I know I said I wouldn't but…

It's Halloween. Best holiday of the year. I've spent some years trying to turn people into dragons (that might not be a metaphor). Last year I used Halloween as an excuse to begin a year-plus-long odyssey into the realm of alternate character interpretations. This year…

This year I'm doing something a little more socially acceptable. This is a sequel to The Gift. If you haven't read that yet you don't have to unless you really have a day and a half kill. Know that this is Weird Fiction in a vaguely Lovecraftian style and quite AU. Late season 7 team, Thirteen just returned, Huddy never happened, vicodin never stopped, and timing of events is different from canon. But unlike The Gift, this is not humor. This is horror.

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters you might recognize. I make no money off of this. I researched the relevant legends very heavily and have taken relatively few liberties. Yes, "relatively few liberties".

Mind the rating. Rated M for language, horror, blood, etc.

-00000-

Gregory House dragged himself out of bed to the shrill whine of the alarm. Not many people would have needed an alarm to wake up before noon but long months of long nights conspired to force a day-night reversal. He slammed a hand onto the snooze button, hoping to capture a few more minutes of sleep before the angry phone call demanded to know why he wasn't at work yet.

And there was the phone. He blindly groped for the phone, sleepily putting it to his ear. "Whazzat," he said as a greeting. He checked the clock. 11:37. Bleh. "Is early."

"Then I guess you don't want to go to lunch," Wilson said from the other end of the line.

House dragged himself into a sitting position right as the alarm clock beeped again. He turned off the alarm and ran a weary hand over his face.

"Coffee," House said. "Then lunch."

"I'll pick you up in twenty."

House hung up the phone. He shook his head of its cobwebs and threw the curtains open. Bright sunlight and the sounds of a day half over assaulted his sensitive eyes and ears. The stench of city and hot asphalt rose from outside, slowly waking him up.

Up from the sidewalk came the shout of a random passerby, scolding the naked man for standing in his own window. House snarled down at her and threw the curtains closed. Clothes, right. He needed clothes if he was going to be outside during the day.

Thus went the morning of a werewolf with a day job.

-00000-

A fed and caffeinated House limped his way into the hospital, Wilson at his side. They hoped to blend in with the after-lunch rush.

House caught the scent of something, a particular perfume. "Shit," he said, hair standing on end.

"What is it?" Wilson asked.

"HOUSE!" echoed the shout from across the room.

Wilson veered off toward the clinic, the better to hide.

"Coward," House mumbled. He took a deep breath and turned around to face the owner of that voice. "Doctor Cuddy, good morning," he said.

"Morning my ass," Cuddy snapped. "Do you have any concept as to what time it is?"

House pulled out his phone and checked. "It's almost 1:30," he said. "Still early."

"In Tibet maybe. You've been chronically late ever since…" She couldn't bring herself to say it. The fact that they were in the hospital lobby didn't help either. "Well, ever since," she said, trying to be vague. "I like to think I've been accommodating, House, but this habit of you coming in well after noon is going too far!"

"So do you want to tell the night clinic it has to shut down or should I?" House asked. He only staffed it when forced but his condition had given the hospital an excuse to extend their free clinic to a 24 hour schedule. The federal grants alone more than covered the extra cost.

Cuddy's anger rose as that smug bastard… bested her. Her fury deflated to a simmer. "You just got yourself six more clinic hours," she said. "Night clinic!" She stormed off. The sound of her office door slamming hard enough to shake the glass echoed through the ground floor.

Six more clinic hours to avoid doing. A challenge to his station met and bested. House swung his cane in triumph as he limped to the elevator.

"The beast awakens," Chase said, deadpanned, when House got to his office.

"Grr," House said, equally deadpanned. He made a beeline for the coffee machine. He found fresh and hot coffee. He inhaled, trying to discern who made it…

Sexualized male… Very distinct…

House limped over to Chase and patted him on the head. "Good boy," House said as though he were praising a dog. "You made coffee for me." Chase took it, trying to keep his face neutral. It was hard; a pleased grin kept threatening to break through.

House went back to coffee. Foreman hid behind a journal article to try and block out the daily crazy, Taub thumbed through that day's newspaper, Thirteen was confused, and Chase tried to keep from looking too self-satisfied.

House tried to bury his nose in the scent of a fresh cup of coffee so it was the only thing he would smell. Something in Taub's newspaper caught his eye, something… bad…

He snatched the local section, loped out onto the balcony, and hopped the wall.

Once House was gone Thirteen turned the full force of her confusion at Chase. "I know I was gone for a while but what the fuck?" she asked.

Chase glanced at her, his mood too good to be ruined by being asked about it.

"He just treated you like a dog and you're happy about it?"

"House is nuts," Foreman said, more than willing to interject that particular opinion on the matter.

"House thinks he's a werewolf," Taub said.

"No he doesn't," she said quickly.

"Clinical lycanthropy," Taub clarified.

"You're kidding," she said, still not taking this seriously.

"Normally he'll just pat you on the head or make weird noises," Chase explained. "Sometimes he'll nuzzle, paw, demand to be scratched behind the ears, hold you down until you bare your throat to him…"

"Not with Wilson," Taub pointed out.

"Point," Chase said. "Wilson seems to be the only person House will bare his throat to."

"The nut howls on the balcony when he thinks no one's watching," Foreman supplied.

"Now I know you're shittin' me," Thirteen said.

"Wait a few days," Foreman warned. "He always gets weirder around the full moon."

"So?"

"Full moon's tomorrow," Taub said.

Meanwhile, House had jumped the balcony to Wilson's office.

"With a patient, House," Wilson said.

House closed the door then thought for a moment, mentally cataloging the contents of the room. He growled and barged in, interrupting nothing. "No you aren't," he accused.

"And you need to learn not to interrupt me," Wilson said, voice cool and hard.

That tone pinged something in House's psyche. Wilson was unhappy. He felt the urge to drop everything and roll on his back. He almost did but the slosh of hot coffee broke him out of that action. Instead he whined and leaned his head back to expose his throat.

"Apologizing won't prevent you from doing it again," Wilson said dismissively. "When you first changed we agreed I would be your alpha. We agreed that letting you run around uncontrolled would be disastrous and probably get you shot. You told me I was the only person you trusted with that level of control over you."

House had the presence of mind to put his coffee on the desk before getting on his knees next to Wilson and laying his head in the man's lap. He whined and nudged Wilson's arm with his head, trying to get the man to forgive him.

"I'm not just your alpha, House, I'm your friend," Wilson said. He gave in and laid a hand on House's hair, absently scratched him behind an ear. "You've been getting antsy lately. You're chafing against commands. You're lording your station over Cuddy more often. Sometimes I've even noticed you testing my station. There's something wrong, House. What is it?"

House sighed as the scritches stopped. Wilson wanted an answer. House groped for the newspaper while keeping his head in Wilson's lap. It wasn't easy from this angle but he managed to grab the newspaper and flip to the middle of the local section without moving his head. Among the other feel-good pieces about a new park and a cat saved from a fire was a picture of himself and Wilson. Sort of.

Wilson stood in profile arm-in-arm with what looked like a dire wolf. The monster stood on its hind legs in front of Wilson and had its forepaws draped over the man's shoulders. The massive wolf stood taller than Wilson, its head turned toward the camera in a doggy grin. It wore a service dog harness. What the black and white photo didn't show was the brown-gray of the wolf's fur, its gleaming white fangs, its highly intelligent bright blue eyes, or the angry scar marring its right thigh.

"The oncology department at Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital has found a friend in Talbot, a service dog of unknown origins," House read. "Talbot makes his rounds among the children's wards at bedtime at least twice a week." He slapped the newspaper against Wilson and growled at no one in particular.

"You knew they were taking that picture," Wilson said. He picked up the paper, flipped it open, and examined the photo. The article they'd promised had been reduced to a mere two line caption. "I look short."

"You are short," House pointed out, still sullen.

"Drink your coffee, you'll feel better."

House grabbed his coffee and shifted on the floor so he wasn't kneeling. He sat next to Wilson's chair and leaned against his desk, sipping thoughtfully. "Sometimes I forget what it was like," he said absently. "Being normal, I mean. Winifred bit me six months ago and already I'm forgetting."

Wilson reached down to pet House's head. "I know," Wilson said, subdued. He felt a soft, warm tongue as House licked his hand once, twice. "I miss you, House," he said. "I miss you as you were. I always will, same as I miss you as you were before the infarction. And then I remember that you're right here. You always have been and you always will be, no matter what form you're in."

House and Wilson sat like that for a long time.

-00000-

It was just before midnight and the clinic was almost as busy as it was during the day. Sudden bouts of flu knew no business hours and strange sexual injuries were a nocturnal favorite. House finished with another clinic patient and trudged out to the nurse's station. The nearly full moon shone bright light through the doors, light that made House itch with the need to put on his fur…

The snapping of fingers brought House out of a reverie he didn't even know he was in. Apparently he'd been staring at the moon through the glass doors. The night nurse was snapping his fingers in an annoying way. House growled, the wolf unwilling to put up with this shit tonight.

Months of dealing with House had taught the night staff to ignore animal sounds coming out of him. Instead that idiot Nurse Joel started mocking him. "C'mere, here boy," Nurse Joel said, adding in some whistling for good measure. "C'mon, gimme the file, tha's a good boy, c'mon…"

House growled again, his standard almost-playful growl turning low and dangerous. This moron dared… He stalked forward, limp almost gone as fury drove him to stalk his prey. His cane fell to the floor.

"C'mon, that's it, gooood booooy."

House put the file folder on the nurse's station outside the moron's reach. His lips pulled back to bare teeth as his growl suddenly turned into a snarl. Fear sparked through Joel's eyes as he realized what he'd done.

And then Nurse Joel found a hand squeezing his throat as he was thrown against the floor. His vision blurred with stars and hot animal breath as House snarled, teeth bared to tear out the poor human's throat. He arched back and howled, long and challenging, before taking vengeance with his teeth.

Or he would have taken vengeance. Instead he found himself being dragged off of the idiot by security. He growled and snapped, unable to control the wolf as it begged, ordered him to bloody them all for daring interfere with a lawful maiming.

From the waiting room a set of cold black eyes watched as the human-shaped wolf was dragged away like the wild animal it was.

-00000-

The door to the padded room opened. One of the old padded cells in the psyche wing had finally come in handy once security was able to muscle House down to this part of the hospital.

"What in HELL were you thinking?" Cuddy demanded.

House looked up from the nest he'd built with his clothing. He looked down and realized he was naked and curled up like an animal. His clothes were piled all around him, bedding for a den. All that was missing was his fur. "What time is it?" House asked, half-asleep.

"Far earlier than you're used to," she snapped. "I ask again, House, what in hell were you thinking? You almost killed that nurse last night!"

"He deserved it," House mumbled, trying to turn over and curl up again.

Cuddy ignored the advice of the guard right outside, ignored the warnings of the psychologist in the hallway. She stormed into that padded room and closed the door behind her.

House didn't react, didn't care until she grabbed his wrist to try and force him to look at her. He growled and snapped at her.

Cuddy let go like she'd been burned.

House made a 'harumph' sound and laid back down.

"There's something wrong with you, House," Cuddy said, fear radiating off of her. "You don't usually act like this, not even with the full moon near. Normally you're so in control of yourself. Something's wrong."

"I know," he said.

"Get dressed. Keeping you in a padded room isn't going to make you any saner. Get dressed, take the next few days off, and go run around or something."

House ran a hand down his thigh.

"You know what I mean," Cuddy said. "Find somewhere wild and just stay there for a few nights. Then ask yourself if you really think you can come back." She turned around and left.

The door closed with an ominous click. House curled around himself closer, tears threatening to fall.

What if she was right? What if he couldn't come back?

-00000-

It was late afternoon once House stopped being depressed enough to put clothes on. He dragged himself to his office and the fur lovingly rolled up in his backpack. The beefy security guard, taser openly displayed, added to House's dark mood by following his every movement. He got to the office and loped in, hoping the guard stayed the standard three steps behind…

Yes! House slammed the door closed and locked it. He pulled the blinds to block all sight of the hallway. An angry rumble reverberated through the office, the sound of fists pounding frantically on a glass door.

"Heard you tried to eat a nurse last night," Foreman said, not even bothering to look up from his phone and his precious game of solitaire.

Chase looked worried, Taub shook his head in disappointment, and Thirteen's shock only made today's tremble that much more noticeable.

"He deserved it," House said. "Chase, I need to talk to you." He gestured the blond doctor outside then followed, grabbing his backpack along the way. House wedged his cane in the handle of the balcony door, eerily calm about the whole affair. Inside, the office door was thrown open by enthusiastic security with skeleton keys.

"What's going on?" Chase asked.

"When did you stop being afraid of me?" House countered.

"I… I don't know," Chase admitted. The pounding on the balcony door was distracting. His eyes were drawn to the fury behind the door. It was a strange contrast to the weird, almost sad calm of House before him, especially considering what he knew. "I guess I just realized you weren't a monster."

"Why?"

Chase shrugged. "You never did anything to me. You never did anything to anyone. No one's been bitten or even really scared. No one else has even figured it out. You keep to yourself, which I guess is the same as before. As far as I know you spend most of your time as a wolf being dragged around the hospital making little kids feel better. There's nothing really monstrous about that."

"You heard what I did last night. I lost control. I was ready to rip out that nurse's throat. I would have, too, if I hadn't been dragged off of him. I didn't feel any remorse, just fury that those damned humans couldn't have waited a moment for me to at least maim him. And that terrifies me as much as it should you."

The old fear bubbled up in Chase's heart, bolstered by the rattle of the balcony door, the angry shouts of security. His three co-workers stood back, watching in morbid fascination. For a split second he thought they were all just waiting to see him get mauled.

House scented that fear. He nodded sadly. "Cuddy wants me to take a few days off," he said. "I'm supposed to find some forest and run around. I don't think she wants me to come back."

