And I feel the light for the very first time;

[repressings]

WHO: Credence Barebone and apparently half the village (including you!)
WHERE: Inn for the OTA, various in closed starters
WHEN: 5/15
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Mentions of abuse
STATUS: ongoing

---

Eventually, Credence has to leave the house. Eventually, Credence has to face what he's done and eventually, he finds himself blinking blearily into the early morning sun, heart hammering in his chest as his foot crosses the threshold of Kira and Bodhi's residence for the first time since he'd been dragged there from the forest, half asleep and utterly exhausted. He finds he doesn't burn up immediately, nor does he feel like collapsing inwards on himself, and takes another step forward. It's a slow start, but a start nonetheless.

He feels terrible, of course, but he's quick to mentally reprimanded himself. He doesn't deserve to feel terrible, not anymore. Not ever. He's long since stopped sleeping because he's recovering and instead has slipped into sleeping due to what he feels is idleness, choosing to nap constantly to avoid the world. 15 days and he's positive--positive--he's slowly driving those he temporarily shares a residence with absolutely insane. Even if it's false, it's what he perceives, and they have a right to be upset. Everyone does.

That's why, very carefully, he makes his way towards the inn. His body feels strange, dimmed, and that's the only reason he leaves in the first place: he's sure the scratching in his skull stopping altogether means the Obscurus--Obscurial?--is at least contained. It's safe for him to be near other people.

He stares at the inn door for a very long time, for what seems like a lifetime, before he physically wills his body to open the door. The weather's changed, but he's still wearing the black fisherman's sweater Finnick has given him, covering himself and hiding skin, the only scars showing the ones on his palms. He tries his best not to shake and keeps his voice as calm as he can, surprised that his nervousness only cracks his voice once.

"Hello? I was wondering if anyone needed help this morning. With..." His voice trails off, face reddening. "..Chores, or..."

This is stupid. They're going to chase him out.

Comments

➼ Stella and Peggy; Bᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ I ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀɪɴɢ;

[repressings]

He hears from Graves, very briefly, about how Stella and Peggy had been temporarily recruited to help. Credence feels a myriad of feelings--shame, of course, shame will always persist--but he finds the tips of his ears redden just slightly at the thought of the daring British women he'd tried so hard to emulate when trying to be brave were the ones to help Mr. Graves out, along with the Goldsteins. He's thanked Kira until he's blue in the face, but he hasn't actually left, so he carefully makes his way to house number 13.

It's much like any time he tries to visit someone. He winds up staring at the door for quite some time, and while he feels like it's been an hour it's more than likely a solid ten minutes.

Finally, though, he knocks.

"I--um. I was going to try to find tea, but I didn't want to go to the inn," he confesses as soon as the door opens, staring at his shoes, shoulders hunched.

"Mr. Graves told me what you two did, I--I wanted to thank you."

[womanofvalue]

Peggy's the first to the door, but she can honestly say that the last person she expected to find on the steps was Credence. She's not the hugging sort, but she's nearly overwhelmed with the desire to hug Credence right now, though she doesn't. With everything that's happened, she's sure the last thing he wants is unannounced physical touch, especially like this. "Please, come in," she insists. "I'll put on the kettle," she says, allowing the relief to show on her face when she turns, catching Stella's gaze to offer a hopeful little smile.

She knows that what's happened cannot be undone, but she takes solace in knowing that they also have a chance to move forward. "Please, sit down," she calls over her shoulder, with a pointed look that says he'd best not even think of leaving.

[ex_assertiveness90]

Stella truly doesn't feel she needs the thanks, at least for her part. She'd done what she'd thought was right, and probably would have whether or not Graves had asked for her help. Still, she doesn't try to contradict Credence — it's just good to see that he's feeling well enough to be up and about seeing the other villagers, though she knows it must not be easy after what's happened.

She ushers him over to the sofa, leading him over without touching him; any kind of physical contact might feel intrusive right now. He's effectively a trauma victim, and Stella knows a thing or two about handling trauma cases; at the same time, he's also a young man she personally knows and has come to like. It won't hurt to be a little cautious.

Stella only sits down after he does, putting a sofa cushion's worth of space between them, but turned to face him so he knows she's listening to whatever he might say — even if that's nothing at all.

"You know we don't blame you for anything that's happened," she says, softly but firmly. She thinks it's important to establish that first. "I don't think that anyone does."

