Chapter Text
Charles has told Edwin a million times that they shouldn’t take this job.
Normally, he’s all for haunted houses, but there’s just something off about this one. The client swears up and down that he just wants them to go in there, get his long-lost fiancé’s engagement ring, and go back out.
“You don’t see anything fishy about that story?” Charles asks on their way there, just as he’s asked right before they stepped into the mirror, and just about every time they spoke to the client.
“Not at all,” Edwin replies primly, just as he has done every other time. “I think it is rather romantic, actually. His betrothed died shortly before their wedding, therefore he wishes to seek her out in Heaven and propose to her again. From what we know of Heaven, that is likely to be a pointless feat, of course, but I cannot fault him for the intention.”
They’ve arrived now, and Charles stops in front of the wrought-iron gate to look at Edwin incredulously. “His fiancé died thirty years ago, and he literally only ate it last week. Plenty of time to get that ring himself.”
“Her house is haunted,” Edwin argues. “He quite literally could not enter it without harming himself when he was alive. After all, that is why Crystal has not accompanied us on this case.”
“Yeah? And now? Nothing stopping him now, is there?”
“Now, he has decided to leave the job to the experts. Commendable, really.”
“Well, fuck that. I wouldn’t,” Charles says with conviction.
Edwin blinks. “You would not…leave this job to the experts?”
“I wouldn’t have waited thirty years. He already let her die-“
“Charles, it was a car crash-“
“-so the least he could do is get that ring, yeah? I don’t care that he was mortal. If he really loved her, that stupid curse wouldn’t matter to him. If that were me, I would just march in there right away, and I wouldn’t let anything stop me.”
Edwin stares at him, a strange expression on his face, and Charles meets his gaze unflinchingly, daring him to object.
He meant what he said. He literally went to Hell and back for Edwin, and he would do it all over again if he had to.
Their client claimed that he loved his fiancé, but he didn’t even attempt to get her ring back for thirty years, and now that he’s dead, he’s having someone else do it. Charles literally cannot imagine a world in which he’d delegate his journey to Hell to someone else. What a prick.
“What?” he asks when Edwin doesn’t say anything. “What is it?”
He doesn’t mean for it to come out as brusque as it does – he never wants to be brusque with Edwin –, but he can’t help it. There’s just something about this whole case that offends him deep in the very core of his being.
Edwin, however, is unwilling to let himself be provoked today. He’s still looking at Charles a bit strangely, and he says, “I know you would. That is who you are. But you should not fault others for not sharing those same principles.”
“What about you then?” Charles counters, crossing his arms. “If that were your fiancé, you’d be happy just waiting, then? Wait and then let some random blokes take over for you?”
Edwin opens his mouth, but before he can reply, a loud wail rings out from the direction of the house. It sounds like someone is crying. “Do you hear that?” Edwin asks.
Charles nods, already rummaging in his backpack until he’s pulled out his bat. “Let’s do this.”
*
Their investigation prior to this visit proved fairly unsuccessful.
An old house at the end of the street, empty ever since its owner died in a car crash thirty years ago. Can’t be sold because there’s an ongoing legal battle between the two brothers who inherited it. The neighbours claim that at night, they regularly hear what sounds like a woman crying, but no one ever bothers to check anymore, because their knocks are never answered anyway. Just a strange house in a normal neighbourhood.
Now, Charles and Edwin phase through the front door. It’s seriously dark in here, so Charles switches the lights on, ignoring Edwin’s scolding look.
He notices immediately that everything – the living room, dining room and the kitchen – is completely normal- not as in, not haunted-normal, but lived-in-normal.
A place like this, left on its own for three decades, should be dirty, dust everywhere, probably a couple broken windows, empty beer bottles after some arsehole teens decided to break in for laughs.
But this house honestly seems like its owner just went to the corner shop to get milk, ready to be back any second.
“Weird,” he whispers.
Edwin, who’s a few steps ahead and has just rounded a corner, suddenly says, “Charles.”
Just from his tone, Charles knows that something is wrong. He storms into the next room, only to find Edwin standing in an office, being held at gunpoint.
The woman holding a gun to Edwin’s temple is, quite obviously, a ghost. She keeps flickering in and out, a sign of emotional instability in ghosts, although the hand holding the pistol is perfectly calm. Charles would bet anything that the bullets are made of iron.
Tears of blood are running down the woman’s face. Doesn’t matter, though. This woman lost her rights to sympathy the moment she pointed a gun at Edwin.
With forced calm, Edwin says, “If you tell us what’s wrong, we can help you.”
Charles, who is not feeling particularly helpful right this moment, grips his bat tighter and says, “You better put that gun down this instant if you don’t want me to smash your face in.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” the woman says. Her voice is hoarse, like she has been crying for days. “I just want you to leave. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“We did not intend to disturb you,” Edwin says, his eyes fixed on her face instead of the pistol. “We only came to collect something. A ring, to be exact. Perhaps you have seen it around.”
