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synthneon2023-11-01 01:57 am
outlierdirector) wrote in synthneon2023-11-01 01:57 am
oceanview || ❝ i must guide my love through the night. ❞
I cannot feel her by my side
Even in this placе inside my mind
no subject
Maybe that joined voice sounds like a repeating record. He has the question and so Polaris, in her joined voice with Jesse's, answers him. Of course, the whole situation is complicated, but the reason she is standing in this room is because of his message. His cry for help.
...You're gone, and I'm alone. I'm always alone.
The voice echoes in her mind as he turns around. Not because of the Hotline, or some other paranatural force. Alan said them. He's never sent her a meaningless message. She's never heard him sound that way before.
Broken, lost, scared, alone.
I lost her. I lost them. The guiding star. She's gone.
Her gaze stays on the elbow patch her fingers gently brush. Until he turns around and stares her down. Jesse slowly raises her eyes to his, feeling as if all the air is sucked from her lungs. Maybe not in the same way it is for him. This meeting may not have the same meaning or weight it does for her. It's possible that's how their whole relationship has always been--different meanings that are so uniquely personal.
That gentle harmonious shimmer moves around her for a moment. Polaris is here too.
His hand curls around hers and she feels her heart stop. Then pound.
The flashlight is gently placed on the table. The hand holding it raises to his arm. Green eyes move down to the tweed jacket wordlessly. They follow her hand as she touches the jacket for the first time. It's worn and seen better days, but it somehow fits him. More than the suit does anyways.
A moment passes, then she gently moves along the jacket to the hoodie underneath. Her fingertips graze along the fabric before settling on his abdomen. Water obstructs her gaze and her other hand flexes in his hold. Fingers move as if trying to find the space between his.
« This is how I thought he'd look when I met him for the first time. Like he did over the Hotline. As the mysterious missing author who could contact us a dimension away. The only person who wasn't dead or ascended to use the Hotline.
Someone like me. »
Jesse blinks a few times as she feels the water on her eyelashes. A frown threatens to tug at the corner of her lips as she tries to put the strong reaction back in it's box behind the walls. Locked inside. ]
Alan? [ Her own voice is small as well, despite the power and authority she wants to interject into it. Instead, she's trying to make sure it really is him. ] Alan Wake?
[ « My Alan? Not one whose forgotten everything in loops. The one who knows me. Jesse. I came here to help. That's why you put me in the story. To help you. You know me, don't you? You know I didn't jump in the lake. »
Her gaze drops back to the hand on his hoodie. Both hands tremble. Fingers crawl slightly into the fabric as water threatens to leave once more.
« This--it feels like this is the road I've been on since all of this started. To get to this point. Down to him. Every loop, every restart... to get here. For him.
I need to pull myself together. I'm the hero for him. »
She lets out a shakey exhale. ]
... Can you hear us now?
[ « I've been calling you. Messages. Notes. You can hear me now, can't you? Polaris too. I'm right HERE. » ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
The man that jumped into Cauldron Lake to save his wife might not be the same as the man standing in front of her. But, a part of that man is still in Alan. A spark, an ember, and she's realizing that is what Polaris has always been trying to amplify. Just like with Jesse. Some part of them that Polaris can make stronger and in turn make herself stronger. Not in the same way, as Alan isn't the host or speaker for Polaris, but a complimentary force.
The sound made brighter, the light made louder.
｟ Torchbearer. Fighting the nightmares. Torch and a light switch. ｠
Jesse's not sure where Polaris is going with this or exactly how it's supposed to help. But, Polaris has always seemed to know where they're headed. She hasn't led her wrong yet. Even if she can't hear what Alan might be responding to... if Polaris need to use her to get through to him? Her old friend is more than welcome to.
Her hand curls around his.
She doesn't answer him necessarily in words. She's always been more of actions. Words are his department. After all, he is the Writer.
Another step and a half is taken to bridge the gap between them. The hand at his abdomen lowers, moving to the other that reflexively moved for a flashlight or gun. Her fingertips touch the elbow patch there, hand gently curling to hold his elbow. Green eyes lock back onto his gray ones with the water clear to see in them.
« It's really him. My Alan. The one who reached out to us. Even if he hasn't realized it yet. He's...different, but it's still him. From that first loop before everything went to hell. He's never left this room. Never been able to leave it--even in the story. Not all of him. I don't.... I don't know how I know that. Did you know it and now I'm just ready to see it? »
｟ A presence. We could hear it. A call. It was faint. ｠
She feels the pulsing from Polaris in both of her hands. This is what Alan called them here for. It's less about her as Jesse at the moment. He needs that guiding star--that resonance that can make the light louder. It's never been fully about Jesse and Alan. There's always been those paranormal forces at work in the background.
｟ Reaching for us from a dark place. ｠
Another half step to fully close the gap between them.
She can feel Polaris trying to resonate into the floor beneath them through her.
｟ Her guide felt it too. Not a hostile transmission. It was powerful but it was coming from far away. And made weak because of the distance. It was a distress call. ｠
The light on the desk brightens as does the flashlight beside it.
｟ We sensed a drowning man. The Torchbearer desperate to escape. We sensed something else too. A hunger in the dark. Not unlike the hissing. ｠ ]
no subject
Alan's expression shifts and the frown lines on his forehead reform as he tries to think through a possibility that hadn't occurred to him before.
I send messages to myself. Things that I need to remember. Not me, specifically, because I remember them. But to myself, who might not remember. I know it's complicated, that's why they're only meant for me. But what if something got out?
...drowning. I'm drowning. I'm drowning. No, stop, you're not drowning, you're fine. They're here. You lost the guiding star, but the guiding star is HERE. She came back. Can she hear me?
Wait, Torchbearer? What?
Alan's spiral comes to a halt with the arrival of Polaris's message. It's not a message, exactly; it's images, sensations, feelings... He isn't sure where Polaris is going with it either, if it's meant to be encouraging him to keep fighting back against the nightmares with the only tools he has, or if it's something else entirely.
I've been fighting the nightmares for so long. Writing for so long. I'm tired. I just want to sleep. When will I be able to sleep?
His hand curls further against hers, clinging to it like it's his lifeline. She is his lifeline. He's had that thought before. But it's now more true than ever. He needs her and Polaris, or he'll only keep sinking. Drowning.
His other hand raises slowly, carefully, being mindful of how Jesse's fingers are lightly ghosting against the elbow patch on his sleeve and then curling to hold his elbow in a gentle caress. Once raised, he reaches out to rest his hand against her cheek in a tentative gesture. She doesn't fade from view as soon as he touches her, as he feared she would, so emboldened, he leans in just a fraction closer.
｟ A presence. We could hear it. A call. It was faint. ｠
A call? What did I say? I- sinking deeper. Deeper and deeper. No way out. Why won't this just stop?! I want... I want to just be Alan. Alan Wake. Alan Wake loves Jesse Faden. No, I'm not sitting in a tree with her. K-I-S- STOP. I- I need help. Polaris? I'm in the dark. It's so dark, I can't see. No light, there's no light.
Just like before, Alan's spiraling thoughts abruptly grind to a halt. What's happening? It's never been like this before. I'm here with Jesse one minute, and washing out the next. What is going on?
Alan's grip on Jesse's hand tightens, and the hand that's resting against her cheek curls reflexively too. Desperate, he leans in even closer just as Jesse takes another half step forward. His forehead meets hers, and he presses against her as much as he dares.
His eyes shift just enough to see the growing light from the lamp on the desk, and the flashlight that Jesse placed there. The light calls to him, urging him to be drawn in closer, not like a moth is drawn to flame, but a desperate man who's losing sight of that light. The deeper he goes, the darker it gets, and the less light he's able to see.
