A/N - Flashback scene in this chapter was written by nickyhehippi

Readers are reminded of the warnings at beginning of the story.

Present day

Tritter returned hours later, carrying two paper bags and a folding chair. He entered the kennel cage and put the chair down in the middle of the floor. He sat down and opened one bag, the other was left on the floor.

House ignored him; he was wrapped up in his pain. His hand worked away at the dead muscle in his leg. He was long overdue for his meds and his body was exhibiting symptoms of withdrawal. Tritter unwrapped a hamburger and some fries and proceeded to slowly eat both. House wanted to puke from the pain, but the sight of the burger made him salivate. Tritter held the burger out towards him, but he knew better than to take it. He closed his eyes.

A slap rocked his face. "Open your eyes, slave." Tritter said in a low, dangerous, voice and House's eyes opened again. A trickle of blood ran down from the corner of his mouth but he made no move to wipe it away.

"Keep them open, or I'll find something to make sure you do." He sat back and ate some more of his burger. "You hungry, slave?" he asked after taking another large bite, bits of food still in his mouth.

"No."

"Sorry, I didn't hear you. You are not what?"

"I am not hungry... sir," House said, each word bitten out, contempt in his voice.

"Well, that's a shame. Because regulations say you gotta eat. Here, have some food." Tritter picked up the second bag and emptied the contents on the dirty floor. It was slave chow. He kicked at it to spread it around.

"Sorry, I'm not hungry," House said again. It was false bravado. He was a slave; defiance could only ever be temporary.

"E.A.T," Tritter said, emphasizing each letter. "Crawl over here and eat the delicious slave chow. Every bit of it."

House stared at him, every fibre of his body protesting but then he went to his hands and knees and crawled over to the nearest clump of slave chow. He went to pick it up and had his hand kicked away. "No hands. Eat it like the good little dog you are."

House bent his head down and began to pick it up in his mouth, trying to avoid the worst of the mud and dirt on the ground. Tritter started caressing his head, patting it as he would a dogs. "That's the way, good boy, good boy. Who could have imagined that the rabid animal I met at the clinic would become such a docile little pet? No smart remarks now, Doctor House?"

His hand moved lower, coming to rest on House's balls which he held loosely. House kept eating, trying to avoid showing a reaction to the touch. He knew worse was to come.

"You have no idea how much I am going to enjoy fucking your ass. I don't have a thermometer to put up there, but I think this will work just fine." He thrust his crotch into House's face.

House shuddered involuntarily and Tritter laughed. He squeezed House's balls tightly before releasing them and giving him another pat on the head.

"I need to piss. You keep on eating your food. I wouldn't want you to waste any of it." Tritter walked towards the round container in the corner with House's drinking water in it. House could see him out of the corner of his eye, and he could hear the splash as Tritter's urine hit the surface of the water. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Then he went back to eating each last chunk of slave chow. Tritter kept him at it until it was all gone; mashing the last few pieces under his boot before letting House eat them. The last one he held in his hand and fed to House.

"Good boy. Now, after all that food you must be thirsty. Go and have a nice long drink of your water."

"Please… Please, I can't." House hated to beg but he couldn't, he just couldn't.

"Be a good boy, you're doing really well. I think you learned a lot with the SAC - pity it couldn't have happened earlier. Pup like you needed to learn some good manners a long time ago. A shame your father didn't teach you - you might not have ended up here."

"Please, sir... I can't..." His stomach was churning from the pain and the slave chow he'd just eaten. He couldn't drink that filthy water.

"Oh, I think you can," Tritter said in a steel cold voice. He grabbed House's collar and dragged him across the floor of the cage to the water container. "Drink that or I'll hold you down and pour it down your throat." He pushed House's head down until his nose touched the water. House could smell the putrid water. Tritter's grip on him tightened and he reluctantly began to lap the water. He immediately started gagging at the taste of the hot piss mixed with the dirty water.

"No puking or you'll be lapping that up as well." Thankfully he let go of House's head and allowed him to pull up from the water before he could become sick. "Okay, dinner time's over. I have to get back to work. I'll come back later. Don't mess the floor or I'll make you clean it with your tongue."

House collapsed on the ground as Tritter left the cage and locked it behind himself. Once Tritter was out of sight he started sobbing, from the pain and the fear, and the disgust at himself. Nothing remained of the man who had defied Tritter three years ago. He was broken now, when Tritter hadn't been able to break him then.

