#tmc ashes to ashes (dust to dust)

[amimuu]

Ashes to ashes (dust to dust)

[TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of blood, violence, injuries and death. MARK AND CESAR IRLS BEWARE]

first chapter of the fic im currently writing :] enjoy.

CHAPTER 1

December 13th, 1991.

The night of the Winter formal, just before finals week. The small, yearly event the local High School held close to the end of the semester. The vast, usually empty gym decorated in blues and whites, tables adorned with fake flowers and the dim lights of cheap, small chandeliers hung up on the ceiling, shining down on the couple hundred students that gathered to celebrate, Huddled together in groups, giggling and talking to each other, taking photos, dancing and just having a good time. Some seated at the tables, some up, dancing in groups. The warm, welcoming atmosphere being almost perfect to lose oneself in, hearing the laughter and muffled music from the spot behind the bleachers, unmoving and lost in thought, just like the years that came before. 

A small, last push before finally reaching the winter break. Not like it would bring much difference from the usual school day routine, though. Perhaps, it might even make it a little more boring.

However, sometimes even the smallest of things can cause a shift to how events will roll out—It can be anything, really—.An announcement, a call, a feeling that something will happen.

This time, an unpredicted malfunction. It wasn't too big of a problem, speaking honestly, but it was enough to give everyone a good scare.

A low rumble, and then, one of the chandeliers falling off, almost landing on top of a pile of students, but the screams around being loud enough to alert them and have them move before tragedy could ensure. The entire gym shifting from loud choruses of screams and cries, to deafening silence in a matter of seconds, as the headmaster and other teachers made their way through the crowd to the center of the gym, where the incident had taken place. 

"This… Doesn't look too good" The headmaster had said, a worried look in her eyes. 

"Should we send them home?" A teacher perked up, whispering to the side of the headmaster, who looked at him. 

They both looked around, a sea of panicked, confused faces staring right back at them. The headmaster sighed, nodding. "Make sure they are all alright, then we verify they all have a way to reach home safely"

The next 40 minutes were a mix between quiet voices, shushing and sounds of footsteps, some students crying, some being calmer as the teachers counted them and instructed them to exit the gym—the cold air of the Winter afternoon only making the situation feel more unnatural—, something about it causing panic to still be present in most of the students even after the danger was gone. 

"Has anyone seen Mark? Mark Heathcliff?" 

A short woman made her way through the gym, holding a piece of paper and a pen in one hand, looking to both sides anxiously. She had successfully located all the students from senior year, except a particular brown haired boy, who had caused her to scan the entire gym thrice, asking around if any students had seen him. 

"Behind the bleachers… I Think" A nervous looking boy had said "I saw him go there a while ago… I was planning to get him myself but-" 

"Oh no sweetie, it's fine" the teacher offered a smile to him. "I'll go, you join the rest of the students" She reassured, getting a hesitant, small smile from the boy. 

"Yeah just-" A pause. The teacher looked back at him, curious. 

"Nevermind"

The student said, walking back to the crowd in a bit of an awkward fashion. The teacher stood for a while, before shaking her head and walking to the spot the student had signaled. 

"Mark? Mark, are you here?" One second. Two seconds. No response. She was about to leave when she heard a low thud, footsteps following. "Ah, there you are. You had me worried for a while, dear!" 

Mark walked towards her, remaining silent. Hands inside his pockets and hair messy from wriggling out of the small, cramped space he was sitting in. 

"Sorry…" He said in a low voice, looking down at the ground. "I uhm… I was having a little trouble coming out of there" Mark offered her a half-sincere smile, only getting a tired sigh in response. 

"Well, next time don't go into such a cramped space! We don't want another accident happening" She chuckled, tilting her head to the side. "Now come, the rest of your classmates are already out" The teacher turned around, starting to walk in the opposite direction, Mark trailing after her with a quiet huff. 

He followed her outside the gym, the voices of students and teachers talking drowning the otherwise calm environment of the evening. Mark noticed some of them already making their way to the parking lot. He stopped for a second, hesitating a little before asking. "Ms. Walten-" 

"Yes, it's okay for you to head home now, Mark." The teacher said, not waiting for him to finish—almost like she already knew what he was about to ask—as she turned to him for a second, and headed in a different direction.

Mark watched her go for a moment, sighing to himself and walking down the stairs that led up to the gym, they made a low, metallic sound as he descended down, mindlessly scanning the crowd gathered outside of the gym. 

