Fic: Sinnerman, Prophet, Saint (13/13)
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, Supernatural
Disclaimer: I don’t own House. I’m not making any money off this story.
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Language, Adult Situations, Violence, M/M relationships. Do not read this story if any of these bother you!
Chapter 13: Genesis
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Saint Sebastian’s was both the pride and bane of its neighbourhood. Nobody would deny that the parish did good work. Who would look at the volunteers making a real difference for the poor and unwanted and not commend them? At least publicly. In private, other thoughts were less charitable. Too often those the church was attempting to help would spill onto the street, or wander away from where they were wanted.
Chase shrugged as a man walking his dog spared him only a cutting glance in response to his polite wave. In all fairness the church was here first. Chase smirked and didn’t turn to look when the man tripped over his own “shadow” and fell to the sidewalk in an undignified manner.
Maybe this whole Demon-Commander, Lord-of-Evil thing wasn’t so bad if he could upstage assholes.
Would have been useful in high-school.
The garbage taken out, Chase returned to his temporary dwelling. Perhaps there was a downside of this whole situation. Churches gave him an unprecedented creepy feeling when he crossed their threshold. It was as though he was stepping closer to all the things he hadn’t known he’d been running from. But the unknown was now known; a calling he’d tried to avoid, a legacy that he didn’t want to live up, or down to (depending on whose opinion one took). He knew a bit about those on both fronts.
So here he was, in a church, when he really wanted to be in bed, his bed preferably, with House next to him would be even better. Unfortunately he couldn’t go back. He was stuck in this house-of-God, keeping his wicked and unholy thoughts to himself while he tried to figure out what was next.
He knew it wasn’t over. Sure, he felt safe from Antolovich and the rest of them. They wouldn’t come after him again if they valued their short lives -but there was something else that he felt building, something he needed to wait out. And as uncomfortable as it made him feel, a holy building seemed the best cover for the moment, despite his personal feelings for it.
“Robert, could you help me with the beds?” the Father asked. His soft smile and unthreatening nature was offset by the man’s curious mannerisms. Maybe it was a result of his seminary training but Chase was sure he’d never a met a more relaxed and accepting clergyman.
“Of course,” Chase responded disinterestedly.
The Padre’s smile increased slightly as he handed the blond man half the stack of sheets and began toward the basement.
“I’d like to thank you for your help,” the older man began. He kept his eyes ahead as he spoke trying to make his words casual in hopes that he wouldn’t scare off the skittish man. “I guess we didn’t realise how much had to be done around here until you came along.”
“It’s nothing.”
“No, it’s not. If it were, I wouldn’t be thanking you. So just smile and say you’re welcome.”
Chase bit his bottom lip trying not to smile and mumbled out something that vaguely sounded like “you’re welcome.”
They continued to the room filled with cots and began changing the sheets. They worked well together -Chase not minding the priest’s running dialogue and the Priest not minding his companion’s limited words. The Father’s running commentary was a pleasant distraction from the thoughts and images running through Chase’s head and the spectres walking before his eyes.
“I keep telling him not to expect perfection, nobody on this earth is capable of it. And perfect mourning? Of all the things to excel at, why this? I suppose he wants to be the strong one, to move on and hold the rest of his family together, but it’s not a decision he can make consciously. And no parent can ever recover completely from the loss of a child. It’s just…” the reverend shook his head in mild consternation. “…there’s no such thing, perfect mourning.”
“There is perfect pain.” Light from a car passing outside slipped through the small set of windows near the ceiling and caught the younger man’s eyes, creating a bright, eerie hollowness. The Priest would swear on his cross that the illusion lasted just a fraction of a second longer than the brief flood of headlights warranted. “Father?”
“Sorry,” he gave a slight shake of his head, “my mind wandered there for a moment.”
Chase knew it was a lie. The Priest saw what Chase had felt flash within him. He turned back to his task and turned his back to the other man to complete the job in silence. When it was done he left without waiting for the priest. He didn’t respond to the call of his name. With each step he took the name “Robert” became less and less familiar, until there was barely any Robert left within him.
Finally he reached the small room they had generously offered him. He stepped in and the door shut behind him without his needing to touch it. There was no lock but anybody who might have tried would not have been able to open it.
A burning sensation began to creep along his back. It spread over his body to pool in the all too familiar locations of his stigmata. There was no blood, only warm, reddened skin.
…Mastema…
For the first time that he could recall, he heard whispers, the familiar call of his name.
…it is time to go, Mastema…
Was it? Was he supposed to leave now? Leave what? He’d forgotten. It happened from time to time, not that Chase would remember. When he embraced Mastema he forgot he was Robert Chase too.
…Brother…
“Azazel?”
…there is work to be done…
He dipped his head forward in a deep nod and laid down on the cot. The walls around him dissolved into a swirling sea of grey and white. He closed his eyes.
“Hello, Sarah.”
“Good afternoon, Father. I had some time so I thought I’d come by and help with the evening meal,” the middle-aged woman said cheerfully.
He smiled in return. “We need all the volunteers we can get. By the way,” he added casually taking another quick look around the cluttered kitchen, “have you seen Robert around?”
“I’m afraid not. But when you find him, send him my way,” Sarah said with a cheeky smile and raised eyebrow.
The Father laughed. “Please control yourself, at least while in God’s house,” he joked, but inwardly worried. He hadn’t seen Robert since the night before. It seemed nobody had. He’d checked Robert’s room too. Last night the door has been locked, which was strange since he didn’t remember a lock being installed on that door. This morning the door had been open and the room empty. And the Father checked. There was no lock on the door.
“If you see him, please let him know that I’m looking for him,” he said without letting his concern taint his voice.
Sarah smiled and nodded.
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---H/C---
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He saw Chase last night. Perhaps saw was too strong a word. He’d… distinguished the faint form of his…his what? Lover? Boyfriend? He’d distinguished the faint form of Chase. This wasn’t the first time either. It had been a week since he’d left the hospital, two weeks since he’d walked in dazed and unresponsive, following the voice and figure that only he’d been able to see.
Since he’d been at home, House had often felt as though he wasn’t alone. He’d pass by the mirror, in the corridor between his bedroom and living room, and sometimes he’d double back, looking for the familiar face he thought he’d seen. On some nights he’d be up, reading or watching TV and he’d glance to the side, or up from his book and find Chase there.
“I’m going nuts,” House said to himself, scratching at his stubbled jaw. Actually it would be a relief for House if he were simply going insane. It was practically a fashion statement to be on one psychotherapeutic drug or another. And mental illness was something that every person House would consider moderately intelligent believed in. Astral projection was not.
Whatever his thoughts on it, it didn’t change the fact that last night he had indeed seen Robert Chase, his missing fellow. House had refrained from asking questions. He never received answers anymore. Instead Chase had sat next to him while House had tinkered with his piano, not really playing any pieces, just messing with some melodies. Chase had seemed content to listen, if he could listen at all in that state.
House found himself telling Chase things simply because he was unsure what precisely was going on. He wasn’t a nervous talker -he prided himself on having more control than that. He spoke so that Chase would stay longer. When he was silent, and if Chase wasn’t pressed close to him House found his blond ghost vanished much quicker.
