Credence picks up the pieces of what he’s done.
Chasing Hope
Chapter 1
Credence isn’t sure how long he sat in the alley, behind the dumpsters,
near a pile of something unmentionable that smelled like sin. He feels stiff,
every joint aching, every muscle cramping – and yet at the same time it feels
like any moment he could fall apart again, just split along the seams of his
jacket and float away.
It’s always hard to put himself together afterwards, but this time felt
the worst. This time he had to actually draw pieces of himself together
before he could even attempt a body, and it still feels like bits of him are
missing. And maybe they are.
Those Wizards and Witches… they destroyed chunks of him. And he’s not
going to get them back.
It should probably hurt more. But all he feels is stiff and achy, and he
can’t feel anything. Everything is shrouded in mist, like he’s standing in the
middle of a empty, destroyed street, and everything is covered fog. There is
Mr. Graves, holding a wand and telling him he smells like Squib. There are
wizards, standing in a group, aiming wands at him, shooting lighting and fire
at him. There is…
There is Modesty screaming where she’s trying to hide from him. There is
Chastity, thrown against the wall as he passed her by. There is the church,
crumbling in his wake.
Credence bows his head. He thinks he’s cold, and so he hugs his knees to
himself – but it’s not cold. He can’t feel temperature at all. By now the
backside of his trousers should be getting cold and wet from whatever he was
sitting on, but he can’t feel it. He can’t feel anything past the visceral
sensation of being stuck in a body that he isn’t sure has ever managed to stand
up straight.
No, he did stand up. Before. When Mr. Graves had been attempting to
apologise, telling him he had control. Credence said he didn’t want to – and
then he stood up straight. It… hurt more than he thought it would. But maybe
that was just Mr. Graves.
Somehow, thinking Mr. Graves has always hurt.
Taking a deep breath, Credence squeezes his legs and then, on the slow
exhale, relaxes. Then, clumsy, he unfolds himself and slowly stands up,
slightly shaking hand taking support of the dirty brick wall behind him. Each
move that straightens him out sends a trembling echo of pain across him, and it
helps him settle.
This is what it is to be human, to have a body. To have limits.
The other thing, the Obscurus – it doesn’t really have any.
His back aching and his toes numb, Credence sets out of the alley and
into the street beyond.
-
Credence finds Modesty first. She’s still where he last saw him, hiding
under collapsed piece of a wall, barely supported by broken furniture. She’s
out of it, unconscious or just asleep, he doesn’t know – but she’s breathing,
barely audible little snuffles against her arms. She looks exhausted.
She doesn’t stir when he gathers her from the rubble, lifting her up in
his arms. She’s surprisingly light, all things considered. Or maybe he’s
stronger than he’d assumed – he isn’t sure. She doesn’t weight much, in any
case, and as her head rolls to his shoulder Credence turns to leave the ruined
building.
“Mother?” she whisperers against his neck.
“Mother’s gone,” Credence answers. He’s sure about that at
least – he remembers her, twisting in his hold, her skin growing cold, leaching
of life. Years he had dream and hoped and prayed that one day she would
just wake up dead and he’d be free and she never had – and then, because of
him, she was gone. And it was terribly easy.
Modesty goes still in his arms. “Credence?” she asks, and her
voice trembles.
“I’m sorry Moddy,” Credence murmurs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t
– I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sorry. I just. Mother –”
Mother had wanted to beat her. It never happened before – Credence had
always made sure to be there, to assume any blame that should’ve fallen onto
his sisters, and then, then… Modesty had brought in a toy wand. Mother would’ve
killed her for it.
“I didn’t want you hurt,” Credence mutters. Mother wasn’t
supposed to hurt the girls – she never did and she wasn’t supposed to start
then and… he just couldn’t.
Modesty is stiff in his arms as Credence steps out onto the street. Then
she curls up tight, tucking her face under his chin. “Where’s
Cassie?” she asks in weak little whimper.
“I don’t know. Let’s go find her,” Credence says, and sets his
steps towards the church. He doesn’t let Modesty down, and she doesn’t ask to
be released.
-
The church is in ruins. Credence fights a weird mixture of horrified
dismay and relieved satisfaction at the sight of it. Only the side wall is left
standing, where the old chimney makes it thicker and supports it – everything
else has been brought down. It’s a mess of bricks and ceiling tiles and dust
and utterly, irreversibly ruined.
He’d done that.
