Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Edwin didn’t really know why he said yes, when Charles said he wanted to stay on Earth with him.

He had panicked, slightly, for one. He told the still-shivering boy exactly how stupid of a decision it was, and Charles hadn’t cared. He wanted to stay. And Edwin didn’t know how to respond.

Edwin understood the potential benefit of adding another detective to the agency. He figured having a Watson to his Holmes, as it were, would be useful in a number of scenarios. However, it also presented a handful of new challenges, not all of which Edwin thought he could handle.

He considered saying no. But with this boy looking at him- so freshly killed by his friends, looking at Edwin with those too-bright eager eyes, putting his trust in Edwin’s still bloodstained hands- Edwin couldn’t bring himself to turn him away.

“Right.” Edwin said, as they left St. Hilarion’s behind them. It was nerve-racking, certainly, to interact with someone like this, but at the same time, it made Edwin feel slightly more grounded in normality. It gave him structure, to pretend to be a person like this.

Socializing was a game he barely remembered playing, anymore, but he snapped back into it with a surprising muscle memory. He knew he was worse at it now, which was saying something, but he must have been doing alright so far, since Charles was choosing to stay in his presence.

“I shall show you my office space. You may join me there during the day, and I will…” he searched for a word that wasn’t ‘allow”. “Be glad for any of your contributions to the agency’s work.”

“Aces,” Charles said, “That’s pretty mint- You’ve got an official detective office and everything.” He was entirely too enthusiastic for a boy who had just been beaten to death.

Edwin didn’t trust it.

“Yes, well…” Edwin straightened. “It is not official, just yet. That shall be our first task, I suppose, to find an adequate operating location.”

He waved away the distraction. “In any case. The agency’s operating hours shall be collaborative. At night, you must find another way to occupy yourself. I devote myself to rigorous study at that time, and I must not be disturbed.”

“Yeah, alright,” Charles said. Edwin frowned. He had been expecting to have to defend his request.

But then Charles asked, “What kind of study?” and Edwin straightened his bowtie defensively.

“If you must know,” he began, “I am beginning my scholarship on the arcane, and I have much progress to make.”

“The arcane?” Charles asked, “Like…magic?”

“Precisely.”

“Magic is real?” Charles asked, sounding like a little kid.

“Charles, you are a ghost,” Edwin scoffed. “A great deal of supernatural phenomenon is very real. Yes, including what you would consider magic.”

“Brills,” He muttered, endearingly wondrous. “And you can do it?”

Edwin bristled. He had only been out of Hell for a few short days, and had spent most of it feeling utterly lost. His only goal so far was to stay out of Hell.

He had two plans to make that happen: to prove his goodness by helping others, and to become so well-versed in the arcane that he would never again be taken unawares. So far, he had collected just one book on demonology. He had returned to St. Hilarion’s hoping to find the same book that had sent him to Hell in the first place, but had only found Charles.

“Not yet,” he answered shortly. “But I will.”

---

Edwin had never had a friend before- he operated perfectly well without them.

But as Charles settled into the space of the makeshift detective agency, it became increasingly obvious that Charles already considered Edwin a... “mate”.

Edwin wasn’t sure how to feel about this.

He considered politely correcting Charles that they were co-detectives, not mates- but he did not want to make a social blunder that the agency couldn’t come back from.

Objectively, Edwin saw that adding another detective had indeed been a good idea.

Charles was good at finding cases. He seemed to spend his nights out of the office wandering around London, getting friendly with the local ghost population. He appeared at 6am sharp each morning with a giant grin, and more often than not a grumbling ghost by his side. He had contacts to ask questions to, when the trail went cold. He was good at befriending and consoling even the prickliest of clients.

By all accounts, Charles' social nature was better for the agency than Edwin’s intellect was.

Edwin loved the detective work, but he could feel his own social abilities being stretched thin. There were times where he wondered if he had bitten off more than he could handle, inviting other people to interact with him, to even rely on him. Perhaps he should have just dedicated himself completely to his studies, burrowing into the safety of isolation until he was too powerful to ever be trifled with.

