For my fellow readers, as a special treat [and I was bored at work] I've drawn a lil rough pic of what the ending of this chapter looks like. You'll find it at the very bottom on this page, hope that like it!

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"Wilson."

He grumbled lightly, burying himself deeper into the crook of his arm. His body felt drained, heavy. His mind floating with booze and empty thoughts. He didn't want to open his eyes, he just wanted to sleep more.

"Wilson." The voice whispered again.

He groaned out, his hand trying to wave away the annoying buzzing that picked at his ear. Couldn't they see he was asleep? "Go away." He muttered.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder, shaking him lightly. "Wilson wake up." The voice found its way through his foggy mind stirring him enough to open his eyes and peek up. Cuddy was looking down at him, her face covered in concern. He frowned looking around confused, finding himself in his office. A shake of his head, he sat fully up, palm rubbing his eyes as he tried to figure out how he got to there. "Wha?"

"Wilson, come with me." Cuddy said hurriedly, turning on her heel. Raising to his feet, he follow, tripping a little in his rush. "What's going on?" He asked. Cuddy didn't reply but simply kept walking down the hall, leading him furtherer away. He looked around and his eyes noticed something was very off. Where ever he looked, he couldn't find one person in the area. The hallways were bare, the rooms empty of any patients, no nurses walking back and forth in tasks. Everything was deserted.

"Cuddy whats going on?"

She kept walking, her heels clicking with every step. They were approaching the O.R., the lights shining far brighter then normal for some reason to his eyes. There, she finally stopped, turning around to face him. "Wilson, House is abusing Vicodin."

Wilson's jaw dropped a little, his hands quick to wave in disagreement. "N-No that's not possible. He's been clean for almost a year."

"I found him in his office taking a handful. His pain seems to have gotten worse over the past few months. He wont stop complaining about his leg."

"I-I don't know how this happened, look let me talk to him and get this all straighten out."

"You were suppose to watch him Wilson. He wasn't ready. I can't trust you to take care of him so I did it for you." She seemed colder, her eyes narrowed as she pushed the double doors open. She stepped inside and a sudden fear gripped him. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. His hands shook as he pushed the doors open, stepping inside to find the room pitch black, seeing nothing except a spot light that seemed to linger on Cuddy. She was standing in front of the viewing window, her eyes gazing down below.

He suddenly felt ill, his mouth drying. He didn't like this, he didn't like what he was seeing.

"What did you do?" He whispered.

Her head turned to glance over her shoulder to him slowly, her dim blue eyes staring emptily at him, boredly at him as she answered.

"You forced him back... So I took care of his leg."

Wilson voice was lost as Cuddy looked back. No, she didn't mean it like that. His knees suddenly became weak, sending him crashing to the floor. On hands and knees he panted, tears filling his eyes. "What did you do?" He shouted, his voice cracking. Cuddy wouldn't be so cruel, be so mean to take away the one thing House convents the most.

"You did this to him Wilson. I'm just cleaning up your mess."

His head shot up to retort but he was greeting with nothing but darkness. Cuddy was gone along with the window, leaving him along in a blank room, walls covered in nothing but red velvet curtains. What was going on? Where was House? What happened to him? With shaking limbs, he pushed himself back up right, needing to find his friend and make sure he was okay.

A cold chill shot down his spine when a gentle hum came out from behind him. The humming was soft, feminine, singing out a low note to a high note in a slow rhythm. It was a dark hum, clenching his heart in a fearful squeeze. "Where is House?"

"Oooh James, Oh James." The voice sang out lightly, sending him to spin around, his eyes searching for the women who called his name. A movement from the corner of his eye made him snap to the left and before him Annabelle stood. His relieved smile dropped when he noticed her outfit, a long black cloak covered her body from shoulders to toes, the hood pulled up to rest upon her thick curls that spilled out over the edges. She looked at him, tears in her sunken eyes.

Her voice came out softly, singing to him in such a way that Goosebumps crawled along his body.

"Ooh James, wont you spare me over another year?"

