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It’s not that Charles minds helping Edwin research. The opposite, really. He’s not a studier the way Edwin is but it’s been absolutely aces learning all sorts of stuff about magic and the supernatural over the years of his afterlife. The universe is so much bigger and stranger that he ever knew or could have guessed.
Plus, when whatever Edwin’s looking for isn’t urgent, it’s a really nice way to spend a quiet afternoon together. One of Charles’ favourite ways, if he’s being honest.
But helping Edwin research sometimes means seeing some pretty gross shit. He squints in disgust and closes the book in his hands with a snap, grateful ghosts can’t actually be sick. No thanks, no need to be seeing illustrations of dismembered monsters today. Especially when it’s not helpful for the case at hand.
“Any luck, mate?” he asks, setting the gross monster book out of sight on the floor and taking the next book off the stack by his knee. He only gets a distracted hum from Edwin, the one that means he’s found something interesting but not the noise he makes when he’s found the answer they’re looking for. It’s stupid cute, and Charles laughs to himself. Guess he’s gotta keep searching ‘til Edwin resurfaces.
He sprawls out more comfortably on the settee and starts paging through the little volume in his hands, titled Seraphicum in embossed gold on the spine.
The tight, dense text is a mix of Latin and English, most of which Charles can parse through well enough to be pretty sure this won’t have the answers they need. But he stops at a page in the middle of the book, full from edge to edge with a drawing of…something. He turns the page around, then upside down, trying to make sense of the lines. He’s not sure if it’s supposed to be super-detailed but the page is too small, or if the artist’s just a little overzealous with his pen. Either way, it doesn’t look like anything he’s ever seen. The tiny caption reads Angelicus Sancti which isn’t proper Latin at all, but his guess is it’s meant to mean angel.
He wonders briefly if he would’ve seen one if he’d made a different choice that night in the attic—except he actually doesn’t know if that’d even be possible.
He lowers the book, directing the question at Edwin. “So like, are angels really real?” Because somehow it never really occurred to him. Maybe he’d just taken it as obvious; Edwin told him that hell and demons exist, so Charles assumed angels must, too. But he’s never actually asked.
This question catches Edwin’s attention, and he lifts his focus from the papers in front of him, blinking quickly as his big brain switches gears. “In some form,” he replies thoughtfully. “Though not perhaps the way they were always depicted or taught to us. Pure benevolence, or divine judgement, and all that.” His fingers twitch in a dismissive little wave.
“I never really paid much attention, I guess,” Charles admits. “Dad used to make us go to church when I was little, but that stopped after awhile.” When the kind-eyed pastor started looking a bit too close, and the gossipy church ladies started asking a few too many questions of his mum. But Charles doesn’t say that part; it’s not really important right now, is it. “And St. Hil’s made us go to chapel, but I really wasn’t paying attention then.”
Edwin nods and hums agreement. “Nor did I.”
Then Charles’ mouth works faster than his brain, as usual, and he asks, “You ever seen one? An angel, I mean,” before immediately chastising himself. Fucks sake, stupid question.
But instead of being rightfully upset or whatever else, Edwin merely tips his head, eyes focused on the middle distance of memory. “Mm. Once.” His words are slow, not reluctant but something sad and distant. “There was one time, long before the Dollhouse. I was somewhere in Wrath, at the mercy of my latest demon, and suddenly nearby there was something… so bright. Brighter than anything I’ve ever seen. And for a moment I thought…” He sits frozen, long enough for prickles of worry to start up in Charles’ chest, but then Edwin shakes his head, once, decisively. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I was wrong.”
And Charles doesn’t quite know what Edwin means until abruptly he does. I thought it was there for me.
Whatever expression Charles is making, Edwin only shakes his head again, gently this time, with a reassuring smile. “It doesn’t matter, Charles. It was a long time ago, now.” Then he softens, eyes going bright and deeply fond. “The only angel to save me in hell is you.”
“Edwin!” Charles gasps, utterly floored, because he’s never thought, never dared even consider that Edwin might see him that way, and to hear it is…a revelation.
Edwin gets that teasing look to him, like he’s about to say something he thinks is right smart. “So I suppose I should revise my answer. I have seen two angels in my existence—” but the rest of Edwin’s words are lost as Charles throws himself into Edwin’s arms in a rib-crushing hug.
“If I’m your angel, then you’re my angel, too. ‘Cause you saved me, sure as anything.” Charles buries the words in Edwin’s collar. He worries for a moment that it’s gonna be too much, but before he can loosen his hold or step back and try to lighten things up, Edwin’s returning the hug just as tight.
“I suppose we are in agreement, then.” Edwin’s words are formal, but he hasn’t let go of Charles, either, so.
Charles figures the rest of their research can wait, for a little while longer.