Work Text:
One of the biggest draws of Nightvale had been its secludedness. So secluded, in fact, that the email he had received had specifically mentioned that there would be no outside contact permitted, or even possible. It had taken a half-second for Will to contemplate leaving behind everything and everyone; of leaving behind Alana, Jack, Freddie even, whom he had started to share a strange bond with. Abigail was dead (again), and Chilton had disappeared months earlier. There was, essentially, nothing tying him to Wolf Trap anymore that couldn’t be spared. Five days later, he was in his car, his multitude of dogs all in the backseat, quiet as ever, driving halfway across the country to his new, deserted desert home.
Now, he works as a mechanic in Nightvale, located in New Mexico. It pays decently, despite the fact that what few cars there are in Nightvale immediately, spontaneously repair themselves. It’s just one of the many unique quirks of Nightvale--like how the lightning bugs are literally lit by lightning (which he found out personally, when one of them ran into a bug zapper, and knocked out all of the power to his house), and how his fridge tends to make infrequent moaning sounds when the freezer door is left open for too long.
Instead, most of his pay comes from repairing boats, which there’re plenty of, despite Nightvale being a desert community. The cars may never need fixing, but with the giant tentacle beast residing in the lake which frequently appears and disappears (often with the boats still in the lakes; there’ve been quite a few accidents relating to a motorboat suddenly falling twenty feet, which, unfortunately, are not covered by medical insurance) there’s plenty of work to be found in fixing them.
The dogs have taken to Nightvale quite well, too. He trades out giving them a walk around town every 3 days; Old Woman Josie’s favorite is Jamie and she always gives him extra treats if they pass by. Old Woman Josie’s angels were less interesting than he had thought they would be. They simply stared at him (although they lack eyes, they have something resembling musculature and craniums), stared at Buster, and patted him on the head. Buster’s fur was slightly singed when they stopped. The black one--black as the night sky, and with three sets of teeth, had looked up at Will and made a sort of foghorn noise, followed by screeching, and then walked back into Old Woman Josie’s house. The white one (white as clouds, with its cranium detached and floating above it) nodded at Will, and followed. It was only later that Will noticed his ears were bleeding and his fingernails appeared to have grown 2 inches. Buster’s fur hadn’t changed, at least.
Nightvale is nice. Strange, but nice. There’s certain internet sites he can’t get to, certain tv channels that won’t come through, and he’s positive all of his phone calls are being recorded. But to be honest, he doesn’t mind it. He’s home, alone, and has left his past entirely behind him. A refrigerator that moans and a bug zapper that shorts out the house are nothing compared to being in a romantic relationship with a cannibalistic serial killer. He’d trade that in any day.