Fic: Crossover: Supernatural: Silent Hill: Dean, Cas (12/?)
I thought I'd post this chapter a day earlier since I was late with it last week, I hope you guys enjoy.
Title: Supernatural: Silent Hill
Author: nicole9514
Rating: R
Chapters: 12/? (still editing/writing, but i'm almost positive it'll be 15 total)
Warnings: gore, blood, disturbing imagery, violence, language
Genre: Crossover/AU on the silent hill front
Spoilers: season five Supernatural, Silent Hill film, and Silent Hill 1 and 2 video games.
Characters: Focus on Dean and Castiel friendship or pre-slash depending on your preference, but some Sam and Bobby as well.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Silent Hill, I'm only playing with them.
A/N: I blatantly steal elements/scenarios from the Silent Hill film, and Silent Hill 1 and 2 video games, but I've also created some of my own canon/expanded/changed characters and other elements to create an insane trip to Silent Hill tailor made for Dean and Cas, hence the AU part of this fic.
Special Thanks: to my beta skylar_matthews
Summary: Dean and Cas get trapped in Silent Hill. Sam and Bobby are on the outside trying to find them - will they find a way out...
Word Count: 3,010 (total 41,061 total)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7
Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11
Dean trailed close behind Dhalia as she led him through the town.
“How much further?” Dean asked, while wiping sweat from his brow.
Her expression was frantic as she stopped and pressed her finger to her lips. Her eyes told him she was about two seconds away from crawling into a dark hole and never emerging again.
Dean swallowed down his frustration, clenched his teeth, and kept up their slow pace. This was taking too long; that thing had had more than enough time with Cas. Dean didn’t know what he’d do, if he was too late.
They took a left turn onto Carroll street; Dhalia stopped in the middle of the intersection and ducked behind an old black, pick-up truck. Dean crouched down beside her.
“There.” She pointed at a long, white building at the end of the road. It was about three stories tall, half of the front windows were shattered, and the paint was marred with black and gray smudges. “That’s where they performed the ritual last time.”
The faded, rusty, sign read Brookhaven hospital. “In a hospital?” Dean had not been expecting that. He’d been picturing a dark, creepy crypt in a cemetery.
“Yes. They’ll be in the basement, room 151.”
Dean repeated the number in his head several times, committing it to memory.
“Head inside, take a right, the elevator will take you down.” Her dirty fingernails kept tapping on the bumper of the car. It was making Dean twitchy.
“There’s power inside?” Dean furrowed his brow and couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his voice.
She nodded.
“Guess it doesn’t like taking the stairs.” Dean flashed her a grin.
Her terrified, weary expression never wavered.
Damn he missed Cas. His sense of humor wasn’t the best, but he would have at least given him a hint of smile at that one.
“I guess this is where we part ways.” Dean gave her a strained smile; he was more than a little nervous about taking on a self-proclaimed god that was strong enough to neuter an angel without breaking a sweat.
She didn’t respond. In fact she was doing a pretty good impression of a deer stuck in headlights. Her gaze was fixated on the hospital, her brown orbs too bright.
Shit.
“You should probably get out of here.“ He nudged her arm gently. She blinked, then seemed to come out of a trance. “It’s not safe.”
She nodded.
Dean started to stand, then turned back towards her. “Dhalia.” Dean waited until she looked at him. “Thank you.”
She gave him the barest hint of smile. “Just do what I could not, that is all the thanks I need.”
Dean stood up. “I will.”
Or die trying.
Dean gripped the knife tightly in his right hand, and jogged towards the front entrance. His boots crunched against gravel and broken pieces of concrete as he neared the building; each sound sent ripples of anxiety dancing across his skin.
He’d expected guards, monsters, anything but an open path inside. Where had the dicks with shotguns disappeared to? Dean kept waiting for something to hear him and come charging straight for his jugular.
A sliver of glass broke up under his shoe.
