My Best Friend is a Ghost

[mnstrtruckslash.livejournal.com]

Title: My Best Friend is a Ghost
Summary:  House and Wilson are traveling across the country, following the series finale of House. In this story, I explore the possibility that the end of the episode wasn’t exactly what we thought it was. What if House died in the drug den fire, and came back as a ghost? How would they handle things when House leaves the Casper stage and becomes something a bit more dangerous?
Rating: PG, I guess. No real swearing, no violence, sex or drug use but it is a bit angsty and sad and emotionally difficult.
Warnings: OOC, and AU, spoilers for season eight, sort of a crossover between House and Supernatural (well, only because it involves a ghost and some other things I’ve learned from watching the show. So far there are no SPN characters in this story, and it doesn’t involve any other monsters/creatures),and it’s not slash but they have a close friendship and there is a bit of non-sexual cuddling. I have no right to the show House or to anything to do with Supernatural, Fox, the CW, or any of the actors. Also, I changed the timeline of the show. I have House and Wilson still traveling in December of 2012, but they have been on the road for quite a while so I just pushed the diagnosis forward a bit, so that I could include it in the Winter Angst Fest.
For Winter Angst Fest Challenge



Our first few weeks on the road, I had no idea anything was off about Greg.  House was mostly himself, but also sort of polite, considerate, and willing to go along with just about anything I suggested.  Yet, occasionally, he was more volatile than ever.  I attributed these changes his in his personality to his attempt to cope with my impending death.

That first month, I was still stronger and healthier than him (in spite of the cancer) and so I packed our days with fun activities. I was crossing off bucket list items left and right.   Things were…mostly great. There were arguments, and three freakish accidents involving a broken window, a completely destroyed fuse box, and an automatic toilet getting stuck in “flush mode,” but otherwise it was normal. Okay, sometimes we got funny looks, but neither Greg nor I thought anything of it.

“We’re two guys sharing a restaurant booth, and we’re not talking about chicks, boobs, or sports. Instead, we’re discussing hotels and travel plans.  If you were a chick, everyone would assume we were about to get married,” he’d explained the first time it happened.


“What would they think if I was me and you were a chick?”


“You give off the gay vibe, Jimmy. If I was a girl and we were having the exact same conversation, everyone’d think I was your sister or your beard, or—whatever.”


“House,” I shouted, laughing, and accidentally inhaling a sip of beer. Unfortunately, this got me coughing, and the fit lasted for more than six minutes.  My episode was so intense and violent that the waiter actually came over to check on me, and would not leave.

“Sir, is everything okay?” he asked, leaning over me and gesturing to the busboy to bring me some more water.

“Yeah…I’m…fine,” I replied, between wheezing coughs. “Just…a nasty…chest cold…happens all the time…thank you…though...this’ll…stop in a…minute…it’s okay...you can…go…no, really…I’m fine.”

Things became increasingly strange when we hit Montana, in December. It was cold and grey and the roads were coated in a thick layer of ice. House seemed stressed out, anxious, tired, and more depressed than I’d ever seen. All the time on our bikes didn’t seem to be causing him much physical pain, which was particularly good because I was getting weaker and more pathetic with every passing day.

In Montana, I even fell off my bike and onto the ice, leaving my knees (and my pride) battered and bruised. Life was far from traditional, but the real trouble didn’t start until we were checking into some no-name, roadside motel. Greg and I walked up to the front desk and I said, “We’d like a room please. Two beds.”

“You need two beds?” the girl behind the counter asked, suspiciously.  House wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him, grinning.

“He’s a rough sleeper,” House explained, trying not to laugh. “I need my own bed so I don’t get kicked in the middle of the night.” Greg and I had become increasingly physical the past few months. It wasn’t a sex thing.

We were feeling lonely and frightened. It was natural for us to cling to each other. There had been lots of hugging, and some bed sharing—always following nightmares, or other difficult moments—but we still liked our space. 

“Knock it off,” I moaned, pushing him away. “Can we just get the room? It’s been a long day,” I explained, glaring at him.  She nodded, typed something into the computer, and handed me a set of keys.  Once in our room, Greg immediately collapsed on the mattress nearest the bathroom and turned the TV on.  “Don’t get too comfortable,” I warned.  “We’re leaving for dinner in fifteen minutes.”

A moment later, I heard a familiar commercial for Cancer Centers of America.  Great, I thought to myself, now he’ll spend the night trying to talk me into getting a checkup! Suddenly, there was a loud, erupting noise from the other room.  Ignoring my sopping wet face and hands, I raced over to see what had happened.

