Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Interesting,” Noir muttered to himself and knelt down next to a small box left on the ground. A blue crystal was embedded into the front of it. He stood up, using the sleeve of his trench coat to rub some dirt off the front of it, which knocked the jewel loose. Noir caught it before it could fall and held it up to the window. The starlight from the window he stood by made the crystal appear to glitter and glow.
“What could you be?” Noir went to open the box, but was distracted by a noise to his left. He got out a flashlight and shined it down the corridor.
“Someone there?” He called, slowly walking towards the source of the noice, “Don’t be afraid, I mean no harm.”
There was no response except for the metal creaking from the ship. Noir looked down and noticed that the box had now disappeared from his hand.
“What…?” He whispered in disbelief, spinning around and looking behind him for the box. How far down had he wandered? The starting entrance room looked miles away now, and the corridor seemed to stretch and turn. Noir felt dizzy. His stomach lurched as everything around him became warped and spun.
“What the hell is happening!?” He yelled and tried to run back in the direction he came from, but no matter how far he’d try to run, the exit just got farther and farther away. Noir finally found himself in a completely dark room, the ship itself fading away into oblivion. He looked around with his flashlight, not finding a single soul with him in the room. The walls had old wallpaper peeling from it, and cracks ran along the floor and ceiling. A few piles of rubble lay on the ground from the ceiling above. In short, this place was in disrepair. Noir felt along the walls, panic rising in him. He frantically tried to find something, anything. A door? A window? Some indication of how he got here? A light suddenly flickered on from the center of the room, coming from the only other item in the room, which Noir swore was not there a second ago. He jumped as a horrible noise began to emit from the new object.
“Well, I can’t say that I know what I’m exactly dealing with,” Noir muttered to himself as he approached a box-shaped item in the center of the room.
“What could you be?” He whispered and poked one of the buttons, hoping to stop the loud noise coming from it. It almost looked like a blizzard was captured in it, though he wasn’t sure what the grating, irritating noise was from.
“It’s a television. There’s not much of a signal in a concrete room, you know,” a velvety voice told him from the shadows. Noir spun around, gun drawn. His breathing quickened, heart racing.
“Who’s there?” He asked the darkness, shining the flashlight around. The light suddenly flickered and went dead. Noir frantically slapped the bottom of the flashlight, trying to revive it.
“A friend,” A pair of firm hands held him by the shoulders, “Hello, Noir. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Noir broke out of the hold of the stranger, turning to see a man about his height with pale (almost gray-ish) skin in a white suit and tie. Noir winced as something about this situation started to give him a headache. There was a red-blue outline that seemed to waver around the newcomer.
“How do you know my name!?” Noir growled, keeping his gun trained on the stranger.
No response. The unknown man just tilted his head and stared at him. Noir felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He suddenly felt a wave of fear as he attempted to look this being in the eye, ultimately staring past him. Something felt forbidden about him, secret almost. It was like Noir shouldn't be talking to him. The newcomer had a grin flickering onto his face. Noir gulped and steadied his aim, not trying to appear scared.
“Who are you?” Noir tried again.
“That’s a very…complicated question,” the man replied, “Most people I know refer to me as Dark.”
“Dark,” Noir repeated, not believing his words, “And, pray tell, ‘Dark,’ where am I?”
“My realm,” Dark replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Your realm?”
“That is what I said.”
“And that should make sense to me?”
“Oh, I never said that,” Dark chuckled, “Noir, you are poking too far into other people’s affairs. I’m here to make sure you stay out of mine.”
“This thing is loaded, you know,” Noir cocked the gun.
“Never doubted you on that,” Dark replied, tilting his head, “You will forget that this room exists. You’re going to walk back out this door and never return. Well, unless I decide you’re ready to handle what I have to show you.”
“Is that a threat?” Noir narrowed his eyes at Dark.
“No, it’s an order,” Dark’s eyes seemed to flash the same red-blue colors as the weird outline around him. Noir suddenly felt…blank. Like someone had taken an eraser and wiped his slate clean.
“What?” He mumbled. Dark approached him and disengaged the gun, placing it back in the holster for Noir.
“You will forget this room exists. You will walk out the door and will not return unless I decide you should. The door was not yours to open, and it’s rude to invade people’s privacy without a warrant, detective,” Dark told him, “Run along, now.”
“Um, yeah. I should…I should run along, now,” Noir turned around and stumbled out of the room. He went to look back, but—.
“What was I doing up here?” He mumbled, holding his head in pain. He stared at the cosmos through the window in front of him, bewildered.
“Weird,” Noir blinked and shook his head, walking down the corridor and trying to remember why he had come down here.
Dark watched him, invisible. The briefest flicker of a smile crossed his face before he turned away. A door made of the same red-blue static appeared. Dark stepped through and closed it behind him, to deter any other unwanted visitors.
“I don’t have use for you yet, Noir,” he muttered and examined the crystal in his hands, placing it on the front of the box once again. Dark set it down onto the desk he conjured in front of him, the crystal now glowing as it was reunited with its box. Dark sat behind the desk and looked at the box, “Your captain and I need to speak soon, however.”