➼ Kira & Bodhi; Rᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴄᴇs ᴛʜᴀᴛ I'ᴠᴇ sᴇᴇɴ

[repressings]

He's absolutely positive he's driving the two of them crazy. Even if he isn't, Credence is hyper aware of how Bodhi and Kira have both shown him the utmost kindness, not asking him to do a single thing. He sleeps solidly for an entire week, nothing but a pile of sheets and a mop of black hair peeking out from it. Now, though, charged and doing nothing but wallowing in his own guilt, Credence decides to take charge. As much as someone like him can, anyway.


With Bodhi, he gently moves up behind him while he's cleaning, feet quiet on the floor, and taps him on the shoulder.

"Let me help," he says softly. And, because he knows Bodhi's far too polite to let him, adds a preemptive 'please.'


Kira comes a little easier. He decides to address the elephant in the room while the other is checking the roof for hail, Credence watching him curiously from his spot a few feet away. He feels, even now, like he can talk to Kira about absolutely anything.

"Kira?" He says cautiously. "Do you remember what I said when you told me Casey was gone?"

[3ofswords]

Kira's always known that most paths that didn't end in his early death eventually led to becoming his mother, but he still bites his own frown and refuses to tell Credence he shouldn't be up on the roof, even as he thinks it. Credence has been up here before, a shadow hanging its legs over the slope while Bodhi napped in the attic, Casey threw a heavy, short stick for the dog below, and Kira watched the changing of the sky.

But he wasn't recovering from what Kira can only imagine as possession, his body transmuted from solid to gas and back again. But there hadn't been hail for several days, tearing up the buildings.

It doesn't matter: Credence can go where he likes, as far as Kira is concerned. He turns back to the task for a time--trailing his fingers over deep scratches and punctures, sifting free the loosened shingles to--do something with later, when he figures out what one does to put shingles back on rooftops. It probably involves nails, and he doesn't think the casings left in his possession count. He doesn't think he could part with them regardless.

The question takes the hand of his thoughts and walks in step with it, and he glances up from his task to meet Credence's gaze. "That everyone would leave me," he answers, tone mild and dry. Maybe it's cruel to echo the words back at him, but they'd stung deeper than most he's heard since he arrived, and he hasn't forgotten.

[repressings]

It's strange, hearing the phrase echoed back at him in such a calm manner. It sounds foreign, and even now, remembering what he'd been like, the words are bitter on his tongue, a bit like unripe green apples. The grimace he makes is hard to miss, and he dips his head down to look at the place below.

This is a delicate situation. Credence is used to navigating them, walking the fine tightrope between anger and disappointment thanks to a cold-tempered adoptive mom with steel for nerves. Credence can adapt, he can mold what he says to try to get the least amount of pain from a situation, but this is one of those things that he can't avoid.


First thing's first: don't excuse the behaviour. Credence shrugs, loose and unsure, as he tries to form the right words. This isn't about people feeling sorry for him, this is about setting the record straight.

"I shouldn't have said that." The words sound hollow, untruthful, and Credence tries again: "you didn't deserve it."

[onlyeverdoubted]

It's possibly not the very wisest approach--Bodhi doesn't take being startled or being touched especially well, but since both of them happen with something like regularity lately, he's at least good at muting his response. Just a quick little hitch of breath. It helps to know perfectly well who it is, admittedly. He turns from the dishes with the crooked, unsure smile that's generally the only one he has firmly in place. "I'm... I'm almost done with these." Not quite true. Bodhi's not great at chores, though he always makes sure for Kira's sake to do what seems to be his share (a lot, with Casey gone and Credence in residence, but what else does he have to do?). And he's reluctant to do anything that involves a lot of water, so things like dish washing tend to go very slowly.

But dishes would be a waste of the first he's seen of Credence out of bed. He was glad the bed was useful, sure--it's not like he uses it more than one night in three anyway--but this is an improvement. "Could you... could you give me an opinion of something instead?" Subterfuge is not his strong point, but in the tea service that came out of his first mystery box, he's got an excellent stage prop, and he's honestly interested in the answer, anyhow.

[repressings]

"An opinion?" Credence's confusion comes easy. He's been asked a lot of things, none of them very nice, but asked for his opinion? This is a first.

He takes a moment--not because he's debating it but because he's in awe--and then takes a tentative step forward, pulling his lips into a thin line and nodding. An opinion he can give, no matter how strange.

