eyes wide as he watched Jisung recognize what was happening. His movements were slow and sluggish, but he was coherent. At least, a little bit.
Chan wanted to scream again. Frankly, he didn’t even know if he was doing so already. All he knew was that he needed help. They needed someone—anyone. He didn’t care who. Just someone equipped to help them, to save him.
All Chan got was his ears ringing, and a manager stating that emergency services were minutes away.
Jisung didn’t have minutes.
Even so, with a shaky voice, and a tiny, crooked smile, Jisung spoke.
“Yongbokkie,” he grinned, uninjured hand flailing aimlessly until it found Felix’s fingers. “You’re alright?”
Felix stifled a cry and nodded, squeezing back. “You… why did you do that?”
“Better one than both.” Jisung tried to shrug, but he couldn’t. “Didn’t want you to hurt your back.”
“Sungie, look at you.”
Jisung smiled. It was bloody.
“You’re so fucking stupid,” Felix whimpered, the tears falling quickly and constantly onto the concrete beneath them. “Seriously, Jisung. So fucking dumb.”
“Felix,” Seungmin warned from beside him. He gave him a look that said not now, hyung.
He was right, of course. Chan wouldn’t want Felix to regret it if these wound up being the last things he ever said to Jisung. The thought made his stomach churn once more, but he kept it down, opting to raise a hand and brush Jisung’s hair from his face.
Felix nodded and sniffled, hand clutching onto Jisung’s like it was a lifeline. “I’m okay, hyung. I promise. I’m just worried about you. That’s all.”
“Everybody always worries about me,” he replied, frowning. “Worry about yourselves.”
“We’re getting there,” Seungmin promised. “You’re just so easy to worry about.”
Jisung frowned at that, but he glanced up at Chan, a new determination in his eyes. “Everyone else?”
“Nothing grave,” Chan muttered. He couldn’t lie to him. “Jinnie messed up his shoulder pretty bad. Binnie got knocked out. Minho broke his wrist. I think everyone else got out pretty… unscathed.”
“Seungmin’s bleeding,” Jisung scowled, looking over at his friend.
“I just got scratched,” Seungmin promised. “Not an issue. I’m just fine, Sungie.”
“Channie-hyung?” Jisung looked up at him, worry seeping into his soft voice. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah.” It was a fast reply, but Chan was almost positive he was fine.
“You threw up.”
“I did.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“I don’t know.” Chan frowned. “I’ll get checked out, though, Hannie, okay? I promise.”
“You better,” he mumbled, voice starting to strain.
Chan didn’t know what to do. His mind went through the years of training at JYP, every vocal and dance and media lesson, thinking maybe, somehow, they would help him when facing down the barrel of an already smoking gun. Maybe he could rewind time, preserve how happy they were, moments ago, giving each other shit for their sleeping habits. Maybe he could rewind it to three minutes ago, so he could find Jisung sooner. Maybe he could… he had to do something.
But first aid was useless when your best friend was bleeding out in front of you. It was useless when his eyes were so terrified, so filled with unimaginable fear. It was useless because Chan didn’t know whether or not to put pressure on a wound that still had the shrapnel embedded in his flesh. He only knew that he couldn’t take it out, but pressure could cause more damage.
And while he was pissed that he didn’t know, he had that voice in the back of his head letting him know that he shouldn’t be, because that’s not his fucking job, and things like this should never happen.
“Hyung,” Jisung whispered, those petrified eyes now filling and overflowing with tears. “I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“I… you guys need to… to leave me alone.”
“What?” Seungmin gaped at Jisung, the tiniest bit of irritation seeping into his tone. “Hyung, that’s crazy.”
“You can’t—can’t do anything,” Jisung reasoned, “You’re just… talking to me. I don’t want you guys to see… see me die.”
Chan could feel their collective hearts stop.
“You’re not dying,” Felix croaked, his hand squeezing so hard that if Jisung hadn’t been numb to everything, it would have hurt. “There are medics coming. Ambulances. You’re going to be fine.” He spoke with such resolve that, for a second, it seemed like he was speaking the words into reality.
But then Jisung coughed, and blood splattered onto Chan’s chest. The world turned on it’s axis.
“Please,” he whispered. “Just go.”
“No.” Chan was firm in his stance. “No, Hannie, we are not going anywhere.”
“Hyung—“
“I’m not going to let you die alone, Han Jisung.” Chan had to take a breath. “Whatever happens, I am staying put.”
Jisung looked like he was going to say something else, but it got cut off by movement behind them. For a brief second, Chan was relieved, thinking that it was the paramedics, coming to help, but when he turned around, he was shocked to see Changbin stumbling over, Minho keeping him upright.
