Chapter Text
Chase knew things were bad.
He knew this wasn't enjoyable. He knew things used to be different. He knew people didn't live like this. He knew this wasn't normal.
It was awful to wake up every morning in fear. He hated having his life consumed by rituals and second guessing and struggle.
His life had fallen into dissarray. He couldn't do anything easily. Every task was overcomplicated by an enslaught of thoughts telling him he was doing it wrong. Those thoughts sparked a flame in his gut that he was too exhausted to fight anymore. He let it burn. He let every thought linger. He felt in control.
Chase woke up in the dark as many people did. The first thing he felt was discomfort in his chest telling him something wasn't right. He was used to that feeling. He didn't remember when the now constant feeling of unsettlement beneath his ribs was the worst things used to get. His good days were so much worse than his bad days used to be.
Chase didn't turn on the lights in his apartment anymore. He woke up in the dark and he'd stay in the dark.
He wasn't sure why. He didn't question it when he reached for the lightswitch one day and he felt his heart drop into his stomach and his entire body freeze up. He just took a moment to steady his breath, lowered his hand, and continued like normal. At that point in his life, he didn't bat an eye or dwell on new compulsions. He just obeyed. It was easier. Everything took up so much of his energy regardless. He was all out of fight. It wasn't worth it.
Chase used his hands as a guide to navigate his apartment. It was embarrassingly messy. He didn't have the energy to tidy much anymore. Everything was a hassle and if he didn't have to listen to voices in his head telling him he was using the wrong hand to pick that pillow up off the ground, he wouldn't. He'd just walk slow to avoid tripping.
Light couldn't come in through the windows anymore either. He'd stapled the curtains to the walls a week or so ago so they couldn't move. He was in a battle with himself one day unsure of if it were safer to have them open or closed, so he made the executive decision to fix the curtains to the walls and sew them shut so he'd never have to think about it again. The less decisions he had to make the better.
He didn't eat in the mornings anymore. Partially because nothing felt right and he was scared he'd discover some hidden allergy, but also because he didn't grocery shop anymore. He didn't leave his house unless it was for work.
He could control the environment in his apartment. It was annoying to constantly worry about what he was doing right or wrong and if one wrong step would cause an earthquake or an outbreak of E.coli in the water, but it was the safest place he had.
Chase had woken up late. He couldn't have an alarm set any earlier than he had it now. He couldn't bring himself to. He was terrified something would go wrong. He never knew what he was scared of, but the fear was real and it was enough to keep him in his place.
Despite waking up late, he was exhausted. He wasn't sleeping very well out of the general fear he'd had for a while that something would happen during his sleep, but the recent belief that sleeping in his bed would lead to injury or death by suffocation or some other means (he didn't think about it too hard), he had started sleeping on the floor. It was uncomfortable, but at least his brain let him have a blanket.
Chase stood up from the floor with a sigh. As embarrassing as it was, he used to talk to himself as he navigated his morning routine. Whether it were quiet narrations under his breath or singing whatever song was stuck in his head, his mornings were once filled with noise.
He didn't talk in his apartment anymore. Not to himself or anyone. He didn't have visitors very often before things got bad and he never would now, but even phonecalls had to be taken out of his home.
Chase didn't want to leave. More than anything he wanted to curl back up on the floor and drift off into an uncomfortable sleep, but unfortunately, he had to go to work.
As he started to head out of his open bedroom door (he wasn't able to close it anymore), he froze in his tracks.
The discomfort in his chest reached a new height. He could feel maggots squirming under his skin. His ribs ached with every breath even as they were coming in shallow.
For the first time in a while, Chase weighed his options. He thought it through before giving in to his compulsions.
Work was important. He needed money. He couldn't just not show up. He was an adult with responsibilities and one of those responsibilities was to go to work.
But it was hard to care.
It was hard to care about what he was "supposed" to do when he was already trembling in fear, on the brink of tears, and the maggots under his skin wanted to be closer to the ground.
Chase stepped back inside his room. He felt the urge to close his bedroom door for the first time in months. He did, hands shaking.
He stared at his closed door for a while as his breaths evened out.
Everything was quiet. He couldn't hear a single sound. No lights humming, no wind blowing, no clock ticking, his breathing eventually became completely silent as well.
The real reason Chase had thought so hard about disobeying his fears and going to work was because he felt it were a sign things were really bad. Not just getting bad or worse than they used to be, it was the threshold he needed to cross to be considered broken.
As he sat back down on the floor, reached for his blanket, and pulled it over his shoulders, he realized that he was stuck.
He lay back down and closed his eyes. He didn't know why.
House knocked on Chase's apartment door for the third time in the past five minutes. As much as House wanted to ignore it, he knew it wasn't like Chase to not show up to work.
He had tried calling, but he didn't get a response. He even tried calling from Wilson's phone in case Chase had come to his senses and realized the abuse from his boss was unethical and was pointedly ignoring House's number, but to no avail.
"Chase?" House yelled. He pounded on the door. "You're plenty beautiful already, you don't need anymore beauty sleep."
