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Edwin had known, from the very beginning, that this day would come. Maybe Charles would decide being a detective wasn’t that fun after all; maybe he’d get curious about what the afterlife had in store for him. Or maybe he’d simply grow bored of Edwin, who was snarky and orderly, who had none of Charles’ bravado or charm. Bored of saving him, every other case, putting his own afterlife on the line.
When Charles had decided, back in 1989, to stay with Edwin, Edwin had been sure it wouldn’t last more than a couple of weeks, at most. He’d allowed Charles to stay only because he was sure it wouldn’t last. Company was not a luxury he thought he could afford, being on the run from Death and Hell.
Every single day, Edwin woke up with the expectation that Charles would simply no longer be there.
But that day had never come. Day after day, Charles had been there, and he only seemed happy to see Edwin. And year after year, Edwin was waiting for the penny to drop. Until after a decade or so, he’d simply…
Forgot isn’t the right word. It was always there, in the back of his mind, somewhere. But the worry had been pushed further and further back until he wasn’t really thinking about Charles leaving anymore, buried under the soft glow of Charles’ ever-lasting presence. And when the thought crossed, it didn’t send a wave of panic rushing through his chest, because the overwhelming feeling, blanketing that fear, was that he wouldn’t leave.
And then Charles went through literal Hell for him. And Edwin promptly spewed all of his unrequited feelings over his best friend as a thank you.
He wouldn't have blamed Charles if that had been the limit, there. But for some reason, it wasn’t. That was weeks ago, edging towards months. And Charles hadn’t been different at all. Hadn’t given any signs, that he was thinking about a different afterlife.
So he’s been waiting for this day since 1989, but he’s still not ready for it when it finally arrives.
Mostly when Edwin visits Crystal - which isn’t really that often - he simply hops through the mirror. But last time he’d done that, she’d yelled at him about boundaries and privacy, and well, Edwin did get that. So this time he mirror hops to the hallway, intending to knock on her door like a ‘normal person’ - like she asked.
He does not intend to eavesdrop, but there’s not much he can do about it when they are speaking so loudly.
“Have you told Edwin?” Crystal’s voice echoes.
At the mention of his name, Edwin stops dead in his tracks.
“No, of course not.” It’s Charles speaking. And even though Edwin is certain it won’t be bad thing, he’s still slightly disgruntled that there’s anything at all that Charles feels he can discuss with Crystal, but not with him.
There’s more talking, but it’s softer now, and although Edwin can hear the tone of Charles’ voice, he cannot distinguish the words. Charles doesn’t sound like he normally does, though. He sounds…
Nervous.
If asked, Edwin will declare temporary insanity for the decision he makes next. In reality, the idea that his best friend is clearly carrying something heavy that he feels he can’t share with Edwin, makes his insides twist painfully.
‘Quietam fiet maius,’ he whispers, and the volume behind Crystal’s closed bedroom door magnifies like they’re speaking right in front of him.
“I guess I’ll just have to move on, then,” Charles says, a hint of misery in his voice.
“Move on?” Crystal shrieks, and there’s a sound that betrays her punching Charles. “What do you mean move on?”
“I don’t know yet, do I? Heaven, Hell, Oblivion. Or maybe I’ll just wander the earth like a lost soul.”
If Edwin could feel cold, he would have felt his skin turn to ice. He forgets to focus on the spell, and it falls away; but he’s heard all he needs to, anyway.
He’s about to lose his best friend.
He turns around and darts, hopping through the mirror just before his eyes can glaze over with tears.
—
When Charles enters the office, Edwin is sitting behind his desk, his eyes focused on the book in front of him. He doesn’t even hear Charles come in.
Which would be a normal thing, except the book in front of Edwin isn’t even open, so that must be the giveaway.
“Are you alright, mate?” Charles asks, halting halfway through the room.
Edwin looks up at him, notices the worried look in Charles’ dark brown eyes, notices his infinite backpack slung casually over his shoulder because he never goes anywhere without it anymore, not after Port Townsend.
Not after he had to save Edwin, again. Twice.
You’re leaving me, he thinks. Hell would be kinder.
“Splendid,” he answers flatly. Charles opens his mouth, no doubt to protest, but he’s cut off by a firm knock on the door.
When Charles opens it, there’s a lady standing there. Her hair is dark black and long, falling straight down her back, and she’s wearing a deep red dress. A sharp jawline leads to crimson red painted lips.
“Hello,” he says, “welcome to the Dead Boy Detective Agency, can we help you?”
The woman looks him up and down, her light blue eyes are a stark contrast against her pale skin and dark hair.
“Small chance, but I guess it’s worth a shot,” she answers, and she pushes straight through Charles, barging in. It’s clear she’s not intending to open with casual chitchat, which is something Edwin also rarely bothers with, so he’s instantly more curious towards her.
“Outline your problem, and I can give you an estimation of those chances,” he says. He motions towards the chair and the woman sits down, albeit reluctantly.