“He heard you scream.” Minho looked like a ghost, glassy eyed gaze far away, but he was still there to support Changbin, even with a painful, swollen wrist. “He heard me scream.”
Jisung cracked a smile at the two. “Ah, Lino-yah. Do not cry for me.”
“I always cry for you.” Minho stared back at him, unwavering, even after Changbin sloppily crouched down to the edge of the stage and stepped off. Chan didn’t want to hazard a guess as to what their states were, but he knew that Minho would not let his oldest dongsaeng hurt himself. Chan trusted that.
He did not, however, trust Changbin to be normal, rational, or stable about this.
“What the fuck.”
Yeah, he was so correct.
On a normal day, Changbin was protective over 3RACHA’s maknae, even if he gave him shit on the regular. It was his love language, and it was one that Hannie often returned tenfold. Chan had enjoyed watching them share their dinners over the tiny table in the studio, most days. He enjoyed the way Changbin would get this mischievous look on his face, and the way Jisung would immediately react. Binnie would often feed him most things like they were playing the Peppero game, and whoever lost would have to try to convince Chan to take a break and come eat with them.
The efforts were often fruitless, either way, but it was charming, and Chan loved their little routine.
Now, though, there was no half eaten ramen or kimbap or kimchi in front of them. There wasn’t anything edible, nor was anyone even thinking about it, besides Chan.
Absently, he wondered if the thing about your life flashing before your eyes before you died was actually about your loved ones.
He had no idea.
He came back to reality when he heard Changbin’s pained, slurred voice, and he felt Minho’s arm wrap around his shoulders in a strong embrace.
“What did you get yourself into, this time, Jisung-ah?” Changbin whispered, staring at the pale boy. “Don’t worry now. Hyung’s got you.”
Chan couldn’t tell if it was the concussion or the situation or both, but Changbin was the softest he had ever seen. His features were heartbroken, his eyes unfocused, but the purse in his lips gave away his strong determination to stay awake and with them.
“You… you don’t gotta play hero, Binnie-hyung. Not when you’re hurt.”
Changbin leaned on Minho for support as he lowered himself from his knees to seated on the ground beside Jisung, a knowing smile on his face. “We’re all a little hurt, Jisung-ah. That doesn’t mean we stop caring.”
“I… I want you to take care of yourselves.”
“We are. We will, Jisungie, we promise.” That was Minho, whose voice was raw and pained. “We have a plan.”
“Oh yeah?”
Minho nodded, looking around at the boys around him. “Yeah. I’m gonna go get my wrist set, Binnie’s gonna go get his head looked at and checked out. Minnie’s gonna get stitches. Yongbok is gonna go get those scrapes dressed on his pretty face. Jinnie’s gonna go get his shoulder fixed up as good as new. Innie’s gonna call his family. You know how much he misses them, and Channie’s gonna go get checked out, and we’ll all watch, so he can’t get away with anything. And you’re gonna get all fixed up. We just gotta wait a little longer.”
The crack in Jisung’s (admittedly awful and unconvincing) tough facade was apparent before, but it was as if the dam was shattering, now.
For the second time, as if he didn’t remember the first, Jisung whimpered, “Hyung, I’m scared.”
“I know, Han-ah,” Minho whispered. “It’s going to be alright.”
“Yeah.” Changbin took the opportunity to piggyback off of Minho’s strong, unwavering words. He tried to sound convincing, strong and unwavering, but it was nearly impossible with his injury and the series of events unfolding in front of him. Changbin was terrified. Chan could tell. “It’s going to be just fine. You’re gonna be just fine.”
“You always were… a terrible liar… Binnie-hyung.”
“I’m not lying, you little shit.” Changbin tried. He was trying so hard to flip this around, making it as if they were at the studio at 4AM again and he had to convince a sleepy Jisung to get up on his own, and without Chan or Changbin carrying him.
Minho used his good hand to whack his arm, but Changbin did not falter.
“What do you need? I can get you anything you want, Sungie. I’ll move Heaven and Earth to make you happy, okay? Just name your price.”
Jisung pondered for a second, growing weaker by the breath, and then spoke: “G-get Innie and Hyunjinnie. P-please. I don’t want them to be left out.”
Chan was about to speak, about to tell them that Hyunjin was distraught and probably shouldn’t move, but Changbin caught his eye, determination apparent in his expression. “I will see—“
“I’ll do it,” Seungmin muttered, gently ruffling Jisung’s hair. “You better be here when I get back.”
“Can’t exactly go anywhere, Minnie.”