“I have to say I don’t regret it. The night in the yard wasn’t a hell of a lot of fun, but I survived, right?” House had asked, not expecting or wanting an answer. What he’d gotten was a light touch to his cheek. It turned his head and looked at his companion. Chase’s eyes were closed but he leaned his face close to Greg’s and pressed his nearly nonexistent lips to the older man’s. As he pulled away his eyes opened and House felt fear like he’d only felt once before. When they had been in Israel, when Chase had been arguing with something that put a strange spell on him, he’d felt like this. But this time House was not in fear for his own life. He feared for others.
Like being in the eye of a hurricane, he was untouched by the fury all around him. In the bright eyes he’d read, through some instinct, the calamity Chase could and would cause.
“No. Chase…Robert don’t!”
Chase kissed him again and faded away in the middle of it.
House had reached out for him and found nothing but cool air. He’d debated with himself for an hour before calling his parents. It took him three tries before he had dialled the number correctly. His father’s voice barked a greeting that sounded more like a curse into the phone. Greg had never been so relieved; even more so to hear that they were both fine and that the only disturbance they had experienced that night was the unexpected call of their son at one in the morning.
Greg could no longer wait. Whatever was going on, whatever Chase was facing, House knew he needed to be there. Someone needed to be there. Someone to call him on his bullshit, someone to make him see reason. With his hand clinched into his aching thigh, House promised. Chase would not face this trial on his own. Pitiful, weak, imperfect human that he was, he was Chase’s strongest, and best connection to a life House saw rapidly fading from his eyes.
House wasn’t the only one who saw it. Day after day, the pastor of St. Sebastian’s found himself growing more wary of his guest. The others didn’t notice at first, simply commenting on how they missed the man’s bright smile. Lately, however, many people purposely avoided Robert, and Robert did the same. He stayed locked in his room for several hours, emerging only to walk straight out of the church and vanish almost before their eyes into shadows that hadn’t existed a moment prior.
He was still debating with himself what to do the next day, after yet another fruitless attempt to talk to Robert. Shamefully, he’d almost considered saying he was unavailable when he received a call from a family with an ill member at Princeton-Plainsboro asking him to perform the last rights. He got through the ritual -he’d done it many times before- and left the family with a little comfort. The moment he shook the last relative’s hand his mind was on his problem again.
Similarly House’s mind was on his own dilemma. They didn’t even notice each other as the passed by in the hall. Something else stopped them, something else made them turn around and had their eyes meeting.
“Where is he, Demarco?” House demanded, once recognition graced him.
“Why do you care Doctor House?” the priest responded.
The people in the corridor parted for the physician as he stomped his way to the priest.
“I asked first.” Despite the nonchalance of the tone, Demarco could see only the worry in his eyes. “Where is he?” House asked again, but there was an added timbre to his voice. Someone else was asking too. Demarco glanced around. Something else was there; something else was looking for Robert.
Finally, Demarco shook off his discomfort and responded. “He goes and comes. He’s not so friendly these days. I’ll take you to him,” he eventually relented. Demarco began away, House in step, and not half a step behind House, Azazel followed cursing holy men with vehemence that only he could muster.
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“How did you find me?” Chase asked. The church was protected, sacred ground. He was supposed to be safe here. He didn’t receive a response to his question.
“Holy fucking shit, a church -you chose to hide in a church?” Azazel stared down the aisle, then turned around to face the altar and the images in stained glass.
“Last place you would think to look.”
Tense shoulder’s rolled, attempting to ease the uncomfortable and unfamiliar sense of anxiety. “I think I’m allergic to them.”
Chase shifted, made himself comfortable in the wooden pew, and faced the man who looked a great deal like him, but was no man at all.
“What do you want?”
“An answer. What do you intend to do?”
Chase tilted his head to one side, then the other, eyes up and lips rolled in as he acted out his contemplation. “Not quite sure yet.”
“You have to make a decision.”
Chase smirked, his eyes an unnatural brightness. “What? Are you going to make me? You, Azazel, who’s afraid of me?”
The other blond man, the one who chose his form to mimic his nearest kin raised his head in defiance and looked down his nose at Robert who smiled while saying: “I forgot. I forgot that I may not be the originator of swearing, or sin, but I could read weakness. I taught you fear.”
“A feeling you’re quite familiar with are you not? Fear perhaps that someone you admire, or even love is going to be torn apart.”
Chase met the narrowed eyes of Azazel’s incarnation.
“I’ll break his precious mind, that he’ll wish for death every second of his unnaturally long life.”
“And I’ll take vengeance on you for eternity,” Chase countered, only to receive a smile in return.
Azazel clapped. “That’s what I like to see, Mastema. You, as you should be. Not weak and fragile, not this human that you are. A creature like me, like all of us! And if your vengeance upon me is the consequence, then I welcome it. And your return.”
“Don’t you fucking-”
“Chase!” Loud banging against the chapel’s main doors echoed through the shadowy room.
“How convenient,” Azazel smiled.
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“Don’t you have a key?”
“Where would you suggest I stick it?” Demarco snapped. He struck the door where, in the flat piece of black metal, there should have been a keyhole, not a smooth panel.
“Something doesn’t want us inside,” House stated.
“Or, something doesn’t want something else outside.”
“Only one way to find out. Is there a back entrance?”
“Aren’t you going to let them in? Release the doors. I promise no harm will come to them.”
“A promise, from you? You don’t know the meaning.”
“Now, now, this is for your own good,” Azazel struggled to say as ghostly bindings enfolded around him.
“What would you know of good?”
“About as much as you know.”
“Mastema,” A new voice called.
“Azreal. Join the party,” Azazel croaked as the binding he struggled against tightened. He was sent reeling a moment later as another blow struck. The man careened down the long aisle of pews, coming to rest only after a collision with two demolished one and cracked another.
Chase turned angry eyes to the newcomer. “That was a cheap shot. I already had him under control.” They both ignored the disbelieving snort from the debris covered Azazel.
The angel of death, as he was often called, was, a Mastema knew, a being of very limited words. However, the stoic silence hid a cunning and determined being.
“I’m not going with you either.” The arrogant announcement was met with silence and an inhuman expression of disappointment.
“It’s time for you to choose!” Azazels’ demand was followed by a blanket of darkness. The darkness was fought back by luminensce at Azrael’s end. In the middle, Chase was where Mastema always found himself -deep in grey.
He shook his head. “I think my choice was clear twenty-eight years ago.”
“A coward’s choice,” Azazel scoffed. The blood on his face evaporated, the cuts healed and he was flawless once again. “But if you want to be a coward, then I’ll drag you back like one.”
Mastema laughed. “You can both go ahead and try.”
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The side entrance that connected the church to the shelter was unlocked but the door wouldn’t budge. Demarco and House had struggled to get the locking mechanism to turn over, even with the key. Now they were blocked yet again.
“Robert’s room had been like this before -no lock on the door but it wouldn’t open. I think he’s trying to keep us out,” Demarco deduced. From the other side of the wooden barrier a cry of pain was heard.
“That was Chase.” House’s voice was primed with volatile emotion.
A scant moment later the door clicked open a sliver.
“I don’t think that’s Robert inviting us in,” Demarco warned but he didn’t turn away.
House didn’t care who or what let him in. Like Demarco he had a feeling something momentous, and probably dangerous, was taking place within the church’s walls. Still, he rarely chose the more cautious path. Now wasn’t the time to start.
“Well somebody invited us in. Don’t want to be rude.” House gently pushed the door open and slipped in. Demarco took a calming breath and as he was beginning to follow he saw the door rock briefly and knew it wasn’t going to be open much longer. He dashed in just as the door swung shut, clipping his shoulder hard.
