never trust a big butt and a smile (obeetaybee) wrote,
never trust a big butt and a smile

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FIC (SPN): dark where the shadows run (Supernatural/Silent Hill crossover)

Title: dark where the shadows run
Character(s): Dean and Sam Winchester (SPN) / Billy and Anne Mason (OC) / Alessa Gillespie (SH)
Rating: R for horror
Word Count: 20,400-ish
Summary: Dean waved off Sam’s hand and stood up slowly. He wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. What the hell? Usually, girls loved him. “I didn’t do it on purpose! You didn’t have to go all Wild Bunch on me!”
Author's Note: Thank you to hossgal,leadensky for the beta. She helped me take a half-ass story and turn it into a kick-ass one. I can only hope I have the opportunity to work with her again in the future, because honestly? She rocks.

This is for undecipherable based on her prompt over at spn_gleeweek. She wanted to see a Supernatural/Silent Hill crossover. Inspired by the Silent Hill video game franchise and also the Silent Hill movie.

Broken into three parts.

dark where the shadows run

Strange, how easily she grows accustomed to the screaming.

Sitting in the middle of the white room, she can hear it seeping through the walls, the vibrations echoing all around her as the colors swirl and darkness looms. She pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and rocks back and forth, feeling them, their pain, their madness.

His voice is louder than the others, and her hands shake as she clasps them to her ears. She wants it to stop, prays it’ll stop, but she can still hear their screams. The smell of brimstone and ash clings to the back of her throat. She’s afraid to close her eyes, afraid of what will come whispering in the dark.

Finally, it becomes too much and her own raw scream rips from her throat. She collapses backwards, landing on the large sheets of paper surrounding her, the crinkling noise loud under her state-issued pajamas. Crayons and markers lay scattered about the room, colors she doesn’t need bleeding onto the white cushioned floor.

Manic now, the only colors she wants are red, orange and black. The colors of fire and ashes.

Oblivion comes quickly in the form of a little red pill and a needle to her vein. Her rocking intensifies until she hears the screaming no more and when she climbs to her knees, she’ll have no recollection of her hands seeking papers, each one uncovering a horror worse then the last.

Black for the mist she draws swirling over and over again like a tornado over the wide open mouth. Red for the blood seeping though the walls, pooling on the cold concrete floor. Orange for the fire licking up her brother’s legs, his guttural screams as it engulfs his entire body.


“Where’s my coffee?” Dean asked through the open car window as Sam walked out of the store loaded with traveling food.

Sam gave him an irritated look. “Open the door for me,” he said. Dean pursed his lips together in annoyance, but slid out of the car and took one of the bags from Sam before they fell. He peeked into it and smiled as he pulled out a bag of Cheez-Waffies.

“Aw, Sammy. You remembered.” He opened the bag and snagged a waffle, chewed for a moment and then grimaced. “These aren’t as good as they used to be.” Dean threw them back into the bag and wiped his cheesy fingers on the back of his jeans. “I need caffeine. I’ll be right back.”

Sam was on the phone when Dean came out of the store, coffee cup in hand and chewing on the stirrer. He opened the driver’s side door and pulled the plastic straw out of his mouth as he shut the door behind him. Sam nodded and wrote something on scrap of paper. “When’s the last time you talked to her?”

Dean raised an eyebrow as he took a sip from the cardboard cup, but Sam held up a finger. “Both of them went? Okay, well, we’re in the middle of Colorado right now, so it’ll take us about two days to get there.” He nodded again and wrote some more. He put the pen in his mouth as he opened the glove box and pulled two road maps into his lap. Shutting the box, he put the scrap paper on top of the folded maps.

Dean leaned over to look at the paper, but he never could understand Sam’s scrawl. “What’s the name of the hospital again?” Sam paused, pen poised over the paper. After a moment, he wrote two words, Southern Maine. “How did you find that out?” Sam asked into the cell phone. “Jesus, Bobby, what made them think they could handle this by themselves, they’re not like us…yeah, yeah, Anne knows, but Billy…” Sam broke off and Dean’s jaw tightened as his brother looked over at him.

“Look Bobby, we’re heading east now and we’ll call you in a couple of hours,” Sam paused and nodded his head. “Yeah, email me what you have, the police report if you can get your hands on it. Also, send us what information you have on the cult. How the hell did she find out they were the ones…?” Sam broke off and listened for a few minutes. “Yeah, yeah, Bobby. I know. I remember how she is. What about Billy? Nothing? Fuck. Okay. Well, send us what you’ve got, and I’ll go though it when we stop.”

Sam said goodbye and hit the disconnect button on his phone. He was quiet until Dean couldn't take it anymore. He slapped Sam on the shoulder and said, “What’s going on with Anne?”

“She’s in trouble. Bobby said she’d been doing some research on her mother’s murder, and about two weeks ago she headed back to her home town.”

“You said, 'hospital', is she hurt?” Dean asked as he cranked the ignition.

“She’s been committed, Dean.”


“From what the police released to Bobby, she was found wandering near Ashfield, really cut up and bloody. They brought her to the hospital, but she freaked and started tearing up the room.”

“Really?” Dean asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Somehow can’t see her doing that.”

