ext_230483 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
sydpenguinbunny.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sick_wilson2012-05-29 10:55 pm
sydpenguinbunny.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2012-05-29 10:55 pm
(no subject)
Title: Us Against the World
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sydpenguinbunny
Rating: R
Pairing: Wilson/Amber, House/Cuddy, Wilson/House, Tritter/OC, maybe House/Amber
Spoilers: Up until the end of Season 6.
Summary: Wilson is kidnapped by someone who holds a grudge against House. House is told to come out and play, and Amber refuses to stand by. Time is running out...
WARNING: Rape and violence this chapter.
Chapter One: A Shot in the Dark
Chapter Two: Empty Chairs at Empty Tables
Chapter Three: Photograph
Chapter Four: Private Eye
Chapter Five: Purity
Chapter Six: Nowhere to Go
Chapter Seven: Nightmare
Chapter Eight: Throwing It All Away
Chapter Nine: Anyone for Tennis?
Chapter Ten: Turn the Page
Chapter Eleven: The Game
Chapter Twelve: Domino
Chapter Thirteen: Runaway
Chapter Fourteen: Dreaming While You Sleep
Chapter Fifteen: Mama
Chapter Sixteen: Handle This
Chapter Seventeen: If I Needed Someone
Chapter Eighteen: Only You
Chapter Ninteen: The Virus of Life
“Just keep the violence down,
Not yet, don’t make a sound…”
Wilson’s eyes were shut and behind them were painted, little by little, mirages and half-dreams, some memories, some wishful thinking.
He had tried not to sleep for a while now, had tried not to let Lucas get that advantage over him. But eventually he couldn’t fight it anymore and he had fallen off a mental cliff due to pure and simple exhaustion.
The dream he had was an odd one. He was back in college – not even medical school, but college. He had just discovered that a classmate of his was jealous of him for some reason he didn’t really understand. He was trying to diffuse the situation, trying to talk sense.
He had always been that kind of man. Usually, at least. He had lost his temper once or twice, when someone had pushed him to the limit. He’d fought that man in New Orleans, the night he met House. He had gotten furious with House when the other man didn’t accept Amber.
But he liked to think he was a reasonable man, most of the time. Maybe he could talk sense to Lucas… but could someone really talk sense to an insane person?
As he dreamt, he thought of these things, almost background noise, background thoughts to the plot at hand.
He was speaking to the other young man, whose face he couldn’t quite see, trying to convince him that there was nothing to be jealous of.
Instead of cooling down, the man grabbed Wilson’s hand and yanked him.
Wilson thought of his brother, thought of Danny and how the one night he had hung up and then Danny had run away again and he hadn’t seem him until so many years later.
The young man was holding Wilson on a ledge, on a window, and he had a… Wilson couldn’t tell what it was exactly, maybe a bomb, but it looked like a blue… a bedframe, actually but Wilson knew, just knew, that it was dangerous.
“You’ll kill somebody!” Wilson cried.
“That’s the point.”
***
Wilson opened one eye, then the other. He wished for light but dreaded it at the same time, as the darkness was starting to get to him. He couldn’t remember exactly what light felt like but when he pictured it, he connected it with Amber and her soft, blonde hair, the color of sun.
Amber would come for him. House would come for him. Just as he would have come for them.
He would feel her soft, beautiful hair against him and she would take him away from all of this. He would never take her for granted again, he’d tell her every day how much he loved her, even though it would probably drive her nuts and get her to punch him or something. He’d do it anyway. He’d kiss the ground of his office…
He heard the deceptively gentle sound of footsteps from the far corner of the room.
Lucas’ voice hovered, or maybe slithered like a snake.
“Wilson.”
Simply his name.
He had never dreamed that his name alone could sound so full of darkness, of foreboding. It was like a death sentence. And this was the man – this was the man who’d replaced him as House’s single “friend” for a while; Wilson could barely even remember what House had done that time to make him walk away; some dirty trick he’d pulled on Amber that seemed so insignificant now.
