![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
localfreakTitle: Heaven is too far out of Reach
Fandom: Welcome to Nightvale
Ship: Carlos/Cecil (of course)
Summary:
Carlos doesn't feel well. And being trapped in a mysterious bubble is definitely worse than Throat Spiders.
(Warning for one off colour joke. Neither I nor the mysterious bubble actually intended it to occur but I, as a self-identifying queer person, and my fictional Carlos both found it amusing and so it stayed but I realise that, as in my country of origin the reference is not routinely used, it may cause offence to others. It is not intended to do so)
Disclaimer: I don't own Night Vale. Do we really own anything at all? Even ourselves?
Also, I wrote this whilst drugged out of my tree on cold medication I did not see where this was going as it took a distinct detour from the story I thought I was writing. Oh, and the title is from the Rachel Stamp song 'Metallic Peach'. Because earworms+throat spiders.
By about ten o’clock, lying in bed sweating and shivering, Carlos decided that this was definitely worse than the throat spiders. The throat spiders hurt. Hurt a lot actually. And there was that unsettling, tickly cough that could just be phlegm or could be hairy arachnid legs tickling the inside of his lungs, the back of his throat. But they had been kind of interesting too. In between the bouts of debilitating coughing and choking and despite the frustration of being totally incapable of speech, he’d been able to get quite a few fascinating samples and a real, detailed experience of a disease solely found in Night Vale. That was worth quite a lot.
This was worse. Carlos’ eyes felt glued shut and sticky, his breath was shallow and he cycled between itchy, freezing cold and baking hot. His tinnitus kept changing pitch making his stomach roil and he was totally lethargic. Even getting up to go to the bathroom was a monumental effort.
"Carlos?"
Was it time for Cecil’s show yet? Carlos hoped he could hear it over the ringing in his ears. He didn’t remember turning on the radio.
"Carlos, I called the lab and they said you were sick. Is it the throat spiders again? I picked up an infusion of mallow just in case but-oh."
Cecil. Cecil was here. Carlos was vaguely aware he probably looked a sight. He could feel a trail of drool from the side of his mouth and his hair felt disgusting, like it was coated in a viscous substance.
"‘Cecil," he said, trying to un-stick his eyes enough to look at him, and struggling to sit up.
"No, no don’t get up. Carlos you look – you look not well at all."
"I don’t think," Carlos managed, "It’s throat spiders again,"
"No definitely not that- there are a couple of types but I’ve never heard of a version that wrap you in a bubble before."
"A bubble?" Carlos squinted, he couldn’t see Cecil very well. There appeared to be a liquid distortion to his vision. "I’m in a bubble?"
"Well. Or something like one. I’m going to call up Teddy Williams and see whether he has any suggestions. Don’t try to move till I get back!"
"Move?" Carlos felt like moving was a distant dream, a ridiculous effort which no one in their right mind could hope to attempt. He coughed, wetly.
He didn’t remember Cecil coming back with Teddy. He felt, distantly, he should be more concerned that people- even if one of them was Cecil- coming in and out of his apartment without his awareness. Then again, he supposed the Faceless Old Woman could keep an eye on them for him and make sure they didn’t disrupt the samples in the freezer.
Carlos drifted. At some point, Cecil must have left because he became aware of Teddy beside him, and the sound of the radio being turned up, and the smell of bowling alley polish and cheap hotdogs.
Listeners, my poor Carlos is very ill at the moment but I have left him in the safe hands of Teddy Williams. The VERY SAFE HANDS of TEDDY. Who, I am sure, will take the UTMOST CARE, of my beautiful Carlos whilst he is trapped, suspended in an unpleasant bubble state between waking and sleeping, coughing and breathing. I am sure he will be fine. He will be just fine. But, a quick prayer in your bloodstone circle, or a quick sacrifice to the void or the Glow Cloud might speed his recovery. That is one thing I do love about this little community of ours. We look after one another. We send each other good wishes. We do not spread horrible diseases and illnesses onto one another’s skin.
"Tell – tell Cecil-," Carlos tried.
"Shh there Mr Scientist. Don’t try to speak- the bubble mutes most of the sound anyway." Carlos squinted in the direction of Teddy’s voice. "A couple of your scientists are swinging by in a while with some soup, and sample dishes they said. I guess it’s okay. I don’t think you’re contagious or anything."
Carlos nodded to show he’d understood, then drifted back into an uncomfortable doze as the weather played something as loud and rhythmic as a heartbeat.
