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Charles doesn’t think about his death.
Sure, there are the occasional times that he sees someone’s breath fog out in front of them and his insides will start to scream. Once or twice he’s stood at the end of a pier, staring into pitch dark waters, so caught up in his own head that he has to be shaken out of it. Maybe he flinches every time he passes some kids skipping stones on a lake.
But he doesn’t think about his death at all. It’s ancient history by now, innit? Frankly, death’s worked out pretty well for him, all things considered.
So, he’s over it, alright?
-
Their first mistake was angering a river spirit.
Their second mistake was getting split up.
Their third mistake was not getting the hell away from the water while they had the chance.
Edwin gets dragged in. The water wench spews some more expletives in tones only Crystal can understand. If the bitch weren’t made of swirling columns of river water, Charles would have her in a chokehold by now. But as it stands, he’s left useless .
He imagines Edwin under the waves, struggling and wanting to scream. He imagines the sheer panic that must be writhing in his chest. He imagines the heaviness and the cold and the endless dark—and Crystal snaps at Charles to stop telling her to fix this, she’s working on it, dammit.
Always true to her word, Crystal does in fact sort it.
They’re left a little worse for wear, with both the girls soaked to the bone. Charles only escapes a soggy prison of his own thanks to many years of practice dodging errant, paranormal water spouts and a bit of incorporeality. Or, as he likes to call it, ghost magic. But Edwin always throws a fit when he does and— Edwin .
Charles reaches the riverbed right as Edwin pulls himself up out of the water. Instantly, Charles has a hand on his arm, steadying him. He looks windswept. And lord, he’s sopping— hair slicked down across his forehead, dripping into his eyes and down his nose.
Strangely, he hardly seems to notice Charles at his side. He’s always so… aware . Attentive to Charles, even in their most dire of moments, but now he’s curled in on himself, eyes oddly distant…
It takes Charles far too long to realize that Edwin is shaking.
“Edwin.” Charles leans down, trying to catch his eye. “Hey, Edwin. Mate, what’s wrong? Look at me, please. Are you even listening, will you please just—What’s wrong with him?”
Charles whirls around to face the girls, who have huddled up together. Niko looks just as terrified as Charles feels. Meanwhile, Crystal is looking a bit dazed herself, obviously rattled by the tidal wave she endured and her impressive use of power.
But right now, Charles can’t muster his sympathy.
“What’s wrong with him?!” Charles demands again, making Niko startle.
Immediately, he feels bad. It’s not right lashing out at them, if he were—were okay , Edwin would chastise him for it. Except Edwin’s not okay, he’s about to shake apart. Only Charles’s hands on his shoulders seem to be keeping him in one piece. He holds on a little tighter.
“I—I don’t know.” Crystal shakes her head. “The spirit was… was muttering something, some kind of riddle or…”
Her eyes grow wide. Charles tenses on reflex, knowing he’s not going to like what she has to say. That’s all the more reason he needs to know.
“Or?” He prompts.
“Or a… curse.” Crystal hesitates. “Or nothing, maybe! Edwin probably just got shaken up. If we get him back to the agency—"
“What kind of curse?” Charles interrupts, sharp.
“I don’t know! I’m not a witch or an exorcist or a spirit! I’m a psychic! We don’t do the spell thing!”
“How do we get it off him?”
“I just said, I don’t know .”
“Well, how long is it gonna last? Is he just like this now? He can’t just—Look at him, Crystal! We have to fix this, please—"
“Charles…”
The voice is so small, Charles barely hears it over his own shouting. If he hadn’t spent thirty years giving the whole of his attention to that one little word spoken by that one little voice, surely it would’ve been lost to the lazy lapping of the waves. Instantly, Charles turns back to Edwin.
“Hey, mate, I’m right here.” Charles reassures. “You’re alright, we’re all alright, yeah? Just hang on. We’ll get you sorted.”
It’s only then that Charles realizes that Edwin isn’t simply shaking—he’s shivering.
“It’s cold…” Edwin whispers.
-
They get back to the agency. It’s not without struggle, Charles damn near scoops Edwin up bridal style to carry him back a few times. But Edwin is able to trudge along enough for Charles to refrain.