"You can't," Chase whispered. "You can't just be kicked out of here because you tried to bite one nurse! Hell, you've thrown me against walls and I'm right here, what makes some nurse any different?"

The door wasn't going to hold for much longer. Someone was bound to fit a jig saw through the crack and cut through his cane. House took off his suit jacket, handing it to Chase. His shirt came next, leaving him in t-shirt and jeans. He slipped his feet out of shoes and socks. "Because you know why I do it," House said. He hopped the balcony wall and threw off his t-shirt. Fur came out as the jeans went down and then House was gone.

Chase gestured people away from the door and slipped the cane out of the handle. He ignored frantic demands about his safety, all his attention turned on the blue-eyed wolf that had jumped off of Wilson's balcony and was now shaking itself off on the grass below.

Security guards started organizing a search, orders shouted over the din of confusion and conflicting stories. Thirteen came over to Chase and leaned against the balcony. She stared out at what fascinated him so. All she saw was the dusk and a big dog loping across the hospital parking lot. "Where did House go?" she asked.

Chase looked at her. He felt hollow, like something had just died. If she wasn't going to see the evidence then he couldn't answer her.

-00000-

The concrete jungle stretched for miles. Asphalt and cement covered the clean scents of dirt and life. Oil and gas fumes stung the nose and eyes, confused the wolf as it searched for something familiar, something it thought it would know.

He was alone, lost and alone in a world without peers, a world without predators, a world of steel and stone and the cold, dead bones of what once was. He was his own alpha now, no one to tell him what he could or could not do to the prey that swarmed unseeing all around him. A predator among prey and he had no idea where to start. There was no alpha to direct him. He didn't know these streets from these angles. He didn't trust the smells to guide him.

There was nothing for him out here in the city.

House loped around, searching for anything familiar, any smell that seemed known.

He caught a scent, something that wasn't sterile and filthy. He put his nose to the ground and sniffed, followed the scent out of the city.

-00000-

"You did what?" Wilson demanded.

Cuddy massaged her temples in a failed attempt to ward off the headache pounding behind her eyes. The light of the full moon streamed through her office windows, a constant reminder of what she'd done. She didn't need to deal with this now. "I told him to go," Cuddy said. "I told House to find some forest and suggested he stay there."

"And where the hell do you think he's going to go?" Wilson argued. "There are no forests left! This is not 15th century France, we can't just tell him to go join the other wolves, there's nothing out there for him. Literally nothing!"

"And what did you expect me to do?" Cuddy snapped. "Let him stay? Tell him he was a bad dog and hit him with a rolled-up newspaper? He almost killed someone last night!"

"Oh, and you've totally fixed that problem, haven't you? An uncontrolled werewolf roaming the streets of Princeton on the full moon. You think last night was bad, wait until tomorrow morning when we find out exactly how capable of killing he really is. You haven't done him a favor, Cuddy. You've made sure that when he's finally found he'll be shot as a dangerous animal. Whatever happens tonight is your fault."

-00000-

There was a park on this side of town. The sweet smell of cut grass wafted over the stench of cars. It was a good thing, too, House needed to rest. His entire body ached as vicodin withdrawals began and he craved grass to calm his stomach.

A stench of rot permeated this area of town, probably some dead thing lying in the bushes dumped there by an uncaring human or dragged there after being hit by a car. He limped across the street in the darkness, keeping to the shadows to avoid being seen. The full moon lit more than just his path, it revealed him to predator and prey.

But there were no predators, right? Nothing stronger than Gregory House, the mighty werewolf. House planted his rump in soft, cool grass and howled ownership of this plot to the sky.

His howl was cut short as his stomach roiled. The smell was not helping as withdrawals showed him what the contents of an empty stomach looked like. He coughed and gagged before moving toward the longer grass. Something to calm his stomach. He laid down in the weeds and munched long blades of grass.

A noise behind him pricked his ears. The stench was… mobile? But how? Dead things were dead, they laid there and rotted. Right? He twisted around to confront the dead thing behind him.

There was nothing there. He growled for good measure and rolled around in the grass. The dew felt wonderful, cool water to wash away the scents of the hospital. Maybe he should give this wild animal thing a try.

-00000-

"I can't believe he's gone," Chase said.

He and Wilson were at the loft, a bottle of bourbon between them. "If only I hadn't done my rounds today," Wilson lamented. "I'd have been there. I could have done something."

"Like what? The state has all they need to lock him up for good." Chase poured himself another glass and drained half of it in one swallow. "He's officially insane because of the lycanthropy. All they have to prove is he's a danger to himself or others. He proved that last night."

"They just don't understand," Wilson said, nursing his glass. "All people have to do is not be asses. Is that so hard?"

"What do we do when we find him?" Chase asked. He knew it wasn't a question of if they'd find him. "How do we protect him?"

"Something will come up. I know it will."

-00000-

House felt something sting his shoulder. He stood up and shook himself off, pausing when the motion roiled his stomach again. He kept its contents down but only just. Cuddy was right, there was something nice about being out here alone in the wilds. Even if those wilds were just an overgrown park on the edge of the university. That spot stung again and he sat down to scratch with his hind leg. Ugh, it would be just his luck if he got fleas in his first hour of freedom.

He paused in his scratching. His fur stood on end and he didn't know why. Something was wrong here, very wrong. It almost felt like he was being…

Oh shit.

House got up and tried to run. There was a loud noise and he yelped at a stinging pain in his right side. He stumbled but managed to stay on four legs as he ran from something.

He had no idea what it was.

The park bordered an apartment complex. There was something familiar about these apartments. He ran for that familiarity, dodging cars on the street between him and what might be safety.

The stench of rot followed him, grew stronger. That thing was chasing him and it was gaining on him. There was an eerie malevolence to the stench…

A familiar smell wafted to his nose from one apartment. Two scents, two of the most beautiful scents he had ever smelled, tempted him to a single door.

He rammed bodily into that door, shrieking in pain as it held. He scratched at that door and barked, whined, begged, any noise he could think of that would identify him as harmless and needy to the inhabitants.

The stench enveloped him. He looked back, blue eyes wide with fear. Cold black eyes locked with his as sharp teeth bared in a leer of victory.

The door opened and House bolted inside.

"What the hell?" Taub shouted. "Get outta here!"

House collapsed on the floor of the living room. Taub, still dressed in that day's suit, held the door open. Foreman, in pajamas and a bathrobe, grabbed a broom and started brandishing it at the giant dog invading his apartment.

House didn't care. The stench wasn't following him. It was as though the air carrying it stopped at the threshold of the apartment. He yelped at the strike of the broom but made no motion to move from this spot.

"Don't hit it," Taub scolded.

"Well then you get it out of here," Foreman snapped.

House looked up at Taub with pleading eyes. He whined slightly with every exhale, a whimper of extreme pain from his leg and side and the terror of predator becoming prey.

"It has blue eyes," Taub marveled. "Think this is Talbot?"

House wagged his tail, a half-hearted thump.

"Of course not, the odds are stupid," Foreman said.

"Yeah but look at his eyes. How many dogs this big do you know with blue eyes?"

Foreman looked House in the eyes. House wagged his tail, all but begged his fellow to recognize the reality in front of him.

"It can't be Talbot," Foreman dismissed. "Service dogs aren't strays."

Taub let go of the door. It drifted closed on its own as he approached the giant dog sprawled on the living room floor. He knelt down beside it and fished around its neck for a collar. House rolled over onto his left side and looked pleadingly into Taub's eyes. Maybe he would be able to see…

Taub thought he recognized those eyes. It couldn't be; they reminded him of House's eyes. He shook his head and ran his hands down the dog's flank in a quick examination. He found the scarring on House's right thigh. "He can't be a stray, he's had surgery," Taub said. "I bet this hurts you, doesn't it?" he said, addressing the dog. Foreman scoffed.

And then they both stared when the dog closed its eyes and nodded solemnly and very blatantly.

"You understood what I said," Taub said.

House nodded again and thumped his tail.

"Coincidence," Foreman said. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

House turned onto his back and figured now was a good time. He reached in and tried to pull off his fur.

Taub shot back to press himself against the wall. He and Foreman stared as the dog changed shape, elongated in arm and leg, broadened in chest. For a moment it appeared as though a bipedal wolf, a werewolf, lay on their living room floor. Its forepaws turned to clawed hands as it grabbed at the fur on its chest and pulled. The fur parted, peeling away from human skin beneath.

Something was wrong. House's fur was not falling off the way it always did. It felt stuck, unyielding. It was like trying to pull a band-aid off of every inch of his body. His face twisted in pain as he peeled the wolf's snout off of his face.

"Oh my god," Taub whispered.

House sat up, still trying to peel the fur off of him. He grabbed the ruff on his neck and pulled. Something caught, his shoulder burned like he was pulling off his skin as well as his fur and he shrieked in pain. He let go of his fur and it snapped back around him, forcing him back into the wolf, back onto the floor. He panted in exertion and desperately tried to get his fellows to understand just how wrong things were.

"House really is a werewolf," Taub realized. He looked over at Foreman.

"No," Foreman said.

"But you just saw! Tell me you saw that!"

"I didn't see anything!" Foreman shouted. "That didn't just happen! That-that dog is not House, House is not a werewolf, and this is not happening!"

House made a murr sound and rolled away from Foreman. He covered his head with his paws and tried to hide.

"I'm calling animal control," Foreman said, pulling out his phone.

Taub jumped up and tried to grab it from him. "What are you gonna do, tell them that our boss is a werewolf and he's currently lying on the living room floor? Give me that!"

Foreman put the phone to his ear. It rang twice. "Hello?" asked the dispatcher.

Taub managed to snatch the phone. "Sorry, wrong number," he said and ended the call. "You're not calling animal control, that's our boss!"

"You deal with it then," Foreman snapped. "I need a drink." He grabbed a bottle from the kitchen and stomped off to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Taub leaned against the wall and sank to the floor. He stared at the werewolf in front of him, at his boss apparently trapped in the form of a wild animal. House looked at Taub with pleading, pain-filled eyes.

"What should I do?" Taub asked.

House prodded his nose toward the phone in Taub's hand.

"You want me to call someone?"

House nodded.

Taub prodded the phone into life and… had no idea what to do. "Who should I call?"

House glared and dropped his head to the floor in a defeated gesture. Morons, all of them.

Taub flipped through Foreman's work contacts, contemplating. Who on earth would know about this? Too many people had defended House and his right to work after being diagnosed with clinical lycanthropy. He guessed it wasn't just clinical, maybe it never had been. He looked at House, at the werewolf curled away from him on the floor in a good, long sulk. "House, when Wilson makes you 'play service dog' to the oncology ward, is he being literal?"

House uncurled enough to give Taub a tired, obvious look.

Taub groaned. Of course. He dialed Wilson's number.

"Hmm, what is it, Foreman?" Wilson answered. He sounded drunk or maybe post-drunk.

"Dr. Wilson," Taub said. "Why is it no one has ever seen House and Talbot in the same room?"

House wagged his tail. He'd taught his fellows well.

Wilson suddenly sounded very sober. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, one or maybe both of them is curled up on the living room floor in Foreman's apartment. That is, if you happen to know why they've never been photographed together…"

"I'm on my way." The phone went dead.

House dragged himself across the floor and laid his head in Taub's lap. He was rewarded with a hand scratching behind his ears.

-00000-

Wilson shot out of bed and stumbled into the hallway. He was halfway to the living room before he realized pants might be a good idea. He doubled back for clothes then paused at the sound of snoring from the couch. He kicked the couch a few times.

"Chase! Wake up, dammit!"

"Wha?" Chase asked, sleepily coming out of his drunken stupor.

"Taub found House, let's go!"

Chase rolled off the couch.

The drive there was faster than it should have been, made all the more reckless by the lack of cops along the route. "Door's open," came the shout from inside once they got to Foreman's apartment.

Inside they saw an utterly miserable looking wolf curled up on the floor. Its head lay in Taub's lap, ears calmly being scratched by a slightly shell-shocked Taub. "Does Chase know?" Taub asked.

"Yeah," Chase said. "I found him howling at the moon from the roof of the hospital once. It's very hard to mistake those eyes."

Taub nodded. "It is."

House looked up with bleary, pitiful eyes at the people around him. He thumped his tail, the most he could manage through the searing pain in his side, his thigh, his shoulder, everywhere just ached…

"Come on, House, let's get that fur off of you," Wilson said.

"But the full moon's up," Taub said. "He can't take it off, he already tried."

Wilson's blood ran cold. That… wasn't supposed to happen. It couldn't, he'd seen House take his fur off dozens of times, it always fell right off. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Taub described House's failed transformation. None of it struck any sort of chord with Wilson. He'd never seen a bipedal man-wolf outside of bad movies, it wasn't possible. "Something's wrong," Wilson concluded. "His fur usually comes right off, as easy as taking off a shirt. The fur just comes off and this human being stretches and uncurls and that's it. It's never been a slow process like that." Wilson turned his worry on House and stroked his fur. House turned onto his back for Wilson, humming as hands rubbed his chest and belly before grasping the crease at his chest. "You should step back," he told Taub. Once Taub was out of the way he pulled.

The fur stuck to House's skin like a sticky rubber catsuit. House's breathing grew labored with the pain, with the feeling that his skin was being stretched to the point of tearing as his body twisted and contorted into a half-human mockery covered in fur.

Wilson let go. The fur snapped back and House whimpered as the tearing stopped and left him with that bone-deep ache. His stomach protested and he groaned.

"We need to get him to the hospital," Chase said.

"And what are we going to do there?" Taub demanded.

"When he first tried to take it off you said his fur stuck to his shoulder worse than anywhere else? That is was so bad he screamed and let go?" Wilson asked.

"That's right," Taub said.

Wilson tossed Taub his keys. "You drive. We're going to the hospital."

Once there, Wilson buckled a service dog harness around House's chest and attached a leash. "Just act normal," he advised everyone. "Can you walk?"