Time passed oddly inside the bubble. Carlos thought he should be used to it by now, after all, none of the clocks were even real and time often passed oddly outside of the bubble. He woke a couple of times, gagging and feeling nauseous, or shaking and sweating. Each time he thought he could still hear the comforting sound of Cecil’s voice on the radio, but he could have been hearing Cecil in the room- even when Carlos thought his eyes were open it was dark and he could see nothing. He felt, damp. Uncomfortably damp and warm, but unable to move. Eventually this fact became worrying and Carlos managed to throw one arm out to the side as far as he could reach, hoping to feel the world beyond his bed, to feel anything.
“Carlos? I can see your hand but I cannot reach it through the bubble, which is growing cloudy in colour. I think you want me to hold your hand. I hope you can hear me. I wish I could hold your hand, Carlos. Oh, please, I hope you can hear this.”
Carlos, exerting a ridiculous amount of effort, curled his hand to shape an ‘Okay’ sign. Cecil sounded so worried. Carlos didn’t want Cecil to worry. He would be fine. He was sure he would be. He hoped.
“You can hear me! Oh, that’s wonderful. Teddy told me, when the bubble was still clear, that he couldn’t hear you through the bubble when you tried to speak to him. I am happy to think that at least you can still hear us. That you can still hear me and know I have not left you alone, you will not be left alone.”
Carlos wanted to make another sign that he had heard Cecil, to stay alert and listen to his voice and maybe work out a way to escape the bubble, but his face felt damp with sweat at the effort of staying awake and he couldn’t help but....drift.
___
Listeners, as I told Station Management, I went down to see the urgent report of fire-breathing potatoes at Big Rico’s Pizza but when I arrived with my mobile broadcasting equipment not only were there no fire-breathing potatoes, there were also no crowd of callers waiting for me, almost as if they had never been at all.
I spoke to a member of Big Rico’s staff who said ‘What are you talking about Cecil? I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary here at all. AT ALL.’
Well, whilst I was there, listeners I thought I had better pick up a mandatory slice for my still poorly Carlos, as his apartment just happens to be right by Big Rico’s Pizza. I would like to take this opportunity to thank Big Rico’s for their co-operation this morning and remind you all to make sure that you keep up to date with your mandatory requirements. Remember: No one does a slice like Big Rico. NO ONE.
Anyway so I am now broadcasting to you at the bedside of my poor, sick Carlos whose progress, I am sure you are all equally concerned about. Well the bubble that Carlos has been encased him has changed from a milky white to a rather pleasant shade of peach, and appears to be pulsating gently. Carlos is still inside and I do not know how much he can hear of the world beyond the bubble, but he has made gestures, pushing his hand against the wall of the bubble, that remind me that he will be fine because, as he has told me so many times before: a scientist is always fine.
Carlos smiled. It felt easier to breathe again even though it was still dark and, according to Cecil, the bubble was thicker and no longer see through. He was relieved to find that his brain appeared to be allowing him to think in sentences again. He was even more relieved to find that whatever unpleasant fluid he was suspended in, and whatever discomfort this illness was causing him it had apparently negated his need to eat and excrete. Otherwise his time in the bubble would be a lot more unpleasant.
He pushed his hand out into the darkness again.
And that has been the community calendar. Listeners! Carlos has pushed his hand out against the wall of the bubble again. I can see the shape of his hand against it. I am, carefully, touching the bubble and I hope that Carlos can feel my hand against his own or, if not, he knows that I am here. I am here, Carlos.
Carlos turned in the dark and fell peacefully asleep, comforted deeply by that knowledge. ‘When I get out of here,’ he thought, ‘I think we should look at some more apartments again, Cecil.’ A warm feeling folded itself in his stomach and his face ached with a smile he didn’t remember starting. Being in love was fascinating.
Carlos had no real sense of time in the bubble, but then time was not real anyway. If time had been real he estimated he’d been inside for maybe four days, maybe a week, judging by the amount of radio broadcasts he had woken to hear and the amount of times he heard Teddy Williams and some of his fellow scientists discussing what would happen if they were to forcibly break him out of his peach-tinged prison. A discussion that proved to be pointless speculation anyway as apparently neither of them had worked out a way of opening the bubble.
He woke up, however long it had been, to find that he could see colour again- a golden colour all around him like sunrise through pale curtains. It was nice to see something again, after so long without seeing.