There are a lot of gawkers near by – mostly neighbourhood kids. The
morning is dawning now, and they’re the usual crowd that gathers there in hopes
of a early breakfast at the church. Now they gather in groups, whispering in
dismay and horror and little bit of glee, wondering what had happened. Maybe it
was a earth quake, maybe it was a gas pipe – maybe it was a witch.
“Mr. Credence,” one of them says, recognizing him. “Mr.
Credence, what happened? Where’s Mother Barebone?”
“Dead,” Credence answers and Modesty takes a breath that’s too
sharp and too quick to be anything but a sob. “There’s nothing here. Run
along.”
They don’t, of course, withdrawing into their little groups, whispering
and pointing. Credence ignores them and wades into the destruction, looking,
desperately, for any sign of Chastity.
He knows where Mother is, and avoids that sport like the plague in his
search.
Modesty stirs in his arms after a while and then points.
“There,” she says.
“Sure?” Credence asks and she nods. Nodding back, he heads to
where she’s pointing and there, finally, sets her down on a pile of cracked
ceiling tiles and bricks. She’s watched silently as he digs into the pile,
pushing aside bits of wood and rubble and then he sees a pale hand.
Chastity is unconscious. She’d hidden under the stairs when everything
had started collapsing, and the stairs – before they too had collapsed – had
sheltered her a little. There is a bruise on her forehead one of her ankles is
in awful angle, swollen in it’s shoe. Credence pulls her out awkwardly and then
inspects the ankle. It’s broken.
She doesn’t wake up when he works the shoe off her foot, even though it
must hurt.
“Is she going to be okay?” Modesty asks, looking between
Chastity’s pale face, and Credence’s.
Credence doesn’t answer – he doesn’t know. Instead he thinks desperately
of what to do. Take her to a doctor,
maybe? They don’t have money and no one will help them without, especially not
with who they are. No one in the neighbourhood likes them much – those Weird
Salem Church People are known fairly wide across the city and Mother hadn’t
made very many friends with her sermons. Even with Mother gone…
Credence supports Chastity up and then tries to lift her into his arms,
the way he did Modesty. Chastity is older, however, and weighs more and what
strength Credence found in carrying Modesty isn’t enough. After a moment, he
shifts so that he can carry her in his back instead, giving the unconscious
girl an awkward piggyback ride.
Her foot hands in front of him, angle of the ankle wrong, swelling more
as he watches.
“Take her shoe,” Credence says, and Modesty picks it up,
clutching onto it fearfully.
“Where are we going to go?” Modesty asks quietly.
Credence hesitates and then remembers. That man, before. I’m here to
help you. I’m not here to hurt you.
He bows his head, biting his lip. Even
Mr. Graves had never promised that. Mr. Graves had promised to help him if he
helped Mr. Graves in return – telling him that freedom and security were things
you had to work for, to earn, all the while telling Credence was doing a good
job, all the while telling him to do more, all the while never… That man, from
before, he’d just promised, not speaking of ifs and when – he’d just promised.
He’d seemed so earnest – and so terribly
sad when it was all over.
Credence takes a breath and then looks
down on Modesty. “This way,” he says, and hugging Chastity’s shoe
close Modesty follows him across the rubble their home had become, and then
away.
-
The walk seems longer with Chastity’s
weight on his back – it seems to drag on for ever and she seems tiny bit
heavier with every step. The fact that she doesn’t wake even when he stumbles
worries him, but he keeps going. He doesn’t know what else to do, but keep
going.
He takes his sisters where it all
happened. In the subway.
The wizards are all gone now, and the
whole place looks good as new – or at least, as good at it had before he’d
destroyed most of it. The memory makes him shudder a little and he takes a seat
on a bench, letting Chastity down there. How they’d trapped him inside he
doesn’t know, but it was one of the worst feelings he’d ever felt and he isn’t
sure if it’s even safe, here… but he doesn’t know where else to go.
“Why are we here?” Modesty
asks.
“I’m hoping… someone will
come,” Credence admits as he eases Chastity down on her back and examines
the ankle. It looks terrible but he doesn’t dare to do anything about it in the
fear of making it worse – so he just lays it out.
“Who?”
He looks at her, at the way she’s still
hugging the shoe. “A wizard,” he then admits.
It’s almost fascinating, watching the
emotions flitter on her face – dismay and terror and confusion and unease.
Wizard isn’t a word Mother often used – her crusade was always against witches
but wizard was still a magical word, for magical people, and therefore utterly
unnatural.
“Why?” Modesty finally asks,
her voice shaking as she trembles on the edge of backing away from him and
running away.
