Author's Note: Hey! Sorry it took so long to update, but I kind of got sidetracked by something. Anyway, for all of you who waited, here it is, the next chapter! Enjoy!

Previously on Supernatural/Silent Hill…

A small resort town in Northern part of the country, SILENT HILL fell victim to a tragedy that literally turned it into a ghost town not soon after. Over the years, people who have lost their way stumble into this town. They never return.

The brothers, on their way to tracking down their father, come across news of a bevy of disappearances across the country, all of which point to one commonality. They were all last seen near the deserted town of Silent Hill. Surely enough, the two decide to investigate. As they drive down a winding road, a horrible nightmare causes Sam to lash out violently, nearly causing them to crash on an eighteen-wheeler. They barely missed. But then, they had the problem of uncontrollably swerving through the railings. Thankfully, Dean managed to regain control just in time, but not without damage to the beautiful Impala, and from what Sam saw, running over a beautiful young woman.

Dean however, doesn't see this, and decides to drive to Brahms, the town nearest to Silent Hill, in order to get information. By the time they get there however, Sam has grown unexplainably ill. That's why he gets left inside the motel while Dean sets out to do the job, to which end he met a beautiful waitress, CINDY BENNETT, and her older brother MICHAEL. It is them who inadvertently confirm Dean's suspicions about Silent Hill. But as they discuss the strange town, the troubled Sam finds himself coaxed into suicide, by none other than his dead girlfriend Jessica. Dean manages to save Sam in time, as well as convince him to investigate the town of Silent Hill, where the disappearances seem to point.

Michael, suspecting that Dean is on his way to Silent Hill, decides to investigate, only to find his dead sister CYBIL driving past him. Distracted, he doesn't notice that the road abruptly disappears beneath him. Too late to stop his car, Michael falls right into what looks like a bottomless pit. Meanwhile, the brothers, on the edge of town, barely survive their first encounter with one of its residents…

Chapter 4: "Gathering"

Sam leaned back and watched as the rain slide off of the dirty windshield. Dean, as usual, was behind the wheel; doing his best to make sure that the old, jet-black BMW they found in the ranch wouldn't lose control over the slippery road. They've already been driving for a little more than fifteen minutes, and aside from a few out of shape billboards, they still saw no sign of the main town. Tall trees were lined on both sides, symbols of growth and life that looked more like contorted spires as they swayed hauntingly in the darkness. But then again, Sam was too deep in thought to even be bothered by the odd vegetation. At the very least, the fever that struck him the first time the strange occurrences began didn't come back for a round two.

"It's because you're psychic." Dean declared out of the blue, glancing at his brother for a quick second before returning his sights to the road. Sam responded by raising his eyebrow at his brother.

"Look, whatever that thing was, it must have been psychic too. That's how it got to you, you have a common…thing. That's why it made my EMF go wild."

"So you're telling me that we're up against… telepathic boob-jobs?"

"Is that really what we're calling them now?"

"That's what you named them - -"

"Yeah, well I was just kidding."

"Whatever. The name fits anyway."

Dean blew some air out of his nose, which was his own way of saying that he wasn't interested in continuing the conversation any longer. Sam took the hint, and returned to his stellar brooding. The next few minutes were spent in silence, with the elder of the two alternating between the option to slap his brother at the back of the head, or to once again try to find a way to tell him that everything will work out just fine. That he knew and he understood what Sam was going through. Unfortunately, Dean had no clue as to whether Sam was being manipulated by the unexplainable force surrounding the town, or if he was just being an ass. That and he never really was good at showing how much he cared for his baby brother.

"So, Sammy…" Dean started.

"Hmm?" Sam stirred, though he still chose to stare out of his window.

"What do you thinks waiting for us in Silent Hill? Ghosts and Goblins?"

"…you said there was a big fire, right? Well, if a lot of people died, then the negative energy would pretty much be off the scales. Violent deaths…" Sam slowly trailed off, obviously in deep, painful rumination. The woman he loved was set ablaze after all.

"Maybe it's the 'Demon'…" Dean declared, eager to steer the conversation somewhere worthwhile. "…prick probably set a big fire that got out of control. Ate half the town."

"I don't know Dean. This feels different." Sam answered, shifting his weight in order to better lean on the headrest. "It's like…this one has its own brand of evil."

"Evil has a brand?"

"You know what I mean."

"At any rate, it'll be one less 'evil' when we're through."

"I hope so." Sam dryly answered, before deciding to open the glove compartment out of a whim. It unfastened with a loud crack, revealing a pile of brown-stained envelopes and tattered registration forms stacked carelessly on top the other.

