A/N: Thanks everyone for your reviews! I am glad you like this story so far. :)
Panicking House stared at the screen. He tried to get up, but his right leg slipped and he fell back on the floor. Crawling a few feet he reached the tv set. There was nothing unusual about it anymore and there was nothing to indicate that just a minute before there had been a picture of Wilson. He switched on the tv and the flashy lights of the night program burned in his eyes. House checked a few channels, but none showed Wilson and no news mentioned anything unusual like the devil visiting New Jersey.
Maybe, House thought, this was all just a bad dream. He would wake up in the morning, maybe still a little tired, but besides that everything else would be fine. Then his eyes dropped to a small golden coin that he still clutched in his fingers. He had held it in such a firm grip that the "W" was imprinted in the palm of his hand.
He sat on the floor staring at the coin and his hand for a while, but soon the pain in his leg got too bad and he grabbed the sofa to pushed himself up on his feet.
First things first. He needed his Vicodin.
House reeled into the kitchen. He blinked to clear his vision, but still parts of his visual field were blurry. He bumped into the wall and then hobbled on, ignoring the swirling room around him. His brain was used to skim through all kinds of differential diagnoses and although the dizzyness and the pain affected his thinking, it didn't take him very long to come up with the diagnosis of sulfur poisoning. That would explain the neurological symptoms, the impaired vision and the nausea.
He made it to the sink right in time before he threw up.
The annoyed rolling of his eyes made him gag again and House cursed loudly. Now he did not only have his pain back – worse than ever -, but also had to deal with the poisoning. He reached out for his Vicodin bottle on the counter and tipped two pills directly into his mouth. There was only one pill left in the bottle now. I'll need a new prescription from Wilson, House thought and suddenly remembered that, the last time he saw him, his friend did not look like he could ever prescribe anything again.
He sighed. All his body wanted, was to get back to bed and sleep, but he knew he had to check on Wilson first. Holding himself upright with one hand on the counter, he took the phone and pressed the redialing button.
"Come on, get the phone!" House mumbled, but Wilson did not answer. House hang up and dialed Wilson's number again. Soul or not, House thought, he should still be able to pick up the phone.
After letting the phone ring for another five minutes, House had to admit that he had to find another way to find out if Wilson was okay. Swearing loudly he hobbled out of the kitchen, got dressed and left his apartment.
The hot night air swept over him and almost took his breath away when he stepped out of the door. In his apartment it had still been freezing cold and now he stood in the warm summer night wearing his leather jacket. House looked at his bike that was parked in front of the door, but he was not in the shape for driving. He fumbled for his mobile and called a taxi.
The driver stopped his taxi right beside House and eyed his passenger closely as he got in. House told him the name of the hotel Wilson was staying at and turned away, ignoring the curious looks of the driver. The pills took effect and the pain in his leg was bearable again. House now was aware of his touseled hair, unshaved face and the faint smell of vomit and sulfur that still surrounded him.
"Cool party?" the driver asked, throwing a furtive glance at his passenger.
House nodded silently. He was still feeling sick and the reckless driving did not help to make it any better.
"Must've been a very cool party, if you had to wear a leather jacket!" The driver laughed about his own poor joke. House didn't.
When they reached the hotel, House noted that the street lights were a little dimmer than usual. He handed the driver a few dollar notes and got out of the car wordlessly. A street light near House went dark, flickered and went on again. He jumped and nervously looked around. Was this a sign that the devil was still around?
House didn't have the time to stay out in the street, he had to get upstairs to Wilson. The fool trusts you … The devil's words still haunted him.
The neonlights at the hotel entrance were buzzing and lazily blinking, announcing vacancies. He opened the door to the deserted hall, ignored the night clerk and limped straight to the elevator.
"Out of order," the man behind the reception desk said and turned his attention back to the magazin he was reading.
House wasn't in the mood for an argument and hobbled over to the staircase. This would be painful. But he climbed the stairs as fast as he could, pulling himself up at the handrail. The hotel had more than ten floors and House was glad that Wilson had decided to take a room on the third and had declined to move up to the top floor to a room with a better view.
Breathing hard he finally managed the last few steps. He almost ran along the corridor, taking small jumps to take the weight off his right leg. The doors all looked the same, all were painted in the same dull colors and it reminded House more of a prison than of a hotel. He knocked on Wilson's door without expecting an answer. Nothing moved inside. He knocked again, than pulled out a paper clip and opened the lock.
The door slowly swung open and House reluctantly stepped into the room, half expecting the devil sitting on Wilson's bed, sucking the last bit of life out of him with a wicked grin. But to House's surprise the room looked just like an ordinary hotel room. No devil, no yellowish mist, no sulfur, even the temperature had almost returned to normal. What made House shiver was the sight of Wilson.