“Come on, Dean. You were both twelve. I think it’s time to get over it,” Sam said, not waiting for Dean’s reply before continuing. “Anyway, they sedated her, but every time she came out from under she’d just freak out again. She refuses to speak to the police or her doctors about what happened. The police want to charge her with trespassing and possibly murder.”

Dean’s hands tightened on the wheel of the Impala. “She’s crazy, Sam, I’ll admit that, but she ain’t no killer.”

“I know, but Dean, she’s not talking at all. She was found outside of a town she’s a stranger in, and she won’t say what happened to her, what happened to Billy, and the cops are drawing their own conclusions.”

“Billy’s with her? How could she have brought him there? Billy’s just a kid!”

Sam dropped his eyes to the brown paper in front of him. “He’s not a kid anymore, Dean. He’s twenty. If Anne thought she found the cult she suspected was involved with her mother’s murder, you know she would’ve wanted revenge. Maybe Billy wanted to be involved too.”

“You remember, right? The day Bobby was talking to Dad about those kids? Bobby said he thought something supernatural happened to their mother.”

“I remember,” Sam said. “Bobby said she’d been contacted by someone who once lived in the town. He didn’t say anything to her. She found out on her own.”

“Found out what?” Dean looked over at his brother.

Sam tapped his knee with the pen in his hand. “Three weeks ago, Anne came to Bobby, upset. She got something in the mail from someone named,” Sam looks down at his paper for a moment. “Abigail Quincy, saying she had information about Anne's mother’s murder, but refused to give it over the phone or in a letter.”

Stretching his arm over the back seat, Sam grabbed a bottle of water from the plastic sack. He cracked the seal on the rim and took a long drink before continuing.

“So anyway, Bobby said he managed to convince her to wait, let them do some research, but about two weeks ago, she and Billy packed some stuff and went back east. Bobby was worried, made her promise to stay in touch. He called her every day for over a week, and things were fine. Then she stopped answering her phone, and two days later he called in a missing persons report with the Ashfield police department.”

The brothers were quiet for a moment, the sound of the tires rubbing on the pavement filling the car. Sam looked out the window, watching the scenery flying by. “She seemed like she was doing so well when I saw her last year.”

“She was in California?”

“Yeah, on campus last fall. Me and you, we hadn’t talked in months. She asked that unless it came up not tell you guys I saw her.”

“Why?” Dean asked, perplexed. “Why does it matter if I know you saw her or not?”

Sam folded the paper in his lap in half and tucked the pen behind his ear. “Don’t know. She just asked me not to tell you and Dad I saw her.”

“Huh,” Dean said. He was quiet for a moment, and then his curiosity got the better of him. “How’d she look?”

“She looked okay; I mean, her hair was longer than I ever remember seeing it. I don’t know, she looked…tired and thin. She said Billy had her crossing the country on a campus tour. He was thinking of attending Stanford.”

“Did she say if she was seeing anyone?”

Sam shook his head, not doing a good job of hiding the slight smile playing around his mouth. “No. She seemed pretty devoted to Billy.”

“What about Billy? How’d he look?”

Sam smiled widely. “He’s huge. He’s so tall now, Dean. I couldn’t believe how grown up he is. You could tell how proud of him she was, the fact he was accepted into Stanford and actually had the choice to attend there or not. He asked about you. Said he missed you. You remember how much he hero-worshiped you.” Sam looked down at his hands and then over at his brother. "I mean, after the initial..."

Dean put his hand up. "I remember, Sam. No need to dredge up ancient history.” Dean put his hand back on the wheel. “When did you and Anne talk?"

“She and I found a minute to sit down and have a cup of coffee while Billy attended an undergraduate seminar. She asked after you and Dad, and seemed upset when I told her the three of us hadn’t talked in awhile. She seemed especially concerned about you and Dad.”

“Really? Huh.” Dean furrowed his brow for a moment and then shook his head. “That’s odd, right? But then, Anne’s always been odd, you know in an ‘I’m hot, but crazy’ sort of way.”

Sam laughed. “You didn’t. Dean, tell me you didn’t.”

Dean smiled. “Nah, I didn’t. I tried though.”

“You would,” Sam said as he glanced back out the window. “Only you would.” Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Anyway, I got the impression she kept in touch with you guys.”

Dean shook his head as he put his foot on the brake. He looked both ways before turning left onto the interstate. “Nah, I haven’t seen her in five or six years. Not since Bobby’s sister died and her and Billy moved in with Bobby.”


At daybreak, when the sun rose over the road, the caffeine flowing through his veins began to fail Dean. He hit Sam in the chest with his hand to wake him as he pulled into the first roadside motel he found. Fifteen minutes later, Dean lay on his side, arm under his head, listening to his brother’s fingers tapping on his laptop. The rattle of the keyboard was soothing, like listening to his father wiping down his firearms. On the edge of sleep, he replayed in his head the conversation with Sammy earlier, about being twelve, and Dean remembered the first time he had seen Anne Mason.

She had been nothing but a blur at first, coming at him like a linebacker for the tackle.

Dad had dumped them at Bobby’s once again with no explanation and twelve year old Dean had been furious at being left behind while his father hunted. He stood outside the back door hurling rocks at the trees. Dean hadn’t been paying attention, reveling in the satisfaction of the deep whack of the rocks knocking into the trees. He bent to pick up another, threw that one, and only then saw the kid dart across the back yard at the same time the rock left his fingers. It smacked the boy dead center in the forehead and knocked him flat on his back.

