Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rose

“Can you believe this shit, Wake?”

Rose looked up as she heard Scratch’s voice. He was sitting in his usual booth at the diner, his breakfast laid out in front of him. Rose had brought him the same thing every morning for the last five years, along with a copy of the local paper. He had flattened it out in front of him, scowling at it, finger pressed to an article as he read a snippet aloud.

“Alan Wake loses spot of top selling author in Cauldron Lake County.” He snorted, irritated, and dipped his toast into his egg yolks. “It’s like they don’t even appreciate you anymore.”

The waitress approached his table with a small smile and a pot of famous Oh Deer coffee.“More coffee, Mr. Scratch?”

Scratch looked up at her briefly, then pushed his coffee mug towards her end of the table, still grumbling. She carefully poured him another serving, then pulled the creamer and sugar out of her apron pocket for him. Mr. Scratch had a sweet tooth, after all. Rose had even brewed the blonde roast knowing he was coming in.

“Any plans for today?” she asked.

The double gave a shrug, looking around. He didn’t really talk much anymore, but Rose has always been kind to him when others have called him crazy and avoided him. “Lake,” he grunted. “Going to go with Alan.”

The waitress paused. Scratch had gestured to the booth across from him, like he was sharing it with someone, but just like every other day since he’d shown up in Bright Falls, he was alone. This imaginary Alan had started a few years ago now. Rose hesitated for a moment before perching on the end of the bench across from Scratch, setting the coffee down. She was one of the few that actually tried to interact with him these days, and she reached gently across the table to rest her hand over his.

“You know what might be fun? Why don’t you come people-watch with me at Valhalla?” It wasn’t the first time she’d tried to get him to the retirement facility. Sure, he was young for it, but she could see how incredibly lonely he was. “One of the volunteers is going to try to teach square dancing,” she continued, giggling. “It’ll be a good time. And then if you like, you can get a hot shower and some fresh clothes. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Scratch looked at Rose’s hand over his, considering it for a few moments before raising his eyes to hers. There was a moment of recognition, of clarity, and the double set his toast down, swallowing.

“Rose,” he murmured softly, turning his hand to lace his fingers with hers and stroke her hand with his thumb. “You’ve been so kind to me. I don’t deserve it.”

It was moments like these that made Rose all the more dedicated to keeping herself firmly in Mr. Scratch’s life. She squeezed his hand back gently, her voice quiet.

“Everyone deserves some kindness, Mr. Scratch.”

Scratch let out a shaky breath, his hands starting to tremble. He pulled his hand back from Rose’s and pushed up to his feet, clearing his throat. “Thank you for breakfast,” he said, avoiding her eyes now. “I need to go.”

She didn’t try to stop him, just gave him a cheerful “see you tomorrow!” and watched him leave. Once he was out of sight, she let out a long sigh and rubbed at her temples. It was good, she supposed, that she got a moment of clarity out of him. Those were becoming more and more rare with each passing day.

It had been a strange day when Mr. Scratch had returned to Bright Falls. Rose remembered it well, despite it being nearly five years ago now. He had burst into the diner and sat down in the same booth he had been in today. At first, she had thought he was Alan, and she had come to his table to greet him.

Before Rose could even speak, the man who looked like Alan Wake had grabbed her wrist. She was startled, ready to fight, but then she’d seen those eyes, a deep beautiful blue, and brimming with tears. They were the same as Alan’s, but somehow she knew it wasn’t him.

The initial reaction was fear, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the need to comfort, and Rose sank down into a crouch beside him. “Coffee?” she asked softly.

He nodded, swallowing hard, and released her wrist.

She returned quickly with a pot of coffee, two mugs, and plenty of sweetener and creamer. Rose filled both mugs and pushed one to the man, while sitting down across from him and starting to mix in her ideal coffee. He dumped in all the sweetener and creamer that she hadn’t used, then sipped miserably at his coffee. Rose watched him, curious and thoughtful.

“You aren’t Alan,” she said finally. “You’re…the other one.”

The man gave a weak chuckle, nodding. “Scratch,” he mumbled hoarsely. He set his coffee down, pushed it around. “You’re Rose.”

She smiled, pleased that he remembered, and nodded. “What are you doing back here? Bright Falls doesn’t exactly seem like something… well, your speed.”

