[ Alan hesitates, even when he feels- hears that voice with echoes of Jesse and Polaris speaking to him. Trying to reassure him, when nothing works to reassure him anymore. When did I call them? When was it? Does it matter?
All he knows is that at some point, he hit a low point, maybe even the lowest point. But can it be called that when he keeps hitting low points? He can't remember specifics, but he knows he's reached the end of his tether, the end of his sanity before. It's a bizarre game of ping-pong in his mind. The analogy's not perfect, but he seems to go between having moments of rationality and moments of complete irrationality. The joys of the Dark Place, I guess.
He just stands there staring at her as though he's never seen her before, as if he's not truly believing she's there. The resonance from Polaris can still be felt, but somehow, to Alan, it doesn't feel as strong or as clear as it should. Oh, this meeting means everything to him, if only he could convince himself that it's real.
The shimmer catches his eye, and his eyes scan Jesse's face, searching, looking for anything he can latch onto that will tell him this isn't just some imagined scenario his mind has made up. But if it is, it's better. It's better because then it means she hasn't gone into the lake. If it's in my head, if I'm dreaming this up, that means she's safe. As safe as anyone can be in this horror story.
His gaze travels down then, looking at where her hand moves along the sleeve of his jacket. It's old and worn, as comfortable as flannel after years of being used, and while it fits him like a glove, he's not the man who embarked on this journey wearing that jacket. That man was lost beneath the waves of Cauldron Lake, a different man emerging in his place.
Her hand travels further, but he doesn't pull away. He doesn't even move, not even when her hand comes to rest on his abdomen. With her hand resting where it is, she can probably feel the way his breath shudders and hitches on its way out, as if some lingering emotion is still clinging to him.
His eyes slide closed, so when her eyes begin to well up, he doesn't see it. Not because he doesn't want to; he wants to always see her. He just needs a moment to sort through his own reactions. For something not real, her hand feels real. She feels real. Can I believe this is really happening?
His hands move as well, opening to let her fingers slide in between his. She completes him; she always has, since they went through the first loop together. Maybe he didn't realize it then, but he knows now that it felt a lot like the piece of a puzzle clicking into place. It's a crazy, messed up puzzle, and the pieces shouldn't fit together, but somehow they do.
His eyes stay closed even as he hears her voice, small and quiet, saying his name. For a moment, tension seizes his frame as his mind fills in the voices of the Taken shouting his name as they close in on him. His free hand moves as if reaching for a gun or a flashlight, reacting to the feeling of danger even if no danger truly exists in this moment. The moment passes, and he hears it again: Alan Wake?
The tone is gentle, not harsh to his ears, and it's said in Jesse's voice: the voice he's tried to memorize, to hold onto even though the waves are sweeping everything he has away. I know her voice. I'd know her voice even if everything else got taken from me. She found me. Jesse and Polaris: they somehow found me.
Gray eyes slide open again, immediately focusing on her green ones. ]
Jesse. It is Jesse, isn't it? [ He pauses and his breath catches in his throat. He swallows hard, trying to dislodge the lump forming there. Were we always on this road together? Coming from opposite directions, trying to find each other, to meet in the middle? The Dark Place isn't the middle. It isn't anywhere she should be. But maybe it's a stop along the way, a stop that doesn't want to let go of me. But it has to let go of me. I'm going to come home. I have to come home. ]
Tell me you're real. You're here. Just one more time.
[ I need to believe she's here. Otherwise- Otherwise I'll just keep spiraling. Keep looping. Stop writing. If I stop, that's the end.
His shoulders shake as he wrestles with the fear that won't let him go. I can hear you. I can HEAR you, but I'm- I'm afraid you'll disappear if I look too closely. But what do I have to lose? What more can this place take from me? No, I don't want the answer to that. ]
You're... you're faint, but I can hear you. [ Even when they're right in front of me, I can barely hear them. I've gone too far, but I can't stop. ]
You're really here. [ His hand tightens around hers as if he's slowly willing himself to believe that. Maybe if he believes it enough, he'll be able to hear them louder. Clearer. As if they're really in the room with him and not a million miles away. ]
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All he knows is that at some point, he hit a low point, maybe even the lowest point. But can it be called that when he keeps hitting low points? He can't remember specifics, but he knows he's reached the end of his tether, the end of his sanity before. It's a bizarre game of ping-pong in his mind. The analogy's not perfect, but he seems to go between having moments of rationality and moments of complete irrationality. The joys of the Dark Place, I guess.
