Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cecil is best described, in a single word, as ‘contradictory’. Everything about him seems to center around this theme, which is pretty much the only thing that ties anything together. And his name, of course, that describes him. And ‘The Voice of Night Vale’. But aside from those, which are blaringly obvious, Cecil is just a walking contradiction.

It drives Carlos mad.

They first met when Carlos was just about finished lugging his things into his new lab. He was very excited, and had met so many people that day (everyone seemed oddly fascinated with him, he wasn’t sure why, but it was unnerving) that he didn’t pay much attention to the wide-eyed bloke hovering (not literally, as Night Vale was the kind of place where you had to say if hovering meant just lingering with an aura of uncertainty or actually floating above the ground) on the sidewalk. Carlos had taken the last box out of the back of the trailer and was trying to shut the door with his foot, and shit, the box obviously had glass in it because he was hopping to keep his balance and something inside was sounding broken. And then the wide-eyed, bespeckled blond was closing the door securely for him.

“Oh, thanks,” Carlos said appreciatively. “Not to get an inch and grab a mile, but, um, do you think you could get the front door too?”

“Of course, it would be no problem, Carlos!” the man said. Sundae, Carlos thought, because the guy’s voice was vanilla smooth and chocolate syrupy and peppy with a cherry on top. And- good lord, did this town get any new folks? He already knew his name?

“Double thanks. I’m- I’m sorry, but you’ve got me at a disadvantage… I don’t know your name,” the scientist said, walking unsteadily up the driveway to the front door. The box was heavy, and he hoped it wasn’t the rotovap- Jerry was the chemistry specialist and would be pissed if he’d broken it.

“Cecil. I do the radio show- I just know your name because our new intern gave me a heads up. I’m afraid most of the town will know your name- I announced it, and I confess that my audience is extensive,” the man- Cecil- chattered on in a friendly, slightly apologetic manner.

Carlos had smiled and brushed it off, saying it was fine. He really wasn’t paying much attention, he was focusing on his footing and starting to panic about the possibility of having broken the chemical apparatus, and the research he’d done on Night Vale told him that finding one around would be highly unlikely.

Cecil opened the door and Carlos thanked him again, then the door was closed and Carlos promptly forgot about the whole thing. (Incidentally, he didn’t break Jerry’s rotovap. He’d broken the screen on his wonderful iHome and couldn’t see to tune it, so it was only used for playing CD’s, tapes, and iPods. Radio was unavailable, which he would later find ironic and fateful.)

So ended the first encounter.

The second encounter was just as forgettable. Actually, they hardly interacted- Carlos had charged into the station, horrified by the imminent removal of the lead protection from Radon Canyon (how on earth was an entire canyon naturally radioactive and why had nobody outside of Night Vale heard of it before!?) and said his piece, trying to make them realize the danger they were in, and then he was back out the doors, in a panic.

Eventually, he realized that nobody was reacting to the radioactivity, and that even he wasn’t reacting to the radioactivity. His Geiger counters showed that it was there, but nobody felt any effects of it, and when he examined a few cell cultures under a scope, he saw no damage. So apparently everyone who lived in Night Vale (himself included) was invulnerable to radioactivity. (And bullets, because guns don’t kill people, it’s a miracle.)

The third encounter was quite a bit more memorable. The first time they met, Carlos had been hot from the desert heat and from lugging things in (he’d told the rest of his team to start setting everything up while he got the last few boxes) and he didn’t have his glasses on and his hair was in his face. He was also carrying a large, heavy box, and was preoccupied (his fellows said he was consistently, constantly ‘preoccupied’, he freaking occupied the state of preoccupied) with plans for starting his massive research project. So he hadn’t paid much attention.

The third time they met was at Big Rico’s. Carlos was standing in line, waiting to pick up the pizza he’d ordered. It really was fantastic pizza, the best, the whole team agreed. Silas and Amrita were leaving in the morning- they were the geologists and seismologists and everything-earthy-ologists, and they’d set up what they needed and were headed out of Night Vale. Much of the team was envious- they all struggled with the peculiarities of the strange desert town, but Carlos was the only one who’d been obsessed with it from the get-go and refused to back out. So they were celebrating with a last slice (or three) of the best pizza ever.

“Carlos!” a vanilla-chocolate-cherry voice exclaimed happily, and the scientist turned around to see a blonde man with glasses, a tie, and a sweater vest step in line behind him. He was slightly taller than Carlos, but wasn’t exactly tall tall- he was neither short nor tall, thin nor fat. He was just on that side of average, though, aiming toward spindly and wiry without being ultra thin. His elbows looked extrodinarily sharp just below his rolled up shirt sleeves. His expression was that ducking, looking-up-through-messy-bangs expression of a puppy waiting and fidgeting for a treat. He was also barefoot.

Carlos racked his memory for the guy’s name, and the sundae voice came back to him.

“Cecil, right?” he asked, though he was fairly certain. He had a photographic memory, but that didn’t mean he remembered sounds or conversations.

“That is correct!” The poor man looked like he was trying not to beam like a child just at the fact that Carlos had remembered his name. He lifted his chin and smiled brightly. “I see-,”

But his statement was cut off when Carlos gasped and let out a sort of short whine-shriek (embarrassingly high-pitched, though thankfully not loud).

“Good lord, you’ve got three eyes!” Carlos cried, taking a shocked and curious step forward. (Ever the scientist, Carlos- most people step backwards when confronted with the unusual. Carlos’s scientific curiosity ran so deep that his first instinct wasn’t self-preservation and safety, it was look closer and scientific method.)

Chapter Text

“Good lord, you’ve got three eyes!” Carlos cried, taking a shocked and curious step forward. (Ever the scientist, Carlos- most people step backwards when confronted with the unusual. Carlos’s scientific curiosity ran so deep that his first instinct wasn’t self-preservation and safety, it was look closer and scientific method.)

Cecil blinked (his third eye, just above his brows and centered, blinked as well, and Carlos realized all three irises were a brilliant shade of amethyst) and opened his mouth uncertainly. “I- um, yes… yes, I, uh, do ha-have a third- yes,” he stammered. “I… I can honestly say you’re the first one to be so, er, up-front about it.” As he was speaking, he was looking more and more crestfallen and worried- he’d thought that bumping into Carlos was a wonderful coincidence, but now he was feeling his face heat and found himself wishing he was back at his booth (it was more home than his home was home).

“It’s…” Carlos trailed off, searching for the adequate adjective. Cecil looked down and away, looking embarassed and uncomfortable, “...extrodinary!” Carlos finished.

“What?” he said, displaying his confusion with a marvelous triple blink.

“And- mygod, Cecil, are you okay, you’re turning purple!” Indeed, Cecil’s cheeks had taken on a faint plum hue, splotches of it like a blush. “Is that… do you blush purple?”

“I- yes. Yes.” Carlos took another step forward and reached up to touch his cheekbone lightly. It wasn’t a caress, just a faint touch- it was more invasive and scientific than intimate, but Cecil still brightened immediately and blushed darker violet.

“What the… Amazing!” Carlos cried, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “So your blood must be purple? So what is the metal base in it?- hemoglobin is red which is iron based, horseshoe crabs are blue not purple, from hemocyanin which is copper base, but it’s a very blue blue, not violet at all- this is fascinating!” he mumbled, going right into science mode, talking his thoughts out less to share them and more because he puzzled better that way. He fumbled through his pockets and found a notepad and a marker (damn anti pen laws). “And your third eye- may I look closer, do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Cecil laughed, quite relieved at the turn their engagement had taken. “If there’s anything I can do in support of science, I would be overjoyed.”

Carlos had to stand slightly on his toes to look in his third eye- not just because it was higher, but because Cecil was a bit taller than he- and pressed his thumb gently in a circle around it, feeling the bone structure. “No socket ridges like the standard two eyes, no indentation, it’s just… there. I don’t even feel where the bone stops. If I hurt you, holler,” he added as an afterthought. “No lashes and very circular shaped rather than almond like your standard pair of eyes. Close it for me?”

Cecil obediently closed that eye, and Carlos let out another small, excited exclamation.

“Oh, cool. It’s completely gone- you can’t even tell it’s there, that’s rather remarkable. The lid must be thicker around the edges and thin in the middle, to fit over the roundness of the eyeball without any traces. Is it like winking- is it hard to close just that eye and keep your others open?” he asked

.
“No, I can close it without any problems, but then, I can wink without any struggle, see?” he said, and closed two eyes easily.

“This is really… wow. And I’d love to study your blood, too. Could you put your number in here so I can call, ask you over to the lab for a study some time?” Carlos asked, pressing his phone into Cecil’s hand. The radio personality dutifully typed in his name and number, misspelling his name twice in silent joy.

“Will you text me so I have your number as well?” Cecil asked bashfully, suddenly shy as a child.

“Sure, sure,” Carlos said absentmindedly, taking his phone back and sending a blank message to him. “Are there others in Night Vale who have anatomy like yours?”

“I… no, I suppose I’m unique in this manner. I mean, I’m not the only non-standard-psuedo-human in town, but I suppose I’m the Voice of Night Vale for a reason,” he said modestly. Carlos was looking at his third eye again and didn’t catch the weight the title held, didn’t notice the implied capitalization of it, he barely heard it at all.

“I see. Well. Not tonight, but any time starting tomorrow, just text me if you’re free to come over for a bit of research,” he said, grinning brightly. Then it was his turn in line, and he smiled and waved goodbye to Cecil as he departed with his armload of pizza boxes. What a discovery- he’s been so busy with the radioactivity and plant life and such that he hadn’t even thought to look at the citizens of Night Vale for scientific incontinuities.

When he got back, he ate pizza and marveled with Maryse about the man he’d found. She was almost disbelieving, but she’d been in Night Vale for as long as Carlos had, part of the original team, and she too began to get excited about the discovery. A third eye, somehow manifested in the forehead with no socket, purple blood (they threw hypothesis after hypothesis back and forth for nearly an hour), and his peculiarly colored irises. Maryse mentioned briefly, with a wink, that she liked purple and that she was single. So he gave her Cecil’s number and told her to get in contact, do some research. He asked for her to let him know when she began testing, because he wanted in on the phenomena that was this Cecil character.

