Chapter Text
Chapter 2: Questions
Cecil watched the small, far-too-thin, lanky man sleeping on the couch of his family’s home with curiosity. This man was very important. This man was very dangerous. He wasn’t sure how he knew these things, but like most things, he ignored the hows and the whys and focused instead on what he could know, what it seemed like he was currently allowed to know. He’d change what he knew about this man if it seemed necessary.
He’d told Carlos and they’d agreed, this man was an unknown and dangerous factor, and sent Estaban off to stay with his Aunt and Uncle while they resolved this situation. Carlos was waving a Science device over the sleeping form of the passed out outsider on their couch. It was doing a lot of beeping.
“Hm.” Carlos said, looking at the screen of his Science device.
“Sooo…?” Cecil asked. It was hard to keep the excitement out of his voice. Something new that wasn’t immediately dangerous in town, this would be fun to report on! If it was Approved, that is.
“Physically he seems healthy. But.. he’s a twelve on the Weirdness Per Molecule scale.” Carlos said. “ His danger level is seventy. Uh, for comparison, our fridge is about a three?”
“Huh. Do you think I should include that in the Good Samaritan Forms?” Cecil said, holding up a few pieces of municipal paper and a sharp piece of charcoal (pens were not allowed in nightvale). “ Probably under Additional Comments.”
“That’s probably fine?” Carlos said, and went back to tapping on his Science device. “Cecil, the numbers here don’t add up. Someone new showing up to Nightvale with a danger level of seventy and a weirdness of thirteen, well, usually by now we’d all be in terrible danger. Nothing a little Science couldn’t fix, but, it’d be significant.”
Cecil handed out the proper paperwork to an awaiting government bird at the window. He watched it fly away, then returned his attention to Carlos.
“You sound worried, no...concerned.” He said. He took his frowning hero scientist husband’s hand in his.
“I am concerned.” Carlos sighed, but he smiled “ but this is also very scientifically interesting and...nice. Nice of you, Cecil, helping an outsider like this.”
Cecil blushed and squeezed Carlos’ hand. “Well...you know, not every interloper is a bad thing. Sometimes, interlopers are the best thing.”
“Hnff…” the man on their couch interjected. He was frowning and sweating. It looked like he was having a terrible nightmare.
Cecil cocked his head to the side, a strange expression overtaking his face, eyes taking on a slight purple sheen.
Carlos quietly took notes. His husband was doing It again. He didn’t think Cecil was even consciously aware of it—or was suppressing his awareness on purpose, as he was wont to do with any information he found too cognitively distressing.
Sometimes, Cecil could just Know things. Things he couldn’t possibly know. Things he shouldn’t know.
Carlos was worried. No. Concerned...no, worried. As this ability seemed to gradually increase in use. At first it was always only used for the benefit of the Radio Station reports, but gradually, it was increasingly a part of Cecil's everyday life.
Supernatural abilities weren’t anything out of the ordinary for this town, but he saw his gentle husband’s reactions, and that's what bothered him. The discomfort and confusion after getting an Interview from someone who definitely wouldn’t have wanted to give one, Taking statements that made coherent sense from incoherent survivors and witnesses, who babbled and sobbed until simply Asked their story, Carlos could see his sweet husband go through brief, but impossibly long, moments of horror written all over his face, before quickly suppressing it, not acknowledging anything had happened out of the ordinary.
And so Carlos took notes, not secretly, but quietly. If he could understand it, he could explain it, and ease his husband's worries about...whatever had been slowly happening to him (or maybe what had always been happening to him, that he just hadn’t noticed before).
“He’s having terrible nightmares” Cecil suddenly spoke, voice shaking slightly, expression blank, eyes cold, distant, and purple.” . I...I think he died, I think he died somewhere far far far away from us, and I think Nightvale...claimed him, for something...and that more are coming…not all of them, friendly...” Cecil put a hand to his forehead.
He didn’t like that he knew all this . He didn’t understand it. If he understood it, maybe he would like it less, though...
He bore his teeth together, and like a true citizen of Nightvale, he barrelled past what caused him confusion and pain.
He smiled as best he could. “Also, he’s British! “ he said cheerfully. “ Wow, Nightvale is really making waves for us to be getting british immigrants here in our little town, huh.”
“ That’s true.” Carlos said. He put his arm around Cecil. He knew it wouldn’t do any good to try to make him acknowledge All That. Until it was absolutely necessary, he’d rather help him feel better after these strange informational outbursts than add to the stress.
They take a moment to simply be, together, with thousands of words unsaid. Some that needed to be said, others that never would be, all silently hanging in the air as dust.
Carlos broke the silence. “Well. I’d better get started on my calculations, maybe a few tests, down at the lab.” He adjusted his large thick framed glasses. “Call me if anything changes, okay?”
“Of course.” Cecil said with a smile. He kisses Carlos on the cheek and walks him to the door, and waves goodbye.
~
Jon awoke with a start and a yelp of terror. He swore for a moment, he could see something faceless and old, staring at him without eyes, but the figure was gone once he sat up. Nightmares following him into the waking world.
He paused in rubbing his forehead. Nightmares. He hadn’t...had any. Not of the usual manner, where he was staring forever at someone reliving their worst moments in an endless loop. Just normal nightmares from trauma.
Relief bit down into his very bones and he couldn’t help but laugh, which got the attention of the man in the purple t-shirt, yellow sandals, rainbow shorts and ridiculously large belt and belt buckle. Ah, the same man who’d approached him earlier, he was standing in front of the door in the living room to the house.
A house, he was in a house. A real house, not a trap from some nightmarish Fear god made real, but an actual house, a real couch, someone’s home.
