065. Fast

Move Fast, Think Faster

House opened the door to his apartment then suddenly ducked as something came flying at his head, grabbing Wilson and dragging him down as well. House was fairly sure he hadn't moved that fast in years. The object shattered against the wall behind them and from the sound House suspected it was one of his coffee cups.

"House?" came Wilson's startled voice and House shook his head.

He winced as he shifted just enough to see into the living room; his leg had not liked his swift move and was now letting him know that in no uncertain terms. When he looked into the room, he saw a man half-crouched in the middle of his living room and he sighed and leaned back against the wall.

"For fuck's sake, John," he snarled. "I am allowed to walk into my own apartment, you know."

"Ah, yeah, sorry about that, Greg," came a sheepish voice from inside the apartment. "Just a bit on edge lately."

"I suppose I should be glad it was just a coffee cup," House grumbled as he dragged himself upright with Wilson following suit.

They walked into the living room to find a stocky man with a beard and sad eyes standing there. He looked tense and tired though a hint of surprise and recognition ran across his face when he saw Wilson.

House dumped his bag next to the sofa and scowled at the man.

"John Winchester, James Wilson. Vice versa."

Wilson's eyes narrowed as he recognised the man who had visited House briefly after the infarction and had apparently been less than diplomatic. John noticed this but his attention remained on House.

"Your brats were here," House snapped. "They were looking for you. Apparently you're missing."

"I know," John replied. "It's…a long story. It's for their protection."

House snorted. "They're big boys, John. I don't think they really need your protection anymore."

"They're my sons," John said with an air of finality.

House rolled his eyes. "What do you want?"

John's gaze flickered between House and Wilson and he hesitated. House scowled in response.

"Whatever you plan on saying to me, you can say to Wilson," he snapped.

John's gaze sharpened as he looked at House then quirked an eyebrow and grinned momentarily.

"I thought your type was tall, brunette and leggy."

House pretended to peruse Wilson. "He fits."

Surprise flitted across John's face then he sobered. "Greg…I need…do you still have your weapons?"

"I wondered what the sudden visit was all about," House sneered. "Didn't think it would be because you actually cared."

John's jaw clenched. "Dammit, Greg. I'm sorry, alright? I know I didn't handle things well last time and it wasn't because I didn't care about what happened to you. I was having…problems with Sam and I'd just sent Dean off on his first hunt and it turned out to be a lot bigger than I thought it was. I was worried about my boys and I…neglected our friendship. I'm sorry."

There was a long silence as House stared at John. Wilson watched this with curiosity; he remembered bumping into John Winchester coming out of House's hospital room. John had looked frustrated and worried and had barely acknowledged Wilson's presence except for a muttered apology. House had been angry and bitter when he'd gotten into the room and had snapped at him relentlessly before turning his back and pretending to sleep. Wilson had stayed until the sham sleep had turned into real sleep then had slipped out to try…unsuccessfully as it turned out…to find the man he'd bumped into and find out what had happened to put House in such a foul mood.

Finally House sighed and nodded. "Why do you want my weapons?"

John opened his mouth but Wilson beat him to the punch.

"Wait. You actually do have weapons? Why?"

House gave him a withering look. "I told you why. You didn't think I threw them away, did you? I may be useless now when it comes to hunting but I'm not stupid enough to get rid of everything. Never know when I might need it."

"I don't know, Greg, you moved fast enough just before," John said with a small smile. "Useless might not be the best description."

House switched the withering look from Wilson to John then he limped into the bedroom. Wilson watched him go then turned to look at John only to find the other man staring at him with equal interest.

"Greg told you about…what we do?" he said.

Wilson nodded. "There was blood on the walls, a scorch mark on the carpet and your sons lying on the floor. There aren't many ways of explaining something like that other than the truth."

John smiled wryly. "True. You seem…surprised."

"I didn't know House did anything like that," Wilson replied warily. "He…doesn't often talk about his past."

John nodded. "He was a good hunter when we could get him out of the hospital."

"How…how did you meet?" Wilson asked.

John grimaced. "Sam got sick. I was…hunting and Dean was looking after Sam. He didn't want to take Sam to the hospital because he knew I'd worry if they weren't at the motel when I got back so one of the staff called in a doctor she knew."

"House," Wilson stated.

John nodded. "Unfortunately the thing I was hunting tracked my trail back to the motel and attacked while Greg was there. I got back in time to kill it but Greg had seen quite a bit by then. He talked me into admitting Sam to hospital and then got the whole story about…what we do out of me."

"When was this?"

John frowned. "Uh, quite a while ago. Fifteen years, at least. Probably more. The boys weren't that old."

Wilson's next question was lost when House limped back into the living room, awkwardly dragging a large metal box behind him that Wilson had never seen before.

"Where was that hidden?" he asked as he hurried forward to help.

"Under the floor of the closet," House grunted as he let his end drop to the floor then he turned to John. "What are you after?"

John walked over and undid the catches on the chest. "The dagger you used to kill that demon in Modesto. I'm not sure it'll work on what I'm after but I want some back up plans in place."

"Right hand side, in the compartment under the shotgun," House said shortly.

Wilson looked into the chest and his jaw dropped. The variety of weapons inside staggered him. There were knives of all sorts along with a variety of guns, ammunition and oddly enough crucifixes and a couple of small flasks.

"You…know how to use all of these?" he said with House with disbelief.

House nodded. "Have used all of them at one time or another." He rolled his eyes. "I told you what I once did. I thought you believed me."

"I did…mostly," Wilson replied faintly.

John pulled a long thin dagger out of the chest and held it up to the light. The dagger was made of steel but it had strange design carved into the blade that seemed to writhe and twist in the light. John nodded in satisfaction and pulled a length of cloth out of his jacket. He quickly wrapped the dagger in the cloth and tucked the bundle back into his jacket.

"Sure there's nothing else you like to loot off the cripple?" House said sardonically.

John gave House a long look. "You always used your brains more than your brawn. I can't see any reason why that would or should change now. You moved fast enough before." He paused and gave Wilson a considering look. "And no one ever said you have to work alone."

"No," House said abruptly, his face going flat and pale.

"Why not?" Wilson said.

House whirled and glared at Wilson. "It's dangerous," he said flatly.

Wilson looked over at John for a moment. "Maybe we should talk about this later."

House switched his glare over to John. "If you're done with your looting, you can leave."

John grinned then sobered. "Think about it, Greg. You were good. There's no reason why you still can't be." He started walking for the door then paused. When he looked back his face was shadowed and his eyes were full of sorrow. "And Greg…if anything happens to me…look after my boys."

With that John opened the door and left.