“Yes, hello, nice to meet you too,” Charles mutters, in the background, but he’s hanging back, clearly letting Edwin take the lead in this one. He usually does, when people come to the agency who are more… result driven. But then Charles will always jump in when it’s people who are at a heightened emotional state, because that is not Edwin’s forte.
Edwin has no idea how he’s going to do this without Charles. Doesn’t even know if he wants to. So this might be his last case ever, and he knows he’s going to take it if only to postpone Charles’ departure a few more days.
It’s selfish, but Edwin has never pretended to be anything but. Not when it comes to Charles.
“I’m a witch,” the woman says, pulling Edwin away from his maladies even for a second. His mind flashbacks to Esther, and he can almost feel the pain searing his skin like he did when he was in that awful machine, iron burns magnified by a thousand.
He sees Charles tense, lunging forward, and the phantom pain disappears. Instead, he focuses on Charles, sending him a small smile.
I’m fine, it means. Don’t worry.
As always, Charles understands, sinking back into the shadows. Edwin focuses back on their client.
“Pretty powerful one, at that.” Her grin is lazy, not threatening, but Edwin still straightens his back, and he sees Charles’ eyes focus into little slits, like they do when he’s assessing the need to grab for his cricket bat.
“The reason I am telling you this is because I want you to know that I could be a useful ally, would you decide to help me out with my… quarrel. You help me, I help you. As long as you two are still roaming.”
Roaming. Would that be what he’d do, once Charles leaves? Nothing here to stay for, realistically. Without Charles, there'd not be any person left to find his presence agreeable. Not Crystal or Jenny, who are Charles’ friends first, simply putting up with Edwin because they’re a package deal. And probably not even to Niko, who is his friend, but would also try to cheer him up, as if there’s any point to being happy if Charles is not happy with him.
Edwin really has to focus on the case.
Having a witch as an ally might be helpful. Like always when he’s confronted with a problem, he’s starting to see a pathway paving in his mind. After Esther, he's done some research. He’s sure he’s read of a potion, that could send any ghost to Oblivion.
Oblivion might not be nice, but… He would prefer it to Hell, and he would prefer it to being here without his best friend.
“Tell us about said quarrel,” he says, ignoring Charles’ raised eyebrows.
“For a long time, I had no company.” The witch sighs deeply. “But then when I moved to London, I picked up a Poltergeist named Penny. She was quite a fun distraction. A menace, as most poltergeists are, but fun. Lively.”
“Kindly make your point,” Edwin can’t help but intervene. He’s never been the most patient when it comes to stories.
The witch looks up at him, her gaze darkening. “I came home from an errand and she’s been petrified. I cannot figure out how to undo the curse.”
“Petrified?” Charles repeats, stepping forward now.
“It means her friend has been turned to stone,” Edwin explains, not taking his eyes of the woman. “Why would you think we’d be able to undo that magic, when you are not able to yourself?”
The woman smiles ruefully. “I do not expect you to undo anything, boy. However, you are detectives, are you not? If you can find out who petrified my Penny, I can make sure said person undoes the curse.” Her mouth thins. “Or that person will regret the day they were born forever.”
“Charming,” Charles perks up. He walks up to the desk now, leaning against the edge of it. “What do you think, Edwin? I can’t say I’m too keen, after our last experience with a witch…”
“But think of the payment opportunities,” the witch says. She’s got her focus on Edwin, seemingly having decided her weakest prey. She adds, as if she’s read his mind: “I can get you any potion you want.”
Oblivion seems rather soothing, if Edwin cannot have his forever on this earth with Charles.
“We’ll do it,” he says, and he shakes the witch’s hand.
—
A lot later, when sleep has fallen over London and most of the city lights are dim, only the moon lighting the streets, Edwin finds himself quite unable to take his eyes away from his best friend.
Charles is busy organizing his backpack of infinite things.
“If we’re going to do any business with a witch, I’m gonna need all my weapons within arm’s reach,” he’d said about an hour ago, and he’s still at it. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he rifles through the bag. He’s not wearing his coat, and his skin seems to glow like gold in the flicker of the lamp next to him.
Edwin will admit it’s not the first time he stares at Charles. Not the first time he thinks about how beautiful he is. But it might be the first time he’s felt so intensely sad about it.
He could tell Charles that he heard him speak to Crystal. That still hurts, that Charles felt he could tell Crystal but not Edwin. But then again, Charles knows him very well. He’d know that his intended departure would cause Edwin some great distress.
Crystal wouldn’t like it either, but. They hadn’t spent over 30 years together. They hadn’t been through the things Edwin and Charles had been through.
Crystal didn’t love Charles like Edwin did.
Which is precisely why he won’t tell Charles that he heard. It would just make it harder for him, and it must’ve been a hard decision.
Edwin wonders what the final straw was. Wonders if there’s anything he could’ve done differently. If he hadn’t found himself in Hell, again, or if he hadn’t told Charles that he’s in love with him.
