Archive of Our Own ^beta

Edwin had once said the living were messy. As usual, he was correct. The living were messy, their ephemeral time on earth proved difficult to rationalise, leaving them with questionable choices and erratic situations. He could sympathise in a way; being efficiency driven he was no stranger to frustration.

Edwin was correct, living people were messy. However, maybe he had underestimated just how messy they were. Was there a way to measure the complexity of the conundrums the living people seemed to face? Even better yet, was there a way to measure how mundane and inconsequential those problems were? He’d never thought he would be pondering the living, let alone their strange restricted view of time and space.

That was until they came back from Port Townsend. Numerous things could be labelled ‘after Port Townsend’ (A.PT), and if Edwin found the correlation with the second coming of Christ funny he was not about to reveal it. That charmingly insignificant seaside town had managed to disrupt decades of an afterlife they had built around practised patterns. It had managed to grab them both by the shoulder and shake them until their sight flipped upside down and their emotions jumbled up into words long ago buried. It spun them friskily, leaving Edwin with a tight knot in his chest and Charles with a twitching fist. It left Edwin stargazing into Charles’ eyes, searching for a thirty-year-old answer he soon found amongst light touches and tight hugs. It left Charles facing a provoked scorching fire spreading closer and closer with each punch, each shove, each fight.

Not everything that came out of Port Townsend was bad; Niko was cheerful evidence for that hypothesis. Yet, the agency’s reputation was suffering from word of mouth among the living. Apparently, Crystal’s reputation had caught as well to the living as Charles and Edwin had caught to the dead back in the day. Breathing people queueing outside an abandoned building for a chance to talk to the famous psychic Crystal Palace was not something any of them expected, but the clientele was not to be turned away.

It was a rough adjustment, especially for Edwin who had been harbouring disdain towards the living for almost a hundred years already. The problem weren't the living, most of them wouldn't even feel the breeze of the two dead ghosts pacing around the room while Crystal took their case. The issues arose with the outside; the living world and its customs and strange arbitrarial ruling. The living weren’t just messy, they were confusing. They acted for the sake of redundancy and fought against their own makings. So helping them– investigating them– was frustrating. Oddly similar to watching a hamster escape from its enclosure and come begging to be let back inside it.

So when Crystal barged into their office with the third living case in a row, Edwin could not be to blame for a less-than-kind eye-roll.

“Let me guess,” Edwin couldn't help but scoff from his seat behind the desk ”they believe their dog has been possessed by satan”

“That was only one time!” She shrieked, stomping towards the worn-down couch, “And they had very compelling evidence”

The Case of the Rabid Dog was not one Edwin hung proudly on their closet door. The card for that one was deep inside Charles’ magic backpack, doomed to be forgotten until an unwilling spring cleaning shone a light on it.

His thoughts wandered towards Charles, something Edwin was getting used to– had to get used to– by now. He had been nose-deep inside his infinite rucksack, only emerging with Crystal's disturbance to their afternoon dynamic.

“We can’t Crystal, it would count four living cases in a row” Charles's shoulder slumped.

That was another After Port Townsend quirk, one Edwin utterly despised. Charles had changed. Well of course he had, how could he not? The amount of emotional distress inflicted upon all four of them in that short amount of time was bound to leave a nasty scar on even a dormant thirty-year-old soul like Charles’. He looked tired, which was worrisome– Ghost can't get tired, Edwin's mind supplied any and every time Charles’ posture faltered or his smile stuttered for a moment too long.

Edwin hated seeing him like this. He knew it wasn't exhaustion, it wasn't even sadness. It was something much deeper embedded into Charles’ soul, something so heavily engraved in darkness that not even Edwin’s light could heal it. Charles’ eyes had been dimmed, the stars erased and replaced by a void begging to be heard. And Edwin wanted to hear, he wished for it more than anything; to share the weight of Charles' darkness and help alleviate the pain the way Charles often did with him. The problem was that Edwin wasn’t sure how. Charles made it seem so effortless, as if protecting Edwin were second nature, as if plummeting down to hell– tainting his soul for eternity– to save Edwin was the natural unravelling of all the doubts that clouded their bond. Perhaps because caring was already a part of who he was, a nurturing quality blooming by his oath to stick by Edwin in their afterlife, instead of a rugged afterthought stripped from him from the moment he learned to speak. Edwin wasn’t raised on care, or love for that matter. He was raised in manners and etiquette. He was also raised in silence, in secrets, in shame– things he may never contrive to unlearn. The lessons that had shut a crucial part of who he was were now imposing obstacles between him and Charles, obstacles which seemed much greater, much scarier to surpass, than a confession in bloodied stairs. Confessing his love for Charles had felt like free-falling into unwavering arms, jumping certain that the person all the way down wouldn't cut and run. Asking Charles to be that vulnerable with him, to spill his past in promise of a future, felt like attempting an Olympic long jump with shark-infested water on the landing pad.

He was aware his demeanour had little to do with himself and a lot to do with the time period he was raised in, yet that did not help alleviate the anguish clinging at his collar whenever he wanted – and he wanted it a lot– to reach out, comfort Charles, take his share of the pain and listen as Charles talked.

And talking Charles was. He had been talking for a while in fact, all while Edwin ambled through his pondering.

“It doesn’t help with Charlie, does it?” Charles was, apparently, trying to make a point but as lost as Edwin was he couldn't phantom what the night nurse had to do with anything.

“Oh wow, and since when do you guys abide by that bitter Scottish woman?

“She is a transdimensional being Crystal, I don't quite think she is Scottish,” Edwin jumped into the conversation, always eager to pile on the night nurse who’d hinder their every move save the lesser times she was away.

“Don’t matter what she is,” Charles had slowly but stubbornly made his way towards the main desk, half sitting on a designated free-of-clutter spot Edwin kept just for instances like this, “matters we keep her chuffed”

“Okay but get this,” she takes an effectual step forward, “teenage son disappears into the forest-”

“That's average at most,” Edwin cuts her off.

“Mother believes he’s been kidnapped by a demon”

Now that's peculiar.

“Well, that is peculiar,” Edwin says as much, intonation betraying his relentless curiosity.

“What, a demon just snatched him up?” Charles had turned to look at Edwin, brows furrowed lightly.

“Demons possess, Charles, they don’t abduct” Edwin began tapping his pen methodically against the many papers scattered at his desk.

“First documented case of demonic…kidnapping?” Even the phrase sounded strange on Crystal’s lips, the idea so far-fetched even a mediocre detective will latch onto a bigger untold picture.

“Unlikely, did they say anything else?”

Edwin had bit the bait. His interest was piqued. Why would the mum assume a demon had kidnapped his son? Had they had previous encounters with such demon? Was it a haunted forest? Or perhaps something more macabre, belonging to one of the many bestiary books in their ever-growing polished collection.

There were too many questions to even form a hypothesis. They needed more information, given they only had a crumpled note with a cryptid four-sentence paragraph to go off of. That's how the Frasers– Victor and Reeva Fraser– were contacted for an in-depth interview at the prospect of further inquiry on their case.

Dealing with living clients more often than not would consist of creating a facade, which was tiring in of itself. Crystal would sit on Edwin's chair, pretending to assess the case while writing down unimportant details– although Edwin must admit she was getting better at discerning crucial from irrelevant– while Edwin and Charles stood behind, listening in. They’ll exchange looks, forming opinions on whether or not to take on cases, and relay the information to Crystal with a simple thumbs up or down from Charles.

Edwin had concluded that it was less than practical, but it was the only way to manage clients who couldn’t see them. Not having their usual seating arrangements was also somewhat discomfiting. You see, Charles and Edwin relied so much on non-verbal communication; watching body language, strayed looks and small grimaces only they managed to catch. It was a practised talent cultivated by years of observation. Whenever they weren’t in their usual spots, Edwin on the grand chair and Charles lazily rested against the desk, it threw them off the quilt.

For Edwin, not having the front sight of a client rendered him unable to study their expressions, which, for a questioning detective, was the same as taking his notepad away. For Charles, not having Edwin in an optimal line of sight and defence made him uneasy; he needed to be able to seize any threat, especially when having strangers inside their office. That’s why they tended to gravitate to each other even more while standing up. Charles would eventually meander to wherever Edwin was and settle just close enough that their shoulders were touching, reassuring Charles but not disturbing Edwins’s quick writing.

It was nice having Edwin close to him. It was more than nice even; it brought a calmness Charles had only felt that fatal night at the attic but has been unearthing with small glances and touches since Port Townsend. It had been cold, snuggling his trembling body against a grating worn-down curtain wrapped around his decaying body for some resemblance of heat while letting Edwin's voice lull him to his final rest. Yet, it had been neither lonely nor scary; Edwin’s light a snug hug from the moment he first spoke, the timid smiles he offered and the affable words he shared.

