It's either sadness or euphoria - They Keep Killing Wilson

Title They Keep Killing Wilson
Author toolazytowork
Rating PG.
Summary 5 ways Wilson (poor, stupid, clumsy, unlucky Wilson) dies. And one way he escapes the icy fingers of Death.
Warnings Wilson dies
Word Count 1945
Notes Mostly absurd. Sometimes almost sad. But it's all Dead Wilson.
Stick around after the show for a word from our sponsors.

cross-posted to house_wilson and sick_wilson



That Time Wilson Was Exploded Whilst Setting Off Fireworks Outside of House's Apartment-Death 1

Wafts of hamburgers and hot dogs sizzling on grills filled the humid night air. The sun's last rays had trailed beyond the horizon. Sounds of young and old alike rejoicing in holiday revelry filled the air.

House was rummaging through his closet and grumbling to himself.

"What are you doing?" Wilson turned his attention from the PBS Independence Day in Lake Wobegon special as he spoke.

"It's not the 4th of July without fireworks, Wilson." He pulled out a ragged paper bag and smiled. "AH HA!" he exclaimed. "Bottle rockets and sky rockets, just what we need to celebrate our independence."

"House, fireworks are illegal."

"Some of the best things in life are. That's never stopped me before." He tucked the bag under his arm, grabbed a long-handled lighter and made his way to the front door.

Wilson moved to block House's exit. "You're planning on setting those off on the sidewalk in front of the building? No! Just, NO!"

"You'd deny me the opportunity to bring joy to children of all ages? Have you no soul?"

"Even in states where fireworks are legal those sorts of fireworks are illegal inside city limits. They're dangerous."

Whether or not House heard much of Wilson's declaration was uncertain as he had pushed Wilson aside and gone down the front stairs. Wilson followed him and continued lecturing on the importance of proper safety and consideration. House paid him little mind as he was preoccupied with the task of pulling empty soda bottles out of the neighbors' recycling bin, lining them up, and equipping each with bottle rockets of various sizes and shapes.

"This is a tremendously bad idea. There are children playing on the street. Someone could get hurt. House! Are you listening to me? Someone could get hurt." Wilson stood what he considered a safe distance from the row of bottle rockets, his hands on his hips and his jaw set in a determined manner.

"Lucky for them there's two doctors nearby." He lit the first rocket, a long wicked, slow burning model perfect for use in the ignition of the rest of the display. As he touched the lit wick of the first rocket to the wick of the fourth his cane bumped the already flashing second rocket and knocked the bottle over.

He hadn't read the instructions as close as perhaps he should have, the second rocket had an ultra-fast burning wick. "For instant excitement!" it said on the side of the box.

"OH SHIT!" Wilson cried and dove for cover. Those were the last words he spoke. The rocket flew directly into his mouth, went off and left him only fragments of his former self.


Longinus, you're not having any fun! Enjoy yourself! What is your preference?-Death 2

"Doctor House, I'm terribly sorry to be contacting you with such unfortunate news, but we believe your friend Doctor Wilson is here."

"At the police station?" He had been having a really good dream wherein he was Caligula and Chase and Cuddy were very willing members of his harem and he wasn't at all pleased to have had it interrupted.

"In a sense."

House sat up. "In what sense, specifically?"

"We need you to come down and identify a body. And I must warn you, whether this poor person is your friend or not, he didn't die a peaceful death."

Leave it to Wilson to get hit by a train or run over by an 18 wheeler while changing a tire.

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

The morgue attendant led House to the viewing room. "I understand Joe told you that this is a rather strange case?"

"Yeah, yeah, just peel off the blanket, I'm tired and want to go back to bed."

"Sir, I..." the attendant sounded shocked and confused. "I understand this is probably very upsetting for you, sir. Perhaps you'd like to sit down?"

"No, I don't. I want to see the body."

The attendant obliged. House looked down at the bruised and broken, at least half-naked body of his friend.

"It's him," he mumbled. "How did it happen?"

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to sit down? It might be easier."

"You're right, it might. But I'm not going to." He brushed his hand across a nasty gash that sliced through Wilson's left eye and down across his cheek. "What happened?" His voice was much quieter than he would have liked.

"As best as we can tell he fell off of a roof."

House looked up. "Off of a roof? What was he doing on a roof? And why isn't he," House lifted the sheet and looked at the rest of Wilson's battered corpse, "wearing any clothes?"

"It would appear..." the attendant shifted his weight from foot to foot. "He wasn't alone. On the roof. He was up there with...well, someone. Someone who left the scene and called 9-1-1 from a pay phone. They were..." He swallowed and steadied himself. "Doctor Wilson fell off the roof during a particularly adventurous sexual encounter."

"What?"

The attendant decided that if House wasn't going to sit down someone should put the chair to good use. "He was on the roof of a small house, not a particularly slanted roof. It's not an A-frame, the house. I'd call it a ranch style--split-level--not that I'm an architect or anything. There's a small window that leads out to a nice little spot, you know, perfect for sitting outside and watching the stars."

