Chapter Text
Alan's pulp fiction hadn't improved with time. Scratch ran his eyes over the blood-soaked pages. Before he could even finish reading, his gaze drifted to the pale face of the author lying next to him. Let Wake think he had a moment to collect himself. It wouldn't change the fact that every way out was already sealed.
The frozen shadow projection still loomed over the bed, caught in its usual smug pose. Scratch didn't fully understand why he'd chosen that particular form. Maybe nostalgia. Maybe because it was easier: if you were creating something out of the darkness for the first time, why not start with a template of yourself? The darkness gladly accepted the familiar shape. Or maybe because he really wanted to see what kind of hysterics Wake would fall into this time. He was hoping for something dramatic, something worthy of the moment.
After everything he'd been through, Alan deserved far worse.
His fingers tightened around the paper involuntarily, nearly tearing it apart. Scratch forced his attention back to the pages in his hands. He had already read every scrap he could find in the house, studied the blood-smeared, illegible phrases on the desk surface with morbid curiosity, or rather, what was left of them. Now his eyes were simply moving over the lines without taking in their meaning.
The thought that none of his actions had been written in advance warmed him from the inside. Everything he had done since his return had been his own choice.
Scratch huffed to himself. Like Wake would even have the balls to script how their little scuffle ended. He'd sooner break his own fingers. But to be fair, Alan had given it everything he had. The ritual was desperate, stitched together from pain and obsession, but it worked. The sheer recklessness of the method almost earned some respect. Only the goal itself wasn't surprising in the slightest.
Alice's name was an eyesore.
It repeated over and over. Surfaced in crossed-out lines and unfinished thoughts. Scratch had lost count of how many times he'd rolled his eyes reading that sentimental crap.
Well, of-fucking-course. Where would they be without her?
What pissed him off even more was that she got almost as much attention as he did. Like all this bloody mess wasn't supposed to revolve around him — the main character, by the way.
The only thing saving Alan from immediate payback for that kind of neglect was the other fragments of text. The ones where he'd spelled out exactly what he was willing to pay in exchange for cooperation. Along with one more interesting clause the prick had worked into the ritual.
Scratch was just about to settle back more comfortably on the bed and resume contemplating exactly how he'd make the idiot pay for that stunt when he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye.
Alan wasn't pretending anymore. His eyes were open and he wasn't looking at him at all.
Slowly, with unnerving focus, Alan raised his hand and reached toward the copy looming over him, like he wanted to cup that face in his palms. Almost the same way Scratch had touched him not long ago.
Scratch's eyes widened. Something hot and irrational flared in his chest. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"
He jerked upright and smacked Wake across the face with the rolled-up pages without even thinking. The paper cracked loudly on impact, almost drowning out the startled yelp.
He was ready to spit out another scathing remark, but the words caught in his throat the second he met his double's eyes. There was confusion in that gaze. Something his projection shouldn't have been capable of at all.
He was sooo not in a fucking mood to deal with some new obnoxious bullshit.
"Just what I needed," he muttered through his teeth.
He waved a hand, nearly clipping the copy’s nose as he dismissed his own image like an annoying insect. Instead of dissolving the way it should have, the projection distorted, trembled for a split second, and vanished with an unpleasant grating sound.
"What the hell…?" Alan finally managed, still sounding dazed as he tried to push himself up on his elbows. "Was that your doing?"
"Oh, trust me," Scratch said with perilous softness, "you’ve got way bigger problems right now."
Before Alan could get a word out, Scratch swung a leg over him and settled comfortably on top of his hips. A shove to the chest sent him flat on his back again, and Scratch could feel the steady thud of a heartbeat under his palm. Though he had a feeling Alan would have stayed put even without it.
"My turn to ask questions. And over the last couple of hours, quite a few have piled up."
He leaned closer, searching that face for a reaction. For one second, a vicious spark flared in Alan’s eyes, promising him a hell of a time, and then died just as fast. Interesting. Even the irritation still simmering inside him over his own recent outburst faded against such docility. Or maybe it was the unusually relaxed setting. Being this close again threw him off balance, made him notice all the useless little details. The way Alan's disheveled hair clung to the pillow. How the last traces of sleep made his eyes cloudy, giving him an even more vulnerable look. Scratch forced himself to tear his gaze away from the pulsing blue vein in his neck.