He was about to go, when the presence of a familiar voice caused him to unconsciously turn his head in the direction it came from, the soothing, rhythmic tone able to catch his attention every time. 

An old habit he was yet to rid himself from. 

On the side of the gym stood two silhouettes, taking turns to talk, visibly deep in conversation. The tallest person, who Mark recognized as the poetry teacher, wore a Concerned expression, emotion most likely directed towards the other person, a student, who appeared to be feeling uneasy, looking to the sides anxiously, almost as if he was waiting for something to pop out of the shadows at any moment. Dark curls and hazel eyes, so easy to get lost in his gaze. 

Him, who Mark recognized as Cesar Torres, an old friend, a face he could never fail to remember.

Mark recalled seeing him standing close to the chandelier when it fell, a group of people having to pull him out of the danger zone as he had visibly frozen up upon seeing the chandelier fall. It took him a moment to register what had happened, sitting in the ground Along with other students, his crutch beside him as he stared straight ahead at the broken decoration, thoughts unreadable.

It came to no surprise he was still shaken up from everything—after all, it must've been quite awful being so close to the incident—, trying to play it off with a couple chuckles and hardly sincere smiles, but the panic still present in his gaze, giving away how he was actually feeling. Mark remained quiet, looking and wondering to himself if that chandelier could've actually hurt anyone. If, in case of having landed on top of Cesar, he would've—

No.

He shook his head, pushing the thought out of his mind and breaking his gaze away from the pair, not missing the way Cesar sighed and finished the conversation, walking away. Each tap the crutch made against the ground engraving itself into Mark's head. 

Clack, 

Clack, 

Clack, 

Clack. 

He walked a little bit faster towards his car. 

—

Speaking truthfully, he really didn’t want to go to the winter formal. He knew that if he was to go it would play out just like the past years. Sitting in a corner, talking to some people, but overall, he knew he would be alone. 

It was not until his little sister, Sarah, called him past her usual bedtime just to tell him he couldn’t miss—in her own words—his last big event before prom, that he decided he couldn’t disappoint her, and with a heavy sigh he dragged himself to the landline, calling his dad to ask if he didn’t mind him borrowing his old tuxedo. He didn’t want to sit alone and away from the crowd, he really didn’t. But the music was too loud, the lights were too bright and his tie felt too tight- and he really needed to sit down and take a break. It would only be five minutes. Which turned into ten. Which turned into forty-two. And then, just as he had made up his mind to come out, the incident happened. Causing him to come home early, anxiety still present in the back of his mind. Mark would’ve gone over to his uncle’s, but he had promised his mom that he would stay at the house at least 2 nights a week to clean it and make sure everything was in order while she was not around. Mark walked into the house, closing the door with a loud creak that echoed through the walls of the empty home. Deathly silent, dark, and cold, the house almost exuded an air of eeriness that was not present during the daylight hours, yet Mark found the environment comforting, the peace and quiet of the night able to sooth the uneasiness still lingering in the corners of his mind. He tossed the keys in the counter, making his way upstairs to his room, not proud of the mess it was currently in. He made a mental note to take care of that next morning, reaching for his pajama pants and one of his old band-tees he usually wore to sleep. His eyes trailed off to the walls of his room, various posters of bands and movies hung up in them, their positions changing frequently as Mark told himself maybe they would look better if the bigger poster was in the top, or the long, slim one in the corner, or so on and so forth, never really satisfied with the ending result.

He made his way back downstairs, doing his usual rounds around the house checking for any open doors or windows and, as usual, finding all of them closed, secured, keeping anything that could try to make its way into the house outside, away, at a distance that was safe enough for him to sleep calmly. Passing through one of the small tables in the living room he noticed a small object laying on top of it, after getting a closer look realizing it was his crucifix. He took it into his hands and put it around his neck, a sense of safety dawning on him along with the weight of the little piece of metal now hanging in his chest. Maybe if he had taken the crucifix with him to the party, things would’ve gone differently. But he found he couldn't really tuck it under his shirt in a way in which he felt comfortable, or it didn’t look bulky, so after a lot of hesitation, he decided to leave it at home, telling himself that it lowered the possibilities of him dropping it and, god forbid, losing it. But it seems like God wasn’t really happy with said plan. Maybe, this was his way of punishing him for putting his comfort over his beliefs.

No, Mark thought, God wouldn’t really do that. He walked over to the door in the kitchen, leading to the small garden behind the house, checking it was properly locked before making his way back out of the kitchen, now sure the house was safe enough to relax. He smiled to himself, heading to the stairs to go back to his room-

Riiiing-!

