Archive of Our Own ^beta

When the plane crashes, Chase isn’t exactly afraid. 

This is strange, for a something-teen aged individual. Most teenagers have experienced nothing, are as fresh as sprouting daisies and have so much left to achieve. The whole world is still a stranger to them. This is the case for him, and yet, it isn’t. Chase has experienced very little. He has never been loved, not the way he himself loves. He’s never been good at anything, never really felt his brain click as his mind races against a topic of his choice. He’s never had sex, even though he has, it’s never been real, never been how it should be. It’s just been skin slapping against bone, hurting more than whatever meager pleasure it brought. He’s never been kissed, not like in the movies, not with heart. All of these things might be common of a boy his age. What’s uncommon about Chase is the fact that he’ll never experience any of it, because Chase is not a common boy of his age. He’s pitiful. He’s a pitiful child that can never quite seem to get the hang of anything. His whole life, he’s been a young girl playing in her mother’s shoebox, pretending to be fully grown without any of the feeling. And so, it isn’t any kind of a tragedy that Chase is going to die. He can’t find it in himself to be scared, when it’s probably the most he’s ever amounted to. 

Only, when the plane lands, when Chase has had his final gulp of air and has whispered careless ‘I love you's' to an unconscious Campbell, Chase doesn’t die. There’s but a scratch on him. The plane is burning. There is smoke infecting his lungs. He waits. He doesn’t die. He waits. He doesn’t die. He swivels his head around, scanning for Campbell. He doesn’t see them. He waits to die. He squeezes his eyelids shut, bitter tears seeping through. He feels a hand on the back of his neck, and he wonders if it’s death. And then, a cough comes. He doubts, somehow, that death is asthmatic. He listens. The voice drips into his ears, going down like oil and making him shiver. “Fuck! What’re you doing, help! Help, help me!” This hoarse shout, ricocheting. Frayed at the edges, desperate. And nobody else is here to help.

He unplugs his seatbelt, crawling out of his seat. Campbell had been thrown out of the booth, he thinks, but he can’t feel a body anywhere when his feet touch the ground. That’s good. He takes a breath, thoughtlessly, and all there is to fill his lungs with is black smoke that leaves him retching. He starts to hear the screams again. Not just of the girl behind him, but all around. People who need him. People who care if he leaves. His eyes glass over. For the first time, Chase Fuchs isn’t totally useless. Newly determined, he shuffles to the booth behind his original seat, trying to think of who had once sat there. It doesn’t matter for now, however, because the back of the plane has almost folded in on her, forcing her to press her whole body against the seat in front of her. Trapping her between the seat and the plane. Crushing her. He recognises her, now, a cascade of freshly dyed black hair obscuring her face, but it’s enough. This is Thalia Lord, the only girl on the team who doesn’t treat him like a socially incompetent loser. And he is. He knows that as well as everyone in his life does. But she treats him like he doesn’t, and it’s refreshing to see someone at least pretend to have a semblance of compassion. She’s scared, he realises with a blink. Strange, that she’s crying, tears illuminated by the fires near them, and he, the school wimp, is entirely coordinated. Strange, how the tables can turn. He could get used to this. 

“Please.” Her voice is hoarse, and she’s coughing. “Chase, please! Fucking hell, move! I need- I need-” Panting, now. She could die. He could let her die, and nobody would really know but him. He would finally be at the top of the food chain. “I’m claustrophobic, I need you, I need you!” He can see her lip quivering, and his senses are set alight. 

He throws himself toward her, into the cramped cubbyhole she’s been trapped in, and locks eyes with her. “Thalia. Thalia, I’m here. I’ve got you.” He can feel a wet patch blooming on his back as her face is pressed to it. He can hear soft sniffles, and then hacking coughs. He focuses, eyes cementing on the situation. “Thalia, it’s wider at the bottom. The plane and the seat, they’re making a triangle, see? You have to slide down. You have to, Thalia.”

He can hear bewilderment in her voice. “I- I can’t- how-” A harsh cough. “I don’t-”

“You can. I’m going to move, and then you’re going to slide down, okay?” He asks softly.

It sounds like her lungs are ripping themselves up. “Fine, oh God, fine. How are you so-”

“Hurry.” He urges her. If some of the plane has collapsed in on itself, more is bound to. 

She unplugs her seatbelt, digging right into the crevice, the noises of her ragged breath punctuating the silence between the two of them. She turns her head the centimetre she can, wincing. Her voice is small. “You should really be helping someone else.” She slides. “There’s the bottom of the seat here, Ch-ase, I can’t- I’m even more trapped than before!”

She’s howling at him. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to process. And then, he drops down to his knees. “I’ve got you, Thalia. I told you I’ve got you.” He mumbles, and it sounded so grand in his head, but when it comes out it’s just feeble. 

Strangely, it seems to be a comfort to her. She gulps. “Don’t leave me, Chase.”

“I’m not going to.” He whispers shortly. “Right, I’m going to try pull you out from this angle. Try put your other leg as far from my chair as possible. If it gets stuck, well… I’ll figure it out.”

She nods, barely able to move her head between the tightly packed wedges of plane and seat, and spreads her legs wide apart, one stretched out toward him, the other grazing the wall of the plane that’s bound to cave in any minute now. “You can pull me now.” 

“Okay.” He replies, and he does. He’s not very strong. He never really made the team for a reason, only ever a substitute because the coach took pity on him. But right now, Thalia believes in him. Needs him, wants him more than anyone else ever has, and it gives him a kind of irreplaceable power that he’s never known before. It’s more than enough to fuel him. He tugs, and he tugs, her body slowly being dragged toward him, covered in ash.

“Fuck, stop!” She screeches suddenly, cheek against the floor. “I’m stuck, my leg- my leg’s stuck. I don’t- I can’t-” Raucous coughing. “Please, please, Chase, save me, please!” 

“I’ve got you.” More urgency in his voice this time, willing her to quiet. “I’ve got you.” Quieter, this time. “I’m going to move you onto your side, and you’re going to lift your leg over. It’ll be hard, but you can, okay? You can. I’ve got you, so you can.” 

He can see her attempting to nod, like a sleepy toddler. She could be concussed. He has to get her out of here. “Mhm.” She mumbles, grimacing. 

He rolls her over as she groans, desperately trying not to hurt her. “I’ve got you.” 

He watches as she lifts her knee over the base of the seat, crying out as her knee hits metal. However, she’s determined. She’s half passed out, she’s barely breathing, but she’s alive, and she’s perseverant. She finally gets it out, dropping it in front of him weakly. “You’ve got me.” 

From there, he reaches further for her, grabbing her shoulders and hoisting her up into a sitting position. She’s out cold. And still, he whispers; “I’ve got you, Thalia.”