Author's Note: It switches tenses. Cookies if you specifically point them out so I don't have to search for them at three in the morning.

Rating: T
Character(s): Henry, Walter, Eileen, er'vy body
Summary: Henry deals with everyone but Walter. Silent Hill, however has a rather annoying habit of making you into situations you are not going to like and make it your fault.

Peacemaker
By: Mazzie May

When Henry dreams, he's in Silent Hill.

Everything's dark and red and pulsating just like he remembered it. He doesn't really notice. He's used to it. And monsters and creatures are there, of course, but they don't attack him. They wander about, minding their own.

Henry wants to make peace with each and every one.

And all of Them are there. All the victims; Cynthia, Jasper, Andrew, Richard and the ones whom names always escape him and many others who were sent here long before Them.

Cynthia doesn't look the way she used to. She's bruised and bloody, the open wound on her back still heaving red life. Her hair's down, too. It isn't as long as her ghost's, but still more than a decent length. Dyed and dripping, she's still attractive.

And when she's there, and he's there, he's sorry and she waves him off. She told him it's okay, no big deal. He did save her, she insisted. Maybe not from death, but from Walter's damnation. Silent Hill's not so bad anyway, she said. And, hey, she smiled up at him, she's always looked her best in red.

Every time he's found her, she pays him that "special favor". He lets her lead him to the Indian Runner motel, because he really doesn't want to offend the creatures. He's always been careful of her back, even though she insists he doesn't have to be. Her hair runs all along his back and arms and it just feels so good.

When he's back in his room, he can barely open his eyes, and his skin tingles and he can feel himself all over his thighs.

He can't look at Eileen after those dreams.

Jasper always comes looking for him. He drags Henry back to this antique shop that he'd made his home. He's burned, blistered and blackened, but his only complaint is that while on fire, the skin above his right eye melted, a giant scar holding the peeper closed. Books and papers and red note pads were stacked around, along with some videos. Henry can't read the pages Jasper would show him enthusiastically (they're all burnt), but he nods anyway. Jasper loved it when Henry asked him to read it out loud, while Henry pretends to be thumbing through a journal Jasper said belonged to a nurse called "Lisa." He said it helps him with over coming his stutter.

No matter what time Henry visits, Nathan's Drugs is always out of chocolate milk. Jasper doesn't mind, but Henry's heart sinks whenever he licks his charred lips and murmurs "chocolate" subconsciously as he takes notes.

Henry could always find Andrew at the prison, only not the water prison. He's at Taluca Prison, cleaning it. Or, "cleaning" it. He said he'd clean it up, but he isn't. The rag he uses along the walls only spread the blood and rust. Andrew asked if he thought he was doing a good job. Henry smiled, saying, wow, it's so nice, then offered to help.

Henry doesn't like Andrew. He never did. Andrew's dead, and not-so-deep down Henry knows that he didn't get there in time because he didn't like him. Henry never intended for his death, of course, but he wasn't working a hundred percent in Andrew's favor. His guilt added tar to the "cleaning" solution and Andrew thought the walls have never looked so nice.

Richard holds himself up in the Woodside Apartments. He has mannequins in his room. He didn't like how people acted. But the mannequins can only be as he wants them to be. It makes him happy.

When Henry works up the nerve to go over (and he actually lets him in), he lets Richard control him, too. After all, if he'd only listened to Richard to begin with, he wouldn't be there. But Henry never pleases him. Richard can't make him act the way he wants, anymore than Henry himself can.

Shell casings are all over the floor, and all the frozen people are arranged around a shopping cart. Henry nudges them around with his sneaker and wonders if this' how many bullets Richard went through trying to preserve his existence.

Henry met someone he hadn't come across through the hole. She's nervous and edgy. Angela stays around the graveyard mostly, but sometimes Henry could catch her at the lake. She's like him—no wounds, no death. She's still alive, but she doesn't come and go like he does, but maybe, that's because she didn't want to. She's convinced her mother is there. Henry had never seen her mother, but there are a lot unrecognizable souls in Silent Hill.

She's nervous around men, but she's only shy around Henry. She said it's easier talking to "boys" now, because someone named James was good to her, and could see the fire. Henry could feel the heat of the flames that are always in her presence, but he's yet to witness them. He's very thankful for that. She and her other male friend looked for their mothers together.

Henry always looked for Angela when he came to Silent Hill first, because she always knew were Walter was. This way, Henry could avoid him.

He didn't worry about it too much, but Henry did try to steer clear of him to the best of his abilities. He had no idea what he'd say or what he'd do if he ran into him. But Henry did know he wanted to stay away from him. Some habits (some survival instincts) are hard to break.