Dean stared, horrified, and then ran to help the boy. He was run over first.

She attacked Dean with her body, and then when he was flat on his back, with her fists. She bloodied his nose and blackened his eye before Bobby and Sam came running out the backdoor, Billy screaming in the background. She was still kicking at Dean when Bobby hauled her off of him.

“Asshole!” She screamed, as Bobby held her back. “You wanna knock someone around? Try me first!”

A heavy set woman with a red face Dean had never seen before came rushing out the backdoor and gathered the little boy in her arms. She tried to offer comfort by patting the little boy on his back, but he was having none of it. He squirmed and twisted in her arms until the woman had to put him down on the ground or drop him.

The little girl shrugged Bobby’s hands off and stood defiantly over Dean, her small hands clenched in fists.

“I’m so sorry, Bobby, I didn’t know. I don’t think she meant to really hurt him.” The woman stood behind them, apologizing over and over to Bobby, but he just waved his hands at her.

“Hush, Stella,” Bobby said.

Dean waved off Sam’s hand and stood up slowly. He wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. What the hell? Usually, girls loved him. “I didn’t do it on purpose! You didn’t have to go all Wild Bunch on me!”

“I saw you throw the rock,” Anne had yelled at him. “He was smaller than you and you thought you’d use him for target practice. You’re gross and disgusting.” She gave him one last withering look and then turned to her still crying brother. “Come on, Boo,” she whispered and picked the little boy up, enveloping him with her arms. The boy tucked his face into her neck, his sobs quiet against her skin.

A new sensation rushed through Dean. Even though he knew he had done nothing wrong, remorse, embarrassment and shame all wrapped up in molten lead congealed in his belly. He stared straight ahead, careful not to look at Sam standing beside him. “This isn’t fair! I didn’t…”

“Shush, Dean,” Bobby said, his voice low.

The little girl turned to Bobby and said, “I’m sorry for any trouble, Mr. Singer.” Solemnly, she faced the woman and then said with great formality, “We’re ready for you to show us our new home now, Miss Singer.” Without looking back at Dean, the little girl walked around the house, still clutching the little boy to her chest.

“Bobby, I’m so sorry. I had no idea she would…”

“Not her fault, Stella,” Bobby said as he stared hard at Dean. “She was only doing what she knows. Protecting her brother.”

Dean’s face went hot.

“Take the kids home, let Mom fuss over them and get them settled. You can bring them back another day.”

When this dick of a kid’s not here, were the unspoken words Dean heard.

That afternoon, Bobby had found Dean sulking on the back porch. When Dean explained what happened, Bobby put his hand on his shoulder. "That girl, and that boy, they're damaged, Dean. The lady from the county, she told my sister their father took off when Billy was a baby. Their mother was killed about six years ago. And nobody knows what happened, still. All those two've had for a long time is each other, and bad foster homes. They've never been given any reason to trust anyone."

Later that night, just as Dean was about to drift off to sleep, Sammy whispered, “I know you couldn't have hit that little boy on purpose, Dean.”

"And how do you know that?"

Sam sighed and nestled deeper into his pillows and blankets before answering. "Because you've never hit me."


“Dude! What the…?” Sam stood over him, big hand on his shoulder, already dressed for the day even though the room was still dark.

“It’s time to go. Bobby called about ten minutes ago. We need to get to there before tomorrow, or any chance we have of getting Anne may be gone.”

“Why?” Dean asks as he ran his hands over his face.

Sam sat on the other bed and started gathering up the loose papers from the coverlet. “She’s being transferred tomorrow afternoon to a private facility called Leavendusk. On the orders of a Doctor Kaufman. Bobby was doing some digging and said this doctor is connected to the cult and if Anne gets under his control, it’ll be almost impossible to get her back out.”


“Dude, this is never going to work,” Sam said as he scratched under the collar of his blue button down shirt.

Dean pulled on the dark blue jacket with the words ‘Medical Transport’ embroidered on the back. “How many times do I have to tell you Sam, it’s all in the attitude.” He rifled through the stack of identification badges on the front seat of the Impala and threw one at Sam. “Clip it on your shirt.”

“We have no ambulance, Dean.”

“Don’t need one,” Dean said as he shut the car door and walked around the car to stand by Sam. He looked up at his brother and said, “Once we get her off the psych floor, we’re basically home free. We ditch the gurney, prop her up in a wheel chair, lose these crap jackets and we roll her out to the Impala. Nobody’s going to stop us. We’ll just be two more yuppie boys in Dockers taking home little sister. Nobody’s gonna care. They all have their own dramas to worry about. Put your jacket on.”

Sam pulled on his navy blue jacket and zipped it up halfway as they circled the hospital corner towards the ambulance bay. “Where we going to get all this medical equipment to help us in this great escape plan of yours, huh, Dean?”

“My God, can these pants be anymore uncomfortable?” Dean bitched as the sliding glass doors silently whooshed open. He stopped just inside the doors, turned to Sam with a wide smile and opened up his arms as if to say, ‘ta-da!’ All along the hospital corridor, empty wheelchairs, beds and gurneys stood abandoned. “Come on, should I say it? I think I should say it,” Dean teased as he snagged the first empty gurney and wrapped his fingers around the steel bar on the front.

“Don’t say it.”

