Chapter Text
From as far back as he could remember, it was the fondest wish of Credence Barebone to have a friend. Someone in the world to whom he could turn when life was cruel, as it so often was. Someone in the world who cared for him, and someone who would let him care for them back. Upon meeting people, he sometimes allowed himself to imagine scenarios where in they would become said friend. He thought of conversations they might have, activities they might partake in together... secrets they might share.
Of course, while these fantasies played in his head, something would always occur in the real world that would squash the possibility completely. Usually that something was him forgetting to speak to them, or to behave in any fashion close to what was considered “normal” by the general populace. Typically this resulted in them thinking he was some sort of unintelligent freak, and turning away from him forever.
Once, and only once, he had expressed this desire to his mother. Looking back, he couldn't be sure what he'd been hoping to accomplish with that. Perhaps just the reassurance that one day, someone would indeed come along and see something special in him, something worth befriending.
Instead of this assurance, she had very gently placed her hand on the back of his neck and told him in a quiet voice that to covet what did not belong to him was a grave sin, and he was in need of punishment. So Credence took off his belt, and did not approach the subject a second time.
***
It was down in the city, towards the end of one of Mother's sermons, when Credence first saw him. He was standing at the edge of the crowd, not quite part of it, and talking in a low voice to the short-haired woman standing next to him. These two stood out to Credence, mostly because of the looks of indifference on their faces. Credence knew a lot about what indifference looked like; it was what greeted him from most people to whom he tried to hand his pamphlets, as they mumbled something about being busy and brushed passed him.
But the people who stopped to listen, those faces were never indifferent. They were curious, even amused by his mother's rantings. Some were fearful, not wanting to believe her words but unsure of the truth. The few that did believe though, they were the worst. On them Credence saw his own Mother's face mirrored, a face full of anger and hatred. They cheered when she talked of burning witches, of reliving the days of the Salem Hunts when witches lived in fear of their flames.
To be truly honest, Credence somewhat doubted that any witch would live in fear of someone like his mother. Someone strong, full of magic and power and possessing the ability to do whatever they wished—surely they couldn't be killed with something as simple as a fire? If witches could do all Mother said they could, what trouble would it be to them to just magic the fire gone? It all seemed a bit silly to him, all of this fear and anger. If witches really intended to do them harm, then harmed they would be, and that was just the way of it.
The real reason that Mother and her followers feared the witches, Credence knew, was because they made her feel powerless. She could quote the bible and talk of abominations of the Lord all she wanted, but Credence knew the truth. Next to them, his mother was weak and that frightened her more than anything. And Credence, who knew more about weakness and fear than most people had a right to, knew that there was no fighting back against that sort of thing. You just had to learn to accept it, and take your lashings as they came.
The man leaned in to whisper something to the woman with him, and she nodded her head grimly at his words. Credence wondered what they were here for, if not to listen to his mother speak. She wasn't exactly handing out candy with each leaflet, so why stand about and listen to her hatred if they didn't care for it?
The crowd around Credence began to disperse, and he realized Mother had finished speaking. There was more of them than usual, and he tensed up as they flooded past him, some bumping and jostling him as they went by, chatting about what they had heard today. It was to these people he should have shoved his pamphlets into the hands of, people who were curious but not yet convinced. He gripped the papers tightly, trying to drum up the courage to hand them out but something was stopping him, a sort of tightness in his chest. Too many people, too many little voices chattering around him... the afternoon was cool but suddenly Credence felt as hot as if he'd landed in the fires of Hell.
Breathing hard, Credence turned around and found himself face to face with the man he'd been watching. Up close, Credence could see that the man had an attractive, somewhat rugged face. He looked around forty, give or take a few years. Credence might have thought he were younger, if not for the streaks of grey in his otherwise dark hair.
The man put his hands on Credence's shoulders, as if attempting to steady him. “Are you alright there?” He asked, eyes looking deep into Credence's. The look in them took Credence a moment to place, and it startled him when he found the name to put to it: concern.
Credence felt words grow and then die on his lips, and all that came from them was a stuttering sort of groan. He wanted to tell this man that he was fine, that he was just a imbecile who became overwhelmed by silly things like crowds, but nothing coherent came out. It felt like hours they stood there, the man looking at him and Credence staring stupidly back. If not for the man's firm grip on his shoulder's, Credence was sure he would have passed out. Looking back, it could not have been more than a few seconds.
“Credence?”
Credence's stomach twisted at the sound of his mothers voice calling his name, and the man dropped his hands as she stomped over. Credence swallowed slightly, feeling suddenly empty and not understanding why.