Later.
"Let's start simple," he said, his voice smooth with sarcasm. "Were you trying to crack your skull against the wall again? Getting all emotional? Guess old habits from the Lake really do die hard."
Alan went pale, then flushed almost to his ears. He blinked rapidly, completely thrown by where this was heading.
Scratch raised an eyebrow, watching the effect with interest.
"You said… back then we…" Alan trailed off, face aflame.
Scratch pressed his palm harder into his chest until the idiot winced. "Stop mumbling and—"
"Did we fuck while you were in Casey?" Alan finally blurted out, grimacing.
Silence hung between them while Scratch tried to process what he'd just heard. Then he burst out laughing. He'd only found something this funny once before in his life while listening to Zane ramble about how he'd escape the Dark Place once he finally got that damn film right.
"Alan…" he exhaled between chuckles. "I'm almost flattered, you sick son of a bitch." He patted Alan on the cheek, admiring the way his lips twitched into an awkward snarl.
"If something like that had actually happened to you, no amount of concussions would’ve made you forget it. And don’t worry, Casey was just a pit stop. Your body is way more convenient." He grinned, pleased with the effect his words were having. Alan was glaring daggers at him, but the uncertainty creeping into his eyes was delicious.
He didn't mention that once, while wearing Casey's body, he'd actually thought about trying something like that. But it was never serious. There was never a real plan, just the urge to hurt and humiliate. He hadn't even gotten the tie off before Alan fucked it all up, looking like a trapped animal as he blew his own brains out and reset the loop. It annoyed him for a minute. Then it stopped mattering.
Too bad he couldn't tailor bodies to fit himself. It would've been so much more convenient to reshape useless flesh in his own image and get rid of the excess.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Alan muttered, dragging a hand over his face. "Thanks for the reminder of what a deranged piece of shit you are."
Scratch broke into a wide, toothy grin. Looked like he'd accidentally said that last thought out loud.
"Anytime, Al! And while we're at it… let me remind you of something else."
Under Wake's stunned stare, Scratch's hand began to darken. The shape of his fingers blurred at the edges, losing their clear outlines. He'd never pulled off a trick like this before, but lately he was feeling dangerously experimental. His palm sank right through into the ribcage without any resistance.
A strangled cry tore out of Alan the instant his fingers closed around his heart. In panic, he latched onto Scratch's arm in a death grip, as if that could possibly make a difference.
"Figured I should wake you up a little first. You're getting way too comfortable." His fingers tightened just enough to throw the heartbeat off rhythm. "And watch your mouth from now on."
Despite the unpleasant numbness in his hand, every sensation was startlingly clear. It made the urge almost unbearable: if not to rip the heart out and press his lips to it, then at least to squeeze harder. But giving in to temptation wasn't an option. He had to settle for how perfectly the heart rested in his palm, like it wanted to be there.
"Take it out..." Alan wheezed, his whole body gone rigid. "Take it out right now."
The pained, shallow gasps Alan was making were a pleasure to listen to.
"Naw, why would I do that?" Scratch drawled, as if Alan had made the most unreasonable demand he’d ever heard. "We're just getting started." He dragged one finger firmly over the pulsing muscle, drawing another sharp sound out of him.
"If you don’t want me to pop your heart like a fucking stress ball, you’re going to—"
"…answer your questions honestly. I get it." Alan cut in.
Without breaking eye contact, he slowly unclenched his fingers from Scratch's arm and gripped the bedsheet instead.
The unfamiliar compliance once again made Scratch's teeth ache with hunger. The fresh marks on that neck only fed the heat of the moment. He forced the impulse down; the conversation wasn't over yet. He needed to lock in the advantage.
"I was going to say: lie still," he said, his voice gone slightly hoarse. "I'll smell your lie faster than you can spit it out."
Once he got a confirming nod, he chose a question that was anything but simple. If Alan answered this one, maybe the rest would become unnecessary.
"Start by explaining how the main condition of our current arrangement even got into your head. You know the one: if either of us dies, the other follows."
"The main condition…" Alan echoed, frowning.
"Don't you fucking dare tell me you forgot again! What were you so desperate to protect yourself from?"