What kind of Torchbearer can't even see the light? Is this why I called to them? So they could help me find it again? Can they help me find it again?
Automatically, instinctively, Alan leans against Jesse. It's not enough to just touch their foreheads together. He needs to feel her, to know that she's real, dream or imagination aside. His hand slides down from her face, this time reaching for her waist and curling around it once it finds where it wants to come to a stop. ]
no subject
She's almost afraid to say anything. What if it causes him to wash out more? Jesse can tell how he does, because it's a look in his eyes. They unfocus and she knows he's somewhere else. Somewhere she can't go. Then, he's back. His hand curls against her cheek and she leans further into it. Maybe if he can feel her then he'll be able to focus on her.
Alan presses his forehead to hers. Her heart stops. Then, it pounds. It's what they always do. It's them.
« Alan, it's me. It's Jesse. Jesse Faden. The not so ordinary girl from Ordinary. »
His hand slides from her cheek and she freezes for a moment. Did she do something wrong? No, he's curling his arm around her waist. Jesse immediately leans back against him and presses her forehead to his once more. Polaris still resonate steadily from her hands... but it must not be enough.
｟ Going mad. The Writer had to escape. Write his escape. Already out, and wanted to make it true. The Torchbearer needed a hero. His hero needed a crisis. Gave the hissing a voice. Pulled strings to bring pieces gravitating to one another. Made them come together faster. We would clash eventually. Inevitable. Opposites that cancel. Hissing and Pulsing. Collective and Guiding. Bright and Dark. ｠
Jesse feels the nudge from Polaris and takes the leap without a second thought. Her hand pulls from Alan's quickly. In one swift movement, both her arms wrap around his neck. She rocks to the balls of her feet in order to give herself the momentum upwards. The Dark drains her, and the light is so limited that it's hard to keep her energy rejuvenated. But, Polaris insists, and so Jesse is trusting her best friend in that judgement.
She hovers enough off the wood flooring to be at his height. Her green eyes never leave his, even as that shimmer seems brighter around her.
｟ The Writer has written. And rewritten. Reconstructed. Changed himself. The Dark hides the past to make him lose his way. Twisting, turning, going in downwards. Spiraling. Then, reaches the bottom. Has the Writer been there before? Done it before? Reads his notes to himself. Recap. Then write more. Writing, writing, spiraling, downwards. Then, reaches the bottom. Around and around. Revolving around one constant: the Spiral. ｠
Polaris shimmers once more. Jesse feels the resonance trying to build, but keeps her arms around Alan and her gaze locked on his.
｟ Endlessly Spiraling. Forgetting the Spiral. Forgetting where he's gone. Not looping. The Writer changed himself. Forgot the Torchbearer. It's never just the light he needs. It's never just the dark he seeks. ｠
Should she say what comes to mind? He brushed the words off once before in their first loop. The words didn't seem to mean much at the time. That was fine with her, it meant something different to each person. But, now, she feels as if she should say it again. ]
Alan. [ Her voice is still small and quiet, forehead pressing against his, gaze never leaving his eyes. ] Do you remember me telling you this? It feels like a lifetime ago... "beyond the shadows he settled for, there is a miracle illuminated."
no subject
He holds onto her tighter. He's drowning. Slipping. Lost. I can't be lost. They're here. Why isn't this working? The voices... the voices won't stop! Why won't they stop? Why-
Alan's eyes have gone unfocused again as he drifts in the waves. He's always drifting, then coming back in, then drifting again. When will this end? Why don't the words end? I know these words. Do I know those words? Did I write them? Did I say them? What good are those words? I'm still here. I'm still here, still drowning. Still lost. Let me eat the words. Get new words.
Why doesn't she have new words? I need to write new words.
... But there's no words left. All the words are gone. Where did they go?
Alan's eyes refocus and he leans against Jesse more. No, he practically melts against her, all resistance and tension dissolving away, leaving him unable to stay upright. His eyes don't shift out of focus again, but this time, his mouth moves and words sound aloud, echoing around the room even as the lights on the desk grow brighter. They're growing brighter even as Alan's spiral continues, and even the eyes of the owl above the desk seem to shine a little bit more than usual. ]
Spiraling, circling the drain. The drain's a spiral. Makes a spiral. Down you go, to the lake. To the ocean. It's all water, isn't it? All water leads to more water. What am I saying? I've never said these words before. It's new words, but the words are wrong. What am I looking for? Endlessly spiraling, she said. Endlessly looking. For what?
[ He's mumbling the words even as he stands there with his forehead still pressed to hers. ]
Light's on the desk. It's light on the desk. Why is it light on the desk? One light can't break through the darkness. But two lights... two lights might be able to do it. The guiding star. The receiver. The writer who lost the light. Can they do it?
[ That's enough. She's talking to you.
It takes a great concerted effort, and Alan has to briefly clamp his lips shut to halt the seemingly endless flow of words that came from who knows where. Was he responding to the flood of words from Polaris? Was that even a good thing? Did it accomplish anything?
His eyes shift again, and once more, gray ones lock onto green. ]
Jesse. [ His tone is clearer now, not drowned out by the waves from his own mind. Something else has shifted. Am I awake?
Jesse says the quoted line, a line that sets off a bell somewhere in Alan's mind. A few seconds pass, then a minute, followed by another minute. Alan remains silent, but slowly... very slowly, a smile blooms across his face. ]
A miracle illuminated.
[ Maybe he had brushed off the words once before. He wasn't brushing them off now. ]
A miracle... A miracle. [ He presses his forehead against hers yet again. ] A miracle like you? [ And like Polaris. ]
no subject
He leans against her entirely. Jesse shifts to compensate, holding him and supporting him up. Should she move them to the floor? She is about to lower and direct them down when he starts speaking. Everything in her freezes as narration comes in a fluid manner. He narrated before, in one loop, or maybe more.
She hears what he says but it doesn't make sense. Not in a way she can put together. Polaris shimmers, and it seems at least her friend understands. Maybe it's a communication beyond her to understand. Polaris may be trying to get him to learn something by feeding his own words to him. Making him rethink ground he's covered in a new... well, light.
Her arms tighten around him as he looks back at her and says her name.
« Come on, come on. Alan, it's me. Look at me. See me. I'm here. »
Jesse swallows once he speaks again. Clear, normal. Actually talking with that hoarse voice of his. Does he ways talk in strung out thoughts and sentences like that? Is this how it always is in this room?
Then, her eyes widen and her jaw drops slightly. Her? ]
Like me? I mean. I thought--sure. What about us? Together. Maybe it's both of us. [ Or, maybe it isn't. Maybe they are applying something only the poet knows what it is.
She presses her forehead to his again.
｟ Alan. Alan, wake up. ｠ ]
...Hi. [ Jesse gives a small but noticeable smile. ]
no subject
This is how it is down here, an endless cycle of writing, pacing, talking in a flood of his own words until he loses the energy to pace and talk and the floor comes up to meet him again. Maybe he's in a loop even here in the Dark Place. Trapped. I'm trapped here. No way out.
But whatever's really going on, he keeps leaning against Jesse, but slowly, very slowly, he finds his strength slowly returning. The hand at her waist curls even further, and his other hand moves to her arm, using the contact to steady himself.
I can't forget this. Don't you fucking forget this. I promised her. I need to remember her. I need to remember us. If I lose us, I lose everything. No, not everything, but it feels like it's everything. How can I keep going if I forget?
Alan's back to talking, but this time, he hasn't drifted. His words are in his head again, not out loud: a note to himself. An admonition. A warning that doesn't hold much weight, not when his memories can get ripped away when he isn't looking.
