darkdreamer

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 63
Last Hope

The first thing Wilson became aware of as he drifted back toward consciousness was the irritating and uncomfortable twinge of pain in his neck. He let out a low groan as he turned his head to relieve the pain, then struggled to open his eyes, which seemed strangely heavy and uncooperative with his attempts.

He could hear, though, and the sounds he heard filled him with a sick sense of fearful urgency, reminding him of what had happened, how he had gotten into this position – whatever position he would momentarily find himself in – as well as what had likely happened after he had been taken.

Tritter.

Tritter’s loud and furious voice was unmistakable, filled with menace and rage, his words punctuated by ominous sounds of violence, and the occasional suppressed sound of pain and pleading from another, far more intimately familiar voice. The barely controlled panic in that low, trembling voice tore at Wilson’s heart, as he realized that their worst fears had come to pass.

“Please… I’m sorry, please…”

House. He’s got House…

Oh, God, no...

Wilson struggled against the painfully bright light, then finally managed to open his eyes a bit, blinking rapidly as he struggled to adjust, to bring the source of the sounds across the room into focus. He had to assess the situation, had to find out where they were and how bad things were, to figure out if there was anything he could do to help House, to help get them out of this alive.

As his vision came into focus, Wilson realized with surprise that Tritter had brought them to House’s apartment. On a chair a few feet away from the one to which he was bound, Cuddy sat, furiously straining against the cuffs that held her fast, tears streaking her face as she stared in helpless dismay at the scene taking place across the room from where she sat.

Wilson followed her gaze with a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach, Tritter’s prior threats echoing through his mind. The sick sensation intensified, and suddenly, he was terrified, utterly certain that he did not want to see what Tritter was doing to his friend.

A sense of relief filled Wilson when he finally forced himself to look across the room, and saw that House was still fully dressed – at least for the moment – and thus far, Tritter seemed to be content with taking out his frustrations by way of simple violence. House was slumped, half-kneeling, with his back to the wall, holding up a trembling hand in a passive attempt to protect his face from Tritter’s brutal blows – of which he had clearly already taken a few, judging from the bloodied, bruised appearance of his face.

“Please… please, don’t… I’m sorry…”

“I said shut up!”

Tritter’s mouth twisted in a grimace of vindictive determination, as he drew back his foot and kicked House viciously in his right thigh, left vulnerable by House’s attempt to protect his face. A breathless, silent cry of agony caught in House’s throat, his eyes rolling back as his head fell against the wall behind him and he struggled against the dark wave of searing pain that threatened to steal his awareness.

Tritter grabbed him by the collar and jerked him forward, refusing to allow him to escape into the peace of unconsciousness.

“You think you can stop me from hurting you, House?” he sneered into his face. “You think you can keep me from doing whatever I want to do to you?”

House shook his head desperately, eyes closed as he whispered, “No… no…”

Tritter released him with a shove that knocked his head into the wall behind him, taking a step backward, then extending his arm and pressing his pistol against House’s forehead with an almost dramatic flair. House flinched slightly, gasping for breath, clearly terrified that Tritter was going to simply kill him right then and there, if for no other reason than to prove the point that he could.

“Up on your knees.”

House did his best to comply with the soft order, pulling himself up to a kneeling position, despite the screaming agony in his abused leg. Tritter kept the gun to his head as he moved, then crouched down in front of him with a cold, satisfied smile.

“You’re going to stay just like this… don’t move, don’t try anything… until I come back. Do you understand?”

House nodded quickly, eyes closed, hands clenched into tight, helpless fists on the floor at his sides, struggling uselessly to ease some of the weight on his throbbing leg while still maintaining the position Tritter required. House’s shaking visibly increased with his momentary relief as Tritter finally moved the gun and walked away into the kitchen, and it became apparent that Tritter wasn’t going to shoot him – at least, not yet.

From his seat in the middle of House’s living room, Wilson could see that Tritter was checking the tiny window in House’s kitchen, making sure that it was closed and locked. After a moment, Tritter turned and made his way down the hall toward the bedroom, apparently unwilling to make the same mistake a second time, of neglecting to check the entire apartment before continuing with his plan.

Recognizing that it would likely be his only chance to communicate with his friend, Wilson let out a low, muffled sound of urgency, struggling against his bonds as he tried to get House’s attention. House looked up at him, eyes frighteningly blank and hazy with confusion and fear. Wilson nodded toward House, then nodded toward the small table beside him, with the narrow drawer in it – the drawer where Wilson had taken to keeping their gun. House glanced uncertainly in the direction of the drawer, eyes widening with understanding.

Understanding quickly shifted to fear, and House met Wilson’s eyes, shaking his head rapidly, clearly on the verge of panic.

“No.” He barely mouthed the word, his trembling intensifying at the thought of such resistance – and the certain consequences it would bring. “No.”

Frustrated, Wilson struggled against the gag that kept him silent, trying to make House understand that the gun was likely their only chance – but House refused to even look at him again, shaking his head slightly, his eyes turned away. As Tritter came back down the hall behind him, House flinched at the man’s nearness – even as Tritter passed him, headed directly, purposefully toward Wilson.

With one quick, painful motion, Tritter ripped the tape from Wilson’s mouth, pressing the gun firmly against his temple, hard enough to shove his head to the side. Wilson’s heart lurched at the feeling of the cold steel against his skin, as well as at Tritter’s disarmingly soft, almost gentle tone.

“You’ve got something to say?”