"It's not… And whose fault do you think it is that I can barely remember half my goddamn life?" Alan shot back angrily.
Pretty bold for someone with a hand shoved inside his chest. And Scratch considered the whole memory theft a very smart move.
"I didn’t think you’d start digging through those notes," Alan went on. "I wasn’t even sure they could be read at all."
"And I didn't feel like waiting around for you, so I got all the spoilers ahead of time." He simply hated surprises and uncertainty. Couldn't stand them, honestly.
"Then you should have understood this wasn't just some whim of mine. Without that condition, nothing would have worked. Especially when it came to recreating…" Alan faltered for a moment, "…your physical form."
"Riiiight. And a convenient safety measure on top of that. In case I go off the leash. Or decide to pay Alice a visit, assuming she hasn’t already rotted at the bottom of the lake."
"That too," Alan agreed flatly.
Scratch was just about to press harder, dig the knife in where it hurt most, but Alan beat him to it.
"You don’t seriously think you can just go back to slaughtering people whenever you feel like it, do you?"
"Planning to control me now?" Scratch asked slowly, teeth clenched hard enough that his jaw muscles stood out sharply. "And the second things get messy, you'll put a bullet between your own eyes?"
"How do you not get that? We can't exist the same way we used to. We have to adapt and see all this shit differently!"
"Fine, you can screw yourself over all you want, but now you're trying to slap a whole new set of rules on me too, you bastard." His gaze slid to Alan's lips as he licked his own absently and closed more of the distance, breathing heavily into his face.
"You need to keep yourself in line unless you want the locals or the FBC agents to put you down, you moron," Alan hissed, fingers digging into Scratch's sides.
Got to give him credit: even as Wake kept pushing his point, he didn't look away.
"Those clowns know how to do anything besides spy on you through binoculars? Did you even try telling them to fuck off? Actually, you know what…" Scratch narrowed his eyes with satisfaction. "Maybe I should go pay them a visit."
"If we don't find some kind of compromise, none of it will matter. They definitely can't see you since I just got rid of them. And they're not going to appreciate your temperament."
His anxious expression suddenly shifted into something thoughtful and assessing. The next moment, Scratch felt a touch against his free hand as Alan carefully laced their fingers together.
His brain short-circuited. He felt like a character in a fucking soap opera. Even Alan looked embarrassed by his own brazen gesture; it was clear from the flush spreading across his face and neck.
Not that he was any better himself. From somewhere dark in his mind came the mocking thought that if the Scratch from five years ago could witness this, he'd surely kick himself in the balls. And he really didn't want to think about when exactly that fracture had occurred inside him. Right after that first Deerfest photo shoot? A second before the failed strangling? Or had it been growing slowly and relentlessly over the past several years?
"Believe it or not, I don't want to bury everything I've worked for just because one of us gets compromised," Alan continued, deliberately emphasizing the last word.
Like it wasn't perfectly obvious which one of them looked like the Antichrist to the townsfolk. Still Scratch appreciated the elegantly chosen euphemism all the same.
"I know we've never managed to…" Alan gave a crooked smile, "…come to an agreement over the years. And honestly, I never really tried." His cheeks were burning, probably from the monumental effort of picking his next words as carefully as possible. "This isn't just about rescuing Alice from that hell anymore. Something terrible is coming, and I'll be damned if I stand by and let it happen. But I need a strong ace up my sleeve. And for your help, I'm willing to give you whatever you want. Whatever's within my power to give."
Scratch could feel there was a bloody catch somewhere, and it was hiding right beneath the surface. At the very least, Alan wasn't telling him everything. And while he was still capable of thinking with his head instead of his dick, he needed to figure out what.
Which was easier said than done when Alan was staring at him like he was peering straight into his non-existent soul. The darkness inside his co-author hadn't gone anywhere. It was just waiting for its moment, and now it burned cold from the depths of those darkened pupils. In moments of seriousness, that buried fury always mixed with icy calm in the strangest way.
The sight was so magnetic, it tied his insides into a tight knot.
He grabbed both of Alan's wrists and pinned them to the mattress on either side of his head. He filled every inch of space available to him, leaving Alan no chance to pull away or even take a proper breath.
