Chapter Text
Charles has never visited his own grave before.
On the one hand, that’s not very remarkable. Most people don’t stick around to become ghosts, so they’d never get the chance.
Those that do, though, often exhibit a kind of morbid curiosity. He’s talked with ghosts who’ve attended their own funerals, visited their own graves, and spent time with family members. Edwin doesn’t, and Charles based so much of his afterlife on Edwin’s way of doing things that it never seemed odd to him. Aside from checking on his parents, Charles kept his afterlife separate from his before-life. There wasn’t much that he wanted to bring with him anyway, so it seemed easier to cut ties.
Now, he’s not so sure he wasn’t just avoiding it.
His headstone isn’t much, just a simple rectangle a little overgrown by moss. There’s a vase, but the flowers inside are rotten.
CHARLES ROWLAND
1973–1989
Beloved son and friend
Gone too soon
“That’s rather rich, considering who was the cause of most of the misery in your life,” Edwin snarks, tone too light. Charles can tell he’s trying to cheer him up, like Charles would do. But there’s also deep-seated bitterness and anger on Charles’s behalf that bleeds through, and that does make him feel better.
“Well, they couldn’t say ‘Here lies Charles, his dad beat him and his mates killed him,’ could they?”
He sees Edwin twitch out of the corner of his eye.
“It’s weird though. I thought I’d—dunno. I thought I’d feel more once I got here. Sad or angry or…” He trails off, trying to find the words. “But mostly the kid they buried doesn’t feel like me. Like if I died now, I’d rather be buried next to you than my parents. I’ve been without them for so long.”
Edwin makes a choked noise, and Charles realizes how that sounds.
“I mean, like, if we were both alive at the same time. I’m not planning on going anywhere.” He cocks his head to the side, then glances over at Edwin. “It is kind of odd that we’re inseparable in the afterlife, but our physical forms have never been near each other.”
“That’s the nature of making friends as a ghost, I suppose,” Edwin says with a shrug.
Charles hums. “Where are you buried, do you’ve any idea?”
“My body was never found,” he replies softly. “There is a memorial marker next to my parents’ graves, but my remains are not there.”
The idea is so horrifying that it stuns Charles into silence for a couple seconds. “I didn’t know that. Why didn’t I know that?”
Edwin’s shoulders tense. “The whole thing is bloody tragic enough as it is.”
Grabbing his wrist, Charles begins marching them back in the direction of the pond they used to get here.
Edwin doesn’t resist, but he does argue, because of course he does. “Charles, where are we going?”
“St. Hilarion’s. We’ve got a new case, don’t we?”
“This is hardly our top priority, considering I’ve been dead for over a century and we have actual cases to solve.”
“It’s gonna bother me until we put it right.”
“Why? You said yourself you have little connection to your physical form anymore.”
“Yeah, but at least they cared enough to put me in the ground. My father was a piece of shit, but he paid for me to have somewhere." His fingers tighten around Edwin's wrist. "You deserve that, too.”
“Charles, I don’t even know if there was anything left to bury," Edwin says, which is so awful that Charles refuses to consider it. "For all we know, my actual body is in Hell somewhere.”
“I don’t care. It’s not right.”
The thing is, Charles isn’t even sure why it bothers him so much. It just throws into sharp relief how little Edwin mattered to the people around him, when they should have bloody treasured him as the gift he is. If there's even a chance Edwin’s remains are out there somewhere, shoved in a corner and forgotten, he has to find them.
Edwin drags him to a stop before he can dive into the pond’s reflective surface. “All right, all right. I can see this is important to you. Just…don’t do this out of some misguided attempt at protecting me. What’s done is done, and it’s no longer important.”
“It is, though,” Charles says fiercely, mortified to feel tears pricking at his eyes. “It is because it’s you, and you’re the most important person to me. Every part of your existence should reflect that, at least the ones where I have a say.”
Wordlessly, Edwin pulls him into a hug. He’s been doing that a lot more since they’ve gotten back to England, more comfortable with physical affection (even from Crystal). Charles can’t lie, it’s really bloody nice.
“Then might I suggest,” he says when they pull back, “that we return to the office and discuss this with Crystal and Niko? I’m sure they’d want to help, and Crystal might be particularly useful in solving a crime from one hundred and ten years ago.” He lightly taps the pond’s surface, and it ripples unnaturally under his touch.
Charles resettles the bag on his shoulder with a grin. “This is why you’re the brains of the outfit, mate,” he says, and follows him through.