A shift in Edwin's posture inevitably pulled Charles out of his recently recurring conflict of longing for a past he could easily have. Crystal had both hands crossed on top of the desk, face so professional it would be hard to believe he was not a year over 20.

“What leads you to believe it's a demon?” Her words were carefully crafted, eyes peeking at Edwin as if to confirm her question was a good leading.

“It was quite obvious,” the woman was the one to speak and something in her posture told Charles she had been the one to answer most if not all the inquiries so far, ”he had been acting improper for some weeks, lashing out, being more violent and even sneaking out of the house”

“Just average teenager, innit?” Charles thought out loud.

“Ma’am that sounds all very teenager-like, not demonic whatsoever” Crystal related the concern not before sending an annoyed look in his direction.

“It was much worse,” the woman's voice was so paltry at the edges, “Tobias began having this…perverted thoughts, which turned into immoral ideas he indulged in, I don't think I can even repeat them,” She was truthful about the last part, as a subtle gagged breath finished her sentence for her.

“Do you live around any burial grounds or perhaps pagan shrines?” Edwin had prepared a list of questions to rule out certain magical creatures, and Crystal laced them in between conversations expertly

“The realtor had said the forest behind our house used to be a location for pagan rituals, there could be some sort of cemetery but I've never dared to venture far enough” she gulped as if to summon a bit of courage for the next part, “as soon as you get close there’re these awful whispers which tell you very very unkind things, sometimes you can even hear faint screams”

The more the woman revealed, the more Edwin’s face lit up. It was not even close to a smile, rather it shone on his eyes, squinting hungrily at the new prospect of a finally paranormally interesting puzzle for a case. If Charles allowed himself to delve into the image, it was sort of endearing the way Edwin's brain cogs could be practically seen turning and sliding around his brain. Or at least he could see them anyway.

While Crystal carried on with some routine questions which helped to paint a bigger picture, Edwin turned towards him with committed eyes. He always did this, asking for Charles' opinion– or rather permission– on cases he wanted to take. He didn't need to, as long ago they had established Edwin would have the final say after many disastrous cases at Charles' hands. Still, he did anyway. He had to know by now Charles would never deny him anything; he would jump straight back into hell if Edwin uttered the first three words. However, maybe it was so much about permission as it was about responsibility. At the end of the day, they were both in this together, always had been.

Charles nodded decisively. He hardly had a set opinion on what cases to take, but this one had struck yet another fallen piece of the broken vase his soul seemed to be. These parents believe their son has been kidnapped, they know he is missing and they are willing to move sky and earth– even paranormal earth– to search for him. They wanted him back and even if the father hadn't uttered a word since they came in it was more than his father ever did. It was more than either of his parents ever did. His parents hadn’t gone looking for him when he died. Well, he was technically reported missing before he was reported dead, but even then, even throughout all those however many days of his body shutting down while his teachers washed their hands from any accountability instead of looking for him, not once had his parents showed up to the school. Not once had they argued with the school board when told a nasty lie about a reckless teenager sneaking out at night. Because why would they? His father thought him to be a reckless child and an insolent one at that. How many times had he spitted at him how he should wash away? how he should just die because at least that way he wouldn't be a nuisance to them anymore. Why would his dad complain? Why would his dad fight for him when he had gotten what he most desired the moment Charles' body crashed against the freezing water?

And his mum. Oh, his mum had been so quiet. So quiet when the belt struck, so quiet when Charles cried, so quiet when the school called with the news, so quiet when Charle’s body was buried into the ground. They were both victims and Charles would never– could never– put any of that on her, but her quietness stung even more when she cried over his coffin. She mourned the loss of a child, but she was still quiet; not even his death could shake her out. She hadn’t loved him enough to even try, she hadn’t loved him enough to drive to the school, to cradle his son into her arms one last time– or for the first time, even.

So he would take this case. He would help them and maybe along the way, he would be able to help himself. Because who else would? Who else would right a wrong, give justice and closure to those who call for it? Who else would retrieve his fallen pieces and stick them back into the fragile bruised and beaten vase his soul had become?

“I don't reckon we require your assistance in this particular case, Crystal” Edwin said once the couple was long gone, a worn-down copy of ‘Great Forest Creatures’ resting on his lap as he lounged on the sofa.

They had spent the last hour or so skimming through different books, some about creatures and some about beasts. Well, Edwin had skimmed through books, Charles preferred to pace their office, occasionally fetching a book for a very focused Edwin with an outstretched expecting hand. Crystal simply slouched on the same chair, a phone in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

Eventually, as Edwin seemed to find a propitious enough volume called ‘Ritualistic Creatures and their Quirks’, Charles had settled into the sofa next to him, knees nudging against Edwin’s legs playfully as was his restless nature. Time had passed, but Charles wasn't sure how long it had been; he had stopped keeping track of time maybe three years into his now afterlife, preferring to spend his seemingly infinite time playing Clue with Edwin rather than missing the minutes he would have devoted to growing up were he still alive.

Edwin does end up asking him for one last book, the one he was currently holding, but by then Crystal still sat on the grand desk, only now the phone was resting on both her hands as she furiously tapped into it. Maybe that’s why Edwin had informed her she could leave, relieving her of her duty so she could deal with the bother. Thankfully they were far away from the times when Edwin would snarky bite at her, nowadays it was more of a concern for the living girl and her mountain of seemingly growing tumults.

“That's great because I have an angry mom waiting for me to get back, so…” Crystal trailed off like she didn't really care to go back, like she couldn't care less about appeasing her furious parents. Charles wouldn't blame her.

Sometimes they carried out cases without the girls; if they weren't absolutely needed, both boys preferred to put them out of harm's way. However, their solo cases had been happening more often, be that Crystal’s complicated life or Niko’s coursework piling up, yet Charles couldn't find it in himself to complain. He cherished their cases dearly, often reminiscing at their case board on slow nights when they had nothing to do but talk, and talk they did. It was impressive how nostalgia can sweep into you even when you have all the time in the world and all the time beyond this world as well.

Charles felt like sometimes it could consume him. He gets too caught up in the movements, jumping here and there, feeling this, feeling that, but once he was left to rest, once he had no case to focus on and no board game to replay, his mind could get dark. And when it did, when his chest got tight and his back ached, Edwin was always there to bring him back, to keep him present. So Charles rather enjoyed their old ways and their solo cases where he feels most in his element at Edwin's side. Even when they plodded through matted bushes and broken branches under thick treetops, missed steps here and there, with Edwin's careful grasp at his elbow for stability, Charles felt in his element.

“Has no one paid any mind to this forest ever?” Edwin complained when a combative bush caught his feet.

“Could it be some daft side effect from a magical creature or something?” Charles asked while pulling Edwin by his waist to free him from the bush.

The forest was rather pretty if you weren't bothered by the abrasive foliage. The overgrown in-nature leaves allowed for a few specs of the afternoon light to ripple through, painting scattered tree branches in various oranges and yellows. Charles got the urge to inhale deeply and indulge himself in some relaxing nature, let it wash over him and calm his forever-running mind. The forest was almost too calm, the chances of a demonic or even elemental creature making it his home more unlikely by the minute.

“Charles” Edwin was whispering, which was a stark and unusual contrast to his bespoke and imposing attitude. What was weirder was he was kneeling behind a bush– or trying to at least, his body too long to fit completely behind it.

As usual, Charles followed his line of sight and the discovery did not disappoint. Standing– or maybe that wasn't the right word– Slumping in the middle of a suspiciously artificial clearing amongst the greenery was a contemplative ghost, hands at his hip while his furrowed expression stared at a large pile of unnatural-coloured leaves.

“Get up mate, it's just another ghost” Charles almost laughed, but he didn't get the chance to before the peculiar ghost interrupted his thoughts with a frustrated groan. The kid was really struggling with those leaves, huh?

After getting out of the bush and brushing away the strayed leaves, Edwin was the first to speak up, surprisingly.

“Hello, we are the Dead Boy Detectives and we are in the middle of a case, could we ask you some questions?”

The other ghost, a bloke about their physical age, looked perplexed out of his mind at somebody talking to him as if he hadn't known there were others behind this thick coat of leafages.

“Uh…” his unsure tone was what you would expect from a lost soul, “sure?”

“So, how long have you been haunting this forest?” Edwin led with.

“Haunting? I'm not haunting, I'm cleaning it” An unsure silence fell between the three of them, only Edwin’s pen and paper filling the air. Charles, unable to spend more time than what was necessary in silence, broke it.

“Fairs, have you caught any unusual noises lately?”

“I don't think so,” The ghost’s voice was vague as if trying to recall the appropriate thing to say to a question which has no right answer.

“You don't think so? Or you don't know?” Edwin’s tone was sharp but not unkind, harbouring some sympathy for a newly living turned ghost as he did with Charles all those decades ago.

