Chapter Text
House stared at the ceiling, hands folded on his stomach. He was laying in bed, wearing a shirt he’s been in for the past… What? Six, seven days? – and sweatpants with stains on them. Where they came from, he had no idea. He didn’t care either – or, well, he was too tired to. It was around 5 A.M.; at least that’s what the man saw last time he checked the clock. He’s not sure how long it has been since then, and he couldn’t bother turning his head. Staring at walls was better, he decided.
When you’re too tired to even get up, counting each bump and irregularity on your apartment’s walls and ceiling becomes a really fun habit. It wasn’t that great, but at least it got his mind off everything.
A loud ringtone suddenly blasted throughout the room, causing his eyes to squeeze shut; the noise ringing through his head. It was his team, he knew that – they’re the only people who would bother spamming him with a hundred voice calls every hour at an ungodly time like this.
House didn’t pick up. He had no reason to – he didn’t want to, either. It was about time for them to learn how to manage the cases without him; they’ve grown too dependent on him.
“But you like it.” A woman’s voice spoke, smug. At least it filtered out the phone ringing , he thought. “You like how attached they are to you, how much they trust you. You like having that kind of control over them.”
The doctor sighed, hands tightening around each other. He swallowed before muttering; “I don’t care.” His voice was rough from the lack of use over the days. In the blink of an eye, there was a blonde woman sitting on the edge of the bed; right by his side. Amber.
“Of course you do.” Amber scoffed. “Guilt isn’t going to get you anywhere. Cuddy will call you soon and threaten to suspend you unless you come in – and we both know you can’t stay away from the hospital for more than a week .” She looked down at him, smiling.
“You’re still obsessed, House. Just stop wallowing in self-pity and go to work now, before she calls you.”
House rolled his eyes, now staring at the other. “The team will do fine without me. It’s fine. ” He sank back into the mattress, turning his head away from the woman.
He heard a sigh and, eventually, there was nothing. Silence. He looked behind himself and found no one – at least his brain knew when to leave him alone.
–
House had to get up eventually. There was only so much resting a disabled man could do before falling into excruciating pain. He was currently in the bathroom, sitting on the cold, tiled floor, with a bottle of Vicodin in his hand. The pain has been getting worse and worse – currently, he was awfully close to a lethal dose of pills.
He has considered it, at some point. Just grabbing every bottle in the bathroom and downing it, making sure there’s no way for him to recover let alone survive in the first place. Surprisingly, though, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. A part of House really wanted him to stay here, despite his constant suffering, which he really didn’t understand.
He turned the bottle around, staring blankly at the label. He could. He really could do it, right now. Maybe Wilson would forgive him, at his funeral at least. God, would he even cry? He wouldn’t, would he? No, no. Not over him. Maybe over the fact that he couldn’t have killed House himself.
That thought brought a chuckle out of House. That momentary joy got interrupted by a sharp pain in his thigh, causing him to hiss and grip it tightly. He couldn’t even be happy for one second?
The pain wasn’t getting any better, and he knew that. Not even with Vicodin. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus and think – what could ease the pain, if not Vicodin?
They flew open, instantly landing on the mirror. He groaned as he sat up, dropping the bottle and gripping the sink with all of his strength, only sparing a single moment to inhale before smashing the mirror with his fist.
Glass shards landed all around House, some embedded deep in his knuckles, rest either in the sink or on the floor. He groaned at the pain; at least it was working. His eyes scanned the sink for a big piece, and once he found it, he grabbed it; instantly sinking back to the ground – this time with his back pressed against the cabinet.
House stared at the shard, taking a few deep breaths in before plunging the glass into the center of his palm. He threw his head back, muffling his yell by bringing his other hand up and biting into it. Fuck, he thought. That hurt. Oh, fuck. And his neighbors definitely heard him – how was he going to explain this? He couldn’t just – oh, it hurt, bad.
