AN: So... hi there.
ONLYFLATMATES, THIS IS YOUR FAAUULLLT~
I am in a war with one of my best friends. This is an angst war. Sorry not sorry. WARNING FOR SELF HARM, CHARACTER DEATH (temporary) AND KIND OF GRAPHIC VIOLENCE.
For my next fic... well, I'm open to suggestions. Send me ideas on my blog, cecilstrophy dot tumblr dot com.
One day, this war will be over... but not today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that.
It had started off a day like any other. Cecil had woken up Carlos - rather pleasantly, the scientist might add - and they spent another hour or so in bed, just enjoying each other and embracing the aspect of a new day. Or an old day, if the City Council decided that Thursday was not over yet, but that was inconsequential and therefore neither man (or man-like creature) acknowledged that.
Then they both got ready for the day. Cecil brushed his teeth while Carlos took a shower, because if they were to brush their teeth at the same time there would be many bumpings of elbows and all-around botherment. When Carlos was done with the shower, they switched off. Then came breakfast, where Cecil used his extra appendages to crack eggs over the frying pan whilst kissing Carlos on the nose. The scientist grumbled happily and made his way over to the fridge, where the milk and the strange carton of blood-red substance sat. After a moment of debilitation, he picked the blood-red substance and returned to the table where he poured two cups of it. He sat down, grinning up at his lover as Cecil deposited the eggs on their respective plates.
They ate like two star-crossed lovers were bound to, by not paying much attention to the food in their mouths and more on the pure adoration that was held in the others' eyes.
As they finished up, Carlos put both the plates in the sink. Cecil blushed, Carlos grinned, and they both decided to wash the plates and the pan later.
Carlos pulled his white weekday lab coat over his red plaid shirt and blue jeans, while Cecil tightened his purple bow, straightened out his black sweater vest and adjusted his dress pants. They were both prepared to go to work. They separated on the doorstep of their shared apartment with a kiss, and then Carlos was off to his lab and Cecil had to get to the radio station. Carlos pulled out of the driveway first, his beat-up pickup truck rumbling as it came to life - not literally this time, luckily. Cecil's purple jeep was next, growling and sputtering as he drove it down the opposite street. Various townspeople waved to the voice of Night Vale as he drove past - Old Woman Josie, finally out to buy her sugar and salt, Jon Peters (you know, the farmer?) visiting with a few farmer friends of his... even the ghost of the Apache Tracker flickered amiably at him as he drove past.
That guy was such an asshole.
The Glow Cloud was out as well, leaving a path of small dead insects as it muddled on. When it saw Cecil, its glow changed from an ugly yellow to a rosy pink.
By the time Cecil arrived at the station, almost everyone in Night Vale had stopped to say hello. He paid that small detail no mind as he slipped into his radio booth and prepared the standard pre-recorded messages for later that night.
Then, Cecil listened to the weather that day, and everything started to go pear-shaped. The weather predicted homicidal amounts of rain for the next few days, something that he was sure Carlos would not like. His scientist always enjoyed the sunny days in Night Vale, when the bright light in the sky blinked down at them and he was able to perform as many scientific experiments as he wanted out in the sunshine. On rainy days he sat in the kitchen, trying DIY experiments such as vinegar volcanoes or testing the boiling point of the bloodmilk they had in the fridge. Cecil didn't understand Carlos' fascination with the tasty morning drink at all, to be truthful. He would have though his perfect lover much more interested in the amazing miracle of actual milk, without the blood included.
Cecil was getting off topic. He had work to prepare.
After a few more minutes of worrying about his Carlos, work had to start. Night Vale needed his soothing dulcet tones to calm their minds of the madness.
He began his show regularly - the usual "Hello, Night Vale," greeting, the first bit of news...
Intern Vanessa handed him a small piece of paper. There was a smear of blood on the bottom-most corner, with quickly scrawled words scrambled together across the tiny page.
"This just in, listeners," Cecil told the audience as he quickly read the paper, "Oh... oh dear." He swallowed heavily and winced. "A strange man has been sighted around town. He is tall, tanned, and terrifying." Cecil's voice wavered as he continued to read. "This man is positively demonic - please, please my dear listeners: if you see this man, run. Run and do not look back, for he will be running after you."
