darkdreamer | Used, Chapter 65

Hi, guys :) Got another update for you of Used -- hope you like it, even though we're still in a rather dark and scary place with the story :) Please let me know what you think :P

*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 65
Alone

House had spent most of his life feeling alone. It was a state to which he had become accustomed during his nearly fifty years of existence.

But as Wilson lost consciousness, his eyes drifting closed and his head falling to the side again, House found himself beset with the deepest, most dreadfully complete feeling of utter loneliness that he had ever experienced. He knew without any shadow of doubt that there was no one to help him, no one to defend him. He was alone in his worst nightmare – and only he had the power to defeat the monster looming behind him.

A shiver of revulsion ran down House’s spine as he felt Tritter’s rough, hot fingers trail along the side of his neck, closing around his throat and pulling him backward against the intimidating bulk of his own body. Tritter’s free hand trailed under the edge of House’s shirt, sliding across his stomach with sickening gentleness.

“Just the two of us now, House,” he murmured in his ear, warm, damp breath on his skin drawing a wave of bile up his throat. “And you’re all mine. Just imagine… the things I’m going to do to you… things I didn’t have time to do the last time. This time, we’ve got the rest of your life to work with. And I decide how long that’s going to be, so you’re going to be really good and quiet and cooperative. Aren’t you, House?”

House nodded, swallowing against the restriction of Tritter’s hand, his own hands held out in front of him in a gesture of surrender, as Tritter began to drag him slowly toward the door. House made sure that he offered no resistance – not now, when any attempt was certain to be doomed to failure. He would wait until the right time came to use the weapon he had tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Say goodbye to your friends, your apartment… your old life, House. Because it’s over. From this moment on, you’re not a big shot doctor – not a genius diagnostician. You are nothing… nothing but mine,” Tritter sneered.

House’s stomach lurched at the thought – although he had no intention of allowing the situation to have the kind of permanency he had suggested to Tritter.

He had no intention of allowing Tritter to touch him – not like that.

Never again.

Tritter allowed his hand to fall from House’s throat to a much less conspicuous position on his arm, then pulled him through the doorway, simultaneously taking his gun from his waistband and pressing it into House’s ribcage in a wordless warning to silence. The walk to the car was awkward and painful for House, without the aid of his cane, and he remembered with a cautious sense of anticipation that his cane was still in the backseat of his car, where Tritter had left it.

One more potential weapon… if he gives me a chance to use it…

Of course, Tritter had no intention of doing that.

He dragged House around to the driver’s side of the car, shoving him down into the front seat and holding the gun to his head as he reached into his pocket and took out a pair of police issue handcuffs. With one swift motion, he fastened House’s left wrist to the steering wheel, then crouched beside him so that they were at eye level, smiling coldly as he pressed the gun hard behind House’s ear. His voice was softly warning, sending an apprehensive shiver through House’s stomach with his simple, matter-of-fact words.

“If you scream, or touch the horn at all – I’ll shoot you in the head, then go inside and kill your friends, too. I’d be gone before anyone could even think to contact the authorities. Are we clear?”

House nodded, eyes closed, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat as Tritter slowly removed the gun, rising to his feet again and closing the driver’s door. He then opened the back door and took House’s cane, before moving around to open the trunk and place it inside. Once Tritter was in the passenger seat, he held the gun to House’s ribs again and handed him the car keys.

“Drive.”

House spent the next interminable twenty-four hours doing just that.

With one hand cuffed to the steering wheel, and Tritter’s gun almost constantly jammed into his side, it was impossible for House to make a move, as his car carried them, mile by mile, ever nearer to a place where Tritter would become virtually untouchable – at least from a legal point of view.

On the positive side – House had no intention of leaving Tritter’s fate to the legal system again.

On the negative side – his situation was looking more and more desperate and hopeless, as Tritter seemed determined not to let his guard down for a moment.

They stopped for gas twice along the way, and both times Tritter took House into the station with him, keeping his gun within ready reach, and warning him beforehand that if he tried to get away or get help, he would not be the only one to suffer for the attempt. Despite Tritter’s threats, House was tempted to make his move during those times when they were in public, but ultimately decided against it, unwilling to take a chance on getting some innocent bystander hurt in the process.

In the car a couple of times along the way, once they had passed the halfway point of their journey, the gentle, rhythmic motion of the car began to lull Tritter into sleep. House thought about how easy it would be to take the gun from his pocket, to simply aim and pull the trigger, and end Tritter’s life as he slept.

It’d make a bitch of a mess of my car… but what the hell? I could use a new one. And it would so be worth it...