He looked down, staring at the injured palm. It was shaking violently, blood pouring down onto the floor and his sweatpants. He panted, trying to focus on the pain.
Fuck. No, no – he had to wrap it up. Bandages, at least, for now. He can stitch it up later.
Oh, he should’ve just sliced his skin. Why didn’t he do that? That would’ve been so much easier.
The doctor shuffled away from the cabinet, reaching behind him to open it and pull out a set of gauze and bandages. The moment he got the fabric he pressed back against the cabinet, unsure of whether he could stay up without it. His hands were shaking bad , but he managed. He wrapped the area around the shard as carefully as he could – as much as he needed pain right now, he didn’t need nerve damage. That is, if he hasn’t accomplished that already.
“You’re an idiot.” Amber spoke up, sitting on the ground in front of him. Her eyes scanned his trembling, sweating body as she sighed. “Stabbing yourself? Really? That’s stupid, even for you. Why didn’t you just stick to the razor? You didn’t need this much pain.” She stated, matter-of-fact. He shook his head, holding the injured hand close to his body.
“I don’t know. Stop bothering me, you’re annoying.” He gasped out and squeezed his eyes shut, head banging against the cabinet in an attempt to somehow distract himself. Fuck, it’s one distraction after the other. He really is an idiot. “I should’ve just downed those pills.”
“No. No matter how much you wanted to, you couldn’t. You can’t leave Wilson. He still needs you.” She assured him, eyes narrowing.
“He doesn’t.”
Somewhere in the distance, he could hear knocking. He didn’t pay any mind to it, more focused on Amber and the agonizing pain he was in.
The blonde woman scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re really going to argue with your own subconscious? If he didn’t, I wouldn’t be saying it, and you know that. Take care of the wound – you need the hand.”
“No,” He whispered out, voice weak. He could feel the blood dripping down his arms; he must look like a mess. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”
“House.” Amber called out, the voice coming from his left. It was awfully close, startling the doctor. He looked around frantically, trying to find her – she turned out to be sitting right next to him. It was comforting, in a way. He smiled, and she smiled back.
“You’re great company, you know.” He laughed, clutching his wrist. “Can you talk? About anything, just...”
The blonde looked at him, brows furrowing, although the smile never left. She placed a hand on his knee – god, these hallucinations were bad – he could really feel the warmth. “You’re not waiting here until you pass out. Get up, Greg. He needs you, and you need him.”
“Please. Come on, work with me for once, yeah? Just… Please.” House begged, unaware of the approaching, frantic footsteps. “I can’t sit here in silence. I’m pretty sure that if I focus hard enough, I’ll be able to hear my own –”
“House!”
House jumped, head whipping around to look at –
Are you kidding me? Oh, you’re kidding me.
Wilson was a few steps behind the doorway, eyes wide and jaw slack in shock. The other scoffed, turning his head back to the blonde woman sitting beside him.
“So, what, you plan on forcing me to get up by… Getting me my own, personal Wilson hallucination? God, I’m… Flattered. Pretty sure that’d have the opposite effect, though –”
“Who are you talking to? House, there’s no one there.” The brown-eyed frowned, now kneeling in front of him. His hands were hovering over him, as if unsure whether he should touch him or not.
The latter’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he stared at Wilson. “You’re not here. Why would you be here? You don’t want to see me. Stop – stop fucking with me.” He curled in on himself, injured hand pretty much pressed against his body.
Wilson shook his head, his mouth opening and closing a few times as he struggled to speak. “I– I was going to let you know that I’m leaving the hospital. Cuddy forced me to, told me that you at least.. Deserve that much. I wasn’t going to, not until your team kept calling me, telling me to check –”
“ Leaving the hospital? ” House parroted, swallowing. His voice was weak, no longer able to fake nor hide anything. He sounded hurt, upset . “You can’t–” He reached up to rub his eye, cursing under his breath at the wet feeling. Right. Covered in blood, and all that.
