Note: This is not my first fanfic, but it's the first one I've submitted here (or anywhere else). Please tell me what you think! I do not own House or Wilson or anything. Their rightful owners are, in fact, Fox and David Shore. You have no idea how unhappy this makes me.

James Wilson ran his tongue over his teeth absentmindedly as he pored over a patient's file. He toyed with the edge of the paper as he contemplated taking an early lunch. Today the details of his profession utterly failed to captivate his attention. Currently, he had a much more pressing matter on his mind. House.

House had been avoiding him for some time, ducking out of his office or into a bathroom stall whenever he saw his friend. Wilson was too thoughtful to force House to talk to him, but this avoidance could only mean one thing.

"I found out a sec-ret!"

House's voice seemed teasing and lighthearted, but Wilson had been friends with him long enough to detect the undercurrent of fear.

"Yes, I want to bang you, I always have, I'm here if you ever want a man to love." Wilson declared sarcastically, just praying that House would leave.

"That's interesting to know, but not what I was talking about." House grinned, but Wilson could see his lips trembling ever so slightly.

"I was being sarcastic."

"Don't worry about it, Jimmy, it's always healthy to come out of the closet." House sat down in the chair farthest from Wilson's desk and tried to look casual. Still, the hand that held his cane was shaking, and Wilson could tell that House had chosen that position because it was easy to get up and run.

"Fine," was Wilson's terse reply. "Then what exactly are you talking about?"

House opened his mouth and attempted to speak several times, then shut it again and swallowed. He licked his lips, then whispered hoarsely, "You're… not human, are you?"

Wilson just stared at House, his eyes smoldering. A little clip was playing in his head. Crash and burn. Crash and burn. He would have to run away again.

House misinterpreted the look in Wilson's eyes. "Sorry," he said quickly. "I say some weird things sometimes, huh?"

Wilson nodded, then started to shake his head, nodded again, then shook his head emphatically. He wanted to explain, to plead with House, but the words wouldn't come.

House's mouth dropped open in surprise. "You mean- you really are? You're- you're-"

"A vampire."

House stared in a mixture of fear and reverence. Wilson felt his cheeks burn. Now would come the worshipping, the catering, the groveling. Soon he would lose his friend House and gain another who would do anything not to become his unlikely victim. He put his head on his arms and bit his tongue. Why? Why did it have to be like this? Why did he have to be what he was?

House was silent for a moment, then he lifted his chin defiantly and said, "I'm not afraid of you."

But Wilson could see that he was. He could see it in House's eyes, smell it wafting off his skin like the stench of death, hear it in his voice every time House spoke. Most importantly, he could feel it. It pressed down on him, the weight of what he knew would happen. It blew on the back of his neck like a teenager at a horror movie. It shoved itself down his throat, stopping him from speaking.

"I'm not afraid of you." House repeated. Wilson looked up, and knew that this was still a lie. But, still. The fact that House would hide it, would pretend it wasn't there, somehow comforted him. The fear crawled slowly out of his throat and deposited itself around his neck like a noose. He could speak, though.

The words suddenly came tumbling out of him like a waterfall, and House soaked them up like the soil. Every falling syllable took with it a little bit of the fear crowded in the room with them.

"I haven't always been like this. I used to be just like you, not so long ago. I used to be a normal little kid, without this thirst for blood. One night I decided it would be a good idea for my friends and I to sneak out to this old abandoned barn, that people said was haunted. They dared me to go inside, and he was sitting there, in a pile of hay. I didn't see him at first, I was so freaked out, and it was dark. But then he said my name, and he told me to come over. I went until I was just inches away, and then he lunged for my throat. I remembered all the stories about people being bitten by vampires and all the kids that had disappeared because they were stupid and they went places at night. I got away, and I ran screaming out of the barn. We all made it home safe. The next morning I told my friends it had just been a bat, but after that I was like this no matter what I did. I'm cursed and I don't know how to break it."

There was silence in the room, a silence as cold and deadly as a silver knife. Neither man spoke as the fear crowded back into the room, dredging itself up from the depths. Wilson cringed inwardly, dreading what House would say, what he would do.

"And I thought I had problems." House laughed, a real laugh this time. The fear slunk away again, disappointed at the lack of reception. House laughed so hard he fell out of the chair, gasping like a beached fish. "Just think," he wheezed, "when we're old men, we'll sit around, and I'll bitch about my leg and you'll bitch about the state of today's human circulatory systems!"

Wilson couldn't help but join in laughing, and quietly he reveled in House's acceptance, his nonchalance in the face of life changing- and threatening- news. Suddenly House stopped laughing, as if he had suddenly realized something.

"You're not gonna eat me, are you?" he asked, fighting a smile.

Wilson bared his teeth playfully. "Next time I tell you not to steal my lunch…" he said, trailing off suggestively.

"And another thing," House said, raising a finger questioningly. "Why do you eat? You know, actual food?"

"Just because I don't have to eat doesn't mean I can't." Wilson stood up and walked the couple steps to where House was lying on the floor. Grabbing House by the arm, he helped him stand up and sit back down in the chair.

"So what you're saying is that you like the taste of your own cooking." House raised his eyebrows accusingly.

"It's better than yours."

"So all this time you've been complaining about me eating your lunch, you haven't actually needed to eat? What the hell?"

Wilson laughed happily. It was just like House to obsess over the most irrelevant part of the entire issue. But House wasn't done yet.

"And how is this a curse? What part of this is different than what a normal person would experience? Besides the bloodsucking, I mean. You can eat, it sure looks like you're not gonna live forever, and even the whole blood thing doesn't seem so bad. What's so great about you? It's just that the fangs are sexy, isn't it?"

Wilson shook his head. "I thought you, of all people, would have seen it, House." he reprimanded. "My entire life has been spent distancing myself from people for their own safety."

"You don't seem dist-" House stopped. "Oh. The wives." Wilson nodded somberly. House shrugged. "You'll have to watch out for that Amber, then. Since she's just like me, she'll figure it out sooner or later."

"I figured I could give her fifteen or twenty years." Wilson said.

House shrugged again. "Oh. Okay." He stood up to leave and seemed about to say something, but stopped. Suddenly Wilson laughed.

"You thought this would make things different!" Wilson declared, almost accusingly. "You thought this would- I don't know- make you the only person I could trust!"

House shrugged a third time, noncommittally, but he had a certain "caught in the act" air about him. He turned to go and had his hand on the doorknob when Wilson stood up.

"House."

House turned.

"It has."