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This was complete and utter agony.
4 hours and 30 minutes, not even half through and Chase felt as though his bladder was about to burst. This stupid 'team bonding' camping trip was to blame, all of his skin was painful to touch due to a lack of sunscreen and too much sun. This had led to him drinking extra water to make it go away.
Now, he normally had a system for travel. He had used this system ever since he got trapped on the road for hours with no break as a teen, and then when he went into the Walmart bathroom to relief himself he had found piss on every single one of the toilets. If he had a STP packer at that age rather than a bundle of socks it might not have been a problem.
So back then he had gone into the women's room, only to get scrutinizing looks from every woman in there, and an immediate feeling of wrongness. After squeaking out an apology he had broke down sobbing in a random isle until he swallowed his pride and went back to the men's room to wipe away the piss with thin toilet paper.
So now he had a system. He didn't drink water for at least an hour before long travel. This system worked, it prevented him taking more than one bathroom break on the way to the campground. If he got thirsty in that hour he would just take a small sip and let it sit in his mouth before spitting it out.
But now he was 3 hours and 26 minutes away from his warm bed and a toilet he actually knew was clean. It was complete and utter hell.
The more he thought about the bathroom, the more he needed to go. So the obvious solution would be to not think about it. Of course that made his brain latch onto it more. His phone had become the dedicated map, so he was left to his own devices which wasn't a good thing.
'At least it wasn't as bad as 5th grade' He mused in his head. He had gone on a school trip hours away from the school, but beforehand he had chugged enough red gatorade to fill up a milk carton, and he could distinctly remember the staff telling everyone to use the bathroom, where he had pointedly determined that he didn't need it.
He had been wrong, and he had realized that about a mile away from the camp.
He could still feel the pressure in his stomach, he excruciating pain, the pounding in his ears and the utter panic. His crush had been sitting behind him, peering her head over to chat, with his at the time best friend right next to him.
He felt like he was going to explode or break. Every time the bus rocked, he could feel a trickle escape into his pants and a few tears escape from his eyes. People began noticing and that made it worse. Chases face had scrunched up to hide sobs, and he could vaguely recall remembering that there were towels in his backpack. He had contemplated shoving a towel between his legs and letting go, but he had always been too prideful for his own good.
He was still too prideful now, but now he could at least acknowledge his bodies needs.
The problem was, was that sometimes his own body decided certain things took priority over his pain. Like safety.
When he was in the 8th grade, he had took some standardized test. There were bathroom breaks, but the bathrooms flooded with people the minute everyone was released. So Chase had sat in the testing room, sipping on his water without thought. Halfway through the math portion it hit him, and it hit him hard. By the time it was finished, the entire page was incoherent, but he was up from his seat and running to the bathroom.
Unfortunately his classmates weren't as kind towards trans people. He wasn't out, but his attempts at being stealth weren't the best at the time either. The moment he stepped foot in the men's room, the boys his age had gone quiet. Their eyes turning suspicious, locking onto him and his strained face as he rushed past them into a stall. When he finally sat down, shaking, he didn't hear footsteps retreat.
Instead, they had quieted, approaching him. He willed himself to let go, but his body refused. Honestly, Chase would prefer being the sort of person to pee when afraid, rather than clamp up.
There had been a slam of someone's palm on the bathroom door, reminding him that they didn't have locks. His hand had quickly come up, forcing the stall door shut again. He didn't dare speak at the time, knowing what his voice sounded like.
There had been a muttered apology, using the excuse that they thought it was empty before they finally left.
He thought he would be able to go after that. He wasn't able. It was one of the worst experiences in his life. He had forced back tears, standing up and exiting the stall only to find the other boys waiting by the sink. He didn't wash his hands, rushing out to find someplace else as his stomach throbbed, about to burst.
He ended up going home early that day, unable to even use the staff bathroom that was a family restroom. The drive home was agonizing, and the relief he felt when he got home and to the bathroom was something that couldn't be replicated.