Neither of them could probably remember exactly when the hand had been pulled out of the chest.
"So what do you think I want most of all?"
"Me," Alan answered without wasting even a second on thought. Only his gaze turned desperate, like he was about to throw himself off a cliff. "Everything that's left of me, anyway. For some inexplicable reason, hatred stopped being enough for you. And if I'm still… worth anything…" Alan squeezed his eyes shut and cursed under his breath. A thin stream of blood spilled from his nose to his lips, leaving a dark trail behind.
Scratch stared at it and could no longer think.
Oh, how he wanted to kill him. The way Alan had killed him in the past and was killing him still. As if the sincerity he had seen in those eyes hadn't already been enough to make him want to crawl under his skin and nest there. The instant Alan's lips parted again, Scratch surged forward and licked the blood away, not letting a single drop go to waste. He crushed their mouths together in a fierce, demanding kiss, pouring every feeling that was tearing him apart into the act. A wave of déjà vu almost drowned him, but this time Alan finally kissed him back, and their blood-sealed covenant left a pleasant metallic aftertaste.
Losing himself came easy after that. Especially when Alan let out something close to a moan the second Scratch cupped the back of his head and deepened the kiss. Scratch kissed him as if nothing in the world mattered except the sweetness of that mouth and the ache between his legs that was begging to be dealt with. He rocked forward, grinding hard into the solid warmth beneath him, needing more contact, more heat. He hadn't expected it to hit him this hard, not after what they'd already done not long ago. His thoughts were a jumbled mess except for one blazing question: Why the hell had they dragged this out again? And when Alan's hands found their way to the back of his head and gave his hair a tentative tug, even that thought fled.
What really mattered was the vision of their future that had started to assemble itself in his mind's eye. He'd never been more certain that he could play his cards right this time, make Alan understand.
During his time in the Dark Place, he had been forced to learn patience, sustained by the belief that the moment would come when he'd finally take everything he was owed. Patience always paid off. Yet after each defeat during the Deerfest ritual, he had spent a long time wondering where he'd screwed up, how he always lost control just when things were getting good.
The problem, as it turned out, wasn't the method. It was the lack of time and his own lack of restraint. Now, with Alan on the verge of finally embracing his inner darkness, Scratch would be right there: breaking him down, pushing him in the right direction. And when the time came, the world would learn what a true union of two creators looked like.
A strangled moan yanked him back to reality. Alan had arched up beneath him, breaking the kiss. Scratch blinked, finally realizing he'd been holding him so tight the man could barely breathe. Still, he wasn’t exactly eager to vacate his new favorite spot. Alan’s hard-on was still pressing into his inner thigh, and Scratch reluctantly pulled back just enough for him to catch his breath as he stripped off the leather jacket.
The way Alan watched him, eyes fixed and unblinking, made his mouth go dry. Scratch swallowed thickly and tilted his head, flashing a wicked grin.
"Well, bestseller? Like what you see?"
"You're already plotting something, aren't you?"
Scratch ran his tongue over the edge of his teeth, and let it settle at the corner of his mouth. Alan’s eyes flicked down to watch the movement.
Wake's intuition worked like a charm. Too bad it was completely useless. No gut feeling was going to help him avoid the fun ahead. But the way they saw right through each other? Now that was intoxicating. Another proof of what bound them together.
"I was thinking about your offer," Scratch said as he pulled Alan's shirt open and slid his hands beneath the fabric, shoving it up. "And you know what? You handing yourself over to me is kind of implied by default." He dragged his nails across Alan's bare chest and smiled when scratching his nipples earned him a sharp exhale. "But you forgot something. There's one thing I literally cannot live without."
Alan’s gaze cleared and turned more wary.
"Which is?"
Scratch let the pause hang like he was about to deliver an ultimatum.
"I want a motorbike. And it better match my jacket." He couldn't hold it in anymore and broke into a huge, shit-eating grin. "It doesn't even need the werewolf transformation feature. I’m feeling generous today."
Alan stared at him with a comical, almost offended look of disbelief. His eyes darted across Scratch's face, searching for any hint of a joke. There was none. He was dead serious.
Listening to the incoherent stammering and failed attempts to form a response was really entertaining.
"Oh no..." Alan muttered. "Not this. Are you serious..."