That couple of months Wilson had sworn to be done with him, to stop letting his life be run by that asshole Greg House.
And he’d let this man into his life.
What had he done?
He knew that Lucas must not have seemed that way at first. He was a shoulder to lean on when Wilson had pulled House’s rug out from under him.
Maybe that meant, in a way, that he deserved this.
Wilson felt Lucas’ hands on him, and the realization of what was about to happen coursed through him like an electrical current.
And so this time, this time he fought because maybe, maybe he deserved some punishment, some slap on the wrist for not understanding, not intervening but for God’s sake he did not deserve this.
He fought as hard as he could; at least he could give Lucas a run for his money. The difficulty of fighting in handcuffs was obvious, however, and as Wilson tried to twist away, Lucas grabbed his arm and twisted it, hard.
Wilson heard it snap.
His brain shorted out; the pain overtook him but in a way it was a relief, a distraction from what was to come.
Because there was only one thing worse, one coup de grace that Lucas could put on him now. The last way to get back at House in his horrible, deranged mind. To take something from Wilson that House had done with Cuddy.
Wilson’s head swam. It hurt. It ached.
And then, just like that, all of him ached. Every nerve ending, crying out, pleading for Lucas to not do this – but not Wilson’s voice. He would not beg. He was past begging. He did not want mercy; he would do something better.
He would survive this.
He let his thoughts drift to Amber again as he felt sure that something had broken inside him, torn or maybe snapped – he knew the medical realities but he couldn’t list them, not now, couldn’t fly back in his head to doing clinic duty for people who had been in this situation and coaxing them that it wasn’t their fault, of course, not their fault.
But they’d always assume that it was their fault. It was the psychology of the thing, Wilson figured. A twisted notion of accepting responsibility for something so awful. Just as people blamed themselves for their illnesses, for their loved ones dying, they’d accept blame for this – and why? Did that make it any easier, somehow?
Lucas would want him to blame House.
But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.
It’d be less hopeless, less deadening to fall into the old trap and blame himself.
House would come. Amber would come.
* Slipknot, “The Virus of Life”. Vol. 3: Subliminal Verses. 2005.
Author:
sydpenguinbunnyRating: R
Pairing: Wilson/Amber, House/Cuddy, Wilson/House, Tritter/OC, maybe House/Amber
Spoilers: Up until the end of Season 6.
Summary: Wilson is kidnapped by someone who holds a grudge against House. House is told to come out and play, and Amber refuses to stand by. Time is running out...
WARNING: Rape and violence this chapter.
Chapter One: A Shot in the Dark
Chapter Two: Empty Chairs at Empty Tables
Chapter Three: Photograph
Chapter Four: Private Eye
Chapter Five: Purity
Chapter Six: Nowhere to Go
Chapter Seven: Nightmare
Chapter Eight: Throwing It All Away
Chapter Nine: Anyone for Tennis?
Chapter Ten: Turn the Page
Chapter Eleven: The Game
Chapter Twelve: Domino
Chapter Thirteen: Runaway
Chapter Fourteen: Dreaming While You Sleep
Chapter Fifteen: Mama
Chapter Sixteen: Handle This
Chapter Seventeen: If I Needed Someone
Chapter Eighteen: Only You
Chapter Ninteen: The Virus of Life
“Just keep the violence down,
Not yet, don’t make a sound…”
Wilson’s eyes were shut and behind them were painted, little by little, mirages and half-dreams, some memories, some wishful thinking.
He had tried not to sleep for a while now, had tried not to let Lucas get that advantage over him. But eventually he couldn’t fight it anymore and he had fallen off a mental cliff due to pure and simple exhaustion.
The dream he had was an odd one. He was back in college – not even medical school, but college. He had just discovered that a classmate of his was jealous of him for some reason he didn’t really understand. He was trying to diffuse the situation, trying to talk sense.
He had always been that kind of man. Usually, at least. He had lost his temper once or twice, when someone had pushed him to the limit. He’d fought that man in New Orleans, the night he met House. He had gotten furious with House when the other man didn’t accept Amber.
