Disclaimer:I do not own Silent Hill.

I. The First Day

A/N: You really have to approach this sort of fic with a sense of humor, so don't expect much, if any of it, to be particularly serious. I like Pyramid Head and I like crack pairings. You had to know this was inevitable.

No real setting. That means that you're in the dark. No timeframe, no exact place, no nothing. Just know that there's Pyramid Head and there's Maria. And that's about the size of it.

Also, the pyramid is a helmet. I swear it is.


It wasn't as if he wanted to be there. He wasn't lying on the cold metal floor for his health, and that was for goddamned sure.

But what he did and didn't want wasn't the fact of the matter; the fact of the matter was that he had pinched some nerve in his back when he fell over a rail, and now he couldn't move his arms or legs by even a fraction of an inch. Whether or not such a disability was permanent or temporary, he honestly couldn't be too certain. All he knew was that he was probably going to die, hopefully soon.

Of course, nothing comes without a price, as he soon realized. It seemed as though whatever deities controlled the earth—not that he was religious at all—just did not want to let him go that easily. He had actually looked forward to rotting away in his lair as opposed to being unceremoniously killed by James Sunderland; he wouldn't have minded if he had died in the exact place he had spent most of his days. Maybe it was when he heard quick footsteps, or maybe it was when the girl ran inside the room, took one wild look at him, and then backtracked out, but either way, Pyramid Head knew that he wasn't going to be having a particularly fun little journey in the time it took him to perish completely.

About five days later, when his stomach began to groan and whine incorrigibly, the girl returned, popping her dainty little head in the door reproachfully. She wielded a flashlight this time—not a smart move when most of the fiends in Silent Hill, himself included, were attracted to the light. She shone it over the expanse of the room, eyeing the very railing that he had fallen onto before finally settling the beam on Pyramid Head.

She made a small choking sound that wasn't quite a scream, but wasn't quite a cough of surprise and closed the door quickly.

Pyramid Head didn't make a sound. He found this unnecessary; after all, once she realized the helpless position he had stumbled into, she would undoubtedly kill him, possibly with his own weapon. It would be terribly shameful, but at least he'd be able to rid himself of the boredom of doing nothing for the months he could survive without food or water.

As expected, when a bulky, tall man carrying a ridiculously large sword did not go sailing through the door and down the corridor after her, the girl spied into the room again. She stared at him for a few moments, waiting for him to move, before she nervously kicked a little pebble toward him. It didn't actually touch him, but was enough to get his attention, she probably figured.

He still didn't make any sound or move at all, though he might be able to manage a few words if he really wanted to, so she opened the door a tad more and picked up another pebble in her hand. She tossed it at him, and it ricocheted with a feeble "tink" off of his helmet. He almost grunted.

"Who the…?" she called out softly, her voice cracking under the shudders tracing the length of her spine.

He wondered if she was stupid. What person in their right mind wouldn't take this opportunity to escape or at least kill him?

He didn't answer, though, so she inched toward him, pointing the flashlight at the steady rise and fall of his blood-stained and scarred chest. He watched her approach from the corner of his eye, straining to see through the mesh of his helmet. She wore tall boots, but that was really all he could see in such close proximity.

She poked his side with one of said boots. His jaw twitched.

"You're not dead,"she observed, pacing in a circle around his spread-eagle, unguarded body. "And you're in the same position as when I last saw you."

When she backed up a little, the flesh of her thighs was exposed, and he felt a familiar and unconscious clench in his gut. He'd been away from the mannequins and all those feminine fiends for days, and he'd managed to keep the body-wracking lust away so perfectly up until now. But the little voice was back, at first just a murmur in the back of his mind and then building up until it was virtually screaming at him.

In, out, in, out—harder, faster, deeper.

It was frustrating, really, especially when he couldn't exactly do anything about it. He wasn't in any position to get up and slam into the girl so hard that her pelvis snapped in two, after all, so he'd just have to fend back the urges with furious obscenities and a sharp sense of self-preservation. Neither of which, he might add, he was very good at practicing.

"Oh my God," she breathed suddenly, glancing around the room in terror. "You're helpless. I could kill you now."


Her hand twitched at her side. "I could just stab you in the chest, and you'd…"


She faltered for a moment, clutching the flashlight tightly in her hand. She seemed to consider something, for she tilted her head back to stare at him from a higher angle. "But also…I could help you, and maybe you'd repay me in the end?"


She stepped carefully toward him, appearing at his side with her flashlight still shining on him. Her blonde hair fell over her eyes slightly, and he managed to groan in what sounded like pain, but was actually frustration. He'd tried, and failed, to scare her off. This only seemed to fuel the supposed cunning in her eyes.

Filthy bitch, the voice roared, outraged in every sense of the word. Fuck her! Kill her! Rip her intestines out through her eyes!

And for once, he mused, he vehemently agreed with the voice. Filthy, disgusting, vile bitch for ever thinking that he'd show her mercy! Filthy, disgusting, vile bitch for ever thinking that he wanted or needed her help!

She peered down at him, through what she assumed was the area that he saw through. It wasn't really, though, so her face was blocked from his view. "I'll help you live," she began, trying to keep her voice steady, "and in return, you have to stop trying to kill me!" Her throat quivered, restraining her from speaking for a moment. "You have to just…not hurt me and tell all your other underlings to leave me alone, alright? Do we have a deal?"

He grunted angrily in what was clearly the "No," sentiment, but she took it as a "Yes," and gaily moved back from his helmet, smiling as she sat on her haunches.

"Thank you," she said, beginning to cry even against her wishes. "I'm gla—glad that we could come to an agreement."

As if he was actually doing her a favor! She'd let him stay alive, and then he'd get up and kill her like he'd never killed anybody before. First he'd tear off her hands and feet so that she couldn't crawl away, and then he'd fuck her until she writhed and convulsed beneath him. Then he'd tear out her eyes, and he'd fuck her again. Then her legs, and more fucking. Her arms, fuck. Head, fuck. One by one, piece by piece, he'd tear her apart until there was nothing left. And then he'd fuck her some more.

And thus, unfortunately, Pyramid Head spent his first day with Maria listening to her try to hide her weeping hiccups.