#tcls

“Happy Birthday, Wilford!” Everyone blows bubbles into the air, and Wilford laughs and waves it off like he thinks they’re silly. Really, he’s thrilled. There’s cake and buttloads of candy. The others laugh as a piñatais brought out, and they all hide behind various pieces of furniture as Anti hands Will the bat and quickly glitches away.

Bim and Dark hang back, near the door, watching the festivities quietly, observing but never drawing too near. Will sees them both out of the corner of his eye and slides up with a goofy grin and wiggling eyebrows. “Alright you two, what’s the deal? You’ve been avoiding all the fun!”

Bim continues staring at his toes, offering no answer, so Dark sighs and nudges him towards Wilford who grabs his arm and pulls him into the middle of the party where the Googles have started playing music. Some of them, the braver, sillier ones, have already started dancing. If Dark didn’t know any better, this night would remind him of another.

Lights flashing, loud music, Will goofing around with a bright-eyed man in a suit.

Dark shakes his head as his aura begins to whisper terrible things. He turns to go when he hears Wilford shout after him, “Dark, don’t leave, you old stiff! The others don’t believe you were the keg-stand champion at university!”

I drew too much of my fav beans working together from chapter 9 of TCLS, so enjoy!! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Part 9

Wilford opens his eyes, back in his own body, in his own room. He can feel the warmth seeping back into him. From his chest and reaching out through his arms and legs. The Host is standing by him, coat missing and bandage soaked with bloody tears. Anti is crouched in front of Oliver who is sitting on the floor, “But yer alright? I didn’t hurt ya?”

Ollie is staring at his lips intently and keeps pointing to the oil leaking from his ears. “Talk slower, I’m trying to read your lips.”

Wilford sits up slowly. “Bim…”

“Not here,” Host whispers. “Gone when we woke up, along with Dark.”

“But I took over when ya weren’t expecting it. Are ya sure everything’s alright?” Anti asks as slowly as he can manage in his half-panicked state. His eyes wander over Oliver’s arms and face, riddled with thin lashes from the fight against Dark’s aura. The cuts leak more oil across Ollie’s skin, but it’s his core that Anti is worried about most.

Oliver realizes this and smiles softly before opening his chest cavity for Anti. “See? Functioning at one hundred percent capacity.” His core glows yellow, pulsing like a heartbeat, and Anti visibly relaxes. “You didn’t do anything bad, Anti.”

Wilford smirks at them and then looks up at the Host who has also been listening to their conversation. “Kids, eh?”

The Host reaches over without thinking and grabs onto some of the fabric of Wilford’s sleeve, just to know he’s there. “I found something that I didn’t mean to, while I was in your head. You stayed up all night with-with Dark. And when he woke up…”

“Tough times,” Wilford says with a breathy chuckle, trying to make light of one of the darkest moments of his life. “I think you could say I’ve come a long way since then.”

“People don’t always come back, you know,” Host’s grip on Wilford’s sleeve tightens.

Wilford looks down at Host’s fingers curled in the fabric at his shoulder and reaches up to place his hand over them gently. “But sometimes there’s nothing you can do to get rid of them.”

Host smiles in spite of the emotional storm going on in his chest. “You’re right.”

  Dark looks up when a paper comes sliding across his desk covered in traces of purple glitter. It’s been weeks since the incident, weeks since he disappeared and returned unquestioned. Maybe the Host didn’t want to know which part of him had won out in the end, maybe they’d all rather live in blissful ignorance. So he hadn’t been expecting any interruptions.

Especially not from Trimmer.

“What is this?” Dark picks it up and only then realizes what he’s holding.

“My resignation,” Bim says so softly that it’s almost inaudible. “Effective immediately.”

Dark looks up at Bim as the paper in his hands catches on fire. “You can’t just quit. That’s not how this works!”

“I don’t care,” Bim mutters, already starting to walk away.

Dark jumps to his feet and appears in front of the door to his office, shell cracking. “You think just because you fired a shot at me that’s reason enough to quit?”

Bim finally looks up at Dark, and Dark bites back a gasp. Bim’s eyes are bloodshot and somehow darker than before, rimmed with gray bags beneath. He takes a deep breath and tries to push Dark out of the way, but Dark grabs his arm and won’t let go. So Bim snaps, “I tried to steal my brother’s body and use it to murder you, Dark! Do you really want me here?”

