Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

London, 2024

It’s a lazy Sunday at the office, in the early quiet hours just before sunrise. Rain plays a gentle song against the windows while both detectives keep busy with light work. The agency has slowly eased back into its usual routine; day by day, case by case. Not much has happened since the events in Port Townsend, nothing of that caliber anyway. Grief still looms about them like a ghost of its own, and Charles continues to keep a razor-sharp eye on Edwin, but in spite of recent hardships they’ve managed to find their rhythm again. 

It’s strange, really, considering the literal Hellstorm they faced not too long ago. Edwin went to Hell and back for a second time, Charles nearly lost everything he held dear in one go, and suddenly their afterlives have become something almost close to living. 

Change has made itself at home between them, small but significant. They haven’t talked much in the aftermath of Port Townsend, though they should. Charles thinks about it almost every day. He’s had a lot to think about, it’s just the speaking part that tends to evade him. That’s not to say they don’t check in every now and then, both of them keep close tabs on each other, never straying too far. Edwin might seem unbothered most days, but Charles has spent enough time watching to know when there’s a knot in his rope. Their dead hearts carry a much heavier weight than before. While Charles prefers to process his feelings in motion, Edwin has been grieving in his own private, quiet way. Still, they adapt, move forward, side by side like always. Charles wouldn’t have it any other way. 

It’s clear they’ve grown all the more protective of each other, but they do their best not to let it get in the way of detective work. Business is still business, and it’s all good as long as there’s a case to solve. Sometimes it feels too good to be true, which Edwin is often wary about, but Charles does his best to keep those thoughts at bay, all the pennies and what not.

Edwin sits at his desk, breaking in a new notebook with quiet delight. Charles left it for him just the other night, one of many gifts that he’s found himself dropping on Edwin’s desk lately. This one is particularly mint: bound in forest green leather, practically brand new. Charles accepted it as payment for a previous case, his own reward being the light in Edwin’s eyes as he opened the cover and caressed crisp, pristine pages. He gave heartfelt thanks with a warm, crooked smile, which Charles pocketed as a token he can pick up on dark days. 

The case they’re currently working on is nothing more than your average haunted house: paranormal phenomena, things going bump in the night, neighbors claiming the house is ‘alive’. The ghost that turned them on to the case apparently worked with the owner, who was an avid collector of antiques and oddities. Rumor has it that he went mental after losing his wife and kids in a horrific accident. He shortly disappeared under mysterious circumstances, and it’s believed to be the house’s doing. Nobody has set foot in that house for years because of it. A number of objects living there are bound to have supernatural qualities, therefore a quick cleanse to quell the activity should do the trick, and hopefully reveal the mysteries surrounding the owner. Typical ghostly business, well-suited for two local dead boys. Charles has been looking forward to it. After spending the last week doing nothing but dull errands and office work, he can feel the cabin fever coming on.

Charles sorts spell books in his backpack while Edwin makes note of potentially cursed objects within the home. They plan to make their way by daylight, not before paying a visit to their honorary psychic. 

“Alright, these should lead us in the right direction.” Edwin clicks his pen satisfactorily and snaps the notebook shut before making his way to the mirror. He turns back to Charles with a pleasant gleam in his eye, and offers a hand. “Shall we?”  

Charles hooks his backpack over his shoulder and takes his hand with a grin, contently following along as they step through the glass.

Crystal is in the middle of shoving laundry into dresser drawers when the boys pop through her wall. 

“Jesus Christ.” she mutters to herself as a sock flies from her hand. “I should really get a ghost doorbell or something. Hi you two, knock much?” 

“Hey, Crystal. Right, sorry ‘bout that, force of habit.” Charles gives her a charming smile as they step in further. Her new apartment is still coming together, most of her stuff living in piles along the perimeter. The space is small but charming, with dark walls and bay windows. A little old-fashioned for a contemporary gal, but it suits her. 

Edwin greets Crystal with a polite nod and presents her with their occult grocery list, to which she raises an eyebrow.

“What’s this?”

“A list of objects for us to investigate at a property this afternoon. One of them may be responsible for the disappearance of the estate's owner. We could use your expertise in reading their energy.”

Crystal rolls her eyes playfully. “Straight to business as always. Where is this place?” 

“It’s in Highgate, further North. Whaddya say? Been a minute since you were on a proper case with us. This one should be simple enough.” Charles chimes.

“Yeah, simple. I’ll believe that when I see it.” Crystal briefly eyes the clump of laundry left on the bed, then turns with a shrug. “Sure, I’m in. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

And off they go.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The Highgate house is something straight out of a storybook. It stands tall, a beast of a thing with arched windows and doorways, complimented by a Victorian gothic exterior. A proper spook fest. If Niko were here she would surely compare it to an episode of scooby-doo. Judging by the tiny smirk on Crystal’s face, the thought is mutual.

The trio approach the front entrance and Charles doesn’t hesitate to phase through the door to allow his companions inside. He holds his cricket bat at the ready just in case, while Edwin carefully observes their new surroundings. The entryway is spacious, with a staircase curving along the right side, and an arched doorway leading to the heart of the house. It’s dark, chilling and right fit for spectral shenanigans. A grand chandelier hangs from above, covered in thick cobwebs, classic. For a moment they all do nothing but stare up at the towering ceiling, mesmerized.

Charles gestures in Edwin’s direction. “Right then, you’ve got a list for us yeah? Where do we start?” 

“Perhaps we can each take a handful of items to inspect.” Edwin pulls out his notebook, pointing out each object he recorded. “There’s the kettle in the kitchen, a lounge chair and a painting in the parlor, the bell in the foyer, jewelry box in the master bedroom, an antique clock in the servants quarters and the um…old doll in the attic.” his expression sours at that one.

“How about Crystal and I take upstairs, you scope out down here, and we’ll meet in the middle?” 

Charles catches the brief note of relief on Edwin’s face as he nods. “Sounds like a plan.” he offers a shy smile, and Charles cherishes the sight. Neither of them are thrilled about taking separate routes, but as long as they’re in the same vicinity all is well and good.

“Aces. We’ll keep you posted.”

“Yes, call if you spy anything abnormal. And please, do be careful.”

“You too, mate. We won’t be far.” Charles squeezes his shoulder, a silent promise, before turning towards the stairs on the right. It’s a multi-story home, built more upwards than out. At the top of the stairs sits a long hall bracketed by bedrooms, with the master at the end. They work quickly, having no desire to stay within these eerie walls for longer than necessary. So far there doesn’t seem to be any malicious energy about the place, it’s just outright creepy, in the way old abandoned houses often are. Rather than a negative atmosphere, Charles gets a sense of loneliness, which he would feel too if he were a bougie building left rotting on the lot. Clearly there was plenty of life here at one point. Crystal even tries touching along the walls to get a reading, but only comes back with a handful of dust.

They inspect the items- all duds- assigned to them and move to their last stop in the attic, which Crystal finds hidden behind a door just to the right of the main stairway. There’s a short flight of steps leading up, the only spot of light coming from a round stained glass window in the center. The floorboards creak with every footfall, and of course that bloody doll is the first thing to greet them as they enter.

“Oh god, if anything is cursed in here it’s gotta be that fucking thing.” Crystal points to the porcelain abomination sitting in a damn rocking chair . She’s wearing a little white dress and everything. Her black thousand yard stare gives Charles the heebie-jeebies.

“Honestly.” Charles laughs to himself, his job really is a cartoon sometimes. Good thing Edwin stayed downstairs.

Crystal is reluctant to touch the doll, for good reason. Charles doesn’t see any weird markings or runes anywhere, but he stays close just in case the thing comes alive on them. She places her hand on the doll’s head, and Charles watches closely as she’s transported elsewhere for a tick, her eyes flashing white before returning to normal. She sighs, as though genuinely disappointed that a demon didn’t show up.

“Wow, can’t believe it’s just a plain old doll. Are we missing anything?” 

Charles shrugs. “That’s it for our half of the list. Guess it won’t hurt to check out what else is here.”

“Alright. I’ll go call Edwin, maybe he found something.” She follows the steps back out to the hallway while Charles scans the rest of the attic. There’s boxes of knicknacks littering the floor, a discolored ornate rug, and an old wooden trunk next to a standing mirror in the far right corner. Charles tries the trunk, flipping the latch and peeking inside. Nothing but sheets and pillow cases, so much for that. He drops the cover and turns, now facing the tall oval mirror which bears no reflection. The thing is bust, with several cracks splintering out from the center, like someone took a hammer to it in a fit of rage. Charles grimaces at that, having witnessed something similar in his early life. Odd thing is, between the broken bits, something is faintly glowing. Charles may not be the finest expert, but in his experience mirrors typically don’t do that. 

“Oi, Crystal!” he calls behind him. Maybe this is what they were looking for. He’s about to say more when a shimmer catches his eye. Something is moving, or rather, some one . Charles blinks, wondering if he’s imagining things. But right between the split pieces in the top left corner is a figure. They pass through the cracks, blurry but undeniably there. He’d know that silhouette anywhere.

“Edwin?”

Like every foolish mistake he’s made, Charles goes to touch it, and as soon as his finger meets the glass his whole world goes white.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Crystal’s voice echoes through the house just as Edwin is finishing up in the living room, momentarily distracted by photos of the Arkwright family. They seemed happy in their day, a sweet married couple with two beautiful children. Girls, not twins but likely close in age. He pauses on one above the fireplace, a wedding photo. The newlyweds are caught in motion, smiling brightly while they look into each other’s eyes. They’re wrapped in sunlight, like heaven itself deemed the two as soulmates, only to be torn apart by tragedy far too soon. 

Something akin to yearning spreads through him, which Edwin neglects to acknowledge and promptly turns to exit the room.

All objects are marked off the list, his scavenger hunt uneventful. Edwin hopes to hear something of substance from the others, having little desire to start from scratch in this oversized manor. He quietly makes his way upstairs to report his findings, or lack thereof.

As soon as he rounds the top of the stairs, Crystal bursts through the door next to him, nearly scaring him alive. She looks puzzled, her head whipping back and forth like she’s lost while her hand keeps hold on the open door. 

“Crystal? Are you alright?”

“Uh…” She peers down the hallway one more time, then to Edwin, who raises an eyebrow at her.

“Charles is missing.”

“What?”

“He was–I literally left the attic for two seconds to get you, but he’s not in there. I swear I just heard him call my name and now he’s gone.”

Gone?

“Gone where?”

“I don’t know, Edwin. I turned around and he disappeared!”

“That’s ridiculous.” He blurts.

“Yeah, I’m aware. But I’m not kidding.”

A number of terrible possibilities slip into Edwin’s mind, the only bearable one being a friendly game of hide and seek. But he knows Charles wouldn’t be so cruel to play games like that. Not in the middle of a case, not after all they’ve had to cope with as of late. He’s here somewhere, he has to be.

Edwin rushes through the door up to the attic, Crystal close behind. He spots the dreadful doll sitting in the room and swiftly passes by, making eye contact with nothing but old furniture and floating particles. Something feels off, like the energy was plucked out of the air, a false stillness. 

“You are sure he didn’t leave this room?” Edwin asks tightly.

“I mean, yes? Unless he decided to just blip through the wall.” Crystal replies. “Maybe we should check the rest of the house?” 

“Yes, let’s do that.” He speaks but doesn’t move, his eyes glued to the empty space in front of him. He takes an unneeded breath in an attempt to remain calm. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for Charles’ absence. Just a bump in the road, nothing more.

“Edwin, Edwin !” Crystal snaps her fingers and Edwin blinks out of his trance. “Come on, let’s see where the hell he went off to.”

Edwin nods and follows her back to the second floor. 

Crystal begins scouting right away, poking into rooms and calling for Charles. Every beckon that goes unanswered tightens the knot forming in Edwin’s gut. He can’t seem to find his own voice.

This is unusual, even for them. Charles wouldn’t just leave unannounced while they’re working on a case. He’s never gone anywhere on his own without alerting Edwin or leaving a note of some kind. 

Another thought arises; Edwin is surprised he missed it earlier. Charles could be missing or just simply unseen. If he touched a cursed object who’s to say it didn’t render him invisible? Like The Case of the Black Veil.

If Charles is unable to communicate then they’ll need a more efficient search method.

“Crystal, I have a favor to ask.” Edwin comes up behind her when she reenters the hallway. “If by chance Charles has become invisible, we might find him by tracing his energy. If you touch the wall, can you try and get a read of the whole property? Perhaps seek out his whereabouts that way.”

“Oh, yeah I could try, give me a second.” She steps up to the wall and places both hands against it, breathing deeply. It takes a full agonizing minute for her to get a reading, which she comes out of with an exhausted sigh. 

“Damnit, I can’t find him anywhere.” Her head and hands fall downward. Edwin suspects she’s used up the last of her stamina for the day. “But something is still weird, I can feel that this was the last place he was in, and that’s it. His energy only sticks to this room. Usually I can see where someone’s gone but it’s like there’s something blocking my vision. I can’t get anything else.”

“I don’t understand.” Edwin states quietly, the sense of foreboding returning with a vengeance.

“Me neither. I know he’s a ghost and all, but how can he just disappear without a trace?”

Edwin knows how, it’s an absurd thought, but he thinks it anyway.

Crystal must sense his derailment because her voice is unusually gentle as she approaches.

“Hey, look. We’ll find him, okay? He can’t be that far.”

Except he could be. A ghost can travel miles in only a matter of seconds, and depending on what’s summoning them, they can be worlds away in one breath. He and Charles have hardly been separated since returning from hell, not more than an hour or two at most. 

Edwin presses his fists together. This is not the case they were meant to solve today. It was just going to be another average day on the job, but somehow in less than two hours the whole thing has turned on its head. How on earth did they lose him like this?

Edwin swallows his nerves and wills himself to think like a detective, not the frightened boy trapped in an illimitable nightmare.

Charles vanished, plain as that. Did he set something off? A magic tripwire of sorts? Or did someone steal him away and cover their tracks…?

He remembers what they heard about the owner's unexplained disappearance. If other’s believe the house itself is to be blamed, then perhaps a larger entity is responsible for his misfortune, and not just some cursed collectible. 

“Did you notice anything about the house itself? Any unusual power or substance flowing in the walls?” 

Crystal shakes her head. “Not really, the walls are…quiet.” 

“We must have missed something.” Edwin hastily marches back to the attic while Crystal follows at his heels. He reaches the landing and prepares to unfold the whole room, starting with the floor. He leans down and flips the rug over, sending up a cloud of dust that would choke him had his lungs still functioned. Crystal starts coughing from the other side. 

All that lay beneath is dark hardwood flooring, no runes or circles drawn. He checks every wall, the ceiling, even murmurs a reveal spell to uncover any hidden sorcery. The mystery remains. Panic and frustration pool in his gut as he turns back to the center and tries to clear his mind, but he’s stopped by a silver glint in his peripheral vision.     

And honestly, Edwin could slap himself silly for overlooking the most obvious suspect in the room.

“Wait a tick.” He strides over to the full length mirror, halting just a foot away. There’s an aura radiating from it, almost magnetic, and even in its broken state the energy is palpable. 

“I think I may have found the culprit.” Edwin mutters. Crystal creeps up from behind, her reflection showing right through him.

“He went through the mirror? Okay…don’t know what for. Or why he didn’t say anything.” 

“Neither do I. Which makes me wonder if he meant to do so…” Edwin looks closely without touching the surface, noting the vague shimmer between the jagged web of shards. He’s never seen such behavior before, but there’s certainly foreign magic involved. Powerful magic.

“This mirror has been enchanted, by what means exactly I’m not sure.” He eyes the point of impact. “But I have a feeling whoever used this last was not happy with what they saw.” 

“Should I try and get a reading from it?” Crystal reaches forward but Edwin is quick to snatch her wrist.

“Absolutely not.”

She yanks her arm back. “Come on Edwin, if I just-”

“Stop it, don’t be foolish. This is no ordinary piece of decor.” 

Crystal rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I can see that, which is why I should use my powers to figure it out. I’m part of this too now, remember? Let me do my job.”

Edwin stops her again. “No. Listen to me when I tell you this is dangerous. If Charles vanished simply by touching it then I have no doubt whatever lies beyond there will take you too.”

As if reacting to his words, the mirror shudders. Edwin steps back, throwing an arm in front of Crystal. They both freeze in anticipation for who knows what, but the glass just ripples again, like something is hitting it from within.

“Holy shit. Charles? Is that you?” Crystal calls out, they wait for a beat. “What if he’s stuck?”

“Then I must go after him.” 

“Yeah, I figured. Totally fine if you touch the thing.” 

“Crystal, I am already dead. There is much less for me to risk in this case.”

“And what if you get stuck?”

It’s a likely outcome. “Right…if this is only a one way passage I’ll need-” Edwin lifts his hand expectantly before realization hits him: no Charles, no backpack, no spellbook. Embarrassment crawls up his neck as he drops his arm, quickly pulling himself back together.

No access to the bag of tricks means his memory alone will have to suffice.

“I need to draw out a spell.” His hands search his pockets, but the only thing on his person is a pen, notebook and handkerchief. That won’t do. 

“Care to help me find a utensil?” He inquires. Crystal agrees, and they make their way back to the main hall, rapidly searching up and down. They come across what looks to be a child’s bedroom. It feels wrong to be ransacking such a sacred space, but time is of the essence and Edwin is too aware of how much time they’ve already lost trying to get hold of the situation.

After sifting through a number of boxes and drawers, Crystal pulls out a small worn box from the bedside table. “Will these work?” She hands him a colorful package of oil pastels. Excellent.

“Yes. Great find, Crystal.” He lifts the box in approval and they hurry back to the attic. 

Once upstairs, Edwin kneels in the center of the room and gets to work. He removes his coat and gloves, disregarding the slight tremor in his fingers as he plucks out a white stick and begins drawing a circle wide enough to stand in. After marking the edges with runes, he steps outside the ring to finish connecting his lines, checking thoroughly that he made no mistakes, and within a few minutes the outline is complete. 

Standing up, Edwin pockets the pastel and straightens his clothes before approaching Crystal. “If you could, I kindly request you keep watch. Do not let anything break the circle, and if that should happen be sure to restore it. We only get one charge.”

“What is it?” 

“A return spell. Once I locate Charles we can use it to teleport back to this spot, even from another plane of existence.” Crystal’s brow furrows and Edwin holds up a hand before she can protest. “I know the situation is not ideal, and I apologize for leaving you alone in this place. I haven’t a clue how long I’ll be gone, but I need someone on the other side to assure the spell remains intact. I’m afraid this is our only suitable plan of action so- please.” 

Crystal frowns at him, and Edwin braces for pushback, but she doesn’t put up a fight this time. She simply huffs out an exasperated breath and nods once. Perhaps she’s grown to accept her position regarding these types of cases, or maybe she’s tuned in to the fact that Edwin is near fit for a meltdown.

“Fine, I got it. I’ll just keep watch and…hang out with my freaky friend here.” She motions to the doll sitting behind them, and that gets a relieved laugh out of Edwin. He carefully rests a hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

“Thank you.” He hopes it's enough to convey how he cares for Crystal. She has been a remarkable addition to their team despite their frequent disagreements, and he’s grown fond of her in his own strange way. Expressing that however is worse than conducting an exorcism. Charles has always been better with people, so Edwin is a touch out of his element. 

Crystal seems to understand though, as she puts her hand over his.

“Just find him and come back safe, okay?” Her eyes are fierce but warm, and Edwin is eternally grateful for her pardon.

“Certainly.”

Edwin crosses the room and faces the mirror. Not knowing his destination makes travel difficult, especially when he’s frazzled, so he tries to focus his energy on Charles; his brightness, his strength, that everlasting pull Edwin feels just by being near him.

He bravely lifts his hand to the glass and is engulfed in light.

Chapter Text

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Charles died again. Or at least he thinks he did, because all that surrounds him is a white, cloudy abyss, no sight or sound anywhere. 

Six seconds ago he was in the attic at Highgate, next thing he knows he’s flung into a blinding whirlwind and lands quite literally in the middle of nowhere. It takes a second to get his head back on, and he’s a second too late because the mirror that spit him out crackles behind him before vanishing completely. Well that’s just aces, innit?

“Edwin?” He calls the name on instinct, slowly turning in a circle. There’s absolutely no sense of direction to be had here, not with all the fog. Charles can’t even make out the surface under his feet, though it feels solid enough. 

“Edwin!” Charles hears his own voice carry out into the void, but gets nothing back. He groans in frustration, choosing a random direction to walk in. The air is cool, which is odd that he can even feel that. He’s definitely in some type of alternate dimension, maybe a weird limbo-esque domain, but not the one he’s already familiar with. This place has no sign of life or death in it. Just pure nothingness, and no Edwin.

That sinking feeling of self doubt creeps in. He screwed this one up. Charles knows what he saw in that mirror, but he also knows that it could have been a clever trick. Looking at where he’s ended up, that theory checks out.

He has no idea how long he’s been walking. Whatever plane he’s on probably eats time differently, if time even exists here at all. That unsettles him, knowing that mere minutes in this land could be hours- days even, back in the living world. 

Charles still has his backpack, though what good that’ll do right now is beyond him. Edwin’s spell books are useless in his hands, and even if he could use them there’s not a damn thing here to cast a spell on. He wishes there were at least a solid object he could hit with a cricket bat. 

Then Charles is met with a door to the face. 

“Bloody hell , what the-” 

A plain wooden door stands alone, seemingly materialized from thin air. Charles frowns, looking around the side to find nothing behind it. He’s tempted to open the door, but the last time he touched something it didn’t go so well. He can hear Edwin’s warning voice echo in his head, but what else can he do when this is the only tangible item in this mad mystery realm?

Sod it, he goes through anyway.

Charles opens the door and has to catch himself from falling down a thousand steps. Before him is an endless stretch of stairs leading into darkness, lined with wooden panels. An ominous feeling pricks at his gut, and for a second he fears that he somehow opened a portal straight to Hell. He tests the first step, the wood whining under his foot like it actually holds weight. Other than that nothing changes, no blood, screaming or cackling doll heads. Charles checks the door, afraid to close it but more afraid of what might follow if he leaves it open. Gently, he shuts the door behind him and heads downward. 

The trek is long, growing more sinister with every step. Charles goes slowly one by one, reminded of the last time he faced this many stairs. The only thing lighting his path is a small pull chain light bulb, which follows above his head as he continues. After an agonizing descent Charles finally sees the bottom. A pungent musty scent hits his nose, and he’s thrown off by the sudden regained sense. As the carpet greets him on the last step, Charles takes a look around and immediately knows where he is, the nostalgia coming at him like a freight train.

It’s home, but the wrong one. The room that was both a sanctuary and a prison as a child comes to life as his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. There’s his small bed to the right, his old record player, band posters covering the walls, and the few but precious gadgets he’d play with strewn on the floor. Pieces of a life he hasn’t visited in over thirty years, frozen and innocent despite the monstrous activities that were had down here. 

Everything is blurry around the edges, like an incomplete memory. The basement walls don’t even fully extend, cutting off short and dipping back into blackness. Charles accidentally steps on a pair of headphones and picks them up, fascinated by the way they flicker in his grasp. They’re the same ones he took with him everywhere, before one of those wankers at school stole them.       

The light over his head blinks then, and Charles hears a muted thump. Distantly, a door creaks from above, traveling eerily down the stairway. Charles doesn’t have to think to know what’s coming. 

Heavy footsteps, the quick clink of metal, far away but not far enough. 

“No no, fuck that.” His fight or flight kicks in, and Charles votes flight. He can’t go up, and there’s no spare doors down here. The only opening is the small egress window tucked near the ceiling. Judging from the inky void surrounding the perimeter, Charles is left with no other options. Window it is.

He goes to grab the short table that his record player sits on, delicately placing his beloved device on the ground. Even if it’s just a memory Charles doesn’t have it in him to be rough with it. He picks up the table and moves it to the wall to give himself a boost, thankful that he has his height as an advantage. The rusted edges are brittle but the window staggers open, and Charles tightly squeezes himself through.

Unsurprisingly, Charles falls right back into nowhere land upon escaping. A heavy oomph pushes out of him as he drops down and makes full body contact with the floor. The impact rattles his torso, real and aching. A feeling he doesn’t miss at all. As he rights himself again the space changes: painted walls growing from the ground, followed by windows, bookshelves, a couch, filing cabinet, and a massive wooden desk. Charles observes each familiar article as the detective agency takes form. The details of their workplace are clearer, most likely because Charles knows them better than any lousy shack he’s ever called home. The most prominent piece missing; however, is his one and only Edwin.

Wait a minute. If he’s in the office, he’s got a way out. Sure enough, their trusty travel mirror is standing in the back corner. Charles dashes over to it, trying his damndest to conjure up the right destination in his head. When he meets the mirror he gasps at the sight of his own face staring wide-eyed back at him. Even more shocking; his hands stay fixed against the glass, the cold surface refusing to bid a single bubble as he adds more force.

Panic gnaws at his insides, he’s never been less excited to be alive again, or whatever weird half-state he’s in. If he can’t get through a mirror then he’s well and truly stuck. 

“Edwin? Can you hear me?” Charles pounds against the mirror in frustration. “Edwin!”

There’s no reaction, and Charles has to fight down the acid boiling in his stomach. He closes his eyes and just breathes for a tick, remembering the exercises Edwin taught him to curb anxiety. The foreign feeling of air in his lungs is enough to distract him. It’s like the longer he stays in this world the more life returns to him; something that sounds brills in theory but turns out to be downright terrifying.

It’s so quiet that Charles has to open his eyes and make sure he hasn’t drifted off into the ether. His surroundings remain the same, for now. 

He moves to the desk which is decorated with volumes of thaumaturgy and ancient languages. He’s no spellcaster, but maybe if Charles tries hard enough he can channel some of Edwin’s big brain and find himself a backup plan. 

Or he would, if any of the books had words.

They’re all blank, including Edwin’s notebook, not a scribble or ink stain anywhere. He makes for the bookshelves and starts flipping through pages, same thing. Even the volumes Charles has actually read before are empty. This version of the office is nothing but a diorama, he realizes with dismay.

“ Bollocks. ” He drops another book at his feet, not caring about the fact that Edwin would have a fit over the act. It would be a welcomed relief to be reprimanded by him right now. Charles might just lose himself if he’s left in this silence much longer.

His feet pace the floor while a cold sweat takes residence on his forehead. How much time has gone by? How long does he have before the space shifts again? Can anything even be controlled in this barmy place? If Edwin were here he probably would have figured out the whole system by now.

Charles misses him like a lost limb.

Before he can spiral any further Charles turns towards the door, but just as he reaches for the handle he hears voices from the back of the room.

“-know why you’re in such a rush, Charles. We are hardly short on time.”

It’s Edwin. By god it’s Edwin. His prim voice is like music. Charles breathes out and almost calls to him when he sees his partner emerge through the mirror, followed by his own self popping in quickly after.

Wait, what?

“I know mate, but I just have to show you this before we get back to business, yeah? It’s brills.” Charles listens to himself say, and watches himself pull something from his backpack. 

He recognizes the square shaped package wrapped in brown paper. A record.

Oh, this must be a memory.

“Edwin?” he tries, waving a hand to bring attention to himself. Neither Edwin nor the other Charles seem to notice. Right then, he’s invisible.

He watches the sequence play out like an old home video. Edwin waits patiently as Past Charles makes his way to the antique record player that lives in the office- another present brought home by Charles- he carefully removes the vinyl from its wrapping and places it onto the turntable. There’s a familiar buzz of static before the needle settles and gentle piano permeates the room.

Edwin perks up at the sound and practically floats from the desk to join Charles by the player. 

“Where did you get this?” He gazes in awe at the spinning vinyl.

“That old record shop we investigated a couple weeks back. And no - I didn’t steal it.” Charles points a finger at Edwin. “The clerk let me have it, as thanks for getting the poltergeist out of his stereo. Said I could take anything from the discount bin, and I figured you’d like this one. I nearly forgot I had it!” He turns with a jubilant smile, which earns a charmed one from Edwin.

“I haven’t listened to this in ages.” His eyes go soft as he takes in the melody.

“What’s this one called?” 

“‘La Plus Que Lente’...I heard it often as a child while learning to dance.” 

“You dance to this?”  

Short laughter, honey sweet. “Maybe not the way you do, this was written as a waltz. Debussy was a renowned composer in my time. I’m quite partial to this one, it’s a unique piece, more of a parody.”

“Isn’t the waltz just a circle?” 

Edwin rolls his eyes, but he’s got that cheeky pursed look on his face. 

“Well yes, the waltz means to revolve, but there’s a bit more to it than that.”

“Oh right, there’s also squares involved.” Charles keeps teasing, and Edwin is desperately fighting off a smile, but his dimples give him away. It’s Charles’ favorite expression, really. His present self aches at the sight. When was the last time Edwin looked like that?

This day was decades ago, a precious memory, back when the agency was just getting its groove. The two of them poured so much love and free time into their office, building a home from scratch, sticking bandaids to each other’s hearts with every added trinket. Even at the very beginning Charles was piling gifts on Edwin. Any excuse to see his genuine smile. It was truly a simpler time; before Port Townsend, before Hell. Their scars run a lot deeper now, but so does their affection towards one another.

The memory skips ahead, and now they’re dancing, or trying to at least. Edwin is dressed down to his white sleeves, Charles’ jacket abandoned on the couch. Charles keeps stepping forward when he’s supposed to step back, and Edwin leads him through the motions while avoiding the clash of their toes. They banter back and forth, laughing at each other as they turn around the room. Charles makes a show of spinning Edwin outward in his own clumsy attempt at flare, their mismatched feet barely keeping balance as they return to their embrace.

Every giggle and hum sends a pang of longing through Charles’ half-corporeal form. He can’t remember the last time they shared something like this; just two boys finding joy in death, unbothered and unimpaired. Their hands are clasped together and their bodies stand close as they move freely, at this point betraying the rules of the dance. Both he and Edwin are too busy laughing to care, caught in a moment belonging only to them. 

The whole scene feels like something out of a movie, Charles almost wants to cry.

His reverie doesn’t last long. Eventually the room starts to dim, each corner fading slowly and closing in like a vignette. It’s a damn shame to have to leave this, but Charles braces for whatever is coming next as his vision goes dark.  

This time there’s no white expanse to welcome him. Instead he’s left wandering the vacant black night, no stars or moon to keep him company. 

Charles walks with trepidation, feeling all too suspicious about the lack of activity. Did the whole dimension just break? He wonders if anything in his bag of tricks might help, but before he shoves his arm into the sack an alarm goes off in his head. If he’s technically alive right now, or close to it, will he lose an arm reaching in there? Or is it just…

A regular old sack. Brilliant.

The infinite void that holds all of his treasures is gone, just tattered fabric and dirt left at the bottom. He’s really gone and mucked it up this time, hasn’t he. 

Charles fights the urge to scream, pulling at his hair just to get a grip on something . He hates feeling angry, and lately anger seems to follow him everywhere, though the majority of it is aimed at himself. Just one mistake after the other.

Edwin is probably worrying his pretty little head off, or planning to take Charles’ head as recompense. And who could blame him? Charles knew he needed to be careful, he promised , and one little hiccup turned the whole operation upside down.

He purges his agitation with a long, laborious sigh, letting his lungs give out with it. Once again he’s left with no choice but to roam, so he slings his useless bag onto his back and begrudgingly proceeds. His feet feel heavy as they drag along the ground. The return of his weighted form is difficult to get used to, but not nearly as bad as the suffocating silence. What he would give to have his walkman back.

Every blasted footstep in this wasteland brings Charles closer to insanity. No wonder solitude and light depravation are forms of torture, he’s never felt more like a lost soul in his entire afterlife. 

That is until a tiny floating light appears in the distance. Charles can’t suss out what it is just yet, but the light moves slowly from left to right, its yellow hue glowing brighter as he approaches. 

It’s a lantern, the exact one that greeted him on his dying day all those years ago, and later accompanied him through Hell. 

He prays to whatever god that this is real and not just another memory because the arm holding up the lantern belongs to none other than his best mate. Hope thrums in his chest as he shouts, breaking into a run.

“Oi, Edwin! I’m here!” he waves both hands dramatically, desperately trying to be seen. The light turns towards him, a slow roundabout like a lighthouse. He picks up the pace, only meters away. Edwins face finally comes into view, but Charles never reaches him. One second he’s running, the next he’s flying backwards, bucked by something too fast to see. He lands hard, the breath forcibly knocked right out of him, and when he opens his eyes he’s staring into the gaping mouth of a giant snake.

A half-scream is torn out of him as the creature whips Charles across the floor. It’s the very one he destroyed in Esther Finch’s freaky underground lair, except this time he’s got nothing to fight back with. No sword, no cricket bat, not even a bloody paperclip. Time to run. He gets up as fast as he can, taking two lumbering steps before a piercing shriek stuns him in place.

It’s Edwin’s voice. That awful, tortured sound that has haunted him for the longer part of a year. It echoes from all directions but Charles can’t see his best mate anywhere. 

“Edwin?!” 

The area is changing rapidly now, as if it can’t decide what it wants to throw next. Charles sees the snake slither past him like a high speed rail, then things just start falling from the infinite sky: books, candles, jars and knick knacks. Most of them he recognizes from their office. Some plummet to the ground, clattering and breaking, while others fall into a slow-motion pool. They’re left hanging in the air, rotating above him like a weird invisible mobile. Charles picks up a little blue bowtie by his feet, and suddenly he’s teleporting.