He tensed; the place remained still.
Dean reached the steps and stared ahead at the double doors that were mostly made of glass. It was splintered, and tiny cracks spider-webbed out from a bullet hole in the center. A light flickered on and off inside, creating the perfect ambience if you were trying to induce a seizure. He could see a large desk, and a sign that read: Patient Admittance. A bloody handprint punctuated it.
Lovely.
Dean rubbed his thumb against the hilt of the knife and started to take the first step. A piece of ash collided with his forehead; Dean wiped it off, and his gaze shifted upward. He swallowed down the knot in his throat.
Over the top of the door someone had carved:
We wait in hope for the day when
the path to Paradise will be reopened.
Dean wanted to laugh; the outside world - a paradise. He’d certainly never saw it that way before.
Dean thought about the creatures he’d seen here; their writhing skin, their glowing eyes, their giant blades, and the urge to laugh vanished.
Sometimes it was all about perspective.
Damn he wanted to go home.
Dean made it halfway up the steps when that siren started wailing.
It happened faster this time. The world had rewritten itself before Dean had time to mutter, “not now.”
His cell phone lost its mind in his pocket.
His eyes widened as something began to form at the top of the steps. The image started out like a mirage, shimmering and wavering.
Then it solidified.
It was the dick who’d decided that pyramids were the latest fashion trend in headgear.
Up this close Dean got a much better look at the freak from the school. He was wearing a white robe with no sleeves; blood and clumps of flesh clung to it. One patch had blonde hair embedded in the skin. Dean felt his stomach protest as he realized that he was looking at a piece of a human scalp. It fell off the fabric and landed on the monster’s big, black boot.
A deep, raspy, breath.
Dean’s eyes drifted back towards the things head. The giant pyramid he was wearing on it was angled down at Dean, one of those bugs climbed across it, watching the hunter.
Dean could feel more of them skittering around his feet.
The sword raised above his head, ready to cut Dean in half.
I hate my life.
The weapon sliced downward.
Dean dove sideways, crashing into the rusty, metal railing that lined the stairs. He felt air whoosh by as the blade just missed him.
Dean glanced back as he forced his watery legs to propel him up the remaining steps. The douche had used so much force he’d gotten his weapon embedded in the concrete.
Dean knew it wouldn’t delay him more than he few seconds, but he took what little advantage he had and darted inside. His knife wasn’t going to do him a damn bit of good against Silent Hill’s version of the Terminator. He took a sharp right and almost tripped over a wheelchair some dick had left lying in the middle of the hallway. He shoved it aside, dodged a gurney, and narrowly avoided slipping on a pool of blood several feet away from the elevator doors. The place smelled like antiseptic and rotting flesh. Not a pleasant combination.
He could hear the slow, heavy footfalls of his newest stalker as he pressed the down button. His gaze shot around as he searched for a stairwell.
Dean Winchester was not going to be killed waiting for a freaking elevator. Unfortunately, there wasn’t one that he could see.
He saw the T-1000 come around the corner; those giant bugs chattered away while they shadowed his every move.
“Come on, come on,” Dean muttered, his palm repeatedly slapping the down button.
Pyramid head was about halfway down the hall now, he reached the gurney, his free hand lashed out, smacking it aside. It slammed into the wall with the force of a cannon, breaking in half, and clattering back to the floor.
Dean swallowed and was about to take off further down the hallway and try to find another way down when the elevator doors slid open.
He raced inside and hit the close door button.
Nothing happened.
Dean could hear his attacker’s raspy breaths getting closer. His footsteps got louder.
He hit it again.
The doors closed.
Dean leaned against the wall and started breathing again. Sweat was dripping down his back, his pulse was doing the Macarena, and his muscles felt like jello.