“Oh, bull crap, Trimmer! I’ve done far worse with far less reason, and no one is forcing me to leave! It’s my aura; don’t you think I know what it does to a person? Of course you turned on everyone! That’s what it does best!” Dark watches Bim’s last resolve crumble, and then suddenly he’s sobbing into Dark’s shoulder. He can’t say that he likes this any better than being shot at, but Dark sighs and awkwardly pats Bim on the back.

“There, there. Don’t go smudging your stage makeup on my suit, please… Seriously, don’t...”

Part 7

“It’s not fair, is it?”

Anti twirls a knife through his fingers, crouching protectively over an unconscious Wilford. The Host stands over them both, and even though he cannot see the being standing before them, he knows it’s not Celine anymore. Maybe it never really was.

And the house has faded away to pure darkness around them.

“Huh, one more wound in this broken shell,” he puts his fingers to the wound on his chest and draws them away stained with red. “But I have no use for it anymore.”

“Why don’t ya start tellin’ us why you’ve done this, Dark?” Anti seethes, ready to pounce but not sure when or what good it would do.

Dark tilts his head to the side. “You were never very smart, Anti, so I suppose I can’t hold that against you.” His eyes flick to the Host. “But surely our dear Host has it figured out? Why don’t you take a crack at it?”

Host takes a deep breath. He couldn’t have been fooled, could he? “You need a new body. The old one is broken. It’s been shot a few times, stabbed, dropped off a balcony…” Host hears the sound of Anti’s crackling static behind him and motions for him to remain calm. Wilford’s mind is broken enough as it is. “But why convince Bim to use Wilford’s body to attack you? Seems rather round-about.”

“It’s simple really. No one really trusts me,” Dark says coolly, folding his hands behind his back. “What will the others think? What will they see? They’ll see a deranged Wilford attack me and kill me. Afterwards, Bim will miraculously wake from sleep, only it won’t be Bim. It’ll be me. But I’ll have all his power and all of mine. Wilford will be stuck here, and Bim will be inside Warfstache’s body. I’ll be on top again, and the two strongest individuals who might have a chance of stopping me…” Dark smirks, “are both right here, locked away.”

Host grips his hands into fists at his sides. “What happened? I thought you’d changed. I thought you’d regained some of your humanity.”

Dark tilts his head to the side. “Yes, I suppose some part of me did change, but I’m the darkness, the shadows.” He flickers and reappears next to the Host, whispering. “And that little human part of me will never win out in the end.”

“So you aren’t him. You’re just his aura, all the smoke and mirrors and crap.” Host turns to face Dark very calmly and takes a deep breath. “I think that you underestimate your own bull-headed stubbornness, Dark.”

Anti snickers and glitches to stand beside the Host. “Yeah, I’d like to see ya try to pit yer shadows against that.”

Dark’s shell cracks in anger as he glares at the two of them and then at Wilford on the floor, pink hair tossed back and his face in the sleeping frown of someone having a nightmare. “We’ll see how tough you are after you’ve had a while to rot here alone like I did,” he says before disappearing from the void.

  Wilford’s hand closes around the handle of the gun, and Bim tries again to convince himself that this is what he wants. But there’s relief in Dark’s face, relief that his old friend isn’t dead like he thought, but he’s pretending. He just wants Wilford to think that he cares. He wants them all to think that he cares.

He’s a manipulator. He’s a liar. He’s a killer.

Bim makes up his mind about the time that Oliver makes up his and pulls Dark out of the way. The bullet misses its target and sinks into the wall. Dark’s face is frozen in shock, but Ollie looks furious. He looks directly into Wilford’s eyes, right into Bim’s soul, with twin yellow beacons, and says very plainly, “Drop the gun now, Bim.”

Part 8

“Wilford?” The Host brushes his fingers carefully through the other man’s hair. “Please wake up.” But there’s no response, and the Host is afraid there might never be one. “The Host tried. Please, Wilford. The Host tried to keep you from breaking.”

Host pulls Wilford to his chest and hugs him tight, kneeling there on the floor of this void. “You saved me so many times, more than I can count. Let me save you this once, please. Come back, come back.” He rocks them both back and forth for a few moments before he starts to sing softly, a tune caught in his head with no words.

It’s lost in the emptiness, but the Host keeps going anyway until he can sense a flicker, an old projector being turned on and rattling as the film begins to roll. He brushes the blood-stained tears from his cheeks and narrates softly, “Wilford Warfstache wakes up.”

