Work Text:
I.
Chase always thought that his given name, Robert, was one more suited for a grown man. It truly encapsulated how he was thought of by his parents—old enough, even as a young child, to deal with situations that children were not able to understand. He would curl up in the corner of his rooms for hours, feeling completely alone in the large and empty house.
At six years old, Chase wobbles into the confessional booth at church and tells the pastor about how his mother and father spend a lot of time arguing, and that sometimes he hates them for it (which is a sin). He talks about how he doesn’t want to honor his father, which is a sin, because all he gets in return are threats of more bruises or yelling.
The pastor guides him in a prayer at the end; Chase bows his head and clasps his hands as the man beside him asks the Lord to soothe the relationship between his parents, and that Chase could be a better son and dispel the thoughts against his father. Chase thanks him and gets up, leaving the small compartment with tears in his eyes and a bit of hope blooming in his chest.
It is quickly smothered by the grip of his father’s hand on his bicep, hard enough to hurt, and the way his mother pours a few glasses of liquor in the evening. He doesn't see the love of God in his father's eyes, but he convinces himself that the bruises on his arms are the same as the blood running down from the crown of thorns on Jesus' head, and that wounds are the price one pays for the protection of the Lord.
God loves trials, and so do his parents, and so that makes little Robert a disciple of the Lord when he puts icepacks to his wrists and brings drinks to his mother.
II.
He is fifteen and his father snaps. The door closes behind him and Chase knows he’s not coming back, that he would be alone in the house with his distant and ill mother. He would have to take care of his younger sister too, something he isn’t prepared for in the slightest.
How does one take responsibility of a child, when one is a child themself?
Chase lets himself cry for hours after his departure. Even through the pain and the threats and the hurt that his father inflicted on him, he had never considered he would just up and leave. His mother was barely lucid at any given moment, and there were bottles of liquor stored in almost every cupboard or drawer in the house.
Chase learned how to cook. He slid cash out of his mother’s wallet and walked over to the supermarket to buy fresh ingredients, because while he might be okay with eating the same canned goods over and over, he knows that it isn’t the healthiest for his little sister. He might not be able to fit the shoes of a parent to her, but he tries.
He looks up recipes online: simple, cheap ingredients and able to be made in mass, so he can warm them up throughout the week for them.
His mother barely eats. But he does try sometimes to get her to consume nutrients.
And in the nighttime, he kneels beside his bed and prays until his knees ache. He prays for his father to come back, which he thought he would never do. He prays to be absolved for his sins of stealing money from his own mother, and the fact that he doesn’t have the culinary skills to make healthy meals other than soup or pasta.
When he looks in his little sister’s eyes, he feels himself falling apart, and he hopes that even if God skips out on helping him, he might have mercy on her.
III.
He is eighteen and it is his mother’s funeral. She is dead and in a coffin and he has failed.
He holds his little sister’s hand—so small compared to his, and he’s careful to hold it carefully, because he is not his father. He may be told over and over by distant family members and his father’s friends that they look alike, but their souls aren’t similar in the slightest (Chase is sure of this).
His father comes to the funeral, and Chase cannot look at him in the eyes. He keeps his eyes locked onto the coffin as it lowers down. He recites the prayer with the pastor beside her grave half-heartedly, because his mother had told him so often that God had already left her, and he wasn’t sure he would forgive Him for reaching her after it was too late.
His eulogy is short because he can’t seem to stop the tears running down his cheeks, and he forms a watery smile when his sister leans in to hug him. Chase brought tulips and felt immense rage in the pit of his stomach at the amount of people that brought red roses—his mother hated red roses.
“When is she coming back?” His sister asked him, high pitched and wonder-filled.
Chase put his face in his hands and heaved a cry into his palms. He felt his shoulders tremble and his fingertips tremble with them.
His father walks up to him after it’s all said and done, and the crowd has trickled away after many “sorry for your loss” and “please reach out if you need anything” speeches. Chase doesn’t let him speak; he puts his fingers in his little sister’s ears and with the hatred that has built up for almost two decades tells his father that he doesn’t want to hear a word come out of his fucking mouth.
He could say more, but the emotions churning in his stomach make him sick on so many levels, and he leans down to pick up his sister and hold her close. He rushes away from the man that had abused and abandoned him to endure a different kind of abuse, feeling his sister’s heartbeat against his chest and putting as much distance between them and the parents God had given them.
