Grindelwald appeared thirty seconds later, looking rumpled from sleep and ferociously irritated.
“Crucio,” he hissed.
“Stop,” Credence begged, his voice breaking. “Please.” He crawled out of bed to kneel next to Percival, still looking faintly green and absolutely miserable.
It was possible Graves had not thought this plan through. He hadn’t meant to upset Credence further.
“You are beginning to test my patience, Percival,” Grindelwald hissed. “I thought I’d broken you of this months ago.”
“You didn’t exactly leave me with any way to summon room service, now did you?” Graves said, levering himself into a sitting position with Credence’s help.
“Room service,” snarled Grindelwald.
Well, someone wasn’t a morning person.
“Credence has morning sickness,” Graves informed him. “He needs ginger tea, and dry toast. And an anti-nausea potion, although I can’t recall which ones are safe for pregnant wizards. You should be pleased, it means your general is healthy.”
Grindelwald continued to stare at him in outrage. Graves suspected he was talking himself into an extended torture session at some point in the future. He really hadn’t missed those.
“Light snacks would also be helpful,” Graves continued. “Apples and bananas and carrots and the like. Fresh lemons, too. Cold porridge is better than warm, and it definitely needs honey in it.”
Credence pressed his face against Graves’ back. “Please stop talking about food,” he moaned.
“Warmer clothes and bedding would be helpful, too,” Graves said.
“Is there anything else?” Grindelwald asked, too outraged to be menacing. He sounded more sarcastic than anything else, which Graves found entertaining. “A key to your cell, perhaps? Hot baths? Maybe a new book to read?”
“I wouldn’t say no to any of those things, if they were on offer,” Graves said cheerfully. “But I’ll settle for things Credence can eat.”
Credence made a faint noise of protest. “I don’t want to eat anything ever again,” he muttered, low enough that only Graves heard him.
“You’ve gone out of your mind,” Grindelwald said. “It’s not unexpected, although this particular madness is … unprecedented.”
“That’s a bit insulting, coming from you,” Graves said.
“And insulting my sanity is not likely to get you what you want,” Grindelwald retorted.
Graves sighed. “Valid point. Old habits, and all that. Sorry.”
Grindelwald stared at him, clearly off-kilter. “You’re sorry.”
“For insulting your sanity just now,” Graves clarified. “Not any of the other times. Seeing as I do want something from you at the moment.”
Grindelwald looked like he was still having doubts about Graves’ sanity.
“Look, I’m trying to be helpful here,” Graves said, a bit impatiently. “You want your general to be healthy? I want the same thing for my son. And out of the two of us, who has nieces and nephews and who has no family to speak of? Trust me when I say that I know what I’m talking about.”
“You do seem bizarrely knowledgeable,” Grindelwald conceded. “But what makes you think that dragging me out of bed at an ungodly hour and summoning me like room service was ever going to result in me giving you what you wanted?”
“Because it’s not for me,” Graves pointed out. “It’s for Credence, and your general.”
Grindelwald narrowed his eyes. “It kills you to refer to him as such, doesn’t it?” he asked, all silken menace. “My general. And not your son.”
Fucking hell. Grindelwald was the sort of predator who liked to play with his food. And he said Graves was a savage.
“Yes,” Graves snarled, levering himself to his feet. He helped Credence back into bed when Credence flailed, off-kilter at the loss of support. “Yes, it fucking kills me that my son is your general. I didn’t believe in your bullshit prophecy and now here we are, with two innocent lives on the line. So forgive me for wanting to do whatever it takes to keep those lives safe for as long as I can.”
Grindelwald liked that Graves was angry. He liked that Graves was frustrated and a little despairing; Graves could see it.
Graves could work with that.
“I want Credence to be healthy enough to deliver your general safely,” he said, angry and pleading. “And that means he needs foods he can keep down and more of it than you’ve been giving us. Look at him – it’s been a month of regular meals and he’s still skin and bones. If he doesn’t put on more weight, he’ll die birthing your general and that – Fuck.” He didn’t say that he wouldn’t be able to bear it. He didn’t think he needed to.
“Why, Percival,” Grindelwald purred, the way he always did when he thought he’d gotten what he wanted out of Graves. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and gotten attached.”
“It’d be a waste of resources, if nothing else,” Graves said, averting his gaze. “If our bloodlines are good enough to produce one general, why not another? An heir and a spare, isn’t that what your lot calls it?”