  “Bim, drop the gun,” Ollie says again, his eyes flickering from yellow to black and back to yellow again. But Bim doesn’t react, and Wilford’s hand still grips the weapon tight. “N̛o̗̤͖w̼̯͖͟.” Oliver’s frame glitches slightly, the yellow glow of his chest turning green for a moment.

Dark staggers back away from the bed. “What?”

Ollie grins and turns his head to glare at Dark. “S̝͙̖͔̥̜͠u͍̤͞r̛̟̱̥̜pr͏is̻̣̮ͅe̠̦̲d͎͕͕͟,̤͠ ̞̥̪͙̀D͏̝̙̥a̜r͖̯͍̝k̞̖̦̭͇̳̯i̬̲̮̙po͈̯̥͎̞o̩?̫͍͚͎͎ ̡͍͖Y̮̹e̘̹̬̥͓ŕ̖̗̮̯ ͓͙̺̟̹̻n̘̟̲̭̮̼̞͝o̻̺̗͈̩͎t̶̯̲͈̙̘ ̧͓t̞̜h̺̙̫̥e͍͝ ͔̼̜̟̫̤on̳͍̝l̢̺͇̘̞͓y͔ ̭͕̼̣o̮͈ne ͏̦̦̫̰͇̹̺th̥a̡̹̩̫͇̹̞ͅt͍̟’s̜̬̥̘̮ a̫̳̠̹̤ p̺͖̼̩̯͠r̼͖͕̤̀o̴̝ a̪̬t̬̼̠̘̬ͅ ̕b͓o̠̖̠̤̠̘͝d͍̦̩̙̀y͉̯͔͈̥̹͢ ̝͍̦͕̮͍s̬̻n͖͍a̸̞̲͍͙̠t̶̮̥̲͈c̦̰͙̜̦h͏̬̩̥̫̗̥ͅi̲͇͓̠̞̼̱ǹ̘g̡̭ ̱̬̹͓ͅar͙̤̫͍͙o̧͈̫͓̳͚̝u̝̹͉͈n͕̺̰̜͓̲̟͝d͓̼̫ ̵̼̘̞̻̙̩͍h͉̘̥ͅe̶͕r̶̙̫̮e͈̠̯̭̙.̱͉” he hisses as his eyes change to black again.

Bim panics inside Wilford’s body and finally comes to his senses. “I-I didn’t want this!”

Oliver’s gaze flickers back to Bim. “Then give Wilford his body back and stop this nonsense before anyone gets hurt.”

Dark grabs Oliver by the collar and drags him over until they’re face to face. “Anti.”

“Both of̛̟ ̭̥́ͅu̧̬ͅs͡,” the bot answers. He tilts his head to the side. “And who’s side are you on, Dark? Because that’s your best friend’s body. Ḩ̬i̤ṣ̷̟ ̧̖̥̖̹m̲̞̥i̭͔͍̩̗n̶͚d ͓̟͓̝̖i̛͖̺̪̺̪̲̰s͘ ͇͚͙͙̲̹s̡̥̮t͚͉̼̱͍̮͜ͅi̼̯̤͞l͉̜̠̗l̢͎̮͔̫͓ͅ ̞̘t̷̟̹ͅr͈̭̳͖̼̞a̶̻p̬̝p̯̬̲͟e̴̩͉̬̺͙̙d̯̮̮,̻̗̪̲̘͟ ̛͕̖̬̘̦̠̼b̭̘̲̱̫r͙̯̹͝ͅͅọ͖͙̖̘k͉̼̞̞̤̫ẹ̺͚̗̯̼͝n̶.̼̫̞̮̜͎͖͝ ̜̹͍̳̦̕A̦̱̫̘͉n͍͓̘̲d̖͚ ͖̀y̠̩͔͈̜o͏̺̘̰̙͇̹u̟̺̫̲̮̯'̟r͏̹ȩ̹ͅ ̲̹̫̘͍͢ͅg͇̪o͎̪̟̳͙̲ͅi̯̺͟n̸̟̣g̛̲ ͚̩͔̳̞̞t̲̮̻̬́o̮̫̘͇ ͇͓̙̠͔͓̝͝f̱̥̜i̝͕̖͔̼͡g̢̺h͖̣̫̥͘t̲̳ ̮̟͕͡u̱̼̩̗ͅs͈͟?̹ͅͅ”

Dark bares his teeth as his aura rings intensely, but Oliver grabs his shoulder and won’t let go. “Don’t do this Dark. Y̧̞͖̪̺͍̯̬ọ̭͍̹̕u̥̼̲͕̻ ̵̯c̢͈̟̣a͠n͏̝ ̪͔̖̜̫̭̞́s͜ͅt̵i̩l͉ͅl̷̜̠̹͔͍̜̭ b̰e̷̠̹̺ ͢h̷͇̜͙͙͕a̴̰̘ṕ̭̪p̷̰͎ỳ̦̳͖̤̯̭͔.̶͙̣̠͖̫̬”

But Dark cracks his neck and grins. “Such a sweet sentiment.” His aura floods the room again until all Ollie and Anti can hear is the ringing, and any color is now gone. Tendrils of shadow lash towards Ollie, but Anti is quick to glitch them out of the way.

