Ooh, perhaps 32 and 33 with Chase and Stacy?
Hey did y’all know I can write angst without torturing anyone?
The prompts here were: “Were you drinking again?” & “I gave you everything and this is how you repay me?” from this list.
Content warnings: alcohol, mentions of suicide.
Thank you so much for the prompt, I hope you like the fic!
“Were you drinking again?”
It’s the same question as always, but something in Stacy’s tone puts Chase on edge at once – especially because this time, he can honestly answer in the negative. He looks up from his place on the couch, taking in the sight of his wife – if he can even still call her that – standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She’s holding up an empty whiskey bottle, her eyebrows raised accusingly, and she’s using her don’t you dare lie to me voice.
“No,” Chase says, and his wife’s eyes flash with disbelief. He doesn’t blame her; in the depths of his depression he’d hidden a lot of things from her, not the least of which being his alcohol addiction, but he’s doing better now. He hasn’t had anything to drink in over two weeks, and besides – he never drinks that brand. Whoever’s empty bottle it is, it’s not his.
“Oh, I’m sure.” Stacy tightens her grip on the bottle, causing a split second of confusion where Chase is half-convinced she’s going to use it as a weapon. But she simply keeps glaring at him, seemingly unaware of her aggressive posture. “I can’t believe you would do this. After everything we’ve been through -”
The phrase sparks irritation and Chase is on his feet without thinking. Everything to Stacy is half the story at best – she knows about his drinking, and his depression, and his failing channel. But she doesn’t know about Anti, or the real reason for Jack’s coma, or the ongoing effects of Schneep’s possession and Jackie’s disappearance and JJ’s arrival. She doesn’t know the hell he’s endured for the past year and a half, or how hard he’s tried to save his marriage – not to mention his family’s lives.
“I haven’t been drinking,” Chase says firmly. He stays where he is, half a room away from his wife but feeling like the distance is much greater. In the beginning of their marriage he’d have crossed the room in an instant, they’d have talked things through and ended with an embrace, and it would have been fine. But that was a lifetime ago now, and he doesn’t trust himself to move. “Stace, I’m… You know I stopped drinking. I’m better now. I’m… I’m really trying.”
A beat passes, and then Stacy softens as she processes the sincerity in his voice. She glances down at the bottle, then back at her husband. “So you swear you didn’t drink this?”
Chase crosses his heart, making sure to hold his wife’s gaze. “I swear.”
After another moment Stacy sighs, setting the bottle back on the kitchen counter beside her. “I guess it was an old one then,” she says, but she makes no move to go toward him. “I… shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”
Recognizing that it’s the closest Stacy will come to an apology, Chase offers her a smile. “It’s okay,” he assures her. “You have good reason to doubt me, given… Well, you know.”
She returns his smile tightly, only the slightest hint of warmth reaching her eyes. “It’s late,” she says abruptly. “I’m going to go to bed. Are you -”
The question cuts off, but Chase knows what she means. He shakes his head, not wanting to crowd her. “Not tonight,” he says. “I’ll just… sleep out here again.”
This time warmth does soften Stacy’s expression, her smile becoming more genuine at the acknowledgement of Chase respecting her boundaries. He’s been sleeping on the couch for a month now – his idea, not hers – and he’s not going to move back to the bedroom until she says she’s okay with it. “Good night, Chase.”
He sinks back onto the couch, feeling strangely deflated. “Night, Stace.”
For a long time after she’s gone he just stares at the wall, lost in exactly the kind of thoughts that his brothers – the ones that are still here, anyway – always tell him not to dwell on. It takes him almost a minute to realize that the shadow he’d been following with his eyes is moving in a way it shouldn’t, darkening and twisting around itself, like –
Chase shoots to his feet, caught between fight or flight, and in that moment of indecision he loses the ability to choose. Anti’s voice rings out around the room before the demon himself becomes visible, and Chase prays that his wife is far enough away not to hear him – or that if she does, she has the sense to stay away.
“H̸ell̶o̶ a̧g͢a͡in̸,͢ ͠puppet̨.”
Biting back a sharp response, Chase forces himself to keep his voice steady. The less he angers Anti, the more likely it is he’ll get out of this unscathed. “What are you doing here?”
Anti moves out of the shadows, but tendrils of them still curl around him like wisps of smoke. He stops a foot away from Chase, looking him up and down with apparent disappointment. Shadows flicker across his face, his expression slipping into one of feigned concern. “It̴ l̛ooks̵ li̸ke y͝o͢u̧’͏v͏e ̛ha͢d ͏a͜ ͜ro̶ug͝h day,” he says. “M͡aybe͝ ́you͘’d l̕ike som̀e̕t͟h͏in̡g̛ ̴to͟… ͘t̶ak͘e͡ ̕t͘he ͟edge ̧off͟.”
Realizing what he’s implying, Chase takes a quick step back and vehemently shakes his head. “No,” he says firmly, the word colored by the faintest hint of desperation. “I told Stacy I’d stopped drinking, and that’s not a promise I’m going to break.”