“House, that’s not – jesus, what did you even do? Was this on purpose? That’s..” He trailed off as his eyes trailed over House’s arms. The man could practically hear the puppy-dog eyes. Great. Fuck, this is amazing. “House…”
The doctor stared behind the oncologist, right at Amber. She seemed to be a little obsessed with him at the moment – that, or his brain was trying to keep him awake. She was hovering over Wilson, hand right above his head. “He didn’t deserve to see this. You could’ve just listened to me and avoided this – he would’ve seen you passed out on the couch instead, no evidence of anything .”
“I can’t,” He replied to the woman, voice breaking. Was he crying? God, please don’t cry. You’ve already embarrassed yourself enough. “Leave. Just go, I don’t… Need your pity. Leave. ”
“You’re bleeding out! I can’t leave you like this, are you insane?! ” Wilson yelled, instantly moving closer to House – at which the diagnostician moved back. “Just… Stop! Stop being so damn stubborn for one second , and let me help you this one last time!” He jumped forward to grab both of House’s wrists, immobilizing him even as the man resisted.
One last time.
House’s gaze dropped to the floor, going limp in his friend’s grip. He gave him a single, weak nod.
“Okay.” The oncologist whispered, nodding. He let go of House’s wrists to stand up and search the cabinet for supplies. The latter’s hands went back to his chest, not pressed to it but not too far away from it either. He just stared off into the distance, focused on nothing but the splitting pain.
The moment he found the supplies he needed he turned back to House, instantly back at his side. He started cutting off the bandages and peeling away the gauzes, who were pretty much doing nothing but applying pressure to the wound at this point. They were fully red by now. “I’m going to pull the glass out, okay?” He looked up at the diagnostician, who just gave him a simple nod. “House, I need you to talk to me. Just a simple yes or no.”
“Yeah.” His voice was so quiet, if it wasn’t for the complete silence surrounding them he would’ve never heard him. He sounded defeated, which did nothing but worry Wilson even more. He swore he wouldn’t let House affect him, not again. Oh, he’s terrible at this.
Despite his worries, he said nothing, and instead just shifted his focus to the man’s hand. The diagnostician opened the box he pulled out of the cabinet, taking out the needle and synthetic fibers. Once he threaded the fibers onto the steel he bit his lip, preparing himself for the pained noises the doctor before him was about to make.
—
Wilson sat on the edge of the bed, right beside House. The latter was asleep, hand bandaged up – it didn’t take him long to fall asleep. He’s actually shocked that he managed to get the diagnostician to his bed before he went limp in his arms. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing shakily.
House was still in his blood-covered – or, well, drenched – clothes. The oncologist didn’t like that one bit, it was gross, but he couldn’t really fight the other on it; he said he was too weak to change, and Wilson didn’t want to unnecessarily piss him off, no matter how great that sounded.
He couldn’t help but drag down the covers, just a little, enough to reveal the other’s arms. He had noticed them earlier, sure, but he hasn’t had much time to actually take them in. There were wounds scattered all across them, going from his lower to upper arms. Most of them were straight, deep cuts; seemed a few days old. Only a few seemed stitched up. What was he doing to himself?
The oncologist scanned the room. It was messy; clothes and empty bottles of Vicodin everywhere you looked. His phone was on the bed, near the edge. He picked it up, staring at the insane amount of missed calls and messages. Most of them were from his team, the hospital – team again, if he was guessing, and most recently, Cuddy.
“Pick up. We’re worried about you, House.” Read Thirteen’s message.
“House, I’m not kidding. If you don’t show up, I’ll suspend you an…”
“I get that it’s hard, but we need you here. You can’t just dis…”
“House. Please. I know that it’s hard without Wilson, but you h…”
Read Cuddy’s.
At the last one, Wilson’s curiosity spiked. He unlocked the phone, going into the Messages app and pressing on Cuddy’s chat.
