Chapter Text
As soon as the door closes behind them, Cecil turns to the doctor.
“Is something wrong?” He asks, anxiously, before wincing. The bird mask obscures all of Dr. Plaggs features but Cecil has a feeling they are currently fixing him with a deadpan stare.
“Except for the things you already listed, of course.” He hastily amends.
The doctor sighs and looks away.
“There is no easy way to say this. You’ve probably partially figured it out already.”Another deep breath. “I cannot confirm this, however I can say with almost a hundred percent certainty that this kid has been abused.” Cecil inhaled sharply. “There is a bruise in the shape of a human hand on his shoulder! If that’s not proof enough then the way he reacted to touch is.”
Cecil thinks back on what occurred just a few minutes ago.
The cloudy green eyes, the flinching, the whimper . Good, Forgotten Gods! The kid looked like he was expecting to be hit! The boy was hyperventilating and Cecil didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t exactly a stranger to the feeling of powerlessness, there are after all very little things in life that can actually be controlled, this however was different. This feeling stemmed from the unfamiliarity of the situation, the lack of knowledge as to what he should do instead of what he could not . Luckily, the doctor didn’t seem to have these kinds of hold-ups and quickly took control of the situation. The lights in the room dimmed and they took a candle out of their coat… Why was there a candle in their coat to begin with ? They lit it and started to hum a slow, haunting melody. There weren’t any breaks in between the verses, as if they didn’t need to take breaths. It took a bit but with each note the boy came back to awareness, his breaths evening out and he slowly stopped shaking. Cecil watched all this with concern etched into his features but when one, bright green, tear filled eye peaked out at him from the tight ball of limbs, he smiled reassuringly. At least, he hoped it looked reassuring.
Even without any expert knowledge, it wasn’t hard for Cecil to imagine where those reactions came from. He ran his fingers through his hair nervously.
“What should I do?” He questioned.
“You are his legal guardian, correct?”
“As of today, apparently.”
The doctor hummed. “I would first recommend taking up a few books on pediatrics and child psychology. Yes Mr. Palmer, you will unfortunately have to go to the library for that.” They added after seeing Cecil’s wary look. “I myself am not a pediatrician, but I could point you to a few colleagues of mine. Except for that, books or advice from friends and family members are your best bet.” A pause. “Although I would recommend sitting down with them and going over the ‘House Rules’, so to speak.”
“House Rules?” Cecil raises an eyebrow.
“What they can and can’t do, chores, bedtimes, things like that.” Dr. Plagg elaborated.
Cecil nodded. That sounded like a good starting point, although he should probably ask Abby and… eugh , Steve Carlsberg for some tips. Those books will have to be a last resort, maybe Abby still has some from when she got Janice. He’s gonna need to find a way to organize all the information he’ll no doubt have to remember.
“Alright. Thank you for your advice, doctor. Um… I’d appreciate it if you could recommend a few specialists.”
The bird person waves their hand dismissively. “I’m just doing my job.”
What followed was about 2 minutes of awkward silence, as Dr. Plagg wrote a few names on a piece of paper with a not-pen.
They held out the paper to Cecil.
“Uhhh… Well… I should, uhm… probably start preparing my house for the kid.” Cecil stammered out. The doctor nodded at this.
“We shall notify you when he wakes up again.” They say curtly and turn around, with their cloak billowing out like the wings of a great creature taking flight.
After a few moments of silence Cecil also turns around, albeit with much less flair and more like a newly born librarian, with a set (although admittedly not murderous) intent but quite clumsy because of the novelty of the world. Not that there was any record of librarians being born, mind you. Cecil was honestly theorizing they just spawned into existence right there in the middle of the dusty and ominous shelves of the Night Vale Public Library, or maybe it was through mitosis, Cecil shuddered at that image. BUT! If there ever was such a thing as a newborn librarian, Cecil imagined that’s what it would feel.
…
The next few days went by in a blurr. Between getting Abby to help him find his footing and almost getting impaled by long, sharp claws in the Night Vale Public Library (yes, he went, the books were very helpful, he’s never coming back) time seemed to pass by really quickly… Or maybe it actually was, who knows?
He also made regular visits to the hospital and was mortified after he realized that he forgot to ask the boy's name. That feeling grew when it seemed that the kid was confused why Cecil was apologizing for and waved him off, saying that he himself didn’t know his name until he was five when a teacher called on him in primary school for the first time. Cecil then had to gently explain to the k- Harry, Harry Potter that nobody should be allowed to call someone, let alone a child a freak and that just because they were his relatives didn’t mean it was any more okay. He was pretty sure the kid didn’t fully believe him but the books said something about how learned behavior and ways of thinking don’t just disappear after a single conversation and that he had to be patient.
After that discussion Cecil had to sit in the car for a while, in fear that he would crash if he didn’t calm down first. So, there he sat, with a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel and trying to take deep, slow breaths all the while his tattoos twisted under his skin. Eyeballs spinning in their sockets, mouths full of sharp teeth snapping angrily at an unreachable threat, tentacles wriggling impatiently, as if wanting to squeeze the life out of their prey.
