Theme: #341 - "Hell is For Heroes"
Warnings: None really.
There was a phone call. From there, all he can remember is Cuddy's distraught voice on the other end struggling to get the words out through haggard gasps. He remembers her voice so well, and he remembers the damned words all too carefully.
"Wilson's been hit by a car; he's in the emergency room."
That was the fastest he had ever driven to the hospital, even faster than the times he had been driven there in an ambulance. He didn't even bother to put the stand down; merely drove up to the sidewalk and had literally jumped off the bike, hobbling through the doors and people that were in front of him.
From there, everything was a blur. His team rushed up to him, explaining that Wilson was in surgery, Chase was going to make sure everything was okay, Cameron was inside working at his side, Foreman was supervising from above; don't worry; it's okay; he'll make it; Dr. House, Cuddy wants to see you.
He doesn't even remember speaking to Cuddy. He's not sure if he even said anything to her, but he knows that she spoke to him because they were still sitting beside each other hours later when Chase came out to let them know that yes, Wilson is in stable condition and no, you can't see him yet.
Orders be damned, House stomped into his room anyway and nearly turned around to leave when he saw the bloody rags that laid in a heap on the table. Those bloody rags, he realized, were what remained of Wilson's clothes.
His eyes traveled to the bed where bandages went rampant on every inch of visible skin on his friend. An oxygen mask was at Wilson's mouth, the steady rise and fall of the chest and beeping of the machines signaling the life that was inside him that existed.
His hand searched awkwardly for a chair, and he felt one being pressed into the back of his legs. It was only after he dropped onto the seat and grabbed Wilson's hand did he finally allow the emotions to take over and he allowed himself to cry, completely ignoring the hand rubbing reassuringly on his back.