House nodded. He could try…

Those fifty feet to the hospital entrance were a special torture. It wasn't the pain that House minded so much, it was something else. The full moon hung low in the western sky, taunting him for his domesticity. Worse, the stench was back. He looked around nervously, nose twitching as he tried to place a location for that thing with the cold black eyes.

"What is it?" Wilson asked.

House started dragging him toward the door. That thing was getting closer, he could feel it. It knew where he was, it could smell his fear as surely as he smelled its malevolence. He whined at the effort, whined to try and make Wilson understand there was something out there as they finally made it inside.

"Doggy!"

Wilson stopped the little girl from wrapping her arms around House. "You'd better not, Talbot isn't feeling very well tonight," he said.

"So this is Talbot," said a woman. Wilson figured she was the girl's mother. "Cindy, you can pet him later."

"But Aunt Sally," Cindy whined.

Hack. Hurk. Blort.

"Ewwww," Cindy said, all desire to pet Talbot forgotten as he vomited on the floor.

Wilson looked down at the puddle of clear bile. In it looked like a wad of grass and half a bug. "And why have you been eating grass?" Wilson asked.

House attempted to look less ill.

"You need a bath, Talbot," Wilson said, ruffling the fur behind his ears. "That's right, a bath. Then we'll see if we can't find out what's wrong with you." He motioned for a nurse to clean up the puddle and walked off toward the elevator.

"How come Wilson can treat him like a dog and no one else can?" Taub asked.

"You think Wilson does it to make up for House being an ass?" Chase countered.

"Maybe House is an ass to make up for this."

They both shrugged and followed.

-00000-

The locker room showers were as vacant as the hour suggested. Wilson led House into a shower stall and removed his harness.

"You're not really going to give him a bath, are you?" Chase asked. "How's that going to help?"

"Indirectly," Wilson said. He pulled a bottle of pills out of his jacket pocket, a prescription bottle made out to House. "Been a while, hasn't it?" he asked.

House's ears pricked up. He sat up straight, his tail wagged furiously, and he even started to drool. He gave a long shameless whimper of need.

"He's in withdrawals," Wilson explained, measuring out two pills. House licked them off of Wilson's hand almost lovingly, tail wagging with enough force to knock a man down. "Just because he doesn't look like himself right now doesn't mean he's not still an addict. We won't know what his real symptoms are until his withdrawals are dealt with. And the bath will warm him up and ease his pain until then." Wilson stood up and started to undress.

Two sets of human eyes stared at him like he had gone nuts.

"What?" Wilson asked.

"Why are you getting naked?" Taub asked.

Wilson stripped down to a pair of briefs and got in the shower with House. "Unless you want to give him a bath," he said. He turned on the water. "What, did you think he'd be able to do this himself?"

"I'm going to go over here," Taub said before heading out of the showers.

"I don't want to know," Chase agreed, following.

Wilson shrugged and got to work.

"This is insane," Taub said once he and Chase were on the other end of the locker room. "Not two hours ago my life was normal. My job was nuts, sure, but my life was perfectly non-supernatural and I liked it that way. What happened? Why us?"

"I like it," Chase admitted. "I like knowing that through all those years of having an open mind, of knowing there should be more than this, I was right. There is more. I wasn't just being a gullible moron. Yeah it's scary, hell I was scared shitless of House for weeks before I realized there was no reason to be. He just is, same as the rest of us." He finally realized Taub was staring at him like he'd gone insane. "And why do you think it's crazy?" he asked.

"Because it is!" Taub insisted. "Two hours ago I didn't have to know my boss puts on a wolf fur and runs around chasing rabbits or whatever in hell he was doing out there. I didn't have to know that that sweet, caring, Wilson-incarnated dog Talbot is in fact House and is that not the most stupidly ironic thing you've ever heard?"

Chase snickered, nodding. "I've never heard him called 'Wilson-incarnated' before. I usually hear more about how he pees on the shoes of nurses who insult him."

Taub snorted. "That sounds more like House."

A whoop of laughter from the showers caught their attention.

"I hope they're not…" Chase said, trailing off.

"Eww," Taub said, his mind jumping to an image. Bestiality was not his thing.

"Chase! Taub! I need a comb and some tweezers," Wilson shouted. "I think I found the problem."

"I'll get it," Taub said, running off.

Curiosity got the better of Chase and he wandered into the showers. He ignored the fact that Wilson's underwear had gone see-through and instead focused on the bedraggled werewolf. The water was still running and Wilson was not wasting any time in rinsing shampoo out of House's fur. House stood there taking it but clearly only under protest.

"What'd you find?" Chase asked.

"House has at least one tick," Wilson said, pointing out a dark lump in his fur around his shoulder. "Think about it, something burrows through both layers of skin to reach the blood underneath, suddenly attempting to pull the fur off involves a great deal more resistance. After I get that one off we need to check him over for any other ticks he may have picked up."

"What's this 'we'?" Chase asked.

Taub came in just then with a fine-toothed comb and a pair of forceps. Wilson finished rinsing House and turned the water off. He took the forceps and clamped them, pulled, and yanked a wiggling tick out of House's fur.

"Maybe I should just get some flea and tick medicine for you," Wilson said, amused.

House flicked his tail, water flying off of wet fur to splash Wilson. Wilson splashed back, laughing. House shook, sending water flying everywhere.

Taub and Chase quietly left with identical expressions of discomfort.

-00000-

"This is all your fault, you know that, right?" Wilson said.

Hmmph.

"Now my underwear is soaked through. If it doesn't dry I'll have to go without."

Snort. Leer.

"You're proud of yourself."

Wag wag wag. Yip.

The second year ER resident stood at the entrance to the showers. She was treated to the dubious sight of James Wilson, completely naked, combing the fur of that service dog Talbot. And it was somehow holding up its end of the conversation with a series of looks, sounds, and movements. The resident mouthed "Okay…" to no one and decided to rethink always being the first one ready each day.

-00000-

House's fur peeled away as though it were glued on. He grunted in discomfort as it was pulled off of sensitive areas by skilled hands, surgeon's hands. He stood with his hands braced against the wall as Chase and Wilson pulled his fur off of him.

It finally snapped off, leaving a sweaty and naked House to collapse onto the floor from the effort and the very long night. Wilson examined the fur; it was no different than it always had been. It was just a huge wolf's fur, expertly skinned and so very soft, warm as though it was just pulled from the animal. He guessed in a way it had been.

"I don't think the tick was the problem," House admitted.

"I can see that," Wilson said. "Stand up."

House glared at him.

"Your fur's off," Wilson explained. "Now I can examine you properly." He handed the fur to Chase.

"Damage it and I kill you," House said, a warning without malice. He stood up and let himself be examined. Hands ran all over him, up and down his legs, along his shoulders, over his hips. He felt odd, like he couldn't decide if he felt like a show dog or if he should be getting excited. Excitement won out when hands reached up to examine sensitive areas and he gave a barely restrained hiss. A disappointed growl escaped his throat when those hands stayed all-business and ran up his torso on all sides, stopping on the right side of his ribcage. His breath hitched in pain as those hands touched something that shouldn't be there, something painful.

"House…" Wilson said, deadly serious. "Were you shot last night?"

"I… don't know," House admitted. "I wouldn't be surprised. It sounded like a gunshot but it wasn't painful enough."

Chase looked closer at where Wilson's hands were touching some sort of nodules embedded beneath House's skin. "This doesn't look recent," he said. "There's no wound, no scarring at all."

"Maybe there wouldn't be," Wilson said. "He was wearing his fur at the time, maybe the scar is on there."

Chase combed his fingers through the wolf fur in his hands. It was feather-soft, warm, and took up a rather large amount of area. He ran his hands all up and down the right flank, feeling for something like a scar or a pock or a hole, anything…

"There's nothing there," he announced.

"Either way, this needs to come out," Wilson said. "Surgery?"

"Sounds like a plan."

-00000-

Chase sat in the conference room with a Petri dish full of little bone… beads. There was little else he could call them. Maybe they were shot pellets from a shotgun. Six bone beads, all the same size, all about 7 millimeters in diameter. There were marks over each of them as though they'd been carved. These didn't grow inside House, they were implanted there without leaving a mark.

He couldn't be sure without a DNA test but…

He thought the beads might have been carved from human bone.

Who would have done such a thing? How was this possible?

-00000-

"House! What are you doing here?"

House's plans to sniff around the entrance to the hospital for signs of the… something that was stalking him were derailed by Cuddy shouting at him from across the waiting room.

"I told you to take time off!" she shouted.

House planted his feet, took a deep breath, and shouted right back at her. "You told me to go run around in the woods like a wild animal! There are bugs and ticks out there and there's no food and it's cold."

The waiting room slowed its bustle ever so slightly to listen in as Cuddy stormed over to argue with House directly. "God, you're a wuss," she snapped.

"What did you expect? I'm just one werewolf." The bustle stopped dead.

Cuddy buried her face in one hand. "Why do I put up with you, House?" she demanded. "You're an ass, an embarrassment, and you almost killed a nurse not two nights ago!"

"If your idiots would do their jobs and not demean me to my face for their pitiful amusement I wouldn't have had reason to try biting anyone," House snapped, a low growl behind his voice. "Keep your idiots in line. Then maybe you wouldn't have to deal with any crazy from me." He turned on his heel to leave.

"Don't you dare turn your back on me!" Cuddy demanded.

"Then do your own job once in a while," House said. He stormed off toward the elevators, swiping his hand against a wall in anger. Witnesses would swear he only brushed his fingertips against the wall, nothing more. No one could explain the claw gouges in the plaster.

House's mood lasted while he growled to himself in the elevator, stomped down to his office, and threw his door open. He breezed past his fellows to the balcony door. He planted his hands on the balcony, arched back and howled at the world.

Foreman got up as soon as House took to the balcony. "Clinic," he mumbled, uncaring if anyone heard him as he grabbed his lab coat and left.

"What just happened?" Thirteen asked.

Taub shrugged. "Think he's okay?" he asked.

"Which one?" Chase asked. "I'll take House. Thirteen, you want to take Foreman?"

Thirteen nodded and left. Chase sighed before following House onto the balcony. He leaned on the railing next to House as the man finished the slow exhale of a howl. House panted for air, eyes clouded with fury.

"You okay?" Chase asked.

House growled a low warning. When Chase didn't go back inside he struck, a hand shooting out to grab Chase around the neck and bend him backwards.

Fear shot through Chase as he was bent back over the railing. He grasped at the hand holding him so close to falling. A low growl sounded from above him. He looked into the blue eyes of a predator and tried to calm his fear enough to do what he needed to do. He took a few deep breaths, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back to bare his throat.

Two hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back onto the balcony proper. Chase opened his eyes to see House standing over him, human only in form at the moment. Taub stared in terror from the conference room. Chase stood up and stumbled on shaky legs back to the safety of the office.

"I'm okay," he said. Behind him on the balcony House turned back to the world to howl.

"House almost threw you over the ledge," Taub whispered, terrified.

Chase shook his head. "He knows what he's doing. He wouldn't hurt any of us, not really. I need to sit down." Chase sat down, except there was no chair under him. Gravity had its way and he ended up sprawled on the floor.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Taub asked. "This isn't the first time."

"Nor the last," Chase admitted. "I'll be fine. It's not a big deal."

Taub remained unconvinced. On the balcony House arched back and howled again as the stench of rot wafted up from somewhere below.

-00000-

Foreman marched into Cuddy's office. His fear was only slightly masked by the fury and disgust he forced himself to feel.

"I know House just announced to the entire waiting room that he's a werewolf but there's nothing I can do about it!" Cuddy snapped, not even looking at whoever walked in.

"You can stop protecting him," Foreman said.

"No, I can't," Cuddy said, looking up. She sighed and scrubbed a hand over her face. "I can't stop protecting him and I can't explain why."

"He's not human anymore, you don't have to treat him like one," Foreman said.

"Wait, you know about House and Talbot?" Cuddy asked, surprised.

"I know that House isn't human anymore," Foreman said. "I know that House used to just be a danger to himself. Now he's a danger to everyone around him. He's a wild animal. You can't treat him like a human being and expect him not to go off on someone. At least when he was human he wouldn't actually try to kill anyone."

"I don't believe he'd kill anyone," Cuddy said. "I believe something's been going on these past few days but I don't honestly believe he'd kill anyone."

"Then you're a fool," Foreman said. He turned heel and walked out of Cuddy's office, leaving her to wonder.

Maybe Foreman was right, maybe she was being blinded by the attention that House was getting as Talbot. But she couldn't just get rid of him. He was too good at his job, both jobs. And the law didn't recognize 'being a werewolf' as a valid reason for firing someone. Besides, she didn't think she could live with herself if she fired him and House got hit by a car or shot as a dangerous animal or worse.

But Foreman was right about one thing. She was favoring House over the safety of the rest of her employees. Again. It wasn't a new thing but it was more dangerous this time around. She needed some way to keep tabs on him, to keep him from hurting anyone.

She called her assistant in. "Get me a list of all our security guards with concealed carry licenses," she ordered.

-00000-

Wilson sat at his desk, pen in hand and file open in front of him. He was supposed to be doing work, supposed to be reviewing the department budget. Instead his attention was busy with the man lazing on his couch.

House was having an exceedingly bad few days. He was losing control of his instincts. He was having trouble shifting forms. He was being stalked like a prey animal.

They had very little to go on about this… creature hunting him. Only a vague description, a very distinct scent, and the odd sense that whatever it was that hunted him somehow was both alive and dead. "Think it might be a vampire?" he asked.

"What about a vampire?" Wilson asked.

"Whatever's out there, maybe it's an Old World vampire," House said. "It has black eyes, it's half dead, it smells like a butcher's dumpster, and it runs faster than any human could."

There was a knock on the door. House turned his musings inward but made no move to get up.

Wilson sighed and got the door. A security guard stood there, someone he thought he might have seen around the ER a few times. "Can I help you?" Wilson asked.

