Graves realized several things as his awareness returned to him in bits and pieces. He was not well and truly dead, to start. He was not in the warehouse they'd raided (was, in fact, in one of the containment cells in the MACUSA infirmary). He was curled on his side atop a most uncomfortable cot. He felt well and truly sated for the first time since he'd been recovered. His arms were wrapped around someone warm and alive (and precious, so precious, protect him), and whose living spark sang so sweetly along every nerve in his body.

The person in his arms moved in his sleep and tucked his head under Graves's chin. Graves didn't need to glance down to know whom he held; he would recognize the shape of Credence, the weight of him, even on death's door. The temptation to indulge himself loomed too great to resist. Graves tilted his head and laid a gentle kiss on Credence's hair.

That, it seemed, was enough to break the spell that surely must have held them. Credence mumbled something vague into Graves's shirt before pushing himself up on one elbow. His features were drawn, his eyes were ringed with dark circles, and his neck… The only thing that kept Graves from recoiling at the sight of the mottled, ugly mess of bruises and the bloodstains on his shirt was the fact that he still had an arm looped over Credence's waist.

"Percival?" Credence slurred, not quite free of sleep's grasp. "Are… are you…?" He left the question dangling as if he weren't quite sure what he wondered if Graves was.

"I'm…" He paused, not sure himself what he was. His throat felt raspy and his voice sounded disused to his own ears. "I'm here, my boy." He was other things, too, but the simplest answer would have to do.

A smile like the dawn broke over Credence's features. It was almost too bright for Graves to bear, but he would be damned if he tore his gaze away. Credence threw the arm not supporting his weight around Graves's neck and dragged him into an awkward one-armed hug. "I was so worried," he said. "Don't. Don't ever do that again, all right?"

Something clenched in Graves's chest. Gods above, what had he done? He cast his mind back through the events of the previous night, searching for any hint of what may have happened… after. But there was nothing beyond a vague memory of velvety darkness and the taste of blood. Credence's blood. Lord and Lady.

Graves shook his head, though whether to clear it or refute what he suspected, he did not know. "I don't remember much of anything. I don't know what I did."

The smile like sunshine faded. "You nearly died. They said. They said you wouldn't make it through if you didn't feed." He shuddered. "Tina brought me here because she thought… She thought I should be here if… And I realized that I could help." Graves could see the way that he struggled to put words around his thoughts. His unbeating heart ached in sympathy.

Finally, Credence closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm not human, Mister Graves. I'm a monster. Like you. And I know that because I gave you some of my magic and that's how we're both here."

"You're not a monster," Graves said with sudden ferocity. "You might not be human, but you could never be a monster."

Credence's smile was slow in coming, and it didn't make it all the way to his eyes. "That's very kind of you to say, Mister Graves. But I think you're forgetting who almost tore down half of New York." He shook his head. "You didn't hurt me, you know. The doctor said you were dangerous. He said you'd attack anyone who came in here, but you didn't even want to bite me at first."

Graves stared at him with his thoughts derailed by the revelation. Oh.

The boy (young man) pushed himself upright, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood, wobbled for a moment as if his legs were unsure if they could hold his weight. One hand gripped the edge of the cot to steady himself. "I'll… let them know. That you're all right now." The words came out a hoarse, tenuous whisper.

There are other ways to hurt someone. And Graves found himself incapable of hurting Credence, not like this. He circled his fingers loosely around Credence's wrist and pretended not to notice the way his pulse jumped at the contact. "You don't have to leave." It wasn't quite what he meant, but it was close enough.

Credence paused. He did not reclaim his space on the cot, but he made no move to shake off Graves's grip on his wrist. "I thought you hated me. After. Because I showed you I was a monster." Though Credence didn't face Graves, his emotions were written all over the curve of his spine and the slope of his shoulders.

"No. I could never hate you, even if I tried. I didn't—I don't want to hurt you. You deserve better, and I couldn't trust myself to provide it."

"You provide plenty," Credence protested.

"But I can't guarantee your safety, Credence. Look at yourself! That was me."

Credence jerked his hand from Graves's loose grasp, and Graves had enough time to think ah, now it's done before Credence whirled around to face him. Anger burned bright in his dark eyes. Perhaps it was having fed Graves so recently, or perhaps being slighted like this made his emotions burn too differently, but the obscurus didn't rise with the color to his cheeks. Credence was arresting, and he was beautiful, and Graves hoped that he might one day find it in his heart to forgive him.

"You don't get to do this," Credence said with deliberate care. His words were low and measured. "You don't get to tell me that I won't be safe with you when that's the only place I've felt safe. When you're too hurt to know up from down and you still try to protect me. Even if it might kill you."

The silence that fell in the wake of Credence's statement was deafening. Graves stared at Credence's face: his eyes, his cheekbones, his lips. A thousand different objections sprang to mind then died under the heat and weight of Credence's words. The only thing that could withstand it was the ghost of Gellert Grindelwald, and that was a specter that Graves would never (could never) raise in front of this boy (his terrifying, monstrous boy). Hesitant and unsure, Graves raised a hand to brush a lock of Credence's hair away from his forehead, but he stopped just short of touching Credence's skin.

"Percival," Credence said as he leaned forward into Graves's waiting hand. "Please."

The words ignited a memory: an impression of finding his way in the dark to listen to that voice, of feeling so at peace with Credence pulled close.