So anyways. It could be worse. He consistently passed as male now. He had perfected his 'don't fuck with me' glare to the point where people in the restroom wouldn't give him more than a glance. Hell, his own coworkers had no clue he was even trans-- except House because he pried his nose into the matter.
It could also be better. Most of the time he didn't use his STP because it was a pain to carry around, and if he stuck it in his pants it made him look like he constantly had a boner. So he was out of practice with it, and had decided he didn't need it on this trip. He had ignored his usual system in hopes of making a sunburn heal quicker. He hadn't protested his only form of distraction being used as the map system. Things could be a lot better.
Every glance to the clock made a surge of panic go straight to his groin. He was down to just 3 hours now. God, he wasn't even in New Jersey yet.
He felt tired, sweaty, and he wanted to go home to his own shower and bed.
Chase had issues with the cabins as well. When he was in 7th grade, he had gone to an overnight camp. It was fine until he had made the mistake of drinking water before bed, and woken up to a puddle of piss. It was humiliating to sneak out of the cabin, hoping that no one else noticed. Every night afterwards had been the same until he stopped drinking water. Once again, his system was the way to go.
But unfortunately he had made that mistake. Now he felt sick to his stomach from both the swaying of the car and the feeling of his bladder slowly filling. He found himself glancing from the window to Wilson in the front seat. He took a deep breath. He had gone 4 times already. He wasn't going to make them pull over again.
It was just a few more hours, right?
Chase let his legs press together, hands finding his thighs to smooth down his pants. He sat up straighter, glancing around the packed car. His coworkers were all distracted.
It was as though he could feel his bladder filling like a water balloon. It was slow at first, just a slight discomfort but it was quickly filling up the more he acknowledged it. He looked out the window again, desperately looking for a distraction only to find none. He smoothed down his pants once again, glancing at the map.
2 hours and 53 minutes. He wasn't going to make it, he could recognize. There wasn't any point in holding out as it would only make things more painful. He grabbed his phone and typed in gas stations. There was one coming up in two minutes, and the moment he read that he felt relief flutter in his chest.
"Hey, uh, Wilson?" Chase asked the driver politely, leaning over his seat. He was directly behind Wilson with House in the front seat.
"What's up?" Wilson asked, glancing in the rearview mirror. He always seemed to have a caring expression, which made Chase feel safer no doubt, but there was no less shame. He clears his throat.
"Uh.. There's a rest stop coming up. Maybe people could stretch their legs before the rest of the drive?" He hedges around the actual topic, sparing a nervous glance at Cameron and Foreman who weren't paying attention. House, however, scoffs.
"If they wanted to stretch their legs, they would've done it during one of your bathroom breaks." House grumbles, and Chase swallows.
"Well-- yeah, but maybe some of them want a snack." He tries again, eyes flickering back to the map. One minute until they missed the exit. "Its a long trip." He defends.
"Is anyone hungry?" Wilson decided to interject, attempting to be helpful but the only thing it did was make Chase's heart beat faster. "There are chips in the back-- you should all finish what we bought on the trip." Chase looked up, seeing the exit rapidly approaching.
"Look-- I sort of need to--" His leg was bouncing now, but that definitely wasn't helping his bladder settle so he forced it to stop abruptly. "Use the bathroom," He finishes, swallowing his pride.
“Again?” Cameron asked, finally paying attention. Chase groaned, eyes flitting around frantically.
“Yes- again, look— just turn—!” His head cranes to follow the missed exit. His heart sank, beating frantically. His legs pressed together again. This was bad, very bad.
“When’s the next exit?” Wilson asked, giving a glance to the rear view mirror again. Chase met his eyes through it and then looked down at his phone in his sweaty hand. He types in gas stations. The next one was in 20 miles.
“20 miles,” He manages out through gritted teeth, gripping his phone tightly. He looked to the window, watching the other cars pass by on the other side of the highway.
“Just go in a bottle or something,” Foreman said, glancing over to Chase. That would be very messy if Chase tried that.
“What!? I’m not going in a bottle!” He protested, fighting the urge to shove a hand between his thighs. His stomach burned, and another blurry sense of panic hit his head. “Cameron’s back here- I don’t want her to see.” He gave a quick excuse. He wasn’t about the out himself over some stupid mistake.
