The quiet wasn't peaceful, it was unsettling. Like before a storm when everything's been boarded up in anticipation of the oncoming destruction, but House hadn't been prepared. If he had known what was coming he could have stopped it, sheltered them both against the onslaught.
He sat there waiting, that was all he could do, like those childhood dreams where your legs won't move despite the slowly advancing demons. He knew somewhere in his mind that he wasn't actually sat there, there was no way he could be because he knew that he shouldn't be because of... something just there beyond his grasp.
Nothing was making sense except for the loneliness he felt, he knew he was lonely because he wasn't there. The only time he was ever truly alone was in the absence of Wilson, a fact would never admit out loud but he knew that he knew, so he wouldn't just leave him here to face this, whatever it was, unaided.
The rush of air broke the silence, raising him up and whipping him round and round. He didn't know what or where or why, he only knew he had failed and this failure had led to what he feared most. If he was lonely then that meant no Wilson, and no Wilson only meant that Wilson was no more.
Then it stopped, it all stopped. Unsettling quiet and the loneliness was all that remained.