“Don’t pretend you Americans aren’t just as determined to preserve your bloodlines,” Grindelwald scoffed. “And fine. I take your point. It seems a simple enough request. But Percival?”
“Yes?” Graves asked, wary.
“Beg,” Grindelwald commanded, the way he would a dog.
Fucking sadist.
“Please,” Graves said, going to his knees. “Please, make sure Credence and the child get enough to eat. Please, make sure that they’ll both be healthy enough to survive delivery – I beg of you, Grindelwald. Show mercy. They’re innocents. Please.” He looked up at Grindelwald. “I’m begging you on my knees, please show Credence and your general that you can be kind to those you consider your own. If my son is your general, then he’s yours, and as his carrier, Credence is too. You have a responsibility to them both. Please, please, be kind.”
“Oh, very well,” Grindelwald said, with false magnanimity. He waved his hand and cold porridge and fresh fruits appeared from Graves’ larder. “Since you asked so nicely.”
“Thank you,” Graves said, and meant it.
“Percival?” Grindelwald asked, pausing on the way back up the stairs.
“What?” Graves asked.
“The next time you want something from me, do try a little humility first. I think you’ll find it works better than sarcasm.”
“I thought you enjoyed our little tête-à-tête’s,” said Graves.
“Ne spirare,” said Grindelwald.
The last time Grindelwald had done this, he’d let Graves choke until he passed out. Graves hadn’t enjoyed the experience. He didn’t particularly care for it this time, either, not the least of which because Credence went more than a little hysterical when Graves started turning blue.
“Finite incantatem,” Grindelwald said.
“Fuck,” Graves said, when he could breathe again. He pushed himself upright again, still breathing hard. “In the future,” he said, voice raspy, “I’d take it as a kindness if you’d hold these little corrective behavioral sessions out of Credence’s sight. It upsets him.”
Grindelwald smirked, amused. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, and stomped back up the stairs.
“Tell me you didn’t mean it,” Credence said. He still looked a little hysterical, but he had the sense to wait until the door closed behind Grindelwald to say anything. He fisted his hands in Graves’ shirt. “Tell me you don’t really think I’m Mr. Grindelwald’s, Percival, please. I don’t want to be Mr. Grindelwald’s.”
“Of course not,” Graves said, catching hold of Credence’s hands with his own. He pressed a desperate, claiming kiss against Credence’s mouth. “You’re not his, you’re mine. You’ll never be his, not while I have breath in my body to stop him.” He pressed kisses to Credence’s tearstained cheeks, his nose, his chin, and then back to his mouth again. “Mine, you hear me? For as long as you want me, you’re mine and I’m yours. I just had to tell him what he wanted to hear to get you better food.”
“I don’t care about better food, as long as I have you,” Credence said, a little mulish.
“I do,” Graves said firmly. “I’m sorry I sprang that on you. I should’ve told you what my plan was. But you needed the right things to eat, for you and our son to be healthy.” He kissed Credence again. “I don’t know how you put up with me,” he said. “I keep making mistakes and upsetting you.”
Credence shoved him away and sat down hard on the cot. “I don’t care if you upset me!” he snapped. “I don’t need you to protect me from my feelings, Percival. I’m your partner, remember?”
“Of course,” Graves said, a little bewildered by the show of temper. He liked it, and everything it meant, but he didn’t understand what he’d done to set it off.
He’d thought Credence’s personality was too even-keel to have the sort of mood swings Dindrane had. Evidently he was very wrong about that.
“Then try treating me like one! I’m with child, not a child, and it would be nice if you treated me that way!”
“Alright,” Graves said cautiously. “Is there anything in particular you’d like me to do?”
Credence poked him in the chest. “Stop trying to shield me from Mr. Grindelwald at your own expense. He won’t hurt me. Not while I’m carrying his general.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Graves muttered.
“I’m an investment, you said so yourself. Either I have value to him because of our son or I don’t, but I don’t want you getting hurt for my sake.”
“That seems … reasonable,” said Graves, who was starting to think he’d made a grave misstep somewhere along the way. He did not, in fact, think this was reasonable at all, but he knew better than to say so.
“And you could try leaning on me, every once in awhile,” Credence said, with tremulous daring. “I wanted to comfort you, for Norton, the way you did for me with Modesty, and you pushed me away. That’s not what partners do, is it?”
