[ Maybe after all of this is over, words will never be Alan's strong suit again. Master wordsmith, she's called him, but he's so tired of all the words. Always writing. Always talking. Writing to change the story, to save the people who've been dragged into it against their will. When he's not writing, he's talking, mumbling, yelling: struggling with the darkness that's trying to drown him out. But silence isn't any better either; silence doesn't halt the constant stream of thoughts that enter and exit Alan's mind. There's no relief anywhere, not here.
Jesse's look of horror matches the one that flashes in Alan's eyes as he feels the familiar, dreadful feeling of the Dark Presence clawing at his mind again. It claws at him, pulls at his thoughts, digs in deeper when he tries to resist. He always tries to resist, but it's always persistent. Always trying to catch him when his guard is down. His guard can't ever be down, not if he truly wants to come home.
If it's not Jesse's place to understand, then who's is it? Alan hasn't put these thoughts into so many words, but so much has happened to him and he wants to tell someone about it. Maybe that's the reason for the messages that get broadcasted from this room: broadcasted from this room to anywhere with a receiver. Even then, it's no guarantee that the messages will be heard or understood. But at least they're out there.
He presses himself against her hands, leaning back just a fraction as if needing that small amount of pressure to remind himself that she's here. She's with him. And he's with her too, if she needs him at all. There's very little he can do, but if she needs him, he wants to be there for her.
And as the messages play, it sinks in for him that maybe, just maybe Jesse does need him. Somehow. However that looks like for her.
He startles when the next message begins and the first thing he hears is the name Thomas Zane. They've talked about him before, and Jesse's quoted that very same line to him more than once. If the miracle is beyond the shadow, it's hiding really well. Are we the miracles for each other? The darkness is trying to hide her from me, but I have to clear it away.
His hands clench into fists; he knows the truth, even if this psychiatrist is saying otherwise. Thomas Zane exists in some shape or fashion. Jesse didn't write that poem. He knows she didn't. Gaslighting. Making her doubt. This is wrong. It's messed up. He tried to make me doubt too. Why do they always try to make us doubt? The facts are there, they just won't see them.
He feels her pressing her face into the back of his head, and he stills, wanting to be a steady support for her in return for all the times she's been that for him. He might not be steady himself, on the inside, but at least outwardly, he can support her when she needs him. Leaving is not an option on the table for him. He might be dragged away by the waves, pulled under until he drowns, but as long as he's still here, he intends to be there for her. With her. She won't face the monsters alone. Not again. And if the waves come back for me, I'll fight them. Never mind that he doesn't know how to fight a wave, but for her, he'll do it.
Jesse's words from the message echo in Alan's mind. He feels those words, resonates with them. They feel familiar. Has he said them before himself? An emptiness, a yearning for something that I think I lost.
That's a familiar feeling and familiar words. But that feeling of familiarity is replaced by a feeling of anger. Anger at the psychiatrist who continues to discount Jesse's experiences, her knowledge. Polaris isn't imaginary. I've heard her. I've felt her. This is shit.
Tension ripples through Alan's spine as his anger rises the more he hears. When he's angry like this, he usually throws things. Screams. Paces in frustration. But Jesse's hold on his shoulders keeps him still. She needs him. Needs his support. What is this? The two of us against the rest of the world who won't see what's right in front of them? Just because something can't be seen doesn't mean it isn't real. We know what's real, the good and the bad. The evil and the innocent. Demons. Angels. There are no angels in the Dark Place, only demons. ]
They don't know. They don't have a clue. What's real and what's imagined? There's no difference between the two. What hides in the dark, in the shadows where you can't see is just as real as what you can see.
[ A face, gray and drawn and gaunt but yelling flashes into Alan's mind for a moment, drowning out all sound and awareness, and he jerks and stiffens as fear crashes down on him like a ton of bricks.
It's gone a second later, leaving only that feeling of being drenched by a bucket filled with cold water behind. He draws a shaky breath and forces himself to remain still and steady once more. You see what I mean? That's real. It's in my head but it's real. Horrifyingly real.
The static sounds again and Alan's gaze travels back to the radio. He'd shut it off, but it seems as though this is one transmission that can't just be turned off. It's important somehow, but why? How? All it's doing is making him angry on Jesse's behalf. Not that she needs it, but he can't turn off that ripple of rage. ]
Who the hell is that? [ Alan listens to the next message to play, not liking at all how it sounds a little like his own voice. It sounds too familiar, uncomfortably so.
