Chapter Text
The last thing Edwin remembers is magic, swirling bright and painful in the corner of his vision. Hands, desperate, shoving at him, slipping off his back. An impact, a crack, pain worse than anything he could have ever comprehended. Then nothing, the endless dark.
He comes to with the taste of dirt in his mouth and his vision blurred. His body aches, there is a strange taste on his tongue, and somebody is clinging to him to the point of creaking bones. Something tacky sticks to him everywhere. There is the feeling of sand between his teeth.
There are sobs being smothered into his shoulder, hands fluttering back and forth between his back and shoulders. A grief so profound lodges itself in his chest—for what, he can’t quite place. The hands on him feel like something he once would have given anything for. He knows there once was feeling, something that is swallowed up by the endless dark.
Edwin doesn’t remember why, but he knows that he should not be alive.
The person clinging to him is familiar, but it takes Edwin a while to remember a name. He remembers laughter, a void so deep he thinks he might fall and disappear back down into nothing. There is supposed to be something, he can taste it on the tip of his tongue. He is missing something that once made him all he was, he just knows it.
The name finally crystalises itself. “Charles?”
His voice is barely there, a croaking thing that does little to cut through the sobs. All the same, Charles grows still before rearing back and reaching up to cup Edwin’s face. His hands feel tacky against Edwin’s cheeks. His hold is a little too tight, digging in enough to make Edwin remember where his edges are. His nose brushes Edwin’s and Edwin’s heart remembers an emotion that Edwin can no longer place. His pulse thumps loudly and the world blurs. Charles’s forehead touches his.
“Yeah,” Charles sobs, “yeah, I’m right here. You’re okay.”
Edwin knows that isn’t true.
He pulls away as far as Charles lets him, takes in the shaking boy. The fingers on his jaw feel wet, there is dirt smudged across almost any part of Charles, clothes and skin stained much like Edwin feels he himself is. His face is swollen, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. There are tear tracks in the sheen of dust on his cheeks.
Edwin can’t remember, but there is a strange feeling inside of his chest. Charles’s fingers slip on his chin. Edwin doesn’t remember enough for this picture to make sense. “Charles, what did you do?”
Charles presses closer again, his thumbs brushing beneath Edwin’s eyes. He is trying to smile, but it keeps slipping whenever he takes a shuddering breath. Edwin doesn’t follow the urge to reach out and adjust his collar. He thinks he would have, before—well, before whatever brought them here.
“I dug you up, and Mick- there was a spell, I bought it, and it brought you back.” Charles’s voice cracks, but he pushes past it. “You’re okay now, I’ve got you, yeah? I brought you back.” He sounds desperate, like he is trying to convince Edwin of a truth he has denied without even opening his mouth.
Edwin looks to his side, and stares down at the hole in the ground. Slowly, things slide into place inside of his mind. The images are blurred, nothing comes into focus, but he remembers distinctly when something sharp and long had punctured his chest before being torn back out without care.
He reaches up and finds the torn edges of the hole still in his chest. Charles hiccups another sob. “No don’t, don’t touch, please, we gotta stitch you up, don’t-”
“What did you do?” The question is out before he can finish thinking it, spilling out of his mouth with remnants of grave dirt.
Charles’s face breaks apart. “I couldn’t just leave you down there, could I? You hate small spaces, I couldn’t live with myself. I promised I’d always come for you, remember?” His hands shake where they rest against Edwin’s jaw. Blood trickles down his lips. Edwin isn’t sure when Charles started bleeding. “So I brought you back. You’ve gotta believe me.” His voice grows desperate, his plea tumbling off his tongue like it couldn’t get out fast enough. “Please. The magic can’t- You have to believe me, Mick said it’s important that you believe me.”
Edwin knows magic, knows its strange oddities and whims, has fought with them for every hard-earned spell sparking at his fingertips. Faith had always been the biggest hurdle, always the one the spells refused to bend to his will on. He’d learned to bend himself instead, but now he’s aching and so very tired and he knows he should not be alive. He died.
Charles’s grip slips down to his shoulders. “Edwin!” His face fills up Edwin’s vision. There is something new on his face, behind the tears and pleading eyes. Edwin takes a breath ready to talk Charles through how to bend, how to lock faith out of the magic long enough to let it settle. Edwin isn’t sure he’s aware enough for his belief to be enough.
And then Charles’s nose slides against his, and he is kissing him. His hands wrap around Edwin’s neck, his knees bump against Edwin’s hip. He kisses Edwin like he might die if he pulls away, pushing so close that everything else falls away except the hot line of Charles against his chest, against his lips.
Edwin, with sudden clarity, knows he’d been hoping against hope for something just like this. He remembers a life of gently falling in love, of turning his head with every one of Charles’s steps—like a flower seeking the sun. He remembers a confession, Charles’s confused, yet forever kind, response. Softened time passing with Charles still smiling, still touching, still orbiting him like Edwin remains the centre of his universe no matter what feelings nest in Edwin’s heart. Then pain, something long and sharp through his lungs and ribs. Darkness.
Charles pulls back. Edwin doesn’t chase him, but finds that his hands curled around Charles’s elbows at some point. “You can’t die on me before I get to figure it out,” Charles says, begs before kissing him again.
Edwin thinks there’s something he is missing. There still is the hole, the emptiness yawning within him like a monstrous mouth. But Charles is warm, and Edwin suddenly has never been colder before in his life. Finally, his body moves, pushes close. His hands find Charles’s shoulders, his neck, his jaw. Charles sobs into his mouth and holds on tighter. The taste of copper and soil fill both mouths, but Charles doesn’t seem to care.
Edwin doesn’t think he has to breathe, but Charles gasps when they separate, bloodied saliva connecting their mouths. Edwin isn’t sure whose blood it is, and he thinks that would have worried him, before.
Charles is now tugging a jacket over him, warm but not warm enough. He buttons it up, smooths it down, then kisses Edwin again. He’s stopped crying. Edwin thinks that’s a good sign, or it should be.
“Let’s get you home, yeah?” Charles says, deceptively light. “Got needle and all ready, you’ll be good as new. Promise.”
Edwin stumbles when Charles helps him to his feet. The world behind Charles seems muted, quieter, greyer. Charles is brilliant as ever. “I love you,” Edwin says, throat dry and itching. Charles smiles and hugs him until Edwin think he might be trying to climb into his chest through the wound now hidden beneath his jacket.
“I love you,” Charles whispers into his neck. “Don’t leave me behind.”
Edwin thinks that even if he tried, Charles won’t let him. There is an unknown spell and grave dirt beneath his fingers to prove it, determination drawn into the way he holds onto the back of Edwin’s jacket. It might not be a good thing, but Edwin won’t say that out loud. His chest aches, and he is tired. Charles intertwines their hands and leads him home.