Mark stayed in place for a while, hesitating a little before turning his head towards the phone, a little startled from the sudden noise. The phone continued to ring impatiently, urging him to pick it up. Who could even be calling him this late? It was already past midnight—and he doubted his uncle or sister would still be awake at this hour—, so he could only possibly picture it being one of his parents or, less likely, a stranger with way too much free time. Mark shook his head, making his way to the phone. Whoever it was, he was sure he could end the call quickly and go to sleep as soon as possible. A little annoyed, he picked up the phone, pressing it against his ear, the cold metal that met his skin causing him to almost flinch lighty. “Hello?” “Mark…?” Oh. That voice was familiar. Too familiar. “Holy shit…you…actually picked up- Uhm- Hey…It’s- It’s Cesar- I hope it’s not too late?” This wasn't what Mark was expecting. In fact- Of the dozens of people he imagined could be on the other end of the line he would’ve never pictured it to be Cesar fucking Torres out of all of them. Cesar remained quiet on the other end of the line, reminding Mark he was probably supposed to speak now.

“I uh- No- It’s fine- What’s up? Are you okay?” He forced out, feeling a very strong sense of awkwardness start to rise between the two of them.

“Yeah- I’m-” A small, sharp intake of breath “No- I’m not- My mom- she…She’s- Oh god- I don’t even know just- I need help” Cesar sounded like he was on the verge of tears, words coming through the receiver in a hurried, unsteady tone. So unlike what he was usually like. Okay…what the actual fuck. Mark pinched the bridge of his nose, already starting to feel this was some sort of very sick joke, annoyance starting to crawl up his spine. “Cesar- I think I really need you to explain yourself better”

Silence. A sigh. Shaky, tired. “Right…Right…I uhm…I think…i think we’ve just been attacked by- by an alternate…I- Fuck…I don’t know if my mom’s alright- I can’t feel my legs- I can’t stand up- I don’t even know if that- that thing is still here…I just…I really, really, really need help”

Mark remained quiet. An alternate. 

He thinks he was attacked by an alternate? And instead of calling the cops he chose to call him, whom he hadn’t properly spoken to in years, out of all people? No. Nope. Hell no. He was too tired to deal with this. It was too late and it was probably just some sick, elaborate joke Cesar and his friends had come up with to mess with him. Cesar said something else, but Mark wasn’t listening to him anymore, holding onto the phone just a little tighter. This was messed up. So many years of barely exchanging any words, of almost intentionally avoiding each other, of holding onto that tiny, stupid hope that maybe, just maybe, he also wanted to go back to how things were before, only to be met with this. “...Mark?” “Call the cops.” “But-” He hung the phone, maybe with a little too force. Not enough to outright damage it, though. He sighed, tiredness invading his senses and telling him to go to bed already, knowing he would feel better in the morning. Mark started walking towards the stairs, but just as he reached for the railing, he felt goosebumps make their way up his spine. He called them goosebumps- but they weren’t really that. It was an awful, cold sensation, a pit in his stomach, a tightness in his chest, a small voice in his head, all at once, asking him the same thing. Walking away, again? He felt himself start to shake ever so slightly, pulling his hand back towards his chest as the sensation grew progressively worse and worse until it had taken enough of a shape for Mark to actually give it a name.

Guilt.

But- for what? It was a joke. He was sure it was

You have no way of knowing that

…Maybe, but- why him, out of all people?

Perhaps he didn’t have a choice.

No, no. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be.

What would god think of this? Denying help to those in need. Pick up the phone, Mark. He needs you.

He didn’t. Mark was sure he didn’t. He reached for the cross in his pocket, holding it between his hands, still trying to make his way up the stairs, unsure of why it was suddenly so hard.

Pick up the phone.

Mark shook his head, trying to push the thought away, his mind attempting to put together a prayer to sooth his thoughts, the words jumbled up and interrupted by the same sentence, over and over again. Pick up the phone. Pick it up. Pick it up pick it up pick it up pick it-

Click-!

The phone buzzed in silence, signaling him the call was being connected, the guilt starting to die down yet now giving way to creeping anxiety. What if he was too late? What if Cesar didn’t pick up again? What if—

“Hello…?” It had been years since the last time he had felt this relieved to hear Cesar’s voice, the sensation dawning on him fast enough to make his limbs feel like jelly. But no, right now, he had to focus. “...Do you still have the same address?” “What…?” “Do you still live in the same house as before?” “I- Yeah- I do-” “I’ll be there in ten.” Not waiting for a reply, Mark hung up, running upstairs to grab his hoodie and the car keys, hurrying outside, the snow making it a little hard to reach his car, the cold air of the winter night hitting his face and burning his nostrils. What time was it, even? It didn’t matter right now- He just had to reach his frien- Cesar’s house and check on him. Then he would just go back home and it would be like it never happened at all.