"You shouldn't look in other people's glove compartments Sammy, it's rude." Dean remarked, to which his younger brother scoffed in return. "Hey, I wasn't the one who hotwired the car, Dean…"

"Yeah, well at least I respect the man's privacy."

"Oh, hey…" Sam leaned forward, and pulled out a bulky, folded map from the middle of the stack. Oddly enough, it was still in good shape, considering everything else looked like they haven't been touched in ages. A red marker had been stuck inside, rolling out into Sam's hand as he unfolded the map. "…huh, there's a pen here too."

"So what, Sammy? You plan on killing the demons with your advanced B.A?

"Shut up, Dean. At least now, we won't waste the next three hours actually looking for the damn school."

"Do you even have any idea where we are now?"

"We're coming in through Vale. We take two rights and then a left."

"…how the hell do you know that?"

"…it doesn't take an advanced B.A. to read a map, Dean."

"No, I mean - -" Dean half-turned to face his brother, only to have his attention snap back to the road in less than a second later. Sam automatically followed Dean's line of sight, and right away found out what had his brother so concerned.

Heavy skid-marks were emblazoned on the cold, concrete road; marks that curved and led through the broken railings, and into the wide, grassy area beyond. And not too far from where it had crashed through was a gray, broken-down Station Wagon. Something must have been lodged on the horn, since it was blaring nonstop. Thin wisps of smoke seeped through its half-open hood, which took the brunt of the crash's force. Sam didn't need to ask his brother to stop the car so they could inspect the wreckage and see if the passengers were alright, as Dean didn't make any delays in parking his car right beside the torn railing.

She should have worn her seatbelt. Her father always made such a big fuss whenever she forgot to put it on. Basic road safety and all that. And now, on this lonesome evening, she would have scolded herself much like his father would have should he still be alive, but considering that she was now peeling her bruised forehead off of the steering wheel, any further admonishment would simply seem redundant. Unfortunately, the horn was still jammed in place, which meant the blaring noise was still pounding on her ears.

"Oh...God…" it took most of her strength to get back to an upright position, something she immediately regretted after feeling a sharp pain spread across the back of her neck. She clenched her teeth, and bore it in silence. To her, it was just another add-on to an already spinning world. Almost idly, she took a moment to fix her short, denim skirt.

"Pull yourself together…" she grumbled to herself, brushing away a long, curly black bang that her sweat has fastened to her cheek. Right after, she began to check on the rest of her face, making sure each sharp feature - - one of the pros from her Spanish heritage - - was still intact. Her finger soon found its way to the red mark on the right corner of her forehead, where the mere graze of her touch sent a stinging sensation through her entire head. It was enough of a jolt to make her remember what got her off the road in the first place. The man in the coat.

"No…no, no, no…!" betraying the restraint she had previously displayed, the woman began to delve into a state of hysteria, turning her head left and right as she frantically attempted to get the engine running once again. No such luck. "God!"

It took five tires before she finally gave up on getting the Station Wagon to run. With seething breaths, she reached for the passenger's seat where she left her purse, and pulled it onto her lap, where she began to rummage inside. Sweat began to drip down her nose, as she procured the item she searched for. A four-inch long flick-knife. It did provide her with a small sense of comfort. Unfortunately, it was one that was quickly diminished by the sound of palms beating against the passenger's door - - loud noises that seemed to cut through the noise generated by the Station Wagon's jammed horn. Like children desperately trying to get inside.

"Get away!" shrieked the woman, as she hurriedly pushed her own door open and unceremoniously dropped to the wet mud below. She didn't even care that the rain and the mud made the white blouse she wore barely visible. She had to get away. That was when she felt two hands grab her by the shoulders. Startled, she blindly lashed out at the man, plunging the drawn flick-knife right into his stomach.

Sam watched in horror as his brother crumpled to the ground, with the blade still embedded in his gut. The woman, whose eyes were wide with the realization of her action, was just as mortified. "Dean!" Sam screamed, rushing to his fallen brother's side. "Hang on, hang on, it's…it's just a flesh wound, okay? This is nothing…"

Dean tilted his head up, his face a clear portrait of the intense pain that racked his body, and locked his eyes on those of his brother's. "Sammy…you are a filthy liar."

"I didn't mean it…" chided the woman, who now had her back pressed against the open driver's door. Her thick, black mascara had already run down her cheeks, giving the impression that she had been crying for hours. "I'm so sorry…oh my God…"

"Help me lift him up!" Sam yelled, focused on keeping his brother alive. He knew that with the knife still lodged in his system, it would help in preventing too much blood from pouring out of his arteries. Which meant that Sam still had enough time to save his brother. "Lady, come on!"

