Chapter Text
When Credence opened his eyes, he was lying in an alleyway. He couldn't feel his hands, yet he grasped wildly to feel if all his limbs were there. Legs, feet, eyes, nose, mouth, ears. His whole body ached, especially his chest. Above his head, the sky rumbled and groaned. It was going to downpour. His hands shook as he felt the holes torn in his clothes. He tried to think of where he could go, if anyone would help him. He thought of his mother, lying dead in their church, and his older sister, crushed in the rubble. He thought of Modesty, crying in her childhood home at the mention of Credence's name.
Modesty
The only person Credence knew who loved him unconditionally, who didn't think he was a freak, left alone to die in a crumbling brick building. Credence had to find her. He staggered to his feet, stumbling into the street. He soon realized that he stood only a few hundred feet away from the subway that they had tried to kill him in. He looked around wildly, blood running from his nose sluggishly. Credence! He heard it, it was Newt, the man coming up from the subway and yelling towards him. Before Credence knew what he was doing, Credence was running away. His body ached and begged him to stop, but he was terrified. He couldn't remember the fine details, he couldn't think clearly at all. All he could feel was pain, and all he could think of was his baby sister, who had tried to take their mother's beating for him, who would hold his hand and hug him. He had to find her.
He dashed through the back alleys, trying to find his way to Modesty's childhood home, where he hoped she would still be. He turned corners and climbed up over cement walls. He felt superhuman, his body was doing things he never thought that he could do. He ran on autopilot, his mind taking him quickly through the backstreets. He had known them so well with all of the encounters between him and Mr. Graves. He thought of when Mr. Graves slapped him, when Graves told him he was unteachable. Credence's blood boiled. I thought you were different.
His nose still bled and his lungs burned as he sprinted up the street to where he hoped Modesty would be. The house was in shambles, and his face felt wet. His nails black, caked in dirt, rose to touch his own cheek. He was sobbing. He scrambled up the fallen steps just as it began to rain, and shoved the door down with the shoulder that hurt less. "Modesty," He screamed, and he sobbed. The stairs weren't safe by any means, and there was dust and rubble covering every surface. "Modesty," He called again, climbing the uneven stairs. One gave out, and he managed to catch himself. Pulling himself back up, his hip caught a nail, ripping a shallow gash on his left side. He didn't feel it.
When he got to the top of the stairs, he saw that the house was missing most of its roof. "Modesty," He called, his ears ringing, still sobbing. He fell to the unsteady floor, crumpled in on himself.
"Credence?" He heard it, it was soft. Credence thought of what it must have looked like to Modesty, his whole body scattering into airborne black ink. Modesty, so young, must have been so scared. He followed the sound of her voice, climbing over the broken walls that he had destroyed in front of Mr. Graves. She was under the desk, still, curled up and crying.
Credence was made of more than nightmares. Bleeding, broken, dirty, crying. He fell to his knees in front of her and held his arms out. There was no hesitation, she fell into them. He held her closely, his blackened hand caressing her blonde, angelic hair. Maybe he should have stopped crying, and told her everything would be alright. He didn't. Sitting down so he could stretch out his bruised and tired legs, he cradled Modesty's head against his sore collarbones. Modesty was crying too, and she bled from a cut on the right side of her forehead. Credence ripped off his tie to wipe the blood off her temple.
"I thought you were dead." She kept telling him, her small fragile hands gripping onto his torn black waistcoat. They stayed like that for hours, and it was not soon that they were able to stop crying, but eventually they did. All Credence could think was, Mom is dead. Chastity is dead. Where are we going to live?
Modesty was half asleep on his chest. Adrenaline gone, Credence realized how much pain he was in. His whole body was on fire, but he still held Modesty close. "Will you sing to me, Credence?" She asked him. Rain still poured and thundered.
When Modesty would have nightmares, Credence sang hymns for her. Hymns were all he knew, as they were not allowed to listen to the radio. They would only sing during Christmas, but Credence knew many of them by heart. When he was younger, Mary Lou had forced him to memorize hymns and full bible verses, to repeat when she had told him he needed to repent.
"When I get weary with toils of the day," Credence sang, voice barely above a whisper. "Off in the secret I kneel and pray. There I can hear my Lord sweetly say, 'Come closer, my child, to me.'