“B͙e͔̟͍̣̠͖͡ ̟̹̫̪͚̮s̺͇͔m̠̲͡ͅa͉͕͡r̰̞̯̞͓̞̀t̲̺̟,̞̩͎̰̬ ̸͈̹D̢ḁ̻̮r͇̤̱k͕͠. ̙͍̗̭̙W̤̹̗͞e ̵̯̩̝̼̠̩̲b̘̜̰̦͙́ͅot̖̥͇̥͔̬̞h̡̪̠̥̻̣̮ ̜͉̯k͓n͇̯̗͕o̭̩̙̖̫͞w͖̝ͅ ͏͎͔͖͈̦y̩̝̖̱a̱͇̼̪̫̬͞ c͇͚̟͓͚̥͇͞à̗̫n͓'̫̫t͏̹̳ ͇̮̮̻͢w̮͍̝͈̖͝i͏͔͔ǹ͇ ̛̩̝̣t̶͈͍̘͈͎̻h̰̜͇i̱͍̲͓̗̣͕s̸̬͙̰̻.̞̼̤̯̖̕ ̭No̡t͕̩̰̫̻̺͜ ̨͖͓͔f̫̻͓̯͎͎ǫ̥͖̤̻͉͓re̡͖̞͇̠̥͓̘v̰̩͕̺̝̺ͅe͖r̟̯̙̦.͢”

Oliver steps over to Anti’s body and pulls a knife from his pocket. “Please, Dark. I know you’re stronger than this.”

Dark’s angered façade waivers as his form bends into silhouettes of cyan and scarlet. “What do you know? What do you know about any of this?” The aura writhes and flails around them, lashing against Ollie’s synthetic skin.

“I know you care about Wilford,” Ollie says slowly. “And I know that you don’t want that darkness getting to Bim again. I know you want to deny it, and you want people to fear you. But you care. Don’t try to tell me that you don’t.” His eyes flash yellow.

Dark’s shell breaks, and he screams, arching to the side, an inner war raging. The aura continues to attack Oliver, but Anti glitches the bot from side to side to avoid the worst of it, though he knows that Ollie can’t stand much more. Finally the ringing becomes so loud that it breaks Ollie’s hearing, and darkness descends over the whole room for the span of two breaths before the light and color returns.

Part 1

“What do you mean I can’t go with you?” Dark grabs the front of Host’s shirt and drags him forward.

Dr. Iplier is ready to get between them when the Host takes Dark’s hand and removes it from his shirt. He keeps his voice perfectly level as he says, “The Host insists that Dark not be present because he was there at the time and place that Wilford’s mind has gone back to. There is no telling what will happen to him, if Dark were to come.”

“I don’t care,” Dark says, stepping away from the Host and smoothing back his hair. “I’m coming, and that’s an order.”

The Host shakes his head. “Dark thinks that his powers of persuasion mean something, but the Host is not impressed. He knows what it will be like inside of Wilford’s mind, and he does not need any more risks than he will already have to take.”

“Who will you take with you?” The Doctor asks after a moment. It’s clear that he doesn’t want the Host to do this, not in his current condition, but there is no other way. He can’t trade one friend for another, though this way he could possibly lose them both. There are no easy answers. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

The Host considers this for a moment. “Bim and Anti.” Collective exasperation fills the room, but the Host is insistent. “Bim and Anti or no one at all.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Dark growls. “You want the murderous glitch and a half-wit who can barely use his abilities?” Dark winces slightly as Bim looks over at him, wounded. “My point is, don’t you need someone who actually knows what they’re doing?”

Host taps the bedpost three times. “Wilford’s mind is very chaotic, and so the Host will need to make sure that he can maintain balance. He will need forces of both chaos and order to complete his task, and Bim and Anti both have ties to Wilford that might aid in his survival.”

Bim nods. “I’ll go.” He turns to Walter. “I’ll bring him back. I promise.”

