man in a long black coat

by Anonymous

Summary:

In which Credence Barebone suffers greatly at the hands of his mother and is pushed into summoning a demon, who may lead him down the path to hell and damnation or perhaps offer him salvation.

Chapter 1

Credence stumbles out of the church, his mother’s hissed damnations echoing in his ears, and walks out into the cold December night.

She’s kicked him out for the night and says he can return in the morning, if he survives the cold, and Credence wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. He’s bleeding, the lashes across his back numerous and open, raw, the warm blood soaking into his undershirt a stark difference to the cold biting at his cheeks.

Ma had found the money he’d been saving all year. To escape, to get away from her grasp, hidden under the floorboards under his bed. He’s not sure how, doesn’t think that Modesty would have told her, but perhaps pulling up the floorboards had seemed like something she ought to do.

It doesn’t matter.

The money's gone and Credence has been beaten far worse than he has ever before. The belt normally only goes across his back, but today she’d swung it at his face and his jaw is in immense pain, though he doesn’t think it’s broken. He’ll have an ugly welt for a while and won’t likely be let outside until it heals, barring tonight.

She’d told him to find an alley and hide himself, keep himself quiet, unless he wanted it worse later.

He wonders why she hadn’t let him stay, considering she said she didn’t want to listen to him crying all night, if she expects him to keep quiet out here as well.

Credence wanders, hunched over, trying not to move the skin of his back by standing upright, but whenever he is jostled by the wind, he feels more blood ooze out of the lashes and idly wonders how anyone can look at him and not see.

Not see the pain, not see the hurt, not see what his mother does to him.

But it’s late and most New Yorkers are already asleep and those that aren’t can’t help him because they’re in as dire of situations as he is or they simply don’t care.

Credence grasps at his pocket, hearing the crinkle of paper inside, feeling a hard, small object and closes his eyes. He’s been saving them for so long, always a sin in and of itself, but he’d never thought he might use them.

But he’s not just hurt. The physical pain he is used to, the emotional just as much. But reduced to this, reduced to begging for her forgiveness, knowing she wouldn’t give it, knowing she’d just hurt him more, and leaving him in the state he’s in… Credence is angry.

He’s angry at himself, at his mother, at God and the world. He’s angry that he is so weak, that he cannot save himself or his sisters, that he lets her get away with this.

Credence may be sinful and wicked but he’s always tried to do everything right. He’s always tried to please her and he never can. She tells him how and when he gets close, she changes the rules, just a game, and he is tired of it.

If he is sinful and wicked, he supposes he cannot be anymore so, after what he plans on doing. If he dies tonight, at least he will know what’s real and what isn’t, and he will know what side he’s on after.

The walk to Central Park feels like it takes hours and he thinks it must, because the full moon is higher in the sky when he gets there, looking up at it. He wonders what earth looks like from the moon. Is it so small, so far away, would it make Credence feel as if life’s pains don’t matter so very much, if he could see it from there?

He doesn’t know, so he walks into Central Park, dark and eerie and silent.

Credence walks for a long while, until he gets to a small fountain, the concrete around it covered in this morning’s snowfall. He falls onto his knees, his feet aching, his knees screaming for relief, and he thinks the lashes on his back tear open more, but he’s freezing and the pain is lessened. His teeth chatter and he thinks his lips must be blue, but he doesn’t care.

He wipes snow away with jerky movements, exposing the damp concrete below, until there is a wide space open. The fountain trickles next to him, the sound bouncing through his skull, almost ominous in a way, but he wouldn’t be able to say why.

Credence pulls the paper and a piece of chalk out of his pocket, looking at the cracked skin on his palms, the blood there dried, but ugly. There’s a dull throb and warmth in his left hand and he thinks it might be infected. Perhaps he will lay down after this, in the snow, and he will let himself die, because staring up at the trees and the stars would be a far better sight than a hospital or looking into Ma’s eyes.

The paper shows a drawing of a pentagram and his heart races a little, just to see it, though he has looked at it so much the paper is wrinkled and stained with tears and blood. This is the Devil’s work, but God’s work has never helped him before. The chalk he took from Modesty’s room, white and plain, and he’s not sure if that matters.

But he draws the pentagram, his movements slow, his muscles and joints stiff and painful. It’s not perfect, a little sloppy in the middle, but everything he does is a little sloppy, he thinks. But the circle outside is alright and he stares down at it, cold wind biting into his threadbare clothes, into his chest and cheeks.

He’s forgotten what to do after this. There are words, he knows, words he’s supposed to say, to summon a demon, but it’s just like him, to forget. To come this far and forget the most important part.

Credence sniffs and tentatively reaches back, under his shirt and over his back, where the blood is both hot and cold now, as it leaks and dries, and he looks down at his hand. It’s smeared over his skin and in tiny droplets on his fingers and he stares for a while, at the crimson splashed across his startlingly pale hands, the snow below an even starker contrast.

He gently moves down and onto his side, curling into a ball, pressing his hand against the cold concrete. “Please,” he whispers, because he doesn’t know what other words to say. Because he’s only ever known how to say please and hope that someone understands what he’s asking for.

Credence closes his eyes, shivering violently enough to hurt, and it could be seconds or hours, but he feels fingers in his hair, and is disappointed, because he is still so cold and in so much pain, so that means he isn’t dead.

“Shh, shh,” someone hushes him when he whimpers. Their hand moves down to his neck, pressing against his pulse, before they move over his arm and toward his back. “Shh, none of that now.”

Credence is attempting to push them away, because they are lifting his shirt and they will see, they will see his shame, but he’s too weak to stop it. The icy air bites into his broken skin and he hears a man hum above him.

“It’s the cold that’s going to kill you, not those,” he says and his tone is almost bored. “Unless you’re not after your life being saved?”

That confuses him and the man’s voice sounds far away and all too close at the same moment. Credence feels ill, his stomach churning, but he manages to open his eyes and look at the man.

He’s kneeling in front of Credence, over the pentagram, another bit of Credence’s shame. For a moment he thinks it might have worked, but he looks closer at the man. He’s got dark hair with a dusting of grey at his temples and dark eyes, is cleanly shaven, and wearing very fine clothes. A black suit under a long fashionable black coat and Credence realizes he is just one of many businessmen in New York.

“I thought…” Credence trails off and closes his eyes. “Please, sir, I’d like to be alone.”

“Summoning me is an odd way to show that.”

Credence’s eyes snap back open and he looks at the man again, swimming in and out of his vision. He’s watching Credence curiously, with a faint smirk, and he is quite handsome. They always say the Devil will be attractive, but he’s inclined to think a prank is being pulled on him, as he lays here dying of the cold.

“You’re not the Devil.”

“...no,” the man says slowly. “He doesn’t take housecalls. Neither do I normally, but I happened to be in town.” His hand moves to Credence’s hair again, brushing his fingers through it. “Why’d you draw it and offer your blood, if you want to be alone?”

“I didn’t think it’d work,” Credence croaks.

The man laughs. “No, I suppose most young people don’t,” he says. “Who did this to you?”

Credence shudders and closes his eyes, a soft whimper escaping him, which the man shushes again. “My mother,” he finally manages to whisper.

“Hmm,” the man hums, like this is merely an interesting piece of information. “Well, there are a few things we can do about that. I suppose the most important question is, do you want me to take you somewhere warmer or would you rather I leave you here to die?”

“Does taking me somewhere warmer mean taking my soul?”

“Not yet.”

Credence shivers and tries to curl up more, but that only makes his back burn. He winces and looks up at the man. “Where?”

“I own a place. Let’s get you warm and healed up. That one is on me.”

“Okay,” Credence whispers. He thinks he may be dying and that he’s imagining all of this, but the man touches his forehead and suddenly the cold bite of snow and wind is gone.

There’s still coolness, but warmth as well, and Credence blinks blearily around, until he recognizes bathroom tiles against his cheek and under his hand. The man is gone, but Credence hears him and the sound of water being turned on. It fills the bathroom with steam and Credence tries not to think about the fact that the pentagram may have actually worked.

That he summoned a demon, a disciple of the Devil, who will take his soul from him and lead him to eternal damnation.

Can it really be so much worse than all of this?

He feels his jacket and the shirt being lifted from his back and he whines, in embarrassment and pain both, but the man only shushes him again. It’s an intense searing pain, getting them over his head, but the man does before he runs his fingers along Credence’s back.

An odd sensation moves across his skin, like hot wax, not painful, but strange, and his skin feels tight, the way it does when you touch wax. He’s a bit frightened the man is perhaps hurting him more before he realizes that the pain is steadily receding. The sting is gone, the ache disappearing, and as the bathroom fills with hot steam, the cold in his bones is chased away.

Credence tentatively moves his hands, stretching his fingers, wincing, because the wounds are still there.

“Sit up,” the man says.

And Credence does, dazedly, and the stretch in his back is gone. There are no more lashes to break open, he knows, they have been healed. The man reaches around him, standing behind Credence still, and takes his hand. Credence stares as he runs his warm hand over Credence’s and the swelling, the infection, the open wounds and blisters all disappear. He does it to Credence’s other hand as well, leaving only unmarred skin behind, and Credence thinks about witches and magic, but he doesn’t think that’s what this is.

He has summoned a demon after all.

The man’s hand moves to his jaw then, and the deep ache is gone soon after, the welt and swelling disappearing.

“Anything else?” the man asks and sounds amused.

