Chapter Text
Chase knew his thoughts were weird. He knew his rules were nonsensical and they followed no clear logic.
He never considered that they could cause him any harm. In his mind they kept him safe. The fear he felt in relation to his compulsions and in adhering to his rules didn't need to be logical to be real. He never had any reason to disobey or actively ignore his thoughts. It was always safer to give in.
That wasn't to say they couldn't be annoying.
Chase knew he was in for a rough time when he had a feeling he shouldn't drink water.
He didn't know why. He didn't think about it. He just sighed and set the glass down on his counter, still full of freshly poured water.
He always had issues with eating so he wasn't as surprised when his hunger in the morning sparked more fear.
Chase figured he could get through a day without food or water. People probably did that. He'd have times before when he was too anxious to eat or didn't have the time to grab a drink or food while at work.
As a force of habit, Chase grabbed his morning coffee. He sat down in his seat and took a sip. His stomach instantly sunk and he froze up before he swallowed.
He hadn't considered coffee would be an issue. Logically if one liquid was a problem any other should be or should at least be considered, but Chase wasn't thinking logically. His logic was based off of feelings that came and went as they pleased.
With no other options and to his own disgust, Chase spat out his mouthful of coffee back into the cup. He grimaced and stood up from the table and discarded the cup in a trash can.
"Why are you throwing that away?" Cameron asked. Chase looked up, flustered at being caught. She smiled at him, stepping fully into the room and setting her own drink down on the table.
"Didn't want it," Chase answered simply. Cameron shrugged and walked over to House's desk. She scanned its surface and collected a stack of paperwork.
"Makes sense. It's supposed to be really warm today," Cameron said, walking over to her seat and sitting down. Chase didn't acknowledge her. He sat down as well and accepted some of House's paperwork to get a start on.
As the day progressed, Chase quickly realized Cameron wasn't lying about the temperature. It got warm and it got warm fast. He, Cameron, and Foreman all shed their coats within the first two hours of their day and House had shown up in a t-shirt and sunglasses.
The morning was static filled with nothing but paperwork and House complaining about his boredom. The nature of his complaints changed when Cuddy infiltrated the diagnostics room to personally lecture House on his lack of clinic hours and to Chase's absolute horror, agreed to head down (after no shortage of arguing and petty comments), so long as Chase accompanied him.
The last thing Chase wanted for the day was to work. He generally felt strange and uncomfortable being idle, but the heat, his fatigue, and his worsening dehydration and hunger were weighing on him. He wanted nothing more than to stay off his feet and take things slow.
The only thing worse than getting up and needing to talk to people was doing it with House.
"Not putting your coat on?" House taunted as Chase stood to follow him out the door. He shook his head and eyed him disapprovingly "Not very professional."
"You're in a t-shirt," Chase retorted. Despite his vocal resistance, he grabbed his coat and threw it back on.
The effect wasn't immediate. He steadily grew warmer and clammier the further he and House walked from the diagnostics room. He thought he had it bad, but their wing of the hospital was seemingly the coolest that day. He was wiping sweat off his brow by the time they reached the clinic.
House called it quits after three patients. Chase wasn't surprised, but his relief was immense.
"Are we heading back?" Chase asked, swallowing thickly. His mouth was dry and his throat felt like sand. All of the moisture in his body had gone outward to cool his skin. He felt gross and trapped under his clothes. He took care to hold his arms away from his body and to move as little as possible to prevent the uncomfortable way his skin would peel away from his clothing.
"Nope," House responded, heading for the exam room door. " Cafeteria. It's lunchtime."
Chase stumbled to catch up to House who had gotten a head start out the door. He cringed as his sweaty skin uncomfortably peeled away from his clothes.
"Is it?" Chase asked, fanning himself with his hand. He stuck two fingers under his collar and tugged the fabric away from his skin. As soon as he let go, it clung to him again.
House nodded. He stopped and turned toward the first vending machine he saw.
Chase's mouth watered. An array of drink options were beautifully laid out in front of him. He knew they were all cold. He knew they were kept beautifully chilled right behind the glass.
"Hurry up and get something," House snapped, reaching down for his drink. Chase startled, turning away from the machine to face the older man.
"What?" Chase asked. House rolled his eyes and held out his pop can toward Chase.
"Open it," he demanded. Chase scowled but accepted the can. It was cold as ice in his hands. The condensation on the outside of the can served to further the cooling sensation.
"You're drooling over the vending machine. Grab a drink then we can go get food," House continued from his previous statement. Chase felt his chest tighten. He clenched his jaw and averted his gaze to stare down at the can as he opened it. The hiss of the carbonation escaping the container filled the momentary silence.