Unfortunately, he ended up running around with some guy who called himself the Apache Tracker (more like dragged around- the guy was a fanatic, and his costume was ridiculous and mildly offensive, though Carlos’s origins were from India so he wasn’t personally offended) trying to investigate all these wild theories. When he discovered the fraudulent native was more a political conspiracy investigator than a scientific researcher, though, he severed ties and resumed his study of the botanical life in Night Vale (he ordered a set of chain-maille gloves after accidentally getting pricked by a cactus which resulted in what could only be described as a bad psychedelic trip that lasted a full five days).

Maryse said she took some samples of blood from Cecil and couldn't make heads or tails of what she'd found- a whole plethora of unknown proteins. Carlos took a look at the samples and tenatively guessed he was a nitrogen breather rather than oxygen, but had a hard time proving it. She was also investigating his bone structure- how the eye presented with no socket for it, and how it connected to his brain. She was trying to convince Cecil to accompany her out of Night Vale to the nearest town with a hospital so she could do some neuroimaging, but he’d become oddly reluctant to participate in science after that first meeting at Rico’s, and was even more evasive when she suggested leaving Night Vale, exhibiting strange behavior and all but fleeing the lab. Carlos hadn’t been around for any of it, unfortunately, busy as he’d been with the Apache Tracker.

She left Night Vale to see if she could find someone to lend her an MRI machine. That was about two weeks previously, and he hadn’t heard from her. He’d had five other scientists there, but then Gary and Emerett balked after the fiasco that was Street Cleaning Day and left. Then there was the Sandstorm, which Carlos thought was a fascinating new discovery, tempting to investigate more, but Emily, David, and Kimball had quite different reactions. He was the last scientist in Night Vale. It had only taken one year for the entire team of twenty five to evaporate, unfit for the small desert community.

That feather-headbanded jerk had called him again about an invading city (by this point, Carlos was feeling more like an overworked, underpowered super hero than a scientist, he’d saved the Vale so friggin many times) and he resigned himself to look into it. He spent a week going back and forth from the bowling alley to his lab, trying to figure out what was going on. Eventually, he managed to get into the area where the city was, and was able to lay eyes on proof that there was a real danger here.

And then he walked down into it and found it was tiny, and was laughing with amusement- everyone was terrified of a miniature city of miniature people, how dangerous could they be?- and there was pain and tiny gunfire and explosions, and then he was waking up on the smelly, slightly sticky tiled floor of the bowling alley, in pain but mercifully alive.

He called the only Night Vale citizen he had in his phone, the only one who wasn’t mysterious and dangerous and who seemed to genuinely care about him, feeling oddly sentimental and needing someone to talk to. His team was gone, he was the only one left, and he was desperate for human contact after his near-death experience.

"I need to see you."

Chapter Text

Cecil came to the parking lot, all pale skin and inky tattoos and bashful behind his glasses, and sat beside Carlos on the trunk of his car. Carlos could practically hear all the questions and other things Cecil wanted to say boiling within him, but the man seemed to contain himself, instead choosing to ask about the city- what danger were they in? It made something within Carlos’s chest twinge- he’d treated him like a science experiment and handed him off to a coworker, even though he’d been nothing but nice to him (and so eager to be of assistance) and now, after Carlos had pushed him aside, he understood and thought he was just there for something to do with the city.

His hair was a mess and his side, where he now had a gaping wound beneath heavy bandages, ached and burned, and he felt tired and sentimental. He’d just seen a man die for him, a man he’d taken for a fool, someone who just wanted to stir up trouble.

“Nothing. After everything that happened, I just wanted to see you,” he said simply, smiling weakly. He wasn’t sure what to say, or why exactly he’d texted him.

“Oh?” Cecil had replied simply, though his voice sounded shaky. Carlos didn’t look over at him, just stared up at the lights that blinked a random staccato in the sky, and the sun setting beneath them. He dully realized he’d put his hand on Cecil’s knee. He usually hated it when his skeletal muscles behaved like smooth muscle, involuntary and impertinent, but he found that, in this instance, he didn't mind.

“I used to think it was setting at the wrong time. But then I realized that time doesn’t work in Night Vale and none of the clocks are real. Sometimes things seem so strange or malevolent and then you find that underneath it was something else altogether, something pure and innocent,” he said. He wasn’t sure what he was talking about- the invading city, the fact that time was strange in Night Vale, the Apache Tracker, or Cecil himself.

“I know what you mean,” Cecil said cryptically, and leaned his head on Carlos’s shoulder.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, in the warm desert night, staring at the lights. After his adventure earlier, with death and Indian magics, he felt disturbed and at peace all at once. Trying to think about it gave him terrible cognitive dissonance, so he allowed his mind to relax and forced it not to think at all.

Eventually, his side was hurting enough that he thought he should go back to his apartment and get some advil and some sleep. He sighed and removed his hand from Cecil’s knee, and Cecil removed his head from his shoulder.

“Can I call you tomorrow?” he asked. Those purple eyes widened with delight.

“Of course! Feel free to call me any time! Even during my broadcast, though that may be counterproductive for interaction, as the last time I accepted a phone call during the show, Station Management caused the floor of my studio to grow a thick layer of very odious sheepskin, which was a nightmare to clean out of the wheels of my chair, I can still smell dirty wool- but, ahem, my point is, yes, you can call me,” he said, blushing that strange purple color again as he seemed to realize he was rambling.

“Station Management did what?” Carlos chuckled, more amused by the oddness of Night Vale than fearful of it. “That’s… well, I won’t call when your show is on. When is it, again?”

“You… you don’t listen to my show?” Cecil said, looking downtrodden.

“I’m sorry, it’s not because I don't want to, it's my sound system- I have a nice radio system at the lab and the tuner got broken during the move, so I just listen to CD’s,” he said apologetically.

Cecil blinked at him, and then began to laugh, starting with a chuckle and turning into a full-bodied laugh, wrapping his arms around his stomach and laughing so hard his eyes closed and cheeks turned dark violet from the flush. Carlos watched him, laughing himself at the spectacle, until Cecil managed to get himself together.

“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s… it’s just so fateful,” he said, still laughing weakly and wiping at his eyes. “Wow. I should’ve known something like this was happening.”

“I guess it is a bit ironic,” Carlos said with a shrug.

“A bit? You have no idea,” Cecil snorted. “But, speaking of the radio, I need to get back to finish the show, I’ve got the booth in a time lock so when the weather is over, I can resume in past time. And you look like you need sleep,” he said, reaching up and gently cupping his cheek for a moment before realizing what he was doing and snatching his hand away, looking embarrassed.

“Well. I’ll admit, that’s true. I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight, Cecil,” he said, sliding off the hood. Cecil looked at him longingly for a moment before turning away.

Carlos swore he heard him murmur, “Perfect Carlos.”

The next day he called- he didn't even have to consult his sticky notes to remember. And arranged a date. An actual date- Cecil was going to pick him up, then supper, then maybe a walk. How long had it been since Carlos had been on a date? There was that italian girl his sister had set him up with, the tattoo artist, that had been a fiasco- he'd gotten completely preoccupied with a thesis on crenarchaeota and their methods of oxidization and hadn't called her in 8 or 9 days, and she showed up at his door screaming. Then there had been the fling with what's-his-face, Gavin or Gary or something, which had been one week of rambunctious, exploratory intercourse before Carlos moved down to florida to study naegleria fowleri and lost contact. But he hadn't had a proper date with the guy, so he wasn't sure if it counted.

And the date came, and it was fantastic. Except the shadow people, of course. Even the strange food- bloody portabello?- was delicious. Everything seemed to move so smoothly around them. It was like Cecil was the eye of the storm that was Night Vale, the epicenter around which everything revolved. There was a strange fluidity of motion around him that Carlos detected, though he couldn't quantify it.

There was that one moment when he thought he was going to swallow his own tongue. At the beginning of their date. He wanted to blame it on the general strangeness of the restaurant, but he knew it was his stupid nerves. That moment when he started talking.

"I've been thinking." He wasn't sure where he'd been going with that. He had an idea that he was going to apologize for treating Cecil like a nonsentient lab thing and handing him off to a different scientist. But Cecil had taken a sip of wine and he watched the motion of his pale throat with the swallow, deep ruby fluid, his collarbones sharp and elegant and visible from the wide neck of his tunic, dressed in only his tattoos, and he wondered how much skin his tattoos covered, and where they stopped- if they went all the way down his back and chest- and he... well, he sort of froze up.

"Yeah, that's what I've been doing lately. Th-thinking. It's, uh... it's part of being a scientist." He was hardly aware of the words coming out of his own mouth, suddenly feeling over his head. He was on a date with this stunningly attractive man, who he'd hardly noticed before. Stupidly preoccupied. His first date in a long time. And this man seemed to have a strange connection to the city- everyone listened to him, everyone respected him, nothing harmed him. He seemed to exert his will on the town, and the town obeyed. A gorgeous, smooth-talking, questionably powerful man. He swallowed, and his throat felt dry.

"Uh, what have you been up to?" he tried, taking a hearty swallow of his own wine. And then Cecil began chatting, and he was chatting. Why was he worried? Cecil was the voice of Night Vale, he was the most social creature in town. There wasn't another moment of awkwardness.

But there was the problem of the shadow people. He very nearly invited Cecil in to help him figure it out, but he said some bullshit excuse about being self-sufficient. To be honest with himself, he was just worried about not getting any work done, or being distracted. The date had gone so smoothly- they’d talked and visited and chatted with such ease, Carlos knew that, if he let him come in, he could likely end up talking deep into the night.

Cecil looked so crestfallen at being told he couldn’t come in- like a kicked puppy, albeit a puppy with violet eyes and tattoos. So, without thinking, he leaned in and kissed him. Just once. Just gently. Just before slipping out of Cecil’s car and into the lab.