Damn it, Alice. You- everyone keeps- Alan shakes his head almost violently, trying to dislodge that memory before it can start. No, no, this isn't me. I wouldn't- I wouldn't say anything like this. Would I?
The message continues, and Alan can almost envision the scene as it plays out. Someone angry, yelling. Cursing. Jesse looking afraid, maybe backing up, or stepping forward... Terrified. She looks terrified in Alan's mind's eye.
So now you want to get me committed?! You need a god damn institution! The words from Alan's memory blend incomprehensibly with the words of the message, and Alan has to fight the urge to slam his fists into his head to get this to stop.
Can't you just be normal for once? Don't! Just don't. I don't wanna hear it. God damn it, Alice.
A door slams and Alan can't tell if it's from the message or from a cabin door slamming shut as he storms off. What the hell was that? What- Who was that? It sounds like me. Is that what would happen if I came home and had a relationship with Jesse? Is that how it would end? I can't even say it's wrong.
The silence falls back down over the Writer's Room, but then Jesse speaks. Quietly. Hesitantly. Alan latches onto the sound of her voice. She's still his lifeline. ]
Maybe- maybe I am real. Maybe Alan Wake is real. But who is Alan Wake? I'm an asshole; every bit of an asshole as you keep saying I am. Alice- I lashed out at her. Yelled at her. Left her. She- she always saw me, the me she called the "real" me. She forgave me for being an asshole, didn't she? [ The movie she made. I barely remember it. It was to show my good side. But how much of that good side is left? ]
I'm here with you, but how long will you want to be with me? I'm not- I'm not a good man.
[ As before, Alan's torn between believing Jesse's words and taking them as truth and believing that all he is is someone who tears people down. Hurts them. Abandons them. The cycle coming around again. ]
I'm trying to make sense of it. To believe it. I'm like you; I know what's behind the poster, what seeps in through the hole in the wall. But I'm not like you, in- in another way. Why would you wait for someone like me? Why would I be the person you wanted to meet?
[ I don't deserve it. But she'd say it's not about deserving. ]
I'm not like you; you're the hero that the story needs. [ Jesse and Saga, the real heroes. I'm not a hero. ] Are you sure that you want to wait for me? You didn't see... didn't see how Alice and I were together. It wasn't good. It wasn't healthy. She loved me anyway, but she could have just as easily run. You might run too. [ And I wouldn't blame her. ]
Jesse, are you sure this is what you want? [ I need to know. Just one more time, and then I won't ask again. Maybe. If I can remember this. ]
no subject
Jesse's look of horror matches the one that flashes in Alan's eyes as he feels the familiar, dreadful feeling of the Dark Presence clawing at his mind again. It claws at him, pulls at his thoughts, digs in deeper when he tries to resist. He always tries to resist, but it's always persistent. Always trying to catch him when his guard is down. His guard can't ever be down, not if he truly wants to come home.
If it's not Jesse's place to understand, then who's is it? Alan hasn't put these thoughts into so many words, but so much has happened to him and he wants to tell someone about it. Maybe that's the reason for the messages that get broadcasted from this room: broadcasted from this room to anywhere with a receiver. Even then, it's no guarantee that the messages will be heard or understood. But at least they're out there.
He presses himself against her hands, leaning back just a fraction as if needing that small amount of pressure to remind himself that she's here. She's with him. And he's with her too, if she needs him at all. There's very little he can do, but if she needs him, he wants to be there for her.
And as the messages play, it sinks in for him that maybe, just maybe Jesse does need him. Somehow. However that looks like for her.
He startles when the next message begins and the first thing he hears is the name Thomas Zane. They've talked about him before, and Jesse's quoted that very same line to him more than once. If the miracle is beyond the shadow, it's hiding really well. Are we the miracles for each other? The darkness is trying to hide her from me, but I have to clear it away.
His hands clench into fists; he knows the truth, even if this psychiatrist is saying otherwise. Thomas Zane exists in some shape or fashion. Jesse didn't write that poem. He knows she didn't. Gaslighting. Making her doubt. This is wrong. It's messed up. He tried to make me doubt too. Why do they always try to make us doubt? The facts are there, they just won't see them.
He feels her pressing her face into the back of his head, and he stills, wanting to be a steady support for her in return for all the times she's been that for him. He might not be steady himself, on the inside, but at least outwardly, he can support her when she needs him. Leaving is not an option on the table for him. He might be dragged away by the waves, pulled under until he drowns, but as long as he's still here, he intends to be there for her. With her. She won't face the monsters alone. Not again. And if the waves come back for me, I'll fight them. Never mind that he doesn't know how to fight a wave, but for her, he'll do it.
