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The Vampire's Apprentice	By : Evilida44 Category: G through L > House Views: 1787 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own House or its fandom nor do I make any money from it.

Chapter List
- 9
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Dreamland

House and Wilson were traveling from Nevada to New Jersey, where House was planning to pay a visit to Lisa Cuddy. He had decided that choosing Wilson to accompany him into his new life as a vampire had been a mistake and that Cuddy would be a better companion.
Wilson was not ruthless or selfish enough to make a strong vampire. A weak vampire like Wilson had to respect the superior vampire who protected him. However, Wilson had proven to be too secretive and too opinionated. He could not wholly submit to House's will nor give him his unquestioning obedience.
The only area in which Wilson actually excelled as a vampire was his skill at persuasion. Wilson disliked causing pain to his victims, and used his persuasive abilities to calm them and to make the kill as gentle as possible. House believed that Wilson's aptitude would come in handy when the time came to initiate Cuddy.
The transformation from human to vampire was a delicate process, requiring the consent and co-operation of the initiate. House had barely succeeding in convincing Wilson to become a vampire, even though Wilson had been lonely and unhappy in his old life. Knowing that refusal meant death, Wilson still had been prepared to turn House down. Only the sight of tears in the House's eyes, evidence of real emotion, had swayed him. Cuddy had a good life. She had a foster daughter she planned to adopt, supportive friends and family, material comforts, and a challenging and satisfying job. House knew that he would need all the help he could get to convince her to give up that life.

Predators dream of hunting.
In his dream, Wilson stalked his prey through the corridors of a castle. He was in no hurry since there was no way for her to escape; all the windows on the lower floors were covered by shutters and the one door into the castle was too heavy for his prey to open on her own. The castle had once been beautiful. Fine Turkish carpets had been imported to cover the cold stone floors, and silk curtains and tapestries graced its windows. These things once delighted the castle's owner, but after their novelty faded, and they no longer brought him pleasure, he allowed them to fall into decay. The carpets were now threadbare and grey with dust, their rich patterns imperceptible. The curtains were rags. Wherever the carpets gave way to stone floor, Wilson could hear the tapping of his prey's high heeled shoes, and the sound excited him. He listened to her footsteps as she climbed the stairs that led to the roof, and felt an unholy exultation. The climax of the hunt would take place under the stars.
Wilson followed her up the last flight of stairs at a slow and deliberate pace. His body tingled with anticipation; he wanted to feel his prey struggle in his arms and taste her blood. She would fill his emptiness and give him everything he needed.
Knowing that there was nowhere else for her to go, Lisa Cuddy turned to face her death. Wilson admired her courage. He stepped out on to the roof to join her, and the door to the roof banged shut behind him. He turned around, and House smiled at him, his vampire's fangs sharper than knives. When he looked forward, Cuddy was baring her teeth in the same menacing grimace. Cuddy was a vampire. Caught between them, Wilson understood that he had been the prey all along, and the sudden realization made the vampire whimper in his sleep.
Cuddy and House each took one of his arms. Wilson kicked and snarled and snapped, but they were immensely strong. He pleaded and whined, but they were implacable. Inch by inch, they dragged him to meet their master, the Professor.
Professor had been grotesquely transformed by his injuries, but his suffering had also made stronger and more malevolent. He was deformed and misshapen, and for every wound that had been inflicted on him, he would make Wilson pay tenfold.
In the way of dreams, House and Cuddy had disappeared, and Wilson and the Professor were alone. The stars and the moon and the castle roof were all gone too. Only the Professor remained, shining with a chill white glow. Wilson shivered with cold.
"Wilson, Wilson," said the Professor in a voice that was not his own.
When he felt the Professor's hand on his shoulder, Wilson reacted instinctively. He slashed at his attacker with his nails, baring his teeth and snarling. The Professor cried out in pain and surprise; only this time Wilson recognized his voice.
"House?"
Wilson's eyes opened. He was in bed. He'd kicked off all the covers, but he was still tangled in the sheets. House was sitting on the side of his bed. He had his hand covering one eye, but the other glared angrily at Wilson.
"Put your hand down, House," Wilson said. "I have to see how bad it is. Please."
Wilson sighed with relief when he saw that he had missed House's eye. There was a cut, a slash wound from one of Wilson's fingernails, an inch and a half beneath. It was bleeding profusely. Wilson went to the bathroom to get a damp facecloth to clean House's wound so that he could see it better. Fortunately, the wound was not deep, and the bleeding slowed down and then ceased.
"I think it's going to heal without a scar," Wilson said. "I'll see if they have bandages in the bathroom cabinet."
House launched himself at Wilson without warning. Wilson fell backwards, hitting his head hard on the floor. Stunned, he made no move to defend himself. House loomed over him, and Wilson was as helpless as he had been in his dream.
"I'm sorry I hurt you," Wilson said "It wasn't intentional. It was just instinct. You startled me. It isn't a good idea to startle a sleeping predator."
House snarled, and Wilson trembled and shut his eyes. House was satisfied by Wilson's fear. However, he had Wilson's training to consider. Wilson had cut him, had shed his blood, and simply scaring him was probably not sufficient punishment. If the Professor were there, he'd probably recommend something biblical, reminiscent of God's wrath directed toward an idol-worshipping Israelite.
House wasn't the Professor. He slapped Wilson, not very hard since he had just hit his head. He was careful not to cut him with his nails.