While turning on the lights to his lab, he mentally patted himself on the back. Still got it, Carlos.

The next morning (it was more like afternoon- he’d been up most of the night figuring out how to make everyone flesh and blood rather than buzzing shadow energy) as he was eating cold pizza for breakfast, his eyes fell on the broken radio.

Maybe… he could fix it.

He specialized in the life sciences- botany, physiology, virology, neurology, anything to do with biology, he was there. This was electrical or mechanical. He knew some about mechanics, and a little about electrical (after all, everything was just electrical signals and magnetic down on an atomic level, and cells used electrical gradients to control pumps and channels through their membranes) but not nearly enough to confidently take apart his nice radio.

He should do some research, but he’d just set his laptops to begin backing up and they were still doing that, and he didn’t want to disturb them. He didn’t particularly trust his phone’s online functions after it had developed the habit of glowing red and speaking in tongues whenever he opened Wikipedia. But he didn’t want to just give up- a particularly successful scientist, Carlos had an inability to just drop a project once he’d decided to start it.

Night Vale had a library, right?

Chapter Text

Night Vale had a library, right?

He got showered and dressed, choosing not to shave out of sheer laziness- he’d shaved yesterday for their date anyways. His facial hair grew irritatingly fast, but a little bit of scruff would be tolerable. Thinking of the date brought a silly smile to his face and he remembered, he’d told him he would call. And it was late afternoon- he hoped Cecil hadn’t thought he’d forgotten or brushed him off. But he wanted to get over to the library and start researching, so he texted Cecil instead.

Good morning! Or afternoon, I suppose- I just woke up, late night fixing the shadow-people mess. And it’s the first time I had to do an inter-dimensional lasso >_<

It wasn’t long before he got a reply- he was pulling on his lab coat (for some reason, people expected him to wear it around and seemed upset and worried when he didn’t, so he’d grown accustomed to wearing one whenever he left the apartment) when his phone chirped. Three times, in fact.

Good mornternoon to you too, Carlos! Sorry you were up so late, but I haven’t seen any masses of shadow-energy yet today, so you must have done a good job!

Not that you don’t always do a good job

You always do a perfect job

Carlos laughed at the quick sequence of texts, imagining Cecil blushing and typing out the corrections fretfully.

Thanks, you’re too kind! But I’m about to head over to the library- gonna research electronics and repair so I can finally listen to your radio show!- so I’ll talk to you later, maybe?

He sent the text as he walked to his car, digging his keys out of his pocket. He silenced his phone- he had a cousin who’s been paralyzed from a texting and driving accident, plus the last thing he needed was the secret police vandalizing his engine as punishment for being dangerous behind the wheel.

He found the library quickly, after asking a stop sign for directions (the one at the end of Griffin lane, that was the politest one and the least prone to lying) and parked in the lot. There weren’t many cars there, which was unsurprising at it was a beautiful Friday afternoon, and the secret police frowned upon studying when the sun was watching. And generally frowned upon reading. And just frowned a lot, actually. He knew his phone would be a distraction and he would keep texting Cecil and get little work done, so he left it in the car and went in. The front desk was empty, which was odd, but not nearly the Night Vale level of odd that Carlos had become accustomed to, so he scanned the library map himself and thumbed through the directory for anything pertaining to radios and electronic repair. He found a few books that looked promising and headed up the stairs.

It was quiet, but that was normal for a library, and it was a bit too warm, which was also normal for a library, and it smelled moist and a bit like meat, which was not normal for a library. He disregarded it as another Night Vale peculiarity. Maybe it was a lingering aftereffect from the day when all the books stopped working and had that meat smell. He turned the corner to the stacks he was looking for. Scanning the shelves and running a finger along the spines, he looked for the serial number he wanted.

A soft noise made him look around, but there was nobody else around. The back of his neck prickled, and he found the book he wanted, tugging it from the shelf and hurrying from the dark aisle to the desks.

Walking past an aisle, he swore he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t see the shape of it, or anything aside from a tan blur. The fearful feeling increased, and he began to think maybe he should just leave.

No, it was fine. It was just a dark aisle of books. In a quiet library.

In Night Vale.

He decided maybe he would leave, and turned to put the book back on a cart. When he turned back around, he met the blur he’d briefly seen. It was sitting right in front of him, allowing him to observe it fully. He wasn’t sure he was grateful for the opportunity, however. His first thought, upon looking at it, was lion.

But no, it wasn’t just a lion. Well, it was- a lioness, to be exact. But that wasn’t all it was. It was also some large bird of prey, from the massive wings loosely folded at its sides, and goat, from its hindquarters and back legs, and venomous snake- a coral snake, if he wasn’t mistaken. And it had rams horns. And a pair of tiny spectacles cartoonishly balanced on its nose, and a torn, bloodstained tweed jacket that it wore on its front legs and body, ripped for the wings to come out.

And it spoke.

“Darling Carlos,” it said in a raspy feminine voice, like an old woman. “For such a great scientist, you don’t come to the library nearly often enough. We’ve been hoping you would come eventually.”

“Uh,” he said. “Sorry.”

And then it lunged. He had an instant before his body responded, where his only thought was, for goat legs, that’s a fascinatingly catlike pounce, and then he was throwing himself to the side, landing hard on his elbow and skidding, shredding the elbow of his jacket. But it put him out of the chimera’s (why the hell are there chimera in the library?!) reach, for the moment, and it took a few loping steps to absorb the momentum when it landed, then whirled, baring its teeth and snarling at him.

He scrambled to his feet, and then they were off. He was running serpentine through the stacks, weaving and changing direction as much as he could, knowing in a flat sprint the thing would get him for sure. It was no slow turner, that was for sure, but it was slower than him- he could reach out and catch things to help him, and he had less weight equals less force equals less momentum equals easier to change direction. The problem was that he had no idea where he was going- he could see the map he’d looked at clearly in his head, but a photographic memory didn’t tell him where he was. He couldn’t follow a map if he didn’t know where he was on it, and there was no time to stop and orient himself.

He found a corridor with a door at the end of it and charged for it, hearing the cat-goat-bird-snake thing take the corner behind him. It was a race, and it was close- he got to the door and thank God it opened with a push and not a pull. He slammed it behind him, hoping the doorknob would slow the beast, but knowing it was only a temporary respite.

The room he was in was full of more stacks of books, but it had one landmark that helped- a set of couches set it a half circle around a few low tables, all streaked with crusty, dry blood. Right. He knew where he was, there were stairs in the far corner of the room and he could get out. He began running again.

About halfway there, he heard the door open and something heavy and four-legged thudded into the room.

The stairs, the stairs would be a variable he couldn’t know- did chimera navigate stairs well? He fervently hoped not as he threw himself through the doorway (no door to close behind himself, dammit) and began taking the steps.

The answer was that, yes, chimera did very well with stairs.

Chapter Text

The answer was that, yes, chimera did very well with stairs.

It simply skipped them, jumping down to the landing and extending its wings partially for a bit of glide, turning, jumping down the second set, and then it was upon him, knocking him through the doorway into the lobby. He cried out as they crashed to the ground and fought with his hands- human hands suddenly seemed so feeble with the massive Frisbee-sized lion paws pressed down on his chest. He was trying to push the snapping muzzle away, fighting for his life. He kicked upward, trying to hit it in the belly and dislodge it, but he couldn’t draw back and get much force.

Nononono I have to survive.

He was grasping the thing by its horns and it was yowling, inches away from his face, its hot breath fetid and meaty. Other living things had gone down that gullet, and Carlos felt he couldn’t breathe. He was going to be another meal for it, he was going to die here- Ohgod please no-

Confirmation came from a deep stabbing sensation in his left thigh, followed almost immediately by an all-consuming burning. The snake tail. Pain, like nothing he’d ever experienced. Pain, burning, fire in his body, in his blood. His muscles spasmed, and a small hysterical part of his brain wondered at the speed of the venom, as he knew that coral snake venom could take up to 12 hours to begin to show effects, and then it was a neurotoxin, this much pain didn't make sense. This was no normal venom. He was on fire and his heart was beating so hard he could feel it pounding under his skin.

He couldn’t hold on to it, the chimera. His palms were sweating and his muscles were rapidly shutting down and his chest felt tight, his lungs and heart constricting. His elbows shook and his hands slipped, his body was freaking the hell out, there was too much pain. Please someone help me help I'm going to die. The lion’s maw roared victoriously above him.

And then it was yanked back with such speed… it was like in a horror movie, when a woman is screaming on the floor and something has her ankles, and there’s a split second of motion and she’s gone. It was like that, except more of a relief than a terror. The speed and suddenness of how fast it was yanked back. There, then not.

He found the energy to lift his head and see what was going on. With his glasses gone (lord knows where) he could only see indistinct shapes, but…

Some long and dark and whiplike things, but thicker, were whirling through the air, attached to a figure. They formed almost a corona of writhing tendrils. And the other ends of the long things were attached to the chimera- not attached, wrapped around- and they lifted it up, slamming it into the wall and the floor. There was roaring and someone was shouting- around Carlos, the color seemed to be leeching out of the world, leaving it black and white and only the purple flecks in the carpet retained their color- and a noise like radio static. The shouting was smooth and vanilla. Black and white and purple.

Confused, overwhelmed, poisoned, battered and bruised- his brain simply shut down, and everything was void.

Through the void, there were –

-things-

Something strong and dry and supple, bending like a rope, wrapping around him- several somethings-

-lifted-

-set down again, the smell of leather, pine needles, and orange peels-

-dim lights and a small fire, and over it all, a voice like chocolate and vanilla and milk, telling him that he would be alright, begging him to wake up. The smooth voice was heavy with tears.

I'm alive, I'm not dead, I'm still here-

Then he was completely conscious again, brought back by a concentrated stab of pain. His eyes opened and he gasped, shooting half-upright, jerking reflexively.