There was a grinding sound, and that fucking giant blade cut through the middle of the elevator door and headed straight for his face. Dean dropped to the floor, landing flat. The weapon buried itself in the back wall several inches. Pyramid head pulled his sword back, and the blade vanished momentarily. Dean rolled to the left, stood, and hugged the wall. The giant knife came at him again, this time at a downward angle. Dean slid further left, staying just out of its reach as the blade bobbed up and down trying to find him.
The weapon retreated once more, then came bursting back in with a vengeance.
It was chest level, and it made a sweeping motion across the entire length of the elevator. Dean ducked under it, flung himself to the other side of the elevator and laid there panting as the weapon vanished.
A long, muscular arm snaked inside from one of the holes that sword had made and started digging its fingers into the tiny crack where the doors met in the middle. He was going to pry them open.
Dean leapt to his feet, gripped the steak knife with both hands, and brought it down in a quick thrusting motion; ramming it into that fuckers bicep.
There was an inhuman scream and the arm vanished, taking the steak knife with it.
Dean pulled out one of the smaller blades he’d pocketed back at the diner and gripped it.
The elevator shuddered and the lights flickered, but it started going down.
“It’s about fucking time,” he snarled at the universe, while running a shaking hand through his damp hair.
Sweat was dripping into his eyes, Dean wiped it on his sleeve, and collapsed against the wall. He just leaned there breathing slowly and deeply, forcing himself to calm down and mentally prepare for whatever he might find in the basement.
Dean did a quick inventory. Small knives. Check. Flashlight. Check. Cell phone. Dean patted his back pocket and cursed. It was gone. He’d probably lost it outside the hospital.
So much for his early warning system.
*****
The doors groaned as they opened; stopping about halfway. He flipped on the flashlight and stared down into the murky path ahead of him. Dean had been wrong; this place had the perfect ambience for a ritual sacrifice.
No light, creepy red wallpaper, pipes with steam rising up from the floor, and the smell of death in the air.
Dean steeled himself, slid out between the doors, and quietly crept forward. His footsteps echoed in the narrow corridor; it was time to find room 151.
Dean shined his light on a door to his right. It read 140.
He walked another few feet, listening and looking for anything that might be waiting to gut him.
His foot bumped against something soft. His gaze darted downward, a stuffed doll, with dark hair was just laying in the middle of the floor. Dried blood crusted over its face and pink dress.
That wasn’t creepy at all.
A pipe let out a burst of steam behind him, but Dean didn’t allow himself to flinch.
Dean continued forward, forcing each breath in and out, slow and steady. He saw the outline of something else a few feet ahead, it wasn’t moving, he angled the beam of light downward. A severed leg rested on the ground - it looked like someone had taken a few bites out of its hamstring. Dean cringed inwardly and hoped he wouldn’t find the rest of the body hanging from a ceiling.
He’d been shoving down every memory of hell that kept trying to emerge. Severed limbs, suffering, and monsters that would have the most experienced hunter crying in a corner.
He kept waiting for Alastair to show up and give him a tour of his office. That fucker would love to know who’d done the decorating in this death trap of a town. It was right up his alley.
Dean shook his head, and locked those thoughts up in the corner of his mind where he kept them.
Breathe in, breathe out.
He stepped over the limb and focused on the next set of rooms. 145 and 146.
Not too far now.
Five more steps.
Drip. Drip.
Dean spun, knife in one hand, light in the other towards the sound and faced… a leaky pipe.
Water was smacking onto the floor.
Jesus. Stop being such a pussy. Cas needs you.
Dean took five long, deep breaths and continued forward.
More rooms. 148 and 149.
Dean could see a faint reddish light reflecting off the metal walls at the end of the corridor.
Steam burst up from the floor; Dean couldn’t stop the flinch this time, but he kept moving.
The light got brighter.
He reached a corner. Dean hugged the wall, and peeked around.
Dammit to hell.
There were red emergency lights blinking on and off along the walls of this latest hallway. It gave off enough eerie light for Dean to see what was waiting up ahead.