With that, he cleared his throat and shook himself out of his impeccable horror. "Anyways, parents? Advice on children: how to pick the best and slaughter all the rest."
He continued his news reports with all his regular intonations and cheer, although in the back of his mind he couldn't help but fear what was in store for his lovely town of Night Vale.
A few minutes later, just before the weather, the door to the radio station slammed open.
"Excuse me, listeners, it seems we might be having an unexpected visitor!" He exclaimed. "Let me go check and see who it is." He sat back in his chair and peered out the window of his tiny recording booth, only to look directly into the face of Hell. He shrunk back to his desk and seriously considered cowering underneath it like he had when Station Management opened the door. "Uh, it seems we have been visited by this, um, tall, tanned, terrifying man." He was silent as he let his listeners digest this fact. "I sincerely hope Intern Vanessa has hidden herself away, as I am trying to do as well." He could hear loud, booming footsteps as the tall, tanned, terrifying man stepped closer. He quickly decided to push himself under the desk, but as he did so he knocked over his coffee mug. It shattered upon impact with the floor, and the footsteps stopped. "I believe he has heard me," Cecil admonished, his shoulders falling as he resigned himself to his fate, "I fear I might not make it out alive. If I do in fact suffer brutal murder by the hands of this man, let me at least say these words one last time: and now, the weather."
As the recording booth door creaked open and the first notes of the song began to play, Cecil whispered, "Carlos..."
That beautiful name had passed his lips for the last time...
He saw large black boots step in front of his desk. He heard a grunt as the desk was lifted from the floor and thrown to the side of the room.
The man was tall, tanned, and terrifying. He said nothing as he picked Cecil up and held him like a rag doll. "Hello," Cecil greeted, amiable and pleasant till the end, "May I help you?"
The man said nothing, and continued to stare into his very soul. Cecil's tattoos rapidly spun out of control across his body, the only sign of how truly terrified he really was. The pressure at his throat grew stronger as the tall, tan, terrifying man began to squeeze. Cecil lashed out in pain and fear, his usually dormant tentacles springing forth to try and wrestle himself free. It had no reaction on the strange man, but the pressure increased. Cecil coughed out words, trying to reason with him, but nothing could change him.
Blackness slowly overcame his vision-
his breathing grew shallow and ragged-
and then he died.
.
. .
. . .
and then he came back. Great, gasping breaths of air filled his lungs, his eyes opened wide and fearful, and the first thing he said was "Oh, dear listeners, I have had quite the experience."
Until the oxygen flow finally reached the part of his brain that remembered the past five minutes. He looked around wildly and saw the tall, tan, terrifying man standing above him.
"Did not... work," the man growled, each word straining out of his mouth like bones breaking, "must find... other way."
Cecil shivered at those words, somehow knowing exactly what the man meant. "No!" He shouted, fury finally pulsating through him furiously. "You can't touch him!" His tentacles shot out towards the man, desperate to rip him into shreds for even thinking about -
But he simply walked straight through the writhing mass of death that Cecil had thought himself as. He was gone in an instant, much faster than Cecil had imagined him capable of. He took precious seconds to make sure the recording equipment still worked before tapping on the mike and sobbing, "Dear listeners, I must go. Hopefully I will return in one piece. But if this is indeed the last time I do say these words... good night, Night Vale. Good night." He shoved himself away from his desk and sprinted out the door.
He truly hoped Intern Vanessa was all right.
He ran all the way to his destination, not even thinking once about his car. His mind a whirlwind blur of need to protect and utter horrifyingly, heart-shattering fear.
He arrived at Carlos' lab with a heavy heart and panted breath. He raced inside, only to receive the shock of getting there just in time, yet still much too late.
Carlos was looking up at the tall, tanned, terrifying man with an emotion best described as scared shitless plastered across his face. The imposing man towered over the scientist, seemingly waiting for something. He turned his head to match eyes with Cecil, and nodded. "This work."