For a second Charles thinks he’s back on earth because the first thing he sees is the sun. He’s standing on the rooftop of the agency, the day dipping into evening. Warmth touches his skin for the first time in decades and it’s bliss, especially after being trapped in deep darkness. Charles is lost in his senses as he watches two bodies take shape before him. He doesn’t need to see the complete picture to know it’s him and Edwin. They’re sitting together at the roof’s edge, backlit by the golden hour. They’ve made plenty of memories out here so Charles could be looking at any number of days, but something is a little off. Despite their mouths moving no words are coming out, like somebody’s hit the mute button. Maybe this is a memory he just doesn’t remember very well, but kept hold of the feeling. 

Then he notices what’s really happening. The two of them are holding hands- which is no biggie, they’ve done that before- but this is different somehow, the energy feels…elevated. Edwin says something that makes Charles laugh, his shoulders shaking with it. He catches a glimpse of Edwin’s smile, the one that brightens his whole face and makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. They’re leaning against each other and oh, that’s new. Charles brings his arm around Edwin’s side and there it is- the smallest glint of sun bouncing off it like a beacon- a thin gold band hugging his ring finger. 

Charles hears the record scratch in his brain as reality slams back into him, every thought blown away with the wind. He stands there, gobsmacked. This must be a dream, because no way would he forget marrying his best friend. 

A tsunami of emotion crashes over him, followed by a resounding thump . Charles realizes it’s his heart jumpstarting behind his rib cage. The physicality is so overwhelming his legs almost give out, and he has to stop himself from toppling over. 

Charles’ brain is chock full of nutty ideas, which normally he can rationalize. But currently he’s left speechless, because what he’s looking at now is a vision born from the farthest wilds of his imagination. The kind that he keeps buried in a box six feet under, not daring to open it should the wrong person see and try to pulverise him with it.

Of course Charles wants forever with Edwin, but this kind of forever he’s only touched once; on the steps of Hell, staring into glossy green eyes while three words tumbled around his head like Sunday's laundry. Words he didn’t say back, not in the same way at least. He was thrown off guard, didn’t know how to process such a thing, too afraid to even try. And with a literal demon on their heels he sure didn’t have the spare time, so he shelved that idea and let it collect dust.

Charles is a coward and he knows it.

Time is infinite and yet he’s still too scared to take any to sit with himself and sort through his tangled thoughts. Edwin would never hold anything against him, has said so more than once, but every time Charles thinks he’s ready to breach the subject, something pulls him back.

This dream laid out in front of him: an afterlife bathed in gold and warmer than sunlight on his skin, feels unfeasible, and it’s nobody’s fault but his own. It’s almost too much to look at, but he drinks it in anyway, commits the image to memory like a brand on his soul. Maybe if he clings to it long enough he’ll grow a spine and face that Something once and for all.

For now, he’ll have to dedicate himself to getting back where he belongs.

The door back to the office is there, but who knows where it actually leads. Only one way to find out. 

Charles pivots towards the exit, turning back for one last glance before journeying on.

Chapter Text

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Edwin is propelled through the mirror and stumbles blindly into nowhere. It takes a moment for him to get his bearings, checking to make sure he apparated in one piece. As he adjusts himself, Edwin takes in his new befuddling surroundings. He wasn’t sure what to expect beyond the broken mirror, which is now gone, but he hoped he would at least be met with an identifiable location. The empty white landscape before him proves nothing of the sort. Locating Charles in an infinite, directionless universe will be a lot harder. Edwin tries not to be irritated by that.

It’s difficult to know where to start, so Edwin walks what he believes to be forward. The misty nothingness is unnaturally quiet. His instinct tells him to stay silent, for any disturbance could mean trouble, but the impulse to call out is there, hiding in the back of his throat. An impulse he has more frequently as of late.

“Charles?” Edwin whispers, just to experiment. The only detectable movement is the fog swirling about as he meanders through. Even his footsteps are barely audible. “Charles?” He raises his voice no more than a few decibels. “Are you here?”

No voices follow. Edwin wonders if he’s on an entirely separate plane of existence than Charles. It could very well be a possibility, though highly unfavorable. He’s not confident in his ability to merge planes or even form a bridge between them, so he hopes with all he has that Charles is roaming this realm along with him. 

The emptiness of this zone is truly perplexing. It feels like Edwin has been walking for ages but he’s yet to come across anything remotely material. 

In his death Edwin has explored numerous dimensions through both mirrors and magic, but none such as this. Usually there is a structure to alternate realities and universes, one that mimics the relative knowledge of physics. This one, however, leaves one guessing whether or not they even exist. If there wasn’t anything supporting Edwin’s feet there’d be no telling up from down. 

“What the devil is this place?” He mutters to himself.

The lone detective steps through the mist that reaches up to his knees. Edwin knows what limbo looks like, so he couldn’t have teleported his way back to the edges of Hell. Maybe they’ve discovered a route to purgatory instead. That notion does nothing to comfort him.

Briefly, Edwin thinks of using a spell to look for Charles, but normally finding spells serve to locate lost objects rather than people. He has nothing on him belonging to Charles in order to use a tracking spell, either. Any other solutions would require one of his spell books, which he is also sorely missing.

Edwin’s distracted from his thoughts of incompetence by a cool breeze grazing his face, something he typically wouldn’t notice, or feel. The change in temperature is apparent though, and Edwin is suddenly on high alert as the mild wind grows slightly stronger.

The next thing to surprise him comes from above: a cold droplet landing feather-light on his nose. 

It’s starting to snow.

Small white flurries blend with the cloudy atmosphere below, and the sky dulls to an ashy gray. Edwin stands in silent wonderment as tiny snowflakes catch in his hair and eyelashes. He hasn’t felt the hands of winter in ages, and it almost transports him to another era.

Or maybe not almost, but completely.

Edwin blinks as a window emerges just a few paces ahead, suspended in mid-air. He recognizes the sixteen-pane frames that make up the back wall of the detective agency. Only now he looks on from the outside, peering into their office while snow gathers along the edges.

Stepping up closer, Edwin dips his head forward to get a good look inside. It’s quiet and comfortable, the warm glow of his desk lamp inviting him home. 

He spies movement from the right side of the room, and Edwin gasps as Charles emerges from their storage closet carrying one of their many versions of Clue .

“Thank goodness.” He closes the gap, moving to phase through the window, but his body doesn’t so much as blur.

Pressing his hand against the barrier, Edwin is shocked by the resistance beneath his palm. The glass is cold, crawling to his fingertips as he attempts to push beyond it. Somehow he’s gained a degree of corporeality, though weak. His sense of touch is muted, but his thermoreceptors have awakened under his skin.

This could be a problem.

Edwin tries knocking to get Charles’ attention, but his companion is oblivious to his presence. In fact, he’s casually walking through the office as though nothing is amiss. He sets the boardgame down on the couch then makes his way behind the desk. 

“Hello? Charles, I'm here! I can’t get through-” He waves eagerly as Charles walks right by him, none the wiser. Charles may be daft at times but he’s certainly not blind . Edwin’s eyes follow his partner as he picks a stray writing utensil from the floor and sets it back on the desk, straight and neat as Edwin likes it. A kind gesture, but there are more pressing matters at hand. Charles remains unbothered- Edwin invisible- as he turns around and fusses with the coat rack, and then proceeds to pull something from his pocket. Edwin can’t see what’s in his hand from this angle, but he watches as Charles gently transfers a small something to Edwin’s side pocket, the softest smile on his face.

That’s when Edwin enters from the agency door, on the opposite side of the room, and now there’s two of him here.

He blinks, feeling an odd rush of deja vu. Either this is a parallel universe where Edwin is meeting another version of himself, or he’s looking into his own past. 

Both instances are confounding nonetheless.

It’s very peculiar, watching himself. Edwin hasn’t seen his own face since he caught his reflection in Hell. Now he can see his whole self in action: interacting with Charles, talking and moving about the room. Their speech is subdued behind the window, but merely looking at the scene makes for quite the out-of-body experience. 

Edwin tilts an ear closer to the glass, trying to pick up on the conversation. They’re going back and forth as they always do, the jovial tone in Charle’s voice evident despite the layer in between. A dull thud sounds as Edwin plops a handful of books on the desk, his present self recognizes the volumes. He occasionally thrifts books from old estates and libraries, picking through donation boxes or recycled collections. Most of his literary reserve is for detective work, but every now and then he likes to bring home a novel or two for leisure.

The book sitting at the top is a recent favorite of Edwin’s; a collection of Mary Oliver poems. He had grown fond of her writing in the late 70’s and was thrilled to lay hands on some newer works. This day was in the late winter about a year or two ago, right on the cusp of spring. Nothing expressly remarkable about it. Edwin can’t fathom why such a simple memory would have significance here. 

Charles leans against the desk and takes a look at the stack, nodding along as he’s introduced to each title. Edwin always appreciated when Charles took interest in his mundane hobbies. He’s continuously teased Edwin for his ‘boring tastes’, but never in earnest. His generous care and curiosity for Edwin’s pleasures, when applied, was a prize all on its own.

The memory progresses, jumping forward to the next segment as a dream would. They’re settled on the couch together. Charles is relaxed with his head on a cushion, one leg bent while the other lies in Edwin’s lap, their board game forgotten on the floor. He listens while Edwin reads poems aloud, smiling between pages. Charles typically prefers to hear the words rather than read them, which Edwin has never really minded. Even if those words don’t earn complete undivided attention, the sentiment is still nice. 

Edwin presently finds himself hypnotized by this little snippet of shared quality time. Being a detective is his pride and joy, but he deeply values all the small tender moments in between. Business keeps them on their feet most days and nights, so the slow periods that follow a heavy batch of cases is truly a gift when granted. With the agency’s new developments, serenity is in scarce supply. Edwin appreciates it much more since his second return from Hell. When they’re alone like this there’s no need for professional appearances, no pressure to be anything other than themselves. 

Charles interrupts to make a comment, and Edwin thwacks his leg with the book, fondly shaking his head while Charles laughs to himself. His muffled amusement is so warm and infectious it could melt ice.

Unconsciously, Edwin reaches up to touch the window, and the entire thing shatters the second he makes contact. The vision falls away with it, and Edwin is briefly stupefied.    

“That was…uncalled for.”

He breathes in to recompose himself, taking account of his environment. The snow has stopped, and the cold air has subsided, reverting to a more tepid atmosphere. There are no windows hanging or other floating obstacles, but Edwin does notice something new as he looks down. 

There’s grass, twigs, and tiny flowers slowly growing from the ground. As Edwin takes a few steps the field spreads out further until all the gray converts to green. It’s no longer a desolate haze, but an enormous park with foliage and ponds and rays of sun dotting a winding pathway that appears to go for miles.   

It’s beautiful, and oh so quiet. Birds sing cheerfully in the distance, and the gentle rustling of leaves brings an air of true serenity. If Edwin had died differently, he might imagine this is what heaven could be like. 

He’s alone aside from the living nature around him, and the first impulse he has is to reach down and touch it. His fingers brush the grass and it’s tangible, the faintest tickling sensation dancing along his skin. Edwin carefully kneels down in the grass and plucks a dainty blue flower from the earth, a forget-me-not. He brings the fragile bloom to his nose and tries smelling it, floored by the sweet scent he can just barely discern. Next he picks up a dandelion, carefully caressing the delicate white puffs and reveling in their softness. The wind takes a few seeds from the stem and Edwin gives in to temptation, blowing the rest away and watching them fly, something he hasn’t done since he was a child.

Edwin is both elated and horrified by his new discovery. Elated because the feelings returning to him are nothing short of euphoric compared to the pain his body endured for decades, and horrified because the happenings here ignite a brand new theory in his head.

That theory is put on hold however, as distant footsteps approach.

He turns, and the breath is stolen from him at the sight of white hair, bouncing in the breeze. Edwin clumsily rises, the dandelion falling from his fingers as he trips back onto his feet. 

“Niko?” 

He stares, wide-eyed and blinking rapidly as though he might be hallucinating. But she’s here, in her bright clothes, skipping through flowers and humming a sweet tune.

Edwin stumbles towards her, his hand reaching out to voice his presence since words are failing him now. 

He opens his mouth to call for her but somebody else beats him to it.

“Hey, Niko!” 

It’s Crystal, coming up from the far left. She waves a hand in greeting and Niko turns her way, with Edwin standing directly in view. She’s so close, but their eyes don’t meet. As soon as they’re an arms length away Edwin extends his reach to catch her, and Niko phases right through him. 

Edwin feels his chest crack open as she prances over to Crystal, blissfully unaware. A desperate breath heaves out of him as he’s left there, a ghost to his own kind.  

This isn’t real, he cannot touch her here.

The girls unite along the pathway, and the colors are changing. Green turns to vibrant orange and yellow as the season alters right before his eyes, transforming the landscape into a picturesque autumn day. 

Two more bodies join the scene a minute later, and Edwin sees himself and Charles greet their friends with luminous smiles. They gather like a bunch of everyday teenagers, laughing and bumping against each other playfully. The sun dips their bodies in gold, like they’ve been painted into frame.

It’s not a memory, but a stunning fantasy pulled from the very depths of him.

Edwin follows the group in a dreamlike state as they walk around the park, circling willow trees and stomping on crisp leaves that keep falling over them. As Niko and Crystal pull ahead, Charles and Edwin linger behind at a slower pace.

He locks in on the illusion as his other self and Charles merge closer. Their hands interlace like it’s the most natural thing, two forms perfectly aligned as they walk together. Then Charles leans over to press a sweet kiss to Edwin’s temple, and Edwin doesn’t know if he can take this.

Everything he’s ever wanted laid out in front of him, yet it can never be. It’s like someone has taken a seam ripper to his heart and yanked every thread.

Edwin knows what this place is, and he must get himself and Charles out of here.

One large issue still stands; Edwin has no idea how to control these manifestations, and there’s no sign of the real Charles anywhere.

The best option is to look for a way out. He simply can’t bear to witness this counterfeit dream any longer, so he mournfully turns his back on it and continues in the direction from which he came.

Edwin walks, and walks. He walks through winter, spring and back to summer again, moving like a timelapse. A year’s worth of seasons have gone by and he’s no closer to finding an exit. It could be a loop, like the Devlin House case, but Edwin hasn’t come across the same site twice. The longer he travels the more it feels like the labyrinth is expanding, like it’s trying to keep him here.

Weight presses down on his bones, though he can’t tell if the heaviness is due to physical effects or sheer emotion. It’s frustrating how discombobulated he feels. Normally Edwin prides himself on fortitude, but this level of isolation and lack of control leaves room for hopelessness, which is something he cannot afford right now. Without Charles by his side, he finds it harder not to give in to despair. 

The light shifts as day turns to dusk, then melts into night- wait, that’s new. So far the sun has remained consistent throughout his journey; falling no further than sunset before rising high again. Now Edwin is left with only stars. As his eyes adapt to the darkness he notices the trees have grown taller. In fact, they’ve taken a new shape completely. He’s no longer traipsing over gardens and grasslands, but dense woods packed tight with towering branches and thick greenery.

Out of one dream and into another, it seems. 

He grieves the loss of sunlight, for the night is all consuming and frankly inconvenient. Once more he’s wandering silently in unpredictable territory. The confining forest is far more daunting than the open landscape he just came from. Anything can jump out and surprise him, or tear his limbs apart. Every snap of a twig puts him on edge. Even though he’s virtually the only being out here, fear of the unknown clings to the back of his neck.

So much time has passed between just his last two locations, and the worry is now starting to eat away at his psyche. Both detectives are lost, there’s no telling if he’s any closer to Charles, and Crystal still waits for them in the living world. Who knows how long they’ve been absent at this point, Crystal will no doubt have their heads upon return. If they even escape in time.

Edwin shakes his head to erase the thought. Succumbing to such pessimism will ensure their demise. If he’s struggling this much to fight off despondency, Edwin dreads to imagine what kind of state Charles might be in. They’ve been trapped here too long, and Edwin holds the key. He’ll be damned if he lets this place take his life a second time. If Charles can walk through Hell to find him, Edwin can and will return the favor in full.

With new determination he treads through the woodlands. The path is narrow but walkable, with branches jutting out here and there. It’s quite messy, and the forest floor is damp causing Edwin to slip in muddy spots periodically. He cringes at the wet soil caking on his boots. Edwin has never been known as a nature lover, he much prefers the study of nature from a respectable distance. Doing so is how he can avoid circumstances such as this. Even as a child his chosen playground was the library, not soggy leaves and mud puddles. 

He reaches a bulky overgrown patch covering a portion of the trail, and quietly scowls at the vegetation blocking his way. No other paths present themselves, so Edwin steels himself with a deep breath and steps into the twisted mess of wild plants and thorns. They snag on his suit and nip at the few traces of exposed skin. One particularly sharp thorn scratches the side of his left hand, and Edwin is taken aback by the tiny dots of blood peeking through his skin. Another new, moderately concerning development.          

Halfway through his confrontation with a large fern, a distressed wail carries across the trees, throwing him off balance. Edwin pauses, his hands locked on the tall fronds as he waits tensely for the next action. The cry didn’t sound entirely human, and the more he thinks about that the less secure he feels.

Slowly, strategically, he maneuvers through the remaining foliage until his feet are out of the prickly entanglement. His clothes are disheveled and full of miniscule tears, which Edwin laments as he straightens out his bowtie and sleeves.

Finally freed, Edwin resumes his route, heeding the small changes in scenery. Night still dominates the forest, but now there are tiny specks of light scattered about the pathway. Upon closer inspection, Edwin easily identifies them as bioluminescent fungi. Their soft green glow is enough to aid his vision, and he offers his silent thanks for their assistance.

Now that he can see better, the forest is slightly less intimidating. There’s a blind curve about thirty feet ahead which widens the trail, and as Edwin walks he looks up to find the trees bending downward, their branches intertwining to form an archway. 

Once he’s passed the threshold, Edwin hears movement and immediately turns around. Behind him, the path is swiftly devoured by nature. Bushes, moss and various plants quickly fill the gaps until his footprints are buried in the overgrowth. Curious, indeed. Apparently there will be no turning back this time.

Going forward, Edwin is unrelieved to discover yet another lengthy road glaring back at him. An aggravated huff escapes his lips. He can hear Charles’ voice in his head; cursing the woods as he threatens the air with his cricket bat. Just imagining it makes a fond, melancholic smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

Even in the darkest of times Charles can still make him smile, no matter how many miles separate them. His light transcends all borders, and Edwin cherishes that light more than the gift of eternal life.    

If only he could provide him with the same alleviation. All he can pray for is that Charles sits in a lovely dream somewhere, waiting. Edwin will find him, no matter what kind of infernal trap tries to thwart his plans.

It takes eons to traverse through the wooded tunnel, and Edwin can feel the threat of exhaustion start to creep up on him. His muscles have grown sore; the sluggish sort of ache that starts at the feet and travels upward, making it harder to keep a steady pace. He climbs over an enormous root protruding from the ground and the effort is like hauling lead over a cliff. Edwin hasn’t felt this tired since running that horrific marathon through the levels of Hell. 

Ambient light still lingers on the ground, the scent of petrichor even more prominent. Something about this region is ominous, almost sentient. The branches overhead act like a vice, tightening their grip to deliberately suffocate whatever dares pass by. The added humidity from the plant life makes his skin clammy, and the sticky feeling beneath his collar is so god awful Edwin would kill to be back in his spectral form. For all the magic human bodies are capable of, perspiration is of the highest unpleasantries. 

Doing his best to carry on without tantrum, Edwin loosens his bowtie and collar to relieve some of the pressure around his neck. It helps somewhat, and he is able to focus on his footsteps a little easier. 

After some time– or too much, it’s hard to tell– Edwin detects an opening at the end of the passage. There’s a pale light emanating beyond the gap, just enough to see the outline of the archway, which is a bit smaller than where he entered from.  

Out of the blue, a figure appears, stopping Edwin in his tracks. They step into the light and Edwin marks the silhouette of what looks to be a young boy, roughly seven or eight years old. His thin frame and curly hair are the only details visible from this far. For a moment neither of them move, and Edwin thinks about speaking aloud, but his attempt fails when the boy runs away, leaping out of view. 

For some inexplicable reason Edwin is compelled to chase him. Could be magic, or just the pure desire to get out of this pestilent forest that makes him start running. His breaths come short as he struggles to maintain speed, but once he’s free of the tunnel it’s like getting new lungs. The fog is thick as molasses but Edwin can finally drink in fresh air, and at last the moon has joined the sky, casting a snowy glow over the greenwood. 

Rustling brings his attention back to his previous task, and Edwin pivots just in time to see the boy hopping through the brush. He hasn’t spotted any other human beings aside from his illusionary friends, so this unknown child has him especially curious, though wary. If he’s lucky, this encounter may lead him out of here. If unlucky…well, who knows.

He follows from a safe distance, moving with much less dexterity but keeping his mysterious guest in sight. They’re well off the path now, scampering across uneven terrain full of rocks and mossy hills. The muscles in Edwin’s legs are weeping by the time he reaches the incline on which the boy stands, staring down the edge. 

Edwin comes to a stop near a wide tree trunk, leaning against it to catch his breath. When he lifts his head, the boy turns, and Edwin is caught like a frightened deer, frozen in place as he stares at the face of Charles. It’s impossible for him not to recognize those almond eyes, the gentle arch of his nose, softened by youth but undoubtedly him. His expression is neutral, almost uninterested as he looks in Edwin’s general direction and back over the precipice again, and then he jumps .   

A horrified sound tumbles from Edwin’s mouth as he lurches forward, his chest rupturing with panic and disbelief. He practically throws himself to the top of the hill, coming to a halt at the ledge and gasping at the steep drop below. Little Charles is gone, consumed by the mist that covers the bottom and leaving no evidence behind. Edwin holds a hand to his pounding heart, his nervous breaths the only thing to be heard in the resting wood. He weakly convinces himself that this event was just another apparition and not some sort of bad omen. It hardly quells the restless vibration of his nerves. He feels dizzy all of a sudden, and takes a step back before he sends his own self careening overboard.  

That’s when he hears a bizarre turbulence cut through the quiet. The sound of whirring air- no - wings , coming from far down and growing louder. 

Edwin gets no further than a nose length over the edge before a wall of black comes bursting up out of the ravine. Hundreds of crows, rising like a wave and curving above the trees. The force of it sends Edwin staggering backwards. His heels catch on roots and he falls on his back, landing in a bed of moss. He watches in silent shock as the birds speed overhead in a wild cacophony of caws and feathers. None of them do any harm, thankfully, but the volume is overwhelming. Edwin tries to sit up, then notices with alarm that his arms are tied down, caught up in twisting vines that tighten when he attempts to break free. A fresh torrent of panic courses through him as the tendrils multiply, springing from the ground to wrap around his ankles, legs and torso. Edwin wrestles desperately, memories of being glued to a table while his soul gets extracted coming back to haunt him all at once.

The plush nature under his back gives way, and Edwin starts to sink. His nostrils are pierced by the sharp scent of dirt and decaying plant matter. The beating pulse in his throat drums faster as the vines encase his body in a natural casket. One comes to close around his neck, breaking his cry for help, and Edwin watches, writhing, as the last few passing wings flutter by and the earth swallows him whole.

Chapter Text

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

They say that when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. For Charles, the end went differently. He had the pleasure of enjoying Edwin’s company while he crossed over, and before he knew it the hours of supposed existential review had gone right by, and there he was; standing in the afterlife without so much as a memento. It was actually a lucky break considering his short life was far from sunshine and rainbows, not much good to look back on, really. He’d pick Blind Detective over his own shitty flipbook any day. 

Now, however, Charles has involuntarily been given that deathly opportunity, bouncing across every chapter of his life in rapid succession.

He’s in some nutty hallway full of doors- so many bloody doors- each of them leading to a different memory in no particular order. Time means nothing anymore, the whole concept guzzled up like it fell into a black hole. Charles has been wading through weird, mashed-up flashbacks of his childhood, adolescence and afterlife. The continuity has gone haywire, some doorways don’t even have a physical space or a coherent layout. The last room he went in was just spitting out polaroids from various birthdays, and he had to duck out of the way to avoid a flying confetti cake.

He’s walked along the halls of St. Hilarion’s, and passed through every room of his old house. One particularly painful instance had him standing in the kitchen of his childhood home, his mother crying at the table with a crumpled yearbook photo in her hand. Charles sat with her, listening to her muffled sobs that he could offer no remedy for, and then quietly left with a lump in his throat and an open wound on his heart.

The random fabricated dream-scenarios are still happening too. Charles has witnessed over a dozen parallel lives by now, even ones where he never died: going to school, graduating, celebrating holidays, shopping with Crystal and Niko. A recent vision showed him and Edwin at prom together, washed in colored lights with matching ties and stars in their eyes. 

As far-fetched as some dreams get, one constant remains: Edwin. Between fields of flowers, snakes and bones, he’s always somewhere, and Charles seeks him out every time.  

The whole memory-roulette is dizzying, though. Charles has a feeling that’s on purpose. This chaotic maze is trying to wear him out, and unfortunately that technique is working. After hours- days?- of this tosh, he’s absolutely knackered.

One door closes, another appears, over and over. Sometimes the walls or colors change, but Charles hasn’t managed to figure out a pattern. It doesn’t matter which way he turns, because the hallway just repeats itself. Backwards, forwards, it’s all the fucking same. 

What takes him by surprise is someone screaming out of the blue. It sounds like a woman's voice, quite a ways away. Charles hasn’t tried skipping ahead that much, but that’s not to say he won’t do it.

He hustles past a bunch of doors until he hears shouting again. There’s a red one, with smoke gradually rolling out from under the gap. Charles leans an ear towards the distorted noise before turning the knob and going through. Instantly, he’s bombarded by plumes. Charred air fills his nostrils and sticks to his lungs, sending him into a coughing fit. He’s standing in the middle of the street while people run through the haze in a panic.

To his horror, Charles recognizes the building taking shape across the lane. Fire waves between the windows of the detective agency, glowing bright orange and bleeding dark clouds. It’s starting to spread towards people’s homes and offices from which they’ve fled, disappearing down the avenue and leaving Charles to fend for himself. 

The streets filter out while the fire roars, and Charles anxiously flits around in search of a dark mop of hair and pale skin. All he finds are empty alleys and storefronts.

Where is Edwin?

He looks up at the sound of glass breaking, and feels nausea roil in his gut. Before his brain can register the action Charles is running into the blaze at top speed. 

It’s suffocatingly hot as he bounds up to the office. The thick smog clogs his eyes and throat, but he’ll fight the very fires of Hell to make sure his best mate gets out in one piece. 

Charles makes it to their door and kicks it open, choking on the flurry of debris that swirls around the room.

Everything is burning away before his eyes: their case files, collectibles, all of Edwin’s precious books. Panels splinter and fall from the ceiling, leaving scorch marks in their wake. It’s a complete nightmare; their entire home reduced to nothing but blackened wood and flying bits of paper. Charles spots a melted Clue pawn lying on the floor and it claws at something deep within him. 

Still, Edwin isn’t anywhere to be seen, which means he either (1) got out, (2) got stuck, or (3) got incinerated. Charles hopes it’s the first one.

“Edwin!” The name rises out of him in a guttural holler. It’s hotter than the sun and the flames keep growing higher. Sirens start to go off in the background. Charles has to get out, he’s already inhaled enough smoke to turn his lungs into an ashtray, but he can’t bear to leave without knowing whether or not Edwin is safe . 

“Where are you? ” It hurts to talk, every word like sandpaper. If Edwin was ghost enough then maybe he could have escaped through the mirror, but if he’s the same as Charles is now, then that’s out of the question.

The last remaining panel of the window bursts, and glass explodes from the back wall. Charles ducks to the ground, distracted by the flying shards but not enough to miss the cry for help from outside.

“Charles!”

His voice is masked by the commotion but it’s Edwin for sure. He must be on the roof. Charles launches to his feet and bolts out of the office, wheezing all the way to the top. His strides feel stretched out, like how running in a dream is more like running through jello. Edwin is screaming now, pained and frightened as he continues to yell for help. The sound grates against his heart and Charles shouts for Edwin around the knives in his throat. After half a century he finally reaches the exit and barrels through with all his might.  

Right back to where he started.

No rooftop, no Edwin. Charles blinks at the bland wallpaper staring back at him, and has to squeeze his fists to stop them from putting a hole in it, or ten. 

“Fuck.” He grits his teeth and tries to reel himself in. His breaths come in rasps from all the fumes and exertion, and a high pitched ringing floods his ears, paired with the distant echo of Edwin’s screams. He can still smell the angry ash and smoke, now seeped into his clothes and hair like a rank detergent. 

He’s missed his chance once again. How many more are left?  

There’s a door, because of course there is. This one is black, and it looks to be the only one left. Good, maybe he’s finally reached the finish line of this bullshit race. Charles gathers the last of his strength and with one more dreaded twist of a handle, he opens the door.

And the whole wall comes crashing down, followed by the rest. One by one they tip over like massive dominos and land with a reverberating, thunderous boom.

Charles stands there in the lone doorframe, and when he lets go of the handle that falls too, and then it’s lights out.

The dark veil envelopes him completely, as if someone cut the power line. Charles half expects a giant “GAME OVER” sign to light up the sky. It would be fitting, considering how defeated he feels right now.

He lets his legs bend and falls to his knees, spent. The rush of adrenaline fades quickly, leaving him limp and drowsy while a persistent throbbing hammers at his skull. The quiet doesn’t seem so bad now after all that racket. If he could just rest for a second, try and clear his torched lungs, that would be brills.

Nothing happens for a good minute, and Charles takes the opportunity to close his eyes. For the first time in thirty-five years, he feels sleep calling to him. What he would give to tuck into a warm bed, hit the pillow and drift into a deep slumber. Like the rare nights he would sneak into bed with his mother when he was small. Sleep never came easy, so when dad was out late Charles would climb in next to her, nestled safely in her arms and listening to sweet bedtime stories until he finally knocked out. It’s one of the top three things he’s missed most since his death, next to food and kissing.

But sleeping is the last thing he can do here. One little cat-nap could wipe him out for good. He’s got to keep moving, no rest until Edwin is back at his side, permanently.

Charles lifts his head and breathes in, seizing a bit at the remnants of charcoal stuck in his pipes. After a hard blink, his eyes are greeted by glowing static, emanating from a lone television screen seated on the ground in front of him. It’s a lot like the one from his old living room, with the same knobs and switches along the side panel. Charles leans back a tad, looking around in the dark for any other new developments, but everything stays the same.

Hesitantly, he reaches out to flip the channel. The screen hisses before revealing its grainy footage, which Charles quickly determines to be another memory, one from not very long ago.

He and Crystal are alone in her new bare bones apartment. There are boxes stacked in the middle of the room and a few single pieces of furniture placed randomly. Crystal stands with a throw pillow between her hands, staring incredulously at Charles who’s slumped at the edge of her mattress.  

“Are you serious?”

Charles nods, confirming the big secret he just spilled all over the floor. “Yeah. I’m serious.”

“Holy shit, when the fuck did this happen?”

“When we were escaping Hell.”

“He confessed to you in Hell?!” Crystal whips the pillow at him and Charles just barely manages to dodge it. “And what, you just weren’t gonna tell me?”

“Oi, it’s sensitive information! I wasn’t planning on saying anything out of respect, alright? But it’s been on my mind lately, and I felt like I just had to tell somebody. You’re my closest friend next to Edwin so…I’m trusting you not to tell anyone.”

“And who exactly am I going to tell, Charles? I hardly have any friends aside from you two.” 

Charles flinches, remembering guiltily that she’s in the same lonely boat as they are. “Right, sorry.”

She takes a seat next to him. “I won’t say anything, okay? But I want to know what you said.”

“I said that I’m not in love, but he’s the most important person in the world to me, and there’s no one else I would go to Hell for. Which is all true. Nothing’s changed- but…something’s-”

“Changed?”

Charles huffs, defeated. “I don’t know. Everything is back to normal, and we’ve been fine, aces actually. But sometimes I just…feel strange, and I can't stop thinking about that day.”

“Strange how?” Crystal tilts her head curiously.

“Like I’m not- myself? Or… god I don’t know. I get nervous, and confused. I don’t think I actually know what love is.” This is stupid, he feels stupid.

“Tell me about it.” Crystal leans back to stare at the ceiling. “I thought I knew, but I was dead wrong. Honestly, there isn’t one way to explain it. Love can’t be defined so singularly. You don’t have to think so hard.” She nudges his foot. “It was easy for you to figure out your feelings for me, right?”

“I mean, yeah pretty much. Even if it didn’t last long, I knew I liked you.”

“So what’s different this time?”  

“Uh- all of it? There’s a lot more…at risk.”

“Like what?”

“Like thirty years of friendship! I’m prone to mistakes, as you know. If things didn’t work between us, or if it turns out I’m not good enough then-hey!” His sentence is interrupted by another pillow smacking him square in the face. Crystal brandishes it like a weapon, threatening to strike again.

“Cut that shit out, this isn’t about you not being good enough. Edwin’s already in love with you, you don’t have to prove yourself as worthy, alright? The two of you are literally a married couple without the legal benefits, so I don’t see what the hold up is.”

“Well, I’ve never-”

“Are you attracted to him?”

“Huh?”

