A/N: IT BEGINS. I finally finished the game! I may have shed a few tears.

Welcome back, friends (and newcomers)! I was 16-18 years old when I wrote Into the Nightmare, which still blows my mind. Now I'm 32. Playing Remake really felt like a blast from the past. I had really given up on the SH franchise for such a long time, and I am SO happy it's not dead, and that new people are getting to enjoy the masterpiece that is SH2!

This fic will follow Remake's example - just enough of the source material will be there, but there's definitely going to be changes and certain scenes/conversations more fleshed out. I'm pumped to explore things from a more adult lens (I still can't believe some of the twisted stuff I came up with as a teen lmao).

Anyway, enjoy!

My back hurt.

That was the first thing I became aware of as I rose out of a deep sleep. The nagging ache spread, and I found myself shifting to find a more comfortable position—only to realize belatedly that I was lying on a hard surface. Something that felt suspiciously like a pebble was digging into my side.

That couldn't be right. Was I… outside?

My eyes snapped open to meet an endless expanse of grey above. I pushed myself up into a seated position, slowly beginning to take in my surroundings.

Somehow, I was sitting on the side of a road that ran along a lakeshore. The air was thick with a heavy fog that pressed in on me from all sides. Though I could see the faint outline of a building or two when I looked over to my right, it was difficult to pinpoint anything familiar.

"What the hell…?"

My voice came out at normal volume, but it seemed muffled somehow, like it was being swallowed up by the fog. The creeping sense of claustrophobia I had been feeling grew. It gave me just enough of an adrenaline kick to snap me out of my groggy stupor.

I scrambled to my feet, stumbling a bit when I found myself stiff and sore. The world spun, and I had to stand there with a hand pressed to my forehead while I waited for it to right itself. There was a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth.

What was this place? Where was I? Why was I outside?

The last thing I remembered…

My eyes squeezed shut.

Driving.

Right. Yeah. I had been driving, and it had been foggy. But what about after? Why was it a blank?

Troubled, I straightened my stance and turned to stare back over at the lake. Hadn't I… been leaving work? My commute didn't pass by a lake…

My phone was still in my back pocket, I realized with a start. I pulled it out in a hurry, only to observe with dismay that I had no service. Right… that wasn't so uncommon where I lived, in the mountains of northern New Hampshire. I'd have to get closer to civilization and find a landline. That meant I was going to have to start walking. If there were buildings, hopefully that meant there was an actual town close by.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I began the trek, keeping the lake to my left. The fact that my surroundings were so quiet really didn't bode well. How long had I been out cold, lying in the middle of the road? How could a single car not have passed the entire time?

It was probably for the best. With this lack of visibility, I would've been run over.

The thought of it made me shudder. I started to jog, partly because I was impatient to get out of here and partly to dissipate some of my restless energy. The building I had been approaching grew more defined; I could make out a blue shingled roof and faded white siding. Someone's house?

I circled around a bay window with the curtains drawn and encountered a set of double doors on the far side of the building. My stomach sank when I saw that these doors were chained and padlocked. So… not a private residence. Not populated, either.

Backing up a step, I finally noticed the small business hours sign tacked on the left side of the door. Then my eyes were drawn to the larger sign above it.

"Silent Hill Historical Society," I read aloud in a murmur.

A chill ran through me. Silent Hill? Was this some kind of joke?

I backed up some more and took a harder look at the building. Wasn't the Historical Society an area in the second game? It was the place with that really long staircase… come to think of it, it did kind of resemble that building.

I shook my head suddenly, trying to dispel those thoughts. If this was a joke, it was a mean one.

All this fog, though…

No.

Silent Hill was a video game. There was a rational explanation for this place, and this… this gap in my memory. Had I gone out last night after work? Had someone slipped something in my drink? If my back wasn't so damn sore from lying on asphalt, I might've been able to convince myself this was a dream.

The only thing to do was keep walking. The road continued for what felt like an endless amount of time, and I fought hard to keep my increasingly anxious thoughts at bay.

A faint rumbling sound coming from nearby caught my attention. I broke out into a jog again, passing by an abandoned looking bowling alley and finally discovering a car idling in the parking lot of a gas station.

There was a steel pipe jutting vertically out of the hood.

What are the fucking chances?

I stared at the pipe for what felt like a long time. Then, with shaking hands, I gripped the metal and yanked it free. The car engine sputtered for another moment or two before it finally shit the bed. Silence descended once more.