But then, he couldn’t help but feel like the heavy weight of damnation on his soul was being lightened, each time they solved a case. The satisfaction of solving the puzzle, of moving the case to the solved file. That rush was worth the trouble.

Every time they finished a case, Charles would turn to him with a huge smile and extend his hand for a handshake…

Edwin didn’t like touch. But a handshake was expected of a gentleman, and Edwin had resigned himself to that reality seventy years ago. He had barely had time to get used to the idea before he died. But now, he was a professional, a working man.

Never mind his strange distaste for human contact, or the seventy years of nothing but pain every time he was touched. Edwin's will was stronger than all of that.

Reluctantly, Edwin accepted Charles’ handshakes. He shivered every time their spectral bodies connected.

But then Charles would say, “Nice work, mate!” and Edwin felt like maybe, maybe he could smile back at Charles someday.

And despite Edwin’s reservations, his and Charles’ strange, tip-toed dynamic seemed to work. They settled into it slowly, getting used to each other’s idiosyncrasies and learning to make do.

Edwin was just quiet a lot.

He let Charles handle the talking with clients. Charles didn’t seem to need Edwin to talk much to him, either, which was a relief. Charles seemed content to talk at Edwin, and Edwin was happy to listen.

Still…it was exhausting. All day, Edwin was on edge. He waited for something to go wrong.

Charles was blisteringly kind… but he was still the type of boy Edwin wasn’t. He was athletic and outgoing and funny, everything Edwin could never hope to become. Charles would be within his rights to mock Edwin for his failures.

Edwin was perhaps most aware of his stilted conversational skills- always horrendous but made far worse after 75 years of nothing, nothing but screaming and pleading and incoherent babbling.

Edwin didn’t know how to talk to Charles, even.

Now that they were…possibly friends, talking felt impossibly high stakes. It was more difficult than it had been in the beginning. Edwin knew that, at any time, he could say something wrong, or fail to say anything, and that Charles’ gifted patience would expire.

“Well, done, mate,” Charles said, as they were closing up the agency for the day, two months into their partnership. Edwin nodded in acknowledgement, silently returning the sentiment to Charles.

“Another case closed,” Charles said proudly, as Edwin moved the card over on the case display.

Edwin just hummed in agreement.

“Quick thinking with the binding spell,” Charles complimented. Edwin almost smiled. “You’re getting good with the spellcasting,” Charles added, and the compliment finally sparked Edwin’s vocal chords to life.

“Thank you, Charles.”

Charles looked at him when he spoke, grinning. Edwin looked away.

“I like the way you say that,” Charles said. Edwin’s curiosity brought his gaze back to Charles. “‘Charles.’ Nobody calls me that.”

Edwin tilted his head. Charles specified, “Everyone always called me Charlie.”

Edwin kicked himself. Of course he was being overly formal, he always was. “If you prefer,” He began carefully, “I can call you Charlie, instead-”

“Nah, mate. I said I like it, didn’t I?” His smile was unwavering. “Makes me feel like a right proper detective. ‘Charles Rowland, Dead Boy Detective.’ Sounds official, don’t it?”

“I suppose so.” Edwin offered him a tight closed-lip smile, and Charles beamed back at him. “Very well. If you like it.”

“I do.” Charles stood there for a moment, like he wanted to say something else. Or perhaps he was waiting for Edwin to say something…but Edwin couldn’t imagine what it might be.

Edwin began collecting the papers on the desk, continuing the cleanup.

“How’s the arcane study?” Charles asked eventually. He often asked about Edwin’s work, but Edwin never knew how to respond.

“It is going well,” was his usual response. This time, he pushed himself to elaborate. “Um. I am furthering my investigation into runework.”

Charles eagerly jumped at the tidbit. “Runework, what’s that?”

“The use of Runes.”

“What for?”

“Well.” Edwin thought. “It is a vast field. There are many potential applications.”

“Cool. What are you studying ‘em for?”