“Edwin, do you find him attractive?” Crystal bores into him, and Charles can’t ignore the fluttering in his stomach.

“Edwin’s…” Tall, lean, a blend of both feminine and masculine features. Graceful but iron willed. Sharp angles and soft eyes. Of course Edwin is attractive. Charles may have never thought to voice it but…“Yeah, he’s…fit.”   

“And you like being close to him?”

Charles nods. He misses being close to him. It’s his own fault, but they’ve hardly brushed in the last couple of weeks. 

“Would you kiss him?” She asks, and Charles freezes, staring bug eyed at the floor. The idea is…not bad. It makes his gut clench, and his dead pulse come to life. 

Beside him, Crystal mumbles to herself. “Oh my god, you’re having a bi-crisis right now, aren’t you.”

“A what?” He can barely hear her through the rushing in his ears. When he glances over, he reads the knowing look on her face and it triggers the urge to flee. But he sits there while Crystal chews at him.

“Charles, I’m not gonna sugar coat this. You need you to get your head out of your 1980’s ass and open your eyes. We’re in the 21st century. Whatever repressed feelings you’re afraid of aren’t something you should be ashamed about. What you felt for me can apply to Edwin, or any other guy for that matter. You can have both, do you understand? You won’t be punished for it.”

You won’t be punished for it.

Charles watches the tv fizzle into snow, the words from their past conversation orbiting around him. As much as he would like to reflect on that particular memory, this is hardly the time or place. He changes the channel and finds something new. He and Edwin are in the office, it’s late, and unfortunately they’re in the middle of an argument. 

Or at the end of one.

“Do not patronize me.”

“I’m not patronizing you, mate. I was just looking out for your safety.”

“I am perfectly capable of handling myself when necessary, you did not need to step on my toes.” Edwin clips, fists tight at his sides.

“I know, I’m sorry, Edwin. But that guy wasn’t here to talk, he was ready to clobber you!” 

“And I had a plan, which you conveniently forgot in the nick of time, and the trap was compromised.”

“Yes okay!” Charles throws his hands up in surrender. “I fucked it up and he got away, but his weapon was inches from your throat and I wasn’t just gonna stand there and do nothing!”

“You could have, and I would’ve been just fine!”

“Hardly! His dagger was made of iron, Edwin. He cut your hand!”

“I’m aware of that, which is why I had protections set in place, which again, you seemed to lack the attention for.”

Charles blows air through his lips. “I didn’t mean to- I just…I was distracted.” He runs a hand through his hair abashedly, unable to stand still while Edwin remains statuesque.  

“Yes. You seem to be nothing but distracted lately.” Edwin snaps, and the hurt on Charles’ face mirrors that of his current self as he miserably watches a playback of their fight. 

This was after their return from Port Townsend, maybe a month or so. They were on a mission to rid a shop owner of a dead blacksmith haunting their business, and it turned out to be more hazardous than they thought. The ghost was aggressive, and armed with an infinite supply of iron weaponry. Edwin did come up with a plan, which Charles agreed to, but as soon as Edwin was in jeopardy, Charles lost all sense. Iron met skin, and fear ate up all his logic, replacing it with blood and screaming and witches’ living rooms. All he could focus on was getting that man away from his best mate. 

Unfortunately, in doing that, he set off the trap himself. The blacksmith caught on to their runes and booked it, leaving them back at square one. 

Edwin was livid, understandably. They were supposed to trust each other, and not let their emotions hinder strategy. But the whole thing was too close a call for Charles’ comfort. He didn’t realize Edwin would willingly put himself in the line of fire to lead the culprit into the trap. The aftermath was a whole lot of quiet simmering, and predictably the pot boiled over when they finally made it home.

They stand alone in their small sanctuary, a puddle of regret between them. Edwin looks at Charles with heavy remorse, not intending to cut so deep with his words. Charles is quiet, and instead of opening his mouth and setting his anger free, he turns for the mirror.

“Charles, I-”

“Nah, you’re right. I’m not in it. Just gonna go for a walk, clear my head.” Charles avoids Edwin's apologetic gaze, then storms through the glass and he’s gone. 

That day stirred up a lot of fear and bitterness, which Charles had to literally walk off. They obviously apologized and made up afterwards, forming a new plan to solve the case. But Charles had a hard time letting go of those anxious feelings, and they've made it a habit to haunt him all too often.

He sighs, flipping the channel again just to see anything less upsetting, and the picture changes.

The color and sound has gone out, and the people on screen move like they’re in an old silent film. Charles spots the Tongue and Tail butcher shop in the background, surrounded by patrons bustling in the street. Then it’s him stepping through the door, followed by Crystal and Niko. They gather on the sidewalk, chatting about with happy smiles on their faces. Moments later, Edwin passes by them. He’s walking alongside a figure with no clear profile, just a gray outline of a man. They’re linked at the elbow, and Edwin pauses to say hello to the group before moseying on, hardly giving them a second glance. His eyes turn up to the complete stranger he’s attached to, and Edwin smiles. 

It’s the same way he smiles at Charles when they’ve proudly solved a case together, or when Edwin catches his eye from across the room, warm and knowing. Like contentment, like home.

The sight makes Charles burn, and he shuts off the television with a sour frown before Edwin and his fake beau can round the corner. That’s enough of that, then.  

What he’s left with is a dim box with a glowing white circle cropped out of the middle. It stays in place but the longer Charles looks at it the more it starts to…grow? Not bigger, but three-dimensional, like a balloon. 

Curiosity gets the best of him, and Charles touches the orb. His fingers go right through the screen and he’s able to take the light in his hand. Part of him fears it might explode, but the ball just glows behind his fingers and then floats away when he opens his palm. 

More start to crop up in its place, and Charles watches as dozens of tiny glowing blobs start rising out of the floor. They seem harmless, just little white bubbles gently floating up and fading when they get too high. It helps light his path, and Charles starts to move again.

His muscles protest as he heaves himself up. All his limbs feel numb and tingly but he shakes it off. He’s got unfinished business to take care of, and it can’t wait.

Charles follows the flow of orbs, careful not to let his guard down too much. He swears he can hear voices whispering, which is probably just the silence playing tricks on him. As time presses on though, the whispers get louder, and Charles begins to accept the fact that he’s truly lost it. He strains his ears to try and decipher what the disembodied voices are saying, but it’s just a bunch of fuzz. 

“Is anyone there?” he says to nothing and no one. The air is chilly, like a brisk autumn night. Charles tugs his jacket a little tighter. 

“Charles!”

He’s too busy jumping out of his skin to recognize the voice ringing through the air, but once he’s back in his body he clocks it as Crystal’s. “Charles, hurry!” 

“Crystal?” Charles hollers. “Where are you?!”

“Hurry up, come on!” Her voice chimes bright among the whispering. He still can’t see very well, only guided by the low light of the spheres levitating around him, but oddly enough Charles feels like he can trust them. Maybe Crystal is trying to light a way out, calling to him with her psychic powers or something.

That must be it, because Charles can spy something up ahead. Shadows bend until they meet trim edges, and the unseeable ground eventually changes to hardwood floors that continue extending into-

An abnormally long hallway.

“Bloody hell, not this again.” Charles grumbles as he stares down yet another endless passageway. Pale yellow walls come up on both sides, blank except for the small sconces hanging every few feet. Charles can see where he’s going now, but the trippy corridor is disorienting; narrowing down to a point hundreds of feet away.

This time, there’s a single door at the end, if only he could get to it . The stupid lane keeps going as he works up to a jog.

Someone- or something - is knocking from behind the door. Steady, even thumps, like a heartbeat. They get louder until the vibrations carry to his feet. 

Charles grunts and breaks into a run, ignoring the stinging in his lungs. He races forward, game face on, determined to outrun the shifting space. The door finally comes up to greet him and the pounding stops, like it knows. Slowly, the door opens by itself, and despite the anxiety boiling in his stomach Charles charges onward.

He launches past the doorway and comes to a grinding halt in Crystal’s old bedroom, back in Port Townsend. This can’t be right, why would she call him here when they’ve long since left? The room is devoid of furniture other than Crystal’s bed against the wall and the single chair by the window.

“Crystal?” Charles says cautiously. 

“You’re too late.”

Charles startles and quickly turns to find Crystal standing near the door, a cross look on her face. He was at least hoping she’d be happy to see him. 

“Uh, wh-too late? What are you talking about?” 

“You’re too late. ” She snarls, and something about her voice is off, too slow and drawn out. She’s never had an accent like that before, either.

“For what? Why are we here, Crystal?” Charles stalks over and goes to grab her arm. At his touch, Crystal's body turns to sand. Charles jumps back as the particles burst and shift to a new form, next he’s looking into the cold, disapproving eyes of the night nurse. 

“What the hell?” 

“Time to go.” She lifts a hand and points it behind her. A red light glows behind her palm. Charles isn’t having any of this.

“Oi, I thought we were through with all the funny business. What are you-”

“Charles, what have you done?”

Edwin’s voice tolls from the other end of the room. He’s standing by the window, all gloomy and distant, looking at Charles with sorrowful eyes.

“Edwin, mate!” A breath of relief rushes out of him as Charles moves, arms already reaching for his best friend. “Are you alright? What’s going on?” Before he can make it to his side and hold onto him, Edwin evaporates, snatching the remaining air from Charles’ lungs. 

Charles whirls around and sees Edwin at the door, reaching for the handle. The night nurse is gone, and the door heavily creaks open to reveal nothing but pitch black shadow behind it.

Something is wrong.

“Hey…Edwin…?”

He doesn’t say a word, just looks back to Charles with tears in his eyes and blood smeared on his face. That wasn’t there before. 

When he opens his mouth, only a whisper falls out.

“What have you done?”

Terror locks around Charles’ throat and squeezes. He takes a step forward, the floor shakes, followed by the blood-curdling trill of childish laughter.

“No, no!” Charles surges, diving for the doorway.

The rest happens in slow-motion.

An earthquake rocks the whole room, and Charles watches in horror as the doll spider rises from the darkness, its horrible spindly legs seizing Edwin by the waist. They squeeze until spots of blood are drawn from Edwin’s torso, and he’s choking. Charles doesn’t hear himself scream so much as he feels it tear up his esophagus. The noise in his head is so loud it fills his limbs with static. 

Once again Edwin is stolen away, ripped from the ledge and taken to the place in which he least belongs. His cries echo for miles as he’s dragged down into the bottomless pit, and before Charles can jump in after him, the door flings shut with a bang.

He leaps up and whips the door open. The black chasm is gone; no demons, no dolls, just a quiet, empty stairway.

“No, no no no no!” Charles repeatedly opens and slams the door like he can make Hell reappear. When nothing happens, a broken sob spills out of him, and he crumbles against the wood.

How could this happen? They had a deal. They were supposed to be fine.

“Please don’t take him from me. Please.” He pounds a fist against the door, tired and lost. His heart aches down to his very core, and Charles absently wonders if this is what dying from a broken heart feels like. If he took a scalpel to his chest it would probably drop out of him like rotted fruit off a tree. Bruised and oozing.

Does it feel the same for Edwin? Staying by his side, while Charles lets him down over and over again?

The room feels too big all of a sudden, like Charles is a child again, small and bursting at the seams. That erratic buzzing still rattles his nerves as he tries to level out his breathing. He won’t give up, he can’t, but Charles doesn’t know what to do anymore. Whatever scrap of hope he had left was dragged down to Hell with Edwin.

“Take me instead.” He begs, pressing his hands to his eyes. The answering silence taunts him. He feels the distance in his bones, so far down below. Can’t hear, can’t see, can’t touch. Charles breathes if only to fill the negative space. Once he gets control of himself, Charles forces his legs to stand, not even realizing he had slid all the way to the floor. He’s a little woozy and has to brace himself against the door for a second. The floor stopped trembling but Charles isn’t any better on his feet. Slowly, listlessly, he makes his way out to the foyer.

He should have seen it coming, honestly.

The entryway has rearranged itself into an infinite tunnel, just the same room on loop for god knows how long, unfolding like an accordion.

Charles doesn’t spare a reaction, no care left in his body at this point. He prepares to make the trek but he hardly gets a leg up before the room upends itself.

Gravity retracts from under his feet, rendering him weightless and stealing his breath, stomach swooping like the first drop of a roller coaster. His arms flail uselessly as the world tilts, tipping him off the platform and sending him straight down the chute. 

Down, down, down . Until he meets the bottom miles later, plunging head first into deep, dark icy water.

Chapter Text

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The idea of a ghost being buried alive is bizarre and unheard of, but when it comes to the arcane, anything is possible. Especially when said ghost is trapped in a sentient, spirit-eating dimension that alters the laws of physics and spacetime.

Edwin is standing outside of a small unmarked grave, having just climbed out of it like an honest-to-god zombie from those gruesome movies Charles likes. He’s finally out of the forest, now transported to a dark, narrow room. Faint moonlight still graces the disrupted mound of dirt and dead vines, like a dim spotlight on a stage. A glance around shows a vacant, somber space that could act as a tomb had he not unearthed himself from the floor. Edwin genuinely doesn’t have the mental capacity to dissect the events of his burial and subsequent rebirth at this time, so he takes a page from Charles’ book: settling with a ‘that’s fucked up’ and moving on. 

A door sits in the center of the wall on the opposite end, nearly hidden by shadow, and Edwin proceeds toward it. His hand goes to greet the knob and he realizes with distaste that it’s covered in dirt. His pristine clothes have taken quite a beating, and he can only imagine the rat's nest his hair has undoubtedly turned into. Edwin makes quick work of wiping himself down and shaking as much debris from his person as possible. Tiny clumps cascade off his body in an unpleasant, muddy snowfall. Once he’s fixed what he can of his garments, Edwin reaches for the handkerchief from his inner pocket to wipe down his face, thankful to have something useful on hand.

Edwin does not feel clean in the slightest, but it will have to do for now. He inspects the door briefly but detects no obvious threat, so he cautiously opens it and passes through. 

The door leads into a carpeted hallway, dimly lit and immeasurably long. Edwin treads carefully to the middle and looks both ways. Each end is identical, but neither side points to an exit. What’s uncanny is that Edwin’s door is the only one here, now closed behind him and…ah, locked.

He waits patiently for another door, or window, anything. The overhead lights flicker subtly but present zero hints as to what he should do or where he should go. Edwin sighs to himself and takes the right, hoping for the best, or at the very least not worse.

As he progresses, the walls remain blank except for a number of picture frames hanging neatly. At first Edwin pays them no mind, but then one of the pictures moves, not the frame but the image itself. He would have missed it if the person weren’t making such emphatic gestures. What he thought was a painting is actually a live photograph. Front and center is none other than Charles, dancing with danger in a teenager’s living room as he wards off an angry demon.

The bittersweet sixteen of ‘97, Edwin remembers that outrageous day. 

They were on their way home after completing an arduous case involving a stubborn innkeeper that refused to acknowledge the copious deaths occurring at his business. After days of vexing exchanges and recoveries of souls, the boys had tallied up a whole slew of names. It was an impressive run, and Charles thought to celebrate by taking the long way home, enjoying a late night stroll downtown. He made fun of the innkeeper the whole trip, even earning a few mocking remarks from Edwin, which made Charles laugh harder.

While en route through a quaint residential area, they were startled by an outburst of girlish screams coming from a small house on the corner. Initially they tittered, chalking it up to juvenile play. Then the windows shattered, and the shrieking converted to demonic howling. 

An innocent slumber party turned satanic nightmare thanks to the misuse of a ouija board. Typical. The two detectives sprung into action despite their exhaustion, and that’s how Charles ended up face to face with a demon, acting as a distraction while Edwin raced to exorcise. The group of young women were fortunate enough to survive the affair, but not without a hefty deal of trauma. Charles made sure to confiscate the board upon their leave. 

It was a quiet walk home, but by the time they reached the office Charles took one look at Edwin and they both cracked; laughing in disbelief at all the pandemonium born in one day. 

Edwin is unaware just how long he’s been staring at the photo. The memory seemed to overtake his mind against his will. He shakes himself out of it and draws back, eyes travelling to the next frame mounted some feet away. It’s about the same size, another sequence playing on loop. When Edwin gets close the details come into focus, and again he sees himself alongside Charles. They’re at the beach, walking the shore. Italy, if he remembers correctly. Every now and then when case work is slow, he and Charles will mirror hop somewhere nice and take a day trip together. They’ll often plan their destinations, taking turns choosing, but Edwin is also fond of the more spontaneous excursions. Charles has managed to bring that quality out in him over time, and although they’ve ended up in many a precarious scenario, Edwin enjoys their surprise retreats. 

Charles originally pitched the idea on Edwin’s birthday twenty odd years ago. He was adamant on celebrating even though Edwin had long since stopped having birthdays. With a mirror on hand they could travel anywhere in the world, so why not? Ultimately Edwin gave in, if only to appease Charles. However, adventuring with company quickly grew on him, and that was a given considering his ever radiant counterpart.

After a number of short vacations Edwin found a map for them to mark off where they’ve been and pin future destinations. Italy, Iceland, Norway, Belgium. It gave them something to look forward to, and proved to be one of the finest benefits about the afterlife. Neither of them ever dreamed of seeing so much of the world, especially with instant means of travel at no cost.  

When they get out of here, Edwin might like to propose another holiday. 

He finds another picture, but this one holds still. It’s much smaller, cradled in an old frame with thin cracks at the edges. Charles is there, very young, just like the version of him Edwin saw in the forest. This version is a tad more cheerful: he’s outside, standing in a sunny yard with a muddy shovel in one hand and a clump of weeds in the other. He looks proud, with dirt smeared on his face next to that quintessential smile. 

Edwin recalls Charles talking about summer activities with his mother- one of very few mentions regarding his childhood- and how he helped her build a garden one year. This must have been a special moment from that day. Edwin imagines Charles’ mother behind the camera, capturing a core memory between them. 

Yet there’s a bitter note to this sweetness. Edwin can’t help but notice the underlying evidence in the photograph. The person missing from the shot is there by association, lingering in the deep purple blemishes on Charles’ arms and the slight swelling around his left eye. It stirs something thick and grotesque inside Edwin, and a fierce sense of protectiveness comes over him. To infuse this vibrant child with such cold, foul darkness is an unforgivable crime. Edwin commends Charles for smiling through his pain for so many years, even if the realization cuts him wide open.

There’s still much they have yet to discuss with each other. 

Edwin is not proud of his ignorance regarding Charles’ abusive history, but he’s made a silent vow to put more effort into his emotional wellbeing. His closest and dearest friend has a knack for self sacrifice, as if he could possibly deserve more mistreatment after what he’s endured.

His hand reaches out to graze the print, fingers ghosting over the surface like they can clear the marks from Charles’ skin. Part of him wants to remove the picture from the wall and keep it for himself, but he’d rather not risk activating a trap, so Edwin absorbs the image instead and tucks it safe behind his heart.

The next animated scene emerges on the opposite wall, a few feet down the aisle. Edwin crosses over to take a look, and he’s promptly engulfed by the past once more.        

He sees lights, strung up on the walls of the agency and along the back window. Edwin is handing Charles a small trinket, whose face brightens in awe.  

It’s Christmas eve, 2012. The one where Edwin took the liberty of decorating the office for the first time. Charles had practically begged for years to let him color the office with lights, baubles and jingle bells, but in his words Edwin was always “too scrooge” to comply.

It wasn’t that Edwin held some deep-seated grudge against Christmas, he just never desired to engage in holidays after his death. They felt pointless, much like birthdays, especially as a ghost with little to no friends or family. All his Christmases as a child were spent in church, sitting through the same carols and hymns in stiff, overcrowded pews, wishing to be anywhere else. Edwin didn’t care for it, just followed along as was customary. Every year was full of bland candle-lit dinners and adult traditions he wanted nothing to do with, but he kept quiet, just how they liked. Edwin lived as a ghost well before his death, dwelling in the shadows of his dull home and making friends with books from the library. He rarely ever received gifts, and the few times his parents were charitable toward him were quite unmemorable. They didn’t even know what he liked, and made no effort to learn, so Christmas only bore lonely, unfavorable fruit. 

Well…alright. Perhaps Edwin might have harbored a shred of resentment towards a particular season, but he held no malicious intent.

Charles, on the other hand, rather liked Christmas. He had scarce opportunity to celebrate as a child, but his afterlife gave him the opportunity to change that, which he delightfully took. Charles did not make a big deal out of it, he was happy to just observe, up on rooftops or in the streets. He liked how the air seemed to change, bringing people out of their homes to gather and bustle about. On occasion they would venture out of the office to wade through the festivities around town, roaming markets and listening to jovial melodies. Charles would leave tips for carolers, his giving nature made his spirit blend right in, but he never pressured Edwin to participate in celebratory customs. He respected Edwin’s feelings, and his pestering was all in good humor.

One year, however, Charles said nothing. Christmas came and went without so much as a whistle, just business as usual. Edwin figured it out soon enough. They had recently come off of a difficult case surrounding a teen suicide, and Charles was deeply affected by it. Something struck a chord but he would not speak on it, and Edwin was hesitant to pry. In the days following the case Charles became irritable, and restless. They argued. Edwin tried to be sensitive and understanding but it was the first time he ever saw Charles so distant. His friend still smiled and made jokes, but Edwin knew it was a ruse. He was a detective, after all. Whenever Charles looked away, he saw the mirth drain from his eyes, replaced with sorrow. It was a problem Edwin couldn’t rectify which drove him mad in an indescribable way.

Of course, many years later he would learn exactly what it was that pulled the trigger. 

Edwin had experienced his own set of soul shattering cases, but he grew used to them. Charles was unaware of the grief and hurt that accompanied so many people around that time of year, and it left a stain on his spirit. Eventually he came back to himself, but that December was particularly long and woeful. No lights, no singing or holly jolly what have you. The whole instance flipped a switch in his brain, and Edwin realized that Charles was the sole reason he began to appreciate Christmas after nearly a century. 

Which is why the next year, Edwin wanted to make it up to him somehow. First he found a box of garland and half dead string lights that a neighbor had disposed of, and revived them with a quick spell. He sent Charles out that afternoon for an “important errand” and made up an excuse to stay behind, claiming he had some incredibly boring library business to attend to.

With Charles out of the office, Edwin launched into preparation. Grabbing a step ladder from the closet, he neatly hung the recycled lights, even placing a gaudy looking wreath above the sofa. That piece he may have borrowed from a public lamp post, but he doubted it would be missed.

Charles longed for a Christmas tree, but Edwin was always reluctant to allow such bulky evergreen to take up space in their small quarters. Luckily, he was able to come up with a solution, thanks to the art of spell work.

Most shops were closed early, so Edwin mirrored his way to a local market in order to expedite his search. He was astounded by the mountains of modern holiday decor taking up every square foot, it was actually a bit nauseating to look at. The need for such ridiculous ornamentation was beyond him, but he could settle for something simple. Conveniently, there was a selection of petite trees on display along an outdoor stall. He left payment on the counter and awkwardly transported himself and the pine back to the agency. 

After draping the last strand of lights around the branches, Edwin used a reduction charm to shrink the tree down to a more reasonable size, about two and a half feet tall. He added a preservation spell so they could keep it forever if they wished, and voila.

He could hardly believe it, but Edwin was having fun. The colorful lights brought extra warmth to their home, and for once he felt the satisfaction of honoring something for the sake of someone else. With no siblings or close friends in his young life, Edwin never sought to provide for others, often preoccupied with his own fearful self-preservation. 

Until he met Charles, with his boyish charm and unwavering courage. He became a source of comfort and safety for Edwin, unlocking new sides of himself, qualities he was sure were long dead before his actual passing. Yet there he was, preparing a surprise of his own volition to bring holiday cheer of all things. Who would have thought.

When Charles returned, having retrieved the items that Edwin requested as a deterrent, he abruptly stopped at the sight of the office. Edwin watched from the desk with latent amusement as Charles stood in the center of the room, mouth agape. 

“Edwin?” He asked, his tone secretive like someone else was listening. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing or am I literally being haunted by the ghost of Christmas past?”

Edwin chuckled. “I see it, Charles. We are the only ghosts here.”

Charles’ eyes were blown wide. “No way. Edwin, did you-?” He pointed at the decor to complete his sentence, an incredulous smile sneaking its way to his lips. 

Edwin nodded and stood from his chair, picking up the miniature tree by his feet and placing it upon the desk. Charles gasped, as if Saint Nicholas himself had entered the room. 

“Is that a tree?! Are you- mate, are you feeling alright?”

“Perfectly well, thank you.” Edwin straightened his back but couldn’t help his fingers from fidgeting. “I erm…thought it might be nice to celebrate this year. Properly.”

Charles softened, a buttery smile spreading across his face. “That’s aces…wait a minute, if you were doing all this,” He paused, then reached into his backpack and held up a brown paper bag. “Did you even need any of these?”

Edwin fought back a smile and shrugged. “Not really, but the supplies won’t go to waste.”

“And the library books?”

“I returned them last week.”

“You cheeky little-”

“One more thing.” Edwin interrupted, coming around the desk to join Charles. He lifted a small object from his suit pocket and placed it in Charles’ palm.

It was a copy of their office key, which they had no real use for. Edwin had turned it into a homemade ornament, freshly polished and engraved with the agency’s name on one side, their initials on the other.

Charles turned the key in his hand, enamored. His lack of response made Edwin a touch self-conscious, so he continued.

“I’m no good when it comes to gifts but…I figured you would need something for the tree so, it’s a start.”  

Charles finally looked up, misty-eyed. Edwin worried he may have gone too far but before he could utter another word Charles was wrapping him in a tight embrace.

“Edwin, this is the best thing anyone’s ever given me.” He spoke softly.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“No, mate. I’m serious.” Charles drew back to look him in the eye, sniffing a little. “This is brills. You didn’t have to go through all the trouble. I know Christmas isn’t really your thing.”

“I wanted to.” Edwin said, wringing his hands together. “I know I have been somewhat of a ‘Scrooge’ all these years. I was…being a bit selfish, I never meant to take something special away from you.”

“Edwin, you are what’s special to me.” Charles shook him a little. “And I wasn’t gonna make you uncomfortable with a bunch of holiday rubbish lying around our place.” He laughed to himself. “I can’t believe you flipped the script on me, mate. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Edwin felt a smile coming on. “Neither did I, though I must say I rather enjoyed myself.”

“Got some holiday spirit in you after all, yeah?”

“I suppose so.”

“You even managed to find the ugliest wreath in London.”

Edwin smirked at the atrocity adorning the wall. “It’s god awful, isn’t it.”

“Yeah, I love it.” Charles laughed, it was contagious. “All of it.” He held the ornament up between them, looking appreciatively at the lights once more, then his expression fell. 

“Sorry, I- I didn’t get anything for you, though.”

“Sure you did.” Edwin took the bag still clutched in Charles’ other hand. He checked the contents and gave a satisfied nod. Charles responded with an eyeroll.

“That’s not a Christmas present, Edwin. Just your grocery list.”

“Is it shameful to request one’s own present? Besides, I find practical gifts more valuable. I was running low on propagation tubes, anyway.” He spun back towards the desk to drop off the package. Charles followed, muttering under his breath. Something about missing the point.

Edwin turned to face him, smirking at his childish frown. “If you’re that concerned about finding me a proper gift, then by all means do so. But you can save it for next year.”

Charles perked up at that. “Next year, eh? Gives me a long time to think, then. Challenge accepted. I’m gonna go all out, you know.”

“As you wish.” Edwin replied nonchalantly, flipping open a book. He could see Charles beaming from the corner of his eye as he admired their miniature tree. Charles leaned his elbows on the desk and selected a spot for his ornament, then looked up to Edwin. 

“Hey…happy Christmas, mate.”

A pleasant fullness sat in his chest as he met warm brown eyes. “Happy Christmas, Charles.”

Edwin comes out of the memory in a vicious wave of vertigo, staggering backwards as he’s thrust into the present. The sensation reminds him an awful lot of his trials in Hell, and he fights to reorient himself.

He’s still in the strange photo gallery, the lights now flickering more aggressively. It feels like hours have passed since the last sequence. Something tells him he is no longer safe here. 

These camera rolls feel less like a walk down memory lane and more like sinking into quicksand. He should have known it was a trap, but Edwin can hardly tell left from right as of late. His body and mind have been doing somersaults since he entered this accursed domain.  

In fact, the whole structure seems to be losing its balance. The walls are warping slightly, like they’re made of clay. Corners dip and splice back together, unevenly matched. Edwin scans his surroundings and sees the photos previously viewed behind him are covered in dark streaks of ink, oozing out of frame and dripping to the floor. He turns forward and searches for any still intact, finding a handful of frames several feet down the hall. 

They aren’t moving anymore, and half of them are blurry. There’s one featuring Charles as a young boy again; no older than thirteen, waving at the camera. 

Edwin focuses on his face, and sees the outline of Charles’ form beginning to fade. The uneasiness in his gut turns to full body dread as it dawns on him.

“Charles.” 

He can feel the last grains of sand slipping through the hourglass, he has to act fast.

Throwing caution to the wind, Edwin grabs the frame from its hook and holds it at eye level, willing his brain to sort itself out so he can find an appropriate spell. Once he’s found it, he digs into his pocket and obtains the short pastel crayon, then scribbles an array of runes on the back of the frame as neatly as possible. 

He hasn’t touched a prayer since leaving the mortal world, but Edwin makes an exception for this case, silently calling upon whatever higher power imaginable to let this work. The incantation rolls off his tongue as he casts a location spell upon the fading image. Once finished, Edwin waits with bated breath, gripping the object like a lifeline. The feel of something solid between his quaking fingers is the only thing keeping him grounded. He breathes, counts…

Four nerve wracking seconds later, the picture starts to glow. It’s faint, pulsing slowly as it floats out of Edwin’s hands and starts drifting ahead of him. He follows immediately, exhaling the nervous breath trapped in his lungs.

Photographs fly off the walls as Edwin hurries down the deteriorating corridor. He fears it may collapse completely before he can reach Charles. Anxiety ripples from inside him, copying the tremors that climb up the walls and shake the ceiling. Regardless, he keeps going. If his feet stop for a single moment he’ll be tossed into his grave for good, and he will not be having that.

Finally, after one more excruciating marathon, Edwin sees the door. He’s winded and sweating by the time he catches up to the charmed photo that guides him to the end, smacking the wood and plummeting to the floor. Edwin hears the wet sound it makes, and looks down to see water pooling at his feet from beneath the door. Surely a bad sign, but one he cannot spare the worry for. With one more deep inhale, he pulls back on the handle and walks bravely into the unknown.

It’s cold, cloudy and deprived of light. Water swashes under his boots, about a half inch covering the entirety of the ground. There’s no Charles in sight, but Edwin feels the shift. That same magnetism that draws their spirits towards one another is present now, he knows he’s here.

Edwin hands all his trust to his instincts, and hurriedly makes his way into the bluish fog, tinted by the sliver of a moon in the sky. Patches of grass and sand gather on the ground, gradually curving into a narrow shoreline. As he picks up the pace, he watches the tide build. Small waves lap against the edge as both land and water grow simultaneously, until an entire lake is formed.

Then he hears it: distant sloshing followed by quiet, choking gasps.

The worst kind of fear consumes him as Edwin runs toward the sound, looking for a semblance of a figure over the murky pool. His rapid breaths are visible in the cold air as he paces along the shore, now ankle deep. 

“Charles?” His voice is weak from infrequent use, but he tries again. He forces his breathing to stop so he can listen closely. The sounds of splashing have stopped, which spikes the hysteria trying to rupture his arteries. He wades further into the frigid waters and the sharp cold slices through the thin fabric of his trousers. The shock is almost enough to eliminate the panic attack knocking against his rib cage.

“Where are you?” The question is a breathless cry. He can’t be too late. He can’t lose Charles to this parasitic prison. He won’t. Forever will not end here.

A tiny gurgling noise seizes his attention, and Edwin studies the water closely. There, only several meters away yet it might as well be thousands, a cluster of bubbles breaks through the surface. The motion rips his voice out of his throat.

“Charles!” 

Without hesitation, Edwin surges into the depths, desperately pushing himself to the target and hoping against hope that Charles can still be reached. Time slows, the water cuts, and when he sees the youthful shadow frozen beneath the waves, he reaches down to bring it back to light.

Chapter Text

To die is one thing, to run from death is another, but to re-experience the painful events of your dying day after decades away from that mortal existence, now that’s just plain unfair.

Charles hits the water like a ragdoll against a wall of daggers. The shock to his system is so strong he almost thinks he’s been vaporized. It’s fucking freezing, the kind of cold that stabs needles into your nerves. When his mind ultimately catches up to his body, Charles searches for the top and comes up gasping for air. 

He can’t see much past the wide body of water surrounding him. The night sky is half clouded over with only a pinch of moonlight that does little to help with all the mist blocking his view. It’s eerily reminiscent of the night he died, minus the hoard of halfwits laughing and pelting him with rocks. Though he would rather face that than the vicious cold currently paralyzing every one of his organs.

Charles attempts to touch down on the bottom but he’s in well over his head, and no matter how he moves he can’t seem to go anywhere. For some crazy reason this water is denser than normal. It weighs him down as though someone has tied a bunch of lead bricks to his waist. His limbs are already losing strength, aching as he battles to keep his head above the surface. All the while hyperventilating uncontrollably.

How and why did he end up back here?

