I'm running out of ideas really fast... so this might be the last one for awhile. It'll be continued whenever some' new pops into my head and I have the time to type it up, and something should pop up at some point... wheeee...

Thanks again for all the lovely comments :D Its the only reason I was motivated enough to keep adding to this thing. I give you all cookies- chucks cookies at reviewers

EDIT: Much thanks to Chickloveslotr for pointing out a really stupid plot mistake I made. All's fixed now :) Enjoy:

There were moments when Wilson couldn't help but wonder if he'd really done the right thing.

He felt he had. His best friend needed help at the end of a nightmarish ordeal, and he was more than willing to lend a hand. They had lived together in the past, Wilson's apartment had room to spare and House only seemed to truly be at ease, even if only slightly, around Wilson, which was more than could be said for anyone else at the time. House would be comfortable in the care of his friend, and any issues that might spring up could be easily dealt with. It seemed like the best plan of action at the time- if it was an option, living with family or a capable friend was a better one than a home or an institution simply for the ease of the patient- one is always more comfortable around people they know and trust. For once Wilson was actually in the position to truly help House and do some good for his friend, and he took advantage of it.

There were still times he doubted how much good his good intentions were really doing. It had been over a year and House was still the frail and scared shell he was at the beginning. Very little had changed, House wasn't getting any better and Wilson was only growing wearier as time went on. House was still very nervous and fidgety after all this time, and the littlest things still managed to set him off. He had night terrors that Wilson feared would cause the poor man a heart attack, and often resulted in a sleepless night for both of them- House too fearful of horrors both remembered and imagined to sleep, Wilson left to simply try and give him some inkling of peace, and usually failing. The nights either of them got more than 4 hours of sleep were rare, and they suffered for it. House only became jumpier, Wilson punchier. He recalled with a great deal of regret the few occasions he had yelled at House, sleep deprivation and stress lowering his patience levels significantly. He even remembered throwing something at one point- it had only been a pillow, when Wilson thought House had left the room, but that made no difference. The swift, violent motion sent him fleeing, and despite Wilson's best efforts he hid from view most of the day. Every step forward could be sent several steps back by the smallest thing… and it was coming to the point that Wilson wondered if he'd really made the right decision for House's care.

He remembered there were people who had made the attempt to talk him out of it; he calmly refused. Cuddy, out of concern for both of them, had spouted the benefits of institutions and homes, even assisted living.

"I'm not farming him out," Wilson protested softly but adamantly, hoping to end the persuasion. "He's my friend. He trusts me. I'm not putting him in a position where total strangers are surrounding him at all times of the day, scaring the shit out of him and probably making this whole situation worse instead of helping him. I'm capable and willing… I'll take care of him."

Nearly two years later, he could only sigh and think that maybe she was right. It probably would have been better in the long run for House to be in a care facility. Wilson wanted House to have a sense of safety and security, and so gave the man as much privacy as he could. The resulting mistake was that House easily hid things from him, ranging from food to injuries. It took Wilson a week to finally realize House had sprained his ankle somehow- most likely falling in his room. House never showed the slightest sign of pain and walked on the leg as if nothing were wrong. He almost needed a cast for it. Anywhere else, caretakers or nurses would've noticed immediately and gotten him help. They would check him and his space over on a regular basis instead of worrying about making him uncomfortable. They would be able to do something about the night terrors with therapy or proper medication, and his overall health would probably improve a good deal. Nurses worked in shifts, new people ready to work and take on the challenges replacing those who had worked their hours and were stressed or tired. Being in the right environment would probably even help him improve and begin to return to his former self, with the aid of doctors. The people that worked in those types of places were well-versed in psychology and therapy. They would actually be able to deal with him and help him out. Wilson simply wanted to care for his friend, support him and help him the best he could. These people would actually be capable of helping him progress, focusing more on his mental status and moving him forward than Wilson was able to. He had made a mistake out of love, and now they were both paying for it.

