Title: Blood Brothers

Author: srslyyes

Summary: It's not easy being a vampire and having House as your best friend.

Characters: House/Wilson

Rating: R, (R to maybe NC-17 in later chapters).

Warning: AU. Scary at times. Angst. Eventual slash. Spoilers for S5 previews.

Disclaimer: Not mine or ever will be. Just playing with my anatomically correct House and Wilson dolls.

A/N: Building on the vampire genre I've created a few new twists of my own.

A big thank you and round of applause to infobookfan85 for her sharp eyes, encouragement, support, motivation and assistance with some decisions about this story. Without her, I'm not sure this story would ever have seen the light of day.

Please R&R. Thank you.

Chapter 2: You suck…?

Wilson was more shocked at his own behavior than House.

The light extinguished from his eyes, and there was a muffled apology as he dropped his face into his hands, "I'm sorry, House. You weren't supposed to see that."

Minutes passed. Wilson finally looked up. The fangs were gone, but his eyes couldn't meet House's. Instead, he sighed and turned his attention to the square flat box by his side. His hand snaked under the cover and snatched several pieces of the raw squishy globs, greedily stuffing it into his mouth.

House was shocked as well. He was also amazed and interested. "What's going on here?"

Wilson curled back on the bed. He was shivering, and exhibiting signs of shock. House could barely hear the softly spoken request, "I need richer blood and meat. There's liver…"

House headed back to the kitchen where he dry swallowed more pills before finding the package in the refrigerator. It wasn't difficult. 'Lvr' was scrawled in black marker on one of the wrappers. He wasn't sure what Wilson wanted him to do with it. Unwrapping the slimy organ, he placed it in a plate and began cutting it up. The blood was plentiful and threatened to overflow the rim. He tipped the plate of syrupy vermillion into a glass. He saw there was over two inches of ooze. Eyeing the glass and plate, he decided it was too risky to balance the two with one hand while holding the cane in the other. He cursed under his breath. He hated when small things like that reminded him how dependent he was on a stick of wood.

He returned with the glass, and sat down next to his friend. Wilson was on his side, his back toward him in a tight fetal position. He shook a shoulder, "Hey, can you sit up?"

At first he didn't see a reaction, then Wilson nodded and propped himself against the pillows. His hand was unsteady as he reached for the glass. House was afraid to let go, "Grip it with two hands unless you want to waste it." The second hand came up, but it didn't improve the trembling. A couple of drops ran down the outside of the tumbler. House tried to hide his alarm under a shell of irritation "Here, let go. You're making a mess, but remember I helped you if you ever feel the urge to bare your fangs."

He brought the glass to eager lips, and the dark fluid disappeared, along with most of the shaking. A shred of Wilson's humor returned as he quietly mumbled, "Thanks, tasty but it's missing that Geritol kick."

"Next time I'll add a shot of Maker's Mark."

House inspected his friend and was reassured for the moment. He left the room returning with the raw liver. A napkin and fork was thoughtfully provided if any part of civilized Wilson remained to appreciate it.

The plate was gratefully accepted. The brown eyes resembled those of a happy pup receiving a special treat for good behavior, but there was nothing good about this. The delight faded to embarrassment as his dark eyes slid away from the blue and peered toward the large room beyond, "Would you mind…?"

House took the hint. Stood up and closed the door behind him as he walked out. He chose to sit in the kitchen chair that faced the bedroom and waited.

While Wilson took his own sweet time, House's mind was a thousand questions deep. He braided the cane around his fingers and twirled it. Was vampirism real or a disease? Something so rare that up until now no one discovered a logical explanation for it? Porphyria and rabies were thought to be medical explanations that supported the legend. Maybe it wasn't a myth after all. Wilson accepted it as fact, and he was no fool.

Fangs be damned, he wasn't moving from this apartment until he got answers.

