Chapter Text
Cecil was dreaming.
It was different from his usual dreams. He felt excited about putting this down in his dream journal.
It was a dark and purple night. He was wandering the scrub lands and the sand wastes. He held the station’s microphone in one hand, as he took long strides. Purposefully walking somewhere without knowing where or why.
In his peripheral vision he saw Her. Huntokar. Staring at him. And yet, even knowing she was looking at him, he felt a bearing down on his body. Something else was watching him.
He felt Huntokar pull his attention towards Her. She shook her head slowly. Sadly.
One hand went towards the sky.
Cecil followed her gaze.
The moon was not a moon, but a great and terrible Eye. Boring into his soul, an endless blank void of a pupil reflecting nothing and drinking in his terror.
It filled him with dread, with fear that pulsed into his marrow.
And yet.
What elation he felt, in that dread. What a sweet, terrible, ecstasy. A pained smile stretched across his face as he felt his dread feed the terrible Eye.
A god. A god, a god that looked and looked and felt nothing, but yet, It wanted.
It wanted Cecil. It wanted to consume him, to envelope him completely. It wanted him to choose this fate, and accept the great and terrible changes to come, to bask in its dread, to feed himself to It.
He wanted to look away as much as he wanted to continue looking back.
He reached his microphone upwards towards the Eye, and felt a pull, a laugh escaping him, and he knew he was going to be consumed, and it would hurt so much, and fill him with unimaginable euphoria, and he was letting it happen...
Until he felt himself start to rise and Knew it was permanent, whatever it was, and oh god, what was he doing?!
No, no no no no!
He jerked back and landed on the sand, trembling with terror.
Suddenly the Great Eye was inches from his face.
Dissatisfied. Impatient.
Huntokar was suddenly there in front of him, protective, and turned her great deer head towards him.
“Wake up.”
Cecil awoke with a gasp, shooting upright in bed.
“Babe…?” Carlos was already awake and in his morning labcoat, sitting up and getting in a little reading before the day started in earnest. He put the book aside quickly. “Cecil, are you all right?”
Cecil brought his knees up to his chest, staring ahead. His mouth moved but he couldn’t find words. Just a dry mouth and a useless tongue, and a body drenched in sweat.
“Just...just a nightmare.” He manages to say, and forces himself to stretch out and put a smile on his face. “I’ve had worse, you know!”
Carlos could see through the veneer of Cecil’s chipper attitude rather well by now. He didn’t want to pry too much, but it was good to check in. He leaned over close to his husband.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“ Maybe later.” He grabbed his dream journal from the nightstand, and his smuggled writing utensil from a secret compartment in the nearby lamp, and started jotting down the dream quickly before he lost it. “ I mean, most dreams mean something, but some don’t.”
“That is scientifically accurate. At least for Nightvale.” Carlos said. He put a hand on Cecil’s back and gently rubbed circles. He felt Cecil slowly let the tension out of his posture.
Whatever that nightmare had been had deeply affected his husband. He wanted to ask more about it, but he would wait. A scientist is good at waiting.
As he watched Cecil get up for the day, his usual chipper self now, heading off to shower, he swore he saw that purple shine in his eyes, just for a moment. Was this connected to his husband's burgeoning abilities?
He’d have to get more data, and soon.
~~
Jon was already waiting outside the radio station when Cecil arrived. Jon went to shake Cecil’s hand and the taller man wrapped him in a hug.
“Jon! You look well.” Cecil said, letting Jon go.
Jon brushed himself off. Americans were so...touchy. “Yes, I am doing far better than when you first found me. Again, I can’t thank you enough for your kindness.” He said.
“Just being a hospitable neighbor. Though it's a shame I mistook you for a citizen at first, I didn’t even get to point fingers at you and yell INTERLOPER!” He said loudly.
Jon had no idea if this was a joke and decided to ignore it. Cecil took out his keys and opened the door to the station.
The radio station lobby was empty. Jon could definitely sense a presence in the area, though, and Saw it, just slightly, as they went through the lobby and down the hallway to the radio booth proper.
A door with the sign Station Management scrawled overhead in runny red letters, with various dark shadows underneath the crack of the door. Just for a moment Jon let himself See what was behind there, then quickly forced his mental gaze away.
“Management’s been pretty quiet recently.” Cecil said as they literally snuck past. Jon followed Cecil’s quiet footfalls and whispering voice. “We aren’t sure if that’s good or bad, so we’re trying to stay low. Intern Betty had the worst of it last week, I had to announce her uh...well. We have a new one now. Intern Jacob, he’s been...well, he’s quieter.”
