Tough Love
Title: Tough Love
Author: Rivercrossing2
Prompt: Written for #26: Wilson's delusional brother attacks him while Wilson's visiting.
Pairing: House & Wilson: Friendship only.
Category: Hurt/Comfort.
Rating/Warnings: PG, contains some brief violence and mention of mental illness.
Words: 1,106
Summary: The prompt says it all.
Disclaimer: Do I sound like David Shore? I really hope not, because if I do, this could mean that I might have a brain problem!
He didn’t know what he was saying when it happened. The last thing he could recall saying was telling Danny how much he’d missed him, and how much he was looking forward to when Danny was well enough to be let outside, so that they could take a walk around the courtyard. The next thing Wilson knew, his back was on the floor and Daniel had him in a choke-hold.
The next few seconds became a blur as he heard shouts from all sides, calling Daniel’s name. He tried gasping desperately for air, but each breath seemed to close the pocket in his throat tighter. As the hands continued to squeeze, he felt himself growing feint, and, without enough strength to cry out, felt his knees buckled from under him. The last thing that Wilson could remember was painfully vivid, as the look in Daniel’s eyes was one he’d never seen before. They were filled with such rage and hatred, and it was all turned towards him. Wilson tried to cry out, but he wasn’t sure if anyone heard him, because at that same exact moment, his whole world went suddenly black.
“Wilson,” a voice said, trying to rouse his attention from out of the depths.
Wilson knew that voice…that familiar, urgent, grating voice…but for some reason he couldn’t place the name, nor see a face in his mind’s eye with which match the name to a memory. He felt painfully weak and exhausted and his body hurt all over, like it was one big bruise. He heard the constant sound of a heart monitor beeping at regular intervals nearby, and by the soft support of his back, he knew he was in a hospital bed. Oh, God, no…I’m dying…Please God, don’t let me die…
He struggled to open his eyes to respond, but they only managed to flutter. What was wrong with him? Why was he here? Panic seized him when he recalled where he had been last---visiting Danny. His heart began beating wildly, and his chest hurt, and briefly he wondered if he was having a heart attack. “Help,” he muttered, but though his dry lips parted, they didn’t make a sound.
“Wilson, wake up.” The voice was gruff and unwelcoming, but also filled with urgency and concern. “It’s House. You’re in the hospital.”
“House?” Wilson felt dizzy at the mention of the name. His heart racing wildly, he tried not to panic, because if House was here, then it must be bad. Alarmed, Wilson forced his eyes wide open, and was stunned to see the still-fuzzy form of House sitting idly by his side.
“Oh, my God…House, what are you…what are you doing here?” he squeaked.
“You were hurt and you put me as your emergency contact, you dingbat!” House scorned, though good-naturedly. “Do you remember what happened?”
Wilson tried to keep himself talking, so that he could breathe. “Was talking to Danny…”
“And then what?” House insisted impatiently.
“Oh my God…” Wilson felt ill as he remembered the murderous look in Daniel’s eyes, and covered his eyes with his hands as a wave of nausea swept over him. “Oh God, House, I think I’m going to throw up…”
“No time for that,” House snapped disconcertingly, “now, come on, talk to me…Do you know where you are? Can you tell me your name?”
“James Wilson,” Wilson mumbled through his hands, trying desperately to will the queasy feeling away.
“How many fingers?” House demanded of him hastily.
He counted House’s fingers through his hands. “Five,” Wilson croaked. “House---where is my brother?”
“Where do you think?” House snapped. “He’s in confinement! Where else?”
“Oh, my God, House…He tried to choke me.”
“I know. You’re lucky to be alive,” House said gravely. “Do you realize he gave you a concussion?”
“When I passed out,” Wilson murmured, as it all clicked into place. “Oh, God, Danny…”
He didn’t want to cry in front of House, but the image of Daniel in restraints was too much. One second he was fine, and the next he was sobbing his heart out.
“Wilson,” House said quietly with a warning tone in his voice, “Get a hold of yourself. Save it until you’re home, okay? They might keep you overnight if you don’t get it together.”
“He tried to kill me, House…” Wilson gasped, “he nearly strangled me to death…oh, God...” He was practically shaking all over, desperately wanting to have someone wrap him in their arms and tell him that everything was going to be all right---but he knew that House wouldn’t do that, because House never did. House never hugged anyone.
“Wilson,” House said, with the tone of a parent whose patience was strained, “Your brother is sick….he’s mentally ill. He’s clearly delusional. This has absolutely nothing to do with you.”
“He’s my brother, House!” Wilson exclaimed with exasperation, as his body convulsed with sobs. “How can it not have anything to do with me?!”
“We’ve already been over this, Wilson,” House said, “You should know this isn’t your fault. You knew you were taking a risk by going to see him when he wasn’t stable. Except, you want to fix everyone, and since it didn’t work out the way that you wanted it to, you feel like a failure. Don’t you?” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes,” Wilson choked out, still shaking uncontrollably. “You’re right. You’re always right about everything…always so goddamned right.” He wrapped his arms around his waste and tried to silence his tremors, but couldn’t.
House didn’t remove his leveled gaze from Wilson’s face as he said very softly: “I didn’t want to be, Wilson. Please know that…I didn’t want to be right about this.”
“But you were,” Wilson whispered. He had stopped sobbing and was looking directly at House for the very first time.
“I know I was,” House said grimly, “but I very much wish I wasn’t.”
Wilson thought about that for a moment, and nodded with acceptance. “Okay,” he said, as though coming to conclusion, and, looking straight at House, said, “House…tell them I need to go home.”
“You got it,” House said with conviction, then paused to look at Wilson thoughtfully before turning to go.
Wilson suddenly felt lighter as he watched House shuffle quietly through the privacy curtain. He’d never heard House say anything like that before, and it was somehow more reassuring than a hug could ever be. It’s not what you say, it’s what you do…How many times had he heard those words before?
Yet now he believed that words mattered just as much, because they revealed what the hidden heart couldn’t achieve.