Daily Drabble #6
Daily Drabble #6
Rating: PG
Warning: part of my kid!fic-verse
Word Count: 240
He no longer dreams of running.
Rarely, he will dream of amputation and rehabilitation; Wilson urging him with sad eyes to do what he thinks is best, helping him adjust the prosthesis, hanging around helpfully during therapy.
His focus has shifted, from himself to others, and his dreams reflect that change. Wilson, being prepped for MRI, his strong hand gripping House's, a doctor who strongly resembles Cuddy saying the words "brain tumor". Tears, his own, and trying to calm their teenaged son as the surgeons open up Jimmy's brain right before their eyes. A sense of complete helplessness, and mind-numbing fear.
Church, senseless with shock, being cut from the wreckage of his graduation present, the car mangled beyond comprehension. At the hospital, being pushed away from his son's side as others work to restart his heart, arms slick to the elbows with his child's blood. Holding a shattered Jimmy, screaming without sound, the relentless flatline ringing in his ears.
For years, these recurring dreams haunt him, worry at him, ruin his day before it even gets started. Only when the events have passed, terrifying and surreal, does he ever admit the dreams' existence to the concerned parties.
"You could have warned me, jackass," Church gripes, scratching balefully at the tape on his bandages.
"I'm glad you didn't," Wilson admits. "My life works better when you aren't the one-legged Nostradamus."
House agrees wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, that doesn't stop new dreams from coming.
Rating: PG
Warning: part of my kid!fic-verse
Word Count: 240
He no longer dreams of running.
Rarely, he will dream of amputation and rehabilitation; Wilson urging him with sad eyes to do what he thinks is best, helping him adjust the prosthesis, hanging around helpfully during therapy.
His focus has shifted, from himself to others, and his dreams reflect that change. Wilson, being prepped for MRI, his strong hand gripping House's, a doctor who strongly resembles Cuddy saying the words "brain tumor". Tears, his own, and trying to calm their teenaged son as the surgeons open up Jimmy's brain right before their eyes. A sense of complete helplessness, and mind-numbing fear.
Church, senseless with shock, being cut from the wreckage of his graduation present, the car mangled beyond comprehension. At the hospital, being pushed away from his son's side as others work to restart his heart, arms slick to the elbows with his child's blood. Holding a shattered Jimmy, screaming without sound, the relentless flatline ringing in his ears.
For years, these recurring dreams haunt him, worry at him, ruin his day before it even gets started. Only when the events have passed, terrifying and surreal, does he ever admit the dreams' existence to the concerned parties.
"You could have warned me, jackass," Church gripes, scratching balefully at the tape on his bandages.
"I'm glad you didn't," Wilson admits. "My life works better when you aren't the one-legged Nostradamus."
House agrees wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, that doesn't stop new dreams from coming.