“Either or,” The more this kid spoke the more apparent it became he was a wandering soul as lost as a little child on those crowded beaches in Australia.

“Did you happen to spot any living people coursing through?” Edwin wasn’t looking up anymore, eyes stuck to his infamous journal.

“That's why I'm clearing the path, in case someone comes,” a short pause and a look around followed his words, “Maybe they already did actually, now I think about it.”

Charles was utterly perplexed. It wasn't uncommon for freshly new ghosts to exhibit some sort of forgetfulness, perhaps even dandering about, but never to this level of incoherence or inconsequential actuation. Edwin on the other hand must have recalled something he didn’t, as he traded carefully with his choice of words.

“By how long have you been sweeping the leaves for?”

“I don't…” his eyes danced to the treetops swaying in the light breeze, alighting a mild pause where all that could be heard were birds chirping and squirrels complaining, “I don’t know”

The kid decided that to be as good a time as any to forge eye contact with the detectives for the first time since being approached, jumping his irises from both boys’ stunned eyes. His eyes were bloodshot, red blood vessel branches extending around them, while a purple tint lingered stubbornly idle right over the cornea. It was uncanny how quickly his face had morphed into this beaten version of it, even if by now they were both very well acquainted with the hardship newly-dead faced with their appearance in time of death. Hell knows that, for the first few weeks, Charles couldn't as much as attempt to cover the scattered hematomas that adorned his whole torso from the sharp stones he’d endured. They all had shone a similarly attuned violet on top of his skin. Charles understood the struggle yet he did not appreciate the reminder.

Edwin nudged his right hand with enough intent to snap him out of whatever recollection he was having, a concerned brow adorning his forehead admitting to his tactic. It was foolish, how Edwin could know him so well, know him so deeply to notice, to realise when Charles was deep into that dark part of his brain he tried desperately to keep shut. Maybe it wasn't as foolish, for once they had been together for thirty years and hadn't spent a second of it apart– or at least more than some hours–. Edwin had seen the bruises and the plastered smile, had seen the outburst, the fury and the guilt that followed. That's why Edwin could understand what Charles needed before Charles could identify it himself and, subsequently, how Charles knew the exact words to speak to pull Edwin out of that desperate sloshy lagoon his thoughts could become.

This time though, there was another side to Edwin's look, one that appeared just after the confirmation Charles was alright. It was his detective look, the one he used when trying to convey something crucial yet delicate to Charles when he tried to speak to him without uttering a word by the sheer confidence they could read each other's thoughts. And maybe they could because Charles caught onto it not a second after Edwin's eyes moved away from him. This confused and lost ghost could be the teenager they were after, Tobias Fraser.

Charles didn't want to ask, he was too afraid. He didn't want to ask because if he did and they were correct then all his hopefulness had been for nothing. If he asked ‘Are you Tobias Fraser?’ and the answer was ‘Yes, I am’ that means Charles wasn't able to change a thing about the story, it just carried as is; a teenager who died lonely and afraid.

Except Charles hadn’t died lonely and afraid. He hadn't died alone nor scared, but the cold wouldn’t leave his body no matter how warm the hug was or how heavy the blankets were and the wait had not been pretty either; the stones thrown and the shivers wrecking his body were a painful reminder of the flaws that led him there. All the flaws that stuck up until the very moment of his last breath, until he was killed for them, each one being showcased on a blast across his mind over and over again.

Go ahead and add this to the long list of flaws, of things he couldn't do. He couldn't ask, he wouldn't. He didn't need to, as Edwin–unknowing Edwin of just how much he always helped, how much he held Charles’ head above the icy water– asked for them both.

“Do you happen to be named Tobias Fraser?”

He did. He was Tobias Fraser, a sixteen-year-old who died in the middle of a forest after a seemingly demonic outburst which led him into the woods as prey. Except, the kid could not remember anything about his last living 24 hours give or take salve the fact he had been waiting for someone in the woods. Furthermore, there wasn't a single paranormal let alone demonic attribute about this quint forest, so just like that their investigation shifted tremendously.

One would think Edwin would be disappointed by having a supernatural puzzle ripped away from his eager hands. One should know better. Edwin had died at sixteen, he had also known injustice and fear and all which comes in between, gnawing at your insides and outsides until you are a shell of what you never got to be. Identity carries as much weight in your deathbed as it did in your life, they even go hand in hand. Not knowing your death– not understanding why your life ended when it did and the way it did– would chip away at you, at the core of what you believe you were and even close all the windows and doors to who you could have– should have– been. Edwin had been cut short; it was already hard to just be in his time when everybody except him could sniff it out even before he knew what it meant. It's not something you can ever come back from; you'll forever mourn the someone you were meant to be and you'll forever doubt if this is the real you or the version carved away by those who whittled you down. Edwin hadn't gotten a proper burial, he hadn't gotten a proper investigation, he hadn't gotten a proper death. Somehow, he did patch himself up; he was picked back up by a dying shivering boy with fleeting smiles and even more fleeting hugs who unwittingly taught him how to be himself, or the closest semblance to it. Charles, who taught him how to laugh and how to love again, who patched him up in so many ways to count. But Tobias didn't have a Charles by his side, so he deserved a proper investigation, a proper burial and hopefully a proper death.

For the time being though they guided Tobias on through a mirror and into their empty office, lights dimmed in the glow of the afternoon and the remains of Crystal’s cold by now tea stirring at the main desk. Charles gestured to the worn sofa in the corner and the kid promptly complied, being covered, shortly after, in some ancient and enchanted blanket Charles kept behind all their Clue games in their closet. The blankets, Charles knew, would do next to nothing except remind him of what he could not feel. Somehow, it still brought him some comfort, or at least the memory of it, yet his conflicted eyes remained on his mission in the forest: waiting for someone who was supposed to pass through, which was a load of codswallop if you asked Charles. Even so, both detectives knew when you die you desperately hold on to whatever you had at reach for some sense of normality on what little you had left. That’s why they tried to humour him at times.

“We laid those movement detectors, yeah? We’ll know if anyone tramps through” at Charles’ reminder Tobias’ cloudy mind seemed to lessen.

“Perhaps it is best we call Crystal in, for once” Edwin suggested while watching them from a few metres away, hands slowly fidgeting with his loose gloves.

“I’m with you mate, this is very dodgy” Charles tried to keep his voice low and away from the freshly new ghost, turning away from Tobias and walking over to Edwin while doing so, “It’s like you always say, cat in a bag, innit?”

“Something like that” Edwin failed to suppress a low chuckle before returning to his train of thought, “However, I'm not all that happy with having to bother Crystal out of her family…” Edwin trailed off as if trying to find the right words to describe the extremely specific filial situation, which was unusual and, if anything, revealed he did have a few words in mind but none kind enough for his now developing civil friendship with the girl.

“Squabble” Charles supplied, tilting his head playfully enough to pull Edwins attention.

That's yet another ‘after Port Townsend’ change, but for once neither of them could phantom to complain. Edwin had allowed himself to be more attentive. Maybe attentive wasn't the right word because being a great detective requires an already optimal level of attentiveness, but this was a different type of attention altogether. This attention was born from the ashes of all the shame he was taught to nurture and which had gone repressed for hell knows how long before Edwin had given it a proper name: Love. And for another boy nonetheless. His parents would be horrified to know what had turned off him. His parents were also dead, so no use in dwelling for another thirty years. Instead, Edwin had allowed this foreign part of himself –against every nerve in his body, sounding strangely like he imagined his mother sounded like, screaming WRONG WRONG WRONG– to express through the tenderness, the worry, the comfort, the knowing in his eyes whenever he watched Charles.

And it hadn’t gone unnoticed. The first weeks Charles couldn't really put his finger on it, but as all that tended to his emotions, he had pushed it aside to deal with when all his flaws were to be counted. Something was blossoming in his chest at Edwin's growing attention, unwavering no matter the time or place. It felt like an underserved yet warm spotlight highlighting all the beautiful qualities Edwin saw in him, a constant reminder of something Charles would rather avoid. That's the thing with love, isn't it? It opens you up and, as much as it shines on your good qualities, if it pried enough, that flattering gaze could stumble upon his nasty qualities as well, flaws he carried so close to his heart they ended up costing him his life. The flaws craved in the belt scars at his back and shins, the flaws that granted him hypothermia and internal bleeding, the ones that killed him and merited his demise.

For all that, no matter how much Edwin had longed, he never seemed to find those flaws Charles was so scared about. Edwin did find bridges and bumps along Charles' soul, telltales of the life Charles had lived and what it left on him, but he had known of them long before Port Townsend, when it was just the two of them against the afterlife, even if he hadn't yet had a name for it. Edwin didn't need a name for it to understand and know Charles, he just did.

