"House?"
He knows he is dreaming.
"Hey, House."
He will only ever come to him in dreams now.
"You need to wake up."
No he doesn't. He doesn't need to do anything anymore.
"House it's me, Wilson."
He knows it's him, he knows his voice, his smell, his Wilsoness. Ok, so maybe not a dream, hallucination fits better. Been there, done that, brought the straightjacket.
"I'm sorry."
Well you're the one that went and died on me and left me alone, you should be.
"But it's going to be ok, we'll get through this together."
Huh?
"You just need to wake up, please House."
He cannot deny a Wilson anything, even one produced by his own subconscious desires. He thinks he's opened his eyes but too bright and too dark means he can't be sure.
"That's right, House, all the way."
He can see the not-Wilson now, but he's not standing over him wearing a pocket-protected lab coat as predicted, he's sat in a wheelchair by the bed, unshed tears in his eyes.
"Hey."
"What?" he thinks he says.
"We were in a car accident, remember?"
He doesn't realise he's closed his eyes again, but he does nod so that this version of a Wilson will keep talking to him.
"I was trapped, they couldn't get to me until they got you out, my heart had stopped. Oh God, House they had no choice."
Eyes open again and he really sees the Wilson sat there, wearing a hospital gown and looking far from his usual well-groomed self. Wilson wipes his eyes, takes a breath and continues, "The only way to save me was to take your leg House, they amputated it at the scene. They took your leg so they could save me, I'm so sorry, it's my fault."
He stares at the figment of his imagination. "Dead?"
"For a few minutes, when you were on the table, but you're going to be ok."
"No you," he tries to touch the Wilson, not daring to believe this could actually be real, "dead?"
"They got me out, revived me, good as new," a small tired smile reaches Wilson's lips, "You were making near-death experiences look so cool I wanted one of my very own."
He finally manages to close the distance between them. He grasps the hand that had been hovering near his own. Relief surges through him, no doubt now that this is him.
"Your leg."
"Doesn't matter," he cuts him off because it truly doesn't. He could cope with losing anything, everything, as long as he got to keep Wilson.
"But," Wilson tightens his grip, "House."
"Doesn't matter," he can feel the tug of sleep, "You're here and everything's going to be ok."
As the darkness once again starts to slowly descend he feels the brush of lips against his own and he smiles, no longer alone he has nothing to fear.