Cecil could do nothing but watch as his only love was ripped apart before his very eyes. The tall, tanned, terrifying man grabbed Carlos by the throat and -
Cecil was lost inside himself as he had no choice but to watch with a wide, open stare. Carlos' screams echoed in his ears, alighting a fire that burned and consumed more and more with each sick sound of tearing flesh. A noise like a dying animal seeped from Cecil's open mouth, unbidden and involuntary. The man's face twisted in a sick form of half smile as he rested the remains of Cecil's heart and soul on the ground.
"Your... turn."
With that, the tall, tanned, terrifying man disappeared.
And Cecil had nothing left to lose. The raw sadness inside of him quickly turned to a raging fury, one that could never be stopped by soft, soothing words or gentle caresses. Words and touches that Cecil would never hear or feel again from his love.
His vision flickered between regular, black and red tints before he grounded himself and curled his fingers into lethal claws. His tentacles sprang forth, undulating and writhing furiously in the air around him. His teeth lengthened and sharpened into feral fangs, and he knew what he had to do. At last, everything was clear.
The only things that Cecil were aware of in the hours that followed were the pieces of blackened flesh embedded in his fingernails and the lovely stench of blood in the air. No one could quite stop him from his heartbroken rampage.
When he finally shook his head free of his homicidal rage, he was back in the radio station. Intern Vanessa was in front of him. Well, not all of her was in front of him. Perhaps a quarter of her dead face stared back up with empty eyes, but the rest of her was scattered across the sound board.
Cecil stopped.
He collapsed to his knees. Oh, god. He cleared his throat, hoping that he hadn't ruptured the station equipment in his rampage. "L-listeners?" He called out. "I do h-hope that you have escaped my, ah - grief." He swallowed guiltily. "I, ah - p-please listen to this pre-recorded message." He quickly pressed a button that gave off the calming noise of bloodstone chanting and then left the station as speedily as inhumanly possible. He knew that no one had survived. It was an instinctual burn in his gut that assured him everything he had ever known or loved had perished - all by his own hand. He stumbled in his footsteps and bit back a soul-wrenching moan. He looked to his car and sighed. Might as well take that instead. As the jeep rumbled down the road, Cecil had to hold back the urge to vomit that had arisen in his stomach. Blood spattered the streets. Jon Peters (you know, the - well, it doesn't really matter anymore, does it?) was in pieces, his stereotypical straw hat turned red with blood.
Old Woman Josie - no.
Even the Glow Cloud was destroyed, and that thing was incorporeal.
Eventually he reached the lab where his Carlos had taken his last breath. Cecil stopped the car and hopped out. He had to give his scientist a proper goodbye, at least. Cecil gingerly stepped into the laboratory, wincing at the squelch of wet flesh underneath his shoes. He couldn't look up to face what had happened. He could not.
But he did anyways, and what he saw sent a knife straight through his heart.
Carlos was not whole. Pieces of his perfect face were missing, and - his hair was wet, messy and matted with his own blood. Cecil could not hold back the sob that had been building up in his chest. He moaned softly, slowly, and yet it poured forth every broken emotion he felt upon seeing his lover's face so horrendously damaged...
And that was when he saw it. Just - sitting there, inconspicuous as can be, simply resting on the table like it wasn't the answer to Cecil's only problem.
A plain needle and thread, still ready for fixing up whatever it had been that Carlos needed to sew. Cecil took the needle in his hand and beamed. He could still save his scientist. He positioned himself over the cool body of his lover and held the needle in position with the torn flesh. "Forgive me, perfect Carlos," Cecil smiled softly, "for I am Sin."
It took him hours. Hours of picking apart the lab for all the bits and pieces of Carlos that had been scattered apart. It was worth it, of course. He couldn't bear to lose any part of his perfect scientist. It wouldn't matter that some of the major organs had been damaged beyond repair... after the reanimation process, he wouldn't require them. He wasn't quite sure how to do it, but he knew, deep in the back of his shattered soul, that there was a way to bring Carlos back. Everything would be all right.
