A drop here, a drop there (a one-shots/snippet book)

And the rain washed it all away (Welcome to Night Vale)

It was raining when he arrived in Night Vale.

It soaked Carlos' clothes in seconds and he shivered at the sudden change in temperature. Behind him, the door swung closed and flickered away with nary a whisper, taking with it its desert heat and searing brightness. He almost wished for it to come back, the town in front of him looked cold, and almost unfamiliar in the very rare occurrence of rain. But the buildings he recognized, and something about them gripped his heart in a clench. Home. But not quite. Not yet.

Cecil.

He needed-he needed to see him. He needed to tell him, to wrap him in his arms and whisper to him assurances and soft words. He needed to tell him, exactly, what Night Vale meant to him. What he meant to him.

He needed to apologize.

He started walking.

The blinking light of the radio tower served as his guide, mirroring its blinking counterpart in the other world. He wasn't sure where Cecil was at this time, he was too preoccupied with trying to stop the army of masked giants from running off to war with their injuries, and later writing the goodbye letter for Kevin, that he was unable to catch where Cecil would be today. He thought that he may be in the Opera House. This was the opening day, right?

(How much time did he spend walking, desperately searching, until he woke up surrounded by the tall dark walls of the Dog Park, an old oak door in front of him? It felt like days. At the same time, it felt like no time at all.

... What made Night Vale accept him in again?)

But he wasn't sure where the Opera House was, he wasn't here in its construction.

The rain left the buildings looking clean, as the water took with it an indeterminable amount of time's worth of dirt. Night Vale looked fresh and renewed, as if ready to begin again once the previous years, trapped as memories in the dust, had been swept away.

The rained washed away the dirt on him, too.

Puddles splashing under his shoes, Carlos had estimated his distance to be halfway there, when a limo pulled up in the street next to him. He stopped, wondering whether it was agents from the vague yet menacing government agency (his heart twinged at the phrase Cecil said so much when referring to them). But they tend to ride on black sedans, not black limos, and when the door opened he was greeted by warm light and familiar faces.

"Get in," Trish Hidge grunted, "We're picking up your boyfriend."

Carlos went inside, slightly afraid, slightly filled with dread, and definitely filled with resignation, fully expecting to be greeted with sharp words and yelling. People had the tendency to yell at Carlos, most specially when he was younger. And as a child, he would be confused and distressed because he was unable understand why adults would shout for seemingly no reason. But now, now he knew why the people in the vehicle would yell, would get angry-no, they are angry, and he knew that he deserved it.

He deserved it for the pain he had inflicted on their beloved Voice as each day passed in his absence. Carlos had tried to cheer Cecil up with science, since previous data concluded that he liked listening to Carlos talk about science, but like many times before... Carlos had to learn the hard way that not all facts would always be true. That there are variables, variables in social interaction, that would change what is acceptable and what is not in a given situation.

He messed up. He always messed up when it comes to people.

At some point, Carlos had started to have some idea that he was doing something wrong, but it was too late, and he was too shamed and nervous to actually say sorry directly. Instead, he apologized through some stupid "scientifically accurate joke" that had flopped and he was left hitting his head and hoping that Cecil understood the apology.