He just stands there staring at her as though he's never seen her before, as if he's not truly believing she's there. The resonance from Polaris can still be felt, but somehow, to Alan, it doesn't feel as strong or as clear as it should. Oh, this meeting means everything to him, if only he could convince himself that it's real.
The shimmer catches his eye, and his eyes scan Jesse's face, searching, looking for anything he can latch onto that will tell him this isn't just some imagined scenario his mind has made up. But if it is, it's better. It's better because then it means she hasn't gone into the lake. If it's in my head, if I'm dreaming this up, that means she's safe. As safe as anyone can be in this horror story.
His gaze travels down then, looking at where her hand moves along the sleeve of his jacket. It's old and worn, as comfortable as flannel after years of being used, and while it fits him like a glove, he's not the man who embarked on this journey wearing that jacket. That man was lost beneath the waves of Cauldron Lake, a different man emerging in his place.
Her hand travels further, but he doesn't pull away. He doesn't even move, not even when her hand comes to rest on his abdomen. With her hand resting where it is, she can probably feel the way his breath shudders and hitches on its way out, as if some lingering emotion is still clinging to him.
His eyes slide closed, so when her eyes begin to well up, he doesn't see it. Not because he doesn't want to; he wants to always see her. He just needs a moment to sort through his own reactions. For something not real, her hand feels real. She feels real. Can I believe this is really happening?
His hands move as well, opening to let her fingers slide in between his. She completes him; she always has, since they went through the first loop together. Maybe he didn't realize it then, but he knows now that it felt a lot like the piece of a puzzle clicking into place. It's a crazy, messed up puzzle, and the pieces shouldn't fit together, but somehow they do.
His eyes stay closed even as he hears her voice, small and quiet, saying his name. For a moment, tension seizes his frame as his mind fills in the voices of the Taken shouting his name as they close in on him. His free hand moves as if reaching for a gun or a flashlight, reacting to the feeling of danger even if no danger truly exists in this moment. The moment passes, and he hears it again: Alan Wake?
The tone is gentle, not harsh to his ears, and it's said in Jesse's voice: the voice he's tried to memorize, to hold onto even though the waves are sweeping everything he has away. I know her voice. I'd know her voice even if everything else got taken from me. She found me. Jesse and Polaris: they somehow found me.
Gray eyes slide open again, immediately focusing on her green ones. ]
Jesse. It is Jesse, isn't it? [ He pauses and his breath catches in his throat. He swallows hard, trying to dislodge the lump forming there. Were we always on this road together? Coming from opposite directions, trying to find each other, to meet in the middle? The Dark Place isn't the middle. It isn't anywhere she should be. But maybe it's a stop along the way, a stop that doesn't want to let go of me. But it has to let go of me. I'm going to come home. I have to come home. ]
Tell me you're real. You're here. Just one more time.
[ I need to believe she's here. Otherwise- Otherwise I'll just keep spiraling. Keep looping. Stop writing. If I stop, that's the end.
His shoulders shake as he wrestles with the fear that won't let him go. I can hear you. I can HEAR you, but I'm- I'm afraid you'll disappear if I look too closely. But what do I have to lose? What more can this place take from me? No, I don't want the answer to that. ]
You're... you're faint, but I can hear you. [ Even when they're right in front of me, I can barely hear them. I've gone too far, but I can't stop. ]
You're really here. [ His hand tightens around hers as if he's slowly willing himself to believe that. Maybe if he believes it enough, he'll be able to hear them louder. Clearer. As if they're really in the room with him and not a million miles away. ]