“No, sir,” Credence whispers and finds himself terrified to turn around. That he might not see a handsome man anymore, but a demon, with horns and a forked tongue, prepared to devour him.

The man turns off the water before his hands move under Credence’s arms and he lifts him, quite like he’s nothing but a feather, which is somehow both frightening and arousing. Credence is horrified by that thought, but then the man moves in front of him, and he is still the same handsome man that he was in Central Park.

“Get in the tub and let’s wash that blood off,” he says. “I smell it enough already, I’d rather you didn’t stink of it when we talk.”

Credence blushes and blinks a few times as he stares at him. “Are you a demon?” he asks weakly.

The man raises a dark eyebrow. “I thought you were aware of what you were doing?”

“But… but…”

“You didn’t think it would work, yes, I know,” the man says with a chuckle. “Percival Graves.”

Credence doesn’t think that sounds particularly like a demon’s name. It sounds like a normal name, but perhaps they do that, to blend in in the real world. Because he doesn’t think this place is in Hell. It looks like a normal bathroom, if a bit larger and nicer than those he normally sees.

He opens his mouth to give his name, before deciding against it, because surely that’s what the demon will be after. He’s reluctant to ask what he wanted to ask now that he doesn’t feel like he’s dying and yet he thinks it would only be polite, considering the demon has healed his wounds.

Credence still feels weak but he’s able to get down to his underclothes on his own. He turns to the bathtub, blinking at it for a while, because it looks larger than any he’s ever seen. But he steps into it anyway and sinks down, bending his knees a little so he can feel the water up to his chest, and flinches when he sees it begin to swirl with blood, turning crimson.

The demon moves to the covered toilet seat and sits down, grabbing a small towel, one of a few, and gesturing for Credence to lean forward. He does so, his cheeks hot, and closes his eyes tightly as Percival Graves washes the blood off of his back, his movements quick and ungentle.

“So, Credence,” he says. “Tell me what you had in mind when you summoned me.”

“I…” Credence trails off and stiffens. “H—How…?”

“I promise you the answer will always be that I’m a demon,” Mister Graves says. “So no more questions. Not yet. Answer mine.”

Credence bites his lip, staring down at the water as it steadily turns a deeper shade of red. “I don’t know,” he says softly and frowns when Mister Graves hums in disapproval. “Well… I thought I might die. So I was… I was going to offer my soul, if you… if you took my mother’s too.”

“Just her soul? Not her life?”

Shame burns in him then, in the heart of him, because that is what he wanted. It’s always been what he’s wanted, deep down, and he knows he is truly wicked.

“I suppose if I still thought I was dying I would ask for her life,” he mumbles.

“Should’ve kept you the way you were then,” Mister Graves says, but he says it with good humor, rather than anger. “Her life would be sweeter to me than just her soul.”

“Why?”

“Death is my game, Credence, and I love to play it. Leaving a soulless monster up here would only embolden her ways,” Mister Graves says. “I wouldn’t get the lives or the souls she would take so there’s no reward in it for me.”

“Would you have asked for my life too then? Instead of just my soul?” Credence asks and feels tears burning in his eyes.

Mister Graves pulls back and tosses the towel aside, grabbing a clean one. His hand moves to Credence’s chin, forcing him to look up at him. With one finger under his chin, he pulls forward, but Credence does not come closer. It’s only a shade of Credence that follows, pulled out of him, and he gasps.

“Souls are so easy,” Mister Graves says and pushes forward, until the shade of Credence joins with him again.

He falls back against the tub, his heart slamming against his ribcage and he’s gasping for air, because he felt the hollowness for a moment, the strange apathy, and he stares at Percival Graves, eyes wide with terror.

“Now, Credence,” he says. “You knew what would happen if it did work.”

Credence swallows dryly, breathing deeply, and nods. He’s sweating, cold beads of it sliding down his forehead, and he realizes what he would have damned himself to, if he had already given Mister Graves his soul.

“M—Mister Graves,” he manages. “You want my life?”

“You haven’t actually asked me for anything yet,” Mister Graves says. “Graves or Percy, pick one.” He turns the water on again and with a snap of his fingers, the red water is gone, not a stain in sight, and the tub steadily fills with fresh, clean water again, steaming. “I’d like to see your mother and what she’s like before we enter into a contract.”

“Mister…” he trails off and frowns. “Percy,” he says, but that sounds so strange to him and Percy must see it, because he smirks as he wets the new towel with hot water. “What if I don’t want to enter into a contract with you?”

“Well, I would say that’s not very polite of you. I’m a very busy man and I don’t like to be summoned. That’s for junior demons. I was off corrupting a few gentlemen of stature when you called for me,” Percy says and gestures for Credence to lean forward again. “I think you owe me something, for ruining my night. Or delaying it, in any case.”

“What would that be?” Credence asks warily, his stomach queasy as he imagines all of the foul things a demon might ask for.

Percy doesn’t answer immediately. He only scrubs at Credence’s back for a moment more and the water turns faintly pink, but the blood must be gone now. He hands Credence the towel to clean his own hands off and he does so, more gently than Percy had done.

“I’ll tell you that after I’ve seen your mother,” Percy says as he leans back. “Until then, you’ll stay here.”

Credence blinks as he looks up at him. “As your prisoner?”

“No,” Percy says with a smirk. “As someone smart enough not to go crawling back to his mother fully healed hours after she did what she did to you.”

Credence blushes and clears his throat. “Where are we, exactly?”

“Uptown. I told you, I own a place. It’s an apartment,” Percy says. “Don’t leave here until I tell you to do so. And I will know if you do, Credence.”

That’s frightening, but Credence supposes he can’t expect anything but frightening things from a demon. “Alright,” he says quietly and looks away, thinking that still rather sounds like he’s a prisoner.

“I’ll leave soon, for the night,” Percy says and stands. He hands Credence a fluffy white towel before he leaves the bathroom.

Credence stands on shaky legs and steps out of the bathtub, dropping his underclothes and quickly toweling himself off. The towel is large enough to wrap around his shoulders and cover himself, because as warm as the bathroom is, he’s beginning to tremble.

Percy comes back, holding a pair of what looks like black silk pajamas, and he looks Credence up and down. “Look at you, no longer on death’s door.”

“Would I have gone to Hell if I had died? For summoning you?”

“No,” Percy says and smiles, when he sees the hurt that causes Credence. “You were prepared to ask me to kill your mother and knew you’d end up in Hell for that. Isn’t it amazing, Credence, what desperation and pain pushes us to do? Get dressed.”

He leaves the pajamas on the counter and walks out and Credence stares after him, tears in his eyes. He hasn’t earned himself a way straight to Hell yet, but he thinks once Percy is done with him, he will have. It makes him ache, because Percy is right. He was desperate and in such pain and he did what he only ever fantasized about before.

It must be how demon’s get most of their souls. Desperate, hurt people. It’s not surprising, when he thinks about it.

Credence pulls on the pajamas, the finest silk he’s ever touched, but they’re not a comfort. He’s cold still, despite his warm skin, and he steps out of the bathroom and looks around a dark hallway. To the left is a closed door, but to the right is the open living room and the kitchen across from it. He walks closer and sees Percy at the fireplace, coaxing the flames to rise with only his hand.

He looks at Credence. “Come warm your bones up, Mister Barebone, and stop fretting so much.”

“That’s… that’s easy for you to say, you know,” Credence mumbles, a little terrified by his own daring, but Percy only smiles. He walks closer and Percy gestures at the sofa in front of the fire.

He sits down stiffly, but there’s a wool blanket on the armrest and he grabs it, throwing it around himself and shivering.

“You’ll be fine by morning,” Percy says as he watches Credence, his eyes black in the firelight. “Sleep. I’ll be back after dawn.”

Credence bites his lip and nods. Percy winks and then disappears, in between one blink and the next, and Credence flinches in surprise. He supposes he should have expected it, that’s how he got Credence here, but it’s still a shocking thing to see.

He looks around the apartment and is tempted to get up and run, run all the way until he gets back to the church, but he thinks Percy is right. Ma would claim that he’s a witch or has been touched by one and she might actually kill him, if it meant ridding the world of that sort of wickedness.

And Percy had said he would know if Credence left anyway.

Credence’s eyes begin to feel heavy, when the fire and the pajamas and wool blanket eventually warm him up. He lays down and watches the flames flicker for a while and hopes, when he closes his eyes, that he will wake up back in the church or perhaps somewhere else altogether, far, far away from here.

But Credence is not so lucky in his life and, sometime later, he smells coffee and hears the rustle of paper near his feet.

He opens his eyes, just a little, and sees that it’s daylight and he is still in the apartment. He doesn’t think he’s moved an inch but the fire is freshly fed and he sees a cup of steaming coffee on the table in front of him. Swallowing, he braces himself before he sits up a little and looks at the end of the sofa.

Percy is there, just enough space for him to sit, considering Credence was curled up. He’s got the newspaper and he’s scanning it and it’s such a bizarre thing, that a demon might read the newspaper.

“Good morning,” Percy says and glances at Credence. “You look better.”

Credence isn’t quite sure what to say to that. He sits up more, keeping the blanket wrapped around him, and tentatively reaches out, picking up the cup of coffee. He doesn’t drink it himself, Ma won’t allow it, but he’s always thought that it smells good. It doesn’t mean he wants to drink coffee that Percy has given him though.

“It’s not poisoned,” Percy says and sounds amused as he flips a page of the newspaper. “Though some people prefer it sweetened.”