“Calm down, Carlos, you’re going to be fine, I’m so sorry that it hurt, I just had to see how it was, I didn’t mean to press on it,” the voice was rambling frantically. Cream and sugar- the voice belonged to Cecil. It was shaky and slightly out of breath.

He was lying on a table, feeling cold, awash with sweat. He managed to loll his head to the side to see what was going on- Cecil was standing at a counter beside the table. A large candle was burning, and he was holding something in the flame with his bare fingers- a small sachet of herbs- and then dropped the burning mix into a bowl. Something wet was in the bowl- he heard it hiss at the contact- and he was stirring it furiously. He picked up the bowl and was turning, speaking in a tongue that was melodic and lilting, like it was about to be a song. The contents glowed white for a moment before fading to gray- but then, everything was still black and white and purple. Cecil’s eyes were vibrant in the colorless tableau, and Carlos wondered what was wrong with him if he couldn't see colors except purple.

“This should help, I promise it’s going to help. You’re going to be fine- I’ve used this tincture more times than I can count, you should’ve seen the summer reading program aftermath, you’ll be fine. I’m so sorry you had to go through that- but Carlos! Why, why, why did you go to the library?!” he huffed, scooping up a finger-full of the stuff from the bowl and began massaging it onto the bite from the chimera’s tail.

Immediately, there was relief. The stuff felt cool and soft, and he relaxed, lying back and letting his eyes drift shut, a faint groan of relief escaping him.

“Rest, my perfect Carlos, I’ll take care of you,” Cecil murmured, and Carlos didn’t need telling twice.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><

When he woke again, the first thing he noticed was that the world once again had color, and he felt decidedly less like death. Alive. I'm alive.

He also knew that he had questions, but his head hurt too much to put them into words just yet. So he decided to start with sitting up (from the way his brain felt sloshy and watery, he estimated he had a mild concussion) and looking around. The room was unfamiliar and a bit... strange.

He was lying in a bed, which had a silver and black fluffy duvet. The floor was hardwood, and there were three doors- one door closed, one opened into a hallway, and another opened to show a walk-in closet that was spilling out with violently colored pants, button-up shirts, respectable argyle sweater vests, and feather boas. There was a dresser and what looked like a full-length mirror covered with a sheet, and a bedside table with a pair of glasses (those were his glasses), a few books (with the gold city council approved sticker on the bindings, of course) and a candle stuck in what looked like a candelabra made out of deer mandibles.

The headboard of the bed was covered in so many dream catchers that Carlos couldn’t even count- varying from tiny ones the size of a half dollar to the biggest one, about the size of a basketball, and all made of different kinds of string and beads and feathers. His lab coat was hanging from the side of the headboard, and there were a few stuffed animals by his head, with large eyes and fluffy fur- two kittens, a panda, a raccoon, and a vulture. There were some very nice looking speakers in each of the corners of the room, up at the ceiling, and the wires connecting them were strung with thin branches with red berries on them, like the ones you’d put on a Christmas tree. The walls were a pleasant cream color.

And there was a table in the corner with a  Bunsen burner, which Carlos thought was acceptable to have in a bedroom, and a mortar and pestle and drying herbs hung up and some sort of large black claws and feathers and what looked like snake skin, which he did not think were so acceptable. 

He realized he didn't recall how he'd gotten here, and went searching through his memory.

Immediately, he began scrambling out from under the sheets as he remembered the chimera, and the thing that threw it against the wall, and the stuff Cecil had done after to save him from the venom. But someone (Cecil?) had tucked him in so thoroughly that he tangled his legs, got stuck, and half-fell on the ground, his legs tangled up on the bed and his shoulders and arms hitting the floor. He managed to get free with some graceless kicking and flailing and liberal silent curses. He shoved his glasses on his face, absentmindedly noticing that they were absolutely perfectly clean, despite the fact that he was notirously terrible at remembering to wash them. Pulling his lab coat on- he was wearing nothing but his boxers, and white bandages wrapped around his thigh and his abdomen, he opened the door and peered out. The hall was empty, and looked safe.. Opening the door fully, he slowly made his way down the hall, keeping a hand on it for support. He felt like he’d been hit by a truck. Or, you know, a venomous, pissed-off, librarian chimera.

I should be dead, he thought, and then banished the thought. He was alive. He'd made it with luck and the help of the whip-tendril thing. Speaking of, he had some very pressing questions.

Chapter Text

There were photos on the wall. Some he recognized- Cecil with Old Woman Jose, scoutmaster Earl, and a member of the secret police he didn’t recognize, all wearing light blue polos at the bowling alley, holding a trophy. There was one of Cecil and Dana holding kittens, looking overjoyed. There was one of the radio station, and quite a few with Cecil standing proudly with a few youths that Carlos identified as batches of interns. Most of the rest of the photos had people with blurred out faces.

He made his way to the end of the hall and heard music- following it, he turned right into some sort of a living room (the furniture was deep plum colored and the carpet was white, and there was a massive ancient looking fireplace and a silver chandelier and more speakers and sound systems) and through that was the source of the music. And singing. He knew it was Cecil singing- who else could sing both parts of a duet simultaneously, and so flawlessly?

The radio host himself was standing at the counter, back-to, and Carlos held back for a moment to enjoy the view. Tight, fitted black jeans with a thick silver stripe at the bottom of each leg, a matching silver belt, a polo tucked into that, the right half of it red, the left half orange. The pants hugged him perfectly, and he could see his shoulderblades through the tight t-shirt, and he was swaying sinuously side to side with the music. He was wearing an apron, tied around his tapered waist, accentuating his wiry, strong body. Whatever else Cecil might be, he was certainly handsome, a striking figure.

He thought of the blurry figure with long, large, powerful appendages slamming the chimera beast into the wall, shouting incoherently, and shivered.

He finally announced himself. “Cecil?” he said, startled at how hoarse his voice was, and coughed a few times into his elbow to clear it.

His boyfriend spun around, holding a spatula. “Carlos! Good morning!” he said cheerfully. The music turned off without anyone touching it, something Carlos filed away for later, as Cecil crossed the room to touch his cheek gently. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck or something, but there’s no specific point of pain, like after the thing with the chimera. The bite. It’s not like that anymore, just general soreness,” he admitted, trying to push his face into a smile and managed only a tired twist of his lips. Cecil immediately linked arms with him and half carried him over to a barstool on the other side of the counter, letting him sit with a tired groan.

“Oh, Carlos, I’m so sorry- I did all I could to take out the venom and repair you- you got clawed up pretty good. But why, why, why were you at the library?!” he asked, eyes wide with concern.

Carlos looked down at the bandages around his torso- the thing must have scratched him when it was standing on him, he hadn’t even noticed- and frowned. “Why are there chimera at the library?” he retorted.

“That’s twice you’ve said that- I don’t know what a ‘chimera’ is. But if I hadn’t gotten there fast enough, you would’ve been just another life lost to the librarians. Please don’t do that again,” he said, stroking his hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“That thing was a librarian?!” Carlos exclaimed, remembering the silly little glasses and torn tweed jacket. “Why?!”

Cecil merely looked confused, and went back around the counter to begin pouring batter into a waffle iron. “What do you mean? Is this another thing that’s different outside of Night Vale?” he said.

“Um- yes. Librarians are supposed to be like… kind old ladies, who shush you and help you find the books you want. Not bloodthirsty lion-goat-bird-snake hybrids.”

“Oh. That sounds very… productive,” Cecil said uncertainly. Carlos could tell he didn’t quite get it, so he let it pass. There were more pressing questions to ask. Like-

“That was you that saved me?” he said quietly. Cecil glanced up at him, a flicker of his eyes, then looked back down at his cooking, meticulously slicing strawberries. He spoke each word carefully as he replied.

“I suppose you could say that was me. It’s not the me that stands in front of you now- but we are of the same consciousness. Usually that bit of me doesn’t manifest on this plane. I keep this guise on this plane, so as to not disturb people. I, um, I’m sorry for any strange effects you may have experienced when I manifested- the more of me that comes through to this plane, the more chaos that I bring with me, but also the more strength, which is why I needed to do it.” He sighed, eyes flicking up again shyly, then back down. “I didn’t… I wasn’t going to tell you. It’s not… I mean… I can keep everything separate. Or I thought I could. It’s just… ugh. Why did you have to go to the library?” he groaned, stopping slicing strawberries and burying his face in his hands, careless of the strawberry juice on them.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Carlos said, forcing himself to stand and making his wobbly way around the counter, to take his wrists gently and pull them away from his face. He made firm eye contact. “I’m not upset,” I don’t think, at least, “I’m just curious, I guess. And… Jesus, Cecil, this is just a big thing. I’m kind of upset that you hid this from me. But I’m not upset about this. If I wanted normal,” he said with a nervous laugh, “I wouldn’t have stayed in Night Vale. It’s just… I’m dating a powerful, chaotic, multi-dimensional being. I would have liked to have known that from the get-go.”

“I’m not multi-dimensional, if you want that then you’d have to go speak with John Peters, you know, the farmer,” Cecil said with a smile. Carlos wasn’t sure if he was joking, but he smiled back. “I’m poly-planar. Technically, sept-planar”

“Can you define sept-planar for me, please?”

“What did they teach you in school, nothing but biology? They didn’t touch on cross-zoning?” Cecil joked. “There are seven planes of existence, all layered on top of each other, Like a cake- they’re all essentially the same thing, they’re all cake, but different flavors. Each has the same basic template- earth, environments, and such, but the way light works is different, for one- colors are all strange. You wouldn’t have names for the colors visible on the second plane, for example. And the beings that inhabit each plane are different. Other than that, they’re mostly the same. Most things can only see things on their own plane, with a few exceptions. Cats, for example, can see things happening on both the first and second planes. Some mediums can perceive glimpses of other planes.”

“Alright, I think I understand that- I’ve heard some multiplanar theories before. So, get on to the bit about you,” Carlos mused, nodding.