House stopped knocking for a moment and pressed his ear to the door. There was no sound, not even a slight rustle.
House sighed and ran a hand down his face. He didn't like breaking into houses and generally prefferred to send Chase on his merry way to infiltrate patients' homes when needed, but right now, he didn't have a choice.
Luckily, Chase's door was easy to break through. House had already been in Chase's apartment complex for too long and wanted to get back to slacking without worrying if his employee was alive or not.
As House walked into Chase's apartment, it seemed he had been dead for days.
House flicked on a light. He couldn't help the gasp he drew.
Everything was in dissarray. Every surface was covered in clutter and the floors desperately needed to be swept. Every cabinet in the kitchen was open, even the dishwasher was open, the empty racks inside pulled out. The curtains in the apartment were drawn and the front door had been closed, but only on other door House could see from his position were ajar and the closet door to his left was wide open.
House closed the door behind himself. He kept facing forward though as he was unable to take his eyes off of the strange living space. House hadn't expected Chase, always uptight and religiously organized at work, to live with dishes covering his coffee table and clothes and blankets littered throughout his living room.
Finally, House heard movement coming from further in the apartment. Some sign of life.
"Chase?" House called out, walking toward the door he heard the noise from. Not creepy whatsoever, it was the only closed door in the entire apartment.
"What's going on?" House asked. He tried to maintain his focus. It was difficult to think about anything but the shock he was in.
Suddenly, just as House started reaching for the doorknob, the closed door flew open.
Behind it stood a broken version of Chase. The room behind him was bathed in darkness. His eyes were lifeless and tired. His shoulders were drawn up to his ears. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. House couldn't tell if he was angry or panicked. His hand was trembling at his side.
"What are you doing here?" Chase mumbled. His voice was shaking like a newborn giraffe. House deduced he was both pissed and terrified from his tone.
"You didn't show up to work, dumbass. Did you forget?" House asked, looking Chase up and down. He was still in his clothes from the previous day.
"Get the fuck out of my apartment," Chase muttered venomously. His expression was completely blank aside from the tears building in his eyes. His face wasn't neutral like he was showing no emotion, it was drained of life. It was like staring at a dead man.
House pinched his brows together. Chase had never come close to speaking to him in such a way. "Not until you explain what's going on. You can't just not show up to work, not answer your phone, and act like you've been possessed when I show up to check on you out of the goodness of my heart. Explain yourself."
Chase didn't hesitate. He shoved House backward by his shoulders with all of his might.
House stumbled and fell backward. He cursed under his breath and looked up, meeting Chase's eyes.
House expected to find a look of anger, but instead, he saw fear. He saw a broken man, trembling, chest heaving, and tears flowing freely down his cheeks. The vacant look in his eyes was gone, replaced by pure panic.
"Chase—" House tried, shakily and painfully lifting himself off the ground.
"Just leave!" Chase screamed. "You've fucked everything up, you've ruined it! Just get the fuck out!"
Chase shoved his hands in his hair, pacing around the space in front of his bedroom door. His breaths were strangled and broken up by desperate sobs.
House had not expected this. He didn't have any expectations, but he did not expect to see Chase break down in front of his eyes.
House wasn't an idiot. He knew something wasn't right with Chase. He had been acting strange, more tense, constantly on edge. He was been growing more disengaged with his work and was losing weight so quickly the difference was visible from day to day.
He had been right, but not nearly right enough. This was worse than he could have imagined.
"I'm not leaving," House decided.
"You're not supposed to be here," Chase hissed, snapping out of his trance to make eye contact with House. "You're not supposed to talk, you're not supposed to do anything, you're ruining everything! You're killing me!"
"What do you mean?" House asked, voice intentionally calm. He was admittedly dismissing every word Chase said as crazy rambling, but something about the way he spoke hit hard. His fear and desperation were evident. He couldn't ignore it.
"I don't know," Chase said, voice more broken and less angry. He sunk down to the ground, sitting criss-cross and resting his elbows on his knees. He dropped his head into his hands and continued crying, every sob wracking his entire body.
"You don't need to explain anything," House said, decisively switching his approach. He lowered himself back down onto the ground.
"What do you need me to do?" House asked. He expected Chase to tell him to leave again, but instead, he looked up at him with tears in his eyes.
"I'm going to die," Chase whispered. House raised a brow. The kid had definitely gone insane.
"What are you talking about?"
"I can feel it," Chase started, gesturing to his chest. "You ruined everything," Chase said, starting to get worked up again.
"Do you want to die?" House asked.
Chase froze. His trembling seized. His eyes widened. His breaths halted. House held his own breath.
"I think you need to leave," Chase said. House shook his head.
"No."
Chase broke down again. He buried his face in his hands as his sobs resumed. He sounded like an animal in pain. It made House feel sick.
There was no reasoning with him. House couldn't help him. He placed an arm around his shoulders and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He hugged Chase tight, feeling every shiver and sob as he dialed Wilson's number.