A/N: Warning; death fic! I originally wrote a longer story like this but I liked this version better. It's my first time to write out of second person singular POV and first time writing in present tense. Wish me luck!
Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.
The phone rings and you stir in your sleep, cracking one eye open. John grunts and mumbles about crazy people who calls in the middle of the night. He asks sleepily if he should take it, because he knows you have been sleeping badly since you got to know about your son's bus crash. But you sigh and shake your head.
"I'll take it, go back to sleep" you say, but John has already done that. You hurry on wobbling steps to the phone and pick it up, stifling a yawn. "Hello, Blythe House"
"Mrs House" a man (whose voice you recognize faintly but can't place) says gravely and his dry voice tells a tale of having cried. "I… I'm a friend of your son, Gregory House"
"Oh? Has something happened?" you ask, now suddenly clearly awake and your hand tightens around the phone subconsciously.
"I… He… I don't know how to…" the friend of your son says but he then takes a deep breath as his voice fails him, and you swear that you can hear him whisper Oh God.
Oh God is not good.
As the man's voice on the other end of the line cracks you feel the panic rising in your chest, and mentally you go through all that has happened to your son, trying to comprehend what could be worse than what had already happened to him.
"I… He… I'm very sorry but your son…" the man - Wilson is his name as you now somehow recalls in your frantic mind - says but he stops and you think you can hear a choked sob.
"Is he okay?" you whisper, though it wasn't meant to be a whisper, but your voice can't seem to gather enough strength.
"I'm really sorry, but… Greg suffered stroke" Wilson says in a strangled voice that then changedinto a hoarse whisper; "He was pronounced dead 01:27 AM this night"
Your son was dead.
No longer breathing.
You don't know if it's you or the phone that hits the floor first.