Title: Assumption
Rating: T - M
Pairing: Eventual Carly/Sam, with strong undertones throughout.
Summary: Sam goes looking for Carly. She finds Silent Hill.
Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly or Silent Hill. Don't look so surprised.
Warnings: This is a Silent Hill crossover, which means it will be DARK, VIOLENT, and probably involve a good deal of psychological angst.
Notes: You don't need to know anything about Silent Hill to understand this story – any story involving Silent Hill is sort of forced to explain itself. :P I would also like to point out that this is entirely the fault of for all of the discussion on potential iCarly angst. Blame her.
Assumption
Chapter 1: Approach
The sound of slowly tapping metal rang through the dark, rusted hall. It fell into rhythm with Sam's ragged breathing as she stumbled down the corridor, desperately trying one locked door after another. Locks in disrepair, empty white squares where windows should be, dank, damp blockades of wood and broken furniture all stood in the way of refuge, keeping her on the dimly lit path. It was useless; the farther she ran, the more it became apparent that there was nowhere to go. The tapping sound just kept coming closer and closer and closer.
Just keep running, she told herself. Keep running. Don't look back.
She didn't stumble. Her feet were already used to avoiding the debris that was littered everywhere. In fact, she was expecting what came next; it was such a common theme here. That didn't stop a dry sob of fear from escaping her throat as she ran.
A rusted wire fence blocking any further attempts at escape had emerged from the darkness a few yards ahead, not at all out of place in this hellish replica of shelter. Sam slowed to a walk but didn't stop moving until she could reach out with her left hand and twine her fingers through the gate. Her other arm curled up around her heaving chest in cold horror, the handgun still clamped firmly in her fingers.
"No."
The small, rasping voice startled her for a second, her fingers tightening around the metal until the rust bit into her flesh sharply.
It was her own voice, unrecognizable from the abuse of the day. Each breath, wheezing out of her chest, was punctuated by a sharp metal clang growing louder – closer! – with each renewal.
Oh god. God, he's coming, he's…
He was right behind her now. She couldn't bring herself to turn and watch it end, watch him put an end to her – she couldn't. She clung tighter to the fence, to her gun, her arm tensing, her chest heaving.
"Remember." This time the voice didn't come from her mouth. She froze, her eyes widening and focusing on a point in front of her. After a few seconds she could see her, standing just a little outside the scant light on the other side of the fence. One of her arms was stretched above her head, pointing, barely visible. "Go up."
Blinding light erupted from her fingertip, and Sam's eyes snapped open, her face covered in cold sweat.
She pulled her skin away from the vinyl of the seat as the headlights of the passing car faded from her vision. She looked around at the rickety bus blurrily for a couple of seconds, trying to calm the unease that held tightly at her heart. A man with rectangular glasses stared at her from over the back of his seat.
"Yeah?" She asked sharply. He stared for a second more before turning away. She twitched in annoyance. The last thing she wanted or needed was some nerd thinking he could get away with lookingat her like that. She might have been a sixteen-year-old girl alone on a bus in the middle of the night, but she could take care of herself. That didn't mean she wanted to make some poor slob eat his own teeth – not really, anyway.
The bus was mostly empty, and neither of the other two passengers had noticed her. She settled herself back into her seat, letting her eyes roll shut and trying to will away the sense that something was wrong. She was used to the process. She'd been having the same nightmares for two years now.
They rolled into the tiny town of Brahms at that moment, and it was barely two minutes before it was pulling into the depot and the passengers were retrieving their things and staggering onto the pavement. The sky was slowly turning grey – Sam was surprised to realize it was morning. The other passengers, looking frazzled and tired, headed into the lobby, no doubt to wait for their next connection. Sam shouldered her messenger bag and headed into the parking lot.
It wasn't hard to find what she was looking for. The only occupants of the lonely lot were a rusted pickup truck, a bright yellow Volkswagen, and, farthest from the depot, a dirty, beat up Mustang. As she approached the Mustang, she had to nod her approval. Rodney had come through, as always. The car looked as though it had seen better days, but it was a nice model and wouldn't quit on her. She circled around to the back and felt under the bumper until her fingers hit the key, secured by a thin strip of duck tape. She climbed into the driver's seat and, as predicted, the car started beautifully.
Brahms was so tiny and tucked away that it didn't feel to Sam as though she was driving through a town. There were far more trees then signs of civilization. As the sun started to rise over the forests, Sam was approaching her destination. She took a turn onto a small road leading away from Brahms and started to speed up in anticipation.
Her mouth opened slightly in a half-smile, half-grimace. Six hours by bus, a week of planning, two years of waiting. Finally.
A single word managed to work it's way past her lips, a single name, barely audible.
"Carly."
She tore past a dilapidated, fading green sign, taking only a second to register that it announced she had arrived in the right place.
It read, in unassuming white letters, Welcome to Silent Hill.