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Damien and Dark are both unconscious, the latter still sprawled ungracefully across the floor. Wilford has taken the time to sit Damien up against the wall though, gently cupping his face, holding his breath and shaking with anticipation and worry and hope.
Please work please work please-- Wilford’s prayers are interrupted by Damien stirring, eyelids fluttering open, looking confused and vulnerable and Damien-like in a way that Mark and Dark never had, and Wilford’s smiling so wide he feels like he might split open. He wants to lean down and kiss Damien silly-- he doesn’t, because they should probably talk about that first, and Celine is still technically a factor, though Wilford’s fairly sure he’s not going to be able to surprise Dark again, nor does he have the faintest idea how to go about getting her a body.
“Hey you.” He settles for an affectionate, awe-struck whisper instead, riding high on the fact that this crazy plan had worked, and feeling chuffed with himself for coming up with it all on his own. “Welcome back, Dames.”
Promptly, it all goes tits up.
Damien’s expression goes from confused to scared to panicked, sucking in a lungful of air and then coughing it up, shocked. His hands fly to Wilford’s chest, uncoordinated, pushing weakly, trembling all over and shaking his head violently, making these choked noises that sound like he’s trying to speak but can’t quite manage it. Wilford falls back anyway, shaken, fairly certain that a feather could have bowled him over. He scrambles back up immediately though, kneeling again, hovering anxiously as Damien curls up into a ball, hands fisting in his hair, clawing at his scalp.
“Dames? Damien what’s wrong? Talk to me--” Wilford is panicking himself, unprepared and having no idea how to help, wanting to scoop Damien into his arms but not sure if that’s welcome, given that he’d been pushed away. He’s about to do it anyway when he’s interrupted.
“I told you it was a bad idea.” Dark’s standing again, though unsteady on his feet and leaning against the wall, scowling across the room at the two of them. Wilford had honestly forgotten that Dark was there, but in an instant he’s on his feet and in front of him, pressing the muzzle of his gun against Dark’s forehead and pinning him against the wall, eyes murderous.
“What did you do.” He takes satisfaction in the way Dark grunts in pain at being slammed against the wall-- he’s not being mindful of the entity’s copious injuries the way he usually is. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“I didn’t do anything.” Dark sneers, and Wilford honestly isn’t prepared for how Dark is different, sans Damien. Everything is reminding him far too much of Celine, but he only lets himself waver for a second before cocking his gun in lieu of a response. Dark laughs.
“He’s been sharing a corpse with his sister and a demon for nearly one hundred years. What did you think would happen when you just threw him into a living body, all alone, with no warning?” Wilford falters again, taking a step back from the words, though he keeps his gun trained firmly at Dark’s head. Dark follows, smelling the weakness and chasing it, even though it means keeping the gun pressed right into his skin, refusing to let Wilford gain any space.
“He’s overwhelmed.” Dark hisses, taking another step forward as Wilford takes one back. “Do you have any idea how loud a body can be? So much sensation, so many moving parts-- blood pumping, chest expanding, muscles twitching.” A step back, a step forward. “Do you have any idea how much space there is in a mind? How exposed it feels to be alone with just your own thoughts, no blanket of darkness or familiar voice to protect you from it all?” Retreat, advance, retreat, advance, and suddenly Wilford’s back hits the opposite wall. “Face it: you fucked up, William.”
The use of his real name shakes Wilford more than he wants to admit, his breath coming fast and shallow as his aim wobbles, unable to keep his hand steady. Stubbornly, he brings his other hand up, stabilizing himself again. “He didn’t want to be there! ” Wilford shouts, refusing to admit that this was a mistake. “You were holding him hostage!”
“He’s weak. He’s always been weak, a pain in the ass. Always scared, always holding me back.” The insults are enough to make Wilford livid once more, fear forgotten. “The only reason I didn’t kick him out with the district attorney was that he was my brother. The only reason that I haven’t since is that he can’t survive without me. If you let him stay in there alone he’ll destroy himself.”
“You ,” Wilford is shaking again, this time in anger, “are not Celine, so don’t speak as if you are. Celine did not think Damien was weak!”
“I didn’t share a brain with him before.” Dark snarls again. “And just because I’m not the only one here doesn’t mean I’m not her. I am Celine. Five minutes ago I was Damien. That’s just not all.”
“Get out.” Wilford orders, done arguing. He presses his gun harder against Dark’s forehead. “Get the fuck out before I splatter your brains all over the wall. I’d like to see your shell recover from that.”
“He’s broken, Wilford.” Dark doesn’t listen. “You can’t save him from the fact that he’s only a third of what he should be. His only hope of being whole is to be me.”
Wilford pulls the trigger. The explosion of gore is fairly spectacular-- it’s a big gun, and the shot had been point-blank. Dark’s shell collapses to the floor once more, seemingly immobile, but there's no way of knowing how long it'll stay that way. Wilford puts his gun away and steps over the corpse on the floor to get back to Damien, who has curled himself into an impressively tiny ball-- face buried in his knees, hands over his ears, shaking violently. Wilford hesitates and then doubles back to Dark, fishing the handkerchief out of his suit jacket to wipe the blood off of his face and hands. Damien’s scared enough as it is. Once satisfactorily clean, he drops the silk square carelessly on the floor and returns.
“I'm gonna pick you up now, Dames.” Damien doesn’t really respond, but the heaving of his chest picks up a little. “We’ll get you out of here, don’t worry.” Wilford is trying his best to be soothing, but he was never especially great at it, even before. Still, he’s exceedingly gentle as he scoops Damien into his arms, cradling him against his chest. He struggles for a moment but still doesn’t seem to have the greatest control over his body, and it’s easy for Wilford to keep hold. Eventually Damien stills and clings on, heaving loud, full-bodied sobs into Wilford’s shoulder. It’s enough to break his heart and make him want to pump a few more rounds into Dark’s face for good measure. He has the feeling that would startle Damien, though, so he doesn’t. Instead he moves the hand not supporting Damien’s weight to stroke his hair in what Wilford hopes is a comforting manner. “Shh, you’re safe. No one’s ever going to hurt you again, Dames.”