At first it felt like a good sign but then Carlos began to feel uncomfortably claustrophobic. The liquid around him seemed to seep to the outside of the bubble and be replaced by golden material that did not hurt him but instead closed in around him, trapping him in the centre. He could no longer reach the outside layer of the bubble. He could no longer move his arms at all, although he felt much more alert.
“Carlos? I came as soon as I could from the station; Teddy said something weird was happening with the bubble. We are all here for you Carlos. We are here. The bubble is now solidifying, its peach colour becoming richer, darker by the second. It is no longer peach, it is a deep, dark red almost as dark as a bloodstone. I hope this is a good sign, Carlos. I hope it is a sign that soon I will see your face again. I have missed seeing you so much. If there is anything you can do to encourage the bubble to release you, I am sure you are already doing so.”
“I would, Cecil, if I could move at all.” Carlos muttered, glaring at his now totally restrictive prison.
“Carlos? Is that you doing something from inside the bubble? There is-, the bubble appears to be bleeding. Oh, Carlos, I wish you could tell me if you were okay.”
“I’m not bleeding Cecil!” Carlos shouted, vainly, knowing that Cecil could not hear him. He could hear though, there was the sound of scuffling and the voice of Amelia, one of his team.
“It’s okay, Cecil, it isn’t blood, it’s fruit juice.”
“Fruit juice?” repeated Carlos. “So I’m...in a fruit now? I’m like the stone inside a giant fruit. Terrific.”
He thought about it a little more and started to chuckle. “Who knew Night Vale’s diseases could be so accusatory? A fruit in a fruit.” Carlos giggled to himself.
He felt the fleshy walls around him shift with indignation as if it hadn’t meant that at all.
It probably wasn’t all that funny, but suddenly it seemed absolutely hilarious to Carlos. He’d been trapped inside it for a quite a while, after all. The bubble- now fruit- began to split as Carlos laughed.
He could hear gasps from the outside and he saw the golden flesh part and at last got his first breath of desert air. The fruit split cleanly in two, knocking over some of the scientists gathering around it, attempting to take readings.
Carlos felt carpet under his feet again as he stepped out and looked around. Cecil grabbed him into a tight hug.
“Carlos! Oh Carlos I haven’t seen you in so long. You’re okay aren’t you?”
“I’m- I’m fine Cecil,” Carlos said, still smiling from his humorous thoughts.
“How did you escape?” “Well...either it was just time for me to leave, or possibly I accused the sickness of making an off-colour homophobic joke and it was so embarrassed it let me go. I’m not 100% sure which. I am, however,” Carlos fumbled, “very glad to be able to see things again. And to see you, specifically.”
“Oh Carlos,” Cecil clutched Carlos to him again, as Carlos began to realise that not only was he cold and slightly sticky, he was also...not dressed. And half of the scientific team and Teddy Williams and a few more people were all in his bedroom.Staring.
“Um. I think maybe I need to go and...find some clothes. And wash my hair. It was kind of sticky in there.”
The bystanders, as one, all politely turned their backs and began talking among themselves (although mostly their conversations were along the lines of ‘did you see that? Carlos was naked’ which didn’t really help the intense sense of embarrassment that made Carlos wish he could crawl back inside the fruit currently dissolving into golden sparks across his bedroom floor and stay there) and Cecil ushered Carlos into the bathroom and helped him clamber into the tub and switch on the shower.
“And once you’re clean we can have a good look at your new scales!”
“My what?” Carlos twisted in the shower, reaching behind him, looking at himself all over.
He had scales along his arms and he could feel more along his back, smooth but hard, harder than normal skin.
“Will-Will they go away?” he asked Cecil nervously.
“I don’t see why they would, Carlos. They are beautiful. They reflect so much light. May I join you? In your shower I mean. I could...I could help you wash your hair.”
Carlos felt himself blush.
“I would like that, Cecil. I missed you. I mean, I could hear your voice but it is...it is not the same as seeing you properly.”
Cecil undressed quickly and climbed in next to Carlos. “My beautiful Carlos, I know exactly what you mean. Don’t worry about the scales, they suit you perfectly.” He murmured, reaching for the shampoo and making delighted noises as he worked the soap into Carlos’ wet hair.
Carlos found it difficult to worry about the scales, or indeed worry about anything at all, for a good while after that. He had more pressing and pleasant things to concern himself with.
And anyway, the scales would probably come in useful at some point. Night Vale was a dangerous place to make a home.
