It's all been a bit too much, for a very long time coming: being in the kitchen every day, brushing unfettered and unfiltered against every person stopping in for a meal. He was exhausted before burning his hand, before losing Ren and working himself to nothing to see him put to rest. Before putting a stop to the stolen offerings at his grave, and finding the awful box, and--before this.
He hadn't been paying attention. He hadn't had the energy for him.
Kira isn't sure if he'd thought it handled in the way Credence follows Graves through the village, or if he had some idea the shadow wouldn't stand for Credence being hurt by man or creature or elements--but even after Ren, even after the second person nearly killed by the lightning, he hadn't done enough to keep track of his friend's movements. To tell him to stay inside, to make himself a reason to stay inside.
Credence was the one who had given him the cards: if he didn't try to use them to navigate dangers like this, for this boy, what was the point? Why was he even here, was the spiral his thoughts often took. After Ty, after Ren, now: why let him live, if he was so little help to the lives of others?
He's missed more than one shift in the kitchens this past week, his hand well enough to not be any excuse, but he thinks Kate understands. He's taken a bowl upstairs, resumed his seat at Credence's bedside, and sets it aside when Credence stirs with a whimper.
When he covers Credence's hand with his own in a soothing gesture, sympathetic pain flares in his own side, but he only tightens his grip. "You haven't done anything," he assures him softly; "you're the one who's been hurt."
II.
He hadn't been paying attention. He hadn't had the energy for him.
Kira isn't sure if he'd thought it handled in the way Credence follows Graves through the village, or if he had some idea the shadow wouldn't stand for Credence being hurt by man or creature or elements--but even after Ren, even after the second person nearly killed by the lightning, he hadn't done enough to keep track of his friend's movements. To tell him to stay inside, to make himself a reason to stay inside.
Credence was the one who had given him the cards: if he didn't try to use them to navigate dangers like this, for this boy, what was the point? Why was he even here, was the spiral his thoughts often took. After Ty, after Ren, now: why let him live, if he was so little help to the lives of others?
He's missed more than one shift in the kitchens this past week, his hand well enough to not be any excuse, but he thinks Kate understands. He's taken a bowl upstairs, resumed his seat at Credence's bedside, and sets it aside when Credence stirs with a whimper.
When he covers Credence's hand with his own in a soothing gesture, sympathetic pain flares in his own side, but he only tightens his grip. "You haven't done anything," he assures him softly; "you're the one who's been hurt."