Chapter Text

Dark exited Wilford’s room after bidding his friend Goodnight and pleasant dreams. He let out a tired sigh and began to walk down the exit to his own room. He froze as he heard footsteps behind him.

“Murdock if that’s you, I’m not in the mood for this shit,” he grumbled and turned to see his attacker.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, he supposed), nobody was behind him. Dark’s senses were on high alert. Suddenly a hand clamped over his mouth while an arm wrapped around his waist. Dark struggled against his attacker.

“Tell me who you are and I might go easy on you,” Dark growled.

“It’s been a while, Dark,” the voice laughed, “I didn’t think you’d forget my voice that easily.”

“Mark,” Dark growled, trying to break free.

“The one and only. How about we have a little chat?” He asked.

“I’d rather not,” Dark managed to break free and spun around to face the Actor.

Dark faltered for a second. Well, he knew the Actor was basically a walking corpse, but he’d started to look the part. Some of his skin was turning as gray as Dark’s, his eyes more sunken and foggy than before…

“You’re decomposing,” Dark said flatly.

The Actor said nothing, looking away for a moment. Dark didn’t know what to do. Sure, he hated the Actor. He was created to stop him, but seeing him so vulnerable like this made a pang of guilt strike through him.

“Yeah, Mark, let’s talk,” Dark said, his voice a little more gentle.

“I’m…Im dying, Dark,” the Actor admitted, “I can feel my skin rotting.”

Dark glanced at the black gloves the Actor had on, “Your hands?”

“You don’t want to see them,” the Actor warned and yanked them away. He coughed a little and looked at Dark, “Dark, I’m…sorry. For everything.”

Dark furrowed his brow, “Are you really asking for forgiveness?”

“I’m trying to make peace,” the Actor shivered, “I don’t want to die, but if I’m going to, I don’t want to die with enemies.”

“This…you can’t be serious,” Dark shook his head, “You killed your friends, Mark. You don’t get forgiveness for that. That’s the choice you made, and you don’t get to back out of that.”

“I really am sorry!” The Actor begged, falling to one knee as a sudden weakness shot through him. He coughed, now on his hands and knees. Dark watched his enemy pathetically attempting to stand. He sighed and helped the Actor stand.

The Actor coughed, “Why help me?”

“You said it yourself, what’s a hero without a villain,” Dark put the Actor’s arm around his shoulder, “Lean on me to walk.”

“Where are we going?” The Actor asked, confused as Dark conjured up a door in front of them, leading to the Void between their dimensions.

“I’m not sure,” Dark replied, knowing full well the Actor probably couldn’t make it much farther, “But we can talk along the way.”

The Actor nodded. The two of them were quiet as they walked through the vast emptiness of the Void.

“I’m cold,” the Actor stated simply.

“I can’t say I’m much use for warmth,” Dark replied, “I’m almost as dead as you.”

“Dark? Is this the end?” The Actor asked, sounding like a scared child.

“…Yes,” Dark replied.

“I don’t want it to end,” the Actor told him.

“Nobody does, but that’s part of life. You live and then you die.”

“Can’t we have one more adventure? Y’know, all those timelines? All this phasing between dimensions? I haven’t gotten to go to space yet, for real, I mean.”

“No, Mark,” Dark sighed, “I really don’t think you fully understand what’s happening. This is it.”

The Actor stayed quiet. He took a deep breath, “Dark, please forgive me for what I’ve done.”

“I can’t, Mark. You know I can’t.”

“Dark, I’d do the same for you!”

“Tell that to Damien, Celine and that district attorney! The DA wasn’t even part of your revenge plan, they were just a victim of unfortunate circumstance! And poor Will—his mind is absolutely shattered because of you!”

“I’m well aware—,” the Actor was interrupted by another coughing fit. His knees gave out, nearly pulling Dark down with him. Dark gently laid him down on the ground.

“I c-can’t walk,” the Actor said, panicked tears falling down his face.

“Then rest, Mark,” Dark told him softly.

Dark sighed and waved his hand. The endless darkness above them started to light up with stars.

“I can’t bring you to space, but I can bring a bit of it for you to see,” Dark said, sitting on the ground by the Actor.

“Will you stay here?” The Actor asked softly.

“Yes,” Dark held the Actor’s outstretched hand, “I’ll stay.”

The two of them sat in silence.

“Mark?” Dark asked after a bit.

“Hm?” The Actor stirred, seeming to have dozed off a bit.

“What do I do after you’re gone?”

“Well, the Void will probably just destroy my body—.”

“No. What purpose do I serve when you’re gone?”

The Actor went quiet. Dark waited for an answer, worried that he may never get one.