“Do you?” Credence asks quietly as he breathes in the steam and finds that it’s relaxing.

“I’ve always had it black,” Percy says as he picks up his own cup from the end table next to him and holds it up toward Credence. He takes a drink and sets it aside. “I visited the Second Salemers Church this morning.”

Credence stiffens, holding the cup a little closer, and bites his lip. He’s afraid to ask what Percy did there, imagining all sorts of terrible things, not just to Ma, but to Chastity and Modesty too.

“And?” he finally manages, hushed and shaky.

Percy tsks. “I took a look around,” he says. “I wanted to get an idea of what might drive you to summon someone like me. The state of that place alone.”

“You were able to go inside a church?” Credence asks feebly.

“Your mother might claim it’s a church but it’s not holy ground,” Percy says with some amusement. “They didn’t know I was there and I only glanced around. You have a very charming bedroom.”

Credence frowns and takes a small drink of the coffee, before it might get cold. It’s bitter and a little acidic, but he thinks he needs that right now and takes a longer drink. He thinks Percy is making fun of him, for what he lives his life in, even after he’d seen what Ma did to him.

“When I was done, I talked to your mother,” Percy continues, oblivious to Credence spilling a little bit of the coffee when he jerks in surprise, or not caring, “I’m tempted to give you this one for free.”

“My… what?” Credence asks as he gapes at Percy. “Why did you speak to her?”

“I told you, I wanted to get an idea of why you summoned me,” Percy says and folds the paper, tossing it onto the coffee table. He looks at Credence. “I knocked on the door and asked for directions. Your mother is the least charming woman I’ve ever met.”

“She knows when people are lying to her,” Credence mutters. “She knew you weren’t really asking for directions.”

Percy frowns. “You vastly underestimate my ability to lie,” he says. “I’ve been doing it much longer than she has. You now, you’re a bad liar, but she expects that.” He hums, drumming his fingers on his thigh, still dressed in the black suit from last night, but the coat is gone. “I shook her hand and saw her for who she is. I’m surprised you didn’t crack earlier.”

“I try to protect Modesty,” Credence says quietly. “If I’m not there, she’ll turn to her. I was… I was going to ask you to protect my sisters, if I asked for anything else first.”

“Kill your mother, protect your sisters, and take your soul for it,” Percy says and shakes his head. “That’s not worth my time.”

Credence wants to cry. He doesn’t want to ask Percy what is worth his time, because offering his soul, when he knows how it feels to not have one, at least a bit, is more than enough. He doesn’t want to give him anything else, except perhaps his life, and maybe then only in exchange for protecting his sisters. But he thinks that deal would be even less satisfying to Percy.

He’s afraid he’s going to have to crawl back to the church and endure whatever his mother has in store for him next. He’ll walk in healthy and unharmed and she will ensure the next time he leaves won’t be that way.

Credence sniffs and wipes his nose, setting the coffee aside, his stomach queasy. “You said I would owe you something for wasting your time,” he says slowly. “If I choose not to have… have a contract with you.”

“I did,” Percy says as he gazes at Credence. “I’d say you owe me twelve hours.”

“Twelve... hours?” Credence asks. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve likely delayed the corruption of those gentlemen by twelve hours,” Percy says with a smirk. “So you owe me twelve hours.”

“Of what?” Credence asks. “My time? My life?”

“Twelve hours of your time is twelve hours of your life,” Percy says and smiles as Credence frowns. “One hour, for the next twelve days. I would advise you to stay here, rather than return to the church, because I don’t feel like expending the energy to heal you every single day.”

Credence gapes at him. “I told you, I can’t leave her to hurt my sisters!”

Percy shrugs. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t, but it’ll cost you more time.”

“How can you make sure she doesn’t?”

“Because you’ve summoned the right hand of the Devil, Credence, and you’ll find I can do anything I want. That I can make anything happen,” Percy says quietly, but sternly, and it sends a shiver of fear up Credence’s spine.

The shiver of interest is more alarming.

“Your sisters won’t be harmed. It’s done,” Percy says and stands. He moves closer to Credence, until he’s standing in front of him and his fingers move through Credence’s hair, the same way they had before Credence had even heard his voice. He leans down, his lips near Credence’s ear. “But you owe me twenty-four hours for it.”

Credence bites his lip as he shivers again, not entirely in fear, but Percy is gone as quickly as he had come, and Credence hears his footsteps disappear behind him. He puts his head in his hands, his heart thumping wildly, and doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t think he can deny Percy this, but he also doesn’t know what Percy will ask of him in those twenty-four hours. It’s not a lot, really, but spread over twelve or twenty-four days and it seems like a lifetime. Percy might ask him to do horrible things, like hurt someone, and he curses himself, for being desperate.

For letting the thought of hurting his mother get the best of him. He was supposed to be better than that.

And yet there was excitement burning in his gut, when Percy had spoken, and he thinks he truly must be wicked and destined for Hell for that alone.

Credence looks around the apartment. It doesn’t look like a prison but he’s not sure if Percy will let him leave either, until he’s finished with him. He supposes there could be worse places to spend his time. He gets up, his muscles stiff from being on the sofa for so long, and walks into the kitchen.

The cabinets, pantry and refrigerator are stocked with food. He gets the feeling Percy doesn’t need to eat, so it must be for him.

He hears Percy and looks up as he walks into the kitchen, his long black coat back on.

“There are plenty of ways for you to occupy your time in here,” Percy says. “I would prefer for you to stay close. But if you feel the need to stretch your legs, by all means. Just don’t venture too far.”

“Or you’ll know?” Credence asks a bit dryly.

“That’s right,” Percy says with a laugh. “I’ll be back tonight.”

“What exactly are you looking for from me, in those hours?”

“Why ruin the surprise?” Percy asks with a smile. “Behave yourself.”

He disappears and Credence stares at where he had been standing for a while.

Credence doesn’t think he can trust anything Percy says and yet, when he thinks of Chastity and Modesty, he does. Ma will not hurt them, though he doesn’t know what that means exactly, and finds that maybe he doesn’t want to. But his sisters will be alright and that’s enough.

He walks to the windows and stares out at Manhattan and thinks about his life. A life of pain, a life of agony, with no end in sight. Enough to push him into summoning a demon, though he is now too scared to make a deal with him, but he thinks about what that means. What it says about his life and him.

When Percy is done with him, if he hasn’t taken Credence’s soul or life, where will Credence go? Not back to the church, but he still can’t leave his sisters there to rot away, just like he’s rotted away.

Maybe he can convince Percy to find them better lives, away from Ma, and give him whatever he asks for in return. He’s not sure if he’s strong enough to do certain things a demon might ask for, but he can’t assume what that is for now.

And there’s the other part, that one that’s deep down, that had felt a certain excitement, a thrill when Percy had touched him, had whispered in his ear, had told him he could do whatever he wanted. It’s shameful and it makes his cheeks burn, but he can’t pretend he hadn’t felt it.

Credence finds something to eat and wanders the apartment. It’s larger than he thought and... normal. There isn’t anything about it that would say a demon owns it. The books on the shelves are normal books, not anything about Devil worship, and he grabs a few and sits on the sofa.

Reading will keep his mind occupied, which is why he spends some of his days in the library, when he can. He’s not well read and it takes him hours to read very little, but it’s been getting easier.

When Percy comes back that evening, the sun has long since set, and it’s snowing outside. Credence has kept the fire burning through the day, enjoying its sweet scent, and the warm light, and has tried not to think that this is the most at ease he’s felt in years.

“I want you to come out with me,” he hears Percy’s voice behind him.

Credence yelps and fumbles with the book. He turns and looks over the sofa and sees Percy in the kitchen, leaning against the breakfast bar, smirking at him.

“Can you please...” Credence trails off and decides it’s not worth it. Percy would probably ask him for more hours for every favor he asks. The gleam in Percy’s eyes tells him he’s exactly right. “Where?”

“Out,” Percy says. “Go find some clothes to wear. Preferably warm ones.”

“Is this our first hour?”

“Yes. I’ll start the clock when we get outside,” Percy says with a roguish sort of wink.

Credence blushes but he stands and walks down to the bedroom that Percy points at. It’s the master bedroom and there is a closet that he walks into, turning on the light. There are a lot of clothes to choose from but he grabs the warmest that he can find and sighs to think that a demon has managed to give him the finest things he’s ever had.

“Good,” Percy says when he walks back out. He holds out his hand.

Credence takes it.

They’re outside, the cold sudden and shocking against his cheeks, and he blinks as he stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks around. They’re on a street corner he’s not familiar with and it’s not bustling with people like Manhattan would be.

A woman’s scream rings out, loud and terrible, echoing around the buildings and street. He’s so used to hearing people scream, but there’s something worse about it tonight, in the snow and where no other people are about, and he flinches.

He sees her then, across the street, pushed up against the wall by a large man who appears to be threatening her.

Credence isn’t sure which one Percy is here for and it makes his stomach churn, threatening to make him sick.

“There’s ugliness everywhere you look, Credence,” Percy says. “Some people choose not to look and some people ask for help. Sometimes they turn to God and sometimes they turn to the Devil. Some people do all of them eventually.”

The way he looks at Credence when he says it makes his heart race faster. He is one of those people, he knows, and he doesn’t know what Percy is trying to tell him.

Percy touches his hand and they are on the other side of the street, behind the man and woman, who Credence can hear whimpering. Percy steps forward and touches the man’s shoulder and he whirls around, a knife in his hand, but Credence sees his shade then, like he saw his own, when the man stumbles back, falling.

