Disclaimer: Sam, Dean, and all the towns here don't belong to me. The boys go to the WB, and Konami owns the rest. So don't sue. Everyone and everything else however, are totally mine J

Author's Note: Hello, folks! This is my first stab at writing a Supernatural fanfic, so be nice, hehehe. I've had the idea of crossing over two of my favorite series for a long time now (around the time 'Wendigo' aired, I believe), and now that I finally got a decent enough plot, I finally went ahead with it. Fans of Silent Hill 2 would be quick to realize (and deduce) certain plot points, but I'll try my best to keep everything fresh, I promise ;) On a side note, this story takes place after 'Something Wicked' - - I won't spoil anything, it's only just that episode nineteen is the last episode I watched. So anyway, without further adieu…


Supernatural / Silent Hill

"Broken Roses"



Prologue:


Sunlight poured through the open window. Red curtains billowed gently in the air, giving way for the small cradle in the middle of the room to be bathed in glorious gold. The wicker cradle was painted white, old Victorian, yet contradictory in being both simple and opulent at the same time. It had sides tall enough to completely shield the child within from the view of people more than three feet away. Sam Winchester was standing at four. He brushed a strand of his long, dusty brown hair from his eye, before taking a second to turn to the open window. It was very cold. He pulled his sleeves up his wrist, and then blew a quick puff of warm breath on his cupped hands, before he returned his attention to the cradle in front of him. "…" A soft whimper came from inside the wicker frame, innocent, almost like the sound of a toddler as it wakes. Sam narrowed his eyes, and wearily drew closer to the cradle. More sounds. Shifting weight, lips tasting each other, soft sighs of air. Giggling. The baby was awake. Sam made another step forward, this time catching a glimpse of the white comforter stretched inside. "…?" There was something else. Something wrong. A red stain at the very bottom of where he could see. Sam took a deep breath, and picked up his pace. "…!" His hands clutching to the sides of the cradle as he halted to a stop. It took everything he could not to throw up.

"Oh my God." Sam muttered under his breath, covering his mouth with his palm at the sight in front of him. Slowly, he staggered back, holding down the urge to just fall on both knees and vomit. The baby was still giggling. Or more appropriately, whatever was inside, was still gigglingLouder. Almost as if it were laughing at him.

"Its okay, Sammy." he then heard a woman soothingly whisper from behind him. A beautiful voice. Startled, he spun around; something he wished he did not do. It was the last thing he saw, before everything went black.

"…I'm here to get you..."

"No!" Sam jerked his entire body forward, not only forcing him to strain against the tight seatbelt that held him down, but also to inadvertently smacking his older brother, Dean on the face with his left fist.

"Shit!" yelled Dean, as the blow surprised him so much that he accidentally swung the car's wheel to the left, maneuvering it right into the path of an eighteen-wheeler that was coming down the other lane. A deafening hum and a pair of blinding headlights came the brothers' way, prompting them to scream, somewhat comically, in unison. It was only half a second later, and a fraction at that before certain death, that Dean managed to pull the wheel right. Sam closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, as the roaring sound of two tons worth of steel blazed into his ears. "Shit!" Dean screamed again, as the sudden swerve made the wheels slide uncontrollably forward, right to the dangerously sharp curve just a few feet ahead. The thick coat of darkness from the cold night, one that their car's own headlights were barely able to pierce, made the other side of the curve look like a bottomless pit. And whether it was or it wasn't, neither brother wanted to find out.

Sam pressed his hands against the ceiling of their car, his body tensing at the thought of another violent car crash. "Hit the brakes!" he cried out, only to have his plea fall on deaf ears, as Dean opted to swerve left once more, in an effort to ride the bend of the curve. The tires screeched. Metal scraped against metal, forcing bright, yellow sparks to fly into the night air. Then as fast as it came, the entire ordeal ended. The car finally grinded to a halt, leaving behind a thick trail of smoke and skid-marks.

"…" Dean stared blankly in front of him, his hands still clamped over the wheel, and his boot still firmly pressed on the brake. Sam too, was still catching his breath. "…Dean, you okay?" he then asked, with a voice that shook between syllable. Dean nodded, still looking blankly ahead, and licked his lips. "You?"

"…yeah." Sam softly responded.

"Okay. Good." retorted Dean, before smacking his brother on the back of the head. Surely enough, Sam was quick to cry out at the blow. "That was for hitting me." Dean calmly declared, before smacking his brother on the head once again. "And that! That is for my car!

