[ With the arrival of nightfall, Alan feels fear set in. Terror, even. But he can't let that fear control him. He has to control it, has to use it as a tool to spur him on to fight back. The Taken only want to kill, and if he's dead, he can't fix the story. He can't fix what needs to be fixed to bring this all to an end. Of course, part of him doesn't truly believe he'll ever see that end. There'll just be more loops on top of loops and him in the middle of it all trying to write the right thing to end the loops for good.
But still, he grasps his flashlight firmly in one hand, and readies the gun in the other. His hands shake, but he holds onto his weapon even harder to try and steady himself. He can't let anyone see that he's afraid.
He starts off inside, but soon enough, he finds himself moving outside to where the Taken are coming. They don't come in waves, but more in groups of two or three, sometimes four. But they hit hard, and they're relentless in their assault. At one point, his weapon jams just as two Taken are bearing down on him. He aims his flashlight at them, burning them with the light, but a flashlight won't put them down for good. One of them swipes at Alan with what was an axe in another life; only the handle remains, but it's not any less effective as a weapon. The axe handle catches him in the side below the ribs and the force of the blow sends him reeling. He barely manages to avoid falling, as that would surely end up with him being overrun, but it's a near miss.
Luckily for him, or perhaps not so luckily, when he stumbles, he narrowly misses tripping over an agent who didn't survive. At first, Alan's eyes widen with horror, and then his expression sobers once more. I'm sorry. This is my fault.
But he doesn't have time to express further remorse to the fallen agent, as the Taken are still coming closer. He grabs the gun the agent once used and launches back into the fight.
As the minutes go by and the fighting continues, Alan finds himself slipping into a state of heightened focus. It's what usually happens when he's locked in a fight against Taken, but it also seems to be keeping his own exhaustion at bay. He can't remember when it was that he last slept, and that lack of sleep is beginning to show in his movements. But to lower his guard could mean death, and that's the last thing he wants right now.
Finally, the sun begins to rise, and with the arrival of the sun, the Taken slowly disappear. They did it. They survived. There will be other fights, and the Taken will return, but they survived. Alan slowly moves to the closest wall so he can lean against it, and as he does, he passes the same fallen agent whose gun he took to use in the fight. A feeling of regret pulls at him, and he hates how the process of writing the story has made him rationalize horrible things that happen. Rationalize, but not like. He could never be truly all right with senseless deaths even if the story demanded horror and horrific events.
From his position leaning against the wall, he watches the various agents moving around. Estevez made it through the night. He even caught a glimpse of Steve from a distance. He thought he saw a flash of red hair also from a distance but wasn't able to get a better look.
Estevez herself passes by Alan at one point and stops, giving him a nod of acknowledgment. ]
You handled yourself well out there, Wake. I'm going to be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect from you, but you exceeded my expectations. [ The agent offers a tired smile, but it's a genuine one. She has to move on fairly quickly, as she has some things she has to oversee, not leaving Alan much time to respond, but he has just enough time to offer a small smile in return.
Eventually, Alan realizes that his presence isn't exactly required now that the fight is over and the process of regrouping and assessing the state of affairs has begun. The agents don't require his assistance anymore now that the Taken have gone, and he's back to just being a person of interest in their investigations. The feeling of exhaustion returns as his heightened adrenaline fades, and he decides to head back to the sheriff's office to think.
Once there, he sits down on the couch, planning to just sit there and think about what to do next until someone came to collect him again. But instead, he ends up falling asleep, lured into sleep by his exhaustion and the relative comfort of the couch. How long has it been since he was anywhere remotely comfortable? Either way, sleep claims him and Alan's dead to the world.
He doesn't even register Jesse entering the room or leaving it again because he's sleeping so deeply. It seems that he needed the rest so much that nothing could disturb him. And the nightmares he feared he would see if he fell asleep haven't come.
The only thing that disturbs him comes a little later in the form of an insistant, nearly incessant prodding in his mind. He frowns in his sleep, shifting on the couch, the expression on his face revealing his sudden discomfort.