“House. Please. I know that it’s hard without Wilson, but you have to understand that he has every right to do this. You have to give him space, otherwise he’ll never forgive you. If he ever does.”
Wilson scrolled past a few more messages – they didn’t seem relevant.
“I’m not going to keep trying to drag you here, you obviously won’t show. I spoke to your team, they’ll be in charge of your cases for now. Just message me when you’re ready.”
“No, nevermind that. Message me as soon as you can. I need to know that you’re okay, House.”
The oncologist stared at the phone, eyebrows furrowed. He knew that House hadn't been to work ever since he woke up from the coma – but he figured he just needed time to readjust. He shut off the phone and placed it back on the mattress, turning back to the man. Despite the pain his face was somewhat relaxed, eyebrows not as furrowed as always. His eyebags were a lot deeper and darker than before, which Wilson figured was from the lack of sleep.
He’s not sure whether House was eating well either, as his fridge was pretty much empty . He had looked in it shortly after the doctor fell asleep, deciding that if he’s going to be with him until he knows he’s okay he could make him something to eat. There was nothing. Maybe a fruit or two, but that was pretty much it. Nothing but alcohol stocked on the fridge door. He dragged a hand down his face, groaning.
Alright. That’s fine. He thought, making his way back to the bedroom.
The closer to the room he got, the more he could hear House’s quiet voice. He peeked into the room, finding the other turned onto his side, facing the wall. He didn’t seem to know that Wilson was there.
“...I’m not. Can you get that stick out of your ass? It’s really not a flattering look on you.” He muttered, bringing his hand up to observe it. Wilson watched as he turned it around, flinching after trying to bend his fingers. Ouch. “He doesn’t care, Amber. ” His voice was filled with venom – pure anger. Amber? His eyes narrowed. He’s hallucinating… Amber, out of all people?
“Oh, shut up. And stop calling me that, you barely even knew me.” His hand dropped back down, although gently. “God, will you drop it already? He’s gone by now – probably basking in the fact that I now owe him. He’s going to come back in a few years and tell me to drive my bike off a bridge to make up for your death, or something.”
House was silent for a few seconds, shifting. “There’s a difference between connecting the dots and being suicidal. Why are you so sure? You have access to every part of my brain, don’t you? Do you not remember when he told me to risk my life for you? He’d do anything to bring you back. If someone told him that he could bring you back by killing me, he’d do it in a heartbeat.”
Wilson swallowed, inhaling shakily. Is that what House thought of him now? Why he denied his help? God. Truth is, he couldn’t blame him for Amber’s death no matter how hard he tried – there was just no plausible explanation. He just couldn’t look at House, not anymore. Everytime he looked at him he thought of the blonde, and it instantly made him want to cry every single time.
“He doesn’t. Not anymore. All he sees me as now is just… The guy who killed his girlfriend. Which is fair, I guess.” He sighed, falling onto his back. It didn’t take him long to notice Wilson; a few seconds at most. The latter expected him to yell at him, to tell him to fuck off; he did neither. He just laid there, staring at the brunette. “You don’t have to be here anymore. You… Saved me and probably have an entire speech ready on how terrible I am, which I don’t want to hear. Can you save it for… I don’t know, Christmas? Or, hey, never ?”
“House…” He started, trailing off. What was he supposed to say? He didn’t know how to reply, not after what he had heard. “Listen. Your arms, and your fridge. Have you even been taking care of yourself since you left the hospital? I mean, you –”
House’s eyebrow twitched. “Shut up. Seriously, shut the fuck up. First you drill into my skull, possibly risking me dying over a woman you’ve known for a year max, next you leave me completely. Now you barge into my house, patch me up and pretend to care about me? I don’t need your pity, Wilson. Just say what you’re itching to tell me and leave.”
