A/N - This is a crossover between Canon!Verse and the Collar!Verse . The entire story will take place in Canon!Verse so there should be no direct depiction of abuse, slavery, whippings etc but there is a discussion of those, and recollection and references to events in Greg's life as a slave as depicted in Seven stages/Sixteen days and Collar!Redux.

This should be considered an AU to the main Collar!verse as written by Oflymonddreams, it takes place shortly after the events in the second season episode Distractions, where Greg was sentenced to one hundred lashes for his transgressions, and the first fifty had been carried out.

This is my attempt at writing a 'somewhat' happier story for slave!Greg :) The story will probably be about 3-4 chapters in total.

Thanks for as always to Oflymonddreams for letting me play in their universe :)

Wilson knocked again, loudly, on House's apartment door. He was sure the man was in there, just ignoring him as usual. House had been impossible on his last case, inducing a migraine, playing some sort of practical joke on the evil 'Von Lieberman", who turned out to be a perfectly normal person who had turned House in for cheating decades ago.

Then Cameron had come to him and reported that House had quite probably done some illegal drugs to get rid of the migraine, at work, while on a case. He'd solved the case but still, there was a limit to what Cuddy was prepared to overlook.

House needed a distraction that wasn't going to hurt him, or any innocent bystanders. Wilson had procured a six pack of beer and some luridly pornographic DVDs and had come to drag House out of his miserable state, whether he liked it or not.

When there was still no answer to his knocking, Wilson took the spare key out of his pocket and let himself in, hoping that House wasn't in the middle of something either illegal or immoral. The apartment was quiet, a fine layer of dust over the shelves, whatever House had been doing hadn't involved cleaning. He wandered through the apartment calling his friend's name but there was no answer. Finally he went to the bedroom, hoping that he wouldn't find House comatose after a drug overdose.

His heart caught in his throat as he saw House lying on the bed, face down, only a sheet covering him.

"House? Wake up, House, I have beer and porn." He made his way over to the bed quickly and put down a hand to shake House's shoulder, he heard a faint groan and breathed a sigh of relief. "So, you are alive, come on House, up and at 'em." He took his hand away and then stared at it, there was a smear of blood covering his hand.

He took hold of the sheet and pulled it off. House was naked and there were vivid red lines all across his back and shoulders, some of them dotted with blood. House had been flogged. Severely.

Over the years Wilson had known House the other man had often joked about bondage, he'd also self harmed a few times, that Wilson knew of. He wondered if this was the result of some self destructive streak House had been on. But the marks were severe, this would have hurt a lot - surely beyond any masochistic 'gating mechanism' ploy? They also appeared to be untreated, Wilson's medical instincts screamed about possible infection and unseen damage. House would need to have these examined.

"House, wake up!" he repeated, he needed House to wake up and answer questions, he had to know what was going on here.

The other man groaned and turned his head to one side, eyes opening blearily. He looked confused for a moment, and then wary, and then the pain from the weals seemed to hit him and his eyes opened wide.

Wilson looked around for the familiar pill bottle, there on the bedstand. Deal with the pain first, then treat the injury, then find out what the hell had happened.

"When did you last have Vicodin, House?"

"Vicodin?" House slurred. "Where am I? Where have you taken me?"

Wilson bent down near to his friend's head and looked into his eyes. Pupils were normal, not constricted, no overdose. Probably safe to give him a couple of Vicodin but he didn't like this confusion. He wondered if there was a head injury. He put his hand out to touch House's head, ready to feel around it for bumps but House shied back from his touch.

"House, hold still, I just need to check your head for bumps. Did you hit your head, did you lose consciousness?"

"I tend to after the first forty or so strokes, of course they wake you up so you can get the rest. No point whipping an unconscious slave after all. How would the slave learn?"

"Slave?" Wilson was getting seriously worried now, his friend was delirious. Surely no BDSM practitioner would go as far as this. Something was going on here, he reached for his cell phone, ready to call for an ambulance. Then he looked closer at House's throat and saw what he hadn't at first, he'd been so focused on the wounds on House's back. There was a metal collar enclosing his throat, four rings placed in it at equal intervals. He put out a hand to touch it and encountered a shiny metal tag hanging down from the collar. He turned it over to see 'James Wilson' engraved on it.

Wilson dropped the tag and took a step back, his mind reeling. What sort of sick games had House been playing?

"House, please tell me what is going on. I need to call an ambulance for you, but if there is something going on... something illegal maybe...You have a collar..."

"An ambulance? Why didn't you just leave me in the slave ward if you're so concerned? Why did you take me out anyway? There's still another fifty to go if you haven't forgotten - I'm sure you haven't though. No way would you miss that show. Bet you were eating it up weren't you..."

Wilson put his hands up, palms out.

"House, House, stop! I have no idea what you're talking about...you're delirious. You're not a slave..."