"Okay, but I'm not sure I'm the best judge, I--I don't really know popular things or things people would usually go for." It's the blind leading the blind, essentially, and Credence awkwardly shifts his weight from one foot to another.

➼Graves; Nᴏᴡ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀʀᴋs ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴇᴛᴛʟᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ sᴋɪɴ

[repressings]

All of the reunions, as they were, are difficult, but he thinks Graves' might be the most out of all of them. It feels like a very, very long time since Credence, alarmed and wary, had seen Mr. Graves as someone else entirely.

They'd been doing so good--Credence had dreamt of Graves, but they were no nightmares, no strange feelings of dread. They felt like the whiskey he shared with him talking about the magical world; smooth and strong. He wants to desperately go back to those dreams instead, but he'd ruined it.

Credence ruins most things, he realizes. He wouldn't be shocked at all to have Graves slam the door in his face, a disapproving look written over dark eyes and proud features. That's what he thinks about when he finally finds himself at the door of the house they share (shared?), giving three sharp knocks. If he knocks with confidence, maybe he'll gain some as well.

Credence has slept well but he doesn't feel like he has, not now. He feels like when Cougar gave him pop rocks, and there were fireworks in his mouth--this time, it's a nervous sort of firework feeling, and it's in his lower stomach. He's dreading every single moment, but he has to do this.

He can't run away from Graves anymore.

[mund]

Graves is still getting used to being stripped of magic, his very own lifeblood -- the power that courses through him muted, locked away, and it's as if he's lost one of his five senses. He thinks of Credence often when he goes about forcing himself back into a schedule, taking what comfort he can in rigid discipline. He's alone, the storm having died down and Credence safe and tucked away from him.

But this house has never felt emptier, more hollow than even when Graves had first moved in on his own. Credence has made his mark in the many weeks he has spent within its four walls, and his absence now is felt more acutely than ever. Graves keeps an eye on him from afar even as he heals up, his wounds closing up on their own. He doesn't shed the dressing that's wrapped around his arm; the stitches are changed, fresh, and his ribs and shoulder hurt one hell of a lot less than they did the night he held the town hall, gritting back physical agony to address a crowd.

He wonders, on occasion, when Credence will turn up at his doorstep again, and take his place in this house, where he seems to have made a cozy little niche for himself.

He turns up this afternoon, paler than Graves has ever seen him but somehow the dark circles under his eyes are mostly gone. Credence looks haunted, a ghost on his steps, but at least he isn't exploding all over his doorway. The sharp knocks speak of a courage that doesn't seem to inhibit Credence quite yet, but give it time.

He's here, and he knows how much courage it takes to come back to him, to stand here like this. Graves' expression is unreadable, unfathomable, thoughts flickering in his mind, and it's seconds later that he opens the door wider for him to enter.

This is still Credence's home.

[repressings]

Graves says nothing. Graves says nothing, and Credence feels his mouth dry up instantly, his heart hammering in his chest. This is it--this is where Graves denounces him, where he, too, calls him a freak. This is where Graves leaves him at their doorstep, not to be trusted again. Discarded.

Credence feels his palms, suddenly aware of how clammy they are. He lowers his head, wondering how much time has past. It feels like minutes, agonising and torturous, but the soft creek of the door opening alerts him that it's only been seconds.

Is Graves inviting him in?

He stares, confused and unsure, at the hand that Graves had used to open the door, and wonders if he means this. If Credence crosses that threshold, he thinks, maybe he has a chance at being forgiven. Maybe he has a chance to repent for what had happened.

He forces himself to step forward. One step, two, three--and finally he's in the house, still feeling like a stranger. He uses the sudden burst of courage to turn around and try to say something, only it dissipates the moment he looks at Graves.

He's a mess. Graves' version of a mess is a little bandaged, and he's still standing tall, thick brow and sturdy shoulders and all, expression just as unreadable as it would be on any other given day, but Credence can only stand to look at him for so long, gaze sliding to the floor. Credence is the one that did that to him. Credence almost killed one of the very few people that care about him.

His throat, still dry, croaks as he says the only thing he feels like he can, trying to hold back sudden tears by clenching his fists as tightly as he can.

"I'm so sorry."

➼Tina & Newt; Fʀᴏᴍ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇs;

[repressings]

Credence has a very long list and a very short amount of courage. Newt and Tina are at the top of said list--they, like Kira, have done all they could to help him. The only difference is that Tina and Newt haven't been around to witness Credence's fantastic adventures in sleeping far too much, nor has he seen them every day.

