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synthneon2023-12-08 03:31 pm
outlierdirector) wrote in synthneon2023-12-08 03:31 pm
oceanview || ❝ made a promise i'm coming out alive. ❞
Through the waves, I break
The nightmares finally over
— initation 9: gone.
Or, maybe she's starting to resent it.
The Motel had always been a nice place to retreat for a few hours to get away from things. Trench said something similar over the Hotline once, and that is honestly what gave her the idea to start with. Not that she's ever felt truly trapped by her job as the Director of the Federal Bureau of Control. No, instead, it has always felt liberating in a way.
And, besides, it's not even the Motel she's starting to resent.
It's "Return."
She's stood standing in front of the television in one of the rooms for... god, who really knows how long. Time doesn't flow the way it should in the Motel in between the loops. Not that it really matters anyways. Her eyes have been blankly staring at the screen that turned off some time ago. The words and thoughts keep going over and over in her mind, even if she's used other doors to leave and come back to the Motel. She's crossed paths with another Alan Wake since the message, but she inevitably keeps coming back to Room 226. ]
Jesse's gaze drifts away to the side from the television once more. She feels the message is almost burned into her mind. Maybe something deeper than that, but Jesse has never been artistic or poetic in analogies. She doesn't want to start being that way either. This, whatever it is that hurts in her, is painful enough. Realizing she has no control in the situation. Nothing she can do will change the outcome of the story because the ending has already been written. They just need to play the steps out to make sure it happens.
« That's all we're here to do. Make sure it follows the path it needs to be on. No interfering. No trying to changing the story. Get Alan and Saga where they to go so they can stop all this. Shit. I wish she would of told me from the start. »
Her eyes gaze lifts as she feels Polaris give a tug at her mind. A gentle brush, as if her best friend understands the pain she's in. Jesse refuses to name the emotion rampaging through her. The moment she does? She'll break and she isn't sure if she could do what she's supposed to do.
« It makes sense. Of course it does. The Director of the Federal Bureau of Control stops AWEs. Just, here to do the job in the end. The rest doesn't matter to the Bureau agents, the people in Bright Falls and Watery, Saga and her daughter, Casey, Breaker. In the end, that's even what Alan needs us to be. The Director and Polaris. »
Jesse comes to a stop and realizes she had been moving down the darkened hall of the Motel once again. Her gaze lifts to the Spiral door beside her. She inhales sharply, fingers curling into fists at her sides. Polaris brushes against her mind once more. Lips press together and she gently shakes her head side to side.
« No. I don't want to try again. It doesn't WORK anymore. How many times have we tried? YOU tried, Polaris. We can't reach him. I don't--I don't know why. If anyone picks up it's that other Alan. Not the one we know. I... I don't want to try and not get an answer again. » ]
no subject
Who am I? Who is Alan Wake?
All he knows is loops upon loops and deaths that keep happening again and again but he never gets to sleep, no matter how many times he dies to the threats and the dangers of the Dark Place. Every time, he wakes up back in the Writer's Room at the desk that he's beginning to hate.
With each time that he jolts awake at the desk once more, he becomes more resigned to the fact that he'll never go home again. He'll never walk among the living as they make their way along the streets of New York or wherever it is they call home. He'll never see Jesse again, never do any of the things they talked about... the things that are becoming lost to the waves of the Dark Place.
Hope seems to be a distant dream, a thing that other people have, but not Alan. Another loop is on the horizon, about to start, and when this loop ends, another one will begin. Maybe the loops will just continue until everyone that he knows who still lives and breathes and hopes and dreams outside the Dark Place will be gone.
Barry, Rose, Tim.... Jesse. I'll be the only one left. I'll still be here, starting over at the beginning again and again until... Until what?
....
I'm so tired. Everyone's gone, or they will be gone. Alice... Oh, God, Alice.
It crashes on him like a ton of bricks. He saw it playing out before his eyes, the revelation that Alice is dead. Gone. Gone forever. He comes back to the Writer's Room when he dies, but Alice won't ever come back.
He had nightmares of her dying, being murdered by him or by someone who looks like him, but what he's seen is worse: a million times worse. She died from the one thing he couldn't protect her from: illness. Nothing he could have done would have saved her. And what's worse is he wasn't there when she died.
Oh, Alice, I let you down.
A thudding sound echoes in the empty room, the sound traveling around the space and bouncing against the walls and amplifying itself until it's all Alan can hear. He hasn't even registered that he's dropped to his knees, breath escaping him in harsh exhales. It doesn't register with him that those harsh breaths turn increasingly into something resembling hyperventilating as waves of grief and panic and complete despair sweep over him.
The rapid, grief-stricken breaths continue in a furious, senseless pace until exhaustion settles in and all that's left is an exhausted, broken man kneeling on the floor, unable to move or rise from where he kneels. His arms have fallen too, as if he can no longer hold even them up. Something burns in his eyes but there's no sign of tears on his face.
He feels nothing but his grief and his despair, and he hears nothing but the roaring of waves in his mind. The waves are rolling back in, and soon they'll pull him out to sea with them. He'll drown in the waves because he has no fight left.
At least then I won't have to feel this. I won't have to feel anything.
