moose_mcmoose | Relentless

Another day, another post. I iz well rollin' :D.

I have been scribbling away today on a couple of ideas for future fics including the tail one ('m sure

hibernia1 will be pleased to hear). I started writing this just out of boredom so I just thought I'd put it out there.

Title: A Friend and A Brother
Rating: PG (for now)
Characters: House and Wilson
Summary: A series of connected drabbles focusing on Wilson and House as the funeral of Danny Wilson takes place. Hopefully I'll post a one every couple of days. Dunno where I am going with it but hopefully it'll go somewhere good :)

He should have seen it coming.

Strike that. He did see it coming.

He saw it coming the day the doctors told him that Danny wasn't taking his medication.

He saw it coming the day Danny ran away leaving a family beset by worry and guilt behind.

He saw it coming the day Danny was first diagnosed. He remembers the silence and the defeated, unblinking eyes of his parents as the doctors described the reasons behind their son's recent bizarre behaviour.

It was obvious to him even then that this family didn't have the tools to deal with such a thing.

And his assertion was to be proved right. Fifteen years later and Wilson's family was half of what it used to be after two deaths and one foul argument.

He found it sobering to think how one innocuous family could be so cruelly ripped apart at the seams.

Analysing and assigning blame wasn't an option but he couldn't help himself. It was hard-wired into his system. Like an ostrich having wings, it was a pointless and unnecessary accessory but one he couldn't get rid of no matter what.

In his mind this was his doing.

It wasn't Danny's fault. He didn't choose to have schizophrenia.

It wasn't his father's fault. He did the best he could. He didn't choose to be consumed with worry and consequently have a heart attack at the age of forty-nine.

It wasn't his mother's fault. She did the best she could. She didn't choose to be a widow or the parent of a missing child.

It wasn't his older brother's fault. He was never invested in Danny like Wilson was. Danny never turned to him for anything. Danny didn't trust him. Danny never invested in him. He didn't choose to slam the phone down on his mentally ill brother.

Wilson did. His choice had created the stage for the events of the last fifteen years to play out on with his wives, friends and patients as bit-part players.

The choice had inevitably shaped the man he had become. The pain, the self-loathing, the fear and the guilt all born from one act of pure frustration.

He adjusted his tie in the mirror and patted down the stray hairs on the crown of his head. It was ten thirty according to the clock hanging on his wall. The funeral was at eleven thirty.

He straightened the creases out of his jacket before heading into the kitchen to make two cups of coffee. His mother was due any moment and the last thing he wanted was to be unprepared.