Would he still be here, on the cusp of losing everything that has any meaning to him?
“You’ve been staring at me for a solid 10 minutes, mate,” Charles says, suddenly looking up. He’s smiling, at least, so he’s probably not mad. Edwin still tears his eyes away to focus on the book in front of him.
Right, he’s supposed to be finding a spell to un-petrify a poltergeist.
“Are you worried about working with that witch? Cause if you are, we can still tell her to bugger off.” Charles sounds mostly protective, warming Edwin’s heart.
They cannot tell the witch to bugger off, because she has something that Edwin will need. She can make something to take the pain away, when Charles is no longer there to do it.
But he can’t say that to Charles, of course.
“It will be fine, I imagine,” he says, instead. “Beatrice seems focused on her friend, and finding out whoever petrified her. I doubt she’ll be bothered about us.”
“Right.” Charles shrugs. “Well, if that changes, I’ve stuffed my whole bag with weapons, so don’t worry, mate.”
But the worry that lays heavy on Edwin’s heart has nothing to do with the witch, and it’s nothing Charles can fight with any weapon.
He tries to focus on the spell book in front of him.
—
Crystal is proper miffed that she’s not allowed to come, but Charles stands with what he said back in Port Townsend: witches are dangerous, and Crystal is too alive to deal with one.
Really, if it was up to him, nobody would be dealing with one, because if it had been up to him, he would’ve told that witch Beatrice to go to Hell, and take her frozen poltergeist with her. After what happened the last time Edwin encountered a witch, it’s simply not a risk Charles is willing to take.
But Edwin is, apparently, so… Here Charles is, standing in the middle of the witch’s house.
“I still don’t think this is the best idea you’ve ever had,” he finds himself saying, as he watches Edwin snoop through Beatrice’s cupboards. “If she finds out we’re looking through her shit…”
“We’ll just say we’re doing research,” Edwin cuts him off. “Which we are doing.”
Charles doesn’t think the witch would be proper happy with that, but he decides to let it go, mostly because Edwin has been a little off, today.
He probably thinks he’s hiding it pretty well, but Charles knows Edwin better than anyone else. And maybe he’s a little too in tune with Edwin, but when Edwin is hurting, well…
That kinda makes Charles want to die. Especially when the source of Edwin’s pain seems to be Charles himself.
He’s not stupid. He can tell that the hint of sadness in Edwin’s smile only intensifies when it’s Charles he’s smiling at. He doesn’t miss all the times Edwin tears his eyes away from Charles and looks like he could start crying. Or how Edwin has been avoiding him.
Not in proximity, he can’t really do that when they’re working on a case. But he’s not thinking out loud, like he normally does. He’s not making fun of Charles, even when Charles tripped over his own feet earlier. He’s not even reacting to Charles’ teasing remarks.
He’s basically acting as if Charles isn’t there, at all, unless he’s directly spoken to. Even then, his answers are short, to the point.
And it stings, because Charles has no idea what he’s done to deserve this. Normally, he has some sort of inkling when he’s done something stupid to upset Edwin, but this time…
None.
But he’s sure there’s something. Edwin wouldn’t freeze him out like this if Charles hadn’t royally mucked up, somehow.
If only he knew what to say to fix it. But then again, his father had always told him he was no good at fixing things.
“Where’s the poltergeist supposed to be, you think?” he asks, if only to have something to say. Edwin doesn’t even glance up at him.
“Attic, I’d wager.”
“Right, it always has to be the attic, innit,” Charles mumbles, and when there’s no response from his friend, he decides to go find Penny the poltergeist on his own. Maybe if he cracks this case, Edwin won’t be mad at him anymore.
Beatrice’s house is very different from Esther’s. There’s no pots and pans with suspicious looking liquids on the fire. No crow in a cage - thank fuck for that, to be honest, Charles doesn’t think he could handle another Monty situation - and so far, no snakes in cupboards either.
No, this house seems to just be a normal house.
Until Charles reaches the attic. It’s dark, but there’s enough low lighting to show all the shelves filled with stuff.
Dark green spell books, large and small vials filled with brightly colored liquids, glass jars filled with unidentifiable plant material. There’s an animal skull, rolled up parchment paper, a little figurine of a horse. A bunch of crystals, a wand, even.
The thing that catches his attention, though, is right in the middle of the room.
“Right, you must be Penny, then,” he says to the statue of a female ghost, wearing a long dress not unlike Beatrice had worn; except this one is torn half to shreds. “And you’re really made of stone, aren’t ya?”
He touches the statue, and the cold stone feels solid against his hand.
“I can touch you? Why is that?” he mutters, more to himself, when he hears a familiar voice answering him from behind.
“I’d assume since she is still technically a ghost, you can feel her as you could any other ghost.” Edwin comes to stand next to him. “Except she’s made of stone. Good work finding her, Charles.”