“Well then, Host,” Dark says, with no small amount of an edge to his voice, “I suppose you’ve only to ask the glitch now.”

  “No.”

“But he could die!” Bim shouts. “Don’t you care?”

Anti tugs at the sleeve of his hoodie and frowns. “I care, alright? But I won’t go with him,” he points to the Host who is still standing in the doorway of the Google’s workshop.

“Anti, I trust the Host with my life,” Oliver offers. “And you trust me, don’t you?”

Anti looks between Oliver and Bim and back. “Fine, I’ll go, but I can leave when I want to, right?”

The Host tilts his head to the side and leans against the door frame. “Anti will be able to leave at any time, but just know that it might mean that Wilford never returns.”

Anti twists a knife in his fingers and watches it flash in the light. He remembers the way that Wilford reached out to him at every turn. Even when the two of them fought, Wilford somehow saw that Anti wasn’t as dark as he pretended to be. “Alright, let’s go.”

They all gather around Wilford’s bed. Walter hangs back near the window, pensively tracing a finger over a tiny watermelon, and Dark waits in the shadows in the far corner of the room. Host, Bim, and Anti each take a seat beside Wilford’s bed, and the Doctor stands by watching them carefully. Ollie gives them all another hug good-bye before Host tells them to join hands and reaches to grab Wilford’s hand himself.

The three of them are instantly transported to a sweeping drive leading to a well-kept manor. The sky is painted with the colors of twilight, and a man in formal military attire waits for them at the door.

“Oh, bully! And here I thought I was going to be the last guest to arrive. My friends call me the Colonel! You’re welcome to the same, should it please you…”

Part 4

Anti glitches, unable to keep himself corporeal as the house bends around him. Wood creaks and dust particles float through the air like flakes of snow, and Anti feels in the back of his neck that he’s being observed. His form turns fuzzy like a TV losing signal as he looks around in this new, strange place.

“Yer a real piece of work,” Anti says to the house. “But yer not gettin’ anything from me.” Anti grins and looks around. “And ya know that, don’tcha?”

The house concentrates its shadows around Anti as if a hundred hands are running over him at once, and Anti grits his teeth, shuddering but refusing to scream. Then the shadows draw back. “See? Nothin’ for ya here. Nothin’ left to corrupt.”

There’s a moment of sheer silence as terrifying as a held breath before a scream, and Anti grips his hands into fists at his sides until he snaps out of his trance and finds himself in the main parlor where the Mayor and another man, a detective by the looks of him, are chatting and the Butler is still passing out drinks.

“I’ll take one of those,” Anti says, snatching up another champagne glass and drinking it quickly and shuddering again at the thought of the darkness searching for a way in. He looks up when he sees movement to find Mark descending down the stairs in a robe and looking rather proud of himself.

“Welcome, welcome one and all!”

Anti reaches for another drink. It’s going to be a long night.

  The Host reaches for Wilford, searching through this strange, other place, but it seems as though the house is working against him, pushing him away from where the Host can sense that Wilford is. He fights back against the darkness, and a soft, golden glow begins to shine around him. “Let me see him, or I’ll tear you to pieces.”

The darkness considers this with no small amount of amusement and finally allows Host to follow his desired path. He traces an unseen trail through the house’s winding halls, and when he reaches a staircase going down, he smells the damp warmth of a cellar below him.

Host feels the house draw back, almost as if to say, “Go along and find what you will.”

The Host ignores the nagging feeling of dread building in his gut and follows the stairs down to the cellar where he can hear two men talking. “One bullet, old boy, just one. I’ll take a shot, and you’ll take a shot. If we both live, we’ll call it a draw and never bring up the past again, agreed?”

There’s a click before the other man can respond, but no bullet. The Colonel yells in outrage. “I-I never agreed to this! This isn’t what I wanted!” He’s drunk and flustered, that much Host can tell. There’s the sound of a bottle shattering. “What do you want from me? An apology? I’m sorry that Celine and I fell in love! I’m sorry that she chose me! I was in a low place, and she-she just knew how to-to make it all… go away,” his voice trails off into a whisper. The gun exchanges hands. “Is this what you want?”

Mark sighs. “Just one shot, and then no more bad blood. I promise, Colonel. This will all go away, and we can be friends again. Don’t you want that?” He sounds so sincere, so caring. So Dark.

There’s a moment of silence, a moment of deciding. The Host wants to intervene, but he cannot change this memory. He cannot change—a gunshot resounds through the cellar, and the Host gasps as a body hits the floor.

