Rise with the Fallen
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own House or its characters. I do, however, own this plot. Or whatever you'd call this little tidbit of fluffy angst. Huh. Fluffy angst. That's an oxymoron. Eh, whatever.
A/N: Little plot bunny of fluffy angst jumped into my head. Couldn't get it out. Blame the bunnies if it sucks. And, as with all my fics, this one doesn't have a beta. Any and all mistakes are mine. Except the weird semi-colon issues. I'm pretty sure those are at the fault of the bunnies. Yeah. The bunnies.
Chapter One: Not My Fault
He couldn't help it. He, of all people, should know the dangers of alcohol and drugs. But, as he so often claimed to himself that night (probably out of guilt), he couldn't help it. It wasn't his fault his mum had been an alcoholic and a drug abuser. And it wasn't his fault it looked so tempting…. Just a few bottles could get the blood in his veins coursing with sweet (though only temporary) relief.
It wasn't his fault that pain drove people to do stupid things. It was the creator of pain. Or at least, the manifester. The proliferator. It wasn't his fault that he followed this particular law of human nature more than any of the rest. It wasn't his fault that this made such a pliable excuse.
It wasn't his fault that he had experienced pain. Hell, there was no way he could've known he'd lead a life such as this. If he had, he would've done away with himself long ago. It wasn't his fault he'd had a screwed up family. Or that now he had screwed up life.
It wasn't his fault.
At least, that's what he told himself.