His soul is still standing, Percy’s hand touching it, and it’s screaming, Credence sees, but there is no sound coming from its mouth. He stumbles back himself, gasping, shaking from far more than the cold.

The soul disappears into the concrete below and Percy turns to the man, who scrambles back on the sidewalk, his knife forgotten.

The woman, not much older than Credence, watches, tears in her eyes, but she looks angry. She knew this would happen, Credence realizes. She has already asked for Percy’s help.

Percy kneels in front of the man and he must be talking, but there’s a rush in Credence’s ears, thumping in time with his rapid heartbeat, and he thinks about running, about running all the way back to Manhattan, to get away from this, to get away from the work of demons, the work of desperate, hurt people.

When Percy touches the man’s forehead and he falls limp onto the sidewalk, Credence doesn’t have to be any closer to him to know he’s dead. Percy stands and turns to the woman, who is silently crying as she watches him, and nods at whatever he says. She glances at Credence only once before she turns and leaves.

“W—What… what happened?” Credence asks, his voice high and terrified, as Percy walks toward him. “Did she already give you her soul?”

“Not yet,” Percy says simply. “We made a different sort of deal.”

“But you said… you said mine wasn’t worth your time, what did she offer you? Why would you kill him if she hasn’t given you her soul?”

Percy merely smiles. “Time is her punishment,” he says. “I gave her time and she accepted it. When her time runs out, her soul is mine for the taking.”

Credence shivers, wrapping his arms around himself. “What sort of punishment is that?”

“Time to sit with what you did to someone else, no matter how evil they were, is punishment enough for some people, Credence,” Percy says.

“You’re torturing her,” Credence accuses and there are hot tears in his eyes.

“I didn’t force her to accept the deal,” Percy says. “If this is how she wants to reconcile it within herself, that’s her choice.”

“Why’d you take me here?” Credence asks weakly. “Why? I don’t want to see this, I don’t want to know what you do to people.”

Percy watches him, like he’s merely some curious creature behind caged bars. “Yet you would have asked me for something similar, if I had let you continue to bleed.”

Credence flinches and turns away, brushing tears off his cheeks and trying not to start hyperventilating. He feels Percy’s hand on his shoulder and doesn’t have the time to shake it off, because they’re back in the apartment, and Credence stumbles.

He grabs the back of the sofa and stares down at it, blinking quickly, and doesn’t know what Percy’s game is. If he enjoys watching Credence in pain, if his punishment is to watch people die, to watch other people make the same choice he had been so close to, he doesn’t know.

“Please,” he whispers. “I can’t do this. Please, Percy, take what you want from me.”

“I am, Credence,” Percy says, close to him.

“No,” Credence says and looks up at him. “I don’t want to see these things. I’ll give you anything you ask for, if you protect my sisters. Please.”

Percy watches him, eyes so dark, and moves his hand to Credence’s cheek, brushing away his tears. “Twenty-three more hours, Credence,” he says softly. “Your sisters are already protected. That’s what we agreed on.”

“I can’t do this for that long,” Credence says, voice broken.

It hits him squarely in the chest, that he might have to see these things for twenty-four entire hours, and he thinks it would be a fitting punishment, withering him down to nothing, for the sins he’s committed. But he doesn’t think he can stand it.

Percy smiles, gently. “I think you can,” he says and cups Credence’s cheeks, pulling him up, so he’s forced to look him directly in the eye. “I think you’re perfectly capable of watching what people do to each other. You’ve been doing it your entire life.”

“Not like this,” Credence says desperately. “Not a demon’s work.”

“You think your mother is any different from a demon? She may say it’s in God’s name or it’s to rid the world of witches, but do you think she is so different? Inflicting pain, taking souls, leaving hollow shells in her wake? Do you think you haven’t been watching a demon's work your entire life?”

Credence yanks away from him and walks around the sofa. He sits heavily down, because his knees threaten to collapse under him, and he holds his head in his hands.

Percy’s right, he knows. He has been watching evil, he has been at its hand, and he has done nothing about it, not until now. And he is still not going to do anything about it, he thinks, and perhaps that’s the point Percy is trying to make. Credence has been a victim of evil, but he’s also been a bystander of it, and he’s still too weak to make sure it ends.

It hurts, immensely, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Percy hasn’t left, is still standing behind him, and Credence isn’t sure if the hate burning in his chest is for himself or Percy.

“Please,” he whispers and he isn’t sure what he’s asking for. To be free of this, for Percy to have mercy on him, for Percy to end it all, whatever that means.

Percy’s fingers move through his hair again and the touch is gentle and might be a comfort, if it was a different time and place.

“Twenty-three hours, Credence.”

And then he’s gone.

——

Percy doesn’t come back in the morning or in the afternoon.

Credence tries not to think about last night, but he can’t help it. He’d had nightmares about it, lying on the sofa, until he decided to stop trying to sleep in the early hours of the morning. He’s taken a shower and tried to read, but he’s distracted now. It’s hard to eat, his stomach not well, and he wants to leave.

Stretch his legs, like Percy had said. Let the cold wake him up a little, make him feel something other than fear and a crushing sadness, that he has done this to himself. But he’s too frightened to leave, too frightened he’ll go too far and Percy will come and show him something else he doesn’t want to see.

There’s liquor in the apartment and Credence holds up a bottle of whiskey and thinks about drinking some. These are the sorts of things that drive people to drink, he knows, but when he smells the whiskey, it’s enough to turn him off from the idea.

He finds himself sitting on the sofa and staring at the fireplace, watching the embers float up the chimney, eyes heavy, far more than just his body that’s tired. It’s nearly ten and that’s when he feels Percy.

Credence thinks if he had been paying attention before, he would have felt him last night too. But his presence is sudden and the hairs on the back of Credence’s neck stand on end.

“I don’t want to go,” Credence says, because it is late now and the later it gets, the worse things always are.

“And yet you will, all the same,” Percy’s voice says.

Credence looks up, at the other end of the sofa, where Percy is standing behind it, leaning against it. His arms are over his chest and he’s not wearing black tonight. He’s wearing a handsome three-piece grey suit and Credence thinks it fits him better than the black, which is odd, considering black is the Devil’s color.

There’s a red rose in the pocket of his jacket and Credence stares at it, thinking it means something, but he can’t figure out what.

“Get dressed. Something nicer tonight.”

Credence looks at him and thinks about begging. But this must be his penance, he thinks, and he gets up and walks into the bedroom. It takes a while to choose something nice, but he follows Percy’s lead and dresses in what someone might call his Sunday best. When he rejoins Percy, he nods his approval and holds up his hand, in which he holds a white rose.

It’s real and alive and Credence brushes his fingers over the soft petals before he puts it in his own pocket. “What sort of work do you do that requires dressing like this?”

“All kinds,” Percy says. “But I am a professional. It’s best to look the part.” He holds out his hand.

Credence sighs, gently, but he takes it.

They’re in a hospital. The coldness and the smell is almost more overwhelming than appearing in a snowstorm and the lights are painfully bright after the low light of the apartment. Nurses and patients wander the halls and don’t look at them in such a way that Credence feels they must not see them.

The idea causes fear to run up his spine but when he looks at Percy, he’s merely smiling, and it’s not cruel or tinged with curiosity. He doesn’t think it should make him feel better, but it does.

Percy leads him down the hall until they walk into a large hospital room, likely meant for more than one patient, but there is only one man lying in a bed, and he is surrounded by various men, dressed finely, all wearing hats, and Credence has the distinct impression these are not businessmen.

They seem to unknowingly make a space for Percy and Credence at the man’s bedside, but they don’t look at them either, they only gaze solemnly at the man, who is elderly, but he is strikingly familiar to Credence.

He’s a mobster, one of New York’s finest, and he is dying. His eyes are still bright, blue and chilling, and Credence wonders how many deals with the Devil he’s struck.

He looks at Percy and smiles, holding up his hand, until Percy takes it.

“Just in time,” he says. “I wondered if you might have forgotten our deal.”

“I don’t ever forget a deal,” Percy says. “Have you made up your mind?”

The old man nods. “I have,” he says. “I think I did sixty years ago.”

Percy merely smiles. “Tell me.”

“Forgive the boy,” the old man rasps. “And take the rest.”

“Done,” Percy says and presses his hand against the man’s forehead.

Credence feels a rush of cold near his ankles and inhales sharply, because he thinks he knows what it was. The old man’s eyes are different now, more lifeless, and Credence knows that his soul has been taken. It’s not violent like last night and yet something else has happened, something Credence doesn’t think will be kind.

When Percy removes his hand, the old man gazes at the other men in the room and with one final breath, he is gone. Percy plucks out the rose and sets it on his still chest and Credence does the same, because he thinks Percy will expect it.

They leave the room and Credence breathes in deeply, shaking, and he’s afraid to ask. Afraid to ask what deal he had made with Percy and yet he’s burning with morbid curiosity.

“What did he mean?” he asks Percy, weakly, as he looks at him. “Forgive the boy and take the rest?”

Percy smiles. “Sixty years ago he sought a deal with me. Kill his brother and I could have his soul whenever he died. An easy deal to make because the line of work he was in promised a great many souls in Hell without requiring my interference,” he says. “But I told him that making me wait until the day he died required more than that.”

“Other souls?” Credence asks though he doesn’t really want to know.