Angela would tell him Walter asked about him, and that he says "hello". Henry never had a message back.

Of course, Silent Hill always makes you face your darkness. So when Henry went to the Wish House to find a present for Jasper (he hadn't seen him in a while, he knew he'd need a peace offering), he was there.

He was playing with his little self. A woman who Henry heard was called "Mary" sat on the steps. Henry had never actually conversed with Mary, but he'd seen her around. Where a woman normally wears a wedding band, the skin is burned and bleeding. Henry assumes her marriage has something to do with why she's there. The rest of her is pale, almost a little yellow, and the hair she keeps back in a loose and messy braid is blonde and thin, stringy. A very sickly woman, she resides in the hospital, like so many others here.

Little Walter lives with her. He'd wanted a mother, and Mary had lost her child, as Henry understood it. He wasn't Laura (the girl Angela told him she'd lost), and she wasn't Room thee-oh-two (Little Walter said Mary's much better at hugging), but they're happy, or so he heard.

But grown up Walter knew that she wasn't Room three-oh-two, and didn't acknowledge her as his mother. He thought he knew who (or what) his mother really was, not that Mary minded. She wanted the little boy, who drew her horrid pictures and picked her dying flowers, and began to cry when she left the room. They've never separated.

She saw Henry and smiled a little. He returned it as a friendly gesture. She announced it was time to leave and take little Walter back to their home—Brookhaven Hospital. Little Walter ignored Henry as he dashed past to catch up with his "mother".

Leaving Henry with big Walter.

He held up his hands, saying in a joking tone, "I don't have any weapons, Henry". Henry didn't have any either, because here, he really didn't need them. Or so he thought.

He never talks about it with Eileen, and it took a long time for him to admit it to himself. What Walter Sullivan did was wrong, terrible. Mutilating mostly innocent people, slaying small children and elderly women. All in the name of his "mother". Because, if you lived your entire life in darkness and pain and abuse, and you were told at a young age that the person who could hug you the tightest, kiss you the best, love you the most was just behind a door, and that was all you could think about, wouldn't you go to any lengths to get through?

Henry Townshend felt bad for Walter Sullivan.

Henry made a small noise that resembled the word "yeah," and tilted his head to look down at the ground just behind Walter. Henry had made an effort to make peace with everyone involved in this whole mess, except Walter. It wasn't because Henry was scared of him or thought that he deserved to suffer.

He just didn't know who should be apologizing, and—if it was indeed Henry who needed to—he didn't know how.

Walter dropped his arms and put his hands in his pockets, smiling pleasantly. Henry figured that despite the fact that Walter didn't think of Mary as his mother, the happiness she brought Little Walter affected him to at least some extent.

"Want to go for a walk, Henry?" Walter asked. Out of habit, Henry blanched. A walk? Alone? In the woods? With Walter? Weaponless?

"Sure…" Walter's smile grew, resembling the happiness his past self took on in the presence of Mary. Henry returned it with about one-sixteenth the energy, but walked forward anyway.

Walter steered them around as he asked questions about his "mother".

"What does she look like now?"

Henry pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He knew he had to make it sound like Room three-oh-two was a person. "She's…" Hell, this was going to be hard. "She hasn't aged a day."

"Really?" They stepped over a fallen trunk. "Oh, that's so good to hear… Is she warm enough there, or cool enough?"

Henry nearly laughed at he bizarreness of the question. "She's like everyone else," he said, gesturing a little with his hand. "She's a little hot in the summer, and a little cold in the winter."

"What about Spring and Fall?"

Ah, hell. "She's just right." Henry's answer was completely plagiarized. What he'd said was the description of the heating and cooling system of the apartments that Frank Sunderland had giving him during his tour.

"Does she get along with you? You treat her right, don't you?"

Christ in Heaven. Oh, yes, Walter, Henry thought annoyed. I vacuum her just the way she likes it. Jesus. "Yeah, we function very well."

Walter seemed pleased, for now. They walked in silence a little, something that Henry was thankful for, but the quiet made him a little nervous. Walter turned suddenly, nearly knocking Henry over.

He was almost angry, the words "What", "the", and "hell" right at the edge of his lips. But Walter just stocked past, and Henry realized he was heading for the lake. With a little hesitation, he followed, but was careful to stay a few paces behind.

Through the factory, out to the lakeside.

When Henry came through the door, a little more than half expecting to be struck with an axe, he found Walter at the other end. He stared out at the lake, looking depressed, hands clenching and unclenching the dying railing. Henry waited, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in his stomach.

