A/N: Okay, this is my first FanFiction ever! Well, my first FanFiction posted on this account in this fandom. Once upon a time, an 11-year-old me wrote a Victorious FanFiction, but I can't even remember it. Anyway, I'm thirteen now and am just trying this again so please try to be at least a little bit nice? :) I promise I love House! (And yes, the title was derived from the song "Scars" by Papa Roach, but I'm not sure if I will be using more of the song in the story, but it is definitely not a full-out SongFic.) If you guys like the first chapter, I'll keep going.
Warnings: Some descriptive child abuse, probably swearing, but I really don't know where this might go.
Rating: T, just to be safe
Disclaimer: I do not own House, M.D. or any of its characters; I do not own the song Scars.
Cold. On a typical, boring Saturday night in a New Jersey February, that's all Dr. Gregory House sensed when he first woke up. Cold. He hated the cold. It gave his leg hell, and even in his drunken, numbed state, which never made him feel that numb, just more raw than ever, House could feel his leg locked up and trembling under his dark jeans. Not two seconds later, after his right hand had instinctively reached for his poor excuse of a thigh to make sure some of it was still there, House realized he was lying flat on his back in a patch of ice and snow. Another gust of wind sobered the diagnostician up, and he realized not only was he cold, but he was soaking wet.
"You will never, ever, ever amount to anything! Do you hear me, boy?" John House bellowed at his ten-year-old son before dunking him back into the tub of ice water and pulling him up roughly.
"Y-yes sir, I understand," little Gregory House sniffled while trying to catch his breath before having to go back under again.
"Shut up, and get those tears off your face and out of my sight! You will NEVER be anything, much less a good soldier, if you can't even handle some cold water! What are you going to do when you're captured by the enemy? You wouldn't ever be able to handle it," the boy's father insisted, looking at his son with disgust.
"I-I'm sor-," Gregory started before being pushed down into the freezing water filled with what little dignity he had before his most recent punishment.
Five seconds. Ten seconds. Fifteen seconds. Cold. Soaking wet. Thirty seconds. The small, emaciated shell of a ten-year-old struggled against his military father's hands, begging to come up for air. Why couldn't he come up? He had promised never to trip and scuff up a wall again, so why couldn't he be allowed to breathe? Forty-five seconds. Stars began to appear and bright lights flashed when finally, finally Gregory House felt the pressure come off of his shoulders at just over a minute spent underwater. He popped up immediately, bent over the edge of the porcelain torture machine and panted, trying desperately to get his breath back, not even caring about how bare his entire body was, not even caring about what his father thought, just breathing slow and deep.
Dr. House came out of his flashback with a gasp, like he was sucking in a breath that existed thirty-five years ago. Jolting straight up and realizing his protesting leg, he sighed again and tried to figure out how the hell he was going to get home with no phone, keys, car, or even his cane.
A/N: Okay, that was my first attempt... please review, if only so I know if I should continue this or not... thanks! If I continue, chapters will be much longer… I just need a little reassurance and encouragement!