But he's still with Jesse, still looking at her, drinking her in. He could look at her forever, if only he had the time. ]
Yes. Yes, like you. You and your hair like fire. [ His hand rises to touch that hair even as he speaks. ] No, it's you. It's always been you: the hero, the lifeline. You followed the call. Investigations Sector.
[ No, not that call. Polaris's transmissions have woken up old memories, the memories of the first calls he made to Jesse. They're not what he wants to talk about. He shakes his head and tries again.
｟ Alan. Alan, wake up. ｠ ]
I'm trying. I'm trying to wake up. [ It's hard to wake up when the sun never shines. But who needs sun when you have a fire? A fire and a star. ]
Hi. [ His smile is still in place, but the warmth he feels from seeing her smile makes his own grow even bigger. ] Hi, Jesse.
no subject
Maybe not. Maybe that is the mark the Dark Place has left him with. She gained Polaris, but lost her family and her entire life as she knew it. His abilities may be heightened and used to alter realities... but it seems his mind can't stay in one reality long. Their reality. Home.
« Well, that's something we need to change. To help fix. He needs to be home with us. All of us. Otherwise he's never really home. »
She gently spreads her hands on his shoulders, attempting to give him a comforting hold. Enough so that he can find himself to stand on his own. It doesn't matter how long it takes. However long he needs. She's only here because he called her here.
Jesse's eyes widen slightly at the description he uses for her. He's said it once, hadn't he? When he was telling her how he saw her and Polaris--learned about them. She thought it was fitting then, but now, she feels an unfamiliar feeling of her cheeks heating up. He touches the free falling strands and her heart pounds.
You're the hero. The lifeline. You followed the call.
« Well, yeah. I sort of had to--Hartman would have destroyed what was left of the Buraeru. Maybe he doesn't know that part. It probably didn't matter. »
A memory comes to mind. It doesn't take her mind away from the moment like it would him. She remembers seeing herself hitting her hand on a mirror from inside the mirror. Yelling at herself that he had to wake up. Over and over again. It didn't work that time. It worked in other loops but not the one that message came to her.
« No--no. It wasn't a message about getting him to wake up in that loop. Or any loop. It was about here. In the room he writes. The Dark Place? How did I know that--when did I send that message? When do I send it? »
Her smile is tinged with worry. Worry for him, the situation he's in.
Should she lower herself? No, he's still leaning against her. Needing her support. She can keep it up a little longer. As long as there is some light. ]
Hey, Alan. [ Jesse leans into his forehead more. What is she supposed to say? She's still in a bit of awe that they are really in the same room together. No dreams, no altered reality. Actually here together
And, she's waiting for it to sink in for him. He's not going to be happy. Will he really believe her that she didn't go into the Lake? She isn't sure how she even got here--wherever here is. Is it really the Dark Place?
Her voice lowers so he doesn't need to speak so loudly. ] Sorry it took me so long to reach you. That it took us so long. Can--can you hear us now? Or, are we ...are we still faint?
no subject
He'd be lying if he said that he didn't fear that happening more than most anything else. Well, except for losing Jesse. Alice. Barry. Tim. People who have been there for him along the way, in their own ways, whether they're still there or not.
He's still leaning against her, into her, but he's trying to conjure up the strength and the will to stand on his own without support. I've been doing that all this time, except for the times when I can't. I can't let those times keep happening. I have to be able to stand on my own, even if my own mind doubts that I can.
Where her hands rest against his shoulders, he feels tingles beneath his skin, small explosions reacting to her touch. Take strength from knowing she's here. She's with you. Stand up. Stand on your own.
It takes a monumental effort on his part, and all of him seems to tremble even as he squares his shoulders and tries to straighten up from leaning against her. I know she can't keep this up. There's too much darkness here and not enough light. How much of the darkness is coming from me now? There's more darkness in me than there is light. That has to be why I couldn't hear them. Couldn't feel. ]
Hey. [ His voice stutters a little bit then, mostly unintentionally. If she's unsure of what to say, then so is he. His mind is reeling, not just from the constant push and pull of the waves, but from the realization that's slowly, gradually sinking in that she's here.
What does this mean? She promised she wouldn't go into the lake. She- she knows what that means. She knows I never want her going there. How is she here if she didn't enter the lake?
He's not angry, not upset, just confused. Lost and confused and worried. He hasn't gone unfocused, not again, but a faraway look clears away as his gray eyes lock on hers once more. She's apologizing. Why? How long has it been? ]
I wouldn't have called you if- if I didn't... [ Didn't what? Need her? Miss her? Maybe I shouldn't have called her. I would have just kept on drowning, and then what? Scratch wins? Impossible. I HAD to call her.
A shaky breath escapes him as he tries to give voice to what's going on inside his head and what's going on with him. ]
You're here. I can feel you. Hear you. But- [ It's like I'm hearing them from behind a wall. The walls of this room? Or the waves drowning them out? ] I can hear you, but it's quiet. Weak. Because of the distance? Are you here, or are you there, where you belong? If you're here, I shouldn't be happy about it, because it's not safe. You're not safe here.
[ I can't hear them over the sound of my own voice. It's not the waves. It's me. But I need to know. ]
Jesse. [ His voice is stronger then; not louder, just stronger, sounding more like himself for a brief moment. ] Are you here?
[ If she says yes, he'll worry. He can't not worry about her falling into the clutches of the Dark Place. If she says no, he'll still worry, but less than he would if she told him she found a way to join him here. ]
no subject
Trying to resonate with that spark inside.
She starts to respond, but finds the words halted in her throat. Not because of what he's said, but how he has said her name. She's gotten used to telling what state of mind he is in by how he addresses her. How he says her name. The Director. Faden. Jesse. Jesse. There is a particular tone that is Alan's, and she can tell instantly when he's truly with her.
Her Alan, the one who called her, who seems to love her fire colored hair. She isn't one to use fantastical ways to describe things. But, there is something about Alan that feels right. The same kind of right that Polaris and the Oldest House do. Something that speaks to how the real world actually is.
She really does love and adore it. Him. Alan Wake.
Jesse nods to his question. Her shoulders square to be ready for his anger at the fact she is here with him. It must really be the Dark Place.
Her hands leave his shoulders to cup his face between them. ]
I don't... I don't really know how. I was with you, and Saga, Steve, Estevez... Casey. On the beach of the Lake. Then, Saga. She...
[ Jesse's gaze finally drops from him as she stares downwards. There isn't much to see other than how their chests touch. How she feels his hoodie and old jacket look perfect on him. Almost like how he should look. Alan Wake, the Champion of Light.
She can hear the gunshot still in her mind. The yelling from Steve, Casey going to grab the gun from Saga. It's all too late. Alan's on the beach, bullet in his head. Her eyebrows knit together as tears come into her eyes once more.
« I failed him. I'm supposed to be his hero. But... when it really mattered, I... »
She frowns deeper. ]
T-there's a feeling when the loop restarts. Like falling from reality to another. I'm always back in the Motel--but, not this time. I was... somehow on a talk show? With some guy named Mr. Door. I got back to the Motel, but, you called me. I had to find you...s-so here I am.
[ Her green eyes remain pointed downwards even as she presses her forehead to his. The one that doesn't have a bullet. Because, Alan isn't dead. He hasn't died. That ending can't be the real one--the draft can't be the final one.
She waits a moment, then, closes her eyes. Her lips brush agaisnt his softly. Maybe he can hear her better if they're closer. She'll get the chance to save him once he realizes she's there. ]
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The switch has been flicked, and Alan feels Polaris' resonance wash over him; it's warm and gentle, but there's power behind it. Strength. Strength that comes alongside his own diminished reservoir and bolsters it. It bolsters hers the most, but there's enough of a residual effect that Alan benefits from it too. It hasn't fully driven away the darkness that seems to be stifling that spark, but he can feel it.