“Because… because he promised to
help,” Credence sighs and sits on his knees beside the bench, turning his
eyes to Chastity. She’s so pale. “And I don’t think anyone else
would.”
“But… a wizard… that’s bad,”
Modesty says slowly.
“Mother was bad,” Credence
answers and she doesn’t have much to say to that.
They wait in silence after that.
-
Credence is nodding off when arrival of
a train rattles him awake. Modesty is curled against his side and she almost
jumps out of her skin, and together they stare at the subway train barrelling
past them on the tracks, filling the subway tunnel with smoke and heat.
It pulls to a grinding, noisy halt in
front of them.
“Are we going in?” Modesty
asks.
“No, we haven’t the money,”
Credence answers and wraps an arm around her before looking back at Chastity.
Still unconscious, but still breathing. Reaching out, he runs a hand over her
cheek – she feels cold.
“Credence, I’m hungry,”
Modesty admits quietly.
“Me too,” Credence admits with
a sigh and pulls her into his lap before looking around in the subway. There
are few people there, keeping their distance on them – couple five them nasty
looks, one women visibly sniffing in disgust. They much look like street
urchins, Credence muses, while watching them enter the train past the people
exiting it.
“We'll… wait few more hours and
then…” Credence trails away, unsure. Then what – head home? Their home was
rubble. They had no money, he couldn’t even buy food for his sisters. They could
maybe go to the police, or wait until authorities decided to investigate the
church collapse – but what would that help? At most they’d take look at Modesty
and send her to an orphanage, maybe Chastity too though she was already
fifteen. And him…
He was twenty one. No one would help
him. He was supposed to able to help himself – and he wasn’t.
“Credence that man is staring at
us,” Modesty whispers and Credence looks up, irrationally fearing he’d
find Mr. Graves there.
It’s not.
It’s a man with a blue coat and leather
suitcase who stares at them with mouth slightly ajar – he’d just stepped out of
the train and now he’s blocking the way the for the rest of the passengers who
shove past him in irritation.
“Credence,” the man murmurs
with shock and then stumbles forward.
Credence hugs Modesty closer for a
moment, not sure what he was scared of, only that he wasn’t. the man stops few
steps away, safe distance, and sets his suitcase down. His hands are empty. “Credence,”
the man says again, crouching down, glancing at Modesty, at Chastity and then
at him again. “Are you alright?”
“My sister has a broken ankle and
she won’t wake up,” Credence says and swallows all the things, bitter and
terrible and hopeful, he wants to say. “W-will you help us? Please?”
“Yes,” the man says, and his
lower lip trembles a little. “Yes, yes of course. Of course I will
help.”
Credence breathes a little easier at
that, but Modesty is still in his arms, staring. “Are you a wizard?”
the girl asks warily.
“Well, yes, I’m afraid I am,”
the man admits. “My name is Newt Scamander. And you are?”
“Modesty,” she says.
“And this is Chastity,”
Credence adds, nodding at the elder of his two sisters. “I – she… she got
hurt because of me.”
Mr. Scamander nods slowly. “Can I
take a look at her?”
Behind him, the train’s doors are shut
and it lets out a hiss of steam and smoke before slowly starting to roll
forward, a heavy lumbering weight. Moment later, a whistle blows and the train
picks up speed. The noise is terrible – but soon the train is gone and aside
from the people still hurrying for the stairs, they’re alone.
Credence nods and slowly Mr. Scamander
comes closer. Modesty gasps when the man takes out a wand, and the wizard
almost jumps with alarm, fiddling with the wand handle nervously before
steeling himself. He waves it, almost artfully elegant, over Chastity.
“She’s gotten a terrible knock to
her head and her ankle is broken – some scrapes on her left knee, some bruises…
nothing life threatening, aside from the concussion,” the man murmurs,
waving his wand over the cuts and bruises and making them vanish. Then, as
Credence watches closely, he swipes his wand tip along the leg of Chastity’s
stocking, splitting it open. Very gentle, he eases the fabric aside to reveal
the swollen ankle. It’s going yellow and purple.
Modesty draws a breath and Credence’s
stomach clenches. The wizard hums thoughtfully and draws a circular motion over
the ankle with his wand. Something happens then under Chastity’s skin – the
swelling goes down, the purple fades – and then there is a terrible snap
as the ankle rights itself.
“Does that hurt – does it hurt when
you do that?” Modesty asks.