"Am I aware of your latest fuckass Night Springs fanfic?" Scratch cut him off with undisguised glee. "Honestly, didn't think I'd ever say this, but your TV scripts had way more punch."
Alan squeezed his eyes shut like he'd rather drop straight back into the Dark Place than continue this conversation. Scratch, meanwhile, was wondering how different Arizona and Bright Falls had felt in Night Springs. The latter had felt more like a fever dream than something he'd actually lived through.
"Relax. For the way you portrayed me in that one," he began in an almost confiding tone, "I'll settle up with you later, my dear brother."
Alan's eyes snapped open.
"Never," he ground out, "call me that again. Especially when you're..." he faltered, eyes flashing, "...when you're undressing and groping me, for fuck's sake."
That only amused Scratch further, and of course he had no intention of slowing down. It simply wasn’t in his nature.
"Come on, admit it," he drawled mockingly. "This wasn't about trying to write your way out. You just needed to blow off some steam." His hand crept to Alan's stomach and rubbed lazy circles. "How did that whole thing end, anyway? I'm willing to bet Rose had you spread out on that table before the credits even rolled."
He almost laughed at Alan's reaction; his face twisted like he was suffering from indigestion.
"Can you go five seconds without being a dick and talking bullshit?"
Scratch smirked down at him. "Funny. My mouth didn't seem to bother you a minute ago."
That was where the conversation ran its course. Scratch decided it was time to shut up and get down to business. Alan's blood was rapidly leaving the organs where it actually mattered, which wasn't acceptable at all.
"Are you going to reduce everyth—nngh…" Teeth closing around his neck knocked another ragged gasp out of Alan.
Scratch touched everything he could reach, utterly absorbed in biting and sucking at the exposed flesh of Alan's chest and the vulnerable line of his thrown-back throat. The list of Alan's weaknesses kept growing, and he fully intended to exploit every single one.
"I am going to rip you to fucking shreds," he murmured, and finally caught Alan's lips again. He kissed him with increasing urgency, craving the way his writer was coming undone beneath him so quickly. Alan's helpless moan vibrated into his mouth and sent a jolt down his spine, like someone had dragged a match across his bones and struck a flame. He wanted to disassemble and claim him whole, have him melting in his arms.
The realization crept up on him that he would never get tired of this feeling of absolute permission. Of the way Alan’s lips fit against his own just right, like they’d been doing this for years. There was something addictive in how naturally it all fell into place. But, it was time to get a grip and finally peel them both out of those blasted pants. The rest? Scratch figured he'd just wing it. Their heated make-out session, with a bonus handjob, had been a decent appetizer, working up quite the hunger. Now it desperately needed to be sated.
The lack of experience didn't bother him. His imagination was more than enough to compensate. And the images burning through his fevered mind were already threatening to incinerate him. It was too easy to picture all the ways he could bend that pliant body, how he could put that pretty mouth to better use.
He'd have to prep him properly though. Alan was in no condition to be handled carelessly; he might either pass out from pain or blood loss. Besides, Alan was also endearingly sensitive, responding to every touch with sounds that were nothing short of magical. He was genuinely curious how much louder those moans could get before turning into screams. How many times he could push him over the edge before he blacked out. How quickly he could bring him back so they could start all over again. Then again, and again, and again after that, because he'd always been a greedy fuck.
He was just about to settle himself between those spread legs and decorate his stomach with a nice set of bite-mark bruises, when Alan suddenly tensed, knocking him out of the romantic mood. Scratch noticed his frozen stare fixed on the door.
"Did you hear that?" Alan forced out hoarsely.
Irritation rising, Scratch did hear the strange sounds outside. Someone was definitely wandering around the cabin.
Very few things could have pissed him off more in that moment. This was a perfect example of why, in his ideal world, people wouldn't be granted the luxury of free will. Then no one would feel compelled to stick their nose where it didn't belong and ruin his plans.
"Did you tell anyone about this place?"
"No, of course not! But..."
"Then the subject's closed," Scratch cut him off. He closed the space between their faces again and whispered into Alan's half open mouth. "If someone comes sniffing around, I'll deal with it."
He barely finished the sentence before there was a knock at the door. Scratch snapped his teeth together so loud it made Alan flinch.
