At the behest of a few people who asked me to write more for this, I've decided to keep it going. I don't think this is what y'all wanted, but its what I can fly with- a series of one-shots or character studies involving House and Wilson post-Contract. None of the stories will really be connected to each other in any way, at least not intentionally, except for they will all take place a year after Wilson takes House in, and of course, the tie-in of those "little things." Does anyone like that idea? I'm not the best writer in the world, and I have the feeling that if I kept going with one idea I'd run it into the ground after chapter 2 and the story would get progressively worse. But, at any rate I hope I can live up to your expectations.

This story, very unoriginally titled "House's Head" is just that- a peer into what's going on in House's mind and why he is the way he is(aside from obvious reasons) now that he is free from the contract and prison. This one is a bit strange, dealing a lot with psychology. I was as accurate as I possibly could be in writing this, but I did tweak things a tiny bit to fit how I wanted the story to work. It may be clear what's accurate and what I made up, but if anyone reading this is majoring in Psychology, please don't yell at me for fucking up! xP Tell me what you think of this, though. Any comments or reviews would be very helpful.

Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters, I'm just borrowing them. I'll try to get them back in one piece, I promise.

At the core, the Firstborn lay in a strange state of consciousness.

He was vaguely aware of another presence outside of him, protecting him. The Other One protected him with a thick layer of fear, refusing to trust or let his guard down, in case a mistake was made and the abuse began again. His job was to protect the core, to act for it, to keep it buried.

House was aware of what had happened. He had endured enough mental and physical abuse to shatter him, but instead of snapping, his mind simply created a replacement to endure the suffering, and let the battle-weary, abused self rest, submerged deep within itself. He had Multiple Personality Disorder, but not the usual variety- rather than a multitude of personalities living within and communicating occasionally through the person- the Firstborn- this one personality, though there can be many, had taken over completely, leaving the Firstborn to sleep. It happened sometimes to people who had been sexually abused as young children, or undergone irreparable torment. The creative mind birthed a scapegoat, someone new to deal with the problems while the beaten Self lay unconscious, blissfully unable to think, feel or act.

But instead of dying away or lying asleep within the mental womb, House was awake and aware of his activity, an unusual case as always. He could not act, but he sat there at the core of himself and observed the work of Fear, who had ordered regression back to early childhood. He was now weak, scared and almost completely dependent, in need of help for everything from dressing to eating, but always aware, always on edge, in constant remembrance of the abuse that once took place and fearful of its return if anything or anyone is trusted too much. No one could be trusted anymore. It was never certain that they wouldn't have to endure prison again.
House was knew what had happened, though, and that created conflict that was not supposed to exist. House knew he was now free from danger and abuse. Fear refused to believe it wasn't all a trick for the sadistic entertainment of their torturers- they had been lured into a false sense of safety more than once. House was aware that he was in a safe place, cared for by someone who loved him. Fear trusted nothing, certain every loud noise was impending agony, every dark room meant confinement, and no one meant them well. Despite House's awareness, he was submerged far beyond the ability to control his own self anymore. Fear was in control, and his beliefs, meant to protect them, dominated. The worst part of this strange dual awareness of personalities was that the very reason House's mind had done this, had no effect. The Other was intended to remember the cruelty and pain, but could not feel it. The Firstborn could feel- but it was not supposed to be awake. Awareness caused the incessant remembrance of suffering in the Other to recreate the pain of it in the Firstborn.
Fear constantly reminded House of the pain, and House constantly felt it. The suffering doubled where there was supposed to be none, and House reeled within himself.

"Good morning, House."

The man was there again. His name was Wilson, but his name made no difference. Do not respond. I was not commanded to speak, I was not told what to say. I know what happens when I talk out of line.

And House remembered.

"Do you want pancakes?" Wilson sounded cheery and hopeful. Hoping for a response, hoping House would actually say something, or at least nod his head. His friend continued to stare blankly, though.

It's a trick question.

No it isn't, House thought. Every time he asks us about food, we get food. Any time he asks us if we want anything, we get it. He's not trying to hurt me.

Fear didn't hear him. The Other usually couldn't, because he wasn't supposed to. On occasion House managed to make his own thoughts heard, but they had little to no effect.