They stayed like that, and the wind blew. Henry folded his arms around himself at the chill. For some reason, the wind only ever blew at the lake. The lighthouse, docks and the back of the Lakeside Resort were windy, but trees everywhere else remained untouched.

Finally, Walter turned to look at him. "Does she miss me?"

There it was again, that horrible, heavy feeling deep within him. Henry was never good at hiding how he felt, and he was sure his expression was an exact mirror of the honest remorse that he felt over not being able to give Walter the answer he sought. Apartments don't have mouths, therefore, cannot speak, which, in turn, meant that Room three-oh-two could not tell Henry Townshend, or anyone else on earth and beyond, that it honestly missed Walter Sullivan.

Walter still waited. Henry was going to have to say it. He shook his head a little, sadly saying, "Listen, it—"he stopped. "She doesn't talk a lot." He tried his best to lessen the blow. Walter was looking a little upset. "She only tells me how hot she is, or how cold she is. That's all."

Walter tossed his head to the side in anguish. Henry's watch beeped. He looked down at his wrist, pushing the hair that was being blown into his eyes away. Four PM, in reality. It was time for him to go back, wake up from his nap and finish his day. Luckily, there was a hole just to the left.

"I have to go now," Henry said, raising his voice over the wind. It was picking up steadily. Walter said nothing, only remained hunched over the railing, his hair hiding his face. Henry had a sneaking suspicion he was crying. Sighing, he turned away, pushing against the force of fast moving air.

As he reached the hole, he placed one hand onto the rim, and stopped. He looked uncertainly down into the hole, his sympathy rising. What the hell am I doing, he thought grimly and he faced away from the portal towards the hurt man.

"Walter!" Maybe he didn't hear him, maybe he was ignoring him. "Walter!" he tried again, he voice being ripped from his throat by the angry wind. That got his attention, he turned his head to show he was listening.

"Do you…" Henry rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. "Do you want to come see her?"

Walter turned slightly, and Henry could make out the word "what" on his lips. Henry raised his voice considerably. "I SAID, DO YOU WANT--"

The wind stopped, and Henry choked on the volume of his voice in the silence. Clearing his throat, he repeated, "I asked, would you like to see her?"

Walter only stared at him blankly, and Henry felt the colour rushing to his cheeks. God, why did he even make that offer? He began to shrug, and turn toward the hole to save him further embarrassment when a hopeful voice came from behind him.

"…Really?"

Henry tuned around. "Yeah."

"Like… really, really?"

Henry felt a twinge of annoyance, but quickly squashed it. "Yes, really, really. Do you want to?"

Walter ran the couple of feet to the hole and looked down. "You just climb in," Henry explained, and felt like an idiot as the words left his mouth. Walter knew how to use the portals. He created them.

He didn't comment on that, though. He just smiled and slowly got in.

Henry followed.

--

In the apartment, Henry struggled to get out of bed, remembering the stupid thing he did. He sat up, looking around the room. No Walter.

He hopped up and opened his door, half jogging down the hall. The bathroom door had been open and no one was inside. And there Walter was, in the middle of the living room, looking around him slowly.

He turned to face Henry, looking a little lost and intimidated. Biting his lip, Henry came forward and placed a hand on Walter's shoulder. He looked out around the room, and said as genuinely as he could into the room, "You remember Walter, don't you?"

And as if by some miracle of God, the heater kicked in at that exact moment. Walter looked around, his eyes becoming red. "She remembers…?"

Henry smiled as gently as he could, though he was sure it came out a little weary. "Sure. See? She thinks you're cold."

"She knew I was at the lake?" He was hardly whispering, and Henry knew he wouldn't have heard it if he wasn't so close.

"Suppose so."

"She's not a person," he stated suddenly. "I couldn't make her come out."

A tremor of panic ran down Henry's spine, but the right words tumbled out of his mouth without him even having to think. "She loves you all the same."

Walter suddenly dropped down to all fours and Henry stepped back rapidly, surprised. He carefully rounded the table so he could see Walter's face. He stopped just after the television.

He was crying.

"Hi…" he managed, wiping at his face. "Hi, Mom. I… really miss you," he finished. "I'm… I'm glade to see you…" He patted the carpet softly. "I'm sorry…"

Henry slowly back peddled out of the living room and into his room, quietly closing the door on the apologizing, crying murderer. I'll work at home today, he thought. God knows what would happen if I wasn't here. Jesus.

Settling himself at his desk, he opened his album, in an effort to decide what photos to use for his portfolio. He wasn't looking for a new job, but it was always good to rearrange old photos and update with new ones to keep your career options fresh.

