Not Like Danny

"Wilson, you'd better be dying." One look at his Oncologist friend and House immediately regretted his choice of words. Wilson looked terrible: pale and trembling, wrapped in a heavy blanket, sitting at his kitchen dinette table rocking slowly back and forth – hands gripping a steaming mug of some noxious smelling reddish liquid.

"House, thank God you came. I didn't know what else to do … who else to call ..." House's apprehension quickly turned to horror when the younger doctor began to cry. "You've got to help me, House! I don't want to be like Danny! Not like Danny ..."

Fighting every instinct within him, House went to Wilson and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Wilson, let's get you to the hospital and get you checked -"

"NO! It's too late for that! No time … nothing they could do for me anyway. You've got to do it, House! You've got to help me … oh God, I don't want to be like Danny!"

House glanced around the room, noting that all the windows and any reflective surfaces were covered with sheets, quilts, and blankets. The whole kitchen resembled a padded cell. His attention was drawn back to his friend by a scraping sound as Wilson pushed a heavy pair of garden shears across the table toward him.

"Wilson, what are you doing? What are you talking about? What-"

"Take these, House. Please! You've got to do it! I don't want to go … don't want to go … oh God! Not like Danny! Danny!"

"Wilson, put down the scissors! Just calm down! We'll go to the hospital ..."

"House, you don't understand! There's no time! I'm a were-flamingo! I'm about to shift! You've got to trim my wings before I fly south … like Danny! Danny ..."