The pipe was cold in my hands and the other end of it was covered in the same rust-colored stains that adorned the hood of the car. I felt myself going into a sort of numb state of shock. I knew very well what that substance could be, but I refused to name it.

I walked up to the gas station's front doors. They were locked. I could see through the building's wide glass windows that the interior was devoid of people, and looked like it had been that way for some time.

The isolation and the quiet were getting to me. If I could just find another person, it would break the spell, I told myself. Then I'd realize that everything could be explained away.

Explained how, like this is some kind of Universal Studios attraction? A snide voice in my head piped up. I quashed the thought with a grimace and continued walking.

The shadows of buildings drew closer as I moved in the direction of what I assumed to be the center of town. As I walked, the seemingly impenetrable quiet that had enveloped me until this point slowly evaporated. Small noises began to grow more pronounced; sometimes it was just the rustle of leaves, or the quiet snap of a twig in the distance, but there were also strange sounds I couldn't identify. Those sounds increased in number as I approached the town proper.

I hesitated and ended up veering left towards the lake instead, where I descended a short stairway and came upon a brick arch that led past rows of meticulously cut hedges. A large bronze plaque was set into the brick on one side. I stared at the inscription on that plaque for a long moment before continuing onward, feeling like my feet were weighed down with cinderblocks.

By the time I reached the boardwalk that skirted the lakeside, I was trembling. Setting the pipe down on a bench next to me, I leaned up against the railing and gazed out over the placid waters.

Rosewater Park.

My jaw clenched. I looked down at my shaking hands, then pressed them down to grip the railing until my knuckles turned white.

This has to be a dream, I told myself. If it wasn't, then I was going insane.

… But if it was a dream, how the hell was I supposed to wake up?

I leaned over the railing. The water was so still, I could see my reflection clearly.

I looked… normal. Pale, but normal. But… had I been leaving work before this? My wavy shoulder-length hair was pulled back the way I'd normally wear it, but I wasn't wearing the usual black-on-black attire I'd wear to wait tables. Instead, I was in an old band t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans, a blue long-sleeved flannel tied around my waist.

Trying to sift through my memories was like trying to see to the bottom of this murky water. I just ended up feeling like I was getting a headache. None of this made any sense. It was making me—

"Mary?"

I jumped at the sudden voice, sucking in a breath and swinging around. There was a man standing about twenty feet away; the idea that I hadn't even heard him approach left me absolutely shaken. I almost reached for the pipe, but then I saw that there was no hostility in his expression.

His face fell and his shoulders slumped as he took a step closer, getting a better look at me. "No, you're… not."

"Christ, you scared me," I said, crossing my arms and letting out a laugh that was more of a nervous titter. Then his words sank in. I really looked at him now.

"Sorry," he said, green eyes meeting mine and then shifting away. He pressed a hand to his forehead, fingers twining through blond bangs. "For a minute there, I thought you were…" He shook his head. "It's the fog, I guess. Playing tricks on my eyes."

Green army surplus jacket, flashlight in the breast pocket. Grey collared button up shirt.

It was suddenly hard to breathe. I fought hard to keep up the façade, to maintain some semblance of normalcy.

I know you.

The man before me looked spent. Worry lines creased his brow and his eyes had a shadowed, haunted look. A light stubble covered his jaw. When he dropped his hand, I saw the way some of his bangs stuck to his forehead, like they'd been plastered there from sweat.

There was only a passing resemblance to the character I remembered, the one constructed with the limited graphics capabilities of the PS2. And yet somehow I knew it was him. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, I knew.

For a moment he looked right back at me, brow furrowed, seeming to falter under the observation. Realizing my stare was probably more than a little intense, I forced myself to say something.

"Who's Mary?"

"My… my late wife." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. After some hesitation, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a photograph to show me.

And there she was. Another gut punch. I could see where he would've made the mistake from far away—we seemed to have a similar body type, our hair was almost the same shade of brown, and I was wearing mine pulled back the way she wore hers in the photo. But that was where the similarities ended.

The woman in the picture was older than me; like she looked like she was in her early to mid-thirties, just like... him. She had soft hazel eyes and a kind smile, and she wore a collared floral dress under a pale pink cardigan. The outfit really drove her identity home.

"She's beautiful," I said, because I felt like I needed to say something.