At some point, Wilson had made the decision to make things take a turn for the better. Difficult though it would be, he wanted his friend to get better, and there was a better chance of that happening if he were in the hands of people more capable. It broke his heart to even consider it, but he started going through the motions anyway- consulting with health institutes and gathering names of facilities, getting phone numbers and leafing through pamphlets. Things will be better this way… he convinced himself, though some small part of him continued to scream that it was wrong. House's happiness matters… but so does his condition. I can't help him. And so he dialed numbers and spoke with nurses and administrators, received information, every bit of it beaming with positivity, from the beautiful landscaping to the happiness and productivity of the residents. Wilson had to wonder what the patients would say if they were put on the phone. He had been to homes many times- two of his grandparents ended up in one, and all he could remember were the halls perpetually stinking just faintly of urine, and the residents, sedated and dead-eyed as they slowly moved through their carefully planned out days. Far from happy times. Maybe these places are different… he doubted himself though. Am I really going to put House in one of these? He sighed and ran a hand over his eyes. It's for the best. He won't be there forever... they can help him in ways that I can't.

Wilson sat by himself in the living room in the evening. House was already asleep in the next room. Hopefully he'd stay asleep… his nightmares had been steadily decreasing in the passing weeks. Wilson saw it as a very good sign. Wilson smiled at the image of House asleep- curled in an awkward ball, Mr. Vicodin close by, a big pill-shaped sentinel in the dark. Would any of those places let him keep Mr. Vicodin? That freaky little thing was House's sense of security, a safety blanket… he flips out when he gets lost somewhere, leading Wilson on a wild goose-chase as they both ransack the apartment looking for him. Places like that didn't often let residents keep more than the necessary utilities… clothes and the required sanitary supplies. House would flip shit, Wilson thought with a little amusement. And for that they would sedate him… the amusement left in a flash. Those residents that needed medication would usually be slipped a small sedative alongside what they needed if the administration felt it necessary. In House's case, it'd be mandatory. They'd just keep him drugged all the time. They'd have to… being surrounded by total strangers would horrify him. And his panic attacks probably wouldn't be dealt with that lightly… when the man got scared, cripple or not he could bolt. In which case either the caretakers or security would probably attempt either cornering or pinning him, the only two things you can really do to capture a hysterical, fleeing patient. Which would only make matters that much worse… am I really going to do this to him? Facilities like those did good and helped a lot of people… how much could they really help House? He'd be stripped of the only things that had ever given him any semblance of security or comfort… and you can't get anywhere at all with a patient who doesn't at least feel safe. A sense of trust is always the biggest issue. House put trust in Wilson. House felt safe around him. He was the only one House would let within more than a few feet of him, let touch him, let help him. But he had been gaining a greater sense of trust in people in general… and that was because of Wilson.

House was finally comfortable being outside and being around strangers, if only briefly, because of him. They had finally-thankfully- come to the point that they didn't need to use that fucking string-leash-thing anymore, because House felt safe near Wilson and stuck close instead of straying or running off if he got spooked. He had stopped trying to hoard food, finally realizing that it was no longer necessary, and though shakily due to his hands' condition, he would use utensils again. Water didn't terrify him anymore, he was willing to take baths and only really needed help getting out. Wilson's stories and jokes had cracked smiles onto his face and he was very slowly becoming more comfortable with showing emotions. Wilson had been too focused on the big picture to see all of the little things he had sparked in House over the years. He still wasn't the same, the old House wasn't back and maybe never fully would be, but he was slowly moving towards that goal with Wilson's aid. He loved his friend, and was willing to see him through to the end and help him slowly move past this ordeal. The idea of taking him anywhere else suddenly seemed offensive. No one else could care for House the way he did, help him in the ways that he could. No one else could get that close to him. No one else was really willing to treat him like a normal person- Wilson still joked with him, talked casually to him, bitched at him, whined to him, prodded and persuaded him as was his usual nature. No one else would love him that much.

Wilson briefly poked his head into House's room. Still asleep, fortunately. He smiled at his friend and sighed. Nothing for you to worry about… you're staying with me. House wasn't back to normal, no huge progress had been made… Wilson knew it would all come in good time. They would take what came to them when it got there, and continue to move down the road together. Little things add up with time, after all.