Wilson sighed, but smiled, and went to another room. "You can come on out whenever you feel like it, I'll have breakfast ready soon."

It's a trap. I haven't been ordered to move.

So House sat silent, not moving a muscle. It's the only way to stay safe. It's impossible to do anything wrong if sitting perfectly still. They can't punish you for listening.

'They' aren't here anymore, House thought. It's safe here.

He had tried to block out Fear with his own thoughts, in hope that they would carry through and be heard instead by the shell that was currently himself. It had only worked once, but that was what mattered. He was capable of penetrating through the core. He would keep trying.

Wilson shook his head as he re-entered House's room later, only to see he hadn't moved an inch. You gotta learn that you can do things without being told to now. He was surprised House would breathe without being given express permission. It saddened Wilson to know that despite his friend was out of harm's way, he still believed he was in the clutches of evil. Something in his mind hadn't clicked yet and let him relax. It made him angry that House was still afraid of being touched and stared at full plates of food in disbelief. It broke his heart that his strong-willed, fearless friend was afraid to be alone and had to sleep with a nightlight. Someday he'll start to come out of it, Wilson thought optimistically. He at least hoped so.

"Come on, buddy. Pancakes and bacon await." His heart broke when House flinched at the hand on his shoulder, but House got up at that, and followed Wilson into the small kitchen. Fear had put a miniscule amount of trust in Wilson by now, simply because they had been in the man's care for so long and nothing bad had happened. Not yet. The day the pain began again was inevitable, and so the overall dread and distrust remained. He did not move without orders. He did not speak at all. He did exactly what he was told to do, and nothing else. Fear knew if he did any more or less, the punishment would start anew. He was certain.

House lay at his own core, knowing Wilson was near. His friend. That man is good. He will never hurt you. You can trust him. He loves you. Despite House's efforts, Fear's paranoid delusions remained at the very front of the mind, his own assuring thoughts only dimly echoing at the back, either unheard or ignored. House was still greatly disturbed by what had happened to him, he knew he wasn't the same person anymore, and the world had become a darker place since his ordeal, a place to be wary of, not to trust at first sight. But he knew Wilson. He knew Wilson would never do a thing to harm him. If he could at least get that through, things would be better. He was broken and traumatized, physically, mentally and emotionally, but the Firstborn wanted to regain control.

Wilson sat across from House, eating and nonchalantly talking about this and that while making sure House took the lion's share of the meal, trying to get weight back on the man's frighteningly thin frame. Even after so long, he was still underweight and it worried Wilson to a degree, but he was eating and slowly getting healthier, and that was all he could ask for.
House listened intently to Wilson's every word, comforted by his voice. He was rambling on about an article he'd read in a crappy tabloid about aliens and something about Hawaii, he saw a falcon flying around the other day, it was such a pretty bird and House would have been far more entertained by watching it tear a pigeon's head right off than he was, the drycleaners messed one of his suits up… it was completely pointless, but House liked hearing his voice- it was always soft, always hinted with some amount of happiness or calm that made things seem safe. His entire body remained rigid though, nervous of doing something that would provoke anger. It's not real. It's a trap. Do not relax, do not move. Remember what happens when you do anything without permission.
House remembered. He stayed sitting straight up, staring blankly, trying to suppress the shudder that moved through him. Wilson noticed with some concern, but also saw House attempting to hide it, and so completely ignored it for his friend's sake and continued his monologue as he cleared the dishes. He glanced over at House after a time and said calmly, "You can go into the other room and watch tv if you want. Or look at a magazine or a book, go to your room… whatever you want to do. The morning is yours, my friend. But you're taking a bath at some point," ending with an amused tone and a smirk on his face. He felt the need to give House several options, knowing if he only said he could do one thing, that's the only thing House would do. Wilson sighed again, feeling that sometimes that's all you can do. Sigh and keep hoping for the best.

It had never been accounted for that the shell was capable of hearing the separate personalities, as can sometimes occur.

House had been sitting silently for over an hour as Wilson milled around, doing various small things around the apartment. The television was on, but not a bit of attention was being paid to it. It appeared on the outside that House was simply staring into space, in his own little world. It was partly true.

Sit completely still. Someone may be watching, waiting for a mistake, an excuse to hurt me even more.

No one is going to cause any more pain. It's done. Our suffering is over with.

