Angels causing accidents;

[repressings]

WHO: Credence Barebone
WHERE: The edge of the village, the inn
WHEN: 2/15
OPEN TO: OTA with a closed section for Graves
WARNINGS: severe injury via explodey lightning, mentions of Credence's history re: blacking out, talk of severe abuse in the threat with Rory
STATUS: (Is it open to new threads?)

---

ɪ. ɢʀᴀᴠᴇs ⇼ ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪᴛ's ɴᴏᴛ ɪᴅᴇᴀʟ;
It's a strange sort of dance, pushing and pulling. Credence doesn't trust Graves, even if the man holds all of the answers. He hasn't lorded it from him, not yet, but he's waiting. It's a matter of time, he thinks, before Graves pulls the carpet out from under him. Soon, he will somehow turn into that blonde man, and soon, it will be too late and Credence will have to do what he wishes.

Now, though, it's peaceful. It's odd, but in the same way that the fact that speakeasies are illegal and yet there are thousands of them where he's from. A strange sort of familiar type of peculiar that lets Credence feel somewhat balanced. Despite everything, he finds the village peaceful. He finds the place safe.

Even though he should be more wary of Mr. Graves--and he is, extremely--he's walking along with him. Walks, Credence had explained to the older man softly, are the best thing to do around the village perimeters, so long as you had a knife. They clear the mind and you can either think about things or not think about anything at all.

"And Mr. Graves, if you'll let me be a little bold," he had inquired, "I think maybe if you had a walk without a purpose, you might feel better." That's how the both of them are near the village outskirts, Credence bundled in his peacoat and scarf and his wool gloves. He's relinquished his extra pair, made of fine fur, over to the older man in order to keep him warm.

They talk. It's quiet, and almost like more of their games in the evening. A question for an answer, and an answer for a question. Credence has learned that this is the best way to get information, and he's quite pleased that it's moving forward so quickly.

"If you can perform magic without a wand, then why do you need one?" He asks, and it's as he turns his head to actually look at Graves that it happens. White, hot light, and then a blazing heat surges down his spine, causing every part of his body to stiffen and spasm before he immediately drops to the ground. He doesn't know what happened.

Credence, struck by lightning, falls unconscious and stops breathing.


ɪɪ. ᴀʟʟ ⇼ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅs ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʜᴇᴇʟ;
He wakes up with a jolt. Panic claws through him, and there's that scratching, whispering, hissing voice in the back of his head that all but confirms his initial thought: he'd passed out again.

This time, he doesn't wake up in the subway, or in his bed at NSPS headquarters--this time, it's in the inn, sides bandaged and eyes wide. A hand immediately holds his injured side--burn marks, perhaps--and he whimpers from the unexpected pain.

"I did it again," he manages, trembling. His throat is sore, hoarse, and he has no idea how long he's been out. Hours? Days? His dark eyes scan the room, wildly, and settle on whoever is there, be it passing the hallway while the door's open or sitting in the room with him:

"Is everyone safe?"


ɪɪɪ. ᴀʟʟ ⇼ ᴀʟʟ Fᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴀsᴄᴇɴsɪᴏɴs ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs sᴘᴀᴄᴇ;
Credence will be recovering for a while, not just on the 15th. When he can make it upright, he'll be in the inn, closest to the fire and writing everything he can in his journal. He may even be staring at whomever's closest to him, friend or stranger, lost in thought.

Comments

[oncewasroman]

Rory has mostly had experience in a coma ward -- dealing with patients who don't respond. That's not to say that he hasn't worked with others, and something about Credence's response bothers him. He watches the younger man for a moment, he leans back and gives the other his space--for the moment.

"It would be better if I could check. That is basically why I came," Rory says, but he sighs, obviously not wanting to push things. He decides to work on calming him down first. "Lightning strikes might be rare outside of a storm, but they aren't impossible," Rory says. "Is Mr. Graves the one that took care of your injuries up this point? Does he have medical knowledge? Lightning strikes can be fairly serious -- even if you feel okay there could be lingering effects."

[repressings]

This is difficult. Credence feels a flush of panic that has nothing to do with taking his shirt off but instead because the man with the kind accent that reminds him of Newt is asking him about medical knowledge and Graves. Graves had used magic, though it wasn't much and probably put quite a strain on him.