With that, as weeks went by, Charles began to seek out those emerald eyes of Edwin and the longing they carried, only half understanding the little kid healing from it while tucking himself into the unfamiliar softness of unconditional love only two tortured almost eternal souls could share.

The current stance on the matter resides in a simple dynamic with its sediments solidified in the relationship they've been building since a dusty attic in a hellish boarding school, which is as follows: Charles tried to catch Edwin's attention by nudging his shoulder, tapping his foot loudly or being extra charismatic, and Edwin watched him for who he was and not what he pretended to be– or even what he wanted people to believe he was. Without fully knowing, Edwin watched Charles both as that small child hiding in his closet with his eyes shut tight as well as the ghost-stuck-teenager whose need to protect could drive him over some edges. It was comforting. Even if Charles only dared to ignore half of what it meant he still found solace in Edwin as he did the first time in the attic.

“I suppose” Edwin, the ever so responsible case solver, picked up their train of conversation right up, “I believe we can manage without her for a few hours.”

His brows seemed furrowed, looking further from convinced, but as it often happened with Edwin it was not always about what he wanted and more about what he needed, so Charles couldn't help but comply. After all, Crystal did deserve some well time off to sort out… living issues.

“What's the running theory?” Charles practically whispered in favour of not making Tobias uncomfortable.

“The hypothesis,” Edwin clarified, opening the latest page on his book and scanning through it, “a prior event, perhaps with demonic qualities, which caused him panicking into the woods.”

“You reckon it’s demonic still?” Charles stared intently at Edwin because, as fucked up as it sounded if anyone were to know how demonic works it would be Edwin, wouldn't it?

“This level of disorientation only presents in ghosts with extremely traumatic deaths…” There was a short pause as Edwin’s knowing eyes took a glimpse at Charles’ as to measure his tight words, “and given the circumstances, it would not be wise to dismiss a demonic aspect”

“Right,” Charles’ eyes darted away after a bit too long, “what's the plan, then?

“We have little to no information to go off, so we have to go back to basics”

“Good old-fashioned shoe leather detective work, yeah?” Charles' face was beaming as bright as his thrill to finally do field work. He could use a rest from so many books, even if he would never tell Edwin that.

“Very well then, we shall conduct a modern psychological autopsy” Edwin fixed his gloves in one swift tug.

“Lost me” Once again, Charles tilted his head slightly, racking his brain for any information about a physio-logical autopsy. Edwin couldn't help the eyeroll, but explained nonetheless, as he always did.

“Investigate the places he frequented and people he associated with to get better insight into what might have given wake to his death”

“Should we start with a look ‘round his gaff?” Charles suggested.

“Investigating the house, brilliant idea Charles” Edwin didn't throw compliments around easily; not in the spirit of being mean or condescending but rather because it did not come naturally to him. So whenever he threw some Charles’ way, he made sure to store it and treasure it for it made him a little less cold and a lot more warm around his edges.

With that extra pep in Charles’ step, both ghosts made their way through mirror and through foot to the Fraser’s house on the outskirts of London. It was a homely little thing bordering the quaint forest, with a charming facade which even if unkempt remained welcoming. The lights on the second-floor windows were on, a faint yellow cascading into the approaching night sky, making apparent the creeping darkness of the forest to its side. In this lighting, with but the sound of a cricket, Edwin understood why the mother thought it to be a haunted forest, the towering leaves casting enough darkness for unwanted shadows to crawl through.

“Rooms seem to be on the second storey” Charles was close to him, closer than expected, and whispering with so much breath he would have gone lightheaded were he still alive.

“Why are you whispering Charles? They are unable to see us or hear us for that matter” Edwin’s tone made the other jump slightly, briefly steadying himself with Edwin’s shoulder.

“Old habits” Charles merely shrugged, giving no inclination to what he meant but trusting it to explain.

Edwin paid it no mind as he ventured into the house, Charles following through as they both stumbled into a rather dark and old-styled living room. The faint light filtering from upstairs contoured the slim wooden stair to the second floor, worn steps doting the true age of the brick house. There was nothing out of the ordinary, even if the low lighting did not permit a full sweep of the first floor. The decoration was rather old-school, with floral patterns on some cushions and various religious antiques displayed on every surface.

“Bedroom first?” Charles, the ever so hasty, was already heading for the steps.

Once on top of the stairs, you could see the night lamp from the main bedroom, the sound of the telly reaching Edwin's ears. On the other side of the corridor was another door slightly ajar, presumably Tobias' room judging by the colourful poster plastered there. With one long look both ghosts decided to proceed into the room, phasing through the door. Inside, the space was well-lit by a convenient street lamp, leaving a shocking sight of its state. The room was trashed– properly destroyed. It was not the type of messiness done for decoration, it wasn't even the usual clutter from untidy teenagers. The window was wide open, blinds draping lopsided as if someone had run into them or pushed them so hard they somehow snapped from their railing. Behind them, the doorknob was jammed, dented on one side while the door was slightly mangled in the downright corner, black slash marks ruining the white paint. Some miscellaneous were scattered across the floor, seemingly having fallen from various shelves near the entrance- clear signs of a struggle.

“What the bloody hell went down here?” Charles was the first to snap out of the stunned silence they were forced into, dragging Edwin out of it all the same.

The puzzle pieces did not fit. Hell, this puzzle piece seemed from a different puzzle altogether. This puzzle piece was rough around the edges as if someone forgot to cut the extra material for a smoother slot, leaving behind traces of an untold story, a crucial plot point to derail the course of their investigation.

“I'm a tad miffed,” Charles scoffed while pacing around the room, hand ruffling some papers lying on the study desk, “they didn't spit all the truth then”

“Clearly, but why?” Edwin's train of thought was trailing fast, “Unless this is what the mother referred to as demonic”

“Nah mate, she said something about, what was it? Impure thoughts?”

“Perverted actions” Edwin’s non-vital breath hitched.

“Same difference,” Charles had walked all the way to the other end of the room, “What does that even mean, really?”

It could mean a plethora of nasty things, and Edwin would have told Charles about it had they not been interrupted by loud words from the other room.

“You shouldn't have been so hard on him!” It was the woman speaking– Eeva, if Edwin recalled correctly– the tightness in her voice evident of the dispute going on between the couple.

There was a beat of silence. Maybe they had caught only the tail end of the conversation, which would have been a downright shame with how clueless Edwin felt. Charles took that moment to peek into the closet– it had been his preferred spot for hiding his possessions back when he was a living breathing teenager.

“You want him to stay that way?” It was the man’s turn now, voice shy of a shout with enough anger to cower a few, “Because the only way for him to learn is to beat it out of him”

Edwin’s eyes darted towards Charles' silhouette so fast he could have sworn he saw brief black spots clouding his vision. He was too far away, Edwin needed to get closer, to muffle his ears against whatever nonsense that man was spewing. Charles should never have to hear any of that malice again, he should never be haunted by his past, Edwin wouldn't let it. But he was too far away.

Charles's fist was clenching against rotted wood, strangling the collateral door of the closet. He was still, struck in place where his feet were rooted into the floor with poisonous feelings and even more dangerous thoughts. He couldn't get his blood boiling, but his non-corporeal body was trying its hardest to reach into that anger and make it travel through every atom of his soul. He was still, but every minuscule part of him was trembling violently, urging to get out and run a mock on the whole house and the dickhead who felt entitled enough to cross him.

Because how could he have been so hopeful– so stupid– to believe this was a better man than his father? Why would Charles think he can help, why would he be able to change anything about the story– about his story? He couldn't change the outcome, couldn't change the irreparable damage done to him. He could only collect retribution.

It felt like second nature, and maybe it was. To reach into his backpack. To clasp his hand around the moulded handle. To pull out the cricket bat. It felt like second nature and maybe it was because he has always been this; a fighter out of survival, genetically predisposed to violence, it was even written in his DNA. It was his worst flaw, the one he was most ashamed of. He could spend days faking it, pretending and believing he was kind, but his nature would always be this; Violence and bottled anger beneath his very own skin.

He had one set path, seeing all through a red veil of hurt and fear and scars as he tore towards the door. He could not change what this man had done, but he could make him pay. Charles wouldn't be a coward anymore.

He was stopped, his feet halting to a stop as his torso couldn't follow. He was being restricted, bold arms clinging to his chest while pinning his arms down. Charles struggled against them, he needed to fight back, to fight for himself for once. The arms did not give in, didn't even waver as he shook like a rabid dog, they just tightened. He could not fail again, he needed to make this right, he was not a scared little kid anymore, he couldn't cower in his closet until morning, he needed to fight back, to protect himself.

“Let go of me!” He screamed, and somehow his father’s voice ranged back into his ears with the same words, “You can’t– Let me go!”

“I know, I know Charles,” there was a pleading voice right next to his ear, a voice so filled with worry it made him believe he might not be alone.