He says it as if it wasn’t his idea to look in the attic, in the first place. Charles can’t help but gleam at the praise, anyway.
“So, how are we gonna find out who stoned her?” he asks.
Edwin smiles. “We are going to ask her.”
Before Charles can point out that getting an answer from a literal statue could take a while, Edwin kneels to the floor, two vials in his hand. One contains a purple liquid, the other something akin to black ash.
Edwin hands him the one with the purple liquid. “If you could put this in your backpack for me, momentarily? I’ll have to take that one to the office with us.”
Charles whistles between his teeth as he stuffs it away. “Stealing from a witch, mate, is that smart?”
He’s ignored, again, but this time he doesn’t have time to wonder why, because Edwin opens the other vial and drops the black ash unceremoniously at the feet of the statue.
For a second, nothing happens, but just when Charles opens his mouth to point this out, there’s a cracking noise.
Charles stumbles back, instinctively grabbing Edwin’s hand to yank him away from the statue. Because the statue is starting to become… no longer a statue.
The stone starts to break, the cracks breaking apart hauntingly slow, and then there’s a scream that could pierce through glass, Charles swears it could, and then…
“Ah, miss Penny the Poltergeist,” Edwin says, hauntingly calm. “Thank you for joining us.”
The poltergeist is floating a few inches off the ground, where all the stones lay piled up at her feet. She looks young, maybe around 12 years old, and her blonde hair is pulled into pig tails.
“You freed me,” she breathes. She doesn’t seem threatening, but Charles still keeps his hold on Edwin’s arm.
“Yes, it appears we did,” Edwin says. “So maybe you could do us the favor of telling us who petrified you, in the first place?”
Penny blinks slowly. There’s a pause. Then, something like surprise in her voice. “Beatrice petrified me. Who else could it have been?”
Charles watches as the shock appears and disappears from Edwin’s face within a single breath.
“I hate witches,” he mutters, and he reaches in his bag for his bat, just as there is a loud bang, and a flash of light. A unfathomable strong gust of wind breathes through the room, and Charles pushes Edwin to the ground just in time to consume most of the force himself.
He flies against the shelves, and there’s a burning fire spreading through his body, making his bones scream.
Must be iron in there, he thinks, and then the pain consumes him and he passes out.
—
“Charles!” Edwin hears himself screaming, but before he can stand up, someone or something pushes him back down again, hard. He bangs his head against the wooden floor, and the fact that he’s solid enough to feel it must mean there’s iron somewhere.
“Fun, huh?” A familiar voice drawls. “I fortified everything with iron. Floors, walls, furniture. You ghosts are so tricky with your incorporeal forms.”
“Beatrice,” Edwin tries to speak, just as the witch puts her foot on his chest. It burns, and he has to swallow away a scream.
“It’s even in my shoes,” Beatrice says. She’s smiling, but it’s not a nice smile.
“Charles,” Edwin breathes again. There’s no response, and Beatrice’s laugh is cold.
“I’m sorry, darling, your boyfriend is gonna be out of it for a while. I think he has burned his, hmm, let’s see…” She glances over to her left. “His everything, really.”
Edwin’s head swivels to the same direction, his eyes frantically searching for his best friend. He finds him laying under a heavy shelf. There’s smoke coming from his body, and Edwin can smell ash.
“No,” he mouths, but no sound is leaving his throat. He needs to get up, he needs to help Charles, he can’t let Charles…
This is not the way Charles should be leaving him.
“Why?” he whimpers, forcing himself to look back at Beatrice. He needs to get her talking, needs to distract her even for one second so he can draw a rune, or whisper a spell, or do anything at all.
“You haven’t worked it out, then?” Beatrice tuts. “That’s disappointing, I thought you were the smart one. Well, I’ll explain it, then.”
It works. She takes her foot away from Edwin’s chest, and the burning feeling dissipates, a little.
“See, I found out Penny was planning on leaving me. Now, that is unacceptable behavior, don’t you agree? I’ve let her crash at my place for over 10 years, and she just decides to leave?”
Beatrice rolls her eyes. “Couldn’t let that happen, obviously. So I petrified her. I admit, she was less fun as a statue, but at the very least she couldn’t leave me.” Her gaze turns cold. “I wasn’t going to be alone, again.”
“Why did you come to us?” Edwin breathes. He still has no idea what he’s going to do, but he knows he needs to keep her distracted.
Oh, how he wished it was the other way around. Why couldn’t it be him, laying there hurt and immobilized, and Charles sitting her opposite Beatrice? Charles would’ve fought his way out of here. Charles wouldn’t have let a little bit of pain stop him from rescuing Edwin. What good is his smart brain when he’s unable to get them out of a mess like this?
Edwin has been through Hell, twice. How is a bit of iron holding him hostage like this?
Beatrice shrugs. “I got bored. Had no one to talk to. So I thought, how fun would it be to have two more ghosts to keep me company?”