The woman frowns. “A ring?” The hand that’s not busy holding the gun twitches slightly. Charles tilts his head, and sees that she’s wearing one on her middle finger. She is rubbing it with her thumb, but it's an absent gesture, like she hasn’t realised she’s doing it.
“An engagement ring,” Edwin clarifies.
“Like that one,” Charles says, pointing. Edwin’s gaze flits down and then back up, and when he meets Charles’ eyes, he looks pleased. Charles grins at him.
The woman frowns down at her hand. “This? This isn’t an engagement ring. It’s…” She shakes her head, like she’s trying to clear it. She’s still crying those creepy tears of blood, but she has stopped flickering.
“It’s what?” Charles asks. When she doesn’t reply, he says, “Listen, it’s Madeline, right? We’re not the bad guys here. We met your fiancé.”
“You’ve met Jonathan?”
“Mr Price believes that you have passed on to Heaven,” Edwin says, picking up neatly where Charles had left off. “If you wish, we can bring him here so the two of you can reunite.”
The woman shakes her head again, visibly distraught. “Reunite? No, that’s not- I don’t want- this is why I wanted you to leave. But you came in anyway, and now you’re bringing up the past, and I can’t- I told Jonathan I don’t want- just leave me alone.” She’s back to flickering, but she’s also crying harder.
That means she’s distracted. Good.
Charles doesn’t hesitate. He uses her momentary lapse of attention to drop his bat and tackle her to the ground, wrestling the gun away from her.
He throws it to Edwin, who catches it and nearly drops it again before frowning down at it, clearly unsure of what to do with it.
Madeline shoves Charles away with surprising strength, throwing him into the wall. Ghosts can’t feel pain, but the impact still leaves him breathless and dizzy.
Bloody hell, he thinks. Somehow, the chances of reuniting the client with his beloved fiancé seem fairly slim right now, especially because said fiancé seems pretty set on staying here for some reason.
“Is that what you’ve been doing to mortals?” Charles asks. In the background, he can see Edwin start to draw a symbol on the window, so he has to keep Madeline’s eyes on him. “They come in here and you attack them?”
“I haven’t attacked anyone,” she says. “I’m just keeping them out. This is my house. I don’t want them in here. I don’t want Jonathan in here, either. I told him.”
Charles gets off the floor, careful to keep her in his line of sight at all times. “Told him what?”
“I couldn’t take it anymore. All those promises, all that heartbreak, and all because I just couldn’t stop loving him. I loved him so much. So I did it. I stopped. And I told him, but he kept coming over, and then I died, so he thought finally he could take the ring away from me. But he couldn’t. He can’t.”
Edwin has finished the drawing, and is now quietly chanting in Latin. Madeline hasn’t noticed it yet.
“That ring is spelled, right?” Charles says. He’s stalling, but also, at this point, he’s genuinely curious. “What’s it do, keep him at a distance?” Except that can’t be right, because she just said that-
“No. It has nothing to do with him.” She’s rubbing the ring again, this time gently, and her voice is gentle, too, when she says, “The spell is for me. I had it spelled so that it would take my love away.”
Charles stares at her. For one moment, he forgets everything that’s happening around them, forgets the case, the gun that’s still lying a few feet away, forgets that he’s trying to distract her from noticing Edwin. He forgets everything except for what she just told him, because the implication of that is too much for him to wrap his head around.
“You made yourself stop loving him?”
“I can see that you’re judging me,” Madeline says. “You have that look in your eyes. You don’t understand what it’s like, loving someone so much and just hurting all the time. It was killing me.” And then, horrifyingly, she turns to Edwin, and she says, “But you understand. Don’t you? There’s something about you. We’re the same.”
Charles’ dead heart skips a beat at hearing that, and Edwin – Edwin looks about as devastated as Charles feels.
“Our cases are hardly comparable,” he says stiffly, though his voice wavers slightly. “I am sorry for what happened to you in the past, but your situation bears little similarity to mine.”
“Exactly,” Charles cuts in roughly, because suddenly, he can’t listen to this any longer. “It sucks that your fiancé was a dick, but don’t pull Edwin into it.”
Madeline ignores Charles, all her attention now on Edwin. Edwin, meanwhile, has stopped mid-chant, face pale, as upset as Charles has ever seen him.
“I can help you,” she tells Edwin, her words a bizarre echo of Edwin’s earlier offer. “You’re hurting. I can make that go away. It’s not hard, you know. I’ve spent the past thirty years figuring out how to improve the spell.”
She raises her hand, and Edwin flinches back, and Charles takes one, threatening step towards her, ready to interfere.
“Thank you,” Edwin says, “but I must decline. Your spell would be wasted on me, I’m afraid. My love is a source of joy, not of hurt.”
“I used to think so, too. That’s how they get you.”
“Oi,” Charles snaps, “leave him alone. He already said no.”
Finally, Madeline looks at him again. “You,” she says. “You’re just like Jonathan. You come in here, you disturb my rest, you want my ring, you think you know what’s right for me- you think you know what’s right for him-“
“I don’t-“
“Stop,” Edwin says, voice cold. “You do not know either of us. Now, we are prepared to leave and call this case closed, but if you address Charles like that again, I shall not be held responsible for my actions.”