The only way forward was blocked by about thirty rotting nurses who were about a hundred years past their expiration dates. Bitches were so ugly even Dean wouldn’t bang them. Everyone one of them were wielding daggers that were a hell of a lot more threatening than his. And they all were standing in odd positions - they seemed frozen in place. Some had their arms outstretched, some were leaning to the side, none of them were moving.
Dean blinked a few times hoping they might disappear. No such luck.
Now what? Cas had been in this Valtiel’s clutches for too long already. There wasn’t time to stand here and debate his next course of action. He needed to get through them, but there was no room to go around, and they were packed like sardines in a can - the wind couldn’t squeeze in between.
So I need to draw them out. The question was how.
Carefully thought out plans had never been his strong suit.
Turning back wasn’t an option.
Dean ignored his racing pulse and sweaty palms and stepped out from behind the wall.
“Hey babes!” He hollered prancing out in front of them, a big shitty grin on his face. “I’m looking for the bathroom; care to help a guy out?”
No reaction.
He whistled and waved his arms. “Anybody home in there?”
They just stood there.
Dean frowned, he stepped a bit closer and shined the flashlight at them, getting a better look.
They were even uglier than he’d thought, for once in his life Dean wished a woman had more clothes on. The naughty nurse outfit just didn’t do it for him when the flesh was decomposing and their faces bared more resemblance to a piranha than a human female.
“What big teeth you have,” he mumbled while taking one step closer.
The light passed over them one more time and Dean noticed them twitching. He held the light steady. Their heads jerked in unison, and they turned to face him, their white high heels stomping on the ground as they moved.
Dean’s heart had been stuck in overdrive most of the day, this was not helping.
He backed up a step as they moved forward.
The noise hadn’t had any effect, neither had walking in front of them.
Dean trusted his gut as he flipped off the flashlight. The only remaining light was intermittent and bathed the place in crimson.
They stopped moving. He relaxed slightly.
Okay. I can use this.
He backed up a few feet, and turned the light back on.
Immediately they seemed to stir again. Their jerky heads focused on it, they marched forward, each movement robotic.
As they walked, the mutated nurses started to separate. There was now space to squeeze in between them.
Dean flipped it off again.
They froze.
Here goes nothing.
He gripped the small knife tightly and crept forward. As he got closer he could smell them. You’d think after spending the better part of a day in this town he’d have been used to foul smells. This one still almost had him heaving. Body odor, rot, and urine all rolled into one nasty package.
Dean tried breathing through his mouth but then he could taste it. Putrid and thick, the odor coated his tongue leaving Dean feeling as if he’d just drank rancid milk.
Dean stopped inches from the mob of ripe nurses and hoped today was going to be his lucky day.
He slipped in between a gap, tensing, waiting for a knife to be embedded in his throat.
Dean took another step, sliding in between two more of them. He could hear their harsh breathing all around him as he fought against his fear.
Cas is right there. You can do this.
One more step, movement to his left, the sound of one of them sniffing the air.
Crap.
Dean took another step; he was halfway there now.
One of them screeched and Dean dropped to a crouch as a knife whipped towards him.
Then all hell broke lose.
Dean half crawled, half ran through the crowd. He dodged another blow, heard one of them scream in pain. The dumb bitches were stabbing each other in their frenzy to find him.
Dean felt a blade slash across his arm; it burned but he kept moving, throwing himself forward and emerging out the other side.
He could feel warmth and wetness trickling down his forearm.
Dean didn’t waste anytime checking the wound; he flipped the light back on and tore down the hallway. His feet pounded against the metal floor, the light bounced against the walls, he saw another turn up ahead.
He could hear his fan club snarling and hissing, probably still cutting each other up.
He reached the corner, and pulled his sleeve up, there was a long, deep gash just below his elbow. He’d had worse. Dean ripped a strip off his shirt, wrapped it around his injured arm, winced, and tied it using his free hand and his teeth.
