A/N: I've spend several nights playing out this fic in my head like a movie. Tonight, I feel like delivering it to the world. Contains spoilers from that infamous night in "Merry Little Christmas". No slash. Just an attempt at pure angst. Please R&R. Thanks!!

DISCLAIMER: The handsome men in this fic, sadly, belong to David Shore and I'm not him. Dammit!

It had taken him nearly half an hour to realize Wilson was not coming back. Was he stupid? Thinking the wonder-boy oncologist was going to come back and clean him up. Save him from choking on his own vomit. He had stayed on the floor, managing to get at least half the pills out of his system. It was then that he came to a decision. Maybe it was because he was still so intoxicated that it didn't even make sense...

He had cleaned himself up, and somehow found himself back in the devil's office. Of course the bastard was still there. Who the hell volunteers to be in their office on Christmas?

"I'm ready to take the deal," House said to him, softly. Tritter looked up at him, and gave a little smile.

"That's off the table," he said in that soft, subtle voice that annoyed House more than any of his other unfortunate qualities. House creased his brows, pointing at the clock behind him.

"The clock doesn't expire until---"

"--- Got new evidence," he interrupted. "We don't need Wilson anymore. The thing about addicts, no matter how smart they are, they are dumb when it comes to drugs," he explained, shuffling his files around his desk." So I've been keeping an eye on the pharmacy log..."

Oh, shit.

"...Seems some patient of Wilson's, name's Zebalusky managed to pick up his oxy prescription after he died." He smiled a little, and it was in that moment where House knew...he really was talking to the devil. Chuckling to himself, as of to say "Ha-ha, I won" , he stood up and grabbed his coat.

"Jesus walks, huh? Merry Christmas." He reached over and turned off the lamp, just before exiting his office, leaving House in the dark, speechless.

Your damn right Jesus walks, he thought. Judas, too. Selfish Judas who wanted nothing but his bank account, damn privilege to save unworthy lives, and his fucking car back. He sighed, putting his hand to his forehead. Side-effects were starting to kick in. Or maybe it was the side effects of the side effects. Whatever. Nothing made sense anymore.

He got back into his car. His head was still throbbing, as if there was a mini House in his head, banging his skull with his mini cane. He noticed his hands were lightly shaking as he placed them both on the steering wheel. His knuckles became noticeably white as his gripped the wheel...wanting to make sense of it all. Wanting to know why. Why he downed all those pills just hours before. Why he dialed his parents number. Why Chase always wanted to get on his good side. Why Stacy thought handicapped men were attractive. Why Steve liked that you're-just-going-round-and-round-you're-not-going-anywhere wheel. Why Wilson's damn ties never matched...

And that was it.

And that was it, Wilson thought. He's never going to change. Never. He sat on the edge of his neatly-made hotel bed, wanting to cry and at the same time wanting to laugh. Laugh at all the irony. He had taken a mental image of his friend lying next to his own bile. He felt nothing. For the first time, he felt nothing. Walking away was so simple and he didn't even know why. So many people, for so many years, told Wilson that man didn't deserve a friend like him...but tonight he was thinking the other way around. He wished he wasn't. Why should he feel guilty for House ruining his own life? Wilson sighed. Everything and nothing was his own fault. Everything and nothing happened because of him. He took out his cell phone, punching in the number 6.He let it ring for a few seconds.

"Dr. Cuddy," a familiar voice picked up and said.

Wilson cleared his throat. "Hey, Cuddy...its Wilson." There was a few moments of silence. Then...

"How was he?"

"He, um...I found him on the floor. He passed out. Too much pills..."

"Oh, God...is he alright?"

I don't know. I really don't know, because I left him there. Because he looked so pathetic and I just had enough.

"I...He was conscious," he replied, confused. Cuddy sighed, knowing the real answer.

There was only one thing on House's mind when he put his keys into the engine. He needed to see Wilson. He needed him to know that he was sorry. That he was damn sorry for causing him such misery. For letting things go this far. He drove out of the parking lot and onto the icy streets, heart and mind racing. He didn't care how late it was. Wilson was up, probably weeping over a bottle of Jack Daniel's while watching some cheesy late-night Christmas movie.

"Don't beat yourself up," Cuddy whispered over the phone.

"No, its...,"Wilson started, hoping to phrase his thoughts the right way. "...He doesn't deserve this."

He ran a red light. So what, I'm already going to jail. And pressed on the pedal a bit harder. Mini House somehow found 5 more mini canes to bang against his skull.

"Of course he does!"

"No--no!" Wilson started, wanting to be more clear, wanting Cuddy to know. "What I mean is...overdosing and detoxing...isn't nearly half of the pain he deserves," he heard himself say. He wasn't even sure if he said it...but he was more than sure than he meant it. He heard a soft intake of breath on the other line.

"Oh, Wilson..."

House had only been to the hotel once, but he was pretty sure he was taking the right road. He remembered the day Wilson invited him. Or rather the other way around. It had been a crappy day filled with crappy patients. The only escape was each other..

Wilson sighed, knowing that if he didn't say it now, he wouldn't ever say it at all. "I just-----I just wish that something...really...really bad would happen to him. So he could finally learn his lesson. So he could just, for once, shut up and open his eyes."

House was distracted from all his thoughts when really bright truck headlights came into view. He instantly shielded his eyes, taking his hands off the wheel for only a moment. The truck honked its horn as House pulled his attention back to the wheel. He swerved right to avoid hitting the truck, but he was seconds too late; The truck rammed itself onto the side of the car, sending it back. The tires screeched loudly against the wet road, before turning over and tumbling a few times. The

truck ended up on its side, and the car was upside down.

It was a few minutes later that the truck driver regained consciousness. He felt his cheeks smashed against broken glass. His head was oozing blood. He put a hand against it, to stop the bleeding. He shifted uncomfortably, crawling out the broken window. His legs were numb, and he could feel blood coming down. He picked his head up and saw the other car a few feet away. With difficulty, he

hoisted himself up and nearly crawled to the upside-down car.

"Hello?" he croaked out, calling to the other victim. He grunted against pain, and laid back down on the floor, taking a look inside the car from the broken passenger window; There was blood everywhere, but aside that, he saw the back of a man, his head down. It almost looked as if he were sitting down. The truck driver crawled to the driver's side. He would've gasped if he had the

breath. The man's face was completely covered in blood.

"Hey," the truck driver whispered, reaching out a shaking hand to tap the man's shoulder. The man didn't flinch. Didn't make a sound. Seeing a lost cause, the truck driver laid back down on the pavement, almost swearing that he was already dead. He shuddered a few breaths, and with relief, found his cell-phone still in his pocket. Still intact. With difficulty, he dialed 911, the phone against his bloodied ear.

"911 operator. What's your emergency?"

"Yeah...", the man started, nearly gasping for air. "Car crash...please, hurry,"

"Alright, sir, please hold on. We have units on their way."

"...Another guy...but I think he's already dead...please...I think I'm dying"

"Just hold on a bit longer, sir. Stay on the line with me"

Cuddy sighed, the phone nearly slipping out of her hands. "Look, this nightmare will be all over soon, but right now House needs you. He needs to know you're still his friend."

Wilson sighed, knowing she was probably right. "I know...I'll let you go now, Cuddy. Its really late...thanks for the talk."

"Anytime," she replied softly. "Merry Christmas," she added.

"Merry Christmas"

A/N: Please review!! Thanks!!