“I’m not really sure,” the Actor admitted, “I guess, maybe just take care of Will and the others.”

Dark nodded, “I do that already.”

“Yeah, but you won’t have an enemy to worry about. You could be happy.”

“Happy, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll try,” Dark promised, “I can’t guarantee much.”

The two went quiet again. The Actor’s breathing became shallow and weak.

“Dark?” He coughed, “I don’t feel well.”

“Then sleep,” Dark told him, “You look tired.”

The Actor nodded, “I am. Do you think there’s anything after this?”

“I doubt it.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

Dark nodded in silent agreement. The Actor’s body seized up for a moment before his body went limp, his hand falling from Dark’s hold.

“Mark?” Dark asked softly, nudging him a little. Blank, unseeing eyes stared up at the faux night sky above them. The Actor was gone now, his final curtain had fallen.

It was finally over. Dark had won.

Dark couldn’t help but feel a little sad. The two of them had spent years chasing each other down, and now it was done. The “villain” won, but for some reason it didn’t feel like winning. There was a part of him that was glad the Actor had found peace with death finally, but another that was bitter that he wasn’t the one to deliver the killing blow.

“Goodbye, old friend,” Dark gently folded the Actor’s arms across his chest and closed his eyes for him. He stood up and walked away, leaving his former adversary in darkness.

Alone.

Just like him.

Chapter Text

Eric took a deep breath and sat in the chair backstage. He shut his eyes and sniffled. His father, Derek, was being a dick like usual, but today had been especially hard. He didn’t know why but the words were hurting more than they usually did.

“Fuck,” Eric whispered, holding his head in his hands, “D-D-Dad’s probably right. A-Any one of my brothers could do this better than I could.”

Eric was so wrapped up in his own thoughts and doubts, that he didn’t notice the presence materializing in the corner of the room. The newcomer silently watched Eric, observing for a moment. Eric whimpered to himself, nervously fiddling with a piece of cloth or something similar.

“I-I can’t do a-anything right,” Eric sniffled. The stranger glitched forward to stand next to Eric.

“That’s not true,” he spoke to the distraught man.

Eric was startled, nearly falling out of the chair. He blinked his tears away and saw a gray figure next to him. The man was the same height as him and wore a white suit with a dark shirt underneath. The stranger flicked his head a little, his hair moving out of his eyes, which were dark pools of emptiness. Eric started to panic, frozen in fear.

“I…,” Eric’s words died in his throat. The visitor tilted his head at the attempt of speech.

“Yes?” His voice was deep and smooth, like silk.

Eric gulped, “Are you a g-ghost?”

His question earned a condescending chuckle from his guest.

“My name is Darkiplier,” he introduced himself, “Please, call me Dark, Eric.”

“H-How do you know my name!?” Eric asked, panicked, “Are you s-stalking me? Are you going to kill me!?”

“Relax,” Dark locked eyes with him. Eric’s heart dropped. He felt his body disobeying him, slowly calming down for once.

“Relax,” he repeated, unsure what else to say.

“Good. I’ve come to talk to you about this…’group’, let’s call it, that I’m creating. You see, it’s not just you that I've visited; there’s dozens of us out there. And I know we can work together to achieve each other’s goals,” Dark explained smoothly.

“W-What goals?” Eric shook his head, “What a-are you talking about?”

“If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?” Dark asked him with a confident smile, "I'm sure I can work something out to benefit the both of us."

Eric’s tears began to come back, “I d-dunno, one of my brothers to be alive again?”

Dark’s smile faded, “Ah. That’s one thing I can’t do, unfortunately. You’ve really got it rough, huh?”

Eric nodded and held the cloth he’d been playing with to his face. Dark’s facade momentarily dropped.

“What if I could get you to stop feeling so bad about yourself?” Dark asked.

“How?” Eric looked up at him. Dark suppressed a grin as Eric’s interest was piqued.

“All I require from you in return is your assistance when I require it. I don’t know how much I really will need someone like you, but you’ve had quite the influence over some of the fandom in recent times,” Dark explained.

“F-Fandom?” Eric stuttered, confused, “What do you mean? L-Like the charity livestream stuff? Th-They liked me!?”

“More than you will ever understand, Eric Derekson,” Dark told him.

Eric smiled a little, stunned by the compliment. Dark was more focused on the naïveté of this newer character. As easy as it would be to convince Eric to do whatever he wanted, the man’s self-esteem was so low that the slightest compliment made him trust Dark.

“Can I meet them? The f-fandom or whatever you said?” Eric got out of the chair and stood next to Dark.

“Well, no,” Dark frowned.

“Why not?”

“Because…—.”

“D-Did I do something wrong in the last shoot!?”

“No! No, there’s…there’s too many of them for you to meet, Eric,” Dark tried to return to the gentle tone he’d started with.