"I'm not thirsty," Chase dismissed monotonously. He couldn't drink anything. He didn't try to put any emotion or conviction in his voice. He was repeating the mantra cycling in his head: he couldn't drink. Being denied such a basic necessity annoyed him beyond belief. He was desperate for something to drink. House's beverage only egged him on further. Still, his fear won out. His rules kept him in line.
"What's wrong with you?" House asked. Chase stiffened. House stared him down.
"Nothing's wrong with me," Chase shot back without really hearing him. House snatched his pop out of Chase's grasp and took a long sip, not once breaking eye contact.
"You're dripping in sweat, you smell awful, you're face is flushed, your hands are swollen, you're basically panting, and you're not thirsty?" House questioned. He sounded accusatory. It was instinctual for Chase to take offense.
"I'm fine," Chase shot back. He turned away from House and continued down the hall. He heard House's distinctive gait rush to catch up. His sudden, fast movement sparked black dots in his vision. He tasted metal. His head pounded behind his eyes.
His eyes drifted closed and his movements slowed. He felt his knee give out at his next step. His eyes shot open and he was able to prevent himself from falling, though even the scare of nearly collapsing wasn't enough to fully scare away his fatigue.
"Why don't you want to drink?" House asked from beside him. Chase stayed quiet. He contiued walking, forcing his posture straight. He felt nauseated. He was hungry. He felt dizzy.
"I'm fine," Chase insisted. His eyes closed for a second too long.
"You're going to drink something," House said firmly. Chase shook his head. His dizziness grew worse at the movement and refused to fade. He brought a hand to his temple and watched his feet carefully as he moved.
"I'm fine," Chase repeated.
"You're killing yourself," House stressed.
"I can't drink," Chase shot back, growing irritated. House recoiled slightly, but Chase could see the gears turning in his head. Even in his light-headed state, he could recognize that couldn't be good.
"What do you mean?" House asked. His voice was lower. His tone maintained it's seriousness, though he sounded less angry.
Chase drew in a deep breath. It still felt shallow. He could feel his lungs straining against his ribs. He could feel his body being suffocated by his clothing.
He was too dizzy. He needed to sit down.
"I need to sit," Chase mumbled, shaking his head slightly. He stumbled over the the wall, bracing himself against it with his hand. His hands trembled, wet with sweat and full of blood.
"Sit down," House instructed. His voice was raised again. He positioned himself in front of Chase and the younger man looked up, attempting to meet his eyes.
He nodded. His eyes drifted shut and he slowly lowered himself down onto the floor.
The next thing Chase remembered was waking up on his back, starfished out on the hard floor with his head resting against something soft. He felt hands on either of his arms pulling them out of his sleeves. His torso felt cool, no longer constricted like it had been before.
Chase tried to push himself up, but a hand found his shoulder and pushed him back down.
"Are you okay?" A feminine voice asked. Chase spun his head and tried to sit up again to find the source of the voice, but the same, firm hand pushed him back down.
"Stay down," a gruff voice instructed.
"House?" Chase asked. His throat still felt like sand. Hands returned to his arms and they continued working to undress him. He tried to help, but found his limbs too heavy to lift.
"Yeah, kid. You passed out," House muttered. Chase heard yelling from a distance and felt footsteps radiate throughout the floor. He almost tried to sit up, but he'd learned by now.
"Back the hell up," House yelled. The hands instantly flew away from his skin. "He's fine. Where the hell's the water?"
One of House's hands landed on Chase's chest and the other lifted his head off House's legs. The older man guided him up to a seated position and leaned him against the wall.
Now that Chase was upright, he surveyed the situation. He flinched as he looked around. A likely less full than it seemed semicircle of medical staff surrounded him all in various states of stress and fear.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone hand something to House. He looked down as something cool was pressed into his chest.
"Drink that," House instructed. Chase pulled the bottle of water away from his chest. He stared down at it, vision blurring. He felt dread wash over him. His stomach ached. His heart pounded. He felt his chest constrict again.
"Do you need any ice?" A gentle voice asked. Chase gripped the bottle of water tighter. He felt faint.
"No," House snapped. "Everybody fuck off, he's fine."
After a short pause, Chase heard the shuffling of feet start then slowly fade. It felt a little easier to breathe.
"Drink up, kid," House said, arm lightly pressing against his. Chase shook his head. Despite his clear dehydration, tears still managed to prick in his eyes.
He was scared. He was shutting down. He was exhausted and thirsty and starved, but even with the solution right in his hand, he couldn't do it.
"I can't," Chase muttered. Part of him wanted to fight and hide. He wanted to grit his teeth and bear it. He'd keep dimissing and dodging and continue on with his life. His rules were in place for a reason. He wasn't obeying them for the fun of it. He needed to. He was naturally resistant to any force that tried to pursuade him into rebellion.
But what was his plan? Where did that leave him?
