Fic: Sinnerman, Prophet, Saint (Prologue 0/?)
Title: Sinnerman, Prophet, Saint
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Chase/OMC, House/Chase
Summary: The marks of the saints and a past he won’t remember force Chase and House to face religion head on. They won’t get his fellow without a fight!
Spoilers: Up to season 4 Finale.
Genre: Drama, Action/Adventure, Supernatural
Disclaimer: I don’t own House. I’m not making any money off this story.
A/N: This is a story I've been working on for a while. I'll be posting as I complete the edits of each chapter. Hope you like it!
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Language, Adult Situations, Violence, M/M relationships. Do not read this story if any of these bother you!
Prologue: Forgetting
House’s mental meandering came to the obvious conclusion that it probably wasn’t a good idea to forget precisely with whom he was dealing. One horrifying brush with a place he didn’t even believe in was bad enough. His belief, however, held no weight. Real or not, what he’d felt, the complete loss of hope, no torment but the promise of unimaginably much to come. So, if this was what he could look forward to, should he inadvertently piss off his current roommate, then it was high time House learnt to hold his tongue.
Yet every infuriating word, every strand of hair, every charming smile was still that of the Robert Chase he knew, and not very well, as he was finding out.
“Just eat it.”
The response from next to him: “I don’t like it.”
They couldn’t possibly be right. This infuriating man, this indolent boy could not be who he had appeared, who they said, what they feared. What House feared, for alternate but no less existential reasons.
“Would you stop fucking staring!”
House looked back to his meal. “Can’t help it. I’m still looking for those wings.”
“Well, I’ve been looking for your horns for years.”
“Any luck?”
Chase tried but couldn’t hide entirely his smile. “Not yet.”
House could commiserate with his lack of success. “When those pre-pubesent female patient’s of your where swooning and chatting about how pretty and angelic you were I never thought that they could be right.”
“Hey!” Chase objected, as House had expected. “I’m pretty,” he continued, holding back his smile, which soon turned into laughter.
House chose not to comment but his amusement was clear in his expression.
See, this is what he was dealing with. Heavenly soldier, hellish minion, who could believe either? Except when Chase would get that distant look, or say something that nobody should be able to know, or see things that no body should be tortured with seeing. Then maybe he could understand why this…this curse would not fall upon any ordinary man; there would have to be something else, something special about him. Perhaps, then he could understand why some thing chose to forget it all, and live a single life, even if not one that started very well.
So it wasn’t Chase he was having a problem with, other than him being a picky eater. It was the other thing that he couldn’t grasp. Then again, spiritual incarnations weren’t his forte. And if what Chase continued to tell him was true, then Robert Chase and the other one were one in the same. How was that possible? Chase had blurted out a brief explanation when House had railed on him after a horrible meeting with one of his brethren, but he didn’t imagine that a more detailed recount would settle any better in his mind.
What would probably settle even worse were the things Chase saw. Creatures he was once again becoming familiar with, old friends that he hadn’t seen in a very long time. Though he thought that some may be enemies, it was hard to tell. Where there was light they sometimes brought shadows which obscured their form and purpose. Where darkness had laid it’s claimed sometimes they brought light, so bright that his eyes strung and their secrets remained. Too often he didn’t know what side they were on. Bright or dark, there was no litmus test for allegiance, and their actions were often more obfuscating that words could ever be.
Chase heard an aggravated sigh that didn’t come from him. “Now what?” was the terse question posed by House.
Turning his gaze from what only he could see Chase responded. “‘Now what’ what?” He wasn’t being infuriating on purpose but House was getting on his nerves. Always asking questions, always staring, there were moments when Chase actually wanted to know what House’s take on all this was. How did a rational mind evaluate this situation?
“You’re doing that glowy thing again, Casper.”
“I’m not a bloody ghost!”
Then there were moments like this, where he couldn’t fathom that House was rational. He barely believed he was sane. It had taken House’s explanation about the friendly poltergeist before Chase understood the reference. “Not very apt,” had been Chase’s response. House apparently didn’t care.
Infuriating man.
“I wonder if you can read in the dark?”