He can't lie, though. Credence doesn't lie, it's bad to do so--he presses his lips into a thin line, before settling on something that's close enough to the truth that he feels comfortable enough saying it. "I don't know, sir. He's a very mysterious fellow."

And the next thing, the next subject to be tackled. Credence visibly hesitates, before making it a point to swing his gaze up and to the nurse.

"You can't tell anyone," He murmurs. "If I take my shirt off, you can't tell anyone. Please."

[oncewasroman]

Rory frowns slightly, but doesn't press it. It doesn't sound like Credence knows much or maybe doesn't understand what Mr. Graves might have done. He'd have to perhaps speak with the man later. But that was hardly the point now and so just like that Rory drops the matter.

The other matter, of course, is a little more concerning. He can't possibly know what might be beneath the shirt--but Rory had of course encountered or at least had heard of such pleas before. His features soften, but he rises and moves to make sure that the door to the room is closed. He then turns back to Credence, "Doctor and Patient confidentiality applies to nurses too. Nothing you say or have will leave this room. I only want to help you."

tw abuse, scarring

[repressings]

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.

[oncewasroman]

It's strange how you can be both prepared for something and still not really prepared for it. Rory has his suspicions, especially as Credence hesitates. He hadn't necessarily worked a lot of abuse cases -- but as a nurse he was a mandated reporter and knew what signs to look for should he encounter it. It pained him to see it and, even worse, there was nothing to be done here about it.

He makes note of the scarring first, already looking for fresh wounds. He has to at least rule out that no one is currently abusing the younger man. Rory frowns, able to tell that some aren't too old, a few weeks or a month at most. He doesn't move, but asks, seemingly randomly, "How long have you been here Credence?" He pauses and then asks, "Is someone here doing this to you?" His voice is steady -- he knows it has probably taken a great deal for Credence to trust him enough with this much, he doesn't want to spook him.

Rory waits and then adds, "I am guessing the bandages are from your injury with the lightning. May I check them?"

[repressings]

Credence is quick to shake his head, and it's with such fervor that for a brief moment after he stops he feels dizzy, like all the air is rising from his body in a tingling manner. This is strange, he feels vulnerable, and even though Rory's voice is kind, Credence can't really say he's pleased anyone is looking at him this exposed. He hugs into himself, though he's not quite sure that's what he wants.

"No one has, here," he says vaguely, and that's about as comfortable as he gets before repeating the same thing: "you can't tell anyone. Please." Then they'll know --they'll know Credence isn't who he is. They'll know Credence is wicked and undeserving of anything. He likes it here, he likes it in the village, because his mother isn't here and he has friends and he doesn't want to ruin it.

So he clears his throat, puts on a brave face, and nods at Rory about the bandages. Rory really is kind, helping him, asking him, and that at least puts his mind at ease. He has to focus on that.

[oncewasroman]

When Rory speaks next, he puts as much of his reassurance into the words as he can. He knows there is only so much he can do to make someone trust him, and Credence has no reason to really. But he won't feel right if he doesn't say this before moving on to inspect the bandaging and injury, "I swear to you. I won't tell anyone."

He lets those words hang in the air for a moment and then, carefully, he moves closer so he can inspect the bandages and injury itself. The inspection is done as quickly (but still thoroughly) as possible and when Rory is done he nods, satisfied, "It could be worse. I'd like to take your pulse one more time, but if you aren't experiencing any headaches or pains anywhere I think you'll recover just fine."

[repressings]

It's over. Just like that, it's over. Credence nods, and his throat still feels dry and scratchy, but at least his heart isn't majorly hammering in his chest again.

That wasn't so bad, he realizes. Rory won't tell anyone. He hopes he won't, either, and if he does... Maybe it would be alright, just this once, to tell Mr. Graves. But the other seems sincere and warm in a way that Credence only associates with the village, and he trusts him for the time being.

"My head hurts a little bit, but I don't think that's the lightning, sir--uh. Mr. Rory."

[oncewasroman]

He considers that admission and shakes his head. "Still. I have some aspirin that came in one of the boxes and I think you'll be fine if you drink plenty of fluids and take a rest for a day." Which, Credence had been doing plenty of before he awoke from his nightmare. Having planned ahead, Rory gestured to the side table where Credence had been sleeping and indicated the glass of water and medicine for him to use.

"It's not a full dose of aspirin. I'm trying to use it sparingly, but it should help take the edge off of the pain," Rory said.