“Y̨o͟u̵ m̷a͏d̕e mé ͝a ̷pr̸omi̵se ͝t͜oo̸,” Anti sneers. “Or ̕h̨ąd͢ you fo͝rg̀o͜ţt̶en?”
Chase swallows, fear solidifying into a painful weight in his head. He shakes his head, beyond words. He hadn’t forgotten, but he also hadn’t anticipated that Anti would hold it over his head for so long. He had thought that once Anti had Jack he’d loosen his hold on the others, but putting Jack in the coma had only made the demon more restless and even more malicious.
“G̡o̶ód.” Anti flickers out of existence, reappearing just in front of Chase – so close that he can feel the demon’s magic, can smell the blood from the wound on his neck. “So̕ ͏t͠h̕e̸n͝…̶̧ h̨ow wo͝uld̷ ̷y͠o͜ų ̸l̡ike̕ ̡a dri͞nk̕?”
Again, Chase shakes his head, but he knows he doesn’t have a leg to stand on. He’d promised Anti obedience, and the demon had been taking full advantage of that. If he resists, someone else gets hurt… but if he obeys, he could lose everything. Stacy barely trusts him as it is, and he knows better than anyone what alcohol does to him. He can’t risk it.
Before he can give voice to his refusal, something knocks him backward, a weigh pressing down on his chest. When his blurred vision clears he can make out Anti’s face, inches from his own. “I gav̡e y̕o̴u͞ ͜èvéry̵th̀i̴ng,” the demon snarls, “an͞ḑ ̡thìs ́is ̧how̴ ̧y̸o͠u ͢repa͠y͘ ͟m̕e? ͝ Yoú’̷d ͏b͏e de͏àd ̀ẃith̸out̀ me, ͢B͡rody -”
With more strength than he knew he possessed, Chase shoves the demon off him, struggling into a seated position.“I wish I was!” he snaps. “You should have just let me die.”
Anti, having glitched away to avoid being thrown to the floor, reappears with a scowl on his face. “I’͝m͏ n͝ơt ̴go̧in͞g tơ kill you,” he says. “Bu̕t̵ ҉if ͏yo͝u ̵keep͏ diso̕be̕y̶i͡ng̡ me͏, I’m g̕o̢i͜ng̀ t̢o ̀h̡av́e̢ to͘ ͞fi̧n̵d o̴t̸her ̨wa͘ys̨ ̡to ̧ķe͏e͢p y̸oú͞ i͟n͝ l̀in͝e̴.” He pauses, mock thoughtful. “I̶ wo͘ņdér̵ w͠ha͘t s̢w͞e͞e͘t̶ lit͡t̨ļe James̡on ͏is͡ ͜d́o͢i͠ng̀ ̶t͢on̶i̢gh͞t?̢”
“Leave Jamie out of this.” Chase glares at the demon, fighting to keep his voice low enough not to disturb his wife or wake his sleeping children. “Just… tell me what you want from me.”
“I j̕u͘st͞ w̸a͝n̶t̛ to share̢ a dr̨ink͡ ͝w̡i̴th͠ a̕n͠ old̵ ̨f̨ri̸en̨d̢,” Anti says, two bottles of whiskey materializing in his hands. He holds one out to Chase, who takes it in a shaking hand. “T̴ha͡t’̧s m̶y̷ bo͟ỳ.͘ ͠So,̨ w̴ha̷t́ ͞do ͢y̢ou ̵s͡a͠y̸, Cha͘s̴e?̶ A̢re y̕ou ͝g̡oiǹg t̛o͟ ̨plày͠ al͡o͟n͡g,̡ o̸r͘ d̢o̴ I̴ ne͜ed to pay͜ ̸a ̵v͟isi̛ţ ҉t̀o͠ y͠our b͡r͡ot̵her̵?͠”
Chase’s heart sinks. He closes his eyes, steels himself, and then raises the bottle to his lips. “Bottoms up,” he mumbles, fully aware that there’s no coming back from this - and that there may not be anything to come back to anyway.
A lifetime later Stacy comes back into the living room, hair swept back and her face freshly washed. She smooths her night dress down, nerves fluttering in her stomach. It’s a big step, but she knows she’s ready for it. “Chase?” she calls as she enters the room, flicking on the light and giving her eyes a moment to adjust. “I was thinking, do you want to -”
The words die in her throat, fading into a dismayed cry as she sees the bottles littering the floor, her husband passed out amongst them with his face pressed against her bundled up sweater. She stares at him for a long time, a thousand thoughts swimming through her mind, until one bubbles up to the surface and tears well in her eyes. Turning her back on the limp form of the man she once loved, she pulls open the desk drawer and withdraws a stack of paperwork she’d been on the verge of shredding. It’s all filled out, save for their signatures. With a trembling hand she signs her name, then tosses it onto the ground beside Chase.
He’ll see it when he wakes up, but by then she and the kids will be long gone.
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