“I have to. It’s my inevitable right as the big brother. I told you so.”

Down another hallway and past a nurses station and Dean lifted a clipboard without the desk nurse noticing. “Sorry,” he said as he looked down at the chart. “Alfred. They’ll find your paperwork right here.” He left the pink and yellow papers down on an empty hospital bed in the hallway.

They passed a waist high blue laundry tub, overflowing with towels and white sheets. “Grab some of those sheets,” Dean said over his shoulder, grinned as Sam looked both ways before grabbing a stack.

They stopped at the elevator, and Dean nodded and smiled at the passing nurses and doctors. They might have been invisible for all the notice they were paid. “What floor?”

“Eight,” Sam said as he buttoned the top button of his shirt. He put his finger under the collar and pulled it away from his skin. The elevator dinged and the door slid aside.

Dean pushed the floor button and smiled at the nurse who walked up to the open doors. “Sorry, full,” he said as the door slid closed. “Hurry up, Sam. Help me make this thing up.”

When the elevator doors opened on the eighth floor and the wheels hit the hallway, they were confronted with a bored looking guard behind a desk in front of a locked metal door.

“Hey,” Dean said, looking down at the guard. “We’re here to pick up an Anne Mason. Transport to Leavendusk Psychiatric Hospital?”

The guard thumbed through his papers. “You’re early.”

Dean smiled. “Yeah. Sorry about that. One of our other transports cancelled and the boss sent us here.”

The guard picked up the telephone on his desk and hit one button to dial. “Pick up for Mason is here, he announced into the receiver. He looked up at Dean while the other person spoke, raised his hand and beckoned Dean forward. “Let me see your ID,” he said.

Dean handed it over and looked away as the man scrutinized it and wrote down the ID information on the clip board in front of him. Hanging up the phone, he handed the ID back and turned to the computer at the edge of the desk. “It’ll be a few minutes. They weren’t expecting you, so they have to sedate the patient for travel.”

Dean smiled and put his hands in his pockets. “That bad, huh? I swear, sometimes we should be paid combat pay.”

Sam tapped the edge of gurney into the small of Dean’s back as the guard looked up, scowling at them. “They’re people too. Treat them with respect. Understood?”

Dean looked back at Sam who was giving him a pissy look. “I understand,” Dean tried very hard to look contrite. “Sir.”

The apology seemed to console the guard. Sam moved over to the windows and stared down at the parking lot below. Dean pursed his lips to one side, then the other as he rocked back and forth on his toes. He hated waiting.

Ten minutes later, the telephone rang. The guard picked it up and spoke, his voice low. As he replaced the receiver he said, “All right, she’s ready. You can go in now.” He pushed a red button on the panel next to his computer and the door buzzed. Dean hurried forward to catch it and opened it.

The hallways of the psych ward were different from the ones below. Instead of pretty curtains and flowery wall borders, this floor had shatter-proof glass and solid steel doors. It also had dazed patients in pajamas and robes milling around, talking to inanimate objects or staring off into space.

“Creepy,” Dean muttered over his shoulder and Sam nodded his head in agreement.

They stopped at the nurses’ station and knocked on the glass sliding window. “Hey,” Dean said to the pretty but frazzled looking nurse who opened the window without looking at them. “We’re here for Anne Mason?” She nodded and picked up the metal chart on the shelf by her hand.

“Are you guys new? I thought Denny and Steven were on for transports to Leavendusk,” she said as she flipped through the paperwork.

“We’re on stand-by. One of their kids got sick and you know, we’re filling in.”

The nurse nodded absent-mindedly and finally looked up at them to hand them Anne’s paperwork. The look on her face when she saw Dean was priceless and Dean smiled back, and hoped Sam's not rolling his eyes too hard. The smile on her face widened, her other hand going to her hair to fluff up her mid-90’s Julia Roberts hair-do. “It’s crazy here today,” she said, as she looked at Dean and fluttered her eyelashes at him. Dean resisted the urge to turn at soft snort behind him. “No pun intended.”

“Well,” Dean said as he took the paperwork from her. “It’s a good pun actually.”

From somewhere down the hall came the sound of a wailing scream and Dean’s smile slid from his face as the sound was abruptly cut off. He was ready to leave. He signed the paperwork with a flourish and handed it back to the nurse. “Do you have your paperwork for me, James…Hammett?”

Dean’s smile froze on his face. He glanced down at her chest, relieved to see a name tag. “Ah, Kelly. See, I knew you were going to ask for that. I knew it as soon as we were let in, and I remembered I left it in the truck.” An easy grin slid back over his face. “What if you let me take the patient down, load her into the ambulance and then I’ll come back with the paperwork.” He leaned forward, arm on the windowsill, praying his charm would get him out of this one.

“We’re not supposed to do that,” the nurse said, a frown playing around her mouth.

“I know, I know,” Dean said, putting up both of his hands. “I’m sorry about this, but we got a kid, this three year old we need to pick up after this drop off. He broke his leg and can’t fit into a car seat. He’s got an appointment for an x-ray,” Dean paused and looked at the clock over his head. “In two hours. If we’re late, we’re so fired. And if I get fired, I won’t be able to come back and see you anymore.”

“Really?” The nurse said, her cheeks reddening under Dean’s attention. She glanced back at the other nurse working on the computer behind her. “Do you promise to come right back?”

