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What really drives Scratch nuts is when Wake does things that don’t matter.
They’re playing a game, right, and games have rules. This game, specifically, has a time limit. There’s only so long Wake can fuck around before Scratch gets tired of waiting and throws more Taken at him, so it’s really in Wake’s best interest to move from Point A to Point B as quickly as possible, with no detours or pit stops.
And yet! Everywhere he goes, Scratch has to watch the man toddle around all over the damn place looking for fuck knows what. Ammo, sure, that makes sense. But Scratch knows that Wake is stocked up nearly all the time, compulsively checking the boxes he wrote into this world that restock themselves with whatever batteries or ammo Wake may need. However, there's a fistful of things he dicks around with that don't make sense, and it pisses Scratch off.
One of these things that Wake wastes time with is the fucking radio. He’ll just sit there for precious minutes listening to the host blab on about fate or music or whatever the hell and once it’s over he moves along like nothing happened. The man is under constant attack by Taken, Scratch has made damn sure of that. Wake cannot be bored enough to want to listen to the local radio station, of all things. It’s baffling.
Another thing Wake stops for is Scratch’s videos. This, at least, is satisfying. Scratch has put some time into those, despite not feeling extremely comfortable with the technology, and it’s always nice to see his hard work pay off when Wake’s expression shifts into shock and disgust at what he’s seeing. The fact that Wake keeps watching them despite hating the content is kind of funny, but it gives Scratch an excuse to keep making them so he’s not going to complain. He even decides to project them onto the big screen at the end of the loop, which Wake usually also stops to frown at on his way back from the power plant.
Scratch also quickly figures out that Wake has snuck more of those damn manuscript pages into this purgatory space and that’s one of the main things he's running around for. Fucking frustrating, especially since it looks like those pages are unlocking stronger and stronger weapons for Wake. As if all that wasn't enough, on the second loop Wake stops halfway to the projector room at the drive in and abruptly goes back up the hill instead. He’s already cleared out the wells and he doesn’t need the code from the still enchanted Serena, so there’s no reason for him to go back. Another waste of time right when Scratch is about to reset the loop.
Turns out, he goes back to turn on the lights and set her free. Scratch sits in the shadows clinging to the corners of the room and watches their little exchange, baffled and annoyed. Serena even seems surprised that he came back for her, knowing as well as Scratch does that Wake could have just left her there in the dark forever if he’d wanted.
Wake smiles at her, warm and genuine, a stark contrast to the sawed off shotgun in his hand. Scratch rolls his eyes and leaves them to it. Wake thinks of himself as a hero, the good guy to his dark counterpart’s dastardly villain, but Scratch knows better. He knows they’re one and the same, two halves of the same coin, and one rescued damsel isn’t going to wipe clean Alan Wake’s slate.
He finds himself frustrated enough with the whole scene that he can’t help himself from appearing behind Wake once he’s almost back to the projector room. Wake starts when Scratch gets a fist balled up in the writer’s collar and tugs him back, shotgun already coming up. Scratch tuts at him mockingly and spins him around, bringing up the other hand to grip the other side of Wake’s collar.
“You know what’s fascinating to me?” He asks. Wake’s face twists in fury and he tries to pull away. Scratch doesn’t budge. “You really act like you have all the time in the world.” Scratch pauses to chuckle. “Maybe you think you do, what with the whole time loop situation, but are you really not concerned about the Taken coming for you? I have to admit, Wake, that’s a little insulting. I put a lot of work into this trap, you know.” He smiles and leans a little closer, refusing to let Wake pull away. “They’ve almost gotten you a few times now, and yet you’re spending all this time listening to the radio and picking up pages and talking to your little friends. What gives, hot shot? Is my game not exciting enough for you? Because let me tell you, I’m having a blast. ”
Wake brings up the sawed off, tucks it under Scratch’s chin. It’s a sad little threat and Scratch laughs at it accordingly.
“Oh come on - you know you can’t kill me like this, big guy. That’s not how the game works.”
“No, I know. I was mostly thinking that shooting you might shut you up for five minutes.” Wake smiles, but there’s a spark of anger and hatred in his eyes. Scratch loves it. They really are so alike, underneath it all.
“Oh ho ho, look at you! You really aren’t afraid of me, are you? I could kill you right now, and then you’d never get back to Alice, would you?” He shakes Wake to get the point across. It doesn’t have the impact he was anticipating, however. Instead of fear or more anger, something Scratch can’t quite place dawns over Wake’s face.