Turning the page, he found right in the center a mother holding her infant son out in a hospital courtyard.

The laminated page soon became wet as Henry folded his arms over it, dropping his head onto them as he cried.

Because that mother and son were reality.

Because Little Walter and Mary were a lie.

And because Walter and his apartment were just too damn much.

When he finally exhausted himself, for the first time in a long time, he didn't dream.

--

When Henry awoke, his head hurt, eyes burned and his back was sore. It was also dark out. He pushed away from his desk, cringed as he felt the pain in his back spread like water. He stood stretching, trying to think of what he was doing at his desk.

And then he remembered.

Walter. In my apartment. Alone. Ah, shit.

He exited his room and went down the hall, and was more than a little surprised to find the grown man curled against the space in between his bookshelf and television.

"You could've used the couch, you know," he offered. Walter shook his head.

"I felt around this place," he said. Henry turned his head away a little, eyebrows raised. Walter continued. "You were sleeping, so I was very quiet in your room." Henry's face burned a little. "This spot was the coldest. I'm keeping it warm for her."

Henry thought about the layout of his apartment, and considering that the little place was pretty much blocked off from the heaters, then, yeah, it would be the coldest place. He nodded then, shrugging. What he was really concerned with was how to get Walter back.

He couldn't stay. He was dead. He might start to rot, or smell, or something equally gross. But how could he leave? Henry took him back through the portal, but the holes were gone now (in this reality), so what could he do? He didn't think Walter could will himself away, not that he thought he would want to, either.

Shit. He'd have to dig out some of Joseph's old stuff and see if there were any clues there. But it was going to have to wait until morning. He'd carefully boxed up all of those papers and placed them in his storage unit, and no one could access them past six PM.

Walter seemed to be reading his mind. "I won't take up much room," he deadpanned, at the same time pulling his legs in a little bit more.

Henry was feeling the same kind of tired he did when he didn't have any control over Walter's whereabouts. This was sort of the same thing. Only this time it's actually you're fault, his mind so rudely reminded him.

Rubbing his still red and gummy eyes, Henry asked, "You, uh… want a blanket and pillow? Or something…?"

"I'll take one from there." He pointed to the small decretive pillow on the hide-a-bed. "But that'll be later. We're still talking." He rested against the wall again.

Just then, the room creaked, as old places often do, but to Henry it almost sounded like a "yes". That must be what Walter heard, too.

"Okay…" Henry breathed, making his way into the bathroom.

He needed a long shower.

--

The next day, Henry lugged out everything he'd found involving Walter and the Twenty-one Sacraments, but the only thing that kept a Ghost away were the candles or the Saint Medallion. Not that it mattered; no candles (he'd used up all but four candles during the time his apartment was being more possessed than usual. He ended up using the other four as dinner candles on accident), no saint medallions—no, wait. Eileen might still have the one he gave her… He rubbed his temples. He couldn't just shove a candle up Walter's ass, or pin a Medallion to him. Hell, he didn't even know if he counted as a Ghost or not.

What the hell was he going to do?

--

When Henry sleeps, he doesn't go to Silent Hill too much anymore.

Cynthia, Jasper, Angela and all the others come to a sunny Ashfield. They're not always there, because they live in Silent Hill, but they visit often. They're still bloody and burned and dead, of course, but it doesn't seem to factor in. Occasionally, Henry will find himself in Jasper's shop, Richard's apartment, or Cynthia, but he doesn't feel near as guilty as used to.

When Henry wakes up, he has to be careful of the sleeping blonde on the floor next to his bed, least he steps on him.

Walter isn't in Silent Hill or Ashfield anymore. But on those rare nights when Henry finds himself in his own apartment, that's where he finds Walter. Content, happy. Henry always leaves those dreams, because, obviously, they're not his.

--

"So, how are things?" Eileen asks, handing him another plate. He's helping her with the dishes. Strangely enough, Eileen wasn't as against Walter's new place of residence as Henry originally imagined she would be.

Maybe she feels bad for him, too.

"Things are good," he answers, drying the plate and putting it in the cupboard.

Turning off the water, she turns and looks up at him. "Have you made your peace?"

Henry looks over at Walter, who's out on the fire escape, reading. Eileen turns, too. He must have felt their eyes on him because he looks up and waves a little. Eileen smiles widely and waves back. Henry nods to him. He quietly goes back to reading.

"Yeah…" he says. "I think I have." She pats his hand before handing him another plate. "Now if only everyone else in Silent Hill could do the same."

R&R please, commentary always appreciated.