Dean’s smile widened. “Of course. I’ll come back up while my partner here secures the patient in the ambulance. Then, maybe we can have a moment to you know, talk. You’re not married, are you?” Dean asked, ignoring the sigh coming from the peanut gallery.

She shook her pretty red head. “I’m not supposed to do this,” she whispered, but Dean could tell she was wavering.

“I’ll come right back, I promise.”

She sighed and just for a moment, a flash of guilt dashed down Dean’s spine. But as soon as he felt it, he shook it off. He smiled back down at her.

Kelly the nurse sighed. “Alright. Let me call Marty. He’ll help you.”

Marty was a great hulking mass of a man in blue scrubs. “You the two here for Anne?”

Dean and Sam nodded. “Follow me.”

Anne was unconscious on the floor of the padded room when Marty opened the heavy steel door. She was curled on her side, her hands hidden under her chin. A deep blue and green bruise colored half her face. Half-healed scratches ran along her jaw and neck and her skin had an unnatural pallor, almost gray under the unforgiving fluorescent lighting.

“I have to tell you, I’m glad to see her going somewhere else. She needs a lot more help then what the doctors here can give her. Let Dr. Kaufman know she’ll probably be out of it for at least eight to ten hours.”

Without waiting for an answer from Sam and Dean, he bent and picked her up in his arms and lifted her, his bulky arms barely flexing. He laid her down on the gurney and tucked the sheet around her.

Dean stared down at Anne, his lips pursed. She looked like crap. What the hell had she gotten herself into?

“She’s not doing well here?” Sam asked as he helped Marty do the straps to lock her onto the gurney.

Marty shook his head and when she was all secure, he pushed the gurney down the hall a bit and opened a locker. “Here’s everything she came in with, including her bag from the police,” he said as he put it on the end of the cart. He reached back into the locker and pulled out a sheaf of white paper rolled into a tube and secured with a rubber band. “Make sure Dr. Kaufmann sees these. I don’t know what’s going on in her head, but all I can tell you, its some seriously messed up stuff.”


"Remember; remember the second of November..."

"Shh," she says as the ash falls from the sky, the lyrical sweeping prose of the poem loud in her ears. Not the second, the fifth, why the second? "Can you hear?"

“I can,” he calls and his voice is sweet music to her ears. She grabs his hand, and they run through the empty streets, until he stops and pulls his hands from hers. “I can hear her!” He kneels and grabs a handful of gray dust, throwing into the air above his head. “She’s close, she’s coming. Annie! Momma’s coming!”

She's distracted by the red ribbon tying her hair back, one end trailing over her shoulder. The string is bleeding. Her pretty white dress is ruined. The stain spreads slowly, crimson blossoming over her heart and down her breasts. "No, no," she says, shaking her head, pulling her hands away from the bloody dress. Horror overcomes her as she pulls the fabric away from her chest, needing, wanting, having to get it away from her skin.

And still Billy dances.

She looks up at him, opening her mouth to ask for help and then she notices the black smear creeping out of his mouth, bruising the skin around his lips.

He twirls in the deluge, his hair lighting with tiny pinpricks of light. They catch and grow, engulfing him in an orange glow. His laughter turns to screams as she murmurs over and over,
"Remember, remember..."


Consciousness came abruptly as she fought through the cobwebs of nightmare-filled sleep. A short, anguished moan escaped her lips as she battled against the blankets holding her down.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Anne, you’re safe. It’s me, Sam,” the voice came from above her and to the right and she clung to it. She pulled her hair from her eyes as she fell back against the pillows.

“What are you doing here?” She rasped, her voice rusty from misuse.

Sam sat on the side of the bed and helped her sit up before handing her a glass of water. “Bobby called; he was in the middle of a hunt and asked if we’d help out.”

“We?” She rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth. “Who’s with you? John?”

“No, Dean. I don’t…we don’t know where Dad is.”

Her head was pounding. “Where am I?”

“We’re in a motel just outside of Syracuse.”

Anne struggled upright again, tried to sip at the water, and pain exploded behind her eyes. She dropped the glass into her lap, and clasped both of her palms to her eyes. Water spilt everywhere. “How long? How long since I left?” She dropped her hands into her lap.

“About eight hours, Anne, what’s the matter?” Sam said, jumping up as the water traveled along the quilt towards his jean covered leg. Her hands began to shake as everything she’d tried to block flooded back into her brain. Pushing back the covers, she tried to stand and collapsed against the bed. She would have fallen to the floor if Sam hadn’t caught her arms.

“Oh God, Sam. We need to go back. You don’t understand,” she tried to take a deep breath as panic threatened to overtake her.

Sam still held her arm and stared down at her. “No, Anne. You need to rest. Those drugs you were given to keep you sedated are still in your bloodstream. You’re going to be having some serious withdraw symptoms.”

Anne stared down at the floor until her eyes blurred and the patterns began to resemble blood splatters. “How far?”


“How far are we from Silent Hill?”

“I don’t know where Silent Hill is.” Sam said, letting go of her arm.

Slowly, she sat back down on the bed as her vision began to darken around the edges. Her hands shook. “We can’t stay here, Sam.”

“What’s going on, Anne? Where’s Billy?”

She chose to ignore his question. How could she answer his question and not go mad? “They’ll find me. If they haven’t already. She’ll find me.”

