This is a long chapter. Man Valtiel, stop being so cute. At this rate PH is never going to make it into the fic. I mean, we haven't even gotten to the complications yet. We are just sitting around watching you cute the place up. I'm sick of you. Get me to the plot! I want to fight the demons of Impotence, Ignorance, Insanity and-

...

D'awww, you're so cyute! Look at him! So cyuteee! Ueweweweweee! Mwah!Mwah! D'ohh!

Ahem.

I will not be pairing Heather and Valtiel romantically. But nothing says Heather can't enjoy the fact that her housemate is built like a six and a half foot tall Olympic athlete, right? )

Obviously I have my work cut out for me if I'm to expect you guys to go along with any other romance, though. So I've been workin' out. XD Flexin' them key-tappin' muscles. Yeah.

Your reviews are like ambrosia. You may not realize this, but I have a chronic problem writing the middles of stories. When I come on here to write for you guys it really helps me push past that. I have to dream up villains and put together a real plot. And that's uber therapeutic for me. Every review is like winning a mini gold prize, you know? They make writing addictive.

He'd splashed her again.

Heather glared.

Valtiel grumbled contently. She eyed him scathingly a moment, but he looked so cute and pleased with himself that she couldn't stay angry. Heather sighed, rolled her eyes, bunched up her sleeves, and then picked up her washcloth and started to rub filth from the side of his face. After a moment, the Metatron arched his neck and purred throatily. He leaned toward her so she could get better access to him, and continued to purr.

"Yes, that's it. No more splashing."

He thrummed happily.

Heather was mindful of his split skin. The 'wounds,' while apparently quite natural to the Metatron, nevertheless looked rather awful. She was worried that excessive scrubbing might cause them to bleed. The flesh had gathered an exceptional amount of grime, however, so she spent a large portion of her time gently dabbing filth from them. He liked the attention. She kept changing the water, and eventually broke out the soap.

Two hours, many gallons of water, and a lot of dirty washcloths later, and Valtiel was looking fairly clean. Of course, there were certain parts of him she couldn't reach, and certain parts she had no desire to reach, but prolonged soaking had gotten most of the residual grime off.

"Alright, stand up for me, will you?" she coaxed, and got up to her feet. Valtiel grumbled up at her as she unplugged the bath drain and the water began to leech out. He splashed the surface of the water for a moment and then slowly stood up. He had a bestial way of moving that was somehow ten times more obvious now that he was hunched, nude, in front of her. The curve of his back, the way he hugged his shoulders in and bent his elbows, the bent knees... His lack of manhood might have made the animistic crudeness less strange if he did not reek masculinity with all his remaining features. She wondered at the psychological justification for his shape; Valtiel himself seemed neither overtly violent or sexual. Heather supposed his physique could represent the non-feminine ideal of power... but then that seemed slightly at cross purposes with his duty as an assistant and perhaps healer.

She thought for a moment as she reached forward and rubbed at a stubborn piece of dirt along the back of one of his arms.

There was a possibility that she was getting a biased sampling of Valtiel. The angel had been nonviolent towards Heather. There was every possibility that Valtiel behaved violently towards everyone else. The only time Heather had seen him with another person nearby, Valtiel had utterly destroyed Claudia Wolfe. And he'd displayed incredibly hostility towards Heather's therapist. The sect devoted to him, the Sect of Valtiel, was known specifically for it's red-hooded executioners.

Either that or the order god, being female, just liked surrounding herself with 'attractive' but anatomically incorrect dolls.

She settled the wash cloth down and moved a hand back to the water spicket. Valtiel growled softly. "Brace yourself," she said with a laugh, and then turned on the shower head. She was fortunate she had warned him, or Valtiel might have attacked her shower spicket. As it was, he yowled and leaped to the opposite side of the bath, leaning against the wall and climbing unnaturally halfway up it. Heather laughed more, and flicked some of the spray at him.

"Come on, silly cat. It's just more water."

He grumbled, remaining firmly in his perch. Heather grabbed his arm and tugged him back into the shower. A moment later and he was twisting about, purring happily at the little jets of water as they fell against him. Heather shook her head and let him dance about for a little while, until she decided he was clean. Then she turned the shower off, and coaxed him out of the tub.

