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It should have been him.
That’s what Charles thought as he slammed his body into the door of the escape pod over and over. He didn’t know what he was trying to achieve, looking back. Get the door open, and what? Be sucked into the careless, destructive void of space? At the time, though, he didn’t care.
He just wanted to get to Henry.
So Charles slammed his fists over and over again into the window of the door, screeching, begging for Henry to come home.
“Henry, please, Henry!” Charles screeched into the mic, voice turning raw. “There has to be another escape pod, please Henry, get out of there!”
On the Toppat’s Space Station, Henry just stood there. Calm as ever. Charles could barely see him. If Charles hadn’t been looking at Henry since the pod launched, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to see them.
Charles couldn’t tell if he was crying, he wasn’t even sure if Henry would . He did know Henry was smiling. That was just the type of person Henry was. The stupid, self-sacrificial kind, who pushed Charles into the escape as he took on the Toppat Clan member.
Charles faintly saw Henry move, bringing one hand up to activate the mic to speak to Charles. His voice was scratchy and faint after not using it so much. At first, Charles couldn’t even process what he had said.
“I lov-”
Henry didn’t get to finish. The bright, vibrant explosion was blinding as the metal space station collapsed in on itself. The line went quiet.
Charles felt weak, falling to the floor. His entire body was shaking, trying to process what had happened. He didn’t even realize he had been screaming until his voice cracked and he had to gasp for air.
His mind buzzed as he tried to process what had just happened. Henry was dead. Gone. Just like that? After all of that, he left?
Charles didn’t stop shaking, not even when he landed harshly, not even when he was dragged back to camp.
“What’s wrong?” The General had asked. Charles let out a harsh bark of a laugh. How was he supposed to answer?
At some point in time, he had started to cry, now he was aware of the tears slowly spilling out of his eyes and down previously dried tear tracks. He glanced up gently at the concerned man’s face.
“Henry wasn’t with him,” The person who had escorted him to the General’s tent said.
General Galeforce’s face fell at this. He paused, not knowing what to do.
“Ah, well, uhm,” He crossed the room to put his hands gently on Charles’ shoulders.
Before he could say anything, Charles interrupted him.
“We have to go back for him,” Charles said, shrugging off the General’s hands and hugging himself instead.
“G-go back? The space station got destroyed, go back for what?” The General asked, confused.
“Are you kidding me?” Charles asked, forgetting who he was talking to, “That’s Henry Stickmin ! You think they’re just...dead?” He exclaimed.
“Now Charlie, I know you were very fond of Henry, but no one could have survived that.”
Charles bristled, and for a second, he was angry. He was so upset. All that Charles wanted to do was scream again, shout and throw something. Henry wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. There was no way their Henry, his Henry was gone. He wouldn’t let that happen; they didn’t know Henry like he did. Henry wouldn’t leave him like that, ever.
He took a deep breath, all of the heat of anger leaving his body so fast he felt lightheaded. His shoulders slump, trying to remember this was the General, he was in the military, and he was better than crying just because someone wouldn’t listen to him.
“He can’t be gone,” He said, tone more defeated than it had ever been, “He’s Henry. He always comes back.”
“I’m sorry, son,” The General said, “But you don’t come back from something like that.”
Charles did not go on any missions after that. He didn’t exactly quit, to say, but he was left alone. He wasn’t called in to pick up anyone; he didn’t touch a helicopter for months. It was as if the whole world was waiting with bated breath, tense to see what he would do.
It wasn’t a secret Charles was fond of Henry. Very fond. But no one quite knew how much until Henry was gone, not even Charles.
Charles did not go to Henry’s funeral. Henry wasn’t dead. Charles knew this, even if no one else did.
He did, however, visit his grave. At sunrise and sunset, he’d sit by Henry’s grave and gaze out from the cliff.
“We’re gonna get you back, you know? I’m gonna get you back. They can try to bury you or give you as many memorials as they please,” Charles said, leaning against Henry’s grave like he used to lean against Henry.
“But I know you better than anyone. I’m not just gonna,” Charles paused, his throat felt choked. He glanced over at the smooth, uncaring stone. He gently placed his hand down on the grass next to him.
Closing his eyes, he willed his brain to imagine. Imagine, just for a second, that his hand was resting atop of Henry’s. Imagine, just for a second, that the warmth from the sun was the warmth of Henry sitting next to him. And Henry would let Charles lean on him, and they would lean on him back, the two of them just sitting on the cliff as the sun dipped the land in a golden tone. That the gentle wind ruffling Charles’ hair was Henry’s breath as he leaned in just a little closer. Just them and the rest of the world simply existing at that moment.
Charles’ hand closed into a fist, ripping up blades of cooling grass. The warmth was gone, leaving Charles alone.
“I’m not just gonna give up on you,” Charles finished, voice cracking. “I’ve always been there for you. I’ve always had your back. That’s not gonna change now. Even if I have to tear space apart star by star, I swear I’ll get you back.”
Charles opened his eyes and made to stand up. He rose over and stared once more over the ocean. For one second, loneliness hit him so hard he felt as if he was caught in a riptide, reality threatened to seep in and take everything he knew away from him. Maybe Henry was dead. Maybe there was no getting him back, and maybe he just needed to move on.
