Title: Five Ways House And David Are The Same (And One Way They Aren't)
Author: YoungFreak92
Beta: Anna
Fandom: House MD
Rating: PG
Genre: General
Pairing: None (possible House/Wilson pre-slash)
Setting: Uses this -- ( www. youngfreak92. livejournal. com /4060 .html ) timeline
Wordcount: 3 580
Feedback: Yes please, con-crit is very much welcome
Disclaimer: I don't own House MD or any of the characters. I'm just playing around a bit.
Summary: In which twelve events are told, half of them from Wilson's childhood and the other half from his adult life.
Author's Note: I wrote a Five Times-fic, or at least sort of... And this fic is posted ridiculously close to my last one. I've been working on this fic for a month, and I'm rather proud of the outcome. Once again I wrote about David, because I seem to be addicted to backstory!fics. Also, please look at the timeline because I fear you will be very confused if you don't. Most of the parts where House is starring are pre-Stacy -- 2 and 6 being the exception. I hope this fic isn't too confusing.
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I
"I can't believe you did that!"
They were behind one of the more far off school-buildings, safely hidden away from teachers and other children. David had both of his hands on James' upper arms and looked like he was holding back the urge to shake his brother silly. "He's five years older than you!" David continued angrily, his voice several octaves higher than usual. James looked down sulkily, scraping the ground with his foot.
"He was mean to you," Jamesmuttered, his dark bangs half-hiding his pout expression. David blinked.
"You threw yourself upon Mick because he was mean towards me?" David asked incredulously, loosening his grip just a little. After a few seconds James nodded. David closed his eyes and seemed to be silently counting to ten. James refused to look at his brother. He ached all over and especially his stomach hurt. He had several nasty grazes on arms and legs and was covered in bruises. On top of it all he knew he was going to have a black eye. His clothes were torn, his hair a mess and his shoes were but a memory.
"I'm always arguing with Mick. It's nothing serious," David said with a sigh and let go of James and started to search the pockets of his jacket. He took out a paper tissue and spat on it. "Man, mom's gonna throw a fit," he mumbled as he tried to clean his brother's face. James struggled but David took a firm grip on his chin and dabbed the scratch on James' forehead. James stayed still, though he promptly avoided eye contact.
"He called you stupid," James eventually said. David stilled his hand and stared at him incredulously.
"He called me stupid and you threw yourself upon him," David stated disbelievingly. James nodded shortly. To his surprise, David burst out into a brilliant smile. "You're such an idiot," David said, almost affectionately, and when James met his eyes they were immensely warm.
---
"What the hell were you thinking?"
Wilson gave House a sheepish smile and accepted the damp cloth the other man had offered. They were in House's apartment, sitting on the couch. House had placed him there the moment they came through the door, before fetching a glass of water, towels and a clean t-shirt.
"To tell the truth, I'm not sure I was thinking at all," Wilson said and grimaced when the cloth touched the scratch on his cheek. House looked at him disbelievingly.
"I can't believe you of all people were in a bar fight," House said dryly as he watched Wilson nursing his scratches and bruises. God forbid he'd actually help his friend. "You sucked, by the way".
Wilson made an indignant sound that turned into a hiss when he put too much pressure on a particularly nasty bruise. 'Bar fight' might not have been the correct phrasing -- 'merciless manhandling' fitted better in Wilson's opinion. But what did he know, maybe they were synonymous. He ached all over, he'd gotten a hideous black eye and he knew his whole body was going to be black and blue by tomorrow.
"I got a pretty good hit on him," Wilson mumbled and reached for the glass of water. House scoffed.
"Sheer luck," he said dismissively with a wave of his hand. Wilson scowled slightly as he took a drink of the liquid. House sobered up and looked intently at his friend.
"Why did you step in? I was the one who pissed him off," House said, looking both curious and mildly puzzled. He was intrigued. Wilson looked away and refused to meet House's eyes.
"He was going to hit you," he mumbled and felt like slapping himself. Now that he thought about it, it was a nominee for the Worst Possible Motive of the Century. It didn't make any sense at all and, as the man himself had pointed out, House would have deserved the blow. Daring a glance at House, Wilson was surprised to see the bright smile on the other's lips.
"You're an idiot," House said, almost amiably.