He isn't reaching out to the waves, to the darkness that's circling around him like a shark circles when it senses blood in the water, but he's not pulling away from it either. The darkness can sense that his will is wavering, and that is the time for it to strike. ]
no subject
Someone who has been trying for a long time to reach him. Now, she can. There is no distractions from the joined stories of "Initiation" and "Return" to pull his mind from. Here, at the worst part of the spiral, she can finally reach to him. One last time to guide him along. One last attempt to give the Writer what he needs before the story starts one last time to come to an ending once and for all. ]
｟ Alan Wake. ｠
[ The voice is more of a harmonious tone that echoes in his mind. Resonates in him, touching that spark threatening to go out. Using it to make herself stronger. The voice is borrowed to a degree--knowing the writer will hear that voice no matter how dark the waves. ]
｟ Alan. ｠
[ The touch rests on the back of his shoulders. No pressure, no pushing, just the call of the resonance. Faint. Far away. Alan called to them once in a similar manner. Except there is no desperation or sense of drowning.
Just the feeling of loneliness and longing.
The resonating feeling tries to guide his attention to the door that has closed behind him. A glimmer of light using the lamp on the desk to reflect. A geometric pattern. ]
｟ Come home. ｠
[ Polaris reaches to Alan because she reacts to her host. Just as she reaches to anyone her host needs. Polaris knows the things that keep her host strong--and in return she is stronger. Perhaps there is also a relation of wanting to aid her host. The two are symbiotic now.
Friends. Partners.
Her host needs the writer to listen and to hear her. This final time around the spiral has to be precise. It has to go the right way by design. Step by step. This will ensure it for both parties.
On the other side of the door, Jesse rests her hands against the wood. She feels Polaris vibrate through the door. Her friend works on her own designs and Jesse can do little to stop it. ]
no subject
Blink.
Alice turns and stares through hollow eyes at something in the distance, knowing that dramatic gestures were never her cup of tea, but if this is going to be her last act, it's going to be dramatic simply by virtue of what it is. Now, her fate is in her own hands, and this is going to be done on her terms.
A cliff lies just in front of her, and beneath it is a lake. Or is it an ocean? She turns to face the cliff, and slowly, putting one foot in front of the other, she walks off the cliff.
"You lose, Scratch."
Blink.
Scratch's face twists into an ugly smirk as a bizarre light of triumph flares in his eyes. A figure lies huddled on the floor, light brown hair framing her face as she lies there, unmoving and far too still.
"I win. I always win in the end. I would have preferred to make you mine, but now neither of us can have you."
Blink.
"I win again, and I'm going to just keep on winning until I've taken everything from you."
Another figure lies on the ground, face hidden by locks of flaming red hair. Scratch's expression is uglier now but more elated as he revels in what will surely cause the poor, unfortunate, lost writer more misery.
"You should never have challenged me. I win every time."
Blink. Blink... blinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblink
A thud, louder this time, sounds again as Alan's fists hit the floor. He's bent over now, still on his knees, but his fists are grinding into the floorboards and he's staring at them with wild eyes. ]
｟ Alan Wake. ｠
[ Alan startles, because he knows that tone. He knows that nudging feeling, that tug pulling him away from his numb, shellshocked grief. He sees a hand reaching for him, just waiting for him to reach out and take it. ]
｟ Alan. ｠
Help me. [ The words are clear; not loud, not shattering the silence of the Writer's Room, but they're there. ]
｟ Come home. ｠
Please, help me. [ The darkness stirs and lurches, sensing an intrusion into its realm. Polaris is an unwanted presence, an interloper, and interlopers need to be driven out. It wants to keep Alan pressed down: drowning, despairing, about to give up, but Alan has other ideas even though that grief is still clinging to him like a cloak. A vein pops out on his neck as he fights the darkness that's pressing down on him, trying to force himself back up into a kneeling position.
His gaze shifts from the floorboards to the door with the spiral on it. He feels that pull, that tug drawing his attention to the door. Why?
He doesn't hear an answer, but he sees that glimmer of light, that curious geometric pattern, and he knows the door is important. It's the door to his prison, but it's more than that. Something is behind the door and Polaris wants him to focus on it. Or maybe it's just her host that wants him to focus on it, but he's not in a position to pick apart nuances right now.
If he was capable of it, he'd feel something like hope springing up inside him, but the pressure from the darkness is stifling anything that he'd normally feel. He tries to stand, tries to push back against the force that's holding him down, and a muffled sound escapes him as he strains against the darkness that's doing its best to defeat him again.
He isn't strong enough to push against it, but he can crawl forward. Again, he lowers his hands to the ground, not to slam the floor in anger and despair, but to move towards the door. Something he needs is behind the door. Someone he needs, if he dares to hope for it. How will it help? Whoever's there can't breach the door. Alan doesn't know how it will help, but Polaris is guiding him to it for a reason. He has to get to the door.
His progress is slow, and he seems to move less than an inch at a time, but he keeps going. Keeps crawling on hands and knees until he finally gets there, finally presses his fingers against the wooden surface of the door.
Now what? ]
no subject
The owl watches him closely with every motion he makes.
His fingers press to the door.
Then, a sound of mental dropping. Rolling. A piece of round silver rolls until it hits his leg. It stops promptly, landing face up. The charm Jesse had given him at the start of these loops. A deer and a doe.