Wilson’s eyes widened at his sudden outburst, anger flaring up. “Oh, right. I forgot that wanting to save another human being is selfish ! You – I came here because I wanted to tell you that I’m leaving the hospital for good! I didn’t come here to kiss your ass nor hold your hand. Maybe if you weren’t an attention-seeking asshole, you could’ve come back to the hospital and handled this entire situation maturely! But, God, what was I expecting?” The oncologist yelled, hands on hips.
“Jesus, nobody made you come here. You came here because you wanted to. Don’t shift the blame on anyone – you could’ve left without a word just as easily. Actually, you were doing great up until now.” He yelled back as he sat up. “And attention-seeking ? That’s a new one. I didn’t know that healing from a brain bleed is attention seeking.”
“Cutting yourself all over and literally stabbing yourself in the hand is, nevermind the starving!” He pointed at the man’s hand. He watched as his face dropped, eyes narrowing.
“Get the fuck out.” House’s voice was stern as he stood up, grabbing the cane and making his way to Wilson. The latter backed up in response. “Contrary to what you believe – which you would’ve seen if you got your empty head out of your ass – I don’t need you. I don’t need you monitoring every single move I make, I don’t want you to be there next time anything happens to me – because somehow, you always manage to make it about yourself!” He jabbed his finger into the brunette’s chest, hard ; cane hooked on his elbow.
“Oh, poor little Wilson, having to deal with that guy House . Poor little Wilson – Oh, surely House slit just to piss him off! Because that’s all he does, right? Hurts himself to spite others. God knows that’s all he’s good at, annoying and hurting people.” He said in a high-pitched voice, his uninjured hand flailing around mockingly. “You know what? I don’t care anymore. Go tell everyone that I’ve been laying in bed for days and cutting just to piss you off – be sure to mention me stabbing myself in the hand. Not to, oh, I don’t know – stop focusing on my leg pain, but to piss you off!” He yelled, Wilson’s back now pressed against the front door. The oncologist’s hand was on the handle, ready to sprint out.
“Tell them I killed Amber, while you’re at it. Go on! Satisfy your needs – ruin my life. Tell everyone you’re the hero, and that I was begging you to do the brain surgery. Hey, maybe I moved in the chair on purpose, because I wanted the brain ble –” He got interrupted by a fist colliding with his face, causing him to stumble back; his injured hand coming up to press against the swelling skin.
“You’re a terrible person. I know you know that, but I don’t think you’re aware of the consequences. Nobody will love you. I’m gone, you’ll never see me again – so you now no longer have anyone. You think your team cares about you? Well, enough to actually stick around for any longer than they’re supposed to? God, no. Nobody likes you. Everybody fucking hates you, Greg. You’re insufferable and impossible to be around, you close off and keep everyone at arm’s length and then you go around whining about how nobody wants you in their life. Have you ever thought about why? Because you never let them! And now, you’re suffering the consequences. Alone, this time; because I’ve been there for you. I’ve always been there for you.” He pointed accusingly, voice breaking at the very end.
“I tried to help you, I really did. I tried to get people to like you, even if it meant lying – but you just ruined it every single fucking time, because that’s all you do! You ruin everything good! You couldn’t even – god, you couldn’t even keep Amber out of it. She did not deserve this. She did not deserve you .” His voice faded at the very end. He dragged a hand down his face, then reached behind himself to open the door.
Wilson didn’t wait for House’s answer. He only looked back once, just as he was leaving – to look at the man, who simply stood there, tears welling in his eyes. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t try to stop the brunette – simply just stood there. To Wilson, it meant that he was finally coming to terms with everything. And that was good. He just couldn’t bear waiting for his downfall – not again. Not anymore.
He left the apartment without a word, only shaking his head before closing the door behind him.
He tried not to think about what this meant for him, nor about Cuddy’s messages. It didn’t matter.
And maybe that was okay. Maybe he no longer needed House in his life, maybe he never did in the first place.
He wondered if Amber would be okay with what he did.