House’s face showed terror and shock, with a trace of anger.  He was trembling.  The TV was still making an electronic crackling sound.  There was glass all over the floor.  It looked like something had burst through the screen from inside the set.

“Are you alright” I asked, focusing my attention on Greg since there was nothing to be done about the busted television.  Or maybe because I was in shock.

“I didn’t do it,” House declared, throwing his arms up defensively. “I swear.” The set was actually smoking.

“Of course you didn’t,” I replied, whishing I had shoes on so I run to my friend’s side. He looked deeply in need of a hug. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him so frightened in my life.  “I know your leg probably hurts, but I can’t move until I get my shoes on. Can you get up, and grab them for me?” Greg stood up slowly and did as I asked.

“As for you other question, I’m kind of freaked out. That was—intense. I mean, we—I…it,” he stammered. “But physically I’m okay.”

“Obviously, we can’t clean this up on our own, can we?” House shook his head. “I’ll call the front desk. Think they’ll put us in other room? Give us a new TV? We’ll probably have to cover the cost of replacing that.” House turned his pockets inside out, making puppy dog eyes. “Fine, I’ll add it to your tab, but eventually you’re going to be on your own and you’ll have to pay for everything yourself,” I reminded him.

“All the more reason I should be saving money now,” he cajoled, stretching out on the mattress. “We’re definitely getting a new room. No way they let anyone stay in a place with shards of glass all over the floor.”  I nodded, inspecting the mess.

“So, how exactly did this happen?” I asked, sitting beside him, and rubbing his back.

“I—I don’t know.  I was just really pissed off and then…boom!” he exclaimed, staring at the destruction in shock.  I reached to hug him but Greg dodged my hands.

 “Why were you so pissed off?”  He looked down. “I mean, it doesn’t make any difference about the TV, but you’re my friend and I want to help,” I explained, curling up beside him.

“This is why people think we’re a couple,” he moaned, pushing my arm off of his shoulder. “And you know why I was angry. I always hated those commercials, but today I got—well it’s like all the anger, and anxiety, and—let’s face it depression I’ve holding been back the last four months suddenly came bubbling up to the surface.

“We might not have sex, but other than that, we are basically married, Greg. Deal with it.”  He groaned. “I was scared the commercial might have the opposite affect on you.  I expected to spend the next three days talking you out of swinging by the nearest hospital or CTOA.”

“I know you’re going to die, Jimmy. I know there’s nothing we can do about it.…I mean they must get millions of terminal patients, who are actually terminal showing up all the time. What do you say to someone who is expecting a miracle cure but is actually gonna croak?” House asked, his hands and voice trembling. “And then you started coughing and…”

“I don’t think even you could get furious enough to cause the television to explode,” I joked. It seemed as if my friend truly believed he was responsible for what happened to the TV. I quickly called down to the front desk, and told them how our telivison set had suddenly and inexplicably blown up. The desk clerk—the same woman from before—seemed suspicious but said someone would be right up. “So, you were just watching it and mad and then…boom?”

“Boom!”  Greg declared, loudly. I cuddled beside my friend once again, rubbing his shoulder some more.

“They have to give us a new room. It’s freezing in here. I don’t think the heat is working. Maybe an electrical problem,” I told him. “Could explain what happened with the TV.”

“Don’t be stupid,” House moaned as the lights above us flickered a bit. “The temperature is fine in here. You’re just cold because your system is so busy trying to fight off the attacking cancer cells, it can’t properly regulate body temperature…” More flickering. “Okay, so maybe we did get a crappy room.” House didn’t complain as I snuggled closer to him. We stayed like that for another forty minutes before the mantinianece guy arrived to look at the TV. He was middle aged and balding, wearing a jumpsuit.

“Holy shit,” the man announced when he stepped into the room. “How did this happen?”

“We were watching and it just kind of blew up,” I told him. Greg was still sulking on the bed, and staring at the wall opposite him, with his back to us.

“I’m going to have to call downstairs for a cleaning crew. You can’t stay here tonight, Sir. Grab your belongings and wait in the lobby; they’ll find you another room.”

“Come on,” I whispered, gently massaging Greg’s arm.  He didn’t move. The guy in the jumpsuit stopped what he was doing and stared at my friend and I in confusion. “Oh, um I know what this looks like but we’re really just…good friends.”

“Sir…?” the man asked, scratching the top of his bare head. His voice trailed off, as if he were afraid of insulting me, or Greg.  The lights flickered again. “Seems like everything in this room is on the fritz,” Jumpsuit said with a chuckle He was shivering too. I realized I had not imagined the frigid temperature in our hotel room. House, who had instantly moved from the bed to the door, smirked at me.  Suddenly, everything came together and I finally realized what I had been missing.