He knows this fucked up twilight zone plays with memories, but now it feels like his memories are actively trying to kill him. Is that even possible? Then again, with all the deranged things he’s seen in his spectral life, he probably shouldn’t rule it out. Anything can happen when you’ve spent thirty-five years running about an eternal arcane play park.

Charles is torn from his thoughts by the water clasping around his neck and rising up to his chin. Everything hurts, and he can hardly breathe. Charles probably looks a mess. He imagines his skin turning purple, all his fingers and toes gone stiff with frostbite. His breaths stutter, slowing down despite the anxiety in his veins. His soul screams to keep fighting. He doesn’t want to give up, but he’s tired, so tired.

The numbness spreads to every inch of him, ceasing blood flow, limbs to stone. At this point he can’t even tell if his body is moving as he mindlessly treads water, straining his neck to get air. His jaw is tight and quivering, the cold tugging at his muscles until they give out. He tries, hopelessly, to call for help. All he can manage is a cracked whisper that his waterlogged ears can’t even pick up.

His vision starts to blur from the pounding headache behind his eyes, and Charles is merely surviving on instinct alone. Something he’s well accustomed to, but usually results from dire situations. He’s really had too many of those, lately. Looks like he’s not getting out of this one.

Suddenly, a faraway sound brings his awareness to the forefront. A series of splashing noises, but from somewhere else. To the left, maybe, in a shallower spot. It could be anything: a shark, demon, Death.

Charles hears it again, and blinks to try and get a clear glimpse of whatever lurks across the lake. There’s a hazy blue light bouncing off the horizon, and he thinks it must be Death, finally coming to claim him once and for all.

That primal fight or flight response kicks in, but either attempt is futile. He can’t fight or run, not when he’s a literal sinking duck.

He could bargain with her, as a last ditch effort to keep his afterlife. They were given permission, the lost and found department are technically their business partners now. He can’t go, he has to find Edwin. 

No, he has to save Edwin. 

He’s trapped in Hell again. Charles has to make sure they get him out. If not him, then someone. Edwin doesn’t belong there, Charles needs to go. They have so much left to do, they have a home- a forever- to get back to. 

The light is a little brighter now, and Charles swears he just heard a voice. Something in his chest spasms involuntarily. The sudden jerk sends water spilling into his mouth and he chokes, only getting one more gulp of air before the final weight drops, dragging him under until he’s fully submerged.  

It’s a slow shut down, like the lingering afterglow of an old tv. Charles drifts, fighting to hold his breath. Air bubbles escape from his nostrils and he doesn’t dare lose any more. His lungs constrict painfully, made worse by the cold. The weight draped over his bones feels unbearably heavy. Every second takes him further away from the surface as his dead arms float uselessly, the ripples dancing above him, like they’re waving goodbye. 

He thinks of Edwin, and how he wishes they could dance again. He thinks about all the cases they haven’t solved. All the poems they haven’t read. All the words Charles never got to say.

He thinks about Edwin suffering down there, bloodied and torn to pieces. Who knows how many mangled versions of him have piled up by now. The thought of it chisels another hole through his freezer burnt heart.

Soon the numbness reaches his eyes, and Charles loses the strength to keep them open. It’s so dark now. The silence is deafening.

If this is it for him, and he’s out of options, Charles hopes Death can grant him one dying wish: bring Edwin back, and never let him set foot in that cursed shithole again.

And if she has kindness to spare, maybe they can see each other one last time. Charles could hold him close, say he’s sorry, and assure him that it’ll all be okay. Charles will keep him safe, somehow. Even if he’s galaxies away. 

Sleep calls to him, the same way it did that night in the attic.

-arles!

She’s coming for him. It’s hard to hear with everything garbled and muted underwater, but there’s a voice. Charles’ eyelids are too heavy, so he just listens, waiting.

“Charles!” 

Still muffled, but closer. That definitely doesn’t sound like Death. Their voice is oddly frightened, backed by the distorted sound of splashing. Charles isn’t sure what’s going on.

Just when he’s about to pry his frozen eyes open, something reaches in, takes hold of his front and pulls.

The world does a 180 as Charles is flipped upright. He bursts from the arctic, head spinning from the rush and inhaling water on his way out. Upon first breath his torso convulses, and a stream comes gushing out of his nose. It takes a while for his brain to defrost, though it feels like it might melt right out of his ears. Once he’s no longer starved of oxygen and spitting up puddles, he addresses the solid ground beneath his feet, and the pressing grip on his forearms, holding him steady.

Someone is talking to him behind the white noise. Charles is almost too scared to find out who.

“Charles, can you hear me?”

He tips his head to the side to unclog his ears, and once he hears his name in that firm but caring voice, laced with worry, his eyes shoot open. The figure is blurry, but Charles can pick up on the soft grays and blues, combined with dark hair. When Edwin’s face finally comes into focus, all the water rushes away instantly. The entire lake that was drowning him less than a minute ago recedes like the ocean. Charles stands there in shock, cold and sopping wet, but unharmed.

It must be heaven or a damn miracle, because for a second there he truly thought he would never see his best mate again. 

Edwin’s frantically grabbing at Charles like he’s trying to keep a beach umbrella from blowing over. Charles realizes he’s been swaying and reigns himself back in.

“Can you hear me? Say something, please.”

“Edw-” Charles’ throat is still frozen. He coughs and tries again, pausing to stare into bright anxious eyes. This better not be another trick, he can’t take it.

“A-are you real?” He croaks.

Edwin’s face crumbles a tiny bit, and he squeezes Charles’ arms. “Yes, I’m real. It’s me, I promise.”

Charles doesn’t speak, he just throws his arms around Edwin- who chirps in surprise- and wraps him in a bone crushing embrace.

He releases a hefty sigh, bordering on a sob. Edwin is here, and whole. The woven texture beneath his icy fingertips is sweet relief. Charles can actually smell him for the first time. He smells a lot like earth, and rain, but under that is a hint of cotton and earl grey. It’s so perfect it makes Charles’ chest swell. Edwin clutches him just as tight, enough to press the chill right out of his skin. 

“You’re warm.” Charles whispers.

“You’re freezing.” Edwin wheezes. Charles pulls back to look at him, his mind still reeling. They stay holding onto each other, reluctant to break contact completely. Charles is so relieved to see him he could cry a lake of his own. He takes in all the dark stains and holes on his clothes, collar torn and bowtie missing. His mussed up hairline is streaked with dirt. The poor guy looks like he rolled down a mountain.

Then it all comes back to him.

“Oh my god, Edwin. I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I’m so sorry.” The guilt and grief comes crashing down and Charles can’t hold the weight. He remembers the last time he saw Edwin: bleeding, terrified, plummeting to his doom. It must have been even worse this time. Charles didn’t make it, he let the door close. His face scrunches and his eyes sting as he blubbers out apologies. Edwin is staring at him like he’s got two heads. 

“What on earth are you apologizing for?” 

“Everything. I thought I lost you, it was a trap, and it was all my f-fault.” The alarm bells are blaring again. “They- they took you...what happened, are you okay? How did you make it out?” 

Edwin frowns at him. “What do you mean? Out of where?”    

“Out of Hell.” Charles still hears him screaming.

“Charles, you got me out of Hell. I came here searching for you after you vanished. We both got trapped here.”

His mind is on the run. It doesn’t make any sense. He knows Edwin is the biggest genius but how could he get out of Hell that fast? Did Death hear his plea after all?

“Did she come and get you? I saw- what about the fire, are you hurt anywhere?” Now Charles is the one fretting, patting him down to check for injuries.

“Who are you talking abou-? What fire? There was never…Charles.” Edwin goes from confused to impatient. He jostles himself free and comes back to firmly take Charles’ face in his hands. 

“You’re spiraling.” He shakes him for emphasis. “You must calm down or you’ll lose yourself. Just breathe carefully, alright?”

Charles gasps, taken by the warmth pressing against his cheeks, the true feel of skin on skin, long since forgotten. It nearly wipes his brain clean.

His uneven breaths follow Edwin’s until they’re both on equal ground. Charles checks where they are, back in the endless white clouds. His memories- the real ones- come flowing back in, and he empties his lungs altogether. 

“Are you with me, now?” Edwin asks kindly. Charles nods, coughing weakly. 

“Yeah, I’m back. Sorry about that.”

Edwin wipes at his tears before letting go of him, and Charles mourns the loss. “Do not mention it. You’ve clearly been through quite a lot. Are you alright?”     

Charles shrugs. He’s hardly put together, but Edwin’s presence works like medicine. “Think so. My head is killing me but I’m not drowning anymore, so I’ll take that as a win. How did you find me?”

Edwin laughs nervously, a row of worry lines etched into his forehead. “It’s a long story, I was…everywhere and nowhere. I feared I would be too late, I nearly was. For that I apologize.” He hesitates, but then reaches for Charles’ hand. The connection is like a balm for his nerves, warm and soothing. It eases the fluttering between his ribs.

Charles shakes his head, wincing at the motion. “Nah mate, I’m the one who got us into this mess…” He looks at their hands, floored by the softness between his fingers, then back to Edwin. “Are we…alive?” 

“Well…partially, yes.” Edwin’s looking down at their hands, too. “Our bodies are corporeal enough to feel in this realm, but it is only an imitation. We’re still very much dead, but hold memories of life, which is why most of our major senses have returned, but not all function.”

“Right…” Now that he thinks about it, Charles has felt the parts of his nervous system reactivate, but he’s still not hungry or thirsty. Makes sense, since his body no longer needs to regulate that. 

Doesn’t change the fact that this whole case is completely bonkers.

Charles is still feeling dizzy, so he leans forward to plop his head on Edwin’s shoulder, who doesn’t complain. He takes some more deep breaths, sneaking in another inhale of Edwin’s scent. It’s amazing how much it grounds him. He’ll miss it when they’re back to being ghosts.

His headache subsides just a smidge, and Charles cheers internally. Now that he’s reunited with his other half, he can probably get some answers.

“Edwin…what the fuck is this place?” 

There’s a pause while Edwin gets his thoughts in order before rolling into an explanation. He speaks lightly, the factual tone of his voice cloaking Charles like a security blanket.

“There is no simple way to describe it, but from what I’ve gathered this is a manifestation chamber. I’ve read about them before. They’re typically used as a summoning tool, having the ability to manifest one’s deepest desires. However, owning one can be dangerous, for their use comes at a price. They require immense, powerful energy to function. Such a thing is not to be tampered with, and I believe some dark magic may have been involved here, because this place is…predatory.”

“How so?” Charles mumbles.

“I can’t quite explain it, but this dimension feels sentient. It’s preying on our energy.”

Charles nods against his shoulder. “Yeah, I definitely picked up on that one. My own memories have been trying to kill me.”

“Of course, emotional manipulation. Memories, desires, fears...” His detective voice is on. Charles smirks, he knew Edwin would have it all sussed out. “Whatever elicits the strongest response is what feeds it, hence the return of our mortal forms. It withdraws from your subconscious, and to be held captive inside it is to essentially have the lifeforce drained out of you.”

“And if you’re already dead, you just disappear?”

“Essentially, yes. Dead or alive, this place is but a black hole disguised as a dream. Too much time here and your very essence will be crushed out of existence.”

“Why would somebody keep that bloody thing in their house?”

“Of that, I am not sure. Our client was a collector, he may not have known exactly what he had in his possession until it was too late.”

With effort, Charles lifts his head. “You mean-?” Edwin nods solemnly. “Oof, that’s a rough end. Can’t really blame the guy, though. Hexed or not, if all my loved ones died I’d use a magic mirror to see them, too.”

“Indeed. Though it looks like his attempt at using that power backfired greatly.”

“Like an uno reverse card.”

“I have no idea what you mean by that.”

Charles chuckles despite the aches. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, mate.” He pats Edwin, still using him for support as he straightens out. “Okay then, one more question. How the hell are we getting out of here?”

“I have a plan.”

“Knew you would.” Charles smiles, so fond it almost knocks him over. Edwin meets his eyes then dips his head, that classic half smirk pulling at his lips, and he’s blushing. A red flush arches over the tip of his ears, which Charles secretly gawks at. It’s truly a sight to see, but he doesn’t call attention to it.  

Edwin urgently checks his pockets for something then relaxes when he finds what he’s looking for. A small piece of chalk, or something adjacent.

“I put down a return spell back at the client’s house. I just need to draw out the matching circle for us to leave but…hm, I’m afraid it won’t work here.” 

Charles follows Edwin’s gaze, observing their new setting. Neither of them even noticed the transformation. Now they stand in a park of some kind, in the late afternoon. There’s grass, flowers and willow trees. As the scenery unfolds, a bell rings in his head. 

“I’ve been here before.” Charles remarks. 

“As have I.” Says Edwin. He curiously surveys the park, then his eyes land on something behind them and he tenses. 

Charles traces his line of vision. There’s an emptier plot with misshapen stones sticking out of the ground, a mini cemetery. Not that strange, but one thing stands out, and Charles’ heart skips a beat once he spots it.

Two headstones, placed next to each other with both their names and respective dates carved into them. Charles gulps.

“That’s…different.”

He hears a tiny gasp, and whips back around to look at Edwin. 

He’s still there, thank god, but with wide eyes and a dumbfounded look on his face. His arms are full of loose flowers, stocked up to his chin. Bunches of little blue ones mixed with larger copper and yellow. They overflow from his grasp. Charles’ jaw hangs open, just as surprised.

“Woah, where did those come from?”

Edwin gapes at the blooms, shaking his head. “I don’t know. They simply...appeared.”

Charles steps up to him and gently plucks a stray petal from his hair, pausing at the texture grazing his knuckles. He keeps forgetting how heightened his sense of touch is now, it shocks him every time. The sudden urge to run his fingers through Edwin’s hair almost consumes him. 

Instead, he distracts himself by rubbing the smooth petal between his fingers. Edwin watches him, unreadable and unmoving.

“At least they’re harmless.” Charles chimes. “What are these called, anyway? I’ve seen them before.”

“Myosotis, commonly known as forget-me-nots.”

“And those ones?”

“Alstroemeria and…ambrosia.” Edwin’s voice drifts, and the blush on his ears spreads to his cheeks, sitting high and dusting his face pink. It’s hypnotizing.

“Do they mean anything?” Charles wonders, half-dazed.

Edwin’s voice is abnormally shy as he slowly lets go of each word. “They mean…many things.”        

Charles plans to ask more, but the frozen look on Edwin’s face stalls him. He’s thinking hard about something, working to solve an invisible puzzle laid out before him that he can’t find the right pieces to.

“Edwin? You feeling okay, mate?” Charles carefully lays his hands on his arms, and Edwin breaks out of his stupor with a tiny jolt. The pile of flowers spills over and lands on their feet. Charles ignores them, too busy trying to decode Edwin’s sudden mood shift.

“Sorry, yes. I’m fine.” His reply is unconvincing, but Edwin expertly switches back to neutral, adjusting himself. He’s avoiding eye contact, though, and his breathing is a little uneven. Charles is drawn back to the rosy tint coloring his cheekbones. It highlights his eyes, even carries to his lips, pink and inviting. A rush of heat sweeps over Charles’ face, which feels wild. The hypersensitivity has him on the edge of his body, so much that he doesn’t know how to act all of a sudden.

They’ve only known each other as ghosts, so getting to witness Edwin as a living being- sort of- with blood filling his veins and warmth radiating from his skin, well…it’s brills to say the least. Edwin always looks good, but life is especially beautiful on him. 

Subconsciously, Charles reaches up to place his hand over Edwin's heart, holding it there until he finds- holy shit- a gentle beat. It thumps beneath his palm, an old song long unheard. It’s unreal.

Edwin looks at him in question, and Charles feels the uptick in rhythm. They make eye contact and two seconds later Charles realizes what he’s doing, then retracts his hand sheepishly. Another heat wave slaps him in the face. He’s out of his blooming mind. 

“My bad. I uh…I’m trying not to freak out over here. This is just, like, it’s just-”

“Overwhelming? I know.” Edwin assures him. “It’s rather difficult to comprehend.”

“I feel absolutely barking.”

“Believe me, I feel far from sane, myself. Can’t imagine I look it, either.” 

“I dunno, you look pretty aces to me.” Charles smiles, sweeping another flower petal off Edwin’s collar. That earns him a good-natured huff, and Edwin fixes a pin on Charles’ lapel in return.

“As do you. You’re looking less like a preserved corpse and more like your true self.”

Charles chuckles. “That’s good news.” He doesn’t want to separate yet, so he holds Edwin’s hand against his chest, trading in his own sporadic heartbeat. Edwin tenses in surprise, but then locks his focus on their hands; what knocks behind them. Charles watches his eyes light up in awe as he presses imperceptibly closer, a soft oh falling from his lips.

“Fascinating.” He breathes.

His reaction is so Edwin that Charles can’t help but laugh. His heart bounces with it, and Edwin doesn’t show whether or not he notices, but he probably does.

The heat gathering from their hands fans out across his torso and thaws the last few icicles clinging to his shell. Charles can’t remember the last time he actually felt warm, so he takes a moment to revel in it. He soaks in the bodily comfort, the smooth grooves of Edwin’s hand, his elegant fingers. Charles lets his thumb skim over his knuckles, enjoying the texture of supple skin stretched over fine bone.

He can’t believe he never noticed just how perfectly they fit together. Two hands, different strengths. Diligence and finesse matched evenly with brawn and dexterity. Both capable of chaos and destruction but also care, each longing for a softness so rarely granted to them.

Charles is encompassed by his own wanting. He wants to touch everything: the grass, dirt, branches and leaves. He wants to harness the warmth pressed into his hand and wear it around his neck for eternity; wants to brush against every inch of exposed skin and memorize every angle of Edwin’s face with his fingertips. But he knows they can’t stay like this. They’ll eventually go back to their dead selves, back to their version of normal. So fucking unfair. Although, if he can just be greedy for a little longer, drink it all in, maybe a part of him will keep it stored somehow. He’s got a sharp memory, after all. 

One thing’s for sure: he’ll never forget how Edwin looks right here and now, what it’s like to share a piece of life with him. He wishes they could do more. Charles never cared all that much about mundane things growing up, but to experience them with Edwin gives them a whole new meaning. Basking in the sun, picking flowers, dancing in the rain, or snow. He imagines time stopping, just the two of them getting a taste of what they lost so young, and finally enjoying the good of it all. 

He wants, he wants and he wants.

It tugs achingly at his heart strings. Thoughts he’s never allowed himself to think about, done so well to avoid, until now apparently.

Charles glances down and notices he’s still holding Edwin’s hand. Feeling guilty, he loosens his grip. Edwin’s hand twitches, slips out of his, and he fidgets. It stings a little, but Edwin doesn’t back away. Instead, he readjusts Charles’ collar- a long-standing habit of his- rubbing leftover debris from it. Charles is probably still delirious, but he’s hyperaware of the strange tension between them. Edwin looks almost as crushed as Charles feels, like he knows this moment is only a temporary boon in a wicked jungle. Just another thing they’ll lose. The desire to read Edwin’s mind drives him mad sometimes. Are they thinking about the same thing? Is he wrong for having these kinds of thoughts? Does Edwin feel just as crazy in his own skin or is Charles just spiraling out again?

Delusions aside, he couldn’t be more grateful to see Edwin, the real one. Here, safe, and tangible. For all his wants, he’s at least got what he needs. 

“Thanks for saving me, mate.” Charles says earnestly. “I would’ve been a goner if it weren’t for you. And I’m sorry for…literally everything.” 

Edwin’s full attention is back on him, sharp as a tack, but then he softens. “I’ll have none of that, Charles. Leaving you here was not an option. After all, there is no version of this where I didn’t come get you.”

And that- oh.

Well that’s just it, innit?

Something shifts within his core, crawling out of the dark liminal space that lives inside him. It separates from the mold embedded in his bones, that fierce yearning that Charles has hid from for ages coming back to pull at every branch of his body. It fills him to the brim, threatening to spill over should he breathe too hard. He’s really been a proper idiot all this time. 

The lump in his throat almost steals his words. “Edwin?…listen, I-”

“Charles, you’re bleeding.”

“What?”

“Your nose. It’s bleeding .” Edwin is back on high alert, eyes troubled and hands hovering.

“But ghosts don’t bleed.”

“As we’ve learned, standard ghost rules do not apply here.”

Charles touches under his nose and sure enough, his hand comes back with a fresh streak of blood. Shit, that can’t be a good sign. He wipes the rest with his sleeve, generating a noise of disgust from Edwin.

“Here, allow me.” Edwin reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a white handkerchief, smeared with dirt. He unfolds it to find a clean corner, then holds it against Charles’ nose.

Charles involuntarily jerks at the touch, not really knowing how to react to this situation.

“Are you in pain?” Edwin asks worriedly.

Charles hums no. “I’m fine. Just a little muddled, is all.” 

Edwin says nothing, fixing him with a dubious look. He’s delicate as he dabs at the trail of blood, every swipe of skin sending chills up Charles’ spine. He holds Charles steady with a hand under his chin while the cotton square collects bright splotches of red.

“Sorry about your handkerchief.” Charles murmurs. 

“Worry more about yourself for once, I beg of you.” Edwin implores. His brows are pinched together in concern, and Charles wants to smooth the lines out with his thumb. 

He feels extremely fragile under Edwin’s care; like a molten piece of glass blown too thin, one crack away from oblivion.

The bleeding stops after a minute, and Edwin cleans the remaining residue before returning the cloth back to his pocket. Charles sniffs uncomfortably, still feeling out of sorts.  

“There.” Edwin nods once he’s finished. “Now, I suggest we find a way out of here before both of us are reduced to plasma.”

“Can that happen?”

“I’d rather not stay and find out.”

As if on cue, a loud rumble of thunder rolls over the sky. The boys look up just as the clouds darken, and a harsh gust of wind blows, sending a floral whirlwind up around them. 

Charles feels the final bell toll from the pit of him. He looks to Edwin, who must feel it too, because his expression matches the alarm in Charles’ brain.

“We’ve overstayed our welcome. We have to go, now.” Edwin declares, searching for the right direction. There isn’t one. A crack of lightning makes them both jump, clearly a warning that it’s time to get the fuck out.

Charles latches onto Edwin, not risking their separation, and starts moving. 

“Come on.” He chooses to travel away from the haunted looking graveyard, pulling Edwin along. Per usual, the metaphorical map points to nowhere, but that can change any second. 

They get about a quarter mile from the cemetery before a foreign din resonates in the distance. It sounds almost like rain, or hissing. Charles isn’t sure where it’s coming from.

That is until Edwin starts drumming on his arm. “Charles! Behind us.”

A thick dread churns his stomach as Charles slows down, turning to look where Edwin is pointing. The park they stood in is practically gone, consumed by dense storm clouds. But within that is a long black shadow, heading straight for them with winding speed.

The snake is back.

“Shit. Run!” Charles tightens his grip on Edwin and they sprint, absolutely no destination in mind other than far away from that thing.

They’re coming up on nothing but a blank canvas, and Charles worries they might end up running straight off the edge of the universe, if they don’t become snake food first. It doesn’t help that their human forms have limited stamina. Bloody hell. Charles is already knackered after his near second death. Edwin isn’t in much better shape, his weight lags behind as he tries to keep up. Adrenaline is all they have right now.

It’s painfully identical to their journey through Hell, but even that nightmare was more predictable than this. At least they had a fucking exit.

“We need to find solid ground.” Edwin pants. “I just need a wide enough surface that I can use to write the spell.”

“Right, any clue on how to summon that for us?” Charles calls.

“No, this dimension is far too unstable, I can’t manipulate it.”

“Great, looks like we’ll just have to play old fashioned roulette.”

Their first spin isn’t going well. 

The pair almost lose their footing as the oversized serpent gains on them, its jaw unhinging to threaten them with razor-sharp fangs. Thunder continues to roar above them and it sends vibrations through the ground, rattling their bodies as they try to outrun peril.

Charles’ heart is going to beat right out of his chest. Those teeth are dangerously close to Edwin’s heels. They have to go faster, they have to hide. 

“There, look!” Edwin points, and just to their left- unbelievably- is a cruddy old door.

If there’s one thing to expect in this mental minefield other than horror, it’s a blooming door.

Charles chances a quick glance behind them, the snake still hot on their tails. They’ve gotta switch gears fast. 

“Okay, on three?” Charles signals, and Edwin squeezes his hand to confirm. 

“One, two, three!”

They cut to the left with precise speed, giving themselves a split second of diversion before the slithering giant reroutes itself. 

Charles pushes through the cramping in his lungs and races to the door, not caring where it leads for once as long as it’s not imminent doom, which is really pushing his luck at this point.

They nearly crash right into the door, Charles ripping it open and pushing Edwin through before slamming it behind them. 

He stumbles in after Edwin, who stands apprehensively in their new location. Charles instinctively looks for danger, but is glad to find a tranquil space instead, with slanted ceilings and wooden floorboards. It’s a sight for sore eyes, even if it’s coated in dust and full of junk.

“Oh, thank fucking god.” Edwin says what they’re both thinking, and Charles nods in agreement, too busy heaving to get a word out.

Once he can breathe normally again, Charles scans the rest of the room, which feels oddly familiar now that he gets a proper look. 

When he peeks over Edwin’s shoulder and catches sight of the window on the opposite side, it hits him.

Charles does know this place, because he died here.

It’s the same attic from 1989. Another memory left untouched. Edwin realizes where they are a moment later, and they both pause; looking at each other before glancing down to the right.

The spot is empty, just blankets lying on the floor. They both breathe a sigh of relief.

Charles can still hear his heart pounding in his ears, mounting into something worse. He senses another migraine coming on. It pulses behind his eyes and he’s forced to close them, groaning in pain.

Edwin is there in an instant. “Charles, what’s wrong?”

He waves his worries away. “Just a bad headache, mate. I’m alright. Let’s get the hell out of here, yeah?”

“Right.” Edwin pivots and gets to work straight away. He starts pushing furniture around to clear space on the floor, and then he’s drawing, starting with a wide circle and sketching cryptic symbols all over it. Charles keeps watch while cradling his aching head.

Edwin is halfway through when the room starts shaking, and there’s a bang at the door.

They both freeze, each of them perking up and looking fearfully at the entrance. It’s silent for five seconds, then the door rattles again. 

Something is trying to get in.

“Charles?” 

“I know, I'm on it. Just keep going, I’ll hold it off.” 

Edwin spares him an unsettled look then gets back to his spell as Charles sneaks toward the door. He shoves a school chair under the handle, just to give himself an extra second to find a defense weapon in all this mess. A wooden plank sits against the wall and he swipes it. Not as helpful as his favorite cricket bat, but better than nothing.

Charles keeps his eyes on the target, doing his best to control the frantic buzzing under his skin. The mysterious force trying to break in feels angry, vengeful, and all too familiar. It pounds on the thin board, causing the whole frame to tremble. Every hit shoots a starburst of pain through Charles’ skull. He holds his ground, though, bracing a hand on the door and preparing to fight anything should it come to that. They’re so close, no way will he back down now.

There’s a loud roaring of air outside, like a hurricane, or a tornado. Charles worries their hideaway will be blown apart if they don’t get on with it. He turns back to check on Edwin, still sketching along diligently. The room shudders again, which throws off his writing, but Charles has full faith in him. Can’t really say the same for himself, at the moment.

He doesn’t want to break Edwin’s focus, so he keeps quiet, his back now fully pressed against the door. It jerks violently, mimicking the raging panic coursing through him. Charles feels something wet on his lip, and dips forward to see a droplet of blood go flying and land by his foot. "Shit." He aggressively wipes at his nose, pushing his weight back harder. He tips his head up and catches sight of the back wall where the window is. The wood around it is full of holes, and Charles stares disbelieving as the whole wall starts to decay. The top edges are deteriorating like paper to a flame, moving rapidly to chew away at the ceiling.

“Edwin, hurry!” He motions to the crumbling structure above them and Edwin startles, rushing to complete his task. Charles grunts in his efforts to keep the threat at bay, and after another set of wrathful strikes from the door, Edwin finally stands up. His frightful eyes find Charles and he beckons with his hand out. 

“Get in the circle, quickly!”

Charles tosses the wood on the floor and abandons his post, bounding over to Edwin who pulls him to the circle. Edwin steps in with him, kneeling down to connect the last piece, then links their arms together as the spell activates. Light rises from their feet, wildly bright in the darkened room, and Charles fixes his eyes on the door one last time, watching it fly off its hinges before they’re whisked away in a flash.

Chapter Text

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

They miraculously make it back to their world in one piece, arriving on the other side in a blink, back at the Highgate house. 

Their sudden entry spooks Crystal awake, who yelps as she nearly topples out of the rocking chair she was sleeping in. At the sight of the detectives, she leaps to her feet and dashes over to them.

“Holy shit, you’re back!” Her arms circle around the both of them. “What took you so long? I was worried you guys were gone for good, what the fuck happened? Are y- woah.” She takes their hands and immediately stutters. “No way. Are you… alive?”

“Not permanently.” Edwin squeezes out, slithering from her hold. “We’re tangible for the time being, but the effects should wear off shortly.” 

He squints about the room. The sun has long since set, and the attic is littered with burning candles, half of them already melted down low. There’s a ruffled blanket and an empty pizza box lying near the chair, but everything else looks just how they left it. 

“How long have we been gone?” Charles asks.

Crystal checks her phone. “Um…like, twelve hours? It’s one in the morning.” 

That earns a shaky exhale from the boys.

“Fucking hell.” Charles puffs. “Thanks for waiting up, Crystal. We owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it, I wasn’t gonna abandon ship.” She pats his shoulder, then pauses, giving them both a perturbed once over. “You two look awful. Why are you…damp? What the hell did that mirror do to you?” 

“It’s not just a mirror, it’s a rotten mind prison that uses your own memories to try and kill you.” Charles grumbles. 

“Sorry, what?”

Edwin sighs, his remaining willpower dwindling down to its last reserve.

“We’ll explain at a later time. Right now we have to nullify the mirror. Charles, I need my copy of ‘Arcane Artifacts and Manifestations’, is your bag functional?”

“Sure hope so.” Charles leans out of their linked position and slugs his backpack off. He checks inside, whistling in pleasant surprise as he reaches in and pulls out a...rubber duck. That’s odd, Charles rarely struggles to seek items from his pack. His brow furrows, hand reaching back in to produce an infinite measuring tape, followed by a smoke flask, then a pocket radio. It takes him five tries before he acquires the requested hardcover, wordlessly handing it over.  

“Excellent.” Edwin ignores that brief hiccup for now and takes the book from Charles. He quickly flips to the section on mirrors. The one they’re dealing with is particularly formidable, which means their best option may be to just destroy it. That will require more focus and energy than Edwin is effectively capable of, but the job must be done. 

“I would advise you both to stand back. And please, no distractions.” He says behind him.

Crystal and Charles do as they’re told, quietly maneuvering backwards to give him space. Edwin follows suit, creating a safe distance between him and the inanimate enemy. The cracks in the surface now stretch all the way to the bottom, and a few stray shards have fallen out of frame. He can still see the silver beams of light glimmering behind the glass, as if challenging him.   

Edwin takes a deep breath, mustering enough strength to concentrate. He utters the conjuration with practiced precision, and as soon as the last word flows from his mouth, the mirror explodes.

Lightning crackles through the room, followed by a violent burst that sends countless glass fragments flying in every direction.

Edwin spins to cover himself, feeling several quick stings as a shower of splinters slice his skin. Charles lurches forward to shield him, and the three of them crouch in stunned silence until the electricity blanketing the air dissipates, the last pieces of detonated debris clinking on the wood floor.

Charles’ arms slowly unwrap from around Edwin, lifting him upright. “Well, that sure did the trick. You alright, Eds?” He gingerly removes Edwin’s hands from his face, checking them over and frowning at the tiny cuts dotting the dorsal sides. Fingers come up to wipe at his cheekbone, where a sliver of glass nicked him. Through all this, Edwin is blind to the pain as he takes in the unfiltered solicitude dripping from Charles’ gaze, and his frail heart trips over itself.

He also sees the exhaustion hanging from his eyes, heavy and deep.

“Yes, I’m alright. I should have anticipated such a reaction. That was careless on my part.” Edwin swallows and goes to retrieve the book that flew from his hands after the explosion, thankful for the lack of damage taken. “I think it’s safe to say this case is now closed. We really ought to get going.”   

Crystal and Charles nod, the relief evident in their posture. Crystal gathers her belongings and tidies up the room, adjusting furniture and ridding the floor of candles. She passes Edwin his coat and gloves, which he thanks her for. Charles uses the old rug to sweep up as much broken glass as he can, leaving most of it in jumbled piles near the mirrorless stand. 

“Guess that’ll have to do. Let’s get a move on, yeah?” Charles shrugs, laying the rug back down. He collects his bag of tricks, turns back to his friends, then promptly collapses to the floor.

“Oh my god.” Crystal darts to his side, letting the items in her hands drop as she attempts to hold Charles up. Edwin stands there a second too long, ossified by his own shock. He hears his name being called and wills motion back into his body, his movements unnatural as he throws himself down to kneel by Charles’ side. They artlessly get Charles in a sitting position and Crystal puts a hand under his chin. 

“Charles? Hey, can you hear me?” She taps his cheek repeatedly, only getting an incoherent groan out of him. Her face fills with unease as his head lolls back and forth. “Edwin, what’s wrong with him?”

