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Alan was home. After all, home was where the heart was, and Alan was definitely the one between the two of them with a heart. He'd proven himself beyond capable enough to catch Scratch's attention, finding ways to stop him at every turn. It was fascinating, really.
The Diver had given him a form, but The Writer had given him purpose. He went from being simply a vessel for The Dark Presence to a living, breathing character with personality and goals. Alan breathed life into him and made him who he was. How could he not be obsessed with him? He was everything to Scratch.
At first, he was made up from the rumors about Alan that were going around after he disappeared. A charismatic, party-loving serial killer who wanted to ruin his life. Thing is, this version of him was too weak. Alan was able to destroy him after just a few drafts. Upon doing so, he took away his physical form, burning it away with light. It was so painful. So incredibly agonizing.
Yet, it was so warm. Warm like him. Warm in a way that made him long for more. He may have lost his physical form, but upon gaining back enough power, he had a much better idea.
He'd seek out his Writer, burrow into him as deeply as he could manage in order to just feel even a flicker of that warmth. The warmth of that heart he himself lacked. Alan could morph him into whatever monstrous thing he thought up next, so long as he had a chance to come back to him and coat himself in that wondrous feeling he got from being inside him.
So long as he had a chance to come home where he belonged.