AN - Hey guys! I'm back from the dead (again). If you're wondering why I wrote this fic, it's because I needed a way of coping after the House, M.D. season eight finale. Hopefully, this story helps you all cope as well.
Disclaimer: I do not own House, M.D. nor any of the plots, characters or quotes belonging to the show. Thanks.
Ignoring the truth was definitely easier than coming to terms with it, for both men. After months of travelling through the country, James Wilson had become to weak to safely drive his motorcycle by himself. House accepted it and ditched the thing on the side of the road, allowing Wilson to climb on the back of House's and hold on for dear life. Together they rode for weeks more, until they were in some small town smack in the middle of Kentucky. It was a wake up call for both of them.
As House, eyes locked straight ahead, zoomed on, Wilson felt a wave of fatigue and dizziness hit him. Before he could open his mouth, he was falling. House felt his friend's arms loosen from around his waist and immediately slowed the bike. "Wilson!"
"Uhh!" The air rushed out of the former oncologist's lungs as he made harsh contact with the dirt road beneath him. The motorcycle's engine growled to a stop. "Wilson!"
"'M okay."
House limped as fast as his leg would allow him, not even remembering to wince in pain. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tried..." Wilson gasped, his voice a mere whisper. "Sorry..."
"No, it's not your fault. You're okay, we'll walk."
Wilson didn't argue as House wrenched him to his feet, then put a strong, guiding hand on his hip. He slung an arm over House's shoulder and the two hobbled along. They had barely walked a mile before Wilson was panting and out of breath. "House..." he groaned before breaking off into a coughing fit. His lungs were on fire and he was convinced he was coughs away from hacking up blood or worse, a lung.
"Shhh, hey." He rubbed Wilson's back, then practically dragged him off the road once the coughing had subsided. House used his left leg to kick in the picket fence, which snapped fairly easily. It must've been at least fifty years old, he supposed. "Wilson? Can you hear me?"
House started breathing again once he saw Wilson nod, though weak. Thank God. "Listen, there's an abandoned farmhouse up there, see it? That's where we'll go. It's not that far, I'd say, maybe a hundred or so yards. We're just going to climb that little hill across the field and we'll be there."
They hobbled on, Wilson's constant coughing keeping House alert and ready. Wilson could see the barn at the top of the grassy hill, but his chest burned and ached with an unbearable pain. Finally, he gave in.
"House. I can't..." He took a raspy breath before attempting to continue. "Can't make it."
"No, we can-" House thought better of arguing and instead nodded. "Okay, don't worry about it. Just sit." He gingerly eased his friend to the ground. "Lie on your back; it'll open up your lungs."
"Won't be... much help... now." Wilson chuckled, then instantly regretted it as his chest protested. "Ah!" A sharp intake of breath made House go pale.
"How long have you had severe chest pain?"
"'While."
"Of course you didn't tell me." Before Wilson could open his mouth, House spoke up. "And don't apologise again. Here." He shook out a couple Vicodin into the palm of his hand and offered them to his friend.
"N-no. You're..." More hacking. "Almost out."
"For God's sake, shut up." He put the pills in Wilson's mouth and eased the tip of his water bottle to his cracked, dry lips. "Drink." When water dribbled down his chin, Wilson scoffed. "So... humiliating."
"I've seen you naked, remember? Big boy diapers, too. You're lucky you have me to do these kinds of things."
Wilson nodded. "I know. Thank you, House." He paused before continuing. "I'm so... tired."
"You wouldn't be if you'd stop trying to talk for awhile."
"I always pictured myself... surrounded by family... on my deathbed." Wilson smiled weakly. "I'm glad... I got divorced so many times. They were never... there for me. But you..." He coughed, grimacing in pain. "You were."
"Save your energy." House reprimanded him. "Don't speak."
"It's... nice." Wilson pointed out, staring up at the sky. House just nodded. It was nice. The sun was setting beautifully, melting into the earth with hues of orange and yellow. The distant hum of cicadas blended into the background and toads were beginning to croak, searching out mates. The light breeze ruffled Wilson's hair and cooled his fevered skin.
House crossed his legs and plucked a few blades of grass, letting them go and watching the direction of the wind blow. He needed a damn good distraction, anything to save him from this emotional agony that was starting to show. Vicodin, preferably, but Wilson was right; he only had one left.
"It's gone."
It took House a second to understand that Wilson was talking about the sun. Indeed, it had disappeared behind the farmhouse and the sky had gone from orange to a hazy purple in a matter of moments, it seemed.
"My neck..." Wilson could hardly get two words out before his lungs betrayed him again.
"Okay, okay." House shifted his position, still cross-legged, and lightly placed Wilson's head in his lap.
"Thank you." He sighed in relief.
"Yeah."
"Ugh... I'm s-so cold, H-House." His teeth chattered, yet beads of sweat formed on his brow.
"It's the fever, dammit."
As Wilson shivered, House shrugged out of his leather jacket. "Here."
"It's g-gonna get... c-cold."
"Looks like you're already at that stage."
House draped the jacket over Wilson's shaking form and sighed. "This should help a little."
"Everything h-hurts."
Instinctively, House reached for his Vicodin container but Wilson shook his head. "It w-won't h-help." He took a ragged breath and groaned.
"Shh, hey. Look. You can see the stars already. Guess that's because we're in the middle of nowhere."
Wilson smiled weakly. "Yeah. I don't... really know any..."
"Constellations? Huh. My, uh, dad taught me some when I was younger." House pointed upwards at a row of twinkling stars. "See? That's the handle of the Big Dipper. And Orion's right over there. To be honest, I don't really remember any more."
"'S okay." Wilson mumbled, his eyelids feeling heavy. "House I'm... tired."
"Don't fall asleep!" House said quickly, louder than he intended to. He watched his friend struggle to stay awake. "You can't leave me right now. I... I don't want to be alone." His voice cracked but he didn't care.
It was dark out so House didn't see the single tear that leaked from Wilson's eye. "I'm so... sorry, House. I need you... to tell..." He coughed painfully. "Tell me..."
"No, no, no. You're my best friend, Wilson. I... don't leave me, please."
"You're a good... person... House." Wilson whispered before the life faded out of him. Wilson died, laying with his head in House's lap, near an abandoned barn. The starry night sky was the last thing he saw before he took his last breath.
House brushed back the sweaty bangs from his friend's forehead. "Wilson, no. No, no, no... Please, don't. D-don't."
And for the first time in his life, House was really, truly alone.