Chase shook his head and poked at his meal. At night, in the dark, when he was supposed to be sleeping, House behind him, or in front of him, Chase would lie there, eyes open, seeing people and things that were hundreds of miles away. It was a familiar feeling, one that he’d forgotten. It brought back with it many other memories that he couldn’t quite comprehend. Being, over and above it all, and yet still in the thick of it. He could feel himself floating away, getting closer to whatever it was he’d given up nearly twenty eight years ago. In those moments, latching on to what was close and real was his only refuge, his anchor in the tumult, even if it was the thin sheet over the bed or the warm body adjacent.
Strangely House never mentioned it. As of late House had been almost nice to him. Suffering through his former boss’s brief detox together, with nobody to depend on but each other, probably went some way towards easing the tension. Not to mention other extra curricular activities.
“You’re going to need energy if we’re going to fuck again.”
Chase gave up on his meal but sat back with a smile. “Have we lost the romance already?”
“I promise to adhere to all the traditional anniversary gifts.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you handing me a sheet of paper for our first anniversary,” Chase pouted playfully. “Christ, you’re cheap.”
House sat back in mock shock. “A heavenly soldier using the lord’s name in vain?”
“Trust me,” Chase rolled over to crouch over House, “in the eyes of most, I’ve done worse.” In House’s eyes he could see the faint reflection of the glow that House was often describing to him.
“Would you like to do something worse right now?” House asked coyly, his not so appetising meal forgotten as well.
“We could…but an old guy like you needs to keep his energy up.” Chase glanced down to the wrapped meal that was dangling from House’s hand. A moment later it met the floor with a wet slap and House’s hand found something more appealing in the smooth skin underneath his roommates shirt.
Their lips had just met and the rage of lust was growing. Then House’s hand felt something wet. He broke the embrace and saw slick, blood colouring his fingers. Chase’s eyes followed House’s and a curse passed his lips before he gasped in sudden pain. Rigid with discomfort House had to help Chase down to lie on the bed, their one piece of furniture.
“Chase?” House was getting used to the blood and the unexpected appearance of the injuries on Chase’s body. What he still struggled with was the pain he saw. Unlike him, Chase could find no relief in little white pills, or even in sleep. “Chase, come on stay with me here.”
What might have been worse were the semi-out-of-body experiences that House saw Chase suffer through and were later described to him. The blank, wide open eyes and parted lips, spoke nothing of what Chase was seeing, nor the small shreds of him that were torn away with almost every scene. House wasn’t one to believe in the fairness of the universe but he could not explain why Chase deserved to suffer through all this.
The scent of flowers, so strong it prick tears to his eyes, filled the air. Slick warmth flowed over paling skin, contrary to the forces of gravity. House held on as he felt Chase spasm in his arms. A choked cry struggled past the younger man’s lips as searing pain tore through his feet. The pain was then in his wrists but he no longer had breath with which to scream.
“Robert, hold on,” House implored softly, his arms still firmly enclosing the other man. There was nothing either of them could do but hold on while the worst of it passed. It would, like it always did, only to return later, unwanted and unannounced.
“…it hurts…oh…God…” the choking whispers of agony barely made it to House’s ears. “…I can’t go back…please…don’t make me…please…”
Teeth clenched against his own pain and that which he could only imagine, House held on and watched as bright tears fell from glowing white eyes.
“I won’t let you take me…”
House held on. What else could he do? Foreign soil, foreign language, and no one to trust but each other.
“Don’t give up,” House ordered, tersely, quietly, his encouragement too necessary to be stymied by his disbelief or cynicism. “Robert,” house attempted to find some focus in the eyes veiled in luminance. “Chase, hold on…I’m right here…” how pedestrian, how useless, he was certainly no priest, not a man to be depended upon, not one to give comfort. The only pain he’d truly cared to take away was his own. And now when he would try his hand at comfort, he saw only his failure written in the lines of pain and lines of wetness, both clear and red.
But House didn’t hear were the silenced screams. He couldn’t feel the fresh breeze replacing an acrid miasma of death. He didn’t see the fading atrocities and the dark clouds evaporating to expose a calming and familiar blue -one facet of Chase’s torture, extinguished.
House saw only torment. He saw no blessing.
