Everything was all too much for House. He was in his office, head pressed against his felt ball. His mind and heart were both racing. God, he needed to go home. He couldn’t, though. But he knew that if even one more person came to talk to him with a problem, he would actually start breaking things. Starting with-

He was interrupted in his thoughts by Cameron entering. Oh, great. He groaned inwardly. God, he was not in the mood for this. He briefly considered banging his head into the wall. No way would Cuddy let him leave - it was barely noon. He sighed and tried not to sound too annoyed - mostly unsuccessfully.

“What.”

Cameron looked at him sideways. He sounded… unhappier than usual. He was always grumpy and scathing, nihilistic and arrogant, but he sounded truly depressed right then. She gave him a slightly concerned look but didn’t comment. She knew he wouldn’t appreciate it.

“…Patient went into V-fib. Fine now, still unconscious. Something had to cause that - we hadn’t even started anything when it happened.”

House took a deep breath. He could not deal with this right now. He was more likely to make a mistake and probably kill someone than help, and although he hated to even admit it to himself, he probably shouldn’t be making any decisions right then. He looked up at Cameron, resignation and annoyance in his eyes.

“Get Foreman to deal with it. I’m not in the mood.”

Cameron opened her mouth to protest, but House cut her off. Goddamn it, he needed her to leave before he did something he’d regret.

“Go away. I’m not in the mood.”

Cameron took the hint, standing up. She cast one more concerned glance back at House before quickly walking away.

Alone again, House tried to calm himself down. Everything felt like too much. The lights were too bright, the sensation of his shirt against his skin felt alien, intrusive, painful, even, and he felt his breathing pick up speed. It wasn’t working, he couldn’t do this alone, he needed help. And there was only one person House would ever even consider asking for help from.

Somehow, he found himself in front of Wilson’s door. He didn’t remember how he got there - everything was blurry. His memories, his vision… he needed to sit down before he collapsed. He couldn’t do this much longer. Steeling himself - and feeling like he didn’t have much of a choice, since he refused to pass out in the hallway - he pushed Wilson’s door open.

Wilson was sitting at his desk, doing some paperwork with a focused expression on his face. He looked up as House walked in. He sighed, thinking that now he’d have to deal with House’s bullshit, and probably stop him from doing whatever crazy thing he’d thought of. But he stopped short in that train of thought when he saw the expression on House’s face. He didn’t know how to describe it, but the man looked… off.

Wilson closed the file, giving House a concerned look.

“…House?”

House couldn’t reply. He felt tongue-tied, helpless, trapped. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what to do, all he really knew was that he needed the overwhelming barrage of sensory input to stop. He stared at Wilson, not knowing what to do now. He’d barely made it here and- oh, God, everything was starting to spin.