A/N: Thanks to those who have reviewed and are following my story. Here's the second part. There will be one more chapter unless there is demand for more, then I'll see what I can do. Let the pain begin!

House.

Wilson's heart began racing as he leapt to his feet and started scanning the area around him. He spotted the tire sitting in the middle of the food stand, the young employee sitting on the ground a few feet away, scratching his head and staring in amazement at the new addition to his workplace. Others were starting to gather around the object, attracted to the scene like bees to a hive.

As his eyes continued moving to the left, he immediately spotted a lump of army green shirt and blue jeans about fifteen feet away. A few people were jogging toward the unmoving figure. His body tensed with adrenaline as his heart tried to leap out of his throat, limbs feeling tight and unresponsive as he willed his legs to carry him the short distance to his fallen friend.

House was currently lying on his stomach, his face buried between his right arm and clenched left fist. His torso was twisted: upper body face down, lower body lying on its right side, legs slightly bent. His position eerily reminded Wilson of one of those tape outlines of a victim on the floor of a murder scene.

Wilson knelt down next to his friend and gently placed his right hand on the fallen man's left shoulder.

"Greg..."

"Don't... call me that," the deep gravelly voice mumbled from his face down position, "I'm not dead."

Wilson inwardly breathed a sigh of relief hearing his friend's voice, even if it did sound tight and labored.

"You okay? What happened?" He knew that was a stupid question but he hoped House would give him some details.

"Just tell me... my foot's... still attached," came the reply through pained gasps as House continued holding a conversation with the dirt, "then we'll go from there." he breathed out.

"Which one? Did you land on it?" Wilson immediately suspected something was up with House's always-troublesome right leg. He knelt down next to the leg in question and started gently palpating for injuries, his hands running skillfully, feeling for anything out of the ordinary.

"No!" House gasped, "Don't touch..." He let out a shaky breath. "Not yet... Give me a sec."

Wilson could hear House trying to regulate his breathing as he fought for control over the pain, short breaths catching in his throat followed by a forced exhale. Sitting back on his heels, he decided to wait for approval before he'd try to touch him again. His mind was racing with possible scenarios: Did he twist it? Land on it awkwardly? Couldn't have been hit by the tire... could he? Wilson couldn't see any physical evidence to the latter. House was covered in dirt and dust but that told him nothing. In fact, his own clothing had turned a nice shade of brown when he hit the dirt himself. He continued to stare at House and tried to put the pieces together.

"No... more like some THING landed on it." House finally managed to answer Wilson's earlier question, " Oh, and you might want... to be checking... the other leg there, Einstein," he added through hitched breaths.

Hearing the strained words, he immediately bent over the left leg and started examining the limb for any possible injury . It didn't take him long to discover the problem. When his eyes reached the black and silver Nike, he noticed the odd angle of the shoe. It seemed to be angled outwardly, away from the leg, more of the sole of the shoe showing than should be. Damn.

While Wilson had been busy examining House, a small crowd had gathered, encircling the two men, staring down dumbly at the unmoving figure covered in dirt and dust. House was still facing the ground, unaware of the audience he was attracting. As he started examining House's left leg, Wilson vaguely heard the announcer describing the scene, the words echoing around the stadium. "Incident...possible injuries...can't quite see what's happening. The ambulance is on its way...The finals will be delayed until we can...We'll keep you informed as we learn..."

"I'm just gonna pull up your pant leg a bit." he reassured his friend. He gently lifted the pant leg, using both hands to shimmy it up House's calf. Immediately he could see under the gray rag sock the odd bend about three inches above House's ankle. It looked like a bridge that had taken too much weight and had collapsed in the middle.

"I'm guessing fracture. Tib-fib..." House muttered, the tightness in his voice waning just a bit as he seemed to be gaining some control over the pain. "Felt a snap."

"Looks like it." Wilson stated professionally, "we should try to get you on your back and stabilize that leg." He not only wanted to get him on his back but wanted to get a closer look at the break.

"I'm feeling pretty comfy right here, thanks," the muffled voice answered.

"House, you know when the EMTs get here, they'll move you anyway," Wilson continued to argue with the back of House's head, "and you know they won't be as gentle as I'll be. We just need to roll you on to your back." He felt a slight twinge in his stomach as he realized House may be hiding something from him. "You don't have any other injuries, do you? Spinal injury? Ribs?" He began running his hands over House's torso, feeling for broken ribs.

House's body tensed at the contact, squeezing his elbows to his sides "Hey! You mind? Not really the time or place to be feeling me up."