When all around in this cold, dark land
Nothing encourages me to stand,
Jesus says, holding me by the hand,
'Come closer, my child, to me.
When in afflictions I suffer long,
Jesus comes bringing this lovely song:
'Trust in my grace, and you shall be strong,
'Come closer, my child, to me.'
When I am meeting with trials severe,
When I am parting with loved ones here,
Looking to Jesus, his voice I can hear:
'Come closer, my child, to me.'"
Credence was tired, so tired. The room they were in was cold, Credence could hear the rain and wind outside, but they were both dry. Modesty was asleep soundly, completely limp in his arms. For a moment he imagined that is what she would've looked if he had killed her. Tears burned his eyes. How lucky they were that Modesty wasn't crushed along with the rubble, both in their church and at her childhood home. Credence closed his eyes and laid his head back against the desk Modesty had been hiding under. He fell asleep.
Credence woke not much later to the sound of debris moving and people talking. He immediately was put on edge, Who is there? It could be Graves. Credence didn't know what had become of Mr. Graves after the other wizards tried to kill him. Would Graves want revenge? To come back and take Credence, kill Modesty now that he knew that Credence was the Obscural? Credence picked Modesty up, and she began to awake. "Credence, what is happening?" He sat her on the desk and stood in front of her, using himself as a human shield. He felt his Obscural underneath his skin, ready to rip out and kill Graves the moment that he would step foot in front of them.
"Who's there?" Credence's voice shook. The voices came closer, up the stairs, until he could see what he thought were flashlights. Two figures came into view. It was the wizards from the subway who tried to help him, their wands lit up to show them the way.
Tina and Newt slowly approached them. "Credence," Tina spoke softly, just like how she did in his dreams. Credence dreamed of her often. In those dreams, she would use her wand to make his mother go away. She would hold him and tell him that he was safe. "We're here to help you. Are you okay?" Her voice was non judgmental, non accusing. He remembered hearing her when he was smothered in black, reaching, searching. She was genuinely worried.
"My sister," Credence croaked, stepping aside. "She needs help. Food, water, and bandages. Please."
Tina and Newt approached them cautiously. Credence picked Modesty up into his shaking arms, and he flinched when Tina gently held his bicep. Soon, they were no longer in the abandoned home. Tina had apparated them across town, into her own apartment.
It was bright and warm. Credence's bones ached, and he was surrounded by what he thought was the most delicious smelling food cooking. There was a blonde woman in the kitchen, and soon he found that Modesty was the one comforting him now.
"It's okay." Modesty told him, as the blonde woman, Queenie was her name, went to take Modesty into the bedroom to give her new clothes. "I'll be right back." So sure of herself like always, so strong. Strong enough for the both of them, just like always. Credence thought, I'm a fool, she never was weak.
Credence sat at Tina's kitchen table, and Newt sat with him. "How are you feeling?" Newt asked, and Credence didn't know how to answer. His whole body was sore, and he could feel that his side was still bleeding.
"I'm fine." He told Newt, who looked at him disbelievingly.
"Can I check you over? Credence, you're safe here. If you need help, I can heal you." He told him. There was a comfort that Newt had, unlike Tina's, but just as welcoming. Credence, after hesitating a moment, nodded and stood. Newt quickly found the gash on his side, and carefully mended the wound. Soon Newt had taken him into his suitcase and given him some of his own clothing, a pair of brown trousers that laid loose on Credence's thin hips, and a thick, mustard yellow sweater that hung from Credence's shoulders like a wet blanket. If Newt realized how underfed Credence was, how shallow his cheekbones were, or how paper thin his skin was, he did not mention it. The only clothing item that had survived the night, without ruin, were Credence's shoes.
Credence stared in amazement at the scene around himself, wondering what else could be possible for him if magic could make an entire world inside a suitcase. "If you and Modesty want to, you can stay here with me." Newt told him softly, watching as Credence took in the world around him. "Of course you don't have to, if you don't want to."
"You'd let us stay here?" Credence whispered, feeling the Obscural twist around in his chest. They had nowhere else to go, their home destroyed and family dead. All because of me, Credence thought, his chest suddenly hollow.
"Of course, Credence. It's completely up to you." Newt answered, walking up to him slowly. He had taken off his coat a while ago, and stood before Credence in black trousers, a white shirt and tan vest. Credence took another long look at the scene around him and nodded slowly.
"Please."