“I- I don’t know. I’m afraid the mirror’s effects have taken a significant toll on him. It must have drained too much of his energy.” Edwin speaks through the static in his ears, his unsteady hands trying to support Charles properly. He sways in their hold before slumping over sideways. His head lands on Edwin’s shoulder, unresponsive.

“He’s unconscious.” Edwin trembles.

“Okay, we need to find another mirror.” Crystal shifts, but then stops halfway into her stance, taking another look at the two of them. “Or, can you even use one if you’re like this?”

Edwin glances at Charles, then addresses himself. The abrasions on his hands haven’t healed yet, meaning their humanlike attributes are still active. Mirror travel won’t work under such conditions, especially with one of them incapacitated.

“That’s…a negative.” He laments.  

“Alright, I’ll call us a ride. Ugh - shit, my phone’s almost dead. We better move fast. Come on, let’s just get Charles downstairs first.” She gets to business right away, lining her side with Charles.

Edwin follows her lead, a beat behind. He moves on autopilot, too tangled in his own nerves to function cognitively. They both act as crutches, each taking an arm over their shoulder and securing his waist. The weight of Charles’ lifeless form, heavy and solid, worsens the sick feeling coiling in Edwin’s stomach. He summons what measly strength he has left. He certainly can’t afford to let his own constitution falter, not when Charles is in need. All he can do is bring his partner to safety and formulate a plan from there.

Crystal manages to book them a private car home, at the expense of her telephone’s battery life. They struggle to load Charles into the back of the vehicle with them, probably looking like a pair of inept villains making away with their next victim. Or a bunch of intoxicated hooligans escaping after a night of paranormal debauchery. Charles would have a laugh at that, surely.

The ride home is anything but comfortable, with the three of them cramped in the back seat, Charles half laid out on top of them like a stringless puppet. When they finally arrive at the office and carefully deposit Charles on the couch, Edwin is so winded and worn he feels as though he may suffer the same fate.

Crystal sends herself home after checking Charles’ vitals, demanding that Edwin contact her within 24 hours to provide an update, which he promises to.

She hugs him before she goes. “I’m glad you’re both okay. Let me know if you need me for anything, but after I get some sleep.”

“I shall do so. Thank you, Crystal.”

“And you should rest too. I know you’re stubborn as a brick wall but don’t go pushing yourself like captain aces over here.” She points to Charles, out like a light.     

Edwin hums his assent, knowing he will not rest, and certain Crystal knows that too. Still, he appreciates her consideration. 

Once the door closes and Edwin is left in the quiet of their office, he releases the trapped air from his lungs like deflating a balloon. So much time away from home in such disconcerting territory has kept him on edge, and he’s still not quite simmered down, not with Charles lying comatose in the corner. Edwin reminds himself that this is only temporary. Charles has been through a great deal of stress, and had his energy extracted by a metaphysical force for half a day, something Edwin can unfortunately relate to. He’ll need time to recover and come back to…death.

Edwin comes over to Charles’ side. He’s breathing softly, oblivious to the waking world. His complexion has improved some; no more purple lips or sickly pallor, though the faintest hint of discomfort sticks to his brow.   

The desire to touch pulls at Edwin’s fingers, making them twitch. He hesitates, feeling a little intrusive. He’s never been an outward distributor of affection, not for lack of aptitude, simply of practice. Charles has never held back his propensity for touch as a means of comfort as long as it is welcomed. He’s well versed when it comes to love languages, and seems to have gauged Edwin’s as well. They have more in common than expected, though Edwin tends to be more reserved in his display, which he can mostly blame on his conservative upbringing. Mostly.

The rest is, well, a little more complicated. Since his confession, Edwin’s been more wary of their closeness, and he does not wish to overstep any boundaries. However, the exact parameters of those boundaries have yet to be discussed. Charles hasn’t brought up anything regarding their relationship, romantic or otherwise. For the most part he’s remained attentive and warm as always. Sometimes it feels too good to be true, but Edwin has an eye for abnormality, and he’s caught the moments of tense withholding from Charles. They’re minor and short lived, but have become more common lately. Every time Charles hesitates to reach out, stuffing his hands away or distracting himself by fiddling with something else, Edwin jots it down in his mental notebook.

Even earlier, after Edwin tore him from bitter cold waters, something slipped. Charles was his endless loving self, but turned timid for a second, like he was embarrassed or- ashamed. Edwin acted none the wiser, but he clocked the nervous tick of his hand, and the lovely flush of his cheeks, which he won’t soon forget. 

Edwin spent years as a blind soul to Charles’ innermost feelings, but he’s learned to observe him much more vigilantly. Now he knows the signs, the shift in energy when Charles is hiding something, or holding himself back.

From what, exactly, Edwin has yet to pin down.       

Hovering next to Charles like this feels a touch too awkward, so Edwin tears his eyes away and seeks out a new occupation. He immediately heads for the desk, itching to write down every detail of his misadventures within the mirror realm before they dullen too much. As he passes by their own mirror in the office, Edwin jumps at the sight of his reflection. He can see himself plain as day; a soiled mess with tattered clothes and unruly hair. The lifelike qualities haven’t left him, but he anticipates them fading sooner rather than later. By then his tidy appearance should restore itself. He could repair everything with a simple spell, but the detective part of him would rather wait it out, even record it, for research purposes. So he does just that, adding his rough estimate of elapsed time into the equation. He does remove his ruined suit jacket in the meantime, folding it over the desk chair and rolling up his sleeves. Then the casework begins. 

Edwin writes fervently, words pouring onto the page like they’re ahead of his own brain. He documents every instance he can recall, from the very moment he touched the glass. It’s hard to piece together everything that happened in chronological order, considering the disorienting, dream-esque nature of it all, but he does his best to describe the events accurately. 

Every memory, every transition, and the sensations brought forth during their excruciatingly long visit.   

He writes until his hand cramps, and he has to stop his train of thought to stretch out his tired wrist. It’s ironic, just how much he misses the convenience of an empty vessel. No need for breaks when you’re a dead boy detective.

A shuddering breath makes Edwin’s head snap up, his eyes fastened on Charles. He’s still fast asleep, but curled in on himself, looking distressed.

Edwin swiftly rises from the desk and is at his side in seconds. “Charles?” He tries. The given response is another quivering exhale, succeeded by a full body shiver. Edwin touches his shoulder, which is damp, and once again scolds himself for his glaring inadequacy. 

Charles has been sleeping in wet clothes, he’s freezing.

With hurried but mindful hands, Edwin unfolds Charles from his coiled position and removes his coat, laying it at the end of the sofa next to his backpack. The thick fabric has retained a majority of the moisture, keeping the rest of his clothes from drying out evenly. That will do nothing to speed up his recovery, and the last thing he needs is to fall ill on top of all this. Edwin adjusts the cushions behind him, making sure Charles is better settled before running to the closet and snatching a warm woven blanket. He drapes it over Charles, making sure to cover every limb, and then moves to his bookshelf. From the middle he chooses a thin volume on elemental basics and makes his way back to Charles. Using a simple evaporation charm, Edwin rests his hand on Charles’ head and removes the excess water clinging to him. His shaking stops, and he slowly dips back into deep sleep. 

Giving in to the impulse, Edwin cards his fingers through Charles’ freshly dried curls. He feels a pinprick of guilt for doing so without permission, but as Charles visibly relaxes under the covers, Edwin feels hopeful that he’s brought a modicum of comfort. Charles has always been the initiator: his hands a source of strength, joy, protection and reassurance. Edwin wants to provide the same if he can. He’s trying to be better, at least. 

For sanity’s sake, Edwin checks Charles’ temperature, his breathing, his pulse. He finds remnants of dried blood stuck to the inner corners of his nose, the bleeding must have returned at some point but of course Charles would never draw attention to it. Edwin tips his head up with a soft tsk , before moving to rummage for a clean handkerchief.

He can’t help but think, dismally, about the wounds Charles has probably hidden from Edwin during their time together. All the aches and pains he made light of, or outright denied, to avoid attention, avoid care . Never mind the incidents that Edwin was absent for and thus remained untold. Their high tolerance for pain is not due to a robust genetic pool, it’s derived from the most dreadful of things. Histories that make them similar in the darkest of ways. Thinking of it causes another bout of nausea to rise in his gut, and Edwin distracts himself by thoroughly cleansing every bit of red from Charles’ skin.    

Leaving his companion to rest, Edwin returns to the desk to continue his notetaking, carrying Charles’ soggy coat with him. It smells strongly of smoke, like it soaked up a night at a campfire, and there are a few marble sized holes burned into it. Edwin remembers the brief mention of a fire when Charles was rambling in his panicked delirium. Imagining the kind of atrocities he may have witnessed while they were separated strikes a fragile chord in Edwin’s body. He has many burning questions of his own, but they’ll have to wait.

For now, he cleans up the garment and makes it like new again before hanging it up next to his own. 

Standing there at the rack, a bizarre sense of Deja vu washes over him. 

The memory of Charles by the window on a snowy evening, sliding something into Edwin’s pocket.

Curiously, Edwin tugs at his coat and checks the left pocket. At the bottom, his fingers graze a small article. He gently grabs hold of it, and pulls out a tiny stem with a single blue flower attached. It’s dried up, but still intact, and Edwin holds it like a precious artifact. 

Myosotis, commonly known as forget-me-nots.

He can still smell the heap of flowers cradled in his arms, a collection of beauty and hidden messages.

Some of those messages spoke louder than others.

Edwin checks the other pocket, and his hand reappears with a bundle of dried petals and brittle stems. A few of them crumble in his hold, the crackling sound imitating that of his own heart.

They’re the same blend of muted but familiar pigments, each carrying a multitude of meanings.

His eyes find Charles, slumbering peacefully across the room. Edwin feels like he’s dying all over again, the tightness weaving its way around his chest becoming unbearable.    

The thought of Charles collecting such tokens and quietly sneaking them into his pockets, for months, casts something irreversible upon his spirit. 

He cannot hope, he cannot allow himself to entertain such chimerical ideas. It will only lead to his undoing. Charles is not aware of the meaning behind this specific gesture. He is simply kind, thoughtful and greatly enjoys gift giving.

And yet, this gift in particular has Edwin unwound and tempestuous. He stands there, a shriveled garden in his hand and tears stinging his eyes. The intense spell of emotion shocks him, and Edwin’s initial reaction is to shut it down, but that is a difficult task to manage when the boy you love gives you flowers- ever so discreetly- and your heart is suddenly too big for your re-mortalized body.            

Edwin breathes through it, cursing his current form. Having to balance physicality on top of his mental instability is too much. It’s hell.

In his overwhelm, Edwin accidentally crushes some of the flowers. They disintegrate, and he nearly breaks with them. The lone forget-me-not lies unharmed on the floor. He quickly scoops it back into his hand and places it behind the pages of his notebook for safe keeping, guiltily disposing of the crushed florals. It feels downright silly for him to be so neurotic over this frivolous matter. Only one by the name of Charles Rowland could render him hysterical while not even conscious to witness it. Edwin can already imagine the bemused look on his face while he watches his best friend lose himself over a bunch of dead things. The irony is enough to make Edwin laugh derisively at himself.     

Reigning in his emotions, Edwin sits, picks up his pen and empties his mind onto paper. It soothes his fraught brain, providing a much needed distraction. As time passes and the pages keep filling up, Edwin feels himself slowing down. His eyes start to lose focus while he’s writing, a peculiar heaviness weighing on them. Every blink is slower than the last, exhaustion gaining on him by the minute.

That shouldn’t be happening. Edwin hasn’t slept in over a century, the mere concept frightens him now. Besides, there’s work to do. He can’t afford such a luxury, which in this case would be the opposite. He mustn't sleep. He has to stay focused, he has to keep an eye on…

“Charles.” Edwin gasps awake, having no recollection of when he dozed off. The stopwatch sitting inches from his notebook tells him only twenty-three minutes have gone by. The fraction of time cut from his memory without warning.   

However, Edwin feels different- or rather, normal. His pale skin is smooth and unmarred, his clothes clear of dirt stains. The fatigue that plagued him is no more. He stands to observe himself in the mirror, and is greeted by a blank flat surface. At last, he’s back to his spectral self.

Charles, on the other hand, hasn’t budged. Edwin checks on him, looking for any obvious changes, but finds nothing. He’s still elsewhere, a ghost roaming through dreamland.

It’s painfully quiet. Any given day would have Edwin relishing in such noiseless repose, but right now it feels oppressive. The absence of activity, the comfort of their shared energy. It’s not peaceful, it’s wrong.   

Even more troubling is not knowing where Charles’ conscious self is right now. Suppose he’s dreaming, but of what? Is it possible under these circumstances? Edwin wasn’t out long enough to know. Charles could be left drifting while the effects wear off, or his mind could still be poisoned from that offensive magic. To be confined in your head or lost to the void, Edwin doesn’t know which is worse. 

Not long after Edwin’s impromptu nap, Charles stirs in his sleep, letting out a subdued groan. Edwin stays close by, wanting to be there in case he wakes without remembering what happened. He waits, monitoring every change in expression but leaving an appropriate amount of space between them. Charles’ jaw is tight, like he’s braced for something. His eyebrows twitch a little, and Edwin wonders what kind of demons he’s fighting as his face twists into a painful grimace.

Over the years, Edwin has learned just how masterful Charles is at hiding his pain on a regular basis: averting his gaze, making fun, talking just to fill the space. Much like Edwin’s fine-tuned wit and guarded disposition, Charles wears his smile as armor, and can fool anyone who isn’t looking hard enough, even Edwin. But now he knows better. Knows how to read Charles like one of his favorite books, though he will admit he’s missed a few pages.  

Charles has spoken very little of his trauma, and at this moment Edwin feels like he’s been given unfettered access as he watches Charles make himself smaller. He presses into the cushions, whimpering almost inaudibly and mumbling slurred phrases. Without any awareness or control, that buried hurt is raw and unbidden as it emerges from his bones. He looks much younger in his vulnerable state, and when Edwin rubs his shoulder to ease his distress, Charles flinches. The reaction makes Edwin go cold, a familiar ugly feeling spreading to every cavity.   

Edwin remembers with bitter disdain the select details Charles mentioned about his time alive. All the scars left on him by his own protectors. He remembers the picture of a radiant adolescent, smiling past the blacks and blues mottling his skin and hugging his eye. It ruins him to think about Charles: crafted by the sun and braver than most grown men, forced to shrink down so that he might disappear. He cannot fathom how anyone could willingly mar him with such vile cruelty. If Edwin were to spend another second in Hell it would only be to welcome that poor excuse of a father to his own pit of eternal suffering. He would never say such a thing out loud to Charles, but the thought sticks to him like glue. 

While Edwin was miserable in Hell below, Charles was facing the equivalent on earth. His most fragile years spent fighting for survival, hiding from the wolf in his own home. Years of fear and pain that not even death could provide solace to.       

If Edwin could take it all away, he would.

With the gentlest of hands, Edwin reattempts to touch him, freeing the blanket stuck between the crevices and laying it even. He then brushes his fingers through Charles’ hair again, a message to his dream wrought self that he is safe. Only love waits for him here.

And wait, it will. 

Hours pass, with Edwin growing more restless by the minute. The longer Charles remains unconscious the less confident Edwin feels about the impermanence of his condition. What if the gravity of the situation is more severe than he thought? If this curse is not so temporary then Edwin may need to pull Charles out of his supernatural coma somehow, which could be dangerous, and should only be treated as a last resort. 

As a safety measure, Edwin takes to his books for a standby solution. It’s absolutely a placebo to calm his mania, but the busywork does well to deflect any intrusive thoughts.

That is until Charles gets worse. 

Shortly after delving into his bookshelf, Edwin hears a broken cry behind him. In one breath he’s back at Charles’ side, placing his materials down and kneeling next to where Charles rests his head. 

What he feared earlier has made itself known as he notices the sheen of sweat glazing Charles’ forehead. His hair sticks to his skin, and he squirms under the covers that are now twisted around him like a net. He’s developed a fever, which means his spirit must be exceptionally weak. 

This does not bode well for either of them.

Edwin adjusts Charles’ position, taking great care not to jostle him should any outside actions affect the nightmare he’s clearly being held prisoner by. He untangles the blanket and rolls Charles onto his back again, holding a hand to his cheek to ease his face away from the couch so he doesn’t asphyxiate himself. Charles breathes through his mouth in low, shallow puffs, his voice escaping every now and then to utter more indecipherable words. 

Minus the sprinkling of whispers that Edwin does in fact comprehend.

Don’t

Away from 'm

Take me instead  

Those few modest words may as well be a serrated knife with the way they carve into him. 

“Charles?” Edwin speaks his name because it’s the only thing he can think of. Whatever horror show Charles is being subjected to has his mind shackled, and Edwin is at a loss how to console him. He’s strained and overheating, so Edwin removes another layer to hopefully cool him down. Additionally, Edwin procures a cloth from the first aid kit they keep in their storage closet. Charles likes to have one handy just in case, and here they are, case at hand. 

Charles continues to wrestle the unknown forces beyond the veil as Edwin dabs at his feverish skin, now dampening the collar of his shirt. In a rare moment of empathy for his own mother, Edwin feels what it’s like to fret over a sick loved one with scarce knowledge of their ailment, and no antidote. 

“It’s alright. You’re alright.” Edwin isn’t sure if he’s talking to Charles or himself.

Judging by his symptoms after their interdimensional escapade, there’s a possibility that Charles could be caught in a half-life state, unable to cross the bridge back to the afterlife. One could describe it as limbo, for comparability’s sake. His body hasn’t regained its spectrality because his spirit is trapped elsewhere, disconnected. For Edwin, everything seemed to revert all at once, like a flipped switch. For Charles to be out this long and not snap back makes the limbo theory more probable. So the question is: how does one flip the switch? 

Unfortunately, the book that would help him best is stored in Charles’ bag of tricks, and Edwin needs his arms attached if he’s going to fix any of this. He’ll have to assess other resources for an answer.

Starting with the simplest of formulas, Edwin compiles a list of potential remedies, working his way to more complicated processes. He gathers supplies around the office: herbs, salts, necromancy guides, and organizes them on the desk. He then builds a new file for their most recent casework, all the while performing frequent check ups on Charles. 

Edwin keeps busy as the hours tick by, if only to avoid the looming dread hovering like a phantom behind his back.

When the sun edges its way over the horizon, bringing on a new day, Edwin starts to panic.

Charles still hangs between the living and the dead. The nightmares haven’t ceased, though his fever has come down since Edwin poured a tonic down his throat to ease his symptoms. Ridding Charles of his enigmatic infection altogether is proving to be much more difficult.

As the gray morning light enters the room, Edwin goes back and forth, reading and rereading every relevant article in search of a cure. He uses potions, reversal spells and necromantic invocations to break Charles out of his trance, but the results come up empty. They all seem to just graze the surface and fall away. Using more drastic measures could hurt Charles, and Edwin would sooner walk back into Hell than put him through any more torment.

But Charles is looking weaker than ever, and it makes Edwin borderline deranged. No matter what he comes up with, it isn’t strong enough to penetrate the wall blocking his psyche.        

With little to no options left, he contacts Crystal.

She’s half asleep when she answers his call, her tone groggy and none too pleased. Edwin holds the small cellular device- given to them for emergencies- like a lifeline as he greets her tensely. 

“Edwin?” She rasps. “It’s…way too early. This better be an emergency or I swear to-”

“Charles will not wake up.” Edwin interrupts.

There’s a pause as she processes. “Are you serious?”

“I would not be calling you if this weren’t the most serious of matters. Something is very wrong.” Edwin can barely conceal his distress. “I’ve tried everything and- he’s in worse shape than before.” He takes a deep breath. “I need your help.”

“You’ve tried everything?” She asks suspiciously.

“Everything I can without killing him a second time. Please, Crystal. If we waste more time Charles could- he might-”

“Okay, okay. I’m on my way.” Edwin hears her start moving on the other end. “Give me thirty minutes.” She tells him, then hangs up the phone.

It is the longest thirty minutes of Edwin’s afterlife.

He’s pacing the room by the time Crystal arrives, looking disheveled and sleep deprived. Her hair is a wild mass of curls, and Edwin feels only slightly guilty that he made her roll out of bed and rush over here. But the situation is dire, which she quickly catches on to. As soon as she lays eyes on Charles, her face blanches.

“Oh god, what happened to him?”      

“He grew a fever and has been riddled with nightmares for hours. I’ve tried to bring his spirit back but he’s…stuck somehow. That’s why his form hasn't restored itself.”

Crystal shrugs off her jacket, revealing her set of night clothes, and advances toward the couch to take account of Charles’ status.

“When you say ‘stuck’ do you mean like…limbo or something?”

“Or something…yes.” Edwin replies, his fists pressed together like a vice.

“Edwin, he looks like-”

“I know.”

“Like he’s dy-”

“I’m very aware of how he looks . Do you think you can use your abilities to reach him? He’s wasting away like this, and I’ve run out of options.” 

“Yeah, okay, I’ll try.” She warily kneels down by Charles’ head and settles there. Edwin joins her, taking a seat on the edge near Charles’ feet. They both sit in silent observance of Charles, who Edwin realizes has grown eerily quiet since his last episode. The invisible string that keeps them tethered to each other feels thinner and longer than ever before.

Crystal briefly looks at Edwin before taking Charles’ hand and focusing her energy on him. Edwin watches the change happen. Her eyes go milky white and she’s transported to somewhere terrible. She gasps in horror, the tension in her body propelling her upright. She’s only gone for fifteen seconds but the short span is enough to do damage. When she comes back, reeling, fresh tears are streaming down her cheeks.

“Oh my god. What the fuck-what…” Crystal breaks contact, a hand going to her mouth to cut off the nauseous gag that erupts from her stomach. She keels over to the side and heaves dryly until the wave passes. Edwin hovers unhelpfully, only able to spare her a moment to breathe even though every second in waiting eats away at him.

Crystal leans up from her slumped position and looks at him with wide, frenzied eyes.

“What did you see?” Edwin’s voice is straight, clinical, so as not to reveal how terrified he is of the answer.

Crystal stumbles over a few syllables before piecing the words together. “I saw…nightmares. Brutal, horrifying- I think…I think I saw Hell.”

Edwin’s dead heart falls to the pit of his stomach. He opens his mouth but finds himself similarly speechless. Crystal wipes at her face, and Edwin is stung by more guilt having involuntarily exposed her to unnecessary trauma. Charles is stuck in a loop of hellish fever dreams, and Crystal might have to witness the worst imaginable things in order to fish him out. 

“If you could please, describe the nightmares to me.” He requests, almost numbly.

“They weren’t very clear, just like- a bunch of random visions. There was a- hallway? With way too many doors. Water, and fire. I heard screaming, I think Charles was crying. So much blood and- torn up bodies . And I saw-” Crystal has to pause and breathe again, a couple more tears escaping. 

“You saw what?” Edwin presses.

She looks him dead in the eye, jaw tight with the effort to contain her emotion. “I saw your corpse, Edwin.”

A phantom hot flash runs through his body as the sensation of being torn in half returns to him. His own intestines pouring out like infinite rope, the wet sounds of viscera splattering on concrete, followed by the dull thunk of severed limbs. 

Edwin swallows the barbed wire in his throat, his eyes leaving Crystal’s to stare at his lap, shameful and apologetic. 

“I am deeply sorry you witnessed such an awful thing. I never wished for either of you to see that.”

“That was real ? Those bodies, were they all…did you-”

“This is not about me.” He hisses, restoring eye contact. “I am not the one currently locked in a coma and being forced to relive my worst memories. We do not have time to dwell on the past. And while I loathe the idea of you seeing any more of that wretched place, I cannot do this without you so, please. Let us move on.” 

There’s a long lull while Crystal gathers her thoughts, her face a mixture of anguish and confusion. Edwin feels the wires pull taught again, emotions that he cannot name rising to the surface, similar to how he felt after Charles’ breakdown with the night nurse. He doesn’t know what to do with all these conflicting feelings. 

He can’t protect either of them in this situation, and it rips him to pieces.

“Alright.” Crystal submits, and resumes her position facing Charles. She reaches in Edwin's direction and he recoils, clutching his hands to his chest. Crystal shoots him an exasperated look as her hand stays outstretched, insistent.

“Give me your hand. I have an idea.”

“What is it?”

“Clearly it’s a mess in there, so I need you to keep me grounded. I can try using you as a tether so I don’t get lost.”

Edwin raises a brow in suspicion. “Have you tried this before?”

“No, but it can’t hurt. Maybe you can help me find Charles. Talk to me, and I’ll tell you what I see. You’ll know how to navigate better than me if I wind up in Hell.”

Edwin slowly links hands with her. “I sincerely hope that we will avoid that scenario.”

“You and me both.” She sighs, taking a deep breath to prepare. “Okay, here we go.” 

This time, Crystal puts a hand to Charles’ forehead, and it begins again.

The energy between them shifts as Crystal delves back into Charles’ mind, walking the tightrope between reality and the dreaming. Edwin waits patiently until she’s fully immersed- curious to see if it’s actually worked- before speaking.

“Crystal, can you hear me?”

“Yes.” Her voice sounds far away, but still aware. Her pearlesque eyes move back and forth, seeing beyond the walls that hold them.

“What can you see?”

She doesn’t answer right away, but her brows pinch together in a pensive manner, like she’s trying to interpret a map. 

“There’s a ton of…garbage? It’s so dark, can’t really tell.” Her hand twitches around Edwin’s while the silence smothers the air. He listens to her breathing just to have something to focus on. 

Ten more seconds pass, then Crystal’s whole body tenses. 

“It’s Esther’s house.” She says unnervingly. An icy chill rolls up Edwin’s spine and he holds tighter in anticipation. It’s not Hell, but it might as well be.

“Is Charles there?”

“No. You are…I hear you. Screaming.” Her eyes blink rapidly, then the faintest noise sneaks past her lips, something sorrowful. “Oh, Niko.” 

Edwin’s chest heaves at the name; flashes of sunlight, flowers and bright smiles, partnered with the memory of her lifeless body lying stiff on the floor. He’s quickly wrenched out of it when Crystal’s head snaps up to the ceiling. She rocks back slightly before straightening out again. The motions combined with her haunting expression remind Edwin of his earliest encounters with demonic possession. 

“Crystal?”

She breathes hoarsely, overcome by a slew of visions that Edwin doesn’t dare picture himself. He does his best to keep her stable as she rattles off vague descriptions.

“There’s doors everywhere, opening and closing. I can’t see-” Her breath is choked off again. Edwin gently reminds her to breathe, not wanting to let her consciousness dip too far. “Broken windows, burning buildings. So much smoke. Another door. It’s dark, there’s just stairs, forever.” 

The visions seem to be shifting uncontrollably. He’s amazed she’s able to keep herself tied to two places at once.

Another shudder wracks her body and her eyes close tight. “More water. It’s freezing. I hear…music? Someone is crying, a woman.” 

Crystal stops abruptly, then pitches forward in a long exhale, entering a near meditative state.

It’s quiet for an unsettling amount of time, so long that Edwin worries the connection may be lost. His gaze flickers between Crystal and Charles while his free hand clutches tightly at the back of the sofa. Something feels off, it sits in the air around them. If only he could see what it is that’s got her distracted. 

When she comes back to the surface, her voice is low and guarded as if avoiding detection. 

“I’m in someone’s house.”

Edwin leans forward an inch. “Do you know this place?”

“No, but…I think…” Crystal trails off, a wandering air about her. A twitch against Edwin’s thigh draws his eyes back to Charles. Ever since Crystal touched him he’s hardly made a sound, his fits subdued for the meantime. Though now Edwin gets the sense they might be kicking up again. 

Charles' breath hitches the same time that Crystal whispers. “Someone’s coming.”

Edwin’s stress signals fire up again, like he’s in there with them. Some one? Or some thing? Where in the world is Charles? The urge to ask every question prods at him relentlessly, but he holds back. If he pushes too much he risks throwing Crystal off track, and she might actually be getting somewhere now. He’ll stick to one question at a time.

“Who is it?”

He’s left with dead air once more, the one tell being the confused frown on Crystal’s face. Even without pupils Edwin can make out her scrutinizing glare. Eventually, she responds.

“A man. Down the hall. Mean looking. He’s-” 

Edwin startles when she flinches out of the blue, the same way that Charles did earlier. Her breaths quicken, rising in tandem with Charles’ own. They must be in the same place with how their reactions mirror each other. Edwin holds firmly, waiting for who knows what.

Then Crystal lurches, either toward something or away from it. “Charles.” His name is an urgent whisper on her tongue. It brings Edwin to the edge of his seat. 

“Do you see Charles?”  

Crystal shakes her head. Her lips and brows turn downward, her voice thick with emotion. “I hear him. He’s down there.” 

“Down where?”

“In the basement.”

Down there. In the basement. A mean looking man. 

Edwin feels the hollow parts of him burn with acid. “Oh, no.”

“He’s- he’s hurting him.” Crystal hiccups.

Edwin fights not to imagine what barbaric acts Charles is currently falling victim to, but his own brain betrays him. His terror is made worse by the bruises now developing on Charles’ arms, dark and swollen. But what nearly sends Edwin over the edge is a red, angry lash curving down the length of his forearm. Charles is so far gone his feeble body can no longer maintain itself. Their worst case scenario is dangerously close if not already here , and Edwin truly has no idea what will happen if his best friend’s spirit is divided completely.

“Can you get to him?” He pleads, squeezing her fingers. 

“I can’t open the door.” She clenches her teeth, holding back tears. Every snivel and keen from the both of them work to make Edwin more helpless. He's nothing but a useless third party on the outside, at a double disadvantage. Crystal pushes herself further and he wishes so badly to take her place, the same ache pulling at him like an animal clawing at the walls of its enclosure. 

Another lifetime of silence goes by while Crystal digs inside Charles’ consciousness. Before him, Edwin watches Charles buckle. His expression is pained and disoriented, and all Edwin can hear from him is a string of apologies, quiet and desperate. It spears through him like a hot iron rod.  

“Crystal what’s happening?”

“I’m...trying to…” There’s a dull frustration in her voice, clearly tied up on the other line. Edwin might snap at this rate. He has always done well to practice patience while on a case, especially with the more challenging clientele. But here and now, he feels years of hard work regressing alarmingly fast. One loose thread and he’s unraveling at both ends. 

He’s halted from asking more questions when Crystal starts talking to Charles, calling to him in a manner just shy of panicked. When it’s not enough, she orders Edwin to join her, and he does so without objection.

He lays a hand on Charles and calls to him, kindly but with intent. With no psychic ability or innate spiritual talent, he’s not sure how much energy he can contribute as an expired entity, but Edwin gives his all. 

It’s like a reverse exorcism; instead of ejecting evil from its vessel, they’re summoning a spirit back to itself, using Charles’ name as a mantra. Edwin cannot recall ever experiencing such a phenomenon, but like Charles so often says, there’s a first time for everything.

They keep going for what feels like ages, coaxing Charles out of his grisly haze. The results are less than satisfactory. Charles continues to flounder, and even though his reactions are a good sign, he still feels vastly out of reach. 

The two of them maintain contact with him, and Edwin is soon drawn to a soft glow emanating beneath the palm Crystal still has pressed to his forehead. Perhaps it’s working.

“Edwin, I'm losing him.” 

Or perhaps not.

“Help me.” Crystal shakes the hand that holds him and Edwin stares, panic-stricken. He doesn’t know how to help. This whole debacle is out of his league. The one case that could cost him everything and he’s sitting here without a clue as to how to solve it. Instead of working steadily under pressure he might just burst into a thousand pieces. 

Emotion wraps tight around his vocal chords as he sputters pathetically. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Anything, I don’t know, just- do something!”

The rise in volume sparks movement from Charles. Edwin lets go of him reflexively, regrets it, then grabs hold of him again. He forces himself to calm down , shutting the door against the wild hurricane at the forefront of his mind and carving out a space to think.

He’s already tried every trick in the book, so he’ll have to delve deeper, beyond spells and potions. An unconventional approach. That’s exactly what they’re doing here, is it not? How much more obscure can they get in order to break down the wall?

Break it, or- go through it?

Edwin peers over at Crystal, a pillar between them, still unrelenting despite the sweat rolling past her temple and the tremor in her shoulders. Her hand still glows where it touches Charles, giving the illusion that they’re fused together. That gives Edwin an idea.

It’s preposterous, unthinkable. He could be punished for it immensely should he trigger the alarms of the Lost and Found Department, but it just might be unorthodox enough to work. Besides, if his target is not a living being, that’s a reasonable loophole. No rule against possessing another ghost as far as he’s aware, and Edwin can handle a little taboo to save a soul. It’s for the greater good, the greatest, really. Charles went to Hell for him, so whatever potential consequences await, he’ll face them willingly.

Readying himself, Edwin releases his hold on his corporeality, letting the physical parameters of his form fall to the wayside. His hand phases through Crystal’s, which she notices at the last second. 

“Edwin?”

His ghostly hands are shaking as they hover in front of his face. “Keep at it, Crystal. I-I’m going to try something.” He doesn’t wait for her reply as he leans close and reaches both hands towards Charles. He has no idea what he’s doing, truly, but before he can lose his resolve Edwin dips forward and drives his hands through the center of Charles’ chest. 

The feeling is beyond strange; combining his spirit with another. Edwin is not one with himself anymore, and the lack of attachment is dizzying. He’s not sure what he expected, but at the moment he is all but a blind capsule of energy in the dark. He realizes- tragically- that he did not think much further than this. 