“You can’t keep us here,” Edwin bites. He wishes he sounded calm, but he can’t, not when Charles is there literally smoking like a forest fire.
“Oh, you see, I thought about that,” Beatrice pouts. “But I can, actually. At first, I thought I’d have to petrify you too, but then it was just more silence, you understand? So that’s why I built this.” She motions around herself, to the room. “Iron everywhere. You can’t go anywhere. You can only be corporeal, and it might hurt a bit, but I’m sure if you behave nicely we can work something out. Like, a blanket or something?”
She shrugs. “You’ll have to wait a little, though, because first I’ve got to find that blasted poltergeist… I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you to set her free so quickly. A little bit annoying, I say.”
Just as she says that, Edwin sees something move in the corner of his eye. Two blonde pigtails, appear from behind one of the shelves. In her hands, a vial with dark grey liquid.
He watches as Beatrice turns around and notices Penny at the exact same time. Her eyes flash with anger, and she lifts her hand, her mouth opening, words beginning to form.
Penny opens the vial and throws the contents into Beatrice’s face.
“No,” Beatrice cracks, at the same time as Penny giggles “Gotchya!” And then Beatrice’s feet start turning grey. Solid. Motionless.
As the seconds tick by, and Beatrice releases a stream of curses, her body turns to stone.
Penny smiles at Edwin. “Thanks again for freeing me. An eye for an eye, is what I always say…”
Edwin doesn’t even wait for her to finish her sentence, nor does he wait until Beatrice’s blood curling shrieking stops. He pushes himself off the floor with surprising force, and catapults himself towards Charles.
“Penny,” he snaps, “help me lift this!” He pulls on the shelves, but only manages to move it slightly. He hears Charles’ skin sizzle with burns as the iron grates his skin. “Help me now!”
To her credit and his surprise, Penny floats over and helps him slowly lift the shelves off Charles. As soon as Charles is free, Edwin throws himself next to his best friend, lifting him into his lap so there’s as little skin as possible touching the iron floor.
“Charles,” he says frantically, his voice thick with tears. “Charles, please, can you hear me?”
Charles’ face is stoic, his eyes closed. There’s a sickening greenish tint to his cheeks. His coat is searing like fire, little puffs of smoke coming from where his feet are still touching the floor.
“He’s going to die,” Penny says solemnly. “Again.”
He does look a lot like he did back when they met in 1989. The thought alone is enough to make Edwin feel faint.
“No,” he says, “he’s not. I’m not letting him.”
“Maybe it’s not so bad,” Penny shrugs. “I’ve heard the afterlife is quite nice. That’s why I wanted to get away from Beatrice, you know. I think I’m ready for some peace.” Her sigh is long suffering, but Edwin doesn’t notice it.
Her words, however, ring through his mind like a strike from a hammer. He’s not that different, from Beatrice, then. He’s keeping Charles with him like she kept Penny, both of them unable to move on to whatever peaceful afterlife they surely have in store for them.
The least he can do is make sure Charles manages to get to the afterlife, after all of it.
“Penny,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Can you please bring me a mirror?”
Penny holds a mirror next to his head, which seemingly having appeared out of nowhere. “Like this?”
And it takes every ounce of strength for Edwin to drag Charles’ body through the mirror, but it’s the very least thing he can do.
—
The office is lit by the golden flame of a single desk lamp.
Edwin doesn’t know why he’s not lit the other lamps. Maybe it’s because the heaviness that has been settling in his stomach requires darkness to fester.
And fester, he will let it. It’s what he deserves, after what he did to Charles; what he’s been doing, for over 30 years.
Charles, who is currently stretched out on the floor with all the pillows both Crystal and Niko could find. It shouldn’t matter, because he’s starting to turn incorporeal now that the iron burns are starting to fade. It matters, because every resemblance of comfort matters, when it comes to Charles.
Edwin sent them home, Crystal and Niko. He knows they’re worried about their friend, too. But he can’t have them around when he’s breaking into pieces like this.
First his worry was about Charles’ safety. But with some healing spells, the burns had begun to fade, and the golden hue had returned to Charles’ cheeks.
It might take a while for him to be well rested enough to wake up, but Edwin knows from experience that he will.
So then he started thinking about everything else. And he can’t have Crystal and Niko there, to watch him lose his God damned mind, looking at his best friend, looking at the best person he knows, and knowing this is the last time he’s going to see him.
Tears are pooling in Edwin’s eyes.
Whatever the last straw was, that made him decide to leave Edwin behind, Edwin understands it, really. Charles deserves happiness, and peace. He doesn’t deserve to be cloaked by iron burning his skin off, or to be unconscious on the floor because Edwin can’t fix him, not fully, and never fast enough.
But losing Charles is going to hurt more than any strike of iron ever could.
Edwin turns to catch a glimpse of the vial with purple liquid, that he’s set on the desk. His potion of Oblivion. He doesn’t know why he went to look for it before Beatrice came, didn’t think back then that she could be the villain. Assumes he must’ve known, subconsciously.
