A/N: I am utterly fascinated with you haven't read The Contract by DIY sheep, then you have been missing out, and you won't get this story at all. Warning: Very Hurt! House. Turn away now, innocent eyes. This story explores the existence of evil in the world. Let me know what you think.
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Time moved in slow motion. Two pairs of boots moved down the secure, concrete corridor, each step echoing off the bare walls. With each scrape of metal tipped heels and rubber soles against the hard floor he flinched. Scrape, echo, flinch, and repeat. The boots stopped and chains rattled as he attempted to curl himself into a ball. The chink of metal sounded followed by a dull thud as tumblers clicked into place, successfully unlocking the door.
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Wilson started awake when the first whimper escaped House's mouth. He barely slept anymore; his ears were fine tuned to the smallest sound. Exhausted, he moved from the recliner and knelt on the wood floor next to House's overstuffed bed. Wilson studied his friend. House's eyes were wide with fear, and he flinched every once and a while. Despite appearances, this was a good sign. It seemed House wasn't completely lost in the nightmare yet. Encouraged, Wilson leaned closer. "Its okay, House no one is going to hurt you," he whispered. This only seemed to agitate him. Worried, Wilson put a reassuring hand on House's scarred shoulder. House flinched and attempted to scoot away. Then, he screamed.
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The next thing he knew, hot breath filled his ear. "Its okay, 501, no one is going to hurt you," the guard whispered menacingly. The smell of garlic lingered in the air as the guard put a hand on his shoulder. "Anymore then necessary," he added. An evil smile spread across his face as he dug his metal heel into the prisoner's right thigh. House screamed.
The first guard stepped back, and the other stepped forward. He repeated the first's actions, eliciting another scream from the prisoner. He took it a step further and punched him in the mouth. House was swimming in a haze of pain and blood was flowing freely now. He struggled against the chains again, wanting nothing more to disappear. He knew this was just the warm up.
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Wilson pulled back hurriedly, startled. House screamed again, and it was followed by a few strangled moans. Wilson held House close now, knowing that House was too out of it to know what was real anyway. His mind whirled. What did he do? Anything could've triggered this. Wilson huffed in frustration. He had been trying so hard to avoid anything that might trigger an unhappy memory. The problem was, those bastards used anything and everything to hurt House, and not everything was unavoidable. All he did was touch House's shoulder! Wilson shuddered, wondering what exactly his friend thought was happening. All of the sudden, House pushed Wilson away and sought refuge in his favorite corner of the room. Wilson had put an air mattress there since House ended up there most nights anyway. Wilson hurried to the corner and attempted to get House to uncurl, to no avail. Wilson tried to prepare for the long night ahead.
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House's mind shut down as the abuse continued. He refused to cry. He wouldn't allow Garlic Breath the satisfaction. Blow after blow rained down on him, with only a groan or grunt in reply. This angered Garlic Breath. A violent kick to the stomach, and House was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. He was about to give in to the darkness, when he realized his wrists were free of the steal cuffs. His mind snapped to attention and he scrambled to the corner of the cell, and curled up in a ball, his back facing his abusers.
"Oh, no you don't, you little piece of shit," Garlic Breath yelled. He stalked over to House and whipped out his night stick. With a few well placed smacks on the back, House was lying, in pain and helpless, on the cold, concrete floor. The Lackey stepped up and kicked him in the back, then roughly hoisted him to his feet by his hair and shoved him against the brick wall. The Lackey held him there and Garlic Breath kneed him in the groin.
His head spun. He wanted badly to keel over and protect himself, but The Lackey had a firm grip. Garlic Breath was at his ear again. "I can do worse, 501," he breathed, his nightstick hovering over House's right thigh, "So, unless you're feeling frisky, ask me to do it again. Now!"
"W-will you do it again?" he asked, in a shaking voice.
"Do what, 501?" Garlic Breath asked with mock innocence, "You've got to be more specific." He pulled the nightstick back, as if he were getting ready to strike.
"Will you knee me in the groin again, sir?" he asked, now visibly shaking.
"Oh now, 501, where are your manners? Ask nicely." The nightstick was still hovering.
House gulped nervously and whispered, "Sir, will you please knee me in the groin again?"
"Oh!" he said with mock surprise. "That's what you wanted. Sure, I'll do that for you, 501!" he said pleasantly. With one quick motion, Garlic Breath repeated his earlier action, and House moaned. Garlic Breath struck House's thigh anyway. The Lackey let go of House and laughed as he fell to the floor. A minute later, he was trust against the wall again. Garlic Breath was at his ear, nightstick at the ready. "Now," he paused, "Ask again!" he demanded viciously.
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Wilson was wide awake as House moaned, grunted, and tried to fend off invisible attackers. House hadn't had a nightmare in a few days, and Wilson was relieved. He searched his brain for the twentieth time that night trying to find anything that might have triggered this. Nothing came to mind. He guessed it was just one of those days.
An hour later, House was still in a trance and Wilson's rush of adrenaline was wearing off. It had been relatively quiet for the past twenty minutes and Wilson was about to fall asleep. He felt extremely guilty. House was in a world of terror and he was going to fall asleep! He was ashamed. He looked into his friend's eyes and saw that they were still unfocused and fearful. Poor House. A hint of a smirk passed through Wilson's features as he thought of House's reaction to that. Even now, beaten and scarred beyond recognition and a shadow of his former self, House hated pity. Wilson's thoughts stopped suddenly when he heard a mumble come from House. That's weird, Wilson thought. House didn't speak during nightmares. It was one of those stupid rules. He didn't speak unless spoken to. It was the reason House didn't speak much now, even after he came out of the catatonia. Wilson wondered what the bastards were saying to him.
House's mumbling became clearer the second time. "Sir, will you please knee me in the groin?" It was followed by a loud groan. Wilson eyes widened, and he tightened his grip on House protectively. His hatred for Thompson and his goons increased ten- fold. They had broken his friend down so much that he asked for punishment. House endured all of this for him. Wilson knew all too well that his name was at the top of that God- forsaken contract. He couldn't believe it. House endured years of this crap for him, the rest of his colleagues, and his parents. It was overwhelming, and soon tears were falling freely down his cheeks.
Ten repeats of that horrible question and 15 minutes of violent shaking later, House started coming to. He looked Wilson in the eye and cried silent tears. Grabbing a bit of Wilson's shirt, House buried his face in Wilson's shoulder. Wilson sighed, picked up his friend, settled him into the mound of pillows known as House's bed, and laid right next to him. He held House close and whispered comforting nonsense to him until House's grip on his shirt loosened and he fell to sleep. Hopefully, a dreamless sleep. Wilson slid from House's bed and tiptoed to the recliner. He snuck a peek at the clock, afraid of what he would find. 4 am. He closed his eyes with a sigh.