Edwin bristled. He fought the urge to brush off the question, to keep Charles far away from his work. He knew it was a ridiculous instinct- they were partners in this agency, after all. Charles had a right to be informed.

“Currently,” he said, “I am investigating their use in banishing demons.” He worried Charles would ask him more questions, would needle at his fear of demonic retribution. Instead, Charles’ eyes just widened with interest.

“Brills,” he said. “So, you can fight a demon?”

“Fight?” Edwin thought. “In a way, I suppose…”

“How cool is that?” Charles said, then said, “Can you teach me?”

Edwin grimaced. “I…I fear I am not a very suitable teacher.”

“That’s not true,” Charles argued. “You’ve taught me loads already.”

Edwin just stared at him, and Charles elaborated, “About being a ghost, and being a detective. And lots of cool stuff about magic.”

Edwin put his hands up. He did not want to mislead Charles. “I fear much of that was unintentional,” he confessed, and Charles shook his head.

“Then you’re a natural,” he said. “Come on, mate. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

           That was a very kind thing to say. Something fragile inside Edwin felt like sharp, shattering ice.

He could only nod, once.

“Is that a yes?” Charles asked, and Edwin nodded again.

Charles clapped delightedly, and Edwin jumped. “Oh, sorry, mate-” Charles began, but Edwin waved it away. Charles thankfully returned to the subject. “That’s brills. We can start tomorrow, yeah?”

Edwin hesitated, and Charles clarified, “If we don’t have another case, obviously.”

Edwin exhaled. He nodded- then he pushed himself to say, “Yes. Provided we are unoccupied…tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait,” Charles bounced slightly on his toes. “See ya in the morning, then!”

And just like that, he was gone, and Edwin was alone in the office.

--

Nighttimes were a perilous sort of a relief.

They allowed Edwin to be alone with himself, which was far less stressful… but far more volitile.

He was good at being fine, during the day.

He was still Edwin, so he was still broken in many ways- awkward and jumpy and unfortunately sharp around the edges.

But during the day, he was always being watched by Charles or a client. That need for a performance, as unskilled as it was, kept him together.

Night…was harder.

He was still rather good at handling it, all things considered. Most nights, he threw himself fully into a book. He would begin the moment Charles stepped out of the door, and would try to remain singular in his focus, poring over each page until Charles returned in the morning. Edwin would look up, eyes bleary and unfocused, and jump headfirst into another day.

But when his books no longer held his attention- that forced him to get creative. Keeping busy was always the solution.

“Idle hands are the devil’s playthings,” he had been taught.

But he didn’t really understand it until now. If he committed himself fully to one of his projects, dedicating his mind and his hands to his work, he could remain

himself.

But if he slowed, or god forbid, if he stilled…

It would start to creep up on him.

The devil would start to take Edwin again, to possess him, to reclaim him as his own…

       until he is nothing but a toy for the demon, still living inside his skull, still tearing him apart.

Sometimes Edwin could feel it coming, could move fast enough to shake it off, to throw his thoughts into something else before he lost himself.

Other times…

It came on on too fast, or too strong, impossible to outrun

And it would claim him.

Tonight, he practices his runes, painting them over and over.

He hopes, if he becomes proficient in them, he might be able to protect himself.

And it starts with the thought, This won’t be enough. He hesitates, a moment too long. It will never be enough, he knows, it’s useless.

Edwin Payne, forever running, never fast enough, never good enough, never able to stop it, never-

He tries to come up for air. He looks frantically back at the book, finds a new rune, tries to commit it to memory-

It’s useless, he knows. His fingers are tingling numb, tremoring, and the pencil slips from his grasp.

The flickering lamplight is seeping sickening green into his periphery.

His breaths are hitching faster, like he’s running, running, and the table in front of him is starting to tunnel…

And Edwin does what he always does.

He shuts down.

His body goes perfectly still. His eyes remain open, unseeing, unblinking.

He feels the terror inside with a sort of horrible, numb distance, like it’s happening to someone else entirely.