“Sometimes things cross planes. Which is when you get things like pyramids and cold spots and spontaneous combustion and missing socks in the dryer and pumpernickel bread,” he said, ticking off his fingers. Carlos wisely chose not to ask about the last thing. “Mostly it’s accidental. I don’t know a lot about the things that live in other planes- mostly, I inhabit this one and the seventh. I know that angels, if they existed, would exist mostly on the second and third planes, and could occasionally fall through or be summoned to the first plane. And the ‘people’ we do not talk about from the place we do not talk about that rhymes with ‘bark’ and has something to do with the sound as well, they begin in their larval forms in the fifth plane and while emerging from their crystallis, they can often slip into the first plane.” Carlos was starting to have a hard time following, with all the things that didn’t exist and larvae and not thinking about things.

“I’ve only actually met one other who can cross planes at will. Well, two, technically, but I don’t like to count him,” he added gruffly. “The first is Old Woman Jose, but her full manifestation is… well, there are bits of her on every plane, because to coalesce all of her in one plane would be… Very Bad,” he summarized, and Carlos could hear the capitalization. “Which is part of the reason the angels. If angels existed, which they don’t, they would flock to her, because she can carry messages from their families, and they help protect her and keep her from manifesting more on one plane than on another. We used to have tea and crepes every Wednesday, until the scheduling error that got Wednesdays cancelled,” he sighed.

“Who’s the other?” Carlos probed curiously. Cecil’s expression changed to one of loathing, of such strong hatred that it was reserved for only four people- Telly the barber, Steve Carlsberg, the Apache Tracker, and-

“Kevin,” he growled. “Ohh, that man. That Voice. I should have killed him when I had the chance.” Carlos glanced at his tattoos nervously- they were wriggling with displeasure, like dark, inky, elegant snakes. “I can’t believe the universe let us meet even that once. A full-fledged fight between the two of us would be… It would be….”

“Very Bad?” Carlos supplied helpfully.

“Well, not that terrible. More like Bad. You saw what manifesting most of myself did in the library. Imagine twice that, and complete polar opposites.” Carlos tried to imagine, and unsurprisingly found he couldn’t.

“About your ‘manifesting’. What exactly… I mean, what are you? It’s just, well, I just learned that I’ve never actually seen my boyfriend for real before, just a ‘guise’ he wears on this meager plane,” he said, half-teasingly.

“Maybe after you’re recovered,” Cecil said doubtfully. “You saw enough for now.”

Chapter Text

“Maybe after you’re recovered,” Cecil said doubtfully. “You saw enough for now.”

“I couldn’t see worth shit, my glasses were gone,” he argued. “Just giant boneless arm things whipping around.”

“Those were my tentacles,” Cecil said matter-of-factly.

"Oh. Okay," Carlos said faintly. "Your tentacles. Well, I guess your tentacles saved my life. That looked like a very heavy chim- er, librarian. Your tentacles must be... strong," he stammered.

"The seventh plane has a lot more forces than this one- it's like the void above has substance and presses down so firmly, and the edges of the world are constantly vacuumed, everything is being pushed and pulled in all different directions. This plane is much less turbulent than it is there. But less colorful- if I thought you could survive the journey, I would love to take you there. There's this beautiful shade of," here he said something in a tongue that made Carlos's ears violently itch for an instant, "that would bring out the gold flecks in your eyes, it would be gorgeous," he sighed.

Carlos smiled- Cecil was so reliably unpredictable, from describing a chaotic seventh plane so poetically to discussing colors that would bring out his eyes. A plate was slid in front of him, and he looked down. It was a perfect, golden brown waffle (wheat free, of course), streaked artfully with maple syrup and with strawberry slices arranged in a heart on it. He almost started crying again at how blessedly mundane and normal it was.

Just an adoring boyfriend, making him waffles. A strawberry heart. Taking care of him, feeding him, talking over breakfast. Partially inhabiting a seventh plane with his tentacles and heaven-knows what else.

Right. He crammed a bite of waffle in his mouth before he could say something stupid or start screaming.

"Thank you, Cecil. This is delicious," he said, sighing and closing his eyes with pleasure. It was absolutely fantastic. "By the way. Your apartment is very nice. I like the dream catchers."

Cecil blushed bright lavender and turned to untie his apron once he'd set himself a plate as well. "Thank you. I didn't make all of them, many were gifts."

"You make them too? That's sweet," Carlos said, taking another bite. "What's the table in the corner of your room, with the bunsen burner?"

"That's my alchemy lab. Witchcraft requires practice, after all," he said carelessly, adding more syrup to his waffles. "That's how I saved you. From the venom, I mean. It was an enchanted poultice. It's light witchcraft, though. I'm no expert. I only took up the hobby three years ago, and everyone knows full mastery doesn’t come for at least seventy-seven years."

"Right, of course. Everyone knows that,” Carlos snorted. “Who’d you learn that from?”

“Dana was an excellent witch,” Cecil sighed, looking down at his plate mournfully. “I hope she finds her way back. I really thought she could last- her craft gave her an edge, and she was so much fun… we used to go to the animal shelter and play with the kittens once a week.”

“I saw that photo of you with her and kittens in the hall,” Carlos observed, gesturing to the hall.

He brightened. “The orange one I was holding- we called him Carmel, and the black one Dana had was Dante.”

“Since Dana is… away, if you want someone to go with you sometime, I’d be willing.”

“Oh, perfect Carlos!” Cecil laughed. “That would be wonderful!”

They finished breakfast and Carlos tried to help clean up, but Cecil shooed him out, saying he was still too weak. Which was very true- his arms felt rubbery, and he settled back down on the stool, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. He felt like he could sleep for another whole day. The kitchen noise was normal and soothing- the gentle slosh of water, clinking of plates, smell of lemon soap and lingering maple. He opened his eyes and looked blearily up, and realized that Cecil was literally doing everything at once, humming something that made the flower in the vase on the windowsill begin to do a fairly decent belly dance, for something with no belly or spine. However, Carlos was less interested in that and more interested in Cecil.

He was washing dishes with his hands, and drying them with three tentacles- grasping the plates delicately with two tentacles and wiping it with another, and putting them away with two more tentacles, and wiping down the counter with another.

Carlos sat up straight, eyes wide.

The tentacles were long and black, emerging from either side of his spine and about as thick as his forearms, tapering to fine points. They seemed shorter than the massive appendages that had torn the librarian off of Carlos, and noticeably thinner. But perhaps ‘tentacles’ was the wrong word- they had no suckers, and the tips were thin and pointed rather than rounded, like an actual octopus or something.

“Oh,” Carlos sighed, staring at them. They moved smoothly, like snakes- flexible but not boneless, supple and strong. “They’re… wow. Can I… Can I examine one?” he asked. It came out almost like a plea.

“Of course. Just let me finish the dishes, I’m almost done, then we can go sit down in the lounge,” Cecil said kindly. He was almost done too- having six extra limbs obviously helped. But Carlos had thought there had been more, like he’d thought they were larger. Cecil wiped his hands (and all his tentacles) and helped him into the living room, where they sat on a poofy, black leather couch. The decor in there was equally half cute, half alarming as the bedroom, full of whites and blacks and purples.

Cecil turned so his back faced Carlos, and he immediately began studying them, his tired mind refusing to rest until he understood. They seemed to be phased through his shirt, almost like they’d grown from his shirt rather than from his back, but he knew that wasn’t the case. There were three on either side of his spine. He reached out and hesitantly touched one. It flinched under him, and he drew back sharply.

“Sorry,” he said reflexively.

“No, I’m sorry,” Cecil said, turning to smile at him. “It’s just odd. I don’t usually have them out around people. I can’t recall the last time someone touched them. Go ahead.”

Carlos put his hand on it again, near the thicker base near his spine, and found them to be dry and almost powdery, like a bird’s down, like a snake’s skin. He ran his hand in different directions on it, feeling for ridges or scales. On the side that faced Cecil, there was a faint texture, like a fingerprint. He supposed that was for gripping things better.

“Do they… they seem smaller than they were at the library,” Carlos observed.

“They don’t have a defined size. I can manifest as much or as little as I desire,” Cecil explained.

“Where does the mass come from, and where does it go?” he mused.

“The seventh plane? Gaps between them? Who knows? I’ve never wondered that before,” Cecil laughed. “It’s just how they are. A little bit unusual. A little bit impertinent!” he added firmly, smacking the one that had begun caressing Carlos’s face. He blushed bright purple and tried to lean away when another simply took its place, and a third began tousling in Carlos’s hair, with little effect. “Oh, come on. I let you out once, and this is how you behave?” he groused.

Carlos chuckled, keeping perfectly still, like the first time he approached a cat or a dog, and watched them move. “They don’t obey you?”

“Well, they mostly do. If I’m really stern with them. Sometimes, they, um… they think they know best. Especially if I’m not entirely against what they’re up to,” he admitted. “They are an extension of my own will, but sometimes… uh, sometimes m-my will is a bit unclear.” He let out a stuttering sigh when another, thinner and more cautious tentacle, traced over Carlos’s lips, then seemed to realize and grabbed the tentacle. “Hey! Carlos, I’m sorry,” he stammered, holding the tentacle to his chest, away from Carlos.

“I don’t mind,” Carlos responded, gently wrapping his hand around the tentacle that was stroking his jawbone and pulling it up to kiss the tip of it. Cecil giggled madly.

“I can’t… are these safe? Are there any dangerous microbes or toxins secreted that I should know about?” Carlos asked suddenly, worrying about the kiss. In Night Vale, you never knew. The librarians were chimera, for Christsakes.

“No, they’re fine,” Cecil said, laughing harder.

Blame it on the late hour, or whatever concoction Cecil had given him, or the near-death experience, or the attractiveness of his boyfriend- hell, there were a plethora of excuses he could use for his behavior. None of them were really true, unfortunately. He didn’t really know why he did it. A spur-of-the-moment impulse and a lack of inhibition.

He licked up the side of the tentacle, and sucked it into his mouth for a brief second.

And then his eyes met Cecil’s, wide and violet, the pupils doing a strange dilating-shrinking dance, and he felt himself blush as he released the tentacle, shuffling away from Cecil and folding his hands in his lap.

