A/N:Sorry I have been neglecting this story. I've had way too much going on, I'm stuck in between pep band and concert band, getting my solo ready, homework stacked up to my eyeballs, and writing for Mirage (if you really want me to tell you what that is, just ask). I'll do what I can to try to update more frequently. First though, I need to get more ideas. They don't grow on trees. If they did though, that would be nice, Pick-an-Idea. Lol.

Description:What things are going on inside House's head, and will they ever figure out. Meanwhile this is getting too much for Wilson to handle, how much longer until he breaks?

Disclaimer:Two words: Not mine.


"Dear God"

Installment Seven

"Over the Edge"

The giant magnet of the MRI clanked and clattered, House in its narrow tube. Wilson was in the corner of the tiny glass room for the doctors off to the side, the wall supported his weight as his muscles turned to the consistency of silly putty and he nearly slid down the wall. He didn't believe this was happening, he didn't want to believe. He wanted to wake from this terrible dream any moment now.

He watched the neurologist face turn emotions as she moved closer to the screen trying to make sure what she was seeing.

"What" the weakened strains in his tone seemed to resonate even above the noisy machine next to them.

She was silent, all she did was kit a key on the keyboard and House came out of the MRI, laying in complete stillness. Finally she spoke, "I want to generate the scans to get a better look." An orderly wheeled his bed in and lifted him into it elevating his leg on a few bed pillows. The brace had to be removed before the procedure and it needed to be put back on as soon as possible. Wilson followed the two back to the room. When the man asked for help putting the brace back on, Wilson immediately stepped in, cradling the limb carefully whit he positioned the brace so his leg could be lowered into it. Wilson held his breath until the last strap was fastened into place. Wilson nodded to the other man, and he left.

Wilson fought back the tears he knew were going to come anyway, he talked to House even though he couldn't hear. "God dammit. Why do you have to do this to me House? Don't you dare leave me now!" He buried his head in his hands trying to tell himself that he would wake up any minute now; this was only a bad dream.

In his tear stricken haze, he swore he felt House's fingers curl around his own. He looked down to find it a figure of his imagination. He intertwined their fingers secretly wishing for everything to go back to their twisted version of normal. Before he knew it he was hunched over the bed, sleeping over top of House's stomach. Just the presence of his friend made him feel safe. The only place he wasn't allowed this freedom was within his own mind.

He didn't even realize it but, he was dreaming…

Wilson sniffed the air, musty with a hefty scent of pine. That's the one thing you can expect from a hike in the woods. Dead leaves rotted along the forest floor, sticks cracked every step under their feet. House was next to him, happy and healthy. He was behind him pushing his further past the entrance of the trail.

"I'm going, I'm going" Wilson protested, pushing back against House with all his might.

"Well go faster" House suddenly backed up from his friend making him fall ungracefully to the ground among nature's debris. "I'm pretty sure you can't hike three miles from the ground. That is, unless you want to crawl." House stuck out arm, offering to help him up.

Wilson grabbed House's arm just before the elbow and was almost thrown forward as House purposely pulled him up too fast. Once they got walking, House sped easily ahead of him, taking long strides with his lengthy legs. He hopped up the steps built into the side of the hill and was impatiently waiting for Wilson at the top. Wilson didn't have his watch on him and looked to the sun to approximate the time. It was nearly noon.

House led them to a wooden observation deck overlooking whatever was beyond the hillside. Wilson gasped when he saw the scene before him. There was a crystal blue lake below lined but the green grass and wildflowers of the valley and topped off by a brilliant cerulean sky.

"Told you you'd like it." House said taking in the sights for himself. Wilson pulled out his camera and snagged a few snap shots for later. A young couple came down the natural stairs, heading the same place they were. Wilson made a polite conversation with them and convinced them to take a photo of him and House.

He had contemplated threatening House with something nasty if he didn't behave for this picture, but settled for mumbling a stupid joke in his ear to make him laugh, to make him smile for once in a photo.

Wilson thanked the woman and retrieved his camera, fastening the strap around his wrist. He went back to his friend and rested his elbows on the safety rail.

"What If I could tell you what is going to happen to you in the future?" Wilson asked, trekking foreign ground.

"I'd say, you're full of crap." House said on one of his trademark sarcastic responses.

"I can tell you what's going to happen." Wilson insisted.

"Fine, tell me." House rolled his eyes, not expecting much.

"You'll never end up happy, not like you are now. You're going to have your life taken out from under you by a simple blood clot. You'll have chronic pain and a limp with a cane for the remainder of your life, and end up becoming overly dependent on Vicodin." House became interested but confused at the same time. He didn't believe in this psychobabble bullshit, but there is no way Wilson could pull that kind of detail out of thin air. Wilson continued, "You will become the world's leading diagnostician, people from all over the world seeking you out for help. You will run the hospital rampant with your antics, but we all tolerate it. Because, we all know you will do what ever it takes to get the job done."

House stared wide eyes and awestruck at him.

"When with 'the prophecy' come true?" House asked rolling his eyes, he wasn't convinced yet.

"What is the date?" Wilson asked, unsure of what time this dream had place him.

"March 16th, 1997, duh."

Wilson calculated the date of the infarction, May 17th. "Two months and one day"

Just then, the image started to blur out before him. House looked like he was covered in a layer of wax paper. When he reached out he was falling into to blackness, just House's youthful face as a memory.

Wilson jolted awake with a start. That by far had to have been one of the freakiest dreams his brain has ever spat out. As he slowly brought the rest of him into the land of the wakeful people he caught a glance of the monitors.

House's breathing and heart rates were up, but he wasn't awake. He may be dead to the world, but he was still in pain. Wilson dug in the drawer of the crash cart pushed in to the corner and found a preloaded syringe of Morphine. He ran his fingers down the IV line to find the port. He slowly pushed the drugs into his friend's veins and kept his eyes focused on the screens. He was satisfied when everything evened out, and slid into the chair.

"You're a parasite, you know House. You've finally done it, you've invaded my mind. Just promise me one thing; you'll never scare the shit out of me like this again."

The neurologist from earlier walked in with a large yellow envelope and stuck the scans up on the light board on the wall before flipping on the switches. Wilson went over to her, wondering how much of his one-sided conversation with him she had heard.

She pointed to an area on the film just down from the crown of his head, there was swelling, probably a hematoma. That would mean only one thing…

Break out the drills, brain surgery would be needed to relieve the pressure. It was something Wilson was hoping he wouldn't have to authorize.

A few hours later he had a clip board of consent forms thrust into his hands. He scribbled his name in an illegible scrawl that only those who knew him would be able to make it out.

Tears welled up behind his eyes as he watched his friend be wheeled off to go under the knife yet again.

"Dear God. Please make him somehow stick through this. My life would be meaningless without him."