"…what…" the woman swallowed her breath, and took a shaky step forward. "…what do we need to do…?"

"Grab his legs…" Sam instructed, while he began to reach behind his brother's heavy shoulders. The woman didn't hesitate to do as she was told, whispering apologies over and over as she did. Her eyes avoided his face, but she knew that he was looking at her.

"Hey…" Dean weakly called, forcing the woman to freeze in place. "…what's your name, beautiful?" he then asked with a pained smile, once again catching the woman off her guard. Sam frowned and shot his brother an angry stare. "Now's not the time, Dean!"

"Okay, let's wait till after I die…" Dean sarcastically snapped back.

"You're not going to die." Sam lazily retorted.

"You try getting gutted like a fish, geekboy." The elder Winchester taunted, clearly expending his strength just to offer a response.

"It's Vivian." the woman finally declared, putting a stop to the brothers' light-hearted argument. "…Vivian Marcelo."

"Vivian…"Dean smiled, and gave the distraught woman a wink, right before his eyes fluttered to a close. And as the darkness began to overwhelm him, the sound of his brother's cries and the woman's pleas soon faded into nothingness.

Back in Brahms, Sarah Collins watched the rain break against her apartment window through resolute eyes. There was something unnatural about the unwelcome precipitation; a sort of strangeness that disturbs a person to his or her very core, without even a hint of an explanation as to why. But Sarah, she knew. She was a sensitive after all. She knew that an immeasurable power was hidden beneath the hellish town of Silent Hill. And she knew that with the right combination of spells and incantations, she herself could wield that power. The power of a god.

But of as was always the case, the right to brandish such power must come at a price. And the most potent almost always had to be paid for in blood. With this knowledge, Sarah took a deep breath, and turned to face the far wall which was opposite where she was standing. Resting against the wall was the empty room's only piece of furniture; a small table with its top was covered by a black sheet of cloth. On it were laid numerous candles of black and red, surrounding a statuette of a mourning woman, with hands bound together above her head, as if in some silent condemnation of the heavens.

The figurine stood over the photographs of Michael and Cindy Bennett, both of whom had some sort of red liquid streaked across their faces. Sarah deepened her frown, and wore a black cowl over her long, auburn hair. The flame from the candles reflected against her bright, green eyes, as she began to make her way to the center of the small room. "Tuatha de Dannan…" she then uttered as she approached the odd altar, and got down on both knees, where she raised her hands in exaltation. "…queen of the other side…accept the offering of your most humble servant…for the blood that flows tonight, shall be in thy name..."

Michael sat up with a startled gasp. He was still alive. He then proceeded to check himself for any wounds that he may have incurred. Nothing seemed broken, and even his police uniform, a blue top underneath a brown jacket, along with a pair of black slacks, still seemed no worse for wear. The last thing he remembered was falling into a pit on his way to Silent Hill. He passed out before he reached the bottom, which oddly enough, is quite far from where he was now. He could tell because of the uneasy sound of a generator humming in the distance, as well as the scratching noise of thick wires pushing and pulling.

A putrid odor surrounded him, a combination of rust and sulfur that almost made him gag. "…okay…" Michael pulled out a small flashlight from his belt, and turned it on; wasting no time in shining it around him. "…what the hell?" The light first fell on a pair of closed metal doors, with a brown stain lining where the two ends met. Beside it was a panel, which also looked like it's been years before the last time it was used. There was no number on the floor reader above; even though he was sure that the platform was moving. "…why am I in an elevator?" Michael thought out loud, as he finally found enough strength to get back on his feet.

"…I must be dreaming…" he then mumbled to himself, a rational response by a man who followed his life with logic. "…must be…"

A loud, whining noise interrupted his line of thought; a noise that soon turned to heavy static. It didn't take long for him to realize that the noise was coming from the walkie-talkie on his belt. "…wait…" Michael grabbed the device, and raised it to his eye. Even with the noise, he could still make out the faint sound of a woman weeping. It was a familiar sound; one that haunted him on his every waking hour for years now.

"…Cybil?" Michael nervously asked, betraying the knowledge that his sister was gone.

"…cheal? Mich…is…at…you?" the fearful-sounding voice responded. Michael shook his head and bit his lips. It was impossible. He was sure of it. Cybil was dead. But still, he could do nothing but let his emotions take the wheel. "Cybil? Cybil it's me! I'm here!"