The voice was practically begging with its cadence, and it appeased an unknown part of his brain. There were more things being said in a soft voice that reminded him of comfort amongst shivers; a soft voice reading to him in the faint darkness, a voice shearing his last moments, a voice so warm replacing the scorching burning heat of anger.

It wasn’t fair, it had never been. No violence would ever be fair. No matter how much fear boiled in his stomach he couldn’t keep fighting; the tightness at his chest, the anguish threatening to spill at his eyes, was far stronger, far more persistent than any instinct urging him to avenge his past, repair what had been done. To make things better.

It would always come down to that, wouldn’t it? Making things better. Helping people, mending injustices. But now it seemed he couldn't even manage that. His flaws kept stacking up even after death and for a moment Charles was glad he didn't have a reflection to ponder over; were he able to see himself in a mirror, would the image be as putrid as he felt? Or worse, would a spitting image of his father’s face stare right back at him, all mocking and flawed?

Charles' energy died down, stripping his body of its last remaining adrenaline while forcing him to face all that was left: his emotions. His chest hurt– ghost rules be damned– as he tried to stand on his very two feet but failed to do so. His legs buckled and, with a paltry hidden sob, Charles's frame lost all semblance of stability, going limp on the arms restraining him. They followed him down, carrying him delicately until they were draped across the floor.

“Come back to me, come on” Edwin's words were a breeze on his right ear, a sort of grounding for Charles to cling onto and make his way back to it.

Somewhere along the way, he had stopped thrashing about, cricket bat long forgotten on the ground along with the poison driving his move. It was all out in the open; his flaws layered into the floor on display as some sort of sick humiliation.

Nevertheless, Edwin’s arms had remained around him, unwavering and certain while holding him in safely from all of the outside. Despite everything Edwin saw of him, he still hugged him close, he still whispered comforting words Charles couldn't quite make out yet, he still clung to Charles’ jacket as if someone would take him away the second he let go. How would he ever be deserving of such kindness? How would he ever be deserving of such love?

Edwin was holding him tight– maybe too tight– and as Charles returned to his senses he realised he wasn't the only one shaking from unbeknownst emotions. Edwin's hands trembled even in the tight curled of his fingers against Charles' clothes, serving as a pawn for the indiscernible quake to his body. His eyes were fixated so dearly on one of the closet doors, view ashy and conflicted, wanting to cast his eyes away but unable to twist out of the petrifying revelation.

Hanging at the back side of the closet door was a colourful flag, one of many Edwin could recognize from Niko’s manga collection. He might have been able to tell which one it was, assign the colour to one of the many expressions of queerness Niko had told him about. He might have been able to if the world were not spinning irretrievably around him. The world was spinning around him and it clawed at Edwin, trying to drag him into depths of despair only hell could offer.

‘Dou you think it has to be torture?’ the fragile words haunted him in memory, reverberating inside his ears but never getting out, ‘Being the way we are?’ He wished Simon wasn't right; he wished it wouldn’t need to be torture, that new times could change the ingrained hatred and fear. The utter despiteful hate left behind nothing but cinders of identities, of love, of people, and this time it had burned another soul, leaving behind a ghost who died too young. It had happened before, it would happen again. Edwin knew this. It didn't make the situation any less painful. It didn't make Tobia’s death any less unfair and it sure as hell didn't make Edwin’s death any less bitter.

Suddenly, Edwin couldn't stop thinking about the decoration of the first floor; all the religious relics plastered on every and any surface they could manage to balance a cross or an angel on, each painting a reference to some forged passage Edwin used to have memorised. It felt familiar. Worse, it felt like home. Not the home where you feel warm and loved; not the home where you could foolishly try learning boxing and certainly not the home where you could hug for the mere want of closeness. It felt like a pristine home where everything had a place and a way to be; where there's too many secrets under the rug to count, where right was god and wrong was who you were. He hadn’t belonged there and he never would have because there was something fundamentally wrong in him in his parents' eyes. His main flaw, his main resistance against god, his main sin. He had tried to shake the idea, but the words of his obituary flashed clearly behind his eyelids, ‘An act of god’. They thought he needed saving; the man was flawed with sin and god helped craft you into heaven. They thought it a fair death– what was expected for a deviant child– and it gashed at Edwin's expired heart because nothing about his death had been fair or deserved. He had clawed out of hell with his own bloodied bones as a weapon after decades of being torn into, gnawed by monsters and tormented by creatures. What about that was fair?

With renowned clarity, it dawned on Charles what Edwin had seen that had put him in this state. He had seen it previously when he opened the closet door, right before white rage had taken hold of his thoughts. A known dreaded cold washed through his body, urging him to hug Edwin back, hold him even tighter and test ghost physics. Yet his hand faltered as he reached around Edwin, a nagging pang at his temple bringing unkind thoughts of unworthiness and unkindness in love. He couldn't hug Edwin too tight, he wouldn't. He wasn't good enough for that type of comfort anyway.

Shortly after Charles shifted to hug Edwin, both boys were up from the floor, Edwin dusting off his coat and Charles reluctantly storing his cricket bat into his backpack, making sure to keep it in the first row for easy reach. They both wanted to be out of this house, to walk away and never have to return to the sensibilities it had so entitledly brought up.

It was a stagnant silence as they walked out of the house, pointedly ignoring the ongoing hushed conversation of the living couple. They had heard enough to finish the case, surely, but perhaps most importantly they had heard a tad bit more than what their souls could manage. While Charles had been living with his past for thirty years already, even if time could not make it any easier, Edwin had only known himself for barely a couple of months; it had been a hundred years of addeling the cause of his death, even more years wandering the cause of his family’s disdain, and the revelation had washed through him fast an unforgiving. In fact, it had been like a tantivy, swooping air around him like a tornado with Charles waiting for him in the eye of the hurricane. Although he knew it was necessary, he sometimes wished he hadn't unravelled this part of himself, which was a terrifying thought to have after seeing that flag in the closet door.

Edwin was aware of Charles’ preoccupied peeking glances as they stumbled through the dark staircase; he had never been one for subtlety, even less so when it came to Edwin’s well-being. Somehow, Edwin couldn't seem to care to return the short glances; if he had, he feared the tears wouldn't cease, drowning Charles in a sea of desperation he was not responsible of sailing.

The brush of cold air against his rosy cheeks was welcomed with a sigh of relief as they faced through the wooden door and into the gloomy street. It had always intrigued Edwin how a physical place could hold such control of your emotions, the bare act of getting away from it enough relief to uncloud your thoughts and restore your breathing pattern, even for ghosts who don't require breathing and can't get trapped between brick walls. For all that, both boys took a moment to breathly ground themselves or briskly flick their wrists, hopefully shaking unwanted memories.

None of them took the initiative to start walking. They couldn’t go back just yet, not when they could barely make sense of themselves let alone figure out how to tell all this to Tobias. Not when even the thought of putting it into words broke Edwin a bit. Edwin, the one to usually lead, hesitated as he blinked away any grief he could feel for himself.

Charles rested a hand on Edwin’s shoulder, something he had taken to doing while on their stay at Port Townsend–the habit not leaving him since– managing to catch his eyes if only briefly. He didn't quite squeeze like he sometimes had but the pressure was enough to bring some semblance of focus back. His eyes diverted towards the forest, pointing at a proposition of a second option to delay their return to the office. It seemed as good a direction as any to meander through, so with that in mind Charles' hand lingeringly dropped from Edwin’s shoulder as they headed for the woods.

The trees, now much more engulfing during the night sky, blinked under the moonlight cascading off all the leaves, its glint an invitation for those with mesmerising eyes plaint enough to relish in it. If you allowed it to approach, it almost felt like a thin veil draped around you; keeping the bad out while still allowing you to breathe.

“We ought to tell him” Edwin's words felt sore in his throat, the first sound to disturb the quiet in a while. Charles' puzzled look might have been equally as loud, as if the idea had never even crossed his mind as if telling Tobias the truth wasn't even an option. Despite all this, Edwin pressed on, “He deserves the truth”

“He deserves peace,” Charles' breath had quickened, emotions still flared darkening his eyes, “Ignorance is bloody bliss and allat, innit?”

“Knowing offers peace, Charles” Edwin felt oddly defensive, catching the tail end of an angry spark, “Understanding gives way to quietude.”

It was their fundamental disagreement, born from vastly different psychological identities forged by their lives and subsequent deaths. Charles was made to protect, to shield others from pain the way no one had done for him. Edwin was moulded to enlighten, offer solutions to puzzles eating away your mind, something he was well acquainted with.

“So what?” Charles started with vile in his mouth, and from his frown alone Edwin braced himself as he knew all too well nothing pleasant was gonna come from his following words, “We tell Tobias he was killed for being a queer? That sound peaceful to you?”

It struck Edwin from head to toe, eliciting a crude gasp out of him. It was an alien sensation, having something so out in the open when it had always been behind closed doors, at the frustrated words of Charles nonetheless.