‘Christ, this poor guy,’ Dark thought to himself, ‘I almost feel bad dragging him into this.’

“Oh, that’s too bad,” he frowned, “W-Well, um, if I-I go with you, do I have to s-sell anything or like do commercials?”

“What?” Dark tilted his head, confused.

“My dad’s always making me do stuff for his stupid warehouse,” Eric sighed, “I just wanna, like, have animals and a tiny farm or something.”

“A farm,” Dark repeated.

“Yeah, and a d-dog. My old one died a while ago and I-I really want a new one,” Eric explained.

Dark was bewildered. He only briefly looked at the man’s name and his personality for his notes, but apparently he should’ve dug a little deeper into his research.

“Alright, Eric, you don’t have to do anything for me,” Dark said, partly out of pity, but partly because he didn’t believe Eric would be of any use to him in the grand scheme of things.

“Did I do something wr-wrong?” Eric asked, worried.

“No, no, Eric,” Dark assured him, “I’ll get you a dog, okay?”

“Oh, y-you don’t have to do that,” Eric shook his head, “I-I’ll, um, get it one day. Plus, I don't really have time to pick one out. Dad is probably looking for me.”

“Then come with me,” Dark offered Eric his hand, “You’ll never have to deal with him again.”

“But he’s my dad! I-I’m his last living son—,” Eric protested.

“That he barely even wants,” Dark pointed out.

Eric was quiet for a bit. Derek was always telling him what to do, and he was always angry, no matter what Eric did. Maybe Derek really did not want him around.

“If you’re truly unhappy following me, I will bring you back,” Dark promised, “I don’t make these offers lightly, and I seriously hope you consider this.”

“W-Well,” Eric gulped, “Dad wouldn’t miss me if I left for a little while.”

Dark grinned and held out his hand, “So, that’s a yes?”

Eric shook Dark’s hand, not looking in his eyes, “Yes.”

“Good,” Dark turned and summoned a gray, glitching door in the middle of the room. He held it open for Eric, who was standing there, frozen in fear.

“H-How?” Eric stammered out the only word he could.

“All in good time, Eric. Come along,” Dark smirked and brought him through the door.

***

“Eric!” Derek opened the door to the backstage green room, angry, “I needed you on set hours ago! Where the hell have you been?!”

“Hello, Mr. Derekson,” a dark, cold voice said from inside the room. An unknown man stood by Eric, who was sitting with a large dog. The dog looked like some sort of cross between a German Shepard and Great Dane. Eric's dog saw Derek and growled at him. Eric frantically shushed his new canine friend.

“Eric, who the hell is this?” Derek scowled at the intruder, "And where'd you get that dog from?"

“D-Dark,” Eric replied, flinching at the tone of his father's voice, "C-Carrick was a gift from him."

“I think you and I need to have a chat about your treatment of your son,” Dark scowled and approached Derek, fists clenched as the air around him crackled with static. Derek's eyes widened as a malicious grin spread across Dark's face.

Chapter Text

“This is the end of the line, Murdock!” Noir yelled to the empty warehouse, gun drawn.

Rain pounded on the windows of the building. Noir could hear the murderer’s laugh echoing through the abandoned place. Noir gulped, trying to steady his breathing.

“You’re not finding me, rookie,” Murdock’s voice taunted from somewhere in the shadows.

Noir breathed heavily. He’d chased the murderer on foot for easily a mile, maybe more. His legs were burning and he was having trouble catching his breath. His hair and clothes were soaked from the downpour outside, making him shiver.

“Cut it out,” Noir growled, “You’re cornered, Murdock! Just give yourself up, and maybe we can make a deal to lighten your sentence.”

“Aww, that ruins the fun!” Murdock whined.

“Fun? What part about murdering innocent people is fun to you?” Noir spat the words with venom.

“Detective, I’m getting bored of this back and forth,” Murdock said from right behind Noir.

Something heavy and hard struck Noir in the back of the head. He fell like a ton of bricks to the ground, his gun clattering to the ground and sliding away from him. Noir struggled to maintain consciousness, his vision blurring into unrecognizable shapes. He laid on the ground, groaning and holding his head. A blurred figure dressed in dark clothing and sunglasses to hide his eyes approached him. Even in his dazed state, Noir weakly tried to protect himself.

“Oh you’re young,” Murdock crouched next to his victim, removing his glasses for a moment to examine the detective, “Keep this in mind for the next time we meet, friend: Always make sure you’ve got a partner for back-up.”

“You’re under arrest,” Noir attempted to grab Murdock, unable to do much in his disoriented state.

“Uh-uh, that’s a no-no, officer,” Murdock cackled and shoved Noir back to the ground. He picked up the ID badge that fell from Noir’s coat.

“Oh you’re not even police,” Murdock laughed, “Freelance investigator, huh?”

Noir groaned in response. Murdock tossed the wallet back to Noir.