However, each time, before he could work up his courage to act, Tritter would catch himself, shaking himself back to alertness – and proceeding to take his alarm and irritation at his own near mistake out on House. The first time, he put the gun to House’s head and forced him to pull the car over to the side of the road. House flinched as Tritter pulled the hammer back on the pistol, his finger tightening on the trigger.

“You think you can pull one over on me that easily, House?” he snarled in a low, menacing voice that made House’s stomach drop.

He was suddenly certain that Tritter knew about the gun, knew about his secret plans – and all was utterly lost. He shook his head hurriedly, gasping as he struggled to control his physical reaction of panic.

“N-no,” he whispered. “No, I-I didn’t…”

“You think I’m stupid, House? You think I didn’t notice the way your speed’s been gradually increasing for the last half hour?”

House barely had time to register the relief at the knowledge that Tritter had not found out about the gun, before a new threat became the focus of his attention. Tritter’s voice softened to a tone of deceptively indulgent amusement, as he ran his free hand slowly, suggestively up House’s right leg, his large hand closing around his thigh in a none-too-subtle warning.

“No,” House insisted, his voice trembling with fear. “I wasn’t trying to… I didn’t mean to… please… please…”

Tritter pretended to consider for a moment, a cold, cruelly mocking smile on his lips. “I don’t know, House. I’m not sure I believe you.” He paused, his tone falsely thoughtful. “But then… I do want you to be capable of driving for the next twelve hours or so. Maybe I should just let this one slide, you think?”

House nodded desperately, relief mingled with his terror as it became apparent that Tritter was not going to follow through with his threats – at least not for the moment. The next time that Tritter seemed to be drifting off, House couldn’t bring himself to even think of going for the gun. He kept his attention focused carefully on the road, terrified that Tritter would awaken and, in anger born of his paranoia, react once more to nothing.

Tritter roused himself within moments, anyway, and House was relieved that he hadn’t dared to take a chance yet, when that chance clearly would have been wasted. After that, Tritter apparently decided that it was a good idea to keep himself awake by filling the empty hours with long, detailed descriptions of the things he intended to do to House once he had him alone, helpless, and entirely under his power in a place where the American legal system could no longer touch him.

By the time they had finally crossed the border into Mexico and Tritter had rented a room for them in a tiny, out-of-the-way motel, House was on the verge of passing out from sheer exhaustion. He had been awake for nearly forty-eight hours, the greater part of which had been fraught with terror and trauma, kept awake only by the constant threat of incurring Tritter’s wrath if he should happen to fail to obey his orders.

House was utterly unresisting as Tritter dragged him out of the car… didn’t even think of pulling away or trying to go for his gun as Tritter hauled him into the motel room and away from any chance of help… but was overwhelmed by panic strong enough to break through his exhaustion when Tritter shoved him down onto the bed farthest from the door, then climbed onto the bed on top of him, straddling his waist and taking out the handcuffs again.

“No,” House objected in a voice of trembling desperation, struggling instinctively as Tritter caught his wrist and pulled it toward the headboard. “No, don’t…!”

Tritter’s mouth twisted into an irritated grimace as he drew back his fist without hesitation, slamming it down across House’s face and silencing his pleading protest. Not giving him time to recover, he grabbed a fistful of House’s hair and jerked him up, leaning down so that his face was inches from House’s, as he snarled furiously in his face.

“You agreed to this, House. Now you’re gonna shut your stupid mouth and stop fighting and do as you’re told!”

A creeping sense of despair began to overwhelm House as Tritter fastened his wrists to the headboard with the handcuffs, leaving him utterly helpless on the bed, unable to make any attempt to defend himself, or even to disguise the presence of the gun under his jacket – of which House was now more acutely aware than ever, terrified that once Tritter started to touch him, he would immediately discover it, and either kill him then and there for daring to conceal it to begin with, or simply take it, leaving House truly at his mercy, with no hope of escape.

Tritter’s smiled down at House with cold triumph, trailing his hands slowly, possessively down his sides, his smile widening when House turned his head away, closing his eyes, shuddering under his touch. Tritter withdrew his hands, reaching into his own pocket and taking out the meager remnants of a roll of duct tape – presumably the one he had used to gag Cuddy and Wilson – and proceeded to do the same to House, covering his mouth with the tape to be sure that he was quiet for… whatever it was he intended to do to him next.

However, to House’s amazement – and immense relief – Tritter seemed to be just as exhausted as he was.

After a moment, Tritter rose from the bed, leaning down to touch House’s cheek in a parody of affection, smiling coldly into his eyes as he murmured soft, warning words.

“You just keep still and go to sleep like the good little slave you are now, House… and when we’re both feeling a little more rested, then… then… we’ll play…”