“It would, if she was awake –
unconscious she won’t feel a thing,” the wizard promises, running his wand
over the ankle again before nodding and repairing the sock. “It will be a
little tender for a couple of days, but she should be fine. As for the
concussion… hmm…” he turns to them. “Has she vomited?”
Credence shakes his head – there hadn’t
been any when they’d found her. “No, she just won’t wake up.”
“Right,” the wizard answers
and taps Chastity’s forehead with his wand. “And how long has she been
unconscious?”
“Since… since yesterday. It was
couple of hours before…” Credence looks at the subway station.
“Before this place.”
“Alright. Well, she doesn’t have a
scull facture and her nervous system doesn’t seem interrupted. She’s just
knocked out – and I’d rather let her rest it off and come to on her own,”
Mr. Scamander says. “If she doesn’t wake up before evening, however, I
will ennervate her. Now,” he turns to look at Credence and Modesty.
“Are you two alright?”
Modesty shakes her head. “I’m
fine,” she says a little defiantly.
“Our home…” Credence starts to
say, but then can’t finish, his shoulders slumping a little. “We don’t
have a place to go. There’s nothing, there’s no one who would…”
Mr. Scamander’s face is full of sadness.
“Alright,” he says very gently. “Do you want to come with me,
then? I am staying with couple of friends I made, and I’m sure they wouldn’t
mind. They’d be at work right now too, so it would be just us for a little
while.”
Modesty bites her lip and looks up to
Credence who just nods. It’s not as if he could offer them anything better.
“Please,” he just says, and it sounds pathetic even to his ears.
Mr. Scamander just nods and stands up
again. “I can’t apparate all three of you,” he says apologetically.
“And it’s bit of a way there. Are you good to walk?”
“We’ll manage,” Credence says
and pushes at Modesty gently until she gets up from his lap. Then, with his
knees cracking with the effort, he gets up from the subway floor and turns to
Chastity. She’s still heavy – but at least now her broken ankle isn’t a
constant reminder of what he’d done to her.
Modesty eases Chastity’s shoes back on,
binding the strap before stepping beside credence and holding onto his sleeve.
They turn to Mr. Scamander who gathers his suitcase from the floor. Nervous and
little helpless, they follow the wizard out of the subway – and probably, from
the life they’d known.
-
The place Mr. Scamander takes them is
lovely and homely in way neither Credence or Modesty have ever known. The wall
papers are neat and beautiful, the furniture is neat and unstained – there are
warm lamps and soft carpets and the chairs by the small dinner table are
comfortable.
Mr. Scamander leads Credence to a
bedroom with two beds. “Let’s make your sister comfortable, shall
we,” he says and helps Credence lay her down comfortably. While the wizard
takes out a blanket, Credence takes off Chastity’s shoes and lays her now two healthy
feet gently down. She still looks so pale,
“Is she really going to be
alright?” Credence whispers.
“She’ll be fine, never fear,”
Mr. Scamander promises and spreads out a blanket over Chastity. Then he takes
out a wand and waves it over her forehead. “She should be waking up
soon.”
Credence nods and tries to believe him.
“I’m hungry,” Modesty murmurs
in the doorway, sounding petulant and embarrassed.
“Let’s see about getting you
something to eat, then,” Mr. Scamander says, and after a hesitant glance
at Credence, pushes past him. Credence follows after a while – but he leaves
the door open, just in case.
Getting something to eat in a
wizard’s house apparently is a terribly magical affair. While Modesty stares in
horrified wonder, Mr. Scamander whips ingredients in the air haphazardly, the
carrots, onion and celery chopping themselves by some invisible force before
mixing themselves with spices and bits of chicken, and then there is a bubble
of water, floating up.
All the ingredients, somehow, mix themselves
into a soup mid air, and then there are plates flying about, conducted by
flicks of Mr. Scamander’s wand. They set themselves on the table before Mr.
Scamander divides the mass of floating food and dishes just enough soup on
every plate – and suddenly, the room smells like chicken soup.
Credence opens his mouth and closes it.
Modesty lets out a small, distressed noise and clutches onto his hand and they
just stare. Mr. Scamander turns to them, looking a little surprised. “Oh,
sorry – the Goldsteins don’t have any pots or pans here,” Mr. Scamander
says apologetically. “I’m not as good at backing with magic as they are,
but I can manage a soup. Um… please. Take a seat.”
It feels like he’s pushing through a
very real physical barrier, when Credence takes a step forward and stumbles
onto a chair. Modesty clutches to his side, her face pale and eyes wide and she
just keeps on staring at Mr. Scamander.