Well, fuck, Graves thought. “No,” he said. “No, it isn’t.”
That was the crux of it, he thought. He wanted Credence to have choices, once they were both free. That was why he kept trying to explain how the wizarding world worked, and teach Credence the spells he’d need to control his magic. It seemed Credence wanted those choices too, and he didn’t want them as charity. He didn’t understand that Graves would’ve given him anything, so long as it would make him happy, and that it wouldn’t be charity because Graves was so fucking in love with him that it hurt.
He’d only just gotten permission to kiss Credence, though. Now was hardly an appropriate time for confessions of love.
“I’m sorry,” he said, as plainly and honestly as he could. His team would have been amazed. Graves rarely apologized, except when he was exceptionally in the wrong. Oh, he atoned for lashing out, generally with lavish gifts, but he hated actually saying the words. He’d used them and meant them more with Credence than he had with anyone else alive, save Dindrane and maybe Seraphina. “I’m an overprotective ass sometimes. It’s instinct, which doesn’t make it any better, and certainly doesn’t excuse it, but –”
“It’s who you are,” Credence said. “I know that, Percival. All I’m asking is for you to see me for who I am.”
“I see you,” Graves told him. “You’re magnificent.”
Credence huffed a laugh. The adrenaline crash obviously made him a little peaky, because he went pale and bolted for the water closet again. “Maybe Mr. Grindelwald is right,” he said. “If you think this –” he flapped a hand, indicating his sweaty pale face and the toilet “– is magnificent, you’re out of your mind.”
Graves stared at him. Was that a joke? By Excalibur, it was. Merlin and Morgana and all of Arthur’s knights, he loved watching Credence’s confidence unfold, and the man he’d become once he was free. It really was magnificent.
“Anyone who can keep up with Theseus Scamander is a little crazy by necessity,” he allowed. “But only a truly insane man would see you as anything less than magnificent, Credence.”
Credence snorted, and regretted it a second later, if the face he made was any indicator. Graves fetched him some ginger tea – in an actual teacup, wonder of wonders – and went to go hover like a proper expectant father.
FILL: "Nothing Shall Be Impossible" Part 18b/? - Grindelwald + Graves/Credence Breeding Program
“Crucio,” he hissed.
“Stop,” Credence begged, his voice breaking. “Please.” He crawled out of bed to kneel next to Percival, still looking faintly green and absolutely miserable.
It was possible Graves had not thought this plan through. He hadn’t meant to upset Credence further.
“You are beginning to test my patience, Percival,” Grindelwald hissed. “I thought I’d broken you of this months ago.”
“You didn’t exactly leave me with any way to summon room service, now did you?” Graves said, levering himself into a sitting position with Credence’s help.
“Room service,” snarled Grindelwald.
Well, someone wasn’t a morning person.
“Credence has morning sickness,” Graves informed him. “He needs ginger tea, and dry toast. And an anti-nausea potion, although I can’t recall which ones are safe for pregnant wizards. You should be pleased, it means your general is healthy.”
Grindelwald continued to stare at him in outrage. Graves suspected he was talking himself into an extended torture session at some point in the future. He really hadn’t missed those.
“Light snacks would also be helpful,” Graves continued. “Apples and bananas and carrots and the like. Fresh lemons, too. Cold porridge is better than warm, and it definitely needs honey in it.”
Credence pressed his face against Graves’ back. “Please stop talking about food,” he moaned.
“Warmer clothes and bedding would be helpful, too,” Graves said.
“Is there anything else?” Grindelwald asked, too outraged to be menacing. He sounded more sarcastic than anything else, which Graves found entertaining. “A key to your cell, perhaps? Hot baths? Maybe a new book to read?”
“I wouldn’t say no to any of those things, if they were on offer,” Graves said cheerfully. “But I’ll settle for things Credence can eat.”
Credence made a faint noise of protest. “I don’t want to eat anything ever again,” he muttered, low enough that only Graves heard him.
“You’ve gone out of your mind,” Grindelwald said. “It’s not unexpected, although this particular madness is … unprecedented.”
“That’s a bit insulting, coming from you,” Graves said.
“And insulting my sanity is not likely to get you what you want,” Grindelwald retorted.
Graves sighed. “Valid point. Old habits, and all that. Sorry.”