His and hers. ]
｟ Alan... ｠
[ In the darkened Motel, Jesse places her head to the door. She can still feel Polaris rolling from her hands into the door. Her friend is working hard, trying to reach out to their missing writer. Jesse isn't sure why. Nothing has really worked.
« I just wanted to bring him home. I can't even do that. Just like with Dylan. Just bring him home. If i can't do it, maybe you can. There has to be more than we can do than just be on the sidelines... »
Even if she knows, deep down, that it's the truth. That's the role in the story. The job of the other worldly aid for the heroes. It isn't enough--it doesn't feel like it's enough.
Jesse slides down to her knees in front of the door. Hands shake, tears piercing her eyes. ]
no subject
Something in his coat pocket rustles as he crawls forward: papers, shoved in unceremoniously. Some of them have scribbles on them while others are blank. But Alan's not thinking about that right now.
He finally reaches the door and he presses first his fingers then his entire palm against the wooden surface. ]
She's there, isn't she? On the other side of the door. I- I just want to talk to her. Somehow.
[ He glances down when he hears the sound of metal hitting the floor and rolling. He feels it hit his leg, and he squints to look at it. A rush of breath leaves him all at once as he picks up the his and hers charm and holds it carefully but tightly in his hand. ]
Jesse.
[ Not knowing that Jesse's doing the same thing on her side of the door, Alan leans his head against his side of it. ]
What is she doing here? No, I know what she's doing. Why she's here. I- God, this isn't going to work, but maybe... maybe if I just try it.
[ A pencil is in his coat pocket as well, even though he doesn't remember placing one there. He plucks out one of the folded up papers and after taking a moment to remember something from what feels like a lifetime ago, he scrawls on it hurriedly, but not to the point that it's illegible. ]
[ If his hunch is wrong, then what he's written won't make any sense at all, but if he's right, then it should get the result he's been hoping for. But hope doesn't carry a lot of weight down here, and luck is a completely nonexistent concept. Still, Alan feels just the smallest bit of hope as he slides the piece of paper beneath the door and holds his breath.
The paper may just get shoved right back beneath the door. It's a fool's errand and a fool's hope, but he watches and waits for something, anything, to happen. ]
no subject
Except the one emotion she won't let herself acknowledge.
Her eyes open at the sound of shuffling paper. They dart to her sides, finding no doors opened of people within the darkened Motel. Like always. However, on the swing back, Jesse sees something sticking underneath the door. With one hand she tugs the paper.
The breath in her lungs escapes as she sees the handwriting. Alan's handwriting. The one that had her name scribbled in its writing all over one of the boards.
A hand extends from the door. Whistling comes around her with the use of her abilities. A pen sails through the air and lands comfortably in her palm. She uses the Spiral Door to write a reply.
Except it's not really writing.
Jesse doesn't know what to say back as she tries to keep her emotions together.
« How did he do it... how did YOU do it...?
I just want him home. »
Jesse pushes the paper back underneath the door. "Desperate man" is underscored. The shape of an old telephone is drawn above the words. Next to the words about a lake is "a land" scribbled above it. "Hero" is circled with an arrow below it with "guiding star" written at the point. ]
no subject
He holds onto the charm as he waits for something to slide back under the door. If Jesse's there, she won't just ignore the paper he pushed over from his side of the door. If she's there, she'll jump at the chance to try and reach him.
Unless she doesn't. Unless she's tired of being jerked around and she's decided it's not worth it anymore. No, that can't be what she's decided. She wouldn't, right? She didn't come here and have Polaris reach out only to decide to give up.
He straightens up slightly when he hears the rustle of paper and spots the corner and then the rest of the page sliding under the door. ]
It worked. It really worked. I don't know how, but I'm not even going to ask.
[ Reaching for the paper with a suddenly shaking hand, Alan's eyes scan over it, taking in Jesse's additions. It's little things, mostly, that tell him it's her. The underlining of certain words that only they'd know as significant confirms it for him. He brushes over the drawn telephone with a finger and his lips turn up slightly, but not into a full smile.
The pencil is suddenly in his hand again, but this time, he hesitates. What should he say? What should he do? Suddenly, his mind feels as though it's gone blank, with all thoughts wiped from it. He'd imagined what he'd say to Jesse if he could talk to her again, but now that he can, it's as though everything he imagined has just faded from his mind. It could be his exhaustion talking, or his grief about Alice, but Alan's drawing a blank.
Finally, he scribbles something down and pushes the paper back under the door. ]
what has lakes but doesn't have water?
no subject
« Is that really all I can do? Sit and wait for it all to happen around me? I... I can't do this. It's not ME. I have to do something. What can we do? I can't just be passive and let this all happen. »
She sees the paper return and gently pulls it up to read. Her heart sinks further into her chest as she reads his response. Jesse simply sits there for a moment, feeling the tears she has tried to contain finally slip down her face.
« We finally reach him and it's... it's riddles. Is he screwing with me? Trying to figure out if it's ME? Who else would send him a paper back? »
Jesse brushes the tears away with her shoulder, running her hand over the paper in order to try and hide the watermarks where a few fell. Then, she places the paper against the door and begins to draw under his question.