Along the way they decide to just wait things out, see if the curse will let up on its own. Charles hates that plan. He needs to be doing something, figuring out how to make this better. If their roles were reversed, Edwin would spend all night looking through books or he’d just snap his fingers and fix things, but Charles can’t…
Charles isn’t useful like Edwin is.
But they’ve no leads. The spirit is already gone, so there’s no one for Charles to shake down. He runs through every paranormal entity they know that might be able to help. There’s that lady exorcist with the nice coats, a long list of wannabe sorcerers, the kind bookshop keeper…
Good possible resources, all of them. But Charles isn’t quite that desperate yet. They learned a long time ago it’s best to keep their vulnerabilities to themselves, and not to acquire too many debts.
As much as he hates it, Charles decides that waiting to see if Edwin can tough it out would be preferable to marching him around town looking for answers. Besides, they’re all tired and it’s getting late. Now isn’t the time. That’s what Edwin would decree, anyways.
The girls split off to go back to their place. They’re both still soaked and about one strong, sandy breeze away from falling over snoring. They’ll need to rest up before they can be of any help to Edwin.
Back at the agency, it’s just the two of them. For the first time ever, that fact is oddly terrifying. Someone needs to be here. An adult or a doctor or a god— just someone that can help Edwin. But there’s no one.
It’s just them.
They get Edwin out of his outer garments. Somehow, he’s just as soaked as he was when he climbed out of the river. In spite of his two coats, he’s drenched all the way down to his undershirt. Sparing him any possible indecencies, Charles leaves him in his button up.
As Charles undoes his bow tie, Edwin gives no protest. He hasn’t this entire time. No, he hasn’t exactly been helpful , but he hasn’t been fighting it either. He’s just… Well, Charles doesn’t want to say lifeless—for a myriad of reasons, but mostly the poor joke—but Edwin is lifeless .
It breaks something in Charles. Watching Edwin hunched in on himself, trying to shiver into pieces. Water has left his usually prim hair in disarray. It’s dripping into his eyes, which refuse to leave the floor. Not once does he say a word. Neither does Charles.
Bundling him in a few of the blankets they now, thankfully, keep around the office for Crystal and Niko, Charles deposits Edwin on the couch. From there, he hits the bookshelves. He tears through volume after ancient volume, searching for anything even remotely similar to Edwin’s current plight.
His searching turns out to follow his theme of the day— useless . The lack of results is mostly due to his own panic. On a good day, he’s pretty bollocks at utilizing their library. Now, with his own emotions so heightened, and without Edwin to guide him, he might as well be stumbling around blind. His eyes just won’t focus on anything. It’s driving him mad.
But he has to try.
Just as Charles comes across his sixth text in Ancient Sanskrit and wishes so desperately that Edwin was there at his side, he is. A presence sidles up behind him. Presses lightly against the left side of his back. Wet hair tickles lightly at Charles’s neck. For a moment, he’s frozen.
“You’re warm.” Edwin mutters, weak.
Charles lets out a dry laugh, devoid of any real joy. “I’m a ghost, Edwin, no I’m not. And even if I was, you wouldn’t be able to…”
But Edwin can apparently feel the cold. Maybe he’s become sensitive to other supernatural temperatures. And if a ghost feels warm to him…
Charles swallows down his fears. He’s got to keep it together now, keep spirits up and all that… Snapping the incomprehensible book shut, Charles sets it aside. Ever so gently, he shifts out from Edwin’s leaning touch—quickly grabbing him by the shoulders to keep him upright.
“Come on, mate.” Charles pats him lightly, and grimaces at the squelching sound it makes. “Let’s lay back down, yeah? I’ll come keep you company this time. You don’t need to worry about anything…”
He continues rambling like that all the way back to the couch. Edwin, still bundled in his blankets, easily plops back down onto it. Quickly, Charles fetches the desk chair to sit at his bedside. As he goes, he plucks a volume of The Hardy Boys from the shelves.
No, maybe he can’t be like Edwin when it comes to his book smarts. But he can be like Edwin in the ways that really count. He only wishes he had a lantern right now…
Settling at Edwin’s side, as the other boy lays down once more, Charles begins to read to him.
There’s a brief time that Charles thinks it’s working. They settle. Charles is able to engross himself in the book enough to drown out his panic. He just focuses on the words and doing funny voices, even if Edwin doesn’t have a laugh to hide like he normally would.
