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WOOOOOO finally, an actual story and it's from the Survivors AU this time!
As mentioned in the introduction, I'm not sure who actually created this AU, but thank-you for coming up with this great idea!
TW: Blood / body horror, uncanny figures, mentions and descriptions of self-inflicted wounds / scars and attempted suicide, alcoholism, smoking, swearing etc. Stay safe please!
NOTE: This story is also from quite a while ago, but I've re-made it! This will also be divided into different chapters, but will stay on this page nonetheless. This is also my interpretation of the Survivors AU, so I'm very sorry if this isn't considered 'canon' in the original story (aka me liking the idea of them being survivors, but I don't want to fully steal it and create my own version in fear of what may happen to me if I do) :-).
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Chapter one: A familiar face.
Mark Heathcliff cautiously marched through the nearly desolate streets of Mandela County, every inch of his very being pleading him to turn away again and never look back. He had moved away for sixteen years and somehow manged to lose contact with everyone he knew in the process because of that damn alternate and his godforsaken paranoia, but now he'd returned. He didn't know why he decided to return, but he did nonetheless. He paced through the eerily silent roads of his childhood, the air being nearly foreign in his tobacco-filled lungs but reminding him of his home. Of Sarah. Of his childhood.
Of Cesar and the alternates that nearly made him take his own life.
He sighed before taking a long drag out of the cigarette held in his hand, the other reaching up to his forehead, where a pale, jagged gunshot wound pierced through his skin. Harsh smelling cigarette smoke filled the thin air around him as he traced his fingers over the rough lines that divided the skin and the scar, whilst reluctantly reminiscing on what had happened to cause such a wound. Nobody had come to save him then. Nobody came for him.
However, these bitter thoughts did not cause him pain. Nor sadness. He wasn't sure why. The streets he wandered through were empty and silent - most previous inhabitants of Mandela County had moved to other counties nearby, like Bythorne, where Mark moved to back in '92 - and his swift footsteps echoed around him.
If he was being completely honest, he mostly returned to see Sarah. Sixteen years of not knowing whether your little sister was even alive or not can really do things to someone, especially Mark. But he also returned to see Cesar. He doubted Cesar would actually be here in Mandela, or if he was even alive anyway. The last time Mark actually saw something that resembled Cesar was the alternate that taunted him for three full days before he tried to kill himself back in 1992. It was 2009 now. A cool September breeze drifted passed him, his short chestnut-brown, grey streaked hair flowing in the wind. His slowly burning cigarette rested between his fingers, loose tobacco falling to the concrete pavement and the grey smoke catching onto the gust of wind.
His mindless wandering soon led him to a church, pale and shimmering in the evening sunset. Again, it distinctively reminded him of his childhood. All the pictures his parents would take of him and Sarah, the countless early-morning drives to the bustling church on Sundays. He smiled at the memories drifting through his still aching mind, glancing up at the top of the church and taking in the breath-taking height of the cathedral stood towering before him. He'd only now realised how tall it truly was. It loomed over the man, a large, cool shadow engulfing him as the warm sun slowly scaled down the horizon. After a moment of staring in awe at the impressive scale of the cathedral, he glanced back down towards the large oak door leading to the interior of the building. Though Mark didn't exactly want to go inside, he reluctantly dropped the remains of the burning cigarette onto the pavement, crushing the cheap paper and tobacco tube with his worn boots as he slowly made his way towards the entrance. Mark slowly reached for the cold metal handle of the door, took a deep breath of what could be anticipation, and opened the door, a loud creak ringing through his ears as he did so. As he expected, the church was empty.
Letting the old door slowly close behind him, Mark trekked across the echoing flooring of the church. Beautiful, intricate designs were etched onto the smooth wooden benches and the large, pale beams that shot up from the ground, reaching up to the tall ceiling of the cathedral. Small steps at the far end of the building led up towards an elevated platform where a podium sat, a holy bible open atop it. Immaculate stained glass designs filled the remaining emptiness of the pale, stone walls, bright colours glowing on the floor as warm beams of sunlight danced and seeped through the glass. His quiet, echoing footsteps led him to one of the hard, wooden benches, his slightly scarred hand gliding across the smooth seat before he sat down. He sighed calmly and leaned his head back, his eyes immediately glued to the cream-coloured ceiling, alluringly perfect designs etched and engraved into the smooth arches. The lingering silence throughout the cathedral seemed to calm the man, as soon he was lost in a train of thought.
He didn't hear the faint sound of footsteps entering the church behind him. And he certainly didn't hear someone call out his name, their voice muffled in Mark's ears. However, the second time the man called Mark's name, he turned to gaze behind him to see a familiar face.
"Mark?"
