The bullet soars through the cold, musty night air, across the dark sky, shattering the silence.
It went off with a startling bang, and seemed to go in slow motion once it passed his face and rippled through the flesh of his friend.
Footsteps patter away somewhere in the distance but his brain cannot register it as he crouches down and touches the wound in his friends stomach.
"House…" he whispers, watching the head he held in his hands droop, eyes flickering open and closed.
He blinks. No, this is not a dream.
House looks up at him from the cold pavement, eyes unfocused, distant.
"Stay with me here." He croaks out, tears threatening to spill. He presses his hand against the wound firmly, and grabs his cell phone from his pocket with the other.
House sucks in a deep breath, and manages to touch Wilson's hand. "Don't…" He sounds raspy and hoarse and cold and it frightens Wilson because he wasn't used to it. "It…it doesn't hurt anymore…"
He touches House's hand, looks into his fading blue eyes. Each passing minute House seems further and further away.
Wilson was abruptly stopped from his train of thought when House hugged him weakly with one arm, a smile on his face.
"Bros before hoes for life, right man?" House says meekly, managing to swing his other arm around the younger man.
Wilson embraces him tightly and just nods, unnoticed tears streaming down his face.
Seconds seemed like an eternity as Wilson held his friend there, growing colder yet never cold because in House's arms he felt warmer than he had been in a long time.
And that's when he noticed that House's grip was growing weaker and weaker, until his arms drop limp next to his body.
And Wilson stares at his friend, the blood and tears all over him unnoticed, just staring.
House manages to whisper something that sounded like a goodbye and an apology before his blue eyes close for good.
Wilson just stares at his face, which held a small smile.
He grabs House's hand and a shadow crosses his face. "You have nothing to be sorry about…" he says, tears a never ending flow.
He was gone, and Wilson couldn't help but feel that House had taken a part of him too.