Scratch was quiet for a long moment, picking up his coffee and taking another slow sip. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” he said finally. “The lake is the closest thing I have to a home.”

Rose studied him quietly. It was sort of funny, how she knew just about everything about Alan (or so she believed, anyway), but very little about his counterpart. Certainly, she had written that embarrassing fanfiction with him in it several years ago, but it had mostly been guesses. Imagining a handsome but deadly stranger in a leather jacket… Seeing the man in front of her now, she would never guess they were the same person.

“Did something happen with Alan?” Rose asked quietly.

Scratch stiffened, his hands tightening around his coffee mug. He took in a shaky breath, swallowing hard.

“He chose Alice,” he said bitterly. “Years of… fighting my own nature for him. Trying to be better for him. He talked like we would have a future. But the second she comes back, it was just… gone. Like there was never anything there in the first place.”

He took another sip of his coffee, wiping at his eyes frustratedly. “I-I could see it. I just… I looked at him, and I knew. He never… he never did love me like he loved her.”

Rose listened quietly, head tilted a little as she took it in. Certainly, Scratch’s attachment and obsession with Alan had been obvious even to the casual observer, and they hadn’t been in Bright Falls long after escaping Cauldron Lake.

“I’m so sorry,” she said softly, not sure what else to offer.

Scratch was trembling, angrily wiping at his eyes again as another tear slipped down his cheek. “It was my fault,” he muttered, hurt clear in his voice. “I should have known. Why the fuck would he want me? I’m just a monster. Alice is a fucking angel. I could never have even hoped to compete, it was so stupid...”

Rose wanted to interrupt there, assure him that he was more than that, but Scratch wasn’t done yet.

“But sometimes, he’d look at me, you know, and I’d see it for a second.” He was gripping his coffee mug tightly, knuckles starting to go white. “Sometimes he… he saw me like a person. And he cared. But it’d never be enough.”

The doppelganger was falling apart in front of Rose, and she wanted to stop it, make him feel better, but any words of comfort she had to offer just seemed so inadequate to help this poor broken shadow.

“I thought about killing her, you know,” Scratch murmured. “Alice. Hide her body somewhere he’d never find her. He’d never know. And maybe he would come back to me, and I’d be there with open arms to comfort him.” He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “What difference does that make? It’s all just a fucking fantasy, Alan Wake wanting me. God, I’m such an idiot…”

Rose didn’t know what to say. Instead, she stood up from the booth across from Scratch, taking a few steps forward to sit down close beside him. He stared at her with wide, confused eyes still filled with tears, and she gave him a small smile before wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

At first, Scratch didn’t move, he just stayed there, stiff and uncomfortable, surprised by the gesture and trying to appraise how he felt about it. Then it happened all at once, like an avalanche, his walls crumbling down as he suddenly clutched back at her.

He had cried into her shoulder for a long time, Rose remembered. His sobs had been so pathetic, soft and whimpering, like he was afraid to be too loud. She had held him quietly, just stroking through his messy hair and murmuring soft platitudes to him like a mother to their child. She had felt so helpless then.

It hadn’t changed much since then. Scratch had become a ghost of his former self, slipping into hallucinations and wild, violent tempers. Though it had upset her to do it, Rose had to ask Tim to lock him up on more than one occasion when he was too aggressive for her to handle. Scratch had always found a way to apologize to her, even if he didn’t seem to remember the fit itself. Flowers on her doorstep, clumsily woven into a crown. A sketch of her, done in borrowed crayon on the diner’s menu. Once, he’d even presented her with a wool scarf, bright pink. ”Your favorite color”, he had said. She didn’t dare ask where he got it from. She didn’t want to know.

What worried her more than anything was that he was living alone in the woods now, presumably. It was starting to get cold, and she was afraid he would freeze or starve out there. He might fall and hurt himself, or get too confused to wander back into town. But every attempt to get him to move to Valhalla was rejected, and he wouldn’t stay in her trailer for more than a night or two.

Rose drummed her fingers on the countertop, thinking. She needed to do something or Scratch was only going to keep getting worse. Finally coming to a decision, she set out the “be right back! :)” sign on the countertop and went out the back door of the diner.

