This is literally a story I wrote for my creative writing 4-H project. A Night Vale AU. I may or may not continue.

Hot air met cool glass, sending fog crawling up the window pane. Outside, snow fell, silent, cold, uncaring. Inside, a young boy with wavy blonde hair and sharp blue eyes watched, only moving to wipe the fog away and push his thin, wire glasses further up his slightly crooked nose. He was perched on the edge of the window sill, just small enough to fit comfortably. "Cecil, what are you doing?" A woman's voice, tired yet caring, called from the other room, through a slightly ajar door. The boy shifted, then twisted his neck. When he realized she wasn't in the room with him, he turned back around, eyes surveying the falling flakes.

"Watching the snow. Can I go play outside?"

"Not now dear, dinner is almost ready. Go get your brother, please."

Cecil sighed and rolled his eyes. "Do I have to?"

"Please, Cecil?" She asked, her voice strained. "Just do as I ask. Please?" Cecil blinked, forcing his gaze away from the window. He heard the strain. He always heard it, especially when she talked to him. Never with Steve, though. No, Steve was perfect. Scowling, the young boy jumped down, onto the worn, dirty white carpet, and headed for the stairs. At the bottom, he considered simply shouting for his brother- stepbrother- but knew if he did his mother would only be angry with him. Again. So he mounted the first step and began his ascent. The upstairs hall was dark. No one had bothered to turn on the lights, as no one ever came upstairs during the day except Steve, and he was probably too 'busy' to do it. Cecil told himself he didn't need the light (In reality, he simply couldn't reach it). The last door on the left was Steve's room. Pausing to glance out the window at the end of the hall, Cecil knocked. There was no answer. He sighed, then knocked again. When still no one answered, he tried turning the knob. It was locked.

"Steve, my mom says it's time for dinner. Come on!"

More silence, then a soft click. The door opened to a very annoyed Steve. Steve, four years Cecil's senior, towered over his younger brother. "I was finishing something. You're too impatient, Cecil. And she's my mom too, you know. You could just say 'mom'."

"She's my mom." Cecil snapped. "Not yours. You're not related to us!"

Steve rolled his eyes and shut his door. He'd heard his new brother say this a thousand times. It never grew old. "Whatever. Let's go help her set the table."

With a scowl on his face, the twelve year old trailed after the elder. "What were you doing in there?"

"Working on my homework."

"It's Christmas break."

"I wanted to finish it early. Just because you're a slacker doesn't mean I have to be."

Cecil bristled. "We didn't have homework, Steve Carlsberg!"

"Carlsberg-Palmer."

"Shut up!"

"Cecil!" A woman appeared at the bottom of the staircase, blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and lips turned down. Her dull blue eyes were hard. "Don't talk to your brother like that!"

"Stepbrother."

"Cecil." She warned. The boy went silent. "Go was your hands. And don't let me catch you talking to your brother like that again."

As he sulked away, Cecil mumbled, very quietly, "Stepbrother."

The woman sighed and shook her head, her eyes softening. "I'm sorry, Steve. I just don't understand him sometimes. Why don't you go sit down? Dinner's just about ready." The boy smiled pleasantly.

"Would you like me to set the table?"

"Already done, but thank you, honey." Steve nodded and did as he was asked. The woman watched the two, Cecil at the sink and Steve at the table, before walking back into the kitchen. As he wiped his hands on the towel, Cecil glanced at his stepbrother. The older was straightening the silverware and napkins at each place setting, arranging them in just the right spot. He was already sitting when Steve reached his spot. For a moment, the elder boy reached forward, but paused when he saw Cecil's face. He sat back down. Feeling smug, Cecil leaned back in his chair. It was only a few minutes later that their mother appeared, pots in hand. Only five minutes later, all three were seated and filling their plates.

"Your father called." Mrs. Carlsberg-Palmer told the boys. "He won't be home till later tonight. With this storm, he's stuck at the office."