He chanced a quick glance around the last corner and saw a single door at the end.
151.
Hang on, Cas; I’m coming.
Next Chapter
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Title: Supernatural: Silent Hill
Author: nicole9514
Rating: R
Chapters: 12/? (still editing/writing, but i'm almost positive it'll be 15 total)
Warnings: gore, blood, disturbing imagery, violence, language
Genre: Crossover/AU on the silent hill front
Spoilers: season five Supernatural, Silent Hill film, and Silent Hill 1 and 2 video games.
Characters: Focus on Dean and Castiel friendship or pre-slash depending on your preference, but some Sam and Bobby as well.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Silent Hill, I'm only playing with them.
A/N: I blatantly steal elements/scenarios from the Silent Hill film, and Silent Hill 1 and 2 video games, but I've also created some of my own canon/expanded/changed characters and other elements to create an insane trip to Silent Hill tailor made for Dean and Cas, hence the AU part of this fic.
Special Thanks: to my beta skylar_matthews
Summary: Dean and Cas get trapped in Silent Hill. Sam and Bobby are on the outside trying to find them - will they find a way out...
Word Count: 3,010 (total 41,061 total)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7
Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11
Dean trailed close behind Dhalia as she led him through the town.
“How much further?” Dean asked, while wiping sweat from his brow.
Her expression was frantic as she stopped and pressed her finger to her lips. Her eyes told him she was about two seconds away from crawling into a dark hole and never emerging again.
Dean swallowed down his frustration, clenched his teeth, and kept up their slow pace. This was taking too long; that thing had had more than enough time with Cas. Dean didn’t know what he’d do, if he was too late.
They took a left turn onto Carroll street; Dhalia stopped in the middle of the intersection and ducked behind an old black, pick-up truck. Dean crouched down beside her.
“There.” She pointed at a long, white building at the end of the road. It was about three stories tall, half of the front windows were shattered, and the paint was marred with black and gray smudges. “That’s where they performed the ritual last time.”
The faded, rusty, sign read Brookhaven hospital. “In a hospital?” Dean had not been expecting that. He’d been picturing a dark, creepy crypt in a cemetery.
“Yes. They’ll be in the basement, room 151.”
Dean repeated the number in his head several times, committing it to memory.
“Head inside, take a right, the elevator will take you down.” Her dirty fingernails kept tapping on the bumper of the car. It was making Dean twitchy.
“There’s power inside?” Dean furrowed his brow and couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his voice.
She nodded.
“Guess it doesn’t like taking the stairs.” Dean flashed her a grin.
Her terrified, weary expression never wavered.
Damn he missed Cas. His sense of humor wasn’t the best, but he would have at least given him a hint of smile at that one.
“I guess this is where we part ways.” Dean gave her a strained smile; he was more than a little nervous about taking on a self-proclaimed god that was strong enough to neuter an angel without breaking a sweat.
She didn’t respond. In fact she was doing a pretty good impression of a deer stuck in headlights. Her gaze was fixated on the hospital, her brown orbs too bright.
Shit.
“You should probably get out of here.“ He nudged her arm gently. She blinked, then seemed to come out of a trance. “It’s not safe.”
She nodded.
Dean started to stand, then turned back towards her. “Dhalia.” Dean waited until she looked at him. “Thank you.”
She gave him the barest hint of smile. “Just do what I could not, that is all the thanks I need.”
Dean stood up. “I will.”
Or die trying.
Dean gripped the knife tightly in his right hand, and jogged towards the front entrance. His boots crunched against gravel and broken pieces of concrete as he neared the building; each sound sent ripples of anxiety dancing across his skin.
He’d expected guards, monsters, anything but an open path inside. Where had the dicks with shotguns disappeared to? Dean kept waiting for something to hear him and come charging straight for his jugular.
A sliver of glass broke up under his shoe.
He tensed; the place remained still.