What the hell is this? Anderson? What do you want?
Alan's tone is none too pleased, even if it's only in his head. He finally got a chance to sleep, and even that couldn't be undisturbed. Figures. This is the exact opposite of peachy. ]
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But still, he grasps his flashlight firmly in one hand, and readies the gun in the other. His hands shake, but he holds onto his weapon even harder to try and steady himself. He can't let anyone see that he's afraid.
He starts off inside, but soon enough, he finds himself moving outside to where the Taken are coming. They don't come in waves, but more in groups of two or three, sometimes four. But they hit hard, and they're relentless in their assault. At one point, his weapon jams just as two Taken are bearing down on him. He aims his flashlight at them, burning them with the light, but a flashlight won't put them down for good. One of them swipes at Alan with what was an axe in another life; only the handle remains, but it's not any less effective as a weapon. The axe handle catches him in the side below the ribs and the force of the blow sends him reeling. He barely manages to avoid falling, as that would surely end up with him being overrun, but it's a near miss.
Luckily for him, or perhaps not so luckily, when he stumbles, he narrowly misses tripping over an agent who didn't survive. At first, Alan's eyes widen with horror, and then his expression sobers once more. I'm sorry. This is my fault.
But he doesn't have time to express further remorse to the fallen agent, as the Taken are still coming closer. He grabs the gun the agent once used and launches back into the fight.
As the minutes go by and the fighting continues, Alan finds himself slipping into a state of heightened focus. It's what usually happens when he's locked in a fight against Taken, but it also seems to be keeping his own exhaustion at bay. He can't remember when it was that he last slept, and that lack of sleep is beginning to show in his movements. But to lower his guard could mean death, and that's the last thing he wants right now.
Finally, the sun begins to rise, and with the arrival of the sun, the Taken slowly disappear. They did it. They survived. There will be other fights, and the Taken will return, but they survived. Alan slowly moves to the closest wall so he can lean against it, and as he does, he passes the same fallen agent whose gun he took to use in the fight. A feeling of regret pulls at him, and he hates how the process of writing the story has made him rationalize horrible things that happen. Rationalize, but not like. He could never be truly all right with senseless deaths even if the story demanded horror and horrific events.
From his position leaning against the wall, he watches the various agents moving around. Estevez made it through the night. He even caught a glimpse of Steve from a distance. He thought he saw a flash of red hair also from a distance but wasn't able to get a better look.
Estevez herself passes by Alan at one point and stops, giving him a nod of acknowledgment. ]
You handled yourself well out there, Wake. I'm going to be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect from you, but you exceeded my expectations. [ The agent offers a tired smile, but it's a genuine one. She has to move on fairly quickly, as she has some things she has to oversee, not leaving Alan much time to respond, but he has just enough time to offer a small smile in return.
Eventually, Alan realizes that his presence isn't exactly required now that the fight is over and the process of regrouping and assessing the state of affairs has begun. The agents don't require his assistance anymore now that the Taken have gone, and he's back to just being a person of interest in their investigations. The feeling of exhaustion returns as his heightened adrenaline fades, and he decides to head back to the sheriff's office to think.
Once there, he sits down on the couch, planning to just sit there and think about what to do next until someone came to collect him again. But instead, he ends up falling asleep, lured into sleep by his exhaustion and the relative comfort of the couch. How long has it been since he was anywhere remotely comfortable? Either way, sleep claims him and Alan's dead to the world.
He doesn't even register Jesse entering the room or leaving it again because he's sleeping so deeply. It seems that he needed the rest so much that nothing could disturb him. And the nightmares he feared he would see if he fell asleep haven't come.
The only thing that disturbs him comes a little later in the form of an insistant, nearly incessant prodding in his mind. He frowns in his sleep, shifting on the couch, the expression on his face revealing his sudden discomfort.
What the hell is this? Anderson? What do you want?
Alan's tone is none too pleased, even if it's only in his head. He finally got a chance to sleep, and even that couldn't be undisturbed. Figures. This is the exact opposite of peachy. ]