Mentally, he crouches in place, hiding, praying to nobody that please, please Master won’t see him.

For long stretches of time, he waits, every muscle in his body coiled, in a paralyzed terror, almost worse than the pain.

Then the demon in his mind finds him. It chooses which of his worst deaths to relive, and Edwin watches it slowly, gruesomely, listening to himself sobbing, screaming.

It is dreamlike, and disturbing, and Edwin wants so desperately to break out of it, but he can’t-

Usually, he notices when the office is beginning to lighten with the morning sun. If he is still trapped in the mental cage, his body will start to intervene on its own.

He’ll dumbly half-watch his external body move, not really in control of it as it takes Edwin’s iron letter opener. He’ll jam it slowly into his thigh, pushing harder and harder, until the pain of it shocks through his trance.

He’ll come back to himself slowly, feeling utterly disoriented at best.

He’ll take his final hours of solitude to try to reconnect to his spectral body, to push the memories as far down into himself as he possibly can.

And once he puts the mask back on, he can function again, all before Charles returns to the office.

Tonight, however. Tonight.

Tonight, his episode is particularly brutal.

He relives the violence in his mind, his lungs unable to inhale, overflowing with those burning emotions that conquered him there, that still control him here,

The fear, the shame, the panic, the self-hatred, the exhaustion, the disgust, the agony the shame the guilt the desperation the fear thefearthefear

And the door to the agency swings open.

Edwin jumped out of his skin. He wanted to scramble backwards, to hide- but instinct seized control of his body, forcing him to sit perfectly still, to look perfectly neutral.

“Morning, mate,” Charles sounded perfectly cheery. “I’m ready for some runes! Never been this excited to come to a lesson, have I?”

Edwin just sits, and blinks, and tries to refocus his eyes on the room in front of him.

“All right, Edwin?” Charles still sounds like he hasn’t noticed anything is wrong, thank God. “Get all lost in your book again?”

Edwin’s head nods, slowly. He tries to remember to breathe, to release the furrow between his eyebrows. Like nothing is wrong.

“What’cha reading?”

Edwin doesn’t think he can speak. To buy himself some time, he stands, collecting his notebook with still-shakey hands. He holds it out for Charles to see, briefly, before tucking it against his chest.

“Are those the runes?” Charles asks, delighted. “They look cool. Like, a metal band or something should use them on an album, you know?”

Edwin shakes his head no, thankfully starting Charles on a four-minute long tirade about what exactly a “metal band” is.

“...And it would make sense, too, because some of these bands like to use, like, demons and shit in their music,” he says, and Edwin frowned.

“That seems…improper,” he said, and Charles shook his head with a laugh.

“Yeah, old people all think that. But it’s just for fun. I think some of them want to scare old people, too, don’t they?”

Edwin hummed. He tried to think of something else light to say, but he can’t.

After a moment, Charles asked, “You good, mate?”

“Yes.” Edwin’s voice is clipped even to his own ears. “But, I am afraid we will not be able to conduct our rune lessons today.”

Charles face falls, and Edwin hates himself.

“Aw, alright,” Charles said. “Why not?”

“It is a very complex topic,” Edwin said, “and I will need additional time to study.” He looked down at the desk. “Right now, in fact,” he says, “I should like to continue.”

“Oh. Alright.” To his horror, Charles plopped down on the bench across the room. “I’ll keep working on organizing my new backpack, then.”

Edwin opened his mouth. Closed it.

He could not decide whether or not to protest. He desperately did not want to have to explain himself, nor does he want to be perceived right now. He considered.

It is true, he supposed, that his episodes never happen during the day. He is not quite sure what deters them- if it is the time of day, or the presence of other people, or the constant preoccupation of his treacherous mind. Regardless, Edwin figures, he should be safe now… unlikely to fall back into that horrible trance.