Inside the church all was calm. House and Demarco stood near the door and observed the three men that appeared just to be standing around. A few paces behind the altar was one man that House thought he recognized from the event in the Chapel of St. Vartan. At the far end was the long lost brother, Azazel, and as House’s eyes settled on the demon, he thought he saw the man smile. Lastly, between the two, was Chase, back to the altar, eyes harshly set on Azazel. The air was charged with conflict and House’s heart raced though he could see no danger. But as surely as the air he breathed and the pain in his thigh, he could feel it.
Chase’s gazed shifted to House and Demarco momentarily. The moment of distraction did not pass unused. A blow caught Chase at this left side. He bit back his explicative but for a moment the forces being thrown about had worlds colliding.
The calm church interior blinked into a stark, sharp world where the stain glass images writhed and existed as masses of colour. Disembodied voices raced over the desolation, whispering and screaming taunts. The church pews were in shambles -shards and splinters of the dark stained wood everywhere, even falling from the cloudless night sky where once the roof had been. It seemed that a hundred years had passed in an instant. The church was barely more than collapsed walls, crumbling columns and disintegrated relics. Around Chase, Azrael and Azazel swirled within masses of disturbed air. Bright spectres stood over them, horrible, ferocious creatures that roared with inaudible battle cries. Destruction flew between them, blackening sight like a momentary faint, or blinding it, like a strike of lightning.
Suddenly, the expanse of desolation and destruction vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The church was once more in tact.
“Dear God,” House heard Demarco mutter from somewhere behind him. House had no time for awe. Chase had fallen to one knee and one hand.
Air! His lungs couldn’t seem to get enough. He panted, gasped, tasted the ferrous tang of blood. Only God knew what sort of internal damage he might have sustained; it was surely beyond Chase’s medical mind at the moment. He could practically hear Azazel’s smirk, revelling in his prematurely counted victory. Azrael was equally as confident, though too clever and too wary to let it show through his stony affect.
Anger suddenly swept through him. Quickly it morphed to a blistering rage as a phantasmagoria of a million lives and torments overcame his senses. And then just as the storm would abate the final blow. A familiar face, a beloved smile, a dying eye -his Watcher’s dying eye- appeared and vanished before him.
“There is nothing left for you here.” Azrael’s voice flowed around him, muting his emotions with its cooling touch. Across the church Azazel jerked and shivered, the touch a little too cool for him. “You don’t belong here.”
Chase struggled to his feet and quickly began for Azrael. In a flash of light two misty beasts collided and vanished under deafening thunder.
“Behold, I give you the authority to trample on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall by any means hurt you.” Demarco muttered direly, fearfully as he watched the unbelievable battle rage.
House spared him only a brief look of disgust. A scream cut through the air and a dull thud reverberated through the bench. Azrael had won the clash and sent Chase careening into the wooden structures. “Chase!” House cut his way between the pews trying to reach his stilled fellow. He never saw the strike coming. A few feet away from Chase he felt a sense of dread overcome him.
A fraction of a second later House was thrown back the way he had come. The world flashed to the other landscape again, just in time to see a blast of fury tear up the ground and the remains of the church as it cut a path from Azazel to where House had been a moment ago.
The holds on him registered at last and House looked to find two shadowy creatures at each arm. Their true form was lost in the murkiness that cloaked them, but House knew he probably didn’t want to know what they looked like.
“Almost had him,” Azazel said, once again as the setting returned to the earthly church.
Panting Chase glared at his sibling, his friend.
“You’re not giving me any other choice,” Azazel said in response to Chase’s expression.
“If there is only one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that there’s always a choice. And I make my own now.”
A millisecond flash of luminescent wings, fiery eyes, twisted horns, heaven-light and hell-fire transformed the scene to a high-contrast world of clashing forces and sense-numbing stimulation.
Mastema rose from the ruins. “I choose to end this, now!”
Simultaneously, Azazel and Azrael fell, an unbearable force driving them nearly into dust. Overlaying the normal image of the church the scene of destruction appeared. The force spread over the ground, levelling all in its path and leaving only the most resilient ruins behind. The churning unrest suddenly stilled. The deafening white-noise was silenced. The heat and burning, cooled, while the biting chill dispersed. At the center, Mastema stood, shakily.
Avenues of retreat, admissions of defeat, opened behind the other two beings. They melted into the undulating portals, before fading away. The unnaturally darkness at one end of the church and the brightness at the other let subtle indication that the two opposing factions had not entirely drawn away.
Chase addressed them.
“I’ve made my choice. I choose my life here. Try and take it away from me and I’ll reap havoc greater than biblical proportions.” The harsh eyes, shifted between the two presences, sending his message to both. “I am no longer your soldier.”
His defiance brought an intense heat to his back. The bamophet that had been drawn into Chase’s skin re-emerged, blistering his skin and singeing his shirt until it caught fire.
The stigmata reappeared all at once, cutting into his flesh, pouring out his blood.
The pain was so great that he felt his body yearning for the promise of unconsciousness but he wouldn’t allow himself to give in. He crashed to the floor and thought that he heard someone call his name.
“Chase!” House made another attempt to get to Chase and this time was successful. The flames were quickly consuming Chase’s shirt and burning his skin. The smell of it was repugnant but House didn’t let it or the obvious agony across Chase’s face turn him away.
House removed his jacket and used it to put out the flames. Not soon enough the fire was out. His hand hovered over the burnt and trembling back, wanting to touch and give comfort but knowing that his touch would only bring more pain.
“Hang on, Chase,” House urged, not knowing for what Chase would be hanging on for, but being stubborn had seen him through enough tough situations to warrant a little faith in at least that.
The symbol on Chase’s back, still visible through the burns and the whip marks, moved as House had seen it do once before. The goat’s head contorted in agony. The words written in the border around the image spun round with increasing speed until they were blurred. Finally the entire image froze and became messy scribbles that looked like they had been drawn in haste by someone with little artistic talent.
Chase’s body gave a violent shudder, nearly a convulsion as, at last, the searing heat faded. House’s urge to touch him was thwarted by his sense. On hands and knees he lowered his head, trying to catch Chase’s tortured sight.
“Robert, you’re going to be okay,” House assured. He wondered if that was true but he had to make sure Chase didn’t plan on giving up. With his burn injuries along with everything else, he was going to need every bit of determination left in him to recover. “It’s okay. You made it.”
Blue eyes drifted about until landing on House’s. His mouth was open trying to suck in enough air but he could barely move, leaving his breaths short and raspy. Tears fell from the wide eyes, caused by pain worse than anything he’d ever felt before. His only comfort was House’s presence, House’s constancy. Their eyes stayed that way, focussed on each other. House lay down next to Chase, staying close, never wavering, until after much time had passed, the pain receded and the wounds healed.
The sores closed and healed themselves, which, no matter how many times House saw it, still astounded him. Even the deep burns on Chase’s back healed. The blistered, bubbled, and blackened skin was replaced underneath by a new, healthy barrier, while the burnt flesh simultaneously evaporated into nothingness.
“There’s not a single mark left,” Demarco said in awe. He drew closer to observe the sight. “He’s completely healed.” The priest crossed himself. “It is God who arms me with strength, and makes my way perfect. He makes my feet like the feet of deer, and sets me on high places. He teaches my hands to make war, so that my arms can bend a bow of bronze.”
House felt the urge to hit him. Instead he carefully laid his hand on Chase’s shoulder. He felt for himself the muted shivers that still ravaged the man’s body.