House narrowed his eyes at him, his hand going up to his throat.

"This collar says otherwise. You placed your tag on it, you can't have forgotten about it."

"I'm calling the ambulance." Wilson took his phone up again and started pressing buttons. "We'll figure this out later."

"No." House's voice was barely a whisper, his eyes were wide and staring at Wilson. "Not yet."

House rolled onto his side and then pushed himself to a sitting position, his face contorting with pain.

"Who am I, Wilson? If I'm not a slave. And where is this?"

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck and then shrugged, going along with House for the moment.

"You're Doctor Gregory House, you are head of Diagnostics at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. You live here, you have for fifteen years. House, I think you might have had a bad trip, or something...Cameron said she thought you were doing LSD at work today. You are not a slave."

House stared at him, and then looked around the room. When he looked back at Wilson there was a strange look on his face.

"The first five years, I used to dream that I was free, doing things everyone else could do. Then I would wake up, and there would still be this..." he gestured up to his throat, indicating the heavy collar. "Then the dreams came less often. The last five years I haven't dreamed it once. It's been better that way. Please Wilson, don't play games with me. Not about this," he swallowed heavily, looked away. "Do whatever else you want, I can't stop you, but please don't..."

To Wilson's horror House slipped off the bed, onto his knees. He bowed his head and put his hands behind his back. His knees were slightly spread, every inch of him screamed submission and vulnerability. He didn't seem at all concerned about the fact that he was still naked, didn't make any attempt to cover up his scar.

"Please don't pretend that I'm not...don't play that game."

Wilson didn't know how to make House believe, what to say, what to do. House was obviously severely deluded, in pain, delirious maybe. He needed to get him help, get his wounds looked at, maybe do a tox screen. Wilson didn't want to take him into PPTH like this, or even Princeton General, everyone there knew who House was. And truthfully Wilson wanted some back up to deal with this.

"House. Get up, get back on the bed please. Lie down again, I'm going to call Cuddy, get her to come and help, okay?"

House lifted his head back up.

"Cuddy?"

"Yes, she'll bring some stuff. I won't take you anywhere but we need to get your back looked at. Do something about..." he waved his hand vaguely in the direction of House's collar. Wilson didn't want to make the call while in the same room as House, he didn't want to agitate his friend any further, but he didn't want to leave him kneeling here, naked, on the floor either. As he looked at House inspiration came to him.

"House, you need to do what I say right? I want you to get up on the bed, lie down on your stomach and stay here while I go call Cuddy, don't move." He'd put a slight edge in his voice, trying to ensure obedience. He'd tried taking a firm line with House before, but it had never worked, just resulted in House mocking him. This time though House got up off his knees and laid down on the bed, lying face down and spreading his arms and legs slightly apart, head down.

Wilson felt a flash of triumph until he recognised the position House had adopted. House was waiting for someone to secure him in a spreadeagled position on the bed. For Wilson to do it. Wilson shuddered but managed to keep his voice steady. "That's good House, don't move until I come back."

Cuddy was sceptical and protesting but Wilson managed to persuade her to come, and bring medical supplies, including a blood draw kit. He had to find out what drugs House had taken, something must be causing this reaction. While he was waiting for Cuddy he hovered in the bedroom door but didn't go in, and didn't talk further to House. He wanted to keep him calm so they could treat him, and trying to talk him out of his delusions had only served to agitate him. It seemed wrong to leave him like this, to leave that damned collar around his neck, but at least he was lying still, not aggravating the cuts on his back. He was so still that he could almost be asleep if it was not for the fine tremor that shook his body several times while Wilson watched. House was scared. And that was something that Wilson had rarely seen, if ever.

When Cuddy arrived Wilson had a few quick words to her in the living area.

"He thinks he's a slave, and I'm...I guess he thinks I'm his 'master'. He has a collar around his neck, and there's a tag on it that says 'James Wilson'." Cuddy's lips turned up in a smile and Wilson shook his head impatiently. "it's not funny Cuddy, somebody has beaten him, flogged him with a whip. There are welts all over his back.

"And you called me instead of an ambulance?" Cuddy stepped past him and into the bedroom before Wilson could stop her.

"House!" She went around to his side and he looked up at her, his trembling increasing. There was fear in his eyes as Cuddy came closer.

"Come to see the damage first hand? You're usually more squeamish than that." The tremor in his voice belied the bravado of his words. She put a hand out to touch him and he shied back before settling back into position.

"House..." Cuddy looked at Wilson who shrugged, he had no answers either.

"Let's get him cleaned up first. Then we can worry about..." her eyes settled on the collar around House's neck.

Cuddy sat on the edge of the bed, getting the supplies out of the bag she had brought with her.

"This is going to hurt, House. But a lot less than getting someone to do this to you."

