darkdreamer

Hi, guys :) Here's the next update of Used... hope you enjoy it -- though "enjoy" might be the wrong word for this chapter. Things once again go to a dark and scary and disturbing place -- but trust me, I know where I'm going with this. :P Please let me know what you think of this chapter. Your feedback is always much appreciated -- coveted, even. :P hehe

*hugs*
DoS

Title: Used
Beta:

misanthropicobs
Rating: R
Pairing: House/Wilson/Cuddy friendship, slight Wilson/OFC
Warnings: implied and explicit non-con, violence and non-con of a flashback/memory sort, mild language, general angst and trauma and darkness
Summary: One night leaving the hospital, a violent attack leaves House devastated and broken. In the aftermath, Wilson and Cuddy struggle to find a way to help him heal -- while House fights just to find a way to survive.

Chapter 62
Helpless

“Okay. First things first. You wouldn’t happen to be carrying that gun of Wilson’s, would you? It’s illegal in the state of New Jersey to carry a concealed weapon – but that doesn’t mean much to you, does it?”

Tritter sneered in House’s ear, pressing his own weapon harder against House’s temple. House shook his head with a convulsive swallow, his eyes closed against the horrifying reality of the situation in which he had so suddenly found himself.

“No,” he whispered. “No, I… I don’t have the gun… please…”

“If you lie to me…” Tritter’s voice was soft, almost gentle, but as he spoke, he moved the gun in his hand, pressing it past House’s parted lips and into his mouth, causing him to draw in a sharp gasp of alarm at the sheer brutal menace of the gesture alone. “… I will make you beg to die… hours before I actually kill you. Do you understand?”

House nodded hurriedly, a strangled whimper torn from his throat as Tritter jerked his head back warningly with the gun in his mouth, his free hand playing idly through House’s hair in a mockery of tenderness that left a filthy, sick feeling in the pit of House’s stomach.

“Good,” Tritter murmured soothingly, his voice low and patronizingly gentle. “That’s real good, House. You just keep being so nice and cooperative, and this will go a lot easier for you. Now – I want you to reach into your pocket, very slowly, and hand me your cell phone.”

His hand trembling, House obeyed, taking out his phone and handing it over his shoulder to Tritter.

“And your keys.”

House fumbled for the keys in the ignition, somehow managing to get them out without being able to see them, and placing them in Tritter’s hand as well. Tritter applied greater pressure with the gun, a cold warning in his voice as he gave a final soft, menacing instruction.

“And finally… your cane, House. Very, very slowly. Do not be an idiot. All right?”

House nodded, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat as he reached with a trembling, halting hand to pick up his cane from the seat beside him and pass it over the seat to Tritter. The idea of striking out against Tritter with the cane momentarily entered his mind, but was instantly dismissed. All of House’s carefully rebuilt confidence dissipated instantly under the force of Tritter’s intimidation. The idea that any attempt at resistance might actually be successful never entered House’s mind.

“Very good.”

Tritter smirked as he slowly withdrew the gun from House’s mouth, pressing it to his temple again as House gasped for breath, his shoulders shaking with the irrational relief of its removal. As he spoke in a soft, menacing tone, Tritter’s hand trailed down from House’s hair to lock around his throat.

“If you try to move – or escape – or something as stupid as say, laying on the horn to try to get someone’s attention – I’ll spend an extra hour or so playing with you before I kill you, House. Oh, and so you know – the same goes for Wilson and Cuddy, too. Whatever I do to you, I’ll do to them, too. They’re waiting for us, you know.”

House drew in a sharp breath of alarm at those words, simultaneously sick with fear for his friends, and ashamed that from the moment he had realized that Tritter was in the car with him, he hadn’t given another thought to Wilson and his strange disappearance.

And it was so obvious! Of course, Tritter took him… but all I could think about was what he’s going to do to me…

“I-I won’t,” House whispered, shaking his head as much as possible within Tritter’s restraining grasp. His voice was hoarse, broken, as he quietly begged for the lives of his friends. “Please… I won’t… won’t fight you. Just… just please… don’t hurt them…”

“You already know, House,” Tritter reminded him gently, clearly pleased with the success of his cruel tactics. “What happens to them depends on you. You just keep still and quiet and don’t try anything, while I come around the car and get in the front – and maybe I’ll decide to let them live. Is that clear?”

House nodded hurriedly, and Tritter removed the gun from his head and got out of the car. House felt his chest constrict with a sensation of helpless, useless panic as he watched Tritter circle the car. He wanted to do something, anything, to stop this man from getting back into the car and hurting him and his friends – but there was nothing he could do.

Can’t drive off – or run him down and end all of this when he gets in front of the car – he’s got my keys. Can’t call for help – can’t even try to defend myself because he took my freaking cane! And if I could get away and get to help before he got back into the car – he’d kill them. He’d take my car and go immediately to wherever he has them, and kill them, and it’d be my fault. But there has to be a way – has to be something…

His mind raced in search of an answer that he had only moments to find – and then, time was up, and Tritter was sitting in the passenger seat beside him.

“Good boy,” Tritter murmured his approval as he pressed the gun against the side of House’s neck, a cold smile on his lips, holding out House’s car keys to him. “Now drive.”

House did not try to fight him, only obediently took the keys and placed them in the ignition. His voice was low and submissive, trembling slightly as he softly asked, “W-where?”

Tritter’s smile became a smirk of twisted amusement as he answered, as if the answer should have been obvious.

