Work Text:
Credence was raised to help.
It was one of the only things he nearly enjoyed doing. Nearly. When he was making soup for the orphans, helping mend their clothes, soothing the ones who cried after Mary Lou’s sermons, that was when he felt some level of peace. Even when he was tasked with handing out flyers, or picking more up from the printers, he had his time to wander the city on his own.
He helps, he looks after things. This was the payment for the debt he had owed Mary Lou for taking him in.
Now, Credence knows he owed her nothing. Nothing but pain and fear. He understands that.
But he owes Newt. He understands that too.
Every day, he owes Newt. Every day he struggles to make it up. It’s a tally in his mind, carved into his heartbeat. A list that grows with his every breath.
Newt took him away from New York. Newt gave him a place to stay in a magic world hidden from other people. Newt showed him creatures that wizards were afraid of, that could be dangerous or deadly when frightened, and showed him how gentle they could be when they were understood. Newt helped Credence get a wand, stayed patient and encouraging when the brittle wood would only shatter in his hand. Newt grinned bright and wild like the sun when Credence waved his hands and felt the magic answer his call easier without the wand.
Newt makes him feel human. Newt doesn’t push, he lets Credence set his own pace for everything. Newt gives him a quick smile every morning, like he’s honestly glad to see Credence up. Newt lets Credence curl against him in quiet moments when all he needs in the world is to hear someone breathing and feel a steady heartbeat. Newt tells him he never has to do things he doesn’t want to, unaware that Credence would want to walk through Mary Lou’s burning hell if Newt asked him to.
And he tries. Credence tries to do what he can. He works with the creatures. He makes extra salves and restoratives when he sees Newt handling deadly things like they were puppies. He watches Newt go through the days in a flurry, flipping a time turner over and over to make sure every creature is cared for. He finds way to shove food into Newt’s never-still hands, to take on whatever extra work he can.
And he loves it, loves every moment of it. Loves the routine of the feeding and cleaning wild beasts that could, if they chose, tear them both apart. He loves the quick, grateful twists of a smile Newt will dart at him and the tired way Newt will chuckle in understanding when Credence wordlessly pushes a cup of tea his way.
But then Newt will sip it, look concerned and ask if Credence is working too hard. He will assure Credence that none of this is necessary, that he’s just glad to have someone around who lets him babble at them. Newt laughs and asks how Credence puts up with him, and Credence wants to scream as the stack of debt piles back up against him.
He sees moments. When Newt looks at a picture, when someone asks about the war, when schools are brought up. Credence sees Newt go quiet, sees him look down and close in on himself. It’s moments where Credence wants to go and soothe as well as Newt can soothe him. He wants to draw Newt out, to make whatever the hurt is go away.
He wants to find whatever caused the hurt in the first place and rip it apart.
Every time, Newt will give him a quick, sad smile and tell him everything is fine. Credence doesn’t need to worry about him. It was nobody, it was nothing, things change, people change, it’s alright.
Or it’s like today, when Newt is a blur of activity and, on seeing Credence drop one bucket, stopped everything to hurry him over to the workroom table and sit down. A cup of overbrewed coffee sits in front of Credence, and Newt still hasn’t gotten any magic that can make a decent cup of coffee, but he still tries making it for Credence every morning while muttering about the vile stuff.
He does so much, and Credence could never hope to keep up, could never get out from under the shadow cast by Newt’s light.
The mug of coffee sits between where Credence’s hands rest on the wood. It cracks with a large popping sound and sends a pool of burned black liquid over the table. Credence watches it silently, and keeps watching it when Newt freezes and turns slowly to look at the mess. Newt’s eyes are on him, even as he slowly pulls out his wand and waves it in the direction of the shattered pottery in front of Credence.
“Repar-”
“Don’t.” Credence whispers. His fingers twitch, and the coffee pulls from the table to pour back into the mug reforming in front of him.
Silence settles for several heartbeats, then Newt moves carefully towards the table and sits opposite him, hands folded stiffly on the wood.