He thinks saying hello to Newt and Tina will be easier, since Credence knows--or at the very least, hopes--they won't be cross at him. They had seemed understanding, and he seeks both of them when the hail stops and he counts to ten forwards and backwards to calm his nerves.

He finds Newt somewhere in the forest, and even though the entire place is far too familiar and reminds him of the fateful night the nightmare happened, he braves it. He finds Tina in her house--much easier--but the conversation is the same.

"I wanted to thank you," is the first thing he says. He means it, even if his gaze doesn't lift from the floor.

[goldsteins]

Tina feels guilty to not be at the mens' house more often. She knew if she was being reasonable with herself and acknowledged the fact that Queenie had been sick, there was aftermath, and even wearing herself to the bone it was ridiculous to expect her to stay there. Especially when the young man was asleep for most of the day she was around. He needed to rest and hovering was going to do very little for any of them (except perhaps to drive them all insane).

She had to push the cat out of the way when the knock game, the devilish kitten too eager to try his time outdoors, and it's with little hesitance she ushered the young man inside. Tina's eyes remain trained on him even as she took her seat at the table, noting when he doesn't seem to follow even at her suggestion. The kitten yowls in its attempt for attention and she calls it to her before settling with a nod.

"I've said it before, Credence," She offered, the faintest of a soft smile pulling on her lips, "there isn't anything to thank me for. There isn't anything you need to go thanking any of us for." They had all done what they had and could for Credence because they wanted to. Anyone invlved had known all the potential risks.

"Really, you can sit down if you want. It's nice to see you out and about."

[repressings]

"I know, ma'am," Credence keeps his voice light, keeps his vernacular polite, and tries to keep his distance, declining the seat for the time being. He admires Tina more than anything--more than the world--but he's unsure of himself. Even if he knows, realistically, he can't harm anyone.

He does, however, force a smile. It's only for a second, and it doesn't come out quite right, but it's there. He wants Tina to know he's okay. Even if he feels like he isn't--but that's not the physical exhaustion, not anymore.

"I just feel like I should. This is the second time you've helped me, and I--I haven't done nearly enough for you."

[maternis]

It's courage enough, truly, to be willing to venture out at all to do something of this sort. Things have changed since they all ventured into the woods after Credence. Newt's limited resources at the expense of his magical abilities are no longer applicable to the situation. Despite it, he still manages to thrive well enough.

His time spent in Equatorial Guinea in study has left him more suited than most of his fellow wizards to survive in a place that might find magic to be cause for concern. It doesn't mean he enjoys it, no definitely not. It's rather like having all of his senses dulled just a bit too much for relative comfort, but he battles through.

He still picks up on the approach of a person, and comes out, pleasantly surprised to find Credence, and his expression is warm.

"It's nothing, really. No reason to thank me," offers Newt, coming closer to him. He was actually planning on heading into the village that day, so it's advantageous there is someone there that might not mind walking with him. "Did you come all the way out here to do that?"

That's rather a novel thought. He doesn't think he's ever had anyone, outside of Tina, willing to do as much for him. Especially not for a simple expression of gratitude.

[warriorborn]

Benedict hears the door open, but doesn't bother turning towards it, well-used to the fact that people traipse through the inn at all hours and knowing there's no point in trying to keep track of them. He'd drive himself mad in the attempt, so it's easier to just let the ebb and flow of humanity swirl around him as he doggedly keeps to his daily tasks.

It's his new companion's voice that makes him turn, and quickly.

"Credence!" He wants to bound forward and hug the poor boy, so relieved to see him recovered, but physically restrains himself. Credence has always been a very withdrawn person, and Benedict is sure he doesn't want people flinging themselves at him. He settles instead for beaming at him, circling both hands around the shaft of his broom and leaning its end on the floor. "How are you feeling? Are you alright? I'm so glad to see you up and about again."

What he really wants to do, aside from hugging him, is to set him down and make him tea or something, fuss over him in the way that would make Gwen roll her eyes at him and Kate hide a smile behind her hand. What he does instead, is to nod at the chairs tucked beneath the tables filling the room.

"If you could lift the chairs up onto the tables for me, that would make my sweeping go much faster."