She watched him reach out for his smock, and she grunted and kicked the dirty garment away from him. He jumped in surprise. "That's fillthy," she told him. "You can't get all clean and then pull dirty clothes back on! Just give me a second, I'll bring them downstairs and wash them for you. Ugh, and your boots and gloves while I'm at it. Blech."

He whined slightly and poked at his smock. Then he looked up at her sort of trustingly. Heather blinked down at him. Well, he wasn't anatomically correct. But he was nude, and he was indisputably a 'he'. After a moment, she turned around and pulled out a white bathrobe from one of her cupboards. "Here," she said, coming over and casting the garment across his back. "Give me your arms, one at a time now... you can wear this until your clothes are clean." The Metatron seemed quite surprised by all this, but he gave her his hands, one arm at a time, and let her pull them through the sleeves of the robe. She settled it about his shoulders, drew the front of the robe shut, and tied the cloth belt about his waist. When she was done and had stood up with his dirty things, he remained seated on the floor, looking at the fluffy sleeves with utter bafflement.

Heather glanced at him as she threw a few towels about to soak up all the splashed water and then headed for her bathroom doorway. She couldn't help but smile at the surreal cuteness of all this. Seated in the middle of her bathroom, a faceless horror antagonist was innocently examining his new poofy white bathrobe. She felt as if she were looking at a doll that had been brought to life, and was witnessing its baffled epiphany the moment it first realized it could change its own clothing. She smiled at him, thoroughly endeared, and then headed downstairs with an armful of disgusting clothing.

Heather eventually left the laundry to stew in bleach overnight. She doubted the bleach would seriously weaken the fabric material, and its stains were beyond her ability to scrub. Valtiel did not exactly like this state of affairs. He whined and 'pouted' and poked at the filthy smock, but the smell of bleach seemed to disagree with him. After a time he followed her about the house, yowling plaintively, repeatedly, for over an hour.

Heather heated up some spaghetti and meatballs for the both of them, partitioned it into bowls, placed his bowl on the counter in front of him, and then sat down to enjoy his own meal. He poked at the food for awhile, yowling and fretting and occasionally going into the laundry room to check on the progress of his smock. After a few seconds he would always return, disgusted by the bleach. After a few trips to and from the laundry room, and after tugging helplessly on her shirtsleeve without yielding a change in his situation, he clambered up onto one of her bar stools, and peered down at the bowl of spaghetti unhappily.

A few minutes later and Heather was treated to the dubious pleasure of watching a sullen Metatron curl up at her kitchen islet, arms wrapped around a large bowl of noodles, slurping up a batch of noodles at a time with a long sinuous black tongue. Heather tried very hard not to laugh. It only took a few mouthfuls of noodles and a meatball before Valtiel was in a considerably better mood. He stopped his unhappy yowling. A few minutes later, Heather headed up to bed.

She waited, fresh blankets wrapped around her. And she held back smiles. A few minutes later she felt the mattress depress as another person, heavy and warm and real, climbed onto the covers beside her. Valtiel sat behind her for awhile, perhaps watching her, perhaps missing his smock, perhaps just lost in thought. Heather was almost asleep when he curled up against her back and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

Yeah, she decided as she drifted off to sleep. Whatever other anatomy Valtiel lacked, he was definitely and intentionally masculine. The breadth of his shoulders, the depth of his chest, the muscles of his forearms and biceps- these things were garments of masculinity; clothing for the ideas that'd formed him. He held her like her father had once held her. Like her husband might one day hold her. Protectively. Reassuringly. In fact, that made a lot of sense. Alessa probably attributed the attribute of 'protection' to men, men like Harry Mason and Travis Grady. And hadn't Alessa used the Seal of the Metatron to protect herself? So it all connected in a weird way.

Whatever. Valtiel was very warm. And he felt very safe. Heather was almost completely asleep before she knew it. Her last thought, which faded off into dream, was that this was probably how it would feel if a certain ex-military man were to hold her.

Her monster purred soothingly into her ear. Nothing, not in this world or any other, was going to disturb her while she slept that night.

Nothing would disturb the Mother of God.

"Well, you're still dressed like a Halloween serial killer, but at least you're not dirty. Just stained." Valtiel gurgled at her and she smirked, smoothing out the front of his smock. "I ironed it. But I'm sure you'll wrinkle it up soon enough. I think this is the longest I've ever seen you actually stand in one place."