“The women he loved or the children he would have,” Percy says. “I knew he would regret damning his brother the way he had. I told him if he gave me his childrens’ souls, I would free his brother. If he wanted his brother to stay where he was, it would be the women he loved throughout his life.”

Credence stares at Percy. “He chose his brother and the women he loved,” he says quietly. “Over his own children.”

Percy smiles. “You can’t expect everyone to have a soft heart, Credence,” he says. “Or to take the path that seems most kind. Asking me to kill his brother was an act of desperation, much like yours would have been. He’s lived with that for sixty years.”

“But they were still his children,” Credence says. “Children are supposed to be more important…” he trails off, his lip wobbling and looks away.

He knows perfectly well some people look at their children as expendable. He’s lived it and he knows to some people, the love of a partner or a sibling is more important than anyone else, even if it shouldn’t be that way.

The man might have damned his children, but he might have treated them well in life. Credence doesn’t know, but he does know that nothing is without complications. He knew that early on. That nothing is truly easy.

Maybe he can’t judge why people turn to a demon for help or the deals they make with them. He would hope that someone looking at him would have understood, if he had made the deal he wanted to, when he was bleeding and dying in the cold.

Credence is exhausted. He feels it in his bones and he knows he can’t do this every day. He can’t watch someone die, can’t learn why it happened, can’t hear the deals that Percy makes, that will always be unfair to someone, that are just a game for him.

“We’ll round up the hour,” Percy says and touches Credence’s wrist.

They’re back in the apartment and Credence looks around the now familiar walls, the familiar furniture, the fireplace, still roaring, not capable of burning anything down, he thinks.

He looks at Percy, who is gazing back at him. Percy is teaching him a lesson, one that hurts, and he’s not sure if he’s going to come out of it with his sanity, as a better person, as someone who no longer has a soul. Or even his life.

“We’re going to do this every night,” Credence says quietly, not really a question.

“Maybe,” Percy says and moves his hand to Credence’s cheek. “Maybe not.”

Credence wants to pull away, but he doesn’t, because Percy’s hand is warm and he is cold, cold in a place that he doesn’t think any warmth will ever reach, even if he keeps chasing it.

He closes his eyes and expects Percy to leave, to disappear until tomorrow night, but his hand moves to Credence’s and he finds himself being pulled along down the hall.

“Try the bed tonight, Credence,” Percy says with some amusement. “You need the comfort and the rest.”

It’s on the tip of Credence’s tongue to ask for more comfort than just a bed, but he shakes himself of that thought. Percy isn’t a friend to him, he isn’t on his side, and Credence won’t take false kindness, just because he’s so desperate for any sign of it.

He changes into the pajamas and climbs into the bed and curls up, shivering, and wonders if the hollow feeling in his heart will ever go away. It’s not the same as no soul, but it’s torture nonetheless.

Percy’s fingers run through his hair and Credence lets him do it, letting it pull him into sleep, with only the hope that no nightmares find him tonight.

——

It’s much the same for the next two nights.

Percy takes him out of the apartment and leads him to a scene of death that leaves Credence trembling and teary. It doesn’t get any easier, nor any less shocking, but he hears their stories and thinks no one is really that different after all.

An old woman who sold her soul and promised her life one year ago so that her son could be cured of a terminal illness smiles when she sees Percy, but it's no less awful to see her die.

A young man, who asks Percy to take his soul instead, and free his brother’s, who has already made a deal of his own, and when Percy tells him he requires more, he gives him his life.

On the third night, Percy takes him to a crossroads a few hours north of the city, because he’s been summoned. Credence watches him talk to a man ten or so years older than Credence, who wants to sell his soul, to achieve wealth and security, to advance further than his parents told him he would, and Credence is perhaps more horrified by this than anything else.

He yells then, for the man to stop, because he doesn’t know what it’s like to live without a soul. That he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with his ambition and who he might hurt. But the man doesn’t hear him, only keeps talking to Percy, who manages to make the deal even sweeter for himself, and eventually they shake hands and the deal is done.

“You made it so he couldn’t hear me,” Credence says angrily, when they’re back in the apartment. “So he couldn’t see me.”

“I knew you were likely to interfere and that isn’t your place,” Percy says as he walks into the kitchen and opens the liquor cabinet. He gets two glasses and pours the whiskey into them, pushing one across the breakfast bar toward Credence.

“You don’t tell them what they’re getting into! You promise them riches and happiness but they’ll be empty and they’ll hurt people and they’ll… one day they’ll be in Hell, tortured and tormented forever,” Credence says, fisting at his hair, tears in his eyes.

“Not forever,” Percy says. “Eventually they’ll be made into demons themselves and will be fit to make their own deals.”

Credence gapes at him. “You weren’t always…?”

Percy smiles and takes a drink of the whiskey. “Is it so surprising?”

“So your soul was tormented and you came out of it wanting it to happen to other people?” Credence asks. “Why?”

“You have to remember that these people come to me, Credence. Just like you did,” Percy says. “They come to me for help but help will always come with a price when you’re bargaining with a demon. It’s a job, not a service given freely.”

“How can you stand it? How can you stand to watch people suffer and how can you sentence them to it?” Credence asks desperately.

Percy watches him with a faint smile. “If you had given me your soul, your life, one day you would have been doing the same. You would accept what you asked for,” he says quietly. “The price it cost you, even if you want to pretend you didn’t know that from the beginning.”

Credence looks away and brushes a few tears off his cheeks. He knows Percy is right, is always right, that he knew what it meant when he drew the pentagram. He hadn’t cared anymore, because he thought death might be better. That Hell and damnation would be better than the hell and damnation he faced at his mother’s hands.

He sniffs and picks up the glass, looking at the amber liquid before he takes a sip of it. He winces at the burn and sets it aside, sighing shakily. “Why did you make a deal?”

“That’s a very personal question, you know.”

Credence frowns as he looks at Percy. “You don’t seem like the type of man to care about personal questions, Mister Graves.”

Percy smirks a little and tips the rest of the whiskey back. “I asked for someone I loved to be saved,” he says and shrugs. “He demanded both my life and soul and I gave them freely.”

“How long ago?”

“Many lifetimes now,” Percy says as he looks at the empty glass, then at Credence. “The world is a much different place today.”

“How long have you been a demon?”

“Nearly as long.”

Credence frowns as he thinks about that. “I thought souls were tormented for a very long time.”

“It feels longer than it is but my… sentence, if you will, was shorter than what’s considered average.”

Credence’s heart races and he stares at Percy, a lump in his throat. “Why?” he asks carefully, afraid of the answer.

Percy smiles, like he knows it. “Because I’ve always been ambitious, Credence. Because I succeed in everything that I do and I exceed expectations as I do it.”

“So someone saw your potential as a demon instead of a soul being tormented,” Credence says and moves closer to the sofa, to lean heavily against it. “As a salesman.”

Percy laughs. “If you’d like,” he says. “I do know how to strike excellent deals.”

“But you didn’t with me,” Credence says. “You’re hurting me for wasting your time but you didn’t try and strike a deal with me.”

“No,” Percy agrees. “This was more fitting for you.”

“Why?” Credence demands.

“Careful, love,” Percy says, but his voice is soft, almost a caress. “There are ways I can still ensure your soul will belong to me.”

Credence feels fear then, but it’s mingled with his anger. He thinks Percy is trying to make a point with all of this, to teach him that lesson, but that means he isn’t taking Credence’s soul and from the sounds of it, he doesn’t plan to. He wants to question him more, but he thinks he shouldn’t push.

Because if Percy never plans to kill him or take his soul, then one day he will no longer owe him anything, and he will be free to move on. To find something better for himself, though the idea of it is still so terrifying that tears burn in his eyes. He doesn’t have an education or work experience, he can’t take care of Modesty on his own, and Ma wouldn’t let her or Chastity go anyway.

He sniffs and looks at Percy. There’s still one thing he wants to ask, but he’s not sure how Percy will take it. Perhaps he should wait, but he’s waited too long already.

“I want to see my sisters,” he says quietly. “Please.”

Percy gazes at him with a smile. “I wondered when you might ask,” he says. “Sure. Whenever you’d like.”

“I can go tomorrow morning then?”

“We can, yes.”

Credence frowns, but he supposes he couldn’t expect anything else. “Alright,” he says and sighs, with some relief. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Percy says, amused, and pours himself another glass of whiskey.

“Where do you go?” Credence asks. “When you leave here for the night?”

“Various places. I am very busy. Meetings and collections and every once in a while, I find myself summoned and end up in a pentagram or at a crossroads. Sometimes I even have to visit the office.”

Credence grimaces. He won’t be asking any questions about that and Percy knows it, chuckling, low and husky, from the whiskey, but it makes something in Credence’s stomach tighten, to hear it.

He rubs his hands over his face, his cheeks warm, because as much as Percy frightens him, angers him, there’s always been something about him that’s been intriguing. He reminds himself that it’s supposed to be that way - entrapment, to get as many souls as possible, and Credence won’t let him take his. Even if he meant to not so very long ago.

Some of what his mother says to him, some of the reasons she gives for taking a belt to his hands or back, he knows are true. She can’t know that, he’s hidden it so well, but she assumes, because he’s never shown interest in anyone before.

He would likely enjoy the same punishment if he did show interest in a woman, even a good Christian woman, one that would join the church. Because it might make him happy and Ma would never allow that.

But he doesn’t have interest in women and he’s kept his interest in men locked away inside, because he knows it is not only illegal, but sinful. That merely lying with another man would ensure his eternal damnation anyway.