Everything comes to a halt with a cough.
It’s a nasty, rattling thing that echoes right up out of Edwin’s center. Somehow, all these hours later, it still seems to be wet with river water. Under the force of it, the entire bundled lump that is Edwin shudders and shakes and threatens to shatter entirely, and Charles has discarded their book without thinking about it.
“Hey, hey…” Charles tries to comfort, kneeling in front of Edwin. “None of that, mate. Let’s just…”
His words are just as useless as his floundering hands. It takes a few more rattles before the coughing lets up, but blessedly, Edwin’s chest stills once more. In the aftermath, he lets out a little groan. Bundling further into his blankets, Edwin hides his face—not out of embarrassment, not even close. More like he can’t muster the energy to use his eyes anymore.
Panic surges at Charles’s core, just as violent and overwhelming as the tidal waves they endured from the river spirit that afternoon. He knows that feeling. Of everything getting slow and heavy, and the lights seeming too bright, and his lungs seeming to shrink, no longer needing breath. All these years later, he remembers the innocent want to close his eyes and rest—just for a second.
“Edwin.” Charles is downright begging. “C’mon, you have to look at me, yeah? Just look at me, please. You can’t be doing this. We’re meant to stick together, you can’t do this—"
Swallowing around the burning in his throat, Charles reins himself in. It’s no use getting like this. Edwin is Edwin. He survived Hell, twice , he’s going to be okay. He’ll be okay. He has to be okay.
Desperate, Charles reaches out for Edwin. Just to feel him and know that he’s real and solid and still here. Featherlight, he brushes his fingers along the hair just above Edwin’s ear. It’s still soaking wet. How is he still…
At the touch, Edwin grumbles. Instantly, Charles is retracting his hand—certain that he’d messed it up, that he’d finally done what he’s destined to, that he’s hurt Edwin. But as he goes, there’s the smallest shift in the lump that makes up Edwin.
A hand trying to chase after him.
“Warm.” Edwin mumbles, entire body leaning towards Charles’s orbit.
Speaking proves to be too much for him, as Edwin instantly devolves into another coughing fit. Any hesitancies Charles might’ve grown quickly fade. He lays one hand on Edwin’s back, then one in his hair, and holds him while he shakes. Every wheeze seems to shatter something within him.
“It’s okay, it’s okay…” Charles whispers as the coughing lets up. “Just relax now. But not too much, you need to stay alert and—and keep your eyes open and… Oh, bollocks, I don’t know.”
His voice cracks over the last words. Because that’s the bitter truth of it—Charles has no idea what he’s doing. Which is ironic, considering they’ve done this before , just with their roles reversed. But somehow, it’s so much worse this time.
For the trillionth time that evening, Charles wonders what Edwin would do. What with all his spells and books and magic and ingenuity… But then his mind wanders back. All those years ago, to that night in an attic, and what Edwin did do.
He was there.
Really, that’s all Charles had needed—maybe that’s all Edwin needs too.
Gently, Charles rubs a thumb across Edwin’s temple. The other boy leans into the touch, grumbling more nonsense under his breath. Charles lets out a little laugh. Clingy, this one…
“Alright, mate, hold still then.” Charles chides lightly, pushing to his feet.
Suddenly overly cautious, Charles carefully jams a leg against the back cushions. Desperate not to jostle Edwin, he folds over the other boy, successfully pinning himself between Edwin and the couch. It’s a painful thing, trying to get into position without hurting Edwin. But if Edwin’s the least bit uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it.
Easing himself into the mass of blankets, Charles experimentally presses against Edwin’s back. He sinks back against Charles with a sigh. That’s how Charles means for it to be. Just the two of them side by side, sharing Charles’s apparent, sudden body heat.
But when Edwin’s sigh turns to a cough, Charles finds himself reaching out instinctually. It’s entirely counterintuitive. Closing his arms around Edwin’s chest is more likely to further restrict his airways than help clear them. When faced with his best mate shaking and suffering like that though, he just can’t help it.
Delicate things need to be held.
Maybe that’s why he doesn’t let go, even as the fit fades. If anything, he just holds on tighter—winding his arms around Edwin’s waist. He shuffles down, pressing his cheek between Edwin’s shoulder blades.
