Disclaimer: Not mine. I like twisting things. Disclaimer: Not mine. Seriously.

Sorry this took forever, guys.

Shh, Keep Reality A Secret.

Wilson sat on the couch beside House, nursing to the beginnings of a bruise on his jaw, with some ice cubes packed in paper towels. He'd spat blood and spit into the sink of the bathroom for a good ten minutes, but for some reason, couldn't bring himself up to be angry.

And now he sat next to his…former? best friend, staring at that soap House loved so much.

House was staring blankly at the television, pretty much ignoring him. Wilson was confused beyond belief. Why had House punched him? Why had House-

'You leave whenever I need you.'

Wilson bit his lower lip, and brought his hand from his face, looking at House intently. Was he right? He knew he hadn't always been the greatest of friends, but House had been his best friend as well. Surely, that meant he didn't treat House like dirt, right? Moreover, he didn't really treat anyone like shit, did he? He certainly never intended to…

"What's with the staring, Wilson?" House abruptly asked, turning his head to frown at Wilson. "You're making it painfully obvious." He stated when Wilson didn't answer, and looked back at the television.

Wilson looked at the ice cubes packed in the napkins in his hands. They were melting.

"Want to go to a club?" Wilson found himself ask, although his inner voice chided him for wanting to go out with a big bruise on the side of his jaw.

"No. Might want to talk to you." House replied, and changed the channel on the television. Wilson frowned at this and put the ice cubes onto a coffee table. His jaw was throbbing, and he knew he'd look like hell come an hour or so.

Was House implying that he wouldn't be able to talk to Wilson for that reason?

"What?" Wilson managed to say, and tried to numb the pain on the lower part of his face.

House looked at Wilson, and there was a sort of absent look in his eyes. "Wouldn't want people to think I'm crazy, that's all."

With that, he got to his feet, grabbed his cane, and proceeded to limp to the kitchen.

Wilson sat were he was, feeling almost insulted. He was the one that had punched him, after all.

"Want anything?" House called out, while Wilson continued to muse over what House had just said.

He got to his feet and followed after House.

"Not really hungry." He stated and House paused, holding the refrigerator door open.

"I guess I'm not, either. Just…wanted something to do." House looked back at Wilson, and looked at …well actually, House was looking through him.

Wilson wanted to ask if House was okay. Hell, he wanted to shake House until House told him everything that was on his mind.

But apparently touching the other man was out of the question. House had flinched, pulled away, and fallen back. He'd looked frightened, so…scared. So…timid. Something Wilson had never seen in the other man's eyes before. Something he was sure he'd never wanted to see in House again.

"House…What happened?" Wilson found himself murmur, partly hoping House wouldn't hear him.

The refrigerator door closed, and Wilson made himself stare at House's hand, gripping onto the handle. His knuckles turned white.

This is where you tell him he doesn't have to tell you if he doesn't want to, James.

Wilson said nothing, and continued to watch as House stared at the sink, silently.

Then two words that he hadn't expected to hear fell from the other man's lips.

"Get out."

Blue briefly met with brown before looking back at the sink.

The eyes that looked at him weren't filled with hatred, or even distaste. They weren't filled with disdain or depression.

They were completely empty.

"House.." Wilson started, moving towards him, but House's eyes shot up to his again, this time filled with a kind of hysterical panic.

"Stay away." He whispered, and Wilson realized House was backing away from him.

Wilson stopped, and watched at House continued to back away, until his back hit the wall. Once he hit the wall, he sank to the floor, his eyes still on Wilson's, panicked and wild.

Wilson couldn't help but take another step forward-

"NO!" Hands were brought up to his ears, and his shout resounded in the kitchen. Wilson froze. What…on earth had happened?

"House, I-"

"Get the fuck out!" He shouted, and eyes now proceeded to squeeze shut.

Leave. Just..leave. You'll see him tomorrow.

This time, Wilson listened to the voice, and, for some reason trembling, proceeded to take his things and leave the place.

For some reason, relief set in as he got into his car.

See. You wanted to get away too.

---

"Your parents abused you, then?" The shrink said, talking mostly for himself. House didn't reply. He was sitting up on the bed, his back against the wall. They'd recorded him while he slept, and they'd caught more words from his lips than he'd have liked.

"You've got to say something." The shrink stated, and House just kept his arms around his legs. Something inside him told him he'd never get out if he didn't talk.

"What did I say?" His hoarse voice rasped, and the shrink looked up at him, eyes narrowed.

"Stop, dad. It hurts." The shrink, thankfully, didn't mimic how House had said it. He'd probably whimpered, or whined. Something pathetically childish.

"I was a stupid kid. Got in trouble all the time." House stated, finally.

"Doesn't mean you deserved getting hurt." The shrink smoothly and swiftly replied. House looked at the shrink, eyes unfocused.

"He was in the military. And I wasn't his real kid. Mom cheated." House wasn't sure why he was saying this. Maybe the nightmares will go the way Amber did. The way Wilson did.

Wilson never came by anymore. It proved the fact that he'd hallucinated Wilson. After he'd come to the conclusion, after he'd somehow resolved it, Wilson continued to come for a bit, and then stopped altogether.

He really was just alone.

He wanted to get the fuck out of here.