Archive of Our Own ^beta

Title: Pumpkinhead
Author: nightdog_writes
Characters: House, Jimmy Wilson.
Rating: A soft "R" for language.
Warnings: Yes, for subject matter that some readers may find upsetting.
Spoilers: No.
Summary: On All Hallows' Eve, it's come as you are. 1,208 words, gen.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Never will.
Author Notes: This story is an AU, set in the Divergence-verse. It's a world pretty much like our own, with a few important differences -- among them, a James Wilson who was knocked off his bicycle and hit his head when he was eight years old. LJ-cut text from Comfortably Numb, by Pink Floyd.
Beta: My intrepid First Readers, with especial thanks to deelaundry and blackmare_9.

Pumpkinhead

It was Halloween, but as far as House was concerned all it meant was a convenient excuse to buy more bags of candy bars and lollipops without the grocery store checkers smirking at him. There weren't very many cars in the parking lot by the time he loaded his booty -- a bag of fun-sized Milky Ways, a bag of equally pleasure-sized M&Ms, a jar of Peter Pan peanut butter, a loaf of bread and a four-pack of Chimay ale -- into the saddle bags on his bike. A few late moths and lacewings were dodging in and out of the lights, banking and turning like tiny fighter planes.

The grocery was located right on the western edge of a residential neighborhood, and in the distance House could hear the shouts and screams of the neighborhood kids as they ranged the dark streets and driveways, trick-or-treating.

Hunting in packs tonight, House thought as he bent to tug the buckle tight. He snapped his cane into the brackets welded to the right side of the bike and retrieved his helmet from the seat; he was in the process of lifting it to his head when a much closer voice spoke from just a few feet away.

"Tricker treat, Dr. Houssse," the voice said, and House jumped, startled. A bright flare of pain shot up his right hip into his spine, and he cursed fervently. The lone figure sitting on the top rail of the shopping cart carrel rocked back in turn, also startled by House's outburst.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Houssse, I'm sorry," the figure said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

House didn't look up; instead, he set the helmet back down and concentrated on massaging the muscles around his wrecked quadriceps with his thumbs, getting ahead of the cramp before it could take hold.

"You didn't scare me, Jimmy," he ground out at last. "Just -- " He let his palms rest on his thigh, soothing the jangling nerves. "Just ... caught me off guard."

"You sure, Dr. Houssse?" Jimmy asked. "'Cause you looked -- "

"I wasn't scared." House straightened again, slowly, testing the leg for any more signs of trouble. Jimmy had scooted over a little on the rail so that he was more in the direct light of the nearest pole-mounted lamp in the parking lot, and his face was clearly visible in the illumination from the yellow-tinged bulb. House took in the sight as he continued to flex his calf muscles.

A series of horizontal black lines graced Jimmy's cheeks, arcing outwards from just beneath his nose and ending somewhere back behind his zygomatic bones. Some bulbous half-dome thing that looked as if it might have begun life as a ping-pong ball was stuck on Jimmy's nose, and on top of his head ... on top of his head, standing straight up in the midst of that tousled brown hair, was a pair of pointed ears.

Cat, House thought.

He vaguely remembered being inside the grocery store, barely noticing the stock boys, the bakery girls, the checkers and baggers, all dressed in half-assed costumes, obviously obeying some idiotic diktat from management.

Jimmy gazed back at him, his whiskers dark against his smooth skin.

Or ... a dog. Jimmy the dog.

House's jaw tightened; he was suddenly angry, but he wasn't sure at what.

"What are you doing out here?" he said.

Jimmy blinked, then started swinging his long legs back and forth while keeping a secure grip on the steel rail.

"Just sitting," he said.

A few other shoppers, out late for candy so they wouldn't get tricked, passed by. They were laughing and talking between themselves; they ignored House, who ignored them in turn.

"It's getting dark," House said.

"I noticed," Jimmy said. "It's okay." He continued swinging his legs. "I don't have anywhere to be anyway. My work shift's over."

House looked around, but the passing shoppers were already in their car. Damn it. He glanced down. His helmet was waiting for him, and he reached for it.

"Great," he said. "Sounds good."

Jimmy didn't answer -- he'd looked away, and was following the tracer paths of some bugs in the lamplight. The fake puppy-ears cast an odd little triangle-shadow on the asphalt. House hesitated.

Don't do it. Don't do it don't do it don't --

"You gonna be okay?" he asked. Jimmy's head swung around.

"Yeah," he said. "I'll go home after a while."

House nodded. "Good," he said. "That's good." He started to pick up his helmet again.

"Nobody there, even." Jimmy's legs stilled. "Mom and Dad are gone to Philadelphia until real late. My brother Jonathan's at school, and my brother Danny's out."

Your brother Danny's always out, House thought, but didn't say. Your family should tell you the truth.

"Some of my friends -- from the store -- they invited me to a party," Jimmy said. "After work, a Halloween party."

"Wonder of wonders," House said. "A Halloween party at Halloween." Jimmy just looked at him.

"So why don't you go to that?"

Jimmy shook his head.

"It's not for real," he said. "They asked 'cause my manager said to. If I really went they'd just make fun of me."

House picked up his helmet at last; he fumbled with it for a moment before gripping it against his chest.

"Yeah," he said. "World's a rough place."

"Yeah," Jimmy said agreeably. As if waking from a dream, House took a step forward. He threw his right leg over his bike and sat down. He still hadn't put his helmet on.

"Hey," he said. "Hey."

Jimmy looked around. House swallowed.

"You like football?" he said. "'Cause ... there's a game on tonight. USC at Notre Dame."

"The ... Fighting Irish," Jimmy said. "I've heard of them."

"That's right," House said. "You ... could come watch. With me. If you want."

Jimmy eyed him for a long moment.

"But ... how would I get there?"

Before he could stop to regret it, House kicked the bike into full-throated life.

"Behind me," he shouted. "You take the helmet."

Jimmy let himself down from the railing and approached the bike gingerly.

"You sure?" he asked. "I mean ... it's not like ... "

"Get on the bike, you idiot," House said.

Jimmy's whiskers twitched, and then he was behind House, settling himself carefully onto the saddle. House handed the helmet over his shoulder and twisted around to watch as Jimmy fastened the buckle.

"Put your arms around me," House said. Jimmy stared at him.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," House mumbled. He grabbed Jimmy's wrists and pulled his arms tight around his waist. He revved the engine. "Ready?" he shouted.

He couldn't hear the reply, but Jimmy's chest was warm against his back, and he was still holding on tight as House guided the bike out of the grocery store parking lot. He thought of Jimmy's puppy-ears crushed under the helmet, and then they were on the street, passing werewolves and vampires, ghosts and fairy princesses.

"Trick or treat," House whispered. The wind was cold in his face and it blew down his throat like a candle in a jack-o-lantern. It was both a promise and a prayer, and he wondered how badly he'd fuck it up this time. "Trick or treat."

~ fin