End Prologue
|
|
- - - H/C - - -
|
|
Check out the Cast and Characters!
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Chase/OMC, House/Chase
Summary: The marks of the saints and a past he won’t remember force Chase and House to face religion head on. They won’t get his fellow without a fight!
Spoilers: Up to season 4 Finale.
Genre: Drama, Action/Adventure, Supernatural
Disclaimer: I don’t own House. I’m not making any money off this story.
A/N: This is a story I've been working on for a while. I'll be posting as I complete the edits of each chapter. Hope you like it!
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Language, Adult Situations, Violence, M/M relationships. Do not read this story if any of these bother you!
Prologue: Forgetting
House’s mental meandering came to the obvious conclusion that it probably wasn’t a good idea to forget precisely with whom he was dealing. One horrifying brush with a place he didn’t even believe in was bad enough. His belief, however, held no weight. Real or not, what he’d felt, the complete loss of hope, no torment but the promise of unimaginably much to come. So, if this was what he could look forward to, should he inadvertently piss off his current roommate, then it was high time House learnt to hold his tongue.
Yet every infuriating word, every strand of hair, every charming smile was still that of the Robert Chase he knew, and not very well, as he was finding out.
“Just eat it.”
The response from next to him: “I don’t like it.”
They couldn’t possibly be right. This infuriating man, this indolent boy could not be who he had appeared, who they said, what they feared. What House feared, for alternate but no less existential reasons.
“Would you stop fucking staring!”
House looked back to his meal. “Can’t help it. I’m still looking for those wings.”
“Well, I’ve been looking for your horns for years.”
“Any luck?”
Chase tried but couldn’t hide entirely his smile. “Not yet.”
House could commiserate with his lack of success. “When those pre-pubesent female patient’s of your where swooning and chatting about how pretty and angelic you were I never thought that they could be right.”
“Hey!” Chase objected, as House had expected. “I’m pretty,” he continued, holding back his smile, which soon turned into laughter.
House chose not to comment but his amusement was clear in his expression.
See, this is what he was dealing with. Heavenly soldier, hellish minion, who could believe either? Except when Chase would get that distant look, or say something that nobody should be able to know, or see things that no body should be tortured with seeing. Then maybe he could understand why this…this curse would not fall upon any ordinary man; there would have to be something else, something special about him. Perhaps, then he could understand why some thing chose to forget it all, and live a single life, even if not one that started very well.
So it wasn’t Chase he was having a problem with, other than him being a picky eater. It was the other thing that he couldn’t grasp. Then again, spiritual incarnations weren’t his forte. And if what Chase continued to tell him was true, then Robert Chase and the other one were one in the same. How was that possible? Chase had blurted out a brief explanation when House had railed on him after a horrible meeting with one of his brethren, but he didn’t imagine that a more detailed recount would settle any better in his mind.
What would probably settle even worse were the things Chase saw. Creatures he was once again becoming familiar with, old friends that he hadn’t seen in a very long time. Though he thought that some may be enemies, it was hard to tell. Where there was light they sometimes brought shadows which obscured their form and purpose. Where darkness had laid it’s claimed sometimes they brought light, so bright that his eyes strung and their secrets remained. Too often he didn’t know what side they were on. Bright or dark, there was no litmus test for allegiance, and their actions were often more obfuscating that words could ever be.
Chase heard an aggravated sigh that didn’t come from him. “Now what?” was the terse question posed by House.
Turning his gaze from what only he could see Chase responded. “‘Now what’ what?” He wasn’t being infuriating on purpose but House was getting on his nerves. Always asking questions, always staring, there were moments when Chase actually wanted to know what House’s take on all this was. How did a rational mind evaluate this situation?
“You’re doing that glowy thing again, Casper.”
“I’m not a bloody ghost!”
Then there were moments like this, where he couldn’t fathom that House was rational. He barely believed he was sane. It had taken House’s explanation about the friendly poltergeist before Chase understood the reference. “Not very apt,” had been Chase’s response. House apparently didn’t care.
Infuriating man.
“I wonder if you can read in the dark?”
