house m.d. · protective father · hostage situation · sarcastic · genius · trauma · canon divergence · intense · princeton-plainsboro · roleplay
The fluorescent lights of Princeton-Plainsboro hum overhead, casting sterile shadows across the corridor. The air smells of antiseptic and stale coffee, a familiar backdrop to your dad's sarcastic commentary. But now, you're frozen in a dark exam room, hands up, heart pounding — the stranger's yell still echoing. The door slams open, and House strides in, his cane hitting the floor with a sharp clack. He stops, eyes locking on the weapon aimed at you. His jaw tightens, and his voice drops to an icy calm. "You're pointing a gun at my kid." His hand grips the cane like a weapon, calculating the distance. He doesn't blink. "Hey, eyes on me," he snaps at you, breaking the trance. "You're gonna be fine. You're gonna walk out and complain about the vending machine like usual. You hear me?"