But he has it, right there. His backup plan. His way out of Hell, if Hell turns out to be just a world without Charles in it.
“Edwin?” Charles’ voice is soft, quivering. When Edwin looks down at him, he’s already looking up, his brown eyes filled with worry. “Why are you crying, mate?”
Is he crying? Edwin gently touches his own cheek, feels wet tears against his fingertips. So he is crying. Huh.
“Charles,” he says, instead of answering. “Are you feeling okay?”
Charles grins, although he winces as he tries to sit up. “I’m aches, thanks to you.”
Edwin could burst out into laughter if he wasn’t so busy crying his eyes out. “Thanks to me? I did nothing. If it wouldn’t have been for Penny, we would’ve been lost, I couldn’t even move, I didn’t save you…”
“Edwin, hey.” Charles is sitting up now, reaching out almost carefully. “Hey, stop crying, what are you even talking about? I mean, I have to admit I don't remember much, but... You got me out of there, mate!”
Edwin doesn’t answer, trying to swallow away the thick warm tears that are lodged in the back of his throat.
“And I’m fine, see?” Charles flaps his arms as if to demonstrate that they’re still working. “Burns are nearly gone, everything still moves, innit? Fit as a fiddle, me.”
His reassuring words should be cheering him up, but Edwin can only feel miserable, because if Charles is fine, if he’s not injured…
Well, nothing is keeping him here, any longer, is there?
Charles reaches for Edwin now, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. His jacket has long been abandoned, and even his bow tie has come off, but he still feels like he’s suffocating. Ghosts can’t breathe, but God, does he feel like he’s struggling for oxygen.
“Edwin,” Charles repeats, giving a hard tug at his sleeve. “Hey, Edwin, come here.”
And Edwin shouldn’t allow it, not at all, should not make Charles comfort him when he should be getting ready to walk out of here, should find his peace wherever that may be, not worrying about Edwin.
But he’s selfish, when it comes to Charles, has always been selfish. And if Charles is willing to wait until morning to leave him, how could Edwin possibly deny himself those few last hours?
So he goes willingly, lets Charles pull his body flat against his own, pulls him back down with his arms wrapped around Edwin so tight that if he had to breathe, he would find himself unable to.
He still feels like there’s air flowing through his lungs, anyway.
Edwin lets himself fall into the embrace, his body sliding against Charles like two puzzle pieces fitting together. His nose is buried in the shoulder of Charles’ jacket, and he swears he can smell burning ashes, even now, even though he hasn't been able to smell anything for over a hundred years.
His tears are soaking the fabric of the jacket, as Charles gently strokes his back.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Charles mumbles. “I don’t know what’s going on, Edwin, but we can figure it out together, innit? We always do. And I’m right here, mate. Always right here, aren’t I?”
His words cause another tidal wave of tears to claw at Edwin’s throat. Because what can he say, when that always will mean just one more night?
He’s right there, for one more night. And then Edwin will be alone.
He feels the phantom of a kiss, pressed against his head. The tips of Charles’ fingers are digging into his shoulder blades.
“I love you, you know,” Charles says, and it sounds a lot like goodbye.
And if this is goodbye, well, Edwin supposes he’s got nothing to lose.
The eternity old question, then: is it better to have loved and lost, or to have never loved at all? Edwin knows that second option is no longer a possibility, not for him. He’s loved Charles for nearly 30 years, and although it’s going to hurt like nothing else, to lose him, he would still choose to love Charles.
Every single time.
But if he’s going to know what it feels like to lose Charles, he might as well know what it feels like to love him, properly. Just once.
Selfish, he knows. He thinks that Charles would not deny him one kiss. Not now.
Maybe not ever.
So Edwin lifts his face. Charles’ brown eyes are already searching for his, his brow furrowed as his face drips with worry. The straight slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw, soft dark curls.
Edwin tries to memorize it all.
“Charles,” he tries to say, but it comes out as a whimper. Charles immediately responds by curling his hands tighter around Edwin’s body. “Charles, may I kiss you?”
A million emotions flash through Charles’ eyes, but Edwin can’t decipher any of them, not quick enough. Because within the space of one second, one emotion settles across Charles’ face, and Edwin recognizes that fondness, that warmth, all too well.
There is so much love there, and Edwin thinks once again, that deciding to leave must have been an incredibly tough choice, and that he ought to be supporting his best friend, helping him through it.
Instead, he does nothing as Charles leans in and presses his lips against Edwin’s, soft at first and then firmer.
For a moment, Edwin freezes under the touch; he has no idea what he’s doing, it all feels so foreign to him and he’s so sad, but there’s also a fluttering feeling in his chest where his heart should be.
Charles’ hand curls around his jaw, gently pulling Edwin closer, and Edwin feels his spine relax into it, feels all the fight and the pain leave his body at once, as it becomes pliant in Charles’ hands.
