A/N: This ... definitely got away from me somehow. Sorry, guys. Your regularly scheduled filth will resume shortly. _______________
Mr. Grindelwald took Credence back to the church just after dawn. He was wearing his own face when he appeared outside of Mr. Graves’ cell. Credence was relieved to see it. It was confusing, having two Mr. Graves’. Mr. Grindelwald was near Mr. Graves’ age, he thought, but fair where Mr. Graves was dark. He had pale, mismatched eyes and high cheekbones. He looked like one of the strange, fae creatures the Irish dockworkers were always muttering about, or maybe like one of Ma’s witches – the evil kind.
Mr. Grindelwald drank something from the silver flask he kept tucked into one of his jacket pockets. Credence had seen him drinking from it before and assumed contained liquor of some sort, except Mr. Grindelwald’s body shifted until he looked like Mr. Graves. Liquor didn’t do that.
“What should I do?” he asked Mr. Grindelwald.
“Stay,” said Mr. Grindelwald. “Wait for me. I’ll come for you.”
“What about …”
Mr. Grindelwald sighed impatiently. “It’s too soon to tell. I’ll come for you in a week.”
Credence nodded. He wanted to ask if Mr. Grindelwald would take him away if he was with child. Surely Mr. Grindelwald would want to look after his future general? But if Mr. Grindelwald took him away, then who would look after Modesty?
He went up the church steps to face his penance. He’d been out all night; Ma would be furious.
Ma was. She used Credence’s belt on his back, doling out more licks than she ever had before. Credence bit his lip and tried to cry quietly. He was a sinner and he deserved to be punished. He’d let Mr. Graves sodomize him and he’d liked it, liked the way his whole body sang with joy beneath Mr. Graves’ attentions. How could something so sinful feel so good? The Bible said it was wrong.
Mr. Graves said it wasn’t. Credence knew which of the two he’d rather believe, but that was probably stupid. He was a stupid, sinful boy.
Credence carefully pulled his shirt and jacket back on. His union suit stuck to his skin, rubbing against the raw places where the belt had broken his skin.
That was the way of things in the Old Testament. Penance was supposed to be paid in blood. Credence had made penance, but he wasn’t penitent. He had not – he could not – repent the time he’d spent with Mr. Graves. Maybe he really was as wicked and sinful as Ma thought.
Credence went to the water closet down the hall and splashed cold water on his face. Ma didn’t want the good people of New York associating her ministry with crying children unless they were crying tears of joy at her kindness.
“It was wrong of you to stay out all night,” Chastity told him. “Mother was worried sick. We thought you were dead in an alley somewhere.”
“I’m sorry,” Credence told her. He didn’t ask if she was disappointed that he wasn’t dead in an alley somewhere. He didn’t want to know the answer.
“Where were you?” Modesty asked.
Credence opened his mouth to lie and realized that he didn’t have to. Mr. Grindelwald had brought him to Mr. Graves with magic; he had no idea where Mr. Graves actually was.
The thought made him feel strangely sad.
“I don’t know,” he told his sisters. He was glad he didn’t have to lie; Chastity was almost as good as Ma, when it came to sussing out a lie. He thought back to the previous night’s confusion and added, “I was lost.”
Physically, spiritually, emotionally. He was lost. He was still lost now, under the cold, clear light of morning.
Charity sniffed, not notably appeased with his answer.
“Come on,” she said to Modesty. “We have work to do.”
There was nothing else he could do but follow them.
*
Ma was still angry with him at suppertime, which meant half-rations of the gruel and none of the bread. She handed him one of the church’s battered Bibles and told him to feed his soul instead. “Not,” she added, mouth pursed in a thin, disapproving line, “that it will do anything about your sinful nature.”
Credence dropped his gaze and hunched in on himself. “Yes, Ma.”
Ma would know if he didn’t at least try to read it. He flipped through the familiar pages and stopped on the Book of Luke. He traced his fingers over the words and the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favor with God. And behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name Jesus. He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest.
Fear not.