"Okay! Okay!" protested the younger brother, waving his hands in the air to fend off anymore quick slaps. "Christ, I had a bad dream, okay?"

"No kidding. What about my car, you think she'll be having good dreams tonight?"

"…shut up." Sam quickly rebutted while he unlatched his seatbelt. He knew that he almost got them both killed, and he knew that Dean won't let this opportunity to get double the chance of bossing him around slip. It was going to be a long night. With a low moan, Sam stepped out of the car, and began to inspect the damage. "It's not that bad..." he quickly reported over his shoulder, as he trailed the scratches with his index and middle fingers. "I mean, all it needs is a little touch-up…and…" Sam stopped, suddenly feeling something wet splattered across the scratched-off paint. Something red. "Oh…" Sam quickly jolted to the direction of the curve that they had just narrowly missed crashing right through, and to his horror, saw the lifeless body of a beautiful woman in casual clothing, lying bloody and torn on the side of the road. Staring at him with wide, dead eyes. "…shit."


Chapter 1: "A Morning in Brahms…"


A magnificent hail of light broke through the passing clouds that beautiful morning. The birds sang, and a lot of 'good mornings' were exchanged. Just like any other morning in the small town of Brahms. The main roads were a little narrow, and no building stood higher than four stories tall. Kids headed for another day of school rode safely in bicycles of every color, and only a few cars, none of which are imported or tricked out, safely traverse the clean streets. Perhaps that was why a lot of heads turned at the sight of an old, black muscle car driving by. Nonetheless, it managed to catch the attention of a young police officer who had just emerged from the town's public library. He had a small file tucked beneath his arm, and held onto it tighter. Soon enough, the black car turned a corner, and disappeared from the officer's line of sight. He was certain that the car was headed for the small motel further in. And he was right.

"Bates' Inn..." Dean read silently as he hastily parked his car on one of the numerous, empty spaces. He then took a moment to rub his tired eyes, not only due to exhaustion, but also because the whole motel was a rather bright shade of green and white. "They couldn't have picked a better name…"

An entire night spent both on driving and worrying, didn't exactly bring out the best in his attitude, nor his handsome features. But still, even half-asleep, grumpy and limping his way out of a beat-up car, most of the young ladies present still didn't pass the chance to follow him with interested eyes. It would be hard to fault them of course, seeing as there was an air of mystery and undeniable charm surrounding the young man. Not to mention that the form-fitting gray shirt he wore beneath his black, leather jacket wasn't shy in revealing just how well-built he was. And quite honestly, Dean knew it. He knew he had the looks. And he knew it when a couple of ladies followed him with their eyes. And usually, he'd take a second to give back a sly smile, or maybe even a wink if he's really interested. But at that very moment, he was too pre-occupied to give a damn.

Sam, the object of Dean's concern, not that such a thing would ever come to admittance, stared out of the car's open window. The cool wind did nothing to soothe either his rattled nerves, or the emptiness in his stomach that made him want to throw up. Again. Like his brother, Sam too was a handsome young man, albeit with somewhat more feminine features. Also, he had a height that should automatically allow him entry to the NCAA. Too bad he preferred reading a book instead of playing ball. And like his brother, he had a body that most other men would envy. Unlike his brother however, he never really thought much about it, and neither did he choose to flaunt it; opting always to hide himself beneath long sleeves covered furthermore by flannel shirts, much like the dark red one he had on now.

"…" Dark Red. Just like the blood splattered all over the road. Just like the blood that was still smeared on his hand.

"Sam!" Dean called; snapping the younger brother from what could have been another uncomfortable trance. "Got us a room at the second floor. Come on."


"You had a vision." Dean calmly stated, hoping deep down that what he was saying rang true. "…right?"

"…" Sam swallowed a lump in his throat, as he stared silently at the ceiling fan. There were small water stains around it, casting a dark, brown hue over the already-aged white paint. Oddly enough, all the corners of the room were also marked with the dirty color, though compared to the stain in the middle, they were barely visible.

"Sam." Dean called once more. "I didn't see her. Whoever it was you said we hit. There wasn't any blood on the side of the car, and there wasn't - - isn't - - any blood on you. If it were an apparition or something, I would have seen it too…"

"I don't know, Dean." Sam lifelessly responded, keeping his eyes on the stains overhead.

"What do you mean you don't know?" came the inevitable inquiry.