He'd lose himself in it, allow it to wash over him completely, but then Jesse's nodding and that warm feeling disappears, replaced by the feeling of having a bucket of ice cold water thrown over him. She's here. How? Because I called her? Stupid! I never wanted her to come here. To risk trapping her here too. What was I thinking?
Alan's anger isn't directed at Jesse at all; no, it's his fault that she's here, his fault for calling her in a moment of weakness and desperation. He feels her hands sliding over his face, cupping it between them, and he's torn between leaning into the touch and lurching away as a feeling of self-reproach settles in. ]
The beach. All of us were there. [ He's searching through his thoughts as if he has to work to bring forward the memory of what she's referring to. What loop she's referring to. ] Yes. I remember.
[ Scratch was inside him. Or he was Scratch. Where did Scratch end and Alan begin? Some of the details are obscured, blocked out, because just how present was he during those moments on the beach? Alan's willing to bet he wasn't present at all, which had to have been terrifying for everyone else.
The details are faint, but he remembers the waves rolling back and seeing everyone there, but only really seeing Jesse. He remembers reaching for her, or trying to, and then... then there was a sensation of falling followed by nothing. Nothing at all, until he woke back up in this room with a jerk and a gasp.
That's right. They had to put me down to stop me. To stop Scratch. I put them in danger. I'm STILL putting them in danger. She's in danger just standing here. Well, floating here.
But he silences his thoughts long enough to listen to her explanation of how it feels to her when the loop resets. He finds himself nodding in agreement. It's a little different for him, but the idea remains the same. ]
I've done it so many times now, you'd think that I'd be used to it. But you don't get used to it, do you? I always wake up here, and it's always jarring as hell. But- Door and his demented talk show?
[ Alan's shaking his head. He remembers going through that, at least in parts. Everything about it was weird as hell, from the words Door said during the talk show itself and the strange musical number that followed it. He's already thought that maybe it's best he forgets that particular detail. It's not something useful, really, at least not to him. ]
I don't understand any of this. [ He'd raise a hand to scrub at his eyes if not for how their foreheads were pressed together. ]
I- [ Whatever he was about to say (an apology, an expression of anger at himself for selfishly bringing her here) is stopped by the way her lips brush against his. Softly, not deeply, but enough that he can feel her. It's not a dream, is it? This is real.
In spite of himself, Alan finds himself leaning into the kiss, pressing his lips against hers to deepen it. Now he's the one with a need and a hunger driving him. But first, before he loses himself in this moment with her, he just needs to say one thing. It's whispered against her lips, quietly that if they were in a crowded room, it might have gone unnoticed. But here in the relative silence of this room, even a whisper can be heard. ]
I'm sorry. Sorry for what I've put you through.
[ And for what? To save me? Is all of this really worth it? I know she'll say yes, but I'm only causing her more trouble. No, I don't want to think like that. She's here, she's trying to help. Focus on that.
Polaris' resonance can still be felt, and even as Alan's kissing Jesse, he's reaching for that resonance, trying to open the door inside him to fully let it in. ]
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« Why can't I keep them here with me? Dylan and Alan. No matter what I do, they always seem to slip away. I know I screwed up with Dylan when we were kids. That was my fault. But, now... is Alan going to finally be out of the Dark Place to just sit vacantly in a cell in the Oldest House? Home, but not really home, like Dylan? No. I won't let it be like that. How can I change things to be what I want in this horror story? How can we change Return to save Saga's daughter and Alan? There HAS to be away. »
She nods to his question. Door and his talk show.
Jesse knows he's angry, even if it's not at her. There's nothing he's done to tip it off, and she can't read his thoughts, but she just knows he is. This is the one thing he was adamant about--not coming to the Dark Place. She's done exactly that, even if she didn't initiate it. She imagines she can leave the way she came... but can Alan? Is he going to be trapped here and be unable to follow her home? Even if he could, how would it stop Return?
« What if he pushes us away after calling out to us? Pushing us through the Spiral Door that I can't open. He's such a complicated asshole sometimes. I don't want him to shut me out--to run away. What if he does? »
She pauses in the kiss as he speaks. Part of her can't help but be frustrated by it. He needed help--them. Her and Polaris. Why is he apologizing? Wouldn't the Buearu be pulled into this mess regardless? And what would happen if she wasn't involved? Would this AWE be getting anywhere? Would Alan feel like he has someone with him? She can't see any better options with their situation. Even having him give up is a bad option, because what would the Dark Presence do with his body and make happen?
No, her being present is probably one of the best options on the table. And instead of using her like the ace she is? He's constantly afraid to let her do what she's here to do. Help him. Be the hero.
« He keeps saying I'm the hero... but maybe I'm not. It might be someone else. What can I do if I'm not allowed to save him? » ]
Alan. Stop apologizing. Please. I'm here--okay? That's what matters. [ She responds in a tone higher than his. Her forehead presses against his. ] Digging yourself into this hole is only going to make it worse.
[ Her eyes finally open and raise back to his. They immediately lock when he looks back at her. That firey determination remains in her gaze despite the wager still clinging to her vision. She's too stubborn to give up, even when all the odds say she should. She's not giving up on him, or ending this AWE, or on the idea he will be home and they'll have a chance at a real life together.
That determination saw her to the Oldest House--to Dylan. Even if it took the time it did.
She kisses him again, this time returning the passion and hunger he showed. The room doesn't give off much of a romantic vibe, so it may be a little awkward, but she isn't shying away from it either. Especially if he needs it to help feel the resonance she emits.
Polaris still tries to amplify off that spark inside him. Make herself grow brighter. ]
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She had to see all of this happen. She had to see him fall to the shore, dead. He doesn't need to see the look in her eyes to know that it's affected her. Maybe even scarred her.
We're all victims in this horror story. But I never wanted her to have to go through that. She's already been through so much, what with what happened in Ordinary, and to her brother.
Alan's angry, but he's also tired. Haunted. Tired of being haunted by the voices that shout his name at times or whisper it at other times. Tired of making mistake after mistake and getting very little right, if anything at all. It was a mistake to call out to her, to bring her this close to the Dark Place. Having his needs met is far from worth the risk this place presents to her.
He's already entertained the thought of standing up, placing his hands on her shoulders and forcing her to move back to the door and go through it. She'd go through while he'd stay here. He can't follow her there. He wrote himself out of reality in order to stop the Dark Presence. Returning to reality now would be a wrong move. The wrongest of moves. He has to be here to fix the story.
They're kissing, and he has to be present while they kiss, or she's essentially kissing someone mindless. Carved out. Absent. He can stop the flow of thoughts when he's kissing her or touching her. She deserves his full attention. She doesn't deserve someone whose mind is elsewhere.
His forehead presses against hers again, pressing deeper as if the pressure on his head will help keep him on solid ground. Not standing in water with waves splashing around him. On solid ground. Standing with her. ]
You don't know. You haven't seen. The Dark Place isn't just this room. This room might even be in my head. [ That would mean she's in my head too. That's not a thought I can make sense of. ] Caldera Street Station. The Plaza. The Studio. All crawling with Taken.