House had been in the room adjoining Wilson. When he'd heard Wilson moaning and growling in his sleep, he'd been worried that the noise might attract hotel staff or other guests. There was a door between the two rooms, but it had been locked on Wilson's side. House had broken the lock to get to him. He wanted to book out before the hotel discovered the broken lock or the bloody sheets and towels and charged him for the damage.
Before they left the city, though, Wilson needed to feed. House dropped him off at a likely-looking neighbourhood, where there were restaurants and a movie theatre to attract foot-traffic.
Wilson waited in the shadows for a victim. It was early in the evening, barely past sundown, but there wasn't much nightlife in the towns and cities of the Great Plains. The streets were almost deserted, and Wilson was beginning to feel anxious. Pickings would only become slimmer as the night wore on.
Robert Hennessy spotted Wilson in the dark from across the street and walked toward him. Wilson crossed Hennessy off as a potential victim as soon as he approached him. Wilson always approached his prey, and he wasn't comfortable with the reversal of roles. He waited for the apparent panhandler to deliver his request for spare change.
Hennessy was a bachelor farmer in his middle years, and his habits were eccentric and engrained. He did exactly as he liked, and didn't care about what other people thought about him or the way he lived. He had a seven figure bank account, and the manager of bank in his home town called him "sir", but he looked like a derelict. Hennessy stank of cigarettes, sweat, manure, and urine. He'd pretty much given up on washing after his mother had died ten years earlier. He'd never seen much point to it, considering that he was only going to get dirty again. About once a month, Hennessy drove for three hours to the city and to this particular neighbourhood. Male prostitutes weren't cheap, but every now and then he got an urge too strong to ignore. This particular prostitute was older than usual, but Hennessy could see the same desperation in his eyes. He slipped a twenty into his hand. Wordlessly, Hennessy unzipped his fly and lowered his pants.
Hennessy pressed his body against Wilson's. And Wilson couldn't push him away, because he couldn't move. He stood still as the man's foul odour enveloped him, and his filthy hands touched him.
Hennessy expected the whore to get busy, considering he'd paid up front, but he just stood there. Hennessy was getting impatient. He grunted, and then slapped the prostitute across the face, letting him know that he expected to get his money's worth.
The blow released Wilson from his paralysis. He snarled, and Hennessy backed away. Tottering unsteadily on legs suddenly too weak to support his weight, Hennessy still managed to take several steps towards the safety of the illuminated street before Wilson dragged him back.