Three doors with symbols, then a floor drawn under it. The farthest right has a familiar Spiral on it. The middle has an inverted Black Pyramid. The last has a circle with a squiggle from it. Then, another row of doors drawn from right to left: A torch (oddly like the torches of the New York City subway he's known in the Dark Place), a White Pyrmaid, and a series of rectangles drawn over one another. Directly beside the question is written an answer: A map.
Her hand holds out once more. This time, a small bundles of papers come to her. A notepad from the desk with the branding of the Oceanview Motel and Casino on it. She underlines it and writes "Here." beneath it.
She folds the papers together and slides them under the door. Her other hand comes to rest in her lap as she waits. That's all she can ever do when it comes to Alan Wake. Wait for him to figure it out. Wait for him to come home.
Alan came to the Motel once. He found the Light Cord Switch. She doubts he could manage it again--or even remembers that he did. She reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out the damaged but cared for manuscript page. Her fingers move along the edges as she reads over the handwritten words again. It's the result of him coming to the Motel and keeping his promise of putting them back into "Return." She's held onto it ever since he gave it to her in one of the loops.
« This isn't going to be in the final loop, is it? It can't be. Because, we can't be reality and him still need to do what he needs. I can't keep him with me. The Buearu can't give him shelter. He has to leave to finish "Return" with Saga. There's... no place for it.
I can't make it happen. Maybe Alan can. No. I promised I wouldn't ask him to do that ever again. Not after what it took out of him before--what the Dark Presence did to him. I can't... »
Her head lowers, forehead gently pressing to the door. Eyes close as she feels the tears trying to gather again. ]
no subject
I stopped myself from fixing the story. Alice is dead and I wasn't there. I stopped myself from fixing the story. Alice is dead.
He knew he shouldn't have sent her the riddle, but it's all he could think of to write. How can he put into words what he's thinking? How can he explain that he feels more lost than ever and more afraid than ever that everyone he cares about will die too?
The riddle wasn't him screwing with her. It was him desperately trying to say something, but not pile more of his troubles onto her. He's done that enough; he's hurt her enough. How can he hurt her more by explaining the state he's in?
His vision begins to swim and he remembers that he's holding his breath. Why? He shakes his head and lets out a loud exhale as another response comes back to him from under the door. Shaking hands unfold the pages she's slid to him, and he takes it all in. He takes in the drawing with the doors and their symbols, pausing with each image that he sees. These doors seem to mirror ones he's seen before, in the hotel that he's passed through before. There must be a connection, something linking the Oceanview Hotel with the Motel that Jesse knows.
It's not enough. I can't use that connection to come home. I can't use it to see Jesse. This is as close as I'm going to get when I'm not in a loop.
He brushes his fingers over the surface of the page that has drops on it that look suspiciously like places where tears fell.
Is that all that I'm good for? Upsetting her, making her sad, making her worried... She deserves better than this. Better than me.
His fingers curl around the pages that he holds, wrinkling the paper until he realizes what he's doing. He quickly tries to smooth them out again before he puts pencil to paper again. ]
I'm sorry, I- I don't know how to tell you what I've seen... what I've learned. I-
[ The words trail off into a scribble, but then after the scribble is another sentence, just four more words, written in a shakier hand than before. ]
What have I done?
[ Too late, he realizes she's not meant to answer that, but the words are already on the page, and while he could scribble them out, a part of him says he shouldn't. So, before he can change his mind, he shoves the page beneath the door. ]
no subject
« I don't know if that's a good thing... or a bad thing. Would it have ended quicker if I didn't ask for this? Would Alice have insisted something like this happen to help Alan? Would Alan still want this in the story after everything? I know... I know he said he wanted it at one point. Is that still true? Or, is he ready to move on without us...? »
Her eyes shift from the paper in her hands to the one that slides from beneath the door. She gently places the manuscript in her lap, unfolding the scribbled paper and reading the words over. Her gaze softens. Scratch said that Alan always knew Alice was dead. What else could he have learned?
Fingers trace along the edges of the paper before she presses it to the door once more. The pen glides along a response under his question that was most likely not meant to be answered. She holds it there for a moment, trying to think of anything else she could put down on paper to give him an answer that may help. ]
Tried to write a delicate story to come home.
Tried to fix what Scratch changed.
[ A few more scratched out attempts before the next words: ] Given me something you, or Scratch, or anything else can't take away —— someone who knows what it's like.
You gave me Alan Wake.
I think you need this.
You'll know what to do with it.
—— Take care of it for me.
[ Jesse pulls the paper away from the door and simply holds it for a moment. Then, with trembling hands, she wraps the note around the manuscript page. She doesn't need to write out the details of what the gesture means. Alan will know. He'll understand she isn't walking away or leaving him in the dark. If anything, it's the most precious thing to her, and she's giving it to him to help him. Like it's helped her; like he does help her.
She brushes her cheeks again with her arm before leaning to the side and gently pushing the note and manuscript beneath the door. Green eyes glance upwards at the Spiral on the door. Then, they drop to the floor. Jesse lays the back of her hand on the floor and tries to fit her fingers underneath the door. The fit is tight and she can only manage to get them to the edge of the end of the paper--about halfway through. She presses her shoulder against the door and tries to shove against it to move her fingers underneath further.
