Fandom Oneshots [Mainly Marvel, Sherlock, and Good Omens, and House MD]

House MD: (Pride Prompts) "Sugar-Coated"

Prompt: Road Trip!

Bit late, I know, had to edit and write more.

I never liked the whole... ironic Wilson event. It's... ah, hurts. Hurts kind like Sherlock's Reichenbach Fall, for those who get me. Not heavy angst.

Pretend he had a whole other disease and could be cured and it's sort of season 1 but with House and Wilson's lives darkened a bit. I mean, I guess it's somewhat funny that the oncologist got cancer...

Watch the writing as the way the person feels changes the way it is written. My writing is for practice anyway.

Kind of proud of this one????

[「-」]

The moment of life where Wilson didn't remember suddenly came to him, in the driver's seat of his infamous Volvo where House's body sat next to him. He could recall the moment where he stared into the eyes of the doctor who had diagnosed him. The apologetic look that fizzed in his eyes and for once, he understood why House didn't sugarcoat it. 

Biting into the unfiltered and bitter unforgivingness felt right when he was the one sitting and awaiting the call of the dove or crow or whatever bird used in stupid metaphors. They had no place staying in Wilson's brain! Why did they 'flutter in the wing with their stupid wings' when he! He! As in the only man who understood House was dying!?

"'Better be thinking about what we're going to be eating, Wilson." House tapped his cane on the floor of the car. Wilson shook his head and the fluff of hair in front of his face drooped a bit closer to his eyes.

"We just ate." Wilson huffed.

"You just ate, I had a beer." House half-heartedly shrugged, face as indifferent as always, even staring out the window like a kid on an airplane, Wilson could tell. Wilson tried to take a glimpse at House but his so-called 'goody-two-shoeness' got in the way and he finally huffed and continued focusing on the road.

"Well, jokes on you for not eating, I guess." He finally said after a while where the blanket of silence soon transformed to a constant buzzing that was just like a fly in the bathroom. 

"Pfft, you care too much to not help," House stated, eyes still pinned on the outside, where the roads had trees that loomed over them. The night was just settling into the view, the sun dipping forwards and under the hills, which Wilson could recall seeing once before with his father. House was never wrong, was he?

"Well, yeah." He mumbled and the car zipped to the left and swerved back to the right side, House choked on his own spit as he stamped down the cane to steady himself. It seemed by his reaction House didn't hear Wilson's words nor his shoes clicking on the ground. 

The unreasonable irritation in House's tone caught Wilson off guard for once. "The hell?" He growled and went back to sulking—or bruting because he was a 'real man.' He turned back like a child and stared outside.

"Sorry." Wilson murmured as quietly as last time. This time, House was reminded of the soft talking Wilson did in his sleep, the murmurs of agony that laced his voice as treatment came and how, for once, he felt so much pain for his best friend. His stupid wavy and brown hair, his stupid law-abiding personality, his stupid understanding of people and their emotions, and his stupid ability to make him feel. House hissed. Wilson turned to him and finally, House could see the concern that swam in his eyes like eels in a lake, if it was there or not, if it was pretty or not, if it was dangerous or not, it was there. 

"Stupid." House wanted to shout, screaming, and shake his fist at whatever God or gods people followed by because of a few dozen books, but instead, he hissed and growled at once. All Wilson heard was a fight between a cat and dog, each fighting for one reason, each from different stand-points even if they were both animals. Stupid, unnecessarily competing animals.

"House?" 

"What?" He snapped and Wilson didn't continue, leaving a blanket of silence... that soon transformed to a constant buzzing that was just like a fly in the bathroom.  Back to where they were. 

The two were different and they would always be, a cat and dog, both unnecessarily competing animals... because, in this singular moment of life, things suddenly came to him, in the driver's seat of his infamous Volvo where House's body sat next to him. Recalling the moment, that was so familiar yet was the same. The apologetic look that fizzed in their eyes and for once, he understood why House didn't sugarcoat it. 

"Thank you," Wilson said. He kept his eyes on the road and didn't look to his right, where House was probably staring at him with an expression of some kind, typical of him, "Thank you for staying." Wilson finished, letting go of the breath he had in his chest.

House couldn't respond but Wilson smiled; at least, there were a few years for House to respond, sugar-coated or not, hissing or growling.

They were all dying anyway.

Not to sugar-coat it.