“You’re defending him,” Madeline says. “I understand that. They make it so easy, don’t they? It’s so easy to love them that you never question it. But it doesn’t have to be that way. I can show you.”
“Stop,” Edwin says again, and Charles raises his bat, but it’s too late. Madeline has her heart on Edwin’s chest.
“Don’t be afraid,” she says. “You’ll see in just a moment. This won’t hurt nearly as much as he has hurt you.”
And then, to Charles’ horror, she reaches inside Edwin’s chest, right to where his heart would be. Edwin throws his head back and screams, a deafening, gut-wrenching scream that Charles never wants to hear again.
And just like that, it’s over.
“There,” Madeline says. “That’s better. I haven’t had time to finetune it, and it’s not permanent yet. It will wear off in a week. But by the time it does, I guarantee you will come back asking for the full spell.” She smiles. “I’ll be seeing you.”
Then she closes her eyes. One last flicker, and she’s gone.
“Edwin,” Charles says urgently, gripping Edwin by the shoulders, “what’d she do to you, mate?”
Edwin looks at him, for just one second, before his eyes roll back in his head and he faints right into Charles’ arms.
*
“When is he going to wake up?”
“Dunno.”
“It’s been over three hours, is he going to be like this the whole time?”
“Dunno.”
“Okay, but did she tell you anything about the spell? Did she say what it does? Did she spell him asleep?”
“Crystal, I don’t know,” Charles snaps. “All I know is that she did this and disappeared, and she wasn’t there when I searched the house, and also I’ve been a little busy watching over Edwin, so I’m sorry that I haven’t had time to become a spell expert in the last three hours.”
Crystal blinks, and Charles immediately regrets biting her head off like that. It’s not her fault that this is happening. If anything, it’s Charles’ fault for not stepping in sooner.
And now Edwin is lying on the couch in their office, still unconscious, and there’s nothing they can do but wait for him to wake up.
“Look-“ he starts, ready to apologise, but Crystal talks right over him.
“I get that you’re stressed, but you’re not the only one worried about him. He’s my friend, too.”
“I know.”
“And you’re not going to want to hear this, but if he’ll just be asleep the whole time, he doesn’t need us to watch over him, he needs us to help him.”
Charles breathes in, breathes out. He has to concentrate on breathing, because if he doesn’t, he’ll start panicking. “How do we help him, then? I told you, I have no bloody clue what she did to him.”
Crystal wriggles her fingers. “I’ll just have a quick look.”
“No, wait-“ Charles says, alarmed, but Crystal already has her hand on Edwin’s temple. He couldn’t stop her, just like he couldn’t stop Madeline.
Crystal’s eyes go white. For a few seconds, nothing happens. It would be much easier, Charles reckons, if Edwin was breathing so he’d know he’s okay. They both never got out of the habit of taking breaths, but it seems that with Edwin unconscious, his body realises that it no longer needs to.
Finally, Crystal withdraws. She is very pale. “Charles-“
But Charles is no longer listening, because at last, after three hours filled with anxiety, Edwin has just opened his eyes.
Relief spreads through Charles at this proof that Edwin is awake, that he’s back with them, that whatever that ghost did to him wasn’t enough to keep him down. Edwin has come back to him, just like Charles will always come back to Edwin.
Before Edwin can get off the couch, Charles has already tackled him back onto it, hugging him tight.
“We were getting worried,” he says, his face buried in the crook of Edwin’s neck, trying to press all his love into him. “Don’t do that again, yeah?”
“Charles,” Crystal says again, a warning tone in her voice.
And then Edwin delicately pries Charles away from him and stands. Hands clasped behind his back, he looks down at where Charles is now sprawled across the couch. There is an odd expression on his face.
“I feel,” he starts, and pauses. “Distraught,” he says eventually.
Charles gets back up, too, so he can peer closely at Edwin. “What’s wrong?” he asks urgently. “Is it because she hurt you somehow? Did she do something weird to your heart?”
“Ghosts do not have hearts, Charles, I have told you this many times,” Edwin says. He’s right, he has told Charles this a million times before – except usually, he sounds fond when he does it. A bit exasperated, perhaps, but ultimately affectionate.
He doesn’t sound fond now. He sounds annoyed.
“Well, she must’ve done something,” Charles insists. “You were unconscious for ages, and- no offense, but you’re behaving really weirdly.”
Instead of replying, Edwin puts a hand on his chest. Despite his earlier protest, he’s put it right where a human’s heart would be.
“Curious,” he says slowly, after a few moments have passed. “I remember having certain – sentiments towards you. Both of you, but especially you, Charles.”
Edwin is still looking at Charles with that odd expression, and it’s taken him a bit, but he’s finally figured it out. It’s distaste. Charles suddenly feels rather uneasy. And then Edwin’s words hit him.
“What do you mean, you remember?” he demands.