Charles was very kind for not being more upset, when Edwin cancelled their lesson. The least Edwin could do was to not kick him out of his own office, when Edwin had made it clear that this was the time of day when Charles was welcome. And if Charles was okay with Edwin being solitary, silent, today, then there’s no real reason Charles couldn’t coexist in the same room as him.

Edwin slowly sat back down again.

“Do you do your reading in the dark?” Charles asked, as if he’d just noticed the lamp on Edwin’s desk. “You know we have electric lights now, right?”

“Not in the dark,” Edwin muttered. “My lamp works perfectly fine.”

“Alright, whatever you say,” Charles teased.

Edwin wishes he was the sort of person who could banter back with Charles, make Charles laugh, be a friend back to him…
But he just sits silently, and pretends to read the book.

--

At some point during the day, rain starts to fall.

Edwin barely notices. He is making up for progress lost last night, litigiously copying runes over and over again until they flow naturally from his hands. He is still trying to grasp the patterns of the syntax, to understand the rules which make the combinations have meaning. He thinks he might finally be beginning to understand it.

Charles is the only thing that breaks his concentration.

Every half-hour or so, Charles would make some noise or movement that pulled at Edwin’s attention. At first it very much annoyed him, but he was starting to get used to it. They were just short bursts of interruption- Charles victoriously pulling something out of the bag, or groaning when he drops something in. Every time Charles made a big move, Edwin would still look, track him across the room. But whenever Charles settles again, Edwin could return to his task.

Now that he was starting to expect it, Edwin didn’t even have to look up, really. Each rustle was just another little reminder that Charles was in the room with him. Each time it happens, Edwin felt a bit less guarded, realizing slowly that Charles truly intended to keep his promise and leave Edwin alone today.

He barely noticed when Charles finally stands up and stretches. They had moved the temporary office from a shipping container into a warehouse. It still had much to be desired, but at least there were windows in the front of the building. Charles walked over to the window and peered outside.

“Hey Edwin,” he said, and Edwin tore himself from the pages to look up. “I was gonna ask. On nights like this, where it’s all cold and rainy…would you mind if I stayed in the office?”

Edwin frowned. “Charles, you are a ghost,” he reminded him. “You cannot get cold or wet.”

“I know, just…” Charles tossed a ball of some kind from hand to hand. Edwin didn’t know where he had gotten it- he assumed the bag. “Even ghosts stay in when it’s like this. Must be a habit from when they were alive, innit? But…" He shrugged. “Nobody is around on night’s like this. It’s boring.”

Edwin must have looked unconvinced, because Charles powered on. “And, I haven’t found another spot to hang out that’s not…spooky.” He started across the room towards Edwin’s desk.

“I know you’re a guy who likes his alone time. So I won’t bother you at all. Pretend I’m not here. Just like today, yeah?” Charles put his hands on Edwin’s desk and leaned in slightly.

Edwin scooted his chair back in response. Charles immediately stood, putting his hands up to communicate his apology for getting in Edwin’s space.

“Please, Edwin?” Charles asked, voice genuine. “I won't bother you or nothing, promise.”

Edwin couldn’t help but hesitate. It was one thing to coexist quietly with his new friend? during the day.

It was another entirely to let him be around when…when Edwin could slip away into himself at any moment. He wanted to shut that idea down entirely, to protect what little safety Edwin could still control, and to keep his quiet office to himself.

But another part of him wondered- what if it would help, to have Charles around?

Charles being in the office today had kept Edwin grounded in a way he usually wasn’t when he studied. The little reminders that Edwin wasn’t alone in the room were slightly annoying, but he wondered if they would make it easier to keep the episodes away.

Edwin knew he be very vigilant all night, with another person in his proximity. But perhaps that was a worthy tradeoff for fewer of those horrible, terrifying trances.

Maybe that state of high-alert kept the episodes at bay. Perhaps Edwin just needed to remain constantly on guard, to stay safe.

Some small part of him, still scared from the onslaught of emotions from last night, begs him- anything to keep it away.

Besides… how could Edwin say no to Charles?

With Charles looking at him with big, dark, puppy-dog eyes, begging not to be kicked out into the cold rain.

