cw | distress, isolation, abuse, abuse between spouses, dark themes, blood, shouting
"That is IT!" Darks powerful voice shouts into the hall, snapping as the world goes grey around them and Wilford. Wilford blinks, tilting his head and pouting. Dark has never spoken to him so harshly. "This is it, this is it. I am done playing your games. You're just like him. You're just like HIM! Everything is a joke to you!"
Wilford backs up, startled into a rare silence. "Dark, what..?" he stutters and trails off. He suddenly pouts harder, looking up at him with wide, simpering eyes. "Now come on then, I didn't hurt THAT many civilians, I'm sure they'll be fine with Edward there-"
Dark's hand is around his throat, gritted teeth and shimmering black eyes staring at him as Wilford is lifted from the ground. He panics, but he does not suddenly reappear somewhere else as usually happens when people threaten him. He does not liquidify or turn to sand or any other silly, nonsensical way of escape. He just stares with fear at his spouse, hands clutching the grey fingers surrounding his throat. Dark tuts under his echoing breath.
"I know what might help," Dark says, voice suddenly calm and cool. Wilford smiles, waiting for the hand to release and his cheek to receive a kiss, something they would do on a normal day. But neither happen. The world blurs and warps at the edges, everything going pitch dark. Wilford tries to turn his head, looking for anything resembling the hallway they were just in, any sign of his home, but it is all black, aside from the grey hand holding him up.
"You have grown too comfortable in the power I have given you," Dark's voice reverberates around this void-like cage. "Too comfortable, much too comfortable. Yes, much too powerful," their voice answers itself.
"Well of course I have Dark, dear! You know our deal, we're both heads at this table!" He kicks his dangling feet grumpily.
Laughter shakes the air in its power. "Oh you stupid boy... You think anyone but me was ever in control of our soldiers? Well, you will have none of them. None of me. None of anyone." The hand lets go, and Wilford falls to the ground with a large thump. He reaches for his gun but it is gone. He crosses his legs, sitting like a preschooler, and pouts into the black.
"Oh come on now, that's no fair! Darkling you are a silly bastard but I suppose I've 'learned my lesson' or whatso. Have at you!" He expects his challenge to be met. He excepts to hear Dark laughing playfully. Only the echo of his own voice answers.
"Er... Dark?" he questions.
Nothing.
"Darkness?"
Nada.
"Damien..?" he tries cautiously.
Nothing is there. No one is there.
On wobbling legs he stands on what seems to be an invisible floor. He walks from end to end, discovering only a 6'x 6' platform. His eyes cannot make out anything in the darkness. He blinks, slowly sinking to the ground, head in his hands.
Great. Just great, isn't it. Well, he decides - falling to the ground and laying down, staring up into ink and emptiness - all he can do is wait for his lover's temper-tantrum to be over. He pops his mouth, picks at his lips, runs his fingers over the smooth, invisible surface he lays on. "What fun, what fun... The emperor builds their walls, hm."
----
Hours. Hours in this darkness with only an echo for company. Wilford can no longer see what he mistook for an outline of the black room. There is nothing. Just nothing, all around him. He is laying down, pressed tight against the floor, feeling the only sensation he can below him. The cool floor presses back, unforgiving. Surely Dark should be back by now. Surely he should've suddenly appeared somewhere else by now. Surely he should be in the yard under the peach tree, covered in sunlight and chasing the Jim twins around.
Only silence and emptiness surrounds him, the pit in his heart growing. He growls, standing up. "Dark, this is enough out of you! Let me out, damnit, you fiend! I was going to make cheesecake tonight, bastard bitch!" He kicks his toes at the floor, waiting for an apologetic grey hand to reach out to him. Nothing, nothing, nothing... The darkness remains barren and cold.
He twirls at his mustache, panting softly. His eyes zip around the darkness, trying to identify anything, anything at all. Nothing, nothing, nothing. He is alone. Oh god. Oh god, he is really alone here. He slowly sinks to his knees, mouth hanging open in fear. He picks his lips bloody, rocking back and forth slowly, desperate for stimulation of some kind. He starts signing nonsense to himself, something about a frog king with his heart on his chest, other things about Napoleon and being tall as gods.
He laughs at his own joke, just to hear the echo as though someone is with him. As though anyone could hear him in the nothing.
---
A week.
Dark left him in the void-like prison no less than a week before the guilt set into his soul. Wilford loves him, and he did this? For some casual murder, as though the other egos aren't just as bad at cleanup jobs? Dark huffs at themselves, standing in front of a floating black ball in the hallway where they fought just a week ago. A whole week ago.
They reach their hand into the darkness. "Wilford," they mumble. "My apologies, Wil."
A hands grabs theirs, and they pull, dragging their spouse through the dark hole in reality itself. He stumbles out, wide eyed, wild, scratch marks covering his arms, lips caked in dried blood, bite marks cutting through his fingers. Dark blinks, but doesn't say anything more. Wilford stares at him, pupils practically vibrating in his skull as they learn to take in light again.
"Dark... nothing. Nothing, nothing, no body was..." Wilford trails off.
"I know, and I offer my apo-"
They are cut off by the click of a gun cocking. They look at their stomach and find Wilford pointing it at them. They look back up at Wilford, raising an eyebrow, shadowing his face in the evening light shining from the window. They push the gun away, and grip Wilford's shoulders, leading him to the window.
"Look, light. Light and our little family. You are safe."
Wilford's gun falls at his side, pupils pinpricking in the light. Light. Light and all of his friends out by the pool or picking fruit from the trees. He sighs, closing his eyes and breathing slowly and deeply. Something, something, someone is here, everyone is safe. Dark hugs him from behind, face buried against his neck.
"I'm sorry..." Wilford croaks.
"I'm sorry and?" Dark coos.
"I'm sorry and thank you for setting me straight," Wilford rasps, voice too tired from screaming and singing to have his usual accent.
In the setting sun Dark hugs his freshly disciplined spouse, and Wilford stares into the light for long, long minutes.
Behind them, the black ball disappears in the sunset.
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