“Charles,” Crystal says again, and this time, Charles finally turns to her. “I’ve been trying to tell you, I looked into his head, and there’s something missing.”
“Oh, like amnesia?” Charles asks.
“No,” Edwin says. He doesn’t sound annoyed anymore. He just sounds- blank. “I do not believe I have lost any memories. You know, it is the strangest thing, Charles. I look at you, and I know who you are, and I can remember loving you. I remember being in love with you.” He says it matter-of-factly, even though it’s been months since that moment on the staircase, even though they’ve never talked about it again. And still, Edwin says it now like it’s no big deal.
“You remember,” Charles repeats. “But, what? Her spell made you stop fancying me?” he asks, only half-jokingly. Perhaps it would make things easier, if Edwin weren’t in love with him.
But Edwin shakes his head. “Not exactly. I am not lacking any attachment in particular. I am simply- lacking.”
Charles still doesn’t get it, but Crystal inhales sharply. “That’s what’s missing. Edwin, you didn’t lose your memory, you lost your love. All of it. Platonic, romantic, whatever- for Charles, for me, for everyone you know, it’s not there anymore.”
“Ah,” Edwin says, his hand still on his chest. “Yes, it appears that is it. You are quite right, Crystal. Goodness. How unsettling.”
And then Edwin walks over to the desk and starts sorting through files, like this is just another day, like this has been a completely normal conversation. He doesn’t say anything else, and he doesn’t look at Charles even once.
What, Charles thinks, the fuck.
When he turns to Crystal, he finds that she is already watching him. “Are you okay?” she asks.
Charles lets out a laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be? My best mate just lost, like, an entire human emotion, and he’s acting like a bloody robot now, and he probably doesn’t give a shit about me anymore, so why the hell wouldn’t I be okay, Crystal?”
“Closet, now,” Crystal snaps, and grabs his arm to bodily drag him into it. Inside, she turns on the lamp and gives him a withering glare. “You don’t get to take your anger out on me.” Charles freezes, but she hasn’t noticed, is already moving on. “Now, I need you to tell me exactly what happened in that house. Edwin isn’t going to be of any help, so the two of us need to-“
“Why not?” Charles interrupts.
“Um. Why not what?”
“Why can’t Edwin help? We could use his wits on this, right? There’s no one better suited to figuring this mess out than Edwin.”
“Okay, I’m going to ignore the frankly ridiculous hero worship, and just focus on the fact that just because he can help us, doesn’t mean that he will. Wake up, Charles! This isn’t your best friend anymore. This is some stranger who probably thinks he’s better off without all those pesky emotions!”
“He’s still Edwin,” Charles insists. “He’s still a detective who’ll want to figure out what’s wrong with him. We can at least ask, yeah?”
“Fine,” Crystal says, though she seems unconvinced. “We’ll ask him.”
Charles takes a deep breath. “And- for the record, he’s still my best mate. That won’t change, ever, no matter what. I know it.”
*
The thing is that as long as Crystal is there, Charles can more or less pretend that everything is fine. Edwin, who, as Charles predicted, is willing to help, is over at the bookshelves reading up on spells, and Crystal and Charles mostly hang out on the couch, discussing the incident at Madeline’s house in as much detail as Charles can muster up. It feels normal. Ordinary.
But then Crystal leaves for the day, ready to return to her own flat, and Charles walks her home as usual, and when he comes home, it’s just him and Edwin. No more pretending.
Edwin is sitting behind the desk when he walks in, hands folded in his lap, apparently busy staring at the wall.
He looks up at Charles now, though, and Charles’ heart seizes in dread, because it’s so, so different from the way Edwin normally looks at him. He never really thought about it until Edwin stopped doing it.
“I have a question,” Edwin says.
“Sure,” Charles replies carefully. “Go for it.”
Edwin studies him for a moment. Then he says, “Odd. My body is aware of you. It should not be possible for a ghost, of course, and yet I can feel my heart beating faster whenever I lay eyes on you. Though perhaps ‘faster’ is not right- I can simply feel it beating.”
“Oh,” Charles says, a little awkwardly. “Sorry about that- I reckon that must be right uncomfortable for you, yeah?”
“Not at all. But I won’t deny that it is strange. My body seems to be intimately connected to your existence, and yet I do not feel the slightest affection towards you.”
“Oh,” Charles repeats dully. He feels like Edwin just stabbed him with an iron knife.
Edwin tilts his head. “My words have hurt you. I apologise. I did not mean to upset you.”
Charles closes his eyes. This is bloody great, he thinks. Edwin still knows him well enough to be able to read his feelings right off his face, but he’s lacking any fondness that normally accompanies that level of familiarity.
“Hey, it’s cool,” he says after a second has passed, grinning at Edwin to show him that he means it. “No harm done.”
“You are lying,” Edwin says.
Charles’ smile slips. “What? I’m not-“
“I have no doubt that you view my current affliction as an obstacle. Should I return to my former self, I will presumably agree with that sentiment. But right now, I feel like my eyes have been opened. I look at you, and it feels rather as though I’m seeing you for the first time. I see you exactly as you are, Charles, without my complicated feelings blinding me to your façade, to your needs.”