“Is he still in pain?” Demarco asked.
House didn’t know. Being burnt alive and stabbed repeatedly was obviously an unpleasant experience. “The injuries are gone, maybe the pain too, but he can’t just forget it.”
He really couldn’t; it replayed in his mind and across his body like a dying echo. His best anchors to what was real were the intense blue eyes and the measured touch on his back. The touch left him suddenly and Chase shivered.
House looked at his hand, having removed it when he felt something wet. His fingers had black ink on them.
“It’s coming off,” House announced. Demarco seeing the smudged curse could be removed, immediately went about doing so with his handkerchief, and when that was covered ink, he used his sleeves. He may not have known the precise meaning, but he knew a satanic marking when he saw it.
House re-established his connection with Chase and chanced a touch to a slack but trembling hand. Without warning Chase’s hand seized around his desperately.
“It’s okay,” House repeated.
Eventually, but not soon enough, Chase’s tired body would give out and he would sleep, escaping for the worst of his torment, his choice made and, more importantly, upheld.
“I have pursued my enemies and overtaken them; neither did I turn back again till they were destroyed. I have wounded them, so that they were not able to rise; they have fallen under my feet. For You have armed me with strength for the battle; You have subdued under me those who rose up against me…”
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“You’re a doctor.”
“That’s what the paper on my wall says.”
The pastor stared at the lit cigarette. “And you smoke.”
“Only when I’m really happy!”
“I suppose that would be the famous sarcasm.” Demarco took a seat next House and made no comment when House glared at him and shifted further away. “I would appreciate it, however, if you refrained from smoking in the chapel.”
With an aggravated sigh and a roll of his eye House put out the cigarette, on the carpet. “What? You’re going to get it changed anyway.” House struggled up from his seat next to the blood stains and charred flooring.
The Pastor took calming breath. “Our parish isn’t made of money. We can’t pay for new carpet.” He shrugged. “Besides, not many churches have the mark of a miracle on their floor.”
“I don’t see any miracle. All I see is a ruined carpet. And it doesn’t even look like anything. If you want to see a real miracle, get some Oxy-Clean.”
Demarco shook his head and didn’t turn to watch House go. “You know, one day he might be Saint Robert.”
“Not if I can help it.”
House returned to the small room that had served as Chase’s. Chase was sitting up in bed, forehead resting on his knees.
“How you feeling?”
“Tired. How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Cigarette helped did it?”
There was no response.
“I can smell it on you.”
“Oh. I was expecting something more supernatural.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
House sat on the edge of the bed, Chase’s bare and healed back to him. Only two hours ago it had been severely damaged. House ran his hand over the younger man’s back, tracing the muscle groups in relief under the warm, bare canvas. “You ready to go?”
“Go where? I’m sure my landlord has gotten rid of my boxes and rented out my old place.”
“For the time being you can take the other half of my bed. We’ll find you a new place.” House was pretty sure that no matter how much he might like Chase, living together for anytime more than briefly, would be the perfect way to make them hate each other.
Chase turned to sit next to House, putting his bare feet on the small rug the covered the polished concrete floor. He stared into the now well-known to him, blue depths. “Thank you.” He turned his head away looking for a shirt but he’d barely had a chance to glance around when House grasped his chin and turned him back. “What?” Chase asked as House looked carefully at his eyes. “What is it?”
House’s eyes narrowed minutely, in both consternation and suspicion. “Your eyes…”
“I figured that. What about them?”
Smart-ass, a tiny voice in House’s mind retorted. “There just…different.”
“I don’t feel any different,” Chase said. “Maybe…maybe…whole.”
Anybody else, at any other time, House would have ridiculed them. To Chase he just kissed him. He couldn’t be certain about much, but was certain about this. Carnality, at the very least, this mere mortal could grasp. And hold on to.
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Sometimes it was like being able to appreciate the most complicated an enduring piece of art ever envisioned. At others it was like watching self-destruction in motion. Chase was sure he was losing touch -perhaps losing his mind too. House sure seemed to think so, but the man remained almost patient with him, or at the very least intrigued by him. It wasn’t everyday that one could deduce a total stranger’s history, and weakness, and yet sometimes have no concept of empathy for them.
“Knowledge doesn’t breed empathy,” House had attempted to explain what he didn’t quite understand himself. “Experience does.”
Sometimes it seemed he believed, at others he was a staunch opponent. Chase was only amused by House’s straddling of the fence. But House never, no matter which way the winds of his intellect pointed him, questioned the experience that Chase related to him. Chase was grateful for him, because the only other person Chase would have turned to was gone.
“Do I know you?” The tall, handsome man wracked his brain trying to find the memory that made the blond man standing before him seem so familiar. In the end he found nothing.
“No. I just wanted to…to make sure…and to say good-bye.”
“Oh.” The man was confused, and with good reason. It wasn’t everyday a stranger introduced themselves but already knew your name.
“Warren! Come on we’re going to be late, again!” A woman called about half-way down the short block.
“You better not keep her waiting,” Chase warned with a warm smile.
Stiffly, still unsure of why the other man felt so familiar, Warren nodded. “Well, good-bye…I guess.”
“Bye.”
Warren began away but stopped when he was half way around, facing the dark exterior glass of the building to which they stood next. The eyes of the reflection looked to Chase with complete recollection. ‘I love you,’ the reflection mouthed.
“Always love you,” Chase replied softly. The reflection smile briefly then faded away. Chase looked up to find Warren already down the block and in the arms of his girlfriend. He smiled sadly but with a sense that they had both finally completed together what they needed to do. Nothing would take away that bond. Still, they could both continue forward, even if only one remembered, even if not with the other.
Chase meandered to a bench next to bus stop not far away. He sat next to a man hidden behind a newspaper. Chase kept his eyes forward for a few seconds until a smile tipped his lips. He grabbed the newspaper out of the man’s hands and met his small startled cry with his lips.
“Checking up on me?” Chase asked against the soft lips and rough stubble.
“I was just in the neighbourhood.”
“House, you’re halfway across the world from your neighbourhood.” House remained stubbornly silent. Chase didn’t expose him, though an impromptu trip to Australia, where Chase just happened to be (though he hadn’t told House where he’d been heading, or why) was a tad more than suspicious.
Chase stood with an easy sigh, as though a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Come on, I’ll show you around. I’ll even introduce you to a local delicacy.”
House joined him in standing. “If you’re talking about vegemite, you can skip that part of the tour. This is one tourist you’re not tricking into trying that crap.”
Chase laughed. They began down the street, House’s poor disguise abandoned on the bench. They were just two men walking down the street, enjoying a nice day like the other normal people.
Chase stopped suddenly. He grabbed a woman by the arm before she could pass. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he warned, but his white eyes were looking past her. The shadow behind her receded into nothing. Chase let go. The woman continued on, her steps lighter than before, and her mind unconcerned with the odd encounter.
“Chase.” His name and a gentle touch at the back of his neck returned him from the complications around him. House could almost see the awareness return to the other man, and the isolation left behind. It was isolation that only House was could ease.
Chase looked lost for a moment, even worried over his sudden and uncontrolled descent. But House was there, a familiar comfort, a new anchor.
“Come on. You promised me a tour.”
End Chapter 13
End Sinnerman, Prophet, Saint
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. My apologies for the wait. I would like to write more about House and Chase’s adventures in this universe, maybe a crossover with other supernatural shows and/or movies. I don’t imagine getting to it any time soon unfortunately. Again, thanks for reading.