"Who the fuck's got a death wish…" he snarled, not even caring that his voice was starting to distort. No way was he letting some batshit crazy local interrupt him at the worst possible moment. At least the woods made for convenient body disposal.
Alan must have sensed the shift in his mood and dug his fingers into Scratch's shoulder blades. Scratch even got distracted for a second, looking down at the anxious face beneath him.
A voice came from outside.
"Alan? It's Rose! So sorry for dropping by unannounced! I just wanted to check on you. Are you okay?"
Now that he hadn't seen coming. She was the last person he'd expected to hear. Especially not after he'd been thinking about her role in that Night Springs story just minutes ago.
A short laugh escaped him as he covered Alan's mouth with his own again, not letting him get a word out. Alan squirmed and made a muffled sound of protest. He broke the kiss, angling his head to stare at the damn door again.
"Wait…" he breathed. "Just a second…"
Scratch's patience was wearing thin. He pinned Alan to the bed by the shoulders and squeezed his thighs, locking them in place with his knees in a firm hold.
"I said lie still," he growled, barely forcing down the ugly, inhuman rasp clawing up his throat.
Alan made another token attempt to struggle, then went back to boring into him with that tense glare. Scratch got the distinct feeling Wake was deliberately goading him again.
"Listen, I didn't want to drag anyone else into my mess. Especially her. Are you seriously suggesting we just… ignore it?"
"I don't give a fuck."
"What if something happened?" Alan pressed. "There has to be a valid reason she's here at this hour."
Scratch couldn't help a dismissive snort, amazed that Alan even cared. Once Rose realized no one was opening the door, she'd leave just as easily as she'd come.
Scratch grabbed him by the throat.
"Something's definitely going to happen if you don't calm the hell down."
The knock came again, louder this time. Fine. Maybe he'd underestimated her stubbornness after all.
Alan carefully wrapped his fingers around Scratch's wrist, and Scratch loosened his grip, running right into that familiar, stubborn idiocy on Alan's face that made him want to scream. No threats were going to make him sacrifice his precious principles now. As long as Alan felt he was in the right, he was capable of any kind of dumbfuckery. That fucking ritual condition also meant Scratch couldn't even gut him or rip off a couple of limbs for good measure. And the way Alan was watching him through dark lashes…
Scratch's jaw clicked. All that useless concern, that conscience: he'd gladly burn that crap out of Wake the first chance he got. He gave Alan another quick once-over and came to the unpleasant conclusion that, to an outside observer, the man looked far too wrecked. The dark circles under his eyes and the darkened gash on his cheek stood out starkly against the pale skin. The finger marks also paired so harmoniously with the near-perfect rings of teeth imprints. A true work of art. Though Rose probably wouldn't appreciate the artistic merit of those details.
Fuck it. Since he was already neck-deep in this absurd mess, why not see the farce through to the end?
"Rose?" he called toward the door, deliberately mimicking that strained tone Alan usually used to hide his anxiety, much to the latter's sheer horror. "Sorry, give me a couple of minutes, okay? I'll be right out."
Alan only snapped out of his stupor when Scratch was already off the bed. He sat up abruptly and yanked his shirt back down.
"What was that just now? Are you out of your fucking mind?!" he whisper-shouted.
Scratch gave him a flat, unimpressed look.
"I told you I'd handle it if someone got in the way," he reminded him, planting his hands on his hips. "I want to personally make sure we're left alone. Besides, have you seen yourself lately? I'll talk to her as you," he added offhandedly.
Still scowling, Alan calmed down a little and tilted his head, like the idea was physically turning over inside his brain.
"I get what you're going for," he said eventually. "Doesn't make it any less of a dumbass plan." Before Scratch could protest the unfair criticism, Alan raised a hand in a placating gesture. "Do whatever you want. Honestly, I’m not ready to explain what just happened to anyone right now."
"That’s more like it," Scratch sneered, turning toward the door. "And cheer the fuck up, Al! No one’s been killed yet."
"Wait," Alan called after him and pushed himself to his feet as well. He swayed slightly as he stepped closer and gestured toward his own head. "Before you go out there, you might want to fix your appearance a bit."