It’d worked. He Knew it would, had Seen that it had, as he died, but it’d truly, actually worked...and he wasn’t dead, somehow. He tried to Know why, but that just made him fall off of the couch, holding his head in pain. He straightened himself up quickly, and found himself watching the man who’d he met earlier, watch him back, wide eyed.
The eccentric man grinned, stepped forward, and put out his hand.
“Hi there! I’m Cecil. Radio Host, and the Voice of Nightvale.” He said cheerfully.
Jon blinked, surprised at the man’s accent. American? How did he end up in America again, of all places.
“J-Jonathan Sims. The Archivist.” He said automatically. He didn’t have time to cringe at his instinctual usage of his title.
“There’s that accent! How exciting. You’re moving here permanently right? You must have been so overwhelmed by all this strange American stuff that you passed out, am I right?” Cecil said.
Jon stared at him. Jon Knew that Cecil Knew that what he was saying was nonsense. Well, the latter part was nonsense.
Jon Knew, somehow, with growing trepidation, that Cecil was right about one thing--he was tied here. Whatever had brought him here had put that knowledge into his very bones.
“Right...yes, well, It's rather...complex, but I suppose I am...supposed to be here.” Jon managed to say. “ Here being...Nightvale, you said?”
“Nightvale.” Cecil nodded. “ We’ll show you fun in a handful of dust, as our tourism board says. Say, why don’t you sit down? I can get you some coffee. I just ground up some this afternoon, if you don’t mind not having a super fresh cup.”
“”That...that would be lovely, thank you.” Jon said. He felt he was underreacting. Perhaps he was immune to all...this, now. Whatever it was. He sat back down on the couch, and Cecil went to the kitchen to prepare coffee. He looked around the room. There were multiple family pictures on the walls. Cecil with a dark skinned man, wearing a labcoat. Wedding photos of the two of them. The two of them with a small child at several locations. A happy family.
It was...confusing. It was nice to see, yes, but, clearly this Cecil was touched by the Eye, he could sense it. How was he managing to live so normally? What if it was a front, was Jon in danger? No, he didn’t need to Look or Know for that, and he chided himself for so immediately leaning on those powers again. If he had indeed been given another chance, a clean slate, he had to make the best of it. No jumping to paranoid conclusions or relying heavily on his powers gained from his patron of pure evil.
Cecil poked his head around the corner from the kitchen to the living room, interrupting Jon’s brooding.
“How do you take your coffee?”
Jon wanted to answer “with as much cream and sugar as possible” but ended up saying “Oh, some...cream and sugar, thanks, if it's no trouble.”
“Got it!”
Cecil returned with two steaming cups of coffee. Jon saw Cecil’s was a light beige from all the cream and sugar and...possibly pieces of candy...floating in it. He looked down at his own cup, and saw it was the same. Well. He didn’t want to be rude.
“Th..thanks.”
“So…” Cecil started, then failed to continue.
“So…?” Jon said. He sipped his coffee, ignoring the burning, he needed something inside of him. For a moment his teeth hurt from all the sugar. Christ, if he’d actually said what he’d wanted, just how much would he have put in?
It made him miss Martin.
Well, even more than he did every second. Wait, if he was back, then, he had to contact Martin! He didn’t have his phone, perhaps he could Look and see where Martin was.
He Looked.
Martin was nowhere. It felt like hitting a brick wall. Information seeped into his mind and his heart sank.
There was no way for him to contact Martin. This was a different timeline, for lack of a better word to describe it. His Martin was still back in his original world.
But what was it that Being had said. An Archivist needs Assistants?
No. He wouldn’t want to re-bind anyone to himself, to whatever plans this mysterious entity had.
“You said you’re an archivist?” Cecil said. “ I like the concept of Archives. Holds all the knowledge of a library without all the danger of librarians.”
“Danger of...er, well, I was an archivist. My...place of work has gone up in flames. Recently, or--I assume, recently. What is today’s date?” Jon asked.
Cecil checked his bright orange spongebob watch. “ About 4pm, Sunday, May the fourteenth, 2020. Time works in Nightvale these days, so you can trust that it's right.”
Jon’s mind swirled with more questions, but he stuffed them down. “And...the world is...back to normal.”
“Did something happen to it?” Cecil asked.
Jon paused. Images and memories streamed in of all the horrors he witnessed, was unable to, and still couldn’t, truly feel terrible about. He could feel guilt, but he couldn't feel bad about what he was seeing. It was stripped from him long ago.
But this was a world with trees, and houses, and families, and strangely dressed men who hosted radio shows.
He Knew that his apocalypse tried to reach this place, the knowledge worming in as he thought about the subject, but because of his actions in ending it in his own timeline, it never reached Nightvale.
“It did...but...I think it got better.” Jon said, allowing a small smile to pull up the corners of his lips.
“Huh.” Cecil paused. His eyes took on a slight purple shimmer and he smiled. “It sounds like quite a tale. Something I could Report on! The Apocalypse that Never Was! You could come in for an interview after you’re set up in town. I’m sure the entire Town will want to know your Story.”
Jon watched as Cecil merrily talked about his job with such passion. A human passion, too, but there was...more to it.
It was odd. Seeing Hunger in someone else's eyes. Was this how Cecil served the Eye? Divulging information to the masses? Knowledge that they shouldn’t, couldn’t, know?
He supposed it was better than eating trauma and causing unending nightmares.
“Yes, I think...I think that I will. It's the least I could do, after you’ve offered such assistance.”
“Excellent!” Cecil cried out. Jon started. God, Americans were so loud. “Oh, sorry, just.” Cecil giggled. “ excited. I love getting to cover a big story!”
“I see.” Jon took a long sip of his too-sweet coffee. “ Lets hope its a good one, then.”