"I've been assigned to watch Dr. House. For some reason Dr. Cuddy insisted I talk to you first, Dr. Wilson."

Wilson let him in and gestured to a chair. "You've been assigned to watch House," he said. "Did she tell you why?"

"I assume it's to watch him to make sure he doesn't go off on any more nurses."

House snorted. The guard jumped and spun around in his chair. "I, um…" He swallowed and tried again. "I didn't see you there, Dr. House."

"What's your name?" Wilson asked.

"Phil, sir. Phillip Ferguson."

Wilson looked past Phil to House. House shrugged apathetically. "But she never actually told you what you're supposed to be doing," Wilson said.

"No, sir. Just made sure I use my concealed carry permit and sent me up here."

"So you're armed," House said, lazy to the point of sounding drugged. "Ever had to use it?"

Phil twisted around in his seat, struck with the odd feeling that this was some sort of fucked-up job interview. "Not on duty," he admitted. "Worst I've had to do was show I had it. People get real respectful even if you never take it out of the holster."

"It's not worth respecting," House mused. "It's a tool, nothing more. There's no inherent power in owning a gun. Only in using it."

"With all due respect, sir, I disagree," Phil said.

House sat up, hunched down as though he were exceedingly tired. "I could have you on the floor long before you could pull your weapon," he murmured. "I could have you pissing your pants in fear using nothing more than my two hands. You wield, what, a 9 millimeter? I've been shot by those for shits and giggles."

"Oh," Phil said. He had nothing to say to that.

House leaned his head up, eyes closed. He sniffed the air in a visible way. "You're afraid," he said, opening his eyes to stare at Phil. "Protecting others is a secondary objective."

"House, are you sure?" Wilson asked.

House nodded. Wilson got up and closed the blinds. No one would see…

House stood up and slowly started getting undressed.

Phil turned away and looked pleadingly at Wilson. Wilson didn't seem fazed in the slightest by the sudden bout of naked. "Do I have to be here for this?" Phil asked.

House opened his backpack and pulled out his fur. He stroked it once to feel its softness tingle against his fingers.

"It'll make sense in a moment," Wilson said.

House threw his fur over himself.

"Absolutely nothing about this makes sense," Phil insisted.

House barked.

Phil jumped. Despite himself he turned to look.

House's clothes were piled on the floor, his cane propped up on the arm of the couch. But House wasn't there. Instead Talbot sat on the floor where House stood just moments before.

"Funny," Phil said. "So where's House?"

Wilson gestured over, encouraging Phil to look for himself.

Phil got up and looked around. The balcony door was untouched, the handle was still cold. House wasn't hiding under anything, he didn't leave, he just… wasn't… here?

Phil looked at Talbot again, the hairs on his neck standing on end as he realized…

"This is a trick," Phil said. "It's gotta be. Right?"

Talbot wandered over to Wilson and leaned bodily against him. Wilson had to take a step back as he was thrown off balance by 150 pounds of dire wolf. He scratched Talbot behind the ears.

"Not many people know where Talbot came from," Wilson said. "Protecting everyone else is your secondary objective. Protecting House is your job. There's something stalking him, something that scares the shit out of a werewolf. All he can do to express that fear is be even more of an ass than usual, to the point where people's lives are in danger. Yes, I'm willing to admit House could very easily kill someone."

"I can see that," Phil said, reality sinking in. He couldn't take his eyes off of House. Talbot cut an intimidating figure even without the added knowledge of who he really was. Somehow the impressive reputation of House merged with the giant wolf at Wilson's feet to create something larger than life, some mystic force that just shouldn't exist. "What's hunting him?"

Wilson and House shared a glance. "We don't know," Wilson admitted. "Whatever it is it's already staked out the hospital."

House reached in and pulled his fur off. It flowed off of him like water, dropping like removing a cape. "Whatever it is, I'm not much of a match for it," House admitted. "What chance do you think you have? You're just a human with shiny tools."

"I… I…" Phil had no words.

"Well?"

"I… don't know…"

House and Wilson exchanged a look. Only the slightest of nonverbal cues were necessary for them to come to an agreement.

"Tell Cuddy you'll do," Wilson said, returning to his desk. "And, House, get dressed."

House grumbled and started pulling on clothes. Phil stood confused for a moment before he realized no one was paying any attention to him. He left to go find Cuddy.

-00000-

Tiny hands and grasping fingers pulled at fur and tail as House lay in the middle of the floor. Wilson's cancer kids surrounded him, ecstatic that Talbot was here. Some days like today House would try to zone out on the floor and just let the kids lay on him like a big pillow. It helped him think.

Sort of. The harness was too tight and the room was too warm and there were always little hands trying to pet him and little voices demanding his attention. Normally it distracted him from having to think.

Nothing was distracting him tonight, not Wilson's reading of Jack and the Beanstalk, not three sets of hands trying to scratch him behind the ears, not the kid gripping his tail and waving it back and forth like he was trying to make it wag, not the kid trying to feed him the steamed carrots off the dinner trays. He was too busy going over possibilities in his mind.

What could possibly consider a werewolf prey? Werewolves were the apex predators of their environment. Wolves enjoyed the same position for the most part. Of course there were always bears to contend with. Maybe this was a werebear? House snorted, carrots scattering as the kid dropped them. Bears were not known for stinking of rot. No, bears stank of bear. House had never smelled a bear before, not really, yet even he knew that bears had a particular bear-smell.

Okay, so not a werebear. He was back to vampire, an old Romanian vampire from long before Bram Stoker made them sexy. An unlikely proposition. While the smell was correct Greek and Romanian vampires were known for having blue or very light grey eyes. House was more likely to be a Romanian vampire than this creature hunting him.

Maybe he was thinking too Eurocentric. Globalization was a force to be reckoned with in modern medicine as local diseases spread far and wide to new, vulnerable populations. People brought more than culture and cuisine with them when they emigrated, that was a fact. But how much more?

If this was some obscure monster from Siberia or something then House was in trouble.

"Talbot, are you okay?" asked one of the children scratching his ears.

Wilson stopped doing the voice of the goose and paused in his story. "What is it, Ruth?" he asked.

"Talbot's fur is all puffy," Ruth said. "An' he's gone all stiff."

House realized his fur was standing on end. And he realized why. The stench of rotting meat was wafting up, slowly drowning out the smell of poisoned children. He turned to look at the window.

Several of the children turned to look at what Talbot was seeing.

"Look, Dr. Wilson, there's a man outside!"

Something snapped in House as those cold black eyes stared at him. He was its intended target; that was certain. But it was here staring in at sickly children, the perfect prey for any predator. He bared his teeth and growled, a low threatening note that had children scooting away from him.

Those eyes had a face with skin that didn't seem to fit quite right. Cracked lips pulled back across pointed yellow teeth and exhaled a breath that didn't fog the glass.

House jumped off the floor and threw himself at the window with a blinding need to drive this thing away. He pulled himself up to the window with giant paws and snarled at the thing outside, barking to warn it away before it could even look at the children any longer.

The glass fogged from the inside with hot canine breath. House arched back and howled false bravado to drive away anything that might prey on the fragile children…

…who were huddled on the far side of the room with their orderly, Nurse Mitchell. House dropped to his paws as his own fear came crashing in on him and he limped over to huddle next to Wilson. He curled up small and whined at the thought of what had just happened, at what might have happened if that thing had gotten inside…

"Talbot," Wilson said, voice low as he sat on the floor. He wrapped his arms around the frightened werewolf. "House, what happened?"

Nurse Mitchell's eyes went wide. He looked from Wilson to House and tried not to believe it.

House pressed himself into Wilson's arms and whined. He hid his snout in Wilson's jacket and snuffed.

"There was a man outside," said one of the children, prompting the rest to chime in with what they saw.

"An' he looked mean."

"And he had black eyes."

"And big yellow teeth that went 'Grrrr!'"

"He was scary."

"Talbot was scary too."

"Talbot scared him away!"

Wilson looked down at the werewolf in his lap. House was hiding his snout in Wilson's jacket and whining on every exhale. His tail was wrapped between his legs and he was trying to make himself as small as possible. Wilson rubbed a gentle hand down House's flank and felt muscles shuddering in fright. "It's gone," he promised. "It's gone for now. You're safe."

House relaxed just a little bit.

An orderly, Nurse Stephanie, checked the window. She looked down five stories to the ground. "There's no balcony here," she marveled. "There couldn't have been anyone there. Your eyes must have been playing tricks on you."

"Nuh-uh!"

"He was there and he was scary!"

"Talbot saw him too, didn' he!"

"Talbot scared him away!"

"Well I don't believe anyone was there," Nurse Stephanie said.

"I do," Wilson said, low and quiet. House's tail uncurled from beneath him and wagged ever so slightly.

-00000-

Once the children were in bed Nurse Mitchell excused himself. He was determined to confirm his hunch before the opportunity passed. Wilson and Talbot were gone, probably heading toward their offices. Mitchell jogged down the nearly empty corridors listening for…

Yes! A one-sided conversation held with what everyone thought was a normal albeit giant dog. Mitchell turned the corner to find Wilson and Talbot at the other end of the corridor about to hit the elevators.

"If that's so then what are we going to do?" Wilson was asking.

Growl. Arf.

"Dr. Wilson!" Mitchell shouted down the corridor.

Wilson picked up his pace, trying to avoid the issue. "We need to discuss this later," he said, quieter now. Talbot loped alongside him, half-running to keep up.

They weren't going to stop, not unless… "Doctor House!"

Wilson froze. Talbot stopped then spun around with an almost comical look of total surprise.

A feeling of triumph surged through Nurse Mitchell. He'd finally done it. He'd outsmarted the smart guys. He'd cracked the mystery of where in hell Talbot came from.

Knowledge was powerful.

And now Wilson was swooping down on him. The power Mitchell felt dissolved at the look in the oncologist's eyes.

Wilson grabbed Mitchell by the arm. "Shut up and come with me," he hissed as he dragged Mitchell to the elevators.

Once at House's office Nurse Mitchell found himself thrown into a chair. All the blinds were closed, cutting off any sort of help that might come to Mitchell's rescue. It was the middle of the night and the departmental offices were all but deserted.

No one knew where he was. No one would come for him.

Fear left Mitchell shaking in his chair. Not fear of the werewolf, no, Talbot hadn't done anything even remotely threatening.

Fear of Wilson.

"Well?" Wilson asked, eyes narrowed in anger.

"Um… I…" Now that he'd done it confronting the two doctors about what he knew didn't seem like a good idea. He'd imagined being able to lord it over their heads, use it as vengeance for all the times Talbot had peed on him, maybe even blackmail. Not this.

Wilson had barely said anything and Nurse Mitchell wanted nothing more than to hide.

"You heard me call Dr. House by name," Wilson said. It wasn't phrased as a question or accusation, it merely was.

Mitchell took a deep breath. He wasn't really in danger, he couldn't be! This was Doctor Wilson. Caring Wilson. Understanding Wilson. The guy so nice he was friends with House. And Doctor House wasn't a danger, he was Talbot the service dog. There wasn't a note of danger here. "And what're you gonna do about it?" Mitchell snapped. "Threaten me? Fire me? The moment you try something I'm telling everyone. Starting with Doctor Cuddy."

Wilson's eyes grew cold as the heat of anger turned to ice. House puffed up as the hair on his back stood up and he growled, deep and threatening.

"And what're you gonna do to me, House?" Mitchell demanded, voice turning mocking. "Bite me? Bark at me? Piss on me again? You were afraid of a hallucination. The moment you try anything with me I will have your ass fired."

Wilson looked at House. House looked up at Wilson and grinned, an evil doggy grin. Wilson patted his head in approval. "Then be sure you tell Doctor Cuddy everything that happens tonight," Wilson said. He smiled a sweet grin of dark humor before he unhooked the harness that restrained House, switched off the lights, and turned to leave.

"You're not gonna leave me here!" Mitchell shouted. "He's a werewolf!"

Wilson turned, still smiling sweetly. "I know," he said smugly. "Remember to tell her everything." He shut the door. The blinds drifted shut behind him.

Mitchell looked down at House, panic rising. It didn't matter what his rational mind kept telling him about Talbot. This wasn't just a sweet service dog. This was a werewolf, a monster. And its handler was gone.

House stalked forward, a wolf studying its prey.

Mitchell screamed and scrambled out of the chair in an attempt to reach the door.

House lunged, throwing his entire weight into Mitchell's side. The human went rolling across the floor. House loped over, laughing to himself like this was some sort of game. He reared up and stomped his paws on the human's chest, knocking the wind out of him. Mitchell curled in on himself and gasped.

Suddenly the werewolf was gone. Mitchell turned over and tried to heave himself to his feet. The room swam and went fuzzy for a moment from panic and lack of air.

A hand grabbed the back of his neck. Human hands grabbed him and threw him onto the conference table. Papers slid everywhere as journals scattered. Mitchell looked up at his attacker and found the very human face of Doctor House growling down at him, blue eyes glowing in the dark like an animal's.

"Please, no," Mitchell whimpered.

House kept his bad leg out of reach of errant kicks. He was using the majority of his body weight and superior height to pin the nurse to the table. He placed a hand almost gently on Mitchell's neck and very slowly tightened his grip.

Mitchell whimpered and clamped his eyes shut. A tear slid down the side of his face.

House felt warmth around the vicinity of Mitchell's crotch.

The hand on his neck disappeared. Mitchell's eyes popped open.

"You pissed all over my conference table," House said, standing naked and unabashed.

"I-I'm not dead?" Mitchell asked.

"If I wanted to kill you then half this office would be painted in your blood by now," House warned. He picked up his fur, trusting in Mitchell's night-blind eyes to hide the action. "Clean up your urine before you leave." He stepped out onto the balcony and closed the door, hiding behind the shuttered blinds.

Mitchell scrambled out of the office, throwing himself out the door in a dead run. His ears were full of terrible sounds, the werewolf howling on the balcony and the mad laughter of its keeper.

