|perhin (perhin) wrote in perhin_fics,|
@ 2008-02-05 21:40:00
|Entry tags:||12_stories, house md, house/wilson, rated pg-13, slash|
Title: It'll End
Summary: House finally believes in dreams.
Warning: Character Deaths
Note: Written for the 'Death' prompt for 12_stories.
It had been two months since Wilson died in their bed. He and House had been 'old, gay queers'(as House put it) for years now, and House suddenly felt empty since Wilson's quiet death.
Almost every night since, House had dreamed of Wilson. He never used to believe in dreams, just something that you saw while you slept. But he began thinking that Wilson was trying to tell him something. Lately, the dreams had become more violet and graphic, sometimes ending with House's death and him waking up screaming in pain. Usually, after a bad dream he'd have a good one, where him and Wilson were in their twenties having sex or something good like that.
House smiled in his dream as Wilson blabbed on to him, when Wilson said, “Just take your pills and drink your scotch and it'll end.”
“What will end?”
“It'll end. You've been wanting it to.” Wilson smiled and kissed House's cheek.
“What will fucking end?”
“You know.” And House woke-up.
House eyed the bottle of scotch and his Vicodin. Why not? Wilson said it would end, and apparently he'd been wanting it to. He never knew he had been wanting death, but with Wilson in his dreams every night teasing him, and being lonely and depressed it dawned on him after the dream.
House swallowed a few Vicodin and decided he was going to get drunk in the memory of Jimmy.
House woke-up to find Wilson standing over him, hands on hips, glaring. “I know I told you to do it this way, but did you have to do in my memory?!”
“Sorry, I thought I was doing what I was told,” House scoffed. He focused on Wilson. His hair was dark brown instead of grey, and his face no longer had wrinkles. House felt his face and found he was the same as he was in his twenties.
Wilson offered a hand to House and pulled him off the sofa. “Come, we got work to do.”
“Work? Here? In death?”
Wilson grinned. “In the bedroom...I've been doing it by dream for months and I'm quite tired of it.”
“Don't you have a fourth wife here to fuck wtih?”
“You are my fourth wife,” Wilson said with a smirk.
House found himself running to the bedroom with Wilson behind him, and not a bone in his body hurt when he did.