comfort zone

Newt managed to get back onto the deck without apparating, though he supposes that once they were on the side of the boat, out of the water, he could’ve apparated safely. The process of carrying the unconscious person up to the deck was slightly harder than he would’ve thought. The light weight of the person was a large advantage.

Now, came the hard part: performing CPR. Newt had only ever done it once,--a drowning niffler is all he’ll say on the matter--but it wasn’t as though CPR was taught at Hogwarts, or any wizarding school, as far as he knew.

Newt struggled to remember even the basics. He knew there was something having to do with compressions and a part about mouth-to-mouth, but the rest was a forgotten something in the back of his mind. He didn’t have time to sit around and try to remember the steps to cpr.

He adjusted his watch and sighed deeply, before pushing his soaking hair back and preparing to begin the compressions. Only after he had already adjusted the person’s head and started the compressions, did he actually notice who the person was.

Credence.

The obscurial he’d met in New York.

Newt thought Credence had died.

Technically, Credence was currently dead, but that’s not what he meant.

His compressions became erratic, despite his efforts to keep them steady. Newt wasn’t sure what rhythm the compressions were supposed to follow, either way. He timed them best he could. He also wasn’t sure exactly where his hands were supposed to be.

He did his best to guess, using what little information he knew, but he was still uncertain if they were too high or maybe too low.

Once he had performed 30 chest compressions--the amount of chest compressions he was supposed to perform before doing mouth-to-mouth was one of the few things about CPR Newt was sure of--Newt adjusted Credence’s head before beginning mouth-to-mouth.

Newt continued this for 2 repetitions before giving up.

He checked for a pulse. It took a while and the pulse was faint, but it was there.

Newt continued, this time with more force behind his actions--which, in fairness, would probably result in many bruises.

Once Credence coughed up salt water, presumably still unconscious, Newt checked for a pulse again. A steady thrumming raced under his fingers.

Slumping down, Newt released a long breath. He took a moment to collect himself, his fingers never leaving Credence’s neck. His pulse continued to drum steady under his close watch, yet Credence still didn’t wake.

With a small groan, Newt got up, carrying Credence with him. Luckily, Credence was rather light-weight so he wasn’t completely dragging the boy back to his cabin, assuming Credence didn’t have his own cabin.

Once they got back to the cabin, Newt set Credence on the formerly untouched bed, thinking he wouldn’t be able to safely get Credence into is case given the boy’s current state. Also, waking up after, what was presumably, a failed suicide attempt, surrounded by magical creatures probably wasn’t ideal.

Now, it was simply a waiting game.

-------

It had three days.

Three days.

Credence still hadn’t woken up.

The first day, Newt stayed by his side the entire time. He had only went into his case once, very briefly, to feed his creatures. In those 24 hours, Newt sat in a chair in the other side of the room, granted the room wasn’t large by any means, staring intently at Credence. His eyes focused on every small detail, needing something to help distract himself from the fact that the boy might be dead. In fact, nearly every five minutes, Newt got up to check Credence’s pulse just to make sure the boy was breathing.

On the second day, Newt stayed in the cabin with Credence, only escaping to his case once to feed his animals again. Newt found himself more able to relax, not by much though. He worked on his book non-stop. At the top of every hour, he would check Credence’s pulse. He tried to ensure himself that it was just so he could make sure that Credence, despite being out of the water for 48 hours now, wouldn’t go into cardiac arrest.

By the third day, Newt was sure that Credence had worked himself into a coma. The boy was unresponsive to everything, yet still breathing. So, he worked inside his case for a bit. Every couple of hours he would still come up to check on Credence. Just to make sure he was still breathing, to see if he had woken up yet.

It was the third day when Newt remembered how he had found out Credence was on the ship. He had left his cabin to see if he could possibly raid the kitchens for food. For food. However, meeting Credence again in those unfortunate circumstances postponed his quest for food.

So, after checking on Credence for the fourth time today, Newt escaped to find food. This time he’d need to grab extra for when Credence woke up.

The raid of the kitchen had been a success. Though, Newt had forgotten to obilvate the innocent chef who had the misfortune of catching Newt in the act. However, Newt was sly enough to escape.

Newt only grabbed what was necessary, not wanting to rob the sailors and chefs of a potential profit. A small loaf of bread, a few apples and maybe a couple of slices of pound cake.

With his arms full, he struggled to open the door to is cabin. He was finally able to turn the knob properly. His breath caught as he inched the door open with his foot.

What if Credence had woken while he was gone? Newt had tried to be as quick as possible, but what if Credence had woken up in the few minutes he had left. What if Credence had left? Meeting him on the boat--technically off the board--had been an exceptionally low likelihood, but seeing im twice, especially given Credence’s want to stay hidden at the moment, would be impossible.

A long breath of relief left his body as Newt inched the door open to reveal Credence’s seemingly lifeless body lying on the old, bed just as it was before Newt left.

Seemingly lifeless.

Newt rushed to place the food down and empty his hands so he could check Credence’s pulse just to make sure that the lifelessness was, in fact, only seemingly.

There was a steady thrumming under his fingers once Newt was able to re-check the boy’s pulse. It was stronger than any other time he had checked.

This time, Newt stayed, having already fed his creatures. The thought of Credence waking up alone and Newt only knowing hours later haunting him. The intensity of the boy’s pulse also gave him a new hope that the boy might wake up soon. Or maybe this was his body warning Newt right before he went into cardiac arrest. Either way, Newt would sit beside the bed until he woke up and if Newt fell asleep for a minute or two while sitting then no one needed to know.