II
James knew that David kept some of the drugs hidden away in an innocent-looking shoebox in the very back of the closet. He wasn't quite sure where the rest was, and to tell the truth he was glad for that. He'd promised David to not tell their parents, but it tore on him not being able to tell them every time he saw David under the influence of drugs. Mom and Dad could fix anything, and James was sure that they could fix David. But David had asked him not to tell them, so he didn't.
It was always with morbid fascination and dread that James watched David take drugs. David was most often considerate enough to do it alone, but a few times James had been present and seen it. James had seen the white powder and David's dazed expression and heard the surprised "whoa". He had seen how David puffed at the badly rolled cigarette, and he had seen David swallow pills. He had seen how David had let the needle go through his skin and injected himself. All of these images were engraved on James's memory, and would probably be for life.
"Can you please stop with the drugs?" James once asked. He had been unaware of his begging eyes and pleading demeanor, so he was a bit confused when David had looked away from him. David had been lying in his bed, the room only dimly lit. He was puking at regular intervals -- he had told their parents that he was having a migraine.
David had sighed and buried his head in the pillow. "Don't ever ask me that again. You don't understand a thing," he'd grunted with fatigue. James hadn't said anything more. David was right, he didn't understand.
---
House needed the Vicodin to cope with his pain, Wilson knew that. But that didn't stop the feeling of dread he felt every time he saw House swallow a pill. Wilson was aware that he probably was overprotective, but he couldn't help himself. Hydrocodone is highly addictive, and who can tell if the physical dependence turns into an addiction? House did have a history of experimenting with drugs, although Wilson had never seen him high. He was immensely grateful for that.
Wilson often confronted House about his Vicodin usage, and it always ended in fights. Sometimes those fights lasted for a week, in other cases not even a day. It all depended on their mood and on which level of stress they were under. Most often House avoided taking Vicodin in front of Wilson. He did it either out of consideration, or because he saved it for times when he really wanted to frustrate Wilson. Wilson only dared to hope that it was out of a combination of the two.
Wilson once asked if Vicodin really was the best way to cope with the pain. House had stared at him almost viciously.
"Shut up," he'd hissed, "You don't have a damn clue about what I'm going through". Wilson had looked down at the floor, avoiding House's eyes.
"You're right, I don't," he'd whispered, so low that House hadn't heard him.
III
"Why do you call me Jimmy?"
David looked up from the magazine he was reading. Lounged comfortably across the sofa, he was the very picture of teenaged laziness. James was standing before him with his head slightly tilted, curiosity in his eyes.
"What kind of a question is that?" David asked incredulously as he turned a page, his attention already straying. James prodded at his brother's stomach, making him let out an indignant sound.
"Why do you?" James insisted. David rolled his eyes and looked down at his magazine again.
"Because it's your name," he said absently as he read.
"No, my name is James," James said, as firmly as an 8-year-old could. "You're the only one who calls me Jimmy". At this David peered up at him over the edge of the magazine.
"Is it a problem?" he asked, sounding almost offended. James shook his head.
"No. I just want to know why," he said and then, feeling the need to repeat the important part, added, "Everybody else calls me James". David tensed a little and seemed to almost try to hide himself behind the magazine.
"Exactly," he muttered and refused to meet James' eyes.
---
"Why don't you ever call me James?"
House looked up from his plate with a slight frown. The cafeteria at PPTH was crowded as usual and the food was of questionable quality. The two men sat alone by a small table, Wilson preoccupied with an article in a medical journal and House busy with stealing the other's food unnoticed.
"What?" House said, stilling his hand that was holding a newly pilfered French fry. Wilson looked up from the journal and at him across the table, ignoring the evidence of thievery.
"Why do you always call me by my last name?" he asked again, all mild curiosity as he closed the journal and put it aside. House peered at him, seemingly unsure where the conversation was going.
"I call everyone by their last name," he said matter-of-factly. "What, does it bother you?" he continued, looking intently at Wilson. It wasn't really a question, but it wasn't scornful either. Wilson shook his head, a hint of a smile on his lips as he looked out over the cafeteria.
"No, I was just curious," he said lightly and went back to his food. House looked at him as if he wasn't convinced, but didn't say anything. The two men sat in silence for a minute or two, occupied with their own, when House broke it.
"Jimmy," he said abruptly, looking up at the ceiling with much interest. Wilson looked up at him, confusion written over his face.
"Excuse me?" he said, glancing upwards when House didn't lower his gaze. The ceiling was just as uninteresting as ever, so Wilson looked back at his friend.
