In Sickness and Sonnets - A House MD & Dead Poets Society Fanfiction

Our Dreams, Our Sacrifices

As he reaches the door, he notices there's a small congregation formed around Neil's bed.

"Ah-" He pushes open the door and tries to grab the attention of the group. "There's a visitor limit in-"

"Woah!" One of them interjects, "Anderson, you weren't lying!" the gentleman exclaims, looking at Neil and Wilson over and over.

"That's almost creepy. If I didn't know you were an only child, Neil, I'd think he's your brother." Another chimes. Oh, what the hell? Wilson breaks into a smile and jests,

"Please, no pictures." The group of gentlemen laugh and shuffle out of the way of the bed, clearing a path for Wilson. "Thank you, thank you." He smiles, standing next to the bed. "I take it you're familiar with the mask trick? Hope you didn't do too much talking." He jests at Neil, who pulls the mask slightly away from his mouth.

"Oh, we've been talking." His eyes crinkle with his smile as he places the mask back, eliciting a smirk from Wilson as he checks his IVs and marks dosages in his chart.

"So, how do you all know each other?" Wilson enquires as he writes, causing a clamour among them.

"Welton Academy." I'm sure I heard a 'Hell' from at least one of them.

"Travesty, Horror, Decadence, Excrement. That was our motto for the place." One of them chimes.

"Great place, then!" Wilson jokes, watching Neil's eyes light up. Can't have been all that bad.

"Are you a fan of poetry, Dr. Wilson?" Another asks, the others suddenly keenly interested in his response.

"Well now, let's exchange names first, Meeks." One of the well-groomed men steps forward, offering a hand to Wilson. "Charlie Dalton. Deputy Head Financier of Chase Bank." Woah. Are they all big-hitters? "This is Knox Overstreet, Steven Meeks, you already know Todd, and if you look close enough into Meek's eyes, you might even see a glimpse of Pitts." Charlie introduces them all, each offering a firm handshake in greeting, Meeks slapping Dalton's shoulder at his jest.

"Nice to meet you all." Wilson smiles, "To answer your question, I suppose I quite liked Shakespeare's stage plays growing up. Not much more than that, I'm afraid; my creative license was waylaid for med school." Wilson concludes, earning a knowing look from each of them, "Familiar with that notion, I guess?" He places the chart back at the end of Neil's bed.

"Hey, when you make Neil better," Meeks looks over to That one's... Overstreet, right?

exchanging words silently in their look, "We could hold another meeting, for old time's sake." The others nod, excited by the prospect.

Neil lifts his mask up from his face again. "Guys, c'mon, we're all adults now. I'm sure you're all too busy, same with doctor Wilson." He croaks, quickly glancing at Anderson, gauging his expression. "We can't be 17 forever."

"Oh, shut up, Neil. You can't tell me you've suddenly fallen in love with doctoring." Dalton points out, moving closer to Neil, Overstreet and Meeks joining him.

"What, like you guys love your jobs? Mr. Banker and Mr. Lawyer? We don't have time for clubs anymore." Neil coughs, "We barely talk. We can't-" Another cough. "We can't run off into caves again. It's better left as a memory." Neil concludes, another cough escaping him as he lowers the mask again.

How poignant. Wilson sighs, the mood in the room sufficiently dampened.

"He might have a better outlook when he's feeling a little better. Now, I've got a few questions for Dr. Perry, if you gents wouldn't mind? There's a cafeteria downstairs; I'm sure a nurse can let you know when I'm all finished here." Wilson holds the door open for the Poets, all filtering out, Anderson glancing a worried look back to Neil as the last one out of the door.

With a relieved sigh, Wilson closes the blinds to the room, sitting down in the chair next to Neil, the room seeming so empty without the lively banter of the Poets.

"Your heart rate spiked. I'm sure they can come back when you've calmed down a little." Wilson reaches over and fiddles with his IV bags again. "You should start feeling better soon, the antibiotics will manage the pneumonia." The droning of the CPAP fills the air in the room, concealing any small noises, but Wilson is sure he heard a scoff. "Though, that was quite the reunion," Wilson remarks. "You and your Welton friends seem pretty close." Neil's tired eyes flicker with a hint of a smile.

"Yeah... We were. Don't see much of each other these days." Wilson checks the vitals again, but his focus is still on Neil.

"Sounds like they think highly of you. But-" Wilson leans over, closer to Neil, "You're right. None of us are 17 forever. Time changes, we change." Neil lets out a soft laugh that quickly turns into a ragged cough, prompting Wilson to gently adjust the oxygen mask. "Easy," Wilson says, "I know they're your friends, but don't strain yourself." Neil nods weakly, sinking back into the pillows.

"They just... Want to relive it, you know? It was... different back then." He gazes off, as though reliving those memories in his head. Wilson watches him carefully, thoughts wandering, puzzling out just how much of Neil's current struggle is tied to those memories and the weight of trying to move on from them. It's the kind of internal fight Wilson is all too familiar with from watching his patients, Hell, maybe even himself sometimes.

"Yeah," Wilson finally says softly. "Sometimes memories are the hardest thing to let go of. I remember desperately wanting to be a playwright when I was younger, but my brother—" Wilson sighs, glancing up at Neil, who is regarding him with an already knowing look. "My brother was ill. I guess... I wanted to fix him. I gave up the idea of being a playwright. Let me say, my father was delighted by that decision." Wilson laughs, though not because he finds it the slightest bit funny.

"How- How do you live with that? I can't go a day-" Neil's voice scratches as he catches himself, plucking that inner child out from the air and stuffing it back in its neat little box. You're an adult now. You can't hang off of other people. He sighs, "One life, one dream. To kill the dream, is to kill the soul." Neil looks away from Wilson, almost embarrassed. "To kill the soul, is to kill the person." Neil mumbles weakly.

"That's..." Wilson trails off, now lost in thought.

"A grim reality." Neil draws his conclusion for him, eyes still avoiding the doctor.

"Well, I was going to say poignant." Wilson replies, searching within his mind for something of equal measure, though he feels he's a little outranked.

"The pressure of a father doesn't outweigh the dreams of a son." He finds it, and Neil's eyes widen at the meaning before letting out a light chuckle.

"Maybe you were right when you said we have more in common than just our looks." He laughs, Wilson joining him in the more light-hearted air before he gets up from the chair and heads towards the door.

"Alright, I've got some paperwork to do. I'll be back in about an hour to check on you. Hang in there, alright Perry?" Wilson smiles, unaware of the great relief it brings the younger man not to hear that stupid 'Dr.' title before it. He's about to leave the room as House shoulders the door open and pushes past him.

"Ahh- House? What are you doing?"