Chapter Four: Of the Things That are Whispered

Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing. I just love both Supernatural and Silent Hill.

Dean kicked the sign and screeched a curse. As he reeled back to kick it again, Sam grabbed him hard by the shoulder and yanked him back. Behind them, Cas stepped casually out of the car and snorted some small phrase in disgust. Sam turned to him, his eyebrow cocked, and the angel replied simply, "I have been foolish."

Dean and Same stared back at him expectantly and the angel continued, "There are Hellgates all over the world. From time to time, a human meddling in dark crafts finds one. With enough time and suffering, they can begin to…" Cas paused, lost for a moment, and finished, "Leak into your world."

"You're saying this is Hell?" Dean shouted, paling in a way that frightened Sam despite his rage.

"Yes, and no. It's a small portion of Hell that will grow larger with each death and horror that occurs here. When it grows large enough, it will either collapse in on itself and sink back into the Pit, or it will expand outwards to engulf more of your reality." Cas replied.

"So…what do we do?" Sam asked.

"We'll have to find the center of the Hellgate and try to destroy it. Otherwise, eventually, we will simply become part of it."

Dean felt his stomach heave and if there had been anything more substantial than beer in it, he probably would have lost the contents of it right there on the worn pavement. The things he had done in Hell…the way he used to enjoy the hot slick of red blood painting his hands…the smile when he lashed the whip…He turned around, desperate and afraid, and slammed his fist hard against the sign. The pain was a welcome intrusion on the horrible memories, and they sank back down.

"Bobby…Bobby said that three days had passed, right?" Sam asked.

Castiel nodded, his eyes never leaving the grey fog around them.

Sam tried to count minutes. By his best guess, it had only been a moment or two. By that count, Castiel had already been gone, by Bobby's time, for more than a week. His chest hammered with the sudden flicker of an image…Bobby's face when he realized they weren't coming home and the whiskey Sam knew he had long since started pounding down.

"Get back in the damn car." Dean growled, sitting down and slamming the door.

Sam sat down beside him, Castiel leaned between them from the backseat, and found that, if anything, he felt worse in the car…Trapped, claustrophobic…like a boxed lunch.

"What do we do now?" Sam asked out loud.

"We smoke some bitches." Dean replied, turning the key and cranking the engine to life.

As the car spun down the road, Sam swore he saw something jerk in the mist and disappear.

The diner was eerily quiet and just as rundown as the rest of it. If Dean hadn't eaten there himself a day ago, he wouldn't have believed it was the same place. Every so often, from just inside the cracked windows, he could see the sparking of a damaged utility line. He opened the car door, hesitating when he realized the pea soup mixture of fog and filth had settled heavily on the ground, like dark, deep water. He could just imagine that wet slap of something wrapping around his ankle-He swallowed hard, stepped out, and found the ground with the tip of his shoe.

"Dude...what are you doing?" Sam demanded.

"There were innocent people here, Sam. Civilians. We have to at least check for them."

Sam's door creaked and Dean heard the click of his gun's safety being released. Castiel, blade in hand, appeared beside Dean. They walked. The door of the diner had been ripped off its hinges and the remains were buckled and crumpled in the center of the room. The stools were ripped open or toppled. The display racks, once filled with pies and clouds of whipped cream, were instead filled with handfuls of squirming, yellow maggots and twitching roaches. Sam bit back his revulsion as the stink slapped him across the face. Dark brown smears chased the floor up the wall and onto the ceiling. The tiles, yellowed with age, cracked beneath his shoes. Dean crept around the counter. Moving quickly, he pushed open the door of the kitchen, leveled his gun, and found nothing. In the back, the freezer door creaked on its hinged.

He stepped away, letting the door swing closed behind him, and lowered his gun, "Not a damn thing."

Dean saw the horror cross Sam's face before his brother's voice, a terrified scream of warning, ripped up through his throat. Dean was struck hard from behind, the handle slamming painfully into his back and throwing him forward across the counter. The glass cracked and he fell through it into the rotting, squirming piles of food and insects. He heard Sam's gun twice, saw the whirl of a trenchcoat, and found himself up with enough time to see Castiel drop something to the ground. Dean stared at it; his mind fumbling to piece it together. It was fleshy and charred-only the hint of a mouth behind a flap of taut skin. No eyes...the jaw still working behind the cage of flesh. The body hit the ground with a wet slap and an awful smell. Sam yanked Dean away. The thing sank into the tile with a hiss, some kind of acid eating through it and into the floor.

"What the hell was that?" Sam asked.

"A demon." Castiel replied.

"I didn't know demons could do that..." Sam trailed off.

Dean wanted to explain but the words tasted like vomit on his tongue...Sam didn't know...Didn't know what truly horrible things they were. Even having seen it, Dean's mind seemed unable to hold onto the images...like his pitiful Mortal brain couldn't comprehend the horror his soul had know...and inflicted on others. Blessedly, Castiel answered simply, "This is their home. They are not bound by the laws of Heaven and Earth here."

Dean wiped away the maggots. More than one smeared into yellow slime on his jacket.

"So, where is this key?" Dean asked.

"I do not know." Castiel replied.

"Then how are we supposed to find it?" Dean snapped.

"We'll have to be...methodical in our search." Cas told him.

Sam sighed in resignation, "Building by building..."

Castiel nodded and, in the flurry of a coat and tie, turned around, "It's too dangerous to stay in one place for every long. Demons are drawn to the presence of untainted souls. They will be looking for us."

Sam drew a symbol in salt on the top of the Impala and noted the time; it didn't appear to get lighter, or darker, as the hours ticked on. They were through four buildings with nothing more than eerie noises growing closer in proximity. Sam was sure he could see things in the mist, but when he tried to focus on them and track them, they disappeared again. He looked up as a resounding, "Fuck me." echoed through the fog.

"Every damned level?" Dean hissed.

"And every room." Cas told him, eyeing the many-floored building in front of them.

"And what was this place?" Sam asked with a sinking, heavy feeling in his stomach.

"A hospital." Cas replied.

TBC

Authoress's Notes: The plot bunny lives! Belated, but alive!