Supernatural/House - Beginning at the End
Title: Beginning at the End
Fandom: Supernatural/House MD
Summary: We've established Chase has a bad memory, yeah?
Word Count: 1,032 (*SOB*)
Later, when he's clutching a plastic cup of coffee hard enough to crack it and burn his hand, Chase will think that it was the shock of the emergency that made him overlook it. He doesn't think he's that sadistic, doesn't want to believe that he would have let Sam follow him into the the pre-op where Dean lolls boneless and vacant-eyed on the gurney if he'd remembered.
He'd quite like to have blamed Wilson, cursed him for being the one to wave that damn form and give Chase the sort of smile that made the shadows under his eyes look darker. That's not fair though, he wasn't the one at fault.
But it still hurts, the way realisation crashes into shock in Sam's eyes when he realised that in Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, his brother's listed next of kin go down on paper as John then Chase. Those dark green eyes went flat and murderous as Chase watched the youngest Winchester make the logical leap.
“You...! Not friend, lover!”
He stormed off, leaving Chase guilty and hurting. John would have been so proud of his boy; too damn smart for his own damn good. You'd be so proud of him, John. Pissed as hell but not saying a damn word.
He scrubbed for surgery and his mind picked this moment to replay one of his last conversations with Dean. "Sammy, he's not got that much left that that damn bastard of a demon ain't taken or pissed on. Gets him angry sometimes, gets him downright fuckin' mad."
There's more that Dean wasn't saying - hell, more Dean wasn't seeing - but Chase is better than he used to be at observational medicine. Two years ago, Sam Winchester had everything; a promising career, a gorgeous girlfriend, friends and a family that, for all their problems, was only a phone call away. Today, the career is lost, the girlfriend's dead, the friends are lost to their own mundane lives and his father...his father is ashes.
All Sam Winchester has left is his brother and Chase knows how stubborn Winchesters are about the people they love.
"Chase?" Wilson, again. "Robert, you don't have to do this."
He smiled at the older man, aware of a House-shaped shadow on the door and wondered how bad he was looking if House was worrying about him. "Actually, yeah. I do."
Wilson doesn't look convinced but Chase pulled up the surgical mask and mumbled a subdued thank-you. But really, he'll be fine. Yet another thing to thank John Winchester for; Chase can detach from his emotions, treat the body under his hands as a kinda of engine - one that's broken somehow - and focus on fixing it. At least, long enough to do his damn job and do it well.
Surgery lasted for nearly four hours and House ordered that Dean be put into isolation to avoid catching what might be Legionnaire’s Disease but the prognosis is good. Chase followed Wilson out into the waiting area where Sam was sitting, his tenth cup of hospital coffee all but engulfed by his big hands. "Mr Winchester?"
Sam's head snapped up. "Yeah?"
Wilson smiled at him - the open not-too-big smile that House called his 'dodgy car salesman' smile. "The surgery went well and we expect a speedy recovery although we'd like to keep him isolated for a day or two. Just until the contamination is officially contained."
Chase thought that the only thing that had registered was the "surgery...well" and "full recovery" and Sam slumps down into the chair, lips moving in a silent 'thank-you'.
And the next bit was why Chase sometimes wishes that he'd gotten an internship with Wilson instead of House. Wilson reached out to pat Sam on the shoulder and didn't lose it and he managed to say "You really should get some rest. It'll be a while before your brother can have visitors." without sounding condescending or trite and damn, but there are times when Chase thinks the man should have been an actor instead.
Sam spotted him next and Chase could see betrayal and jealousy and flat-out hate in the closed off expression and the way the cup crumpled in a suddenly too tight grip. And you know, that pretty much did it. Right there, Chase decided that he'd had enough Winchester to last him the rest of the fucking year.
He nodded to Wilson and mumbled something about getting cleaned up; the whole detachment thing choosing then of all fucking times to fold on him. Chase looked down at Dean's blood on his scrubs and the whole faux-Winchester crap just about squished him flat.
He headed back to the locker room to get changed, aware that there's someone else in there but stubbornly refusing to acknowledge them. At least, until House - and it would be House, he thought, proof that he was never going to catch a break - rapped his cane on the tiled floor. "Cuddy wanted me to talk to you or something."
"Oh?" Chase was probably going to regret the sullen tone but he was bone-tired and the blood of possibly the only friend he had left had soaked through to his suit and he just couldn't take this bullshit right now.
"Seems that you've been a busy-busy bee." House said chidingly. "And apparently it brings our legal department out in hives if a doctor tries to practice medicine while sleep-deprived."
"I'm on my way home!" Chase protested.
"See, that would be what she wanted me to talk to you about. Apparently, an exhausted doctor behind the wheel is next on the legal 'no no' list so you're staying with Wilson and I tonight. And he's driving." Chase twisted to stare at his boss, mouth already open to argue. "Ah-ah! No arguing if you please. I've been threatened with covering your clinic hours if you do something stupid."
Chase muttered darkly but grabbed his bag and trailed after House obediently. They crossed the hospital to the lifts, passing the isolation ward on the way.
Chase carefully didn't look at the tall, forlorn figure standing at the glass wall of Dean's room with one hand pressed against the glass.