"..h, Go…Mi…eal, ple..e hel…me…" immediately came his sister's plea. Michael ran his hand across the top of his head as he desperately fought back his tears. But before he could gain enough bearing to speak once again, the line on the other end suddenly went dead. "…Cybil? Cybil?" Michael covered his mouth with his hand, praying that by some miracle, he could hear his sister's voice once again. No such luck.

All of a sudden, the elevator stopped in its tracks. The sound of massive gears locking into place echoed through the four walls, obviously signaling that the short trip had come to an end. "Concentrate!" Michael silently urged himself as he desperately tried to shake off the sound of his sister's voice. "Pull it together man…" he then thought, as he finally convinced himself to put the walkie-talkie back in his jacket, in order to pull out the handgun from its holster. Just in time for the old doors to slowly rattle open. Small particles of rust fell from the sliding steel, casting dark blots against the illumination that came from Michael's flashlight.

Outside the open doors, as far as the light would allow, he could make out a concrete floor. It was stained dark brown, sharing the same dereliction as the elevator that he was in. The distant sound of metal clashing and grinding against each other jarred the policeman's already disoriented senses, adding to the sick smell and heavy air that seemingly permeated every inch of the area. Michael took a deep breath. He knew he had to take the step into the unknown. He knew that there had to be an exit somewhere, and maybe a ticket back to some sense of normalcy. "…okay…let's do this…"

It took awhile before the swirling shadows finally resembled the shapes that they were supposed to be. That was also the same time that the pain came rushing back into his system. He didn't know how much time had passed, but it wasn't as dark as before he lost consciousness. Everything was just grey.

"Hell…" Dean sat up with a loud grunt, cursing under his breath as he recalled what had happened earlier on. Instinctively, he felt for the wound that was just to the left of his abdomen, getting a good hold of the bandage that was beneath his torn, blood-stained shirt. At least he was now sure that he was still alive. "Sam?" he then called, right before realizing that he was lying on top of a convenience store counter. Just a few feet away, to his front, were the glass doors. One was broken wide open, which was how the fog must have crept its way into the store. The rain had already stopped.

"…Sam?" Dean called once more, noticing some empty antiseptic bottles and a bloody washcloth on the floor just as he got off the counter. One of the bottles was broken, spilling the brown liquid that looked to have been stepped on, as wet footsteps led from the side of the counter to the back of the nearest isle.

On the other end of the store, a shopping cart had been driven through a stand of canned goods, leaving them strewn haphazardly on the dirty floor. Just beyond was a small passage that led to a half-open back-door. "Sammy?" Dean called again, this time taking the liberty of pulling out the gun which was thankfully still stuck in his belt. Right as he did, the sound of small steps, like clawed feet, grabbed his attention. Whatever it was, it was growling. And it was not alone. Instinctively, Dean spun to the direction of the sound, which came from the other side of the broken glass door. Just like it did in the barn, his EMF began to generate a jarring noise, signaling, obviously, the presence of something that should not be there. The creeping thought of his brother being hurt, or worse, nagged away at the back of his head.

Dean held his ground and trained his gun on the thick fog; ready to pull the trigger at first sight of anything unnatural. The growling suddenly turned into wheezing, almost like the sound of a hyena's whine. "Come on…" Dean muttered silently, his attention transfixed on the hole in the middle of the glass, sliding door. "…come out and play, assholes…"

And so they did. Without warning, creatures the shape of large skinless dogs crashed through both the left and right of the broken sliding door; flanking Dean on both sides. Startled, he let out a quick burst of gunfire, catching the creature's front leg and causing it to fall hard. But before he could even readjust his aim, the second one leapt straight at him. The force of the impact was pretty much the equivalent of a bowling ball hurled right at his chest. It hurt. Lots. Dean let out a loud grunt as the creature pinned him to the floor, forcing him to drop his gun in the process. It was only then did the elder Winchester get a clear look of what it was he faced.

It was a dog. Skinless and larger than anything he's ever seen. And it had the head that belonged to a human being's. Like the rest of its body, the head had no skin, save for the middle where the face was. It's teeth were blunt and yellow, while it's upper lip had been torn off, all the way up to what was once its nose - - leaving only traces of muscle and bone. It had lidless, dead eyes; making Dean feel like he was staring right into the gates of the afterlife. And it looked hungry.

"God, you're ugly…" Dean commented, right before the creature reared its head back and opened it maw to devour its prey. That was when an iron pipe was swung straight across its face with a sickening crack, forcing it off of Dean on down to the ground with a loud whine. Without giving it a chance to get back up, Sam continued to beat the creature with the iron pipe, giving Dean some room to reach for the gun he dropped earlier on. By then, the first creature, the one he shot in the leg, had already run off into the shadows; obviously smart enough to know when the odds are not in its favor.