“Who, Anne? Who’ll find you? Where’s Billy?” Sam knelt before Anne as she started to cry.

Swallowing the sob that rose in her throat, she looked at him and blurted, “I think he’s dead.”

What she left unsaid is, “I think I killed him.”

The look that came over his face was every thought she'd had since it happened. A rush of intense sickness and desolation swept over her as she tried to stand again. Falling to her knees, Anne dry-heaved once, twice, three times over the carpet, her empty stomach spasming and she wrapped her arm around it. Her forehead fell to the floor and she began to cry, yielding to the compulsive sobs shaking her body. Sam rubbed her back, murmuring nonsense words, trying to soothe her pain.

A few minutes later, she sat up and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and gave Sam a tremulous smile. “I’m okay, I think. Let me just sit here for a minute. Maybe I can try to drink some more water?”

Sam nodded and silently picked up the empty glass from the bed and walked to the bathroom, filling it with tap water before kneeling back down beside her. She drank silently and deeply.

“Hey, hey,” Sam said, reaching for the glass. “Take it easy. If you drink too much, you’ll make yourself throw up.

She took a deep breath and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth as she handed the almost empty glass back to Sam. He took it from her with a slight smile and put a hand on her shoulder, before brushing a lock of her hair away from her face.

The motel room door jiggled as the sound of a key being fitted to a lock filled the room. Pale sunlight slid over them as the figure in the doorway stood silhouetted against the setting sun.

“Well, now. This looks awkward,” Dean said as he closed the door behind him.

Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes at his brother. “Shut up, Dean.”

Dean clenched his jaw as he put the bag of groceries down on the table. “She woke up? Is she talking about what happened to her yet?”

“I’m awake,” Anne said thickly as she tried to stand. “Alive? Not sure yet.” She crawled back into the bed. Her body shivered violently teeth chattering in the quiet room as she stretched out on the dry side of the bed. “The room is spinning.”

”Here,” Sam said, holding out the glass of water. “Drink some more water, but drink it slowly. You’re probably suffering from dehydration.”

Anne rolled over onto her side and glanced at the glass. The water already in her stomach lurched and gurgled. “I don’t think I can,” she said as she curled into a ball and pushed her face into the pillow. Mumbling into the pillow cover, she said, "I think I'm going to be sick again."

Dean grabbed the wastepaper basket and held it as far away from himself as he could and still get it under her mouth as she retched and brought up the water. “Gross,” he mumbled.

Snot and tears ran down her face as her stomach continued to empty. Sam handed her a wash cloth when she pushed away the basket. She silently wiped her face and mouth before falling back against the pillow. Darkness blurred her vision until once again; she was alone in the ash covered streets.


She woke hours later, and by the heavy silence, knew it was the middle of the night. "Dean?" she whispered into the dark.

"I'm here," he said, and one of the many shadows in the corner stood and sat beside her on the bed. He gently pushed the hair from her face.

"I'm in a bad way."

"Yeah, you are," he said, his fingers playing with one of the two braids the nurses plaited in her hair. “But we’ll find Billy, okay?”

She drew a long, shuddery breath. "You shouldn't have come," she said and knew he opened his mouth to protest. She closed her eyes before he could answer and the darkness claimed her once more.


A siren wailed in the distance, jolting her awake with a sharp scream. “It’s coming!”

“Anne, are you okay?” Sam was at her side as she wrestled with the blankets and jumped from the bed.

“We’ve got to hide, it's coming!”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yelled, jumping up and causing his chair to fall backwards. He came up with a gun in his hand, and leveled it at Anne. Sam shoved Dean back, grabbed Anne’s arm and shook it. “Anne! You’re fine! You were dreaming, it’s okay. It’s okay!”

Anne stared at the two of them for a moment before looking out the motel room window. They were right. No darkness, no crawlies. No monsters.

“Better now?” Sam asked.

She nodded her head as Dean righted the chair and shook his head. “Jesus Christ, Anne,” he said as emptied his pockets of change and put his cell phone and gun down on the night stand table. He stretched out over the bed and threw his arm over his eyes. “Do you think you can manage to keep yourself awake for an hour? One hour. That’s all I’m asking for. I need to freaking sleep, okay? No more bad dreams, no more screaming? Understood?”

Anne held her head in her hands and nodded. Within minutes, Dean’s breathing rhythm changed and deepened.

"Hey," Sam said, his voice hushed. "How you feeling?"

"Don't know yet," she whispered back, her tongue thick and fuzzy. “I’m sorry,” she said as she pointed a finger at Dean.

"I know. He took the late watch last night. He stayed awake long enough for me to get up, but while I was in the bathroom, he conked out in the chair. I should have warned you he's a bitch if you wake him right after he falls asleep."

“You didn’t know I was going to wake up screaming.”

Sam sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, about that. What was coming?”

Anne tried to smile and had a feeling it looked more like a grimace. “Nothing, bad dream, I guess,” she said as she looked up at the spackled ceiling. "Today, Sam," she said as she slowly sat up in bed. Using her hands, she pushed herself to the edge of the bed. "I have to go back today."

"Okay," he said as he stood, unfolding his long body from the bed.

She was sweaty; her shirt was stuck to her chest and the small of her back. A grimy odor wafted towards her nose and with disgust, she realized it was her. She couldn’t decide if she was grateful they hadn't tried to change her clothes or disgusted she was still wearing her mental ward greens. "I need a shower," she said, waving away Sam's hand as she slowly stood. "I can do it."