It was around hour 15 of sitting beside the bed that Newt went against his self-promise of sitting there until Credence woke. Sitting by the small table across the room working on his book was different then sitting beside a bed on an uncomfortable floor left with nothing to do. His only form of entertainment down here was reciting everything about magical creatures he could recall off the top of his mind to Credence, whom was unconscious.

Newt bargained with Credence--more himself as Credence didn’t hold up much of an argument, or conversation in general, given his current state. And he finally agreed that he would escape to the comfort of his case only for a couple of minutes just to feed his animals.

However, once he was finally able to see his creatures, he might’ve lost track of time. His full and honest intention was to quickly feed his creatures then return to spot by the bed and list off any facts he might’ve missed the first time. His plan in theory was not carried out as well as he might’ve thought.

Instead, of taking two minutes to visit his creatures, Newt took two hours. Most of which was spent trying to feed his Kelpies and keeping his Nifflers out of trouble.

The thought of Credence having woken up while newt was gone was ever present in his mind as Newt climbed the ladder leading him out of the case.

-------

When Credence woke up, the first thing noticed was that he was alone. He didn’t notice the strange bed he was in or the strange room or the strange case directly in the middle of the room or the electric blue--of all colors. Electric blue?--coat hanging on the door or the burning of his throat or the way he could hear his heart pounding in his head. In all his years, the only times Credence could recall being alone was when bad things happened. He didn’t want to be alone.

He almost ran out of the room. Yet he didn’t. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t. Maybe it was the case laying closed on the ground.

He knew that case. Yet he wasn’t sure how. He just knew that case.

He knew the coat too. But there was no way it just any coat he had seen on he had seen on the streets of New York. No one in New York wore electric blue.

He heard footsteps. The same way he did when he fell.

Credence wasn’t sure where he was at this point, but he doubted he had enough energy to hold a conversation--especially given the burning of his throat--yet alone be questioned by some stranger (Credence only knew a handful of people and he doubted this was someone he knew).

The footsteps grew louder and only served to compliment the pounding in his head.

Credence made a split decision as the person fumbled with the doorknob. He laid back down, trying his best to recreate his former position. He forced himself to relax and look as natural as possible.

The person sighed when they entered the room, though Credence wasn’t sure if it were from disappointment or relief--honestly, either would’ve been understandable. They stumbled around the room, rather loudly, for a while before standing next to where he was laying.

They were quiet.

Then, Credence felt a pair of cold fingers touch his neck. He tensed up in an effort to not jump up at the surprise. He could only hope the person hadn’t noticed.

Their fingers stayed at his neck for a while, presumably checking his pulse. Had they done this while he was sleeping? Credence nearly sighed in relief once they were satisfied with his pulse. However, they didn’t leave.

Credence felt them lean against the bed. Were they going to sit there the whole time? Was this what they had been doing while he was unconscious?

Moments passed before they decided they grew bored with the silence. They began speaking. Did they know he was awake?

They had an accent. British. A man.

He knew that voice. British accents weren’t common in New York.

Credence had no idea what they what they were rambling about, but their voice was animated.

He tried to focus on what they were saying, but they kept using words he didn’t know.

“ Acromantulas... Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures... Basilisk…” They continued talking, yet Credence was sure that they were talking to themself at this point.

Despite not understanding a word the man spoke, Credence found himself relaxing in his presence. His accent was soothing in an odd way.

The more he listened, Credence realized they were listing something off in alphabetical order. Were they reading something out loud for him?

They didn’t finish the list--he assumed because the last thing they listed was a Mooncalf , whatever that was, which began with an M. Instead, he began arguing with himself. Something along the lines of whether he should leave.

Credence didn’t want to leave him. Alone.

In the end, he decided to leave, but he would only be a couple minutes. That gave Credence only two minutes to try to find out where exactly he was.

Once he was completely sure that they had left the room, Credence got up. He didn’t leave the bed. At a moments notice he was ready to pretend to be asleep again.

The first thing he noticed he that the case was unlocked. It wasn’t open, but the latch was open. It wasn’t unlocked before.

The coat was still on the door. The coat. His accent. This was the man from the subway. The one with Miss Goldstein. How’d he get here?

Credence got off the bed. He knew the man would be back any minute, yet he couldn’t bring himself to care.

His hands caressed the fabric of the electric blue coat. It was rough like felt, yet gentle like cotton.

He allowed his eyes to wander around the room. It was bare save for the case sitting closed in the middle of the floor and the small table littered with spare paper. Upon approaching the table, he found all sorts of writing and drawing on the papers.

Credence didn’t like to be hyper-critical but the drawings were horrible. They were clearly sketches of make believe creatures, yet he was sure the portions were wrong. The shading was inconsistent. They must’ve known how incorrect the sketches were because they had drawn the same creatures over and over again, and crumbled up the failed drawings.

He didn’t spend too much time hyper-analyzing the sketches. The writings

interested him far more. The man’s handwriting didn’t appear much better than his drawings. A clear attempt at cursive was made, but it wasn’t a successful attempt. His writing was horribly slanted and each letter was joined together so closely that he could tell where one word ended and the other one began.

Though it was hard to understand most of anything, Credence was able to make out a few words. Bowtruckle…Demiguise…Erumpent…   Was this what the British man was talking about earlier?

The longer Credence spent reading (or trying to), the easier it became to understand the truly dreadful handwriting. Credence found himself getting lost in whatever it was that he was reading.

He had no idea what an M.O.M. Classification was or what a Hippocampus was, but despite the handwriting, the writing itself was enchanting.

Credence only noticed how much time had passed once he heard something that snapped him to attention. It wasn’t footsteps ike before. This was something different.

He didn’t have time to act as though he was sleeping again before the case opened and Credence was face to face with the man from the subway.