I'm not in a hole. [ Figuratively, yes, he is in a hole. Digging himself deeper, making the hole bigger until he's trapped in it. No way out. There's no way out. ] There's the train station. Door's studio. It's a city. New York City, according to the Dark Presence. [ Or according to me? It got the idea from somewhere. ]
You haven't seen. [ He repeats those words even as he hungrily, thirstily drinks in her kiss. He's not drifting; he's present. He's just trying to paint a picture with his words that communicates to her just how vast the Dark Place is. And those are just the parts that he's seen. ]
Do you run away like a rabbit and hope the monster doesn't chase you? It always chases you, and you can't escape if you don't think. [ Follow the white rabbit. No, stay present. Don't leave her alone here.
He's kissing her in return, all hunger and need and desperation, but there's love too in his gaze. He isn't using her; he wouldn't ever stoop that low. He's doing this, having this moment with her because he loves her, and nothing the Dark Place throws in his path will stop him, not if he has anything to say about it. Don't you fucking forget this.
But even with all of that, he just has one thing he needs to know. ]
Jesse, who am I? [ What am I? What the hell am I? Alan hasn't noticed it yet, but the lamp on the desk and the flashlight beside it have both begun to grow brighter in the relative darkness of this writer's room. ]
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It was Scratch. Different from when he killed her in their first loop. Animal, feral even. Not smooth and calculating. Is this a different kind of Scratch now? Has he changed because Alan's gone deeper?
« This feeling is why he crumbled that page up. The one he shoved down into his bag. The first loop, the first time around. If I feel this way about seeing him ... then it must be so much worse for Alan. He's had to read it, edit it, change it. See something that looks like him kill me. I'm not going to ever bring it up to him again. I still have that page at the Motel. Just in case he ever needs it for whatever reason. »
Her thoughts come to a hault the moment he begins talking. It's almost like the endless parade of words, but different and controlled. He's painting a picture of the Dark Place for her. She would respond, but, he's kissing her again and she tries to keep up with their erratic pacing and when he stops to talk.
Then, he asks her his last question.
What a loaded question it is.
She gently lowers herself to the ground. Her hands move from his face to his shoulders. Anchoring him, trying to help him focus on just her. This answer is so complicated and has to be given the right way or it won't make a difference. ]
You're Alan Wake. Best selling novelsit and a parautalitarian--like me. You're a master wordsmith and the Champion of Light--using both to fight the nightmares we've never seen. Ones we haven't because you've stopped them every time. [ « There's something else. Poor personal. » ] You're a bit of an asshole, but you care. You care so much that you won't take the easy way home in case those nightmares follow you.
But, even then... [ She glances down for a moment and swallows the lump in her throat. He's the one good with words. Not her. She can barely trust most people.
Her hands gently curl into the worn tweed jacket. The one she knows him from. ] You're Alan Wake: the man I love. Not as the Director, or generator for an alien resonance... but me. The not so ordinary girl from Ordinary.
[ She offers him a small vulnerable smile. That might not be the answer wanted or the one he needed. ]
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It would join the page that he'd shoved into the bottom of his bag. It could go to the Motel, to anywhere, but it belonged somewhere that it would never be seen again. It's too vulnerable. Too personal. Too much hurt attached to it.
But it's not important in this moment. She's important; being with her is important. Her words wash over him as he takes them in. He hears what she's saying, what she's telling him about who he is. How she sees him. Even as he listens, even as he tries to cling to the words she says, the way she describes him, the way she calls him the man she loves... doubt is rooting into his mind. ]
I know that I love you. I love how you talk, how you look at me when you're upset. How you smile at me when you're happy about something.
What I don't know is... [ He focuses his thoughts on the feel of her hands on his shoulders. She's not going to like what he has to say, but the words are already forming in his mind. They need to be said. Why? What is telling her this going to accomplish? It might make her leave. But she should see just who she's dealing with here. She should see, and then decide. ]
Who's writing this story? Who's editing this story? Scratch wrote it, I'm editing it, but who am I?
[ It's paradoxical in a way that only makes sense to those who've seen the way things often don't make sense. Alan is doubting reality and his place in reality but the light on the desk is growing brighter.
Something inside Alan is growing warmer; it's cold beneath the waves. Sometimes it feels like ice cold water is seeping into his lungs. Ice water or just ice? Sometimes he can't breathe.
But that feeling of warmth is melting the ice. Warming the water. He can breathe. Why now? None of this makes sense. ]
You've never seen me in the real world, have you? In your reality. There's articles, interviews, gossip printed in magazines, but have you actually seen me? The articles, the rumors, the gossip- was that about me? Were those real? Am I real?
[ You're suffering from various symptoms of undifferentiated schizophrenia. Hallucinations, paranoid delusions, unusual thinking: an obsession about light and darkness. A feeling that everything revolves around you and your thoughts and dreams.
That voice echoes in Alan's thoughts, a memory resurfacing from years ago. Hartman. Was he right? Is that all that this is? All that it's been? ]
Is everything I know just one big fictional construct that I've made up? I think it's real, but everyone else knows it's not? [ Am I insane? ]
What's worse, being a character, or believing in a reality that's not a reality at all?
[ I don't want to be a character... ]
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Until he continues.
Her heart sinks with each description of fear he's dealing with. She opens her mouth to combat each one. Of course he's real. Of course the interviews were real. He was married to Alice Wake. He published those books. All of it is real in their reality. But, he continues, and the realization that he wouldn't believe her sets in.
« It's not working. He's not really listening. He can't hear us through everything in his head. Why did he call us here if he won't let us help? Why am I HERE? I'm not making any difference. I can't reach him--even when we're in the same room, in the same dimension... I don't know what to do.
I'm going to lose him like Dylan. But, it's not waiting for him to wake up like it is my baby brother. He's just going to wash away and never come home. Because I can't say the right thing to bring him home. »
Polaris tugs at her mind then. She glances behind her at the side to the radio. The familiar shimmer of her friend collides with it. Jesse's jaw shifts to the side.
« Messages? What kind of messages? ... N-no. No. I don't want him to hear those moments. How could it help? I'm not that person anymore. I don't want to go back to that place. I don't... »
Polaris' shimmer intensifies. She insists. She's never led Jesse wrong--even if the human host didn't want to believe or hear it.
Jesse bites on her lip and stares at the floor below them for a moment. The frown deepens on her face at the insistence Polaris gives. Alan is probably looking at her as if she's grown a second head.
« How is it going to help? »
Her hands slide from his shoulders, down his arms, taking his hands from her lower back. They clamp around his and hold them tightly. Then, wordlessly, she's taking him to the radio. Jesse directs Alan in front of her and then down to sit on the floor in front of it. She sits on her knees behind him, hands on his shoulders, keeping him steady and secure. The lifeline he's asked her to be without ever properly answering.
Polaris brushes at his mind again to direct his attention to the radio.
｟ Alan. ｠
The radio clicks on. It's static at first as Polaris attunes to the radio frequency needed.
A message. ]
『 We used to play there all the time, me and Dylan, and other kids as well. We loved it. This time... I remember... was different... we found a way in, deeper into it, like it had shifted. We went inside, and that's where we found the Slide Projector.
"A dump is a place for lost things. Things that have been thrown away. Did you ever feel that way when you were growing up, Jesse?"
What? No... yes, but that has nothing to do-
"Was there a slide projector at your home, when you were small?"
No... 』
[ The message carries on for a time. Then: ]
『 "Let me ask you this: as a child, did you ever fantasize about worlds inside pictures. Inside a painting? You know, stepping into a painting, into a hidden world, escaping, and finding adventures there? Away from your parents?"
I don't... I don't think so, I don't remember. Maybe. I don't know. 』
[ Static fills the radio once more as a tuning sound can be heard. Polaris shifting to another one to find.
Jesse's hands curl into Alan's shoulders as she looks down. A slight tremor forms in her shoulders. She knows Polaris isn't done. ]
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Why am I like this? Why can't I wake up? I know who I am, I'm not a character. I'm- I'm Alan Wake. Stop telling me I'm a character. I've lived, I had a life- a screwed up mess of a life but it was a life. You can't just rip that away from me.
