Author's Note: I sort of took a scene from season 4 House's Head and put it in here, but it's all the same show, and I think it works. I still don't own anything. :P

Fate Means 'Screwed On Purpose'

Charlie Press exited his home at 9:07, almost falling down his front steps in his drunken state. Ugh, why was he even alive? His life was so screwed. He hated his job at the grocery store - stocking shelves for hours on end - and it wasn't like he had a loving wife to go home to. Alcohol. He was still alive because he could vanish into a pretend world of glee. Charlie chuckled to himself. He really didn't even care if someone at work noticed his condition. If he got fired, the world would not topple in on itself. "To drive," he announced to the air and marched purposefully toward his beat up old Chevy. Benji had heard all of this.

Gregory House exited his home at 9:12. He sat in the back of Wilson's car, with Benji fidgeting beside him. The boy had refused to sit in the front. He seemed antsy, like he was waiting for something.

"How many vicodin did you take this morning," Wilson asked House, concerned about his friend.

"None," House breathed through the haze of pain, "kid said it wouldn't make a difference."

"And you listened?' Sure, there was a first time for everything, but this?

"Yeah, I did. Can we just get to the hospital? I want to tell Cuddy something." House almost hit himself. The things he let slip when he was in pain.

"Tell her what? Why can't you tell me?" Wilson asked, slightly hurt by this friendship betrayal.

House took the safe route and brushed it off with a joke, "I saw her trying on this new outfit the other day and WOW, Wilson, you should've seen it. The adult thing to do is give a nice polite compliment, no?"

"Real mature," Wilson mumbled.

Beside House, Benji froze.

Charlie saw the light turn red long before he got there. Red…what did that mean again? He decided to dismiss it, thinking that if it was something really important he wouldn't have forgotten. The lack of traffic was marvellous, he thought, allowed for greater speed inclination. What the heck? Why was there a car in front of him?! Excuse me, but he was driving. He opened his mouth to yell angrily and use some very inappropriate language, but his reaction time had been slightly delayed by a certain chemical surging through his blood stream.

Benji turned to House and nodded meaningfully, "fate," he whispered.

The cars connected.

Benji heard everyone's thoughts for those few seconds. Wilson thought he was dying and started praying to his long-lost brother. He wished he could see him, just one more time. See if they looked the same, if his brother had the same annoying habits, see if he had the same women difficulties. See if they were brothers. Charlie was confused, his mind flying off in a thousand directions. Why was the car even there? Was it his fault? What did the red light mean? Who were these people? Were salmon fresh-water or salt-water fish? And House was thinking about Cuddy. I love you, I love you, I love. He repeated this over and over, as many times as he could before the car flipped completely and he landed upside-down.

"Wilson? Benji?" House called. Maybe he was still in bed and was having a nightmare from too many vicodin. Maybe this wasn't even real at all. He could only hope. Either way, he received no reply. He quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and fell painfully to the ground. He turned to look in Benji's direction and almost screamed. The boy had a piece of glass jutting out from his left leg and was bleeding profusely. "Benji?" He gently tapped Benji's face, trying to get some reaction as he ripped off his own coat.

"House? Fate, House," Benji whispered.

"I have to tie this around you, Benji."

"I'm cold, House." He was so weak, so small, so innocent. He didn't deserve any of this. House worked quickly to tie his coat around Benji's leg, slowing the blood flow significantly. He sighed in relief. But there was still Wilson. He turned quickly to the front, but didn't quite make it. He passed out to the sound of sirens.

Benji woke up with a start. He spotted a nurse in the chair across the room. She was thinking about buying a new goldfish. How odd. "Cuddy? Where's Cuddy?" He asked in a frenzy. The nurse was slightly shocked. She had been sent here only twenty minutes ago to watch in case the kid woke up, but no one had expected it to be so soon. "Cuddy?" Benji asked again, even more urgently.

"Uh, yes, I'll go get her," the nurse replied as sweetly as she could.

Benji ran through the crash again, in slow motion for better detail, and placed it elegantly into his filing cabinet of a brain. Stored there also were the thoughts of every single person on earth. House, Cuddy, Wilson, and Charlie Press were near the front, with all the people they were thinking about behind them, and then all the people they were thinking about were behind them, etcetera. It was a beautiful yet horribly wrong system.

"Benji!" Cuddy scurried into his room like a worried mother and pulled a chair up next to his bed. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Yeah, I do, is House okay?"

Cuddy figured this would be a bad time to ask him why he couldn't just magically read her mind. "Right when the ambulance arrived the car started on fire. House got the worst of it, but he's recovering now. You, my friend, punctured your femoral artery? Do you know what that is?" Talking all sappy and mother like. Normally that would bother Benji, but not right now.

"And Wilson?"

"He's better off than you. Benji, you're hurt." The kid didn't really have too big a concern for self-preservation.

"So they're both okay? Can I see them?"

"Wilson in maybe an hour, but he has to come to you. House…it could be awhile. Benji-"

She really wasn't going to let this slide. You didn't have to read minds to know that. "I know, a piece of glass from the window." Benji paused as something came to his mind. He pulled down the sheet and looked down at his leg. Wrapped around the wound was a thick layer of dressings. "Who?" He asked.

Cuddy's pager went off and she looked at Benji apologetically, "I'm sorry Benji, it's House. I'll send the team in to talk to you," and she rushed out.

Benji moaned, but was surprised at how quickly Chase, Cameron and Foreman arrived. Cameron sat in Cuddy's chair, Foreman sat on the edge of the bed, and Chase brought up a new chair to sit on the other side of the Benji. "Seriously, who put this on?" Benji asked.

"Benji, I'm Dr. Foreman. Can you tell me what happened?"

He could, but didn't feel like it at the moment. "Who?" He asked more urgently. It wasn't like he was asking them to explain the theory of relativity in pig Latin.

"Dr. Cuddy did it herself," Chase replied, recognizing the stubborn quality in this young child.

Benji breathed a sigh of relief. That could've been very bad.

"Please, can you tell us what happened?" Cameron asked, using her famous caring tone.

Benji made a move to sit up, but felt a searing pain shoot up his left arm and winced. Blood started dripping onto the sheets. "Thank-you for the heads-up about having stitches just put there," he mumbled sarcastically.

"I've got it," Foreman said to his colleagues, and took some gauze from a cupboard. He sat back on the bed with his best it-is-okay-kid face.

"I'll do it," Benji casually reached his right arm out to take the gauze, but Cameron eased him back down. "I'll try to say this politely: don't touch me guys." Well, it was a good effort.

"Why not?" Cameron asked. This could mean all sorts of things, and typically they weren't good.

"Um, I'd rather Cuddy do it. Well, I'd really rather House do it, he's supposed to be the only one that can touch me-"

A look of horror crossed Chase's face, "does he? Touch you?"

"Ugh, Chase, no! Just…ugh, not that! Like, holding my hand when I get nightmares and stuff, and apparently putting a dressing on a wound, and applying gauze."

Foreman hit Chase lightly on the arm and gave him the what-is-wrong-with-you look.

"Just, give me the gauze. Apply pressure right?" Benji didn't wait for a reply and snatched the gauze anyway. No one took the liberty to stop him. The bleeding quickly stopped and Benji smiled up at his audience, "tada!"

"Now can you tell us what happened? From the lying down position, preferably." Chase was trying to regain professionalism, with some avail.

Benji took a deep breath and began his narration. His thought radio was playing very loudly, sharing every single detail starting at 9:07am. "It was fate," he concluded.