“No, no, this-this isn’t… this isn’t what I wanted!” The Colonel sounds terrified. His knees hit the cellar floor, and there’s the sound of him gasping for breath and muttering something over and over. At first the Host cannot make it out, and then… “It was an accident. It-it was an accident. It was an accident! I swear!”

The Host rounds the final steps and flies into the cellar. The memory dissipates and instead he finds Wilford, very much himself, kneeling on the floor. His hands search the pink reporter for injuries, but what he finds instead is a gag in his mouth and his hands bound behind his back. “Will?” Host removes the gag from his mouth, and Wilford shakes his head.

“Get out, get out now! I was just bait!” Wilford tries to push the Host away. “Get out! Get out!”

The Host holds Wilford down, trying to calm him. “It’s ok, Wilford. It’s alright! Listen to me!”

“No, you listen to me. This house isn’t what you think. It’s…”

“Dark’s aura, I know.”

“Tell me you came alone.” Wilford takes a breath as the Host pauses. “Tell me, tell me you came alone!”

“No, Anti and Bim…”

“Bim,” Wilford breathes out. “Host, where is he?”

Part 6

“Clear your mind,” Celine says breathily. “And trust me.”

Bim feels the room around him beginning to fade and closes his eyes, relaxing into the hold of Celine’s magic. It’s colder than he expected and prickling across his skin like icy raindrops. Then Wilford slams his way into the room, Anti and the Host close behind.

“Get away from him!” Wilford points the gun and then sees who he’s aiming at.

Celine smiles. “Hello, Colonel.”

Wilford’s form flickers from Warfstache to the Colonel and back as his jaw drops in surprise. “Celine?”

Damien and the Detective burst into the room like apparitions, Damien stepping through Wilford and staring horrified at Celine as she stands to her feet with a smile and waves the memory away. “Who did you expect, darling? Dark?”

Wilford changes completely to the Colonel and takes a step back. The entire house tips around him, and Anti is thrown to the floor before he glitches behind Celine and puts a knife to her throat. Lightning strikes, and the Host throws up a hand. “Careful, this is Wilford’s mind we’re dealing with. If we cause too much chaos, it’ll break!”

Celine bats her eyes at Anti and smiles. “Would you prefer me in another form? Possibly this one?” She changes into Oliver, and Anti glitches away from her with a gasp and a burst of green static.

“How? What have you done with him?” Anti points his knife at Celine as she shifts back to herself.

“Nothing at all. And what about my dear brother?” She turns to Colonel, and as she does, she changes to Damien, eyes pleading. “I thought you cared, Colonel.”

“St-stop,” he pleads, staggering back into the Host’s arms. But Colonel quickly jumps away from Host, eyes wide in fear as if he doesn’t know who the Host is. “Where am I?”

“Bim, please, his mind is failing,” Host calls, but Bim is still frozen in his chair, staring at the chaos happening around him.

The Colonel fires a shot, and Wilford’s eyes spring open.

  “Dark, go rest. You’ve been with them for far too long, and it’s beginning to wear on you. We can all sense it,” Doc presses. “You need to stay strong in case something happens.”

“If something happens, I want to be here,” Dark protests. “I’m not leaving this room until they wake up.”

Oliver’s eyebrows knit together in concern. “Dark, I understand your worry, but you really must remember to take care of yourself.”

“I SAID I’M NOT LEAVING THIS ROOM!” Dark’s shell cracks, and Dr. Iplier steps to place himself between Oliver and Dark. But the dichromatic Ego takes a breath and readjusts his tie, calming himself as quickly as he became angry. “I’m not leaving. Not until they wake up.”

“Damien?” Wilford’s eyes open, and Dark whirls around. “Celine.” He looks around the room and blinks as his eyes settle on Dark. “Dark, it’s you.”

Dark stiffens and steps closer. “Will? Are you alright?” Dark’s eyes shift to Anti, Host, and Bim, all still unmoving. “What about the others?”

Wilford sits up slowly, hissing slightly in pain. “I-I don’t know. It’s all sort of… fuzzy.”

Dr. Iplier rushes over to the other three men and starts to check them for vital signs. “Why aren’t they waking up? They should be waking up now, right?”

Oliver hangs back in the doorway, blinking slowly at Wilford. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

Wilford looks up at Dark and then back to Oliver with a smile. “Of course, I’m alright. Takes a lot to kill ole’ Wilford Warfstache,” he says, wiggling his mustache, but Ollie doesn’t look convinced.