Her cloak flapped out suddenly, slapping around her, covering her in their fabrics. He cried out, his arms swinging wildly to get them off her. Thin sheets started to attack him, making him panic, making him back away but as quickly as it began they fell away leaving him standing there panting, beats of sweat rolling down his fear covered face. "Ann what is going on?" He yelled. Her cloak laid on the ground, empty, but he could still hear her humming, he could hear musical interments playing so deep, so bone braking his heart wanted to weep. "Annabelle!"

"How could you do it?" He jumped around from her voice, finding her behind him again this time, she was dressed in a black gown, the hem dragging along the floor, she walked towards him, keeping her pace even when he backed away. "W-What did I do?"

"How could you let them do this? To him?" She rose her hands to her face, covering her tear filled eyes. Wilson was lost, confused. "I-I don't understand!"

Like a ripple in water, her right hand left her face, reaching out beside her, her fingers gripping the air in the darkness. "Why didn't you save him?"

With a yank, the curtains fell and he was given another window, this time, to peek into an recovery ward. He looked to Annabelle who kept her face covered with her left hand, her right pointing inside. Wilson didn't want to look, he didn't want to know what lingered over there but his feet moved, taking him closer and closer to the glass.

On the other side, he found House laying in a bed. Machines beeping, heart rate signaling, air hoses puffing out air into his nose. He laid there still, his face a paler then normal. Wilson touched the window in dismay, his mind rattled. How? Why?

"What did Cuddy do to him?"

He heard her hum again, her left hand falling from her face to her chest, curling her fingers over her own heart. Her voice sang out lightly, her words echoing into his ears as he watched his friend slowly awake.

"But what is this I cant see with ice cold hands taken hold of me…"

House was looking around groggy, confused. Wilson could read it all over his face. He called out his name but House simply kept looking around, his fingers touching every needle, every tube in his skin. Suddenly House's head snapped back as he gasped out, fingers gripping the sheets tightly. He was in pain, Wilson shouted out his name again, fist pounding on the glass, searching for a door to get inside but none was present. He only had the window and walls. He couldn't get to House, why couldn't he get to him?

House trembled as he looked down, his face twisted in pain, grief and rage. Wilson watched with a horrified expression as House grabbed his blanket and threw it off himself.

"When God is gone and the Devil takes hold, who will have mercy on your soul, oh James?"

House screamed in pure agony, his fist striking out, smashing into the heart monitor, knocking it to the ground. He yelled, fingers ripping at the tube, spilling blood to the sheets . He tossed and turned on the bed, a man crazy with such bitterness, with such burning hot demise that he sobbed openly to the air. Wilson covered his mouth at the vile that came up, choking it back down. "Oh god… No."

"No wealth, no ruin, no sliver, no gold, nothing will satisfies him but your soul."

House clutched the empty spot where his leg once had been. Amputated. Cuddy had went and cut off House's leg. Wilson turned away, he couldn't look. He couldn't stand the sight of it. Annabelle was behind him and the second he opened his mouth to speak, She snatched him and shoved him back, her hands choking him. The air rushed from his lungs, his fingers gripping her wrists tightly.

"You could have saved him." She whimpered, tears falling from her eyes. "Why didn't you save him?"

"I-I didn't know!" He gagged out, heat flaring up his throat and cheeks. He looked up to her, his own tears falling. "W-Why didn't you?"

She let him go then, his body dropping like a stone to the floor. He cough and gasped, his hands grabbing his sore throat. He looked up to her, seeing her face twisted in grief and sorrow. "Because…." She whispered her feet moving her away, stepping back. "Because… He's not mine." She turned away and ran, her skirt fluttering into the cold air. He was left there alone, the sounds of House's cries and sob filling the room behind him. Wilson closed his eyes tightly and covered his ears, his body rocking back and forth. "I'm sorry." He choked out. "I'm sorry!"

All he got in responds, was her voice whispering out, singing one last line before everything went dark once again.

"My name is Death and the end is near…."

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Wilson shot up gasping, coughing out the air that laid trapped in his throat. His body trembled violently, his skin covered in an cold sweat that didn't much help his shivers. His head snapped around, quick to take in his surrounding and finding he was still in House's living room and yet it gave him no ease. A grumble sound made Wilson seal his lips in silence, his beating heart begging that when he looked, everything was alright. Beside him, House and Annabelle slept. Glancing to the T.V. Wilson took a slow deep breath, trying to control the adrenaline that rushed through his veins.