"Cuddy..." Wilson didn't want her lecturing House, something was obviously really wrong here. However reckless House could be Wilson couldn't see him consenting to this.

Cuddy didn't say anything more, bending over House's back to start cleaning the wounds. House hissed as the cold antiseptic cream touched the weals but otherwise held still. Suddenly Cuddy's hands stilled.

"What..." she looked up at Wilson.

"What, what is it?"

"He's covered in scars, they're hard to see because of all this new damage, but he has lash marks all across his back, and his shoulders. Some of these are years old but there are some that are fresher. He must have been doing this for years."

Wilson came forward to have a closer look and could see Cuddy was right, now he knew what to look for he could see all the old scars. He stepped back, shaking his head.

"B..b...but that's n...not..." his childhood stutter was back and he slowed himself down, curling his hands into fists by his side. "I gave him a full exam him a couple of months ago, there's no way I could have missed seeing all that on his back."

A sudden thought struck him and he reached for House's hand, the one that he had smashed with a pestle just the year before, the finger had healed slightly crooked. This finger was straight.

"This isn't House."

Once he started seeing the differences he couldn't stop. This guy was thinner than House, his arms less muscled, his hair was shorter and tidier than it was this morning, ditto the scruff on his chin.

But yet for all the physical differences this was House. His voice, his attitude, all the things that made a person were House. Wilson paced the room while Cuddy kept cleaning the guy's back. Blue eyes followed him warily around the room.

"What is your name?" He asked the guy, he needed to be able to call him something.

Something flickered in the man's eyes and then a blank look came over his face.

"Whatever you want it to be," he said, his voice flat, devoid of any expression.

Wilson stared at him and the man swallowed heavily.

"I don't know what sort of game this it. But you're in charge, the tag on my collar says so. So if you don't want me to be Greg House then okay. Who do you want me to be? Steffan, your bath boy?"

There was that odd mixture of bravado and fear again. The man was afraid, afraid of him, afraid of Cuddy, he really did believe he was a slave and they could do anything they liked to him.

"Look," Wilson hesitated, and then settled on Greg, "look Greg, I don't know what's going on, but you're not Greg House. You're not my slave, slaves haven't been legal in America for two hundred years. I don't know how you got into House's apartment, or what you're doing with that collar, or even why you look so much like him..."

"Wilson," Cuddy interrupted. She'd finished with putting antiseptic cream on Greg's back and had started to examine the rest of the naked man. "Look, he has House's scar."

Strangely enough Greg tried to pull the leg away, he'd suffered through her ministrations to his back but now tried to hide the massive scar on his thigh. His moving around seemed to set off the pain of his wounds again and he gasped in agony.

Cuddy rummaged around in her bag of supplies and found a syringe and a small vial of morphine. She smoothly injected the morphine into Greg while he watched with wide pain filled eyes.

As the drug took effect he looked at her dopily and she got up from the bed and arranged the sheet around his lower half, leaving his treated back open to the air.

"Sleep for a while Greg, we'll figure this out when you wake up."

As Greg dropped off into a doped sleep Cuddy cleaned up the medical supplies.

"Why did you knock him out? We need to find out who he is, what's going on." Wilson started pacing again, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. There was something very strange about all this, and now the answer to it was sound asleep.

"First of all because he was in pain, and exhausted. Second because it gives us a bit of time, and a chance to have a good look at him." Cuddy said cooly. She'd finished the clean up and now she sat down on the bed and put a hand out to touch the collar.

"There's no lock on this, no fastening, no emergency release, nothing. It's like it was welded on. And look," she pushed the collar up on his throat slightly, it was snug around his neck but not tight, there was a little play. "Look at the skin underneath, the callouses, he's been wearing this thing for a long time."

Greg stirred a little in his sleep as she touched the collar and she sat back.

"So, he looks almost exactly like House, right down to having had an infarction, but has been wearing a collar for years and has hundreds of old lash scars."

"And he thinks he's a slave, and I'm his 'master' or something," Wilson finished. "What the hell is going on Cuddy? House doesn't have a twin brother, and even if he did he'd hardly have an infarction at the same site."

Cuddy reached back into her bag and took out the blood draw kit.

"We'll take some blood, run a DNA test and a tox screen. We have a record of House's DNA at the hospital.."

"Why..." Wilson started to say but Cuddy waved him away.

"Don't ask, believe me you don't want to know, but I thought it would be a good idea to keep it on file. We can see if 'Greg' here really is House."

"And if he is? But he's not our House?"

"You've seen enough science fiction movies with him to know the answer to that Wilson. If his DNA is the same, well, he must be here from some alternative universe. As crazy as that sound. Some place where they keep slaves, and Greg House is one of them. I wonder how that came about."

"You're talking like you believe this Cuddy, it's...it's..."

"The only possible explanation."

tbc

Thanks for reading, if you enjoyed it I would appreciate if you left a review to let me know :)