Charles’ energy is everywhere, encompassing him. It’s warm and benevolent but also flighty and disjointed. The embodiment of his soul’s distress. There’s an invisible force field present, like the resistance between opposing magnets. Edwin assumes it to be a defense mechanism, but when he extends his energy outward: calm, innocuous, the barrier gives way. Just enough for him to catch the hint of light poking through the curtain.

Edwin feels his presence before the outline can even draw itself.

The thin beam of light stretches diminutively, climbing up and over until it completes its trace around the frame of an outmoded door, at the end of a narrow hallway. This must be what Crystal was describing. It stands unassuming, but on the opposite side, echoing subtly like a haunting lullaby, are the sounds of a harrowed soul. The voice he knows better than his own name bleeding through the worn wood. 

Edwin carefully approaches the door like he would a wild animal. He then makes the mistake of touching it, and a new version of Hell introduces itself.

A lifetime of memories and emotions tear through him like gunfire. They flash so quickly Edwin can’t discern what’s real and what’s imaginary. Some are recognizable, the same snippets he saw within the mirror’s dimension. Others are new, and devastatingly dark.

All of it is Charles: the good, the bad and exceedingly worse. Everything, the very fabric of him, on full display and colliding viscerally with Edwin. It leaves him all at once, like it never was at all, but Edwin feels the lingering soreness like a gaping wound.    

“Charles, can you hear me?” His voice is a puny thing, shrunken and doleful. He’ll need more than that if he is to push past this barricade. 

Using whatever spiritedness he has to get a hold of Charles, Edwin shouts at the door, beseeching him to come through it.

“Open the door, Charles!”  

There’s a distinct pressure building between his form and the negative space around him. Edwin likely has little time left before the link is broken and he’s ejected from here. Even so, he does not withhold.

“Wake up. You have to wake up.” Edwin pushes with every fiber of his being but the damned thing won’t budge. 

Another pained cry. It drives him mad, all rational sense lost to him now. Unwired. His own energy has converted into something feral and jittering.  

For lack of a better strategy, Edwin throws himself at the door, his whole self. The impact disrupts the surrounding barrier and sends particles flying. They fizzle in the air like tiny pyrotechnics.

The world goes quiet, save for a few ragged breaths. Then it breaks altogether.

A loud crack, sharp and metallic. The door flies open, and what Edwin thought was nothing more than a sprawling chasm turns out to be a long wooden staircase, dangling precariously.

And all the way at the bottom sits a blurred figure, illuminated by a pale yellow glow.

“Charles!”

He sees him, weak, beaten and terrified. The sight makes Edwin want to wail, to rip the flesh of every being that ever dared to harm this boy. His strained voice echoes down the stairwell, carrying all the grief and hope and love with it.

Thin tendrils of light drift upwards, pinkish in color and nearly transparent. Edwin acts without thinking, driven by the last natural forces left inside him. He reaches for the strings and yanks.

The world goes stark white. Blinding. A quick snap of energy forcibly knocks Edwin away, and he’s sent careening back to the mortal world at hyperspeed. He reappears in a flash, rocking backwards and hitting the sofa just as Crystal’s connection is severed, her hand jumping off of Charles like she’s been shocked.

They sit in frozen astonishment for one long breath. At first Edwin panics for fear that something’s gone all the more wrong. He looks to Crystal sitting on the floor, burnt out and panting, then back to Charles. The glow is gone, along with the injuries scattered across his body. Then, like some divine intervention; a slow motion miracle, a warm lantern light on the darkest day in Hell… 

Charles opens his eyes.

Chapter Text

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

He’s been at it for hours.

Talk about a cruel joke. Charles finally breaches the light at the end of the tunnel and launches right into another, head in a topspin.

The doors are back, and behind every blasted thing is another critical hit of psychic damage. It’s all so loud. The needless slamming has him near ready to explode in a blind fit of rage. Charles can’t get the static out of his ears. How did he get himself twisted in this damned mess twice? 

He’s been hurling nonstop through every hell-born dreamscape only the sickest of minds could conjure, all playing at ten times the speed. One minute he’s drowning in a frozen trench, the next he’s on fire. The burn is all the same, lethal and unforgiving. 

Flashes of green, distorted visions of blood and sinew. Sickening laughter overlapping with gnashing teeth. Piles of shredded bodies all sharing a familiar, beloved face.

Then nothing, for a brief, blissful moment, there’s just nothing.

Charles feels a cooling sensation glide over him, gone as soon as it arrives. For once, he embraces the dark, the absence of sight and sound coming to him as a welcome reprieve. Maybe this is the comfort and peace brought by death that so many like to preach about. No more yelling, crying, banging or tearing. Just noiseless solitude.

Until Charles hears keys at the door. 

It sets him on edge immediately. The telltale jingle of metal on metal followed by the heavy close of the front door. It reverberates through the walls that now box Charles in, the sickly yellow light of his parents basement flipping on over his head.

He hears the clonk of his father’s footsteps, leaden and dooming. They echo down the abnormally long stairway that floats out of reach above him. The sound warps until it lands at the bottom where Charles sits stone still by his old bed. He itches to move, his muscles shouting for him to run but every single tendon has gone rigid. 

The click of a buckle is all the warning he gets before a shockwave of pain hits him. 

The blows come from every angle, with no direct source or trackability. His back, his arms, shoulders, chin and neck. Welts gather all over his skin, raised and burning. Charles bites his tongue as long as he can while faceless shadows circle round, battering him senseless. It isn't much longer before his voice gives way, but all his begging and wailing falls on deaf ears. He can’t even hear himself over the raucous droning in his head. The only clear sensation is the constant sharp sting pulsating through every fresh wound, the feel of soft tissue splitting from blunt force. It’s bad enough to make his stomach turn.

Charles tries to think happy thoughts, racking his brain for a bloody crumb of joy to shield himself with. Of course Edwin is the first to step into his mind, but his lake eyes and coy smile are quickly swallowed up by blood and fire as he’s catapulted back to Hell.

“No no no stop. Stop.” Charles blinks hard to clear his eyes, falling back into his body. His vision is cloudy from tears, not to mention the deformed structure of the room. Depth perception? Forget it. Everything is too dim and stretched beyond reality. Nothing here is made to make sense, it’s all a recipe for insanity. 

And boy does Charles feel it. Especially when the voices start up again.

Except these voices aren’t the same patchy whispers he grew used to in Cursed Wonderland. They sound kind of tinny, like the phone was left dangling off the hook. It helps distract Charles from the blows bombarding him. 

There’s a hammering somewhere, different from the one in his head. Charles squints upward to find the source. Once the walls stop spinning he takes a gander at the tall stack of steps that taunt him. He blinks some more, trying to shut out the pain in order to get a decent view. Shining from the top is a thin horizontal strip of light, and as soon as it meets his eye the voices from before bellow into the hollow stairway. A clear cut through the buzzing.

Charles!

He doesn’t hear it so much as he feels it ring through him. The familiar note strikes his heart like a forgotten lullaby. He knows it well, knows it as a part of him, but why can’t he name it?

Their stifled calls alert Charles to something, but he doesn’t know what. Can’t know much of anything past the searing pain lining every inch of his body.

-ere, we’re right here!

You’re safe, Charles. Wake up.

Wake up.

Wake up?

He’s been awake. Reliving the same terrible things over and over again. That fucking evil mirror threw him down here and has been sucking the afterlife from him like some kind of spiritual energy vampire.

How he can still be here is a brain melt considering he watched that stupid thing get blown to smithereens. 

Didn’t he? Or was that just another illusion?

Fuck, what if that mirror really was a portal to Hell, and he’s been rotting in his own personal torture chamber for years, just like-

Piercing, high-pitched ringing invades his ears, erasing his thoughts. It ripples the air, and beyond it are those same voices still trying to intercept, but he can barely piece their words together.

-a-ke up

      -pe-n 

            th- d-or

God, it hurts. Charles wants to listen, wants to answer them, except all he can spit out are a handful of incoherent, choked sounds.

He feels faraway, disconnected, like his body isn’t his anymore. The pain gives way to numbness, not unlike the kind that Charles succumbed to when he died. All the overwhelming sensations sort of blur together until he can’t perceive them individually, until he can’t tell himself apart.

But then something changes, monumentally.

It sounds like…an explosion of some sort. A cataclysm, coming from inside. 

Charles blinks, and before he knows what’s what, the basement door bursts open, a resounding thwack hitting his ears as it smashes against the wall. 

“Charles!” 

All the breath is vacuumed from his lungs then blasted back in. He’s left gasping, flooded by light and kinetic energy. It rips through the chains holding him down, and suddenly he's whole again. The stairs that were previously towering over him are right there at his feet, welcoming him. Something hooks into his chest, merges with every ectoplasmic cell and and pulls fervently. He doesn’t have to think to give in, he just knows. It’s not a threat, it’s release. Bathed in blue and beckoning him forth.

Charles wakes with a start, popping upwards from his reclined position like a jack in the box. The room does a loopty loop before his eyes settle on the office. He’s home, on the couch. At his feet sits Edwin, Edwin! With his hands up, looking mortified. To his left, slumped over on the floor is Crystal, looking on the verge of passing out.

Charles takes in his surroundings, the intense energy floating in the air, but comes up empty handed as to what just transpired here.

“Wh-what happened…?” He asks dumbly.

Crystal and Edwin collapse against the cushions, each letting out a tired, suffering sigh. 

“We almost fucking lost you is what happened.” Crystal stares up at him, dark bags under her eyes and sweat dripping down her forehead. She rises until she’s level with him, then wallops him in the arm, which would definitely hurt if he could feel it. He blocks himself anyway out of habit.

“Hey! What was that for? Wh-” She stops her barrage and instead crashes into Charles, hugging him fiercely.  

“Don’t ever do that shit again.” Her voice is a little watery, and Charles gives her a few pats on the back, his face half shrouded by her curly mane. 

Crystal lets him go after taking a steadying breath, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. There’s a frayed energy about her, and- is she in her pj's? Charles glances at the window. It was definitely nighttime when they last saw each other. Damn.

“Was I- how long was I out?”

“Eight hours, nine minutes and thirty three seconds.” Edwin replies. He sits upright, a small vintage stopwatch in his hand. His fingers are trembling slightly.

“Shit, all night?” Charles rubs his head. It doesn’t hurt anymore but the phantom pain still pokes around his skull.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Um…I’m fine I think.” He gives himself a once over, everything seems normal aside from all the weird. He’s certainly not living anymore. “Yeah- feel fine. Good as dead.”

“What do you remember?” Crystal questions.

And that takes him a minute, because his brain is still fried and can only process information at a snail’s pace. His friends wait patiently, though he can feel their loaded curiosity weighing on him. Charles sinks into himself, tugging at his memory. It’s all a jumbled mess but he can at least make out the most recent happenings.

“The mirror, the Highgate house, we got out and- and then it all went black. How did we get back here?” He looks between the two of them.

“Crystal called us a taxi and we brought you home after you…collapsed.”     

“Yeah, you passed out and fell into some kind of ghost coma. Edwin had to call me to come help, we couldn’t get you to wake up.”

Wake up.

It builds slowly, then hits him all at once, an invisible sucker punch to the gut. Nightmares, blood and bruises. A racing heartbeat, ringing in his ears, pounding in his head. Pause, rewind, fast forward.

“Charles?” 

A gentle touch on his shoulder. It’s Edwin. Of course it is.

“Are you alright?”

“I heard you.” Says Charles, climbing out of the mud. “In my…dream. I could hear both of you.”

He was sleeping, but not really. Something in between. Not restful whatsoever. So much for that. Alive or dead Charles can never get a full night’s sleep. 

“You heard us calling to you?” Crystal wipes at her brow, a little baffled. “I didn’t think it worked. You kept slipping. Until Edwin um- did a thing. What did you do?”

Charles looks at Edwin just as his eyes flit away. He springs back to his signature posture; straight and proper, all business, but there’s a crack in his shell. Charles has spent over thirty years learning how and where to spot the faults in his stoic disguise. They usually show in the lines of his jaw, the downturn of his mouth and most of all, his hands. Their unconscious movement gives him away nearly every time, unable to keep up with the act. Right now they’re balled up tight in his lap, his thumb rubbing against the other.

He’s troubled by something, and maybe even a little- guilty? But what for?

“Hey, Edwin. What’s wrong?” He carefully rests a hand over his fists. Edwin refuses to look at him but he doesn’t hide from his touch. Small victory. “I’m still a little fogged up, so fill me in, yeah? You guys look like you fought a war while I was gone.”

Edwin huffs sharply, like he’s about to confess a crime. Charles tilts his head and raises a brow, curious as to what’s got his mate so stressed. Wishing he wasn’t so damn clueless.

“I-I may have…used illicit techniques to revive your spirit.” Edwin surveys each corner of the room as if someone might be lurking in the shadows. “It was a bit extreme. I broke the rules, and I am not proud of that. I hope I did not cause you harm.”   

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, but I feel fine.” Charles shrugs, Edwin frowns. “What, did you cast black magic on me or something? We’ve dealt with that before, ‘s no big deal. Anyway, I’m back aren’t I? Whatever you guys did worked, so no use fussing about logistics. You don’t have to look so guilty, mate.” 

“It is a big deal, Charles. Rules exist for a reason. I could have-” He protests but is interrupted by Crystal groaning at the ceiling.

“Alright, I’m too tired to listen to you bicker about bullshit. I’m gonna go get some sleep. I feel a migraine coming on.” She rises to her feet, and yeah, she’s in rough shape .   

Charles tugs on her sleeve as she picks up her jacket. “Thank you for helping out, Crystal. Sorry for all the hassle. Good thing we have you on the team, yeah?”

Her tired smile is warm as she blinks down at him. “Yeah, never a dull day with you two, huh. Stay out of trouble for fuck’s sake, will you? You’re important, too.” 

Charles laughs half-heartedly. “I’ll try. No promises, though.”

She ruffles his hair, nods to Edwin, and turns for the door.

“I’m out of office for the next 24 hours, so don’t call me.” She points a demanding finger behind her.

“Roger that. Thank you, Crystal.” Edwin mumbles. Then she’s out.

Silence pours into the room like concrete, thick and suffocating. Edwin is still tense beside him, and Charles can practically hear the cogs grinding in his brain.

Now it’s his turn to sigh exasperatedly. He slumps against the back of the couch, eyeing Edwin. His hands itch to touch him, to pry apart those anxious fists, instead he just picks at a stray thread poking from the cushion. Edwin continues to ruminate. His gaze is far away, and it puts Charles on edge.

“Oi, where are you, mate?” He taps Edwin’s arm until he shakes himself out of it. “You’re acting like you’ve got a warrant on your head. What’s going on?”  

Edwin finally looks at him, stormy and shamefaced. “I’m sorry, I just-” He runs a hand through his perfect hair, something he only does when he’s truly rattled. “It’s been a long day and I can’t seem to get my head on straight.” 

“Can you please just tell me what happened?”

“It’s just as Crystal said, we almost lost you and I- I didn’t know what else to do. It was reckless of me, and if we are reprimanded then I will take full responsibility.”

“Responsibility for what? Saving my arse? Clearly I must be missing something here, I don’t see what the problem is-”

“I possessed you, Charles. Not only was it dangerous but it was a complete invasion of privacy and I did so without your permission.”

Charles pauses, a flicker of something tickling his spine. “Woah- is that what that was? I didn’t even know we could possess other ghosts. That’s…cool.”

Edwin blinks once, twice. “Cool?” He’s proper pissed now. “There’s nothing cool about this, Charles. You were in the worst state. For all I know your soul could have split apart, what if my desperate attempt led to- made things worse?” His voice is wavering, the thick walls of his foundation starting to crumble.

“What if-” A lone tear escapes from the corner of his eye, and it catches both of them off guard. Charles is instantly reaching for him, cradling his startled face with a gentle hand.  

“Hey, you’re all right, Eds. It’s all right. That was a lot for you, yeah? I get it. I’m sorry I scared you.”

Edwin stares at him with wet eyes, worry turning into frustration that puts creases in his forehead. “Yes, you gave me a bloody fright. How in the world are you taking this so lightly?”  

“Because it doesn’t matter, does it?” Charles takes his hand. “I’m here, you saved me, Edwin. So what if you had to use a little possession on me? You could’ve made a deal with a bloody demon and it wouldn’t matter. You say it all the time, a good detective does what he needs to-”

“In order to solve a case, I know-”

“Exactly. You did what you had to do, because you’re a good detective. If you think I should be offended or whatever, I’m not. You don’t think I would have done the same thing? I would have been rotting away in my dad’s basement if you and Crystal didn’t come find me. You got me out of that place, and we’re both okay, that’s all I care about.” He brings both hands to Edwin’s shoulders, angling him closer. “Besides, if anyone is gonna go digging around in my soul, there’s nobody I trust more than you, is there?”

Edwin is quiet, his mouth working in a tight line. A flurry of emotion dances across his face, and ultimately the fight leaves him, falling from his shoulders alongside a quaking breath. He squeezes Charles’ hand, and offers a subtle nod. 

“Even so, I’m very sorry for intruding like that. I was…beside myself.”

It didn’t feel like an intrusion, is what he doesn’t say. “Did you…see something?”

“I saw everything, Charles.” Edwin looks at him then, distraught, and it all clicks.

Everything…from life to death and beyond. 

“Oh.” Is all Charles can muster. His hands fall back to his lap as something grim sits heavy in his stomach. He’s not angry, there genuinely is nobody he would rather bare his soul to than Edwin. It’s just the thought of Edwin being caught in those same nightmares that damn near ruins him. Not that Charles can really control what Edwin can and can’t see. But still, it doesn’t erase the guilty feeling stirring inside him. And Crystal, no wonder she acted like that, she must have seen the worst of it, too.

“I’m sorry.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Edwin bites, but with no real malice. 

Except he does. Sorry has been following him around for months, its reason changing with the wind. 

“I do though, don’t I?” Charles starts, and the word vomit comes rushing out. “I’m the one who got us into this mess. If I didn’t touch that bloody mirror in the first place, if I had just done my job instead of being impulsive, none of us would have gone through any of this. It’s because of me that we got stuck in another trap and practically died…again. You and Crystal saw terrible shit that you didn’t deserve to, as if you haven’t witnessed enough nightmares already.”

“Charles…”

“It’s the same. Even when I try to do better, I always find a way to muck it up.” He’s all choked up now. “So yeah, I’ve got plenty to be sorry for. It’s literally my fault.”

He doesn’t mean to spew rubbish everywhere, doesn’t mean to cause Edwin more stress after all he’s put up with. Charles wants to let it slide like usual, but he can’t keep his heavy cup from overflowing.

Edwin opens his mouth to argue but then stalls. Worse than his lengthy lectures is the silent scrutiny. He sits there, studying Charles like a unique specimen, searching him with a perplexed sadness that makes Charles want to squirm.

“You said the same thing, before…”

“What?”

“When I pulled you from that lake, you were- well, not in your right mind. But you were saying all these things. That it was your fault…” 

Charles isn’t sure what he’s getting at, but as always Edwin is a step ahead of him.

His puzzled expression morphs into something closer to understanding, but he’s not pleased by the revelation. 

“Charles...” He tip toes into the question. “Do you…blame yourself for the things that have happened to us in the past?”

“Well, maybe not every single one of them. But a good deal, yeah.” Charles shrugs.

“Even my own misfortunes?”

“Especially yours. My misfortunes are what they are, and frankly I could care less, but the last thing I want to do is put you in danger, and look what I’ve gone and done now. Put you through hell twice in one day, haven’t I? All because I touched something I shouldn’t have.” Charles lowers his head. “I’ve made mistakes before, but it was really bad this time, and I’m just- I’m sorry, Edwin.”

“Don’t…don’t.” Edwin holds a hand in front, the other clutching at the fabric of his trousers. He takes a breath and gets himself under control. It’s kind of amazing, actually. He’s really been working on his patience, though Charles can tell he’s fuming underneath. 

Charles risks a glance in Edwin’s direction and sees the pain etched into the smooth planes of his face. He regrets opening his damned mouth. 

Edwin loosens himself a tiny bit, straightens his clothes and silently works through his thoughts until he lands on something. It’s how he prepares himself for difficult conversations. Charles silently braces as well.

“I know things tend to pile up between us, and part of that is due to my own reticence. I believe we have put off this conversation for too long. I didn’t realize how much was weighing on you.”

“It’s alright, mate. We had a lot going on, I didn’t want to bother you with my nonsense.” Charles tries to lighten the load, and Edwin’s quick glare tells him he’s already been caught. 

“Your feelings are not nonsense, Charles. Do not downplay your own suffering for my sake. Now that I…have seen your memories, there’s nothing to hide. Though I am not saying that to hold it against you.” 

He’s right, it hurts but he’s right. Charles can deny all he wants but it won’t change what Edwin’s seen with his own eyes…soul? Soul eyes…

There’s a lull before Edwin addresses him again, turning a pinch closer. “How long have you been holding onto this?” 

“Since Port Townsend, I guess. Maybe even before that, I don’t know.”

“Charles, you know I am to blame just as much for what befell us in Port Townsend. And anything before that is simply irrelevant. We may be dead but we’re still human , death does not keep us from making mistakes. Neither does our line of work.”

“I know that but, I mean, what’s the point of being the brawn if I can’t protect you? If I can’t even protect myself from… myself ? How can I do good when I end up cursing us both? I know I’m being stupid right now but-”

“Yes, you are being stupid.” Edwin cuts in, sharp and swift. He clasps both of Charles’ wrists, tethering him to the spot. Any retort is burned away before Charles can try for it. 

“Listen to me. You are good, Charles Rowland. So good that Hell could not touch you. Mistakes that you’ve made in the past have already been made up for, tenfold. You have spent the last thirty odd years righting wrongs that were never even yours to begin with. You are not some cursed object, you are the best person I know and the best part of me. So listen to me when I tell you there is no need to punish yourself. You died, Charles. You’ve already been dealt the greatest punishment of all. So please, learn to forgive yourself, as you do so easily for others.”

Edwin’s eyes are fiery and resolute, no room for argument. In all his years Charles has never heard such words directed at him by anyone, not even his own mother. He was never taught to care for himself, not any deeper than routine maintenance and preservation. Forgiveness was not awarded to him when he was alive. He was taught to owe, to repent for his own existence. He never really considered the opposite for himself, too scared that it would backfire somehow. But for Edwin it was easy to hand over. He met Charles at the end only to give him a new beginning. And even after seeing the darkest parts of him Edwin calls him good, calls him the best. Earnestly, like it’s a written rule. All Charles can do is stare back and try not to burst into tears. If there was anything left of his heart, he’s sure it would crack. 

Charles can’t trust himself to speak, so he slides out from Edwin’s grip and wraps him in a hug. Edwin falls into it, surprised at first but easing into the affection. Charles squeezes him fully, using touch to communicate the words that are lost to him, as he often does. The closeness is familiar and soothing but at the same time not enough. As ghosts they can still feel each other, which he’s incredibly grateful for, but it’s nothing compared to the live wires he felt beneath his skin while under magic’s influence. His senses are dulled now, the intoxicating warmth drained out of their bloodstreams. Charles buries himself in the crook of Edwin’s shoulder. If he thinks hard enough, he can almost remember what he smelled like, the gold token that their fleeting moment of life gifted them. He wonders if Edwin can still feel it, too.

They share a long breath, just because. Tragically, Charles can feel another apology climbing up his throat. It’s there before he can shut it up.

“‘M sorry…” 

“Oh for goodness’ sake, what did I just say-”

Charles giggles wetly against his collar. “I’m not done yet! Just let me get it out of my system, yeah?” 

Edwin sighs like a moody teenager who’s been given a chore list. Charles loves him.

“Fine. If you must.”

Charles rises out of their bent position, hoping the remnants of his emotional tidal wave don’t show too much. “I’m sorry, and thank you. Sorry for making a mess, and being a mess, and scaring you. I guess I had a lot more bottled up than I thought, and it kind of got away from me.”

Edwin nods, no longer sarcastic but genuine. “I understand. I’m no stranger to repressed feelings, myself. However, neither of us are alone in this. I know I don’t always do the best job of making that clear, but you could have told me what was troubling you. Though I suppose I’ve seen it all now, so there’s no need for further explanation.”

Charles cringes. “Still wish you didn’t have to see that.”

“And I wish you never set foot in Hell, but here we are.” 

“Hey, that’s-”

“What I’m saying is…” Edwin puts the brakes on his comeback. “You do not need to make yourself smaller for the betterment of others. You do a wonderful job of making people happy but that should not come at a cost to you. I think we’ve both sacrificed enough. I’m sorry for not addressing these matters sooner, and even more so that I invaded your mind. But I do not think any differently of you for it. Any of it. You understand that, right?”

“Of course. It’s the same for me.” Charles takes his hand again, melting a little on the inside. It’s the same. “Sorry for hiding from you, I won’t do it anymore.”

“You’re forgiven.” Edwin doesn’t miss a beat. “Now, can we put an end to this apology fest or do I have to resort to spell work in order to ban that word from your mouth?” 

Charles laughs, and it cleanses his whole body. “Nah, I’m finished. Thanks, mate. I’d say that’s more than enough baggage for one day, innit? ‘Specially for you.”

“Right you are.” Edwin agrees, a smirk slowly rising. He pats their entwined hands then stands from the couch, light as a feather. “There is still work to do. I’d like to return to my notes so we may close this convoluted case once and for all. If you wouldn’t mind fetching my book from your backpack?”

“Sure thing.” Charles gets up to snag his pack laying at the other end. Once he’s found the right title, he hands it to Edwin, who takes it with a gentle smile. 

“Thank you.” He says politely. Charles nods, smiling in kind. Edwin pivots and wisps over to the desk. Charles watches him settle back into his comfort zone, flipping through pages and assessing his notes. His eyes flick up to Charles once as he clicks his pen, a quick little check in, before sinking into their postponed casework. 

The pale light passing through the window highlights Edwin’s frame, capturing him in his most natural state. Charles takes his place back on the couch, slipping his bomber back on, and stares across the room while tiny flowers bloom in his chest. Delicate words dance around his head, tempting him. He could say more, would love to, even. But not just yet. It doesn’t feel like the right moment, and he wants to do this right, so he’ll tuck it away for now and have a think, instead. 

Except the work is never done, and Charles is eventually called upon to provide case information. This is probably one of their longest documented cases yet, with the devil literally being in the details. Edwin manages to record nearly every instance from his own memory with perfect clarity, in true Payne fashion, but organizing his own memories is quite the feat for Charles; like sorting through pieces of fine sand with a fork.

Edwin does his best to only ask basic necessary questions for the purpose of research. Charles complies and answers each one until the notes are running off the page. 

There’s a few details Charles deliberately keeps secret, some being a little too world altering to really speak of. He hopes whatever Edwin saw during his jaunt through Charles’ memories wasn’t too revealing. But either way, he’s been cut open and laid on display. 

Midnight is approaching when they finally wrap up, both of them glad to close the books on this one. The office goes quiet for some time. It’s comfortable, the way it should be. All the stale air made sweet by their shared presence.

Edwin busies himself with filing case cards while Charles shelves the many volumes Edwin had pulled. Judging by the source material, Edwin must have really been stumped by Charles’...ordeal. Everything from potions to necromancy were opened up and scattered across the desk. It’s unlike Edwin to handle his library in a slapdash manner. The evidence tells the whole story. 

When it comes to them, there are no limits as to how far they’ll go. It’s all or nothing.

Charles wants it all.

As he slides the last book onto the shelf- that Edwin will most likely reorganize himself later- Charles peeks at the closet. Edwin is still behind the half open door minding his business. Meanwhile, Charles is trying to keep his cool while thinking up a plan. He wants to do this right.

His eyes trail over the office and land on the record player. He smiles, slinking over to quietly dig out a record. Charles flips through their neatly alphabetized collection until he lands on the right one. It is only after he’s placed the needle and piano drifts into the room that Edwin pops his head out. 

“Charles?”

It’s been ages, but having recently visited the memory makes the music more familiar. Charles tucks the record sleeve away before stepping out to meet a curious Edwin. 

“Hey, how bout a dance?” He presents a hand, all gentleman-like. Edwin squints, analyzing him as he slips around the door.  

“Are you feeling alright, Charles?”

“I’m peachy, why?”

“You awoke from a deadly coma merely four hours ago, and now you’re asking me to dance.”

“Yeah, had myself a proper night’s rest and I’m full of energy that I really don’t care to spend on casework. So will you put down the files for two seconds and come dance with me? Please?” Charles beckons, sounding a little pushier than intended.

Edwin hangs onto his suspicion for a while longer, but he’s not outright refusing. His hands fidget for a second, then he moves forward to accept Charles’ invitation, playing along. “Alright, I suppose we’ve earned ourselves a short break. Would you like to lead or shall I?” 

“I’ll lead.” Charles brings Edwin to the middle of the floor, setting them up in position. He’s a little sloppy with it, never as graceful and refined as his partner, but he gets the gist.

“You chose a waltz?” Edwin inquires lightly.

Charles nods. “I was reminded of it recently. Been a minute, hasn’t it?” 

“It has…” Edwin gives him a knowing look. “Do you remember the steps?”

“‘Course I do, just have to…” Charles looks down. Left or right forward? Edwin waits patiently, letting him solve it. Too many seconds pass while Charles feigns confidence, which gives as soon as he meets those expectant green eyes, one thick brow raised in question. 

He knows Edwin knows, and he can’t help but laugh. “I forgot the steps.”

Edwin ducks to hide his laughter, which escapes through his nose. “Start with your left.”

“Right.” 

“Left.”

“Right. No, I mean yes, it’s left.”

Charles mentally slaps himself. Edwin is still amused, so he’s not completely botched it. They step slow, Edwin following effortlessly. Charles has to count to himself for a minute before the vague muscle memory trickles back in. 

“Honestly, what’s gotten into you?” Edwin asks once Charles is able to keep his eyes off his feet. “Not that I haven’t grown used to your antics, but you don’t even like ballroom dance.” 

Here goes nothing. “Well, um…I’ve been thinking…” 

That same tiny smirk lifts the corner of Edwin’s mouth. “Should I be worried?”

“Oi, cheeky bastard, what’s gotten into you?” Charles bumps his hip, chortling between slides. “This is serious business.”   

“Apologies, do continue.” Edwin eases back, and suddenly Charles feels on the spot. Which to be fair; he put himself here. But he literally has no idea what he’s doing, he just wanted an excuse to be close to Edwin and this was the best option on the fly. As always, Edwin is patient and thankfully enjoying himself enough to not notice the internal war Charles is actively waging.

Where does he even start?

“Um…” Perfect. “So, I know I said I wouldn’t hide from you anymore, and I meant that. But there may be some things that I’ve been keeping secret, just to think on more, y’know? To figure out what they mean before I-”

“Charles.” Edwin cuts in. “I do not expect you to tell me every little thought that crosses your mind. You are not obligated to reveal anything that you would rather not share. I think I’ve crossed far enough over that line already.” He frowns at himself, a barnacle of guilt still clinging to him.

“Yeah, I know that, I do. This is something I want to share, I just- wasn't really sure what it was until now. If that makes sense.”

Edwin confirms with a short nod, inviting him to proceed. Charles laughs breathlessly at nothing, he’s nervous. He wiggles his fingers a little, glad to be dead at this moment if only for the absence of sweat. He’d surely be a clammy mess if his body still had any life left.

“I’ve had a lot to think about lately. Done some soul searching you could say…no pun intended.” 

That gets a tiny chuckle from Edwin. It helps settle his nerves, just a fraction.

“I know I put on a brave face most of the time, but the truth is I’ve been a real coward.” He says.

Edwin’s counter is at the ready, preceded by a classic eyeroll. “That is far from the truth. Not once have I seen you act cowardly even during the most frightening cases. You walked into Hell for goodness’ sake.”

“I know, and I’d do it again. But that’s not what I’m saying.” Charles pauses to gather his scattered thoughts. They keep up the rotation, moving a smidge faster to maintain rhythm. 

“I think there’s a part of me that I’ve been hiding, that I didn’t even know was there. Or maybe I did, I was just too afraid to face it.” He can feel the ghost of a heartbeat thumping as Edwin looks at him openly, a note of curiosity there.

“Growing up, I didn’t have a whole lot of close relationships. Didn’t keep many friends, not real ones anyway. I mean, me and my mum were close but- my dad…well, he was a right tosser.” 

Edwin's whole body tenses momentarily, but he forces it back. “Indeed.” He mumbles, a quiet fury underneath that sparks fondness from Charles.

“He uh- had a way of keeping me on my toes all the time. There were so many rules. I wasn’t allowed to have any mates over, or stay over theirs. Couldn’t make too much noise, or stay out late. I still snuck out but if I got caught- and I did- it could get ugly.”

A subtle twitch against his palm, Edwin looks troubled but says nothing.

“All those rules made it hard to be myself. I think the best thing about dying aside from you was just getting a break from all that rubbish. I didn’t have to worry about all his stupid rules anymore. It’s like…I don’t know, spent so long in survival mode I never learned what living could really be like.” 

The hold on his shoulder tightens, an air of understanding between them. For Edwin it was the same, worse even. Dead at sixteen and in Hell for a lifetime, no one but fear and desolation to keep him company. Charles has no clue how Edwin could still know himself as kind after getting out of there, after being shredded and reconstructed over and over again for decades. Yet he laid eyes on a dying stranger and instead of fleeing, sat with him.