…Sagga
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- - - H/C - - -
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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, Supernatural
Disclaimer: I don’t own House. I’m not making any money off this story.
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Language, Adult Situations, Violence, M/M relationships. Do not read this story if any of these bother you!
Chapter 13: Genesis
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Saint Sebastian’s was both the pride and bane of its neighbourhood. Nobody would deny that the parish did good work. Who would look at the volunteers making a real difference for the poor and unwanted and not commend them? At least publicly. In private, other thoughts were less charitable. Too often those the church was attempting to help would spill onto the street, or wander away from where they were wanted.
Chase shrugged as a man walking his dog spared him only a cutting glance in response to his polite wave. In all fairness the church was here first. Chase smirked and didn’t turn to look when the man tripped over his own “shadow” and fell to the sidewalk in an undignified manner.
Maybe this whole Demon-Commander, Lord-of-Evil thing wasn’t so bad if he could upstage assholes.
Would have been useful in high-school.
The garbage taken out, Chase returned to his temporary dwelling. Perhaps there was a downside of this whole situation. Churches gave him an unprecedented creepy feeling when he crossed their threshold. It was as though he was stepping closer to all the things he hadn’t known he’d been running from. But the unknown was now known; a calling he’d tried to avoid, a legacy that he didn’t want to live up, or down to (depending on whose opinion one took). He knew a bit about those on both fronts.
So here he was, in a church, when he really wanted to be in bed, his bed preferably, with House next to him would be even better. Unfortunately he couldn’t go back. He was stuck in this house-of-God, keeping his wicked and unholy thoughts to himself while he tried to figure out what was next.
He knew it wasn’t over. Sure, he felt safe from Antolovich and the rest of them. They wouldn’t come after him again if they valued their short lives -but there was something else that he felt building, something he needed to wait out. And as uncomfortable as it made him feel, a holy building seemed the best cover for the moment, despite his personal feelings for it.
“Robert, could you help me with the beds?” the Father asked. His soft smile and unthreatening nature was offset by the man’s curious mannerisms. Maybe it was a result of his seminary training but Chase was sure he’d never a met a more relaxed and accepting clergyman.
“Of course,” Chase responded disinterestedly.
The Padre’s smile increased slightly as he handed the blond man half the stack of sheets and began toward the basement.
“I’d like to thank you for your help,” the older man began. He kept his eyes ahead as he spoke trying to make his words casual in hopes that he wouldn’t scare off the skittish man. “I guess we didn’t realise how much had to be done around here until you came along.”
“It’s nothing.”
“No, it’s not. If it were, I wouldn’t be thanking you. So just smile and say you’re welcome.”
Chase bit his bottom lip trying not to smile and mumbled out something that vaguely sounded like “you’re welcome.”
They continued to the room filled with cots and began changing the sheets. They worked well together -Chase not minding the priest’s running dialogue and the Priest not minding his companion’s limited words. The Father’s running commentary was a pleasant distraction from the thoughts and images running through Chase’s head and the spectres walking before his eyes.
“I keep telling him not to expect perfection, nobody on this earth is capable of it. And perfect mourning? Of all the things to excel at, why this? I suppose he wants to be the strong one, to move on and hold the rest of his family together, but it’s not a decision he can make consciously. And no parent can ever recover completely from the loss of a child. It’s just…” the reverend shook his head in mild consternation. “…there’s no such thing, perfect mourning.”
“There is perfect pain.” Light from a car passing outside slipped through the small set of windows near the ceiling and caught the younger man’s eyes, creating a bright, eerie hollowness. The Priest would swear on his cross that the illusion lasted just a fraction of a second longer than the brief flood of headlights warranted. “Father?”
“Sorry,” he gave a slight shake of his head, “my mind wandered there for a moment.”
Chase knew it was a lie. The Priest saw what Chase had felt flash within him. He turned back to his task and turned his back to the other man to complete the job in silence. When it was done he left without waiting for the priest. He didn’t respond to the call of his name. With each step he took the name “Robert” became less and less familiar, until there was barely any Robert left within him.
Finally he reached the small room they had generously offered him. He stepped in and the door shut behind him without his needing to touch it. There was no lock but anybody who might have tried would not have been able to open it.
A burning sensation began to creep along his back. It spread over his body to pool in the all too familiar locations of his stigmata. There was no blood, only warm, reddened skin.
…Mastema…
For the first time that he could recall, he heard whispers, the familiar call of his name.
…it is time to go, Mastema…
Was it? Was he supposed to leave now? Leave what? He’d forgotten. It happened from time to time, not that Chase would remember. When he embraced Mastema he forgot he was Robert Chase too.
…Brother…
“Azazel?”
…there is work to be done…
He dipped his head forward in a deep nod and laid down on the cot. The walls around him dissolved into a swirling sea of grey and white. He closed his eyes.
“Hello, Sarah.”
“Good afternoon, Father. I had some time so I thought I’d come by and help with the evening meal,” the middle-aged woman said cheerfully.
He smiled in return. “We need all the volunteers we can get. By the way,” he added casually taking another quick look around the cluttered kitchen, “have you seen Robert around?”
“I’m afraid not. But when you find him, send him my way,” Sarah said with a cheeky smile and raised eyebrow.
The Father laughed. “Please control yourself, at least while in God’s house,” he joked, but inwardly worried. He hadn’t seen Robert since the night before. It seemed nobody had. He’d checked Robert’s room too. Last night the door has been locked, which was strange since he didn’t remember a lock being installed on that door. This morning the door had been open and the room empty. And the Father checked. There was no lock on the door.
“If you see him, please let him know that I’m looking for him,” he said without letting his concern taint his voice.
Sarah smiled and nodded.
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He saw Chase last night. Perhaps saw was too strong a word. He’d… distinguished the faint form of his…his what? Lover? Boyfriend? He’d distinguished the faint form of Chase. This wasn’t the first time either. It had been a week since he’d left the hospital, two weeks since he’d walked in dazed and unresponsive, following the voice and figure that only he’d been able to see.
Since he’d been at home, House had often felt as though he wasn’t alone. He’d pass by the mirror, in the corridor between his bedroom and living room, and sometimes he’d double back, looking for the familiar face he thought he’d seen. On some nights he’d be up, reading or watching TV and he’d glance to the side, or up from his book and find Chase there.
“I’m going nuts,” House said to himself, scratching at his stubbled jaw. Actually it would be a relief for House if he were simply going insane. It was practically a fashion statement to be on one psychotherapeutic drug or another. And mental illness was something that every person House would consider moderately intelligent believed in. Astral projection was not.
Whatever his thoughts on it, it didn’t change the fact that last night he had indeed seen Robert Chase, his missing fellow. House had refrained from asking questions. He never received answers anymore. Instead Chase had sat next to him while House had tinkered with his piano, not really playing any pieces, just messing with some melodies. Chase had seemed content to listen, if he could listen at all in that state.
House found himself telling Chase things simply because he was unsure what precisely was going on. He wasn’t a nervous talker -he prided himself on having more control than that. He spoke so that Chase would stay longer. When he was silent, and if Chase wasn’t pressed close to him House found his blond ghost vanished much quicker.
“I have to say I don’t regret it. The night in the yard wasn’t a hell of a lot of fun, but I survived, right?” House had asked, not expecting or wanting an answer. What he’d gotten was a light touch to his cheek. It turned his head and looked at his companion. Chase’s eyes were closed but he leaned his face close to Greg’s and pressed his nearly nonexistent lips to the older man’s. As he pulled away his eyes opened and House felt fear like he’d only felt once before. When they had been in Israel, when Chase had been arguing with something that put a strange spell on him, he’d felt like this. But this time House was not in fear for his own life. He feared for others.
