AN - Last chapter. Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you got some relief out of that... writing it gave me a bit of clarity after such an intense season finale!


He didn't want to feel anything.

As House walked through the night, he shivered. He'd left his jacket with Wilson and the temperatures had dropped drastically. Aside from being cold, his leg ached, his head was pounding and he was nauseous. He wanted Wilson.

The man continued on down the road, spotting lights ahead. Not headlights, no, but the lights of a city or town at least. Thank God. Just what he was looking for. A pub or bar or whorehouse; it didn't matter. They'd all numb him in some way or another, which was the goal he had in mind. Eventually, a car stopped and offered to drive him the rest of the way into town; the driver looked about twenty and judging by his smile, he was sympathetic to cripples.

"This is fine." House spoke up after they'd been driving for about two minutes.

The young man raised an eyebrow. "Here? You sure mister? This part of town ain't exactly some place you'd wanna be walkin' alone. 'Less you have a shank or somethin', there's a good chance of you gettin' jumped."

"Thanks for the ride." he said dismissively. The car obediently slowed to a stop in front of a bar.

"Look out for yourself."

House slammed the door and limped towards the door of the bar. The driver was right; it was trashy, even for the type of establishment that it was. The unmistakable stench of urine and vomit hung in the air like smoke. People shouting, cackling and talking noisily added to House's headache and he silently wished for everything to just... stop.

He dragged himself over to a barstool and climbed on it, waiting for the bartender to come to his side. When he didn't, House slammed his hand on the countered and raised his voice. "Hey!"

"What?" The bartender's voice was husky and thick.

"Get me a beer."

A bottle of the cheapest beer came sliding down the counter and House caught it in his hand just in time. He'd downed the thing in less than five minutes, earning an impressed look from the man seated next to him.

"Rough night with the wife?" he guessed, trying to make conversation.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Sorry, man. Christ."

House thought for a second, sipping his second drink. He turned back to the stranger. "Hey... you know where I could find something... a little stronger than drinks?"

"Like... dust?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of heroin."

The man raised an eyebrow and lowered his voice a bit, despite the volume inside. "I know a guy."

"Of course you do. Could you give me his number?"

"Hell naw. Here." He snatched a napkin and scribbled an address. "Here's were you need to be. You better be able to pay full, in cash."

"Thank you." House told him, taking the napkin and putting a few bills on the counter.


The address led House to a small motel with flickering, half-functioning lights that gave the parking lot an eerie glow. He knocked on the appropriate door and waited until a figure opened it. "What?"

"I want a hit."

The man casually glanced around the vacant lot, checking for bystanders. "You got cash?"

"Enough." House flashed a couple of bills in the dim light and the man nodded.

"Okay." He coughed a bit before holding his hand out. House shook it, feeling for the plastic bag, then traded him the money. The door slammed in his face not long after.

House rented a room, never minding the time of night it was, and sighed as soon as he was alone, by himself.

A single bed with sheets beckoned him in the corner and across from it was a cable television. Though the bed had some mysterious stains, House kicked off his shoes and climbed onto it. He shook the bag onto the sheets and examined the contents that tumbled out. Everything looked in order.

With the ease of someone's who had done it millions of times, he tied off his arm and pumped his fist a couple of times, watching as a vein bulged out; a perfect target. The needle slid into his vein smoothly and as he injected himself with the drug, he couldn't help but let out a moan. He let himself fall back into the bed, ignoring the putrid smell of the room itself. House's mouth went completely dry as a trembling wave of euphoria washed over him. His eyes widened involuntarily and his lungs forced another gasp out of him. Everything sped up before it stopped.

His muscles were on fire, burning, burning... House's jaw went slack before his body began seizing uncontrollably. Nobody called a code and nobody brought in a crash cart.

When House became aware of reality again, things were much different. Not so bright, not so loud. And nothing hurt. Instinctively, he reached down to rub his leg and was pleasantly surprised to feel no pain.

"You're not going to feel anything."

House's eyes flicked towards the voice. Wilson stood there, staring down at him sprawled out on the bed, and shook his head disapprovingly. House stared, unblinkingly. This was some shitty high.

"You're self-destructive. And manipulative."

Ah, well. He might as well play along with his hallucinations. "Gee, anything else?"

"Yeah. And an ass."

"Wilson?"

"Yeah?"

"This isn't a hallucination, is it?"

Wilson shook his head again. "No. Sorry, House." He gave his friend a small smile before extending a hand. "You coming?"

House nodded, sitting up and clasping his friend's hand firmly. "Yeah. Thanks, Wilson."

Wilson only grinned as they walked on together.