“Well, this has been fun, but I gotta run, buddy. We’ll see each other soon, I’m sure,” Murdock patted Noir’s shoulder and exited the building.

Noir’s consciousness finally faded and his eyes shut, the echo of Murdock’s laugh still ringing in his ear.

*2 months later*

Noir sipped his coffee as he connected the red string to another gruesome crime scene picture on the cork board. He and Murdock hadn’t met since their first encounter, though there were several close calls.

‘You’re like trying to grab smoke,’ Noir thought to himself as he finished the mug of coffee, ‘Always managing to slip through my fingers.’

He glared at the grinning mugshot of Murdock. That fucker was caught once but managed to give the guards the slip, nearly killing one of them in the process. Noir scowled and rested against his desk.

“I swear to God I’ll find you,” Noir narrowed his eyes at the picture, “If it takes me the rest of my life.”

Noir put his handgun in the holster of his belt, and his badge in his pocket. He was part of law enforcement now, not just some detective-for-hire. It most definitely allowed him more resources in tracking this murderer.

Catching Murdock was nothing short of a passion project for him. Whenever he wasn’t on a separate case, he was staring at all his evidence, begging for the slightest hint of a pattern.

Noir sighed and turned away from the images.

‘A walk will help me,’ he decided for himself, ‘Good way to clear my head.’

He jogged down the steps of his apartment building after grabbing his trench coat. It was autumn and the cold was starting to settle in. Noir shuffled along the sidewalk once he reached the outside. It was night and nobody was really out and about. Of course, with a murderer loose on the streets, who could blame them?

“It’s my job to protect the people of this city from that criminal,” Noir turned the collar of his coat up as a particularly bitter wind rushed by. “I can’t even do that.”

He passed by closed shop after closed shop. Nothing stayed open late anymore. The police force wasn’t much help in finding this elusive threat, and the public had begun to adapt. There was a curfew now, that only a brave few had gone against.

“Or maybe we’re stupid,” Noir sighed to himself, “Sometimes it’s hard to find the difference between the two.”

“And sometimes they’re one and the same,” A voice replied to him from somewhere. Noir whipped his head around, trying to find the source of the voice.

“Who’s there?” Noir asked, only to be met with a cold laugh.

“You know, detective,” the voice sounded much closer, “I was beginning to think we’d never find each other again. It made me a little sad, if I’m being honest. I almost forgot the sound of your voice.”

“Murdock,” Noir muttered the name like a curse.

“The one and only,” an arm wrapped around his shoulders and a hand pressed a knife to Noir’s throat, “Let’s get to know each other on a more personal level. Sound okay?”

Noir was dragged into a nearby alley and thrown to the ground. He got up from the disgusting puddle he’d fell in and stood in front of Murdock, who was approaching slowly. Noir backed away as much as he could.

“You know, I thought this meeting would be a little more cinematic,” Murdock remarked, “But unfortunately, this feels all too familiar to my other victims.”

Noir gasped as he backed into the wall behind him. He frantically fished out his gun from the holster.

“Drop the weapon,” he ordered, pointing the gun right between Murdock’s eyes.

Murdock paused for a moment, seemingly thrown off by the gun.

“Well, I don’t exactly have the element of surprise this time, now do I?” He frowned.

“You have nothing. You brought a knife to a gun fight. Pretty rookie move, Murdock,” Noir growled.

“I’m a traditionalist,” Murdock gestured with his knife.

“Put the weapon down on the ground,” Noir ordered again, “Hands above your head where I can see them.”

“Drop the weapon?” Murdock tilted his head, “If you say so.”

Before Noir could react, Murdock threw the knife right into Noir’s knee, making him stumble from the pain and impact. Murdock charged into Noir, body-slamming him into the wall. Noir growled in pain as he hit his head. Blood stained Noir’s pants from the wound.

Noir had always been a bit squeamish when it came to blood. Most had remarked that he probably should not have been a homicide detective because of that reason, but regardless, he tried to ignore the pain.

“Close call,” Murdock muttered and took the gun. He aimed it at Noir’s head. Noir’s vision swam into focus and he slowly tried to push himself upright again. Murdock smirked at the struggling.

"You know, this feels so close to how we first met. Me, standing above you as you lay disoriented and weak on the floor. It's poetic, in a sense, that our last meeting is under the same circumstances," Murdock monologued. Noir struggled to stand upright.

“I used to be like you,” he chuckled at Noir, “Weak, law-abiding goody-two-shoes. But then I realized: that’s not fun. It’s more fun to take matters into your own hands than abide by some silly rules set in place by people who’ll never even know you.”

“So you kill people?” Noir asked, confused by the logic, "And that's...fun?"

“I only kill the people who tell me you can’t do this, you can’t do that. Don’t you see, detective?” Murdock asked, crouching down in front of him, “This world’s all about control. Haven’t you heard the phrase, ‘All work and no play makes a dull boy?’ Well, I’m sick of that whole, ‘all work’ thing. I say we should all have a fucking field day out here.”