[repressings]

Credence is said loudly, nearly shouted, and Credence seizes up, joints locking in panic as he looks around for the source before he realizes that it's friendly.

He recognizes him, his smile and the way he seems to exude charisma. It's the kind gentleman who had drawn a picture of Modesty, one he keeps in his room and looks at every night before bed to remind him of everything that happened in New York.

Really, though, what happened in New York had just followed him. Nonetheless, since it's just Benedict, he forces himself to relax. It's Credence's version of relaxing, of course: shoulders tight, still slumped, still nervous--but it's a visible difference.

"I'd rather just focus on chores," he says quietly, wondering if he's stepped out of line--but he seems to be safe, and so he carefully picks up the chairs. It's after one table is cleared that he decides to speak.

"Is Miss Kelly alright?"

➼injured; ᴛʜᴀᴛ I'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ;

[repressings]

Credence makes a list in his notebook once he learns who he's hurt. He takes three pages from the journal that Stella has given him and writes down the names over and over again in the smallest writing he can muster.

Sam
Gaius
Emma
Peeta
Jax
Neil

He has them memorized, of course, but he still writes until his hands hurt and stares at the list until he goes cross-eyed after filling up the three pages. It’s probably some form of self-punishment, and it’s the least he can do to himself in his opinion. If he’d been at full strength, he would have killed at least two, if not more. He’s still expecting some sort of mob out front, a ‘burn the witch’ attitude his adoptive mother has fostered in him.

He’d deserve that, too.

Credence is very, very aware that no one comes after him while he rests, but that doesn't stop the guilt. He lost control. He hurt people. Now, every time he closes his eyes, he sees that list. What could have been, and what, worse yet, Credence wanted to happen. Guilt follows him like a cloud, not unlike the one he’d transformed to when overwhelmed by repressed emotion.

He has to do something about it. That’s the problem: he can’t make idle excuses, he can’t just sleep and avoid what he did. It’s terrifying, and he’ll deserve whatever punches he’ll get. He owes them that much. But for now, he owes them an apology.

Carefully, he makes his way to each one individually, footsteps soft, voice light. He remains a healthy 5 feet away, often hovering around doorways, and his gaze never, ever leaves his shoes.

“I was wondering if you have a moment.”

[bewaretheniceboy]

Thanks to his current mobility issues, Peeta's only got a small area he's really moving around in right now, consisting mostly of three buildings: the inn, the bakery, and his house behind the bakery. He does sometimes get out further than that small triangle, but it's rare. This time he's in the bakery, mixing up a batch of cookie dough to bake up and distribute now that the hail has finished, when he hears the door open in the front of the building.

"Hang on, just a minute-" He has to rinse his hands off - flour has a nasty habit of sticking to everything - and then grab the makeshift crutches Bev had gotten from somewhere for him to swing his way out into the front. "If you're looking for Jacob he we..."

Peeta's voice trails off when he sees Credence. He doesn't know him, not really, but the... circumstances behind what had happened had been explained to the injured. And Peeta's been through so much that even though he knows that the thing that hurt him and the others wasn't really Credence, he instinctively stops when he sees the other boy, worried it's going to happen again.

[withoutahammer]

The marks on Neil's face and chest have faded, but the weakness is lingering. It's been three weeks now, and he still hasn't recovered what he lost. The idea that he may not ever be the man he used to be is lingering in the back of his head, a haunting little voice that gets louder when he's tired.

He's tired now, resting in the inn and feeling like every bone is made of lead, but he looks up at Credence's voice. They said it was him that did it, but Neil still didn't know how, and he wasn't sure he believed it. It had been a cloud, not a nervous wreck of a boy. So his voice is friendly, if a little cautious. "I've got nothing but moments right now. You want to come closer so I don't have to strain myself looking at you?"

[notabirdcostume]

Sam's injuries were relatively minor all things considered and, in his own opinion, were less Credence's fault and more his own stupidity for jumping in the dark like that. It was really more dumb luck than anything -- a sprained wrist and a few bruises.

At this time of day, Sam can be found in the inn's kitchen. He's getting better at working with his non-dominant hand, trying to let his right rest as much as possible. It's healing nicely if nothing else, though Sam isn't quite ready to risk going without a wrap just yet. Still, today is an easy day, he just wants to take inventory and see what they might be running out of.