Scratch wanted to snap back that he wasn't a total idiot, but he hadn't thought of that.
He nodded, and without another word, Alan threaded his fingers into his hair. He messed up the slicked-back strands at the roots and deliberately left a few falling across his forehead. As Alan added the final touches to the disarray, Scratch caught himself relaxing under the touch, especially when Alan's fingers brushed his temples and around his ears. That was something worth making permanent.
Alan stepped back and studied the result carefully. At first, his expression didn't seem to have changed, but Scratch thought something almost mournful bled into it. For a few more seconds, Alan kept staring into his eyes like he was on autopilot, his gaze going glassy. Had Wake spontaneously stumbled into yet another identity crisis?
Scratch had half a mind to nip him on the nose to jolt him out of it, but instead just raised an eyebrow in annoyance.
Alan blinked, like he was coming out of a trance, and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "I could… use a shower," he exhaled tiredly. "At least try to pull myself together."
"Yeah, you go do that. I'll get rid of your fangirl in the meantime. That should give you about five minutes."
He stepped closer, placed his hand on Alan's neck, and pressed his thumb under Alan's chin, tilting his head up. "Also…" Scratch added playfully, "I think I'll join you afterward."
Alan's face flushed scarlet, clearly unsure how to respond. Seizing the hesitation, Scratch gave him a searing kiss and bit his lip hard, just to hear him yelp in pain before pulling back.
"And don't even think about locking the bathroom door unless you want me to take it off its hinges."
He really enjoyed how easy it was to rattle Alan now. Who knew there were other, more entertaining ways to satisfy his needs besides plain old violence? He was still thinking about it when Alan grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him with a light shove toward the door.
"I'm not commenting on that," Alan muttered, flustered. "For the love of God, hurry up already. Rose has been out there long enough."
No one had ever dared to speak to him in that commanding tone before. And yet, to his own surprise, his feet carried him to the door almost on instinct. Before facing Rose, though, he needed to choose the right mask to wear.
Copying Alan's current state was out of the question. That nervous, half-unhinged look alone would trigger a flood of questions, and Rose definitely wouldn't let it go. The other option, lingering sadness in the eyes and a trembling voice, was even worse. It would work, but Scratch had no intention of humiliating himself. They already had the original for the beaten-dog, thank you very much. That left the most convenient, boring option: Wake in his classic exhausted state, clearly not in the mood for company. He slumped his shoulders slightly and arranged his face into something suitably troubled.
He opened the door, fully confident he'd have this wrapped up in under two minutes and be back to terrorizing Alan in the bathroom.
How naive of him.
"Finally!" Rose said with visible relief. "I was starting to get worried."
For several long seconds, Scratch physically couldn't respond, his jaw frozen half-open. In stunned silence, he stared at the unconscious body of his younger copy sprawled at Rose's feet. At least he didn't have to fake surprise. His face couldn't have looked more shocked if he'd tried. A whole swarm of thoughts raced through his head, but trying to maintain Alan's persona meant he couldn't focus on any of them.
"I'm fine, but Rose… Can you explain what's going on? Where on earth did you find him?!"
"Oh, I was out for a walk nearby, just checking the area like I usually do. And there he was, right on the path between the trees. Can you believe it?" Rose launched into her explanation, bright and animated. Then, without missing a beat, she grabbed the unconscious body by the ankle and dragged it inside past him. "Didn't seem right to leave him in the woods. And that voice, that face! I mean… isn't the resemblance just wild?"
Scratch clenched his own elbow, holding himself back from the urge to crush his failed experiment's skull under his boot. If the body still didn't disappear for good after that, he'd just toss it into the nearest ravine.
Since when had his own damn projection proved to be so fucking persistent? Any other time, he might’ve almost been proud of himself. Now it was just a goddamn nuisance. And if Wake caught another glimpse of this abomination, there'd be no end to his whining and bitching. Though Alan had some explaining to do too. What the hell had possessed him to reach out to it earlier? All the more reason to finish off his double as soon as possible. That sorry-ass motherfucker…
"That was a very risky thing to do. Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?" Scratch asked in his most concerned voice.
"He wasn't too aggressive, honestly," Rose said with a shrug. "I got lucky and managed to knock him out right away by catching him off guard."