But he liked to think he was a reasonable man, most of the time. Maybe he could talk sense to Lucas… but could someone really talk sense to an insane person?
As he dreamt, he thought of these things, almost background noise, background thoughts to the plot at hand.
He was speaking to the other young man, whose face he couldn’t quite see, trying to convince him that there was nothing to be jealous of.
Instead of cooling down, the man grabbed Wilson’s hand and yanked him.
Wilson thought of his brother, thought of Danny and how the one night he had hung up and then Danny had run away again and he hadn’t seem him until so many years later.
The young man was holding Wilson on a ledge, on a window, and he had a… Wilson couldn’t tell what it was exactly, maybe a bomb, but it looked like a blue… a bedframe, actually but Wilson knew, just knew, that it was dangerous.
“You’ll kill somebody!” Wilson cried.
“That’s the point.”
***
Wilson opened one eye, then the other. He wished for light but dreaded it at the same time, as the darkness was starting to get to him. He couldn’t remember exactly what light felt like but when he pictured it, he connected it with Amber and her soft, blonde hair, the color of sun.
Amber would come for him. House would come for him. Just as he would have come for them.
He would feel her soft, beautiful hair against him and she would take him away from all of this. He would never take her for granted again, he’d tell her every day how much he loved her, even though it would probably drive her nuts and get her to punch him or something. He’d do it anyway. He’d kiss the ground of his office…
He heard the deceptively gentle sound of footsteps from the far corner of the room.
Lucas’ voice hovered, or maybe slithered like a snake.
“Wilson.”
Simply his name.
He had never dreamed that his name alone could sound so full of darkness, of foreboding. It was like a death sentence. And this was the man – this was the man who’d replaced him as House’s single “friend” for a while; Wilson could barely even remember what House had done that time to make him walk away; some dirty trick he’d pulled on Amber that seemed so insignificant now.
That couple of months Wilson had sworn to be done with him, to stop letting his life be run by that asshole Greg House.
And he’d let this man into his life.
What had he done?
He knew that Lucas must not have seemed that way at first. He was a shoulder to lean on when Wilson had pulled House’s rug out from under him.
Maybe that meant, in a way, that he deserved this.
Wilson felt Lucas’ hands on him, and the realization of what was about to happen coursed through him like an electrical current.
And so this time, this time he fought because maybe, maybe he deserved some punishment, some slap on the wrist for not understanding, not intervening but for God’s sake he did not deserve this.
He fought as hard as he could; at least he could give Lucas a run for his money. The difficulty of fighting in handcuffs was obvious, however, and as Wilson tried to twist away, Lucas grabbed his arm and twisted it, hard.
Wilson heard it snap.
His brain shorted out; the pain overtook him but in a way it was a relief, a distraction from what was to come.
Because there was only one thing worse, one coup de grace that Lucas could put on him now. The last way to get back at House in his horrible, deranged mind. To take something from Wilson that House had done with Cuddy.
Wilson’s head swam. It hurt. It ached.
And then, just like that, all of him ached. Every nerve ending, crying out, pleading for Lucas to not do this – but not Wilson’s voice. He would not beg. He was past begging. He did not want mercy; he would do something better.
He would survive this.
He let his thoughts drift to Amber again as he felt sure that something had broken inside him, torn or maybe snapped – he knew the medical realities but he couldn’t list them, not now, couldn’t fly back in his head to doing clinic duty for people who had been in this situation and coaxing them that it wasn’t their fault, of course, not their fault.
But they’d always assume that it was their fault. It was the psychology of the thing, Wilson figured. A twisted notion of accepting responsibility for something so awful. Just as people blamed themselves for their illnesses, for their loved ones dying, they’d accept blame for this – and why? Did that make it any easier, somehow?
Lucas would want him to blame House.
But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.
It’d be less hopeless, less deadening to fall into the old trap and blame himself.
House would come. Amber would come.
* Slipknot, “The Virus of Life”. Vol. 3: Subliminal Verses. 2005.