Time dragged. He pulled out his iPod then thought better of it. What if Wilson called out for help? He checked the time on his cell phone and left it on the table. It was getting later by the minute. If Wilson didn't come out in five minutes, he was going back in. He wondered if he should bring more steak, or fashion a cross out of the chopsticks he found earlier in the cutlery drawer.

With one minute to spare the bedroom door groaned open and Wilson stepped out, behaving like a sleepwalker, and paying no attention to House as he walked by. He didn't look much better than earlier, but at least he was walking. He dragged the plate and pizza over to the counter and ran water over the dish and utensils he dropped in the sink. Energy bled from him like a lacerated vein. His hands gripped the edge of the counter, his arms straddled the basin where he stood, head bowed, debating whether to clean the items or just leave them. Fatigue won out. He shut the tap and turned away.

The oncologist began shuffling back to the bedroom, but as he passed the table, House kicked the leg of the empty kitchen chair across from him, skittering it in front of Wilson, effectively blocking his path, and arresting his attention. "Sit, Jimmy."

Wilson sat. He brushed his hand over his forehead and ruffled his hair letting out a sigh, "What?"

House spun his strategy into motion. He picked up his phone, observing the man before him looking frail with dark circles under his eyes. He gauged there was little fight in him. "As a golden haired cocoa goddess once said, 'We can either do this easy, or we can do this rough.' You need to be checked into the hospital. Do you want to come with me, or should I call an…"

He never saw the hand as it slammed down on his wrist with incredible speed and force. The phone flew and skipped across the floor.

"No, House. We are not playing this your way, I told you it's not leukemia, it's not any disease that has a cure, so don't begin salivating over a new case. I just need to be left alone." Dark fathomless eyes bored into his, "Forget. About. This."

House almost laughed, "Testing your vampire will over mine? Forgeddabouddit, Barnabus. That slightly cross-eyed stare doesn't cut it. What's next, the Jedi knight mind trick or the Vulcan neck-pinch?"

The remark broke the tension between the two of them, Wilson's mouth twisted into a ghost of a grin, "Fine. Stay, but don't say I didn't warn you if you develop a taste for spiders and flies. I'm leaving now," but all he did was raise both hands and snap his fingers.

"Great exit line, but sorry, Jimmy, you didn't disappear into a trail of smoke." They both laughed until Wilson's disintegrated into a cough. He was still in a good mood as he brushed House's concerned expression away with his hand.

"That's two times you've called me Jimmy in two minutes." He tilted his head and squinted his eyes as he tried to understand, "Your trying to deflect your fear, or…?"

"I care about you." It was House's turn to shrug. A motion he so little indulged, he could feel his joints rub. There. It was out. "Level with me."

Wilson's hand massaged the back of his neck. With one last-ditch effort, he returned the ball to House's side of the net. "There's nothing you can do."

"Have you ever spoken to anybody about what's wrong with you before?"

"Only my sire, and there's nothing wrong with me, I'm just ... different."

House was doing a slow burn as he listened to Wilson's offhand responses, "Fuck, Wilson!. You look like a zombie, but you never sought another medical opinion other than your own. You're an idiot!"

Wilson blazed to life, and he deliberately ground out each word slowly, "An idiot maybe. A zombie, never. I'm a vampire!" His fist struck the table, and hairline cracks appeared on the surface radiating from under his hand.

House leveled his gaze, "Then prove it to me."

Each stared at the other across the table. Wilson waited a few beats before admitting defeat. He knew he fell into House's well-sprung trap. He dropped his eyes, "What do you want to know?"

Blue eyes bored into brown. House was holding Wilson to his word, "This is the emmes?"

"Yeah, emmes."

House wanted to rub his hands with glee. He felt he was given a lifetime pass to a Wilson tell-me-the-truth buffet. Of course, if he didn't watch his step, he might be Wilson's main course.

His attack was quick and to the point, "Why do you think you are a vampire? How long has this been going on? What are your symptoms?"