Maybe it made him unworthy, but Credence was afraid. He didn’t know how not to be. He hadn’t been, this morning. He’d woken up feeling safe and warm. He thought it was a dream at first, because the upper floors of the church were drafty and cold and he’d never really felt safe within its walls. And then he tried to get out of bed to start his chores and realized that he was safe and warm, because Mr. Graves had him tucked, careful and protected, into his side, one arm thrown across Credence’s back like a shield. Mr. Graves came awake all at once, rolling off the cot and onto his feet, one hand groping for something – a weapon, maybe – that wasn’t there.
“Really, Percival,” sighed Mr. Grindelwald, strolling down the basement stairs. “Put some clothes on. You’re not an animal.”
“Sorry,” Mr. Graves said, baring his teeth in something not quite like a smile. “It’s a bit hard to remember that, what with the cage and all.” His nudity didn’t seem to bother him, because he took his time putting his clothes back on, like he was daring Mr. Grindelwald to say something about it.
Credence darted a guilty glance at him. Mr. Graves was lean, in a way that reminded Credence of a feral dog. He’d been well muscled once, but now he was pared down to the bone. Still fighting-fit, but only just. There was a starburst of scar tissue along his left shoulder blade, like someone had tried to shoot him in the back. Maybe someone had. Credence hadn’t thought that magical people could be hurt the way ordinary ones could. Mr. Grindelwald and Mr. Graves had both healed his hurts, and surely anyone who could do that could heal their own.
Mr. Graves passed Credence a bundle of his own clothes. They were clean, Credence realized. Probably cleaner than they would be after washing day.
“The cleaning spell’s a simple one,” Mr. Graves said gruffly, by way of explanation.
“You shouldn’t be able to cast even a simple spell behind my wards,” Mr. Grindelwald said. He sounded pleased, rather than annoyed.
“Maybe your wards aren’t as strong as you think they are,” Mr. Graves retorted, turning back to face him.
“Or maybe it’s simply proof that I chose rightly. My general will be unstoppable, with your wandless magic and Credence’s magical reserves at his disposal.”
“My son,” Mr. Graves said, “will never serve you. No Graves ever would.”
Mr. Grindelwald lifted his eyebrows. “Why shouldn’t he?” he inquired. “You did.”
Mr. Graves made a horrible noise of rage and desperation. He slammed into the invisible barrier again, like he wanted to tear it down with his bare hands.
“Come along, Credence,” Mr. Grindelwald said. “It’s time to take you home.”
“Wait,” Mr. Graves snarled. “You bastard, wait –”
Mr. Grindelwald put one hand through the barrier and yanked Credence through, and then they were gone.
Credence thought he could have dismissed the whole thing as a dream. He probably would have, except he ached in unexpected places. He could still remember what it felt like, the stretch of his body giving way for Mr. Graves’ cock, how full he’d felt, like that point of connection was the only important thing in the world. Not even he, sinner that he was, had the imagination for anything like that.
He wondered if he was with child. He didn’t know the first thing about raising children, much less a prophesied one.
He stopped again a little bit farther down the passage. And, behold, thy cousin Elizabeth, she hath also conceived a son in her old age: and this is the sixth month with her, who was called barren. For with God, nothing shall be impossible.
Elizabeth’s son was John the Baptist, who preached Christ’s work and baptized in his name. Not exactly a general, but something close to it.
Credence closed the bible and hoped – prayed – that his own son came to a better end than Elizabeth’s or Mary’s. It was surely blasphemous to think so, and ungrateful besides. Martyrs were blessed and holy, for they demonstrated the true path to God through the strength of their convictions.
Credence didn’t know how to be a parent, but if he was, he thought he would want the same things for his son that he wanted for Modesty: that his son be safe, and protected, and grow to adulthood knowing that he was loved.
Mr. Grindelwald didn’t seem like he put much stock in any of those things. Why would he? They would only make his prophesied general weak. Mr. Grindelwald had no use for sniveling cowards like Credence.
Credence pressed a hand to his stomach, where Mr. Graves had touched him, after, and told him that he would protect them both. Mr. Grindelwald had said it was too soon to tell, but Credence wanted his son to know, just in case.
“I love you,” he whispered. “More than anything. No matter what, I love you.”
