sixthiterationlogs | And I feel the light for the very first time;

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And I feel the light for the very first time;

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.

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"Then what is it?" It's the obvious question to ask, and so far Credence hasn't said that he doesn't want to talk about anything. If he does, as long as it's not looking like stuff'll explode, Clint will listen to that and let him do his thing, even though he'll remember that "to be avoided" for the future. "To be avoided" usually means bad things and pain for anyone in a situation like this, which means at some point it has to be addressed.

But he listens to Credence, continuing to pick up shingles and other bits of twigs and wood to toss them into the pile, and genuinely has to hide a smile and a grimace simultaneously at that last part. He knows all about trying to take care of and protect younger people... but there's a trace of a frown as the words register. Something's not right with that phrase... has this kid lost everyone, since he's only mentioning the "youngest" sister as being alone?

Come back to that. Get him comfortable, get him ...well, adjusted. Part of the reason Clint asked that question is because it's much harder to heal from abuse if you didn't have something to aim for, a goal to reach, and Credence might as well become the kind of person he wants to be with as much of a chance of having a life he's happy with as possible. "You meet Mark yet? He's a botanist, so he could probably teach you about plants. He's pretty much in charge of all the farming we're doing and he can always use more help."

"I've seen him," Credence answers vaguely. He's not sure if he's good at farming. He's not even sure if he's good at taking care of flowers, but it's touching that someone would help him. It's touching that someone would even think of him. He has Kira, and he has Bodhi, and brave Tina and bewitching Queenie, and smart Newt and Mr. Graves himself--the real one--but it still startles him when someone else does it.

He's beginning to wonder if there's an ulterior motive. Credence tries to silence that part--even if there was, he has no powers, this village is a far cry from the hustle and bustle of New York--and focuses on Clint for a few seconds, silent.

"I tried once, I got... shy, I suppose." He'd barely made it there before walking right back--but that was the old him. This one is just a little braver. He means to thank Clint's suggestion, but what comes out instead is vastly different.

"What happens when you die here? Do you think you go back?"

Clint waits, patient in the way all good snipers have, for his target to emerge from their shelter. He's not planning on putting a bullet or an arrow in Credence, far from it, but the methods are similar. Coaxing and waiting until they are comfortable enough to emerge from hiding. And Credence is definitely in hiding; he's showing almost all the textbook signs of someone beaten down and repressed so often that hiding is instinctive. It's this mindset they'll need to break, over almost anything else. It won't be easy, but it should be worth it.

"You should try it again. After all this..." He waves a hand around to indicate the hail and the damage to the world around them. Some of the plants are shredded. Some are clearly dead. "We're gonna need a lot of help to get the crops back up to what they should be so everyone can eat. And then you can learn something at the same time, even if it turns out you're not so good at it."

But that question brings him up short, to the point where he slows his walk and eventually stands still. He didn't expect it, no, but it's a little eerie because he's wondered that himself. Still, probably most people have after being here awhile. It's the kind of thought that shows up during the most haunting times, and anyone who's been here awhile will have had at least one.

"...I don't know." Clint sighs, shaking his head a little. "Wish I did."

"I will," Credence promises, and he means it. It's all swept aside as Clint keeps talking, and he listens carefully and obediently. Clint makes sense, Credence thinks. He gives advice in a way that makes sense. His ideas seem pretty good so far, too.

It's the walk and the stand still that as Credence worried, if only a little bit. They aren't the kind of stiff halt that happened when he'd upset Mary Lou, nor does Clint look disappointed. Just thoughtful. Clint looking thoughtful is awful nice.

"I hope we don't. Of course--I hope no one dies, but two people have already. If some of us are able to go back, then it's a chance at a second life, isn't it?" But on the other hand:

"If you're dead, where would you go? Maybe wake up in the fountain again, like you did before, or others have, or--oh." His eyes widen, and he realizes not only is he just rambling now, but he probably had brought up something that wasn't the most desirable to talk about.

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking, I didn't mean anything by it." a pre-emptive apology.

Unlike probably a lot of people that would freak out or at least be uncomfortable about that line of thinking, Clint's actually not reacting badly to it. His stock in trade for many years was death, after all. In some ways it still is, even if it's death for a good cause. The bad guys want to kill you, so you kill them first. Soldiers learn to live with the fact that the people they're facing are people and that sometimes there won't be another way or they break down rapidly.

"I'm sure you're not the only one thinking about it." He's had the thoughts himself; rarely, but they've come. They don't seem to be common, or at least not something that people talk about, but it only makes sense that people have the idea pass through their minds on occasion. "We know you don't just reappear in the fountain if you die, and there's still a body - but other than that? No one knows. I don't think we ever will."

After all, even here, dead is dead. No one's come back from it, and with everything else that's happened here, he's not sure that zombies wouldn't be a Thing That Could Happen.

"But concentrating on that - that's only gonna make you unhappy. Maybe none of us wanted to be here, but we're here now, and we're gonna find some way out of this. Some way that doesn't involve people dying."

Credence's mind flicks from target to target--he's jumping here and there, not really focusing. It's hard to focus, especially with a subject like this. Or maybe it's too hard and he willingly chooses to disassociate, and instead talk about anything from work to death to all that's in between.

Or maybe this is just Credence at his most natural, and it's foreign to him.

"Maybe we will appear again," he murmurs. "Maybe it just hasn't happened yet." It's more to himself, and he's not arguing Clint in the slightest, but this place throws so many strange things at them it's hard to tell what would make sense and what wouldn't.

Clint is right. He's just got to concentrate on something that will make him happy. Like he'd said earlier--plants. Books. Talks about the magical world, just beyond his fingertips.

"I'm happy I'm here. I think I am, anyway. Even if I miss Modesty."

That, at least, Clint's got to agree with. They never know what's coming next here, no matter how well they think they've figured things out. Clint's self-aware enough to know that what he knows about this place is just a drop in the bucket compared to what he wants to know about this place, so while he's ready to declare some things "unlikely" he's not about to say anything's impossible.

"Might be. Might be we'll all turn into birds tomorrow and fly away - wouldn't be any weirder than a lot of things we've gone through around here." Okay, maybe a little weirder. He's not exactly the most imaginative guy around, but when he gets going, Clint can come up with weird, weird ideas.

Still, Credence seems to be... drifting a little, and that's not what Clint wants to see. Not that he thinks Credence is about to go smoke monster again and smash another building, far from it, but because it's really easy to get caught in the spiral of thinking about certain things over and over again when you're in a drifting mood. He's done it himself; while Credence isn't him, obviously, keeping him focused on a real, actual thing, is probably best. So he doesn't comment on the uncertain statement that Credence thinks he's happy here, and just asks the next logical question. "Who's Modesty?" And who still names their kid Modesty?

Turning to birds? It makes him smile, just a moment, just a flicker. That's an idea he likes, turning into something he isn't, escaping things. He wonders if there's something like that in the magical world.

Probably.

"Oh--I'm sorry, I should have explained earlier. Modesty's my sister." And he cares for her more than anything, now more than ever, after leaving her behind in that dilapidated apartment. He nods, more to himself, than anything.

"She's the youngest, she's 9, and then Chastity is 15. Do you have siblings?"

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And I feel the light for the very first time;

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