House's jaw had dropped open. He didn't want to wrap his mind around where this story was going. "He crawled out of a window and was having sex on the roof and he fell off?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're kidding, right? This is a joke. Wake-y wake-y Wilson!" House poked the body with his cane. There was no twitch in response. "Come on! You got me!"

"It's not a joke. I'm so sorry. Is there someone I could call? Perhaps you'd like a ride home, one of our officers would be glad to..."

"No," he pulled the sheet back over Wilson's disfigured face, "No, I'll drive myself home." He turned to leave.

"Doctor House, there's one last thing."

"What is it?" House directed his question to the floor.

"That was our question, too. It took us awhile but we finally figured out that it was probably supposed to be a Roman helmet. The kind worn by gladiators, y'know? Anyway, he must've been wearing it when he...It's among his effects. I just thought I should warn you."


I was reading a magazine and thinkin' 'bout a rock'n'roll song...-Death the Third

"What do you think? Am I feeling lucky?" Wilson tapped the barrel of the shotgun against his bottom lip.

"Stop it. Don't even joke about that."

"Oooh, does that scare you, House? You do stupid death defying stuff all the time and you're still here to talk about it."

"I don't play with guns. And I sure as hell don't deep throat one when my finger's on the trigger."

"It's not loaded."

"That's what Johnny Ace said."

"The guy from the Paul Simon song?"

"The guy who killed himself while playing Russian Roulette backstage during a concert."

Wilson spun the gun around on his index finger. "Huh, didn't know that's what happened. Learn something new everyd--"

The bullet ricocheted off of the bookshelf and hit Wilson right between the eyes. He probably knew what hit him, but he didn't have much time to think about it.


Where the Sidewalk Ends-Death 4

It was a hot and dry day. Another in a long line of hot and dry days. House had spent the morning complaining that the heat was making the pain in his leg worse. Despite Wilson's protestations and references to medical fact, House's complaints had not let up. He swore that only ice cream sodas from the deli on Canal would ease his suffering. Interested in easing his own suffering, Wilson had agreed to drive over to the deli and get sodas and sandwiches for lunch.

The line was long and Wilson was forced to stand outside on the sidewalk. This would have been annoying under the most ideal circumstances. The addition of the extreme temperatures and the construction crew working across the street made it much worse.

Wilson was in a very bad mood. His cell phone had begun to vibrate. It could only be House calling, to remind him not to get an egg cream but an ice cream soda and to not drive like a nearsighted grandma on his way home either because nothing was worse than a melted soda and remember, extra chips! He was busy cursing his luck at having such an obnoxious best friend and didn't notice the shouts and scurrying of the other people in line.

The steel beam fell towards the ground, its projection not even slightly hindered as it crushed Wilson's six foot tall frame down to a much smaller size.

House never drank an ice cream soda again.


A Taste of Honey-The 5th Death

"It'll be fun. Or have you lost your sense of adventure?"

"I left it at work. I do not need to go to collect my own honeycombs to be able to enjoy honey. I can buy it at the grocery store like a normal person."

"I'll let you pick the music."

"I'm not that easily swayed."

"When we get home I'll make a special dessert with the honey. It'll be like nothing you've ever tasted before. I promise."

"You don't play fair, Wilson."

***

"You didn't tell me we were going to do this the old fashioned way. I thought we were going to the bee equivalent of Dick Cheney's hunting grounds."

"The bees are tame. They're used to being around people. You're not afraid of bees are you?"

"No, but I don't trust the little buzzing bastards. Tame or not."

"Where's my phone? I have to call Cuddy and tell her I've found your weak spot."

"I'll find your weak spot if you don't just pick a hive."

***

"I think we brought along a friend."

"What?"

"A bee, you brought one of those damned bees into the car."

"Roll down the window, it'll fly out."

"It's crawled under your shirt. Can't you feel that?"

"Oh shit! House! Get it off me! I'm allergic!"

"You're what? You idiot! How stupid do you have to be to go honey gathering when you're allergic to bees? You didn't tell me that! How allergic are you?"

"I don't know, I've never been stung. I just know most of my family's allergic. So, I assume I am."

Hold still, hold still! I can't find it."

"Ouch! Dammit! It stung me. I'm pulling over. Get the EpiPen out of the glove box."

"Where? I don't see a fucking pen!"

"I...House...I can't..."

"Wilson, dammit! I'm calling 9-1-1...Where were you stung? Come on!"

"On my...b--"

"Where? Breathe, you idiot! Breathe!"

"House..."

"Oh no you don't! You're not going to die for honey! No way! Do you hear me Wilson? WILSON!"


And the livin' is easy-Our Hero Gets a Reprieve

"It's late, I think I'll just stay here tonight if you don't mind." Wilson yawned. "I can barely hold my head up. I don't think I should be driving."

"Make yourself at home. Night, Wilson."

"Goodnight, House."

***

A Word From Our Sponsor

Inspired by, Dedicated to, In Honor of:
House's House of Whining almost one week anniversary.
All deaths inspired by This discussion. deelaundry provided the stats, asynca suggested the Darwin Awards. Everyone else in the office being on vacation provided the opportunity.