Credence doesn’t think anything he does in his life will ever ensure anything but that and it makes him tired to think about it. If he already faces Hell, perhaps he won’t worry about it, once Percy is long gone.

Of course, he’s too frightened to even protect himself, so actually committing sins might be a long time off, if he ever could do it at all.

“Stop fretting so much,” Percy says, an odd sort of affection in his voice. “Go to sleep.”

“That’s still easy for you to say,” Credence mumbles. But he doesn’t look at Percy as he walks to the bedroom, though he feels his eyes on him, and changes into a pair of the silk pajamas.

They’re always cool on his skin at first, but they fit perfectly, everything in the closet has so far, and he wonders how immense a demon’s power truly is.

Percy’s power.

Credence climbs into bed and curls up, not sure if he still wishes he would wake up in the church, nothing different, all of it just a nightmare. He has comfort here, solitude and peace, except for their nightly outings.

He knows his sisters are safe. The wish for it to stay this way is particularly strong tonight and he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think of freedom, only a few weeks away.

——

Percy is there in the morning and Credence wonders if he ever actually left, because he’s sitting on the sofa and the whiskey bottle is empty.

But he’s not drunk, Credence doesn’t think he could ever be so, and after Credence has forced a bit of toast down his dry throat, they leave the apartment and appear across the street from the church on Pike Street.

No one seems to notice their sudden appearance, either by Percy’s doing, or by staring down at the icy sidewalks as they walk, dressed in thin clothing and fighting the cold, on their way to work. The orphans are surrounding the church, hoping for an early bowl of hot soup, and Credence’s heart aches as he sees them.

He knows he can’t go into the church, but it isn’t long before the doors open and he sees Chastity and Modesty step out. They look cold and irritable, but they are uninjured, very much alive, and Credence sags with relief.

Modesty looks at him then and he smiles timidly, but she turns away and looks at one of the orphaned girls, smiling and taking her hand. They walk together down the street as Chastity shouts after her to not be long, before she enters the church, telling the children to wait a bit longer.

Credence’s heart sinks. “Why didn’t she… she didn’t recognize me,” he says, a startling realization, and an icy one. “Why didn’t she recognize me?” he asks Percy in a panic as he looks at him.

Percy rests his hand over Credence’s shoulder. “They won’t until our time is up. To protect them I had to remove you from their lives. But don’t worry,” he says with a wry smile. “As soon as my protection ends, they’ll remember you just fine. It’ll be like no time has passed for them. If you want, you can walk into the church the morning after we’re done and they’ll think you left it the night before, beaten half to death by your mother.”

Credence is shivering. “How does making them forget me protect them from her?”

“Because I made them forget they’d ever been hurt by her,” Percy says. “As far as your mother goes, a little power of persuasion never hurt.”

“Power of…” Credence trails off and shakes his head. “You’re controlling her?”

Percy shrugs. “It’s not hard to do,” he says and smiles. “They’re living more peacefully now than they ever have before. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Credence stares at him and bites his lip. He sees now why he had to pay a higher price for this and thinks that Percy could have asked even more of him for it. That he would have given him it, if it meant this, even for just a few weeks.

He wonders what he would have to give Percy to make it something that continued happening. That Ma never hurt anyone again, that Modesty and Chastity grow up without pain or the reminder of it, to hopefully break free of Pike Street and find better things, somewhere else.

It’s an intense, desperate longing, for both of them, and he remembers what Percy said that first night.

Isn’t it amazing, Credence, what desperation and pain pushes us to do?

Credence closes his eyes and tries to push it away, because he won’t seek out Percy’s help. Not again. He won’t give a demon what he ultimately wants, because he can truly only want Credence’s life and soul. Perhaps he is steadily trying to push Credence into giving them to him, but that doesn’t feel quite right either.

He’ll have to find a way to give his sisters freedom, in his own way.

After he’s looked at the church again, knowing Ma or Chastity won’t be out for a while more, and Modesty will be playing with her friends until the bell rings, Credence looks at Percy.

Percy touches his hand and they’re back in the apartment.

“Thank you,” Credence says and takes off his thick winter coat. He sets it on the breakfast bar and moves around to the sofa, sitting down heavily and putting his face in his hands.

Percy’s fingers move through his hair a moment later. “They’re happy, Credence, for a little while.”

“I’d rather they lived their entire lives happy. Or at least content,” Credence says, muffled against his hands. He drops them and sniffs, looking out of the windows. “You have to know it hurts me to know they’ll remember it all in a few weeks.”

“They don’t have to,” Percy says. “They can never remember it. You only have to ask.”

“No,” Credence says, as firmly as he can, though it pains him to do so. “I’ll find a way on my own.”

Percy doesn’t say anything in response to that but Credence has a peculiar feeling that he’s pleased with him in some way, which he doesn’t quite understand. He closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the feeling of Percy’s fingers in his hair, a comfort he’s never felt before, even if it’s from the demon that tends to emotionally traumatize him every day.

Eventually Percy moves away and Credence looks out of the windows, when it begins to snow. He’s tired and wrung out from all of this but the sight is beautiful and he reminds himself that there is beauty in this world, no matter how much Ma tried to hide it from him.

Credence smells coffee and when Percy comes around the sofa, he hands Credence a mug with a plate of fruit, something Credence has been enjoying immensely, though it makes him feel guilty to eat any.

Affording a few oranges now and then was difficult enough.

Percy sits next to him once he has his own cup of coffee and puts his feet up on the coffee table and Credence glances at him.

“Don’t you have people to corrupt?”

“Met my quota for the week,” Percy says, but Credence knows he’s joking. “I have a lot of people under me, Credence, they’re out doing the Devil’s work for me.”

Credence wrinkles his nose and picks up an orange slice, taking small bites, to savor it. “How did I manage to summon you of all demons?”

“I told you, I was in town,” Percy says. “It normally calls to who is closest. But you also offered blood, which was of particular interest to me. Most people say the words. Offering blood is the old way.”

Credence blinks for a while before he huffs. “I didn’t even mean to,” he says and shrugs as Percy raises an eyebrow at him. “I think my hand just happened to land in the pentagram when I laid down to die.”

Percy chuckles. “Aren’t you lucky,” he says and smirks as Credence shoots him a glare. “Isn’t that what your kind call fate?”

“My kind?” Credence asks dryly. “My kind believe in divine fate, not whatever you’re called.”

“Demonic fate just doesn’t sound the same, does it?” Percy asks and takes a drink of his coffee.

“Divine punishment,” Credence says as he takes another bite of the orange.

Percy points at him. “That’s it,” he says. He looks out of the window, at the snowfall. “What caused her to escalate the beatings?”

“How do you know it escalated?”

“The scarring from the lashes would have been far more extensive than what was there previously.”

Credence grimaces and picks up a piece of sliced apple, ignoring the strange fact that Percy has peeled an orange and sliced an apple for him. Or maybe he just snapped his fingers. But he didn’t have to all the same.

“I had been saving money all year long, so I could get out of there one day. It wasn’t much, but getting close enough to get me a room somewhere, in Brooklyn or Queens, maybe. She said it was my avarice, keeping it to myself, an abandonment of my family,” Credence says and stares at the snowflakes as he remembers her looming over him. “She said I deserved to die for it. After she was done, she told me I could come back if I survived the cold. That she’d leave that up to God. I know you’ll find that amusing.”

But Percy doesn’t laugh. He merely gazes at Credence, the look on his face largely unreadable, though there’s something in his eyes Credence hasn’t seen yet. It’s not pity, it’s not sympathy, but something in between.

“I’m sure what you had seen her do was mild in comparison to other things you’ve seen,” Credence says, hoping Percy is distracted, because the look in his eyes is making him feel strange.

“I think physical abuse can’t particularly be compared. It’s subjective, really. Especially a parent inflicting it on a child,” Percy says. “Battered women would likely tell you you have it far worse.”

Credence bites his lip and supposes that’s probably true. “I know you enjoy what pain does to people,” he says slowly. “I know you enjoy it when it drives them to you. Demons in general. Are there no angels that interfere, like demons do?”

Percy smiles and is quiet for some time. “Angels don’t interfere with human nature. Demons capitalize on it,” he says carefully. “That’s the difference between us.”

“Why? Why would angels not want to stop suffering?”

“They do, Credence. When someone dies,” Percy says. “But not outside of that.”

Credence nibbles on an apple slice and ignores the sting in the back of his eyes. “Why are you allowed to interfere?”

“There’s as much power in the Devil as there is in God because a balance has to be struck. Dark and light, they have to be equal.”

“But it’s not equal,” Credence argues. “It’s not equal if you’re allowed to come up here and corrupt people. If you’re allowed to kill people and take their souls. It’s not equal if angels aren’t turning people toward the light while you take them toward the dark.”

Percy smiles and looks at Credence. “But you’re forgetting the most important part of humanity, Credence,” he says. “That, deep down, people are inherently good. You might not have experienced it but it’s the truth. Most people are good and they don’t commit sins foul enough to be anything but good. If there’s to be balance, we have to meet a quota.”

Credence stares at Percy for a while. He sets the plate aside and rubs his hands over his face. He’s not sure if he’s more comforted by that or not. He looks at Percy helplessly.

“God lets you corrupt people to keep the balance.”

“The Devil only corrupts so many to keep the balance.”

“What would happen if the scales were tipped?”

“Raptures and apocalypses,” Percy says with a shrug and smirks as Credence gapes at him. “Or maybe it’s all bullshit, Credence. Stories fed to us by higher powers because it’s a game to them and humanity was an experiment.”