It was a dream, all a dream.

Apparently, during one of Annabelles Disney movies, they all seemed to have dozed off. Annabelle was slumped on her back, legs dangling off the side of the armrest, her head nestled neatly on House's left thigh, her hand limp by her slightly parted lips. House was slumped back into the couch, his head back in a snore. One arm draped over the back of the couch while the other rested on her head, fingers curled into her thick hair. Closing his eyes, Wilson bent forward, his back popping from the stiff position he slept in.

What the hell kind of dream was that? The cold pit was still in his stomach, the fear in his heart was still fleeting. Why did Cuddy tell him it was his fault? Was learning about Sam's betrayal and feeling the disappointment and, he hated to say it, jealousy of seeing that he wasn't the one that made House change, was that enough to make his mind blame himself? He was happy his best friend finally found a women that could make him smile like that, could make him look he had finally found a reason to keep going, to put up with life that didn't involve using Vicodin, no puzzles or chaos. Just pure love… He was just disappointed. Disappointed in himself, he couldn't get House to this state and yet Annabelle could within a few measly months.

Slumping back onto the couch, he looked back to the couple and he suddenly felt like the third wheel. He should leave, he should put back on his coat, shoes and go home and make sure Sam was gone. He sighed at the thought, he was to tired to fight any more, most likely she was still there, waiting for him to come back so they could 'talk' like anything she could say would change his mind. He could just go rent a hotel room again, just like the old times. Tilting his head back, his temple touched House shoulder lightly causing his friend groan out in irritation. Wilson muttered an apology, even thou House couldn't hear him Wilson was to polite to not say it, when he moved to get up; something unexpected happen.

House mumbled in his sleep, his head rolling to the side. With a groan, he pulled his arm back over the couch and let it slide down, draping itself along the back of Wilson's shoulders. The sudden weight made him go still, his breath caught in his throat. He waited for House to remove it but his friend simply curling his fingers into his forearm and pulled him closer, bringing him deeper into his right side. Wilson was careful not to touch his thigh, letting Houses elbow circle around the back of his neck, letting his hand drape down along Wilson's chest. Wilson's blushed when House sighed out, his breath brushing through his thick hair as he easing back into his sleep, his fingers stroking Wilson's tie that made him shockingly grateful he kept it on. Wilson waited for those fingers to stop moving, House's gentle caresses made a groan want to leave his chest but it bit his lower lip keeping it down. His body was reacting in a whole new way and that scared him.

Finally those fingers stopped their playing and curled themselves into his tie, rooting him to his side. Wilson couldn't move. He found himself, deep down he didn't want too. His body seeped into House's side, enjoying the warmth he felt, he couldn't remember the last time he was this close to his friend, those late night drinking. He remembered through the fuzzy haze that he use to pass out on his friend all the time and each time, he curled and hugged him, breathing him in and House, well he never pushed away. To drunk, to happy in booze land to care. Wilson missed those nights, he missed the connection, the jokes, the flutter in his chest when ever House use to walk with him down the halls at work. The headaches from House's ever growing demands and the sinful chuckle he held back as House became over protective with every nurse Wilson approached. Those were good times.

Their good times.

Closing his eyes a little, Wilson let himself sink into the abyss, letting his arm as gently as it could, reach around House's stomach, to hug him. After his nightmare, he didn't want House out of his sight and if House wondered why Wilson was cuddling him… He'll blame it on the booze, just like the old times.

With that alibi in his mind, Wilson let his eyes close, his cheek resting gently on the edge of House's chest, hearing his slow steady heart beat. His fingers traced along House's side until he felt something soft tickle his palm. Bowing his head, he let his mind shut down again, hoping when his dreams came, he didn't have a repeat of his nightmare. Until then, he would enjoy the ease he felt leaning against his friend and the tenderness of Annabelle's hair in his hand. Tomorrow, he would try to make sense of things.

Tomorrow.

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Picture can by found here:

gdi1_deviantart_com/#/d2y7avl; IMPORTANT! where the '_'; please replace them with '.'; for some reason this site won't show the link. Enjoy!