The slave lay curled in a ball in one corner of the kennel. He felt wretchedly sick, he was shaking and sweating and his body was trembling. The kennel was dark, and putrid, and the floor was cold concrete.

When the man came back the slave was almost glad to see him, at least he hadn't been left in this hole to die. The man told him to get on all fours and he did, straining to keep perfect form despite his leg trembling and his body shaking. He felt cold rough fingers pressing into his asshole, and something greasy and slippery being pushed into him. The man laughed as he squirmed.

"I could be fucking you dry but you might bleed and but we don't want any inconvenient questions do we?" The man said. "Now spread those knees a bit wider, boy."

He moved his knees apart and felt a heavy weight on his back as he was mounted. Something thick and heavy penetrated him and he whimpered in pain. His buttocks were slapped, a stinging sound that echoed around the kennel, then again, and again. The man laughed and began thrusting, sending the slave forward with every movement, his body impaled by the man's cock.

"How does that feel, Doctor House? How many men have had you since they put that collar on your neck? How many times have you sucked cock? Maybe I should have got you to do that for me. I bet your mouth is used to having a dick stuffed down it by now. Maybe another time, eh slut?"

A rough hand came around and grasped the slave's cock, squeezing it painfully.

"What about that nancy boy, Wilson? Is he fucking you every night? I could tell that's what he wanted to do - that and that bitch who ran the hospital. Maybe they're going to share you between them now." The man thrust again and the slave felt hot fluid pumping into him. The man withdrew then, pulling his cock out roughly causing the slave to scream in pain and collapse onto the ground. He started crying again and received another slap.

"Shut your mouth, slave. We don't want anyone to come find you like this do we? Get back up on your hands and knees, boy. I've got a present for you."

The slave did, holding still as he felt something hard and unyielding shoved into his tender passage. The man put a belt around his waist and locked it. The object inside him was held fast.

"There, now you'll know what it's like to have something shoved up your ass and left there. Of course it's a bit bigger than a thermometer but seeing as you're nothing but a slutty fuck toy now I think you can take it." The man gave a thrust to the dildo inside him and the slave cried out.

"Now, I want to make sure you have a night you'll remember for a long time." The man took a chain and ran it between the harness around his waist, the slave's collar and the iron bars at the front of the kennel. He hastened it high up and with no slack, so the slave couldn't lie on the ground. He was held on his hands and knees.

The man looked down at him with cold eyes, a sadistic smile on his face.

"Oh, one last thing, Doctor House, a little favour for me. I've enjoyed playing with you so much that I would like it to continue. You will come to my house at night, once a week to start with, maybe more later. You will dress as a person, even though you are no longer one, use a scarf or rolltop to conceal your lovely collar. I will pick you up near Wilson's apartment. Next Thursday, eight o'clock for our first appointment I think. You will not tell Wilson anything about this. Do you understand?"

The slave looked up at him, his mind confused. The man snarled and hit him again across the face.

" .understand?" The man asked again and this time the slave answered yes, because he was a slave and that was the only answer he could give.

The man looked pleased, "Good boy, well done. I'm looking forward to it. Now, I'm going home to bed. I've stayed far too long tonight just to enjoy you." He wrinkled his nose. "This place really is putrid. Maybe a nice bath will do you good." He went over to the dirty water and poured it over the slave's head. Then he went to the faucet outside and refilled it, leaving it just out of the slave's reach.

"Good night, doctor, don't go anywhere will you?" He laughed and dropped a heavy black hood over the slave's head, leaving him in darkness. "Sleep tight. And don't forget, you say a word about this and you're gone. Back to the SAC. No more Wilson."

The man left and the slave heard the steel door lock behind him. His head was held high by the chain, and the dildo in his ass stabbed him with every movement. He managed to stagger to his feet to relieve the pressure on his neck but he could only cling miserably to the bars for the rest of the night waiting for daylight to come and his owner to fetch him - if he ever decided to.

Three Years Earlier

The scans on their young patient, Timothy, showed what House had known they would. He had at least two fractures that hadn't been treated in a hospital.

"We need to report this to child services," Cameron said, her eyes on the scans. "That's not from a fall - he's been abused." She gathered up the child's chart and the scans and started for the door.

"Is that going to help diagnose him?"

"What diagnosis? The kid's being abused." Cameron said impatiently.

"Oh, and that's causing all his other symptoms? Cool. Make sure you write a paper - but don't let anyone steal it this time." The last was added in a stage whisper with a pointed look at Foreman who rolled his eyes.

"House is right. We have evidence of past abuse - we have no evidence that his current condition has anything to do with abuse."