« Come on--this fucking door! It opened and let me SEE him and whoever that was inside! Just, budge. A little. Just enough so he can know I'm... »
Her other hand raises and smacks open palmed on the surface of the door. It echoes throughout the empty darkened Motel. She smashes her hand again in hopes that maybe he can hear it. Maybe he'll be able to feel her fingers underneath it when he reaches for the rest of the returned note. Maybe he'll notice... something.
Anything.
« I'm right here, Alan. Please. Just--come home. Come home already. Please. Open the fucking door! »
Jesse slams on it once more before hanging her head. Hands remain where they are before something of a sob comes from her. No, no. She's not going to break down. She's not going to given into this feeling that's trying to consume her. She won't even name that feeling ripping through her heart and that has continued to chip away at it since she heard Alice Wake's message. ]
... Alan. Open the door. Please.
no subject
As he waits for something, anything, from her side of the door, his thoughts begin to run away from him, running towards the doubt that's always lurking in his mind. He knows that he loves her and he always will, even if he never finds his way home again. He doesn't regret anything that's happened between them, and neither does he regret writing them back into the story. Taking them out was a mistake, and he didn't even have to think twice about paying the price to put them back in. It's a price he'd pay again if he had to, without question. He can't know what thoughts are running through Jesse's head, but if he had to move on without her and Polaris, his reason for continuing to push forward would be gone.
Oh, he'd try to keep going, because darkness shouldn't touch their reality more than it already has, but without Jesse and Polaris, what would be the point of it all? He could keep going knowing that Alice had passed on, but if he lost Jesse too, there would be no continuing on for him. Sooner or later, the darkness would catch him, and he'd just give up.
I can't put that kind of pressure on her, but I need to know that they're both there if I'm going to keep fighting. I need them to keep fighting.
He thinks he hears a rustling sound, but it could just be inside his head. Jesse might be on the other side of that door, but who knows how many miles separate those doors? Can the distance between realities be measured in miles? Again he waits, holding his breath, waiting and watching and hoping to just get one more message from her. Each time could be the last time, and then... and then who knows when he'll see her again?
Desperation causes him to push his fingers beneath the door, ignoring the way they protest because his hand is too big to really fit. He's not just reaching for a reply from her; he's reaching for her, to feel her, to touch her even if it's only for a second. Sometimes if he closes his eyes and really thinks, he can feel her hands sliding onto his shoulders, but when he opens his eyes again, the feeling disappears and the image of her that he has in his head fades as well.
He can't hear her hitting the door or feel her fingers pushing the note back to him. Maybe the distance is greater than he thought. Maybe there's no physically crossing that distance.
I miss you, Jesse. I wish... I wish more than anything that I could see you. That I could come home and stay with you.
The note slides through to his side of the door, and he reaches for it and unfolds it. His heart seems to stop and his breath catches in his throat. He knows this page, he's seen it and held it and he remembers writing it. He remembers why he wrote it and what it means to Jesse: how much it means to her.
The pencil is immediately in his hand and he writes a single word, followed up by another sentence. ]
why?
No, I know why, but- if I keep this, I'll only lose it. The story won't let me keep it.
Jesse...
[ The letters of her name are pressed heavily into the paper as though Alan leaned all his weight into writing them.
Seeing the manuscript page made him forget what he was going to tell her, about the terrible revelation that he learned and the equally terrible truth about Alice's death. It's still there in the back of his mind, but it's not what he's thinking about.
He moves to push the page with his response under the door, and that's when something unexpected happens. The door creaks- it's never creaked before, and Alan's heart jumps right back into his throat. He slowly, tentatively reaches out with his hand and gives it a small push. It moves, and a sliver of light spills out into the darkened room. It barely cuts through the darkness, because there's so much of it, but Alan's eyes fixate on that sliver.
He slides forward on his knees until he's closer to the door, the paper with his reply still clenched in his hand. This is impossible, but the door's never done this before. I have to try.
With a voice that's hoarse and containing a note of something else like grief, Alan tries speaking through the crack in the door. ]
Jesse. Jesse, can you hear me?
[ Please, I hope she can hear me. I need her to hear me. ]
no subject
Jesse's gaze falls to the carpet as Alan's words ring in her mind again. Not her Alan. The one on a similar path in another world. One who met her younger and their path starts earlier. Jesse hopes that those versions of them can find their way together and overcome what it seems her and Alan are unable to.
Her head hangs and she waits. Waiting for the feel of the paper at her fingers. Waiting for the door to open. Waiting for Alan to finally come home from the Dark. All these things and waiting because she can't make it happen herself. She can't force any of it, and as she's been told, it's not her role to. Usually she'd balk at the authority and shove her way forward. She would find a way to take it by the reigns and do it her way. But, her instincts tell her that Alice Wake is right. Only Alan can save himself in the end and pull out of this downward spiral he has been in.
Then, a creak.
Jesse's eyes raise slightly at the door moving. Just slightly. As if the door handle had been turned and pulled open just a bit. Enough so that she can see the darkness. Not the entity that exists in the Dark Place, but the room that remains darkened except the light on the desk. She's seen the room, knows it's layout. The Writer's Room where Alan has been stuck for thirteen years.
"Jesse, can you hear me?"
She doesn't put another moment of thought into her actions.
Jesse pushes the door forward with her shoulder, using the powers she has been connected to in order to wedge it further. The door skids across her fingers and she rips her hand back, not caring about the layer of skin it takes with it. The same hand is pushed through the wider opening, reaching in to grasp anything of Alan that she can.