“You’re upset.”
“I’m fine.” Credence grits, staring at the coffee so he doesn’t need to see the raw concern he knows is in Newt’s eyes. Newt doesn’t say anything, but Credence doesn’t miss the way Newt pointedly runs a finger through a bead of coffee still left on the table.
“Did you sleep alright?” Newt asks, with his voice that soft and gentle coaxing tone he gets sometimes. Usually, Credence sways towards that voice. Usually it makes him want to tuck himself against Newt’s back while Newt works on some part of his manuscript, or to rest his head on Newt’s shoulder until the hot rage in him subsides.
Newt would let him. Newt would tense only briefly before slowly easing up and would just let him. He would let Credence do whatever Credence needed to, and not ask anything in return.
“Credence?” Newts breathes. So softly. So tenderly and with such concern that Credence feels his heart twist in a hot vice.
“You won’t let me do anything!” Credence snaps, and the mug shatters again, sending bits of pottery dancing across the table with a wave of already ruined coffee. Newt springs back in surprise, avoiding the drips of coffee that make it to his side of the table, and then just stands there. Only stands there, staring blank and wide eyed at a wall as Credence grips his hair and tries to remember how to breathe properly.
“I- I didn’t. Is that-?” Newt stammers, and when Credence looks up he sees the man trembling slightly, still looking at some point behind Credence’s shoulder. “I didn’t realize. If-…do I make you feel trapped here?”
When Credence raises his eyes more, Newt is looking back at him with such a wide eyed hurt that it makes Credence feel more miserable than he did before.
“You could…you could go whenever you like.” Newt says, chin jerking down and to the side. “I didn’t want you to feel trapped or-”
“I don’t want to go.” Credence would rip his skin off his bones before leaving.
He hates the way Newts hand shakes slightly as the man slowly sits back down, fingers tapping out a nervous beat on the table. Credence hates that he knows that the tapping means that Newt feels overwhelmed and lost.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I know.”
Tap-tap-taptap-tap-taptap.
“Credence…what’s wrong?”
“You’re so…good.” Credence tries, unable to find the words to capture just how good Newt is. “You always. You’re always worried about me. Always trying to take care of me.”
Tap-tapatapa-taptap.
“I….don’t understand.” Newt says, frowning at his twitching fingers. “You want me to…not be nice?”
“I keep trying to return it. I try to help. I want to help.”
“You help all the time.”
“You don’t let me help you when you’re hurt.”
Newt snorts. “I can’t get a papercut without you forcing me to put something on it.”
“Not that kind of hurt.”
The tapping stops.
“Credence…you don’t need to worry-”
“But I do.”
The tapping starts back up, and Newt’s jaw is tense as he stares at the wall again.
“Something happened in the war.” Credence says softly, watching his finger draw aimless patterns in the spilled coffee. “With the dragons. I know it did, because you never talk about it and you always talk about your creatures. I know every story about Frank but I don’t know what your dragons names were.”
“Credence-” Newt interrupts, voice strained.
“Something happened at school. Or kept happening. You only say you were expelled, and you mention you had a friend, but I don’t know their name.”
“Credence you have so much on your shoulders you shouldn’t worry about-”
“But I do!” Credence snaps, looking up hard at Newt and not looking away. “I worry! I want to try to help you the way you help me! I owe you-”
Newts eyes go hard, and he’s sitting straight up with his jaw clenched. “You don’t owe anyone anything. People don’t, they don’t work like that. Kindness isn’t a favor to be returned or an obligation, Credence.”
“Why won’t you let me?” Credence asks, ignoring everything in Newts words except the very plain fact that Newt is keeping up a solid wall. Newt looks back down at the table, tapping the rhythm only he knows into the wood.
“I’m not sure, honestly.” He finally says. And even with that little bit, Credence feels something ease from him. The coffee mug reforms again, though this time he just sends the ruined drink itself outside.
“I just want to help sometimes. Because I want to.”
Newt watches his tapping finger, shoulders hunched around himself as he breathes.
“Alright.”