“Why haven’t you, then?” Wake asks. “All this fucking around with the Taken and the loops - why not just kill me and get it over with?” He lowers his gun and starts to grin. “I thought maybe I tried to write myself out of The Dark Place and messed up, but is that true? Is it that you won’t kill me because you’re enjoying the game too much?” Wake steps back, but his grin doesn’t waver when Scratch keeps his grip and follows him. “Or is it because you can’t kill me?”
Scratch wants to snap his neck. He wants to tear Wake’s throat out with his teeth. He wants to break every one of the bones in his hands so Wake can never write again and leave him to weep miserably on the desert ground before ripping his heart out and eating it raw.
What he does is let go. Wake’s face shines with triumph and Scratch has never hated him more.
“I haven’t killed you yet because that’s not the game.” He says, gritting his teeth so hard it hurts. “And because watching you miserably try and save all these women when you can’t even save yourself is laughable and pathetic. Don’t think you wrote any rules into this game, you James Patterson knock off. You couldn’t even write a good enough escape to remember how you got stuck here without your stupid little papers helping you.”
Wake steps back again. He doesn’t seem like he buys it. Scratch isn’t sure he buys his own lines either.
“Why don’t you stop me then? Right now, I could have enough on me to win the second I enter that room.”
Scratch scoffs. “Please. You and I both know you didn’t get shit from the good doctor. You’re going to go in there and end up right back where you started.”
“But I’ll have more than I did last time.” Wake points out. “And the others - they remember more each time too. They’re making it easier for me to loop every time I do it. You could kill them all right at the start, but you don’t. Why is that?”
Scratch knows why he lets the three women live - or at least, lets two of them live and keeps Emma alive until after she’s played her part. Because that’s the game. That’s how everything has to play out, and he has to stick within the lines just as much as Wake does. The biggest problem, he thinks, is that Scratch can’t write himself a neat little solution to his problems in this world. That’s Wake’s territory, just like charisma and control of the darkness is his.
He doesn’t say any of that though, just flashes a tight smile at Wake and stays quiet. Wake grins back, his smile much more genuine and eager. Fucking bastard. He turns his back to Scratch, unafraid of the vulnerable position that puts him in, and walks into the booth. For the first time in a long time, Scratch starts to feel fear brewing in the back corners of his mind.
The loop resets, as it should. He watches from a distance as Wake starts to get things right - he saves the mechanic, gets the complete reading from the doctor, drives directly to the power plant and finds a way in without the keys. He finds a combat shotgun along the way, stacking together a decent amount of manuscript pages to call it to life. He finds a magnum , of all fucking things, using a similar trick. Scratch is annoyed that Wake's dicking around finding those pages actually paid off for him, and even more annoyed when he watches the magnum bullets snap his Taken into dust with one hit. He knows Wake can’t shoot him directly just like he can’t lay a finger on Wake, so he’s not afraid of the firepower himself. It’s just - this loop is going too well for his more pathetic half and he doesn’t like the way things are looking for his plans. He wants Wake’s life, hellbent on having it all to himself, but he’s losing control of the situation quickly. He throws more Taken at Wake, hoping that will slow him down. It doesn’t.
Wake tears up the wells outside of the booth too, the extra one not even making him sweat. Scratch is trying to figure out his next move when Wake turns away from the projector booth for a second time to head for the hill. He hasn’t even seen Serena on this loop yet, since he didn’t need the keys. He goes up to turn on the light for her anyway. She looks grateful to see him, on the verge of tears, and he smiles at her again. Oh god, Scratch thinks, watching their conversation, Wake relates to her. He feels for her as two people touched by darkness. By fucking with her head, Scratch gave Wake someone to connect to. It’s so utterly human it makes Scratch want to scream. He leaves Wake as he listens to the fucking radio one last time and looks out over the skyline, broken up by the massive drive in screen.
He thinks about just trying to leave, getting as far away from Night Springs as he can, but he knows it won’t work. He’s trapped here, and the curtain is starting to close on this show very quickly. Against his better judgement, Scratch waits outside the booth for Wake to come back down. Wake stops when he sees Scratch, blinks stupidly. Scratch gives Wake his most charming smile.
“Look at you, bestseller. Feeling pretty confident, aren’t you?”
