This is actually a crossover with Supernatural. (Yeah, I've got no idea where it came from unless you take into account the fact that I recently bought S1 and have been watching it incessantly! grins)
050. Crime
The Past Comes A'Knocking
House limped up to the door of his apartment and froze when he saw that it was slightly ajar. He knew he'd both closed and locked the door when he'd left this morning; he never forgot something that important. He limped forward carefully and gently pushed the door open. His first impression when he walk into his apartment was the place looked like a crime scene, his things were strewn everywhere and a truly disturbing amount of blood was splattered on the walls and floor. The second thing that hit him was the two young men lying on the floor near his piano and the dark splotch next to them.
House quietly closed the door behind him and picked his way through the debris. He stopped next to the splotch first and poked it tentatively with his cane. It seemed to be dry and the only smell it was producing was a faint lingering tang of brimstone. He sighed and grimaced as he started down at the splotch; he was going to have to replace his carpet.
He abandoned the splotch and moved onto the two unconscious young men, leaning on his cane as he looked down at them, an expression of weary recognition on his face. How they'd found him, he didn't know but he had a nasty feeling his nice, relatively uncomplicated life was about to go down the toilet. He stood up properly once more then prodded the older of the two men in the shoulder with his cane; he wasn't gentle about it.
"Rise and shine," he said sarcastically. "Time for all good little menaces to get up off my floor!"
The young man moaned and shifted slightly, trying brush off the cane with one hand. House didn't let and simply prodded him a bit harder.
"Ow, ow, geez, Greg," the young man complained as his eyes fluttered open. He blinked a few times then looked blearily up at House, seemingly taking stock of the other man. "When did you get a cane?"
House scowled. "When I had half the muscles in my thigh removed. What are you doing here, Dean?"
Dean ignored the scowl and sat up, rubbing his head and looked around. "Sam!" he yelped, scrambling over to his brother.
The other young man moaned almost piteously then rolled over onto his side.
"Rise and shine, Sammy," Dean said cheerfully. "Greg's home and I think he's pissed at us."
"He is?" Sam said, sitting up and blinking owlishly. He looked around and grimaced. "Well, I guess that understandable."
House's scowl deepened. "What the fuck are you two doing here? Where's John?"
"Dad's…busy," Dean said, looking unhappy for a brief moment. "We got a tip that Samiel was back and really, really pissed at you. We thought we'd come take care of him for you. You could say thank you."
Surprise flashed across House's face for a moment then the scowl returned.
"Thank you for painting my place in blood?" he growled. "Oh yes, and precisely how am I supposed to explain this?"
Dean frowned. "Explain to who?"
House lips thinned but before he could say anything the front door opened again and Wilson walked in. He dropped his bag at the door then looked up, his eyes widening as he took in the mess, the blood and the two strangers.
"House?" Wilson said hesitantly as Dean and Sam scrambled to their feet.
"Oh, explain to him," Dean said as though he'd just had a revelation. "Hey, nice work, Greg. You got a cute one this time."
"Dean!" Sam hissed, eyeing the expression on House's face warily.
"Uh, House? What's going on?" Wilson asked, his gaze flickering around the room. "Should I…?"
"No," House said sharply. "It's…fine. Just…part of my past coming back to torment me."
"Oh," Wilson said slowly as Dean affected a hurt expression. He almost said something but Sam kicked his leg sharply before he could open his mouth.
Wilson's gaze rested on the two strangers for a moment then shifted over to House. "Do I get an explanation?"
The scowl dropped off House's face and a look of weary resignation replaced. "I guess I'd better. Bit hard to hide this."
"We could…uh, go?" Sam offered tentatively.
"You're not going anywhere," House snapped, his scowl returning. "You and your brother are cleaning this place up while Wilson and I sit down and have a nice chat."
"Um, okay," Sam said tentatively then he nudged his brother and bent over to start picking up the books closest to him.
Dean looked outraged for a moment but a quick glance at the forbidding expression on House's face and the warning look on Sam's made him sigh and start gathering papers. House watched them for a moment then he limped over and slumped down on the sofa. He looked over his shoulder at Wilson and patted the seat next to him. Wilson eyed the brothers for a long moment then carefully made his way over to the sofa and sat down.
"That is Dean Winchester," House said abruptly, pointing at Dean then he shifted his finger to Sam. "And that is his younger brother, Sam. They have a father named John and are collectively the biggest pain in my arse. I've known them all for years…unfortunately."