Dean reached the steps and stared ahead at the double doors that were mostly made of glass. It was splintered, and tiny cracks spider-webbed out from a bullet hole in the center. A light flickered on and off inside, creating the perfect ambience if you were trying to induce a seizure. He could see a large desk, and a sign that read: Patient Admittance. A bloody handprint punctuated it.
Lovely.
Dean rubbed his thumb against the hilt of the knife and started to take the first step. A piece of ash collided with his forehead; Dean wiped it off, and his gaze shifted upward. He swallowed down the knot in his throat.
Over the top of the door someone had carved:
We wait in hope for the day when
the path to Paradise will be reopened.
Dean wanted to laugh; the outside world - a paradise. He’d certainly never saw it that way before.
Dean thought about the creatures he’d seen here; their writhing skin, their glowing eyes, their giant blades, and the urge to laugh vanished.
Sometimes it was all about perspective.
Damn he wanted to go home.
Dean made it halfway up the steps when that siren started wailing.
It happened faster this time. The world had rewritten itself before Dean had time to mutter, “not now.”
His cell phone lost its mind in his pocket.
His eyes widened as something began to form at the top of the steps. The image started out like a mirage, shimmering and wavering.
Then it solidified.
It was the dick who’d decided that pyramids were the latest fashion trend in headgear.
Up this close Dean got a much better look at the freak from the school. He was wearing a white robe with no sleeves; blood and clumps of flesh clung to it. One patch had blonde hair embedded in the skin. Dean felt his stomach protest as he realized that he was looking at a piece of a human scalp. It fell off the fabric and landed on the monster’s big, black boot.
A deep, raspy, breath.
Dean’s eyes drifted back towards the things head. The giant pyramid he was wearing on it was angled down at Dean, one of those bugs climbed across it, watching the hunter.
Dean could feel more of them skittering around his feet.
The sword raised above his head, ready to cut Dean in half.
I hate my life.
The weapon sliced downward.
Dean dove sideways, crashing into the rusty, metal railing that lined the stairs. He felt air whoosh by as the blade just missed him.
Dean glanced back as he forced his watery legs to propel him up the remaining steps. The douche had used so much force he’d gotten his weapon embedded in the concrete.
Dean knew it wouldn’t delay him more than he few seconds, but he took what little advantage he had and darted inside. His knife wasn’t going to do him a damn bit of good against Silent Hill’s version of the Terminator. He took a sharp right and almost tripped over a wheelchair some dick had left lying in the middle of the hallway. He shoved it aside, dodged a gurney, and narrowly avoided slipping on a pool of blood several feet away from the elevator doors. The place smelled like antiseptic and rotting flesh. Not a pleasant combination.
He could hear the slow, heavy footfalls of his newest stalker as he pressed the down button. His gaze shot around as he searched for a stairwell.
Dean Winchester was not going to be killed waiting for a freaking elevator. Unfortunately, there wasn’t one that he could see.
He saw the T-1000 come around the corner; those giant bugs chattered away while they shadowed his every move.
“Come on, come on,” Dean muttered, his palm repeatedly slapping the down button.
Pyramid head was about halfway down the hall now, he reached the gurney, his free hand lashed out, smacking it aside. It slammed into the wall with the force of a cannon, breaking in half, and clattering back to the floor.
Dean swallowed and was about to take off further down the hallway and try to find another way down when the elevator doors slid open.
He raced inside and hit the close door button.
Nothing happened.
Dean could hear his attacker’s raspy breaths getting closer. His footsteps got louder.
He hit it again.
The doors closed.
Dean leaned against the wall and started breathing again. Sweat was dripping down his back, his pulse was doing the Macarena, and his muscles felt like jello.
There was a grinding sound, and that fucking giant blade cut through the middle of the elevator door and headed straight for his face. Dean dropped to the floor, landing flat. The weapon buried itself in the back wall several inches. Pyramid head pulled his sword back, and the blade vanished momentarily. Dean rolled to the left, stood, and hugged the wall. The giant knife came at him again, this time at a downward angle. Dean slid further left, staying just out of its reach as the blade bobbed up and down trying to find him.