House had expected Wilson to return from the hunt an hour ago. Time was passing and he wanted to get on the road. House considered the possibility that Wilson had run away, but decided it was more likely that Wilson had been unable to make the kill. He was too ashamed to come back to House and tell him that he had failed. House went to look for him.
was still in the alley where House had left him. The younger vampire was covered with blood, sitting by the body of his latest victim. It was hard to tell whether that victim was male or female, so severely had his prey been mauled. (The authorities would later decide that Hennessy had been attacked by vicious dogs, most likely Rottweilers or pit bulls.) House stood over him, but Wilson did not look up.
"Wilson, Wilson, look at me," House said gruffly.
Wilson's head rose. His expression was blank, but tears streamed down his face, mixing with the blood smeared around his mouth. Wilson's long sharp fingernails were painted red with blood. He was shaking.
"What did you do?" House asked, although it was perfectly obvious what Wilson had done.
House knelt down over the victim. Most vampires have rituals they perform after a kill. House's ritual was to learn the name of the murdered person and commit it to memory. Wilson growled.
He's yours," House said reassuringly. "I'm not taking him away. I just want to look at his driver's license to find out who he was. I'm getting out his wallet."
The farmer's wallet was as thick as a Stephen King novel. Held together by rubber bands, it contained almost every scrap of paper that had passed through Hennessy's hands. Ancient, yellowing business cards, twenty-year-old receipts for chicken feed, and long-expired coupons made up most of its bulk, but there was cash as well – almost eight hundred dollars in dirty, wrinkled fives, tens, and twenties.
"All your money," House said, putting it on the ground next to Wilson. The other vampire ignored it.
"Okay, Wilson. The kill is over. He's dead. It's time for you to come back to the SUV with me. Come on," House said, "Get to your feet."
Wilson still did not respond. House was losing patience.
"You're coming with me." House ordered. "Stand up before I have to hit you."
House thought he saw a flicker of defiance in his eyes, but Wilson got to his feet meekly enough. House picked up the money and put it in his pocket, since Wilson wasn't interested in it. House led Wilson back to the parking lot where their stolen SUV was parked. The streets were deserted and the parking lot was close by, so no one saw them.
"We have to get you cleaned up," House said.
He looked in the bag containing the emergency supplies Wilson had bought for them. No wet naps. No water. It was uncharacteristic of Wilson to forget such essentials.
House grabbed Wilson's overnight bag and took out a t-shirt. He dipped one end of the t-shirt in a puddle of water, and used it to wash Wilson's face and hands. Then he took another t-shirt and a pair of wrinkled pants from the bag.
"Change into these," House said.
When Wilson made no move to comply, House tried to undress him, but Wilson growled again. Usually, House did not tolerate any aggression from the weaker vampire, but he recognized that Wilson was not in a normal state of mind. If he confronted Wilson directly, he might not back down. House had no doubt that he would prevail in any physical contest between them, but he might kill or seriously injure Wilson. House didn't want to do that. He still needed him.
"Okay," House said. "Be an idiot. I'm only trying to help you."
He tossed Wilson the plastic pouch containing the emergency blanket. Despite his dazed condition, Wilson caught it.
"Cover yourself up, so if we have to stop for gas you don't send the station attendant screaming for the police. You can have this too," House said, handing Wilson his leather jacket. "I don't want it anymore, and it might stop you from shivering."
"Thanks," said Wilson, speaking at last.

There was no moon and the sky was overcast. The speedometer told House he was going over one hundred miles per hour. He was eating up the distance separating him from Lisa Cuddy, but he had no sense that he was getting closer to her. It was past midnight and he was driving through farmland. There were no other vehicles on the road, and any farmers had long since turned out the lights and gone to bed. It was as if the SUV and its occupants were caught within a bubble, surrounded above and below by infinite darkness.
House turned his head to look at his travelling companion. Wilson was sleeping, huddled in the emergency blanket. The collar of House's jacket was just visible over the top of the blanket. House could see Wilson's eyes move beneath their lids. He mumbled something too softly for House to make out the words. He moved agitatedly, warding off whatever was menacing him in his dreams.
House stepped down harder on the gas pedal and turned on the radio.
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The Vampire's Apprentice