Title: The Lame Shall Enter First
Author: Boonaducious, Ashley, whatever you wanna call me.
Rating: R, for violence and the occasional bad word
Spoilers: None that I can think of. I'm timing this right after the Tritter arc, though.
Pairing: H/W Friendship; Wilson/OC
Disclaimer: I don't own House MD or any of the characters within. Those are David Shore's toys, not mine. Believe me, if I were a writer for House, I would spend my time bragging about my genius rather than sharing fanfic. Also, the title comes from the Flannery O'Connor short story of the same name, so I don't own that either.
Warnings: AU supernatural story; horror elements; a Jesus Freak author; other things I will mention later (If anyone thinks I should add anymore warnings, let me know)
Summery: House never usually had nightmares. His dreams were vivid, sometimes even emotionally painful, but the aging doctor never considered them truly scary…until now.
A/N: Okay, this is my first foray into the House fandom after a few years of writing elsewhere, so I hope I make a good first impression. This is an AU story that will have a lot of supernatural elements. I guess you could call it a horror story, even though I'm sure you've all read stuff more scary than this. Hopefully after this I'll write more normal House stories, but this plot bunny just would not let go, and as a poor college student, I'm way too busy for all the medical research at the moment, so here I am. Reviews are my anti-drug, as well as my muse. Please indulge me.

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House never usually had nightmares. His dreams were vivid, sometimes even painful, but the aging doctor never considered them truly scary.

This particular night, House's body seemed tighter than usual as he slipped into the world of his dreams. The pattern seemed consistent enough. He "woke up" and looked around the bedroom of his "dream house" as he liked to call it, which was far bigger than his apartment and contained some very psychedelic colors. Since his delirious mind never noticed anything unusual about the changes in his home, it never occurred to him this place was not real. Only on a few occasions when his brain was clearer was he able to determine the true differences between "dream house" and "real grubby apartment".

Walking on two healthy legs through the ten-foot-tall door, he stepped into the spacious living room with a full-sized grand piano in the corner and a big screen plasma TV plastered to the wall. There was also a small spiral staircase in the middle of the space that led to the mysterious attic he didn't seem to notice until recently. He remembered several trips up there to look at the interchanging secrets that lurked within. Sometimes it contained a stash of motorcycles, others it held a dance floor that looked suspiciously like his high school gym, and once he came into a room he later called "Tritter and Vogler's Torture Chamber". Unfortunately, House was not going to venture into that strange room tonight. Rather, he was going to attend to a rather loud knock coming from his front door.

THUMP THUMP THUMP. THUMP THUMP THUMP.

The rhythmic knocking was repetitive enough that House knew it was going to get on his nerves if it kept up. This was different than all of the other knocks that had graced his front door. He remembered the last time he had a guest. Carmen Electra was there when he opened the door, dressed in a tight one-piece bathing suit with the words "Baywatch Thespian" plastered on the front in bright yellow. She did not have the suit on for long afterwards. Her knock was more of a slow, seductive tapping that alerted the man to the good time that would follow. House could only imagine what would be waiting for him this time, especially since this knock did not strike him as welcoming at all.

House was not even a yard away from the door when it was pulled from its hinges in a loud crash. On the other side stood a black creature so frightening that House could not react to it. He was in utter shock. He figured he would have reacted differently if he had been awake, mostly because his reason usually outweighed his curiosity in the real world.

The monster was a lanky winged thing that supported itself on all-fours, but would probably be over 12 feet tall on its hind legs alone. Its face contained two large beady white eyes that resembled pearls embedded in its face. There were also two large horns curling around where its ears should be and two incisors sticking out of its open mouth that were long enough so be scratching the floor. Tattered bat-like wings were erupting from its back, which seemed to show off how thin the creature was due to the very visible vertebrae. The feet of a wolf and a long, scaly tail topped off the monster whose black skin and awful stench made him seem…wait a minute. Stench? This is a dream. You are not supposed to smell in your dreams, are you?

House prided himself on the fact that not even the stupidity of sleep could keep his mind at bay. However, this was becoming something beyond the realm of possibility. He could smell the burnt odor of sulfur and brimstone coming off of this thing, and he could feel the heat emanating off him, like he had some sort of astronomical fever. No matter how much he denied it in his own circumstance, the man knew very well what kind of tricks the mind could play. However, the further assault on his senses seemed to breach that realm. As he began to feel the monster's breath, which came out as a yellow vapor, against his face, he suddenly realized frozen stance he had adopted in past dreams did not seem like a good idea.

Within seconds of the creature's rude entrance, House saw what looked to be his equivalent of a smile, which looked like it breathing harder and showing all of its razor-sharp teeth. House finally knew what this thing's face reminded him of. The Humpback Angler, one of those awful-looking fish that resided deep in the photic zone of the ocean (thank you high school marine bio). It was one of the first pictures House can remember where he actually flinched looking at it. Now he looked back on it and wondered why he even thought twice. There were much scarier things out there.

The smile had convinced House now was the time to make a break for it, but before he could even move a couple of feet, the creature pounced. He did not even look back to investigate the horrible sounds of wood being crushed and belongings being flattened, even though they did seem to erode his hope of getting away.

House had made only a small amount of distance (granted more he could have made while awake) when he was finally pushed onto the ground by the thing's large hand. The man shuddered as he felt the long stick-like fingers lightly stroke across his back and through his hair. He did not what to make of this strange gesture, but all he wanted to do was yell at this thing to stop trying to feel him up. Unfortunately, the muteness he experienced during some of the worst night mares of his youth returned to him, and he could only manage breathy gasps of terror. The monster seemed to get the message anyway. He did stop the disturbing strokes, but House almost wanted them back once the thing's long talons dug into the skin of his back.

The man finally found his voice as he cried out in reaction to a very real pain coursing through his body. Pure fear had now consumed him and he was at the brink of tears at the thought of what this monster would do to him. He was anticipating being torn apart once the dagger-like talons fully immersed themselves in his skin.

After what seemed like hours, the long claws stopped digging into him. This did not alleviate the pain, but House was relieved since the talons were not near deep enough to rip him in half as he had feared, or at least that was what it felt like. At this point he was almost laughing at himself. He was in a situation that frightened him to the point of having a doubled heart rate, yet he was still weighing the situation analytically. What the hell was wrong with him? He is going to die making the same mistakes he had his entire life. He used too much head and no heart. It could have been because of his dad, or Stacy, or maybe just genes, but…God, he was doing it again!

Because of his thoughts, he did not notice what felt like a tongue sliding over his right thigh. Only when the wetness began to burn his skin did he realize the creature was licking the permanently injured muscle. He tried to look back to see exactly what this thing's tongue was doing to him, but his neck refused to move due to immense pain. It's saliva must have had acidic tendencies, because it almost felt like his skin was being eaten away.

Suddenly, the licking stopped, and House felt the creature dig its teeth into the scarred thigh as easily as a fork through cake.

Not even the cries of death could have rivaled his pain-filled screams