Grindelwald stared at him, clearly off-kilter. “You’re sorry.”
“For insulting your sanity just now,” Graves clarified. “Not any of the other times. Seeing as I do want something from you at the moment.”
Grindelwald looked like he was still having doubts about Graves’ sanity.
“Look, I’m trying to be helpful here,” Graves said, a bit impatiently. “You want your general to be healthy? I want the same thing for my son. And out of the two of us, who has nieces and nephews and who has no family to speak of? Trust me when I say that I know what I’m talking about.”
“You do seem bizarrely knowledgeable,” Grindelwald conceded. “But what makes you think that dragging me out of bed at an ungodly hour and summoning me like room service was ever going to result in me giving you what you wanted?”
“Because it’s not for me,” Graves pointed out. “It’s for Credence, and your general.”
Grindelwald narrowed his eyes. “It kills you to refer to him as such, doesn’t it?” he asked, all silken menace. “My general. And not your son.”
Fucking hell. Grindelwald was the sort of predator who liked to play with his food. And he said Graves was a savage.
“Yes,” Graves snarled, levering himself to his feet. He helped Credence back into bed when Credence flailed, off-kilter at the loss of support. “Yes, it fucking kills me that my son is your general. I didn’t believe in your bullshit prophecy and now here we are, with two innocent lives on the line. So forgive me for wanting to do whatever it takes to keep those lives safe for as long as I can.”
Grindelwald liked that Graves was angry. He liked that Graves was frustrated and a little despairing; Graves could see it.
Graves could work with that.
“I want Credence to be healthy enough to deliver your general safely,” he said, angry and pleading. “And that means he needs foods he can keep down and more of it than you’ve been giving us. Look at him – it’s been a month of regular meals and he’s still skin and bones. If he doesn’t put on more weight, he’ll die birthing your general and that – Fuck.” He didn’t say that he wouldn’t be able to bear it. He didn’t think he needed to.
“Why, Percival,” Grindelwald purred, the way he always did when he thought he’d gotten what he wanted out of Graves. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and gotten attached.”
“It’d be a waste of resources, if nothing else,” Graves said, averting his gaze. “If our bloodlines are good enough to produce one general, why not another? An heir and a spare, isn’t that what your lot calls it?”
“Don’t pretend you Americans aren’t just as determined to preserve your bloodlines,” Grindelwald scoffed. “And fine. I take your point. It seems a simple enough request. But Percival?”
“Yes?” Graves asked, wary.
“Beg,” Grindelwald commanded, the way he would a dog.
Fucking sadist.
“Please,” Graves said, going to his knees. “Please, make sure Credence and the child get enough to eat. Please, make sure that they’ll both be healthy enough to survive delivery – I beg of you, Grindelwald. Show mercy. They’re innocents. Please.” He looked up at Grindelwald. “I’m begging you on my knees, please show Credence and your general that you can be kind to those you consider your own. If my son is your general, then he’s yours, and as his carrier, Credence is too. You have a responsibility to them both. Please, please, be kind.”
“Oh, very well,” Grindelwald said, with false magnanimity. He waved his hand and cold porridge and fresh fruits appeared from Graves’ larder. “Since you asked so nicely.”
“Thank you,” Graves said, and meant it.
“Percival?” Grindelwald asked, pausing on the way back up the stairs.
“What?” Graves asked.
“The next time you want something from me, do try a little humility first. I think you’ll find it works better than sarcasm.”
“I thought you enjoyed our little tête-à-tête’s,” said Graves.
“Ne spirare,” said Grindelwald.
The last time Grindelwald had done this, he’d let Graves choke until he passed out. Graves hadn’t enjoyed the experience. He didn’t particularly care for it this time, either, not the least of which because Credence went more than a little hysterical when Graves started turning blue.
“Finite incantatem,” Grindelwald said.
“Fuck,” Graves said, when he could breathe again. He pushed himself upright again, still breathing hard. “In the future,” he said, voice raspy, “I’d take it as a kindness if you’d hold these little corrective behavioral sessions out of Credence’s sight. It upsets him.”
Grindelwald smirked, amused. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, and stomped back up the stairs.
“Tell me you didn’t mean it,” Credence said. He still looked a little hysterical, but he had the sense to wait until the door closed behind Grindelwald to say anything. He fisted his hands in Graves’ shirt. “Tell me you don’t really think I’m Mr. Grindelwald’s, Percival, please. I don’t want to be Mr. Grindelwald’s.”