It had taken almost a year to finally get a hold of Alan Wake’s phone number, and once she had it, she found she was afraid to call him. It had been so long. Would he remember her? Those old memories of the man she had obsessed over for years resurfaced, and Rose cringed. She’d been exactly the type of fan he had tried to avoid. While her interest in his books had remained, Rose had managed to move on from stalking the writer himself and trying to learn every little detail she could. It was probably Scratch that had helped her with that, she realized. He’d shifted her focus, redirected her efforts, and it was for the better.

Shaking her head, Rose forced herself to refocus again, tapping her phone so the screen wouldn’t go dark. Alan’s contact number was there on the screen, just waiting for her to touch it. She hesitated.

And then she thought again of Scratch. He needed her.

Taking a deep breath, Rose steeled herself and hit “call”.

Chapter Text

Alan

”Good morning, New York City! It’s seven AM and what a beautiful morning it is here! Forecast is calling for clear skies and lots of sun! In sports news, the Yankees–”

Alan grumbled, reaching out sleepily to silence his alarm radio. His fingers found the button and slammed down on it, and the broadcast abruptly cut off, leaving him in silence.

Why he even set his alarm was a mystery. He didn’t really need to, though his therapist had said that living a normal routine would help his recovery. Not that it helped much when he was barely sleeping, and when he did sleep, he was plagued with nightmares. Since the Dark Place, they’d gotten worse. He kept having the distinct feeling that something was missing, and many of his nightmares involved him being torn in half or losing a limb. Sometimes he wondered if he was actually still in the Writer’s Room, and reality was just a projection he’d created to work into the story.

Sitting in the dark sulking wasn’t going to help his mood, and Alan reluctantly sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. He rubbed his eyes at the sense of dizziness that overcame him for a moment before passing quickly. With a sigh, he reached over instinctively for his phone. It had died the day previously, but thankfully he had remembered to plug it in before going to bed. Despite being back in the real world for years now, smartphone technology was still somewhat elusive to him.

The phone beeped as it came back to life. The only notification was a missed call and voicemail from an unknown number. For a moment, he nearly deleted it, but what if it was important somehow? After a moment of hesitation, Alan pressed play on the voicemail, setting it to speaker so he didn’t have to hold it to his ear.

”Um, hi, Mr. Wake, this is Rose Marigold, from Bright Falls? I don’t know if you remember me..”

The familiar voice got his attention. Alan blinked in surprise. How had she gotten his number? More importantly, what was she calling about? Hopefully not just a signed photo or an autograph.. He’d gotten tired of that a long time ago.

”I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s about… um… it’s about Mr. Scratch.”

Alan’s heart stopped for a moment. Scratch. Fuck. He hadn’t heard from him since that day when they had gotten Alice out of the Dark Place. He’d acted so strange, then just left. Alan had assumed he’d gone back to the Dark Place, but if he was in Bright Falls, that would explain the supposed sightings of him in the small town. Shit… was he hurting someone? Alan should’ve kept better tabs on him, made sure he didn’t cause any trouble–

”He… well. He’s not doing well.” There was a pause on the voicemail, like Rose was trying to think of how to word what she wanted to say. ”He’s sick, Mr. Wake. I’ve been trying to help him, but he won’t listen to anyone anymore, and it’s getting cold now, and I think he’s sleeping outside in the woods, and he gets so confused now, I–” She cut herself off, her voice shaking. It was clear she had a deep emotional connection to Scratch. She was worried.

”I don’t know if it would help, but… He misses you. A lot. I think you’re the only one he might listen to. I don’t know what to do, Mr. Wake.” Rose let out a shaky breath, like she was clinging to the phone with both hands and holding it too close to her face. ”I don’t know what I’m asking for. Um. Sorry to bother you.”

There was a soft click, then the automated voice came back on, asking if he would like to save the message. Distracted, Alan just hung up the phone for now, mulling over the message.

The last thing he had expected to hear was that Scratch was still wandering around in the real world, and that he was sick... Alan’s stomach twisted uncomfortably at that. He really should have paid more attention to him after they had parted ways. Scratch had seemed upset for some reason, making Alan promise to take care of Alice and treat her right before just disappearing.

Alan sighed again, rubbing at his temples once more. He hadn’t even managed to keep his promise. Despite their best efforts, he and Alice were fundamentally different people coming out of the Dark Place than they had been going in. They had tried to make things work. They loved each other deeply still, after all. But they had both acquired so much more trauma, so many new things to try to work through… even with couples’ therapy, it hadn’t been enough.