"Okay." Steve answered simply while Cecil silently mouthed stepfather.

"So what were you working on today, Steve?"

"Just some math homework. It's pretty simple, though, so I finished just as Cecil came to get me." He smiled at the woman. "I'm done with my homework, so I won't have to worry about it. Unlike some people." He punctuated the last sentence with a disapproving look at Cecil. The younger's semi-permanent scowl deepened. Their mother turned her attention to him.

"What homework do you have, Cecil?" Her words felt like venom in his head, though in reality she'd asked quite kindly. His head fell.

"It's not much. Just a paper we have to write for English. It's really easy."

"What do you have to write about?" His mother asked curiously.

Perking up slightly, Cecil explained. "We have to research different careers and then write about what we want to be when we get older and why! I already know, though, so it'll be easy. I just have to write everything down."

"And what do you want to be?" The intrigue in her voice was obvious, tinted with a hint of amusement. Cecil changed career choices so often she forgot which one he was focusing on.

"I'm going to be a radio show host!" Mrs. Carlsberg-Palmer opened her mouth to ask another question, but paused at the sound of soft snickers. Cecil heard too. As his face turned pink, he glared at Steve, who was clutching his side and laughing. "What's so funny, Steve?"

"Y... You!" He gasped. "You really think you could be on the radio? Your voice is way too squeaky!"

"Is not!" Cecil's face had gone completely red now in anger as he glared across the table. "I'm going to be on the radio!"

"Don't be stupid." His laughter ceased. "You need to pick something plausible, Cecil. I mean, I knew you were a little bit of a dreamer, but seriously, this is ridiculous. Besides, radio is dying. You'll never make a living off of something like that."

"Steve!" Shocked, Mrs. Carlsberg-Palmer stared at the boy. "Don't say that to your brother! Apologize right now!"

It was Steve's turn to be shocked. "Come on, you don't honestly think he could do that! He should pick something realistic!"

"Cecil can be whatever he wants." The woman retorted calmly. "Now apologize."

"Sorry." Steve snapped, glaring daggers across the table.

Still red, Cecil dropped his head. The rest of the meal was spent in thick, awkward silence. At last, Cecil grabbed his plate, dumped the remains in the trash, and plopped his plate into the sink. "I'm going to my room." He mumbled. No one tried to stop him. In the safety of his bedroom, Cecil sat on the floor against his bed, facing his closed closet door and staring into the mirror that hung there. He examined his pasty white skin, his wiry frame, his thin face. He thought about his smallness, and he wondered if maybe Steve was right. Maybe he wasn't fit to be on the radio. "Good evening, listeners." His words were soft, clear, precise. A small smile fell on his lips. No, Steve, as usual, was wrong. His voice would be fine. Radio wasn't dead. Smiling, he leaned back and closed his eyes. "Good evening, listeners." He repeated quietly.

. . .

Several days later, Cecil found himself at a park several blocks from their house, squishing a handful of snow into a ball. As he began to roll it, a voice behind him spoke. "What are you doing?"

He glanced back, eyes landing on a small girl in a dark purple coat. The hood was pulled up and around her neck a faded blue scarf was wrapped. Only her eyes, nose, and mouth were visible. Her skin was a dark bronze that severely contrasted the snow rapidly settling on her shoulders and scarf. Her eyes, a soft brown, blinked at him. "I'm making a snowman."

"Oh. Do you want help?"

Confused, Cecil sat back on his heels. The girl was probably a year or so younger than him, but it was hard to tell with her thick layers. She was shorter than him for sure. "I guess." He looked at the ball in his hand. Already, it had crumbled back into a pile of flaky snow. "I don't think it's going to stay together."

"Okay." She cocked her head slightly. "If it won't stick, maybe we could ask Carlos. He's good at science stuff."

"Science? How is this science?"