“Hold on, you’re not blind to my needs. Don’t even know what that means, to be honest.” Charles clenches his fists. He’s not going to ask. He’s not going to ask. He’s not going to- “What do you see, then? When you look at me?”
Edwin hesitates. “It would be unkind of me to say it out loud. Having my love for you removed may have turned me cold, in your opinion, but it has not managed to take away my manners.”
“No, come on, just say it. I can take it, yeah? Whatever you think you know about me, I want to hear it.” Besides, he thinks but doesn’t say, this might be his only chance to get Edwin’s real, sincere opinion of him.
“Very well,” Edwin says doubtfully. He stands, approaches Charles, but stops just out of touching range. That’s another difference right there: Edwin always claims he doesn’t want to be touched, but he always stands close enough to allow Charles to touch him anyway, if he likes.
For a few seconds, Edwin just studies him again, eyes roaming over every inch of Charles’ face, and Charles has never felt so exposed.
“You are angry,” Edwin says at last, “although I do not know about what. You are sad, too. I distressed you, even though you claimed I didn’t. Every time you look at me, there’s a flash of disappointment as you find me wanting, and at the same time, you are afraid that I am looking at you and finding you wanting. But you needn’t fear that, Charles. I may not presently care for you, but I perfectly recall our shared history. You are a valuable asset to this agency.”
Charles swallows. “You think of me as an asset?”
“What else would I think of you as?” Edwin asks, sounding genuinely curious. Like he literally cannot imagine Charles as anything else. All that shared history he was just talking about, and still, that’s all Charles is to him now: an asset. Nothing more. Charles feels like he’s going to cry.
Because he’d rather die again than have an emotional outburst witnessed by this cold, unfeeling version of Edwin, he turns away, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “Right then,” he says. “That’s- cheers for that, I guess.”
“You are welcome.”
Charles takes another breath. Then he says, “Oi, you never told me what question you wanted to ask.”
“You still wish to answer?” Edwin says, his surprise clear.
“’Course,” Charles says. “This isn’t easy for you either, yeah? I’m happy to help. Anything that’s on your mind, just shoot.” This time, his smile is entirely sincere.
Edwin asks, “Do you wish I weren’t in love with you?”
“What?”
“It’s quite simple, really. Our friendship makes us stronger, but my infatuation has been rather a hindrance, has it not? Both professionally, and emotionally. The depth of my feelings must make you uncomfortable.”
Charles takes Edwin by the shoulders, ignoring the flinch and the way Edwin instantly tries to shift backwards. He holds on as tight as he can, because a part of him fears that if he doesn’t, Edwin will just drift away and never stop. “Listen to me. I have never once thought any of that shit, you got me? Literally not even once.” He grins at Edwin. “Besides, it’s flattering, innit? You’re a total catch, mate. I’d be right stupid not to want you to be in love with me.”
Edwin’s eyes widen a tiny fraction, and for that split second, he looks exactly, devastatingly like the Edwin Charles knows. But by the time he speaks, the moment has passed, and his voice is full of clinical detachment again.
“That is good to hear,” he says. “As soon as my emotions are restored, I will certainly be relieved.”
“Great,” Charles says. “Cool. Aces. I’ll just- be on the roof if you need anything, yeah?”
The other Edwin – the real Edwin – would ask what’s wrong, or at least express a little worry, because Charles only tends to go to the roof when he’s feeling all out of sorts.
This Edwin doesn’t even acknowledge him, save for a short nod. He just returns to his desk. He doesn’t look up when Charles leaves.
*
Charles has either one long, drawn-out or three consecutive panic attacks on the roof, depending on how you want to measure it. When he’s done, the sun is rising over the rooftops of London. It looks like it’s going to be a nice day.
Charles closes his eyes and wishes, not for the first time, that he could feel the warmth of the sunlight on his skin. But he doesn’t. As always, he is only able to feel other ghosts – and he doesn’t think Edwin is up to being touched right now.
The thing is that Charles is, like, ninety-five per cent sure that this strange spell is going to wear off in a few days. That’s what Madeline said, right? She said it’d be a week, and then Edwin will be back to normal.
Charles ought to feel relieved by that, and he does, of course he does. Obviously he’s looking forward to having back the version of his best mate that actually likes him.
But- he can’t stop thinking about that other thing Madeline told Edwin. He’d been so confused at the time that it hadn’t really registered, but now, her words are stuck on replay in his mind.
She told Edwin that he’d want it. That by the time he’s back to his old self, he’d beg her to spell him again.
This part, Charles hasn’t told Crystal.
What really bugs him though, except for the obvious fact that his best mate has been spelled or cursed or whatever and that the crazy ghost lady is so certain he’ll come asking for it soon enough – what really bugs him about all this is that Madeline thought she was doing Edwin a favour.
That part, Charles also hasn’t told Crystal.
What would he even tell her? That a ghost looked at him and looked at Edwin and immediately concluded that Charles is hurting him? That Edwin would be better off without him?