[ Desperation sounds in his voice along with the fear that's clinging to him. It might be the fear speaking, but Alan senses a shift. Could Jesse be pulling away even as she stands there with him? If she is, he knows it's his fault. He's given her nothing to go on, nothing to work with, time after time after time. How long until she goes away for good? ]
Don't go. Don't leave. [ I need you. I know I'm the worst at showing it, but I- Please. ] I'm sorry.
[ I'm so tired. I'm tired of fighting. Please, just let me have this. She can help, if I just let her. Just let me let go.
He knows he's begging himself to let go so that Jesse can help, and he knows how irrational that is, but it's something he can't help. ]
... just let me have this. I'm tired, and I just want to sleep. No, I want to wake up. I want to be here, not drifting, not drowning. Here. Home. I want to go home.
[ Alan is looking at her, but not like she's grown a second head. He's desperate again, desperate enough to beg the Dark Presence to let him go. It never listens. His words travel into the silence and vanish. ]
I'll never go home, will I? There are... there are some things, some immutable facts of living that can't be changed. That's one of them now. Alan Wake will never go home.
[ As he says those words, his tone shifts. It sounds harder. Flatter. His voice deepens just a fraction. It's almost as though he's reciting rather than speaking conversationally.
He groans again, louder this time. The sound seems to come from deep inside him and for a moment, he goes slack, all of his strength leaving him in a rush only to be restored a minute later. ]
No, that can't be true. I'll come home someday.... I'll- I'll come back.
[ He pauses long enough to note how Jesse takes hold of his hands, holding them tightly in hers. Then she starts to lead him to where the radio sits. Why?
She guides him to stand in front of her, and then to sit down while she sits down behind him. He feels her hands slide back into place, resting against his shoulders, and he lets out a shaky breath. Polaris brushes at his mind in the gentle way that she does, but even with that gentle touch, he jumps because he wasn't expecting it. ]
Polaris?
[ The radio clicks on, and Alan finds himself stiffening in spite of himself. What will he hear through the radio this time?
This time, it's different. It's not a radio show, it's... well, he doesn't know what it is at first. But he does know the voice. He knows the person the voice belongs to. His head turns slightly to look at the woman sitting behind him. What is this?
At first, Alan just listens to the Jesse in the message talking. But then another voice interjects, and that voice causes Alan to tense up even further. He hopes that he's wrong, that he's way off base and that his suppositions are wrong too. But that voice isn't any voice. It's familiar, in the worst way.
The questions and answers continue, and Alan's feeling of dread only seems to grow. The wording used and the phrasing is different from what Alan's experienced, but it's not that different either. Certain things are the same. The tone that tries to be unobtrusive but doesn't quite manage it. The probing nature of the questions. The statements that are supposed to develop rapport but somehow fall short. He knows this.
Right now, it's very important that you stay calm. We don't want you to have another episode. You're a patient at my clinic, have been for awhile now. The shock of your wife's death triggered a mental illness.
Hartman's voice echoes again in Alan's mind, and his reaction is just as immediate now as it was back then. ]
No, you- you're lying.
[ The words aren't said to Jesse or to Polaris, but to the image of Hartman in his head. Oh yes, he knows what's going on now. The static from the radio pulls Alan out of his memories and back to the writer's room where Jesse sits with him.
He feels Jesse's hands curling against his shoulders, and he turns to look behind him as best as he can. He thinks he knows that look. It's not a good one, not one he likes seeing on her face. So maybe he doesn't love all the faces that she's shown him. ]
Jesse? [ He shifts just a fraction, not enough to dislodge her hold on him, but enough that he can see her. ] What- Why are these messages playing? [ What is Polaris doing? ] If you don't want to hear them, you shouldn't have to.
[ Because he thinks that look on her face is the look of someone who wishes they were anywhere but here. It's the look of someone who wants to run from the room. To plug their ears. To block out the voice that's not associated with anything good. ]
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It's why he broke up with her. She was too weird, too crazy, and could never seem to be enough of a normal person. He wasn't the sole reason she ended up being committed--the person she was with a lifetime ago. He was just the latest in the long string of dominos and she hit a wall. Then, she was committed. They tried trlling her Polaris wasn't real, that Ordinary happened. Her parents, Dylan, and everyone else in Oridnary died in an industrial accident. An accident like that doesn't kill nearly an entire town.
She knows that's why Polaris wants to share what she does. Something to show Alan that Polaris guided Jesse through something similar; she can guide him. She will guide him. He only needs to listen and act on what she's telling him.
Jesse's eyes widen as the flatten tone. He doesn't see the look of horror that comes into her eyes. She knows that tone, that voice. It's not Alan's even if it uses his voice to say it. It's the same as she heard in Bright Falls--when she sensed the Dark Presence in the land itself.
« I don't want him to hear it. But he has to, doesn't he? »
He speaks outloud during the recording and she squeezes his shoulders gently. Reassuringly. She knows he doesn't mean her or Polaris. Something else in his mind she won't understand. Maybe can't understand. Not her place to understand.
No, that's not Alan she hears in her mind. It's using his voice but it's not him. Something trying to force through the Hotline and she refuses to listen. She blocks it out.
She doesn't answer the question directed to her. Instead, she squeezes his shoulders again. It's a vulnerability she hates. One that she feels shows all the issues she tries to keep under lock and key. She told him once she was just as crazy... and now he'll know. Everyone leaves when they know. What if he decides she isn't what he needs and pushes her out the door?
The staic fades and begins to play the next message. ]
『 "You mentioned a poem last time we talked... by Thomas Zane."
Yes. "Beyond the shadow you settle for, there's a miracle illuminated."
"Hmm... I looked the poem up... only I could not find any poet by that name. I did find a European filmmaker who moved here in the sixties, named Thomas Zane."
What? I don't...
"No matter. It suits you very well, the poem. How you see things. Maybe you wrote it yourself?"
I didn't... 』
[ Jesse lowers her head as the message continues. She presses her face into the back his head, gently, never harsh or hard. She hates feeling exposed. Vulnerable. Alone in the madness that reality really is.
But, he needs to know. He needs to hear he isn't the only one who struggled. That she isn't some perfect well adjusted person to it all.
« Don't leave when you hear it. Please. Don't shut the door and kick me out. Don't leave me alone like everyone else who knew. » ]
『 "No matter. You've said a few times that you feel like "there's a piece of you missing." Can we talk about that?"
Okay. Yeah. it's this... I feel... an emptiness, a yearning for something that I think I lost.
"It is natural for you to feel that way. Your brother and your parents are dead."
No. No... Dylan's not dead. And... that's not even it.
"You are referring to the imaginary friend from your childhood."
Polaris... she's come back, after a long time. She's calling me... in a dream I saw. She showed me things.
"Jesse."
It felt more real than anything. As real as what happened in Ordinary. 』
[ Her arms move. They wrap around Alan's shoulders to help keep him upright, but also, to help keep her steady. Her head lowers to hide in the back of his shoulders. Her face presses against the hood of his hoodie. It smells like the forest and salt water. ]
『 No. It was a cover up. The government knows about it. There were agents there. Agents from... I don't know exactly. They took Dylan. They... I'll find them. I won't stop looking. Polaris wants me to go to New York. There's a... building there. I have to leave soon. I have to be there at a very specific time. Something... something hugely important is going to happen-
"Jesse, you know we can't let you go until you're well. And that begins by understanding what's real and what's imagined." 』
[ Jesse's arms wrap around tighter. Her face presses further into his hoodie to hide the few tears managing to escape.