Seungmin cracked a smile, and he stood.
The room lapsed into a silence, knowing what this meant; what bringing the other two down off of the stage meant. Chan didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about the way Felix’s hand kept squeezing Jisung’s, practically begging for him to squeeze back. He didn’t want to think about the way Changbin was seated so close to 3RACHA’s maknae, to the point where his shaky unsure hands were carefully wiping the blood from his chin. Chan didn’t want to think about the fact that if Hyunjin and Innie got down here, Jisung woukd feel safe and secure enough to let go.
But he had to, because even through tears and pained cries, Hyunjin was up and walking with Innie who looked so confused until he saw the state that their friend was in.
“Hyung!”
“Hannie!”
Hyunjin was already a mess. Obviously, his shoulder was busted up and he was in fucking agony, but he was slowly letting the shock wear off. He was holding his arm at a comfortable angle, Jeongin supporting him as carefully as he could.
Chan could see the moment his shoulder was pushed to the back of his mind.
“Han-ah, oh my God.” Hyunjin’s voice cracked, but no one said anything. “I…you…”
“It’s alright, Hyunjin-ah,” Jisung whispered. “You don’t have to say anything.”
Jeongin let out a broken sob at the sound of his voice, which had Seungmin almost immediately offering a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“No.” Jeongin whimpered. “No, no, hyung, this isn’t fair!”
“Innie…”
“No!”
No one had ever heard Jeongin scream like that before. It was as if the rage and fury and fear of an entire solar system burned in his heart, and no one could extinguish the flame.
“You don’t get to do this!”
Jisung’s eyes were not staying open.
“You don’t get to just… just show up and become a part of my life and make me happy and become my big brother and love me and treat me like family and make me feel safe and welcome and loved, just for you to fucking leave, Hyung! That’s not how this works!”
“I.N.-ah,” Seungmin tried, but Jeongin’s loud sob cut him off.
“No. No, he can’t… this isn’t… Jisung!” Fuck formalities. Chan could see Jeongin’s mind shifting then and there.
“I know, Innie,” Jisung slurred, barely audible. “‘m sorry. I really am.”
“Then stop it!”
“Love you,” Jisung whispered, eyes finally fluttering closed. “Love you all… so, so much.”
“We love you, too,” Seungmin tried, gently trying to squeeze Jisung’s shoulder to get a reaction. “So much. We would never be here without you, Hyung.”
“Mhm,” Jisung mumbled, but it was missed by most of them.
“Jisung-ah, please,” Chan whispered. “You’re so close. Don’t you hear the sirens? They’re here. Help is here.”
Jisung, for what felt like the first time in his life, stayed silent.
“Hannie.” Hyunjin’s voice was low, in pain and terrified. “Hannie, wake up.”
“Hyunjin—“
“Jisung!” Hyunjin yelped. “Jisung, wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up!” Hyunjin was scrambling, trying to get Jisung’s attention. It seemed as if he was disregarding his mangled shoulder in order to shake him; to get any reaction. His efforts were fruitless.
Chan felt his heart shatter at the sound of Hyunjin’s cries, but he stood, hands shaking as he gently pulled Hyunjin back, careful not to jostle his shoulder. He was sobbing as well, tears dropping onto the fabric of Hyunjin’s shirt as he hushed him. “Jinnie. Jinnie, breathe.”
“No.” Hyunjin heaved. “Hyung, he—“
“Shh,” Chan whispered. “I know.”
God, he fucking hated this.
Over Hyunjin’s cries, he could hear the distinct sounds of five different voices. Jeongin begging Jisung to come back, Seungmin hushing him in the same manner as Chan holding Hyunjin. Minho was still staring into space, but Chan could hear his panicked heaving. Changbin was whimpering like a lost puppy, hands cupping Jisung’s face, and over everything, he could hear Felix screaming.
“It’s all my fault!”
It wasn’t. It never would be. Chan hoped that one day, they could move past this, knowing that.
—
It took exactly nine days, two hours, twenty-seven minutes and twenty-three seconds for Han Jisung to open his eyes.
After that, it took another three days, seventeen hours, thirty-six minutes and twelve seconds for him to wake up again.
Of course, Jisung didn’t know this. For him, it was like a blink. One second, he was lying there, on the concrete, staring at his boys, his brothers, praying that he would be able to have them, somehow, in Heaven, and the next, he was in a dark room, gagging on something uncomfortable while his body ached and stung.
This was absolutely not Heaven.
If Jisung had been awarded the ability to move, then maybe he would have thought it was, for a moment, for he would have seen the seven members around him, some curled up on plastic chairs; a couch; a recliner, some laying idly in their own hospital beds.