Like being in the eye of a hurricane, he was untouched by the fury all around him. In the bright eyes he’d read, through some instinct, the calamity Chase could and would cause.
“No. Chase…Robert don’t!”
Chase kissed him again and faded away in the middle of it.
House had reached out for him and found nothing but cool air. He’d debated with himself for an hour before calling his parents. It took him three tries before he had dialled the number correctly. His father’s voice barked a greeting that sounded more like a curse into the phone. Greg had never been so relieved; even more so to hear that they were both fine and that the only disturbance they had experienced that night was the unexpected call of their son at one in the morning.
Greg could no longer wait. Whatever was going on, whatever Chase was facing, House knew he needed to be there. Someone needed to be there. Someone to call him on his bullshit, someone to make him see reason. With his hand clinched into his aching thigh, House promised. Chase would not face this trial on his own. Pitiful, weak, imperfect human that he was, he was Chase’s strongest, and best connection to a life House saw rapidly fading from his eyes.
House wasn’t the only one who saw it. Day after day, the pastor of St. Sebastian’s found himself growing more wary of his guest. The others didn’t notice at first, simply commenting on how they missed the man’s bright smile. Lately, however, many people purposely avoided Robert, and Robert did the same. He stayed locked in his room for several hours, emerging only to walk straight out of the church and vanish almost before their eyes into shadows that hadn’t existed a moment prior.
He was still debating with himself what to do the next day, after yet another fruitless attempt to talk to Robert. Shamefully, he’d almost considered saying he was unavailable when he received a call from a family with an ill member at Princeton-Plainsboro asking him to perform the last rights. He got through the ritual -he’d done it many times before- and left the family with a little comfort. The moment he shook the last relative’s hand his mind was on his problem again.
Similarly House’s mind was on his own dilemma. They didn’t even notice each other as the passed by in the hall. Something else stopped them, something else made them turn around and had their eyes meeting.
“Where is he, Demarco?” House demanded, once recognition graced him.
“Why do you care Doctor House?” the priest responded.
The people in the corridor parted for the physician as he stomped his way to the priest.
“I asked first.” Despite the nonchalance of the tone, Demarco could see only the worry in his eyes. “Where is he?” House asked again, but there was an added timbre to his voice. Someone else was asking too. Demarco glanced around. Something else was there; something else was looking for Robert.
Finally, Demarco shook off his discomfort and responded. “He goes and comes. He’s not so friendly these days. I’ll take you to him,” he eventually relented. Demarco began away, House in step, and not half a step behind House, Azazel followed cursing holy men with vehemence that only he could muster.
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“How did you find me?” Chase asked. The church was protected, sacred ground. He was supposed to be safe here. He didn’t receive a response to his question.
“Holy fucking shit, a church -you chose to hide in a church?” Azazel stared down the aisle, then turned around to face the altar and the images in stained glass.
“Last place you would think to look.”
Tense shoulder’s rolled, attempting to ease the uncomfortable and unfamiliar sense of anxiety. “I think I’m allergic to them.”
Chase shifted, made himself comfortable in the wooden pew, and faced the man who looked a great deal like him, but was no man at all.
“What do you want?”
“An answer. What do you intend to do?”
Chase tilted his head to one side, then the other, eyes up and lips rolled in as he acted out his contemplation. “Not quite sure yet.”
“You have to make a decision.”
Chase smirked, his eyes an unnatural brightness. “What? Are you going to make me? You, Azazel, who’s afraid of me?”
The other blond man, the one who chose his form to mimic his nearest kin raised his head in defiance and looked down his nose at Robert who smiled while saying: “I forgot. I forgot that I may not be the originator of swearing, or sin, but I could read weakness. I taught you fear.”
“A feeling you’re quite familiar with are you not? Fear perhaps that someone you admire, or even love is going to be torn apart.”
Chase met the narrowed eyes of Azazel’s incarnation.
“I’ll break his precious mind, that he’ll wish for death every second of his unnaturally long life.”
“And I’ll take vengeance on you for eternity,” Chase countered, only to receive a smile in return.
Azazel clapped. “That’s what I like to see, Mastema. You, as you should be. Not weak and fragile, not this human that you are. A creature like me, like all of us! And if your vengeance upon me is the consequence, then I welcome it. And your return.”
“Don’t you fucking-”
“Chase!” Loud banging against the chapel’s main doors echoed through the shadowy room.
“How convenient,” Azazel smiled.
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“Don’t you have a key?”
“Where would you suggest I stick it?” Demarco snapped. He struck the door where, in the flat piece of black metal, there should have been a keyhole, not a smooth panel.
“Something doesn’t want us inside,” House stated.
“Or, something doesn’t want something else outside.”
“Only one way to find out. Is there a back entrance?”
“Aren’t you going to let them in? Release the doors. I promise no harm will come to them.”
“A promise, from you? You don’t know the meaning.”
“Now, now, this is for your own good,” Azazel struggled to say as ghostly bindings enfolded around him.
“What would you know of good?”
“About as much as you know.”
“Mastema,” A new voice called.
“Azreal. Join the party,” Azazel croaked as the binding he struggled against tightened. He was sent reeling a moment later as another blow struck. The man careened down the long aisle of pews, coming to rest only after a collision with two demolished one and cracked another.
Chase turned angry eyes to the newcomer. “That was a cheap shot. I already had him under control.” They both ignored the disbelieving snort from the debris covered Azazel.
The angel of death, as he was often called, was, a Mastema knew, a being of very limited words. However, the stoic silence hid a cunning and determined being.
“I’m not going with you either.” The arrogant announcement was met with silence and an inhuman expression of disappointment.
“It’s time for you to choose!” Azazels’ demand was followed by a blanket of darkness. The darkness was fought back by luminensce at Azrael’s end. In the middle, Chase was where Mastema always found himself -deep in grey.
He shook his head. “I think my choice was clear twenty-eight years ago.”
“A coward’s choice,” Azazel scoffed. The blood on his face evaporated, the cuts healed and he was flawless once again. “But if you want to be a coward, then I’ll drag you back like one.”
Mastema laughed. “You can both go ahead and try.”
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The side entrance that connected the church to the shelter was unlocked but the door wouldn’t budge. Demarco and House had struggled to get the locking mechanism to turn over, even with the key. Now they were blocked yet again.
“Robert’s room had been like this before -no lock on the door but it wouldn’t open. I think he’s trying to keep us out,” Demarco deduced. From the other side of the wooden barrier a cry of pain was heard.
“That was Chase.” House’s voice was primed with volatile emotion.
A scant moment later the door clicked open a sliver.
“I don’t think that’s Robert inviting us in,” Demarco warned but he didn’t turn away.
House didn’t care who or what let him in. Like Demarco he had a feeling something momentous, and probably dangerous, was taking place within the church’s walls. Still, he rarely chose the more cautious path. Now wasn’t the time to start.
“Well somebody invited us in. Don’t want to be rude.” House gently pushed the door open and slipped in. Demarco took a calming breath and as he was beginning to follow he saw the door rock briefly and knew it wasn’t going to be open much longer. He dashed in just as the door swung shut, clipping his shoulder hard.
