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[credere]

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[credere]

"I don't know what good fathers are like," he points out, very quietly. Good parents, period. If he said anything, yes or no, it would be facile - and Quentin would know that, surely.

[magician_king]

"Me neither."

He answers, voice drying up a little, head tipping back to rest against the wall, eyes closing very, very tight.

[credere]

"I'm sorry," Credence murmurs, voice very low now, thick. "I wish you did. You're - a good person. A good friend. You...deserved that."

[magician_king]

"He was one. My other me, from the breach. And he was a really good dad, he loved them so much."

He says, to the ceiling.

[credere]

"O-oh."

Being whittled down to a fine, razor thread of cold rage and detachment, only then to get back the pain that insulates it, every day - that's one thing. But to spend any length of time knowing that you have children, a beloved family, only then to have them torn away and for them to have never existed...

"That's so awful. I'm sorry."

[magician_king]

"It's fucking shitty, it's fucking, unfair, they-"

God, he presses a hand hard over his face and hides behind it, trying hard to compose himself.

"Sorry, I just keep falling apart on people. I've gotta get over it, I just- miss them?"

[credere]

"I - you don't need to be sorry," Credence murmurs. "It's...it's horrible that the flood would...give you a family, and then take it away."

[magician_king]

"This place is bullshit."

He says, not for the first time, not for the last.

"I don't know what to do about how much I hate it, and am not ready to go."

[credere]

"How - how do you think you will know?" he asks, genuinely wondering. "When you're ready."

[magician_king]

"I don't know at all."

He admits, making a small face.

"I don't know even a little bit. I feel more in touch with myself lately, but it's hard to weigh the difference between what you want to be true, and what has actually come to pass."

[credere]

"What does that mean? Being in touch with yourself. Sorry," he adds, quickly, convinced it must be a very stupid question.

[magician_king]

"It means knowing and being able to name what you're feeling, and when you think about it, being able to understand why."

Translates Quentin, with a small smile.

[credere]

"Oh," Credence says, his mind having wandered to the kind of place where you might risk hair growing on your palms. "That seems important. You - couldn't before?"

[magician_king]

"Not at all. I'd find myself somewhere- drunk, or yelling at someone, and wouldn't be able to know, I'm hurt, I'm scared. Just- impulse."

He says, closing his eyes.

"That's one thing I'm better at."

[credere]

"Does that make it easier to not yell at people?"

[magician_king]

"Oh, by far."

Says Quentin, with an actual laugh.

"I mean, until it doesn't- like when I lose it over the network. But whenever that happens I always end up thinking later, 'oh, I guess I was actually stressed about this other thing that hadn't occurred to me."

[credere]

Credence looks a little bewildered.

"I...how do you work that out? How you...feel?"

He only has two modes that he recognises at their extremes: misery and anger. A vague sort of contentment is still making itself known, sometimes, but he can barely identify it.

[magician_king]

"A lot of sitting and breathing deeply."

He says, trying to think back, how he got in touch with himself.

"And a quest. That helped. I spent a year hunting a white stag."

[credere]

Well. What do you say to that?

"I - don't think I can do a quest here."

[magician_king]

"Hm. Mindfulness is supposed to be good? The quest wasn't all of it, I immediately had a second nervous breakdown and started drinking heavily, so maybe it was more to do with- I moved in with some friends for a few years."

As kings and queens, but it was a very soft landing otherwise.

[credere]

Credence makes a quiet, thoughtful sound.

"I have friends here," he says. After so long, it's still an idea that still seems fake somehow, like a rug under his feet to be pulled away at any second.

[magician_king]

"So when you think about how you are now, compared to how you were a year ago, do you feel the same?"

He wonders, curiously.

"Or- however long."

[credere]

"....no. I just...don't know if how I feel is...good different or bad different."

[magician_king]

"I think it's like setting a broken bone."

Proposes Quentin, with a thin smile.

"Baddish- but good in the long run."

[credere]

"I broke a bone once," Credence says, without a solid foundation in metaphors. "It was still pretty bad for a long time afterward."