"Dean, the last time I had a vision, I had no idea where I was and who I was looking at. Not to mention that when I had visions, it always felt like Jason Voorhees walked into an orgy in my brain and started whacking away…"

"…wait, wait, so if it's not a vision…are you saying that you recognized the woman you saw on the road? Is that what you're telling me?"

"…I don't …the last time I had visions, my own psychic hoolas got looped together with somebody stronger. My thoughts pretty much just got…enfolded in his."

"So you think we have another rogue psychic on our hands?" Dean asked, though the bend of his brow revealed his skepticism at the idea. He knew Sam was hiding something. And Sam, deep down, knew that Dean knew it.

"We should just check the local lore here. Try and see if there were any… accidents or - - or other reports about some woman on the road. Maybe give us a clue or…some lead…" suggested Sam, hoping to get the conversation moving, hopefully to a stop. No such luck.

"…what about your nightmare?" Dean then asked, completely ignoring the course of action that Sam had just recommended.

"What?"

"Your nightmare. Do I have to explain what a nightmare is to you?"

"I know what a nightmare is."

"So? Tell me, what the hell was it about? Was it the same woman you saw? Did it have anything to do with the case that we're here for in Brahms for in the first place? The missing persons?"

"…I can't remember."

"…" Dean shook his head, and then rubbed the back of his head with an agitated hand. "Okay. Okay. I'm going to have my car fixed, then I'm gonna' hit the local diners, see if there are any other sightings of whatever it is that you think you saw."

"I'm coming with you - -" whispered Sam as he slowly sat back up. There was a discomfort on his face that he desperately tried to hide; something that Dean was quick to notice. "No. You're staying here to rest. Don't argue." he immediately instructed, forcing his younger brother to reluctantly lie back down. "Get some sleep, Sammy." Dean softly reiterated, locking his eyes on Sam's, just to prove that he was serious in what he said. "…okay." finally replied Sam. Dean nodded, and grabbed the keys from the small table by the bed. "I'll be back soon." he reassured his brother before he opened the door and stepped out.

"…" Sam shifted his weight- - hoping to gain at least some semblance of comfort - - and then raised his open palm to the level of his eye. He already washed it the very moment he stepped into the room. And then two more times soon after. But the blood was still there. It just wouldn't go away. Sam closed his eyes, and clenched his fist, trying his best to keep calm under the unusual circumstances. "There's an answer for everything…" he thought to himself, fairly certain that the problem was something he and his brother could solve. It was their job after all. To deal with the Supernatural.

All of a sudden, the radio on the other end of the room lit open. Sam immediately sat up. An old song was playing. A love song. It was the type of song you would catch your grandmother listening to on her old Victrola during those dreary weekend visits. And by the time the song's first verse was coming to an end, Sam was already on his feet, on his way to unplug the radio. But something stopped him. And it wasn't just the realization that the radio wasn't plugged at all. Rather, there was a small scratch in the voice of the woman singing; a slight distortion that cut into Sam's ear. It was a distortion that grew louder, and louder, to the point that every other sound was devoured by heavy static.


"Miss? Could you hand us some ketchup over here?" asked one of the diner's patrons just as he noticed the waitress passing by. "Container here's empty." he then explained with a polite smile. The waitress returned the courtesy and grabbed the ketchup bottle from an empty table. A thank you and a welcome later, and she was ready to get back to the counter for the next delivery. She had hair that shone brighter than the sun, tied back to a clean pony-tail because she preferred being comfortable instead of being more beautiful than she already was. Her eyes were bright, baby-blue, and she knew how to walk like a super-model even though she has three plates stacked on one tray per hand.

Her name was Cindy Bennett. Twenty years old. Everyone knew it. Half of the men there, in fact, only had breakfast in that diner just so they could catch a glimpse of her during the morning shift. That was why, her brother Michael, just four years older than her, was always there to keep an eye on everybody. It was a job made exponentially easier by the fact that he was a cop, and that wearing the badge always helped a lot in the art of intimidation. Unlike his sister, Michael had short, brown hair with a small peak at the middle, all shaven-off for the sake of utility. He had blue eyes, much like his sister, only his were so deep that you'd feel like they were burning a hole right through you. So much so, girls everywhere wanted to just steal the pair of black aviator shades he always wore just so that he could never hide his beautiful eyes again. In fact, if the men were there spotting on Cindy, then the ladies were there spotting on Michael, who was always there to protectively watch over his sister. He took a vow, long ago, that he'd never let any harm come to her. Not like the other one.