"I can go as far as calling you Jimmy. Occasionally. If I'm in the mood. And just for fun," House mused, his fingers absent-mindedly drawing patterns on the table. He eventually looked down and met Wilson's eyes. "Is that good enough for you?"
Wilson blinked and then felt how his face split up in a grin. "Yeah," he said warmly. "That's good enough for me".
IV
James knocked at his brother's door unobtrusively and was instantly met by a flat "Come in". James opened the door carefully and stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. David was sitting by his desk and when he turned around a smile started to tug at his lips.
"Hi. I missed you at the celebration," he said and there was no blame in his voice, just mild certification. James deliberately avoided eye contact and fidgeted with his hands behind his back.
"I'm sorry," he said as his gaze was shifting between the window and his brother's chest area. He was genuinely sorry that he had missed David's birthday, but Wednesdays were his busiest day of the week. Preparing himself, he felt how his mouth became dry but he still tried to swallow. His fidgeting fingers had now found the hem of his shirt and were tugging nervously at it. His whole body trembled and he felt slightly dizzy. He took a deep breath and silently counted backwards from three.
"I love you," James blurted out, so quick that the words blurred together. He felt his face heat up and the nervousness increased dramatically. He dared a glance at David and it felt like his heart skipped a beat when he saw the dumbstruck look on his brother's face. Then David slowly got up from the chair and walked towards him. James felt like he was going to faint, asking himself if he had crossed a line or offended David or done something wrong. David was now right in front him. A second later James found himself pulled into an embrace. The hug was somewhat awkward -- James only reached David to this chest -- but David's body was warm and his hands were strong. Feeling all the anxiousness disappear from his body, James relaxed and clumsily put his arms around his brother. As he closed his eyes he heard a soft "Thank you" being whispered into his hair.
---
Wilson wasn't much of a drinker, and it was not often he drank until he was blind drunk. That particular night however, he was, and he didn't dare to go home to his apartment. He didn't trust himself not to do something reckless and dangerous. He was sure that he now had pushed away David forever, but just thinking that thought made him nauseous. His mind kept replaying the fight they had had, and no amount of alcohol seemed to be able to erase it. That was why Wilson went to House, asking him if he could stay for the night. He knew he was and looked pathetic, but he simply couldn't muster up enough strength to keep his act together.
"Why are you drunk?" House asked sternly but let Wilson inside. His whole posture screamed awkward. Wilson looked up at him, and suddenly felt a wave of emotions crash upon him. Having drowned all of his judgment and rationality in alcohol, he was unable to stop himself. Without warning he threw his arms around House and pulled the man towards him. Their bodies pressed close against each other and his hands grasping at House's back, he buried his face in House's neck. House whole body stiffened and his breath hitched in his throat. In momentary selfishness caused by intoxication, Wilson ignored the negative reaction. He held on to House as if he was afraid his friend would disappear if he let go, and his shoulders trembled as he silently started to cry. House didn't touch Wilson, but he didn't push him away either. They stood like that for a good ten minutes, House feeling awkward and Wilson soundlessly crying.
The next day House asked what had happened. Wilson lied and said that his uncle had died. He wasn't sure if House believed him or not, but House didn't ask him anything more. They never mentioned Wilson's slight breakdown, or the hug. When Wilson a year later slipped that he had visited said uncle for the holiday, House didn't comment.
V
"Amanda and I are together!" David boomed as he slammed the door to James' room open. James looked up from his desk and peered at his brother with his head tilted.
"Who's Amanda?" he asked as David was almost skipping about in his room. David stopped in his tracks and looked at James like he was mentally deficient.
"Only the hottest girl in class, hello," he said then resumed to the skipping about. James dangled his legs and looked down at his feet thoughtfully.
"What do you do when you're together, then?" he asked after a few seconds, glancing up at his brother. David had just thrown himself on the bed, and was smiling broadly.
"Well, you know... stuff you do when you're together," David said airily and waved his hand in a non-descriptive way. James was not helped at all by that answer.
"You play?" he asked, trying to picture David and this faceless Amanda play football. David chuckled and a slight flush tainted his cheeks.
"If I'm lucky, then sorta," he said and snickered. This only served to confuse James even more. David stayed for another ten minutes, telling his brother all about how fantastic Amanda was. James found himself suddenly in a sour mood and decided that he wasn't that fond of Amanda.