Or read it here at Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2463380/chapters/5461937
Fandom: Welcome to Nightvale
Ship: Carlos/Cecil (of course)
Summary:
Carlos doesn't feel well. And being trapped in a mysterious bubble is definitely worse than Throat Spiders.
(Warning for one off colour joke. Neither I nor the mysterious bubble actually intended it to occur but I, as a self-identifying queer person, and my fictional Carlos both found it amusing and so it stayed but I realise that, as in my country of origin the reference is not routinely used, it may cause offence to others. It is not intended to do so)
Disclaimer: I don't own Night Vale. Do we really own anything at all? Even ourselves?
Also, I wrote this whilst drugged out of my tree on cold medication I did not see where this was going as it took a distinct detour from the story I thought I was writing. Oh, and the title is from the Rachel Stamp song 'Metallic Peach'. Because earworms+throat spiders.
By about ten o’clock, lying in bed sweating and shivering, Carlos decided that this was definitely worse than the throat spiders. The throat spiders hurt. Hurt a lot actually. And there was that unsettling, tickly cough that could just be phlegm or could be hairy arachnid legs tickling the inside of his lungs, the back of his throat. But they had been kind of interesting too. In between the bouts of debilitating coughing and choking and despite the frustration of being totally incapable of speech, he’d been able to get quite a few fascinating samples and a real, detailed experience of a disease solely found in Night Vale. That was worth quite a lot.
This was worse. Carlos’ eyes felt glued shut and sticky, his breath was shallow and he cycled between itchy, freezing cold and baking hot. His tinnitus kept changing pitch making his stomach roil and he was totally lethargic. Even getting up to go to the bathroom was a monumental effort.
"Carlos?"
Was it time for Cecil’s show yet? Carlos hoped he could hear it over the ringing in his ears. He didn’t remember turning on the radio.
"Carlos, I called the lab and they said you were sick. Is it the throat spiders again? I picked up an infusion of mallow just in case but-oh."
Cecil. Cecil was here. Carlos was vaguely aware he probably looked a sight. He could feel a trail of drool from the side of his mouth and his hair felt disgusting, like it was coated in a viscous substance.
"‘Cecil," he said, trying to un-stick his eyes enough to look at him, and struggling to sit up.
"No, no don’t get up. Carlos you look – you look not well at all."
"I don’t think," Carlos managed, "It’s throat spiders again,"
"No definitely not that- there are a couple of types but I’ve never heard of a version that wrap you in a bubble before."
"A bubble?" Carlos squinted, he couldn’t see Cecil very well. There appeared to be a liquid distortion to his vision. "I’m in a bubble?"
"Well. Or something like one. I’m going to call up Teddy Williams and see whether he has any suggestions. Don’t try to move till I get back!"
"Move?" Carlos felt like moving was a distant dream, a ridiculous effort which no one in their right mind could hope to attempt. He coughed, wetly.
He didn’t remember Cecil coming back with Teddy. He felt, distantly, he should be more concerned that people- even if one of them was Cecil- coming in and out of his apartment without his awareness. Then again, he supposed the Faceless Old Woman could keep an eye on them for him and make sure they didn’t disrupt the samples in the freezer.
Carlos drifted. At some point, Cecil must have left because he became aware of Teddy beside him, and the sound of the radio being turned up, and the smell of bowling alley polish and cheap hotdogs.
Listeners, my poor Carlos is very ill at the moment but I have left him in the safe hands of Teddy Williams. The VERY SAFE HANDS of TEDDY. Who, I am sure, will take the UTMOST CARE, of my beautiful Carlos whilst he is trapped, suspended in an unpleasant bubble state between waking and sleeping, coughing and breathing. I am sure he will be fine. He will be just fine. But, a quick prayer in your bloodstone circle, or a quick sacrifice to the void or the Glow Cloud might speed his recovery. That is one thing I do love about this little community of ours. We look after one another. We send each other good wishes. We do not spread horrible diseases and illnesses onto one another’s skin.
"Tell – tell Cecil-," Carlos tried.
"Shh there Mr Scientist. Don’t try to speak- the bubble mutes most of the sound anyway." Carlos squinted in the direction of Teddy’s voice. "A couple of your scientists are swinging by in a while with some soup, and sample dishes they said. I guess it’s okay. I don’t think you’re contagious or anything."
Carlos nodded to show he’d understood, then drifted back into an uncomfortable doze as the weather played something as loud and rhythmic as a heartbeat.