He feels someone standing in the doorway long before Credence actually says a word. Out of the corner of his eye he sees him, but says nothing. He'll let Credence have the first move this time. It pains him a little though, all he wants to do is go over and give him a hug or something. He'd spoken with Sonny and Stella about ways they could try to prevent something like this from happening again. He'd gone out looking for Credence a few times, before reminding himself that he should give the kid some time to sort himself out first.

Finally, he hears him speak up. Sam looks over, feigning ignorance about what this could possibly be about (because honestly what else COULD it be about), and nods, "Sure. Have a seat." There are chairs nearby, and clearly this is what he is indicating by his words. He's still determined to let Credence have the first move.

➼Sonny; I ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ I ᴀᴍ;

[repressings]

Before anything--before he finds Newt and Tina, before he apologizes to Graves, before he makes his way to the inn, he goes to church. It’s very early, or at least he thinks it is, the sun hasn’t done much but stay in its place, but there’s no one around and so he feels safe.

He’s sitting as close to the cross as he can, another parcel in his hands, holding onto it tightly as he contemplates the list. Over and over, he thinks of those seven names of the people he’s injured. He thinks of the building he’s destroyed. He thinks that it’s strange where the only place he feels safe and comfortable (relatively) at the moment is a place that reminds him of Mary Lou and his belt biting into his skin.

He hears Sonny--it has to be Sonny, it’s always Sonny, here--and bows his head, fingers gripping the box in his hands so hard his knuckles are white. He’s nervous. Strange, he's never been nervous around Sonny.

Of course, now Sonny knows.

“Do you think God forgives every sin, or just ones that suit Him?”

[ottimismo]

It's been awhile since he's seen Credence, and that's understandable after everything that's happened. Sonny's curiosity is burning, his need to find and comfort and take care of scratching at his skin. All he's wanted to do since that night is find Credence and make sure he's okay. Make sure he's being taken care of, to make sure nobody's hurting him or faulting him.

He knows Credence is in good hands. He knows because Kira has calmed since they said Credence was found, and Sonny knows that Kira cares for the other boy probably more than he cares for anyone else in the village. If Kira is at ease, that means there's nothing to care about.

Stepping into the church early in the morning, he's surprised to see Credence there, at the cross. Surprised to see him in general, but not surprised that, now that he has, this is where it is. Of course he'd find Credence in the church. It's the only place that makes sense to him. He relaxes a little, pleased to see Credence whole, in one peace. Pleased to see him at all.

"I think God forgives every sin if you ask Him to, and you mean it when you do." He walks towards the front of the room, but stops in front of the front row of seating, unsure of how close Credence wants him.

There's a pause, and he slips his hands into his pockets. "I think He'll forgive you, because He knows you didn't mean to."

Outside the Inn

[pretendtoneedme]

The hail's only just stopped earlier that day, and Clint's out in the mess that's resulted trying to pick up as much as he can. There's not a lot to do about the hailstones themselves, they'll melt as the sun hits them, and the air is already starting to thicken with mist that rises from them as they steam in the light and heat. He's shed his heavier clothing that he'd been wearing for protection to work, picking up shingles that had been ripped off and making a cursory inspection of the crops. Mark will probably need to look at them closely, but it looks like they got lucky - some were smashed, it would've been a goddamn miracle if that hadn't happened, but overall plenty survived. He's not a farmer, but he thinks there might still be enough time to plant some seeds over again, maybe.

But Clint stops in his self-appointed chore as he spots the tall, skinny figure outside the inn. It's been three weeks since he's seen any sign of Credence, but it's impossible to mistake him for anyone else in the village, not with that hair and that frame. Graves hadn't given answers he'd liked in that meeting, so it's best to go to the source, if the young man is willing to talk to someone. "Hey, Credence. I was wondering where you were."

[repressings]

Clint wants answers and Credence desperately craves the chance to absolve himself of his crimes: a perfect match, it seems. He's not sure how long he's been standing there, seemingly glued to his spot, his body feeling lethargic due to oversleeping, even if he's not aware that's even a thing.

He glances over once he hears his name, secretly proud of the way he doesn't jump and assume he's done something wrong--or perhaps he's too tired for that, and the last time he'd seen Clint they'd gotten off on strange footing.

"I..." He stops himself, wondering if it's too loud. His voice seems strained to him, and he shrugs his shoulders, caving in on himself. He tries again.

"I thought it was best if I didn't bother anyone. But I wanted to apologize for everything, so.." So here he is, staring at the inn and trying to drum up the courage.