They had at least parted amicably, and were still good friends. Their marriage had been dissolved legally at the time of their supposed deaths, so there was nothing there to work through, thankfully. With no children, the only real concern had been splitting the assets, which they had just decided to go with an even split. They sold the apartment at Parliament Tower and both moved into their own little homes, and life went on. They met up for coffee from time to time to catch up and enjoy each other’s company. Alice was doing very well with her photography career and had actually met someone already.

Alan, on the other hand, was not interested in dating. At his age, and with his extensive baggage, it just wasn’t worth it. No one would ever know him the way he wanted to be known. He couldn’t tell anyone about the Dark Place and have them understand his traumas, his fears, his doubts, the intense guilt he still held for lives that he had taken and twisted to suit his own needs. No one could ever understand that.

No one except for Scratch.

The doppelganger was a perfect mirror of him, a reflection of the darkest parts of himself mixed with rumors and shadow. He had all of Alan’s memories up to the point of his creation, and knew just about everything since. He’d lived through that part with him, albeit from a different side. When they had formed their unlikely alliance, Alan had kept his guard up, not willing to fully trust his shadow. But Scratch had been invaluable not only in his escape, but in freeing Alice later on as well. He’d given freely, despite his harsh words and aloof demeanor. Alan had come to respect the man.

There had also been those few times in the Dark Place when they’d found comfort in each other in… well. Different ways. Times where Alan had let his walls down completely with his double, indulged in the physical intimacy and pleasure he had offered. At first, it was only after he’d had a few drinks or done a line or two, but then it just became somewhat normal. Scratch was a surprisingly generous lover, if rough and violent, but he’d been… kind. Almost sweet.

The writer had found himself growing more and more attached to him. He’d discovered a softer side to Scratch, one that only came out after sex. He had always been gentle when cleaning him up and patching his wounds. Alan craved the touch, the attention. He kept telling himself that was why it felt like he was falling for him. It was just because he was touch starved, and Scratch soothed an itch he didn’t realize he had.

Because surely Scratch couldn’t possibly love, not like a human. He’d already proven himself to be ruthless and cruel beyond the usual human extent. He was an evil entity with a redemption arc, but when it came down to it, Scratch was still a monster at his core. There was no way around that.

He had never told Alice about this dalliances, but she knew somehow. She had forgiven like there had been nothing to forgive, assured him that she understood how he would succumb to pleasure when the Dark Place only offered him pain. What she had not understood was how he still wanted Scratch to be in his life. Didn’t he want to leave it all behind, move on, live his life? And he did, of course he did, but somehow he just… couldn’t.

That nagging feeling that something was missing never quite went away. And despite Alice’s best efforts, she couldn’t fill that gap.

It was a Scratch-shaped hole in his heart, after all.

Alan stood up from bed, heading to the kitchen, and started a cup of coffee for himself. He sat down at the cluttered little table, opening up his laptop and starting to scan through the web. His fingers moved instinctively, typing into the search bar: Flights to Olympia WA.

This was crazy. He couldn’t just drop everything and go to Bright Falls, could he? But the more Alan thought about it, the better he felt about it. He didn’t have any upcoming deadlines or interviews. He had been taking a perhaps indefinite break from writing for the last few years and didn’t intend to pick it back up anytime soon. His fame earlier in his life meant he had a comfortable amount in the bank, and as long as he didn’t get too exuberant with spending, he could probably avoid going back to work for the rest of his life.

And it wasn’t like there was anyone in his life here who needed him. He did have a lunch planned with Alice later in the week, but he could cancel. She would understand. Barry was still in LA, so he’d actually be closer to him in Washington. Besides, if he looked past the trauma, the Great Northwest was breathtakingly beautiful, and he could use a change of scenery.

Nestled in the heart of the Olympic National Park, Bright Falls was pretty well isolated. It seemed there was no better option than the Sea-Tac airport, which was a good 2-3 hours away. The good news was that Alan was able to find a nonstop flight that left in just a few hours. The 6hr flight, followed by the long drive, was going to be grueling, but it was worth it. Alan remembered making the same trip with Alice all those years ago. It was strange to think how much had changed since then.

Alan booked the flight, then stood up, grabbed his coffee, and headed back to the bedroom to pack.