Chase makes his sister’s favorite food the night after the funeral. Ravioli with oven baked chicken (Chase had gotten better at cooking after a few years). They watch old reruns of Star Trek because she likes the pretty planets and thinks that Spock is funny. She asks Chase over and over if he’s really watching, and Chase says that he is.
He’s lying.
He adds that to the list of things to repent for in his confessional on Sunday.
But it makes her smile that little smile, and if God calls that a sin, Chase doesn’t give a damn.
IV.
He is twenty-three and exhausted, grueling over medical textbooks for hours upon hours.
He hasn’t seen his sister in years, and he doesn’t think too much about it because he doesn’t want to lose his mind. Chase had made mistakes, the most devastating one being losing contact with the one person who he had once stayed alive for. He should have been there to notice the signs, or find the drugs stashed away in her room, or the redness of her eyes when she came home from hanging around her friends from school. He should have been there to protect her the way he had vowed to; but instead, he had fled to seminary school in a desperate attempt to find religious redemption or peace, and had miserably failed at finding either.
The words on the pages scramble together and he sips at his coffee, feeling the bitterness in his throat.
When Chase’s professor had introduced the lecture on addiction and treatment, signs and symptoms, he had calmly walked out of the classroom, sprinted down the hall to the bathroom, and vomited into the toilet.
Visuals of his mother and sister, their parallel descents into addiction, flashed in his brain. He had gulped air into his lungs like a fish on land, trying to ride out the panic attack.
his sister was going to die just like his mother, his mind supplied him. he couldn’t stop either of their deaths. he would have to read a eulogy in his sister’s funeral, with nobody to be by his side the way she once was.
His spine dug into the tile wall and he began to pray—vomit still on his lips and sweat staining his shirt.
“Heavenly father,” he whispered into the emptiness of the restroom, “Please spare my sister. If any one individual of this family is allowed to live a good life, let it be her.”
He hopes God is listening to his prayers, because he would burn down heaven itself for her to be alright in the end.
V.
He does not go to his father’s funeral.
There’s no point. They had known for a very long time where they stood with each other. Chase wonders if his sister went, or if she was even told about his death.
House had somehow figured out the date of the funeral and had been hovering around him, as if waiting for him to crack like a scene from a movie. Chase just stared at him.
He remembered when the man had come in just to take over the differential diagnosis meeting. House had practically begged him to spill all his secrets onto his desk so he could arrange them into a solved puzzle. Chase had no scars to show him (the bruises he had left decades ago had long since faded), and he was sure that House would downplay anything he would have told him.
He wonders who would give the eulogy at his father’s funeral; probably one of his coworkers, or editors of his books. His contributions to the medical field were far, far more grand than his contributions to his family (which were extremely minimal).
“If you feel yourself starting to crumble under grief, let me know,” House told him. “I want to get a video recorder ready.”
Chase just smiled sarcastically at him and replied, “I’ll be sure to run, since I know you won’t catch me,” and left the room to check on the patient.
The woman on the bed looked fragile, with dark circles under her eyes and hair that clearly hadn’t been washed in days. Something about her reminded him of his sister—maybe it was her sad eyes that couldn’t quite convince you her smile was genuine. Or maybe it was the way she twirled a strand between her fingers over and over, like a nervous tick she hadn’t even realized she was doing.
“Any news?” She asked, and her voice was soft and willowy, a slight wheeze to her words.
“Not yet,” Chase replied with a frown. “Just checking your vitals. The rest of the team is running tests right now to see if we can figure out which autoimmune disease we need to treat.”
She nods, closes her eyes. He goes over to draw the curtains over the bright sunlight streaming through the windows.
“Uhm,” she says, nervously. “Can I ask you for a favor?”
“Sure,” he says without hesitation.
“I’m not really religious,” she says, as if reassuring him. “But my sister was…she passed away last year, and I just know that she’d be praying beside me if she was with me…and—”
He gives her a soft smile and sits on the chair beside her bed, nudging it forward.
“Of course, I can pray for you,” he tells her. For a moment, her eyes hold more gratitude than sadness.
When he prays, he is thinking of this woman, and her sister, and his sister, and asks God for their safety and health and peace, and can only hope that someone is listening.