"…Yeah," he replied quietly, pocketing the photo and walking over to the spot next to me. He placed his hands on the railing, pausing to look out over the lake just as I had been doing moments before.

When he shifted, the hem of his coat lifted just enough to expose the butt of a gun poking out from his waistband. I could see brownish-red stains on his jacket now that he stood closer. I saw these things and fought against acknowledging them, trying to push down a growing wave of nausea.

"She really loved this place," he went on with a faraway look in his eyes. "We spent the whole day here, just the two of us, staring at the water… I thought for sure this would be the spot, but I guess I was wrong…"

Suddenly he seemed to remember himself. He turned to face me again.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to…" He sighed, shaking his head, and looked at me with clear eyes. "I'm James."

James.

The name echoed with a devastating finality in my head. None of this could be chalked up to coincidence any longer. Either this was all an incredibly elaborate ploy, or…

"Hey… are you okay?"

I flinched a little at the question, shaken out of my reverie. Meeting his gaze, I plastered on a weak smile.

"I'm Brittany," I offered. "And… no. Not really." Another nervous laugh bubbled up. "Am I crazy, or does this place feel… not safe?"

Something in his expression shifted. "Haven't you seen them?"

"Seen who?"

For a moment he just stared, which somehow made me feel ten times worse. I could see him carefully weighing his next words.

"…You're not crazy," he finally said. "Are you alone here, Brittany?"

"Yeah," I murmured. I couldn't help but avert my gaze, hugging myself lightly. Alone.

I was independent. I was used to it just being me against the world. But… not like this.

"You might want to come with me."

My eyes widened, snapping back to meet his. "Huh?"

"This town… well, you'll see. Or not. Hopefully not." His last few words came out almost as a mutter, and he turned his head to stare out at the heavy fog. "I need to find Mary. But after that, we can get out of here."

I couldn't stop myself. The words came unbidden to my lips.

"Didn't you say she died?"

"Oh…" The lost look returned. His eyes were downcast and he seemed to struggle for a moment. "Yeah. Three years ago. It's—it's just… I got a letter from her."

"A letter?"

"I know how it sounds. I—I'm not… I don't…"

When I just shook my head in response, he trailed off. The conversation was giving me intense déjà vu, and I was starting to feel like I was losing my mind after all.

"What did the letter say?" I asked, because he was clearly waiting for me to say something.

"It…" He turned away, his eyes scanning the park beyond the boardwalk, as if Mary could be lurking among the tall statues and shrubbery.

"She said she'd be waiting," he continued after a drawn-out pause, "in our 'special place.'"

"But she's not here."

"No," he assented. "But… there's also the hotel, I guess. The one on the lake. I wonder if it's still there…?"

So the hotel was your special place, huh? I'll bet it was.

"Can't hurt to look," I said, pushing away the memory.

"…Yeah." His eyes had fallen on the pathway I had taken to get here. "We should get going."

"Ah… okay." My voice wavered. I hoped he hadn't heard it.

James took a few steps up the path, and I started to follow. Then he stopped short, seeming to remember something. He turned back in my direction, but he was staring past me; I tracked his gaze and looked over my shoulder.

The pipe. It was still sitting on the bench.

"You'd better take that," he remarked.

My anxiety spiked. I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came forth. I remembered the handgun on his hip.

It was one thing to carry the pipe around in the hopes I wouldn't need it. It was another to be straight up told I would need it. That would mean admitting to myself that those stains on the metal really were…

I walked back to where we had been standing and picked it up. My actions felt stilted and robotic, like I was a puppet being jerked around by the strings.

When I turned back around, James was giving me a soft, knowing look. I met his gaze with some difficulty and swallowed down the sudden lump in my throat. Whatever was going on… I needed to keep it together. If I fell apart now…

Please don't leave me behind, I thought desperately. I can't do this all alone.

The silence stretched on for a second as we stared at each other. His lips parted and closed as if he was going to say something but decided against it. Finally, he just let out a breath.

"C'mon."

He began walking towards the park's entrance once more. Though my heart was pounding, I gripped the pipe like a lifeline and forced myself to follow. I didn't know what else to do.

No matter what rationalizations my mind wanted to come up with for the deserted buildings and the fog, there was one thing I couldn't deny: James was real. And that could only mean one thing… this wasn't a dream. I really was in Silent Hill.

This was a waking nightmare.