She'll pull him out right now. She'll bring him out of the darkness. Everything in her rails against the idea there is nothing she can do but let it happen around her.
Polaris swirls gently around her hand, reflecting off the low light in the room. ]
｟ Alan, come home. ｠
no subject
The door opening a crack gave him hope and made him believe that maybe he could actually talk to Jesse instead of simply passing notes, but as the seconds go by and he hears nothing and sees nothing, some of that hope starts to fade. ]
Jesse. Jesse, are you there?
[ His voice is quieter now, and he's straining for anything that hints at Jesse being able to hear him. He can sense a little of Polaris' resonance, but it's barely there. ]
Damn it, I want to talk to her. I want to actually hear her, and I want her to be able to hear me!
[ Anger rises up inside him, giving way to his frustration, and his fingers curl tightly around the door as he pulls on it with everything he has. ]
Move, damn it! [ But try as hard as he might, the door isn't budging. Something doesn't want it to open, or maybe it was never going to open, but that's not going to stop Alan. ]
You can't keep me here forever. [ He glares at the door, at the darkness, even going as far as to glance behind him at the owl that's always watching. ] I just want one thing... one thing that's good in this whole hellhole.
[ Briefly, his mind travels to the good former sheriff of Bright Falls. He's a good friend and Alan is so grateful for the times he gets to see him. But Jesse... Jesse's different.
Jesse's that good thing, the best thing, a good person who I don't deserve. I need to get through to her.
His fingers curl more against the door, nails digging into the wood, ignoring how small splinters break off and press against his skin. ]
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« It feels like something is pushing back against the door. Something is trying to close it. Scratch? The Dark Presence? Whatever it is, it can get the hell out of my way! »
She lets out a frustrated grunt, pushing so hard that her shoes dig into the carpet. Her body strains under the force of the door trying to remain shut. Eyes open slightly as she feels Polaris gently nudge her mind. Her gaze moves to the side of the door where she sees a hand curling around and pulling. Jesse feels something inside her freeze. She knows who is fighting to keep the door open. As odd as it might be, she knows his hands.
Jesse's hand snaps out. It latches onto his wrist. Fingers wrap around, despite the fact that her fingers are raw in certain places due to the door. She gives a gentle tug, nothing harsh or demanding. Just a reassurance that he is feeling her.
She leans more against the door to try and see past the darkness pooling around. ]
Alan?
｟ Alan Wake. ｠
[ Polaris shimmers around Jesse's hand. Through the darkness it's easy to tell she's in her garb as Director. Business blouse, suite. It can be seen even if she can't get herself fully into the room. Maybe she can get Alan closer to the edge of the door and pull him through it. ]
Alan, it's me.
｟ Come home. ｠
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She's so close. Even if I can't use this to finally get home, maybe I can at least talk to her. Maybe I can see her. We're so close, I just have to get this door to move!
Suddenly, unexpectedly, he feels fingers latching themselves onto him, wrapping around his wrist, and his heart seems to skip a beat. Yes, I can feel her! But... but can she feel me? Can she hear me? Why does this feel like that time that I tried reaching Saga through the overlap? Is this the same thing? I don't know if this counts as an overlap, or a threshold, or- or whatever. ]
...Jesse, can you hear me? Please tell me you can hear me.
[ He sees Polaris's shimmer, and although it could simply be his eyes playing tricks on him, he believes he sees Jesse there wearing her Director outfit. What he can see of her is little more than an outline, but it's her. He can't know what she can see of him, if anything, but he's wearing the flannel again, and if she's able to see his eyes, that burning sensation is back in them and there might be water pooling in his eyes, which he doesn't bother to brush away.
At first, he doesn't say anything, but then words come, and he hopes that she can hear what he's saying. ]
I'm sorry. Jesse, I'm sorry.
[ He knows why he's apologizing, but she might not realize it right away, but he knows he has to say it before this connection is severed. There's no way that they'll have this for very long; he's not entirely sure how this all works, but it feels to him that it all depends on how long they can keep the crack in the door from closing and cutting each other off again.
After a moment, he leans closer to the crack in the door, still pulling on it, and he mumbles, but it's loud enough that she can hear it, if she's listening. ]
Did you know- did you realize that the reason the story has gone on this long is because of me?
[ Of course she couldn't know or have realized that, as he only just realized that he's been literally sabotaging the writing process, but he's still struggling to process it all. ]
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She's had worse through out all this shit anyways. ]
Alan, stop it. [ She barks the order out. Not because she doesn't want to listen, but because they have to focus on something else. They have to get him out. Then, he can talk all he wants, and she'll listen all he wants. They can't depend on this door to be open. It shut on it's own all the other times she has ever seen it cracked open. ] Okay? Just, stop it!
[ This time, her hand gives a hard tug on his wrist. Not to hurt him but to get his attention. Jesse's voice is hard, strained, and talking in commands of the Director, not the girl from Ordinary. ] Come over to the side of the door. I'm going to push it with everything I've got, and you need to move through it when I do. No arguments.
[ She waits until she can see more of his outline. Then, she moves.
Rather the door starts to move.