"...Cesar?"
Chapter two: Sixteen years.
The man at the entrance of the cathedral looked like him. The same mid-length black hair, though now it was streaked with grey just like Mark's, the same chestnut-brown eyes staring back at him in what seemed like utter relief, the same cheery smile, though now it was nearly washed away by time. The name 'Cesar' felt foreign as Mark said it, but it still held a strangely comforting feeling. He was wearing a pitch black robe which went from the middle of his neck to his ankles, with the same black material draped over his shoulders. The full outfit seemed to be attatched to the robe itself, and a large necklace with the cross attached to the chain was resting on his hands, the end swaying as Cesar spoke.
Though it looked like Cesar, something in Mark's mind insisted it wasn't actually him. What if it was that same alternate that almost made him commit suicide sixteen years ago? What if the real Cesar is still dead?
"... Mark, it's been years. You're alive." Cesar smiled in relief.
Mark was dumbstruck. It couldn't really be an alternate, right? The amount of emotion radiating out of those two sentences confused the man more. He shot up out of his seat and stepped back. He attempted to form words, though none could escape his dry mouth. A look of concern flashed over Cesar's tired face, before he himself took a step toward the other man.
"Hey, Mark? It's me, Cesar."
"..."
"... No you're not. You are not Cesar. Cesar's dead. He's been dead for sixteen goddam years for fucks sake."
His firm voice echoed around the cathedral as an expression that could only be described as disbelief washed over Cesar's distant face. Mark took yet another step back, inching closer to the steps leading to the podium. The shorter man continued to advance towards him, attempting to calm the other. This did nothing. Mark couldn't help but stare in utter terror and confusion as Cesar drew nearer and nearer, his muffled voice in his ears consoling and reassuring the taller man.
His vision went blurry. This always happened whenever he was frightened. And right now wasn't a good time...
Within moments, Mark felt some kind of force tug at his worn brown jacket, before feeling it let go and wrap itself around him. Snapping his alarm-filled eyes down, he saw none other than Cesar himself. His arms were wrapped around Mark's, his face digging into the taller mans shoulder.
[NOTE: I DO NOT SHIP MARK x CESAR. IF YOU DO, YOU CONCERN ME. THEY'RE JUST BESTIES DOING WHAT BESTIES DO AFTER THEY HAVEN'T SEEN EACH OTHER IN SIXTEEN YEARS.]
Mark froze again. His embrace felt... nostalgic. Comforting, in a way. He let out a panic-filled breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, before lowering his shoulders and un-clenching his fists. It had been so long since he felt the reliving clasp of Cesar's iconic hugs, and for once he felt content again. The cathedral laid in silence, only the two men's breathing could be heard.
Cesar eventually tugged away, grasping the taller mans shoulders and staring back up at Mark, smiling gleefully.
"Do you believe me now?"
Chapter three: Reuniting.
Mark felt tears of relief and happiness well up in his dull green eyes. It had been so long since he heard his voice, and now that he was sure Cesar wasn't an alternate, he felt more delighted than ever. He grinned down at the man.
"Holy shit, man. I can't believe you-"
"Yeah, yeah, enough of that. Lets get out of here before the cops find out we're here."
Cesar grabbed the other mans arm and rushed back to the entrance of the cathedral, where a crack of dull blue and white moonlight shone through the cracks in the door. The two men rushed to the bottom of the hill that the church sat upon, Cesar nearly tripping half way down.
[TIME SKIP CUZ I'M EVIL HHAHAHAHAAAHAHA. THEY'RE WALKING TO CESAR'S APARTMENT BTW. In the meantime, enjoy a nice conversation between two besties.]
"Wow, it really has been a while. So, you work as a priest, huh? How is it?" Mark sighed and glanced down at the shorter man at his side, who stared down at the concrete road to his side.
"Yeah, it's decent, I suppose. I've been working at the church for quite a while now; it really is still a beautiful place. The cemetery still has those rose bushes, and they're still blooming despite the weather. The people who come here are really nice, despite how desolate this place seems. You should really visit often. Now, enough about me. How's Bythorne? I heard you've made yourself well-known there." Cesar winked wryly, causing the taller to smirk.
"Yeah, I have made myself known. Other than having to pretty much hide my face entirely, Bythorne's pretty good. I'm now working at one of those crappy corner shops - gives me enough of a paycheck though. But yeah, Bythorne's nice. Certainly quiet, though, but what do you expect?"
The two grinned at each other. Both adored catching up with one another; Mark loved listening to Cesar's soft yet sharp voice, and Cesar enjoyed listening to Mark's irritated rants about one thing or another. Overall, they adored catching up with each other, and now they've reunited after sixteen years, it was the perfect time to do so. The two men walked in silence for a while, simply appreciating the calm silence lingering around them. After a while, Mark spoke again.