The Metatron huffed, but then made pleased, unnatural coos as he felt over his own clothing. After a moment he blinked and held out his hands.

Heather crossed her arms over her chest and cleared her throat. "Those gloves were beyond disgusting."

He growled.

"Valtiel, I'll make you new gloves. Promise."

He whined.

"They were caked with so much gore I'm not even sure if there was linen in them at all! And you like grabbing me, and you've helped me cook, and you're always touching things. Presumably because you don't have eyes. I'll make you new gloves. In fact, I'll go to the store today and buy some gloves and sew the right fingers together and whatnot. Okay?"

He gave a leonine snort, and seemed to pout slightly, but then lowered his hands to his sides.

"Right... well... I'll get right on that. You know, I had to clean your boot soles out with a crowbar, and they're still in pretty bad condition. You want me to get a replacement for those, too?" He gave a plaintive growl and leaped up to the ceiling, clinging to it and getting his feet well out of her reach. She blinked and smiled up at him. "I'll take that as a no. See you in an hour or so, then, Valtiel."

Heather grabbed the keys to her car, picked up her heavy jacket, and wrapped a scarf about her neck. It was getting into the winter months now, and although snow hadn't fallen outside, it was cold enough to make her nose and ears numb. She dressed warm. She stepped out into the cool outdoors and closed and locked the door behind her. When she turned around to head towards her car, however, a predicament made itself known.

A twisted monster was standing in her path. It was so thin as to be skeletal, and absolutely nude. It stood with it's knees turned inward and it's arms twined together in front of it. It's skin was blue with hypothermia and turned black near all of it's extremities. The face was entirely crusted over with black, so as to be unrecognizable. Gaping holes existed where it's cheeks might once have been. Sharp blue ice crystals were visible within the hollows. It was perpetually shivering

The creature gurgled and hissed and then went quiet and docked its head to the side. Heather's eyes widened.

"VALTIEL!" she shrieked, rapidly turning back to her doors and fumbling with her keys. She stole a glance at the creature, which was hissing. It took a shuddering step towards her and then opened it's mouth and pursed its lips. A long, gleaming blue icicle protruded slowly from it's mouth, clenched between white teeth and tattered black flesh. Heather stiffened.

That looks almost like it can-! Instinct alone saved her. She leaped to the side just as the creature spat out the icicle with physics-defying force. The sharp projectile thudded into her door, cutting a hole half an inch into the solid wood and bursting in a flurry of icy shrapnel.

Heather swore and made a dash for the side of the house. If she could get to her car or her back door, she'd be able to get to a weapons stash!

"Valtiel!" she wailed again. Horrified disbelief was warring with her pragmatic need to survive, both striving to make themselves heard. She couldn't believe this was happening. Now? An icicle-spitting monster? Why? What could Silent Hill possibly want from her that involved the cold? Did this have anything to do with her father?

A roar sounded behind her. Not the roar of a lion, per-se, but more the battle cry of a panther or tiger. Heather spun around on her next stride and turned to see that the icicle monster was gone. Startled cries and hisses drew her attention upwards, to the roof of her house. Valtiel was perched on her rain gutter, holding the Otherworld monster suspended over the ground by one leg. With another roar, he seized the creature's left arm, pulled, and promptly ripped the creature in half in a diagonal line along it's torso. The remaining pieces went limp immediately and the metatron dropped them to the earth. Upon contact with her sidewalk, the remains shattered like ice, into countless little snowflakes.

Heather shuddered. She panted for a moment, trying to suppress her fight-or-flight adrenaline rush, and then swallowed hard. Her eyes looked to the spot where the creature had fell, and then lifted back up to her protector.

"... ... Valtiel?" she whispered, and was ashamed to hear her voice crack.

The metatron 'looked' to her. He gave a soft growl and then quickly scuttled down the wall of her house and up to where she was standing. He moved on all fours, as was usual. If the cold bothered his hands, he didn't show it.

"Valtiel," she gulped, "what was that?"

The monster hissed almost disdainfully and then gurgled and reached up to touch her arms reassuringly. When she started to shiver, he stood and embraced her in a tight, if slightly twitchy, hug.

Heather choked back a sob. Her voice was almost pleading now. "Valtiel...!"