FILL: "Nothing Shall Be Impossible" Part 4a/? - Grindelwald + Graves/Credence Breeding Program
_______________
Mr. Grindelwald took Credence back to the church just after dawn. He was wearing his own face when he appeared outside of Mr. Graves’ cell. Credence was relieved to see it. It was confusing, having two Mr. Graves’. Mr. Grindelwald was near Mr. Graves’ age, he thought, but fair where Mr. Graves was dark. He had pale, mismatched eyes and high cheekbones. He looked like one of the strange, fae creatures the Irish dockworkers were always muttering about, or maybe like one of Ma’s witches – the evil kind.
Mr. Grindelwald drank something from the silver flask he kept tucked into one of his jacket pockets. Credence had seen him drinking from it before and assumed contained liquor of some sort, except Mr. Grindelwald’s body shifted until he looked like Mr. Graves. Liquor didn’t do that.
“What should I do?” he asked Mr. Grindelwald.
“Stay,” said Mr. Grindelwald. “Wait for me. I’ll come for you.”
“What about …”
Mr. Grindelwald sighed impatiently. “It’s too soon to tell. I’ll come for you in a week.”
Credence nodded. He wanted to ask if Mr. Grindelwald would take him away if he was with child. Surely Mr. Grindelwald would want to look after his future general? But if Mr. Grindelwald took him away, then who would look after Modesty?
He went up the church steps to face his penance. He’d been out all night; Ma would be furious.
Ma was. She used Credence’s belt on his back, doling out more licks than she ever had before. Credence bit his lip and tried to cry quietly. He was a sinner and he deserved to be punished. He’d let Mr. Graves sodomize him and he’d liked it, liked the way his whole body sang with joy beneath Mr. Graves’ attentions. How could something so sinful feel so good? The Bible said it was wrong.
Mr. Graves said it wasn’t. Credence knew which of the two he’d rather believe, but that was probably stupid. He was a stupid, sinful boy.
Credence carefully pulled his shirt and jacket back on. His union suit stuck to his skin, rubbing against the raw places where the belt had broken his skin.
That was the way of things in the Old Testament. Penance was supposed to be paid in blood. Credence had made penance, but he wasn’t penitent. He had not – he could not – repent the time he’d spent with Mr. Graves. Maybe he really was as wicked and sinful as Ma thought.
Credence went to the water closet down the hall and splashed cold water on his face. Ma didn’t want the good people of New York associating her ministry with crying children unless they were crying tears of joy at her kindness.
“It was wrong of you to stay out all night,” Chastity told him. “Mother was worried sick. We thought you were dead in an alley somewhere.”
“I’m sorry,” Credence told her. He didn’t ask if she was disappointed that he wasn’t dead in an alley somewhere. He didn’t want to know the answer.
“Where were you?” Modesty asked.
Credence opened his mouth to lie and realized that he didn’t have to. Mr. Grindelwald had brought him to Mr. Graves with magic; he had no idea where Mr. Graves actually was.
The thought made him feel strangely sad.
“I don’t know,” he told his sisters. He was glad he didn’t have to lie; Chastity was almost as good as Ma, when it came to sussing out a lie. He thought back to the previous night’s confusion and added, “I was lost.”
Physically, spiritually, emotionally. He was lost. He was still lost now, under the cold, clear light of morning.
Charity sniffed, not notably appeased with his answer.
“Come on,” she said to Modesty. “We have work to do.”
There was nothing else he could do but follow them.
*
Ma was still angry with him at suppertime, which meant half-rations of the gruel and none of the bread. She handed him one of the church’s battered Bibles and told him to feed his soul instead. “Not,” she added, mouth pursed in a thin, disapproving line, “that it will do anything about your sinful nature.”
Credence dropped his gaze and hunched in on himself. “Yes, Ma.”
Ma would know if he didn’t at least try to read it. He flipped through the familiar pages and stopped on the Book of Luke. He traced his fingers over the words and the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favor with God. And behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name Jesus. He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest.
Fear not.