It's a load of rubbish. Charles knows that. He knows Edwin would agree, too, under normal circumstances. Hell, even the spelled version of him agreed. That’s what all that asset thing was about, right?
But- just because most of it is wrong doesn’t mean all of it is. It’s been almost six months now since Edwin was dragged to Hell and Charles went and got him back.
They have never talked about it since that day, but it’s one of those things that never go away, once they’ve been spoken out loud.
Charles thinks about it literally all the time. He tries not to, but it’s like once Edwin has put the thought into his brain, he can’t block it out. It’s always on his mind.
Like- two weeks ago, for instance, Edwin banished a vengeful spirit just before it would’ve chopped Charles’ head off with an iron axe, and Charles looked at him and thought how great it would be if he could kiss Edwin for that.
Or the week before that, when Edwin held open the door for Charles like they do in old-timey movies, and Charles thought how great it would be if he could drop to his knees and suck Edwin’s cock.
Charles knows being gay isn’t, like, infectious or whatever, probably, so the only other way he can explain it is that it’s like that elephant thing. Bloke on the telly tells you not to think of a pink elephant, what do you think about? Pink elephants.
Edwin is Charles’ pink elephant, and it’s driving him crazy, especially ‘cause it’s not exactly fair to Edwin, is it? Edwin has all these genuine feelings for him and Charles is mind-tricking himself. Edwin deserves someone better than that. Someone better than Charles.
He wonders if that’s what Madeline thought about her fiancé, too, before she put on that ring. She must have.
That’s why he can’t tell Crystal. They broke up, but he doesn’t want her to wonder if a spell like that might’ve been the better solution. It’s irrational, he knows it is, but every time he starts thinking about that stupid spell and all its implications for too long, he starts panicking again.
Because no one has time for that, he heads down back to the office instead, only to find Edwin inspecting their fencing masks and the rapiers that are right beside them.
Charles can’t help the automatic smile that tugs at his lips as soon as he sees Edwin, even though he knows it will go unappreciated. “Been a while since we used those, innit?”
“Eight years,” Edwin says without turning around, “and four months. You spent weeks pestering me about needing a weapon to defend myself with, and I finally caved and told you that I know how to fence.”
Charles joins him by the window, stopping just short of digging his chin into Edwin’s shoulder to get a better view at those masks. “You wiped the floor with me,” he says, seamlessly picking up the thread of the story in that way that never fails to annoy Crystal. “You were bloody brilliant. Never used them again, though, did we?”
Tracing the outline of one mask with a finger, Edwin makes a sort of humming sound that could be interpreted as agreement.
But Charles has had decades of practice in interpreting each and every one of Edwin’s hums and facial expressions. He knows that’s not Edwin’s agreeing hum.
“What?” he asks lightly, nudging Edwin’s shoulder with his own. “What is it?” He pauses. His stomach drops as something occurs to him. “Is it something secret again? Something you usually don’t want me to know? You’d better come out with it, then. Might be your only chance to be straight with me, right?”
Finally, Edwin turns to face him, looking slightly aggrieved. “Charles, I am not under any compulsion spell, forced to speak truth, nor am I normally compelled to tell lies to spare your feelings.”
“Yeah, but-“
“Besides, you appear to be under the impression that I am keeping a whole host of secrets from you. I assure you that is not the case. I merely- I find it hard to judge, at present, which of my words might cause you distress.”
“But you don’t care, yeah?” Charles says, to clarify. “You know you’re supposed to, so you’re trying to act like it or whatever, but you don’t actually care.”
Edwin frowns. “That is correct, I suppose.”
“Don’t worry about me, then. No, I mean it,” he adds, because he can see Edwin preparing to protest. “Cross my heart. I know you’ve been spelled, so I’m not gonna hold anything you say now against you, am I? You can say whatever you want to me – including whatever you think I won’t like about the fencing thing.”
Edwin is quiet for a moment, like he’s considering it. Charles wasn’t lying, though. He just wants Edwin to be comfortable around him. Besides, what’s the worst thing Edwin could tell him?
“It’s true that I’m rather skilled with a rapier,” Edwin says finally, and Charles beams, because whether Edwin is aware of this or not, he’s just presented him with an olive branch. But then Edwin goes on, and Charles’ smile drops. “But at the time, I was under the impression that despite your claims of wanting me to learn self-defence, you actually enjoyed rescuing me. I didn’t wish to upset our dynamic, therefore I never suggested fencing again.”
Charles stares at him. He suddenly feels very cold, right down to his core. He hasn’t been this cold since that night in the lake. “So you’ve just been, what, humouring me? Letting me defend you so I could feel useful?”
“Of course not,” Edwin says impatiently. “We have always divided our labour as best we could, and it has worked for us thus far. Why would I interfere with your side of it unless strictly necessary?”
Charles takes a deep breath. He can’t panic again, and he doesn’t want to get angry, either. He never wants to be angry at Edwin.
He's a little angry at himself, perhaps. Angry that apparently his best mate thinks him so selfish that he’d prefer Edwin to be in danger just so he can feel like a hero for saving him.