Chase shook his head and poked at his meal. At night, in the dark, when he was supposed to be sleeping, House behind him, or in front of him, Chase would lie there, eyes open, seeing people and things that were hundreds of miles away. It was a familiar feeling, one that he’d forgotten. It brought back with it many other memories that he couldn’t quite comprehend. Being, over and above it all, and yet still in the thick of it. He could feel himself floating away, getting closer to whatever it was he’d given up nearly twenty eight years ago. In those moments, latching on to what was close and real was his only refuge, his anchor in the tumult, even if it was the thin sheet over the bed or the warm body adjacent.
Strangely House never mentioned it. As of late House had been almost nice to him. Suffering through his former boss’s brief detox together, with nobody to depend on but each other, probably went some way towards easing the tension. Not to mention other extra curricular activities.
“You’re going to need energy if we’re going to fuck again.”
Chase gave up on his meal but sat back with a smile. “Have we lost the romance already?”
“I promise to adhere to all the traditional anniversary gifts.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you handing me a sheet of paper for our first anniversary,” Chase pouted playfully. “Christ, you’re cheap.”
House sat back in mock shock. “A heavenly soldier using the lord’s name in vain?”
“Trust me,” Chase rolled over to crouch over House, “in the eyes of most, I’ve done worse.” In House’s eyes he could see the faint reflection of the glow that House was often describing to him.
“Would you like to do something worse right now?” House asked coyly, his not so appetising meal forgotten as well.
“We could…but an old guy like you needs to keep his energy up.” Chase glanced down to the wrapped meal that was dangling from House’s hand. A moment later it met the floor with a wet slap and House’s hand found something more appealing in the smooth skin underneath his roommates shirt.
Their lips had just met and the rage of lust was growing. Then House’s hand felt something wet. He broke the embrace and saw slick, blood colouring his fingers. Chase’s eyes followed House’s and a curse passed his lips before he gasped in sudden pain. Rigid with discomfort House had to help Chase down to lie on the bed, their one piece of furniture.
“Chase?” House was getting used to the blood and the unexpected appearance of the injuries on Chase’s body. What he still struggled with was the pain he saw. Unlike him, Chase could find no relief in little white pills, or even in sleep. “Chase, come on stay with me here.”
What might have been worse were the semi-out-of-body experiences that House saw Chase suffer through and were later described to him. The blank, wide open eyes and parted lips, spoke nothing of what Chase was seeing, nor the small shreds of him that were torn away with almost every scene. House wasn’t one to believe in the fairness of the universe but he could not explain why Chase deserved to suffer through all this.
The scent of flowers, so strong it prick tears to his eyes, filled the air. Slick warmth flowed over paling skin, contrary to the forces of gravity. House held on as he felt Chase spasm in his arms. A choked cry struggled past the younger man’s lips as searing pain tore through his feet. The pain was then in his wrists but he no longer had breath with which to scream.
“Robert, hold on,” House implored softly, his arms still firmly enclosing the other man. There was nothing either of them could do but hold on while the worst of it passed. It would, like it always did, only to return later, unwanted and unannounced.
“…it hurts…oh…God…” the choking whispers of agony barely made it to House’s ears. “…I can’t go back…please…don’t make me…please…”
Teeth clenched against his own pain and that which he could only imagine, House held on and watched as bright tears fell from glowing white eyes.
“I won’t let you take me…”
House held on. What else could he do? Foreign soil, foreign language, and no one to trust but each other.
“Don’t give up,” House ordered, tersely, quietly, his encouragement too necessary to be stymied by his disbelief or cynicism. “Robert,” house attempted to find some focus in the eyes veiled in luminance. “Chase, hold on…I’m right here…” how pedestrian, how useless, he was certainly no priest, not a man to be depended upon, not one to give comfort. The only pain he’d truly cared to take away was his own. And now when he would try his hand at comfort, he saw only his failure written in the lines of pain and lines of wetness, both clear and red.
But House didn’t hear were the silenced screams. He couldn’t feel the fresh breeze replacing an acrid miasma of death. He didn’t see the fading atrocities and the dark clouds evaporating to expose a calming and familiar blue -one facet of Chase’s torture, extinguished.
House saw only torment. He saw no blessing.
End Prologue
|
|
- - - H/C - - -
|
|
Check out the Cast and Characters!