Fandom: Supernatural/House MD
Summary: We've established Chase has a bad memory, yeah?
Word Count: 1,032 (*SOB*)
Later, when he's clutching a plastic cup of coffee hard enough to crack it and burn his hand, Chase will think that it was the shock of the emergency that made him overlook it. He doesn't think he's that sadistic, doesn't want to believe that he would have let Sam follow him into the the pre-op where Dean lolls boneless and vacant-eyed on the gurney if he'd remembered.
He'd quite like to have blamed Wilson, cursed him for being the one to wave that damn form and give Chase the sort of smile that made the shadows under his eyes look darker. That's not fair though, he wasn't the one at fault.
But it still hurts, the way realisation crashes into shock in Sam's eyes when he realised that in Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, his brother's listed next of kin go down on paper as John then Chase. Those dark green eyes went flat and murderous as Chase watched the youngest Winchester make the logical leap.
“You...! Not friend, lover!”
He stormed off, leaving Chase guilty and hurting. John would have been so proud of his boy; too damn smart for his own damn good. You'd be so proud of him, John. Pissed as hell but not saying a damn word.
He scrubbed for surgery and his mind picked this moment to replay one of his last conversations with Dean. "Sammy, he's not got that much left that that damn bastard of a demon ain't taken or pissed on. Gets him angry sometimes, gets him downright fuckin' mad."
There's more that Dean wasn't saying - hell, more Dean wasn't seeing - but Chase is better than he used to be at observational medicine. Two years ago, Sam Winchester had everything; a promising career, a gorgeous girlfriend, friends and a family that, for all their problems, was only a phone call away. Today, the career is lost, the girlfriend's dead, the friends are lost to their own mundane lives and his father...his father is ashes.
All Sam Winchester has left is his brother and Chase knows how stubborn Winchesters are about the people they love.
"Chase?" Wilson, again. "Robert, you don't have to do this."
He smiled at the older man, aware of a House-shaped shadow on the door and wondered how bad he was looking if House was worrying about him. "Actually, yeah. I do."
Wilson doesn't look convinced but Chase pulled up the surgical mask and mumbled a subdued thank-you. But really, he'll be fine. Yet another thing to thank John Winchester for; Chase can detach from his emotions, treat the body under his hands as a kinda of engine - one that's broken somehow - and focus on fixing it. At least, long enough to do his damn job and do it well.
Surgery lasted for nearly four hours and House ordered that Dean be put into isolation to avoid catching what might be Legionnaire’s Disease but the prognosis is good. Chase followed Wilson out into the waiting area where Sam was sitting, his tenth cup of hospital coffee all but engulfed by his big hands. "Mr Winchester?"
Sam's head snapped up. "Yeah?"
Wilson smiled at him - the open not-too-big smile that House called his 'dodgy car salesman' smile. "The surgery went well and we expect a speedy recovery although we'd like to keep him isolated for a day or two. Just until the contamination is officially contained."
Chase thought that the only thing that had registered was the "surgery...well" and "full recovery" and Sam slumps down into the chair, lips moving in a silent 'thank-you'.
And the next bit was why Chase sometimes wishes that he'd gotten an internship with Wilson instead of House. Wilson reached out to pat Sam on the shoulder and didn't lose it and he managed to say "You really should get some rest. It'll be a while before your brother can have visitors." without sounding condescending or trite and damn, but there are times when Chase thinks the man should have been an actor instead.
Sam spotted him next and Chase could see betrayal and jealousy and flat-out hate in the closed off expression and the way the cup crumpled in a suddenly too tight grip. And you know, that pretty much did it. Right there, Chase decided that he'd had enough Winchester to last him the rest of the fucking year.
He nodded to Wilson and mumbled something about getting cleaned up; the whole detachment thing choosing then of all fucking times to fold on him. Chase looked down at Dean's blood on his scrubs and the whole faux-Winchester crap just about squished him flat.
He headed back to the locker room to get changed, aware that there's someone else in there but stubbornly refusing to acknowledge them. At least, until House - and it would be House, he thought, proof that he was never going to catch a break - rapped his cane on the tiled floor. "Cuddy wanted me to talk to you or something."
"Oh?" Chase was probably going to regret the sullen tone but he was bone-tired and the blood of possibly the only friend he had left had soaked through to his suit and he just couldn't take this bullshit right now.
"Seems that you've been a busy-busy bee." House said chidingly. "And apparently it brings our legal department out in hives if a doctor tries to practice medicine while sleep-deprived."
"I'm on my way home!" Chase protested.
"See, that would be what she wanted me to talk to you about. Apparently, an exhausted doctor behind the wheel is next on the legal 'no no' list so you're staying with Wilson and I tonight. And he's driving." Chase twisted to stare at his boss, mouth already open to argue. "Ah-ah! No arguing if you please. I've been threatened with covering your clinic hours if you do something stupid."
Chase muttered darkly but grabbed his bag and trailed after House obediently. They crossed the hospital to the lifts, passing the isolation ward on the way.
Chase carefully didn't look at the tall, forlorn figure standing at the glass wall of Dean's room with one hand pressed against the glass.