"I don't know. He was talking about snow and temperatures and stuff on the way here, so I think he'd probably know."

"Okay, let's ask him." Cecil stood. "I'm Cecil, by the way."

"I'm Dana." She lead him away from the slide he'd been hiding under, passed the swing set, and to the tiny soccer field adjacent. "Carlos!" She called as they walked. Cecil blinked when a head popped up from behind a snow drift. There were goggles over his eyes.

"What?" He asked as he stood, dusting snow off his long white coat.

"Is that a lab coat?" Cecil asked. The boy blinked and pushed his goggles onto his forehead. He had black, wavy hair, cut a few inches short of his neck. His skin, though not as dark as Dana's, was a deep bronze.

"Yes. I'm a scientist. A scientist always wears a lab coat." That was when Cecil noticed the thick, blue jacket under the lab coat. "Who are you? I'm Carlos."

"I'm Cecil. Dana said you're good at science."

"I am a scientist." He repeated. Cecil couldn't help but grin. "What kind of science do you need help with?"

"We're trying to make the snow stick together so we can make a snowman. Do you know how to do that?"

"Carlos, what are these?" Dana interrupted before the other boy could answer. Cecil turned to look at her. She was examining the ground, frowning deeply at the line of snow angels. At least five were visible, but Cecil suspected there were more.

"Snow angels."

"I told you to stop making them! Your lab coat is already soaked. You're going to get sick."

"A scientist-"

"Can still get sick! My mom said if you get sick I'll be in trouble. And your mom would kill you and me!"

"But Dana-"

"No buts! No more snow angels!"

Carlos exhaled deeply, but seemed to realize he wasn't going to win. "Whatever. I named them, though!" His face suddenly brightened. "Guess what their names are?"

"All of them?" Dana examined the imprints again. "I don't know. Um... Lauren?"

"No."

"Earl?"

"Nope."

"John."

"Definitely not."

"What is it then?"

"Erika."

"Which one?"

"All of them."

Dana raised an eyebrow. "You named all of them Erika? Why?"

"So you don't have to remember more than one name!" Carlos grinned. "It's very scientific." Dana rolled her eyes.

"You say that about everything." She pointed out.

"Because it's true."

"You're nuts, you know that, right?"

"Scientifically speaking-"

"No, just regularly speaking."

They probably would have kept on bickering if it hadn't been for the laughter coming from Cecil. The two paused to stare at the boy as he calmed himself. "S... Sorry. But you guys are ridiculous." He explained. Carlos grinned. Dana smiled slightly.

"This is nothing. You should have been there the time he tried to blow up his garage."

"I wasn't trying to blow it up! I just... Wanted to know what would happen if I mixed a couple chemicals."

"Carlos, your garage caught on fire."

"How did you manage that?" Cecil asked, eyes huge.

"It was an accident!" Insisted the young scientist. He launched into a story, rapidly explaining things about chemicals and correct amounts and how he needed real beakers, but his mom wouldn't buy him any. "I mean, it's not like I was trying to burn the ceiling." He concluded. "I just didn't measure everything right. Measuring cups are great for cooking, but not so great for science."

Cecil listened to the entire story, nodding and only interrupting occasional to ask the other to clarify. When Carlos finished, Dana started speaking. "So everyone knows what Carlos wants to be." The boy stuck his tongue out. "What are you going to be?"

Cecil blinked. "Well..." He hesitated, remembering how Steve had reacted to his dream. But now, looking at the pair, Dana smiling softly and Carlos wide eyed and eager, he pushed the doubt away. "I want to host my own radio show."

"Wow, really?" If possible, Carlos's grin widened. "That's so cool! What would it be able?" With a grin of his own, Cecil began explaining how radio shows worked, adding all the details he'd been too afraid to share with his family. "Could we be on it?" Carlos asked finally.

"Of course! You could talk about science. We could have a science time or something!" Carlos beamed so widely that Cecil thought his face was going to break. "Dana, you could be on it too!" The girl smiled.