Cameron however, scoffs, “It’s okay, I’ve seen worse.” She says, and he fought the urge to snap at her.
“Still!” He exclaims, voice getting higher in panic to the point where it made him cringe. He took a deep breath, “I just–”
“Cameron just look away,” Wilson cut in, and Chase shook his head no without even thinking.
“I’m not going in a bottle.” He snaps, forcing his palm between his knees, squeezing it there. House glanced back at him and he just looked away.
“Why not?” He drolls and Chase felt another surge of panic go through him.
“I’m just not!” He shouts, digging his nails into his skin. He could feel it radiating in his bladder, trickling down his urethra. He shifts his legs back and forth, feeling his body throb with an uncomfortable need. He forced the tears away from his eyes, sparing a glance back at House who wasn’t looking at him anymore, but seemed a bit amused.
“Just go if you need to go!” Someone else says, the voices blurring in his head.
“The next exit isn’t for a while, just hold it.”
“Should I pull over so you can go in a bush?” Wilson asked, voice cutting through with that familiar concern, but his answer escaped before he could even think it though.
“No!” He yelps, glancing with tear filled eyes to the map. 10 miles to go. About 8 minutes.
“Well then what do you want us to–”
“I can pull over–”
“There’s nothing we can do. He’ll just have to wait.” House says, voice above the chaos and Chase nearly sobs. His hands have crept up his legs, wrist pushed against his groin. He was very pointedly not looking at anyone, only sparing glances at his phone to watch the minutes tick by.
All of his other senses had been diluted, he couldn’t feel his head, his hands gripping his pants or the burning sensation in his cheeks. He could only feel his bladder filling up more and more, like a balloon threatening to burst. His whole body was wound tight, tension being the only thing keeping the urine in. He was not about to piss himself in front of his coworkers.
Another glance to his phone told him that he had six minutes to go. Only six, that was basically five, which was basically nothing.
“Its coming up ahead.” He croaks out, praying to God that Wilson didn’t miss the exit. Wilson gave a slight nod with no more acknowledgement but a look in the rearview mirror. If he missed it then they would need to pull over.
He turned his focus onto the billboards passing by, but the sensation was excruciating, an ache that got worse by the second. Every bone in his body told him to squirm, but he forced himself still to the point of quivering. He just hoped that Cameron wouldn’t notice. House was surprisingly not pointing it out.
His breathing was shallow and shaky, pain stabbing at his body, radiating into his back. Please, he thought to no one, Just 4 more minutes.
The minutes crept by slowly. Chase dug his teeth into his lower lip, trying to distract himself from the searing pain but unsurprisingly, he couldn’t even feel it. He felt as though he was actually about to explode. Everyone in the car was quieter, and he got the sense that Wilson was driving faster, but that might’ve just been hope.
Chase blinks rapidly, coercing the tears to stay back. Everything would be fine. It would be okay.
Finally– finally, the exit came into view, though his throat didn’t feel any less tight and his bladder felt fuller than ever.
“Right there- that exit,” He whimpers, and Wilson nods, putting his turn signal on before switching lanes. Relief flutters in his chest, only to rise again irrationally when he slowed down on the ramp down. He wanted to scream, to beg, and to cry. He just bit his lip harder, squeezing his legs with sweaty palms.
He checked the map again, watching as the building got closer and closer. The car rolled into the parking lot, but Chase is already scrambling. He unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door before the car fully stops moving, jumping out. He slams the door just a bit too hard without even noticing before striding into the building.
His head whips around, frantically searching for a bathroom. He paid no mind to the actual customers or employees. Pain surges through his lower half, and his eyes finally land on a restroom sign. He darts between people until he shoves the door to the men's room open. He beelines for the only open stall, locking it behind him with a thud.
He felt like he was about to explode, and he thanked the universe that there were those toilet seat liners. He grabbed two of them with shaky hands to put on the seat before finally undoing his pants and sitting down.
