His chest was tight and heavy.

Chase could only describe it that way, after. And he was asked a lot, by doctors and nurses and Mr. Davenport and Tasha and pretty much everyone else who knew Chase and was low enough on the social chain to be willing to ask him. He had to explain it to people doing tests, to people who were worried, to people who gossiped, to people who laughed at him, to people who mocked him. After, Chase couldn't really think of any one way to describe it. Nothing really hit the mark. The best he could come up with was 'tight and heavy', but that didn't really cover it. Of course, all that came after.

At the time, it was indescribable because he couldn't think through the panic. His chest was weighing him down, pinning him to the floor, his lungs tight and closed. He was wheezing for breath, but the air never reached his lungs. Chase thought for a second that he had been submerged underwater, that some idiot had tried drowning him, but that didn't make any sense because he was in P.E. and when he opened his eyes he was on dry ground. The coach was crouched over him, pushing him onto his back and feeling along his ribs and just about then the wheezing stopped.

Chase probably wouldn't have noticed, except when it was gone he realized it was the only sound in the room. Either that or, much like his vision, his hearing had tunneled down to the basics. Chase's senses were falling him and that couldn't actually happen because they were bionically enhanced and the only way this was possible was if his bionic infrastructure was compromised. That knowledge was the one clear thought in his mind as panic took over, as his throat closed and Chase couldn't even tell if he was trying to bring air in but it didn't matter because he was dying and oh God if this is happening to me, if I'm being attacked, what's happening to Adam and Bree?

And, possibly gasping for life and wondering if this was Douglas except how did he get out of the secure facility, Chase passed out on the gym floor.

The white envelope hit Chase's lap with a smack, sliding across the tablet resting there before it was stopped by his stomach. Chase looked up at Mr. Davenport's expectant face, wearing his 'I'm superior and I'm going to tell you why' expression. Already annoyed and definitely not in the mood for Mr. Davenport's hysterics, Chase resignedly turned the envelope over. It was from the school, addressed to 'the Parents/Guardians of Chase Davenport'.

"Care to explain this to me, Chase?" Mr. Davenport asked smugly, with no shortage of attitude.

"What?" Chase asked, pulling a sheet of paper from the envelope. It had the school crest in one corner. He unfolded it and saw his report card staring up at him.

"A D, Chase? Really?"

"Ooh, Chase got a D," Adam mocked from the kitchen. He was currently eating a bowl of cereal and orange juice with his hands, and Chase had to fight the urge to point that out, to scream at him. "Who's the smartest person in the world now, genius?"

"How is that even possible? Don't you know, like, everything?" Leo added as he and Bree walked into the conversation. They took one look at Adam and sat down at the kitchen island without comment.

"It's just P.E." Chase dropped the letter on the living room table. "And the class is a joke. The coach isn't even teaching us. Bree and Adam have Mrs. Stewart, and they're getting muscle quizzes and learning sports. Coach Tillery just makes us run, and sometimes we get to throw a ball to each other-or at each other. It's not exactly intellectually stimulating."

"Do you even hear yourself?" Bree pouted, dropping her phone to the counter. "Running is what P.E.'s supposed to be about. I would kill for that class. Mrs. Stewart makes exercise so boring. I don't need to know what my quads are to know how to work them."

"Yeah, I want to throw balls at people," Adam interjected.

"That is not the point guys. This is a high school P.E. class, Chase, you should be more than well equipped to handle it with your bionics." Mr. Davenport took the report card from the table and shook his head. "I'm really disappointed in you. Coach Tillery said if you fail another mile, you won't pass the class."

"That's ridiculous!" Chase stood up, arguing with full teenage righteousness. "The semester isn't even close to over. He can't say that!"

"Well, he did, and I'm telling you this needs to stop now. How am I supposed to trust you on missions if you can't pass P.E.?"

"That's not fair!"

"No, what's not fair is you treating your schoolwork and training as anything less than serious," Mr. Davenport argued. The more he talked, the more angry he became. "Either this is you not caring about school or you goofing off with training, and I don't really care which. It stops now. If you don't pass this class, you're off the team."

"Big D, isn't that a bit far?" Leo asked. Mr. Davenport turned to him quickly, and Leo jumped back.

"No, it's not. You three were the ones who wanted school and work, so you have to commit to both. I can't put someone on a top secret, life or death mission who can't run a mile." Mr. Davenport turned back to Chase, and the usual amusement in his eyes was gone. This was one of his rare, completely serious moments. "You need to pass your miles if you want to go on missions. And maybe we can start a personalized training program for just you. I don't know what you need to turn this around, but you better figure it out. It isn't fair to Adam and Bree, who are pulling their weight in training."

When Mr. Davenport made his dramatic exit, no one was laughing. For once.

Coach Tillery had the class running laps around the gym as a warm up. The main event for this particular Monday: dodgeball. As if Chase didn't dislike the gladiator act of attacking each other with rubber balls enough, this was his first day of school after the discussion with Mr. Davenport about his report card, and now Chase needed to buckle down and put effort into something he hated. He was running at top speed, on his third lap around the gym and ahead of the rest of the class, when the shortness of breath hit. Then he started coughing.