“I. Uh,” he said.

Chapter Text

“I. Uh,” he said.

Cecil had flushed a phenomenal purple and his tentacles seemed at a loss of what to do- two of them wrapped around each other, one began trying to take off Carlos’s glasses (he swatted it away), one clung to the couch tightly, and the remaining two began strangling a throw pillow.

The silence stretched for half a minute longer and Carlos realized that he might have shorted him out. He reached out and poked his knee, with no response. He snapped his fingers- nothing. So he grabbed his chin firmly and forced him to look in his eyes.

“Hey. Cecil!”

The radio host blinked and seemed to come out of it.

“Carlos?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we…” he paused, swallowed audibly, and tried again. “Are we a couple now?”

Carlos thought for a second. They’d only been on one official date, but he’d saved his life and there was the almost-date at the Arby’s parking lot, and he had just slobbered all over one of his tentacles.

“Yes. We can- yeah. So we’re… boyfriends,” he mused.

“Ohthankthevoid,” Cecil breathed, and leaned in and pressed his lips against his.

Despite having not kissed anyone in- how long? He wasn’t going to do sums right then in his head, he had other things to be doing, like kissing- he didn’t feel rusty. His old skill and instincts woke up like an angry hibernating momma bear. With one hand, he cupped the pale, soft column of Cecil’s neck and let the other gently rest on his chest, barely touching with his fingertips. Cecil tasted of strawberries and coffee and ash, and something else- like electricity, current and electron flow, energy and light.

Even with his eyes closed, he sensed motion all around- his tentacles, no doubt- but didn’t get a chance to pay it much mind because Cecil’s lips were firm and hot and demanding. Mouths opened and breath was shared, and there were two tentacles behind his head, and a hand and a tentacle behind his back as Cecil leaned into the kiss. Carlos let himself fall back, fingertips scraping together the front of Cecil’s shirt and grasping it firmly, tugging him with him. The tentacles and hands supported him until he was lying down, and he licked Cecil’s palate to show that it pleased him. That drew a sort of groaning hum from his boyfriend, and he tangled their legs and leaned down so there was no space between their bodies.

“Ah,” Carlos hissed, not a sound of pleasure but of pain as Cecil lay flush on him, pressing on the librarian wounds on his chest. He tried to play past it and ignore it, leaning up to recapture his mouth, but Cecil was making space between them again, dammit. (Though he didn’t sit fully up, just crouched on his hands and knees above him, which was a fairly sexy pose that Carlos didn’t hate so much.)

“Come back,” he groaned, but Cecil was too busy apologizing all over himself.

“I can’t believe I did that, I hurt you,” he groaned (a very different groan from the one he made moments before) and covered his face with his hands, holding himself up with his tentacles. “And we’ve literally only just become official, it isn’t even on Facebook yet and I’m debauching you on my couch. And you almost died, and you’re hurt.”

“Cecil, stop it.”

“And I’ve only been your boyfriend for, like, two minutes and I’m treating you like a whore, you should be resting and recovering and I’m taking advantage of your perilous state-,”

“Cecil!” He leaned up (wincing slightly at the pull on his bandaged chest, now that it had hurt once it seemed to wake up and ache with every motion) and kissed him forcefully, drawing back to replace his lips with a finger on his mouth.

“It’s fine. I started it. And, maybe you’re right, I’m hurt and this is not the time. But I’m not hurt bad, I’m not hurt because of you. So don’t blame yourself. Because you’re… awesome,” he finished lamely. He was a scientist, not a poet. “Now get off me so we can go to bed and fall asleep in each other’s arms, like boyfriends are supposed to.” He was suddenly aware that he was wearing only boxers and a lab coat, but forced himself to not care.

“I could use a nap,” Cecil said, grinning so large that Carlos could see his molars. Cecil stood and helped him to his feet, supporting him with his tentacles (one wrapped firmly around his wrist in a very non-helpful but possessive manner) and walking with him to the bedroom. By the time they made it, Carlos was indeed feeling pretty tired. He sank down into the bed with a contented sigh. Cecil made to climb in beside him, and Carlos tried to think of a way to tell him to take off his clothes without seeming inappropriate or forward. He just didn’t think that sleeping in a button-up, tie, and slacks sounded all that pleasant.

“You know, you can, um, get more comfortable. If you want,” he stammered, his boldness from the earlier make-out having evaporated. “Like… you just look a bit… overdressed. For bed. Napping in bed.”

Cecil smiled. “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, well, I’m fine. I’m giving you permission. Not that you need it, this is your own house,” he added hastily. He shut up when Cecil leaned over and brushed his lips across his forehead, and then sat up and began undoing his tie.

He undressed quickly and efficiently, which made Carlos feel less awkward and made it easier to not gawk at him, and then lay back down beside him when Carlos held the blankets up, welcoming him in. He fidgeted for a moment and tucked the blankets up around his shoulders, lying on his side facing Carlos. After a moment of hesitation and silently cheering himself on, Carlos squirmed closer and wrapped his arms around Cecil, tucking his face into his collarbone. He felt Cecil’s chest rumble contentedly (was he purring?) and long, bony arms return the embrace.

"Cecil?" Carlos murmured, a last question burning to be asked.

"Hmmm?" was the sleepy reply.

"So... What species are you, then?"

There was a long pause, and Carlos wondered if he'd fallen asleep. Finally, he answered.

"You know, I have no idea," Cecil chuckled. "Closest estimate would be... Half Eldritch? I don't really know anything about my family. At the time of my childhood, I thought my mother was normal human. Now, though... I don't know. She looked human. And I never meet my father. I doubt he was from this plane. Heck, he might be a shoggoth," he said with a nervous laugh, looking a little sad and worried.

"Shoggoth?"

"I thought you studied living things. Your biology education didn't include the Necronomicon?"

“The what?” Carlos groaned, propping his head up and squinting blearily at him in the darkness.

“The- The Necronomicon,” Cecil stuttered, looking baffled. “The ancient text describing elder things as much as sanity and law allow?”

“It’s not ringing any bells.”

“What did they teach you in school these days? Shoggoths are some of the most ruthless and fearsome of all elder things. The only time folks from this plane have seen them are in drug addled dreams. It’s fairly unlikely that my father was actually a shoggoth. I mean, I hope he wasn’t,” he shrugged. “Perhaps my father was human and I’m just an anomaly of the universe.”

“Can these ‘elder things’ even reproduce with… you know what? Never mind. I don’t care what you are. You’re… a Cecilthing,” he invented, tucking back down and smiling against his chest.

A few minutes of silence. Carlos was nearly asleep when he spoke again.

“Can you make me a real species?” Cecil asked.

“Of course. Anything for you,” he mumbled sleepily.

“But then… does this make us a bestiality relationship? Because there are forms for that.”

“Go to sleep, Cecil.”

“Rest well, Perfect Carlos.”

><><><><><><><><><><><>< CECIL POV

He didn’t sleep a wink.

Chapter Text

When Carlos woke, it was a slow rousing, like when he slept late on a saturday after pulling all-nighters half the week. He felt stiff and sore and his eyes felt dry beneath their lids. He was oriented wrong, too- his body was perpendicular to the direction that his bed was situated. So… he wasn’t in his bed.

Further proof was the smell of lavender and strawberries and ash. His room smelled like men’s ivory soap, cotton, and rocal. Sometimes the cotton scent was replaced with BO. Hey, he had to save the whole damn town every other weekend, he didn’t have a lot of time to launder his sheets.

The thing he was curled around wasn’t just his duvet wadded up- it was more solid, warmer, and seemed to be the source of the scent. He wasn’t home. The library, Cecil, tentacles, kissing…

“Good morning, Carlos,” that voice (that voice!) said warmly, slightly husky from a night of disuse.

“Cecil,” Carlos sighed, wrapping himself more firmly around him. His embrace was returned with an uncountable number of limbs. “How many tentacles do you have right now?”

“A dozen or so? Just small ones,” he added, as though that made it better. Maybe it did. Carlos wasn’t sure about the protocol for tentacles.

“Lemme up? Bathroom,” he yawned. The black tentacles released their grip with an undulating motion. They were thinner, almost more insectile. Or feathery. He caught one in his hand and rubbed it with his thumb, like he would a palm when holding hands, and slipped out of bed, stretching and scratching his scalp pleasantly. Then he hesitated, and turned back to face the bed. Cecil was curled up in a sleepy, happy, catlike bundle, sheets wrapped around himself so only his head was visible.

“Where’s your bathroom?” he asked. Cecil didn’t answer for a long few seconds, just smiling dopily at him.

“What? Bathroom, right, sorry,” he repeated, shaking his head. “The closed door. Your hair just looks adorable. And your scruff.”

Carlos laughed and smiled and went to the bathroom. The mirror in there was covered, too, so he lifted a corner of the sheet covering it and blinked at his hair. It was a wreck, standing up and one half still curly and the other more wavy, a little oily at the hairline and just… a mess. And he looked like a hobo, with his scruff. But if Cecil liked it, what the hey. He covered the glass again, used the toilet, and went back out. He looked out the door- maybe he should find his clothes, go home.

He crawled back into bed instead. The moment he was within reach, the thin black tendrils that belonged to Cecil wrapped back around his waist and a pair of pale, long-fingered hands buried in his hair, ruffling mercilessly.

“Ahhhhhyourhair,” Cecil cackled, nuzzling his nose into his hair as well.

“What is up with you and my hair?” Carlos chuckled.

“It’s too perfect!”

“No it’s not.”

“Yah huh.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yah huh.”

“Nuh-,” Carlos tried, but was cut off by his lips being attacked by another set of lips. He hummed happily against his mouth and shuffled closer.

Cecil brought the kiss up a level, plundering his mouth with his tongue. Carlos responded as such- it became a battle that neither of them were sure who won, then a devouring, then… less important when other aspects came into play. Aspects like hands. And skin.

