Perhaps the first and greatest mistake committed is finding any measure of safety in this village, this holding space where they are likely held hostage, terms unknown. Graves contemplates the erratic weather, wonders if it's par for the course (he has been advised it isn't quite so), and tries to feel at ease during a long, purposeless walk along with Credence, who has taken to his company daily at this time -- a routine that he welcomes.
Although, he decides at length, walking anywhere in this village without a purpose in mind is its own kind of insanity. This he keeps to himself; Credence has found it in him to share his thoughts, and Graves is not inclined to clip that newfound courage in the bud.
There is progress, minimally: Credence just a little more at ease during their conversations, even if Graves is aware that he's more than ready to spring into action at any second, to retreat if something doesn't seem entirely right, a constant reminder that his own skin isn't his own -- now shared with the memory of another.
Graves detests the very thought whenever it surfaces, and it settles underneath the skin, an itch that doesn't subside.
The gloves Credence gives him is worn, a snug fit over his hands, and he's starting to get the impression that the young man himself is, in a strange way, trying to take care of his needs. The intention behind the gesture, however, is something he cannot quite divine just yet. But they talk, conversation a flowing give and take up until the unthinkable happens.
Bright light, the acrid, overpowering smell of ozone and charred flesh, the crackle of electricity powerful in the air. Graves, stunned by the suddenness of it and knocked back by the unexpected force, gets to his feet as his mind races to make sense of all of it -- it's simple; Credence has just been struck by lightning, has sustained what looks to be severe injuries, and he's not breathing.
Graves curses under his breath. This town has claimed victims of its own, it will not claim another. It's easy enough to unbutton the coat Credence wears, to ruck up his shirt and assess the damage. His chest has thankfully not borne the worst of it, but the shock has stopped his heart. Rennervate, he commands without speaking, but the strange inhibitions of this place doesn't rouse Credence like it should. His power has been significantly dampened, and he attempts it again, focusing harder, and is rewarded by a quiet and sudden inhale, the spell a jolt to the system but not strong enough to bring him to wakefulness.
Which, considering the extent of Credence's injuries, is a blessing in disguise. Next comes the difficult part, the healing.
Graves knows a few tricks of his own, emergency first aid charms and spells for his use if he's ever caught in a dangerous bind, but his specialty doesn't lie in healing. But he does his best all the same, the village's unknown limitations on his abilities ensuring that it takes far longer, with more effort than he should normally have expended.
When the burns slowly become significantly less life-threatening (but are still present and will require care and dressings), the exhaustion of prolonged strain sets in -- and not for the first time he hates how limited he has become. It's a minute or so after that he lifts him with care, and takes him back to the inn.
He makes quick work of locating Credence's room, striding downstairs to retrieve a basin of water; and a quick rooting through of his room reveals the availability of No-Maj survival supplies, not least of which are bandages and dressings. That, and a guide book that Graves quickly scans through.
No-Maj methods of care are unfamiliar to him, but he's managed to get himself up to speed quickly enough, cleaning the wounds before dressing them, constantly monitoring Credence's breathing. He has never been more occupied, and when things look stable he finds a chair to sit in to rest.
He will need another round of charms and healing spells once Graves recovers, and he fetches food for himself, a glass of water for Credence, and two pills he's read of that are supposed to be painkillers. He sleeps in the chair, an uncomfortable thing, and manages about three, four hours before he feels better, enough to initiate the second round of healing.
This time it takes longer, but the wounds start to look a damn sight better than they had when he had brought him in, and it's mid-day when Graves finally returns to his place.
He sleeps like the dead the entire day, drained and exhausted.
It's twenty-four hours after that he wakes, and he makes his way to the inn, picking up some food on the way to Credence's room. Stepping through the door, he sets Credence's share down, going over to assess him.
i.
Although, he decides at length, walking anywhere in this village without a purpose in mind is its own kind of insanity. This he keeps to himself; Credence has found it in him to share his thoughts, and Graves is not inclined to clip that newfound courage in the bud.
There is progress, minimally: Credence just a little more at ease during their conversations, even if Graves is aware that he's more than ready to spring into action at any second, to retreat if something doesn't seem entirely right, a constant reminder that his own skin isn't his own -- now shared with the memory of another.
Graves detests the very thought whenever it surfaces, and it settles underneath the skin, an itch that doesn't subside.
The gloves Credence gives him is worn, a snug fit over his hands, and he's starting to get the impression that the young man himself is, in a strange way, trying to take care of his needs. The intention behind the gesture, however, is something he cannot quite divine just yet. But they talk, conversation a flowing give and take up until the unthinkable happens.
Bright light, the acrid, overpowering smell of ozone and charred flesh, the crackle of electricity powerful in the air. Graves, stunned by the suddenness of it and knocked back by the unexpected force, gets to his feet as his mind races to make sense of all of it -- it's simple; Credence has just been struck by lightning, has sustained what looks to be severe injuries, and he's not breathing.
Graves curses under his breath. This town has claimed victims of its own, it will not claim another. It's easy enough to unbutton the coat Credence wears, to ruck up his shirt and assess the damage. His chest has thankfully not borne the worst of it, but the shock has stopped his heart. Rennervate, he commands without speaking, but the strange inhibitions of this place doesn't rouse Credence like it should. His power has been significantly dampened, and he attempts it again, focusing harder, and is rewarded by a quiet and sudden inhale, the spell a jolt to the system but not strong enough to bring him to wakefulness.
Which, considering the extent of Credence's injuries, is a blessing in disguise. Next comes the difficult part, the healing.
Graves knows a few tricks of his own, emergency first aid charms and spells for his use if he's ever caught in a dangerous bind, but his specialty doesn't lie in healing. But he does his best all the same, the village's unknown limitations on his abilities ensuring that it takes far longer, with more effort than he should normally have expended.
When the burns slowly become significantly less life-threatening (but are still present and will require care and dressings), the exhaustion of prolonged strain sets in -- and not for the first time he hates how limited he has become. It's a minute or so after that he lifts him with care, and takes him back to the inn.
He makes quick work of locating Credence's room, striding downstairs to retrieve a basin of water; and a quick rooting through of his room reveals the availability of No-Maj survival supplies, not least of which are bandages and dressings. That, and a guide book that Graves quickly scans through.
No-Maj methods of care are unfamiliar to him, but he's managed to get himself up to speed quickly enough, cleaning the wounds before dressing them, constantly monitoring Credence's breathing. He has never been more occupied, and when things look stable he finds a chair to sit in to rest.
He will need another round of charms and healing spells once Graves recovers, and he fetches food for himself, a glass of water for Credence, and two pills he's read of that are supposed to be painkillers. He sleeps in the chair, an uncomfortable thing, and manages about three, four hours before he feels better, enough to initiate the second round of healing.
This time it takes longer, but the wounds start to look a damn sight better than they had when he had brought him in, and it's mid-day when Graves finally returns to his place.
He sleeps like the dead the entire day, drained and exhausted.
It's twenty-four hours after that he wakes, and he makes his way to the inn, picking up some food on the way to Credence's room. Stepping through the door, he sets Credence's share down, going over to assess him.
"Credence?"