"Are we speed dating? Let's take this one question at a time." Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose and let go before speaking, "I have the run of the mill vampire indicators. You've seen some. Fangs, extra speed, strength, sensitivity to light," he held up a hand, "Yeah I know you're going to ask me about the sun. When you ridicule my coconut shampoo and body wash, it's really the SPF49 sunblock that you are smelling."

House leaned in, "What about becoming invisible? Fly? Can you turn into a bat? Do crosses and holy water burn your skin? Can you only be killed by driving a wooden stake through your heart?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down." There was a flinty edge to the protest. "I don't know the answers to most of your questions. This...this isn't in any medical books, and I can't locate a handbook or instruction manual on Amazon or eBay. No angry patients have tried to run me in with a wooden stake," and looking pointedly at House, "I would appreciate if you wouldn't experiment on me without asking first." He continued, "When gas reaches 7.00 a gallon I'll look seriously into flying."

Shrugging, "Don't have many opportunities to be in the presence of crosses or holy water. Because, you know," his hands pointed at his chest, "I'm a Jew…and my best friend doesn't believe in God,"

"But, you eat. I've seen you…" House halted as he thought about all the times Wilson good-naturedly forfeited his chips, sandwiches, and bagels. The list was endless, and this last week he didn't touch any of the tasty bribes he'd brought to his office. The blue eyes lasered onto his friend. It was dawning on him that he knew very little about him.

Wilson found little difficulty in reading his mind, "Yes, House. You were the perfect friend. Don't get me wrong, I was…att…attracted to you-your…personality. I enjoyed your company, but pursuing a friendship wouldn't be worth exposing myself. You were a new kind of 'friend with benefits.' You ate the food I could barely stomach, showed no interest in religious beliefs, and you were so anti-social that I didn't worry about other people prying into my life as long as I spent my free time with you." He looked at the floor, "God knows, you were never interested in my life until Amber came along."

The diagnostician's mind accepted the explanation. So their friendship wasn't as one-sided as most people thought. For all these years their twisted screwed up friendship was a parasite's wet dream.

Whatever the friendship could be called it was in jeopardy now. Wilson was looking weaker. "So, you don't need to eat?"

"No I don't. If I'm to survive, I need to drink…blood." There was another hollow reflective flash from the eyes.

"The raw calves liver doesn't look like it's working."

Humiliation crossed the pale features, "You're right, it's bare sustenance. I need human blood." Anger replaced the previous emotion, "But, you played your small part to remove my food supply, didn't you?"

The question was a well-played emotional punch to his stomach as House supplied the answer, "Amber."

"Yes, and now I'm totally cut off."

Instead of continuing down the highway, House veered off the next exit, "Is that all she was to you? Food?" He decided to sail right past the stop sign, and kept on going. His long fingers tapped out a rhythm on the table "What about all those wives of yours? Your own personal filling station?"

Wilson found the partially barren bookcases a fascinating study, "Yes."

House was sitting on top of a gold mine. No pick or shovel was readily available, but that did little to dissuade. He would dig out the precious ore with his bare hands if he must. He returned to one of his original questions, "How long has this been going on?"

Wilson heard the interest in House's voice, he knew he was as good as undead. He wasn't going to get any rest until he spilled all. "Since med school. Before I married Jill I met a very charismatic hematology instructor who asked me to TA. I thought it would look good on my upcoming intern applications, and learn more about her specialty. Appears I got more than I bargained for.

"She just broke up with her girlfriend, and needed some liquid refreshment. Dumped me soon after, leaving me with a craving for red meat, and without a dental plan to accommodate my new overbite." He was quiet, making a decision about what to say next, "You once asked me why I went into oncology…?"

House nodded, "The favorite dead uncle was bullshit?"

"Yeah. I thought I'd have a chance to be on the cutting edge of treatments and drugs that would cure or at least lessen the symptoms. At first I thought exactly like you that it was a disease similar to leukemia. It was years before I accepted the fact that the only diagnosis for it was vampirism."