Call it fate or what have you, but Charles’ untimely death was luck in disguise. Given the name of Edwin Payne.

Charles lowers his voice, blending with the music floating beneath their conversation. “I’ve always wanted to be kind and good, nothing else. Not angry, or spiteful, or cruel for no reason. And I think I’ve done well to avoid that, but there’s parts of me that are angry, and they freak me out. There’s other things too. After everything that happened in Port Townsend, and what I saw in that mirror, it sort of…unlocked a new door.” He can’t believe he’s using a door metaphor of all things.

Edwin pipes up, gentle. “May I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“What did you see in the mirror realm?” His question is undemanding but Charles can feel his profound need for an answer. It is Edwin, after all. He can’t dismiss the details.

“You.” The word is out of his mouth before Charles can think to reroute his answer. Edwin stares while he waits for his brain to restart. 

“I mean, yeah, that’s the reason I touched that stupid thing. I thought I saw you in the glass, went through, and it turned out to be a trick. Most of it was memories, and nightmares. But the one thing I kept seeing was you. I was trying to rescue you, but I failed, every time. Saw you get dragged back to Hell and I guess that kinda did me in.”   

Edwin bites his lip. “The illusions were very realistic. Hauntingly so.” 

“Tell me about it.”

“I saw you, too.” Edwin adds. “Different versions of you, from early memories. I even ran into you as a child, or rather, ran after you. But you disappeared before I could get any closer.”

“Really?” 

“Yes, then the ground swallowed me whole and I ended up crawling out of my grave into a dark abandoned room.”

Charles processes that sentence with muted horror, thinking of how best to react but unable to come up with a dignified response. “That’s fucked up, mate.”

Edwin barks a laugh, for real this time. It bubbles out of him uncontrollably, full and bright. It’s the best sound in the world. 

“Fucked up, indeed.” His smile is so distracting it defers Charles from asking what’s so funny. That short burst of laughter lives inside him now, added to his rare collection. He’s buzzing with it, feeling a little restless. Their silly box steps aren’t doing it for him anymore. Charles wishes he had more advanced dancing skills, but the least he can do is lead a twirl. Edwin doesn’t expect the spin but awards Charles with a little nod of approval when they come back full circle without missing a step. Nailed it.

“Y’know, for all the chaos and trauma and what not. It wasn't all bad, what I saw. Ran into some good memories, too.”

“Like what?”

“Like the first time we did this.” Charles waves their joined hands up and down. “And the first case we ever solved. I even saw bits of…parallel lives? We went to prom together in one of them.”

“Prom? At university?”

“Nah, high school. Junior or senior prom.” 

Edwin looks more flabbergasted by this information than any of the crazy shit Charles has said since their return. He slows down, occupied by the vision Charles has planted in his head. 

“Fascinating, and we were there, together?”

“Yeah, we wore matching ties and everything.” Charles smiles, proud of that little detail.  

Edwin hums thoughtfully. “Did we look- happy?” 

“‘Course we did. It’s us.” 

And they did, it was perfect. Charles knows they’d be happy anywhere as long as they could stay together. No question. 

“Of course.” Edwin’s eyes are wistful, and Charles recognizes that longing only because it’s the same thing that’s been plaguing him for god knows how long. He just wasn’t privy to it until recently. It’s a heartbreaking thing to see plastered on Edwin’s face. Charles can imagine how maddening it must be to exist for a century and miss the whole world change. Neither of them had long lives, but Charles at least got to adapt within his own time. If he were in Edwin’s shoes the cultural whiplash would have sent him into outer space.

They’re still adapting, and that’s okay. Charles wonders if Edwin would want to share all those missed experiences with him. 

As if reading his damn mind, Edwin speaks up. “I never had much interest in such things when I was alive. My studies always took priority. Had I made it to university, I doubt it would appeal to me. I’m not suited for those crowds.” 

“I don’t know, mate. You make a brilliant dance partner.”

Edwin scoffs. “Nobody in this day and age would bring this style of dance to their prom.”

“You wanna find out?”

“No thank you.”

“Cause…” Charles wears a scheming smirk. “If you wanted, I could spruce this place up and turn it into a proper party. Or we could go haunt a school gym for a night.”

“Absolutely not.”

“No? Not interested in being my prom date?” 

Edwin’s next words get trapped in his throat and he sputters. Charles is flirting terribly but he can’t resist, not with Edwin getting so flustered.

“Date? I- I hardly think I would be the right choice. Besides, I’m sure Crystal would better suit the role for that event.”

Charles shakes his head. “Maybe at one point, but not anymore. Wait, do you think we still have a thing together?”

“I'm not sure what you mean by thing but, I was under the impression that there was still…romantic tension between you.” Edwin feigns indifference but there’s a hint of bitterness in his tone.

“Nah mate, that ended ages ago. Not long after it began, really. Decided we’re better off as friends, and we are.”

Edwin nods, slowly interpreting. “I see. You may have failed to mention that.”

Good god, Charles is an idiot. No wonder Edwin doesn’t like to hang around long when all three of them are in the same room. This whole time he didn’t even know.

“Right, sorry about that. Must have gone missing in all the mayhem.” Charles smiles sheepishly. “Actually, Crystal was the one who helped me figure myself out, sort of. She’s more caught up with the times, and offered me a fresh perspective. It really turned things around for me. That and her blunt attitude, she didn’t spare me at all.”

“As expected.” Edwin quips.

“I’m kind of glad for it, honestly.” Charles says lightly. “It’s never been easy to suss out my own feelings and like…accept them for what they are. Or even recognize them. You probably know better than anyone how I tend to cover things up. I wasn’t taught how to work out my emotions, so instead I bottle them up until they explode and- my dad, he said things about me, told me what I could and couldn’t be, but he was wrong. I just couldn’t see it.” 

He’s well aware that he’s rambling now, his own nervous energy making his mouth run a muck. Edwin, bless him, is still listening patiently even as Charles talks himself in circles.

“I didn’t want to say anything to you without being sure of myself, because it’s what you deserve. And uh, I’m quite sure of it now. I was confused and probably in denial for longer than I’d like to admit. But I don’t have to be, do I? I’m literally dead, so there’s no reason to-”

“Forgive me, Charles.” Edwin finally interrupts, looking apologetic. “But what exactly are you trying to tell me?”

“I’m trying to tell you that I’m in love with you.” Charles lets it out on a breath. “Doing a piss poor job of it, aren’t I...”

Edwin stops on a dime, causing them both to stagger. They lose their footing but remain close, righting themselves awkwardly. Edwin is all frozen up like he’s been bewitched, and Charles watches the cycle play out on his face as his brain performs a factory reset.

Charles feels like he’s staring down a frightened animal rather than his best friend. He’s worried Edwin might run, worried he’ll break if he does. Thankfully, Edwin stays there, locked in place and searching Charles with wide eyes. He takes a sharp breath in, his mouth opening and closing before he whispers one word.

“What?”

“I love you.” Charles tries again, placing featherlight hands on tense shoulders. “As more than a friend.” That hammering sensation returns to the center of his chest. They’re safe, no demons or witches at their heels, but standing here with the roles reversed is a brand new kind of terrifying. Charles feels the need to hang onto Edwin just to keep himself whole.

“You- you’re sure of that?” Edwin looks no different than he did on the steps of Hell, young and scared and vulnerable. Caught between hope and despair.  

Charles nods, running a thumb over the edge of his vest. “Wouldn’t say it if it weren’t the truth, mate. I mean it. I sure went through some bonkers shit to figure it out, but…you’re everything to me, you know? Doesn’t matter how many realities there are, it always comes back to you. So um, if you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

Edwin’s chest heaves like it needs air, his face still painted in disbelief. A shaky hand comes to wipe at his forehead. “Am I dreaming?” He asks himself, and Charles can’t fight the smile blooming across his face.

“Ghosts can’t dream, remember?” 

“Right.” Edwin breathes, finally sporting a timid smile. He meets Charles’ gaze, the two of them floating in this shy, wonderstruck atmosphere. “Is this why you’ve been…distancing yourself lately? Because you were sorting out your feelings?”

“Yeah.” Charles admits, not surprised that Edwin noticed his odd behavior. “I didn’t want to overstep boundaries and, I don’t know, having an identity crisis wasn’t going to help the situation. I needed to solve it myself. Turns out the answer was right under me the whole time. I was just scared of my own feelings, or something else. It’s not that I didn’t want to feel that way, it was just…like I had to-” He can’t find the right words and it’s starting to frustrate him. “Like I-”

“Like you needed permission to feel how you feel…” Edwin supplies, hitting the nail right on the head. 

“Yeah, yeah exactly that.” Charles sighs, relieved to be understood, to be seen. “It’s…silly isn’t it.”

“No, I understand completely.” His eyes are impossibly kind, and patient. Edwin has always granted Charles patience, more than he even deserves most of the time. Charles can hardly believe he’s on the receiving end, that the best person he knows could look at him like this and mean it.

“To be honest, I’m still bloody scared.” Charles confesses, quieting. “I don’t want to hurt you, or be a disappointment. You’re too important for that. I just want you to know that I love you in every way, and whatever your decision may be, I’ll respect it.”

Whatever the outcome, Charles just wants him to know that he’s loved, and wanted. If that’s as far as he gets, then so be it.

Gentle arms come to wrap around him, and Charles squeezes back automatically. Edwin speaks low by his ear. “You have never, nor will you ever be a disappointment, Charles. You may be a complete buffoon, but you matter the most to me. That will never change.”

Charles laughs, a little wobbly. There’s a garden between his ribs now. “So I’m not too late, then?”

“Too late for what?”

“For this…for us?” Charles wonders nervously. He’s got to make sure. “I made you wait long enough so…I wouldn’t blame you for- y’know, moving on.”

Edwin steps back to look him in the eye, feigning offense. He straightens out, perfecting his posture as though this were an important business meeting. “I’ll have you know, Charles Rowland, that my feelings are anything but fickle.” He fixes Charles’ collar as he talks. “Waiting is no issue when you’re dead. And you can rest assured, I do not fall out of love so easily.” His voice is a little teasing, but his words are earnest.

Charles breaks into a smile that threatens to crack his face open. “Right, stubborn as you are, I should've known better.” 

Edwin drops the shtick and chuckles, looking like a shy schoolboy hiding his blushing cheeks from his crush. Then Charles realizes that’s exactly what’s happening, and his whole chest swells. He’s bursting from the inside out. Edwin’s eyes are bright and glassy, and Charles might just die all over again if he doesn’t kiss him. 

So he wastes no more time, taking Edwin’s face in his hands, and kisses him. He’s careful and tender, allowing Edwin to adjust or even change his mind, but he reacts in kind; pressing forward in his own careful way. Charles pulls back just to check in, but doesn’t get much further than a few centimeters before Edwin is pitching forward to chase after him, and they’re glued together again.

Soft lips meet his and it may not be the Living Experience but it’s the realest thing Charles has known in decades. It’s good and new and vibrant. Different but in the best way. They sigh against each other, all the tension falling from their frames, and Charles isn’t worried anymore. 

He gathers Edwin in his arms and molds their mouths together, relishing in every brush of lips, every ounce of pressure, and the way Edwin melts into him. They may be lacking in experience but it takes nothing away from the thrill of it all. Edwin matches his movements and whatever words they haven’t said yet pass right through them. Hands curl in his hair, caress his cheek, grab at his shirt and he’s lost in it. All the blooming sensations fill every empty space. Charles would be a bloody fool to call it anything but love. He can’t believe he existed this long, starved of such affection. To think he could’ve had it much sooner…

Charles doesn’t want to get too carried away, so he eventually stops after one more long, lingering kiss. They sway in each other’s arms, both in a daze. Charles tilts up to press his lips against Edwin’s forehead, right between his brow, just because he wants to, because he can . Edwin sighs like he’s in a dream, and they very well could be, but no mirror or artificial universe could come up with something as good as this. Nothing could replicate this feeling, the relief of reciprocation, or the delightful crinkle at the corner of Edwin’s eye as he smiles sweetly.

“That was…”

“Aces?”

“Mm, brills even.” Edwin murmurs, and then they’re giggling like a couple of muppets. They stay in their little bubble for a while, leaning close and rocking in a lazy slow dance. Charles feels lighter than air, overjoyed by the fact that this is where they’re at now. Through all the loss and uncertainty, they still have each other, still choose one another. And now, they get to have this, for as long as it lasts which- ideally, would be forever. Charles never really imagined this kind of future for himself, hardly had much opportunity to imagine one at all. But now the future has never looked better. 

And better it is.

Chapter Text

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Edwin is not destined for heaven, that is but an unfortunate fact. His soul is bound to the depths, which to this day he still fears may come to claim him should the right thing go wrong. It is not a fear he can fully rid himself of even with the help of the Lost and Found department. He will not be rid of it unless Death herself comes to take his hand and walk him to paradise, and even then he might doubt it to be true.

It’s a rational fear, of course. Edwin knows anyone in his position would feel the same. Hell lives inside him, rooted in all the delicate fibers beneath his flesh. While minor, the possibility remains that he may ultimately wind up back there, but despite the looming potential of a doomed afterlife, he is somehow lucky enough to find an alternate heaven- if you will- here on the mortal plane.

A safe space to call home, an agency, a purpose, and best of all a partner; who not only chooses to stay, but by the kindest twist of fate ever bestowed upon Edwin, loves him in return.

Said partner is at present, attached to the ceiling of their office. 

Edwin steps through the mirror, new book in hand. Last he saw Charles was sorting through their most recent influx of mail, which is still dispersed over the desk, but now unattended.

“Charles?” 

“Up here, mate.”

Edwin tilts his head to see Charles sprawled face up on the ceiling in the center of the room. He kicks his limbs out and clumsily flips the other way, a labored huff punching out of him as his back meets the boards. Edwin moves to stand below Charles, brow raised in bemused suspicion.

“And what, pray tell, is going on here?” Edwin ponders aloud. He just stepped out for a brief trip to the library, brief being no more than eight minutes, yet within that small fraction of time Charles has managed to reverse gravity on himself.

Some things never change.

“A load of bloody mischief, is what. Opened up a package and next thing I know I’m floating off the floor.”

“What package?”

“Down there.” Charles points, and Edwin bends to find a small cube lying under the desk. He reaches down to retrieve the anonymous parcel. It’s a thin white box, no larger than his palm, with some gold foil stuck to the outside. Edwin inspects every angle but finds no address or sender. Interesting…

“Careful with that, don’t want to wind up like me.” Charles says overhead. Edwin turns just in time for Charles to let out a vigorous sneeze, and a plume of glitter bursts from his nose.

Edwin watches the shimmering particles dance around the air while Charles sniffs repulsively. 

“Pixie dust?” He opens the box, now devoid of its contents, but there’s a sparkly residue coating the inside. Another look around the floor reveals something else, sitting innocently by the edge of the rug. 

Edwin picks up a light pink flower petal between his fingers, thoroughly looking it over. It appears to be an ordinary flora, but on the other side is a microscopic message, imperceptible to the human eye. Quickly, Edwin moves to the desk and uncovers his magnifying glass from their mountain of paperwork. As he places the petal under the lens, two words appear, written in swirling letters.

April Fools

Edwin has to suppress the laughter that bubbles up his throat. He didn’t think to check the date this morning. Upon doing so, his suspicions are verified.

“What is it? Oi, Edwin!” Charles wiggles forward, looking like a disgruntled toddler who’s been kept from a secret. Edwin lays the items down on the desk and returns his attention to Charles. 

“Charles, do you know today’s date?” 

Charles squints. “What’s the date have anything to do with- oh fucking hell. April isn’t it.”

“The first.” Edwin confirms.

“Is this because I stepped on that fairy ring last week? I put the stone back, and I apologized!” Charles waves his hands out and Edwin feels a smirk settling on his lips. 

“Seems you had a debt to pay. Pixies are prone to mischief as you know, at least this jape is harmless. Their dust can grant living beings flight for a limited amount of time. Though, with your lack of a physical body I suppose it makes you less of a bird and more comparable to…a balloon.” He tries to remain nonchalant, truly he does, but the laughter sneaks into his words at the last second. Charles eyes him, and Edwin’s smile pulls harder. 

“Oh, real funny for you, isn’t it? Alright, have yourself a laugh. Then get me down, will you?” Charles folds his arms across his chest, sulking, and Edwin desperately wishes he could capture this on film. 

“There’s not much I can do, I’m afraid. You’ll simply have to wait for the effects to wear off.” 

“And how long will that take?”

Edwin shrugs. “An hour or so?” 

“I’m stuck as a ceiling fan for an hour?! No, not having that, mate.” Charles pushes against the surface as though he might launch himself away, but really just ends up arched in an odd crab-like position. When his attempts fail, he groans in frustration, cursing at the wood. “Stupid, annoying little weasels.”

Edwin waves his hand, enjoying himself a little too much. “It’s not so terrible, you’re right where you need to be. We can get work done easily this way.” He goes to retrieve a stack of mail and passes it up to Charles, standing directly under him with his hands behind his back. “There, now I don’t have to worry about you slacking off, and the view isn’t so bad, either.”

Charles laughs despite himself. “Quit being cheeky!” He waves an envelope at Edwin. “Can’t you just, I dunno, tie a string to me and pull me down?”

“But I rather enjoy having you up there, perhaps you can take care of the cobwebs while you’re at it.”

“Edwin, I swear to god.”

“Swear all you like, we really don’t have time to waste today. If the night nurse doesn’t receive these reports by morning she’ll have us facing far worse consequences. You work on those letters while I finish up some paperwork.”    

Charles grumbles to himself some more but relents, quietly sorting the envelopes in his hands and tossing a few to the floor. Edwin keeps an eye on him, as he is apt, to look out for any strange side effects, but mainly for his own amusement. Charles has his legs crossed now, already adapted like he’s chosen the ceiling as his point of leisure, and the image does well to keep Edwin’s smile in place while he works. 

Until the dust finally wears off and Charles drops back down to earth, with a vengeance. 

Edwin has his back turned, filing away their most recently completed case card. He hears a surprised noise from Charles, who falls almost in slow motion back to the ground, and in one fell swoop he’s on his feet and charging towards Edwin, hardly giving him time to blink.

“Oh, you’re-oof- Charles! Put me down!” He’s swiftly lifted off the floor and halfway over Charles’ shoulders, his legs caged by long arms. Edwin clutches at his back and has half a mind to strangle him when Charles starts spinning in circles, dizzying enough to make a living human sick. 

“Charles ! Put me down this bloody instant!”

Charles does so, gently letting Edwin slip from his hold, a triumphant smile plastered on his face.

“Had to get my revenge on you, didn’t I?” 

“I caused no harm to warrant such a thing.” Edwin tuts, readjusting his rumpled clothing.

“Leaving your boyfriend stuck to the ceiling is reason enough, I think.”

Edwin scoffs, ignoring the flutter in his chest at the term. “And I think your reasoning is rubbish, I am entirely innocent.”

“Innocent, sure. Like you didn’t get a kick out of all that.” Charles drops a kiss to his lips, preventing Edwin’s incoming refute. His playful smirk does not waver, and Edwin is mildly astonished by the way Charles so easily placates him. It’s a wonder if he even knows the kind of magic he holds. Probably best not to lead him on to it, for Edwin’s sake.

“Anyways.” Charles carries on, blithe as ever. “Think I’ve found our next case.” He presents Edwin with a crisp letter stamped with blue ink. “The rest are all tosh. I figured this one might be worth looking into. Local theater is having some ‘paranormal problems’.”

Edwin unfolds the paper and reads it over while Charles collects junk mail from the floor.

It is then that Crystal makes her unruly entrance, coming through and slamming the office door behind her. Charles visibly flinches at the sound, and Edwin notes this reaction for what may be the fifth time in the last week.

Since their most recent harrowing adventure at Highgate, Edwin has noticed Charles’ strange new aversion to doors and entryways alike. Lately, Charles has been making a conscious- or unconscious- choice to only pass through walls or windows. Ghosts can obviously enter spaces through any means, but when presented with a closed door, Charles will avoid it altogether. Edwin has no real need to question him about it, but this new quirk has certainly brought with it a prickling curiosity.

As Crystal unapologetically walks into the office, Edwin can’t help the glare he sends her way for inadvertently startling Charles, who makes absolutely nothing of it, predictably. 

“Hey, Crystal! You’re right on time, we’ve been sorting through junk all morning and finally have a potential case on our hands.” Charles pulls her into a warm welcome, and she greets them equally before her eyes land above Charles’ head. Ever the observant psychic, she is.

“Why is there glitter in your hair?” She brushes some of his curls and watches the shiny pigments bounce off.

“Ah, never mind that.”

“Pixie dust.” Edwin answers.

“Pixie dust? How-”

“I said never mind, let’s get a crack on shall we?” Charles marches over to his backpack to prepare for departure, discreetly ridding himself of the offensive particles. Edwin bites his lip to prevent a smile from exposing him, but Crystal’s clever self is already clued in. 

She leans towards Edwin. “What kind of trouble did he get into this time?” 

“Our dear Charles fell victim to a benign April fools joke, and made very close friends with the ceiling.” Edwin points to the vacant spot above their heads. Crystal processes his response with growing confusion, then covers her laughter with a wheezing cough. Charles pointedly glowers at them across the room.

Crystal turns her knowing gaze back to him. “That was entertaining for you, wasn’t it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Edwin turns on his heel and begins tidying up his own area, reviewing the letter in his hands and gathering the necessary materials for their next excursion. 

“So where are we going anyway?” Crystal asks.

Edwin neatly folds the paper and tucks it into his breast pocket. “Looks like we’re paying a visit to the Aldwych.”

The trio find themselves at the stage door in the alleyway of the Aldwych theater that afternoon. The theater is temporarily closed to the public, nothing on display other than an apologetic notice to their loyal patrons.

Charles is first to step through, performing a routine safety check. He again dodges the door frame and fades into the brick, popping his head out to give them the go ahead. Edwin allows Crystal inside, and once the door latches closed they’re all encased in the quiet blackness of the backstage wings. 

“Jesus, can’t see a thing in here.” Crystal pulls out her telephone and activates a bright light from the screen. “Okay, that’s better. So where’s our…ghost?”

“The letter did not provide detailed instructions, it simply said to enter from the stage door.” Edwin slowly passes around the rows of cables and pulleys until he can cut through the middle wing towards the stage. Charles searches for a light console, but every switch he finds turns up dead. The only aid in the whole place comes from the red glow of the emergency exit signs.

“Not a single one of these works. Did they cut the bloody power or something?”

“Hello? Are you the detectives?” A timid voice echoes from the opposite side. Crystal whips her light across the stage, where a middle-aged man emerges from the shadows. He’s dressed in all gray with a tricorne hat. Judging by his appearance the man must have died in the late 18th or early 19th century. Edwin moves to the front of the group and greets him politely.

“Yes, we are the dead boy detectives, joined by our living friend and psychic. I’m Edwin, this is Charles, and Crystal. Are you the one who sent for us by post?” 

“Indeed, my name is Bernard. I’m sorry to have bothered you, but I’m in need of some assistance. The theater has been in the company of a troublesome entity, to the point where shows are unable to go on, and I worry we’ll be shut down for good if this were to continue.”

“Nice to meet you, Bernard. We’re happy to help. Are you- did you used to work here?” Charles asks him. Bernard nods, a little more life returning to his face.

“Yes, for many years. I started when the theater first opened, and have remained here ever since my murder.”

All three detectives look down in solemnity. “Sorry to hear that, mate.” Charles says lowly.

Bernard shakes his head, indifferent. “Old news, I’m well over it by now.”

Edwin pulls out his notebook and pen. “Can you describe the troublesome events that have occurred here?”

“A bit of everything.” Says Bernard. “Disruptions during performances, equipment breaking down. Staff have complained about strange noises, things going missing, and patrons are being frightened out of their seats. Things have escalated over the last few days, and it has greatly affected attendance. Just last night the whole building lost electricity. Shows have been postponed until proper repairs can be made.”  

Edwin nods along, taking notes while Charles does a lap around the stage. “Have you seen any suspicious figures lurking?”

“There are other ghosts here, but none have reported seeing any foreign visitors. I have witnessed multiple unfortunate events, but the culprit is very skilled at hiding. I’ve had no luck tracking them down.”

Charles sidles up next to Edwin. “Might have a shapeshifter on our hands. They’re clever beasts.”

Edwin hums in agreement. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Shapeshifters can make themselves appear human, right? Blend in with the crowd?” Crystal pipes in. 

“Precisely. They are masters of mimicry, and could easily torment people disguised as their own kind. Some can even take the form of objects. The real question is: what type of shapeshifter are we dealing with?” 

“Only one way to find out. Let’s scope out the place and look for clues. Might have to set some traps while we’re at it.” Charles opens up his bag of tricks and passes over Edwin’s trap handbook, then pulls out his cricket bat. Edwin gratefully takes the small copy, admiring the clean condition in which Charles always keeps his things stored.

“Here, there are some spare tools kept backstage that may assist you.” Bernard guides them stage left, where a wide cabinet sits on the wall. Crystal opens it and picks out a large torch with a handle, turning it on and filling the back corner with bright yellow light. 

“Perfect, thanks. Now I don’t have to kill my phone battery.” She grabs hold of two more, passing them to Edwin and Charles. “So where should we start?”

Bernard points to a door in the opposite corner. “In the basement are the dressing rooms, wardrobe and green room. Performers and staff spend a lot of time down there, and have frequently reported activity in those places. As for the house, there are bathrooms on each level, along with concessions, and of course the audience space.”

“Lot’s of ground to cover.” Charles points to the empty audience, following the layout of each dress circle. “How about we start at the top and work our way down. The balconies are sized well enough for us to hear each other, so we can each take a level, then meet at the bottom and inspect the basement together.”

“That is a great plan, Charles.” Edwin approves, and is rewarded with a genial smile. Bernard maintains his post along the mainstage, offering to be an extra pair of eyes. Thankfully this particular theater is smaller compared to most. Their group will be able to split up without creating too much distance, allowing them to investigate the area more comfortably.  

That is until they reach the basement. 

The upper levels do not offer them so much as a whisper, but once they scale the stairs backstage and creep into the dark hallway down below, madness ensues. 

It starts with Crystal entering the women's dressing room, where a loud bang is heard not twenty seconds later, followed by her shrieking voice. She comes running out, claiming a grotesque figure crouching in the corner had startled her, but it vanished before she could identify it. 

“It went through the vent, into the next room. Go!” The boys are rushed into the neighboring dressing room, but find nothing awaiting them inside. 

“Are you sure you saw something?” Charles asks her, which is the wrong thing to say, even if his intentions are good.

“Yes I’m fucking sure. It was ugly and slimy looking, like a weird shadow gremlin.” Crystal growls. Charles obediently checks every corner, shining his light on piles of dust and costume pieces. Edwin checks the perimeter, marking the ventilation pathways in hopes that they might find a verifiable route.

He then turns to Crystal with an idea. “Can you show me what you saw?” Edwin holds out his hand, and Crystal nods in understanding. She takes his hand and her eyes whiten, then Edwin’s mind is full of new images from Crystal’s point of view, almost like an old video reel. Coming downstairs, entering the room and finding a strange creature hiding behind a partition. Everything is slightly out of focus, but Edwin can see the vague outline of the unknown entity. He hardly has enough time to identify the creature himself. It reacts wildly to the bright light, jumping at the same time as Crystal and skittering away with unnatural speed before disappearing.

The vision cuts away as Crystal breaks their connection, dark empty walls coming back into view. “A shadow demon?” Edwin addresses his notes, then jumps into more questions. “Did you hear anything? Smell anything? Or read its energy?”

“Not really. It didn’t feel evil, per se, but not good either.” Crystal walks back toward the women’s dressing room, sticking her nose in the air. “I don’t know if it’s just the basement or what, but everything smells dank down here. Like wet dog.”

“Hm…not a demon, perhaps. They typically exude a sulfuric scent. Let us keep looking, we don’t want it getting too far out of our reach.”     

“Roger that. Over there's wardrobe storage, the green room is down that way.” Charles points his bat to each respective location. Crystal steps in the direction of the wardrobe but is stopped short by a loud metal clanging. 

“What the hell was that?” 

Charles points his light behind them. “I think it came from down there.”

Edwin points the opposite way. “I’m certain it came from that direction.”

“No, I heard it from around the corner.” Crystal argues, then all three of them are frowning at each other in a triad of dubiety. 

“Alright, why don’t we-” The door to the men's room slams behind Charles, causing his whole body to jerk forward. Edwin watches the way he freezes up, a subtle but striking contrast from his usual character that only someone who observes Charles so routinely would even notice, someone like Edwin. He slowly approaches until he can gently lay a hand on Charles’ arm, tugging at his sleeve.

“Charles?”

The spell breaks instantaneously. Charles springs back, a familiar practice, and looks to Edwin appeasingly. “I’m good.” His voice is just shy of convincing, but Edwin will have to table his concerns for the time being. Whatever resides down here is clearly trying to provoke them, and must be using the dark environment to their advantage. 

“Hold on a moment, while I make some minor adjustments.”

Edwin changes course, returning to where they first entered, and whispers a few phrases into his hands until they slowly fill with light. He walks up and down the aisle, touching the wall as he goes, and every placement of his hand leaves a glowing circle in its stead, like tiny lanterns hanging in the street.

Charles watches this with rapt attention, and smiles in Edwin’s direction as he completes his round. 

“That’s brills.” His voice is nothing short of enamored, the way a child might speak when thoroughly impressed by a magic trick. This one is hardly intricate enough to deserve high praise- beginners work really- yet Edwin is warmed by the idea that he can still stir such a reaction from Charles. 

“It’s quite simple. I could teach it to you, if you like.” Edwin offers as he arrives at his previous spot. Charles accepts with a quiet nod, gently poking the light nearest to him and marveling at it. 

“Yeah, think I’ll take you up on that, mate.” He pushes off the wall, back to business, but not without giving Edwin’s hand a squeeze, stealthily bringing it up to plant a kiss between his knuckles. Edwin watches him go silently, a coy smile forming on his face. Unfortunately in his moment of incautiousness, he fails to notice Crystal staring at them until it’s too late. 

She stands across the narrow hallway, her prying eyes on him like a bird to prey. Edwin feels the heat of embarrassment climbing the nape of his neck at having been caught. Crystal says nothing, but her body language communicates well enough for the both of them. Her eyebrows raise in delighted fascination, and she points a finger in Charles’ direction. Edwin sighs exasperatedly but answers her silent question with a small nod. He and Charles have yet to reveal their new development to Crystal, though they had planned to. It has only been two weeks, and they’ve been quite busy, so naturally the announcement fell behind in their work. Besides, Edwin is not one to flaunt his status. He appreciates privacy, which is a rare gift nowadays.

All things considered, Crystal seems satisfied by this indirect discovery, if her knowing smile is anything to go by. Edwin lets her have it, just to save himself from explanation. She casually moves to follow after Charles, bumping playfully into Edwin as she passes. 

“Happy for you.” She whispers, genuinely, and despite the prickly nature of their relationship, he’s touched by her words. Edwin tucks a smile into the corner of his mouth and proceeds after her.

They continue as follows: Edwin in the green room, Charles in the wardrobe and Crystal between dressing rooms. Their goal is to trap whatever wretched thing has made itself at home in this historical place. Edwin has a compilation of glyphs written in his notebook in order to catch their offender, it’s only a matter of laying down the correct one.

Each of them take charge of their respective areas and note any suspicious activity. Edwin provides them with a few basic inscriptions that they can set anywhere, but whether or not they work depends on the abilities of this mysterious being. If they can narrow that down it will be a much easier problem solve than exhausting themselves with copious traps. 

Edwin enters the green room, which is painted an atrocious shade of the color, and full to the brim with old set pieces, props and decor. It looks far more like a storage facility than a common shared space. A small, dilapidated chaise sits in the middle, accompanied by a recliner and some wooden stools. Every wall is lined with cabinets and bookcases full of souvenirs, toys and electronics that even Edwin in his many years has never laid eyes on before. If they weren’t here to resolve a case then he would rather enjoy spending time here to sort through this unusual treasure trove. 

That thought is heavily tainted when Edwin’s torch uncovers a box full of children’s dolls. He turns away instinctually, pushing the box out of view with his foot. As he does this, a faint scratching noise sounds from somewhere in the room. It’s hard to tell, really, with the lack of light and crowded walls. He checks the ceiling for any openings, sizable enough for a creature to crawl through. There’s an air vent at the top left corner. Edwin maneuvers around the obstacles lining the floor until he’s facing a narrow bookcase standing below the opening. He’s just tall enough to reach up and place a glyph atop the case, which will activate should anything cross its border.

As soon as Edwin places his feet flat on the ground, something snickers behind him, and he barely makes a full turn before a cloud of dust collides with his face. Particles of fine powder stick to him like sand on wet skin, a complete assault on his senses. They somehow find a way to sneak into his empty lungs and make him choke. Edwin flounders and bumps against the shelves, where a glass jar tumbles out and smashes cleanly on the floor. He fumbles for his torch, now lying by his feet, and only when he reaches for it does he see them.