“Yes. Of course.” Edwin agreed. Charles beamed at him like Edwin was kind and generous, instead of a self-serving cad.

“Cheers, mate. You won’t regret it.”

“I’m sure I will not.”

Though Edwin already did.

Chapter Text

Time travelled quickly to Edwin. 

Edwin had not experienced time correctly in Hell, he knew that. But time didn’t seem quite right here, either.

Not sleeping made time stretch longer- he had learned that a long time ago. Time became an unending onslaught of unintelligible moments, until his brain became unable to form a shape around phrases like "days" or "hours". But now, with cycles of darkness and light and cold and warmth, he tried to keep track of it. He had many clocks now, any calendars, and time still seemed to slip by him with alarming speed. 

It had been seven months since Edwin had returned from Hell.

A month since Charles had started spending nights in the agency. 

Edwin didn’t regret it. Mostly. 

The episodes did happen less often. Hearing Charles moving around in the space was a good reminder of where he was- and where he wasn’t. 

Sometimes, an unexpected sound would spook him from his focus- but he would look up to see what it was, and it would be Charles holding a cricket bat looking at Edwin apologetically, and Edwin could let out an exhale and return to his studies.

Not to mention, the constant company through the night was making Edwin more comfortable with Charles’ presence.  It felt like a weight was being lifted from Edwin’s chest, slowly but surely. Without the crushing weight of it, it was becoming easier to genuinely breathe, to relax with Charles still in the room.

The more he learned about Charles, the closer he grew to trusting him.

It was strange, Edwin didn’t recall if he had ever really trusted someone before. He must have, surely. His nannies were always kind to him, growing up. But they were also always correcting him, reminding him how he should and should not be. He didn’t think he had ever felt like they…were okay with him, as he was. It had been so long since he had thought about his life before- before everything. But being around Charles made him try to reflect on those hazy memories. 

Charles was always happy to share a story from his own life, to laugh about a misadventure or to reflect on antics with his childhood friends. Edwin didn’t know how to reciprocate. He couldn’t remember if his life had genuinely been as bleak and joyless as it seemed now…Or if Edwin was simply peering through a warped lens, reflecting on things half-remembered by a brain bleached by seven decades of unimaginable pain. 

He liked Charles’ stories, though. 

Of course he noticed the things Charles avoided speaking about. Edwin’s pattern-recognition skills were excellent, always top of his class. But he knew that Charles only told stories he could laugh through, and that never included anything about his family.

Edwin understood. Parents were distant, and uninterested in their children. You had to stay quiet, obedient, seen but never heard. Not exactly fodder for lighthearted tales. 

Edwin did not speak of his parents, either. Nor did he speak of his time at St. Hilarions. He didn’t really have tales with childhood friends- had he had childhood friends? There was Rose, the daughter of one of his father’s maids. They used to play together, in the garden- not frequently, but Edwin always looked forward to it. His father had put an end to that before long, though, and Edwin barely remembered it.

Edwin spoke mostly of the present, of cases and of study. When he shared things from the past, it was either observations about the shifting culture, or perhaps references to the books he used to love. Nothing more. 

He was glad that Charles seemed content to talk enough for the both of them, and to allow Edwin to merely listen. There didn’t seem to be an expectation for Edwin to share in kind. 

He was glad Charles never asked. He kept waiting for Charles to finally inquire about Edwin’s past- about his life, his death, his damnation to Hell. Nothing.

Charles seemed content to let Edwin bring things up at his own pace. 

It was…unnerving, really.

Charles was so thoughtful. He was genuinely, deeply kind. The longer Edwin observed him, the more obvious it became. Charles Rowland was too good to exist…far too good to be stuck as Edwin’s partner for eternity.

Edwin didn’t understand it. Why had Charles chosen him? Moreover, why had he chosen Edwin over his eternal reward?

Edwin racked his mind, trying to decipher it. 