Inside the church all was calm. House and Demarco stood near the door and observed the three men that appeared just to be standing around. A few paces behind the altar was one man that House thought he recognized from the event in the Chapel of St. Vartan. At the far end was the long lost brother, Azazel, and as House’s eyes settled on the demon, he thought he saw the man smile. Lastly, between the two, was Chase, back to the altar, eyes harshly set on Azazel. The air was charged with conflict and House’s heart raced though he could see no danger. But as surely as the air he breathed and the pain in his thigh, he could feel it.
Chase’s gazed shifted to House and Demarco momentarily. The moment of distraction did not pass unused. A blow caught Chase at this left side. He bit back his explicative but for a moment the forces being thrown about had worlds colliding.
The calm church interior blinked into a stark, sharp world where the stain glass images writhed and existed as masses of colour. Disembodied voices raced over the desolation, whispering and screaming taunts. The church pews were in shambles -shards and splinters of the dark stained wood everywhere, even falling from the cloudless night sky where once the roof had been. It seemed that a hundred years had passed in an instant. The church was barely more than collapsed walls, crumbling columns and disintegrated relics. Around Chase, Azrael and Azazel swirled within masses of disturbed air. Bright spectres stood over them, horrible, ferocious creatures that roared with inaudible battle cries. Destruction flew between them, blackening sight like a momentary faint, or blinding it, like a strike of lightning.
Suddenly, the expanse of desolation and destruction vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The church was once more in tact.
“Dear God,” House heard Demarco mutter from somewhere behind him. House had no time for awe. Chase had fallen to one knee and one hand.
Air! His lungs couldn’t seem to get enough. He panted, gasped, tasted the ferrous tang of blood. Only God knew what sort of internal damage he might have sustained; it was surely beyond Chase’s medical mind at the moment. He could practically hear Azazel’s smirk, revelling in his prematurely counted victory. Azrael was equally as confident, though too clever and too wary to let it show through his stony affect.
Anger suddenly swept through him. Quickly it morphed to a blistering rage as a phantasmagoria of a million lives and torments overcame his senses. And then just as the storm would abate the final blow. A familiar face, a beloved smile, a dying eye -his Watcher’s dying eye- appeared and vanished before him.
“There is nothing left for you here.” Azrael’s voice flowed around him, muting his emotions with its cooling touch. Across the church Azazel jerked and shivered, the touch a little too cool for him. “You don’t belong here.”
Chase struggled to his feet and quickly began for Azrael. In a flash of light two misty beasts collided and vanished under deafening thunder.
“Behold, I give you the authority to trample on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall by any means hurt you.” Demarco muttered direly, fearfully as he watched the unbelievable battle rage.
House spared him only a brief look of disgust. A scream cut through the air and a dull thud reverberated through the bench. Azrael had won the clash and sent Chase careening into the wooden structures. “Chase!” House cut his way between the pews trying to reach his stilled fellow. He never saw the strike coming. A few feet away from Chase he felt a sense of dread overcome him.
A fraction of a second later House was thrown back the way he had come. The world flashed to the other landscape again, just in time to see a blast of fury tear up the ground and the remains of the church as it cut a path from Azazel to where House had been a moment ago.
The holds on him registered at last and House looked to find two shadowy creatures at each arm. Their true form was lost in the murkiness that cloaked them, but House knew he probably didn’t want to know what they looked like.
“Almost had him,” Azazel said, once again as the setting returned to the earthly church.
Panting Chase glared at his sibling, his friend.
“You’re not giving me any other choice,” Azazel said in response to Chase’s expression.
“If there is only one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that there’s always a choice. And I make my own now.”
A millisecond flash of luminescent wings, fiery eyes, twisted horns, heaven-light and hell-fire transformed the scene to a high-contrast world of clashing forces and sense-numbing stimulation.
Mastema rose from the ruins. “I choose to end this, now!”
Simultaneously, Azazel and Azrael fell, an unbearable force driving them nearly into dust. Overlaying the normal image of the church the scene of destruction appeared. The force spread over the ground, levelling all in its path and leaving only the most resilient ruins behind. The churning unrest suddenly stilled. The deafening white-noise was silenced. The heat and burning, cooled, while the biting chill dispersed. At the center, Mastema stood, shakily.
Avenues of retreat, admissions of defeat, opened behind the other two beings. They melted into the undulating portals, before fading away. The unnaturally darkness at one end of the church and the brightness at the other let subtle indication that the two opposing factions had not entirely drawn away.
Chase addressed them.
“I’ve made my choice. I choose my life here. Try and take it away from me and I’ll reap havoc greater than biblical proportions.” The harsh eyes, shifted between the two presences, sending his message to both. “I am no longer your soldier.”
His defiance brought an intense heat to his back. The bamophet that had been drawn into Chase’s skin re-emerged, blistering his skin and singeing his shirt until it caught fire.
The stigmata reappeared all at once, cutting into his flesh, pouring out his blood.
The pain was so great that he felt his body yearning for the promise of unconsciousness but he wouldn’t allow himself to give in. He crashed to the floor and thought that he heard someone call his name.
“Chase!” House made another attempt to get to Chase and this time was successful. The flames were quickly consuming Chase’s shirt and burning his skin. The smell of it was repugnant but House didn’t let it or the obvious agony across Chase’s face turn him away.
House removed his jacket and used it to put out the flames. Not soon enough the fire was out. His hand hovered over the burnt and trembling back, wanting to touch and give comfort but knowing that his touch would only bring more pain.
“Hang on, Chase,” House urged, not knowing for what Chase would be hanging on for, but being stubborn had seen him through enough tough situations to warrant a little faith in at least that.
The symbol on Chase’s back, still visible through the burns and the whip marks, moved as House had seen it do once before. The goat’s head contorted in agony. The words written in the border around the image spun round with increasing speed until they were blurred. Finally the entire image froze and became messy scribbles that looked like they had been drawn in haste by someone with little artistic talent.
Chase’s body gave a violent shudder, nearly a convulsion as, at last, the searing heat faded. House’s urge to touch him was thwarted by his sense. On hands and knees he lowered his head, trying to catch Chase’s tortured sight.
“Robert, you’re going to be okay,” House assured. He wondered if that was true but he had to make sure Chase didn’t plan on giving up. With his burn injuries along with everything else, he was going to need every bit of determination left in him to recover. “It’s okay. You made it.”
Blue eyes drifted about until landing on House’s. His mouth was open trying to suck in enough air but he could barely move, leaving his breaths short and raspy. Tears fell from the wide eyes, caused by pain worse than anything he’d ever felt before. His only comfort was House’s presence, House’s constancy. Their eyes stayed that way, focussed on each other. House lay down next to Chase, staying close, never wavering, until after much time had passed, the pain receded and the wounds healed.
The sores closed and healed themselves, which, no matter how many times House saw it, still astounded him. Even the deep burns on Chase’s back healed. The blistered, bubbled, and blackened skin was replaced underneath by a new, healthy barrier, while the burnt flesh simultaneously evaporated into nothingness.
“There’s not a single mark left,” Demarco said in awe. He drew closer to observe the sight. “He’s completely healed.” The priest crossed himself. “It is God who arms me with strength, and makes my way perfect. He makes my feet like the feet of deer, and sets me on high places. He teaches my hands to make war, so that my arms can bend a bow of bronze.”
House felt the urge to hit him. Instead he carefully laid his hand on Chase’s shoulder. He felt for himself the muted shivers that still ravaged the man’s body.
“Is he still in pain?” Demarco asked.