“Home, of course. Wouldn’t want you to miss my going away party, now would you?”

*****************************

During the short drive to House’s apartment, he tried to think of something he could do to wrest control of the situation from Tritter’s grasp.

But that would mean getting the gun from his grasp – and if I try that, and fail…

“Stay put,” Tritter ordered softly, holding out an expectant hand for the keys once House had parked the car in his usual parking spot outside his apartment. Tritter momentarily pressed the gun harder against House’s throat in warning, before removing it completely and opening the passenger side door. “I’ll tell you when I want you to get out.”

As Tritter got out of House’s car and walked around it, House cast a wild, desperate glance at the surrounding area, searching for any sign of someone who might be able to help him. Down the street, almost out of sight, he saw a young couple walking up the sidewalk to their apartment – but they were not close enough to notice his dilemma.

But… if I could draw a little attention to myself… if I could get them to notice…

Tritter opened the driver’s side door, and before House could move, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and jerked him to his feet, pressing him against the side of the car, one hard hand gripping his throat so tightly that House couldn’t draw breath to cry out, the other hand pressing the gun painfully into his side. Tritter leaned in close to his ear, a cruel smile on his lips as he spoke in a hushed, controlled voice.

“You think I don’t already know what you’re thinking, House? You’re more obvious than you think. But here’s what you need to know: If you make a single sound… try anything on the way inside… your friends are dead. I’ll kill you in that very second – and them about ten seconds later. I’ll be gone before that nice looking young couple down the street even realizes that they might ought to call the cops or something. So you’re going to behave yourself, and be a good little bitch… aren’t you, House?”

His eyes closed, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come, House nodded with an effort against Tritter’s painful grip on his throat, holding his hands up in front of his stomach in a very small, cautious gesture of submission.

“Good. Now let’s go.”

Tritter slowly eased his grip until he removed his hand entirely, keeping the gun pressed into House’s side as he grabbed his arm and turned him toward his apartment. House kept silent, barely daring to breathe, as Tritter dragged him, half-stumbling without his cane, toward the entrance. Tritter unlocked the door and shoved House ahead of him inside, so hard that he nearly fell, staggering until he hit the side of the sofa and clutched onto it for balance.

When the room stopped spinning around him and his eyes regained their focus, House stared in horrified surprise at the sight of Wilson and Cuddy, both handcuffed to chairs from House’s kitchen that had been carried into the living room. They were both gagged with duct tape – the roll of which was still sitting on the coffee table – and Wilson appeared to be unconscious.

Cuddy, however, was awake, her eyes wide with fear as they darted between House and Tritter, her bound wrists straining against the unyielding metal that held them to the wooden slats of the chair behind her.

House met her eyes for a moment, wishing that he could offer her more reassurance, if only with a look; but it was impossible to give her what he lacked himself, and at the moment, House doubted that any of them were going to survive the night.

He returned his concerned gaze to Wilson, wondering why he was unconscious. There was no obvious head wound, no blood to indicate any kind of injury. He was slumped in the chair, held up only by the cuffs at his wrists, his head tilted at an awkward angle guaranteed to leave him with a painful crick in his neck when he awakened.

And that awkward angle revealed to House the source of the problem – a tiny red pinprick on the side of his neck, surrounded by a small, purplish bruise.

“You drugged him. What did you give him?” he demanded before he could think about it, unable to disguise the anger in his voice. “What have you done to him?”

“The same thing I’m going to do to you, House…”

Tritter replied in a low murmur, grabbing House’s throat from behind and yanking him back against him, then abruptly turning to shove him painfully into the wall beside them, knocking his head against it in a dizzying blow. Tritter released his throat, only to bring his pistol down hard across House’s face, drawing his knee up into House’s stomach as he collapsed to the floor against the wall. Tritter seized his hair and jerked his head back, striking him in the face again before leaning in close to snarl in his face.

“Whatever the hell I want!”

Shaken by the flurry of blows, fighting against a wave of pain-induced nausea, House raised a shaking hand in front of his face in a gesture that was half-defensive, half-pleading.

“Okay,” he whispered breathlessly, his face slightly turned away from Tritter’s unbridled rage. “Okay… please…”

“Shut up!” Tritter demanded, slapping House’s hands away from his face in irritation before bringing the gun down a third time. “I told you to keep your mouth shut. Didn’t I? Didn’t I?”

House nodded hurriedly, biting his lip in an effort to suppress the urge he felt to apologize again in an attempt to appease Tritter, which would no doubt only serve to further enrage him. He lowered his head in order to evade the next blow, unsure when exactly it would come – only sure that it would come. Tritter meant to punish him, to make him suffer for sending him to prison… and House knew that nothing he could do or say would dissuade him.

“You know what, House?” Tritter hissed, crouching in front of him and gripping his hair, yanking his head forward, not allowing him to hide his face. “I really didn’t care for your tone just then. Looks like I’m gonna have to remind the little slut who his master is, aren’t I?”

House shook his head pleadingly, not daring to speak, just desperate to avert Tritter’s anger before it went any further. Tritter just painfully shook him by the hair, pressing the gun under his chin until he choked, coughing and gasping for breath. Tritter’s lips twisted into a cruel smile as he edged closer to House, trailing the gun slowly downward from his throat, letting it slip suggestively under the collar of House’s rumpled dress shirt.

“Really, it’s no trouble,” Tritter sneered. “It’ll be my pleasure to remind you."

TBC...