He just hoped it was like that.

—

Saturday, 2:08 am.

Mark arrived at the Torres residence, scanning the house up and down with his gaze before making his way to the front door, hesitating a little upon noticing it was opened ever so slightly, a low, iron-like smell making its way out the home. Mark pushed the door fully open, noticing inside there were no lights on, at all, only adding to the already unsettling environment the house had.

“Hello…? Cesar…?” He started walking further into the house, his steps slow and hesitant as he squinted, trying to make out at least the walls of the residence. Mark felt himself nearly slip up on something, panic setting in as he reached for the nearest surface—which resulted to be the counter—, to avoid falling face first into the ground. “Oh. Okay…Okay-” “Mark?”

His head perked up towards the direction the voice came in, his vision clearing up just enough for him to make out a faint silhouette in the corner of the kitchen, slumped against the wall-

“Cesar…?” Mark made his way towards him, noticing the faint stench of iron getting stronger- but that was not just merely “iron”, was it? “Are you okay?” He finally got close enough to make out his features, noticing the anxiety in his gaze, staring up at him almost as if he was having trouble convincing himself Mark was actually standing there, in front of him. Mark knelt down to his level, a troubled expression in his face, noticing how Cesar seemed to push himself even further into the wall, even if just slightly.

He was terrified.

He scanned him up and down. Hands pressed against his own chest, trembling slightly. The formal attire he had been previously wearing at the event still on, tie undone and shoes swapped out with slippers, clearly getting ready to change into something else- his crutch was beside him, a little too further for him to reach unless he dragged himself out of his current position, which he didn’t seem like he was willing to do. To the other side of him there was- oh god- was that-

“Cesar- why do you have a knife- Oh shit- You- You are bleeding- What the hell happened?” Mark asked, anxiety becoming more prevalent as he examined the injury present in the other boy’s calf with his eyes. Cesar remained quiet, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, struggling to find the right words to speak. “I- I couldn’t- I really-” His shoulders trembled, the words coming after nothing but barely incomprehensible mumbles, along with choked sobs and cries, Mark noticing he was trying really hard to hold it in, but truly seemed unable to. “Sorry- Let me just-” He reached up to his face, trying to wipe away the tears now trailing down his cheeks with shaky hands, but was stopped by Mark.

“You still have blood in your fingers. I don’t think we want that accidentally going into your eyes.” Mark pushed his hand back down, searching his own pockets for anything he could give Cesar to use instead, but noticing he had brought practically nothing but himself to his old friend’s house. Sighing, he awkwardly pulled his hoodie’s sleeve up and carefully brushed away the tears himself.

Cesar was visibly shocked at this, keeping his hands halfway up his chest, but making no move to push Mark away—he was too focused trying to calm down, anyways—,eventually lowering them back onto the ground as he squeezed his eyes shut, unconsciously moving his head back a little.

“There- Now uhm- Do you know where your mom is?” Mark looked at his hoodie’s sleeve for a second, making a mental note to wash it once he was back home. As Cesar gave no reply, he looked to the hallway, noticing a faint trail of crimson leading towards the darkest part of it…Ms. Torres nowhere to be seen. Mark stood up, but immediately felt a pair of hands reach up to his sleeve, holding him in place.

“Wait- Please don’t go- Don’t-”

 ‘Don’t leave’.

The words died in his throat before he could even attempt to speak them. Cesar held onto Mark’s sleeve tightly, hands shaking. A pitiful, desperate attempt to keep him by his side.

“Just- Stay. Please.”

Mark remained quiet, reaching for Cesar’s wrist after a couple seconds. “I’ll be right back.” He reassured, pulling his arm out of the other boy’s hand. “I’m just going to check on your mom, okay?” He offered him a smile, Cesar showing some hesitation before nodding slowly and unwillingly freeing Mark from his grasp.

Mark sighed, muttering a low ‘okay’ under his breath before walking towards the hall, his steps slowing down the closer he got, his heartbeat quickening, nervousness filling his mind as the worst outcomes took shape in his imagination, against his will. The trace of crimson grew the closer he got, irregular, messy stains present in the walls, as if whoever left them was desperately trying to cling into the surface, failing, yet trying again. He gulped down. This just kept getting worse. His foot bumped against something, his eyes shutting unconsciously as it did so. He didn’t want to look. He really wished he didn’t have to look. He wanted to go home. But it was a little too late for that.