Everything Edwin knew about Charles demonstrated that Charles did not operate with ulterior motives. But this mystery was too big, too unsettling, for Edwin to write it off completely. He had to make sure he understood why Charles was choosing to be here, with him, all day and all night, before Edwin could fully place his trust in him. 

So, though Edwin could feel himself starting to relax more around Charles, he corrected himself every time he noticed it. He needed to stay on guard, after all, if he wanted to stay in the present, wanted to avoid being pulled into that darkness lurking within him.

Sometimes, though, alertness wasn’t enough.

There had been three episodes in four weeks- less than before Charles started staying the night, but still three too many. 

Three times when Edwin had paused for a moment too long, and he could feel it approaching. He would duck through the mirror to some quiet spot, where he could curl up and let the emptiness overtake him.

He would come back to the office overcompensating his performed composure, trying to hide the shame and the remnants of that fear. 

He hated it.

Edwin wasn’t quite sure what his condition was…but he to find needed the cure. 

His condition was worsening. 

Whatever damnable curse was possessing him was progressing quite rapidly…worse than Edwin had feared.

The search for the solution had become the focus of his work this month. It was difficult, however, when he was still not able to identify exactly the nature of the ailment. 

It had been several days since his last episode. Charles was listening to music on his miniature victrola, “headphones” covering his ears. Edwin was deep in a book on curses, fruitlessly searching for a description of his problem.

Finally, he found something interesting- a type of fae magic. It was an ancient curse, which sent the victim into vivid hallucinations. 

Edwin sat up straighter. 

The sufferer perceived visions of their worst nightmares, despite nothing being physically there. Edwin could relate to that. The tome specified that, while the nightmares could be based on memories, there would be distinct differences between the real and the hallucinated events.

Edwin tried to think. The memories were always piercingly real- but he was not sure if they were specific memories, plucked from within that stretch of 70 eternal years, or if they were generic interpretations of the events he experienced. It was difficult to tell- his time in Hell was one neverending nightmare, the details all melded together in a green-tinted blur of hallways and demons and pain and pain and 

Damn, Edwin realized too late-

He stood, to go over to the mirror- but the floor tilted beneath his feet. He grabbed the desk to steady himself. Already, he couldn’t feel the wood beneath his hand, no-

He stumbled forward. His vision was tunneling, no, no no no no

He reached out to the mirror. His hand bounced off the surface of the glass- he tried to gather his thoughts, to focus on the task, but he felt them spiraling away from him, a tornado of growing panic-

“Hey,” Charles’ voice came distantly, no no no no

Edwin was on the floor. His spectral body had dissolved, he was nothing more than a frantic mind looping desperately as it tried to fight it off…

But it was too late-

----

Edwin was scrambling forwards, trying to pull himself down the blood-stained halls with broken fingers, and all he could feel was fear pain fear pain fear pain

Some part of him was almost relieved, to be in this part of the hunt- it was easier, almost, than the ephemeral sort of panicky desperation he felt at the beginning of each game. Edwin knew he had done all he could, for this round. No more exploring, no more frantic sketching in his notebook. 

In a moment, Master would find him, and all coherent thought would be impossible. He would run on pure instinct, that fight to survive still piloting him after his brain gave into its futility. It was harrowing, but in a way easier than being cognizant. All that was left was fear pain fear pain.

But Master never made it that easy. Edwin knew he would feel each terrible thing, in agonizing detail, until he couldn’t feel anything.

That truth was an absolute surety, burning through the lining of his stomach as he tried to get away. Tried to save himself from the inevitable.

Master’s giggling chitter echoed down the halls, and Edwin sobbed. He tried to pull himself forwards, again, but his arms gave out on him. 

His brain short-circuited. Edwin was a terrified animal again.

He kicked his leg, grasped uselessly with his weak arms, anything to move forwards, anything, anything

Anything

Anything but Master gleefully grabbing his foot, pulling him backwards. Anything but Edwin’s raw screaming, his voice breaking and Master shaking him playfully in response. Anything but Master slamming him against the wall- Edwin felt his already broken body shatter. 