“Of course not,” Graves said, catching hold of Credence’s hands with his own. He pressed a desperate, claiming kiss against Credence’s mouth. “You’re not his, you’re mine. You’ll never be his, not while I have breath in my body to stop him.” He pressed kisses to Credence’s tearstained cheeks, his nose, his chin, and then back to his mouth again. “Mine, you hear me? For as long as you want me, you’re mine and I’m yours. I just had to tell him what he wanted to hear to get you better food.”
“I don’t care about better food, as long as I have you,” Credence said, a little mulish.
“I do,” Graves said firmly. “I’m sorry I sprang that on you. I should’ve told you what my plan was. But you needed the right things to eat, for you and our son to be healthy.” He kissed Credence again. “I don’t know how you put up with me,” he said. “I keep making mistakes and upsetting you.”
Credence shoved him away and sat down hard on the cot. “I don’t care if you upset me!” he snapped. “I don’t need you to protect me from my feelings, Percival. I’m your partner, remember?”
“Of course,” Graves said, a little bewildered by the show of temper. He liked it, and everything it meant, but he didn’t understand what he’d done to set it off.
He’d thought Credence’s personality was too even-keel to have the sort of mood swings Dindrane had. Evidently he was very wrong about that.
“Then try treating me like one! I’m with child, not a child, and it would be nice if you treated me that way!”
“Alright,” Graves said cautiously. “Is there anything in particular you’d like me to do?”
Credence poked him in the chest. “Stop trying to shield me from Mr. Grindelwald at your own expense. He won’t hurt me. Not while I’m carrying his general.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Graves muttered.
“I’m an investment, you said so yourself. Either I have value to him because of our son or I don’t, but I don’t want you getting hurt for my sake.”
“That seems … reasonable,” said Graves, who was starting to think he’d made a grave misstep somewhere along the way. He did not, in fact, think this was reasonable at all, but he knew better than to say so.
“And you could try leaning on me, every once in awhile,” Credence said, with tremulous daring. “I wanted to comfort you, for Norton, the way you did for me with Modesty, and you pushed me away. That’s not what partners do, is it?”
Well, fuck, Graves thought. “No,” he said. “No, it isn’t.”
That was the crux of it, he thought. He wanted Credence to have choices, once they were both free. That was why he kept trying to explain how the wizarding world worked, and teach Credence the spells he’d need to control his magic. It seemed Credence wanted those choices too, and he didn’t want them as charity. He didn’t understand that Graves would’ve given him anything, so long as it would make him happy, and that it wouldn’t be charity because Graves was so fucking in love with him that it hurt.
He’d only just gotten permission to kiss Credence, though. Now was hardly an appropriate time for confessions of love.
“I’m sorry,” he said, as plainly and honestly as he could. His team would have been amazed. Graves rarely apologized, except when he was exceptionally in the wrong. Oh, he atoned for lashing out, generally with lavish gifts, but he hated actually saying the words. He’d used them and meant them more with Credence than he had with anyone else alive, save Dindrane and maybe Seraphina. “I’m an overprotective ass sometimes. It’s instinct, which doesn’t make it any better, and certainly doesn’t excuse it, but –”
“It’s who you are,” Credence said. “I know that, Percival. All I’m asking is for you to see me for who I am.”
“I see you,” Graves told him. “You’re magnificent.”
Credence huffed a laugh. The adrenaline crash obviously made him a little peaky, because he went pale and bolted for the water closet again. “Maybe Mr. Grindelwald is right,” he said. “If you think this –” he flapped a hand, indicating his sweaty pale face and the toilet “– is magnificent, you’re out of your mind.”
Graves stared at him. Was that a joke? By Excalibur, it was. Merlin and Morgana and all of Arthur’s knights, he loved watching Credence’s confidence unfold, and the man he’d become once he was free. It really was magnificent.
“Anyone who can keep up with Theseus Scamander is a little crazy by necessity,” he allowed. “But only a truly insane man would see you as anything less than magnificent, Credence.”
Credence snorted, and regretted it a second later, if the face he made was any indicator. Graves fetched him some ginger tea – in an actual teacup, wonder of wonders – and went to go hover like a proper expectant father.