The static only comes through briefly before tuning in once more. One more message. A voice that sounds like Alan's, but only because Jesse fears he'll one day say something similar. ]
『 "I don't know what hell is wrong with you. You know whatever you think happened in Ordinary wasn't real. An industrial accident, Jesse. Everyone confirmed it! None of it happened!"
That's NOT what happened! I was THERE! I know exactly what happened! Dyaln's not dead. I need to find him--I need help to find him. Where they took him! I can't... I haven't been able to find him on my own. Or the agency that took him...
"God, why the fuck are you like this?! Every single god damn time! I can't take this shit anymore with you. You know what? You don't need me. You need a god damn institution! Normal people aren't like this, Jesse! Fuck, can't you just be normal for once?"
W-what? I AM normal. This is what happened! I'm not lying. I promise, okay? I'm not. I wouldn't make this up... 』
[ A door slams over the message and then the radio cuts. The Writer's Room falls quiet again.
Finally, Jesse speaks. Her voice small, vulnerable, shaky. Yet, that determination is still there. ]
Yes, Alan Wake is real. What happened in Bright Falls in 2010 was real. His famous books are movies now--thay even more own team in the Bureau loved to see. Alan Wake was married to Alice, and she produced a movie for everyone to see the real Alan Wake in. Not the one rumors and urban legends made up. The real Alan Wake.
Here, in this room with me.
You're just as real as Polaris is. Ordinary. Bright Falls. More real than anything else. [ Her arms at his shoulders curl tighter as she presses her face more into his back. ] And you will come home. I'll make sure of it. Because I'm waiting for you--even if no one else is. Waiting to be with MY Alan. The one who reached out on the Hotline--alive and real. The person I've wanted to meet ever since you sent me into the Investigations Sector.
[ Jesse pauses as her voice breaks. ] Because, he's like me. He knows the way the world really is. How the room looks with the poster torn down and the hole in the wall exposed for all to see.
You called us here to help. And... I'll make damn sure you come home. Because no one else should go through what I did alone.
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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. ]
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They don't know. They don't have a clue. What's real and what's imagined? There's no difference between the two.
That reaction resonates with her. Something familiar. He's said something like it before in a loop--maybe that very first time around. A piece that helped slide things into place as to how she felt about him. Curiosity and comradery turned into something more as the nights wore on. It took longer to get to Deerfest that time. The story started earlier, not closer to the date. She came to not only admire his determination and willingness to step up when he was obviously scared, but, came to love it. Him. There was something about it all that struck her as endearing. Something unique to him, and she was almost lucky to see it.
Someone else that lived through something horrifying and impossible and came out changed. Someone else that knew exactly what it was all like. Parautalitarian is just a word the Bureau uses to classify people like them. What she sees in Alan is someone changed by extraordinary circumstances, but can grasp onto it and make it his own and save lives. He's an asshole, and self-centered, self destructive. But, he's also caring, willing to take charge, and own his mistakes. It's a complicated duality but something so unique that makes him who he is: Alan Wake.
Somehow along the way it turned into more. He said he didn't write it that way, but, maybe it was always going to be that way. Two people on similar paths that meet and inevitably become entwined. She intended to keep it all to herself, locked up like everything else, but all it took was one kiss. Since then it's been a never ending ride, but, she can't say she'd let him take it away again. ]
...someone from a long time ago. [ Her voice is still small, quiet, vulnerable. Shoulders curl up slightly. ] Someone who doesn't matter anymore; who thought...
[ « It doesn't matter. Alan heard what happened. It was before the Oldest House, before the time in the institution. It doesn't matter now. What matters is how my life is now. Ending this AWE. Saving Saga's daughter. Bringing Alan home. »
She presses against him further as he continues with his explanations. Questions. Confusion. There's so much she could say. Things to express... feelings that he might need to know. But, she's not sure where to start or if any of them should be shared. Would he really want to hear them? Does he care that she's said she loves him?
Her hands slowly uncurl from his shoulders, travel down the tweed covered arms, then gently rest over his own on his knees. The shakes and tremors are obvious in her hands as they rest over his. Her face remains pressed into his hood. The smells remind her not only of an ocean, but Bright Falls too. Marks of where the last thirteen years have left him. Where he's been. ]
It's lonely. Being in the room without the poster and no one else sees it. Some see it but it's never the same as you see it. They can relate--but it's not the same. it's not the same. They're not changed; they don't have abilities or powers. They can be normal still. Go to parties, or holidays, have families. They share the same space and the same world... but they're not the same as you.
[ Jesse tenses then. Her eyes shut despite the fact she's hidden herself against his back, in his hood, anything to make herself feel smaller. She hates people seeing this side of her. The girl from Ordinary still trying to assert her place in the world with others around her. She's found her place in the world. The insane world with shifting doors and realities breaking into their own. She's found friends, colleagues, maybe even a slight father figure.
Dylan is still so far away. Now Alan is too, even with her hands holding onto his to anchor him despite how she trembles. ]
... I don't want to be alone in the room anymore. [ Her voice breaks, hitting a certain tone and frequency that he may have never heard before. ] Don't put me back in that room alone again. I don't--I can't--I'll pull you out of here if I have to. You can't...
[ She feels her head dip slightly as she slides down against his back. ]
...you can't walk in then disappear like everyone else. I won't let you.
[ Jesse turns her face further into the tweed jacket and feels the tears running steadily down her face. How can she save him if she's falling to pieces like this? It doesn't matter to her that they've spent so many loops to get to this point. It doesn't matter if they're both exhausted and t his only makes logical sense. She's supposed to be the hero. She can't break down in front of the person who needs to be saved. ]
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Someone who's an asshole. Maybe an even bigger asshole than me. I believe you. I believe that what happened in Ordinary really did happen. Industrial accident. That was no industrial accident, not from the way you told it. You don't need an institution. You didn't need one. They never should have put you in there.
[ She's moving again, hands uncurling from his shoulders and traveling down his arms. The gesture feels familiar. She's done it before. He likes how it feels when her hands are on him. It reminds him that he's real. He's not a fictional character. He's a person who can feel it when someone's hand is resting on his arm. He holds still, not wanting to move too suddenly and accidentally jostle her.
She can stay in that position for as long as he needs. Stiff legs are worth it, if leaning on him is what she needs.
He quiets, listening to her explain how it feels to be the only one who sees the truth of it all. The reality of the world. And then it hits him: what she's been asking for this entire time. Well, asking without really asking. She's been asking him to stay with her, to not leave her behind to face the world as she knows it alone. And how has he responded? By going to pieces, letting the waves drag him away. Falling apart. Spinning out. Being a vacant, carved out copy of himself. Not a copy of a copy of a copy. Just... a copy. Not Alan Wake.
That stops now.
The defiant thought rises to the surface and Alan latches onto it. It might be impossible, because the Dark Presence is always trying to pull him away. But in the moments that he's awake, he's resolved to not be a copy. He's resolved to be himself. ]
You won't be lonely again. Not while I'm here. [ I can't stop fighting. THIS is more important than literally anything else. I have to come home, because she needs me to. ] And I'll be here. I'll keep trying to come home. If I have to search all over the Dark Place for the Light Switch Cord, I'll do it. I'll keep coming back. [ Until she's sick of me. But she won't be sick of me, will she? ] I can be really annoying, you know that?
[ And that's what I'm counting on here. I know it's crazy, but we've already established that I'm crazy. ]
You won't be alone. I won't let you be alone. [ She won't let him drown forever. He won't let her be alone forever. It works out somehow, doesn't it?