Oh. Cecil winced. If he brought Carlos back to a town of dead bodies, he might not be so appreciative. Perhaps he would fix them, as well. He would miss Old Woman Josie's corn muffins, and if she stayed dead then the angels would not be happy with him. It was strange that he hadn't seen the angels so far. For some reason, Cecil had thought that perhaps they would have returned from their Heavenly duties to see the ruckus he had created and attempted damage control. Maybe the angels just didn't care about Night Vale as much as Josie had thought.
That was his train of thought until he remembered a blinding light and ear-piercing shrieks - and realized that yes, the angels had attempted damage control.
He let go of his strange thoughts and instead stared at the whole-again body of his scientist. "Oh, Carlos..." Cecil murmured, cradling his body in his arms. "I love you." He pressed a kiss to the still corpse and sighed. He had a lot of work to do, and no one else to do it with him. He picked himself up off the floor and tried to brush off the bloodstains on his pants. He made his way over to the entrance of the lab and took a deep breath. This would take a while.
And a while it did take. The ancient sun in the sky did not blink once during his stint as fixer-upper, choosing instead to let forth giant tears that welled up and hit the ground with immeasurable force. Cecil worked through it, though. The remains of his friends were important to him as well, he realized, and he wanted them to be as whole as possible. It still left one question, though - how would he bring them back? The Apache Tracker stared at him in disbelief, flickering in and out of existence angrily. It was good to know that he had an otherworldly asshole to watch over him as he fixed the town as best he could.
A frail whisper in the back of his head reminded him of an old corporation that could, possibly, do anything. If Cecil could find out how to contact them, he would be able to ask them for help.
The whisper in his head spoke of calling up a certain person who could help. Cecil winced at the suggestion, though. He didn't want to talk to that guy, ever.
But he had no choice.
With a heavy sigh, he pulled out his phone and dialed the one number he never thought he would need.
The phone rang a few times, and Cecil was beginning to worry. Had he traveled to Desert Bluffs and killed everyone there, as well?
"Hello?" Kevin's smooth voice grinned into the receiver. Cecil jumped and squeaked.
"Ah, yes. H-hello, Kevin." Cecil managed to bite back a growl as he spoke.
"Oh, well hi there! What's up, Ceec?"
Cecil had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming. "Uh, n-not much. I just need to, heh, contact... StrexCorp?" He didn't quite remember the name of the corporation, but he was pretty sure that was it.
Kevin hummed. "StrexCorp? Lucky for you, I'm one of their agents. What do you need?"
Cecil blushed. He wasn't sure he'd like to let Kevin know he kind of murdered everyone in his respective town. "Uh, can StrexCorp, um... bring people back to life? After being dead for a few hours?"
Kevin was quiet for a long time. Then, "Oh. I remember this." He sounded... wistful. Cecil didn't get it - then again, this was Kevin.
"Right, well, can they... help?" He couldn't keep the dim hope out of his voice, and Kevin hummed once more into the line.
"Cecil, the price is... heavy. You'll never be able to leave the town again - in fact, no one will. You'll be stuck for eternity." It was funny, Cecil thought - it was almost as though Kevin was trying to warn him. Like he actually cared.
"It doesn't matter." Cecil's responded, harsh and uncaring. "I can't stay like this forever."
Kevin sighed. "I know." There was a long pause. Cecil was close to thinking that the Desert Bluffs radio host had hung up on him, until - "Go, be with Carlos. It won't be long now."
"Thank you," Cecil breathed, "I don't know what I'd do without -"
"Just... go." Kevin snarled, hanging up on him without a second to spare. Cecil frowned as he put his phone away. That was odd, Kevin was usually so... sweet. It was a saccharin kind of sweet, like the taste in your mouth if you put too much sugar in your coffee, but he never raised his voice or spoke ill.
It was concerning. Deeply so.
Still, he rushed to the lab. He didn't want to miss his lover's return. Carlos would be scared. Worried. Perhaps he would go into shock. But he would be okay. He would be fine. They could go back home and forget this ever happened in the first place. They could fall asleep in each other's arms - not the lethal sleep that came before death, but the peaceful, resting kind - and wake up and everything would be all right.
Right?
The lab was quiet when Cecil got back. Too quiet.
Which was odd to think, because previously the only inhabitant had been the dead body of Cecil's scientist.