Jon never thought one could physically see an expression of pure denial on someone’s face. Cecil was pushing back grief through sheer effort, pushing back his ability to understand the consequences of what happened. Purposefully making himself not understand the implications of what he was saying.
Right. Jon would have to do something about this, perhaps have a little chat with Station Management about preserving human life and showing them the knowledge of what happened last time a terrible person-eating power tried to stand against him.
The Eye was helpfully letting him know that there had been dozens of workplace incidents, and exactly how Betty died. He pushed it back. One thing at a time. He knew just how dangerous a place Nightvale was, and that it was better than it used to be, though it was hard to believe.
Perhaps with the knowledge of the Fears, of being able to categorize some of the terror in their lives, they could spot the danger before it was too late. Perhaps being able to Know things would finally be a boon to someone.
What Jon wasn’t prepared for was actually watching Cecil do his broadcast.
-
Jon had requested to sit in during the entire broadcast, as it's easier with his schedule. Not only was he paying good money for this segment (he had no idea how his banking information from another reality ended up in Nightvale, but apparently he’d had a lot of back pay he’d never used) but he’d heard Cecil on the Radio before, and all the bizarre and twisted things this poor man had to report on. He wanted to see how Cecil handled such a thing.
Cecil smiled and nodded at Jon, then he sat down in front of his microphone.
The On Air sign beamed on.
Jon tensed, watching Cecil with wide eyes, and knew what he was Seeing wasn’t what others saw.
Anyone else would see a calm radio professional getting ready to begin speaking. Jon saw through the veneer hiding what actually happened.
A large purple glowing eye symbol appeared on Cecil’s throat, and a smaller version on his forehead.
Cecil’s eyes rolled backwards to the whites, then suddenly returned, a bright neon purple that left afterimages of his eyes wherever he looked.
“ Decay exists as an extant form of life. Welcome to Nightvale!”
Jon sat quietly in the booth. He saw Corruption itself skitter across Cecil’s back, in the form of a mosquito. Evoked there by the sheer power of Cecil’s Voice.
Then as quickly as it was there, it was gone, as Cecil moved on.
“Hello listeners, we have a special treat today! As I’m sure you’ve noticed, we have a new building in town, and some new citizens.” That was Jon’s que to move seats and sit next to Cecil in the booth now, in front of the guest microphone.
“An Archive, an Archivist, and an Archivist Assistant. We know the name of the building and the titles of all those within it, somehow, I mean, I guess it was just common sense since we all suddenly knew all at once what the building was and the titles of the people in it, right?” He shuffled his papers slightly and cleared his throat. “Well, the Archivist of our new Nightvale Archives is here with me today to talk about the role of this exciting new addition to our community. Welcome to the show, Jonathan Sims, the Archivist” he said cheerfully.
“ It's good to be here, Cecil.” Jon said.
“I’m glad. Let's get down to it, just exactly, what are the Archives?”
Jon could feel the compulsion hit a steel wall, but Knew that Cecil had no idea he had compelled Jon at all. He hadn’t heard him use it before, perhaps being in this Studio enhanced his abilities.
“The Archives is a non-profit association where we store true stories of people’s encounters with the supernatural. Specifically having to do with the fourteen Fears.”
From there the conservation took an interesting turn. Cecil was deeply interested in the Fears, no one had heard of such a thing in Nightvale. Jon thought this might be the case. He calmly and efficiently explained with as much academic coldness and separation as he could (for his own sake) the fourteen Fears, how they had been summoned into the world through an unwilling conduit (himself), and how he had been brought into Nightvale after reversing the dread apocalypse.
“I believe my role here is to assist in Nightvale’s reality remaining solid.”
“Wow.” Cecil said, eyebrows raised, wide, deep purple eyes drinking in all the information. “And how can our listeners at home help with such a good cause?”
“We need stories. Submit written or recorded statements of your own brush with the supernatural that inspired a great fear in you, a traumatic experience. Please, do not feel pressured to share these experiences if you do not wish to, but, If you wish to record your story audibly, please only use tape recorders. Feel free to submit multiple stories, but only submit what you know is true, it will make it far easier for us to sort and organize..” He continued. “I understand every citizen in Nightvale likely experiences a brush with the supernatural once a day, so we are anticipating a fairly large turnout. I don’t mean this rudely, this is a...lovely town, Cecil, but it's very odd to have so many of the Fear Entities and other Supernatural occurrences in one area.”
“We’re weird.” Cecil laughed. “But we like it that way. Most of the time, when we aren’t in danger or being killed. But hey, that’s life, isn’t it? Inescapable Death.”