Outside, House howled triumphantly at the world. Cuddy could suck him with her worries about what he might do. He'd handled himself well. He didn't get angry. He didn't have to injure the human. All he had to do was scare him. Howls turned into very human laughter carried away by an oddly foul wind.

House scratched at his arms as he itched for no reason. His celebration cut short as he became keenly aware that he was being watched.

He grabbed his fur and went inside.

-00000-

Late afternoon in the clinic was generally dominated by kids too sick for school and parents too busy to take time off of work. House trudged out of his third case of runny-nose-with-green-goo to slap the file onto the nurse's station. Nurse Joel had been replaced by someone else, some woman whose name House hadn't bothered to learn.

House grabbed the next file, a case of projectile… Oh joy. He limped heavily towards the waiting room, using his handicap to make it very clear to these idiots that he was only here because he had to be.

He didn't make it that far. Panic ran its icy fingers up his spine as he turned to face a pair of very familiar black eyes hidden by hat, scarf, and a long coat. The file fell out of his hands and he fled as fast as his bad leg could carry him.

It was here in the hospital. It was here!

He retreated to his office, ignoring questions from his fellows. He grabbed his backpack and hit the balcony. Wilson's office was dark but his balcony door was unlocked. Clothes came off and fur went on as he tried to think. Maybe he could hide out here until it was gone. Maybe it would leave on its own.

Maybe he could smell it coming down the corridor.

Oh hell…

He could hear it in the next room. He could hear it talking to his fellows, asking them where he'd gone. And he could hear their answer, the idiots.

"He's just next door."

House tried to take his fur off; he couldn't run down the corridors like this, naked was better than this. He couldn't even open the door.

His form stretched and distorted as something prevented his fur from coming off again. Come on, come on! He shouted, begged his fur to come off but all that came out was a strangled yelp.

It was stuck. He whined in despair as he found himself trapped in this man-wolf form for a moment…

And realized he had hands! He grabbed the door, twisted the handle, and pulled before his hands folded back into paws.

He bolted down the corridor right past his office and the monster within. It tore after him but he reached the open elevator first! House stood on his hind legs and pounded the 'close' button. The monster turned the corner and broke into a sprint.

The doors closed just as claws scraped steel.

House pressed the button for the ground floor. He sighed in relief and tried to take his fur off again. It was stuck much worse than before. He couldn't peel it off no matter how hard he pulled. He whined in pain as it dragged at his flesh and twisted him into a hideous hybrid shape. He let go, falling back to his haunches as his form shifted back to that of the wolf. The change was much slower this time, as though something was trying to keep him in hybrid form.

Ding. House padded out of the elevator, not sure what to do next. Maybe find Wilson? Or his security guy Phil. First thing he had to do was get out of this fur.

"Talbot?" asked a helpful voice. One of the nurses, Nurse Yvette. "Are you lost? Doctor Wilson's in the clinic."

The sound of a door slamming drove home the severity of his situation. The monster had followed him using the service stairs. House bolted as fast as his bad leg could carry him, weaving in and out between feet. He could smell the monster behind him growing ever closer.

Shrieks of surprise and outrage met the errant service dog as he bolted through the clinic floor like he owned the place. A well-placed kick made him swerve and slam into the side of the nurse's station. He yelped in pain as the unyielding desk wrenched his foreleg.

He could run on three legs but not on two. Fuck this, he thought as he reached in to pull off his fur.

Outrage turned to fear as Talbot shifted form, as the large dog grew larger, elongated, broadened…

Word spread like wildfire that the service dog Talbot was a werewolf.

House stood on his hind legs, trapped for now in hybrid form. He didn't care, it took the weight off of his sprained shoulder. He spotted the thing with black eyes through the crowd, moving through it like water through rocks. House snarled at it before loping off in a near-run.

He couldn't run on two legs. His thigh was on fire as he weaved unsteadily past the clinic into the administration corridors. Wilson couldn't save him, Phil the security guy was still in the clinic, his fellows had ratted him out…

There was no one who could save him. He had to save himself.

"Doctor House!"

House turned toward the familiar voice. Martha Masters was beckoning him into an office. House ran in and threw the door closed. He leaned back against the door and slid down against it as he fell onto four paws in a much more familiar form.

Masters watched as this man-wolf shifted back into the Talbot she'd known. She patted him on the head. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Something must be wrong or you wouldn't be tearing through the hospital like your tail was on fire."

House whimpered.

"D-doctor House?" asked a frightened voice.

They weren't alone. Masters was in here with some guy, a third year resident by the looks of him. House leered at Masters.

"We weren't doing anything," Masters defended. She turned to the guy. "And you can't say anything. No one would believe you anyway."

I hope, House thought.

"Doctor House, Doctor Wilson, please report to Doctor Cuddy's office." The PA announcement made House wince.

"You're in trouble," Masters said.

Right you are. House barked then whined as that stench hit the edge of his senses. It was going to find him, it was only a matter of time. And he still had no idea what to do about it.

The door vibrated in a massive thump as something slammed into it from the outside. House scampered away from the door as Masters shot out to lock it. The thing outside howled its annoyance and scraped at the door.

They were trapped.

-00000-

Wilson found the clinic in chaos.

Panic spread as talk of werewolves separated patients and staff into skeptics and believers, into those who thought it was cool, those who demanded the issue of silver bullets, and those who thought this was crazy. Shouts rose from all factions, calling for Wilson's attention. Talbot was an oncology dog, the oncologist would know about this.

Wilson sighed and sought out what looked like the most panicked individual in the crowd. He found Nurse Yvette crying hysterically.

"Where's Talbot?" Wilson demanded.

"I-I told him where to find… I said…" Nurse Yvette couldn't put together enough of a sentence to make sense.

"Where is he?" Wilson shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders.

"And-and then he changed! He got big and huge and he had fur and…" She gaped at him, eyes staring into nothing as her mind twisted the event and made her re-live it. She screamed.

Wilson slapped her.

"Doctor Wilson!" Shocked voices from all around scolded him for his actions.

Nurse Yvette looked Wilson in the eyes, lucidity somewhat returned.

"Where. Is. Talbot." Wilson asked very slowly.

"I sent him to the clinic," Yvette whispered. "He ran past. There was something chasing him. Oh God, that thing! That hideous thing!" She lapsed back into terrified screaming.

Wilson let her go, let her collapse back into screaming. He looked around the room, his eyes cold as he scanned for clues.

Not quite a clue but an ally nonetheless. "Doctor Cuddy!" he shouted.

Cuddy stormed over, her rant falling flat at the sobbing nurse on the floor. "What's with her?" she asked.

Wilson led Cuddy away. "Never mind her, come with me," he said. He led her past the clinic.

Factions thinned as they left the blast radius of the rumor mill. "Now will you tell me what's going on?" she demanded.

"House is being hunted by something," Wilson said. "We still don't know what. But if he's running through the clinic with his fur half on then something is very wrong."

"Hunted?" Cuddy asked, fear rising as she realized… "What could hunt a werewolf? Even a crippled one?"

"I just said we don't know!" Wilson shouted. He glanced toward the clinic and pulled her farther away from it, further out of earshot before continuing at a much quieter volume. "It's driving him nuts, making him act strange, even panicky. It's almost caught him at least once. This has been going on for weeks now." They headed toward the administration wing, no one was there to overhear at this time of day.

"Is that when he started acting weird?" Cuddy asked, making the connection. "Weirder than normal, I mean."

"Down to the day," Wilson said.

"Do we even know what it looks like?"

They turned a corner to the sound of claws dragged along a plaster wall. At the end of the corridor something dragged bone claws along the wall next to a single door. It bared sharp yellow teeth and hissed into the office beyond.

"That," Wilson said, venturing a guess.

Cold black eyes turned toward the two humans interrupting its hunt.

New quarry.

-00000-

House opened his eyes as the torturous sounds stopped. Masters was gripping him tight as he sat in her lap. Her companion had wedged himself under the desk, his mind slowly breaking.

"Scratching, scratching," he mumbled. His entire life had fallen away, leaving nothing but those long terrible minutes of scratching as the monster outside had decided it was a good idea to dig through the plaster wall with its bare claws.

"Shut up!" Masters snapped. "It's stopped!"

House whimpered. It wouldn't have stopped for long. No, it wanted him too much. It was willing to dig through a wall to get to him, it wasn't going to stop…

A scream sounded from the corridor.

House's fur stood on end and he snarled bloody murder at the sound of that scream. He reached in and grabbed for his fur, dragging his form into something with hands.

"House, no! It's still out there!"

House snapped his jaws at Masters for her words, unlocked the door, and threw it open.

He knew that scream.

The monster was down the corridor stalking new prey. Cuddy had run, leaving Wilson behind to fend off the monster alone. He had no weapon, no idea what this thing even was. It had him pinned against the wall, growling with a breath that smelled like the grave, nuzzling him with flesh that felt rubbery and loose. He whimpered as it ran a tongue that felt slimy and furry up his cheek and gagged as it blew a wretched puff of air in his face.

House howled a challenge in the tiny corridor.

Fear and relief licked at Wilson's mind as another monster challenged this one. House stood on hind legs and grasped at the air with massive clawed hands. Fur covered his entire body from broad shoulders to snarling maw to huge paws to his long lashing tail. This was the werewolf of nightmares.

"House," he whispered, voice raw from screaming.

The monster ran one long claw along the side of Wilson's face. Blood welled from the cut and gently dripped onto a starched white collar. The black eyed monster gazed at its bloody claw and licked it, savoring the taste.

House roared and charged.

The creature stepped forward, planted its feet, and swiped its claws, throwing the werewolf's charge. House yelped in pain and surprise as he was thrown against the wall. Perspective changed as he fell to all fours. He growled and leapt at the thing, tearing at its throat. It grabbed him and threw him off, down the corridor.

It glanced at Wilson, gracing him with a terrifying smirk. And then it followed its prey.

House dragged himself up, snarling at the creature. He felt something in him die at the thought if it even touching Wilson again. He would lead it away. Even if it killed him.

House howled a challenge and ran.

It followed.

-00000-

Masters pushed the door open. The… zombie? Whatever it was had run after House. She glanced up and down the corridor but saw only Wilson.

Oh my god. He was slumped on the floor, back propped up by the wall. Blood stained the side of his face and he looked like fear incarnated. "Doctor Wilson?" she asked.

"That thing… It's got House."

-00000-

Detective Patrick was ready to give up.

He'd collected about thirty-five useless statements from various nurses and even doctors about werewolves and zombies. He didn't even want to try getting any more but there was still this guy in the ER with a facial wound. He drew aside the privacy curtain to see a guy in a suit getting stitched up, a young woman next to him as the ER doctor worked. The facial wound was a long, very clean cut. There was no jaggedness to it; this was the work of a single stroke with a very sharp blade.

"And what can you tell me about the werewolf," Detective Patrick said, dull and bored.

"What they're all calling a werewolf is just Talbot," Wilson said dismissively. He preferred not lying to the cops, especially with Masters here, but it was necessary. "He's a giant service dog. People overreacted."

The ER doctor looked shocked. Wilson kept her quiet with a glare.

Detective Patrick perked up at this obvious bastion of sanity among hysterics. "So what happened?"

"Doctor House has been kidnapped," Wilson said bluntly.

"That's an interesting deviation from the rest of the statements I've been getting," Patrick said.

"The rest of the statements you've been getting have been about a werewolf being chased by a zombie or something," Wilson predicted. "The werewolf is Talbot, a service dog here at the hospital. He's about three feet at the shoulder. If he busts through the door and starts running from something chasing him you're not going to think he's just a dog."

"And the 'zombie'?"

"The 'zombie' was a guy wearing a trench coat and a hat," Wilson described, mixing reality with a fantasy the cops would believe. "He had bad teeth filed to points, black eyes, black hair, smelled disgusting, and wore metal caps on his fingers with blades in them. That's what did this." He pointed to the gash on the side of his face.

"He had lesions on his arms and face," Masters supplied. "They must have been infected. That would cause the smell."

"You saw this too?" Patrick asked.

Masters nodded. Her stomach was turning to knots and she felt like she was going to throw up but House's fate rested squarely on her ability to lie to the cops. She kept telling herself that he wouldn't believe the truth and then House would die. This was the only way.

"Doctor House hid out in an office and I was already in there because I was looking for some paperclips," Masters said. This is the only way. "He closed the door and locked it and he was really scared. Then the guy started trying to open the door. He used those little metal claws to scratch at the wall next to the door. Maybe he was trying to dig through the wall, maybe he was just trying to freak us out. And then it stopped and there was screaming and House went out there to confront the guy and it overpowered him." This is the only way. Ugh, I'm gonna hurl…

"Doctor Cuddy and I confronted the guy in the administration corridor," Wilson said, picking up the story Masters was weaving and expanding on it. "Cuddy ran and I tried to stop the guy. He shoved me against the wall and said he was going to make me scream. I spit in his face. He didn't hit me, I was surprised. Instead he took those metal claws and threatened to eviscerate me with them." Wilson showed a section of his shirt that was ripped open. There were light scratches underneath. "I think he was just toying with me. He was exceptionally strong. Doctor House is my friend, Officer. He's been coming to me with worries of being stalked by someone for the past few weeks, usually on hospital grounds. Phillip Ferguson was assigned to make sure House wasn't left alone while here. He was in the clinic where House was supposed to be."

"And if we speak to Phillip Ferguson?"

"He can tell you his assignment," Wilson said. "Doctor Robert Chase can also corroborate the fact that House has been stalked by someone lately."

"And why wasn't it ever reported?" Detective Patrick asked.

"He had no information other than 'someone's there,'" Wilson said. "He was hospitalized for vicodin-related hallucinations once and he had no hard evidence before today. Can you honestly say the department would have taken him seriously?"

"How was he overpowered?" Patrick asked, ignoring the very honest jab at procedure. The cops didn't have the time or resources to follow up on every nut-job's hunch. These times when the nut-job was right were just collateral damage. One less nut-job to cry wolf.