Someone is making sure I stay still. Just because the other man hasn't harmed me doesn't mean he won't, or no one else will. This is all false. Do not move. Pain comes from not following orders.

And the pain was remembered. Memories of being beaten roused in House's brain and caused many still healing wounds to flare. He bit back a yelp of pain, remaining stoic. Do not make noise. That will only make it worse.

There is nothing here to hurt you! This place is safe. You aren't in prison anymore, the people that hurt you are there now instead. Wilson would never harm you, ever. You are safe here.

The pain and the memories of what caused it continued to whirl in House's head, frightening him with brutal images, all the while a strange battle in his brain raging on.

Stay still. They can't hurt you if you stay still. Don't move. Don't shake. Don't show pain. Don't show that you feel anything.

You're not going to get hurt here. Its safe here. Wilson is safe. Nothing bad can happen anymore. Not here.

I got beaten just for breathing too hard. Nothing is too cautious. Be safe. Don't make the pain come back…

The two separate lines of debate rattled on, seemingly unaware of each other- one House's own thoughts, the other a strangely familiar voice from nowhere, both overlapping each other and blending together in a maddening mess of barely coherent noise in House's head. In a mixture of pain, confusion and pure fear, House began to cry. He drew his legs up onto the couch and put his arms over his head, shaking slightly, a small ball of fear on the couch.

It was so quiet as Wilson got out of the shower and headed to the bedroom, it took him until he was fully dressed and had walked into the living room to realize anything was amiss. His heart sank and a cold fear swept over him when he saw House in a tearful ball on the couch.

"Sweet Jesus… House, what's wrong?" It took effort not to run in his direction, heavy knowledge of how nervous sudden movements made his friend being the only thing keeping him from it. Wilson sat down beside him and slowly attempted to get him uncurled and sitting up. House jumped at his touch, but Wilson managed to help him sit up, carefully setting his legs down off the couch, one arm draped over the man's shaking shoulders.

The look of pure fear and concern could not have been more raw or real than the display on Wilson's face as he attempted to get House to look at him. "House… what happened? Look at me. What happened? You can tell me. What got you so upset?" A fresh set of tears welled up in House's eyes, and at that point Wilson was about ready to cry, himself. What the hell could have possibly happened in the 15 minutes I was out of the room?

This time it was the Firstborn's voice that was heard above the Other. See how much he cares? He would never want to hurt you. He is concerned about you, and only wants to make you happy. He is safe. He is your best friend, and you can trust him above anyone else.
House looked at Wilson, who was staring back with dark eyes pierced with fear, but filled with warmth and love, clear as day. The tears fell, and House buried himself in his friend, who gladly enveloped him in his arms.

"You're alright… I'm here, you're okay. Whatever scared you so much can't possibly harm you, I won't let it…" Wilson was confused, but happy his friend trusted him enough to take refuge in him. He still didn't know what was wrong, but he was determined to make any thought of it disappear. He rested his head on top of House's, and kept him close until the shaking subsided.

Nothing else may be safe, but he is, House thought to himself. Everything else was still worth fearing, but Wilson was good. Wilson was safe, and he'd finally realized it for himself.

The Firstborn had succeeded- it emerged from the assigned position of the core, pushing Fear into its place after over a year of dominance. Personalities do not go away, but they can become dormant, for long periods at a time. Fear was a major part of House's personality, and it was an emotion frequently felt towards anything or anyone new or unusual. Wilson was not to be feared though, he finally learned. Wilson was his protector.

Wilson looked down at House, who had finally calmed down. "Feeling better?" he asked with a smile. House was afraid to do anything; afraid to acknowledge Wilson's question, afraid to answer, afraid to move. It was still very difficult to live without fear of being hurt or reprimanded. He tried, though, with a tiny nod symbolizing a 'yes.' Wilson's smile widened.

"Good. I don't know what happened… but I want you to know that as long as I'm around, nothing bad can happen to you, okay?" He tightened his grip on House for a moment before letting go. This time he was fairly sure House got the message. Something seemed to have finally fallen into place, and given House at least a little more comfort around Wilson. It was just a tiny improvement, but baby steps were all Wilson could ask for, and he was grateful for every one. Thank god for the little things that mean so much.

xxxxxxx