Despite her brave words, dizziness blurred her vision momentarily. When it passed, she asked, "You wouldn't happen to have my bag, would you?"

"We do. The police impounded your truck and brought the bag to the hospital. It's in the trunk. Let me see if I can get out of this room without waking Sleeping Beauty and I’ll go grab it."

Anne nodded and instantly regretted it as her vision blurred again and her stomach leapt. "Okay, not quite ready for sudden head movements yet. Wait, how did you guys get me out?"

Sam grinned. “Masters of disguise are we. No, seriously, we posed as the EMT drivers who were scheduled to pick you up and transport you to Leavendusk. We arrived about hour before the normal pick up and Dean charmed them into letting you go early.”

“Thank you,” she said, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. Sam nodded and stepped out of the motel room.

Her entire body ached and she still wasn’t sure death would be better alternative to how she felt, but she couldn’t help but let go of a soft sigh as she watched Dean sleep. He rolled over onto his side facing her, his arm tucked under the pillow and snored. His eyelashes lay like shadows against his cheek, and Anne resisted the urge to run her fingertip over them. He always was too damn pretty for his own good.

But her smile faded as she thought of Billy. She wished she could believe they’d help her get Billy out, wished she could believe Billy was still alive. Now, she had to figure out how the hell to get rid of them so she could finish this on her own.

She glanced at the bedside table and Dean’s cell phone. Anne frowned and picked it up, flipping through the recent calls until she found his father.


Dean dreams and as so often happens when he sleeps, memories invade.

He was nineteen the night he parked the Impala outside the Singer house, watching the darkened windows and feeling the hunt tension increase. Bobby had called John about a nasty pack of Death Wings and Kratichs that were ravaging the county’s livestock. It wasn’t far from Bobby's town and even though Dean could have just called, conversation and a beer or six would help him unwind.

Too bad his father didn’t share the same sentiment.

He blinked against the sudden brightness of the porch light, smiling at her as she peeked around the curtains and his night just got a little bit brighter. He’d forgotten Anne and Billy were living here now. She answered the door covering a yawn with one hand, one side of her short hair flat against her head and crisscrossing red marks from her pillow running across her face. “Dean?”

“This must be where the angels keep themselves at night,” he said with a smile, wincing as the fresh stitches pulled across his temple. She was wearing an old ratty USMC t-shirt tied in a knot at the small of her back. Dean was almost positive it had once belonged to his father.

She pushed open the screen door with one hand and stared into the darkness behind him. “Are you alone?”

“Yeah,” he said and some emotion Dean didn’t recognize flashed across her face. “Man, Anne. I haven’t seen you in years. How you doing?”

“I’m okay, considering. Jesus, Dean. You’re hurt,” she said as she motioned him inside with a wave of her arm. “Sit down,” she said as she turned on the lamp and moved newspapers off the couch. “God, Dean. You’re a mess.”

“Thanks,” he said, grimacing as he sat down. “Nice to see you, too.”

“Bobby’s asleep. Do you want me to wake him up?”

“No. I just wanted to be sure everything was okay here. I forgot you and Billy were staying here now. And I wouldn’t say no to a place to crash for the night if I could.”

“Yeah, we’ve been here ever since Stella died.”

Dean shook his head. “Crap, I totally forgot about Stella. Car accident, right? I’m sorry for your loss.”

Anne pursed her lips to the side for a moment. “Yeah, me too. It was so sudden and Billy’s still upset about it.”

“How’s Bobby doing?”

Anne smiled. “He’s being Bobby, of course. Strong and silent, you know how he is. Do you want a beer?”

“Oh, hell yeah.” Dean said, his appreciation for her growing.

She walked to the kitchen and Dean tilted his head, watching the line of her ass in her faded flannel pants.

She twisted the cap off as came back into the room, handing the bottle to him with a smile before tossing the cap on the coffee table. He drank deeply, sighing as the cold alcohol slid down his throat and hit his belly.

She settled beside him, her fingers reaching to touch the cut on his temple. “You know you’re always welcome here. What were you guys up against tonight?”

“Those lovely Death Wings and their nasty counterparts, Kratichs.”

“Yuck,” she said. “Bobby’s been following their path of destruction for the past couple of weeks. He said he was going to give you guys a call. I thought you’d stop here before clearing out their nest.”

“Didn’t need to,” Dean said, hissing in pain as he shifted on the couch. He took another long pull of the beer. “Dad knew what to do. Fling burning oil on the creepers on the ground and then blast the other fuckers out of the air when they swoop in for the kill. Easy as pie.”

“Yeah, blood pie, maybe.” Anne said as her mouth twisted into an ironic grin. “Did your father stitch you up?”

Dean nodded as he slouched lower onto the couch. “How can you tell?”

“He left the blood stains. Where’s John now?”

John flashed through Dean’s mind. He’d never heard her call his dad anything other than Mr. Winchester before. Not your dad, just John. She was being awfully casual with the old man’s name. “He left, said he had some business to take care of in Kansas City.”

“And Sam?”

“With Pastor Jim. Kid’s got mid-terms this week. Dad let him stay behind.” Her fingers trailed lightly down his face, her eyebrows furrowed in concern, taking stock of all his cuts.