"House uses a cane," Masters said, her nausea under control. At least this was truth. "He has a hard time walking without it. He didn't have it with him when he was overpowered. Where is it anyway?"

"I have it," said a voice from outside the privacy curtain. Doctor Chase drew the curtain aside. In his hand he held House's cane.

"Is there any chance he might still be alive?" Masters asked, turning on the child-like innocence.

Detective Patrick was about to say 'no' but he couldn't do that to her. "We'll organize a search," he promised.

Masters nodded gratefully.

"Every minute…" Wilson said, consciously trailing off.

Detective Patrick excused himself to radio for a police dog for tracking.

Wilson sighed in relief. Of everything that had happened today at least the cops were taking this seriously. If there was any hope of finding House alive then every moment was precious.

Still, hope was cruel.

-00000-

The police finally left. The weight of the day dragged Wilson down into a seething morass of fury and fear. House was gone, kidnapped at best, already dead at worst, and there was little they could have done to stop it. All he wanted was to trudge back to his office, get his keys, and drown himself in the nearest bar he could find.

"Doctor Wilson!"

Wilson groaned at yet another person demanding his attention. He didn't even try to hide his anger as he turned to face this new annoyance. Nurse Danae paused in her tracks for a moment before the moment passed and she tried to drag him off of the clinic floor. He stood his ground as she pulled ineffectually at his arm.

"Doctor Wilson, you don't want to talk about this in public," Nurse Danae insisted.

"Nurse, what the public thinks is not my concern," Wilson snapped. He yanked his arm out of her grasp.

"It's about Talbot."

"I gathered that," he said bitterly. "Everything is about Talbot now. House is gone, kidnapped by that… thing and all you idiots can think is…" He stopped the rant before it got going as his eyes started to burn with tears.

"Look, I'm sorry about your friend but you have to admit it looks very strange when you consider your actions over…" Nurse Danae's face went from business to shock as she realized. "You knew! You knew all along!"

"Of course I knew!" The clinic floor stopped for a split second. The skeptics grew quiet as the factions of believers heard their fears realized.

"How could you?" Danae demanded. "Do you have any concept of the danger you put all those children in? What if Talbot bit one of them? What if he went berserk? That's a werewolf you allowed in there with those children!"

"That's a doctor I let in there with those kids!" Fury and stress combined to remove the process through which ideas were rated 'good'. "Of course I trusted him! How many service dogs understand why you tell them not to bite? Can you ask them if they understand? No! Why wouldn't I trust him when I can ask him and get real, actual answers? And he's not just some lay-idiot, he knows exactly what every diagnosis means and what's at stake! He's one of the few who can!"

"A doctor?" she asked. Her mind revisited interactions she'd had with Talbot back to the very first time she'd met him. The 'conversation' Wilson had with him, the excuses about his size and species she never got to hear, the vicodin she could have sworn Wilson gave him, the jagged scars on his right leg…

His right leg…

Oh my god…

"Remissions are up, morale is up, simply by being there he has saved lives." Wilson grabbed her by her arms and forced her to look at him. "Look me in the eye and tell me this was a bad idea," he challenged. "People are alive because he was there for them. In six months the only incident you can cite was caused by something trying to kill him. If you were chased by death incarnate you'd panic too. So look me in the eyes and tell me this was a bad idea. Tell me this wasn't the best idea. Tell me and mean it. If you can."

"But he's…" She couldn't say it.

"No 'but's, tell me. If you can't tell me this was a bad idea then you don't have the right to judge." He waited long enough to realize she wasn't going to say anything. She wasn't going to admit defeat and she wasn't going to try and tell him he'd been wrong. He let go of her in disgust and stormed off to the elevators.

Nurse Danae stood in the middle of the clinic as volume slowly began to return.

-00000-

Wilson almost didn't do it. What he wanted was to get his keys and fuck the world as he hit a bar, aided in the search, conducted his own, did something to try and find House before it was too late. Instead he found himself in the oncology ward. There were people here who deserved to learn some semblance of the truth before the rumors tainted their memories. He took a deep breath and prepared to face the children.

"Doctor Wilson!"

"Hi…"

"Where's Talbot?"

"I heard Mommy talking about Talbot."

"Daddy said he saw Talbot turn into a monster."

"Doctor Wilson, are you okay?"

"Doctor Wilson, you gots a boo-boo. Does it hurt?"

Questions bombarded him from all sides, many confirming his worst fears. Rumors of Talbot being a werewolf had indeed circulated the hospital far enough to reach the children. He sighed and almost fell into the story chair.

"Are you gonna tell us a story?" asked one boy.

"Story?"

"Story! Please, Doctor Wilson, just until Talbot comes."

Wilson shook his head. "Talbot isn't coming tonight," he said sadly. Dozens of questioning eyes stared at him.

"Why not?"

"Is he sick?"

"Did he turn into a man and run away?"

Wilson took a deep breath. Someone needed to tell the children. "Talbot was kidnapped," he said.

Gasps rang out all around him. A little girl in the back started to cry.

"A bad man came into the hospital today," Wilson said, spinning it into a story the children might understand. "This bad man wanted to kidnap Talbot. Talbot led the bad man away from everyone in the hospital and then tried to hide. But we all knew Talbot was in trouble so I went looking for him. I found the bad man searching for him and he was willing to hurt me to get Talbot. I wouldn't tell the bad man where Talbot was but he…" Wilson sighed and turned to try and hide his injury from the children. "Talbot could hear that I was in trouble. So he came out of hiding and tried to keep the bad man from hurting me anymore. And then he ran so the bad man would chase him. You know how much running hurts him and he ran as fast as he could. But the bad man caught Talbot and now he's been kidnapped."

As Wilson spoke his voice lost volume, grew softer under its grief. The children fought not to cry so they wouldn't drown out his voice.

"The police are out looking for the bad man," Wilson continued. He wiped tears from his eyes as he spoke. "They're trying to find that bad man so they can save Talbot. I know they'll try their best to rescue him. He wanted so much to see you all tonight…" A sob broke out of Wilson and he found himself on the floor surrounded by a giant group hug of children. He loved them all like they were his own but House was more important than this, than any of this.

He'd give anything to save House from that monster.

-00000-

House opened his eyes to Hell.

He was stretched on a St. Andrews cross, hands and feet shackled with thick leather restraints. His thigh and shoulder were on fire from the exertion of the capture and the scratches on his back weren't feeling much better. The room was dark and stifling, thick with the smell of mold and decay. A basement somewhere. A small table was set up nearby; candles glinted soft light off of the pitch black edge of an obsidian knife.

"You're awake," hissed a voice from the shadows. The stench of rot stung House's nostrils as he fought his gag reflex. And then he forgot the smell entirely as the creature stepped into the meager candlelight.

It was once a man, maybe. Its skin hung in all the wrong places, pale with death. Red-black patches of rot attested to the dead nature of the creature but it didn't move like a dead thing. It had a disgusting grace about it; the muscles visible through rotten holes were fresh, alive, and very powerful. Long bone claws jutted through its fingertips. It grinned with teeth filed to sharp points. Stringy black hair hung limp and oily to its elbows and its cold black eyes pierced the soul.

House fancied it could hear his thoughts through those eyes. He dismissed it as a stupid idea.

"I don't think it's a stupid idea," the creature said, answering House's thoughts directly. It stalked closer, sauntering up to gently scrape its claws along the living skin of its victim. "I will enjoy wearing a living skin for once. I've never tracked a creature such as you."

House was barely able to manage an irritated glare.

"You're curious about the one I'm wearing, aren't you? I can tell."

House turned away, unwilling to answer.

"I can see inside your mind. I've known you long enough, Gregory House. You made a mistake when you locked eyes with me outside the dwelling of the two men. I knew then that I would have your skins. Your fear is delicious, by the way."

House growled. He received a slap across the face for his efforts.

"Does a rabbit defy you once you have it cornered?" the creature asked.

"It does," House stated.

It grabbed his face and forced him to look into its cold black eyes, the only points of life in the entire figure of death.

"Then I will enjoy your defiance," it said.

House screamed.

-00000-

The tracker raced after the scent, his bloodhound following that invisible trail that its handler could never see. The dog was getting tired as hours and miles stretched far into the night.

Not too far away a scream rose into the night air. The dog barked and raced toward the sound of terror, towards the end of the trail.

It sniffed at the basement window of a condemned building on the wrong side of town. The bloodhound wiggled in glee as its handler praised it and radioed for backup.

"Two minutes," came the reply as sirens sounded in the distance.

The tracker wasn't sure this guy had two minutes.

-00000-

"I haven't even done anything to you yet!" It clasped a clawed hand over the wooden handle of the obsidian knife. It admired the play of light along the finest of edges then pressed the blade against House's chest.

House snarled a last-ditch warning. This creature did not appreciate pleas for mercy or the sanctity of life. It only appreciated strength.

His final act of defiance failed him as the impossibly sharp knife sliced into his skin starting at his clavicle. The blade was lovingly drawn down his sternum, gently scoring his abdomen before ending right above his groin. Pain blossomed but then vanished in terror as he realized…

He was going to be skinned alive.

"You have to be alive for the whole process," it said conversationally. "It's the only way I'll be able to take advantage of that lovely werewolf fur of yours. Of course, if you die I'll still have your skin. I will enjoy wearing your skins, Doctor House."

There was a faint pounding on the door above. "Police! Open up! K-9 unit, you will be bit!"

The creature snarled. House shouted for help, trying to draw them down here into this dark basement.

A crash above announced their entry. The creature grabbed House by the hair. "If I kill you then I lose your fur," it mused, whispering into his ear. "If I stay to skin you, they'll chase me away and you'll likely die. If I leave you here, well, they can't protect you forever." It licked the side of his face, a disgusting slimy, furry feeling with a stench of rot that made House gag.

The barking of dogs signaled they'd found the hidden door to the basement. The creature hissed and scrambled through a window out into the night.

The basement door burst open. "Down here!" House shouted, voice raspy and hoarse from his ordeal.

Never before had a cop been such a pretty sight. His vision went dark as he passed out.

-00000-

Eyes opened, bleary and exhausted, to a too-bright room and people surrounding his bed. House tried to sit up, hissed when the movement pulled at the stitches down his front. "Did they kill it?" he asked.

House was in a room at the hospital, post-surgery recovery. The cut bisecting his torso had been stitched back together, likely to scar as a horrid reminder of that night. His sprained shoulder was wrapped in a compression bandage. His fur was draped over a chair, lovingly rescued from the monster's basement and purposefully laid out where he could see it.

Wilson and Cuddy exchanged glances from either side of the bed. Chase stood at the foot of the bed. Thirteen stood against the wall, casting wary glances at the boss she thought she knew. Taub was looking at House's chart with a slightly nauseous expression. Even Foreman was watching from outside the door along with what must have been half the nursing staff.

"They couldn't stop it," Wilson admitted. "It ran away. They couldn't even slow it down; it was like they were shooting blanks. Half their guns jammed the first time they tried to fire and the rest didn't seem to have any affect. It even killed one of the police dogs they sent after it. Just… one swipe and the dog was dead. What is this thing?"

"I think I know."

-00000-

"It's a skinwalker," House announced. He'd discharged himself to his office against doctor's orders. Wilson and Phil were hanging around to keep an eye on him, to make sure he wasn't attacked again. His team was shooed off to spend the day anywhere but here to keep them out of the way.

"What's a skinwalker?" Phil asked.

"It's a type of Navajo witch," House explained. "It wears the skins of its victims to assume their identities, usually a wild animal like a bear or a mountain lion, often a human."

"Or a wolf," Wilson ventured.

House glared at him. "That's different and you know it," he snapped. "This is mine. I didn't steal it."

"Fine, fine," Wilson said. "What about the skinwalker?"

"Its plan was to skin me alive and wear me like a suit," House said. "I had to be alive for the whole skinning process or my skin wouldn't be alive. If my skin wasn't alive then it couldn't wear my fur. That's what it wants, to be able to wear my fur and switch between my two forms."

"How do you know?" Phil asked.

"It told me."

"Oh…."

"What do we do now?" Wilson asked.

"Skinwalkers are hard to kill," House admitted. He gestured to his computer. "Research is difficult because the Navajo don't like telling outsiders about their monsters. It might make them targets of those monsters."

"So what's a Navajo skinwalker doing here in New Jersey?" Wilson asked.

"Why's a Germanic-style werewolf running around Princeton?" House asked, referencing himself. "Globalization is a wonderful thing. Cultures mingle and expand and they bring their monsters with them."

"That is not a comforting thought," Phil admitted.

"No it isn't," House agreed. "But at least there's one known way to kill a skinwalker. Phil, I'll need your gun."

Phil took out his pistol and handed it to House. House limped over to the conference table and started taking the bullets out.

"What are you going to do?" Wilson asked.

"I'll need a stack of white candles, sage, a clay bowl, some rosemary, a pine twig, a bunch of dried sage, a lighter, some cigarettes, and a big black cloth."

"Do you need a cauldron and broomstick?" Wilson asked, only somewhat mocking.

House glared. "And some pressed charcoal," he amended, unamused. He continued glaring until both men left.

"Wait, magic works?" Phil asked as he and Wilson hurried off to find these various objects.

"I have no idea," Wilson said. "It's easier to just not argue."

-00000-

House's office was transformed. The blinds were closed to block off the sun and the stares of bystanders. The lights were off, the room dark save for the burning candles scattered all around. A black cloth was draped over the conference table to turn it into some sort of black altar. A ceramic mortar and pestle 'borrowed' from the labs sat on the cloth surrounded by various piles of herbs and plants and a clip's worth of bullets.

House easily recognized the herbs; most of them were various spice blends out of Wilson's pantry. The plants were plucked from local landscaping, the cloth looked like bargain-bin Halloween, and the candles were bulk from a craft store.

House shook a cigarette out of the half-empty pack he'd scrounged and lit it.

It was a good thing none of these trappings were strictly necessary. It was mostly for show, for the benefit of the two people watching.