Time passed oddly inside the bubble. Carlos thought he should be used to it by now, after all, none of the clocks were even real and time often passed oddly outside of the bubble. He woke a couple of times, gagging and feeling nauseous, or shaking and sweating. Each time he thought he could still hear the comforting sound of Cecil’s voice on the radio, but he could have been hearing Cecil in the room- even when Carlos thought his eyes were open it was dark and he could see nothing. He felt, damp. Uncomfortably damp and warm, but unable to move. Eventually this fact became worrying and Carlos managed to throw one arm out to the side as far as he could reach, hoping to feel the world beyond his bed, to feel anything.
“Carlos? I can see your hand but I cannot reach it through the bubble, which is growing cloudy in colour. I think you want me to hold your hand. I hope you can hear me. I wish I could hold your hand, Carlos. Oh, please, I hope you can hear this.”
Carlos, exerting a ridiculous amount of effort, curled his hand to shape an ‘Okay’ sign. Cecil sounded so worried. Carlos didn’t want Cecil to worry. He would be fine. He was sure he would be. He hoped.
“You can hear me! Oh, that’s wonderful. Teddy told me, when the bubble was still clear, that he couldn’t hear you through the bubble when you tried to speak to him. I am happy to think that at least you can still hear us. That you can still hear me and know I have not left you alone, you will not be left alone.”
Carlos wanted to make another sign that he had heard Cecil, to stay alert and listen to his voice and maybe work out a way to escape the bubble, but his face felt damp with sweat at the effort of staying awake and he couldn’t help but....drift.
___
Listeners, as I told Station Management, I went down to see the urgent report of fire-breathing potatoes at Big Rico’s Pizza but when I arrived with my mobile broadcasting equipment not only were there no fire-breathing potatoes, there were also no crowd of callers waiting for me, almost as if they had never been at all.
I spoke to a member of Big Rico’s staff who said ‘What are you talking about Cecil? I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary here at all. AT ALL.’
Well, whilst I was there, listeners I thought I had better pick up a mandatory slice for my still poorly Carlos, as his apartment just happens to be right by Big Rico’s Pizza. I would like to take this opportunity to thank Big Rico’s for their co-operation this morning and remind you all to make sure that you keep up to date with your mandatory requirements. Remember: No one does a slice like Big Rico. NO ONE.
Anyway so I am now broadcasting to you at the bedside of my poor, sick Carlos whose progress, I am sure you are all equally concerned about. Well the bubble that Carlos has been encased him has changed from a milky white to a rather pleasant shade of peach, and appears to be pulsating gently. Carlos is still inside and I do not know how much he can hear of the world beyond the bubble, but he has made gestures, pushing his hand against the wall of the bubble, that remind me that he will be fine because, as he has told me so many times before: a scientist is always fine.
Carlos smiled. It felt easier to breathe again even though it was still dark and, according to Cecil, the bubble was thicker and no longer see through. He was relieved to find that his brain appeared to be allowing him to think in sentences again. He was even more relieved to find that whatever unpleasant fluid he was suspended in, and whatever discomfort this illness was causing him it had apparently negated his need to eat and excrete. Otherwise his time in the bubble would be a lot more unpleasant.
He pushed his hand out into the darkness again.
And that has been the community calendar. Listeners! Carlos has pushed his hand out against the wall of the bubble again. I can see the shape of his hand against it. I am, carefully, touching the bubble and I hope that Carlos can feel my hand against his own or, if not, he knows that I am here. I am here, Carlos.
Carlos turned in the dark and fell peacefully asleep, comforted deeply by that knowledge. ‘When I get out of here,’ he thought, ‘I think we should look at some more apartments again, Cecil.’ A warm feeling folded itself in his stomach and his face ached with a smile he didn’t remember starting. Being in love was fascinating.
Carlos had no real sense of time in the bubble, but then time was not real anyway. If time had been real he estimated he’d been inside for maybe four days, maybe a week, judging by the amount of radio broadcasts he had woken to hear and the amount of times he heard Teddy Williams and some of his fellow scientists discussing what would happen if they were to forcibly break him out of his peach-tinged prison. A discussion that proved to be pointless speculation anyway as apparently neither of them had worked out a way of opening the bubble.
He woke up, however long it had been, to find that he could see colour again- a golden colour all around him like sunrise through pale curtains. It was nice to see something again, after so long without seeing.
