"Family means no one gets left behind or forgotten."
- David Ogden Stiers -

His hand was trembling. The doorknob had never been such an extreme obstacle. It was hard to grasp and also very frustrating that someone with superior intelligence could not even seem to open a simple door. The key had nearly slipped from his hand three times and now the damn doorknob would not turn around. His slick fingers couldn't find any hold on the smooth surface and the continuous attempts at doing something as mundane as opening his own front door was causing him to lose it.
After what felt like an eternity, he screamed in frustration and hit the door for emphasis. He knew no one was home but tears were pricking his eyes and the outlet for his rising anger and defeat was needed.
Breathing was becoming increasingly more difficult and his legs were now positively shaking. He didn't know how long he could keep standing anymore, everything hurt and for once there was no witty retort or clever solution to throw at his torment.

Suddenly a thought made its way into his mind, something so utterly simple he groaned in embarrassment at his slowness. He slammed his hand against the door again and took a breath as deep as he could, which was pretty much just a loud gasp.

"Eddie!"

The strain of everything that had happened and everything that had almost happened was catching up to him and he could feel his voice ready to break, as were the dams holding back the tears.

"Eddie, please open the door!"

It was quiet for a moment or two before a small mechanical voice came out of a little speaker positioned above the door.

"Ooh, are we giving orders again you big, mean Spike-person? Hihihihi."

His hand rested against the door and his body leaned into the sturdy building to try and stop from falling over. The trembling got worse and his vision became blurry and dark at the edges. With his eyes squeezed shut he tried one more time to make a machine feel.

"Please Eddie, I need help. Please!"

Nothing happened for two heartbeats, than the door he had been leaning against shifted and swung inwards. The sudden change was registered too late and he stumbled and fell against the living room couch. He spasmed, tried to get up, lost his grip and screamed as he could feel the wound tearing even further.

He pressed his left hand to his side again and felt the blood seeping between his fingers. He stared out the open front door and saw that his banging against the door had left bloody handprints on the surface of the wood.

'Tasha will hate that, she just had everything repainted'

The thought was random and had no real significance but it seemed for the first time in his life, he couldn't really control his thoughts anymore. His side was throbbing and on fire yet the rest of him seemed to be slowly cooling off. For a minute he thought he could hear someone but his mind was slipping and there was no way to be sure.

'Where the heck did that gun come from'

The floor he was lying on was hard and his own harsh breaths were starting to hurt his sensitive hearing but thankfully everything seemed to be getting smaller. His side was getting numb and the room was darker every second. His heart pounded less loudly every single beat and the tears were slowing down.

"I have to call Mr Davenport…"

The thought had been so clear that he couldn't help but speak it out loud, or as loud as he could right now. A small 'bang' indicated that his left hand had fallen to the floor and through half closed eyes he watched in morbid fascination as the grey T-shirt underneath his blue shirt slowly turned dark all across his stomach.

The image turned hazy and dark until everything was black.

Chase couldn't feel anything anymore.

Disclaimer: for the duration of this story I would like to say that I do NOT own Lab Rats.

Please tell me what you think, I'm here to share my thoughts and improve ;) !