"Yeah, you're just so hot right now, I can't keep my hands off you." Wilson replied, glad to hear House's sarcasm returning but he obeyed his friend's wishes and let go, leaning back on his knees again.

"You can molest me later." House answered shortly. "More worried about my foot falling off at the moment."

Wilson let a small smile creep across his face. "I swear I won't let that happen."

"Scout's honor?"

"Since when were you ever in the Boy Scouts?" Wilson was trying to keep House's mind occupied.

"Military school. Same thing."

"I didn't know you went to Military school."

"One year." House answered, "Got kicked out."

This didn't surprise Wilson. He stored the information in the back of his mind and changed back to the subject at hand.

"When was your last Vicodin?" Wilson questioned. He knew this was gonna hurt no matter how gentle he was.

House let out a shaky sigh. "Too long ago."

Wilson vaguely remembered House popping one right before they ate. House popped so many of the little white pills, every dose seemed to run together in his mind but he thought about it and was sure he saw House take one recently. He did the math and figured it must've been only about twenty minutes ago.

"The last dose should be kicking in about now. You know you'll get the good stuff in the ER."

A slight hesitation before he heard the reply, "Yeah...fine. Let's just get this over with."

Wilson reached for the injured leg and took hold just above and below the fracture, feeling a slight flinch from House, "Okay, I'm gonna count to three and support the leg while you roll over to your left. Ready?"

"Whoa! Wait!" House interrupted, still facing the ground, "ON three or one, two, three, GO?

"Well, what do you want? On three or on go?"

"I don't care, just..." he sighed deeply, "On go, okay? So, one, two, three, go. Got it?"

"Got it." Wilson continued holding either side of the fracture and started to count again.

"Or how about on a hundred. Can we do that?" House was still trying to negotiate.

"House..." Wilson returned with a bit of irritation in his voice. He was growing impatient with the other man's stalling tactics even if he was in pain. He began to count again.

"...two, three," both men answered with "Go" as House turned to the left and Wilson held the leg as still as possible.

A broken "Ah,ah,ah,aaaah..." was all House could mutter as he rolled onto his back, his face contorted as he squeezed his eyes shut. Wilson tried to roll his hands with the movement but he could feel the looseness in House's lower leg and he swore he could feel the bones grind against each other as the position changed. Maybe it was just his imagination. Inwardly he cringed but kept up his professional demeanor.

"Someone grab me a shirt, anything, to put under his leg!" Wilson yelled to the small crowd surrounding them, kicking himself mentally for not thinking ahead. He was focused on the broken limb currently being held in his hands, trying desperately to keep it as still as possible.

House's right arm immediately covered his eyes as his face contorted into a tight grimace, hissing through his teeth as he tried to regain control over his rebelling nerves.

A woman stepped forward and placed a black sweatshirt under the spot where Wilson had indicated with a nod of his head.

"Thanks." Wilson acknowledged the woman providing the shirt, then focused again on his patient. "Lowering it now." He placed House's leg gently on the sweatshirt, his own body relaxing as he released the limb.

He continued inspecting the injury, noticing how the odd bend in his leg was more pronounced from this angle, but was relieved to see that the bones had not broken through the skin. It looked like House was just in for a miserable six weeks or so being stuck in a wheelchair with two bad legs. They'd know more once they got some X-rays.

He tried to reassure House, "Skin's intact, no other damage." as he continued to gently palpate the area. As he pulled the sock gently back up, he noticed the purple bruising starting to form around the injury along with some swelling that seemed to have started.

"Oh, goody. I was so worried." House moved his arm away from his face and stared up at the night sky.

"You know, if you wanted to show me some action you just had…" Wilson glanced up at House's face to continue his reply when he noticed the dark red stain smeared across his forehead, mixing with the dirt, creating a brownish grainy paste, "…House, your head." Fresh blood oozed from a jagged wound running vertically above his right eyebrow, dissecting the natural wrinkles in his forehead. "Look at your arm." He nodded towards House's right side.

House moved his right arm in front of his own face and stared dumbly at the dark stain covering the middle portion of his sleeve. Reaching up, his fingers touched the injury and stared again at the dark red smear on the pads of two of his fingers. "Huh. Didn't feel that." he answered flatly as he closed his eyes and calmly placed his left forearm over his face.

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A/N: I know it's probably not the smartest thing to move someone with broken bones but I figured since Wilson was a doctor it would be okay and besides, it's my story and they'll do what I want.

Tib/fib: A term for the lower bones in the leg. Tibia and fibula. A Tib Fib fracture is pretty common when pressure it applied to the side of the leg. Both bones can snap from the strain.