See, look what I made.

A Housefic I wrote yesterday/last night. I like this one, despite the content. Just a small, intense glimpse into the early life of one Dr. Gregory House.
 

.Greg awoke with a start, the panic already rising to for a tight, sick knot in his gut. He slid off the edge of his bed and did a quick check; only his pyjamas and sheets were wet (not the mattress this time) and, looking at his clock, the time was 23:45 - a quarter to midnight. Greg was pretty sure his father would be asleep by now seeing as how he'd been dozing in his armchair right after dinner.

Maybe he could get to the laundry without trouble. The boy knew he could put on a new sheet by himself and find some clean PJs - then he'd be able to get back to sleep, no problems.

The nlonde boy moved quickly, stripping his bed and balling the sheets up so he could carry them more easily. Greg carefully opened his bedroom door and paused to listen - no sounds save for the pounding of his quickened heart and the ticking of the clock in the hall. He waited until his blue eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he quietly began the dangerous (and kind of scary) walk to the laundry.

He got midway down the hall and stopped dead in his tracks. Behind him and slightly to his right, the bathroom door opened. Yellow light surrounded the boy and a large hand gripped his upper arm, "what are you doing out of bed?". Greg's mouth went dry and he fumbled for an excuse. Nothing useful fell from his lips, "I can't...I have to..." "You have to what?", the large man whispered fiercely. John House didn't wait for his son's reply, instead he snatched the sheets from Greg's tight grip and scowled at the child in disgust.

No words were spoken and Greg couldn't move away quickly enough. He tried to wrench himself free of his father's grasp, but John held fast to the boy's slender arm and to the soiled sheets in his other hand. Greg tried over and over to pull away or to prise John's fingers off of him, but to no avail; he was being roughly dragged through the darkened house. Greg caught his leg on the corner of a coffee table and was shaken hard when he called out in pain.

The senior House got to the back of his family's home and shoved his son against a wall, pinning him with a strong, heavy forearm while he opened the back door. Greg's eyes opened wide and he began to cry, he heard the blurred figure of his father growl, '"if you want to mess up this house like a filthy animal, then I'm going to treat you like one".

The lanky youngster hurt himself when he tried again to escape the visegrip on his arm, but he didn't care, "no, Sir, please! ", he begged, "I didn't mean to! Please! Please! I'm sorry! I won't do it again, I promise!". John shook him again and then changed his grip. He leaned down to the boy and hissed, "I don't want to hear one goddamn peep out of you", then, in one swift movement, threw Greg down the back steps and onto the cold dewy grass. The big man threw the wet sheets at his son and promptly turned his back and walked through the door, locking it behind himself.

Greg's sobs rolled off John's back and faded into the darkness as he receded into the house. He slid into his warm bed beside his wife. "Where did you get to?" Blythe mumbled, her lips dumb with sleep. "Gregory wet the bed", John grouched, "he really should be in control of this by now. He's too old". "Well," Blythe snuggled up to her husband, "I hope you were kind to him".

John House rolled over and said nothing.