Disclaimer: I don't own Silent Hill, but hear they've got some great resorts down there.
Author's Note: This is my first SH fic. It's not my main fandom, but I enjoyed it and this story ambushed me. Please let me know what you think! :-)
He can't sleep anymore. Lying on a cheap bed in a cheap hotel with a name he can't remember, James Sunderland listens to the sound of Laura's breathing and envies her. She's made a little fort for herself with extra cushions he's provided. It embarrasses and disgusts him to have such an aversion but…it's there.
Wasn't there a story like that? Dreamed I was eating a marshmallow, woke up and my pillow was gone… His body feels trapped between a laugh and a whimper—both would come out hysterical, he knows—but all that emerges is a convulsive gasp, curling him in sideways. A few steadying breaths, watching clouds stream past the moon beyond his window.
Would it always be like this? Would foggy days make him shake, hyperventilate, talk too fast and shout at sudden noises? Would he keep that radio with him forever in case static picked up and things started pouring over the streets? If they did, would he be arrested for beating some poor sap in a hoodie or shooting nurses because he wasn't sure?
Go on with your life.
And he'd do his best, he'd find a job (no rust on the counter, nowhere with creaks or groans or heavy machinery) and he'd take care of Laura. He'd try not to throw up whenever a beautiful woman walked past. He'd do his best not to cringe at geometric figures and red lighting, the stink of metal or sweat. When shadows stretched and silence met him he wouldn't—
The scream is out, Laura is awake, he's huddled over himself realizing someone slammed a door too loud and teenagers are running around giggling at one in the morning while his stomach falls free. He's pulling hands and sheets to his chest as if that will stop whatever is crawling up his throat from emerging but it won't.
Both eyes are closed, pressed to his knees while sounds like sawing or suffocating reverberate through his skull. The air is too thick and his tongue is too heavy and there is a shift in the mattress in front of him.
"Hey, don't be a baby!" A slight bounce. "What are you crying for huh? Stop it." A tiny hand rests on his shoulder.
"Laura…" says a voice unlike his own.
"Cut it out!" More movement, and he can no longer feel her weight. "I'm gonna get you a cup of water, okay? Jeez. Keep it down."
He will get better. He's not alone, after all.