Jon felt the room chill slightly as the End made its presence known for just a brief instant.
“How would our listeners submit these stories? Bury them? Oh, chanting and burning the paper? Blood sacrifice?” Cecil guessed. “I mean, that’s how most applications get sent in around here.”
Jon bit back his shock. He didn’t even know why that part of his brain worked anymore, and kept up his cool professional facade.“We do things a bit differently. We’ll be leaving a large box outside the Archives and in the lobbies, where statement-givers can feel free to leave behind their cassettes and written statements.” He then gave the address and a few technical details.
“You heard it here, sweet Nightvale.” Cecil said. “ Time to tell your story! Be sure to submit something to The Nightvale Archives and help our local community. Thank you for being here, Jon.”
“Thank you for having me.” Jon said with a polite nod.
With Jon’s segment over, he repositioned himself and continued observing Cecil.
He saw fog swirl around Cecil’s legs when he gave the live (Jon Looked and saw this was a true story happening on the road as Cecil spoke) story of a man wandering a Lonely road, contemplating his lack of connections with others.
The Community calendar had Wednesday marked for Desolation and pain, and it left a searing heat just for a brief moment. Jon Looked and saw the calendar Cecil was looking at had a small spider insignia on it. Was this how the calendar was able to prophesy?
Then there were long, bizarre messages from corporations that summoned the dirt of the buried, or the ozone of the vast, nearly every fear was touched upon and felt in the studio.
Not to mention there were apparently rabid giant wolves that wore ties and lured people into alleyways to be eaten by offering to do their taxes as the top news story of the day. Some Victims escaped, most didn’t. The Sheriff's Secret Police eventually rounded these creatures up and returned them to whatever government lab they had escaped from in the first place.
What surprised Jon the most, after he was done inwardly reeling about Cecil’s Voice being able to somehow partially summon manifestations of Fears, was the end of the broadcast. The Fear dissipating. Cecil’s eyes slowly lose that purple sheen, and Cecil ends on a note of...hope. Of human emotion and connection, staying together in times of crisis, and Love.
Jon nearly cried. Perhaps this was how Cecil was hanging onto his humanity. The man was passionate, and perhaps a bit too into his own somewhat terrifying broadcasts, but he wasn’t consumed by his fear, or by the Fears, his focus was love and hope. His anchor to his humanity was his own love for his family and this town.
Jon thought of Martin. His reason to keep moving onwards in that hell-scape. The love of his life, who he would never see again. He couldn’t even See him.
The On Air sign flicked off, and Cecil leaned back and took off his headphones, and grinned at Jon.
“So?”
“That was...certainly something.” He said. “I mean, something good. You’re very passionate.”
Cecil grinned, standing up.
“Why thank you! You really didn’t have to stay the whole time but I’m glad you seemed to get a kick out of it.”
Jon thought he looked fuller, somehow. More complete than when they’d come in.
Ah. This was how Cecil fed. Interesting. Now the question was, should he tell him? Certainly not now, but perhaps at some point.
They exchanged pleasantries. Jon loudly told Cecil to let him know if he felt he or his interns felt unsafe in their work environment because of their Management. Jon couldn’t do much about the cursed objects, but he wondered if that was because of their management as well. Cecil just nodded, looking nervously at Station Management’s door.
He couldn’t help but smirk slightly as he left and Looked, and saw Management grumbling amongst Itselves fearfully, he could taste it faintly as he entered a taxi and went back to the Archives.
Seemed they were nervous about an Eye knowing how to actually confront them, beings associated with the Dark.
Good. Served them right.
When he arrived at the Archives, he saw the boxes they’d put out to collect statements were already overflowing. Sasha was already loading them up onto a dolly and waved to Jon as he approached.
He grinned, satisfied, and a deep part of the Beholding within him salivated at the buffet. He couldn’t help but be relieved—he’d never experience that insatiable hunger again. With this volume of statements it would be easy to avoid going on the prowl from hunger, to, so the dreams of Nightvale were safe.
Sasha wheeled over another empty dolly and Jon’s good mood went a tad sour when he realized the sheer amount of work just he and Sasha would have to do.
He looked up at the huge building and Knew it was full of other offices and even a small library. Much like the Magnus Institute.
“I think we should put out wanted ads.” Jon said.
“You better.” Sasha huffed, already exhausted. “It’ll take ages, even with my brilliant filing system.”
“Filing system?” Jon asked, and realized with a bit of embarrassment he hadn’t even thought of that.
Sasha grinned, the corners of her mouth bled slightly. She put down another box on Jon’s dolly. “Hurry up inside and I’ll show you.”