Wilson’s breath quickened with fear, but he forced himself to face Tritter, glaring up at him with defiance as he ground out a shaky but furious response. “Yeah. You’re going to rot in prison for what you’ve already done, and what you’re doing right now. If you think you’re going to get away with this, you’re wrong…”

Tritter’s face twisted into a mask of fury as he brought the pistol down across Wilson’s face, hard.

“Who’s going to stop me?” he demanded in cruel triumph, striking out again with the gun in a dizzying blow to Wilson’s jaw that left him seeing stars and struggling not to black out. Through the loud ringing in his ears, he heard House’s voice cry out in protest.

“Don’t! He’s not the one you want to hurt! Leave him alone!”

Wilson’s heart sank with dread for House, even as he felt a swelling sensation of pride and affection for his friend, who was clearly more willing to accept Tritter’s rage upon himself than to see Wilson get hurt.

But unfortunately, Tritter seemed aware of that fact.

Wilson swallowed reflexively as he felt the gun pressed to his head again, harder than before, and heard the ominous echoing click of the hammer being drawn back. Tritter’s cruel smile was focused on House as he spoke in a tone of soft challenge.

“You want me to stop, House? You want me to leave him alone?” Tritter’s voice lowered, taking on a note of dark, suggestive intent as he added, “What’s he worth to you, House? What would you do to save his life?”

House’s face paled with sick terror at the implications of Tritter’s words, but he quickly swallowed it back, biting his lip for a moment in horrified hesitation, before finally shaking his head and whispering a single, momentous word.

“Anything.”

“Anything, huh?” Tritter echoed thoughtfully, amusement in his voice. “Let’s see how well you can beg for it.”

House hesitated a moment, though Wilson was fairly certain it was out of an awkward uncertainty as to what he was supposed to do, rather than due to any unwillingness to lower himself that much. The desperation in House’s eyes made it clear that he meant his words, and would do whatever was within his power to spare his friends the fate Tritter had promised them.

Finally, House lowered his face to the floor, his hands outstretched in front of him in a subservient, broken gesture that brought tears to Wilson’s eyes to see it. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, don’t hurt him. Anything you want… I’ll do anything… just… just please don’t hurt him anymore…”

Tritter finally removed the gun from Wilson’s head, placing it securely into the waistband of his pants as he crossed the room to crouch in front of House. A strong hand on House’s arm pulled him up to his knees again, and Tritter’s free hand trailed slowly up under House’s untucked shirt, creating a shiver of sick apprehension as House fought to swallow back the surge of bile that rose in his throat.

“Yes, House,” Tritter stated softly, false gentleness in his voice. “You will do anything I want. Before this night is over, you’ll do things – and have things done to you – that you’ve never considered in your worst nightmares.”

A soft thumping sound abruptly drew Tritter’s attention, and he looked up suspiciously toward the back bedroom. House recognized the sound at once as nothing more than an ordinary noise from the next door apartment, but Tritter glared at him in angry question, shaking him slightly.

“What was that?”

“N-nothing,” House insisted. “Just the people next door.”

“Don’t. Move.”

Tritter rose to his feet and made his way into the back of the apartment again, aiming his gun in front of him as if he expected someone to jump out at him at any moment. House supposed that their success at hiding Wilson and Jenna in the apartment during their last encounter had served to increase Tritter’s paranoia this time around, although there was no reason whatsoever for him to suspect that they might have someone hiding there now.

It wasn’t as if they’d been expecting him.

“House,” Wilson hissed once Tritter had disappeared into his bedroom. “House, you have to get the gun!”

House glanced once more toward the table just a couple of feet away from him, biting his lip uncertainly. It was incredibly tempting, just to reach out and grab the loaded weapon, to catch Tritter by surprise as he was returning down the hallway, to shoot him and end the whole ordeal in an instant.

But… what if he didn’t catch Tritter by surprise?

What if Tritter came back before he could get to the gun, and found it himself instead, and knew what House had been trying to do? What if the attempt only succeeded in making things worse for all of them?

“House!” Wilson persisted in an urgent whisper. “House, listen to me. You can do this!”

House shook his head slowly, despairingly, his eyes lowered in defeat. He couldn’t quite bring himself to believe Wilson’s encouraging words.

“No, listen!” Wilson insisted. “House – why do you think he’s got me and Cuddy tied up, but not you? Think about it. Why do you think that is?”

House’s brow creased in a puzzled, thoughtful frown, as he momentarily focused more on the question than on their dilemma, but couldn’t figure out what Wilson was getting at.

“Because he’s sure you won’t try anything.” Wilson answered his own question. “He’s sure he’s got you so much under his control that he doesn’t have to tie you up. He’s absolutely convinced that you won’t put up a fight – won’t try anything to stop him.” Wilson leaned forward in the chair, dark eyes intently locked onto House’s face, as understanding gradually dawned there. “And that is why you are the only one who can! That’s your secret weapon, House – the fact that he thinks you’re helpless. That’s what makes you not helpless.” In the moment’s stillness that followed Wilson’s intriguing words, the barest ghost of a smile crossed Wilson’s lips, as he spoke again in a soft, affectionate voice.

“Now, don’t tell me you can’t appreciate the exquisite irony of that.”

Tritter came storming back into the room at that moment. Irritated at his own paranoia that had led him on a search for nothing, he stalked directly up to Wilson and slapped him, hard, across the face, before grabbing a handful of his hair and jerking his head back, leaning in to snarl in his face.

“I thought I told you to shut up."

TBC...