Chase assumed he had inhaled some dust and kept running. He started coughing more on his fourth lap. His lungs seized suddenly, gave a final heave, and then may as well have left his chest for all the good they did him. Chase slowed to a walk and rubbed his chest. He felt the air scrape through his throat, but it seemed to vanish by the time it reached his lungs. He choked, and stopped walking. Kids laughed at him as they passed, pointing and running by the dumb kid standing in the middle of the gym, choking on air. Coach Tillery jogged over.

"Chase, I know I talked to your father about this. You were doing really well today, do you think you can keep up with the others now?" Tillery stopped by Chase's side just as Chase collapsed. He hadn't meant to, but the choking had turned to wheezing and he wasn't even breathing, but God was he trying. His legs gave out and by the time he hit the floor enough of his body was numb that he didn't feel the pain as the impact jarred deep into his bones. Or maybe he didn't feel it because he was too busy feeling the shocking pain in his chest, like someone had wrapped so many rubber bands around his ribs that he would explode like a watermelon in a Youtube video. Tillery dropped to his knees beside Chase and then his hands were on him, slipping under his shirt and Chase could see his teacher's lips moving but no sound reached him.

No sound except his own gasping wheezes and, later, maybe sirens before he passed out.

When Chase walked through his front door he was immediately swept into a ferocious, painful hug by Bree. He put his hands up intending to shove her away, but froze when he realized she was shaking against him. As he felt a growing wetness on his neck, he understood she was crying and hugged her back gently.

"Hey Bree," he whispered into her ear and she let out a quiet sob in response.

"Bree, let go of Chase," Mr. Davenport ordered as he walked through the door behind them. "He's still weak, and his chest is sore."

"Sorry," Bree whispered as she pulled away. Leo was sitting on the couch, twisted around to stare at them, and Adam stood behind Bree with a thunderous expression on his face. "We were just so worried. We heard about you collapsing at lunch, and when we got home Tasha told us you were in the hospital. What happened?"

"Chase had an asthma attack." Mr. Davenport grabbed Chase's arm and directed him to the couch.

"Asthma?" Adam asked slowly, looking like he was seriously considering finding out who was named 'Asthma' so he could beat them up for attacking Chase.

"It's a medical condition. Chase is at risk because it can be genetic, and my mother has it, but also because he has allergies." Mr. Davenport sat down next to Chase, staring down at the inhaler in his hand. "An attack means he can't breathe properly. If it's a severe attack like this one, he could die."

"Is this why you haven't been trying in P.E.?" Leo asked.

"I guess. It was never this bad before, I just thought I inhaled some dust or something," Chase admitted. He coughed once, and his lungs screamed in protest. He had never been this sore in his life. After the attack and Coach Tillery giving him CPR, Chase was sure he was all bruises underneath his shirt. "I didn't really care enough to keep running until today. I didn't want to be kicked off the team. I'm not, am I?"

The thought of being expelled from the team because of his asthma was actually painful, and everyone turned to Mr. Davenport in fear.

"No, of course not," Mr. Davenport assured. "This is just something we'll have to work around. But as long as you're honest with me about this, it'll be fine."

Chase sighed in relief and collapsed back against the coach. "Great."

"I mean it, Chase." Mr. Davenport leaned in close to his son's face. "You feel an attack coming on, you have a cough, hell, you feel a tickle in your throat, you will tell me. Nonnegotiable."

"I promise," Chase responded gratefully. He never liked giving his family another reason to see him as weak, but this was so much better than being kicked off the team. Chase would do anything if Mr. Davenport let him stay as Mission Leader. "I promise."

His chest was tight and heavy.

That's what he said, after. Tight and heavy. That was the closest he was willing to get in describing the sensation of his asthma attack. He talked about the rubber bands around his ribs and the weight pinning him to the floor. He talked about the air scraping down his throat but never reaching lungs that may or may not have stopped existing in those nine minutes he lay on the gym floor. He even talked about the loss of sensation that tricked him into believing he and his siblings were under attack, that he would later come to realize was a symptom of dissociation. He didn't talk about the rest.

He didn't talk about the shame he felt as people laughed at him for choking on air. He didn't talk about the fear that paralyzed his limbs and clouded his mind. He didn't talk about tears that spilled out of his eyes and ran down into his hair. He didn't talk about his absurd worry for his brother and sister when they were in fact fine, one failing a muscle quiz and the other sleeping through a math test. And he certainly didn't talk about what it felt like at the time, before he thought of the words tight and heavy.

Chase never told anyone that it felt like Death himself had wrapped a hand around his chest, had pushed a hand through his chest to drag him by the diaphragm down to Hell.

AN:

Hey there! Been a while, hasn't it? I actually started this right after posting my last story, but things kept coming up that stopped me from finishing. Now it is finished. Here is part one, and part two will be coming to you this time next week.

Thank you for reading, and please return for the conclusion to Chase's experience with asthma.

P.S.-Why do I like hurting my little Chase so much? Oh well, it's still fun!