"…?" Michael turned his gaze to the diner's door. It was Dean.

"…" Cindy glanced at her brother for a second, before returning to the counter. Just in time to have Dean grab a seat right beside where she was stood.

"Hey there." he quickly greeted with a charming smile. He knew that the cop was staring at him from a seat to his far left, and he was certain that, given the track-record of his recent adventures, the day won't end without him learning the reason why.

"Good morning." Cindy greeted with a warm smile. "Welcome to Jacob's Diner."

"Hey. Uh, can I get some coffee?" Dean asked, returning the smile.

"Sure. Will that be all?"

"Well, what do you recommend?" Dean then asked. Cindy smiled, and then turned her gaze to somebody who was approaching them from the side. "She will recommend the blueberry waffles." interrupted a deep, but kind voice. "But that's only because she hates strawberries."

"Shut up, Mike." Cindy quickly retorted behind a soft chuckle. "And I don't hate strawberries."

"…good to know." muttered Dean.

"So, what brings you to our fair little corner of the world?" Michael asked, turning to Dean, who had his attention pulled between Michael and getting served a cup of coffee.

"Wow, didn't think you could pinpoint tourists at a glance…" stated Dean, mouthing the word 'thanks' at Cindy for the drink. By then, Michael had already taken the seat beside Dean, his back and elbows casually rested on the counter, while his legs were stretched out, one foot resting on top of another.

"Nah, I can't. But I've been in this town my whole life, and I've never seen a 1969 Ford Mustang around here. Hell, there's no car here that sailed the way yours did. She's a real beauty, bro. Cougar Chassis?"

"Haha, man I wish. Only two in the world have those. You have a quick eye, though."

"Saw you just as I got out of the library awhile back. Had a friend, I recall. So. You tourists? Or just passing by?"

"Uh, neither. We're botanists." Dean immediately responded.

"…botanists." Michael repeated, just to make sure that he heard it right.

"Yeah. We came from South Ashfield. You know… a couple of miles West?"

"…" Michael nodded, and folded his hands over his chest.

"Heard there was this really weird fauna in the woods. Near the lake?"

"…Toluca Lake?" Cindy asked. Michael shot him a look that immediately silenced her.

"That's the one." Dean stated, acting as if he didn't notice the odd exchange between the two. "The lake is in another town, right? But there's this path in the forest that leads to some lookout point where you can get a good view…"

"Silent Hill." Cindy declared in a hushed voice. "The town's called Silent Hill." As if on cue, some of the diner's patrons stopped and turned their attention to the source of the ominous name. Dean fought the urge to laugh out at just how cheesy the whole situation seemed to become.

"I'm sorry sir..." Michael then remarked, his tone of voice turning much sterner. He even changed the way he sat, from an extremely relaxed posture into an incredibly stiff one. "…but Silent Hill - - and the entire woodland area surrounding it - - is off-limits. No exceptions."

"…" Dean turned to Cindy, who looked away, and then returned his attention to Michael. "Can I ask why?"


Sam bit his lips. Hard. Tears were in his eyes. He couldn't control it. He was breathing harder. Faster. Deeper. "…okay." he kept muttering to himself in a voice cracked by sheer emotion. Sam could barely balance himself on top of the small, wooden chair that he was stepping on; itself positioned right in the middle of the two beds, and directly below the noisy ceiling fan. Around the fan's base was tied one end of a white blanket. The other end was tied tightly around Sam's neck. The static from the radio was deafening.

"That's it…" whispered a woman's, warm voice. "…just take a deep breath…it's nothing to be scared of. You'll see."

"…" Sam nodded his head, and began to take long, deep breaths, opting to exhale through his nose instead of his mouth. "…okay…"

"Are you calm? See? Doesn't that feel better?" the woman then asked, almost like a mother would a child. Sam nodded once again, with tears still streaming down his cheeks. It's been so long since the last time he cried. So long, that he couldn't even remember the last time it happened. All he knew at that moment was that he couldn't stop it. "…I love you, baby." he then whispered through a sad smile. "I love you so much."

"…" Jessica smiled back, and placed a gentle hand on her lover's cheek. "I love you too."


To be Continued…


Author's Note: Well? Yeah, I know it's slow, but I have this obsessive compulsion of setting things up at a snail's pace :p And don't worry, I know that you could see who the mystery woman was a mile away, but the mystery isn't really about her J So, drop me a line and tell me what you all think! Feed me! Cheerio!