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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
- 12
- 13
- 14
A Visit to the Castle

House was in the middle of a plain which stretched as far as the eye could see, which wasn't far at all, since this part of the world of dreams was perpetually covered by fog and mist. House had a staff in his hand and was carrying a backpack. He was wearing hiking boots, thick furry socks, knee-length shorts with a multitude of pockets, a t-shirt with a picture of a grinning cartoon kangaroo, and a wide-brimmed hat decorated with little dangling bits of cork on strings. House wondered whether it was his own mind or Wilson's which had provided that last little touch of fashion humiliation. Or perhaps, given that this part of the dream world was the common property of everyone asleep, Robert Chase had a hand in it.
House opened the backpack and pulled out his supplies. A thermos, a couple of sandwiches, a few apples, an energy bar, emergency blanket, extra pairs of socks and underwear, a roll of toilet paper, matches, a Swiss army knife, a small hatchet, and, at the very bottom, what he had been looking for - a map to the world of dreams.
Where House was now was clearly marked on the map with an arrow and the words "you are here". Wilson's land of dreams was also clearly marked with a bright gold star. And the map would have been very helpful indeed if House had any idea of which direction was which in the world of dreams. There were no landmarks in the fog to guide him, and he didn't have a compass.
House stood very still, thinking, and as he stood he began to feel a slight pull. He turned in that direction and the pull became stronger. He took a couple of steps towards it and the fog lifted slightly, revealing a familiar and well-trodden path. It was the road to his own land of dreams. House's dream country was not a particularly happy or comfortable place, since House had his own fair share of bad dreams, but it was home. He was tempted to continue down that path. Now that he knew the direction of a landmark, he could orient himself. He looked where his own land appeared on the map, and then strode off in the direction where Wilson's land had to be.
House had expected Wilson's border to be well-defended. Watch towers, high walls topped with barbed wire and broken glass, uniformed men with machine guns, snarling German shepherds – that sort of thing. Maybe a moat with crocodiles. Instead there was just a high smooth wall with spring flowers planted at its base. House approached the wrought iron gate that appeared to be the only entrance. This gate was guarded by a lone sentry. He was sitting in a lawn chair, dozing. A half dozen empty cans of beer littered the ground at his feet.
The sentry lifted his head, and House could see that he was not a man exactly, but something halfway between a human and a boar. His face was covered with thick bristles and he had a pair of menacing tusks. His beady little eyes were covered over with a white film, and House realized he was blind.
"Hand over your passport," the boar said. He didn't bother to get out of the lawn chair. He just held out his hoof.
House reached into one of the many pockets in his shorts and pulled out his passport. It was bound in red leatherette and sealed with scarlet wax. The boar used one of his tusks to slit open the wax and open it up. Wilson's signature, written in blood, was on the bottom of the document. The guard held the document up to his snout. He snorted and sniffed.
"The boss's blood all right," the guard said. "Did he give it to you, or did you steal it from him?"
"He gave it to me," said House, not entirely truthfully.
He had asked Wilson for his blood, but Wilson had been asleep at the time and hadn't answered.
"Hmmmm," said the boar doubtfully. "None of my business either way, I guess. You might as well go in. Don't know why you want to. Things aren't very pleasant in there right now."
He closed his eyes and leaned back in the armchair.
"Don't you have to unlock the gate?" House asked.
The key's on a nail next to the gate. Just reach through the bars and put it back when you're done with it."
Wilson's land of dreams was in bright sunlight, and House flinched. However, dream sunlight seemed to have no effect on him. House stepped forward and almost fell. He rubbed his leg through the cloth of his shorts, feeling scarred tissue and muscle loss. In Wilson's dream, his transformation into a vampire had never happened. He was still Dr. Gregory House, disabled diagnostician. He used his staff for support.
House was on a tree-lined street in a small American town. He wondered whether this was the town where Wilson had grown up or whether this place had been cobbled together from Wilson's memories of television sit-coms. Wilson had never talked much about his early life, but what he had said about his past had always seemed a little off to House, as if Wilson were trying to imagine himself a perfect, idyllic childhood to replace his real one. In the way of dreams, House knew that Wilson's house was the grey one with white trim, even though he had never seen it before. He knocked on the door, and Wilson's third wife, Julie, answered.
"What are you doing here?" House asked. "I would have expected little Jimmy Wilson or maybe little Jimmy's mother."
"We all have to live somewhere and I have as much right to live here as anyone else. After all, I was his wife," said Julie bitterly, "though you'd never know it, since he hardly ever dreams of me every more."