Oh Dear God, please save me now. Slowly, hesitantly, he opened his eyes, immediately regretting his decision, a gag escaping his mouth. He reached to a wall for support, letting his weight lean into that direction, but just enough to remain on his legs, using up all of his willpower to not turn around and run away right there and then. Mark took a deep breath, forcing his head to return to the horrifying sight in front of him. He knew she was not waking up again. Sprawled over the floor, she laid. Eyes open, glassy, unseeing. Limbs spread in a position that could not be possibly achieved unless broken. A singular, long gash across her neck being the main source of the ugly crimson staining the walls. She was probably bleeding from her back too…and her arms…they were filled all the way up to her elbows with cuts- scratches- Mark couldn't really tell.

She was with god, now.

Mark had considered the possibility of Cesar being the one to have taken her life. An unwished thought, flashing through his mind. Unwelcome at first, but slowly, awfully beginning to make sense as the limp body of Diana Torres slowly entered his vision, curtains lifted, an abstract concept taking shape. But, upon taking a closer look… Those were not knife cuts.

But they didn’t look exactly like scratches, either. 

It looked as if the skin had forcefully been ripped apart, like a piece of cloth. Messy, irregular, yet still horrifying. The more he looked, the more unnatural it appeared. His brain could hardly process just what the fuck was in front of him. He…he really should stop looking now. “Is…Is she okay?” 

A small voice came from the kitchen. Oh. Oh right, Cesar. How was he even supposed to tell him…? Mark backed out from the hallway, struggling to let go off the wall without feeling like he was going to fall over. He felt sick to his stomach. “Mark” Cesar called out again,voice almost breaking. Desperate, resembling a plea. “Is my mom okay?” Mark looked at him. Suddenly finding that now it was him who was unable to speak. Words stuck in his throat, not letting him push them out no matter how hard he tried. His hands closed into fists, noticing the little hope that remained in Cesar’s eyes slowly fading away, a light, snuff out. 

“I’m calling an ambulance”

—

Saturday, 2:57 am

They both sat at the kitchen floor in silence, only the low whistle of the wind sliding from under the door audible, along with the faint humming of the lightbulb that dimly illuminated the room. Mark was pressing a wetted towel against Cesar’s gash, just like the lady over the phone instructed him to do so until help arrived.

Cesar stared blankly at his leg, tears and blood now dried up, only the tightness in his chest remaining amidst it all. 

Mark looked up at him, concerned. He looked lost. Thoughts unreadable, so different from how he usually was like…but Mark couldn’t blame him. Not at all. Nothing could’ve prepared him for what he had just experienced that night, merely hours ago. His mother was gone. He was alone. All alone. The only thing his expression gave away was how likely he was to be thinking that same thing too.

What now? What do I even do now?

Lost. So lost.

“Does…your leg hurt a lot?” Mark asked, in a low voice.

“I don’t know” A blunt reply, almost lifeless.

“Do you have anywhere to stay?”

“I don’t” “Friends, family?” “I don’t think they’d want to deal with this”

They wouldn’t want to deal with someone who’s come in contact with an alternate.

Mark remained quiet. He had made up his mind to let him stay the night, but- What after that? Cesar wasn’t even looking back at him as they talked. He didn’t seem like he was looking  at anything at all, speaking honestly. It was as if he was in a different place entirely. So close to Mark yet somehow, far, far away. Even more than they were before. Even more than those 7 years. Even more than when-

Sirens became audible in the distance, a low sense of relief washing over Mark, like a quiet reassurance. A prayer answered. He looked back at Cesar, who barely seemed to register the sound of the sirens getting closer, the blue and red lights bleeding through the small open spaces between the curtains. 

“C’mon, I think we should go outside” Mark said, starting to get back on his feet, but noticing Cesar was not following his motion. He tilted his head to the side, making a move to help the other boy back to his feet but being stopped midway.

“Cesar?”

Silence. His gaze finally met. Tired, puffy eyes staring back at him.

.

.

.

“I can’t feel my legs.”

—

Ohhh, intriguing :] or idk, you tell me...lemme tell you picking a date for the winter formal that made sense was probably the hardest part of the entire chapter efrshdigsdd

Still, to anyone who read, hope you enjoyed :> Next chapter will be available next week. Uuuuuuunnntiiiiill then!

-Ami