It's only then that he finally turns around to face her. He moves slowly, because he can feel how she has her face pressed into his back, into the fabric of his jacket. It's only once he's fully turned around that he sees she's crying. His reaction is instantaneous. He reaches out for her, pulling her into a hug and holding her close. One hand comes to rest on her hair, giving it what he hopes are comforting strokes. The other hand gently touches her face, his fingers carefully trying to dry her tears. ]
I won't disappear. I promise, I won't disappear. [ I'll come to her apartment. I'll send her messages. I'll be HERE. ]
I won't let you be alone, Jesse. [ He's gotten the answer he needed from her, and now there's only one answer that he can give her in return: a stated promise. A vow that he won't let her be alone anymore. ]
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[ Jesse knows he won't like hearing that truth about her. She's worked odd jobs, unfavorable ones, lived on the street. Stolen. Jesse is so certain he'd not like hearing these things that she's convinced if they had met before he dived in Cauldron Lake? He wouldn't have liked her.
All of what they share feels like it's entirely dependent on the fact that he's here. Trapped in the Dark Place. They couldn't even be together because he would have been married to Alice Wake still. Even though part of her is so curious to know what it would have been like if they met before he jumped into Cauldron Lake. The other part of her is horrified, because she's convinced that he'd hate her. Think she was insane.
Her hands curl a bit more around his. ] I'll be waiting. Every time.
[ Jesse pushes closer to him again. ] You need to be home permanently. You need to be out of this room, this place. That's why you brought me here. [ Her face presses just a bit more into his coat. ] I won't stop. Not until you're back home. In our reality--where you belong. This place can't keep you forever. I won't let it.
[ Her arms instantly wrap back around him as he turns to her. Underneath the tweed jacket and around his frame, hands resting on his back against his hoodie. Fingers curl into the unfamiliar fabric as she rests her face against the zipper. While she prefers the flannel? She does find herself liking the way this feels. The textures, the way it lays on him. It feels more like Alan than a suit and tie. The normal person under the fame...
His fingers brush along her cheeks and she leans into his touch by a fraction. The tears still come as it seems everything she's been holding onto for loops continues to come loose. Jesse leans more into his hold for just a moment. She doesn't need more than this. She's the hero. ]
...I like this on you. [ She presses her cheek into his hoodie. Hoping he can tell by her touches that he knows she heard him. Believes him. ] More than the suit.
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[ The man he was then wouldn't have thought about that, and he knows it. He can't lie and say otherwise. If not for Cauldron Lake and Alice being pulled in, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't be who he is now, and he wouldn't have become this close to her.
Oh, maybe there'd be a twist of fate that saw them meeting, but what would that meeting be like without the catalyst that is his being trapped in the Dark Place? I'm not grateful to the Dark Presence for any of this, because how could I be? But if none of this had happened, I wouldn't feel the way I do about Jesse. Maybe that's what she meant about the miracle illuminated. It just took me time to realize it. ]
Thank you. [ He knows that she doesn't expect thanks, but he gives it anyway. ] You could decide that it's not worth it to you anymore and turn your focus to something else. [ Something that doesn't involve waiting for someone who may never make it out. I don't like to think like that, but it's a possibility. ]
You could even just go on with your life and only think about me once in awhile. [ When she sees flannel, or one of my books, or maybe she won't think about me at all. Maybe if I got out, I'd go look for her, try to find her... if she wanted to be found. ] It- It means a lot that you're still here.
[ I'm not going to say it, because I think we both know it. This place could keep me forever. Sometimes it feels like my getting out hinges on a flip of a coin. If it lands the wrong way up, I'm stuck. How many coin flips are left until this just becomes my reality?
He feels that creeping sensation of dread taking hold of him once more: dread that he'll never leave this place. He'll never see home again. If she wasn't here with him, that feeling of dread is strong enough that it would pull him back down to the floor. And as before, he'd contemplate not getting back up.
Another voice echoes in his mind; it sounds like him in part, but different in another part: The story's already written. The ending set on the page. Just let the ending play itself out. You've fought it long enough. Just go to sleep, Alan. Just let me take the reins now. Your friends will be safe with me.
A face appears in his mind's eye; his face, but not his at the same time. The face smiles, a wide, toothy smile. It doesn't reassure Alan one bit.
I won't. I can't let that happen. I can't go to sleep. I can't let the ending go the way it is. I don't know how I'll be able to keep going, but I have to. There's no other choice.
Her arms wrapping around him pulls him away from those thoughts. She needs him to be present; he can't let his fears pull him away from her. He holds still, letting her hands travel where she wishes to place them: against his back, on his face as she's done before, wherever she wants. This outfit is just as comforting to Alan as the flannel is; it feels like it belongs to another man, but it feels like it fits him like a glove even so. It is much more him than the suit and tie is.
Her tears keep coming, and he keeps doing his best to dry them. Of course, he understands the need to cry. Maybe she's kept her emotions in for so long that they can't help but spill out now. Finally, he just lets her lean into his hold and his arms move to tighten around her protectively. Hopefully comfortingly. She can cry on his shoulder if she needs to. ]
Yeah? You do? [ He smiles a small smile when she says she likes what he's wearing. She hasn't said it in so many words, because that's not her style, but he takes her actions to mean his words are reaching her. Ironic, if that's the case. Half the time, her words don't reach me when I'm going off on one of my nutty spells. That's why I'm surprised she hasn't given up and left. But she's stubborn; maybe even more stubborn than I am. ] So I guess that means I should ditch the suit. It wasn't really my style anyway.
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[ Jesse could see herself being enamored with Alan as he was those years ago. While she's seen the asshole he was in the media? She knows him well enough to understand he wouldn't have been like that around everyone. Not that any of it matters.
He was living with his wife. Everything she saw said he was entirely devoted to her. He wouldn't have stopped to look at her twice. It hurts, but, she knows it's the truth.
She would have been just another crazy person on the streets.
A frown pulls at the corner of her lips as he continues. She doesn't need thanks--this is part of her job. Part of her. Alan somehow got his way into her life and now she refuses to let him go. She's lost enough people to AWEs. Weirdness. The way the world really is. She won't let Alan be on that list of people.
Now, if only she could express that properly to him.
Jesse lets her eyes open and move upwards to find his again. Her heart pounds from everything. Fear of losing him, loving him, exhaustion. All of it mingles together in one collective ball of... everything.
« Very descriptive, Jesse. You really nailed it. »
A few moments pass and then she pulls herself up. Not away, as her arms are still wrapped around him, refusing to let go of him. What if she does and he drifts away again? ]
I can't leave you here forever. I can't go on as if none or this ever happened. I ... that's not who I am anymore. [ « I ran and left Dylan. I didn't mean to. But look at everything that happened because I did. I can't do that anymore. I'm the Director now. » ] is it that hard to believe I don't want to go back to not knowing you? I ... we're...
[ Her gaze drops and she sighs. Words. He's so good at them and she never will be. He has all these words--doesn't he? No. He said something about the words being wrong... being "gone."
« Is he running out of ideas on how to fix Return? What about this Initiation thing? Could we help with either one? I can't take him back with me... so maybe this is the next thing we can try. »
Her head tilts to brush her cheeks along her shoulder to dry the remaining ones. Just like that, she's pushed everything back inside and entered being the Director again. The hero. The not so ordinary girl isn't what he needs. That's not why he called her here.
Her hands move from his back to gently holding his face between them again. ]
It works if your on a tour for a book... or on a creepy talk show. [ She gives him a half smile. Then, she leans in and presses her forehead to his gently. That quiet determination shows in her green eyes as well as love. ] About that... he mentioned "Initiation." Door, that is. What book is that? You've never mentioned it.
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