A soft noise escaped him when one of those long fingered hands brushed across his collarbone, skating down his side and tracing over his ribs, coming to a stop at his hip. Other touches- a hand still in his hair, a caress at his jawbone, one snaking over his sternum, a collection wrapping around the other side of his hip. Cecil had somehow gotten above him, knees on either side of him and the main of his body in line with his own.

Hands- Carlos had hands too, hands on Cecil’s lower back, trailing his fingers over the bare skin, pressing his thumbs into the flare of his iliac crest, his fingers fanning over the hem of his boxers tantalizingly, caressing the top of the curve of his ass.

A tentacle (or a hand? How many hands did Cecil have- just two. He couldn’t keep track of where they were- his hair, and… and his hip- was that two?) brushed his knee and slid up the inside of his thigh and then wrapped around his upper thigh, like one of those what-are-they-called, lacy leg things, garters.

He groaned hard when it touched the joint of his thigh and his body, skating just shy of where he really wanted it. He tried to encourage him- sliding his hands lower on his body, cupping his ass and squeezing, kneading. He forced his eyes open so he could see the result of his ministrations.

“Oh,” Cecil sighed, perking his ass up.

“Oh!” Carlos exclaimed when he realized that this was the first time he’d actually seen Cecil shirtless in daylight, and got to see the tattoos in all their glory. They were more intricate than he’d realized. He’d seen the blackish purple ink (such a weird color- it was like oil on the pavement, iridescent and somehow two colors at once) ink that wrapped down his arms to his wrists, up his biceps and curling over his shoulders, tracing up his collarbones to trail teasingly up his neck, but he hadn’t known how much of him they covered. They were extensive- covering his collarbones but not going too far down his chest past that. He could see them reappearing on his front from where tendrils curled around from the back- from the look of it, the tattoo went all the way down to the base of his spine. They were vines and hooks and barbs and tentacles and points of ink, gorgeous.

Cecil beamed at his positive reaction (he was grinning and touching them lovingly) and then went to resume their kiss impatiently. Carlos’s eyes fluttered closed again when those long clever fingers traced down his sides, and he fiercely rolled them so he could straddle Cecil’s hips. At the pressure of his weight, the tentacles fluttered again, and the blonde under him groaned, the noise breaking off into a stuttering breath when Carlos’s hands skated up his chest, still featherlight touches, and brushed his nipples with the faintest of pressure. Cecil’s hands went opposite, going down his chest from his shoulders.

They stopped when they reached the bandages.

Carlos let his head drop onto Cecil’s chest, emitting frustrated groan when Cecil drew back from the kiss and took his hands off him, pressing them on the bed instead The radio host slid to the side, out from under him, and he let himself drop onto the bed, rolling onto his back.

“Are you serious?” Carlos grumbled, rubbing his eyes with both hands.

“I don’t want to rush things- our first time needs to be perfect. Not limited by bandages and fatigue and battle wounds.”

It was a good point, but it didn’t make Carlos any happier with it. “Screw your logic.”

“A scientist, berating the art of logic?” Cecil gasped theatrically. Carlos stopped rubbing his eyes and gave him a flat stare. “I’m sorry. But I really don’t want to hurt you. I- er- it’s been a while for me, and you’re just so perfect and I can let my tentacles down around you, and I don’t remember the last time I made love whilst not firmly in my first-plane-guise, and I’m kind of nervous and the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt my Carlos, I could never live with myself. And I’m a passionate person, anyone can see that, I fear losing myself in that and doing something I regrmmmph.” Carlos had put two fingers under his jaw and shut it, preventing him from speaking.

He didn’t know that Cecil was nervous. He felt bad- despite being awkward at everything else in a relationship, he’d been told there were two things he was great at. The first was looking pretty. He’d been described as ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ (taller and darker than the average american by a few inches and a few hues, sure, but handsome was a different story, that was subjective) and usually had a very easy time finding dates. A second date was less likely, as once the date started, his social ineptitude was revealed and things generally entered a steep exponential decline. The second thing was sex. As a scientist, he understood intimately (no pun intended) how the body was put together. Where the nerves were clumped, where the blood flowed hottest and closest to the surface, how to test the edge and ride it like a trapeze artist. And he understood physics- maximizing friction and heat and angles and motion.

And, perhaps his good looks had allowed him plenty of opportunity to practice and experiment and try everything. Girls, guys, and all those new labels for the in between that seemed to be so hit. Hell, one of his best studying methods was a night of wild sex the night before, with rereading before and flash cards after. He aced anatomy after writing the name of every muscle and bone and organ on girls and boys bodies. (Muscles drawn with chocolate syrup on a boy, bones drawn on a girl with honey, and organs on a boy with whipped cream.) So sex was one of the few things he was good at. Sure, he still got dry mouth at sexy things and got uncomfortable and shy in normal situations, but when it came down to the actual act, in bed (or on a couch or the floor or a table or a not very sanitary but very spacious and well-equipped hay loft) he had excellent instincts. The social aspects of a relationship were difficult for him- there were no set rules, no formula, no directions. It wasn’t quantitative, it wasn’t even qualitative. But sex, he could understand. It was just chemicals and reactions and anatomy.

Of course, he’d never fucked or been fucked by a half elder thing. So he couldn’t really brag yet. But boy, did those tentacles look supple and smooth.

He just found it ironic that the one thing Cecil was worried about just happened to be the one thing Carlos was good at. Was that a good thing? He decided to count it as a good thing.

“It’s okay,” Carlos sighed, “If you’re nervous… we ought to concede to the lowest speed between the two of us. If you want to take things more slowly, then we can take things more slowly. I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want.”

“I’m holding you back,” Cecil groaned, rolling so his back faced Carlos.

He tugged on one of his tentacles, then propped himself up so he could see his face. “Hey. Don’t hide from me. It’s fine, you aren’t holding me back. Please, please, please don’t feel guilty. I made you wait for us to date for a full year. And I want it to be about you too. You don’t want me hurt for our first time? Then I don’t want you to be not ready our first time, and try to go into it anyways. I want it to be perfect,” he said kindly, brushing the choppy blonde bangs back, a textbook affectionate gesture to accompany his words.

“You mean that?”

“‘Course I do.” They smiled at each other until Carlos began to feel awkward. “C’mon, I’ve been lying around for… for, um, how long has it been since the library?” He wasn’t sure- he’d slept off and on and there was the whole unconscious thing.

“I saved you from the library at noon yesterday. It’s now evening,” Cecil said, third eye blinking.

“Ugh. I need to get home, get in my own clothes, shower. Sleep in my own bed,” he sighed. “Though yours isn’t bad. It’s just… I need some time to myself. Mull this over. Shave,” he laughed slightly, touching the skin above Cecil’s lips with a wince- it was slightly red from his stubble rubbing when they kissed.

“I understand. It… It is a lot to take in. You’re doing very well,” he said reassuringly, eyes clouding and looking reminiscent.

“You’re still you, there’s just… more of you,” Carlos shrugged. “And, to be honest… this is Night Vale, after all. A small part of me was expecting something like this. I mean, I wasn’t… it’s not like, in a bad way. It was just anticipation. Preparing myself for it, subconsciously. God, it sounds like I’m talking about cancer or something,” he groaned, rubbing his eyes. “I mean all this in the best way possible. Please, don’t take it in the wrong way. I’m just explaining why I’m not having a meltdown.” Not yet, at least. “Could you drive me home?”

“Of course. And I know you don’t mean it to be offensive, you’re doing fine,” Cecil said with a small, almost shy smile. He stood and held out his hands to help Carlos up. “I’ll let you borrow a pair of loose pants and a shirt- yours got sort of destroyed. Your shirt was torn to ribbons. And your pants were rather bloodstained- which isn’t a problem, my old friend Earl Harlan showed me some flawless methods for removing bloodstains, as you can see from your clean jacket,” he said proudly, “but the giant burn hole from the librarian’s tail’s fangs wasn’t repairable. Sorry.”

“Hey, I’m alive. That’s all I care about,” Carlos laughed nervously, amazed that the venom could burn clothes like that. The things he would do for a sample… none of them being entering the library again, ever, though.

Cecil picked out some clothes for him- simple cotton gray pants and a loose dark blue button-up, as he wasn’t really feeling like pulling anything over his head. (Thank god, nothing was furry or sequined or leather.) They made it out to the car and Cecil drove him home in comfortable silence, holding his hand over the console. Cecil’s hand felt very warm in his. Blood loss, a surefire way to screw up his circulation. His skin felt cold and clammy still, a fact that Cecil seemed aware of, as the heat in the car was on.

When they pulled up, Carlos had a horrible moment when his stomach dropped as he realized he didn’t have his keys or his cell or even his car, until Cecil pulled his keys and phone from his own pocket with a smile. “I rescued them from your pants before I burned them.” Burning his clothes sounded a little excessive, but then, Cecil probably knew best. “Do you want me to come in and help you get settled?”

“No, I’m fine. You’ve already done so much,” Carlos said with a shy laugh. “I’m probably just going to shower and sleep more. Thank you for everything. I’ll text you. And listen to your show tonight.” He leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. The blonde leaned with him when he drew back, prolonging the kiss for an extra second, and Carlos smiled against his lips.

Chapter Text

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Cecil asked, looking hopeful.

“Plan on it.” He stepped out of the car and waved awkwardly, before turning and letting himself into the apartment.

He shut the door carefully behind himself, slowly shucked off his lab coat and hung it up on its peg, hung his keys on their hook, and made it in to the kitchen. He set his cell phone down on the counter.

That was when his knees buckled. He sucked in a breath and went down, catching the counter and trying to support himself before giving up, falling to his knees, then kneeling, then he was pressing his face into the cupboard door under the sink, cramming the knuckle of his index finger in his mouth and biting it, swallowing convulsively around a scream that was violently vying for escape.

He couldn't quite pinpoint the cause of the panic attack (he'd only ever experienced two, from overwhelming situations rather then any anxiety disorders, but it could only be a panic attack) but then, he wasn't really in any state to try and analyze the whole situation. It could have been the terrifying near death experience with the chimera-librarians, or the residual effect of the venom, or the witchcraft that had saved him, or Cecil's big reveal.