“I… promise you it’s edible?”
Mr. Scamander offers uneasily, fiddling with his wand for a moment before
taking a seat himself. “Please try it?”
Credence takes a spoon in somewhat lax
fingers and dips it into the soup – and it is… just soup. “Can… can all
wizards do that?”
“Well it takes a bit of
practice,” Mr. Scamander admits, putting his wand away. “I’m not very
good at it – I’ll be more likely to just make myself a sandwich than actually
cook, usually I don’t even have the ingredients for cooking, but… I don’t think
the Goldstein sisters will mind me using theirs.”
The spoon shakes a little as Credence
lifts it to his lips. Modesty watches him, her eyes even wider as Credence eats
the first spoonful. It’s salty but… recognizably chicken soup. He nods to his
sister, who hesitates a moment longer before she too, takes a seat.
It’s impossible to hide how shaky it all
makes them feel. Mr. Scamander seems to sense it too, and he becomes more and
more awkward by the moment, concentrating onto his own soup uncomfortably.
“Will you tell me what happened?” he then asks, glancing up at
Credence and then away again.
Credence hesitates, staring at the spoon
in his hand. “When Chastity wakes up,” he then says.
“Alright,” the wizard says.
“That’s fine. Understandable.”
Credence nods and continues eating.
Modesty does the same, slowly and hesitantly, the spoon a little too big in her
hand. Her hand is shaking even worse than his is, and judging by the looks of
it, she too feels like every spoonful is some sort of betrayal. Credence isn’t
surprised at all when she starts to sniffle quietly and when she has to wipe at
her eye between every spoonful.
Mr. Scamander looks between them and he
looks almost frightened. “Is – is it bad?” he asks worriedly.
“It’s fine,” Credence says
shakily, and keeps eating.
-
Chastity is confused when she wakes up.
Her eyes wander without catching on anything and for a little while her words
slur. While Credence and Modesty watch, all but wringing their hands, Mr.
Scamander checks her over, aiming a lit wand tip in her eyes, away again, and
then back in, watching how her pupils contract.
“Can you tell me your name?”
Mr. Scamander asks gently.
“C-Chastity,” she answers and
swallows clumsily, her mouth and lips a little loose. “Chastity Barebone.
Hello…”
“Hello Chastity, my name is Newt
Scamander,” the wizard says with a brief smile and taps the wand on her forehead.
“You’re going to be just fine, Chastity. You knocked your head a bit, but
just stay calm and you’ll be right as rain in no time. Are you thirsty at
all.”
“Mm yes,” she says and looks
up, her eyes passing over Credence and Modesty three times before she frowns.
“Credence? Modesty?”
“Hey, Cassie,” Modesty says in
quiet, scared voice.
“It’s going to be alright,
Chastity,” Credence tells her, nervously tugging at the hem of his
sweater, trying to straighten it. It was dirty and dusty and he probably looked
terrible. “It’s going to be alright.”
“My head hurts,” Chastity says
blearily.
“Why does her head hurt?”
Modesty asks worriedly.
“It’s the concussion,” Mr.
Scamander says and stands up. “Just lay back, Chastity, I’ll get you some
water.”
“Shouldn’t we get her food?”
Credence asks under his breath when the wizard comes closer to the doorway.
“Not before we know she can keep
liquid in her,” Mr. Scamander shakes his head, and then gets a pitcher of
water and glass from the living room.
Chastity accepts the glass and drinks in
slow, confused sips, taking strange, aborted breaths between. Credence is
terrified she’ll inhale the water but she doesn’t and after a moment she sets
the glass down. It almost tips over to her lap.
“Where’s Mother?” she asks,
looking up with much sharper eyes. “Credence? Where’s Mother?”
Credence twists the fabric of his
sweater in his hands and it almost tears.
“Mother’s gone,” Modesty says
and her voice trembles before solidifying into something firmer, something
stronger. “She’s gone, Cassie. She’s gone for good.”
Chastity blinks confusedly and looks
down at the glass in her lap. “Good,” she repeats slowly.
“That’s good.”
Mr. Scamander looks between them
uncertainly, as Modesty nods shakily and wipes at her eyes and Credence finds
he can finally breathe again.
- - - -
I want to write Crewt I say - and then I write about the Barebone children. It’s kind of starting to look like I can’t write a story about Credence without including his sisters. And I am most decisively Not Sorry.
Also I really don’t like the name Chasing Hope but I can’t think of a better one. Name suggestions very welcome.