Spiders, everywhere. Crawling from the broken jar and darting towards Edwin like it’s their sole mission. Seek and destroy. They skitter up his legs, to his waist, their long legs exaggerated by the single beam of light stretched over them. Edwin stares down at his torso, paralyzed as he watches the arachnid army claim his body as their own. Somewhere, a sharp peal of maniacal laughter echoes discordantly, and the entire room empties itself. All that surrounds him are sickly green walls and severed doll parts. Edwin’s dress clothes are gone now, only his stained, withered undergarments left behind, exposing him to the vermin now climbing over his arms, biting holes into the tender skin and burrowing beneath it.

Edwin must make some sort of awful sound, because the next thing he knows Charles is there, calling after him in alarm.

“Edwin? Edwin! Hey, what’s wrong?” Hands come up to soothe him, laying weight on his shoulders, but it only serves to make Edwin twitch violently. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“Get them off of me.” Edwin pleads, still stiff as a board.

“Get what off you?”

“Off, off please get them- oh...”

“What is it, mate?”

Edwin’s eyes blink away the horrible scene, looking down at the floor littered with fake plastic spiders, unmoving. 

“An illusion?” He mutters, now finally getting his bearings. 

Charles takes his arm and leads him to the exit. “Come on, best get you out of the dark.” He drags Edwin until they’re out of the green room, back in the soft lamplight of the hallway. Edwin is still breathing hard, a residual effect of his subsiding panic. He supports himself against the doorway, one hand on his chest just to find comfort in the familiar feel of his uniform. 

“Are you alright? I heard you shouting.” Charles asks him.

“Yes, I’m alright. It was nothing but a cheap hoax.”

“You sure?”

“I’m fine, Charles.”

“You’re not though, are you? I see your fingers tapping.” Charles steps into his space, pointing to the restless hand at his side. Edwin raises his head to meet brown eyes, worry blended with warmth and-

Oh, what a wonderfully frightening thing, to be so known. It’s rare moments like this, when confronted by Charles’ gaze, that Edwin feels no different than a thin strip of cotton. He sees him so clearly at times, when Edwin is far from himself, yet there isn’t a scrap of judgement placed upon him. If he were not so reserved and impassive of a person, Edwin might admit far more than he is willing should Charles look at him like so for too long. Right now, it’s enough to lower his guard. It’s enough to get him to shake his head, minimally, to signify that he is in fact not doing alright.

Charles seems relieved at this, like he’s worthy of Edwin’s trust, as if that were ever part of the question to begin with. He peers into the green room one more time before leaning back to Edwin.

“What happened in there? You were flipping out for a minute.” 

Edwin habitually pulls on his sleeves, taking one more deep breath while his brain works out the puzzle in his head. “In my attempt at setting a trap I fell into one myself. It wasn’t quite Hell, but close enough.” His chest tightens involuntarily, followed by his fists. Charles covers them with his hand like he so often does, and holds firm.

“Good thing you’re never going back there. Not while I’m around.” He gives him a squeeze for emphasis, and Edwin doesn’t argue. How can he? With how convinced Charles is. So convinced Edwin might just take the bait and believe him.

“Alright, that sodding thing can use magic, eh? Got a clever one.” Charles readies himself with his cricket bat. “Where did you set the trap?”

“Above the bookcase, top left.” Edwin leans around the door frame to point out the target, then it dawns on him. “Hang on, where is Crystal?”

“Oh, she went to find the loo. She’ll be back soon.”

Right on cue, Crystal comes through the stairwell door, her silhouette outlined by Edwin’s illuminations. “Guys?” She summons, then her torchlight finds them down at the other end. Charles waves her over. 

She makes it three steps before a strange popping noise bounces down the hall, and she hollers. “Guys, look out!”

Out of nowhere, what can only be described as an explosion of magical bombs suddenly goes off, and the hall is filled with fiery sparks that ricochet off every surface of their tight quarters. Edwin is given no chance of assessment due to Charles nearly tackling him to the ground. Crystal is far enough away to dodge the projectiles and hide in the stairwell, scarcely missing the one that makes contact with the wall right by her head. Edwin watches the spectacle from under Charles’ cover. Clusters of fireballs chaotically jounce and eventually fizzle out, but not before extinguishing half of the lights Edwin previously installed. Shame.

A low hiss pulls him back to Charles, who is currently acting as Edwin’s shield, irritatedly rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Charles, are you hurt?” Edwin peeks at Charles’ collar, which emits a tiny trail of smoke. 

“Ugh, iron powder. That little wanker.” Charles grits. “I’m fine, doesn’t hurt much.” 

“There was no need for you to do that.”

“I’m gonna do it no matter what, aren’t I?” Charles flashes a grin and leans up a little to double check their surroundings. No more detonations, but they’re now short of a large portion of light. Their eyes gradually readjust in the aftermath, and while Edwin leans up onto his elbows he spots quick movement in his peripheral vision.

“Charles, above us!” Edwin whisper shouts, rolling out of their position so he can get a better look. Sure enough, the little devil is there, scurrying across the ceiling towards the wardrobe storage. Charles is quick to take action, his hand already reaching for something in his pocket. 

“Two can play at that game. Try this on for size.” He pulls out what looks to be a handful of marbles, then starts whipping them at the ceiling. They explode on contact like miniature grenades, and it seems to do the trick. The strange goblin-like creature screeches at each strike, but is just fast enough to make an escape before either detective can incapacitate it.

“Bollocks.” Charles pouts at the few marbles left in his hand and pockets them again. “There’s too many hiding places down here, we have to corner it somehow.”

“Is it safe to come out now?” Crystal’s voice carries from the doorway. Edwin and Charles move to join her as she slowly creeps through the door.

“Fine for now, but the nasty bugger got away…again.” 

Edwin has his notebook open, lining the pieces up. “It’s deceptive, agile, and has magic abilities. Malicious to a certain degree, but not demonic. I suspect we might be dealing with a member of the fae realm.”

Neither Charles nor Crystal seem happy with that assumption. Edwin can’t blame them. Fae creatures are difficult and span a much broader line of species. Handling their kind has never been easy.

“Great. Well, I hope we come up with a plan fast cause I sure don’t want to be here all night. We’re losing daylight out there.” Crystal says.

Edwin hears the bell ring in his head. “Daylight.” He snaps his fingers. “That’s it.”

“What’s it?”

“A shadow kobalos. Reactive to light, which is why it lurks in the dark. Fond of trickery but without causing direct harm. They play in the shadows, which would explain the building’s faulty electricity. If we can produce enough light we can trap it and drive it away.”

“So what…we need to bring the sun down here?”

“Precisely.” Edwin does not delve deeper, too occupied flipping through pages to find the runes he’s looking for. He can still hear the two of them mumbling in the background.

“Why is he like this?”

“It’s just how that big brain of his works, you get used to it.”

“Here. Charles, take this and draw it out as large as you can.” Edwin passes the open notebook over. “Do you have a sheet?”

“Sure I’ve got something, let me check.” Charles swings his backpack around and fishes through it until he finds a white rectangular cloth. “Will a pillowcase do?” 

Edwin nods. “I believe it will, given the small size of our target. Now, we’ll need to draw it out together. I cannot cover every room by myself, so each of us will take our previous stations and lure the creature here, where Charles can trap it.”

“Aye aye, captain. What’s our secret weapon?”

Edwin straightens up, a playful half smile on his lips. “A little something I like to call ‘light of a thousand suns’.” 

The actual title is Pura Solis, but Edwin finds his name to be more fitting. He does enjoy a play on words now and then. This spell can emulate the blinding power of the sun’s natural light, but in a controlled manner. The more condensed it is, the stronger its force. Edwin is practiced enough to encase it within a vessel, which can be opened by any user, and quite literally unleash the power of the sun onto anything. 

Edwin heads back into the green room, finding a cabinet full of mismatched bottles and tinderboxes, and takes a few from the shelf. He rejoins Charles and Crystal minutes later with various containers, handing them out carefully. One for Charles and himself, two for Crystal. 

“These should serve us well. Take your positions, please, and do not open them until I instruct you to do so.”

His friends obey, gently holding their items like one would a newborn infant. Crystal curiously observes the jewelry box and brown bottle in her hands, both glowing faintly beyond their dark material but otherwise inoffensive.

“Huh, I thought it would burn, or at least be warm.”  

“The light inside replicates the luminescence of the sun, of a higher degree, but without the infrared radiation.” Edwin explains. “It is still dangerously bright, however, so do be careful of your eyes.”

“Roger.” 

Bombs of light at the ready, the trio stand by the doorways and wait for a sign. It’s too quiet for comfort. Edwin is only half certain that the kobalos is still down here with them. Knowing their kind, another attempt at a hoodwink could be right around the corner. Edwin looks both ways just to make sure. 

“On my count, ready?”

Charles and Crystal nod in the dim light, raising their thumbs in affirmation. 

“One, two, three!”

The vessels are tossed. Crystal throws hers into both dressing rooms with reckless abandon, quickly shutting the doors before her retinas can be destroyed. Charles sends his tin box into the wardrobe area and takes cover. Edwin follows suit, popping the latch off of the small chest in his hand and setting it free in the green room.

Even with every door shut, the light carries through the cracks and bleeds into the hall, going from yellow to blinding white. All of them squint, trying to keep a fragile eye out for a tiny troublemaker. Above them, pipes start to rattle violently, and a faint screeching can be heard behind the concrete. 

A narrow pane of glass above the wardrobe bursts suddenly, and out comes the kobalos. It is ugly, as Crystal said; pointed and grimy with a mouth full of sharp teeth. It aimlessly finds its way through the opening, and Charles is right there waiting with the marked pillowslip. Once they entrap it, Edwin can easily banish the thing back to where it came from, and case closed.

Why he would think it could be that simple is but a fault in his own wiring.

Charles pounces just as the little beast touches down. With impressive speed he captures it inside the case and flips it upright, holding the sack like he’s caught a wild rabbit. It writhes in its woven cage, thrashing and snarling about. Charles holds it a bit further from his body and steps down the hall towards Edwin. 

Latin is already rolling off his tongue as Edwin gets closer, more than ready to see this job done. Unfortunately, a cotton trap is only so effective. Edwin sees Charles’ eyes widen in horrified surprise as a clawed hand tears through the fabric and tosses a handful of cobalt powder in Charles’ face. 

There’s a rush of commotion as Charles stumbles into the wall, disoriented. Just like Edwin, he’s caught in an illusion and quickly loses his grip on reality.

“Oh, damn it all.” Edwin sneers. Both he and Crystal launch for the sack that slips from Charles’ hand. They hold it down while the kobalos flails inside. Edwin hears the panicked breaths coming from Charles and it breaks his heart to have to keep his focus elsewhere. 

“What the fuck did that thing do to him?” Crystal grunts. 

“Illusionary powder. Another dirty trick. It puts you in a temporary nightmare.”

“Little shit.” She spits at the wild cotton ball and Edwin almost joins her, but there are more important words to be said post haste.

“Keep it secured and I’ll end this charade.”

Crystal reaches for its tiny limbs in order to prevent any more holes, and Edwin casts the banishment spell sharp and quick, as though it were his own personal string of curses. 

By his next breath, the kobalos is gone, nothing left but an empty torn slip beneath their hands. Crystal exhales her relief, and Edwin immediately runs to Charles’ side.

He’s sitting on the ground with both hands covering his ears. “Stop, stop, stop it.” Each word is punctuated by his heaving breaths. Edwin can’t see what he’s seeing, but he knows how real that dreadful interlude feels. 

“Charles, it’s alright.” He does his best to take Charles’ hands without startling him. “I’m right here, you’re safe. Open your eyes, Charles.” His voice is gentle, like a breeze. Loud noises have not been kind to Charles lately, so he keeps his tone low and makes no sudden movements as he waits for the storm to roll past. One hand softly brushes through Charles’ hair, the vision of him being comforted by it playing from Edwin’s memory. 

Charles comes back to himself just as the luminosity from Edwin’s spell runs out. The space loses its highlights and dulls to a warm glow. Looking at Charles’ eyes, Edwin can almost pinpoint the moment his nightmare disappears, all the panic and blind confusion turning to sober realization.

“Edwin?” Charles gapes, then his face twists into defeated frustration. “Bloody hell, that was awful. Did I- did the bastard get away again?” 

“No, our plan was successful, despite that little detour.”

Eyes wide, Charles looks about them and falls into pleasant surprise at the lack of emergency. “Job officially jobbed?”

“Job officially jobbed, well done.” Edwin deposits a light kiss on his cheek. “Are you feeling better?” 

“I am now.” Charles grants him a drowsy smile and sighs at the ceiling. “Nearly lost it there. Potent magic that is.”

“Potent indeed. I’m sorry I could not come to your aid sooner. If you’re well enough, shall we take our leave?”

“Absolutely.” Charles hoists himself up on his word, taking Edwin with him. Crystal approaches from behind, still holding the old pillowslip covered in ink. 

“Thank god that’s over, can we get the fuck out of here?” 

“Right, let’s get a move on. And remind me to never mess with fairies or the like ever again.” Charles comments. Edwin remains a few paces behind them as they leave the basement at last, blowing out the few remaining lights as he goes, and doesn’t bother to look back.

Chapter Text

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

For what it’s worth, Charles has adapted really well to their whole deal with the Lost found Department, despite past incidents. He’s learned to cooperate with their new ‘chaperone’, and would even consider their relationship cordial now that they have spent time working together. He takes his job seriously, and holds respect for all members involved with the detective agency. He does.

However, his patience has never measured up to the steel strength of Edwin’s in the face of Charlie’s pestering. And today his is running thin.

Charlie stands in their office with a stack of papers in her hands, wearing the same snappy expression she always tends to have around them. She’s got Charles tied up in an argument over their filing system and how things should be properly labeled and organized according to department policy, which is a load of tosh considering their agency is not directly affiliated with the Lost and Found department, they’re just working under her supervision. They didn’t sign a bloody contract agreeing to any kind of ownership, and they don’t bloody plan to. The dead boy detectives have their own way of doing business, and that has done them just fine for the last thirty-five years. 

Here’s the thing: not all cases end with Death. Sometimes their job is to rid the living of a paranormal entity, or assist other ghosts with tasks that require a little more expertise. Turns out they’re not the only ghosts prolonging their time on the mortal plane. There are other souls still working on their unfinished business themselves. In fact, the ghost they met at the Aldwych theater was one of them. He chose to stay, just like Charles and Edwin. 

Therefore, as Charles has tried very patiently to explain, their casework doesn’t always look the same on paper. Edwin is extremely particular about how each case is filed; with names, information and how their cases begin and end. The cards on the door are a handy, more simplified tool, and additional notes are kept elsewhere. It’s all part of the process in maintaining their library full of decades long history. It’s special, and needs nobody’s grubby hands on it making unnecessary adjustments. 

To his growing aggravation, Charles’ reasoning isn’t getting through to Charlie. Since coming back from her very important- very vague- business trip, she’s been chewing away at them nonstop over case reports and deadlines. As if they can even predict how long each case will take them. Nevermind the whole Highgate fiasco, which thankfully happened while she was away and has been kept on the down low since. That bit of chaos definitely set them back, and it’s taken a lot to balance things out, both of them working in overdrive to make a dent in their backlog of cases.

To put it lightly, they’re fucking tired . And this isn’t helping.

“Your work lacks punctuality and finesse. I expect better from you boys.”

“We’ve been busy , alright? Sorry we haven’t been able to keep up with your demands.” He isn’t sorry at all.

“If you would just do as you’re told-”

“You’re not the one running our business, you don’t tell us what to do!” Charles points at her. “In case you forgot, we’ve been at this job for decades, way before you came into the picture, so you can take your lousy forms and shove them-”

“Watch your tongue, young man.” The night nurse warns, and Charles shuts himself up right quick. Acid drips down his throat as he swallows his boiling anger, trying to channel the kind of poised control that Edwin is made of. Edwin isn’t even in the room anymore, he probably left ages ago to get away from the noise, letting Charles fend for himself. Charles doesn’t fault him for it, he wouldn’t want to stick around for this shit show either.

“Look…” Charles sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not trying to fight with you, I’m just trying to keep what’s ours. We have a system in place, and if we change it around I promise you you’ll be a lot less satisfied with how things are done. There’s a lot on our plate right now, so just cut us some slack , will you? And we’ll turn in the reports.”

They both stand on their petty battleground in a tense moment of silence. Charles can practically hear the sizzle between them. Charlie is stubborn as all hell but Charles knows he can outwill her, and does.

With a crisp tut, she finally retreats. “Three days extension.” She slaps the papers against his chest. “Fix these, and I’ll be back to collect them.” 

Her fingers snap in the air and she vanishes just like that. The breath Charles didn’t even know he was holding whooshes out of him, and he takes a second to shake away his rancid mood before going to find Edwin, gracelessly dropping the forms on their desk to worry about later.

Charles finds him on the rooftop, just as he suspected. Edwin tends to sit up here when he needs some quiet time, or when he’s feeling stressed. The fading daylight traces the line of his shoulders, slanted downwards like he couldn’t be bothered to set them straight. It’s a rare sight. The grief draped over his bones is heavy, enough to morph his perfect posture into something wilting. Only when Edwin is deep in his head does he let it show, and today is one of those days.

Charles soundlessly drifts over and settles down by Edwin’s side on the raised ledge, close enough to touch but not forcing through his personal bubble. Edwin doesn’t acknowledge Charles directly, but presses slightly into him. His eyes don’t leave his hands which are sat in his lap, holding a red worn piece of sea glass. The one Niko gave him. He rubs it lovingly with his thumbs, like a worry stone.          

“Thank you for handling that.” Edwin says, low and calm. “My apologies for having abandoned you.”

“Nah, no harm done. I managed to whittle her down and got us an extension. She’ll leave us be for a few.”

“Whittle her down?” One thick brow slowly raises in his direction.

“Staring contest, I won.”

Edwin laughs in his throat, and allows Charles to link their fingers together. He mimics the soothing motions on Edwin’s skin. It’s the best he can do, for now. Edwin has never been the vocal type when it comes to deeper feelings; a trait they both share and have been working hard on. Still, Charles doesn’t need to hear it to know. Edwin is made up of many languages, most of them too cryptic for Charles to read, but he’s made it a point to study this one religiously. He’s sensitive to Edwin’s moods, almost like a sixth sense. Whenever they fall out of orbit even in the slightest, Charles feels it wholly, in a way he’s never been able to explain.

He leans in a centimeter more. “You wanna tell me what’s on your mind?” 

Silence stretches for several seconds before Edwin opens his mouth, closes it, then tries again. “I’ve been…inflicted…”

“By what?”

“Severe melancholy.” Edwin says the word like it tastes bad. A sigh breaks out of him. “I’m missing her more than usual, today.”

Charles hums in agreement, past the ache in his chest. “I miss her too. She would have been buzzed over yesterday’s case. Guinea pigs all over the place.”

The memory warms Edwin’s eyes, his smile fragile as he nods. “She would have…they’d have liked her far more than they did me. Bit of a mess. I’m sorry I have not been…’on my A game’ as you would say.”

“Oi, I thought we gave that word the boot.” Charles nudges his arm.

“I feel it is warranted in this case.” Another sigh. “I am not good at this.”

“At what?”

“Grieving.”

Charles squeezes his hand a little tighter. “Neither am I. Who is? I mean, I know you love rules but there really aren't any when it comes down to it. I don’t think there’s a proper way about it.”  

“I know.” Edwin breathes. “It would be so much easier if there were.”

It sucks, there’s not much else to say. It just sucks. 

Having died young, neither of them have much of a history with personal loss. The worst Charles can remember is the death of his childhood dog. They’re no strangers to grief, considering the amount of cases that have revolved around it. But after Port Townsend, after Niko, they were left with an emptiness so foreign, so permanent, that they didn’t know what to do with it. Of course they found a way to carry on, as is necessary to continue business. But this particular loss punched a hole in them that no amount of time or work can truly mend. For them, the agency was a distraction, delaying the hurt, and ultimately making it worse. It still feels fresh, months and months later. Even as they roll into another winter, another year. Some days it’s all good, and others it’s just this: a quiet sorrow.

Edwin has been out of sorts for the last couple of days, drowning himself in casework, organizing and foraging for tasks to pass the time. He tends to do that when his emotions make him restless. Just how Charles puts himself into motion when it’s too much for his body. He’s always there at a moment's notice, Crystal too. They’ve all become a tad more codependent as a group, but what else can you do?

How do you heal a wound that never closes? You can’t, really. It just sort of sits there, scabbing over and opening back up without warning. It might get smaller, but it’ll never be gone for good. The hardest part, as they’ve learned, is letting yourself feel it for what it is. It’s easier, it turns out, to run from Death than run from grief.

Charles knows how deep Niko’s death cut Edwin, but he also feels like something else is eating at him. That familiar spark of confidence has dulled, somehow. 

Just as Charles opens his mouth to ask about it, Edwin gasps through his teeth and yanks his hand away. Charles looks down at the empty space between them, where a small house spider is passing through. It makes its exit unharmed, but leaves a fidgety Edwin in its wake. A bit odd. Charles scoots it along further until it slips through a crack.

Edwin looks uncharacteristically humiliated. “Sorry, thank you.”

“Spiders bothering you?” Charles wonders as Edwin retakes his hand. 

“I have developed a distaste for them as of late.” Is all he says, and Charles has to solve the rest in his head. He gets the jist, though.

“Nothing to be ashamed of, mate. I mean, I’m afraid of doors now, so…” He shrugs.

“I noticed.” Because of course he did. “Care to elaborate?”

“Not any more than you do.” Charles replies, and they leave it at that.

Edwin’s birthday rolls up on them, without a word about it from Edwin. He stays locked at the desk reading and annotating and filing. Like he really thinks Charles will just casually let it pass by, carried away with the wind. Charles knows the list of errands in his hand is just a ploy to get his mind off the date. Clever for sure, but this isn’t something Charles is capable of forgetting.

He does fulfil Edwin’s requests, devoted as he is, but takes a detour afterwards to scrounge up some supplies for his newest project. A quick trip to a local antique shop is just the ticket, plus an extra stop at Crystal’s for a small favor. He eventually returns home some hours later, his bag of tricks holding a number of new gadgets, and finds Edwin sat in the same place, unmoved.

“Welcome home, Charles.” Edwin greets without separating his eyes from his book. He’s clearly engrossed by whatever morbid information is laid out on the pages, something about parasitic mutations. Charles unloads his pack and sets Edwin’s things down one by one on the corner of the desk.  

“Got everything you needed, even managed to trade off some of our unwanted trinkets.”

“Excellent.” Edwin briefly stops reading to observe the collection in front of him. Charles takes the list from his pocket and hands it over so Edwin can cross all the items off for his own satisfaction. He reaches into his jacket but comes up empty handed. “Have you seen my-”

Charles spots his missing pen on the floor and retrieves it for him.

“Ah, thank you, dear.”

The word takes Charles off guard, but not in a bad way. Edwin catches himself late, not even aware he’s said it. He makes no comment, but the grip on his pen tightens as it hovers over the checklist. He seems embarrassed, but Charles is altogether smitten by it.  

With a gooey smile on his face, Charles tilts forward. “Sure thing, love.” He hums, slinking away from the desk and feeling giddy at the soft look Edwin sends his way. Charles thought he’d be the one to crack a nickname first. Every day is something new. 

He spends the majority of the day hunched over the floor of the office, fumbling with copper and glass. He keeps his noise levels low so as not to distract Edwin and spoil the surprise. It takes him two hours to get it working how he wants, and when Edwin finally steps out to make a library run, Charles digs around to locate the final element that will complete his project. 

It takes him a minute to find it, but in one of the side drawers of the desk is a small handmade wooden box, lined with plush fabric. There are some dried flowers kept inside, along with the little red piece of glass Charles was looking for. He gingerly takes it from the box and places it in the small compartment at the base of his device. With a little practice, he’ll have it ready before the night is up.

Edwin pops through the mirror thirty minutes later, new book in hand. The one thing he always does on his birthday is visit the library, not for business but for fun. Because his version of fun differs just slightly from others, and is nothing out of the ordinary as he has said for years now. Charles gave up that argument long ago.

Hardly missing a beat, Edwin settles back in his chair and starts writing again. If they weren’t already ghosts then Charles might think Edwin is some overworked office bloke doing overtime to make up for missed deadlines. That’s kind of true in a way, and the thought makes his stomach sour, especially after watching Edwin slave over reports on his bloody birthday. He works himself into the night, still unbothered but visibly tiring. His pace slows down to a crawl as he reviews case files, and every time Charles tries to get his attention he’s met with absent responses.

Time to put an end to it.

Charles finishes up his work and cruises over to the desk, casually roaming over the various opened books and piles of notes. How Edwin can effortlessly cram information into his skull for hours on end will forever baffle him. He’s exhausted after one study session alone. 

“Edwin?”

“Hm?”

“Fancy a break? I’ve got something to show you.” Charles braces his hands along the wood, toying with a piece of paper hanging over the edge. 

“Mhm. That’s wonderful.” Edwin’s eyes stay glued to the foreign texts laid on the desk.

“You haven’t even seen it yet.” Charles’ hands twitch.

“Of course, dear.”

That about does it. Charles whirls around the desk until he’s at Edwin’s side, grabs hold of his chair and spins it sideways so Edwin is forced to look him in the eye. All the usual radiance of his porcelain skin has dimmed, making him look washed out and more ghost like than anything.

“Hey, look at me will you? I get that you’re invested in our work, but you’ve hardly left this desk for days, it’s like you’re withering away right in front of me.”

Edwin finally holds his gaze, a drop of guilt seeping onto his face. Charles inches closer, not to crowd him but just to seek understanding. “Come on now, what’s going on with you?”

He patiently waits for Edwin to give him an answer. The exhaustion is clear in the slump of his shoulders, finally revealed after being removed from his all consuming work zone.

“I didn’t mean to neglect you, I’ve-” Edwin takes a deep breath, lets it out all at once. “I’ve been feeling rather incompetent lately, and felt the need to improve myself. I only know how to do that through work.”

Ah, there it is. The splinter in his confidence. The common fear of not being good enough. Even a genius like Edwin gets caught up in his mistakes, little as they are. From what Charles can recall he had one slip up on a spell several days ago that nearly set a factory ablaze, but no heavy damage was done. That wasn’t enough to keep Edwin from dwelling on it, though.

Charles kneels in front of him, his tone gentle but resolute. “Hate to break it to you, love, but working yourself to dust isn’t going to help. You’re knackered. That big brain of yours needs to rest. Unless you’re looking to repeat the orb incident of ‘95?” 

Edwin barely suppresses an eyeroll. “No, but I wouldn’t have let it reach that point.”

“Close to it, by the looks of you. Now come on, put a bookmark in it and let me show you this.”

“If I could just finish-” Edwin tries to wheel back to his station but Charles twists him the other way.

“No! You’re cut off for the night.” He half laughs, dragging the chair further out. “Deadlines can wait a tick, I want to give you something.” In ten seconds, Charles phases right through the desk and rummages through his backpack, then he’s back at his previous place next to Edwin. 

He carefully presents his gift, suddenly a little self conscious of his handiwork as he sets it down in front of Edwin. It’s a small oil lamp, slim and polished, with an extra compartment added beneath the glass to replace the burner. Edwin takes in the piece with mild curiosity. Right now it looks like any ordinary antique, but Charles has turned it into something special. 

“You know that light spell you taught me after the kobalos case? It gave me an idea.” Charles demonstrates by casting the spell into his open palm, until a golden light appears. He transfers the ball of light to the lamp, changing the glow to a pinkish red. 

Edwin smiles proudly at Charles’ success, inspecting more closely. “It’s lovely, how did you get it to change color?”

Charles points to the bottom. “Check the compartment.”

Edwin does so, finding the thin drawer that slides out of the base, and then gasps in soft bewilderment.

“ Oh. ” He stares at the familiar red sea glass nestled inside and it’s like the life in him has been restored. 

“I figured this way, Niko can keep you company better than staying in a box. Crystal even had some of her jewelry stashed away, so I soldered a few pieces to it.” He thinks the tiny gems are a nice addition, they give it character.

Edwin slips the tray back into place, drinking in the sweet strawberry glow for a moment. His expression is a mixture of grief and awe, and it takes another moment of mental calibration before he can give Charles any feedback.

He abruptly stands, eyes still cast upon the lamp. “This is…” He blinks, speechless again.

“It’s alright if you don’t like it, you can be honest.” Charles says.

“No.” Edwin snaps his head to Charles, a flurry of emotion passing over his face. “This is brilliant, Charles. I’ve never- it’s the best thing anyone has given to me.” His voice is breathy and sincere, and he steps over to wind his arms around Charles in a tight embrace. 

“Thank you.” He whispers. “I love it. Very much.”

“I’m glad. Happy birthday, Eds.” Charles smiles into his hair and gives him an extra squeeze for good measure. They separate about a foot, so Edwin can look at him begrudgingly, but lighthearted.

“What, not happy that I remembered your birthday? Too bad, there’s plenty more to go. Better get used to it.” 

“I suppose I have no choice.”

“No, you really don’t.” Charles affirms in his strictest voice, and Edwin chuckles in his hold.

Neither of them bother to leave their position. Instead, Edwin gently settles a hand on his jaw as his focus drifts towards Charles’ mouth. “May I?”

Charles smiles affectionately. “You don’t have to ask, you know.”

“Right.” Edwin fights his own bashful smile, then closes the distance between them. 

It’s a privilege, Charles thinks, to be kissed by Edwin, to be loved by him. He’s very particular with affection, but plenty capable, and any amount willingly given away is a precious thing. With time he’s become more comfortable, and this side of him is something that only Charles gets to know. 

Edwin kisses in the same way he solves cases: thoughtfully, methodically, paying attention to detail. Charles lets him take the lead, following his rhythm and enjoying every second. He sits back against the desk and runs his hands along Edwin’s exposed forearms, making room for Edwin to settle between his legs. Edwin holds his face, touches his hair and shoulders. It’s a mixture of old and new. Charles realizes belatedly that they haven’t done this in what feels like ages. They’ve hardly had any extended alone time lately, what with all the chaos that orbits the agency 24/7. This kind of feels like their first official date, when they spent a night out downtown and didn’t break contact for nearly the entire time. Charles feels warm all over despite his dead self. They move slow and sweet, then pick up momentum, hands roaming and breaths gasping for air they don’t need. Edwin presses a little closer, Charles kisses a little harder, and they dissolve. 

Charles can’t say how much time passes with the two of them wrapped up in each other, but of course it doesn’t last long enough. The postman loudly appears in their office just as Charles is trailing kisses along Edwin’s jawline. Both of them startle so hard they topple onto the desk, almost knocking Edwin’s custom lamp right to the floor. Charles throws his arm back and catches it at an awkward angle. They fumble to collect themselves, embarrassment evident on both their faces. The postman either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t give a shit. He’s in and out in a jiff, dropping another sizable stack of mail on the other end of the desk before vanishing through the wall. Edwin and Charles stand dumbstruck for a moment, still disheveled, but laugh it off a moment later.

“I’d say we better lock the door next time, but that’s a bit useless, innit?”

Edwin laughs with his face in his hands and goes to sort through the mail, tossing a few letters his way in mock aggression. They organize it together, filtering through all the junk while making light conversation. Sneaking kisses in here and there. Edwin obeys Charles’ request to save the rest of their assignments till morning, deciding to get a little midnight reading in. As a last minute upgrade, Charles fixes an extra hook onto the wall so Edwin can set his new light there. He later joins him on the couch, lying back with his head in Edwin’s lap. They bask in the comfort of one another, a gentle hum in the room. Edwin absently plays with a few of Charles’ curls as he reads about ancient mythical creatures. Charles listens to the occasional fun facts about them, which get more bizarre as he goes. 

“Got any new stories to share?” Charles asks quietly once Edwin completes the last chapter. He nods, then closes the cover and reaches beside him. 

“I put something aside for you.” From behind a throw pillow, Edwin pulls out a copy of Blind Detective, still in mint condition. He presents it with all the nonchalance of someone browsing a car boot sale, like the simple gesture doesn't mean the whole world to Charles. “Not new, per se. But we never did finish this one, did we?” 

Charles is struck by the deep rooted memory; traveling back to that dark, frigid night, but feeling none of the cold. The cavern of his chest feels more like a hearth, and he just about falls in love all over again.

Edwin peers down at him, at the soppy, foolish expression Charles is undoubtedly wearing, and tilts his head.

“What is it?”

Charles shakes his head, the sentiment still tied to his lips. “Nah, it’s nothing. I just love you.” His closed smile spreads wider as he takes in Edwin’s reaction; timid but adoring, a slanted smirk giving way to dimples.

“What a coincidence, I’m quite fond of you myself.” He says primly, opening the book and flipping through it. Charles can see the playful squint of his eyes from over the pages, and he chuffs. Edwin’s hand comes down to comb through his hair, and it stays there as he begins reading aloud. Some of the phrases sound familiar, and it’s no shocker that Edwin remembered where they left off all those years ago.   

Charles listens to the rest, contented by the pleasant tone of Edwin’s voice. He plays with one of Edwin’s shirt buttons while his mind drifts a bit. He thinks about time, and how much of it they’ve spent at each other’s side. All the torment and pandemonium that they fought through to wind up here, together still. He thinks about fate and destiny and string theories, all bogus to him at one point but far more believable now. He thinks about mirrors and sunsets and gold rings, and what kind of future they might create. It makes Charles nervous and excited at the same time; a whole world of unknowns, of maybes and what ifs. But none of that really matters, does it.

They’ve got forever, after all.