He felt a trickle begin to start only to stop abruptly when the sound of a door opening reverberated through the room. He nearly screamed in frustration, body tensing up. He tried his best to relax it, tears threatening to slip down his face.
"Dude that's messed up," One of guys laughs, apparently not alone which wasn't good for Chases sense of danger.
"Oh come on, it was just a little bit." He teases back. Chase assumed they were at the urinals because he could hear their streams. He wanted to punch something, yell at them to go away. His legs were bouncing up and down, shaking.
"Its still messed up," The first guy grumbles, and Chase heard them trickle off before the sound of the zipper finally came. His nails dig into his knees, and he hears the door open. "Man c'mon, wash your hands." The one guy calls after the other one but the door just slams shut, "Nasty.." He grumbles and Chase almost sobs as he hears the water turn on.
The pressure between his legs got worse and worse, and then finally the man followed after his friend. Chases shoulders slump, and he wills his body to relax and let go.
.
.
.
He couldn't go. His bladder, stomach, crotch, all of it ached, but he couldn't go. Tears slipped down his cheeks and he bit back a cry of frustration. He thought about standing, about walking around and then coming back to the toilet but he wasn't entirely sure he could stand at the moment.
Panic blurred in his mind and the tears kept coming. Even though he was alone in the bathroom he didn't feel safe anymore. He tried to relax, to tense and push the urine out and for a minute he thought it would work-- but then it became clear it wasn't, and he was only making things worse for himself.
With shaking hands he took out his phone, bringing up Houses contact and with a broken sob he types a message. ‘Help’. He clicks send before he could stop himself from it, shame bubbling in his chest. He squeezed his knees together, and after two minutes of pain ticked by, the bathroom door opened and Chase stiffened.
“Chase?” He let out a breath as he heard Houses voice and the click of a cane approaching his stall. “I told them I was getting coffee, so you owe me a coffee after this.” He grumbles, now standing outside the door. Chase could see his cane from under the door.
“I can’t go.” He chokes out, voice shaking and it was clear he was sobbing. He heard House sigh,
“Should I get a catheter?” House questions and Chase shook his head no unconsciously before remembering House couldn’t see him.
“No!” He wails, hand jerking out to slam against the stall door.
“Listen to me. It’s okay, kid—“
“No it’s not!” He half screams half cries, voice echoing through the bathroom. A more coherent version of himself would cringe, but all he could think about was the never ending pressure in his bladder, on his genitals, the pain radiating through his entire body.
“Then what do you want me to do?” House snaps, and Chases face felt warm, too warm as he cried.
“I don’t know!” He sobs, “Just— just— stand outside the bathroom door— don’t let anyone come it.” He hiccups, unable to even squirm without pain shooting through him.
“You’re making a cripple stand guard?” He scoffs, and Chase could feel a wave of panic and nausea wash over him, “I’m sure that’ll help,” He mutters sarcastically.
“House!” Chase bursts, voice cracking as he cried harder.
“Yeah, I’ll stand guard.” He says, and he could hear him walking away. “You’re alright, okay?” He sighs before pushing open the door. Chase waited until it slammed shut, beginning to take deep breaths.
‘Everything is okay. House is outside. I’m safe. I’m safe’ goes on a loop through his head, though he didn’t feel safe, House being outside was reassuring. ‘I’m safe’.
And then he felt himself finally let go, a small trickle that steadily poured into the toilet, emptying his bladder hesitant at first. He took another deep breath, refusing to let himself tense up. His hand found his stomach and he rubbed just to soothe it.
The ache gradually disappeared as the trickle turned into a full stream, and Chase felt more relief than he had felt in years. When it finally disappeared into just a trickle again, Chase felt utterly empty, grabbing the toilet paper to wipe himself up before exiting and washing his hands.
He came out, seeing House poised awkwardly beside the door, leaning on the wall with his cane jutting out to block anyone’s path into the bathroom. When House saw it was him, he drew his cane back in.
“You okay?” He asks, and Chase nods, feeling sheepish. House reaches out, clapping him on the shoulder. “Happens to the best of us. You owe me a shitty gas station coffee though.”