On the queen-sized bed Wilson looked small. His face was ashen and had lost every trace of human kindness. Every trace of Wilson's kindness. The usually warm brown eyes looked dull and lifeless. There was nothing left of the energetic, gentle and caring person Wilson used to be. This man on the bed in a lonely hotel room seemed to be a stranger, a man House had never seen before.
House wasn't frightened easily, but he was frightened now. He fought the urge to leave the room and go back home to forget all about this night. But he couldn't go. This was still Wilson – somehow.
He took a step towards him, waiting for a reaction.
"Wilson?" he said softly. The name hung in the air and wouldn't go away, but the man on the bed did not answer.
"Are you okay?" House asked, tilting his head and looking at Wilson's face. There still was no movement, not even the twitch of a muscle.
A horrible thought struck him. What if Wilson was dead? He quickly hobbled over to him and took Wilson's wrist. The hand was ice cold and House let it drop right away without checking for a pulse.
"Wilson!" he said alarmed, shaking him slightly. Wilson's body was cold as well, he could feel it through the thin shirt. House's eyes widened in horror, he felt his heart clench. The fool trusts you …
"Wilson!" he shouted right into his ear. Then he saw how his chest heaved slightly, then fell again, almost imperceptable. Wilson was breathing.
"Oh, don't you ever do that again!" House scolded his friend and let out a relieved sigh. Now assured that Wilson was not dead, he felt for his pulse again. The cold hand gave him goosebumps, but this time he did not let go. Pulse was there, a little weak and slow, but steady.
Torn between the experience in medical emergencies and the shock of seeing his closest friend in this state, House stood helpless next to Wilson, unable to decide what to do.
Wilson shivered slightly.
"You're cold, buddy?" House pulled the blanket on the bed closer and wrapped it tightly around Wilson. For a moment he had his arm around Wilson's shoulders, pulling him a little closer to his side to warm him. Somehow he hoped that everything would just be okay, if he could only warm him up a little. House knew it wouldn't work that way. He had learned enough that night to know that the devil does not give back a soul just because of the raise of the body temperature.
Wilson lay stiff and uncomfortable in his arm and House gave up on warming him with his own body. The blanket had to do for now.
The fool trusts you … the words rang in his head again. Wilson had trusted him and lost his soul for that.
House had always felt that he was a disappointment to people close to him. He was crippled, he had disappointed his father and now he had let down Wilson. House felt guilty and the urge to run away was stronger than ever. But he took a deep breath and got up from the bed.
"Keep on trusting me," he told Wilson. "I'll get it back." House nodded reassuringly, but he had no idea what to do. His eyes went through the room, looking for something to toss. He needed to think, think fast. There was nothing around, the room was empty. Wilson had no personal things laying around.
House remembered the coin he had stuffed into his pocket before leaving his apartment. He pulled it out and started tossing it in the air. Slowly his mind started working again.
He had been tricked to lose Wilson's soul and the only way he could think of to get it back was another game. Poker was out of the question. That game had proven itself to be to easy to cheat at. House tried to think of other games he was good at and for a second he thought to challenge the devil to a jump-and-run game on his Nintendo. But with the messing with the tv the devil had already shown that he could control certain electronic features.
"Chess," House whispered into the quiet room. This seemed to be the perfect game. All pieces were openly out on the board and if he kept a close eye on the devil, there was no way he could cheat.
"Wilson," he turned around to the poor figure on the bed. "Where is your chessboard?" House asked excitedly. Without waiting for an answer, House started to open the drawers, rummaging through Wilson's clothes and belongings. Under a bunch of oncology books he finally found the board and a small box with the chess pieces.
"We'll get your soul back now," House smiled and set up the game on the small table. He quickly placed the pieces on the board. It was almost three in the morning and he doubted that the devil would come out and play in the daylight. They had to finish the game while it was still dark.
Everything was set and House sat expectantly at the table. There was no opponent.
House nervously played with the coin and waited. Would the devil show up? Would he be knowing that House was waiting?
Nothing happened.
"How am I supposed to get him here?" House asked angrily. He looked helplessly over to Wilson. "It's not like I can call him or do they have something like Satan hellphone & teleport?"
Wilson stayed quiet and motionless.
House started tossing the coin again. "Head – the devil will stay away, W – he will come out to play," he mumbled, while he flinged the coin up in the air again. Then it struck him: there was no head. This coin had the "W" on both sides. And it still stood for Wilson's soul.
He held his breath and removed his king from the board, then he carefully placed the coin in his place.
A blinding flash of light almost immediately filled the room. House quickly closed his eyes. He felt the temperature drop and the sulfurous smell made him cough.
"You dare to call me?" the devil hissed at House and a spray of stinking saliva rained on House's face. "You dare to steal one of my coins and call me back to earth?" He let out a low growl. "You better have a very good reason for that."
House opened his eyes again and looked right into the burning red eyes of the devil. "You want that coin back?" he asked, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. "Then you have to win." The devil stared at him and he stared right back. "If you lose, you'll give back Wilson's soul."