“And now you are upset again,” Edwin says, in the same tone that he uses to state simple facts.
“I’m not- alright, maybe I am, but. Edwin. Mate. You know that I never want you to get hurt, right? I don’t care if that makes me less of an asset or whatever, because that don’t matter one bit if it means you’re safe. If you want to use a rapier to slash our opponents to pieces, or, or keep them from slashing you to pieces, you should absolutely do that, no questions asked.”
“You are overreacting. This is precisely why I did not want to tell you in the first place.” But the harsh words are belied by Edwin’s gaze, which is a little exasperated, a little annoyed, and, sure, it’s missing that little bit of fondness that also usually accompanies it, but, hell, it’s still two thirds Edwin. That’s good enough for Charles.
“Promise me you’ll defend yourself if you have to?” he asks.
“Fine,” Edwin says. “If you insist.” He says it like he’s exasperated. Like he’s annoyed.
Charles will just imagine in his head that he’s fond, too.
*
Frustratingly, infuriatingly, no one really notices that there’s anything different about Edwin.
After almost thirty-five years, Charles knows how people tend to view them. They look at the two of them, and they think they know who they are. They categorise them in their minds, just like they did when Charles and Edwin were alive.
That is why he knows people look at Edwin and see someone stuck-up and arrogant, someone who’s hopelessly stiff, someone who is smart and educated but who hasn’t the faintest idea how to show affection.
And they look at Charles, and some of them, like Madeline, feel sorry for Edwin, because they think he’s wasting his afterlife on someone so wholly different than him.
Some of them, though, feel sorry for Charles, and it’s those people who properly piss him off.
Those people think Charles could do better than Edwin, like that’s even possible. They look at him and conclude that he’s somehow shackled to Edwin, and they feel bad, because they think Edwin is cold and unfeeling and Charles has to bend over backwards to receive even the slightest scrap of affection in return.
None of that is true, Charles knows. It couldn’t be further from the truth.
However Edwin may come across sometimes, he’s never been like that with Charles. The kind of person everyone is imagining Edwin to be would never have given a dying teenager a lantern. He certainly wouldn’t have stayed and distracted Charles from dying.
And this general misconception of Edwin’s character amuses Charles on the best of days and infuriates him on the worst, but it’s especially bad right now, because it seems like he is the only one who grasps that Edwin isn’t acting like himself.
After over a day of being trapped in the office, Edwin had insisted on going out.
By now, they’re pretty much agreed to just wait out the week and wait for this whole mess go away on its own, but it seems Edwin still intends to take cases during that time, or at least go about his normal existence – which means he encounters a whole bunch of people who are none the wiser about what happened to him.
There’s the owner of the magic shop in Camden Town, who has known them for twenty years and who goes through an entire, hour-long chat with Edwin about an upcoming encyclopaedia on curses without noticing anything amiss, even though Edwin hasn’t smiled once.
There’s the old ghost ladies down the street who don’t seem to find it at all weird that Edwin barely nods at them in greeting before walking past.
There is, perhaps worst of all, Crystal, who came by this morning after Charles’ almost-breakdown, and who, after dragging Charles into the closet again, told him outright that Edwin seems fairly normal to her, all things considered.
“Are you for real right now?” Charles had asked incredulously.
Crystal had stared back like he was the insane one. “He barely acknowledged me at all and then told me my crop top makes me look like a prostitute. That’s pretty incharacter for him, don’t you think?”
Charles doesn’t think. But it’s hard to put into words what exactly is different, especially to someone who’s only known Edwin for a few short months. And yet he knows, with every fibre of his being, that none of this is standard behaviour for Edwin.
It's the little things more than anything else, he reckons. Smiling and not being met with a fond eyeroll in return. Turning back to face Edwin, and Edwin looking somewhere else entirely. Having no one to exchange looks with in a conversation.
Edwin no longer holding out his hand, waiting for Charles to give him an item.
Edwin reading in silence, rather than reading out loud so that Charles can hear.
Edwin flinching back from his touch.
It's like they’re two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, made to fit together, and now Edwin’s had a corner ripped off. There’s an empty space between them now, one that Charles can’t fill, because he isn’t made for it, even though he’s trying his best.
Four more days, he reminds himself. Four more days, and then it’ll be over.
He's not thinking about what Madeline said would happen after that. He refuses. A tiny, superstitious part of him is afraid that if he so much as considers it, Edwin will never go back to normal. No. He has to believe that Edwin will return to him, just like he believed that he would be able to go and rescue Edwin from Hell.
If he believes it, it will become true. It has to.
*
Charles is on the roof again, trying to psych himself out of having yet another panic attack during yet another sunrise, when he suddenly feels a presence at his back. Edwin. No matter what happens, no matter what else is going on, he will always recognise Edwin.
“You’ve been up here a while,” Edwin notes. “For the majority of the night, I believe.”
“Come to check on me?” Charles jokes.