“That’s harsh.” Edwin’s eyes were beating in time with what would be his heart had he still got one.

Oh, Charles knew it was harsh. He knew the second the words ran past his lips; he could practically taste the poison of his father in his words, even while laced with Charles’ concern. It was a dance he despised, his fears sweeping into his cadence of speech even when he tried desperately to keep them out. Despite his best efforts to brush it aside, to keep strong, some things could not face through him, some things clung to his skin like stubborn ticks and that flag was now one big unwavering tick.

It didn't take him being a detective to understand his father had been less than kind.

It did take him being half a detective to realise he would never have gotten a chance to be truly himself under his father’s roof.

It took him thirty years of being a detective, a confession on the stairway to hell and a whole lot of pondering to identify what parts of himself his father would have beaten out of him if he had grown up alive.
He wasn't quite there yet, the final penny hadn’t dropped. Still, that flag had stirred something putrid in his stomach; confirmation of a haunting reminder of a resilient past abandoned long ago. If he thought about it too much his last standing piece of soul might just break off, leaving him void once and for all. And as all he did with unwanted thoughts, he pushed them down until they found another way out, usually through hurtful words and lashing actions.

Edwin’s eyes were as pleading as his voice had sounded at the house and Charles felt insanely grateful he wasn't able to see his face back then or he would have crumbled and crashed ten times worse. Edwin was staring at him, asking for something Charles was not willing to give– wouldn't even know how to give it or what ‘it’ fully meant. Charles wanted to cry out, to shout at the thick foliage that he doesn't know, he doesn't understand. He would give anything to Edwin if he so much as asked, but he can't if he doesn't know what Edwin is asking of him.

Edwin’s eyes were engraved with care and patience, a soft “I’m here for you” reflecting on his irises as he scanned Charles’ eyes in search of something not even Charles could realise. That's always been the case, isn't it? They have always known each other better than anyone yet the fear nagging at the back of Charles' mind– the one scrambling to build up walls, to get defensive against Edwin’s prying eyes– was constantly fighting, triggering an alarm as if this unknown secret could be found out at any moment. It was somehow terrifying and comforting all the same, being this transparent with another person while knowing that, even while staring and standing completely still in a creeping forest, they were there to catch your broken pieces, even the ones you didn't know needed tending.

A resembling humming from afar broke them both out of that weird silent push and pull they had fallen into. It was eerie, the only unnatural noise around the chirping bugs and twitching branches, so monotonous in its pattern.

Charles' eyes snapped up, hand instinctively reaching for Edwin’s arm, shoulder, hand, elbow– whatever he could grab. Edwin hadn’t even so much as halted, eyes squinting deep into the darkness of the forest while trying to adjust his eyes to the lighting as if he could somehow develop night vision. Maybe he could, Charles hadn't read all the books back at their office so he couldn't be sure.

Thankfully he didn't need to as Charles swiftly pulled a torch out of his backpack, pointing the cone of light at the echo of the noise. With the new sight, Edwin didn't waste time as he approached the origin of the suspicious noise, Charles lagging slightly behind. There was a rectangular piece of material lying between the tempered foliage of a once lively bush, its frame vibrating with force as light shimmered through its edges.

“It’s a mobile phone, like Crystal’s,” Charles noted, pointing his flashlight directly at it. In doing so, he revealed a rather perturbing state about said phone.

“And a bloodied one at that,” Edwin contemplated with an ironic tone meant more for his own amusement rather than Charles’, “Phone, that is.”

“Surely we call Crystal in with this one, yeah?” Charles had opted to flash his light at Edwin, earning a bit of a scolding for the sudden dazzle.

This time Edwin did not resist the idea– in fact, he was the first to take the lead out of the forest, choosing the house opposite to the Fraser’s for their mirror travel right into the middle of Crystal’s living room. Unannounced, as they often were, they plummeted in front of the huge TV, blocking Crystal’s view from an all too cliche reality show. Edwin never understood the appeal of those and honestly they were doing her a favour if anything.

“Before you give us an earful–” As Crystal made an attempt to complain, Charles held up the bloodied phone neatly packed in a ziploc bag, sheepishly shrugging at her puzzled look.

“We request a reading.” At Edwin's words, her scold eased away giving place to a determined sort of understanding. She had picked up the detective way quickly; a detective must do whatever it takes to wrap up a case. That ‘whatever’ sometimes entailed not fully knowing why you need to read a phone covered in blood yet reading it anyway.

She turned on her nightstand light, letting the light flood the secrets held by the phone before she took it in her hands. Her eyes turned instantly white causing Charles' breath to hitch, not yet fully accustomed to the abruptness of it all. Sooner than expected, Crystal came back with watery eyes and trembling lips at what she had seen

“Oh god,” Crystal looked unsure if to tell the two boys as if they'll break at the very mention of it- she often forgets the things they had been put through, they could take it, “That piece of shit beat him pretty bad”

Silence.

“Tobias tried to run away, climbed through his window out into the forest trying to get away from him. I think he was gonna meet up with someone there…”

“That would explain his insistence on lingering about the forest” Edwin was expertly moving his pen across the notebook, only looking up to contribute an ingenious comment.

Crystal hummed dismissively before glancing uneasily at Charles, the action so short-lived neither boy noticed the intent behind it.

“He ran deep into the forest, it must have been very dark because he ended up tripping–”

“And with all the previous injuries he didn't survive the fall.” Charles finished, eyes darkened and dimmed. Crystal hesitated as she nodded, testing her following words in her mouth.

“It was all black from there, but I could still feel his pain. The fear of his last moments was…”

It was all so very cruel. To hear Tobias had spent his last moments alone and scared. What they both feared most had ended up being the case, had been the case from the beginning. The ending had been sealed from the very moment they had taken this case. Detective work usually meant making your way backwards, studying something that had already happened, and uncovering the truth that filtered between the cracks. They were always very careful, keeping their minds void of any hopefulness and taking the truth for what it was. Somehow, with this case, they had failed to do so. They wanted so desperately to help– to save– Tobias that they had neglected it, and they'll surely pay the consequences for it.

They were still faced with the same issue: how could they tell Tobias about all this? Was he truly better off not knowing? Getting some crappy lie about his injuries and therefore not suffering for his father's actions?

“Guys this phone is evidence,” Crystal seemed to be the only one with a clear mind, “I'm sure the police can get it unlocked and check for messages, hell they can even start a search party for Tobias' body”

“Great, that tosser deserves what's coming to him” Charles gritted his teeth, feeling a surge of that same anger, that same vengefulness he did at the house, at the prospect of serving justice right to that man’s doorstep.

It was rare that the ghost detectives cheered on the human police– they rarely proved effective when it came down to it. But sometimes, people like Victor Fraser needed to be reprimanded by their own kind, and a couple of years would serve him right.

They sent Crystal off to the nearest police station– she would later come up with a believable enough story as to how she came into possession of the phone, given that ‘My detective ghost friends brought it to me through a mirror’ would not cut it. The semantics of it were not at the forefront of the detectives' minds, as now they knew enough of the story the issue of relying the events to Tobias remained.

“What shall we tell Tobias then?” They were both standing in front of the mirror, too apprehensive of what awaited them at the other end.
Charles doesn't miss the cautious tone Edwin gave him, as if testing the waters for his previous lashing back at the woods. It stung inside his chest, but Edwin couldn't be blamed for so carefully stepping around such a subject. He had seen Charles' breath quicken, had seen his erratic eyes at something he felt so deeply scarred by, and by so he deserved and even earned a say in the resolution of this case.

Edwin would never risk hurting Charles, he’ll be damned if he were to add another tally to the growing pain Charles seemed to be collecting– or maybe it had always been the same amount of pain, reserved and hidden under layers of learned mechanisms that were soon crumbling, leaving the unopened scar for everyone to see. Edwin wanted to tend to that scar, not gash out more skin. He wanted to alleviate the pain and if lying to a client would appease Charles, if that was all it took for Charles to feel back in control, then he would not hesitate.

“I don’t know.” It was such a simple answer for such a complex turn of emotions colouring Charles’ eyes.

“That's alright” Edwin’s lips were clipped, yet his eyes reassured Charles just like when they had first met. Maybe that’s all he needed to be strong–to be brave. Having Edwin by his side.

“I don't want him to hurt” – ’like I hurt’ was left unsaid.

Edwin heard it anyway, he saw right through him and Charles expected nothing else.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” his tone was gentle, laced with warm care deserved only for that dying boy in the attic, meant for healing those same wounds even years after, “He is not alone anymore.”

And so they told Tobias everything.