He fell to his knees again, bumping against the headstone. He curled in upon himself, breath quickening. He made a fist with his hand, squeezing his nails into his palm as his eyes glazed over, and everything blurred with unshed tears.
He leaned against the grave again, more heavily this time. He blinked, and tears rolled gently down his face. The sun had set; there was no more warmth. The chill from the stone began to creep into his body where he was touching the headstone. He let it.
Anything that lingers.
He shut his eyes tightly, desperately trying to reimagine the scene he had earlier. But the lack of sun made him feel no presence at all. It was all just cold. Cold, like ice. Cold, like space where you can’t breathe, and the rumble of explosions fill your ears and-
He wept over Henry’s grave for a very long time.
Charles couldn’t stand to look at the stars. Not after what they took from him. Henry used to love the stars. He’d drag Charles’ out at the dead of night to look at them. Charles’ would be half asleep and rub at his sleepy eyes as Henry would point to a bunch of stars, labeling what constellations they were. Charles’ was convinced he made some of them up. When Charles couldn’t follow what stars Henry was pointing at, they would excitedly grab his hand and point to each star in turn before turning to smile at Charles, like they knew everything, and he didn’t. That stupid, smug smirk.
Henry never needed to know Charles had always seen what stars were being pointed to. Maybe it was the way Henry smirked at him, or the way the moon shone on his white hair, or the way stars reflected perfectly in Henry’s eyes, or the way his breath would flutter every time Charles leaned on him, or the way he would drag Charles’ by his wrist and turn around and smile so brightly at him, but those nights were always the warmest, happiest nights.
They would not be anymore.
Charles was dreaming. He knew that. Last Charles had known, he had been leaning against Henry’s grave. Now, he was in a bed far too more comfortable than any he had ever known.
He lazily opened his eyes, eyelids feeling like weights. It was early still, or late. He wouldn’t have known. He sat up, disorientated.
Distress built in him. He was upset, but he couldn’t quite pin down why. He sat up, finding the bed far too large for just one person. Something was wrong; something wasn’t right with what was going on. He felt so...out of place.
Swinging his legs off the side of the bed, he walked across cold hardwood floors as he wandered the house. There were long hallways, empty rooms. It was cold...it wasn’t his house. Well, it was, who’s else could it be? However, he couldn’t shake the feeling he wasn’t supposed to be here. He was in a dream or something like it. He had to be.
A soft noise alerted him from down the hall he was currently in. Every bit of him was on edge at this point, being in a strange place with no memory of how he got there. He walked silently, cautiously down the hallway, peering around the corner.
His heart leaped high into his throat. An all too familiar shape stood bustling around in the kitchen, shifting pots and pans as he cooked something. That wasn’t right. As far as Charles remembered, they couldn’t cook.
His arms began to shake, then his legs, until he was leaning desperately on the door frame.
“Henry?” Charles croaked out, eyes stinging.
Henry turned around nonchalantly, a surprised expression on his face.
‘You’re up early,’ Henry signed, ‘What’s wr-’
Before he could finish, Charles barrelled into him at full speed, almost knocking the shorter man to the ground, and he desperately wrapped his arms around Henry. He took in his warmth, the feel of his heartbeat against his own, the way Henry’s breath stuttered in surprise against Charles’ neck. They smelled different, far too much like peppermint, far too little like petrichor.
Charles opened his mouth, a million questions waiting to be said, but the only thing he could say was, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Henry said. His voice was quiet, low. It took Charles a minute to process before realizing Henry had said anything at all.
He let go of Henry to make it easier for him to communicate.
“Henry, I had a terrible, terrible dream you were gone you were dead you died in the Toppat’s Space Station I couldn’t save you it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair you pushed me into the escape pod, and then it all blew up, and I kept saying you weren’t dead and no one would believe me and, it should’ve been me and-”
Henry cut off Charles as they grabbed his hands. He looked into Henry’s eyes and understood. Charles understood a lot then, and wouldn’t remember it all when he woke up. But he stared at Henry, and he knew.
Henry Stickmin wasn’t coming back.
“You left us,” Charles finished. There wasn’t any anger in his voice. It was soft and sad. “You left me.”
Henry had the nerve to look guilty.
Bright sunlight made Charles’ eyes crack open. He was uncomfortable, to say the least. Falling asleep against a cold, hard surface made him ache, and he winced whenever he turned his neck the wrong way. He was aware of the lack of warmth where Henry had been in his dream. He paused, pretending the sun was his body heat and curling in on himself to preserve it.
Anything that lingers.
He then sat up and stretched gently.
“Good morning, Henry,” He said subconsciously. His voice sounded weak, even to him.
Hollow.
He got to his knees, wanting to get up. The General would be worried by now. He was gone all night. Yet, as the sun rose slowly, Charles felt nothing but a bitter acceptance. Maybe it had taken months and a dream of Henry literally telling him, but he had finally learned there was no rescue mission. There was simply nothing to rescue. Henry was dead.
And that wasn’t something he could just go back to. It wasn’t something he could just sleep away or accept, because he had loved Henry. He knew that now. He had loved Henry, and he had lost him just as fast.
He could stay here a while longer.
Just him and the rest of the world simply falls away.