The Fog ⇢ Dead by Daylight Oneshots

𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚗

Eventually, you found yourself back at the survivor campfire. The flames nipped at the oxygen that breathed life into the red heat. You threw the stick back into the pit. The flames rejoicing as they were once again together as one. As you watched the fire dance as one, a thought found its way into your mind. "I should talk to the Observer."

The sentence was soft against your breath. You'd heard of the man before. He's supposed to know everything about everyone, and maybe you can bargain for just a bit of insight into your love's life. So, you scrounged your belongings, finally finding something of worth, your father's pocket compass. It had an engraving written on it, but time-weathered it, some the only letters that were legible was 'yo r o my.' You knew it was a gift from his best friend, but other than that. It was your last remnant of him.

You held the compass over the fire. The flames tickled the medal. The reds and oranges and yellows pulled the items further into its grasp. As the compass fell, the fire roared with contempt before transporting you into a library with a gray-blue floor. The shelves were lined with dark green, blue, and red books with golden lettering against the spine. "Scotch for your troubles?"

There he was, his voice was rough like his black hair that highlighted with brown and gray strands which extended into scraggly muttonchops. His hand grasped a glass with a honey-colored liquid that swirled around with a couple of square ice-cube. You shook your head, not wanting the burn of alcohol down your throat. The Observer nodded before using his available hand to make an extra chair and table to appear. He motioned you to sit down, allowing you to speak. "I want to know more about-"

"Philip? Yes, I know, but I never expected you to come here. This is a meeting that I couldn't predict, isn't that right, Y/N?" As he said your name, you shuddered. Chills filled your body as he stared into your soul, hyper analyzing anything and everything you've ever done. He chuckles. It catches you off-guard, making you stutter against his gaze.

"Well... Yes, but- I want to know more about him, and if I know he won't have to struggle with telling me, you see?" You could see his eyes roll. A smirk was painting his lips as he brings the drink in his hands up to them. Glossy liquid stuck to his upper lip until he brushed it away with his blue dress shirt's sleeve. "So, you think, I'll help you, because your boyfriend, who I might add is a deranged psychotic killer who's viciously killed a multitude of innocent people, won't tell you about his past? Is that it? Because, if so sweetheart, then you've got the wrong man."

You started to grow helpless. You were searching for how you could convince him to help your cause but falling short. In front of you, the man began to swirl his drink, causing the ice to clunk against the glass. "Please, I'll do anything," You could see his smirk increase into an evil grin. The action made you regret your former statement, causing you to bask in a state of humiliation.

"Alright, fine. I'll help you if I can have some of your memories. You'll still be able to remember them, but I will have them here in one of these books where I can find them at any time. Also, you cannot choose which ones I take for my liking." You exhaled in relief. As you considered the offer, you realize the terms could be much worse than listed. Hesitant on your words, you agree. He smiles before a book appears in his hand. 'Memory 656-665' are in gold lettering on the front of the darker green leatherback. He places it on the table, sliding it over, so it stops right in front of your reach. You open the cover, flipping to the first page as the Observer leaves you alone. You skim the pages as actions slowly started to make sense.

After you finish reading, you leave the book on the table before being brought back to the campfire. You've felt as if you've read something you weren't supposed to know. Like you've crossed a line, and Philip doesn't even know. Quickly you grab a stick from the flames, rushing into the darkness that inhabits the surrounding area. You wanted, no, you needed to speak to Philip.

And you did. You found him as you did before his trial. He fiddled with his bell, only looking up when you came into view. He was confused as he recognized your pained expression. "I did something bad..." Your voice trailed off as your throat started to squeeze painfully. Your body reacts to you, bottling up your potential tears. He takes you into his arms, brushing your hair with his hand, trying his best to soothe your emotions. "What happened?"

You started to cry, "I went to The Observer because I wanted to know more about you. And I read about horrible, horrible things that I can't believe you went through, and I'm so sorry." You looked up to see his reaction. He was taken aback, but when he saw your tear-filled eyes, his face softened. "It's fine. I forgive you. I know you didn't mean any harm."

You started to sniffle as you reached into your pocket. Before you left the Rift, you had grabbed a photograph of Philip's parents. You slowly held it up, enough to where he can see their faces on the old polaroid. You could hear the sigh escape his lips as he grabbed it. You could see the longing gaze as his eyes lingered on their features. "Thank you." For the first time in a while, you'd seen him smile, and you hope that he'll do it more often. You never want him to go through some of the things he's already been through again. No matter what, you'd try your best to make him happy.