The weapon retreated once more, then came bursting back in with a vengeance.
It was chest level, and it made a sweeping motion across the entire length of the elevator. Dean ducked under it, flung himself to the other side of the elevator and laid there panting as the weapon vanished.
A long, muscular arm snaked inside from one of the holes that sword had made and started digging its fingers into the tiny crack where the doors met in the middle. He was going to pry them open.
Dean leapt to his feet, gripped the steak knife with both hands, and brought it down in a quick thrusting motion; ramming it into that fuckers bicep.
There was an inhuman scream and the arm vanished, taking the steak knife with it.
Dean pulled out one of the smaller blades he’d pocketed back at the diner and gripped it.
The elevator shuddered and the lights flickered, but it started going down.
“It’s about fucking time,” he snarled at the universe, while running a shaking hand through his damp hair.
Sweat was dripping into his eyes, Dean wiped it on his sleeve, and collapsed against the wall. He just leaned there breathing slowly and deeply, forcing himself to calm down and mentally prepare for whatever he might find in the basement.
Dean did a quick inventory. Small knives. Check. Flashlight. Check. Cell phone. Dean patted his back pocket and cursed. It was gone. He’d probably lost it outside the hospital.
So much for his early warning system.
*****
The doors groaned as they opened; stopping about halfway. He flipped on the flashlight and stared down into the murky path ahead of him. Dean had been wrong; this place had the perfect ambience for a ritual sacrifice.
No light, creepy red wallpaper, pipes with steam rising up from the floor, and the smell of death in the air.
Dean steeled himself, slid out between the doors, and quietly crept forward. His footsteps echoed in the narrow corridor; it was time to find room 151.
Dean shined his light on a door to his right. It read 140.
He walked another few feet, listening and looking for anything that might be waiting to gut him.
His foot bumped against something soft. His gaze darted downward, a stuffed doll, with dark hair was just laying in the middle of the floor. Dried blood crusted over its face and pink dress.
That wasn’t creepy at all.
A pipe let out a burst of steam behind him, but Dean didn’t allow himself to flinch.
Dean continued forward, forcing each breath in and out, slow and steady. He saw the outline of something else a few feet ahead, it wasn’t moving, he angled the beam of light downward. A severed leg rested on the ground - it looked like someone had taken a few bites out of its hamstring. Dean cringed inwardly and hoped he wouldn’t find the rest of the body hanging from a ceiling.
He’d been shoving down every memory of hell that kept trying to emerge. Severed limbs, suffering, and monsters that would have the most experienced hunter crying in a corner.
He kept waiting for Alastair to show up and give him a tour of his office. That fucker would love to know who’d done the decorating in this death trap of a town. It was right up his alley.
Dean shook his head, and locked those thoughts up in the corner of his mind where he kept them.
Breathe in, breathe out.
He stepped over the limb and focused on the next set of rooms. 145 and 146.
Not too far now.
Five more steps.
Drip. Drip.
Dean spun, knife in one hand, light in the other towards the sound and faced… a leaky pipe.
Water was smacking onto the floor.
Jesus. Stop being such a pussy. Cas needs you.
Dean took five long, deep breaths and continued forward.
More rooms. 148 and 149.
Dean could see a faint reddish light reflecting off the metal walls at the end of the corridor.
Steam burst up from the floor; Dean couldn’t stop the flinch this time, but he kept moving.
The light got brighter.
He reached a corner. Dean hugged the wall, and peeked around.
Dammit to hell.
There were red emergency lights blinking on and off along the walls of this latest hallway. It gave off enough eerie light for Dean to see what was waiting up ahead.