“Credence, why in the name of the Lord did you not give all those people our flyers?” She demanded. She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards her. “Is it not enough you can't get the flyers to those passing by, but now you can't even handle putting them in the hands of those already listening?”
“I-I'm sorry,” Credence managed, eyes cast downwards and cheeks burning with shame. “I just—I just...”
“It was my fault, Ma'am,” The man spoke up. Credence and his mother both looked up. “I had a few questions about your group, and I'm afraid I occupied most of his time. He was very kind to educate me on your cause.” The man gave what to Credence looks like a very forced smile, but his mother seemed to buy the story. “Percival Graves,” he said, extending his hand to her.
She smiled, one of those big ones she always put on when meeting someone she thought she could convert to her cause. And this was clearly some sort of well-off business man, by the look of his dress. Someone with influence and say, unlike the usual bums who joined them. “Mary-Lou Barebone,” she replied. “And this is my son, Credence, and my daughters Chastity and Modesty.”
The woman standing by Graves gave a small cough, and he seemed to remember her. “And this is my associate, Ms. Tina Goldstein.”
His mother's smile tensed slightly. “Oh, Goldstein?” she said, in Credence thought she must have considered a casual tone. On his mothers list of abominations of the Lord, Credence knew that people of Jewish faith were only a bit below witches. He wondered how she would feel if Ms. Goldstein became a regular at her meetings. He was sure he'd seen her, at least once or twice before.
Ms. Goldstein smiled back, just as tensely. “Yes, Goldstein. Why, have you known many Goldstein's before?”
If his mother stretched her smile any more, her face was going to snap. “No, no I can't say I have. Are there... a lot of you?”
“Sadly, no,” she replied. “Just my sister and I, that I know of.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Barebone replied, her smile becoming a bit more genuine. “Yes. Sad.”
“Well, we should be off,” Mr. Graves said, giving them all another tense smile. “It was a pleasure meeting you all. Credence, thank you again for the information. It really... clarified things for us.”
Credence's mouth twitched up slightly, into something no one could have guessed was supposed to be a smile. He tried, very quickly, to think of something to say. Something interesting, that Graves would remember even after he'd forgotten the person who had told it to him, as Credence was sure he would. He didn't know why, but he the thought made him very sad.
The pair turned away and headed into the crowed, and Credence knew all hope was lost. He tried to find them amongst the throng of people walking about, but they were nowhere to be seen. It was as if they had simply vanished, right into thin air.
Credence felt his mother's hand on his shoulder. “Come along then, children. It's time for our evening prayers, and then supper.”
Wishing he could get one last look at him, Credence allowed himself to be turned away by his mother.
***
Later that night, Credence lay in bed and thought of Mr. Graves, pretending—as he was apt to do—that they were friends. Others might have found it strange to be thinking about building a friendship with someone twice their age, but as Credence had never had a friend before, he didn't really know all the rules about them.
He wondered what sort of things Mr. Graves liked to do in his spare time. He struck Credence as a theatre goer, or someone that liked to dine out at expensive and interesting restaurants. He thought about Mr. Graves taking him around to all his favourite fanciest places, full of swell and well-to-do people. But when they'd gotten to know each other, he would take Credence to a smaller place, one not so crowded. It would be a place most people mistook for a dive, but was really the hidden gem of the city, Mr. Graves favourite place...
A date. You're talking about a date.
Credence frowned, trying to ignore the dark little voice in his mind. He only wanted to be friends with Mr. Grave, not anything more than that.
When he put his hands on you... you liked it. More than you should have.
He shut his eyes. The memory of Mr. Graves' face stared back at him, and just the thought of his light brown eyes piercing into his own sent chills down his spine.
Credence's eyes snapped open again. He stared at his dark ceiling, and felt as if he was staring right down the road to Hell. Witches had taken up most of his mothers mind, but she still had time to hate the other sins. To feel lust, to covet as he did... if she knew, he would be punished most severely.
And that wasn't the worst of it, oh no. Lust and coveting were one thing, a few good beatings could put those ones right... but the other... to want a man that way...
There would only be Hell for that.
It wasn't the first time he'd had these thoughts. It wasn't often, in fact it was rare enough that he could tell himself it was nothing.
He really meant it, about only wanting a friend. There wasn't anything more to that than what it was. Just a friend, someone who understood him. A companion. A pal.
But sometimes... to have someone even more than a friend... he thought that might be nice, too.