Credence hesitates. It seems like forever, but he weighs Rory's words very carefully. He has no reason to trust him. He has no reason to trust anyone. Graves knows about him, and Mary Lou, and NSPS. He's the only one. Rory shouldn't learn about any of this.
But he seems like a good person. A doctor--no, a nurse--is a good thing here. And he promises, and that's good, isn't it?
Credence hadn't realized his hands have been hovering over his shirt until he makes the conscious decision to remove it, and it's immediately obvious why he didn't want to. He's bandaged haphazardly from the lightning strike, of course, but there are scars covering his back. They criss-cross, some so old they look silver and some so new they've only just begun to scar, the freshest ones only a few months old, a few days before his arrival here. It matches the heavier concentration of scars on his palms, rough and ragged.
His own belt, in Mary Lou's hands, is a dangerous thing. Credence looks down and anywhere but Rory's direction, shaking like a leaf.
tw abuse, scarring
But he seems like a good person. A doctor--no, a nurse--is a good thing here. And he promises, and that's good, isn't it?
Credence hadn't realized his hands have been hovering over his shirt until he makes the conscious decision to remove it, and it's immediately obvious why he didn't want to. He's bandaged haphazardly from the lightning strike, of course, but there are scars covering his back. They criss-cross, some so old they look silver and some so new they've only just begun to scar, the freshest ones only a few months old, a few days before his arrival here. It matches the heavier concentration of scars on his palms, rough and ragged.
His own belt, in Mary Lou's hands, is a dangerous thing. Credence looks down and anywhere but Rory's direction, shaking like a leaf.