It took a bit to get himself back under control.
If you asked Cecil’s neighbors what happened after Cecil got back, they would start shaking and swear that they heard inhuman shrieking and snarling and the sound of things breaking from his home, some would have even reported seeing a light, in colors the mortal mind cannot perceive pass by the windows, then their eyes would become clouded and they would start crying.
Fortunately no one asked and the only witnesses to what happened that night were Cecil himself and the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Everyone's Homes (and, of course, the Secret Police Officers that were assigned to his house at that time). The next day a slightly disheveled and grumpy Cecil could be spotted at the local Walmart, buying new plates and furniture.
…
The last few days felt like a fever dream to Harry. Apparently , the strange oak door somehow transported him to America and, what was even more surprising was the fact that, if the daily broadcasts running on the small radio on his nightstand were to be believed, the town he got transported to seemed to be just as weird as his relatives always said he was. And isn’t that ironic, the freak of Privet Drive found his way to a town full of freaks. Not to mention that the Dursleys would have an aneurysm if they ever stepped foot into ‘Night Vale'. Harry already liked this place.
The fact that he was in America wasn’t even the strangest thing that he was told during his time in the hospital. No, the weirdest thing was when the strange bird-doctor informed him that he was now a permanent resident of Night Vale.
*
“It seems like your recovery is going quite smoothly.” The doctor comments as they flipp through the clipboard that was always on Harry's bedside table which, when Harry last checked, only had the words ‘pickled onions’ printed on it over and over. “You’ll be able to get discharged pretty soon.” That makes Harry tense up.
“Does- Does that mean I’ll go back to England?” He asks hesitantly.
The doctor looks at them tilting their head, like they’re confused. “Is that where you were before you stepped into Night Vale? England? Why would you need to go back there?”
Harry blinks. Right . He didn’t tell them that. “My, um- my- the people I live with, they- they are still back there. Won’t- won’t somebody get into trouble if I don't go back?” The boy fidgets nervously. He can’t really tell the doctors facial expressions but somehow he gets the impression that they’re scrowling, maybe their lenses got darker?
“There is no need to worry, the people that you lived with before now are no longer your legal guardians.” They state matter of factly and Harry gapes at them. “The City Council has arranged you to be under the care of Cecil Palmer.”
Mr. Palmer ?! The guy who visits sometimes? The radio host? The guy with the pretty hair and a third eye? But- What- How?! Harry’s brain timed out.
Somewhere, Cecil was having a sneeze fit.
*
For a while he couldn’t believe it. There was no way. He was free of the Dursleys? Just like that? He didn’t want to accept it, he didn’t want to hope . But when he asked Mr. Palmer ( “Call me Cecil please.” ) if it was true, Mr. Palmer said yes. Harry wasn’t sure what to think.
He would never have to go back to that place. But what if it was the same here? But Mr. Palmer was nice, he brought him paper and a pencil that had ‘ not a pen ’ written on it so he could draw. Also apparently pens are illegal in Night Vale? Mr. Palmer told Harry that once he moved into his house properly, he would get a proper leaflet with all of Night Vale’s laws and restrictions from the City Council. When Harry asked why then and not now, Mr. Palmer said that that’s when all the paperwork will be finalized. Then he winked at Harry and stage whispered that as long as he has the benefit of the doubt of not knowing the rules, he won’t get in trouble for breaking them. That made Harry smile a bit. Mr. Palmer never seemed to have a problem with answering his questions, he made that clear the second time he visited, telling Harry that he was happy to do so. While Harry was still skeptical about that, Mr. Palmer wasn’t going back on it, so he was willing to cautiously accept it.
One time he asked Mr. Palmer why his tattoos move.
*
“Oh, that?” Mr Palmer raises his arm, showing them off. One of the constantly wriggling tentacles seems to give Harry a wave. “They just have a mind of their own, I guess.”
“”But- isn’t it-” Harry stopped, Mr. Palmer didn’t seem to like the word freaky. “Weird?” He finally settled.
“Maybe at first but I’ve gotten used to it.” The man shrugged, the third eye on his forehead blinked.
“Where did you get them?” Harry asks, remembering the inconspicuous shops he saw sometimes, tucked away in between other stores with bright colorful ads and displays. They always seemed so bleak yet mysterious in comparison, as if there were secrets hidden inside. He wonders if there is a shop like that in Night Vale.
“I’m actually not sure. I think they’ve just always been there.” Mr. Palmer smiles, humor shingin in his eyes. “Why? Do you want some?” He teases.
“No.” Harry averts his eyes. He did but he’s not gonna tell that to Mr. Palmer.
*
So yes, he still wasn’t sure if this was just some hyper-realistic fever dream, but it was a nice dream, so Harry hoped that it would go on as long as possible.