“You’ve hurt innocent people!” Noir shouted at him.

“Because law enforcement wasn’t there,” Murdock said, “Face it. You can’t help everyone. You’d never be able to save every person. They’ll never know you, and you’ll never know them. People die every fucking day.”

Noir glared at Murdock, “Your logic makes no sense.”

“Oh, but it makes perfect sense to me. I don’t expect some uptight fucker like you to understand anything close to chaos,” Murdock spat at him, “I just wanna give you some food for thought. I’m not the insane one here. I’m breaking a cycle, alright? I’m sick of just being expected to a cog in this big societal machine. I wanna have a little fun. I’m going to continue to have fun, and you will never stop me.”

“Wanna bet?” Noir, bracing for pain, yanked the knife out of his own leg and plunged it into Murdock’s shoulder. Murdock cried in pain and reeled from the impact. Noir grabbed his gun as it fell from the assailant’s hand, and shot Murdock in the leg.

“FUCK!” Murdock cried, trying to back away. Noir tackled him down and handcuffed him.

“Murdock, you’re under arrest, anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law—,” Noir was cut off as Murdock elbowed him in the jaw.

“Fuck off!” Murdock shouted at him.

“Struggling is only going to make this worse,” Noir warned him, “Just stop. We’ll get you to a hospital.”

Noir dragged his prisoner to his feet and walked him to the nearby station. He’d finally won. He was free of this burden, free of this fear. Even with his adversary screaming curses and obscenities at him, Noir finally felt peace.

"This won't be the last time you have to catch me," Murdock taunted, "I'll find ways to get out, and you will never really stop me!"

"Then I will be there to catch you again," Noir scowled, "After all, what's a ying without a yang? What's a detective without a case?"

"You could do it, you know," Murdock grinned, "You could put me out of my misery. Think of all those people you'd keep safe if you just killed me. If you really hate my line of work, you could just end me here and now. Nobody would bat an eye at you removing someone like me from the equation."

Noir hesitated. He still had a few bullets left in his pistol. He could get rid of this scumbag for good. He'd never hurt another innocent person again.

"I'd never want to stoop to the same level as you," Noir decided, "On top of that, death is too light of a sentence for you. When you've lost count of how many murders a criminal is responsible for, the criminal is unworthy of having a death of their own. You are gonna rot in prison and, maybe one day, be haunted by the ghosts of your past mistakes."

Murdock scowled, "You've won this round, detective. We'll see each other again soon."

Noir pushed Murdock into the holding cell and began to dial 9-1-1 for medical attention. He held his hand over his knife wound and glared at his prisoner, "I look forward to it, psycho."

Chapter Text

“The Host leans back in his chair, trying to remember the story idea he’d thought of earlier,” The Host muttered to himself, “However, the curse known as writers’ block had returned to him.”

The Host winced as he heard a door slam. He might not have been able to see, but that left his hearing heightened.

“You must be the Host,” A voice stated from behind him, “Sorry for letting myself in. You shouldn’t leave the door unlocked.”

“The Host would like to know who this rude intruder is,” Host turned his chair in the direction of the voice.

“Mark,” he identified himself, “But a lot of people have recently referred to me as the Actor.”

“Ah. The Host cannot see, so imagining what the Actor looks like is quite difficult. Can the Actor describe himself, so as to assist the Host?” The Host tilted his head.

“I, uh…listen, that’s not important,” the Actor shook his head, “I’d like some help, a collaboration, if you will.”

“The Host is intrigued,’ the Host lied, wishing the intruder would leave,” the Host bitterly replied.

“I’m writing a story, and I’m aware of how your influence affects the characters in yours. So I’m requesting your help in making sure that everything goes according to plan in my own,” the Actor explained.

“The Host does not trust the Actor,” the Host explained, “Nor does his proposition interest the Host.”

“What? I’m suggesting what you literally already do!” The Actor protested.

“The Host requests that the Actor lowers his voice,” he recoiled again at the noise.

“I’ll be as loud as I want. You are going to help this story play out, and in return, I’ll leave,” the Actor offered.

“The Actor underestimates the Host in his capabilities. The Actor does not begin to comprehend the power the Host holds.”

The Actor looked behind him as the door slammed shut. When he turned back around, the Host was stood inches in front of him. His eyes darted to the ground, avoiding staring into the bloodied bandage over where the man’s eyes should be. A cold laugh came from the Host.

“The Host’s guest is afraid,” The Host remarked, “Why won’t he look his host in the eyes?”

“L-Look, I’ll leave,” The Actor stepped back, hands raised in surrender, “Just open the door, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“The Actor does not comprehend how fucked he is right now,” the Host smirked, “The Host has a lot planned for this rude guest. He hopes that the Actor will feel very inclined to stick around for the main event. Dark will be very, very happy.”