"I suppose. I'm more into journalism myself." She admitted.

"Dana's going to be editor-in-chief of the New York Times one day!" The girl blushed.

"Shut up, Carlos."

"She's really good."

Cecil smiled. "I better you're fantastic."

"Shut up, Cecil."

"I-" Before Cecil could finish, his name was called across the playground. "Steve." Half growled, he turned and glowered behind him. A figure was walking their way. The other two frowned.

"Who's that?" Carlos asked.

"My stepbrother, Steve."

"Cecil, come on. We have to go." His hands deep in his pockets, Steve stared at the trio. "Who are they?"

"This is Carlos and Dana." Cecil introduced reluctantly. "We were just talking. Let's go." Unfortunately, Steve wasn't drawn away so easily. He offered each a hand, which they shook dutifully. Each sent Cecil a questioning look.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Steve, Cecil's brother."

"Stepbrother."

Rolling his eyes, Steve pushed his hand back into his pocket. "So are you guys friends with Cecil? He's never mentioned either of you."

"We just met." Carlos explained. With a smile, he added, "I think we're friends now. I mean, I think. Scientifically speaking, we haven't really known each other long enough to tell, but I think we are."

"Scientifically speaking?" Echoed Steve, an eyebrow raised. "What the heck are you talking about?"

For a fraction of a second, Carlos looked hurt. But he played it off well, a good-natured smile falling on his lips. "I'm a scientist. Everything is scientific, so everything we say is scientifically speaking."

A snort left Steve. "Okay then. Come on Cecil, mom already has you to deal with. She doesn't need more crazy."

"Hey, Carlos isn't crazy! And neither is Cecil!" Dana marched forward until she was inches from Steve, her hands on her hips. "Don't be such a jerk." Steve rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. I always knew Cecil's friends were insane. Let's go, Cec. Mom will be waiting." As badly as he wanted to tell Steve not to call him Cec, he also didn't want to interrupt Dana, who looked ready to explode.

"Take that back!" Steve looked mildly surprised by the finger Dana threw up to point in his face. She was on her tiptoes, jabbing his nose. Though she was nearly a head shorter than Steve, she was oddly frightening. "Take that back right now you big bully!"

"Or what? Come on, Cecil." Steve repeated. "We need to-" He didn't get to finish, because Dana pulled her arm back, then spun it around and caught Steve square in the jaw. The boy fell back into the snow, clutching his face. "What the heck is wrong with you?" Steve snarled as he tried to stop his now bleeding nose.

"Nothing." Dana replied calmly, turning on her heel. She went to Cecil first and produced a tiny notebook and a pink gel pen from under her coat. When Cecil raised an eyebrow, she simply replied, "A journalist is always prepared," And scribbled a few numbers down before tearing out the paper and handing it to him. "The first is Carlos's house phone, the second is mine. Call sometime." She explained. Cecil stared at the two phone numbers as Dana pulled Carlos away. Carlos waved cheerfully as she did.

"Bye Cecil!" Still in shock, Cecil half waved, stuffed the paper in his pocket, and walked to where Steve was sitting in the snow, head thrown back and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"She's a psychopath."

"She's awesome. Now let's go. You were so ready to go home ten seconds ago." Cecil marched away, not bothering to check that the other boy followed.

"Mom's never going to let you call them. They're both crazy." Cecil rolled his eyes and didn't bother answering. It was true; his mother would never let him call someone who'd punched Steve. A small smirk fell on his lips. He'd just have to do it in secret. Head down, he smiled as he walked. Dana and Carlos were definitely unique in their own ways, but they weren't crazy. He had to talk to them again. And, as he pushed a hand into his pocket and wrapped his icy fingers around the paper, he knew he would find a way. Carlos and Dana were worth the trouble. Glancing sideways at Steve, he grinned. Yes, definitely worth it.