Jesse lowers her head and puts both hands on the door. She channels more of Polaris through her and into the piece of wood that's given her so much grief and heartache through all these loops. Her hands tremble from the sheer force she has to put in, using momentum that she should save for dashing.
A chill moves down her spine. Eyes immediately shoot up to the darkness above them that hovers from the other side of the door. It shifts like a thunder cloud. It pushes back against the door, as if it's hand is at the top and trying to cut their connection.
« No. NO. You don't get to have him anymore! He's coming home! Fuck OFF! »
The door trembles and a screech filters over the Hotline into her mind. Jesse knows that screech. It would stop people in their tracks in fear, but in this moment, she's too angry to be afraid. She's too hurt, to upset, and too stubborn to let the Dark Presence have any footing anymore. Her eyes narrow.
The hand closest to Alan shoots out in front of him. She tries to reach out with that power of hers, trying to pull him through the door she's forced open just enough for his size. She can hear the Dark Presence--Scratch--roaring in her mind at the thought of taking the Writer away. ]
『 IT'S MY STORY. MY RULES, MY WORLD. 』
[ Jesse feels herself being thrown across the small hallway into the opposite door. A painful exclamation leaves her. Even then, her hand is extended out to try and pull Alan from the Spiral Door that has trapped him for thirteen years. Ringing fills her ears with the dull roar of the upset entity. Her head remains lowered but she keeps trying to pull until... either she feels him or the door shuts again. ]
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I can feel her. She's real, and she's here.
He opens his mouth to say something else, to give a desperate description of a desperate man who's sabotaged himself when everything was on the line, but he cuts off when she barks out the order for him to stop. He doesn't just stop; he freezes in place, a startled look falling into place in his eyes. He's not afraid of her, but she surprised him with the force behind her words.
Slowly, he stills and grows quiet, the words he was going to say fading in response to her order to just stop. His eyes shift to her hand that's tugging hard on his wrist; if getting his attention was her goal, she succeeded, as every sense, every inch of him is focused on her. Almost automatically, he moves as ordered, moving to the side of the door, doing his best to get into position. Once there, he waits too, waiting to see what she'll do next... waiting to see what will happen next. He'd be a fool to think that the Dark Presence will simply let her pull him out of this prison, out of this dark realm, but he can't lie and say he doesn't hope that she'll manage it.
His breath catches in his throat the second that he sees her move and notices the door beginning to move as well. It's slow, barely an inch at a time, but it's moving. It's really moving.
But no sooner does that thought form in Alan's mind than he feels something else, something terrible and terrifying and- No... We're so close, why now?
A chill moves down Alan's spine as well, and his gray eyes suddenly widen in fear. He can feel the darkness coming, and he can feel how angry it is. It suddenly forms into a dark menacing cloud and pushes against the door, aiming to close it and keep it closed. ]
I won't let you do this, not when we're this close!
[ The darkness senses Alan's anger and his stubborn will to fight back, and it doesn't like that. It doesn't want the writer to fight. It wants him to just stay still and let it pull him back under its enticing dark waves. Dark tendrils seem to try to circle themselves around Alan in order to pull him away from the door and away from the source of the resonance on the other side. The darkness doesn't like the resonance; it doesn't like the brightness. It can't lose the writer to that cursed brightness. He belongs in the dark; he's always belonged in the dark.
Once again, Alan seems to be caught in the middle, a pawn that the darkness wants, but he desperately tries to reject the darkness in an effort to break its hold. I don't want the darkness anymore; I don't want to be its pawn... I don't want to be a character in this insane story!
The darkness screeches through the Hotline, and while Alan may not be able to hear that specific screech, he registers another one, an angrier, more violent one. The darkness is angry, and it's not about to let Alan slip from its clutches.
The door has moved, and it's open wide enough now for a man to slip through. Alan can slip through, and as soon as he feels her reaching out, trying to pull him through the opening in the door, he moves. He tries to force himself through the gap in the door, knowing this is their last chance. This opening won't stay an opening forever, and so he has to move now.
But the darkness doesn't like that; it senses that it's about to lose the writer, and it dials up its efforts to 11. Well, if a dark entity can do that, anyway. Thick clouds of darkness form, swirling around and through Alan, trying to lure him back in. Luring him back to the sleep-that-isn't-sleep that waits for him under the waves.
Come back home, Alan. I'm waiting for you.
A voice that's not screeching or yelling echoes in his mind. It's eerily calm, almost too calm, but it needs the writer to come back. To stay.
Alan coughs as the darkness seems to grow thick around him, and he knows if he doesn't make it through the door soon, it'll be too late. It'll be over. He'll be gone and the darkness will be in control again: Scratch will be at the wheel, and that just can't happen.
More coughing echoes around the Writer's Room and carries through the gap in the doorway as Alan desperately tries to fight his way through to join Jesse on the other side. It's less joining her and more her trying to drag him from one reality into another, but he's doing his best to fight.
He feels something strange, as if Jesse's been pushed away from the door and further into wherever she is (the motel, probably, if his memory is still correct.. Not likely, these days...), but somehow, her grip on his wrist hasn't been broken. It's the last bit of hope that he has, the last thing connecting him to her, and armed with that last hope, he pushes himself forward, through the door, and-
Thud.
