A little Darkstache songfic for @willywarfy
Song is The Midnight Crew, Eddie Morton
"Dar-dar-Darkiplier," a monotonous, glitchy voice stammered tonelessly, breaking right through the entity's concentration. Dark scowled down at the paperwork that he had finally had a second to take a stab at, took a deep breath, and then trained the scowl on the android that was loitering in the doorway to his office.
"Wilford is ha-hav-having a malfunction," Google informed him, seeming completely unconcerned. "He is in the stud-d-dy, screaming and waving a gun-"
"Is anyone else in there with him?" Dark interrupted, hurriedly organizing the papers before him as he spoke. While screaming and waving guns around were honestly pretty typical behaviors for the man with the pink mustache, if Google said that the man was having a "malfunction", that could really only mean one thing.
"No one else was with him at the time," the android answered promptly, and Dark was relieved to know that Wil probably hadn't had much of an opportunity to hurt anyone in the midst of his crisis.
"I'm going up there. Don't let anyone else near that room until I say otherwise, do you understand?"
"I un-understand," Google nodded, his suspicious gaze following the grayscale man all the while. He wondered what Dark did to stop these attacks. It was probably something so horrifically violent that the android shuddered just thinking about it.
Dark heard Wilford before he saw the man, heard the bangs and crashes as it sounded like the madman was going out of his way to destroy the room that contained him. Heard the agonized cries, heard him scream in fear and anger and confusion as he tried to remember things that he wasn't supposed to remember, as he called out for friends that he would never see again, and for help that would never come.
Dark was going to have to do, instead.
He cautiously opened the door, observing the damage that had already been dealt. Discarded papers drifted through the air, gently fluttering down to land on a floor that was littered with shredded books and broken glass. It seemed that Wilford had shot out at least one window in his panic, and gotten almost all of the lamps.
Wilford, who had backed himself into the corner furthest from the door at Dark's arrival (the most secure position in the room, of course) and who was watching the entity with a sharp, unhinged gaze. His hands were shaking as he pointed a gun at his friend, his breathing rapid, his voice high as he rambled.
"Wh-who…Damien?" the hopeful note in his voice would have pierced right through Dark's heart, if he'd had one. It confirmed his suspicions about what kind of breakdown they were having here, though, and while it was one of Wilford's more emotional kinds, it was also the easiest to deal with.
"No, no, no, you're not Damien," the Colonel corrected himself, his grip on the gun tightening. "He doesn't look like…he's not…what are you?! What sort of awful place is this? First the robot, now a prime example of homo necrosis! I assure you, sir, that I am well up for the privilege of putting down a walking bag of bones such as yourself!"
The wild glint in his eyes became even sharper and more disturbing as his voice lowered with the intensity of his emotions.
Dark sighed lightly, hating what he was about to have to do. Wilford had better really appreciate him for this later.
He turned his back on the gun-toting lunatic as if he were completely unphased by him, humming under his breath as he began to unbutton his suit coat, hanging it primly over the back of the most intact chair.
"What the hell are you doing?" William cried, enraged. "Keep your damn clothes on, you fool! Tell me where my friends are! Tell me what you've done to them!"
Ignoring the questions completely, Dark said loudly, "I hate a moral coward."
The silence that followed his declaration was tense with shock and confusion, and that was enough to encourage the entity to continue, spinning on his heel as he offered his old friend a big, vaudeville smile.
"One who lacks a manly spark," the entity continued, pantomiming a challenge to fisticuffs as he loudly tapped a heel against the wooden floor.
"Are you out of your mind?" Wil demanded, lowering his gun. Dark ignored the irony of that question, an act that he decided was so damn altruistic that he probably deserved a medal.
"I just detest a man afraid to go home in the dark," he said cheerfully, trying to work up a bit of a song as he slowly made his way closer to his unstable companion.
"Well…I mean, don't we all?" the gunman agreed, unaware of the fact that he was holstering his weapon as he spoke.
"I always spend my evenings where there's women, wine, and song!" Dark sang happily, inching ever closer amidst his wide, friendly gestures. He was beyond pleased to see a flash of recognition in Wilford's suspicious eyes at the familiar old tune.
"But like a man…" Wil trailed off, confusion overtaking the fear and anger that had fueled him only moments before.
Delighted, Dark threw caution to the wind, gently tossing a friendly arm around his old pal's shoulders. "But like a man, I always bring my little wife along!"
The Colonel laughed; a lovely, hearty sound as he swooped Dark into a hug, the force of which threatened to crack the entity's spine like a twig. It was a nice feeling, that hug, but it wasn't a Wilford hug.
"Damy, you silly blighter, why didn't you just tell me that it was you in the first place?" William chortled, waving a condescending finger as he lectured, "I could have shot you!"
Before Dark could respond, Wil had him in his arms again, orchestrating the pair of them both in a silly, friendly, affectionate dance that didn't fit the tune or theme of that song at all, and it never had, and it didn't matter how many times Damien had complained about the awkwardness of trying to slow dance to a vaudeville tune, it had never mattered one whit to his fun-loving friend. This sort of thing was madness, after all.
"I'm a member of the midnight crew!" William laughed, spinning Dark quickly as the entity struggled to follow along.
Together they sang, breathless with laughter and dancing, "Home with the milk in the morning, singing the same old song!"
Chuckling, they collapsed into each other, holding on tightly as William tripped over the mess that he had caused, dragging the pair of them down into a giggling, teary-eyed pile. The hysteria bubbled up inside of them both, dragging the moment out so long that it exhausted Wil. Dark knew the exact moment that the emotions reached a crescendo in his friend, felt the difference in the grip the mustached man had on the entity's middle, heard the difference in the way that the two sides of his friend breathed, and knew that he had done his job.
"Dark?" Wilford asked softly, breathless with laughter from a joke that he didn't even remember being a part of. "What are we doing here? Isn't it…isn't it late? I thought that you were doing paperwork. And I was supposed to…to go to bed, right?"
That was exactly the case, and Dark finally let himself wonder what exactly had occurred during that process to set Wilford off. It didn't really matter right now, though. After he finally got his old friend to bed, he'd go over every inch of this room to see if anything in there could have possibly triggered Wil's memory.
"Nah," he said casually, forcing himself to his feet. "Early to bed and you'll miss all the fun!"
Eyebrows furrowed as he allowed the entity to help him to his feet, Wilford asked, "Is that from a song or something? It sounds a little familiar, but I'm not sure…"
Dark forced himself to laugh a little, reaching for his suit coat once again. "Just something that an old friend and I used to say. Come on. Let's get you something sweet, and then it's off to bed, I think."
Dark loved Wilford, he really did. Wouldn't trade him for the world. But it had been nice to spend a little time with his old friend.