"Yes, your character is tragically under-used," House agreed sarcastically.
"There was a time when I was on almost every night. I'd re-enact the dumping scene, the one where I'd hand him his suitcase and tell him to go. Sometimes in of a classroom full of medical students or in front his parents. Once naked in the middle of a field with a herd of black and white cows watching us. Don't ask me what that was about."
"I'm looking for Wilson. Where is he?"
"The last time I was on, I was part of a mob. I had to wave around a pitchfork. Can you believe it? Me, reduced to a pitchfork-waving extra. I had to stand in the back so he wouldn't recognize me."
"Angry villagers with pitchforks," said House. "I'm guessing Wilson's in a castle. Probably one with resident bats and a drawbridge."
"Of course, he's in the castle. You should know that."
She looked at House suspiciously.
"There's something odd about you."
House didn't have time to waste talking to someone who didn't really exist. He left her without saying goodbye. He walked down the empty street, going as quickly as his bad leg would allow.
"You're the other House, aren't you? The one from outside. You're the one who's responsible!" She shook her fist, an angry mob of one, but House didn't turn around.
Halfway down the block, the street disappeared, and House found himself walking through a dismal forest at night. An owl hooted atmospherically.
A light was shining through the trees. House parted the undergrowth and headed towards it. He saw a castle, a forbidding stone edifice on the top of a hill. The light came from a single torch that illuminated its entrance. House limped up the cobbled road that led to the big oak door of the castle. There was an iron knocker, a grotesque thing in the shape of a wolf's head. House used the door knocker. He could hear the sound echoing through empty rooms and then footsteps. After a moment, a hatch opened up in the door. Amber smiled at him.
"Dr. House," she said. "I wasn't expecting you."
"And I certainly didn't expect to ever see you again, considering you're dead."
"The dead live on here," Amber said, "even after they are tragically killed because of someone else's selfishness."
"I didn't kill you," House said. "It was the truck driver's fault."
"But it's much more emotionally satisfying to blame you than some truck driver I've never even met."
"Let me in. I'm here to see Wilson."
"You're looking at him. Everything and everyone in the dream is part of the dreamer. That means that I'm part of Wilson."
"You're a minor character in his dream. I want Wilson."
"I'm not particularly interested in giving you what you want," Amber said. "I'm going to need a better reason than that to let you in."
"I know Wilson's in trouble. These bad dreams of his aren't getting any better. I'm here to help him...you... all of you."
"You're here to help Wilson. That's funny. Isn't it always the other way around? Isn't Wilson always looking after you?"
"No, that's not true. Didn't I risk my life to try to save his girlfriend?"
"I don't know anything about that. Amber was unconscious at the time."
"You said you were Wilson, and Wilson knows what I did."
Amber smiled, "I didn't say I was Wilson; I said I was part of Wilson. I don't know everything he knows."
"I'm trying to have a logical argument with a figment of Wilson's imagination," House muttered.
"And you're losing."
"I know Wilson's in trouble. And the one thing that the Amber and I had in common was that we both cared about Wilson. The real Amber would let me in."
"You used to care about Wilson. You told him you didn't love him anymore," Amber reminded House. "I think I know why you're really here. Triage."
"Triage?"
"You want to see how badly Wilson is hurt, don't you? You want to see if he's still salvageable – whether you can still use him or whether he's too badly damaged."
"That's not..."
"...the only reason," Amber interrupted. "Curiosity, too. Wanting to learn all Wilson's secrets. Explore a part of him that no one else knows. Own every little bit of him, every thought in his head."
"I'm here to rescue him!" House snapped irritably.
"Really? Are you going to take the magic sword out of your backpack and slay the dragon?" Amber teased. "You're not in a video game or a storybook. This place isn't real to you, but it's real to Wilson. You can do him harm here. I'm not going to let you hurt him anymore. You have to leave."
"Amber..."
"Don't you mean Cutthroat Bitch? Good bye, Greg."
She slammed shut the door of the hatch. House could hear the sound of her heels echoing on the stone floor of the castle. He could hear other sounds as well. Screams and moans. House pounded on the door with his fist, but no one answered.
"Wilson, I'm here!" he called out.
It began to rain. Icy cold water soaked his thin t-shirt and made the jaunty brim of his hat droop.
Finally the noises stopped. House turned away from the oak door, and suddenly he was on the plain of mists again. He could feel his own dream country tugging at him, and this time, he didn't try to resist its gravitational pull. He let it lead him into his own dreams.
- 12
- 13
- 14
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The Vampire's Apprentice