A/N: The discussions of rape and incest are not descriptive, more so just mentioned, but are still a major part of the plot. There are also mentions of various forms of neglect and abuse, both physical and non-physical. This takes place after John House's funeral in S5 E4: Birthmarks.

House goes to Wilson's place after the funeral. He's quiet, like he always is when he feels really, really drained. He sits on the opposite end of the couch from Wilson as he eats Chinese take-out, both of them watching some shitty action movie on television. House thinks he's on the good side of numb up until Wilson opens his mouth.

"I don't get it," Wilson starts.

House sighs. Of course, Wilson doesn't get it. He can't get it. He'll never understand.

"Your brain too small to comprehend that I don't want to fucking see people sometimes?" House asks condescendingly.

Wilson motions wildly with his hands as he speaks. "It's not just that! This is something else. He did something you won't let go and forgive him for."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know ice baths, neglect, verbal abuse, and starvation didn't fit your definition of unforgivable," House replies, scowling. "Oh, and let's not forget the endless transphobia after I came out. The constant deadnaming and misgendering that he to this day has never apologized for, and now never will."

Wilson flinches, frowning. House can see the hurt and regret in his eyes, but his heart is pumping too much rage into his veins to feel bad about Wilson's extreme guilt.

"They do," Wilson finally says. "But there's something else, House. I know there is."

"How?"

"Everybody lies?" It's a poor attempt at an excuse, and Wilson knows House sees right through it.

House shakes his head. "No. How do you know?"

Wilson huffs. "I just do, House!"

"How?"

"God," Wilson groans. "Because I'm your friend. I can tell when something is wrong. Something was very wrong when you walked into that house, when you saw him, any time you spoke about him, and I didn't think it was that horrible, but something worse happened. Something worse than any words he threw at you. And I'm...I'm worried, House. I care about you." The frustration melts away and Wilson relaxes. "Please, just talk to me."

House grits his teeth. "If you knew there was something wrong then why did you make me fucking go?" he asks, trying to ignore the way his voice breaks.

"I didn't really know until now," Wilson confessed quietly. "I'm sorry I made you go. If I really, without a doubt knew, I wouldn't have made you go. I would've told your mother that you matter more than some stupid funeral." Wilson stares down at his lap. "So...What did he do?"

"You don't want to know," House replies, voice barely audible and shockingly hollow.

"I do. I want you to open up and talk, and I want to be here to help you through it," Wilson says, moving closer to House.

"No," House breathes. "I mean you really don't want to know."

Wilson moves even closer, his shoulder brushing against House's. "House, please. Let me be there for you. Let yourself be open with someone for once."

"Fine," House all but growls. "You wanna know what he did to me? What he put me through? You want to know the Hell I had to suffer through until I finally left for college and got away from that place?" he yells.

"Yes!" Wilson yells back.

"He raped me!" House exclaims. Suddenly the anger drains away, and House just looks tired again. He feels sick. "You know now. Happy?"

"House, I had no idea—"

The anger surges back. "That was the fucking point, Wilson! You weren't supposed to know! No one was! And no one ever would have, because he's dead now! But you had to be so fucking nosy!" House yells. He suddenly stiffens. "He's dead now," House whispers, putting his face in his hands. "He's dead." He doesn't know if the tears that well up are from joy, relief, or some fucked up sadness.

He shouldn't be sad. No one should be sad when their abuser is finally gone. But trauma destroys people— completely warps how they view the world. House knows this well.

Wilson sits there, feeling awkward and helpless. Greg House is an asshole, a nightmare of a man, but he's nothing like the person who put him through this hell. It doesn't justify all his snide remarks, his insults, his over rudeness, but Wilson will be damned if lets all of that keep him from comforting his best friend.

"He's dead," Wilson echoes. "You're safe now."

Wilson's words seem to be the final force to lift the massive weight off House's shoulders. House slumps against his friend, finally relaxing. He swallows the lump in his throat and tries to speak, but nothing comes out.

Wilson wraps an arm around House and shushes him. "Just relax. You don't need to talk."

House takes a deep breath and nods. After several minutes, he finally says, "I left home the day I graduated. Took some convincing for Blythe to let me go. I couldn't stay—" His voice cracks, and shudders.

Wilson rubs his shoulder. "It's alright," he whispers. "Take your time."

House takes another deep breath, and another, and another. "Once I was in college I had more time to myself. And I...I couldn't stop thinking about his hands on me. I couldn't stop thinking about what he did. I thought..." House trails off. His jaw clenches. "I thought that if I slept with other people I could forget. Or I could just replace the feeling of his hands with someone else's. Or that maybe I could rationalize it somehow. That I could wrap my head around it another way and make it seem not as fucked up." House digs his nails into his jeans. "I don't know," he whispers. "It didn't work."

House stops talking, and Wilson isn't sure how to respond. He keeps holding House.

As the minutes pass silently, House's anxiety grows. "Do you want me to leave?"

"Do you want to leave?"

"I don't want to be a bother," House says softly.

"You're not a bother," Wilson replies.

"Then why won't you answer the question?"

Wilson sighs. "My wants shouldn't influence your needs."

House pulls away from Wilson, irritation mixing with the anxiety. "Do you want me to leave?" he repeats.

"No," Wilson answers, his heart hurting when House looks shocked by his answer. "I don't want you to leave. You're upset, and I'm worried about you, and I want you to stay until I think you're better." House opens his mouth, but Wilson is quick to cut him off. "This isn't pity or charity, House. You're my best friend, I love you, I'm going to care about you and do my best to comfort you when you're upset."

Tears well up, and House tries to blink them away. "You're not going to leave me?"

Wilson's heart breaks further at House's question. He doesn't sound like himself at all. He sounds small and afraid, like he's a child again, and Wilson immediately reaches out to take his hand. He feels House's fingers flinch, then squeezes around his.

"I told you," Wilson says softly. "You're my best friend. You're stuck with me." Wilson tries to smile reassuringly.

House smiles faintly and moves closer to Wilson. "Because you love me?"

Wilson's smile widens. "Because I love you," he affirms.

House hums and leans against Wilson. "I love you, too," he whispers. Then, with more feeling, he says, "I love you, Wilson."

Wilson kisses House's forehead. "I love you, too, House."

Wilson squeezes his hand again. House squeezes back. Wilson thinks House will be okay.

"So are you gonna keep holding my hand like we're a couple of thirteen-year-olds, or are you gonna stop being a coward and kiss me?"

Wilson laughs in response, then leans in to kiss House.

Yeah, he'll be okay.