Jisung didn’t know where he was, what he was doing, or why the fuck it felt like there was a fucking snake in his throat, but he absolutely needed to get out immediately.
As his awareness came back, there was the sound of a frantic alarm, forcing Jisung to reach up with one arm to try and cover his ears. His movements were slow and sliggish, and he felt like he was going to rip his hair out at the unfamiliar sensations. It was all too much. Everything was too much—
“Han Jisung-ah. Breathe.”
He knew that voice.
It was familiar. It was a tether that had him calming on instinct as a familiar hand slotted into his own. He tried to speak, but gagged again.
“Don’t speak. The doctor’s on the way. They’ll get you all fixed up,” Minho said, leaning over Jisung so he could see him. He was blurry, but Jisung could tell that he was there; he was real.
The next twenty-five minutes of his life were the most agonizing that he had ever been awake for, and that was after he got exploded.
The tube coming out of his throat scratched and hurt. He gagged and thrashed and coughed, clinging onto Minho’s hand as the doctors and nurses pulled away the equipment. The minute it was out, he coughed violently, nails digging into the sheet below him until there was a straw pressed against his lips.
“Small sips,” Seungmin muttered. “Like we practiced, Hyung.”
Absently, Jisung remembered late nights when he was trembling next to Seungmin, practicing his breathing exercises and taking tiny sips of water from a straw poked into a water bottle, just to calm down.
Jisung obeyed, slowly letting go of the death grip he kept on Minho’s good wrist in order to fumble around with the buttons on what he assumed was a hospital bed. When he found them, he pressed the up button, so he could sit up and see what was around him.
He was in one of three hospital beds, furniture and cots strewn around the room. Every member of Stray Kids (save for two) were standing, looming over his bed like bumbling-idiots-turned-sleep-paralysis-demons. Jisung would have laughed at the thought if it was a different situation, but right now, all he felt was his heart swelling in his chest.
Felix was at the foot of the bed, eyes wide, his scrapes scabbed over. He was smiling, even if it was shaky. Next to him stood Jeongin, a steady grin on his face, as well. He stood tall, and if Jisung didn’t know any better, he would never have believed he had been in an accident however long ago. On Felix’s other side was Chan, who, funnily enough, was holding onto an intravenous pole, the tubes connecting to what could only be an IV somewhere under his hoodie.
Beside Chan was Minho, still holding tightly onto Jisung’s hand. Red and yellow bruises littered his features from his face to his knuckles, but the worst of it was the light blue cast on his wrist.
On his other side, Seungmin stood, stitches lining down his hairline. He was smiling, still holding the cup of water in case Jisung needed it.
He spoke first. “Hi, Sungie-Hyungie. How you feeling?”
Jisung had to pause and glance around at them again, just to organize his thoughts. The only thing that he could think of, truly, was a single word: “Ow.”
Minho laughed, bright and happy as he brushed Jisung’s hair from his face. “Yeah, I bet, Sungie. You were out for quite a while.”
Jisung swallowed, eyes flicking between him and Chan, who looked relieved, to say the least, but Jisung couldn’t stop himself from frowning. “Channie-Hyung?”
“Pain meds.” Chan was prepared for the question. “And saline.”
“Pain meds?” Jisung confirmed.
“Yeah, pain meds,” Felix nodded. “Channie-hyung shouldn’t even be standing right now, but try telling him no when you’re awake.”
“What happened?”
“He broke his ribs,” Jeongin pouted. “And then pretended like he didn’t. He had to have surgery to fix them because he overexerted himself.”
Chan leveled Jeongin with a look, but the maknae shrugged.
“What? Hyung, are you okay?” Jisung looked over his body, searching for any sign of pain or discomfort.
“I’m good,” Chan nodded. “I’ve been cleared for light movement. Walking and standing is encouraged, Jeongin.”
“Which is why you’re in here instead of your own room.”
“I still don’t know why they could only fit three beds in here. That’s bullshit.”
Three… three beds?
Jisung turned his head to look past Minho, then the other way to look past Seungmin. He was in the middle of three beds, but from where he was sitting, he could see Hyunjin fast asleep on one. His whole arm was entrapped in a large, bulky black cast that Jisung could see peeking out from under his gown by his neck. Jisung frowned, because he knew how much of a bitch that would be to heal, and he was silently grateful that Hyunjin was at least able to get a little bit of sleep.
On the other side, Changbin was sitting, staring back at Jisung, smiling slightly. He had a patch missing from his hair, stitches evident on the side of his head. Jisung’s heart started hammering the moment he saw it, but Changbin simply smiled.