Credence shivers and looks away. “I prefer to think of it the other way,” he mumbles. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re a demon at all.”

Percy chuckles. “What else might I be?”

“A witch,” Credence says. “That’s been lying to me from the start.”

“You doubt what you’ve seen?”

“No. Sometimes I doubt that I understand what I’ve seen.”

“Well,” Percy sighs. “We’ve still got quite a few more nights to go. Maybe you’ll have a deeper understanding by the time you’ve given me what you owe me.”

Credence sighs at the reminder of that. The mess he’s gotten himself into. “Once you’re gone, I’m going to try and convince myself you were never here to begin with.”

Percy smiles and takes a drink of coffee. “One thing about me, Credence, is that I am utterly unforgettable.”

“You’re an asshole,” Credence says and is rather shocked by his own words, but he won’t back away from them. “And every one of them I’ve met is eventually forgettable.”

Percy only laughs.

Credence supposes he has quite a while before Percy will make him go out into the city or somewhere nearby, and he curls up in the corner of the sofa, pulling the wool blanket around himself. He watches the snow fall for a while and doesn’t bother asking why Percy sticks around.

“Are all the sins in the Bible actually sins?” he asks after a while and through a yawn.

“Of course not,” Percy says. “Everyone would be a sinner if they were.”

“Which ones would get you sent to Hell?”

“The ones you might think. Murder, rape, abuse, war crimes. Things of that nature.”

“Sleeping with your neighbor’s wife?”

Percy chuckles. “Neither God nor the Devil care who you take into your bed, as long as it’s truly consensual.”

Credence frowns. “Men lying with men and women lying with women is considered so sinful they’ve made it illegal.”

“People interpret the Bible and other texts to fit what makes them comfortable. If it makes them uncomfortable, it’s easy to tell everyone else they’re sinners destined for Hell or to outlaw behaviors altogether.”

Credence’s heart races a little faster at that and he pulls the blanket up to his chin. He’s been told he’s a wicked, sinful boy for years, for what his mother suspected, and he isn’t sure if he wants to cry or laugh, to hear it never really mattered. That she is the one going to Hell, because of the abuse she’s committed on her children.

“It seems to me that people would be happier if they stopped reading the Bible and enjoyed their fellow humans more,” Percy says. “Though I’d have to work even harder if they did so I do prefer to see them fearful.”

“Of course,” Credence says wryly. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He takes the blanket with him, wrapped around his shoulders, and walks down to the bedroom. He closes the door behind himself and sits on the edge of the bed, staring down at his knees. His heart aches and the tears do come, because the magnitude of what Percy has told him is becoming more apparent.

It never mattered. None of what she’s accused him of would ever matter in the eyes of God, if Percy is to be believed.

Years upon years of fear, of pain, all because a woman he calls mother decided what was sinful herself. Credence and his sisters have suffered her and he is often afraid of his own shadow because of her.

He accepted some of the beatings as deserved because of thoughts he knew were wicked. He prayed for forgiveness for them and hoped he would be given it someday.

And it’s never mattered.

He believes Percy on this, though he doesn’t know why. It doesn’t seem like something he would lie to him about.

Credence sniffs and wipes away a few tears. He’s angry, but he feels rather hollow as well, because he’s suffered it already. There is no taking it back, even if it was for nothing, and the pain will always be there. It’s permanently fixed to his body, to his mind, and he doesn’t think it will ever truly go away.

And it was for nothing.

He’s heard people talk about life changing moments and he thinks this must be one, but the hollowness in his heart only grows wider, more consuming.

Credence doesn’t have the desire to leap up and declare things different. He wants to lie down and sleep and forget about it all, maybe forever, because it is going to ruin his mind one day, before it might ever help him.

He’s exhausted and everything Percy has been showing him hasn’t helped.

People might be inherently good, but that doesn’t mean that the evil ones are any less damaging. Credence looks up at the ceiling, tempted to ask for help, but he won’t get it. He feels abandoned, more than he ever has, and wishes he could turn back time.

Not before the last beating, but all the way back to the beginning, when a kind looking woman walked into the orphanage and asked if he wanted to call her mother.

The door opens and he flinches in surprise as he looks up at Percy. Percy walks in, steps in front of him and moves his hand up, brushing away a fresh tear from Credence’s cheek.

“Humans make life so complicated,” Percy says. “When it’s not. When you realize that it’s all bullshit, that you can do whatever you want because it doesn’t matter, it gets easier.”

Credence stares up at him. “That’s not true though,” he says quietly. “I can’t just do whatever I want. I have to have an education, money, a job—”

“What I mean, Credence,” Percy interrupts with a smile, “is that fears don’t matter. You just have to reach out and take what you want. If you want to pursue those things, the fear that holds you back, that’s been holding you back, keeping you under your mother’s thumb, don’t matter. Heaven and Hell don’t matter.”

Credence closes his eyes and hangs his head. “It’s not as simple as you’re making it out to be,” he says. “How do I forget thirteen years of my life? How do I tell myself they never mattered?”

“Those years eventually led you to me,” Percy says softly, moving his hand to Credence’s jaw, forcing him to look up. “Everything you’ve chosen to do, everything others have chosen for you, led you to me. You get to choose where you go from here. What you do with the next thirteen years.”

It’s a strange thing, he thinks, for a demon to tell him. It might be motivational, with good intentions, but he doesn’t think he can trust that. Percy has only helped him by taking from him, not because there’s kindness in him, and Credence frowns, squeezing his eyes shut.

They have so many more days to go and Credence still doesn’t know what waits at the end for him.

Credence looks at Percy, his handsome face, and wonders what he was like, before he made his own deal. If he was truly kind. He must have been, if it was to save someone he loved, and he aches to know that man. To talk to him, without the influence of a demon, to hear any wisdom he might have offered.

“Please tell me what’s going to happen after this,” Credence says. “Please tell me what you really want from me.”

Percy smiles, stroking his thumb over Credence’s chin. “We already have an agreement. Nineteen hours and we’ll both have met it.”

“You’re hiding something from me,” Credence says quietly.

“Am I?” Percy asks. “Or are you only afraid something worse is around the corner, like it always has been?”

“This isn’t a game to me, Percy,” Credence says and his voice wavers with tears, with hurt.

“No,” Percy agrees. “You’re assuming it’s a game for me.”

“You said death was your game and that you loved to play it.”

Percy smiles again. “Yet I haven’t asked it from you and you haven’t offered it.”

“Are you trying to get me to? Please, Percy, I’m so tired. If I have to do this nineteen more times, please just tell me.”

“It’ll be over soon, love.”

And he’s gone, just like that. Credence stares at where he had been standing for a while before he closes his eyes and puts his head in his hands and if he cries, well, Percy isn’t around to hear it.

——

Credence watches Percy work for five nights. Taking souls or lives, but not making any deals. He knows that Percy said he doesn’t do it himself very often and Credence is glad for it, because he’d probably scream himself raw trying to get them to hear him.

The hardest thing Credence thinks he’s seen is the man who offers his soul and begs for his life to be taken, because he feels he has failed as a father and husband, and wants a better life for his family. Percy agrees, but the man asks if he can take his own life, and Credence doesn’t have the time to realize why they’re standing on a rooftop and why he should look away.

He collapses to the ground and brings his knees to his chest and gasps and cries and he knows Percy watches him through it. It’s a terrible thing, a truly terrible thing to witness, though he has thought about doing it himself before.

How could he not, the life he lived? The hopeless future he could always see ahead? But he’d been told it was a sin so powerful he would end up in Hell, just one of many ways, and he asks Percy if it’s true. If ending your own life means eternal damnation.

“No,” Percy says. “Because we don’t interfere in human suffering unless they come to us. Angels don’t interfere unless you’re already dead. Choosing to end pain and suffering is noble and brave, though in my experience there are far better solutions that require no deals with demons or someone’s death. It takes work and courage to push through hopelessness and come out alive and better for it, but it can be done.”

“But you wouldn’t have talked him out of it, if you weren’t going to take his life yourself,” Credence says, tears thick in his voice. “You would have just let him do it.”

“It’s not my place to save people, Credence. Not unless I’ve been given something in return.”

“You’ve never actually helped anyone because you wanted to, have you? Not since you were a man. Maybe not even then.”

Percy’s fingers move through his hair but Credence jerks away from the touch. His hand falls to his shoulder instead, squeezing it. “You know very little about me,” he says. “You seem to mistake professionalism for complete apathy.”

Credence stands abruptly and the change in environment, back in the apartment now, doesn’t even throw him as he turns to look at Percy. “Your professionalism is complete apathy!” he hisses. “You haven’t shown one ounce of sympathy for anyone you’ve spoken to! Their circumstances don’t move you, you don’t offer help unless you get something in return, you laughed at my pain. You’re a demon, though, so I suppose I can’t speak to any bit of you that was ever human. You’ve been moulded by Hell and the Devil.”

Percy merely watches him as he speaks. He only looks calm, not angry or amused. It’s not a surprise when he opens the liquor cabinet and pulls out a fresh bottle of whiskey. He only brings out one glass and pours himself some. Credence wonders if that is the only human side of him left, the one that enjoyed alcohol, once upon a time.

“A balance must always be struck,” Percy says and ignores Credence’s frustrated groan. “So I do my job as it’s required of me. It doesn’t mean I don’t understand the pain that pushes people to me.”

