Chapter Text
It never got easier to see Chase hooked up to a chemo pump, the long tubes threading this way and that, winding like snakes until they reached the small circular port embedded in his upper chest. He wasn't looking too good; with bags noticeable under his eyes and hair that seemed thinner by the day. He'd forgotten his beanie again, the little scamp. Hopefully he wasn't too cold; he had his jacket with him, at the very least, and it was almost July, so the temperature outside was no joke, although the clinic always kept its air conditioner running on full blast regardless of the weather.
George didn't envy them having to pay that power bill. Yikes.
He sighed, stepping further into the infusion room, his battered old sneakers squeaking on the polished floors. Chase glanced up from his laptop as George settled into the little guest chair nestled in-between the patients' recliners, then away to look at the IV bag hanging beside him. The medicine dripped slowly down each spigot in turn, lazily finding its way down to the tube.
"You're early," Chase noted, turning back to whatever was on his computer. "I won't be done for another half hour or so."
George put a hand over his heart, gasping dramatically. "Why, it almost sounds as if you don't want me here. Rejected by my own son! What a world, what a world," he shook his head mournfully. "Y'know time was, an old man could check up on his kin and be met with at least a smile. Maybe even a hug."
Chase rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the corners of his mouth turning up as well.
"Aaaah, there it is, that's my boy." George wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gave Chase a light squeeze before sitting back in his chair. "What's got you so enamored on that little screen of yours?"
George took a peek at the screen and blinked twice at the smattering of icons and whos-its and whats-its plastered all over the interface. Chase could have been hacking into NASA, for all he knew, and were it not for the recognizable— and dare he say handsome— faces of himself and Chase in a little rectangle at the center of the screen, he'd never have had even a chance at guessing what his son was up to.
"I'm just finishing up editing our last video. I'll probably have it done before we leave, but y'know… we'll see." Chase shrugged, an air of forced nonchalance falling over his features, as though his 'cool boy' attitude could hide the growing fatigue seeping through the cracks of his usual optimistic demeanor.
George eyed his son quietly as the young man resumed work clicking and tapping around the screen, trimming video clips and patching them back together as though it were nothing.
He almost seemed frantic to get his work finished, and George had a pretty good inkling as to why. Chase always got sick after his chemo treatments, and it had only been lasting longer as of late. Today was probably the last day this week he could count on not to be bent over the toilet and hacking up his guts. Hell, he'd probably knock himself out the second they get home just to get it over with and sleep through as much of it as he could.
George sighed, sitting back and resigning himself to a silent wait as Chase slipped his headphones back over his ears to make sure the audio quality of their song had turned out alright. He just didn't get it. Music was supposed to fun. Something easy and uplifting, not all this… social media what-not. He'd have been happy to share the music just between the two of them as a nice father and son bonding activity, or maybe even as ripped dvds handed out on the corner of main street, but times had changed and Chase had dreams bigger than George had ever dared to entertain, even in his youth.
Chase wanted the world, but George? His world was in Sugar Springs, and their names were Myra and Chase.
And speaking of the former, she'd asked— well, more like demanded— that he make sure Chase didn't spend the entire morning glued to his electronics. She had a point— he had to admit to that much at least— and it was a good point; Chase was going to ruin his eyesight and fry his brain at this rate, and heaven knows he already has enough on his plate without eyestrain and migraines on top of it all.
It's just… well, there's really not much else for him to do during these long days at the clinic. Sure, it would be nice if he had something physical to do to pass the time, but George hardly doubted that Chase would be interested in picking up knitting, and he couldn't very well bring his guitar in and bother everyone else with it.
The laptop was convenient, and would it be so wrong to say that George enjoyed watching movies with his son to help the hours go by? He preferred to stay the whole appointment with Chase whenever his schedule allowed, and there wasn't much they could do together that didn't involve getting shushed by the nurses every five minutes.
He could bring playing cards or something, he supposed. That might get old pretty quickly, though. Maybe he could hop back on the online forums and see what other people are bringing to their chemo sessions.
As a matter of fact, he was about to do just that when Chase nudged him with the headphones.
"Watch this and tell me what you think." He tilted the laptop to the side so George to have a better view and pressed play in his little editing terminal. In the center, the once still image of the two of them came to life, and the sweet, melodious music they'd made together a couple of nights ago floated through the headphones and leisurely into his ear.
It was a simple song, with only a couple of the easier chords in it since Chase had been pretty tired that day, but the way the gentle vibrations of their two guitars danced together before intertwining into a perfect harmony was truly something special.