The biggest change for James was that suddenly David didn't have nearly as much time over to play with him. James missed the company very much, and every time David said he didn't have time to play James found himself disliking Amanda even more. So when the relationship broke three months later James felt strangely happy, but also for the first time in his life he felt bad for being it.
---
"Stacy's moving in with me," House beamed the moment Wilson had opened the door, all enthusiasm and glee. Wilson stared dumbfounded at him.
"Stacy?" he said after a few seconds, both bewildered and incredulous. "The lawyer you've been seeing for only a week?" House nodded vigorously and not so harshly pushed Wilson aside as he stepped into the latter's apartment. Wilson turned around and stared at his friend's back.
"Are you sure that this is a good idea?" he asked carefully, fighting the feeling of nausea that had welled up inside him.
"Nope," House said cheerfully as he whirled around in the apartment, seemingly unable to keep all of his energy inside. "But then again, none of the great ideas were ever good".
"That doesn't even make a little sense," Wilson pointed out as he closed the door and locked. "Are you really going to do this?" House stilled, tilted his head backwards and sighed heavily. He turned around to face Wilson, his look now disapproving.
"Is that all you can do? Be negative?" he asked, irritation slipping into his voice. "Why can't you be happy for me? You're the one who always said that I needed to be more social!" Wilson flinched slightly from the harsh yelling and looked away. Fighting down the cascade of unsorted emotions that flared inside him, he forced himself to smile and meet House's eyes again.
"No, I'm sorry. I am happy for you," he said mildly, though both his voice and smile felt fake and foreign. It seemed to be enough for House though, at least for the moment, since the man went back to the enthusiasm he had arrived with.
Three years later, after House's infarction and Stacy's leave, Wilson found himself once again sorting out a storm of emotions. He was shocked and appalled when he found out that a small grain was of malicious delight.
VI
James sat on his bed, his injured ankle dangling over the edge and he was angrily holding his pillow to his chest. He rested his chin on it, his head sinking down in the puffiness and his face almost completely hidden behind pillow and dark bangs. His eyes were brimming with tears of frustration and anger but he refused to cry. A tentative knock was heard and the door opened. James glanced at the door and saw David stick his head in. He looked very awkward.
"How's your ankle?" he asked after a few seconds, seemingly unsure of what to do or say. James felt the words burning on the tip of his tongue. He wanted so badly to tell David that it had been no accident, that Sean had pushed him on purpose. He wanted so badly to tell David how hard everything was right now, that no one wanted to be with him and that he felt nauseous just thinking about school. He wanted so badly to tell David all of these things and more, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. David didn't want to know this, he wouldn't want to talk about it. David didn't like complicated things, he turned a blind eye to them and ignored them. James swallowed the words and looked away from his brother.
"Better," he mumbled and David nodded slowly. Neither of them said anything for a few seconds and eventually David closed the door behind him and left James alone. James silently started to sob into his pillow.
---
The bass was heavy, the guitar annoyingly loud and the drums were deafening, but at least it was somewhat melodic. The music wasn't really angry but it was still undoubtedly hard rock. Wilson heard the door to the apartment open over the music, but he didn't get up from the couch or even turn his head. No more sounds were coming from behind him for a few seconds but then shuffling and the uneven gait was heard.
"I thought you didn't like Deep Purple," House commented casually and limped to the couch. Wilson opened his eyes but didn't lift his head, just staring upwards at the ceiling.
"I don't," he said and then scolded himself for saying anything in the first place -- now he had definitely caught House's interest. Now he would have to suffer through dozens of questions, multiple accusations and endless prodding until he told the truth or let something slip. House's refusal to ever give up the mystery was what made him an excellent diagnostician, but also why he was a horrible person to be friends with. True enough, as Wilson dared a glance at House, he saw his friend looking intently at him. Wilson suddenly felt a wave of hopelessness crash upon him and the mere thought of the interrogation to come filled him with dread.
"Then why..." House started but was interrupted by Wilson.
"My brother liked them," Wilson said, giving away the truth immediately, hoping with his whole being that House wouldn't push further. To his great surprise House didn't. The man just looked at him in silence for a few seconds before making room for himself on the couch and sat down. Wilson was slightly bewildered by the strange behavior and waited anxiously for the bomb to drop. When House still hadn't said anything for a whole minute, Wilson started to slowly relax.
They spent the next half hour listening to Deep Purple in an almost soothing silence.