When he turns, there’s a strange flicker of uncertainty in Edwin’s gaze. “Yes. I confess I do not know what compelled me. I simply looked up from my book and found that you were still gone, and I had the strongest urge to find out what has been keeping you.”
“Instinct, probably.” Charles shrugs. “Not that often that we get separated for more than an hour, tops, is it?” Drives Crystal mental, too.
It’s funny, in a way – when they were dating, it weirded her out that he kept worrying about splitting his time between her and Edwin. He doesn’t get why he wouldn’t, though. Of course he wants to spend all his time with Edwin. Who else would he spend it with?
Edwin, though, is frowning. He has that faraway look in his eyes – even though it’s only been a handful of days, Charles still already knows that this look means Edwin is sorting through memories and feelings in his head, trying to figure something out. Charles can’t imagine what that whole process like. He’s pretty sure it sucks, though.
“Something on your mind?” he asks eventually, when Edwin has been silent for a few ticks.
“Yes,” Edwin replies at once, brutally honest as always. “But I shall keep it to myself for the time being.”
“Oh,” Charles says, taken aback. “Okay.” It hurts just the tiniest bit, in the same way that every one of Edwin’s rejections over the past few days have hurt just the tiniest bit. No big deal on their own, but put together, it’s feeling rather like he’s slowly bleeding out from an open wound.
“Also, I have been thinking. I believe we ought to take up cases again.”
Charles blinks. “Are we sure that’s a good idea?” he asks. “What with you being all-“ He waves vaguely at Edwin’s general form.
“Well, naturally I cannot be certain what we think, seeing as I am unable to read your thoughts,” Edwin says testily. “I, for one, have made up my mind on the matter.”
“Alright, no need to bite my head off! All I’m saying is, are we- I mean, we handle a lot of sensitive cases. Might be hard to deal with that in your condition, yeah?”
“I am not with child,” Edwin says, and Charles chokes on nothing, “nor have I fallen ill. My skills are not impaired, and neither is my intellect. Besides, given the nature of our usual dynamic when taking cases, I do not see why we cannot continue on as we always do.”
Charles bites his tongue to prevent himself from saying something he might regret later. It’s just- this is the second time Edwin has mentioned their dynamic, and he thinks he can guess well enough what Edwin means. But the truth of it is that it’s not so simple as that – yes, Edwin can cast spells and Charles can’t, and yes,
Charles can take a hit better than Edwin, but when it comes to the emotional side of a case, there is no way of telling beforehand which one of them is better equipped to handle any particular client. Some clients take better to Charles, others prefer Edwin.
Besides. All those misconceptions people tend to have about the two of them? It’s starting to sound like Edwin buys into that, too.
It sounds like Edwin believes that’s how he really is – and the worst part about that is that Charles genuinely can’t tell whether this is a result of the spell, or whether Edwin thinks that under normal circumstances, too.
I’m not good with other people. That’s what Edwin said when they first met, when neither of them had a clue yet that they would spend the rest of eternity together. It’s not completely wrong. But it’s not completely right, either.
Because Charles has no idea how to put any of this into words, let alone how to explain it to an Edwin who is so unlike the Edwin he knows, he doesn’t even try. All he says is, “Is that really how you want to spend the next few days?”
“I do not understand.”
“Just- this could be a holiday, yeah? Some time off. We haven’t done that in at least three years.”
“Four,” Edwin says softly. “I told you I had always hoped to see the Grand Canyon, so that is what we did.”
“Exactly! Think about it. This’ll be fun.” Originally, he’d suggested it just to distract Edwin from the possibility of taking a case and making someone cry, but he’s getting into it now. “Where should we go? You must have a whole list of places you want to see, still.”
“I- Charles, I am not myself at the moment,” Edwin says, like Charles could have possibly forgotten. “This cannot be easy for you. You needn’t force yourself to go on some ill-planned vacation with me just because you feel obligated to keep me entertained while I am like this.”
“Who said anything about feeling obligated? ‘Sides, didn’t you just say that we should act like we normally do?” Charles grins at him. “That’s us at our normal dynamic, mate. Me convincing you to relax for once. Go on, just tell me where you want to go, and we’ll go.”
He means it, too. He realises abruptly that he wants Edwin to be happy, or as happy as he can be. Every version of Edwin, spelled or not.
Edwin ponders this for a second. Then, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain, he says, “Very well.”
“Yes!”
“One trip, and then we return to the agency and resume our work until I am rid of this blasted spell.”
“Sure. Whatever you want.”
“Also,” Edwin says, and now he meets Charles’ gaze straight-on, “I do believe it is your turn to pick a destination. We went to the Grand Canyon last time, so this time, we will go somewhere of your choosing.”
Charles is just getting ready to protest when he hesitates, a memory stirring in the back of his mind. They’ve had this argument before. A whole bunch of times, actually. Charles always wants Edwin to pick something, and Edwin tends to insist that they take turns.
It gives him hope, that even an Edwin who doesn’t care for him insists on this.
He doesn’t have to think about it, now that it’s settled. He beams. “Let’s go to Brighton, then.”