The Actor’s eyes widened, “So he’s already talked to you?”

“The Actor finds himself seated in the chair and unable to move, just looking at the Host,” The Host smiled as the Actor walked back and sat on the chair. He could almost hear the Actor’s heart racing as he realized how futile his attempts at backing down were.

“The Actor’s potential ally was now another adversary in his convoluted life,” the Host went back to his desk.

“What are you doing over there?” The Actor asked, struggling to stand, “You can’t do this to me!”

“The Host lifts his favorite pen and begins to write a more satisfying ending for this encounter, one that he believes Darkiplier will also be satisfied with,” the Host grinned and spoke as he wrote, “The Actor suddenly finds this right leg completely shattered from his knee down to his foot, unable to properly walk or run anymore.”

The Actor cried in pain as his leg broke in a dozen places, pain shooting through his body.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” He screeched at the Host. The Host grabbed a pair of noise cancelling headphones and placed them on his head.

“The Actor’s voice begins to quiet and break as he attempts to deter the Host from writing a proper ending to this encounter. The Actor begins to choke on his own saliva, foaming at the mouth as he struggles to speak. Perhaps the Host will let him talk normally if he decides to speak at a volume the Host is comfortable with.”

The Actor coughed and choked, managing to get out, “P-Please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yes. Anything!”

“The Host allows the Actor to speak again, if he promises to leave and never come back,” the Host stated.

“Yes! Yes, whatever! Like I’d wanna stick around here any longer than I’d have to!” The Actor growled in frustration.

“The Actor is now free to leave, though his leg is still broken. Just as a residual reminder of what happens when he tries to trick or deceive the Host. Goodbye, Actor. Perhaps you’ll be in the Host’s story some other time,” the Host dropped the pen and turned in his chair. Silence.

The Host removed his headphones and smiled to himself.

“The Host is going to enjoy his favorite audiobook now,” he smiled and stood up, feeling his way around the room. He nearly tripped over the now empty chair from the Actor.

“The Host must remember to have Dark move that chair back in place,” he muttered and kept going.

Chapter Text

“Hm?” Dark looked up as he heard his name.

Wilford was staring at him from across the board room, along with the other egos.

“Uh, we were just talking about ending the meeting,” Wilford said, sounding worried.

“Oh, meeting adjourned,” Dark said and hastily began packing up his stuff.

There was a flurry of concerned whispers as the others walked past him. Dark shut his eyes a moment.

It’d been a month, and the sight of the Actor’s dead body still was at the forefront of his mind. The last bit of advice had been keeping him up at night.

‘You don’t have an enemy to worry about. You could be happy.’

Those words had been torturing Dark for weeks, more than the Actor ever did while he was alive. He’d given Dark an impossible task, and it was driving him mad. He’d never experienced this ‘happy’ emotion before, not even after his nemesis died more or less in his arms. If anything he felt worse now than he did before.

Dark's stomach always twisted in uncomfortable knots when he thought about those final moments. The shallow breathing, the Actor's panicked pleas of forgiveness—which Dark did not provide. If he'd forgiven him, would anything be different? Would he have felt better about letting the Actor go? Dark was kind to him in his final moments, more than the Actor had ever been to anyone else. Did that make him weak? More and more questions flooded the demon's mind, screaming for answers he couldn't provide. There were times where it felt as if his mind was his own prison cell, which he'd lost the key to.

“Dark!” Wilford snapped in front of his face a couple times. Dark shook his head and sat up, startled. Wilford was standing in front of him, brow furrowed as he stared down at him.

“What—? Oh. It’s just you,” Dark muttered.

“Are you alright?” Wilford sat in the chair next to him. "You haven't been as focused as you normally are."

“Fine. Never better,” Dark cleared his throat and lied as he tried to gather his things. Wilford stood in front of the door as Dark tried to make a quick exit. The demon huffed in annoyance.

“What’s wrong?” Wilford asked. The demon shook his head and teleported behind Wilford, loud static and high-pitched ringing following him.

“Nothing is wrong. I have other matters to attend to.” Dark lied to him again and walked away. The trek down the hallway was silent, only Dark's footsteps breaking the calm.

Dark took a deep, shaky breath. Perhaps he should tell Wilford what was going on. After all, he’d known the Actor.

The demon quickly brushed that thought aside, however. Wilford wouldn’t understand what happened, let alone understand what it was like to serve no purpose. No, this was Dark's own battle to fight.

“If I serve no purpose, what good am I?” Dark whispered to himself as he entered his study.

He yanked off his red tie and white suit jacket, tossing them haphazardly over the nearby couch. His study was dimly lit by candelabras lining the walls. Two oak book cases were on each side of the walls, parallel to his desk. Dark threw himself into his desk chair, sinking back into the cushioned backrest. He spun his chair to stare out the window, which took up the majority of the outer wall. He crossed one leg over the other and sat there, staring at the rain pounding on the glass.