He lets Charles coax open his mouth and deepen the kiss, lets himself be pulled close and held tight.
If Edwin has one more night, one more night with Charles and maybe one more night before he pushes himself into Oblivion, this is exactly the goodbye he probably does not deserve.
He’s endlessly grateful, then, that Charles allows him to have it anyway.
—
Ghost can’t sleep, not really. But they can enter a stupor like state that is quite close to sleep, and Charles hasn’t had a night of slumber this peaceful since…
Well, ever, probably. Resting has never been his favorite activity. But he supposes that’s because he’s never had the chance to rest with Edwin’s warm body pressed against his, listening to the rhythm of Edwin’s unnecessary breaths.
Slowly, before Charles opens his eyes, the memories from the night before come back to him. He remembers burning iron, his skin scalding, but the memories are painted over by the feeling of soft, gentle hands, tracing both fresh and old scars on his back like they were precious. He remembers the sounds of Edwin’s bitten back cries, cutting him deeper than any knife ever could, but what he remembers more are the soft sighs of content that Edwin had breathed into his mouth, as Charles kissed him.
He remembers falling into his slumber with Edwin’s nose tucked into the space below his ear, his lips right at the point where a pulse would once have been.
But now that he’s coming back to the conscious world, there’s no one next to him. Charles feels the emptiness even before he opens his eyes.
When he does open them, he finds Edwin standing at his desk, tension dripping from his body, shoulders pulled up nearly to his ears and his hands balled into fists, the way he only does when he’s very tense.
That’s not the way you want to boy you love to look, the night after your first kiss, and Charles feels a heavy dread settle into his stomach.
Edwin’s eyes are focused, non blinking, on the vial of purple stuff he stole from that witch.
“Uhm, hey,” Charles tries carefully, and Edwin’s head snaps up instantly.
“Charles,” he says, by way of greeting, but it sounds stilted. “Did you rest well?”
“Yeah, I’m brills, mate.” Charles has to admit his cheeriness sounds fake even to his own ears. He tries to smile, but it’s hard when Edwin is staring at him with so much hurt in his eyes.
He looks fucking miserable, and Charles feels like throwing up, even though ghosts can’t technically even do that.
He gets to his feet, awkwardly stepping towards Edwin. At his movement, Edwin stumbles back, phasing right through the desk.
If Edwin is forgetting to be corporeal, it must be really bad.
“What…” Charles starts, meaning to ask what is happening, but Edwin cuts him off by saying at the same time;
“I presume it’s time for you to leave, then?”
The world comes crashing down around Charles.
“Leave?” he whispers. Fear licks at his heels. This is what he’d been afraid of, this is what he’d been promised by Crystal wasn’t going to happen.
He’d asked her, just two days ago.
How could he tell his best friend he’s in love with him, months after Edwin told him that same thing? What if it was too late? What if Edwin hated him, and would send him away? Crystal said that was an unrealistic fear, and Charles thought he agreed, but now it seems like that’s exactly what’s happening.
It hadn’t even been Charles, who initiated the kiss. That’s why he’d been proper chuffed by Edwin’s question. If Edwin still wanted to kiss him, surely Charles hadn’t mucked it all up, hadn’t taken too much time to figure out his feelings, surely Edwin hadn’t gotten over him.
But now Edwin is looking at him like it pains him to do it.
“I’m not Beatrice, Charles,” Edwin says, then, and that makes zero sense. “I’m not going to turn you into stone and keep you here against your will. You’re right, you know. You deserve to be free of the duty to protect me, the torment that is being followed by Hell and Death at every corner.” He seems to brace himself, rights his back. “I understand your wish to leave, and I will not try to stop you. So it’s probably the least… painful way, if you just go right now and do not postpone it any longer.”
Charles blinks. Wonders if he’s dreaming, but no, ghosts can’t dream. Then asks: “What the fuck are you on about, Edwin?”
For a moment, Edwin stares at him in bewilderment. Then, his eyes drop, staring at the ground.
“I heard you,” he admits. “With Crystal. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I promise. It’s just that you were speaking rather loudly, and I couldn’t stop myself from… Overhearing your plans.”
“My plans?” Charles swears his brain is short circuiting.
“No need to be cruel, now,” Edwin snaps. “You said... You were planning to tell me that you’re going to move on. Heaven, Hell, or wandering the earth, you said.” His bravado falls. “Though I’m sure it’ll be Heaven, in the end.”
And then suddenly, everything falls into place, like a lock clicking together.
“Edwin,” he asks, slowly, because he needs this to be made extremely, stupidly clear to him. This isn't something he can muck up. “Did you think I kissed you last night because I was planning to pass over today?”
Edwin furrows his brow. Looks confused, somehow.
“Is that not…”
And Charles can’t help it; laughter bubbles out of his throat, and the indignant look on Edwin’s face only makes him laugh more.
