♞ - physically pick my muse up and carry them
theseus is vaguely aware of a lurching, rocking motion that disturbs his sleep and seems to correlate with a burning sensation in his back. feebly, fingers come around to touch his back, to try and rid himself of the pain, but he finds his path blocked by something – no, someone.
when glassy eyes finally blink open, he struggles to focus on the person above him; the person carrying him. credence’s face above his is hazy at best, and his eyelids are so heavy, sleep pulling at him again despite the evident panic in hasty, stumbling steps and what he can make out of the boy’s expression.
“ what’s going on? ” at least, that’s what he tries to say it, though it comes out slurred and barely comprehensible even to his own ears. he thinks he hears a response – all he gets out of it is mr. scamander, but his eyes roll shut and the blackness drags him under again before he can work anything else out.