“Even though he’s dead, that bastard still won,” Dark let out a grumbling sigh, “He’s trapped me in an endless loop of searching for some kind of meaning.”

Dark was just a villain with no hero. A yin without a yang. An incomplete story. As much as he hated to admit it, he missed the Actor.

“I depended on him,” Dark gritted his teeth, “And he chose to just leave me, stuck in my own personal hell.”

“Dark?” A soft, concerned voice came from behind him. "Are you in here?"

Dark didn’t turn the chair around, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “What is it, Wilford?”

“What’s going on?” Wilford shut the door behind him as he entered the study. Hesitant footsteps approached the desk. Dark still focused on the window panes.

“It’s nothing. I’d like to be alone, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m worried about you. You’re my friend.”

‘Damien was your friend, and I’m not him,’ Dark thought to himself.

“Was the TV show idea too much? We can always do something else,” Wilford offered. “Please, I just want to know what’s wrong.”

“Will, you wouldn’t understand. Please, just leave.”

“Dark, I’m trying to help you!”

“I DON’T WANT YOUR HELP!” Dark snapped at him, his image splitting before rejoining once again. He heard Wilford take a couple steps back. Dark took a shuddering breath, trying to recompose himself.

Dark held his head in his hands, “Just go! Please!”

Instead of footsteps retreating, they grew closer to Dark. Though the demon didn’t look up at him, Wilford was now standing in front of him.

“Talk to me. Please,” Wilford begged, placing a hand on Dark’s shoulder. Dark glared at him through his hands.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed.

“Look, I understand you’re not entirely Damien, but he was my best friend in the world. I wouldn’t leave him if he were like this, nor would he leave me,” Wilford stated firmly.

“Why?” Dark asked, finally looking at him.

“Because that’s what friends do,” Wilford crouched down at eye level with Dark, “So please, tell me what’s happening.”

The demon finally looked up at him. A small, hopeful smile rested on Wilford's face.

"Please?" Was all the pink-mustached man asked.

Dark took a deep breath, sitting up a little straighter. “Fine, but I doubt you’ll even know what I’m talking about.”

“I’ll try.”

Dark gave Wilford a summary about his final moments with the Actor. How he comforted him until the end, how he'd refused to forgive him for his actions, and how Dark held his hand as he died. Wilford stared in shocked silence as Dark finished his story.

“And now I’m just…stuck,” Dark stated. “I’m of no use anymore.”

“…He’s dead?” Wilford asked, surprised and a little hurt. “Why...Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Dark, that’s not healthy. Nobody should repress something like that.”

“I don’t care. It’s what I have to do.”

“Why?”

Dark froze, unsure how to answer. He never had a very good reason, but he felt like the Actor’s death was something he alone had to bear.

“And you do have a purpose, Dark.” Wilford promised.

“Yeah? And what’s that?” He scoffed, “Leading our group? Being all foreboding and scary?”

“You’re my friend.”

Dark laughed dryly. “That’s not a purpose, Will, that’s just something you decided. Just because I respect you doesn’t mean—.”

Dark fell silent as Wilford hugged him. He was frozen, unsure of how to react.

“Please, please don’t shut me out,” Wilford begged.

Dark awkwardly patted Wilford on the back, “Please let me go.”

“Oh, sorry—.”

“No, no, it’s…you were only trying to help.”

Silence fell between the two.

“Have you forgiven him?” Wilford asked. "Now that he's dead?"

“No. How could I? Look what he did to them, look what he did to YOU!” Dark felt a sudden burst of anger. “He destroyed you, Will! He hurt you.”

“If you’re not my friend, then why do you care about what happened to me?” Wilford asked.

Dark froze. He nervously scratched the back of his head, “Well, um, that’s a good question.”

“Well, let’s find the answer together, hm?” Wilford suggested.

Dark looked at Wilford, ready to deny his help again, but stopped. There was something about the way he looked at him. Was it…pity? Sadness?

For the first time in a while, something inside him said it was okay to trust someone. He had someone who wanted to help him, someone ready to back him up if he needed it. Wilford held out his hand to help Dark up from the chair.

“…Yeah,” Dark nodded and took his hand, “Together.”

“That’s the spirit!” Will slung his arm around Dark’s shoulders once the demon was on his feet, “Now, let’s get out of all this doom and gloom and have a little fun, shall we?”

“If that’s what you want to do, I suppose,” Dark mumbled.

“Well, on the way, we can have a nice chat between friends about what all happened, how it made you feel, yada yada yada,” Will waved his hand as he spoke.

Dark felt the smallest inkling of a smile creep onto his face at how relaxed Wilford was about this whole situation. As the pair of them exited back into the well-lit corridor, the demon finally felt a weight leave his chest, and dark clouds left his mind.

I could get used to happy, I guess. he thought as he finally, truly let the Actor go.