“Nice hair,” he said, trying to cover his sudden breathlessness.

“What?” She asked, before clasping her hand to her bed head. “I wasn’t expecting company at three am, Dean.” She tried to smooth the short pieces down, but failed.

His skin felt cool where the heat of her fingers touched.

“I’m going to check on Billy and get the first aid kit. I’ll be right back.”

Dean waited until she entered the room again before struggling to stand. She had put a brown headband in her hair to hold her bangs away from her face. Christ, she looked like she was fourteen years old. Was he seriously thinking about doing what he was thinking? One warm body is just as good as another after a hunt. He could find someone else. “You know, I can probably find my way to a motel okay. I should go, it’s late.”

Anne stopped, held up her hand and said, “Wait.”

Well, hell, he thought.

“Wait,” she said again. “Please let me...don’t go, Dean. Stay.”

Dean tried to smile as he sat back down on the couch. “Good, I’ll stay. Because there’s a fine line here between where I think I can drive and where I hurt so much I probably belong in the hospital. I think that fucker broke one of my ribs.”

“Dammit, Dean, you guys should be more careful,” she said.

Dean grinned. “Yeah, careful. I’ll try to remember that next time.”

She sat down on the other end of the couch and patted her lap.

“You looking to cuddle? Cause normally, I’m the one on the bottom.”

Anne threw him a look. “Put your head in my lap, numb nuts. I want finish what your father started.”

She stared down at him, cleaning the dried blood from his face and neck with alcohol swabs. He shivered under her touch, partially because of the evaporation of the alcohol but mostly because her hands were warm. He watched her, knowing by the way her brows furrowed together he was making her uncomfortable. She was no beauty queen, her nose was a bit too long, her lips too full, but man, she had beautiful eyes.

"Do you have a boyfriend, Anne?"

Her fingers stilled on his skin. She shrugged her shoulders and said, "Maybe. Why do you ask?"

"Aw come, on. You don’t have the captain of the football team sniffing around here?”

She tensed under him. "What the hell, Dean? You wanna take me to prom or something?"

"Something, maybe," he said.

She stared down at him, and Dean had to admit he'd always been a sucker for big brown eyes.

"Maybe," she whispered.

When Anne was done, she slowly curled her fingers into his hair and caressed the tendons at the back of his neck. An electrifying shudder ran through him and she froze momentarily, feeling it too. He opened his eyes and stared up at her as a dim flush rose like a fever across her face. She looked down at him, tilting her head to the side as if she were memorizing each feature of his face.

Whatever she saw in his eyes caused her breath to hitch and quicken. His skin tingled as her tongue darted out between her lips before biting her lip and looking away.

Dean sat up slowly, and reached for the beer on the coffee table and finished what was left in the bottle. “Last chance, Anne. Do you want me to go?”

She shook her head, her breath quickening. “No. Don’t go. Stay.”

Dean put the empty bottle down and turned to her, cupping her cheek in his hand. He touched her face softly, his thumb tracing her bottom lip before leaning in and pressing his lips softly against hers.

He moved his mouth over hers, taking her head in both hands and cradling the back of her neck with the other. Suddenly, he was ravenous, wanting to taste every inch of her. Her mouth opened beneath his and she tasted of mint. Dean smiled against her lips, realizing she must’ve quickly rinsed her mouth when she retrieved the first aid kit.

Had she known even then she’d be kissing him tonight? Her hands moved to his chest, palms flat against his shirt.

And then her hand moved to his shoulder and pushed him away. “Look, Dean. You’re hot. You know you are, but I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It’s not a good idea, but it felt good, right?” He leaned forward and kissed her again. He smiled against her lips as she moaned beneath him. Skin caught on fire and burned where ever he touched her. His fingers brushed under the torn collar of the t-shirt, caressing just the edge of the swell of her breast. Without thought, he brought his knees up on the couch and pushed her back against the couch cushions.

Blood pounded in his head, leapt from his heart down to his groin and—

“Annie!” A boy’s voice echoed down the hallway. Dean jumped back, his head swinging towards the bedroom, his hand reaching for a gun that wasn’t there.

Anne put her hand on Dean’s arm and pulled herself up. “That’s Billy. He’s been having nightmares again,” she said as she swung her legs off the couch. “This never would have worked anyway, Dean.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked as he shifted to a sitting position.

Anne edged closer the edge of the couch. “I don’t think I could handle a one night stand with you. You’d leave in the morning and I’d spend the next sixth months constantly thinking about you, wondering where you are, why you haven’t called,” she ran a hand over her mouth. “Me and obsession...we're like old friends who secretly hate one another. She's quite the bitch and I think I’ve got enough craziness in my life right now. You understand, right?”

Dean smiled, trying not to let his annoyance show as he tried to nonchalantly shift his softening erection. “Ah well, another time maybe.”

Again, Billy cried her name from his bedroom. She sighed and stood up from the couch. Leaning over, she kissed him, her tongue sweeping into his mouth one last time. “Yeah, maybe.

He watched her walk to the hallway. She stopped, turned to look at him and said, “You know where the pillows and blankets are. Good-night, Dean.”

Dean sighed as she disappeared. “Couldn’t you have at least gotten me another beer first?”

Continue to Part Two
Tags: crossover, fic, obeetaybee, silent hill, supernatural

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