House couldn't pick up the nuggets fast enough. Dead uncles, a harem food supply, and gay girlfriends. He wanted more information on the last bit, but would file it away for another time. "So, the self-respecting boy wonder didn't become a playboy until…?"

"After my sire. Then I…I entered into a vigorous and varied love life. I found out that the puncture wound as well as the memory were quickly forgotten by the…recipient." Wilson waved a hand to halt House's next question, "And before you ask, I never took advantage of you during our pizza and beer nights. If you remember, there was always an ample supply of girlfriends, even when I was married."

"Except now."

"Yes. Except now. I've never had this happen before. How does it look, the grieving boyfriend dating so soon after his one true love died? I was screwed. I thought animal blood would work. Apparently not very well."

"You can't afford to be virtuous, Ji…Wilson. You look like the 'Prince of Crap,' not the 'Prince of Darkness.'"

Wilson's arms wrapped around his chest, his lips drew into thin stubborn lines. "You're right. I don't have the energy to dig myself out of this mess. Usually raw liver kick starts me, but it's not working. I thought I'd get out of New Jersey. Maybe go to California. Make a new life where no one knew me and start fresh, but after tonight," he shook his head, "I've waited too long."

"If all you need is human blood…"

"Maybe it's even too late for that. I don't know."

House didn't want to think about the possibility, nevertheless he said what was on his mind, "I thought vampires couldn't die."

"Unfortunately, I learned more about hematology than vampirism from my sire, but she explained a few things. She said there were two forms of vampire death. Dusting and Morpheus, a deep comatose state that simulates death. The body never deteriorates." Wilson blanched, "There's a slim chance that a vamp can be revived, but it is an undesirable choice. If it came down to regaining consciousness or dusting," Wilson deliberately paused, underscoring what he was about to say, "dusting is preferable."

House shifted in his chair and arched an eyebrow, "Dusting? You mean disintegrating into dust? Wouldn't the possibility of resuscitation be better?"

Unshed tears brightened Wilson's eyes. He choked out, "If the vampire could be reanimated it returns without humanity - a monster, one of the living dead."

With Wilson's last admission, House was committed to saving him by any means.

"Before you become preserved broccoli, why don't I snatch a bag of blood from the hospital, and see if it makes you feel better?"

House didn't think it was possible to see Wilson turn a whiter shade of pale. "There's a blood shortage right now, I'm not going to be responsible for a patient dying because there wasn't enough blood to go around. I am a doctor." In a lower tone he muttered, "Besides, there are other interactions connected to using donated blood."

"Yeah, and I sooner not lock you away in my refrigerator's vegetable drawer. Leaves less room for beer." House scratched at the bristles on his face. He could hear the answer before he let slip his next suggestion, but he had to give it a shot, "How about if I find someone off the street and offer money for their blood? It's no different than selling it to a blood bank."

He expected Wilson to immediately rebuff the idea, but was stunned when he saw fangs spring out and Wilson hissed, "Excellent, House. Why not take advantage of the homeless and deprive the hospital of blood at the same time? Do I have to tell you about my brother once again?"

The fangs disappeared, but the outburst left a noticeable toll on his friend. House saw the man imploding before his eyes, but the voice stayed sharp as a freshly honed knife, "Enough. I'm wasting my eternity on your infernal questions."

Wilson tried pushing away from the table, but faltered and grabbed onto it to steady himself. Just as he gave in to the demands of his exhausted body, he worked hard to hold onto his pride with a shred of humor, "Since when did my bedroom move to Trenton?" Slowly crumbling to the ground, Wilson was losing his battle with gravity.

House moved fast and caught his friend under the arms. The cane served to support both of them as they moved to the bedroom. With every step House bore more of his friend's weight and whispered secrets. House didn't want to hear about final instructions and a will, but Wilson pressed on. He heard something about a silver coin…fire…lead-lined…deep, and he thought he heard 'love' before Wilson collapsed onto the bed with a sudden shuddered intake of breath. This wasn't amusing anymore. It was deadly serious. The burning rage on House's face could turn Medusa to molten lava.