At first it felt like a good sign but then Carlos began to feel uncomfortably claustrophobic. The liquid around him seemed to seep to the outside of the bubble and be replaced by golden material that did not hurt him but instead closed in around him, trapping him in the centre. He could no longer reach the outside layer of the bubble. He could no longer move his arms at all, although he felt much more alert.
“Carlos? I came as soon as I could from the station; Teddy said something weird was happening with the bubble. We are all here for you Carlos. We are here. The bubble is now solidifying, its peach colour becoming richer, darker by the second. It is no longer peach, it is a deep, dark red almost as dark as a bloodstone. I hope this is a good sign, Carlos. I hope it is a sign that soon I will see your face again. I have missed seeing you so much. If there is anything you can do to encourage the bubble to release you, I am sure you are already doing so.”
“I would, Cecil, if I could move at all.” Carlos muttered, glaring at his now totally restrictive prison.
“Carlos? Is that you doing something from inside the bubble? There is-, the bubble appears to be bleeding. Oh, Carlos, I wish you could tell me if you were okay.”
“I’m not bleeding Cecil!” Carlos shouted, vainly, knowing that Cecil could not hear him. He could hear though, there was the sound of scuffling and the voice of Amelia, one of his team.
“It’s okay, Cecil, it isn’t blood, it’s fruit juice.”
“Fruit juice?” repeated Carlos. “So I’m...in a fruit now? I’m like the stone inside a giant fruit. Terrific.”
He thought about it a little more and started to chuckle. “Who knew Night Vale’s diseases could be so accusatory? A fruit in a fruit.” Carlos giggled to himself.
He felt the fleshy walls around him shift with indignation as if it hadn’t meant that at all.
It probably wasn’t all that funny, but suddenly it seemed absolutely hilarious to Carlos. He’d been trapped inside it for a quite a while, after all. The bubble- now fruit- began to split as Carlos laughed.
He could hear gasps from the outside and he saw the golden flesh part and at last got his first breath of desert air. The fruit split cleanly in two, knocking over some of the scientists gathering around it, attempting to take readings.
Carlos felt carpet under his feet again as he stepped out and looked around. Cecil grabbed him into a tight hug.
“Carlos! Oh Carlos I haven’t seen you in so long. You’re okay aren’t you?”
“I’m- I’m fine Cecil,” Carlos said, still smiling from his humorous thoughts.
“How did you escape?” “Well...either it was just time for me to leave, or possibly I accused the sickness of making an off-colour homophobic joke and it was so embarrassed it let me go. I’m not 100% sure which. I am, however,” Carlos fumbled, “very glad to be able to see things again. And to see you, specifically.”
“Oh Carlos,” Cecil clutched Carlos to him again, as Carlos began to realise that not only was he cold and slightly sticky, he was also...not dressed. And half of the scientific team and Teddy Williams and a few more people were all in his bedroom.Staring.
“Um. I think maybe I need to go and...find some clothes. And wash my hair. It was kind of sticky in there.”
The bystanders, as one, all politely turned their backs and began talking among themselves (although mostly their conversations were along the lines of ‘did you see that? Carlos was naked’ which didn’t really help the intense sense of embarrassment that made Carlos wish he could crawl back inside the fruit currently dissolving into golden sparks across his bedroom floor and stay there) and Cecil ushered Carlos into the bathroom and helped him clamber into the tub and switch on the shower.
“And once you’re clean we can have a good look at your new scales!”
“My what?” Carlos twisted in the shower, reaching behind him, looking at himself all over.
He had scales along his arms and he could feel more along his back, smooth but hard, harder than normal skin.
“Will-Will they go away?” he asked Cecil nervously.
“I don’t see why they would, Carlos. They are beautiful. They reflect so much light. May I join you? In your shower I mean. I could...I could help you wash your hair.”
Carlos felt himself blush.
“I would like that, Cecil. I missed you. I mean, I could hear your voice but it is...it is not the same as seeing you properly.”
Cecil undressed quickly and climbed in next to Carlos. “My beautiful Carlos, I know exactly what you mean. Don’t worry about the scales, they suit you perfectly.” He murmured, reaching for the shampoo and making delighted noises as he worked the soap into Carlos’ wet hair.
Carlos found it difficult to worry about the scales, or indeed worry about anything at all, for a good while after that. He had more pressing and pleasant things to concern himself with.
And anyway, the scales would probably come in useful at some point. Night Vale was a dangerous place to make a home.
Or read it here at Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2463380/chapters/5461937