Maybe it made him unworthy, but Credence was afraid. He didn’t know how not to be. He hadn’t been, this morning. He’d woken up feeling safe and warm. He thought it was a dream at first, because the upper floors of the church were drafty and cold and he’d never really felt safe within its walls. And then he tried to get out of bed to start his chores and realized that he was safe and warm, because Mr. Graves had him tucked, careful and protected, into his side, one arm thrown across Credence’s back like a shield. Mr. Graves came awake all at once, rolling off the cot and onto his feet, one hand groping for something – a weapon, maybe – that wasn’t there.
“Really, Percival,” sighed Mr. Grindelwald, strolling down the basement stairs. “Put some clothes on. You’re not an animal.”
“Sorry,” Mr. Graves said, baring his teeth in something not quite like a smile. “It’s a bit hard to remember that, what with the cage and all.” His nudity didn’t seem to bother him, because he took his time putting his clothes back on, like he was daring Mr. Grindelwald to say something about it.
Credence darted a guilty glance at him. Mr. Graves was lean, in a way that reminded Credence of a feral dog. He’d been well muscled once, but now he was pared down to the bone. Still fighting-fit, but only just. There was a starburst of scar tissue along his left shoulder blade, like someone had tried to shoot him in the back. Maybe someone had. Credence hadn’t thought that magical people could be hurt the way ordinary ones could. Mr. Grindelwald and Mr. Graves had both healed his hurts, and surely anyone who could do that could heal their own.
Mr. Graves passed Credence a bundle of his own clothes. They were clean, Credence realized. Probably cleaner than they would be after washing day.
“The cleaning spell’s a simple one,” Mr. Graves said gruffly, by way of explanation.
“You shouldn’t be able to cast even a simple spell behind my wards,” Mr. Grindelwald said. He sounded pleased, rather than annoyed.
“Maybe your wards aren’t as strong as you think they are,” Mr. Graves retorted, turning back to face him.
“Or maybe it’s simply proof that I chose rightly. My general will be unstoppable, with your wandless magic and Credence’s magical reserves at his disposal.”
“My son,” Mr. Graves said, “will never serve you. No Graves ever would.”
Mr. Grindelwald lifted his eyebrows. “Why shouldn’t he?” he inquired. “You did.”
Mr. Graves made a horrible noise of rage and desperation. He slammed into the invisible barrier again, like he wanted to tear it down with his bare hands.
“Come along, Credence,” Mr. Grindelwald said. “It’s time to take you home.”
“Wait,” Mr. Graves snarled. “You bastard, wait –”
Mr. Grindelwald put one hand through the barrier and yanked Credence through, and then they were gone.
Credence thought he could have dismissed the whole thing as a dream. He probably would have, except he ached in unexpected places. He could still remember what it felt like, the stretch of his body giving way for Mr. Graves’ cock, how full he’d felt, like that point of connection was the only important thing in the world. Not even he, sinner that he was, had the imagination for anything like that.
He wondered if he was with child. He didn’t know the first thing about raising children, much less a prophesied one.
He stopped again a little bit farther down the passage. And, behold, thy cousin Elizabeth, she hath also conceived a son in her old age: and this is the sixth month with her, who was called barren. For with God, nothing shall be impossible.
Elizabeth’s son was John the Baptist, who preached Christ’s work and baptized in his name. Not exactly a general, but something close to it.
Credence closed the bible and hoped – prayed – that his own son came to a better end than Elizabeth’s or Mary’s. It was surely blasphemous to think so, and ungrateful besides. Martyrs were blessed and holy, for they demonstrated the true path to God through the strength of their convictions.
Credence didn’t know how to be a parent, but if he was, he thought he would want the same things for his son that he wanted for Modesty: that his son be safe, and protected, and grow to adulthood knowing that he was loved.
Mr. Grindelwald didn’t seem like he put much stock in any of those things. Why would he? They would only make his prophesied general weak. Mr. Grindelwald had no use for sniveling cowards like Credence.
Credence pressed a hand to his stomach, where Mr. Graves had touched him, after, and told him that he would protect them both. Mr. Grindelwald had said it was too soon to tell, but Credence wanted his son to know, just in case.
“I love you,” he whispered. “More than anything. No matter what, I love you.”