House saw too many patients die not to recognize similar signs. It didn't matter what Wilson's sire called it. Death was sitting at the foot of the bed quietly knitting a shroud. Wilson wanted to play the 'Dark Knight,' but House found nothing honorable in allowing his ethical best friend to die.

He hobbled into action. Working his way back to the kitchen he found a glass, and rummaged for a sharp kitchen knife. Heading to the bathroom, he reassured himself that the medicine cabinet was fully stocked with alcohol, bandages, and antiseptic. His leg was beginning to throb, so the well-placed cuts in his arm added the benefit of a gating mechanism.

He saw the fluid rise in the glass as precious time slipped away. He had no idea how much would be needed to make a difference, but decided to bandage his arm and bring what he collected into the bedroom. If it wasn't enough, he could always draw more.

Wilson's eyes were closed, and mouth slack. House fought back panic as he felt under the jaw for a pulse. Slower. Weaker.

Wasting no time he slapped Wilson on both sides of the face. Once. Twice, and the eyes flew open. "Here, drink. I brought you more blood, and made it just the way you like it - room temperature." He sank down next to his stubborn patient, and propped him up as he brought the water glass to his mouth, tipping so the red fluid wet his lips. At the first drop, Wilson grasped the glass on his own, and downed the contents.

The change was remarkable. House stood up as he checked the vitals. The body no longer looked fit for a slab. Pulse and breathing were close to normal. Even the pallor was replaced with a warmer, rosier color.

House stepped back and congratulated himself on the recovery. A little blood now and again wasn't too big a sacrifice to make for a friend.

His best friend was a vampire. So what?

Wilson eyes were heavily lidded. He was still holding the glass, and lifted it to his lips one more time, running his tongue around the edge, collecting and savoring the last precious drops. His eyebrows knitted together, as he sniffed the glass, and then his eyes snapped open searching and holding House with twin dark tractor beams. The eyes no longer skewed, not by a hair's breath. House felt trapped in a vise and found it hard to breathe. He never thought of Wilson as a threat. Not up until now. With one fluid movement Wilson was standing face-to-face. His upper arms were held in an iron grip. The cane dropped to the floor.

The barely audible whisper from minutes before was replaced with bellowing fury. Wilson's voice struck like a lightening bolt to the heart. "That was your blood, wasn't it!? A feral whine leapt from a hidden crypt, "You fucking asshole! All I ever wanted to do was shield you from this. You think you saved me, but you hurt both of us instead." He shook House nearly off his feet.

Then he let go, and backed away. Grief flickered as the voice softened. He covered his face with his hands, the fingers curling stiffly like tarantulas covering his eyes, "House, what the hell have you done? I can't protect you now."

House said nothing. He crossed his arms and rubbed at his bruises.

As the hands moved away, he saw a steel mask. Arms dropped to the vampire's side. Eyes flashed brilliant silver. The voice became more harsh and guttural. Menace poured from the double barbed mouth and remained palpable as the thing's words rattled through the charged atmosphere…

"I said I had the right to walk away from you, but now I don't, and neither do you.

"We're connected, you and I. I'll know where you are every minute of every day, and hunt you down for pleasure…or call you to me, and you'll be thrilled to run to my side…thrilled to death."

The contorted face came closer, filling his field of vision. So close that he could smell the metallic odor of his own blood on the breath of the Nosferatu.

"That glass of blood was your death warrant."

TBC

Thank you for reading. All comments welcome!

A/N:

Emmes or emes. Pronounced: m'-iss. Yiddish for truth.

Homage to:

"A Thousand Kisses Deep" by Leonard Cohen

"Proud Mary" by Tina and Ike Turner

"A Whiter Shade of Pale" by Procol Harum

"My Best Friend Is a Vampire." RSL's 1988 movie.