I guess it's important to have outlets for your stress, but equally important to not hate yourself.
I want you to have that control, I want you to have that freedom to express yourself, explore, be powerful and wild- but I don't like the idea of you feeling like being Credence Barebone is a terrible thing. Because he's my best friend- and I'll stick up for him against you if I've got to.
And, aside from all that- you do have to be careful, because I didn't make that up about the bloody snaps. But maybe there's a way to do it with the Admiral's power cap. Like, you can only turn in the Enclosure or something.
[Which means he's relying on someone to let him through the door.
Which means it isn't his choice. So in his head there's no difference
between that and relying on Quentin.]
This is all just because of the flood. Tomorrow I might - this might all
have gone away.
He's still thinking about things he can't control. Nightmares. Floods.
Veins and fur. He can't have what he wants. There's no escape from what he
is. There never was. That's fine.
Credence hasn't even touched his wand since the flood. Then again,
everything else has gone to hell, too. Sleeping, eating. He's been
meticulous about making sure that Goldstein is cared for.
"I...maybe."
He feels like he's letting Quentin down. He's already proven himself to be
irresponsible, selfish, stupid. He doesn't want to disappoint him even more.
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I want you to have that control, I want you to have that freedom to express yourself, explore, be powerful and wild- but I don't like the idea of you feeling like being Credence Barebone is a terrible thing. Because he's my best friend- and I'll stick up for him against you if I've got to.
And, aside from all that- you do have to be careful, because I didn't make that up about the bloody snaps. But maybe there's a way to do it with the Admiral's power cap. Like, you can only turn in the Enclosure or something.
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[Which means he's relying on someone to let him through the door. Which means it isn't his choice. So in his head there's no difference between that and relying on Quentin.]
This is all just because of the flood. Tomorrow I might - this might all have gone away.
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[He doesn't see it. Which is a shame, because he'd have a solution for that. But.]
I guess it might. But don't just pretend it has because it's easier to ignore your own needs.
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I won't.
[Yeah, you will, buddy.]
I mean. I don't even know what I need.
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I guess the only thing to do is to think about it, and tell by what thought brings you pain, what's needed. What's best.
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But how can I ever know I'm right? I thought it would maybe help if I - but you're right, it's too dangerous, it'll just make things worse.
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I just...if it's the Enclosure, or if it's your magic, then...I'm still relying on somebody else, to - to give me permission,
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[He's up and running.]
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What - ?
[Well, he's too sad and confused to move.]
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It didn't belong to Quentin to begin with. It might as well go where it can do some good.
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"Quentin-?"
Goldstein is still cradled against his body with his other arm.
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Says Quentin, freezing, caught. It's harder to pretend to be calm in person.
"So- that'll get you into the Enclosure."
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"I - n-no. This is yours. He gave it to you."
He holds it out, on an open palm.
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He promises, backing up a step, tucking his hands behind his back.
"Seriously. It's better if it's with you."
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He shakes his head.
"I don't want to b-be the first person who knows if you die. I'm sorry."
That's what it is, to him. Not a skeleton key, but the opportunity to know when he could have saved his friend from terrible pain and didn't.
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He points out, but stops backing off, at least.
"It'd let you be what you want to be. Without the risks."
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Credence swallows the lump in his throat.
"I - I don't think that's true."
He's still thinking about things he can't control. Nightmares. Floods. Veins and fur. He can't have what he wants. There's no escape from what he is. There never was. That's fine.
"Please take it back."
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He says, at last, baffled, but too wrong-footed to argue. He comes slowly over, holding his hand reluctantly.
"If that's what you want."
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No. Maybe. He has no idea what he wants, any more. Can't trust himself to even guess.
Freak.
He places the poker chip back into Quentin's hand.
"Thank you for offering. It's - very kind of you."
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He says, tucking it in his pocket, watching the floor.
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"You did a lot. You - I would have done something - really bad. Really stupid, and selfish, and wrong. If you hadn't talked to me."
He means it. He's flagellating himself a bit harder than usual, but the gratitude is genuine.
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He's really desperate to do something, anything.
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Credence hasn't even touched his wand since the flood. Then again, everything else has gone to hell, too. Sleeping, eating. He's been meticulous about making sure that Goldstein is cared for.
"I...maybe."
He feels like he's letting Quentin down. He's already proven himself to be irresponsible, selfish, stupid. He doesn't want to disappoint him even more.
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He promises, softly, but very sincerely.
"Just call me. That's all."
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