Wake tilts his head and looks at Scratch for a long moment. Scratch feels briefly like a cell under a microscope being analyzed. “Don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard, Wake.” He walks towards the writer, stopping a few feet away. “I’m just saying, it takes a lot of gumption to keep making the detours you do when I’ve gone as hard on you as I have. If you died now, that would be a pretty sad end to your story and a great beginning to mine.” Scratch throws an arm out. “Alan Wake died as he lived: like a sentimental idiot. He is survived by his sexier self, who is living the life he wasted.”
Wake rolls his eyes. “You’re trying to stall me. It’s not going to work.” He pats his pocket to check something’s there - it’s probably where he’s been storing his manuscript. “Unless you intend to prove my theory wrong by killing me yourself right now, I think we’re done.” He has the balls to push right past Scratch, bumping their shoulders. “Mr. Scratch died as he lived: too in love with the sound of his own voice. He’s survived by Alan Wake, who couldn’t be happier he’s dead.”
Scratch’s throat goes dry. This is really it. He’s got no more cards left to play. No more loops, no more scratches to reset the game.
I’m going to die , he thinks frantically, stuck on the idea. I’m going to die. The fear that’s been lurking since the end of the last loop swells in his chest. I don’t want to die. I want to live. Fuck me, I want to live. He turns towards Wake’s retreating back and makes one last gamble.
“You and I are more alike than you think, Wake. We’re both killers, aren’t we?”
Wake stops at the door. He slowly turns towards Scratch, disgust clear in his expression.
“Really? Sympathy for the Devil, this late in the game? You’re saying if I kill you I’m just as bad as you?”
“You’re already a killer, Wake.” Scratch tells him, and he’s not wrong. Wake thinks of himself as a do-gooder, but Scratch has watched the cold distant look that comes into his eyes when he kills Taken. He’s an efficient machine, moving quickly and calmly under pressure. Between Bright Falls, Night Springs, and the Dark Place, Wake’s killed hundreds if not thousands of people twisted by the dark against their will. Victims of circumstance, mowed down by his trusty flashlight and guns.
Scratch reminds him of this and Wake’s expression shifts into guilt. He shakes his head like he’s trying to knock the thought out of his mind, but Scratch knows this man better than Wake knows himself. He knows Wake won’t be able to let go of it that easy.
“That’s not the same as what you do.” Wake says quietly. “You know it.”
“Maybe.” Scratch smiles. “But does that make you any better? Do you want to have my death on your conscience too? I’m part of you, Alan, like it or not. Maybe we couldn’t kill each other in this game because we’re both supposed to live.”
Wake hesitates. Scratch smiles wider.
But then Wake shakes his head again and when he looks up, resolute, Scratch knows his gamble didn’t pay off.
“The Taken used to be people, and I’m not happy about killing them. But you are the one who sent them to kill me. They’re the weapon you wielded against me and you’re the one who put me in a position where I had to fight them to stay alive. Nice try, but I’m not going to let you live to atone for the people you forced me to kill.” Wake’s eyes go sharp, cold, like when he’s staring down Taken. “And don’t forget, I watched all your little home videos. I know you're going to hurt Alice and Barry if I let you live. If killing you for that makes me a bad person then I’ll see you in hell.” Wake turns away from him again. The projector booth door closes behind him and it sounds like the lid slamming shut on Scratch’s coffin.
The story, written by the champion of light long before this game began, tells Scratch where to stand for his execution. Wake, being the dramatic asshole he is, has him standing in the light of the projector to be set aflame by the light of Alice’s love for Wake. It’s poetic and trite. It’s a miserable end. Scratch is being fed his final lines by an unseen force, a metaphorical stage manager who refuses to let him go off book. He says the words dutifully, as the show dictates, mouth moving even as his brain is begging him to run. Alice’s film begins to play. He sees Wake in the window of the booth next to the projector. He would expect Wake to look smug, maybe even happy. Instead he looks - sad? Regretful? Maybe he’s just watching the film playing out behind Scratch, not Scratch himself. Even so, Scratch wishes he could close his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see that expression on the schlubier version of his own face. His attention shifts to his hands and he watches, horrified, as his fingers start to vanish and melt away. The pain is white hot and terrible, all encompassing.
He screams, the only thing he’s done of his own volition since Wake entered the booth, and the light burns him alive.