Scratch nodded, filing the information away. So either the copy had turned out so pathetic that even an ordinary waitress could handle him, or Rose was far more dangerous than she looked. He suddenly realized that he was starting to like her. Of course, only as much as he was capable of liking any ordinary human being at all.
"You did the right thing bringing him with you. I'll figure out what to do with him later," he said, finally done with the obligatory pleasantries. "But how exactly did you find your way here in the dark like this?"
"What do you mean? I live around here," she replied with a sheepish smile. "You could say I've learned these trails by heart over the years. And you see, there are two more cabins in this part of the woods that get rented out sometimes. This one was the closest to where I found him. So I figured… if something went wrong, he couldn’t have wandered too far. This cabin was the first place to check."
That sounded reasonable, and like a perfectly normal line of thought for Rose. Which was precisely what made it so suspicious. Or maybe the problem was him, and he was becoming too paranoid. He shuddered. The longer he played this role, the more of Alan's neuroses kept rubbing off on him.
"I see. Rose, don't take this the wrong way, but I can't invite you to stay. I need to get things in order and sort through the manuscript while I've still got the energy."
Fuck, the weakness in his voice sounded downright convincing. It had to be. Scratch knew that if he watched it back in slow motion, it would have been award-worthy.
"Oh, of course! I totally understand. But maybe I could still help with something? Cleaning, for example! Even if you don't have the right supplies here, I know some tricks to work around that. Just the other day at the Valhalla, there was this situation where…"
Scratch stopped listening. His attention had caught on the low, steady sound of water running in the bathroom. His thoughts stubbornly kept circling back to Alan and what he was doing in there. While Scratch stood here in the entryway, playing nice and ignoring the fucker on the floor, Alan was in there. All alone.
It made his blood boil, though for a moment he tried to push the thought aside. The thought of Alan alone in there, doing whatever the hell he wanted. But his mind kept circling back, fixating on it. After everything that had happened between them, the bastard was probably jerking off to his heart's content. If that was the case, then the next time they were alone, Alan wouldn't just be sore. He wouldn't be able to walk for weeks once Scratch got his hands on him for this forced fucked-up performance.
His imagination, never one to miss an opportunity, eagerly filled in the rest. He could see it so perfectly: Alan's tense body, his ragged breathing, the effort to keep quiet under the stream of hot water. Or maybe he was leaning against the sink on shaking legs, staring at his reflection in the mirror, unable to look away. Just picturing it was enough to make Scratch want to bolt for the bathroom right then and there.
''...and ever since then, I've made sure not to leave bodies lying around so I don't ruin the floor— You suddenly look… off. Are you sure you're okay?" Rose’s questioning tone yanked Scratch out of his heated thoughts.
This was the point where he was supposed to excavate some untapped well of maturity and get his shit together.
"Yeah… I was just thinking about how to prioritize things. And I'll definitely take your advice, but you really should get going before it gets even darker."
"Sunrise is only a couple hours away," Rose gently countered. "So I'll be fine finding my way home. How about I at least help you clean up a little? We could start with that closed room over there. Even from here you can see the door's in rough shape."
"Don't bother. I'll handle that room myself. There's…" he paused, searching for words, "…I broke something in there recently. The floor's covered in shards."
"You really don't want me hanging around here any longer than necessary."
Yes. That was exactly it. She could have had the tact not to say it out loud if it was already obvious. A normal person would have backed off by now. But apparently, Alan's inner circle had a severe shortage of normal people.
For a split second, he thought he caught the corner of his copy's mouth twitch upward. Though it could have been a trick of the light. And his fucking hair kept falling into his eyes.
"I know how this looks," he went on, irritation bleeding into his voice despite his best efforts. "But don't forget about him." Scratch pointed an accusatory finger directly at the copy. "I can't guarantee he won't attack as soon as he wakes up. It won't be safe here."
Rose was quiet for a few seconds.
"Speaking of safety," she said at last. "I've been meaning to ask… So where's Alan right now?"
For the first time during this entire ridiculous conversation, Scratch actually looked Rose in the eye.
She looked back at him with the purest, most sincere expression imaginable. She was messing with him. She was absolutely messing with him.
Scratch decided that he would truly, deeply, and forever hate this girl.