A/N: This takes place after the series finale. If you're someone who likes to listen to specific songs while reading, I recommend listening to the nightcore versions of 'Still Here' by Digital Daggers and 'Calling All the Monsters'; they are what gave me the inspiration for this story. Enjoy!

Still Here

"You don't really believe they'll forgive you."

House sat back in bed, massaging his thigh. The pain was burning more intensely than other nights. A glance at his phone revealed he'd only been asleep for an hour.

An hour was still something if it meant she went away, but of course she was back.

"I should've used more alcohol."

"They'll never forgive you," Amber sat on the edge of the bed, straightening her skirt. "After what you've pulled-"

"Yeah, I get it. I'm a suicidal maniac whose best friend is dying. I'm a freaking fugitive who died in a house fire. Tell me something I don't know," House pulled the covers further up his body. "You've been gone a while."

"You've had other things to swallow besides drugs."

"Don't you go digging in the gutter, missy-"

"I meant Wilson. Remember that, House?" Amber's gaze narrowed. "Wilson is dying. James is dying. You can't save him."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious."

"The genius Gregory House can't save his best friend! He saves dictators and murderers, but doesn't save a friend! What is he to do?" Amber feigned disappointment.

"Can't you go haunt someone else?" House grumbled.

"You haven't thought past that though. What will you do when he goes? Hmm? You have no one else left-"

"Besides you." House answered grimly.

Amber smirked. "You know I'll never disappear? I'm always here inside your mind."

"If you were naked every time I saw you, I wouldn't mind."

"You perv," A different voice spoke. "The only reason you hired me was because of my boobs."

House nervously shifted his gaze to the doorway. "Why are you here?"

Cameron tucked her hair behind her ears and moved towards House. Her skin glowed faintly in the darkness. "You're part of the reason my marriage disintegrated."

House shifted slightly. "It was your boyfriend who killed that guy, not me."

"You did nothing to stop it though!" Cameron insisted.

"I solved a lot of problems, remember?" House pointed out. "I'm also the reason you and the wombat did some hanky-panky at a patient's house."

Amber groaned in disgust. "Did you seriously do that?"

"Let's forget that part." Cameron snapped.

House thought for a second. "Ah. I see now. You're here so I can have an existential crisis. Nice."

"That's not the only reason." A fourth voice appeared from the window. She moved over next to Amber, the age difference obvious in their faces.

"Cuddy?" House thought aloud. He raised his eyebrows. "Does this mean something…interesting is going to happen?"

"In your dreams. Haven't you figured it out yet?" Cuddy snapped.

"It's three AM and you guys are interrupting my beauty sleep," House began to shuffle down into the bed. "Go away."

He closed his eyes, hoping if he squeezed them tight enough, the hallucinations would stop. A minute passed before he dared to open them again. But what he saw was not welcoming.

Chase, Foreman, Kuttner and Stacy had appeared, all with black voids where their eyes should be. A glance at the others revealed the same had occurred to them. His adrenaline began pumping.

"..Are you guys trying to be Satan's minions?" House joked weakly.

The group formed a semicircle around House's bed, their jet black eyes piercing his. He heard his heart pounding in his ears.

"You ruined my love." Cameron snarled.

"You harassed me." Cuddy hissed.

"You made me lose my job." Foreman growled.

"You broke my heart." Stacy shrilled.

"You made me a murderer." Chase chimed in.

"You let me die." Kuttner snapped.

"You killed me." Amber whispered.

It had been a long time since House had felt legitimate fear. He knew his hands were shaking, clasped onto the bedsheets as a lifeline. His eyes were shut so tightly that they began to hurt.

"Stop," He breathed. "Just stop."

The voices came flying at him, screams in each ear.

"Murderer!"

"Pervert!"

"Druggie!"

"You're just gonna let me die, aren't you?"

Another voice entered the nightmare. House recognised it, but he refused to open his eyes.

"You could've done something. Anything. Yet I'm still going to die."

House couldn't take it. "Wilson, y-you know that's not true-"

"You could've helped!" The roar of his best friend raced around his eardrums. It wasn't a roar he normally heard from someone he'd annoyed; it was more of a demonic roar. "You've destroyed yourself, House. Look at all the people you've brought down with you."

A deep chorus of voices filled the air. "Now we will bring you down with us."

House refused to believe he was hyperventilating until he opened his eyes. All of the hallucinations had turned completely black, with white spots for eyes and a bright smile. Their fingers had grown longer, with points on each end. He could still tell who was who from their general outline.

Without warning, Amber hurled an object at House. Then two. Then three. They pelted him all over his torso, each one stinging more than the one before. Angry shrills came from their mouths as they assaulted House.

House waited until they had stopped before he gazed at the objects on his lap. The bed was covered in a thick layer of them, with the majority piling up around House himself. They looked familiar; small, white and capsule-shaped.

"…Vicodin?"

"Your damned drugs destroyed us more than you realise," Cuddy growled. She grinned, an image that House knew he would never be able to forget. "Now it's destroyed all you love as well."

"W-Wait, hang on," House stuttered. "M-my Vicodin couldn't c-cause Wilson's cancer-"

He was drowned out as the demons closed in on him. Their pearly whites were the last remaining light in his darkened hotel room. He wanted to cry out for Wilson, for his mother even, but stayed still. In that moment he wished was anywhere - even in hell - rather than there.

House let himself loose, clamping his eyes closed again. "Leave me ALONE!"

He waited until the screams and shrills had faded before checking. The room was as it was before; clothes crumpled across the floor, an empty keg of beer against the door, Wilson's jacket hanging over the chair.

It was as it should've been.

Until he heard Amber: "We're still here. And demons don't hide, Greg."