Most of the time he could just push through. He could deal with his discomfort and all the annoyances that came with listening to his thoughts, but right now, he couldn't. He was scared and uncomfortable and he couldn't help but cling to House. He had no intention of breaking his rules, but it was scary to be alone. He felt stuck in his mind. If he could let House in, maybe it would feel a little easier. Worst case sscenario House called him stupid and crazy and nothing would change. He didn't have anything to lose through hoping.
"Why can't you?" House asked seriously. Chase fidgeted with the flexible material of the plastic waterbottle and shrugged.
"I don't know," Chase answered honestly.
"Not good enough."
"I feel like I shouldn't," Chase revealed. He lifted his head and turned toward House, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I have a feeling that if I drink water or if I eat, something will happen. I don't know what or why, but I'm scared, okay? I can't do it."
House stared at him, face blank. Chase's chest heaved as he breathed, giving no effort to keep his breaths steady. He squeezed the waterbottle. It felt cold.
"What could happen?" House asked calmly. Chase scowled.
"I don't know," he yelled, frustrated and worked-up. House shook his head.
"Think about it. Think about what might happen if you drink that water. What are you trying to avoid?" House said firmly. Chase swallowed a cry and nodded.
He stared down at the waterbottle. He imagined opening it up and taking a sip. As he imagined the cool liquid running down his throat, he felt nausea swirl in his stomach. He felt the sense of dread return.
He tried to think of what the dread could mean. He tried for a second, but it was too distressing to tear his thoughts away from. The feeling of doom consumed him.
"I don't know," Chase murmured.
"What are you scared of?"
"I might get sick," Chase answered without thinking. He took a moment to consider the words that left his mouth. They felt right.
"Or I'll get injured. Or in a car accident," Chase continued. House nodded, looking around for a moment as he thought.
"How could drinking water make you get in a car crash?" House asked. He sounded slightly taunting, but far less so than Chase thought he would have.
"I don't know. Some Butterfly Effect shit or something," Chase answered. He felt a smile graze his lips. It sounded a little absurd. It didn't negate the fear. The logical thoughts he was forming existed right alongside the irrational ones. The fear didn't lessen and it didn't have less of a hold on him, it was nuanced. The irrational thought existed at the same time as the budding logic.
House chuckled, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
"Something bad is happening right now. You're overheating, which I should have not said out loud because two nurses leapt to take your shirt off, and you're dehydrated. I haven't seen you eat all day, so I assumed you're starved as well," House started. Chase nodded along, confirming everything he said.
"Have some water. You're safe. You're in a hospital. If something bad happens, we're more than equipped to help. Have some water, we'll get you some food, then we'll get back to paperwork," House said. Chase watched as House grabbed his cane from the floor beside him and prepared to stand up.
Chase shakily opened the bottle of water. He brought it to his lips, watching as House observed him for a second. He continued to drink as House got up and collected Chase's shirt and coat.
He felt his stomach churn. He felt anxiety roll through his body. Still, he chugged the entire bottle of water. It was terrifying. He could hear his brain screaming that he'd fucked up and everything was going to go to shit because of what he'd done.
He picked himself up off the floor and grabbed his clothes from House. He took the empty bottle out of Chase's hand. Chase swallowed down his nausea. He tried not to cry.
"Food sound good?" House asked as he began to walk. Chase walked alongside him. He wanted to break down crying.
"I can't believe I just did that," Chase mumbled, ignoring House's question. House shrugged, patting Chase on the back firmly.
"And you're up and walking. No broken bones yet," House joked. Chase forced out a laugh. He felt his brain pulling him inward. His heart raced against his ribcage.
"What if I throw up?" Chase asked shakily.
"I'll force Cameron to clean it up," House replied. Chase rolled his eyes.
"I'm serious," Chase clarified.
"I'm not leaving your side, wombat. I'll help if anything goes wrong," House assured.
"I already feel sick," Chase said. He brought a hand to his chest and rubbed over his heart, skin clammy under his hand.
"You're anxious. That's normal. We'll head upstairs, wait a bit, then consider food," House said nonchalantly. Chase shook his head. He fumbled with his clothes in his arms and started getting his shirt on.
"No food," Chase replied urgently. He didn't bother trying to button up his shirt. He just held his coat against his chest to cover his bare skin, hoping to feel more modest.
"Right now we're just walking," House redirected. Chase nodded. He accepted the help.
"Are you going to do any paperwork?" Chase asked. House furrowed his brows in offense and shook his head.
"Absolutely not. I'm on Chase watch. Gotta make sure your bones don't shatter before my eyes," House said. Chase felt his heart drop and his stomach swirl. He smiled regardless, half-grin half-grimace.
"Don't put that thought in my head," Chase said, forcing himself to sound amused despite his horror.
"Noted," House replied. Chase took a deep breath.