“I should go,” I suggested. “All this broken glass can’t be safe.” I grabbed my bag, and raced out the door. I stayed silent until I reached the lobby, where I found a quiet, private spot and sat beside House, facing the fireplace. “So…am I going crazy or—no, I didn’t break the TV. Something happened. The lights, and the cold and the TV. That’s all you, isn’t it?”

“It’s funny, you know? I never believed in this garbage when I was alive, and now I have proof but I’m dead. You can only see me ‘cause you’re about to croak. Nobody’ll believe us. When I died, there was a white light, tunnel, the whole nine yards but I couldn’t go. I knew you needed me here” he recounted, trying to fake a laugh, as he reached for my hand. “We’d made plans, and I intended to keep them and now there was no way they could send me to prison.”

“So you…that is—are you?” I stuttered, feeling my hand rub against the back of my neck. I couldn’t imagine finishing sentence, had no desire to do so either. As much as I wanted the truth, I would have preferred to remain blissfully ignorant of House’s condition. Save for my failing healthy, I loved the way things had been since we left New Jersey.

“I believe the clinical term would be dead, or deadsies” House reported, with a chuckle. I remember the fire crashing through to the first floor.  I got up to leave. I could see you as I walked for the door. I thought I was still hallucinating though.” Greg had shared some of his experiences from the heroin den with me, shortly after we left Princeton. “And then the beam crashing down, and really hurt. I mean, when I had the infarction it was only slightly more excruciating than burning to death. My clothes caught on fire and then it spread to my—to me. The smell of burning flesh was so strong it made me puke. I couldn’t move, smoke was so thick I couldn’t breathe. That’s it. I don’t remember actually dying. Not really. One minute I was on the floor, on fire, in agony, and then…it was dark and my leg didn’t ache anymore.

“No irritation, no limp, no burns or other scars, but I was still in the crack den. I saw a light where the doorway should have been, and felt this overwhelming need to walk over to it, and go inside but…I could hear your voice. You were screaming and I could see you sitting outside. I had these flashes in my mind, of you—dying alone, and I couldn’t let that happen. Took a while to get your attention. I still don’t know how I managed to send you a text message. As much as I appreciate you calling me an asshole in front of my grieving mother, in the middle of a funeral, I knew you might need help from some of the people there in time. Wasn’t gonna let you burn all those bridges at once.” We both flinched. “Sorry.” There were tears in my eyes, and I reached out to take his hand in mine but my fingers only grabbed at the air.

“I don’t understand. I’ve been…we’ve had tons of contact, You and I were just lying in bed together. I can hear you talking. I see you. How can you be dead?” I shouted. “This isn’t funny! What’d you do, put some firecrackers behind the TV?”

“What makes the most sense, Jimmy? Do you think I died in the fire and was properly identified through my dental records, or that I managed to break into the morgue, and switch my file with that of a former patient, after I escaped out the back of a burning building, seconds after you saw me crushed by a flaming ceiling beam? Come on, Jimmy; people have been staring at us for months and it’s not because we make a cute couple. You know what’s happening here.” Before I could think of anything to say, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up to see the desk clerk.

“Um…you new room is ready, Sir. I’m sorry but we were unable to get you another two-bed, so we upgraded you to a suite free of charge. I hope that will be acceptable,” she told me, her voice trembling. “217.”

“Yes, of course; thank you,” I replied, wiping my face. “I’m sorry again about the TV set. I have no idea what happened.” My hand rubbed against the back of my neck involuntarily. Greg followed me up to our—my?—new room. Once safe inside, I said, “So, what do we do now?”  House shrugged his shoulders, and slumped into the chair by the door. “You blew up a TV. And you’re…dead. This isn’t right. The last thing in the world I want is to lose you again, but I think you’re really suffering right now. Aren’t you?”

“No,” House growled, causing the windows to rattle and the lights flashed again. I couldn’t see my face but I imagine I looked just as alarmed as I felt. “Sorry,” he muttered, head lowered. “My leg doesn’t hurt, but I am furious and terrified, and miserable, and…” I raced over and wrapped my arms around him. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. Even if I wanted to—fix this, I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with it! Do you know anything about ghosts? ”

“No,” I whispered, feeling more tears stream down my face. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth sooner?” I asked, feeling a tiny amount of anger rising in my stomach, but mostly I was grieving over the loss of my best friend and my own impending death. The two of us held onto each other, completely unsure what to do next.