singillatim | maybe i could stop but i won't;

Who: Scratch and Alan Wake (closed).
What: Alan get some unexpected help.
When: Tail-end of September when shit hits the fan.
Where: Milton, likely around Basin Overlook.

Content Warnings: ~~Alan and Scratch~~ NPC murder, violent intentions, etc.

Scratch had been having a great time until that asshole cowboy shot him. In hindsight, he should have been more self-aware in the moment. Of course guns and shit can hurt him here, and he should probably consider himself lucky that it was just a thigh-shot.

Raylan, however, should be counting the days until Scratch finds a way to dissect him.

While his joy has been dampened, he's still doing his part to contribute to the chaos. When in Rome, right? And he realizes he hasn't seen Alan around much since this began. Of course, he's been distracted, but it'd be bad manners not to check in on the moron across the street. Maybe goad him a bit, make Alan really feel some fear, maybe finally put an end to him ...

Except, no. This isn't really the time or the place. Alan's death needs to have some purpose, not just be another death in a string of mayhem. And Alan might still be his way out of here. So annoying. He can still make Alan's time a bit shittier, though.

He slips his knife into his pocket and grabs his trusty axe, then saunters his way across to Alan's cabin.

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There's a few more unhinged hacks, just to make sure the asshole is good and dead, and when Scratch stands up properly again he runs a hand over his hair to smooth it down. There are no hair products here, and no real way to cut it, and he's on his way to looking more and more like Alan does now, but smoothing down his hair lets him settle himself a bit.

"Hey, I just saved your ass."

Show some gratitude, eesh!

It's definitely about to hit the point of overkill, which wouldn't surprise him. Honestly, he's a bit shocked Scratch hasn't taken the time to completely mangle the body. Something's clearly wrong.

"It's me who usually needs the saving from you," he points out. For what it's worth, the man in question hasn't put a knife in his chest yet, which is already a bit suspicious. Not that Alan's complaining about getting to live another day, however.

"Next time I'll just let you get taken down by some small-town hick. Jesus."

Not that there's any reason he'd expect Alan to be thankful, the lack of thanks is annoying Scratch enough that he thinks, at least, about putting that axe through Alan next.

"Aren't you supposed to be better at this self-preservation shit?"

"I come back when I die in the Dark Place. Not that I like dying, but there's some amount of grace given there. Still getting used to the whole one chance thing I'm suspecting I have here," he explains, even if he feels he doesn't have to.

As he talks, his gaze moves down to Scratch's leg. He'd noticed that he was limping when making his way over to him, and...

"Did you get shot?"

It's a good thing looks can't kill, because Alan would wither and shrivel under the unamused gaze that Scratch gives him. It seems like Alan's not the only person that has to get used to the permanency of injury around here.

"Un-fucking-fortunately," he says, huffing out an annoyed breath at the memory.

"Tell me who did it so I can buy them a drink," he says simply as he looks closer. It doesn't seem to be anything deadly, judging by the amount it was (or rather, wasn't) bleeding, but he knows that Scratch isn't out of the woods just yet. The potential for infection was one that he severely doubts the entity had ever dealt with before.

Part of Alan wants to just leave it be, hope the bastard gets septic and rots. It'd solve no small number of his own problems. And yet...

"...come on. Follow me, and don't try to finish the job of what that guy tried to do to me," he mutters, turning around and starting to lead him to his nearby cabin.

"Ha ha ha."

He rolls eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't roll out of his head, but it's easily replaced by another generally annoyed look. He thinks he did a reasonable job with it. He got the bullet out, he wrapped it up in some cloths. No big deal.

But he has to admit that it's blatant curiosity that makes him decide to actually follow Alan.

"Don't give me a reason to," he mutters back.

"Isn't my existence usually enough for you to?"

Let Scratch have the last word? Never.

It's a blessedly short walk back into the cabin, and Alan shuts and locks the door behind them. Not that it's much protection right now from those outside trying to kill them, but every little bit counts. After shrugging his coat off, he starts to dig through some of his small stash of medical supplies, fetching what he thinks might help for now.

"Get a fire going," he calls out behind him. "And...I can't believe I'm saying this sentence, but take off your pants."

Scratch flips him off. He's not going to be bossed around by Alan of all people - at least not in regards to the fire. If Alan doesn't like the cold, then Alan can start a fire.

"Not even gonna buy me dinner first, huh?"

He undoes the fly of the stupid denim jeans he's forced to wear around here, starting to shimmy out of them.

While he's not sure the first aid kit is meant for a wound like Scratch's, it'll have to do. It's the best Alan has managed to salvage so far from this place. And he's not terribly keen on using said scarce supplies on his worst enemy (well, he's not sure how Scratch ranks against the Dark Presence, it's a bit of a tie), but...

"I'm not the biggest fan of myself as you know, but I'd at least like to think I have better taste than you," he grumbles back. The writer puts the kit on a nearby table before going over to the fireplace, working in a now practiced motion to light it now that he sees Scratch is going to be naturally useless.

maybe i could stop but i won't;

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