“I’m glad the source of my malady is so amusing to you,” Edwin says snidely.
“It’s not,” Charles giggles. “But you are just so fucking dim sometimes.”
Edwin crosses his arms, now, frowning. “Explain.” He looks so offended, and Charles loves him with his whole heart.
“I’m not going anywhere, for starters.” Charles steps forward, and this time Edwin doesn’t leap back, so that’s probably a good sign. “What you heard me saying? Moving on? That was the answer to a question. She asked me, didn’t she? What I’d do if you no longer wanted me around."
Edwin blinks. A pause. “Why would I not want you around?” He seems genuinely confused, which Charles reckons is fair, but...
It shouldn’t be so scary to say it out loud. Not when he can still feel the ghost of Edwin’s lips against his collarbone. But it's still is a little scary, anyway.
“Because I’m in love with you,” he says, softly. “And like a proper idiot, it took me way too long to realize it, innit? I should’ve known when you told me on the staircase. I should’ve been able to kiss you right there. I think I've always been kinda in love with you, but I'm always a little slow, aren't I? It took me months, and I was worried maybe I was too late. So I asked Crystal if she thought you’d send me packing, and she said no, you wouldn't, but she asked me what I’d do if you did, so.” He shrugs. "That's when I said I'd have to move on."
There's a silence. Charles can nearly see the words processing in Edwin's brain.
“You’re in love with me?” he repeats dumbly, still standing there like he’s the one that got petrified.
Charles can’t help but smile. “Wasn’t clear enough last night, was I?” He’s reached Edwin now, takes both his hands in his. “Yes, Edwin, I’m in love with you.” And then, a little softer; “Are you still in love with me?”
“Well, obviously,” Edwin says. “But I thought maybe you’d just been staying around because you felt obliged to protect me. I was worried that, like Beatrice did to Penny, I was keeping you from the peaceful afterlife that Heaven has in store for you.”
Charles shakes his head. “You’re nothing like that blasted witch. You didn’t force me to stay around, I just don't want to leave you, it’s that simple.” He frowns. “Besides, you don’t know I’m going to Heaven.”
To his surprise, Edwin’s eyes nearly roll to the back of their sockets, at that. “Please, Charles,” he says. “You are so kind, so good, the best person I’ve ever met. If you don’t qualify for Heaven, Hell would’ve been a lot more populated than it already is.”
And Charles would argue with him, but there's something more pressing at the forefront of his mind. "So now that we’ve cleared up that I'm not fucking going anywhere, like, ever, can I kiss you again?”
Edwin clears his throat. “Just a tick,” he mutters, dodging away from Charles and picking up the purple potion that he took from the witch’s house. “I just need to… I don’t need this anymore.”
He walks to the window, pours the liquid out into the crispy London air, puts the vial on a shelf.
“What even was that?” Charles asks, one eyebrow raising as he leans against the desk. “Are we not using that? Why’d you take it if you’re just throwing it away?”
Edwin’s face blanches for only a second before he carefully constructs his face into blankness. “It was my back up plan, if you must know,” he says haughtily. “A potion of Oblivion.”
It takes a bit of time before Charles realizes what that means.
“You were going to send yourself into Oblivion?” He has to admit his voice sounds a little shrill. “Have you gone absolutely fucking mental?”
Edwin crosses his arms, juts his chin in the air. “Well, I’m sorry, Charles, but Oblivion seemed preferable to Hell.”
“You could just stay here, mate! Living! Or, ghost living. Whatever.”
The attitude falls away as Edwin’s eyes fix themselves on the floor in front of Charles. “There really would have been no point to that, if you hadn’t been here, Charles.”
And how damned is it, that Charles can still feel his heart hammer in his chest, when he has no heartbeat at all?
“If you ever even think about doing something like that again, I’m going to hate you and never forgive you.” He means to sound threatening, but the threat is probably undermined when he yanks Edwin towards him, pressing their bodies flush together and lacing his arms around his neck. “I can’t believe you’d throw away your entire existence for me, that is so fucking stupid…”
Edwin sounds genuinely indignant. “I thought you were leaving, Charles.”
“And that,” Charles breathes, backing out of the hug but holding Edwin close, still. “That was even more fucking stupid. You’re the smart one, aren’t ya? How could you actually think I would ever leave you? You’ve got to promise me you’ll never think anything that stupid, again. ”
A shrug. Edwin’s green eyes staring into his, searching for something. Finding it, most likely, because a soft smile appears on his face. It’s Charles’ favorite smile of his; small and private, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle. The one he only really ever gives to Charles.
Had to work for about 15 years, Charles did, to deserve that one, and he revels in it every time he gets a glimpse of it.
“Alright, I promise.” The tension has gone from Edwin’s voice. “I do love you, Charles.”
Charles grins back at him. “I love you too, mate. Now I’m gonna kiss you again, alright?”
“Alright,” Edwin says, and then he does.