He went limp, trying to end the playtime, trying to stay conscious through the painpainpainpainpain

But Master slammed him into the wall again-

and again-

And Edwin felt the shards of his ribcage tear through his lungs. 

Again,

And Edwin felt his skull crack like porcelain, emptying him into spinning, horrible nothingness.

He woke up the same place he always woke up. Master wasn’t in the room yet. 

He curled into himself, as small as he could get, on the blood-soaked floor. The blood was still warm. 

If he was still human, he would have cried. If he could feel anything other than the emotions that constantly puppetted him, he would have laughed.

Get up, some part of him still managed to chastise. What are you doing? Go, now, go, go , go

Edwin couldn’t get himself to obey. He couldn’t get himself to do anything- to move, to breathe, to think beyond the voice screaming at him to do something. He couldn’t. 

He was nothing. He was nothing. He was

 nothing

Something grabbed Edwin’s shoulder. 

Edwin was moving before he was conscious, scrambling away from the thing with clumsy limbs. 

His heart was pounding against his chest, and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe-

“Sorry!” A voice. A person’s voice. “Sorry, mate- I shouldn’t’ve done that.”

Edwin froze. His mind frantically searched for what was going on, but it was hard- the panic made his brain hazy. The fog of fear made it impossible to hear anything over his mind begging him to run. 

“Can you hear me?” The reminder that there was someone else here cut sharply through the mist in Edwin’s mind. He tried to focus his eyes. 

Charles was crouching beside him- Charles, no-

Frantic adrenaline reanimated Edwin’s shuddering body. He quickly pushed himself into a sitting position. He tried for a composed expression.
“Apologies,” he said, his voice croaky, as if he had been screaming. “I…did not intend for you to see that.”

Charles looked horrified. 

Shame was burning Edwin alive- how had he allowed this to happen?
He tried to get up, but his limbs still felt numb and shaky. He scooted slightly further from Charles instead, pointedly looking anywhere but at him. “I am alright now, I assure you.” Edwin cleared his throat. “No need to continue minding me.”

In his periphery, he saw that Charles didn’t move. 

After a long second, Charles said, “I dunno what just happened. But I…don’t wanna ask you questions you don’t wanna answer.” He paused, as if waiting for Edwin to offer information.

Edwin couldn’t speak, couldn’t look at him, couldn’t do anything.

Eventually Charles nodded. “That’s okay.” He paused for another long moment. “I was gonna just sit here with you. But… is it better if I leave you alone?”

“Alone, please,” Edwin rasped, and he hated the way his voice sounded. He cleared his throat again.

“Alright.” Charles stood up, slowly, like he was worried he would startle Edwin. “I’ll be on the couch, then, yeah?”

Edwin could still feel Charles’ eyes on him, and he determinedly looked across the room at his desk. He didn’t want to see scorn or judgment on Charles’ face, not now, not when he was still  so fragile.

“Apologies,” he murmured, like it would make the situation go away. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

“Don’t apologize, mate,” Charles said. 

It hit Edwin that Charles was using the same gentle voice he used on distressed clients. “Seems like you got pretty frightened, too.”

Edwin did not cry, not outside of Hell. Even when he had first escaped, even after the worst of his episodes... Edwin’s breaths hitched like sobs, sometimes, but tears never fell.

But for some reason, Charles’ voice made Edwin’s eyes sting in that strange way, like moisture was pricking at his retinas, needling to get out. He blinked it away.

He dared a glance upwards, to where Charles was hesitating above him. He avoided contact with Charle’s gaze, but he saw it- Charles’ expression. 

Concern. Edwin recognized the expression from casework. Charles' reaction when he wanted to help someone. Not to hurt or mock them- but to understand, or to protect-

It was too much.

Edwin pushed himself determinedly onto his feet. He swayed dangerously. He saw Charles lean in slightly, arm barely extended, as if wanting to reach out and steady him.

Edwin turned away quickly.

“I shall return before we open for business,” he said curtly, and he stepped through the mirror.