"Hey, have you heard from Sarah? I think she still lives here, I just wanna check up on her-"
"Yeah, yeah she's doing fine!" Cesar waved a dismissive hand, reassuring the taller man. "I heard she's joined something called the BPS or something. I called her earlier this week, she'll be visiting soon."
"Well, at least she's okay." Mark smiled at the priest at his side.
Chapter four: Midnight tea.
[AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAA ANOTHER TIME SKIP CUZ IDEK ANYMORE. They're now in Cesar's apartment, and they talk a bit more before they're interrupted...]
Mark patiently waited in Cesar's living room as he finished the cups of tea in the kitchen. Mark took in how the fireplace emitted a beautiful light and how the fire radiated warmth that made him feel more at home. How the beautiful beige couch he was sitting on was rough but comforting, the pillows sinking more as he sat. Little ornaments were set up atop the fireplace, basking in the faint lamp light; picture frames, keychains, you name it. Most of the keychains were from different amusement parks him and Cesar would go to back in '92, but now they were worn and rusted and the paint was heavily chipped. The picture frames were all either of Cesar and his mother, but one stood out to him: there was one in the middle, in a brown and golden picture frame, of him and Mark back in the day. Memories came rushing back of prom night in 1992, with Cesar in his iconic tuxedo, red bowtie and rose attached to the left pec, and him in a dark suit with a bright blue tie. That was probably the best night he'll ever experience.
Cesar suddenly came rushing back in, snapping the other out of his thoughts. He held two mugs of tea, scorching hot and nearly burning Marks hands as Cesar handed it to him. The mug had a beautiful design of golden roses, the rest of it a light cream colour. Mark smirked.
"So, you still like roses, huh?"
The priest scoffed, turning to sit next to the taller man on the couch. "Obviously! They're the most beautiful flower, Mark. Now, you said you work at a corner shop, correct?" The taller man nodded.
"Well, have you made any friends? I don't want you being lonely."
"Well, I work the night shift, 'cuz for some reason it's open for 24 hours or something." Mark smirked. "I'm one of the only people working at night though, so I haven't exactly met anyone. But it's quiet, which I like. What about the church?"
"The church is wonderful. Though not a lot of people live here 'cuz of alternates, some people visit quite often. I assume they all live near the Mandela County border though, which really must be on hell of a drive. It's perfect in the morning though - the sun shining through the windows, the sunbeams hitting the rose bushes and gravestones perfectly. Really, you should visit more!
"By the way, before it passes my mind," Cesar continued. "Do you want to stay here for a while? I'm sure you can opt out of your shifts. I have some spare clothing, too."
Mark smiled, contemplating for a few seconds before responding. "Yeah, I'd love too. I need a break from that hellhole anyway." The two men cracked a wry smile and chuckled to each other as the fireplace continued to crackle in the background.
[AHAHAHHAHAAAA TIME SKIP]
It was about 1 am now, though neither of the men could care. The two men continued to chat away and sip their still burning cups of tea as Mandela County lay in darkness outside. "...and then they said it costed $2! They had three items, two were $2 anyway, and now they were insisting it was the price of one?! I know Bythorne is known to be full of utter idiots, but that was another level of stupidity."
Cesar chuckled again. "Well, I certainly know why you despise your job now."
As time swiftly went onwards, and Mark continued to go on about his crappy job when they heard commotion from outside. Cesar had mentioned that he was used to the fair bit of commotion every so often, but now seemed a lot more different. The two men stared at the living room door - the noise had come from the kitchen, which is next to Cesar's crappy balcony.
"Should we go check it out?" Asked Cesar, a confused and nearly concerned expression meeting Marks concentrated gaze.
"Ah, fuck it. Might as well, I guess. What could go wrong?" Mark scoffed, whereas the other man gave him a look meaning 'a lot of things can, idiot'. The two men set their teas aside, one doing so more reluctantly than the other, before they began the rather quiet journey to the kitchen. Not surprisingly, more commotion echoed throughout the apartment, though this time it felt more desperate.
And when they finally arrived at their destination, they were met with a peculiar sight.
"Holy shit Adam, is that Mark Heathcliff?"
Chapter five: Unknown guests.
The two older men stared in disbelief and the chaos that unfolded before their very eyes: three utter strangers who broke in from Cesar's balcony, and Sarah was with them. Sarah stared back at her brother, tears already welling up in her beautiful emerald green eyes. "Mark?!"
The older man held his arms out, and immediately Sarah ran to her brother and embraced him.
ahhahhahhhahhahahhhhh to be continued hahahhahahhhhhhh