Graves ran his hand through Credence's hair, curled his fingers over the sensitive skin at the nape of Credence's neck, and tugged him down. Credence made no move to resist, just closed his eyes and followed the pull until his face was inches from Graves's. Under Graves's palm, Credence's pulse pounded so hard and fast that it felt like he were a tightly strung string, freshly plucked. Are you sure? Graves wanted to ask. Do you understand what you're doing?

But before he could give voice to the thoughts, Credence closed the last distance and claimed Graves's mouth in a desperate, hungry kiss. All of Credence's wanting was written plain in the way he leaned in and took Graves's face between his hands as if he was afraid Graves would somehow try to escape. He was unpracticed and inelegant but so earnest that Graves couldn't help but feel a stab of desire in his gut.

When Credence finally came up for air, his face was flushed and his eyes bright with satisfaction. The beginnings of a smile tugged at his lips, but Graves didn't wait for it to form before kissing Credence again.

Tina threw her arms around both of their necks as soon as they emerged from the holding cell, hand in hand (the idea of breaking physical contact held no appeal). "I was so worried," she said into Credence's shoulder. If the young man had noticed that she was crying, he neglected to say anything. Graves decided to keep similarly quiet.

"Credence tells me that I'd be dead if not for you," Graves said. "Well, more dead than normal."

This elicited a watery sniffle from Tina as she pulled away to look them both over. "I was so worried," she reiterated.

"We're okay, Miss Goldstein," Credence said.

"Oh, you spend a few hours in the room with him—" she cocked her head in Graves's direction then dabbed at her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve, "—and it's back to 'Miss Goldstein?'"

"You're technically off-duty, so you're 'Tina' as far as I'm concerned," Graves said, though he wasn't sure himself whom he was teasing.

"She said she was acting Director of Magical Law Enforcement," Credence whispered though not so low as to exclude Tina from the aside. "I thought it'd be better to be formal."

Graves arched an eyebrow. Tina flushed and found something interesting to study on her shoes. "That worked?"

Tina gestured helplessly in the direction of Credence, which was answer enough. Graves revised his estimation of her ability to do undercover work. "Good job, Goldstein. Consider yourself relieved from duty, then."

Another sniffle followed by a hiccuping sort of laugh. "Thank you, sir. And now that I'm off-duty, can I just ask you something?"

"Certainly."

"Can you please let Credence go home now? Not that Queenie and I don't enjoy your company, Credence," Tina said, "but I know you're homesick and, well." She made another helpless gesture. "You should take care of each other."

At his side, Credence went still as if he thought he would attract something's ire if he so much as breathed. Gods. He still expected Graves to reject him. And could anyone blame him?

Graves squeezed Credence's fingers, a gentle reassurance. "I will make sure to leave the wards open so you or your sister may deliver his items whenever is most convenient," he pronounced. He didn't have to be facing Credence to know what sort of expression he must be wearing.

"Of course, Mister Graves," Tina agreed. "We should probably let Healer Baxter know you're awake so he can clear you both to leave."

He grimaced. "Baxter would have to be the one on duty when I get myself blown up, wouldn't he." The mediwizard's propensity to poke and prod at Graves as if he hoped to stumble on some great new medical discovery tended to leave Graves feeling less than cheerful at the end of his visits.

"Don't make that face, sir," said Tina. "It only took him a few minutes to check over me, and I was worse off than either of you look now."

It was nearly sunset by the time Baxter finished his diagnostics and gave them both the order to "go home, rest, and for Merlin's sake don't get blown up again." A directive from a medical professional that Graves could finally agree to without reservation. He wasted no time collecting his wand and apparating away from the MACUSA building with Credence at his side.

They appeared on the front stoop of Graves's brownstone (their home). The street around them was quiet; no one was there to see them or take notice of the way that Graves steadied Credence with a protective arm around his waist. Even through the layers of Credence's clothing, his living spark hummed under Graves's palm.

With a wave of his hand, Graves opened the wards and unlocked the door. Then, he leaned close so that his lips were barely more than a hairsbreadth from Credence's ear. "Do you care to indulge an old man in his fancies, my boy?" he whispered. (Perhaps he was being foolish, but he couldn't help the quiet surge of satisfaction when Credence shivered against him.)

"You aren't old," Credence protested, but it was half-hearted. He leaned against Graves, tucking himself even tighter against Graves's side. "And aren't you supposed to indulge me? I did save your life, you know. Or. Well. However that works."

"Yes, not having a pulse tends to complicate life-saving," Graves said. "In which case, do you care to indulge a mostly-dead man in his fancies?"

Credence made a huff, and it took Graves a moment to realize that it was a laugh. Gods, had things been so terrible that he'd not heard Credence laugh? Rather than let that train of thought go any further, Graves slid one arm around Credence's shoulders, then bent to slide his other behind Credence's knees.

"I've got you," he said, then scooped the boy (his boy) up into his arms. Credence yelped in surprise and threw both of his arms around Graves's neck, but his pulse remained steady.

He laughed again. "You fancy hauling me like a sack of potatoes?"

"Of course not. You're far more precious than that." Graves twitched his fingers in the direction of the door and it swung wide to allow them entry. Mindful of Credence's head and feet, Graves stepped over the threshold. "Welcome home, dear boy."

A/N: That's all for now, folks! Thank you so much for reading this monstrosity. It was supposed to be just a fluff-without-plot thing, maybe 3k words, max. One novella later...