"Has Dad been pissing people off again?" Sam said sotto voce to his brother. "Because last time I saw Greg, he was a lot nicer."
"Last time you saw Greg you were twelve," Dean whispered loudly back.
Wilson's frown had been growing through all of this. "John?" he said quietly, remembering a tall, solid, muscular man with a beard and a quiet intensity about him. "Is that the same John who came in to see you after the infarction?"
House's hands twitched into fists and he almost snarled. "Yes."
"Yup, looks like Dad's been pissing people off again," Dean said to his brother with a charming grin.
"Okay," Wilson said slowly. "Um, perhaps I should ask why there's blood on the walls and what made that?" He pointed to the black splotch on the carpet.
"You don't want to know," House said firmly then shook his head at Wilson's wordless protest. "You do not want to know. Dean and Sam are going to clean up all the blood and then they're going to get the fuck out of my apartment."
Dean handed the books he'd just picked up to his brother and gave House an unhappy look.
"I guess asking whether you'd seen Dad recently wouldn't go down to well then?"
"Your father came in after I was permanently crippled, tossed off some half-arsed comment about how I wasn't of any use anymore then demanded all my weapons," House growled, suddenly looking furious. "I haven't seen him since then. Why? Has something finally eaten him?"
Dean went from looking unhappy to starting to look angry.
"He's missing," he said flatly.
"John always goes missing," House snarled in reply. "So what's new?"
Dean pulled a thick diary-style journal out of his jacket. It was held together by an elastic band and had bits of paper shoved into it.
"He left this," he said belligerently. "He's missing."
House eyed the journal with surprise and his anger faded somewhat. "John's journal," he murmured more to himself than anyone else. When he continued, his voice was much calmer. "I haven't seen him in nearly six years."
"He hasn't called or mailed you anything?" Sam asked, coming up to stand beside his brother.
House shook his head. "No, nothing. Why would he? We didn't part on the best of terms."
Dean looked frustrated and slightly despairing as he shoved the journal back into his jacket.
"Look…Samiel was just a good excuse to come here and see you," Dean said awkwardly. "You're good at this job. We…need some help."
Frustration and fury flooded through House and he lurched to his feet.
"Do I look like I can help?" he yelled, waving his cane at Dean. "Do I look like I am of any use to you? Did you think I was using this for the hell of it? That this isn't permanent?"
Both Dean and Sam looked rather taken aback and Wilson rose and placed a careful hand on House's arm.
"House," he said quietly.
House turned his head and Wilson could see the frustration, the helplessness and the pain in his eyes. After a moment, House sighed and closed his eyes and all his anger drained away. When he opened his eyes again, he looked weary and defeated.
"I can't help you," he said quietly to Dean and Sam. "What use would a cripple be out there?"
An awkward, uncomfortable silence settled on the room. Wilson had no idea what this was about and wasn't entirely sure he even wanted to know but he did want to take away that defeat from House. He wasn't sure he liked these two young men who came in and made House look like this.
"You're only a cripple when you want to be," he said to House with quiet humour.
For a moment House did nothing then he snorted and gave Wilson a look of quiet affection and gratitude.
"Here, in this life, I'm not," he said matter-of-factly. "But out there I would be. And I'd be a liability."
Wilson once again didn't really understand but he nodded, a little worried and definitely torn between curiosity and concern.
"We, uh…should finish cleaning up," Sam said awkwardly then he nudged his brother and hustled him out into the kitchen.
"Should I even ask?" Wilson said softly.
House snorted again and slowly lowered himself down onto the sofa. Wilson followed suit and waited for an answer.
"You probably don't want to know and I'm not sure how much you'd believe," House said after a long pause. "But if you really want to know, I'll tell you. Now those two menaces know where I am, they'll probably be back."
Wilson considered the blood-splattered room, the two young men banging around out in the kitchen and the weary look on House's face then he slowly nodded.
"Are you sure?" House asked as Dean and Sam emerged from the kitchen with a bucket, a mop and a sponge.
Wilson spared a moment to wonder where the two young men had found those things then nodded at House.
"I'm sure."
House nodded slowly then drew in a deep breath. "I don't know whether you'll believe me or how I can convince you but…there are things that go bump in the night. Dean, Sam, John…me when I was younger…we bump back."