Whatever the stimulus, it left him kneeling on his kitchen floor with his face mashed into the cupboard and his mouth wide open in an attempt to breathe- he felt like he couldn't draw breath, like he was breathing through a pinhole. He had wrapped his arms around his middle and was trembling violently with the kind of deep, shivers originating from the core that one got when experiencing extreme fatigue.

He could hear nothing over the racket of his palpitating heart, and time seemed to have less meaning than normal. It felt like he was floored for a long time.

<><><><>>><><><><><

He toweled his hair roughly before smoothing the craziest of the curls with a bit of product, and went to check how phone. The battery had been dead- after he finally felt like he wasn't sung and got up off the floor, he'd plugged it in and went straight to the shower. That, more than anything, brought him back from that awful panic attack. He loved showing- it was like a reset button. Stressed? Shower. Overworked? Shower. Having an existential crisis? Shower. Experiencing a horrible panic attack after being nearly killed by a librarian and learning your boyfriend is barely 50% human? Shower.

He had a lot out messages. He scrolled to the bottom, to the start. The first the were from Cecil, in all caps, telling him to under no circumstances actually enter the library. It appeared he'd given up, or been driving, as then the texts stopped and switched to missed calls and voicemails. Next, there were messages from the Secret Police, first from his personal designation, Marie, telling him to turn around and not to enter the library, then notifications about the statistics of librarian related incidents, and finally a tip that the paperwork for his official relationship status would be emailed to him. (This last one was followed by several emoji hearts and winky faces.)

He had a missed call from his mother, and a notification from his computers that the backup was complete, and some notifications for updates for his apps. He selected his mother's name and pressed the call button, setting it on speaker as he sat down in the edge of his bed with a roll of gauze, antibacterial spray, and medical tape.

"Hello?" she answered happily, probably having noticed the caller ID.

"Mama, hi. What's up?" He winced as he sprayed the deep scratches with a generous amount of the antibacterial medicine. They were definitely going to scar. Hey, it would go well with the scars from the bowling alley thing.

"Oh, you know, just worrying about my boy. I got this weird fax, some form about next of kin and librarian related incidents, I had no idea what it was and tried to call you, then- I swear I'm not lying- I turn around and its just a blank paper! My mother sense was telling me it was something to do with you."

"Well, that's very strange. I did have a small, um... Accident. A cat at the lab got the best of me and took off, I chased it and fell down the stairs, can you believe it? What a day," he said, the alibi coming to him easily. Technically, it was a cat, sort of. And there were stairs involved.

“You fell down the stairs!? Are you alright?” she asked worriedly.

“I’m fine. Cecil patched me up,” he said absentmindedly, unfolding a roll of gauze and clumsily trying to hold it on while he taped it down.

“... ‘Cecil’?”

He accidentally folded the tape and cursed under his breath.

“Yeah. Um… Cecil. You know, Cecil, the one I went on the date with,” he said, trying to brush it off casual.

“So you two are official?” she asked delightedly.

“Y-yeah.”

“For how long? Why didn’t you tell me immediately? Honestly, Carlos, I have to dig these answers out of you every time. You’ve told me hardly anything about him, I need all the details,” she demanded. He sighed. His mother was his opposite- where he was reserved and awkward and secretive, his mother was a social queen. She loved everyone and everyone loved her and she always said whatever she thought or felt.

“He’s…” a sept-planar babe, tentacles and all, “a little taller than me. Blonde. White, really pale white. Kind of gangly, but… in a cute way. He has a show at the radio station. It’s very… prestigious.” In trying to hear it, I went to the library and nearly got killed by the librarians of Night Vale, who aren’t librarians, but the chimera of legend. “He has a lot of tattoos. Like, his whole upper body. But they look good, they aren’t gaudy or anything. They’re like… tentacles and vines and wire. It looks good, I swear,” he said rapidly, blushing. “And he dresses like… strange. But he pulls it off.”

“Okay, scientist guy, but what’s he like?” she snorted.

“He’s… one big contradictory puzzle and it’s amazing. He… lots of weird things happen in Night Vale, I’ve told you. Things that shouldn’t be okay. But he just takes it all like it’s fine. I mean, one one hand, he’s giggling about cat videos and wearing silver pants with embroidered butterflies. And blushing and trying to give me compliments left and right. And the next, he’s… totally calm and reserved in the face of danger. Or, no, not reserved… fierce. He’s like… a lion that thinks it’s a housecat. He’s being sweet and adorable and he’s got gazelle blood on his face. It’s the weirdest thing,” he said, trying to explain. “I mean, I’ve never actually seen him with blood on his face. He’s not violent or anything. He’s… One second, it seems like he’s a naive 12-year-old girl, and in the next breath, he’s discussing deep levels of existentialism and the proper bloodstone rituals for a good fondue party.”

“But you understand him?” she asked, sounding puzzled.

“No, not at all, and that’s my point. Every time I think, oh, I get it, this is what category Cecil fits into, he does something that flips it upside-down. I can’t… I don’t know.”

“You can’t compartmentalize him. He’s jumping boxes, and keeping you on your toes. Oh, Carlos, I should’ve known you’d find someone impossible like this to love,” she giggled.

“Mama! We just started dating, I don’t know about ‘love’,” he said, blanching.

“Mhmm. Well, your mama knows the sound of ‘besotted’ when she hears it. Now, I’ve got a few other questions. I don’t want to judge, but you’re bringing up fierceness and danger and tattoos… he isn’t in a gang or doing drugs or anything?”

“No! No, god no. Cecil is… I don’t even know if he eats meat. He’s about as pacifistic as you can get. He’s too… clean, I guess, for drugs and gangs. He’s the kind of guy who loves spending the evening on the couch, watching romantic westerns and drinking really expensive wine or brandy out of a fancy glass. I mean, he loves cat videos.”

“Alright. I trust your judgement… You’ll bring him home for the next holiday with him, won’t you?”

“Mama…”

“Please?” she said sweetly.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Yay!” she laughed, taking that as an affirmative, and he rolled his eyes, ripping a piece of medical tape with is teeth. “What was that?”

“Uhnothing,” he said, biting his lip.

“That sounded like medical tape- Carlos, really, what kind of a cat was this? Are you really hurt?”

“I, um… No. I mean, I’m fine. Really. Cecil did some… well, he did some witchcraft, but he says it’s permitted and not forbidden, and I wouldn’t be fine if he hadn’t. He kind of saved my life. Twice,” he said, cringing.

“Saved your- saved your life!? From what?!”

He sighed again, rubbing his forehead. “A chimera.”

“A chimera.” He’d been forced to explain to her the strangeness of Night Vale the very first week he’d been there- he’d had a small emotional breakdown and thought he was going to die from ra

“Yeah. It was… the librarians aren’t actual librarians. They’re chimera. And Cecil came and saved me. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Oh, and then he saved me again because I’d been poisoned, and that’s where the witchcraft came in. That’s all, really.”

“And you didn’t think I would need to hear this?! Is… this has something to do with the fax I got. You were- they thought you were dead?!” she cried.

“The Secret Police just jumped the gun. I assure you I’m very alive,” he said dryly.

“See what I mean about getting stuff from you? You didn’t even tell me that you were almost killed!”

“Cecil took care of it, I’m fine. Really.”

“I want to meet him.”

“You will. Really.”

“How badly are you injured? What exactly happened?”

Carlos rolled his eyes, finishing wrapping the slashes on his chest, and told the story in full, starting from entering the library to waking up to being served waffles. He skipped the bit about Cecil’s tentacles, saying that he had thrown something and distracted the chimera while he got Carlos out of there. He also didn’t mention the long kissing sessions.

“What a multi-talented guy! And you said he’s only a radio host?”

“A very prestigious radio host. I mean… being a radio host in Night Vale is… like being an astronaut, or… a part of the Green Berets or something. I don’t know. All I know is that it’s a big deal. That a lot of people intern for it, which includes a lot of special, secret training, and waivers for everything, and stuff like that. None of them survive more than a few months. I interviewed one- Leland- and he had a lot of very… interesting things to say. he said Cecil was prophesied to be the next Voice of Night Vale.” Even the way Carlos said it, the capitalization of ‘Voice’ was strangely evident.

“He was ‘prophesied’? By who?” she repeated disbelievingly.

“I don’t know. Something about stone tablets.”

“I just hope you aren’t in danger. This all sounds so hazardous. And violent,” she sighed worriedly.

“Honestly, Mama? I think dating Cecil is the safest thing I can do,” he said seriously.

“Well, as long as you’re safe and happy, then I’m okay with it.”

He asked her about what she had been up to, how his siblings were, how the family dog was doing. They chatted for a few more minutes before saying their goodbyes.

After, Carlos stretched back on his bed. He’d done so much sleeping lately, the last thing he needed was more sleep. But it was comfortable- his own sheets, his own mattress, his own room… He nearly dozed off again, but made himself sit up. No, he was going to get back into his life. He couldn’t just sleep and eat waffles all the time. He needed to have some protein, fix his radio, and then go to bed and wake up to his alarm clock. Get back into his schedule.

So he set about making baked haddock (fish was healthy, he needed something normal and healthy and maybe a little bland after his past few days) and went down to his lab to look over his iHome system, see if he could figure out how to get the radio in working order again. He ate while scrolling through a few web pages and watching some DIY videos on stereo systems, and then laid on the floor of his lab with wires and wire cutters and pliers and a soldering iron. Before he went to bed, he switched it on and turned the knob experimentally.

He smiled as he heard the station come through. It was playing a strange violin-saxaphone cacophony with a wonderful harmonizing background of what sounded like moose calls. Yes, this was definitely NVCR.

He retired to bed early, feeling much more human, and his eyes opened briefly again when his phone flashed a text message. He thumbed it open, squinting against the backlight, and smiled.

Sweet dreams.

He replied with an emoji of a smiling crescent moon and thanks, you too! Good night!!