The only way forward was blocked by about thirty rotting nurses who were about a hundred years past their expiration dates. Bitches were so ugly even Dean wouldn’t bang them. Everyone one of them were wielding daggers that were a hell of a lot more threatening than his. And they all were standing in odd positions - they seemed frozen in place. Some had their arms outstretched, some were leaning to the side, none of them were moving.
Dean blinked a few times hoping they might disappear. No such luck.
Now what? Cas had been in this Valtiel’s clutches for too long already. There wasn’t time to stand here and debate his next course of action. He needed to get through them, but there was no room to go around, and they were packed like sardines in a can - the wind couldn’t squeeze in between.
So I need to draw them out. The question was how.
Carefully thought out plans had never been his strong suit.
Turning back wasn’t an option.
Dean ignored his racing pulse and sweaty palms and stepped out from behind the wall.
“Hey babes!” He hollered prancing out in front of them, a big shitty grin on his face. “I’m looking for the bathroom; care to help a guy out?”
No reaction.
He whistled and waved his arms. “Anybody home in there?”
They just stood there.
Dean frowned, he stepped a bit closer and shined the flashlight at them, getting a better look.
They were even uglier than he’d thought, for once in his life Dean wished a woman had more clothes on. The naughty nurse outfit just didn’t do it for him when the flesh was decomposing and their faces bared more resemblance to a piranha than a human female.
“What big teeth you have,” he mumbled while taking one step closer.
The light passed over them one more time and Dean noticed them twitching. He held the light steady. Their heads jerked in unison, and they turned to face him, their white high heels stomping on the ground as they moved.
Dean’s heart had been stuck in overdrive most of the day, this was not helping.
He backed up a step as they moved forward.
The noise hadn’t had any effect, neither had walking in front of them.
Dean trusted his gut as he flipped off the flashlight. The only remaining light was intermittent and bathed the place in crimson.
They stopped moving. He relaxed slightly.
Okay. I can use this.
He backed up a few feet, and turned the light back on.
Immediately they seemed to stir again. Their jerky heads focused on it, they marched forward, each movement robotic.
As they walked, the mutated nurses started to separate. There was now space to squeeze in between them.
Dean flipped it off again.
They froze.
Here goes nothing.
He gripped the small knife tightly and crept forward. As he got closer he could smell them. You’d think after spending the better part of a day in this town he’d have been used to foul smells. This one still almost had him heaving. Body odor, rot, and urine all rolled into one nasty package.
Dean tried breathing through his mouth but then he could taste it. Putrid and thick, the odor coated his tongue leaving Dean feeling as if he’d just drank rancid milk.
Dean stopped inches from the mob of ripe nurses and hoped today was going to be his lucky day.
He slipped in between a gap, tensing, waiting for a knife to be embedded in his throat.
Dean took another step, sliding in between two more of them. He could hear their harsh breathing all around him as he fought against his fear.
Cas is right there. You can do this.
One more step, movement to his left, the sound of one of them sniffing the air.
Crap.
Dean took another step; he was halfway there now.
One of them screeched and Dean dropped to a crouch as a knife whipped towards him.
Then all hell broke lose.
Dean half crawled, half ran through the crowd. He dodged another blow, heard one of them scream in pain. The dumb bitches were stabbing each other in their frenzy to find him.
Dean felt a blade slash across his arm; it burned but he kept moving, throwing himself forward and emerging out the other side.
He could feel warmth and wetness trickling down his forearm.
Dean didn’t waste anytime checking the wound; he flipped the light back on and tore down the hallway. His feet pounded against the metal floor, the light bounced against the walls, he saw another turn up ahead.
He could hear his fan club snarling and hissing, probably still cutting each other up.
He reached the corner, and pulled his sleeve up, there was a long, deep gash just below his elbow. He’d had worse. Dean ripped a strip off his shirt, wrapped it around his injured arm, winced, and tied it using his free hand and his teeth.
He chanced a quick glance around the last corner and saw a single door at the end.
151.
Hang on, Cas; I’m coming.
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