maineac (maineac) wrote,
maineac
maineac

Sleeping Man: Inside 5/?

Author: Maineac
Characters: House, Wilson, Cuddy, Chase with some appearances by the rest of the Scooby Gang.
Rating: Gen; a mild R for language; H/W strong friendship (slash if you wear slash goggles)
Summary: The fallout from House's recent misadventure. Follows Sleeping Man: Outside.
Timeline: Set in the early fall of last season, around the events of Cane and Able, Informed Consent, Lines in the Sand.
A/N:  The prequel to this, Sleeping Man:Outside, is here:
http://maineac.livejournal.com/8929.html#cutid1


Dogs again. A pack surrounding him, nosing him, gnawing on him. The one gnawing on his leg suddenly sank his fangs deep into the thigh, all the way to the bone.


 He heard himself cry out with the pain, and he tried to roll away out of reach. But others of the pack pushed him down, paws on his chest, pinning him. It hurt, their claws hurt. They were clawing his chest, grinding into his sternum. Then a dog began shaking him, shaking him by the shoulder.

 

“Come on, buddy. Wake up. Wake up.”

 

Not dogs, then. Worse than dogs. Police. Was it happening all over again? “Wake up, House,” the voice intoned, over and over, while the dogs gnawed at his leg, his chest.  And then the cop shone his damn flashlight into his eyes, ordering him to wake up.

 

He was not going back there, not ever.It was not going to start all over again. He opened his eyes, just enough to see the cop flashing the light in them. He was leaning right over him, and it was a simple thing to get rid of him. A simple thing, but there were more of them. He should have known. Cops always travel in pairs. But he would escape. He could outrun them, even if they had dogs.

*****

“Dammit, House!” Wilson reeled backward, clutching his face.

 

“Are you all right?” asked Cameron, trying to get a look. Blood was flowing from one nostril, and Wilson was gasping with the peculiarly intense pain of being struck in the nose. Cameron grabbed a towel from the bedside but Wilson brushed her arm away.

 

Behind her, House was sitting up, struggling to get his legs over the side of the bed. He'd pulled off the O2 mask and was tugging at the leads and IV lines. “Whoa!” cried Chase, and both he and Wilson put a restraining arm on him. House continued to struggle. "Take it easy,” said Chase in a soothing voice.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Wilson.

 

House looked straight at him, at them all, without a glimmer of recognition. “Out of here,” he said, and redoubled his attempts to get out of bed. “You can’t…keep me. Not drunk.”

 

“Get some restraints on him!” ordered Chase, but Wilson was already fumbling for the Velcro ankle strap. House’s struggles grew rapidly feebler and feebler, and by the time Wilson was reaching for the wrist restraint, he wasn’t able to put up any fight at all.

 

“No,” gasped House weakly, coughing as the straps grappled his hands to the bed rails. “No handcuffs,” he begged Wilson. “No… handcuffs.” House looked directly at him and again there was that utter lack of recognition. Wilson felt a chill creep down his spine.

 

“House, look at me,” Wilson commanded while Chase tried to check his reflexes. “Do you know where you are?”

 

“Yes,” murmured House.

 

“Well?” Wilson persisted. House could exasperate him even when he was 50 percent dead and 90 percent unconscious. “Where?”

 

“Jail,” said House. And then his eyes closed and he was gone again.

 


 [Earlier chapters can be reached by clicking on the green "previous entry" arrow at the top of the page.]

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