Cecil was, against all better judgement, hopeful. He was sure that Carlos would be okay. StrexCorp would not lie. Hell, he had just given he soul over to the corporation. They wouldn't screw him over like that. They wouldn't.
Would they?
He entered slowly, cautious of what would greet him.
Where Carlos had lain was an empty pool of stagnant blood. There was some rustling in the second room of the lab, where the emergency shower and eye-washers were. Cecil made a beeline for it, desperate to see his scientist...
... frantically washing his eyes in the eye washer. He rubbed and scrubbed and was furiously panting, clearly terrified. Cecil frowned and took one step closer.
"Carlos?" He asked, hesitant. The scientist froze.
"C-Cecil?" He froze, picking up his glasses before rising and placing them gently on his face. He scrunched his nose and took the glasses off, staring at them in confusion. "Cecil, what's going on? Why is there blood -"
Cecil walked to his lover and wrapped his arms around him. "It's all right," he soothed, smoothing the back of Carlos' hair gently, "We don't have anything to worry about. I fixed it. Let's... drink. To forget." He blinked, holding back a bittersweet sob. "Please?"
Carlos shook his head, fighting his way out of Cecil's embrace. "No," he sighed, "Not for this. I can't... I need to know."
Cecil bit down on his lip and had to stabilize himself on the table as he held back tears. "Um..." he shuddered. "You... you died."
"Oh." Carlos said, somehow handling this a lot better than Cecil had. "And you brought me back?"
Cecil nodded. "And, uh, everyone else."
Carlos narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
The radio host looked down and twiddled his thumbs. "I may have, uh, gone on a slight homicidal rage after your death."
The scientist glared at him. Then he froze once more, as he reached one (well-sewn, if Cecil had to say so himself) hand up to touch at the corner of his mouth. "Cecil," he whispered, "Why do I have stitches in my face?"
There was a long silence as the blond man stared at the floor. He worried his bottom lip. "I, uh... you weren't exactly... in one piece." He licked his dry lips and shivered. "I had to fix you."
"Then how did you... bring me back?" Carlos asked, his voice no louder than a hushed breath. Cecil did not answer him. Instead, he chose to exit the room silently.
Carlos, of course, followed. "Cecil?"
A tattoo of a rabbit hopped onto his forearm and he did not answer. Carlos grabbed Cecil's arm and made him stop. "Cecil." He commanded, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to resist. "Tell me everything."
And so he did.
From his own failed demise, to Carlos' messy one, to the entire town's murder, Cecil explained everything as best he could and tried to ignore the look of horror on his lover's face.
When he finished, he looked up. He instantly looked down, though, because he could not bear to see the disgust that was written all over Carlos' face.
"Can... can we just," Cecil chuckled brokenly, "can we just... forget this ever happened? Everyone is back to normal. We can't leave, but... we're still together."
Carlos took a step back. The stitches at his mouth pulled down in dread. "No, Cecil - I don't think I can 'just forget'."
Those words shattered Cecil's heart. "I - I'm sorry, Cecil," Carlos looked down, "Could you please..." He gestured to the door.
The radio host did not answer. Instead, he tried to hold back the broken pieces of his heart and turned to the door. "Of course," he mumbled, "I'll... see you around."
Carlos did not respond.
As Cecil left the lab, the door slammed shut behind him.
As soon as he was sure his... the scientist couldn't see him, he collapsed and let the waves of burning desolation wash over him. He was a fool for even hoping that Carlos would forgive him. How could he have even thought that? He was a monster. He had killed and tortured and maimed and had expected everything to be all right. What was wrong with him? How could he ever wake up in the mornings, knowing that he was capable of such destruction and chaos? How could he ever smile again, knowing that he broke the very core of his entire existence beyond belief?
He had taken and broken and expected everything to be all right.
It would never be all right again.
Which, of course, in the pit of his empty cries for death, is when things somehow got worse. The very ground rumbled beneath his feet. Cecil looked up in fear, and saw something that would fuel his nightmares for years.
It was a giant white van. On the side in big, black block letters were the words "STREXCORP: A BETTER FUTURE FOR US". The van pulled up behind him and stopped. The driver side door opened and out hopped a strange masked man.
