Down With the Sickness
Song by Distrub redone by Richard Cheese Video: and probably last, House fan fic. Quick one shot.
"Greg why don't you play something for us?" Blythe asked. That was one of the things she missed about having her son around, his piano playing had always filled the house with music. Now there was nothing to fill the empty void of the family home.
"I'm not sure mom." House said not wanting to play, he had a few drinks, a few vicodin and he was pleasantly buzzed. Moreover, he did not want to hear his father bitch about his playing. There was always something wrong with it.
Wilson jumped in with an almost mocking tone, "Yeah Greg come on."
"Why don't I just put some music on?" House tried, hoping they would let it drop before his father got back from the bathroom.
Is hopes had been short lived, John House said, "Greg go play something for your mother. She spent too much time teaching you to play, this is the least you could do, you ungrateful…" He trailed off remembering there was company.
House got up from his kitchen table, everyone watching him as he limped over to the piano he loved. He hated Wilson for this, it was his idea to have this big Greg birthday bash. Wilson invited everyone, Cameron, Foremen, Chase, Cuddy, and of course House's parents. House was not sure what was worse, the idea that Wilson and Cuddy probably forced his fellows to be there, or the fact that he felt like his family was on display in all of its dysfunction.
Everyone watched as House started playing. No one noticed the song at first, it sounded like a lounge song, not a very Housian thing. While he was playing the beginning of the song he was grumbling to himself in his thoughts. He hated playing on demand, he hated his father, he hated this entire night. So fuck it, House started to sing, his drunken voice carrying into the dining area.
Get up, come on get down with the sickness
You mother get up
Come on get down with the sickness
You fucker get up
Come on get down with the thickness
Open up your hate and let it flow into me
Why can't you just fuck up and die
Get down with the sickness
Fuck you
I don't need this shit
I'm down with the sickness
You stupid sadistic abusive fucking organ
Down with the sickness
Here it comes get ready to die
House smiled pleased with himself as he played and sang the song. His head moving to the song as he sand and played. Not bothering to take not his mother gasping as he sang, or his fathers face turning red. Foremen and Chase were both laughing, familiar with the song.
Cuddy and Wilson were both all too aware of how angry John House looked, both avoiding laughing.
"Always have to be the funny man. Don't you Greg?" John House asked his voice full of venom.
"What I thought even you would enjoy that song dad." House replied his drunken voice full of sarcasm.
Blythe house interrupted before the two began to fight and ruin the night, "I loved it Greg." Almost as an afterthought, "Thank you for playing it."
"Someone who can appreciate real music." House mumbled wishing his mother had not stepped in. For some reason he felt like a good fight with his dad was what he needed. He had forgot about all the onlookers, but why not, isn't that what they all wanted to see. Wasn't that why they all were there, to meet his parents and try and find out what the hell went wrong that he became who he was. Why not give them what they want?
Uncomfortable silence filled the room until Foremen stood up, "I better get home. Work tomorrow."
Chase stood up, "It was nice meeting everyone."
Blythe smiled and said goodbye, John was too busy glaring at his son who sat at the table downing yet another beer.
Wilson smiled, "Blythe and John if you want I can drive you back to the hotel."
"We are leaving Blythe." John said taking up Wilson's offer.
Cameron had to leave, as Wilson had given her a ride to House's apartment because her car was in the shop. .
Everyone was leaving, well he had reached a goal he had not known he had. Everyone gone. The only person left was Cuddy, and House expected her to be leaving with everyone else.
As John was walking out of the door he grabbed his son arm, "You have to ruin everything don't you. Apologize to your mother."
House glared at him, and said nothing.
Blythe tried to tell John that her son had not ruined anything, but his look shut her up before she had a chance.
He gripped his son arm tighter.
"Tell me what I ruined dad? It's my fucking party."
John House wanted to hit his son, but he held back for now. "You had to go and cripple yourself. Now no woman wants you. You ruined your mothers hope of having a grandchild. Stacy was smart to leave you, you crippled piece of shit."
House glared, he tried to pull his arm away from his father, the words hitting home. Some of his fears spoken aloud.
Wilson stepped in, noting how House did nothing to help himself. "Come on sir."
John let Wilson remove him from his son's apartment. Cuddy and Cameron where both in shock, but reacted quickly. Cameron left, wanting to stay, but knowing House would only bite her head off if she did.
Cuddy watched as House popped more vicodin turning to his dinging room he limped inside, picking up a few dishes and limping into the kitchen with them. He set the dishes in the sink and returned to grab more.
Cuddy went to help him. They cleaned the dinning room up in silence, neither of them breaking the silence.
Finally when all the dishes were in the kitchen House grabbed a bottle down from a cupboard and poured himself another drink. He downed it before he spoke to Cuddy finally, "leave."
Cuddy looked at him not sure if she should, "House…"
"You got what you wanted now leave. Can't you get a clue like everyone else." House snapped. He wanted to be alone, to wallow, to find that cover again that allowed him to brush everything off, what made him House that everyone knew.
Cuddy watched him, and when he just stood their glaring she decided to leave. It was what he wanted after all. She could not help but look back when she saw the man she had seen so many years ago, the same House that had been present when his thigh muscle was dying. The same fright, insecurity, and anger all present; he had been hiding it well behind the cold sarcastic exterior.