They jumped through the mirror together, only half startling a now more aware Tobias when they landed on the dusty carpet. At his expectant eyes, Edwin’s decision wavered; knowing the hurt he was about to cause didn’t make delivering their findings any easier. Charles' abiding presence behind him prompted him forwards with necessity. Some things need to be said or they will leave a trail of unknown pain behind. So Edwin told Tobias the ugly truth, watched as his shoulders crumbled under the weight of it and how Charles' fist tightened at each sob.

“Oh god,” Tobias uttered.

Edwin visibly gulped. God had no place in such a moment.
“He was right–” a small hiccup ruffled his chest, “This is my punishment.”

Edwin had had about enough of God’s punishment by now. He had spent decades mellowing in the notion he was deemed in need of punishment when in reality it was all some sort of big game used to toy with souls at no one's dismay. He despised seeing this boy lamenting for someone else's wrongdoings.

“I can assure you it is not,” Edwin stood straight at Tobia’s side, voice clear and rigid with resolve, “You died at the hands of a cruel man by the mere effect that he went too far.”

Even if Edwin couldn’t see Charles fully as he stood some paces behind him, it was hard to miss the shift in his stance.

“If I had been better, done more maybe…” Tobias trailed off, staring past them and into some deep part of his own mind. Maybe memories– good or bad or both– instances that could have been changed, avoided, or lessened.

The notion this train of thought could have been mirrored in Charles– If he thought he wasn't enough or hadn't been enough– it was disheartening. For a moment, Edwin believed he was in possession of a functioning heart by the way his chest clutched on itself as if a witch's ironed hand were gripping tightly to it without ripping it away from his chest as that would be too merciful. Instead, the splitting nerves were left to twitch and rot away in his ribcage.

“You should not need to be better to be deserving of” He almost had to choke out the words, his throat clogged up by building pressure of sorrow, “Life and love are neither about being enough nor about being serviceable.”

Edwin so desperately urged to turn to Charles, utter these same words and more directly to him. He wanted nothing more than to reach out to him and, for once, speak with a free heart in hopes of convincing Charles away from all the dark thoughts he might have festered. He knew he would not be doing that; Tobias needed him most right now and confronting Charles so rawly would mean uncovering his deeply tangled issues as well. However, he made an effort to tint his following words with softness and elegance the same way he had read to him on his deathbed. That same voice reserved only for Charles on very rare and frankly scarce occasions when they needed some sense of comfort, of grounding.

“You are plenty of good and plenty of kind,” Edwin's hands were fidgeting with the hems of his cuffs, “They couldn’t see that and in turn they lost you.”

Tobias' eyes finally refocused, gaining some resemblance of colour to his skin– as much as a ghost could anyway. Even if the anguish was evident, he seemed rather tranquil, at peace with his death now that it had all been cleared. That demeanour didn't last long as soon Tobias seemed to recall more about his untimely death.

“I- I was going to meet up with someone,” instinctively his hands reached for his pockets, patting over the fabric as if looking for something, “Oh god, he must be so worried.”

Crystal’s words ranged through Edwin’s ears ‘I think he was gonna meet up with someone there’. He was about to inform him he shall not worry as the authorities would probably notify said person, when he was bested by Tobias’ new found decisiveness.

“His name is Matthew, he lives in Vinnetrow Road, you need to get this bracelet to him, please,” he turned to the two ghost detectives with his only bracelet now in hand, “I need him to know I am okay, or I will be at least.”

“We’ll get it to him, promise” Charles spoke for the first time in a while, with a croaky voice that made Edwin inevitably turn around to look at him.

The sight that greeted him was a sour one. Charles looked so young with his rather puffy eyes, his brows still holding a sense of pain Edwin was not akin to seeing on him ever again. His lips were also quite rough, small patches of skin clearly bitten loosely. Above all else, Charles was avoiding his view, even when Edwin tried to reach out to him, to get closer.

“We should scarper now,” Charles muttered into thin air, deepening the other’s concerned brows.

“Very well,” Edwin averted while clearing his throat, “Tobias, you stay put and await for the blue light.” The words felt light once it was all said and done, the reward of helping yet another soul seemingly feeling something akin to an ache in his chest.

“Thank you,” Tobias called to them both, his words the final push they needed to find a hiding place before death arrived.

The dreading for death was no longer necessary– as the night nurse loved to point out– yet Edwin had grown untrusting and giving up an instinct that had kept you alive for so long was not an easy attainment. Likewise, Charles would not risk Edwin’s soul tumbling down to hell under another clerical error.

Thus, the two ghosts faced through the furthest wall only to end up perilously lashing against the rim of their office building, feet embedded into the decorative edge those old British houses always carry. They were each on one side of the window, blue light soon swathing both their profiles.

They had been here before, peeping inside their office as death reaped what's rightfully hers, only able to watch and ponder far too deeply for their liking. It had only been a couple of months ago, yet it seemed so far away. Maybe it could be attributed to Port Townsend and its tedious days that seemed to stretch into a lifetime, forcing them to mature in a week what they hadn't in thirty years. One thing was for certain, they both looked so different, their insides so adamantly changed it felt almost like being there for the first time, the knowledge of a faint deja-vu clinging as if it were a past life.

Yet there they remained, somewhat changed but still themselves; Edwin's hands trembling where he gripped onto the window’s ledge while Charles' incredibly tight clutch on the worn-down bricks threatened to crumble them under it. Both much rather avoid watching Tobias passing, a moment they deemed far too intimate of one's soul which they are not privy to, diverting to watch each other as they had done last time.

It was the same as it always was; familiar eyes with even more familiar colours. However, there was something peeking through in Charles' eyes which, even if new, lugged with it cobwebs from the depth of his struggles. Edwin wondered if his eyes looked the same if he was as open as Charles was willing to be with him, ready to rely on him without the defensive bile crawling its way up his trachea.

In a cold contrast, the amiable blue light dissipated from their office, leaving it vacant and safe. Just like that the case was over. In the blink of an eye what had acutely shifted their beliefs and feelings was gone, no trace of even its existence besides the single bracelet trapped inside Charles' waistcoat pocket. It left a sour taste in Edwin’s mouth.

Sometimes, when you admit something to yourself, you can no longer live with it as a secret. They’ll talk about it this time; about Charles' anger and Edwin’s sadness.

It wasn't until some hours later when the moon had taken its rightful place as a guide of the stars in the deep purple sky and a brisk gust of wind was the only passerby on London’s streets, that Edwin conjured the courage to start a conversation as much needed as dreaded by the two detectives. They were sitting on their makeshift rooftop– a rounded edge at the very top of their building, unable to be accessed by any mortal or tangible being– legs dangling over the various dimming lights of a lively city taking its due rest. Sitting in such a compact space their legs were touching; far from a light brush and more of a constant buzzing against Edwin’s dead nerves that somehow found it petulant enough to act up lately. With Charles' presence, sitting together in a secluded place far away from all the problems both living and dead could carry, Edwin’s body seemed to elucidate the spikes of electricity into a comfortable rumble at the tip of his fingers.

They used to come up here a lot in their early years, when emotions still ran fresh and trivial feelings could get too much, but it had been a while since either Charles or Edwin had opted to make the trip to the rooftop. It was an unspoken rule or maybe a promise: If one went up there, the other would always follow. They didn't always talk, for reasons bespoken in their nature of life and death, instead reaching out to one another for silent comfort, giving what they could and offering what they thought was needed– although Edwin was determined to attempt to talk this time.

Charles' eyes had remained slightly glassy, especially as he gazed at the aeons of dead stars staring back at them, and Edwin desperately wanted to reach up and reassure Charles it would all be okay. But to do that, he had to give in first.

“It seems today has been….” Edwin trailed off, his usually quick thinking leaving him as he recalled the events of the day. Horrible? Traumatic? Intense?

“Rough,” Charles completed for him without taking his eyes off the night sky.

“Yes,” Edwin had thrown the first ball, he had taken the first fall into trepid waters and Charles had caught him right before he broke the water's surface. He wasn't sure if he could manage another leap of faith, another outstretched hand to coax the talking. Should he just spew all his feelings? Draped them on the floor in efforts of getting Charles to confide in him? Could Edwin even manage that level of truthfulness? He was about to find out, it seems.

“It's tough sometimes,” Edwin was watching Charles' profile, gauging even the smallest micro expressions he could manage in the moonlight, “to think about how we die, maybe even how we lived, and today was especially unkind towards us.”

Unkind was an overstatement, Charles almost thought out loud, biting his tongue last minute for various reasons. One, because Edwin was clearly putting effort into trying, and a sarcastic comment would only daunt his progress. Two, because Charles fears once he starts he might never stop, and that alone was enough to scare him into hiding against his bravest efforts.

“Truth be told, I felt helpless,” Thankfully, Edwin kindly kept up the talking, giving him the courage the stars couldn't seem to provide, “and slightly disheartened by the… circumstances of Tobias death.” The boy's name was spoken so softly and not in vain as he had left an incredible mark on them both, for good and bad.