Still, Edwin is sopping wet. In every place they touch, it slowly leaks onto Charles. The longer they stay like that, the more Charles convinces himself that he can feel the cool dampness. Imagines it lingering on his skin, sinking through his muscles, freezing his bones. Slowly, it becomes less imagining and more remembering .
But Charles doesn’t let go. Perhaps that’s precisely why he doesn’t. Because he has been soaked and he has shivered and his chest has shaken and he has suffered. None of it should ever have had to happen to Edwin, but if it does, Charles damn sure isn’t going to let him go it alone.
“It’s alright.” Charles whispers after another coughing fit, as Edwin’s teeth chatter. “You’re going to be alright. I’m right here. Not going anywhere, am I? You decided to stay with me back then, so I’m with you now. I’ve got you.”
Edwin doesn’t speak, but he does respond with a sigh as he sinks back further into Charles’s hold—it’s enough.
-
Ghosts don’t sleep.
It’s one of the very first things the newly dead learn, and frankly, one of the better perks. There’s so much to see during those eight hours usually cut off from the world. Exploring that entire new world is enthralling . It makes every fledgling ghost feel special, part of something greater.
Once the novelty has worn off, and a ghost has grown world weary, they learn there’s a bit of an asterisk . No, ghosts can’t sleep like humans. What ghosts can do is fall into a deep, meditative trance that is very similar—if not much lighter and much less restful—as sleeping.
Usually, falling into this trance takes a certain amount of preparation. The area must be quiet and safe. There must be no interruptions of any kind—not even a simple knock at the door. And that is all trivial compared to the amount of concentration it usually takes to enter such a state.
That’s why Charles finds himself befuddled, as he blinks himself out of one such trance.
It’s silent and still in the office. The only indicators that time has passed at all are the slanted slits of sunlight leaning through the windows and his change in position. How did he…?
All at once, Charles becomes keenly aware of the pressure on his chest. Carefully, he looks down. Somewhere through the night, he ended up sprawled on his back. Curled tightly around his side, face burrowed into his chest, is Edwin.
He’s entirely still. There’s no more shaking or shivering. Just like always, he’s cold. But something ugly sparks life into Charles’s entire body—a desperation like he’s never felt before. No, he can’t have, he couldn’t have—
Lightly, Charles pokes at Edwin. It takes a few tries, but eventually, he gets him around the ear and Edwin shrinks in on himself with a groan. If he could, Charles would’ve let out the biggest breath imaginable. Of course he’s okay. He’s already dead .
Even still, it takes a while for the panic to fade. All those horrid emotions from the day before are still echoing where Charles’s bloodstream should be. No matter what, he just can’t shake the fear. It’s impossible to convince himself that he wasn’t mere steps away from losing Edwin—from watching him wither away just like Charles himself did.
So, they stay like that.
If he were a stronger man, maybe Charles would extract himself. Save Edwin any future embarrassment when he comes to… But Charles is selfish. And being here, with Edwin in his arms like this, it just feels… it feels good.
Without meaning to, his mind wanders back to a staircase in Hell. And shiny, desperate eyes, saying words Charles could barely comprehend. He thinks of hands on shoulders and words of his own that are starting to seem incomprehensible in their own right. There, with Edwin in his arms, Charles takes a second to actually think .
It’s some time before Edwin stirs. Unlike Charles, it’s a slow thing—all blinking eyes and stiff limbs and general confusion to the world. Frankly, it’s a sight to behold. Charles lets himself relish in it, just for a moment.
When Edwin pushes himself up on Charles’s chest, giving him a squinty-eyed look, he can’t help but smile.
“Morning.” Charles keeps his voice soft. “Feel better?”
Edwin groans, burying his face in Charles’s chest once more. “That was dreadful .”
His tone alone is enough to reassure Charles that the worst is long over. He laughs, winding his arms further around Edwin and holding him tight. But under his touch, Edwin stiffens.
“I’m sorry—“ Edwin pushes himself up, trying to escape Charles. “I shouldn’t have… We shouldn’t—I’ve taken advantage of you. Let me—“
“No, no.” Charles chides, refusing to let Edwin wiggle away. “You’re staying right here, mate. Still feeling a bit cold to me. Need to keep you warm, yeah?”
