sick_wilson | Adopt-a-Plot-Bunny Program

Have you ever had a brilliant idea for a story in which Wilson gets sick or hurt, but you couldn't quite figure out what to do with it? Maybe the muses were fickle and abandoned you in the midst of the creative process, and an unfinished fic continues to languish on your hard drive. Or maybe you have the opposite problem, and your plot bunnies are multiplying faster than you can keep up with them. Perhaps you've never been bitten by the writing bug, but have spent countless hours daydreaming of ways to torture Wilson with various injuries and/or illnesses. Whatever your situation, wouldn't it be great if you could find a good home for your neglected plot bunnies, where they could have an opportunity to thrive under someone else's tender loving care?

*drum roll*

sick_wilson is pleased to introduce the Adopt-a-Plot-Bunny Program—a forum designed to bring ideas and writers together.

If you want to offer a plot bunny for adoption, provide a brief description of the type of illness and/or injury that you'd like to see inflicted upon our favorite oncologist. Plot summaries are also welcome.

If you're a writer and decide to adopt a plot bunny, please credit the person who provided the concept for your story. A reference to

sick_wilson would be greatly appreciated if you cross-post to other communities.

Interested? *poke, poke*

Let the fun begin!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

when he got out of the bathroom, at first he couldn’t see where Wilson was, but as he limped further into the dark room, he saw a huddled shape on the floor, in-between the bed and the wall. “Wilson? You alive?” asked House. “House....” groaned Wilson, and House heard the pain in his voice. “Wilson?” asked House again, moving closer, and bending over to get a better look at Wilson. Wilson was holding on to the bed sheets, white knuckled, and shaking, he seemed to be sitting in a awkward position, his right leg under him, his left up, and his forehead resting on his left knee. His eyes were closed, and he was bitting his lip, hard enough to puncture the skin slightly.
“Wilson?” House asked a third time. “Wilson, what’s up?” House asked, looking worried. “I...fell off....” said Wilson, his voice shaking. “I can see that.” said House, with his usual bluntness, “I mean, why are you still sitting there?” “I...landed...on...my knee....”said Wilson, seeming to curl up even more. “Yeah, you’re still sitting on it, why?” “Every....every...every time...I move...it...hurts...” said Wilson, shaking even harder now. “You are one screwed up guy.” said House, trying keep the worry out of his voice. “House....help....”said Wilson, his brown eyes unfocused, but looking up at House. “I can’t...” said House. “I’ll get the driver, or someone.” “No!” said Wilson, sounding panicked. “What? I can’t lift you without falling over, and you can’t get up by yourself or else you would have already, you want to stay that way?” asked House, sarcastically. “No...just...don’t....it hurts....please...” said Wilson. House could tell that Wilson wasn’t thinking straight, that he was probably only semi-conscious from the pain, that if he was thinking logically, he would be yelling at House to go get some help, but still, he looked so lost, and sounded so scared, that House couldn’t stop himself from kneeling down and putting a hand on Wilson’s shoulder. Wilson reached out and grabbed House’s arm, holding on to it like a lifeline. House almost pulled away, the contact was unfamiliar, after so many years of avoiding close company, but he didn’t. He didn’t pull away. instead, he reached out to take hold of Wilson’s other shoulder, and, shifting his own weight, pulled Wilson forward, off his injured knee. Unfortunately, this resulted in pulling Wilson onto his own painful leg, but as Wilson grabbed House’s shirt, and gasped at the pain of moving, House reflected that, at least he could get some sleep now, as he proved by passing out then and there.

“Ergh.” “Wha?” “What happened?” House’s first thought was that he had been run over by a truck. His second thought was that it had all been a very, very, long, and weird dream, and he was still twelve, still living with his dad. His third thought was that he almost never remembered his dreams, so that couldn’t be it. His fourth thought was that Wilson was lying on top of him, it was dark, and his leg hurt. Man, his leg hurt a lot. wait. Wilson was lying on top of him. That one didn’t make sense. And why was the bed so hard. Wilson on top of him? His leg really did hurt a lot. Wilson was on top of him, holding on to his shirt. Oh, good, he was wearing a shirt. That meant nothing too weird was going on. Why was his shirt wet though? It was wet right near Wilson’s head too...gross....oww...leg....

“House?” “House?!” “Come on, say something, House!” “House?” “House....come on...wake up....” “House?” “Urgh” “finally!” “What the heck? Why are you lying on top of me?” “You don’t remember?” “What?!” “Er, sorry, that came out bad.” “That’s the understatement of the century.” “Sorry...look, could you possibly let go?” “Let go?” “Yes, you are hugging me.” “I let go.” “Um, right.” “Why aren’t you getting off of me now?” “Um, well, two reasons, first, my hands are kinda asleep from being under me, and seem to be tangled in your shirt, and second, because if I put any weight on my left leg, it will knee you in the groin, and my right leg is kinda out of commission at the moment.” “Oh.” “Yeah.” “My leg hurts.” “So does mine” “you still have a migraine?” “Not at the moment. They kept coming and going all night.” “Oh.” “Sooo...” “My shirt’s wet....” “Er, yeah, sorry about that.” “Were you crying, drooling, or puking?” “Um...crying.” “Oh. Good.” “Sorry.” “For getting my shirt wet? You’d better be.” “Heh, House...” “I’m serious, if it’s stained, you’re buying me a new one.” “Heh, ok.” “Can you move your hands yet?” “Let me see.” “No, not really.” “Oh.” “House....” “What?” “I’m getting...another...migraine.” “Bad?” “Not...as bad... not as bad as...the first...one.” “But bad.” “...yeah” “Damn.” “Sorry.” “Not the migraine, I have to pee.” “You...do?” “No.” “House....” “Heh.” “Urguhg.” “You ok?” “Don’t...talk...so...loud.” “Damn.” “Eragh....”

“House?” “I’m here.” “Sorry.” “Get off me, and we’ll call it even.” “I’ll try.” “Well?” “Still the same problem with my legs, but I can at least move my hands now.” “Ok.” “right.”

“Ready?” “No.” “You gonna be ready?” “No.” “Ok then, on the count of three?” “Ok.” “One, two, three.”
“Owwww!”

A few hours later, House sat, flipping through the phonebook, Wilson lay on the bed, moaning, and the room was rather dark. However, despite the similarities to the situation earlier, House was not debating leaving Wilson in the room alone, and Wilson was not going to fall off the bed, because House was sitting next to him on the bed and the wall was right up against the bed on the other side. It was no longer dark because of the hour, but because there was a massive snowdrift right outside the window, and almost no light was coming in. It was not a very big change, but it was a change.

note: this is part one, i'll post part two later, after it gets written

sorry about the funky way of posting, i hope it doesnt annoy anyone too much.
btw, most sites im alanwolfmoon. i just dont have an lj account yet....

er, sorry about this one again, this was in response to aphroditeroslin's #2

Adopt-a-Plot-Bunny Program

Re: dont have an lj account but took the liberty of writing a version of #2

Re: dont have an lj account but took the liberty of writing a version of #2

Re: dont have an lj account but took the liberty of writing a version of #2

Re: dont have an lj account but took the liberty of writing a version of #2

Re: dont have an lj account but took the liberty of writing a version of #2