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WIP: stabbed!Wilson, Part 1
PART I
"Will you get out of here already?" House ignored Wilson's exasperated side-glance and bounced his cane impatiently, glaring at the hypochondriac shit-for-brains excuse for a human being that was his current clinic patient. "Burning pee as a symptom of testicular cancer. Right. Next you tell me if I pull your second molar, your liver will fail. I got you an oncologist to tell you your self-diagnosis is bullshit. Now get out and let the doctors treat the real patients."
House didn't know why he hadn't seen it coming. Usually, he wasn't at all bad in guessing people's moods. Came with the whole thing about the talent for observation. Today, however, he hadn't seen this. He could make up excuses, about how his leg had been a particularly annoying bitch for the last two days, how he'd gotten only two hours of sleep that night, and how his clinic patients that day all seemed to have stopped by the neurology department for a lobotomy before coming here. About how he couldn't have stopped himself from pushing and provoking the idiotic testicular cancer guy even if he'd been willing to try. It still left the fact that the sudden movement and the flash of steel came as a complete surprise to him. So did Wilson's yell of shock, and the warm, heavy body that stumbled back against him and knocked him off his feet.
House fell on his good leg, and thank God for small favors, because falling on his right leg would probably have resulted in another week of mind-corroding pain. Not that this didn't hurt, too, being pinned to the floor by Wilson, whose elbow was painfully digging into House's thigh. House tried to get his bearings back, and saw a whirl of colors fly by as the testicular cancer guy ran past them and out the door. House groaned. "Wilson, will you get off of me?"
Wilson didn't move or reply, and House rolled his eyes; what did the man think House was, a human safety net? He began to extricate himself from under Wilson, but then his right hand slipped in something wet. Annoyed, he raised his hand to see what exactly it was maintenance hadn't cleaned away, and froze.
His hand was covered in blood. Bright red, oxygen-sated, arterial blood.
"Fuck." House pulled himself out from underneath Wilson as quickly as he could, ignoring the painful protests of his leg, and got to his knees beside his friend. When he saw the extent of the damage, House felt his mouth dry up.
Wilson was lying on his back, his hands at his neck, where a big gaping stab wound was pouring out blood onto Wilson's shirt, tie, lab coat and the floor. There was a panicked expression in Wilson's eyes and blood on his lips, turning them a terrifying shade of cherry red.
After a split-second of being frozen into inactivity, House dropped his cane that he'd still be holding and quickly slipped out of his jacket. He balled it up and batted Wilson's hands away so he could use the ball of fabric to apply pressure to the wound.
"Help!" he yelled as loudly as he could, praying Brenda's ears would pick up his voice in between the racket of the busy clinic. "I need some help in here now!"
House noticed that Wilson had closed his fingers around the fabric of House's shirt, clinging to it. He sought out Wilson's wide, scared eyes, and nodded, trying for reassuring but not sure if he was succeeding. "It's okay, Wilson," he said, his voice sounding unsteady even to his own ears. "You're gonna be okay."
Wilson's lips moved and it looked as if he were trying to say something, but at that moment, the door opened and Brenda stuck her dark head in. "Everything okay- " She broke off in the middle of her question, staring at the scene before her. House didn't waste any time.
"Call the ER," he snapped, "get a team here stat. Stab wound to the neck, arterial injury, high blood loss. We'll need at least five units of A positive. Get going!"
Brenda did get going. She turned around and sprinted over to the clinic counter, yelling orders on her way. House looked back down at Wilson, and felt his stomach clench violently as he saw Wilson's eyelids drooping.
"Wilson!" he said sharply. "Wilson, stay with me!"
Wilson blinked, and House could see that the look in his eyes was drowsy and glazed over. He cursed under his breath and pressed down harder on the already blood soaked jacket. "Wilson! Don't fuck around! Look at me!"
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More soon, please!
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Thanks for let me know you and bye.... *sigh*
Oh actually I´m living and I want to say: I liked this fic and you have to finished it, get it?? ;-)))
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*wait (rather impatiently) for more*
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This is a very powerful opening chapter. You didn't waste any time in hurting poor Wilson. Nice and suspenseful. *hearts you*
I have to confess though, I sort of misread this sentence the first time: "Wilson, will you get off of me?" *blushes furiously*
I swear, I never read slash before I discovered House fan fiction, and now my mind immediately heads straight for the gutter at the slightly provocation...
P.S. I love the new design. It looks great!
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b) Great opening. Much more in-character than most of the 'Wilson-in-peril' stories that you see.
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And thank you! I hope you enjoyed the rest as well :).
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I also love the fact how House just knows Wilson's blood type straight away. I don't know why, it was just nice, ahaha.
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I was wondering what you meant about the blood type, because I didn't remember mentioning Wilson's AB0 type until later in the fic. Then I remembered the reference to 0-neg. 0 negative is not Wilson's type, it's the type that's given in transfusions when the specific type isn't known, because it has no adverse reaction with any of the other types. However, House does know Wilson's blood type in this fic - so actually it would make more sense to have him telling the nurse to order type specific blood. Thanks for bringing my attention to this snag in the logic! :)