The metatron growled and rocked her slightly from side to side. He rubbed over her back. 'Just a fluke,' he seemed to say. 'It wasn't here for you. Nothing bad is going to happen. It was just a fluke.' She wanted to believe his silent reassurances, but it was hard- so hard- and so much was at stake. Even so, his attentions soothed her. She pressed her face into his collar and breathed deep, ignoring the ways his muscles twitched beneath his flesh.

He was warm despite his meager clothing, and his pulse thrummed strong and virile beneath her cheek. It took awhile, but gradually her fear began to ooze out of her body, and her own heartbeat began to steady. She took in several slow breaths, and then lifted her head to look up at the faceless metatron.

Her voice was still small when she finally managed to talk. "... Can you come with me to the store...?" she asked him. "Please?"

He seemed to look at her, then gave what could only be interpreted as a nod, and took his arms from around her. He carefully clasped her wrists, one in each of his hands, and then drew them up and placed her palms over her eyes. Confused, Heather just let him do as he wished. She felt him release her arms and heard him step backwards.

When she lowered her hands, he had vanished. For a moment she felt a wave of panic rush over her. Then she recalled that Valtiel had nodded to her request. She thought about it and then came to the conclusion that Valtiel was going to follow her from the Otherworld, where he could move unseen. Personally, she would rather him standing beside her, physical, concrete, and real. But... she supposed that Valtiel would frighten innocent Christmas shoppers if he followed her around in the flesh. She took in a few steadying breaths, took one last look at where the icicle monster had fallen, and then turned and made her way to her car.

One thing was for sure: She'd never have to worry about muggers ever again.

Addressing the readers time! I will talk about gender pronouns, my reasons for Valtiel's cat-like behavior, and wtf Alex Shepard is in this story for XD.

AdventureTime: Silent Hill doesn't seem picky about gender pronouns. The Order refers to their deity as 'God' despite the fact that she's usually depicted as female (which would be 'Goddess'). From my experience with persons of unusual gender, the proper thing to do is to refer to them by whatever pronoun they personally prefer. But we can't exactly ask Valtiel, now can we? Heather doesn't seem to find the lack of parts a deal-breaker though. He is pretty clearly masculine from where she's standing.

Kayotali: If you sketch anything, let me know :) I'd be deeply honored.

Tress13: Glad you're enjoying :)

JC: Heather carrying around a spray bottle? I think she got him with a perfume bottle in an earlier chapter and he was totally not thrilled with her XD

V: Thanks for your consistent reviews. They are always brief, but they make me very happy :) If people don't review, I lose heart.

Twigs: If you watch the scene where Claudia 'eats up' the vomited up god fetus... If you watch it very carefully or in slow-mo... Valtiel is the one who drags Claudia down into the final boss room. He ruthlessly attacks her, and roars like a panther when he does it. It is one of the few noises he makes for the whole game. I used that as part of my reasoning for Valtiel's sounds. I try to stick within the realms of sounds that felines make, and then throw in some gurgles, snorts, and other 'icky' sounds on top of them. But I imagine those just sound like a cat gargling.

Chuzzley: I did not understand anything, except that you seem to like the fanfic, so I'm glad :)

Koluno: I'm sure Alex Shepard seems a strange choice to include, out of all the male leads, right? XD I mean this story is largely about Heather's relationship with Valtiel, her past, and the Otherworld. So why include any other Silent Hill protagonists at all? And then why pick Alex Shepard? Homecoming wasn't exactly the best SH game! But I have my reasons XD. And hopefully my Alex Shepard will pick up the slack if the in-game Alex Shepard didn't impress you. I personally felt that in-game Alex reacted to huge catastrophes a little underwhelmingly . Like ya know, the first time I saw a monster? I'd've pissed my pants. He just kinda goes on with life, not even a single freak-out cut scene ... His mom gets pulled in half in front of him and he mumbles something depressing to himself and then never mentions her again. Yeah. My fanfiction Alex Shepard totally had a panic attack and curled up in a corner for a bit. Like a normal person.

Chrosis: After having an experience with anxiety/depression, I realized that I was both willing and able to write about Heather's healing process- not just about whatever kind of woman she becomes once Silent Hill is over. Most (quality) fics either start with her in a mental institution or living a stable quasi-paranormal life... or angsting eternally without ever reaching closure... I wanted to address a character full development arc where we get to see her go from being traumatized to eventually becoming the strong paranormal detective type.