"We have to report this." Cameron insisted.

"We will. Once we've diagnosed him." House stood up and went to the whiteboard.

Cameron hesitated at the door to the conference room and then came and sat back down.

"Unclench," House said. "Helps the brain work better if it's getting some blood - and gets this kid diagnosed quicker and away from Daddy dearest."

"We don't know it's the father who abused him," Foreman pointed out. "Could be his mother, or some friend of the family."

"It's the father," House said flatly. He could still remember the fear in young Timothy's eyes when he looked at his father. He knew that fear.

After the fellows had gone off to run more tests House tapped his cane on the floor as he spun in his office chair slowly. This case was bringing back old memories. Memories he'd done his best to bury all his adult life. He closed his eyes trying to calm his breathing, trying to erase the flow of images that were racing through his mind.

It was the darkest night he'd ever seen. He wasn't sure if he should be scared or relieved as he sat in the woods alone. He was only wearing a thin long shirt, and a worn pair of jeans. A chain around his ankle was attached to the trunk of the tree he was sitting against.

He shivered as a cold breeze of late Fall air hit him and howled through the tall trees. He cradled his bad arm close to his body. There were sounds all around him of leaves moving with the wind and creatures of the night skittering around unseen but he was used to that and in an odd way it was calming.

He licked his lips, tasting dried blood and dirt, and began to think about sleep. He would usually dig a hole with his hands into the earth to sleep in but the pain in his arm made that impossible. Maybe he could make a bed out of the fallen leaves. Then he heard the birds flying out of the trees half a mile to the north and his heart stopped as he listened for the sounds he didn't want to hear.

He began to tremble as he heard the crunch of boots on leaves. Tears came to his eyes as the footsteps came closer but there was nothing he could do. He couldn't run or hide and yet he couldn't take any more pain, not tonight. He just wanted to be left alone. It wasn't long before he saw the flashlights and realized there were two men. He wiped his eyes quickly knowing that being found crying would only make things worse and scrambled to his feet.

"How did it happen?"

"The idiot fell out of one of the tall oak trees that I'd told him not to climb. The boy doesn't have any sense, but he's going to learn his lesson one way or the other." John's harsh voice responded.

The other man glanced at his father with concern, "Maybe he should be in the house tonight, he looks like he's had enough."

"He'll never learn anything if I reward him for his mistakes. No, he'll stay out here tonight with the animals he acts like." His father shone the flashlight directly into his face so that he was half blinded.

The other man walked up to Greg.

"Let me see your arm." When Greg hesitantly held it out the man probed it gently. "So, you fell out of a tree?"

"Yes, sir," he answered in a hoarse whisper.

The man shone the light over Greg's body, revealing the usual mottled bruises that decorated his arms and legs. "Looks like you hit a few branches on the way down."

His father smiled at Greg. "I guess he must have done. You've always been clumsy haven't you, Greg?"

"Yes, sir," he said again. The man looked from him to his father and then shrugged.

"Okay, then. His arm is fractured, John. You really should get him to a hospital. It's going to hurt like hell if I set it here."

Greg trembled from the pain and fear. He knew he wasn't going to a hospital.

"No, fix it here. Greg is tough, aren't you boy?"

"Y..yes, sir."

It hurt worse than he thought it would. As his arm was pulled he couldn't help but let out a small cry of pain, and then a whimper when the bone was pushed back into place.

The man let out a sigh of relief. "Okay, Greg. It's over, I set it. Now I'll just need to make a splint."

"I've got it," John said grabbing up a two inch thick branch that was fairly straight and breaking it with his bare hands.

The loud crack startled him, it sounded just like his arm had when his father had broken it. The man gave him another look and then took the pieces and some gauze out of his bag and made a splint.

"Okay, that will do. Don't sleep on it, okay Greg?" The man stood back, putting stuff away. He didn't seem to want to look Greg in the eye.

"I'll meet you back at the truck, I need to talk to Greg a bit," John said. Again the man hesitated but then walked off. When he was out of earshot John grabbed Greg's good arm.

"I've taught you better than that. Moaning in pain like you're some goddamned whore slave. Next time I catch you talking to one of those filthy creatures I won't bother with teaching you a lesson. I'll take you up to the auction myself. Then you'll find out what pain is all about." He let go of his arm and then punched him in the stomach. Greg collapsed on the ground and felt a boot connect with his hip.

"Remember boy, not a word to anyone." He walked away without looking back. Greg curled up on the leaves and cried himself to sleep.