Jesse's words from the message echo in Alan's mind. He feels those words, resonates with them. They feel familiar. Has he said them before himself? An emptiness, a yearning for something that I think I lost.
That's a familiar feeling and familiar words. But that feeling of familiarity is replaced by a feeling of anger. Anger at the psychiatrist who continues to discount Jesse's experiences, her knowledge. Polaris isn't imaginary. I've heard her. I've felt her. This is shit.
Tension ripples through Alan's spine as his anger rises the more he hears. When he's angry like this, he usually throws things. Screams. Paces in frustration. But Jesse's hold on his shoulders keeps him still. She needs him. Needs his support. What is this? The two of us against the rest of the world who won't see what's right in front of them? Just because something can't be seen doesn't mean it isn't real. We know what's real, the good and the bad. The evil and the innocent. Demons. Angels. There are no angels in the Dark Place, only demons. ]
They don't know. They don't have a clue. What's real and what's imagined? There's no difference between the two. What hides in the dark, in the shadows where you can't see is just as real as what you can see.
[ A face, gray and drawn and gaunt but yelling flashes into Alan's mind for a moment, drowning out all sound and awareness, and he jerks and stiffens as fear crashes down on him like a ton of bricks.
It's gone a second later, leaving only that feeling of being drenched by a bucket filled with cold water behind. He draws a shaky breath and forces himself to remain still and steady once more. You see what I mean? That's real. It's in my head but it's real. Horrifyingly real.
The static sounds again and Alan's gaze travels back to the radio. He'd shut it off, but it seems as though this is one transmission that can't just be turned off. It's important somehow, but why? How? All it's doing is making him angry on Jesse's behalf. Not that she needs it, but he can't turn off that ripple of rage. ]
Who the hell is that? [ Alan listens to the next message to play, not liking at all how it sounds a little like his own voice. It sounds too familiar, uncomfortably so.
Damn it, Alice. You- everyone keeps- Alan shakes his head almost violently, trying to dislodge that memory before it can start. No, no, this isn't me. I wouldn't- I wouldn't say anything like this. Would I?
The message continues, and Alan can almost envision the scene as it plays out. Someone angry, yelling. Cursing. Jesse looking afraid, maybe backing up, or stepping forward... Terrified. She looks terrified in Alan's mind's eye.
So now you want to get me committed?! You need a god damn institution! The words from Alan's memory blend incomprehensibly with the words of the message, and Alan has to fight the urge to slam his fists into his head to get this to stop.
Can't you just be normal for once? Don't! Just don't. I don't wanna hear it. God damn it, Alice.
A door slams and Alan can't tell if it's from the message or from a cabin door slamming shut as he storms off. What the hell was that? What- Who was that? It sounds like me. Is that what would happen if I came home and had a relationship with Jesse? Is that how it would end? I can't even say it's wrong.
The silence falls back down over the Writer's Room, but then Jesse speaks. Quietly. Hesitantly. Alan latches onto the sound of her voice. She's still his lifeline. ]
Maybe- maybe I am real. Maybe Alan Wake is real. But who is Alan Wake? I'm an asshole; every bit of an asshole as you keep saying I am. Alice- I lashed out at her. Yelled at her. Left her. She- she always saw me, the me she called the "real" me. She forgave me for being an asshole, didn't she? [ The movie she made. I barely remember it. It was to show my good side. But how much of that good side is left? ]
I'm here with you, but how long will you want to be with me? I'm not- I'm not a good man.
[ As before, Alan's torn between believing Jesse's words and taking them as truth and believing that all he is is someone who tears people down. Hurts them. Abandons them. The cycle coming around again. ]
I'm trying to make sense of it. To believe it. I'm like you; I know what's behind the poster, what seeps in through the hole in the wall. But I'm not like you, in- in another way. Why would you wait for someone like me? Why would I be the person you wanted to meet?
[ I don't deserve it. But she'd say it's not about deserving. ]
I'm not like you; you're the hero that the story needs. [ Jesse and Saga, the real heroes. I'm not a hero. ] Are you sure that you want to wait for me? You didn't see... didn't see how Alice and I were together. It wasn't good. It wasn't healthy. She loved me anyway, but she could have just as easily run. You might run too. [ And I wouldn't blame her. ]
Jesse, are you sure this is what you want? [ I need to know. Just one more time, and then I won't ask again. Maybe. If I can remember this. ]