#house eventually calls them wilson's people too he just defaults referring to humans as twolegs >

[marc--chilton]

(wcau) after scrapping with a fox aiming to take his territory and deeming his injuries as non-life threatening, rather than stay in his lonely little den or accept help from plainsclan, he dragged his battered body all the way to wilson's yard, slip through the latticework under the deck, and bunker down. he was found the morning after, sniffed out by amber and only saved by her respect for her twolegs' property. wilson tries to convince house to let them take him to a vet but house talks him down.

there's not really anything to hunt there under the deck -- even if there was, house is too sore to try -- so wilson sneaks him food from his bowl. he'll take a mouthful (shovel bites), trot outside, and drop it between the wood planks for house. it's not very tasty but it's kind of a religious experience so it evens out.

but becomes clear that house comes down with an infection a few days later, his voice not as strong when it drifts up to grumble at wilson and his meal delivery, "not hungry." wilson never stopped worrying so he doesn't hesitate taking this into his own paws, meowing incessantly at his twolegs, pawing at their faces or legs, trotting to the pet door when they try to pet him and scratching the floorboards outside.

amber's barking and growling is one thing -- she's painfully territorial so she barks at anything -- but wilson, for his friendly, curious nature, is exceptionally normal and pleasant, so this behavior gets their attention quickly. they're animal lovers, and by now they're aware of house coming and going and have grown to like him ("he has so much character!") so they don't hesitate to help him when they see him curled up in the cold dirt surrounded by old, grimy kibble and cobwebs. luckily for them, house is too ill and exhausted to put up much of a fight (he still gets burrito'd tho)

the vet stay is short and passes in a blur. house wakes up, feeling better but still weak, inside. as in inside the house. in a closed room. and there's a warm body next to him.

"hey," wilson greets him, wary of an outburst, for house to push him away. they'd never touched before. he's loafed, soft and warm and unmoving, and house decides immediately that he is an excellent pillow. "before you get mad, if i didn't get you help you probably would've died."

he thinks about it for a second. they're in an office where one of the adults of the house sometimes works remotely from; a low traffic room relinquished solely for house to heal in, even moved wilson's cat bed in for him. and apparently they trusted their pretty kitty alone with a feral cat (in reality while house was still unconscious wilson made a huge fuss about keeping house company to the point his twolegs gave in, especially when he darted inside while they were giving house more water to make up for what dehydrated, flopped down right next to him, and refused to move)

then house flops back down, rolling onto his side and his cheek squished into wilson's side, grumbling, "if they cut my balls off while i was out, i'd rather have died."

if he's bickering, he must feel better, so wilson lets himself relax a little. "i wouldn't know. can you feel your balls?"

and house just leers back, his eyes still a little unfocused, "i can't feel much of anything thanks to whatever they gave me. you should check for me." wilson does not take up this offer but his whiskers twitch with contained amusement so house counts it as a win anyway