"I hope you're not planning on smoking all of them," Wilson scolded. He'd stolen House's comfy chair and was trying not to look too interested. Phil stood in the corner trying to not be noticed as he watched with equal parts wonder and fear.

"Don't need to," House said. He inhaled deeply, eyes drifting closed as the drugs altered his thought patterns in just the right way… "If I take too much it won't work right."

Wilson didn't know what to make of that. House was known for his flair for the dramatic but exactly how much of this was drama and how much was real?

House lit a bundle of sage and blew out the flame, coaxing the embers to smoke. He tossed the smoldering bunch to Wilson.

Wilson squeaked, juggling the burning bundle of sticks until he could hold onto it without getting scorched. He then leveled House with an epic glare.

"I need you to smudge that all over the room," House said, waving in a dismissive gesture.

"What?"

"Wave the smoke all around the walls."

Wilson looked down at this smoldering pile of gray-green sticks. Then he looked back at House like he was nuts. "And this is supposed to do something?" he asked.

House stared, not giving anything away.

Wilson grumbled and started waving sticks around, feeling like an idiot. "You're the one who's done this before, you'd better know what you're doing," he said, still not quite sure what to make of the whole setup.

"Wait, you've done this before?" Phil asked.

"Well, not this," House said, waving his hands in a grand gesture. He took another deep drag on the cigarette and flicked the ash into the mortar. He smoked a second, then a third while waiting for Wilson to smudge the room. By the third there was a respectable amount of ash in the mortar, the butts flicked off to litter the carpet. He felt calm, odd, like the last time he'd done something like this…

Last time there had been a baby on the brink of death. He'd stood there passing herbs and holding a bowl of water, stoned out of his mind on tobacco and salvia while the little old lady chanted in Spanish and worked her magic. An egg was rubbed over the baby then broken into the bowl so they all could see the evil black rot pulled out of the child who started to breathe again…

He needed more ashes. House picked up a twig of pine and lit it in the flame of a candle. He dropped it into the mortar to burn. A few dashes of some powder that smelled like poultry seasoning went in next. The dust caught fire with a flash, a sparking fire jumping above the mortar just long enough to startle observers.

When the fire had burned down to a few little coals House picked up the pestle and started grinding, breaking down the ashes into a fine gray powder. Once the ashes were pulverized and the mortar was cold he added the bullets one by one and stirred them around.

This is all the internet said he needed to do, dip the bullets in ash to kill the skinwalker. Maybe there was a Sing related to the ritual. Maybe it really was just this simple.

He didn't believe it really was this simple. "Death for the dead," he mumbled, saying what came to mind. He picked up the first bullet by its casing and drew on it with a stick of pressed charcoal, the tiniest flick of a rune inscribed. One by one the bullets were marked and put back into the clip.

House loaded the gun and cocked a bullet in the chamber. "Let it come," he said. "I am no one's prey."

-00000-

It was quitting time and House's team needed to get their stuff from the diagnostics office before they could leave. Chase carried a couple of files, interesting cases that might make House feel better. Foreman hung back to try and keep the crazy at bay.

This whole thing was insane. House was a werewolf. The insanity of it boggled his mind. Worse, the whole hospital knew Talbot was a werewolf as well. More and more people were making the connection between the two. House's personality remained the biggest obstacle to acceptance of this new crazy. Reality didn't even enter into people's minds. No one questioned whether or not werewolves were real anymore.

No one except Foreman. He was the only bastion of rationality and reality left in this forsaken hospital. The only one willing to separate fact from fiction.

The only one too stubborn to believe his own eyes.

"Stop it," Taub snapped in a quiet murmur. "I know what you're thinking and just stop it. You have to accept it."

"I don't have to accept anything," Foreman said. "House is not a werewolf."

"I heard about that," Thirteen said. "I wasn't sure whether to believe it or not."

"How can you even think of believing it?" Foreman demanded.

"Our boss is a werewolf," Taub said. "It's true. Get over it."

"Werewolves don't exist!"

"So everyone in the hospital had a mass hallucination that made us all think Talbot turned into the wolfman and was chased by a zombie?" Thirteen asked.

"'You should learn the difference between empiricism and stubbornness, Doctor'," Taub said, imitating Spock with a highly obscure Star Trek quote. He was disappointed when no one got the reference.

The diagnostics office smelled like smoke and herbs. A few candle stubs were still burning pitifully around the room. Conversation went silent as they all got the weird feeling that something had happened here, something they hadn't been allowed to witness. A human femur stolen from the forensics lab was sitting on House's desk. House had his eyes closed as he intently listened to his own chest with a stethoscope. His shirt was open and the terrible gash bisecting his torso was plainly visible. Worse, it showed no sign of healing and every sign of still being incredibly painful.

"I found some cases you might like," Chase offered, holding up the files.

House held up a finger for silence as he searched for…

There it was. Damn. The normal heart sounds were muddled, stuttered. This was a bad sign.

He took the stethoscope out and opened his eyes.

"What's the, ah, bone for?" Taub asked.

House looked at all of his fellows in turn. Chase looked hopeful and helpful, an eager little puppy. Taub appeared nervous as his mind reconciled all it knew with its new reality. Thirteen stayed in back, reserving judgement. The disdainful look had yet to leave Foreman's face since that night House had barreled into the man's apartment and destroyed his delicate balance of logic. "I'm being hunted by a skinwalker," he said, going for the direct route. "It uses a variety of tools to terrorize its victims before killing them. One of these is powdered bone rubbed under the skin. It inhibits wound healing and causes heart failure.

"Like attracts like, one of the fundamental rules of magic." House picked up the femur and rubbed it on his forearm. Pain lanced through his arm as tiny shards of bone, sharp as glass, tore through his flesh to imbed themselves in the femur. He held up the femur to show them the shards pulled out of his arm as he began to bleed.

Foreman's look of disdain turned to disgust while the others just looked shocked.

"Am I offending your sensibilities, Foreman?" House mocked. "You don't believe any of this, fine." He pointed to his bisecting wound. "Is this gone yet?" He held up the femur to show the bloodied shards. "Are these gone yet?" He threw everything to the table and grabbed his fur from his backpack, holding it up for all to see. "How about this? Is this gone?" He dropped his fur on the desk and glared. "Reality doesn't go away when you stop believing in it. So, are they gone? Has order been restored? Are you the only sane person left in a world of crazy? Or might you just be wrong again?"

The three other fellows surreptitiously moved away from Foreman, leaving him alone in facing House's ire.

"If you can't even tell what's real and what's not then you have no place in this office, in this specialty, or in this profession," House said, a finishing move to end all argument. "What's more important to you? Your delusions or your life?"

Foreman couldn't find anything to say. Instead he left, slamming the glass door behind him hard enough to crack it.

"A skinwalker, huh?" Chase asked, trying to distract them all from what just happened.

"Foreman just got fired and you're-" Thirteen started to protest but was cut off by the warning look Chase shot her way. She looked to Taub for support. He just shook his head.

House nodded. "So if I show up in a few days with black eyes and a voice that makes you want to scream, I suggest running."

"Is there… any way to stop it?" Taub asked.

House shrugged. He had an idea but still didn't know if it would work. "It needs me alive so at least I have that. Of course, alive can be a relative and very temporary thing."

Chase went into a clinical mindset, a defense mechanism to shield him from another death close to him. He picked up the stethoscope and checked House's heart sounds. "Heart failure," he confirmed. "How long have you had it?"

"Two weeks," House said, deadpanned.

"This sounds like years of damage," Chase marveled before the question of timing worried at him. "You were kidnapped a week ago."

"Blow the powder into the wind," House explained. "It's incredibly itchy. Let the victim scratch it into the skin before they realize what's going on."

"Isn't that kind of risky?"

House shrugged. "Previous attempt had been shooting me with bone beads. Tradition dictates the skinwalker use a blowgun but shotguns work just as well."

Chase knew exactly what House was referencing. "Oh…"

"You have a plan, don't you?" Thirteen asked. "You always have some plan."

"He's got a plan," said a voice from the back of the office. The fellows looked up at a security guard they hadn't even bothered to notice.

"I've got a plan," House confirmed.

-00000-

The clinic was loud and annoying as Wilson tried to ward off a migraine between patients. He'd just had three children in succession that would not stop crying. One of them wasn't even sick, the father had come in for a flu shot. Wilson leaned on the nurse's station and massaged his poor head.

The clinic doors opened again. Wilson groaned at the case load and snatched up a new file.

A dog howled.

Wait, what?

Wilson turned to the newest clinic patient, a blind man with a guide dog. The dog was whining and howling as it tried to drag its charge out of the hospital.

That was… odd. Wilson forgot his headache for a moment as he actually looked at the scene in the waiting room.

Six fussy, frightened children with short-tempered parents. Four adults hid behind old magazines, refusing to even look up. One guide dog who acted like the hospital was on fire. A baby crying regardless of what the frazzled mother tried to do. One calm man in a hat, a scarf, and a long coat. Wilson raked his eyes over the crowd, trying to figure out what was wrong here…

The man in the hat looked straight at Wilson.

His migraine flared as Wilson felt his heart plunged into ice water. He looked away quickly, away from the skinwalker. He put the file down and rushed off to Cuddy's office, terror at his heels.

He threw the door open then braced it shut with his body as though that was enough to protect them. "It's here," he gasped.

Cuddy looked up from her paperwork. She fixed Wilson with an unimpressed glare in an attempt to get more information out of him.

"The skinwalker, it's here," Wilson said, trying to convey the gravity of the situation.

"The what?"

"The thing that's hunting House!"

"Oh," she said. Wilson's fear was becoming contagious. "Here at the hospital?"

"No, at the stadium. Of course here at the hospital! And it knows that we know it's here."

Cuddy picked up the phone and dialed the police.

-00000-

The children's oncology ward was alive with activity. Those children who still could were in the playroom surrounded by books and toys. These were largely ignored as one girl was telling a story about how a brave dog Talbot was kidnapped and somehow rescued a doctor, pulled three kittens out of trees, and saved the world.

Nurse Stephanie was one of the few people who didn't believe the rumors. Talk about how Talbot turned halfway into a man was silly exaggeration and fairy tales. Trying to link the service dog to crazy Doctor House was just fantasy. At least to House's credit he didn't seem to be using this generally accepted fantasy to his advantage.

A draft of cold, foul wind caused her to shiver. She checked the windows before remembering they didn't open. She looked up to find a tall man at the door. She didn't recognize him; there was very little to recognize under that hat, scarf, long coat, and leather gloves. "May I help you?" she asked.

"I am here to see…" He scanned the room with eerie black eyes as if looking for something. The little girl telling the story looked up at him. She whimpered, her story lost mid-sentence. "Ruth. She's my… niece."

Nurse Stephanie didn't trust this man. There was something odd about him, something terrible. "I…"

He stared into her eyes.

She nodded as if in a trance.

"Come with me, Ruth," he said.

"No!" Ruth shouted.

The skinwalker reached over and calmly picked up the little girl. She kicked and screamed as he carried her out of the room.

Nurse Stephanie stood in the middle of the room, her mind screaming at her to move, to do anything.

And then the trance broke. She grabbed the ward's phone and dialed Doctor Wilson.

"Kinda busy," Wilson answered.

"Doctor Wilson, something just came in here and kidnapped one of the children!"

"Black eyes, scarf, trench coat, smells like the dead?" Wilson demanded, rattling off its description.

"Yes!"

"Oh god…" He hung up on her.

Nurse Stephanie collapsed to the floor in terrified silence. How could she have let this happen?

-00000-

"The hospital is in lockdown. We may have a hostage situation. Stay where you are while law enforcement handles the situation. Please stay calm."

Cuddy's voice over the PA did nothing to calm frazzled nerves as the police set up a base of operations in the lobby and a swat team began a floor-by-floor search of the hospital.

In the diagnostics office House shuddered and hoped. He wasn't ready, he wasn't sure his information was correct, he never wanted to face this thing again. All sorts of excuses filtered through his consciousness.

Chase and Thirteen looked up from their work to stare at House, Taub did not. Phil stood in the background, dreading this day just as much as House.

"I guess it's here," Chase said.

House gave him an annoyed look.

"Remember the plan," Phil said.

"Do not shoot if the skinwalker has a hostage," House said, reiterating a point he felt Phil needed to remember. "If you do the hostage will die."

"But if I don't…" Phil said, trailing off.

"Shut up," House snapped. He knew what Phil was going to say. The skinwalker was here to kill him; he wasn't going to be responsible for anyone else dying if he could prevent it.

"Your plan's simple," Chase said. "It'll work." His was the voice of the convinced. He had no doubt that by this time tomorrow they'd be trying to find some weird half-magic way to remove the rest of that bone dust so they could get on with treating the resulting heart failure.

Thirteen looked much less certain. She dreaded what tomorrow might bring, whether the next time they saw him he'd still have those bright blue eyes. She'd never even seen the skinwalker yet she knew she'd be seeing it in nightmares for a very long time.

Taub read the same page of notes for the third time before giving up. He sighed and put the file down. "You'll be fine," he said. Too much had happened in such a short while for him to believe otherwise. "Doing weird bullshit to put yourself in danger? You do it all the time. This is no different. You'll be fine."

House had to believe it. But he couldn't. This time was too different.

-00000-

The elevator opened to an empty floor. The clinic was devoid of patients, no nurses ran back and forth between crises, the ER was just finishing their transfer of patients out of harm's way. The only life on this floor came from nurses hiding out, eyes peeking nervously out of hospital rooms and around desks.

Cuddy's office and the surrounding areas were full of chaos. Chief Williams of Princeton police was directing forces through his radio in the makeshift headquarters set up in and around the lobby. This perp had previously busted out of a police blockade and bested three K-9 units, killing one of the dogs and injuring another pretty bad.

And he'd been on foot at the time.