He feels himself colliding with her, propelled forward by the force of the momentum of his movements, and the door slams shut behind him with an almost colossal boom. He bends over, hands coming to rest against his knees as he tries to catch his breath, barely resisting the urge to shut his eyes against what he's certain he'll see: dark clouds expelling themselves from his lungs with each shaky breath.
Before he's really ready to speak again, he manages to say just one thing, and it sounds like more of a gasp than a spoken name: ]
... Jesse?
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« How many times has it happened? How many before you and I showed up? »
The impact with the door across the hall causes the wind to leave her lungs. Not just the door, but from Alan as well. She gasps while he coughs, trying to force her lungs to open and regain the loss of breath. It takes longer than she'd like, but by the time he says her name, she is pushing herself up and breathing heavily to try and regain the energy she just expended. The Motel isn't dark to the point is void of light, but certainly not peppy and bright like it could be.
Her green eyes raise to his gray ones. She moves in an instant, the paranormal energy rippling off of her as if she's dashed up in the small amount of space between them. Perhaps it's uncharacteristic of her, but in the same dashing motion she has her arms wrapped around his shoulders. A hand bunches into the flannel shirt. The other threads into his stringy wet hair.
« Wait... wet? Why is he... nevermind. That's not important. »
She pulls him closer--or maybe it's pulling herself to him. Her face buries between his neck and her arm. He had wanted to say something, and knowing Alan, he will try to get it all out in a rush now that the door has shut behind them. That's fine. She stopped him, after all. It's only fair thar she remains quiet and let's him talk now.
The Motel is a gentle quiet. Some noises echo through the halls, but nothing that would suggest something malicious. Fans working, a dull muffled sound over some invisible speakers. Better than the still all encompassing deafening silence that hangs in his Writer's Room. ]
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Jesse- Jesse, I'm sorry. I'm- I'm sorry. [ He's sorry for what he made her do, for all the energy she had to expend to get him here. He's sorry for always hurting her, for putting her in positions where she has to hurt herself to help him.
She burrows her face into him as she's done before, and he's quick to put his arm around her to draw her in even more than she already is. He had something he wanted to say to her when he was still in the Writer's Room, but now it seems as though all powers of speech have left him.
His head lowers and he just stands still with his arms around her, holding her silently and letting the quiet of the Motel wash over him. It's calmer here, almost peaceful, and there's none of the deafening silent terror that characterizes the Writer's Room. He could stay like this for a long time, but he knows he doesn't have a long time. That just means he needs to make this last for as long as he can.
One hand leaves where it was resting against her back and moves to touch her red locks, rubbing the strands carefully between his fingers as he tries to think about what he should say... what he should do. ]
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What should she say? She isn't sure. He had wanted to tell her something before she silenced him. Something about how he had kept the story going in loops. How much of that was him, and how much was because of them? They tried to force the story to give them what they wanted. Maybe that was never possible. Maybe they dragged all of this out so far because of they demanded something unrealistic of the story.
« How long do we have? » ]
I've been trying to reach you... notes, projecting Polaris. Messages in any way I could. I never reached you until now.
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He just leans into her hold, and after a moment, the arm that's still around her tightens just a fraction. He likes this; he likes being held and being able to hold her. Words don't seem forthcoming at the moment, and that feels strange to him, but he can't seem to force anything out right now. He doesn't want to waste their time, especially since they probably don't have very much of it, but he can't find the words to say to break the silence.
That is, until she breaks it for him. ]
I don't know why it worked now, but- but I'm glad that it did.
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Fingers gently brush down his wet hair. The familiar flannel feels like home, and she nearly collapses against him. Except, that can't happen, because she can see Alan is a wreck. He needs her as the Director... and as Jesse. Not the mess of a woman from Ordinary who struggles with expressing how she feels. ]
We can work on trying to break this loop. Make this the final time. [ Her eyes shut tightly as the words from Alice Wake claw at the back of her mind. ] Then, we can get you home.
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As it is, he can barely handle the storm that's brewing inside him, the storm that Jesse's picked up on. He wants to collapse against her, but he can't do that. He has to be the writer who fixes the story, who fixes everything he broke, and he can't be a wreck. ]
Break the loop? Make it the final time? Jesse- [ Alan's breath hitches as his emotions threaten to spill out of him. ] The reason why these loops won't end is because of me. I- I was fixing the story, fixing the ending, and I stopped myself from doing it. I've been stopping myself from doing it this whole time.
[ He only saw it the one time that he can remember, but it makes sense to him in the worst possible way. How many loops ended with him coming upon himself making edits to the story and putting a stop to it with a bullet in his own head? Was it all of them or only some? Does it matter? If he can only remember it happening once, then there's just as much of a chance that it keeps on happening but he forgets it every time. He's his own worse enemy. ]
Maybe there is no breaking the loop.
[ I'm trapped here in this nightmare. ]
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Once he has shifted to look at her? Jesse pulls back. She stares at him evenly. There's no anger in her face, only an upset determination. She can only imagine why he has been stopping the process. Only guess at what it was that had caused him to sabotage their edits to the story. Her guess is that it had something to do with Alice. What else could be strong enough to cause him to just... stop? ]
Then we fix what is wrong. We keep pushing. We fix it. Whatever is making you stop fixing it? We stop it now and we put a stop to it. This will be the last loop. I promise.
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