“Understanding and sympathizing with it are two entirely different things,” Credence says and sniffs, reaching up to wipe tears from his cheeks. “You just let him jump. You didn’t tell him he could fix things.”

“You have a soft heart, Credence,” Percy says with a faint smile. “A kind one. That’s a rarity not only in this city but in the world. Maybe if you hold on to that, instead of assuming I have any other choice in my profession, you can be the good you want so badly to see.”

Credence shakes his head and looks away. “Demons can’t walk away? Can’t do something else? They’re always tied to the Devil?”

“Most of them,” Percy says but he doesn’t explain when Credence frowns. “I told you. When people become demons, they accept their choices and making deals of their own is easy. We all understand why someone would ask to begin with because we all asked at the beginning ourselves. Just like you would have.”

“And you still haven’t told me why you didn’t demand more from me. Why our agreement is as simple as it is,” Credence says. “There’s a reason I think you’re hiding something from me.”

Percy smiles before taking a drink of the whiskey. “I think you’re a very paranoid individual,” he says and smirks a little as Credence scowls. “Maybe you should accept the agreement for what it is. We never even shook hands. I don’t have leverage over you that you aren’t seeing.”

“But you are hiding something,” Credence says. “I learned how to sniff that out a long time ago, Percy.”

“Even from demons?”

“According to you, my mother isn’t any different than you.”

Percy frowns. “There are certainly more charming people to compare me to,” he says. “But yes, she is demonic.”

Credence sighs and runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head. “I don’t even know why I talk to you,” he says helplessly. “You lost whatever heart you had the day you died.”

“There are no demons with hearts of gold, Credence. You knew that well before you drew that pentagram.”

“Stop offering me false kindness then,” Credence says. “Stop pretending you care about me in some way. Or anyone else.”

Credence walks away, into the bedroom, and closes the door firmly behind himself, locking it. He thinks he never would have been able to speak to someone this way just two weeks ago, but Percy angers him. Everything about all of this angers him and most of all, he’s livid with himself for starting it.

He thinks it might have been better if Ma had just killed him to begin with. He would have gone to Heaven and had his pains taken away and Ma would eventually go to Hell, though Credence hopes she wouldn’t have tormented Chastity and Modesty too badly.

But that thought makes him angry too. That he would have left them there to torment, if she had killed him, and it doesn’t sit well with him, thinking it might have been better. It wouldn’t have been.

Credence has never been so mixed up in all his life and while he blames himself, he also thoroughly blames Percy. Percy who intrigues and frightens him, Percy who pisses him off and offers him coffee and fruit. Percy who kills people for a living and Percy who strokes his hair until he falls asleep.

He changes into softer clothes and sits on the bed, grabbing the book he’s been reading the last few nights to try and ease him into sleep, to keep the sights he’s seen out of his head. It doesn’t really help, but the nightmares haven’t been as severe the last few nights. He doesn’t know why that is, but he doesn’t want to question it either.

Credence is a little too wired for sleep at the moment, so he arranges the pillows against the headboard, to find some comfort.

“I’m willing to give you a night off tomorrow, if you ask for it.”

Credence flinches in surprise, dropping his book on his thigh as he turns to his left and looks at Percy, who is lying next to him, hands behind his head.

“You—” Credence cuts himself off and closes his eyes. He takes in a breath and decides telling Percy he’s an asshole will only make him laugh. “I locked the door for a reason.”

“This is my apartment and my bedroom, you know.”

“And you don’t use this bedroom.”

“How do you know?”

“Maybe because you’re out every night attending meetings, corrupting people, and taking their souls and making me watch you do it!”

“I’ve got your blood boiling tonight, haven’t I?” Percy asks, amused, as he looks at Credence.

Credence is breathing deeply and he purses his lips, sitting back against the pillows and holding tightly onto the book. “I can’t ask for a night off,” he says. “Because you’ll want something in return. I’m not giving you anymore hours of my life.”

“I am perfectly aware of that,” Percy says with a smirk. “I wouldn’t ask you for more hours.”

“I don’t want to know what you’d ask me for,” Credence mutters and rubs at his eye. “I want this over with, I don’t want to add another night on.”

“Then we won’t. We’ll consider it one of your hours but we won’t collect a soul or life.”

“No,” Credence says and pointedly opens his book. “I’m not giving you anything else.”

Percy hums. “Alright,” he says. “If you’d rather continue collecting.” He shrugs. “But I wouldn’t have asked for much.”

He’s gone then and Credence frowns as he looks at the empty space on the bed. He hears something out in the living room and knows Percy hasn’t gone far. But he knows this is still a game for him, even if he had tried to say it wasn’t. Credence won’t give in.

He thinks he’s never going to give in to anyone again.

Of course, by the middle of the night, Credence is still wide awake. His eyes ache, dry and heavy, and he is bone tired, but he can’t seem to turn his brain off. He keeps replaying what Percy had said - a night off, considered one of his hours, with no collecting.

With no watching anyone die or their soul get taken out of them, but something else. He wants to believe that a night off has to be a good thing but Percy is still a demon, first and foremost, and he can’t trust anything he says.

Even if he rather desperately wants to. The idea of a night off has burrowed itself in his mind and he stares up at the dark ceiling and wonders.

Credence gets out of bed, achy and irritable, and walks to the door, quietly unlocking and opening it. The apartment is dark, just the moonlight shining in from the windows in the living room, and he walks into it and frowns.

The fireplace is cold, the sofa empty, and he knows Percy isn’t in the other rooms in the opposite hallway. He can feel Percy’s presence, when he’s close, but he hadn’t felt him leave tonight. He’ll blame Percy for that as well, mixing him up enough that he’s let his guard down in some way.

He walks to the huge windows and stares out of them, at the city still twinkling with light, blanketed in white and grey and blue. The east river is dark but he can see lanterns on a few boats, perhaps belonging to the city or fisherman rising particularly early. He can’t imagine how cold it is on the water and pressing his hand against the glass is nearly too much, but he lets the coldness soothe an ache inside of him.

Credence closes his eyes. “Percy,” he whispers, his breath fogging the glass. He looks out of the window again when he doesn’t feel Percy’s presence.

He’s never tried it, but he supposes it wouldn’t work that way. Percy has only said he’d know if Credence wandered too far, not if Credence ever uttered his name when he wasn’t there.

Credence sighs a little and rubs his hand over his forehead. He wants to leave, to take a walk, but the cold reminds him of that night. His back feels stretched and he smells the tang of blood on the air when he thinks about it. He shakes himself and looks over the city again.

He knows he might have resorted to praying on a night like this and yet he can’t find it in himself to do it, knowing that prayers don’t really matter. If you don’t commit foul sins, you go to Heaven, but God nor angels interfere when you pray for help.

It’s all rather disheartening, a joke even, and Credence wonders what godly people would say, if they knew.

There’s a sudden rush in his heart and Credence inhales in surprise, glancing to the right in the window, and he knows whose reflection he’ll see.

Percy is there and Credence doesn’t know if it’s because he called for him or he just happened to come home.

Not that this is his real home.

Credence turns around and looks at him, dressed as finely as ever, leaning against the breakfast bar and peering at Credence.

“What would you ask me for?” Credence asks quietly.

Percy doesn’t answer immediately. He walks closer to Credence, until he’s standing at his side, looking out over the city. “That you accompany me tomorrow night,” he says. “For something other than my work.”

Credence watches him, his profile, touched by moonlight and wishes, again, that he knew Percy in a different way. “And do what?”

Percy smiles and looks at Credence. “You’d see tomorrow night,” he says. He chuckles as Credence frowns. “A night off, remember. It won’t be unpleasant.”

“I have a feeling it won’t be pleasant though,” Credence says and sighs, when Percy only shrugs. “No watching people have their souls taken or watching them die?”

“You have my word.”

Credence doesn’t trust that at all, and Percy doesn’t make him shake his hand, and he’s not sure if he trusts him more or even less because of it. He sighs and thinks he will regret this.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll go with you tomorrow if I don’t have to watch any of that.”

“Deal.”

Credence knows Percy says it to fluster him but he only huffs, too tired to get as worked up as he was earlier. He rubs his eyes and nods.

“Try to get some sleep, love. We’ll go a bit earlier in the evening, but you have time to sleep in.”

“Alright,” Credence says and looks at Percy. He’s gazing back and there’s a softness to his eyes that Credence still doesn’t understand, that still scares him.

No one looks at him that way. Like they care about him, care about his well being (to a certain extent anyway), except maybe Modesty and this is not the same sort of softness she has, not a familial one.

“Did you know I was awake, that you came?” Credence asks.

Percy raises his eyebrows. “I came because you called for me,” he says. He smiles, when Credence looks away. “Didn’t think it would work? You don’t need to draw a pentagram anymore to summon me.”

Credence blushes and doesn’t know why he does. “Okay,” he says and if he was any braver, he thinks he’d summon Percy all throughout the day, to maybe drive him as crazy as he’s driving Credence. “Good night.”

“Good night, Credence,” Percy says and there’s something amused in his tone, like he knows where Credence’s thoughts have gone. “Be ready at five, wear something nice.”

“Fine,” Credence says and walks back to the bedroom. He crawls into bed, holding a pillow against his chest, and exhaustion has caught up now.

He thinks he feels Percy’s fingers in his hair, but maybe it’s only a dream.

Notes:

I'm nervous as hell about this one, but I'd really love to hear your thoughts! The second chapter is softer. Thank you for checking it out so far!