Williams was not going to make the same mistakes again, not with a hostage involved. A swat team was searching the hospital floor by floor and snipers were setting up around the interior balconies with views of the elevators and all stairwells. At least one sniper was set up outside.

This guy was not getting away this time.

Ding.

Two people stood in the elevator, a terrified little girl and a nondescript man in a hat and long coat.

"Let the girl go," Chief Williams warned. "Let her go and you won't be harmed. We can talk about this."

The skinwalker splayed bone claws and held Ruth closer. It gripped her hospital gown with its claws, easily slicing through the fabric. Ruth whimpered.

"It's going to be okay, honey," Cuddy called.

"I'm scared," Ruth whined.

The skinwalker hissed at her in a parody of paternal comfort. She looked up at it and it caught her eyes. "You will stand there," it said, a statement more than a command. And then it let her go.

"Ruth, come on, run!" Wilson shouted. "Please, Ruth, run away!"

Instead she stood there and stared up at the cold black eyes that held her still in terror. The skinwalker dropped its long coat and wrapped its claws back around her before looking away to release her.

Ruth shook herself out of its control and started to cry. It patted her head, harsh pats that made a mockery of the comfort its movements emulated. When she only cried harder the skinwalker took off its hat and dropped it on her head. It grinned at her and lifted her into its arms.

Ruth squirmed. A litany of 'let me go's spilled from her lips as it carried her to an open spot, a podium for its demands. It put her down, ignoring tiny fists pounding at its limbs. "Tell the werewolf to put on his fur and give himself to me or the girl dies," the skinwalker hissed.

Ruth whimpered in fear.

"Sniper one, take the shot!"

There was an expectant pause. Over the radio there was a bout of swearing about a jammed gun.

"Sniper two, take the shot!" Chief Williams snapped.

The sound of glass shattering punctuated screams as a gun was fired. It hit its mark.

The skinwalker bowed to the side with the force of the blow. Its eyes closed as its neck went limp. And then it straightened back up and shook off the blow. It opened black eyes to stare at Chief Williams.

"You missed," Williams said.

"You heard about the Gregory House kidnapping," Wilson murmured. "This is the same perp. How many shots were fired then? How many confirmed hits?"

"People are not immune to guns, Doctor," Williams said.

"Shoot it then, right in the head. Before it kills that little girl."

Chief Williams looked at Wilson then back at Ruth. He couldn't look at the skinwalker, not while it stared at him like that. "Sniper three, take the shot."

A gunshot rang out and the skinwalker's head snapped backwards with the force of the blow. And then it straightened back up, a little round mark right between its eyes. And it did not seem to care.

"That was a hit," Wilson pointed out.

"My god…" Chief Williams crossed himself. "We may have to give it what it wants."

-00000-

Chase put the phone back down. Word from the ground floor suggested it was time. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"No," House said as he stripped off the last of his clothing. "Where's Wilson?"

"He's in the clinic," Phil said. With the skinwalker.

House's nodded, steeling his resolve. He took a deep breath and looked at his fur. He hadn't worn it since that fateful day, since the kidnapping. "I might not be able to take it off once I put it on," he admitted.

"Doesn't mean you're not you," Taub said.

"If this doesn't work… Tell Wilson… I…" House couldn't say the words. He didn't need to; his eyes spoke volumes more than simple words.

"We'll tell him," Chase promised.

House picked up his fur and gently petted it. What once seemed like such a joy, a gift to be treasured, had become a burden like none he had ever known. Lycanthropy truly was a curse. He took a deep breath and draped his fur over him.

The world slowly shifted, a terrible transition as his fur slowly wrapped itself around him and dragged him down to all fours. He fell to his paws and shook. Pain blossomed in his chest from the effort of the transformation. He breathed deep to catch his breath and calm his heart before looking up at his fellows.

"Let's go," Phil said, holding the door open. He led a reluctant House to the elevator. "It'll work. I know it will."

Sigh. Confidence is the sign of a small mind, House thought.

"After all, you enchanted these bullets. That means they'll work, right?"

I don't know.

Ding.

House stepped out into a nightmare. The clinic floor was cleared. At least one window was already shot out. Cops were entrenched behind desks. He could smell Wilson over near Cuddy's office where the police appeared to have their base of operations. Between the clinic and the elevators was the skinwalker.

It had abandoned its disguise. Nothing covered the rotting strips of skin hanging off of its limbs. Entire patches of skin appeared to have been shot off to reveal wet muscle and sinew. Bone claws scratched lazily at the throat and chest of a bald little girl who whimpered in the monster's clutches. She still wore its filthy hat.

Phil took his place next to the elevator and unlatched his holster.

The skinwalker turned to them. It saw House and grinned as though greeting a long-lost friend. "Doctor Gregory House," it said. "How good of you to come. And you're wearing your fur just as I asked. Such a pretty fur… what's the name… Talbot? Isn't that what you call yourself when you're in this form?"

House growled.

"You want me to let the child go, don't you?" It rubbed Ruth's back in a creepy gesture of paternal comfort and maneuvered her in between itself and Phil. "Not yet. I know what you've done, Doctor House. Such a clever little witch. You forget, for your little enchantments to work I have to drop my guard. I'm not that dumb."

Dread collected in the pit of House's stomach. He knew this wasn't going to work.

"You will come with me and we three will return to my lair. Once I'm done with you I will let the girl go."

House bristled and snarled.

"You'd better be careful, the humans might try to shoot you," the skinwalker admonished.

House snorted. He lifted his leg at the elevator doors and peed to proclaim ownership over the hospital and everything in it.

"Cute. You have a choice, Doctor House. Come with me and I promise once I'm done with you I will let the girl go."

It wasn't going to be intimidated. It wasn't going to let her go. It wasn't going to give House a way out. House was not giving up that easily. He was not going to be taken alive. He growled and crouched down.

"You don't honestly think you can take me," it said.

House pounced forward, giving himself a running start. Its eyes narrowed as Ruth screamed. He crouched down and leapt at the skinwalker.

Bone claws lashed out and slashed House across the muzzle. It dodged, using the force of its claws to slam House into the wall. He laid there, stunned and in pain as something in his chest squeezed.

"Talbot!" Ruth cried. She started pounding her little fists against the skinwalker again. It snarled and shoved her away.

"Ruth, RUN!" Wilson shouted.

The skinwalker ignored the little girl as she ran away. It turned to House and hissed in triumph. It reached for its prize.

A gunshot ran out through the lobby.

The skinwalker stopped in its tracks and looked down at the thick, dark blood seeping from the gunshot in its shoulder. It turned on Phil.

Phil fired again. And again. And still it came for him, claws splayed as it screamed in fury.

And again…

At last a bullet found its mark. The skinwalker collapsed in its charge, bleeding from multiple wounds. It gasped once more as it tried to get up. It brought its claws under it and glared in fury and dismay.

And then it fell to the floor, dead.

"Oh my god it worked," Phil whispered.

Wilson shot forward. Or tried to. Hands grasped at him to try and hold him back. Wilson spun around with a left hook. Chief Williams ended up on the floor but Wilson didn't care, the hands had let go. The hands were unimportant now.

"It's just a damn dog!" Williams shouted, grimacing from his black eye. "It's not worth your life! Wait until the scene is secure, dammit!"

Wilson crouched on the floor next to House as the world fell away. The wolf laid on his side, unmoving. "House, House it's dead. Speak to me, Greg, please…" He patted the side of House's snout, terrified at the lack of answer.

The skinwalker had gone to town in its fury. Claw gouges marred House's snout. His right leg was curled in on itself in a terrible spasm, his breathing was very shallow. House opened his eyes…

"There you are, hey," Wilson said. "It's dead. You did it. It's dead and Ruth is okay. You're gonna be okay, House. Just stay with me and you're gonna be okay."

House's tongue snaked out to lick at his bleeding snout. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"House?" Cold terror gripped Wilson's heart as he felt his friend slipping away. "No no no no no, House, come back." Vaguely he heard Cuddy shouting for a gurney and crash cart. "I'm going to take your fur off, House. It needs to come off and then you're going to be okay." He grasped the fur on House's chest and gently tugged.

The fur fell away like water. Pained blue eyes gazed up through heavy lids from a body littered in wall-shaped bruises. Ugly claw marks just barely cut to either side of one fragile eye. The stitches on his front had largely popped, leaving the old wound to bleed freely. And then those eyes drifted closed and Wilson was dragged away by a team with a gurney.

The world came back into focus as Wilson stood alone holding a bloody fur.

-00000-

The first thing he noticed is he didn't have to fight for breath. He could distinctly taste the color purple and could smell the room spinning ever so slightly. His leg was quiet. He could feel stitches in all sorts of uncomfortable places but not the pain they should have caused. Must be the good drugs, then.

"You're awake," marveled a voice he knew all too well. House opened his eyes to find Wilson in the chair next to his bed. His fur was draped over an arm of that chair. He was in that stupid glass-walled room again and half the hospital was staring in at him.

He was indeed stitched in multiple uncomfortable places. His right shoulder was wrapped again and this time in a sling as well. There was a new incision on the left side of his chest he didn't remember. The stitches in his front had been replaced and the wound had healed remarkably in the…

Wait, how long?

"How long was I out?" House asked.

"A few days," Wilson admitted. "It was touch and go for awhile. You had a heart attack on the table. They had to implant a defib to keep you alive before Chase had the idea to start removing the bone shards in your arms. Amazingly, once they were gone the damage to your heart started almost regenerating. Medically it was the weirdest thing I've ever seen."

"So why do I still have the implanted defib?" House asked.

"Surgeon still doesn't believe the heart failure healed itself," Wilson explained. "All the tests say you'll be fine but I guess no one wants to take any chances."

House leaned back into the bed. "This better not make it weird to change," he grumbled.

Wilson sighed happily. These past two months of fear and stalkers had been touch and go but now it was over. The skinwalker was dead. Things could get back to normal.

Well, sort of. He glanced out at their audience. The entire hospital knew about House now. Maybe this didn't have to be a bad thing.

-00000-

House was examining his fur when he found his room invaded. He glanced up at Wilson and his team and went back to more important things. Every gouge, every gash the skinwalker ripped into him was reflected in the newfound scars on his fur. The one across the snout was particularly noticeable. He supposed he should be grateful the skinwalker missed his eye but really…

"Cuddy says you're not allowed a case yet," Chase reported.

House glared. He laid his fur in his lap. "And I suppose you're going to let her keep me here until I recover?" he asked. "Do the words 'caged animal' mean anything to you?"

The door slid open. House glared at the door and the one who would have the audacity to interrupt them. His glare turned to cautious confusion once he saw…

Foreman entered the room and gently slid the door shut. He strode up to House's bedside and took a deep breath. "I was wrong," he admitted.

"About what?" House asked facetiously.

Foreman tried to ignore it. "I was wrong," he said. "You were right, House. I need to look at the evidence for what it is instead of dismissing things that don't fit into what I already know. But you're still crazy."

"Fair enough," House said. "Welcome back, Foreman. Now go convince Cuddy I'm well enough for a case before I start chewing at my bandages or something."

Foreman ducked out of the room, shaking his head at the obvious madness. Chase excused himself as well. There was a file in the office, a file of secrets and science, of magic and mystery. An answer that only raised more questions.

Wilson saw Chase leave. House was busy, torn between being begging for a case and shooing them all away under the pretense of needing his soaps. Wilson caught House's eye, a flash of blue in a huddle of people. He nodded and left to follow the troubled surgeon. "What is it?" Wilson asked.

"Don't tell House," Chase pleaded.

"What'd you do?" Wilson asked.

Chase took a breath. "I ran a DNA test," he admitted. "I plucked a hair from his fur while he was in surgery and tested it. It really does belong to House."

"What do you mean?" Wilson asked. "It should test as whatever used to wear the fur."

Chase nodded. "I agree. But it doesn't. It's House. The only DNA in that fur belongs to House. No dog, no wolf, not even fragments. Just… House." Chase laughed, a spooked note that faded quickly. "That fur was shipped to him in a postal box, how can this be?"

"He puts it on and turns into a dire wolf," Wilson said. "I've given up finding anything about House surprising."

"I guess you're right," Chase said.

Wilson patted Chase on the shoulder and returned to recovery. House's ego could only stand so much boredom.

-00000-

Two weeks.

Two weeks of nightmares and comforting, of recovery and rest, of threats involving the Cone of Shame, of the luxury of putting his fur on and taking it off over and over again just because he could…

It was after noon when House and Wilson strolled into the hospital. His first day back since that fateful night. Red scars marred his face, a terrible reminder of that night and of its revelations.

Cuddy ignored them. Nurse Joel stopped dead in his tracks and ran the other way. Nurse Yvette smiled nervously from the admittance desk. Nurse Brenda spared an approving glance before returning to paperwork. Nurse Mitchell waved before squeaking and running the other way. Nurse Danae blushed and stared like he were a particularly intriguing specimen.

No one seemed scared. House was disappointed on some level that none of these prey feared the predator in their midst. A stitch in his front caught on his shirt, eliciting a gasp of pain. Maybe if he were honest he wasn't exactly much of a predator. Maybe he was more human than he liked to admit.

Or maybe they had more potential than they realized.

"If you make me wear a collar I will bite you," he said without malice.

Wilson laughed. "That might not be that bad," he admitted.

They entered the elevator together. House turned to Wilson with a mischievous, predatory grin. "Are you sure about that?" House asked.

Wilson saw that grin and gulped. He couldn't tell if House was serious or not.

The doors closed.

End

-00000-

Before I get smacked with complaints of a compassionate House being OOC, know this:

Gregory House is one of the most compassionate characters on that show. From putting his license on the line to get his patient an illegal heart transplant (season 1) to putting his life on the line to save the life of a woman he doesn't even like (Amber, season 4), House has put his life and career on the line more than enough to be called compassionate. He hides it well with a bitter, abrasive mask but when shit goes down he strips that mask faster than Wilson peels panties.

So... What do you think happens next? Should I be evil? Do you want to see? The Nebulous Mistress cackles madly.