Sam, for his part, continued to pummel the monstrosity with the iron pipe, not stopping even as he saw that it had completely stopped moving three swings prior. "Sammy!" Dean shouted in an attempt to get the attention of his enraged brother. No such luck. Sam was running on pure adrenaline now, and it wasn't until Dean decided to restrain him physically, that he managed to calm himself down.

"Okay…" Dean whispered, slowly taking a step back, and surveying the damage. "…what the hell?"

"I…don't…know." Sam replied, in between panting for air. "…Vivian…she…"

"Vivian? The chic who stabbed me?" Dean asked, only then noticing that the wound he got from her had been opened up, thanks to the monster who nearly ate his head off. He didn't mind. "Where is - - "

"When I was patching you up…oh God, you're wound…"

"It's nothing, just a few staples got popped. Where's Vivian?"

"She…she went outside, I didn't notice, she went outside, used the backdoor…then I heard a noise, so I went in after her…"


"She was gone. She must have run off or…she must have, then those things attacked, one of them pretty much ate my shotty…Christ, they must have attacked her too…"

"Okay. Okay. Did she take the car?"

"No." Sam pushed back his hair, which fell haggardly all over his face right after. "…car stopped working few miles back, we had to drag you here…"

"Shit. She couldn't have gotten far." answered Dean, who began to walk to the open backdoor.

"What about the school? If the old man's already there…"

"At least he had a gun! You think Vivian's gonna' last long with a flick-knife, Sammy?"

"Okay, one, stop calling me Sammy. Two, maybe we should split up, I go to the school, you- -"

"Hell no." Dean immediately interjected, prompting Sam to raise his brow at his brother. Dean returned the gesture, and he was obviously better at it. "No, Sam! Last time I left you alone, you were almost swapping spit with a living prop from Hellraiser! And before that you almost killed yourself! Now come on!"

Sam held his breath, and nodded his head. There was no point in arguing, especially with his brother now five paces ahead of him, with guns ready to go blazing. Sam stiffened his grip on the bloody iron pipe, and followed.

Vivian panted out loud as slowed down to a jog, having absolutely no idea how far she ran, or even where she now was. Whatever was after her must have lost interest, or found somebody else to torment. Or so she hoped. She turned her head left and right, for any sign of shadows that would move through the unnaturally thick fog. The streets were wide and empty, with cars parked neatly on both ends. She wanted to scream for help, to shout for a Good Samaritan's attention, but she's seen enough horror movies to know that broadcasting your location to a town where dogs had faces and hooded men ran rampant wasn't exactly the best idea.

Still trembling, she squinted through the fog, only able to make out the few feet in front of her. There was a small boutique just a few steps forward, with naked mannequins strewn carelessly across the window display. The single door leading single was also made of glass, only it had both a steel frame and a metal knob. "…okay…" Vivian muttered, hurriedly making her way to the door. Breaking the window display would get too much attention, but punching through the glass to reach the knob on the door wouldn't. With a deep breath, she pulled out a white handkerchief, and began to wrap it around her fist. "…okay…"

Vivian raised her head back up, her eyes now meeting her own faint reflection. Her heart stopped. Somebody was standing right behind her. A hooded man in a black coat, the very same one caused her to veer of the road when she was headed into town. "No!" working on instinct, the terrified woman turned and plunged the flick-knife square in the middle of the man's chest. It didn't even make him stagger. Not waiting for a retaliation, Vivian sprinted to the left, only to have her arm caught by the man. She began to kick and claw, hysterically screaming for help, but it was to no avail. The man didn't even struggle to get her still, as he held her tight on both shoulders, and drew her close. And with their faces barely inches apart, the stunned woman finally saw the face of her attacker. The young man who's brother she accidentally stabbed barely three hours ago.

"…Sam?" she asked in a faint voice, her eyes pleading for the man to let her go. The man nodded, and ferociously shoved the poor woman right through the boutique's window, forcing her to crash right through the wooden display case. Her head cracked against the floor of the shop, her body now as limp as the mannequins that lay beside her. The man had vanished…

To be Continued…

Author's Note: Well, how was that? Kinda' cool if I say so myself…but then again, I think Koi fish are cool. But they're just expensive. Anyway, drop me a line and tell me what you think! Come on people, you have no idea how many times I've written something that didn't have a single review - - which I end up deleting, only to have a posse of people asking me what happened to 'that story I wrote that they liked'. Anyway, thanks for the time! Cheerios!