Edwin rolls his eyes. “Charles, I am a ghost . Apart from my… ordeal yesterday, I cannot feel the cold. I assure you that—“
His words quickly get drowned out by Charles’s laughter. It’s not a pretty thing, rattling from his chest like a hyena. But by god, if those words haven’t been all that Charles has been needing to hear. Edwin’s alright. He’s alright…
With rough hands—unwilling to entertain Edwin’s attempted jailbreak anymore—Charles shoves Edwin’s face back into his chest. Wrapping his arms around Edwin’s head, he presses him close. Just for a minute, he just needs to hold him…
Over him, Edwin is surprisingly pliant. He seems to accept his fate, no longer trying to wiggle free. Maybe the wet, choked turn to Charles’s laughter wasn’t as subtle as he thought it was. After a few moments, Edwin carefully winds his arms around Charles’s waist.
“Charles…” Edwin tries gently. “I am alright.”
“I thought you…” Charles whispers. “I was so scared that you would… I could feel it, you know? Everything you were feeling, I could remember it and all I could think was that I would lose you .”
Edwin is fighting him again, pulling his head from Charles’s chest. This time, Charles lets him go. Maybe he’s finally pushed it too far, maybe he’s let his walls crumble too far, maybe Edwin has finally realized he’s not as strong as he needs to be—
But Edwin doesn’t go far from him. He just pushes himself up to get a good look at Charles. There’s a familiar pinch to his brow. That stubborn, silly determination of his peeking through.
“That will never happen.” Edwin promises firmly, in that way he so often has. “Nothing will split us up, not even Death herself. A bit of freeze certainly isn’t strong enough. There is nothing in this universe or the next that will take me from you. I promise.”
As soon as he’s finished, Edwin entire face clams up in that way it only does when he feels he’s said too much. But Charles… Charles just grins up at him. There’s this lightness in his chest that he isn’t yet ready to name, but he knows it’s always been there, waiting for him to grasp onto it.
So, Charles does. He reaches up with his right hand, gently taking Edwin by the jaw. At the touch, Edwin lets out a shaky breath. He looks entirely uncertain. Charles only rubs his thumb along Edwin’s cheek—wishing he could coax a smile out of him.
“Sorry.” Edwin wavers back, but not quite far enough to pull from Charles’s grasp. “That was… I shouldn’t have… I fear I’ve gone too far.”
“You haven’t.” Charles reassures.
“Well, in the context of my recent… confession , I fear that I have put you in an awkward position. I do not mean to make you uncomfortable—"
“You don’t.”
He’s getting more flustered by the second, and Charles selfishly, selfishly drinks in every second of it.
Somehow, while they’ve been talking, they’ve gotten closer. It must be Charles’s doing. Pulling Edwin in by the jaw without even realizing it. But then again, Edwin isn’t fighting it, now is he? Were they still alive, Charles thinks he’d be able to feel Edwin’s shaky breath on his lips by now.
“Nothing will split us up.” Charles agrees lowly. “I didn’t doubt you for a second. I just… I can’t be without you, mate. The thought of it was tearing me apart. There’s no me without you, yeah?”
Edwin lets out a shuddering sigh and Charles wishes so badly he could feel it. They’re fully magnetizing now, getting closer and closer. Charles isn’t usually this patient, but he’s already waited all this time, hasn’t he?
“Stop me.” Edwin begs quietly.
Charles grins. “I don’t want to.”
The tips of their noses brush—the most featherlight of things. This time, when Edwin shudders it has nothing to do with any temperature changes at all. If he didn’t know better, Charles would think he was made up of pure electricity, with the way his entire being seems to buzz.
“You’re warm.” Edwin breathes out against him.
If his goal was to goad Charles, he succeeds.
When their lips finally— finally— meet, it feels like coming up for air. Like all these years, Charles has been stuck in the depths, treading water. Waiting desperately for a rescue he didn’t even know he needed. But now, finally, he can breathe.
As Charles captures Edwin’s lips for a second time, he makes a tiny noise at the back of his throat and Charles is left hungry . He chases after it, again and again. All the while, Edwin matches him beat for beat, with a hand trailing up and down Charles’s chest. It becomes hard to kiss him, considering how much he’s smiling.
Just like always, Edwin was right—for the first time in over thirty years, Charles feels warm.