And on the more technical side of things, Chase had strung up a pretty entertaining little video for them to post to his social medias. It was in the style of those 'reals' or 'tick tacks' or whatever they were called. The uh, vertical type things. George tried to avoid the whole 'doom-scrolling' thing, as Chase called it.
The video soon ended, and George couldn't help but beam at his son in pride. He really had such a wonderful talent for these things, and George would be damned if he couldn't help Chase spread that talent all the way across the globe. With a passion like that, it'd be a crime to hide him away in a little town like Sugar Springs.
"It's perfect," he said, passing the headphones back to Chase.
Chase rewarded the compliment with a lopsided grin, and in that moment, George knew that nothing on this earth could stop him from doing everything in his power to keep his boy's dreams alive. Come hell or high water, Chase would live to see just how bright his future is.
Chase began fiddling around with a couple more things, but was interrupted by one of the nurses walking up to them.
"Hey, Chase! Looks like it's time to get you cleaned up and out of here," she smiled.
Chase hesitated for a moment, then passed off the computer to George so the nurse— Clover, if his memory served correctly— could take out the IV and flush out his port before cutting them loose.
She got to work poking and prodding about, checking vitals and extracting a little sample of blood for later testing (with only minor complaints from Chase, miraculously), and was soon booting Chase out of the chair with a packet of nausea meds and joking "I better not see you 'round these parts again, y'hear? This town ain't big enough for two blond bombshells, and I'm afraid I," she said with a flick of her hair, "have already occupied that position."
Chase raised a playful eyebrow. "Them's fightin' words, miss. I oughta gun you down right here and now for that, but I've got somewhere to be. I challenge you to a duel in two weeks time. Be there or be square."
"I see. Better watch your back, cowboy. I'll be here waitin'."
George chuckled as Chase tipped his imaginary cowboy hat at her, then finished packing up the laptop in Chase's backpack and stood to walk them out to the car.
Myra would be getting out of work soon, so George started up the car and set them off towards the elementary school.
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Myra only had to wait outside the school for twenty minutes before her husband pulled up to the curb before her, which— while not ideal— was at the very least an improvement from days past.
George shot her a grin as the opened the passenger door, but the sight of Chase tapping lazily on his phone in the back seat left a sour expression in place of her usually serene smile.
"Darling, I don't suppose you remember what I told you this morning?"
George rubbed the back of his neck guiltily. "Ok, yes, I let him have his laptop, but–"
"George," Myra pinched the bridge of her nose, "he can't be on that thing all the time; it's not good for him."
"I know that, but what else is he supposed to do? It's so boring in there!"
Myra scoffed, pulling her seatbelt down and into the buckle. "Oh, I don't know, maybe read a book? I hear they're quite informative."
"Please, you and I both know Chase can't read," George began as he pulled the car out of the pick up/drop off lane.
"HEY!" Chase's indignant face poked between the two front seats. "I'll have you know I can read at at least a fourth grade level. Maybe even fifth!"
George barked a laugh and Myra rolled her eyes, smiling gently at their antics.
"So If I get you some fifth grade books will you read them?" She asked dryly.
Chase sat back. "Now, hang on a sec–"
"That sounded like a yes to me!" George chimed in.
"Well, that settles it!" Myra smiled. "We'll send you to your next session with the finest fifth grade books money can buy. I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time, dear."
Chase folded his arms grouchily, slumping a little in his seat. "Oh, I'll read 'em all right. I'll read those stupid fifth grade books so hard their pages are gonna catch on fire. So there."
Myra laughed. "I'm sure the fifth grade books are very intimidated."
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Ralph greeted them at the front door with lots of hugs and the promise of a hearty dinner in the oven for later.
Chase all but immediately made a beeline for his bedroom, calling down the stairs for them to wake him up for food once it was done. The sound of his door shutting echoed down the stairwell and the room's mood dropped substantially.
"I'm starting to get worried," Ralph began. "The boy's practically skin and bones, and he didn't even want half of his breakfast this morning. The rest of him ain't lookin' none too healthy either."
Both parents sighed at that. It was true, Chase was dropping weight faster than he could put it on, and not being able to eat gluten certainly wasn't helping their efforts to plump him back out to normal standards. Not to mention all the vomiting.
And speak of the devil, the faint sounds of retching filtered down through the vents, letting them know that Chase's post chemo nausea had struck with a vengence, a whole twelve hours before it was supposed to.
The three adults shared a look for only a split second before rushing up the stairs to find Chase bent over the toilet bowl, half conscious and heaving up stomach acid.