House didn’t know. Being burnt alive and stabbed repeatedly was obviously an unpleasant experience. “The injuries are gone, maybe the pain too, but he can’t just forget it.”
He really couldn’t; it replayed in his mind and across his body like a dying echo. His best anchors to what was real were the intense blue eyes and the measured touch on his back. The touch left him suddenly and Chase shivered.
House looked at his hand, having removed it when he felt something wet. His fingers had black ink on them.
“It’s coming off,” House announced. Demarco seeing the smudged curse could be removed, immediately went about doing so with his handkerchief, and when that was covered ink, he used his sleeves. He may not have known the precise meaning, but he knew a satanic marking when he saw it.
House re-established his connection with Chase and chanced a touch to a slack but trembling hand. Without warning Chase’s hand seized around his desperately.
“It’s okay,” House repeated.
Eventually, but not soon enough, Chase’s tired body would give out and he would sleep, escaping for the worst of his torment, his choice made and, more importantly, upheld.
“I have pursued my enemies and overtaken them; neither did I turn back again till they were destroyed. I have wounded them, so that they were not able to rise; they have fallen under my feet. For You have armed me with strength for the battle; You have subdued under me those who rose up against me…”
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“You’re a doctor.”
“That’s what the paper on my wall says.”
The pastor stared at the lit cigarette. “And you smoke.”
“Only when I’m really happy!”
“I suppose that would be the famous sarcasm.” Demarco took a seat next House and made no comment when House glared at him and shifted further away. “I would appreciate it, however, if you refrained from smoking in the chapel.”
With an aggravated sigh and a roll of his eye House put out the cigarette, on the carpet. “What? You’re going to get it changed anyway.” House struggled up from his seat next to the blood stains and charred flooring.
The Pastor took calming breath. “Our parish isn’t made of money. We can’t pay for new carpet.” He shrugged. “Besides, not many churches have the mark of a miracle on their floor.”
“I don’t see any miracle. All I see is a ruined carpet. And it doesn’t even look like anything. If you want to see a real miracle, get some Oxy-Clean.”
Demarco shook his head and didn’t turn to watch House go. “You know, one day he might be Saint Robert.”
“Not if I can help it.”
House returned to the small room that had served as Chase’s. Chase was sitting up in bed, forehead resting on his knees.
“How you feeling?”
“Tired. How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Cigarette helped did it?”
There was no response.
“I can smell it on you.”
“Oh. I was expecting something more supernatural.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
House sat on the edge of the bed, Chase’s bare and healed back to him. Only two hours ago it had been severely damaged. House ran his hand over the younger man’s back, tracing the muscle groups in relief under the warm, bare canvas. “You ready to go?”
“Go where? I’m sure my landlord has gotten rid of my boxes and rented out my old place.”
“For the time being you can take the other half of my bed. We’ll find you a new place.” House was pretty sure that no matter how much he might like Chase, living together for anytime more than briefly, would be the perfect way to make them hate each other.
Chase turned to sit next to House, putting his bare feet on the small rug the covered the polished concrete floor. He stared into the now well-known to him, blue depths. “Thank you.” He turned his head away looking for a shirt but he’d barely had a chance to glance around when House grasped his chin and turned him back. “What?” Chase asked as House looked carefully at his eyes. “What is it?”
House’s eyes narrowed minutely, in both consternation and suspicion. “Your eyes…”
“I figured that. What about them?”
Smart-ass, a tiny voice in House’s mind retorted. “There just…different.”
“I don’t feel any different,” Chase said. “Maybe…maybe…whole.”
Anybody else, at any other time, House would have ridiculed them. To Chase he just kissed him. He couldn’t be certain about much, but was certain about this. Carnality, at the very least, this mere mortal could grasp. And hold on to.
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Sometimes it was like being able to appreciate the most complicated an enduring piece of art ever envisioned. At others it was like watching self-destruction in motion. Chase was sure he was losing touch -perhaps losing his mind too. House sure seemed to think so, but the man remained almost patient with him, or at the very least intrigued by him. It wasn’t everyday that one could deduce a total stranger’s history, and weakness, and yet sometimes have no concept of empathy for them.
“Knowledge doesn’t breed empathy,” House had attempted to explain what he didn’t quite understand himself. “Experience does.”
Sometimes it seemed he believed, at others he was a staunch opponent. Chase was only amused by House’s straddling of the fence. But House never, no matter which way the winds of his intellect pointed him, questioned the experience that Chase related to him. Chase was grateful for him, because the only other person Chase would have turned to was gone.
“Do I know you?” The tall, handsome man wracked his brain trying to find the memory that made the blond man standing before him seem so familiar. In the end he found nothing.
“No. I just wanted to…to make sure…and to say good-bye.”
“Oh.” The man was confused, and with good reason. It wasn’t everyday a stranger introduced themselves but already knew your name.
“Warren! Come on we’re going to be late, again!” A woman called about half-way down the short block.
“You better not keep her waiting,” Chase warned with a warm smile.
Stiffly, still unsure of why the other man felt so familiar, Warren nodded. “Well, good-bye…I guess.”
“Bye.”
Warren began away but stopped when he was half way around, facing the dark exterior glass of the building to which they stood next. The eyes of the reflection looked to Chase with complete recollection. ‘I love you,’ the reflection mouthed.
“Always love you,” Chase replied softly. The reflection smile briefly then faded away. Chase looked up to find Warren already down the block and in the arms of his girlfriend. He smiled sadly but with a sense that they had both finally completed together what they needed to do. Nothing would take away that bond. Still, they could both continue forward, even if only one remembered, even if not with the other.
Chase meandered to a bench next to bus stop not far away. He sat next to a man hidden behind a newspaper. Chase kept his eyes forward for a few seconds until a smile tipped his lips. He grabbed the newspaper out of the man’s hands and met his small startled cry with his lips.
“Checking up on me?” Chase asked against the soft lips and rough stubble.
“I was just in the neighbourhood.”
“House, you’re halfway across the world from your neighbourhood.” House remained stubbornly silent. Chase didn’t expose him, though an impromptu trip to Australia, where Chase just happened to be (though he hadn’t told House where he’d been heading, or why) was a tad more than suspicious.
Chase stood with an easy sigh, as though a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Come on, I’ll show you around. I’ll even introduce you to a local delicacy.”
House joined him in standing. “If you’re talking about vegemite, you can skip that part of the tour. This is one tourist you’re not tricking into trying that crap.”
Chase laughed. They began down the street, House’s poor disguise abandoned on the bench. They were just two men walking down the street, enjoying a nice day like the other normal people.
Chase stopped suddenly. He grabbed a woman by the arm before she could pass. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he warned, but his white eyes were looking past her. The shadow behind her receded into nothing. Chase let go. The woman continued on, her steps lighter than before, and her mind unconcerned with the odd encounter.
“Chase.” His name and a gentle touch at the back of his neck returned him from the complications around him. House could almost see the awareness return to the other man, and the isolation left behind. It was isolation that only House was could ease.
Chase looked lost for a moment, even worried over his sudden and uncontrolled descent. But House was there, a familiar comfort, a new anchor.
“Come on. You promised me a tour.”
End Chapter 13
End Sinnerman, Prophet, Saint
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. My apologies for the wait. I would like to write more about House and Chase’s adventures in this universe, maybe a crossover with other supernatural shows and/or movies. I don’t imagine getting to it any time soon unfortunately. Again, thanks for reading.
…Sagga
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Cast and Characters