"Thank you for choosing StexCorp," the man said in an automaton-like tone, "Your payment is as follows: the secret police will be flushed out, as will the hooded figures. We can't have any unwanted attention here."
Cecil nodded, holding back a low growl. Couldn't the robot tell he was having an emotional moment? Then again... perhaps he didn't deserve it. A new wave of self-hatred washed over him completely and he bit back a morose moan.
"Of course, we will also have to change the name of each and every object in this town." At Cecil's shocked look, the robot shrugged. "Copyright." It said in answer. The robot placed one hand on Cecil's forehead and beeped. "You are Kevin."
The thing scurried away, touching objects, beeping, and renaming them. As it went on its way, Cecil - there was no way he'd refer to himself as that horrible other name - stared desolately at his own hands. He ruined everything.
He couldn't even keep his own name anymore. Chances were he'd never be able to laugh again. He had lost everything.
After a few minutes of despairing reflection, the robot beeped its way back to him. "You will report to work at precisely five o'clock tomorrow morning. You must greet the sun."
Cecil nodded. The robot beeped one last time and left.
He was all by himself, now.
He picked himself up, dusted off his dress pants, and made his way home. He knew Carlos (or, whatever new name the scientist had been given) would not be there. His shattered heart fractured just a bit more at that thought.
By the time he got home, there was a hole in his chest the size of previously titled Radon Canyon.
He caught a glint - the dirty plates still in the sink. A new wound was ripped into his very soul as he spotted them. In fact, a spark of leftover rage ignited in him at this slight. He grabbed one of the plates - he tried hard to ignore the fact that it was, in fact, Carlos' - and smashed it against the table. It broke in half, with jagged edges shattering off and splintering into Cecil's skin.
He watched as the dark purple blood welled up. The wounds were not bad, but he would still need to wash them off. He sighed and walked to the bathroom, still holding the broken plate in one hand.
His reflection looked... off. There was something wrong with his face... his smile. Why couldn't he smile?
He would have to fix that. He had to greet the sun tomorrow, after all. This wasn't Night Vale any more. No longer would he worship the moon or chant in a bloodstone circle. Now, he would praise the sun and keep control of a town filled with corpses.
He had to be able to smile.
He looked at the sharp edges of the broken plate in his hand. His lips twitched, but it still wasn't happy enough. He needed to be ecstatic.
He held the jagged edge of the half of a plate up to the corner of his lips. He would be happy.
He would make himself happy. It was his job. It didn't matter that the one that mattered no longer loved him.
He would make everything better.
He just... had... to be happy...
There was a room.
This room was the absence of light.
Only dark creatures visited this room. They came to be assigned orders of chaos and rampage, only to create harmony and peace.
The man known only as tall, tanned and terrifying knocked on the black door. He ignored the long scores that scratched down the lower half.
Some of the creatures didn't take their orders too well.
"Enter."
The man entered.
There was a desk.
This desk was old oakwood, sturdy and polished to a sick black sheen. Behind it sat a man. His face was overshadowed in darkness.
"The job is done, right?" The stranger behind the desk asked. His voice was cold and harsh.
The tall, tanned, terrifying man nodded silently.
"Good."
He cleared his throat. He would be on air soon.
It was his first day, sure, but he had been doing this for years. Strangely, all the previous times seemed like more of a fuzzy buzzing in the back of his head instead of actual memories.
They tickled.
His smile grew wider, and the corners of his lips burned with euphoria. He was so glad he had decided to make himself happy. Nothing could get done if everyone just acted like a Debbie Downer - not that he intended any offense to Debbie, of course. He was sure she was a wonderfulperson. If a little down at times.
The new and improved radio equipment hummed happily as it slowly turned on. He shuffled his papers and looked over the news. The once-darkened "ON AIR" sign flashed a brilliant, visceral red, and he grinned again. How could he have thought he would never smile again? That was just ridiculous. He cleared his throat and glanced over the papers once more.
"Good morning, Desert Bluffs!" He announced. "I'm your host, Kevin Free, and this is your morning news…"