“Not as bad as it looks, Sungie.”
“Bin-“
“Minor surgery. I’m feeling okay. Just here for observation. We were all pretty worried about you, though.”
“Changbin, did you have brain surgery?”
“I said it was minor.”
“Dude, it’s your fucking brain.”
“And the doctors fixed it up all nice and good for me, Sung. Promise.”
“Holy shit.” Jisung tore his eyes away from Changbin to look back at Chan, eyebrows drawing together. “You… you two were comforting me. You were hurt and you were there. I… guys.”
Jisung hated hurting the people he loved, and as far as he was concerned, this was the dictionary definition of doing that.
“I told you I’d make them get checked out,” Minho reminded him. “We’re okay.”
“You’re not.”
“You’re one to talk.”
That was Hyunjin, croaking in disappointment that he had not been awake for Jisung finally waking up.
Jisung looked back at him, a familiar frustration burning in his chest at not being taken seriously. This wasn’t fair. “Oh, come on—“
“You literally died, Jisung.”
“Woah, now,” Felix gaped, giving Hyunjin an intense glare. “Let’s not—“
“I… I died?” Jisung could feel his hands begin to shake, his heart begin to shatter, because he remembered so little. He remembered seeing everyone, and they were crying, and telling him that it was going to be okay and there was screaming, but he didn’t think—
He didn’t think that happened.
He didn’t know what had happened, truly.
He looked up at them, eyes wide, heart aching as he wore it on his sleeve, and sniffed, “What… what happened?”
Felix closed his eyes. He gripped tightly onto the foot of Jisung’s hospital bed, his knuckles turning white. Chan noticed and placed a hand on his shoulder, whispering something that Jisung didn’t catch. Felix melted into his touch.
“You got… thrown.” It was Seungmin that spoke. He took a seat between the beds, hands fiddling with his shirt as he glanced around the room. “There was an equipment malfunction. Something exploded, and you took the brunt of it. You… you got burned pretty bad, but I guess a piece of the stage got blown away with you, because when we found you, you were bleeding.”
Jisung remembered some of that, but he nodded along.
“You were so out of it, Hyung,” Seungmin sniffed. Jisung could see the way Seungmin’s hands started to tremble. His noses started to turn red, a tell of Seungmin’s impending tears. Jisung wanted to hug him, but it hurt to move on his own.
“You kept telling us to worry about ourselves, to leave you. We wouldn’t and you just… you didn’t fight. You didn’t say anything. Then you started coughing up blood and you tried to say goodbye and we wouldn’t let you but you wouldn’t listen and—“ Seungmin took a deep, shuddering breath. “By the time the paramedics had gotten there, you weren’t breathing. Channie-Hyung had to hold Hyunjinnie-Hyung back. Changbin tried to follow you. He was so frantic—he passed out. Felix was screaming and I was crying and Innie was fucking begging you to stay and—“
“Minnie,” Chan warned, his voice low. “That’s enough.”
Jisung stared at them in disbelief. He would have remembered that. He would have… it would have been like the movies, right? He would have had some sort of… out of body experience or something. He would have seen them, told them that it was okay. He would have remembered dying.
Wouldn’t he?
Seungmin sniffed and nodded, but Felix couldn’t help himself. “You’ve been on a respirator since you were out of surgery. We didn’t know if you were going to wake up.”
Oh.
Jisung felt his heart stop, apparently for the second time.
“I—I’m sorry.”
“No.” Felix shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, Hyung. I’m so sorry. If I had known… god, you shouldn’t have to protect me. I can’t stand that I did this to you.”
“You did not.” Minho leveled Felix with a look. “We’ve been over this, Yongbok.”
“But if he hadn’t—“
“I made my decision.”
That, Jisung did remember. He remembered diving, Covering Felix for the initial blast, trying to reach Hyunjin. He remembered the heat, but also the satisfaction of knowing that he was able to protect his dongsaeng.
“I would do it again in a heartbeat, Bbokie. I’d do it for any of you.”
Chan sighed, running a hand over his exhausted face, and shook his head affectionately. “I think I speak for everyone when I say these two things, Jisungie.”
Jisung pressed the button on his bed to lean forward a little more.
“First, any of us would do the same for you,” Chan gave him a tiny smile, “and second, you’re never, ever allowed to pull that shit again.”
The room erupted into calm giggles, some of which perpetuated by a hefty amount of morphine being pumped through IVs, but the sound was music to Jisung’s ears, nonetheless.
The world may have tried to pick them apart that day, but luckily for Jisung, he had a family that was never going to let that happen.