Fandom: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Pairing: FinnRose
Square Filled: Bleeding Through the Bandages 
Additional Warnings: Major Character Injury (duh), Blood and Injury, War, Ambiguous Ending 
Square Pairing Suggested by @unforth-ninawaters

Read on Ao3 or Below the Cut! 

“Just a little longer, okay, Rose?” Finn says, his voice more breath than words.

He’s holding her tight to his chest, her face and mid-section pressed tight against him. He’s too focused on running back to the makeshift med tent to worry about whether or not her blood is soaking into his clothes. Her uniform is already stained with blood as it is.

“I shouldn’t’ve let you back out there,” he mutters.

“Can’t tell me what to do,” she mumbles back.

The Resistance had set their medical tent under tree cover, hoping that it would be sheltered enough to not draw too much attention. So far, it hadn’t been a target, but knowing the First Order, that could change at any moment. The First Order was already in chaos, having suffered a civil war and several divisions of troopers forsaking them for the Resistance. A few men, still clad in their white armor, where seeing their own wounds attended to in the tent, though even more were laid out with the rest of the dead, waiting for the time when the battle finally ends to be put to rest. Finn’s stomach twists as he catches sight of their faces, pale and lifeless. He supposes he should be proud of them for shirking their chains and fighting for their own lives but all he feels is guilt. They’d called him a hero, a leader, and they followed his example only to die the second they tasted freedom. He looks down at Rose, who’s still breathing but quiet in his arms. There can’t be any more death. Not today. And not her.

There aren’t enough clean stretchers, so Finn waits, hoping that the pressure of his body against hers will slow the bleeding. She’d been so brave, charging out a second time, blaster in hand, after their first close call. It had been shrapnel from an X-wing crash that brushed past and cut her across the stomach. They’d bandaged it as best they could right there. She’d said she was fine. She moved like she was fine. At least until she didn’t.

“Just a little longer,” Finn says again, “just a little longer and they’ll fix you right up. You’ll be okay.”

“Finn?” Rose’s voice is so, so frail. He glances down to where their bodies are pressed together to find his white shirt streaked red. How could he have been so foolish? A quick wrap wasn’t going to help her, not even with a bacta patch. He should’ve taken her to the med tent right away.

“Yeah?”

She looks up at him, her face covered in sweat and dirt and specks of blood. “See the galaxy for me, okay?”

“What? No. No, I’m not seeing the galaxy unless you’re there to see it with me,” he says. He wants so badly to stroke her hair, to push the wayward curls away from her cheeks.

“Please? For me. Go find somewhere that’s quiet and peaceful, far from all this. Like you wanted,” she says.

“I will. After this is all over it’ll be just you and me, got that? We’ll find the quietest little hole in the wall planet in the galaxy. But you gotta come with me Rose,” he says.

“Finn…” she breathes his name. She wants to argue, he knows. Any other time he’d let her. Any other time she’d be right.

“No. You’re not dying on me today. I love you too much to lose you like this.”

Rose gives a weak little smile.

Two medics rush up then, a human and a tagruda, stretcher between them.

“What happened?” The tagruda asks.

“Shrapnel. She’s cut bad,” Finn says. He sets her down on the cloth cot, almost afraid it won’t be able to support her. She gasps and groans as they separate.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Finn says, squeezing her hand. He leans down and kisses her knuckles – it’s all he has time for before he’s nudged out of the way. Her hand dangles at her side when he lets go. Finn keeps sight of her until they set her down on a clean cot and a medical droid cuts away her clothes and sodden bandages and he just can’t look anymore.

He looks up at the night sky, Chandrila’s twin moons bright above him. The battle continues around him, blaster fire flashing red, cannons and torpedoes igniting orange. Jet fuel and singed metal overpower the sweet smell of flowers that was present earlier in the night. The planet was beautiful when they first showed up; it was gardens and crystal ponds and gentle breezes. Now it’s fire and smoke.

He’s not sure how the Force works, whether it’s a power or not, whether it’s alive or not, whether it cares or not. If it does, if it can change anything on its own, Finn would beg. He’d beg and promise and scream just as long as Rose makes it – just as long as they make it. But that’s probably not how the Force works. He’ll just have to hope.