“Killed for– “Charles tried to articulate, he tried to open up but rough hands at his neck always came to asphyxiate the words out of him.

“For being true to himself” Edwin supplied and, as the obfuscated tears perched at his eyelids, he added, “For being like me.”

Charles' eyes finally snapped to Edwin, his teary eyes meeting damp eyelashes as he took everything in. Edwin looked distraught, struggling to keep tears at bay as the words resolved in Charles’s mind, his harsh words from the forest prickling at the back of his neck. Why had he said that? So crude, so frustrating. He should look inwards, search for the exact area of his heart that had been hurt by that flag on the closet, the exact part of his heart that had been shattered into even more miniscule pieces and ask why it had broken. He would probably flinch away from the answer, wanting to shine out his heart’s truest whispers. The understanding of that final part of himself tucked away for safety might finally break him. Yet, in some twisted and regretful way, he owed himself that much. He owed it to his freshly turned 15-year-old self who had been beaten for buying a poster of a male singer and he owed it to his almost dead 17-year-old self whose heart, albeit decaying and weak, had still found strength to flutter at a kind ghost who cared enough to read to him.

“Tobias didn’t deserve that, you didn't deserve that,” his hand reached for Ewdin’s neatly resting on his lap. The touch met halfway, with Edwin’s hitched breath as Charles' thumb brushed so painstakingly soft at his skin, “You know that, right?”

Edwin did know that. It had taken him some years of unlearning childhood teachings until he got there, until the guilt loosened its grip on him. But even then, with his entire afterlife being a push and pull against himself and his guilt, against his death and his mother’s crosses hanging on the wall, with his afterlife being a constant reminder of the guilt, it was onerous to keep it at bay.

A tug at his hand brought him out of the spiral, Charles’ hand tightening its grip aiming for comfort or grounding or both. He was looking at him like he had hanged the stars himself, like he was life's greatest loss or afterlife's greatest gift and Edwin didn't quite know what to make of it.

“I'm not sure what your bonce is conjuring up there,” Charles’ free hand came up to touch at Edwin’s temple, the motion gone almost as soon as it happened, “but what I do know is that who you are is bloody perfect, with your kindness and your sharpness— Edwin there’s nought wrong about you and, honestly, fuck whoever tries to say otherwise”

Edwin physically felt a weight being lifted from his shoulder at those words as if Charles had taken some of his pain and his guilt and either thrown it over the ledge of the roof or squeezed it tightly enough for it to turn into a flat memory no longer insistent nor aching. He understood all of Charles’ words, knew them as facts long before this conversation had started, yet to have his best friend not only wordlessly recognize his troubles but also flatline all of Edwins’ doubts in less than a breath did so much for his brain it almost felt like a short circuit, a small stitch of electricity at the nape of his neck. In the end, Charles would always know him better than anyone, support him better than anyone ever could, and how foolish had Edwin been to believe sharing that little part of himself would have done more bad than good when Charles was sitting there, staring with glossy eyes and so much tenderness and a type of care only he was able to give.

“Charles,” Edwin was desperate to offer that same kindness back, to ease Charles’ mind even if it came out sloppy and unpolished, “back at the house… I wasn't scared of you.”

At that, Charles' eyes dimmed a little bit; How can he believe Edwin when all Charles’ has ever known is anger and hurt? Edwin’s eyes remained relentless as he ducked down to keep Charles stare the best he could, ignoring the pang at his chest when Charles' eyes became even more clouded with unshed tears.

“I was distraught because you should never go through that pain ever again, I don't ever want you to face those feelings again and it distressed me that I couldn't shield you from it but I was never scared, at least not of you.”

Charles perked up a bit as the words left Edwin's mouth, furrowing his brows as if discussing a complicated puzzle inside himself. Edwin had no way of knowing he was helping or just adding to a growing molehill of troubles Charles was sure to be collecting, but he much preferred confusion to paint his features in change of the deep devastation just moments ago. Charles had been so close to giving up on this, dangling on the edge of closing his heart deeming it a lost cause. But Edwin was with him at the top gripping his wrist with great force and he would not stop holding him until Charles was far from that ledge and safety tucked into his embrace.

“I have never been scared of you, Charles. How could I? You've only ever cared for me, protected me from harm. I was not scared of you and I need you to know that because this you cannot doubt, if even for a second.”

It was said so incredibly soft that it was hard to disregard and truth be told Charles was tired of carrying all this weight alone. He was tired of ignoring the pang in his chest he’d always mistaken for anger and above all else he was tired of having to pretend in front of Edwin. Edwin, the first person who had shown him kindness despite his confines in hell. Edwin, who had shown him time and time again what love is supposed to feel like, easy and unconditional and so so warm in every nudge, smile and hug. Edwin, who had opened up to him and promised to look after him, to hold him through hurt and pain. It was so brave and not for the first time Charles felt that maybe all he needed was Edwin by his side.

They were both staring at each other, if only for completely different reasons. Edwin looked at him with stability and resourcefulness, assuring him of unwavering arms that could hold him if Charles let him. For his part, Charles stared at Edwin under a new light, something between pride and relief begging to reach out, begging to be held–if he only let himself be held.

As long as Edwin stood by his side Charles was sure he would be alright and, even if it wasn't a new thought or any type of realisation, the notion alone was enough to finally push him. It’s funny how, once we see it, we find comfort in the simplest of things.

Charles knew he wanted to kiss Edwin, but he still needed to work up the courage. Of course, he had always been an impulsive lad with little care for consequences, but this was important and the risk was far too great to take lightly. He couldn't help but let the fingers of his free hand fidget, trying to push down the hole in his stomach. As expected, Edwin caught onto the nervous movement but what was not as expected was his attempt to drop Charles' hand, a panicked expression revealing his need to pull away, fearing he had made Charles uncomfortable somehow. Charles could not stomach the thought of it– not after Edwin had been his sole source of comfort for over thirty years now. So, he did what he knew best and leaned in before Edwin could get a word in.

Edwin’s breath was stolen from his lips by Charles' mouth in a swift kiss; not light enough to be a peck but not long enough for Edwin to process any of it.

The tingling from Edwin's lips travelled all over his insides, intruding on every good, bad, nice and ugly part it could find until it reached where his heart should be, mimicking a single faint heartbeat and making his head spin.

It wasn't anything like what neither of them had expected– no major fireworks or butterflies in their stomachs– and maybe it was because ghosts are unable to feel but Charles suspected it was something much deeper tying the two of them together after death, as if they were always meant to find each other, always meant to feel this way.

By the time Charles pulled back, hurriedly dislodging their tight hands, Edwin’s mind was still floating with the taste of Charles' lips and how they had felt– soft and eager– against his own. There wasn't even space for confusion or shock, just warm lips and a sense of fullness, as if he had finally found the rest of him that had been missing since he died.

“I'm sorry,” Charles’ words came trembling into his thoughts, forcing his eyes open at the unexpected words, “I should’ve asked,”

Charles' eyes were pointed at his fidgeting hands while the memory of a dated blush coloured his cheeks. He looked more alive than Edwin had ever seen him and he couldn't help falling in love with him all over again. It had never been intentional, just the universe's way of telling him he was meant to find Charles that night, he was meant to protect him and love him. And now, it was the universe’s way of saying sorry; sorry for taking you too soon, sorry for taking Charles so violently, sorry for the injustice and the pain. And Edwin was so bloody grateful for the first time in a while.

Edwin rested his hand on Charles’ knee, trying to shift his attention back onto him for his next words to engrave themselves into the other's mind. It worked fairly well, as soon Charles was looking at him with eyes full of new hope and an ever-present known longing.

“No bother, I quite liked it,” Edwin’s smile was beaming as bright as an oil lamp, still riding the high from the kiss before. It seemed to be all Charles needed to come back to himself as soon his cheeks were lifting into a smile, crowning his eyes slightly.

“Did you now?” Charles tautingly asked, that coy smile returning to its rightful place, “Would you care for another?”

There were very few things that could shock Edwin when it came to Charles. They knew each other as well as two rocks at the bottom of the ocean might; their exteriors eroded by years of sea current but pressed close enough they could recite each bump and scratch of the material, so it was not usual Edwin felt at a loss with Charles. But right now, being at the end of his bashful smile almost daring him to come closer and his playful eyes jumping from Edwin’s own down towards his lips of all things, he was at a loss of words. Edwin Paine, at a loss for words because a flirting someone had just not only kissed him but asked for another.

As for Charles, any ounce of coyness was leaving him by the minute; his palms were sweating buckets and he wouldn't be surprised if somehow, in spite of ghost rules and the universe logic, he had managed to actually blush with the way his cheeks warmed instantly after offering another kiss. Because that's basically what he had done: he had offered a kiss, which wouldn't be a big deal– accounting for all the flirty occasions he had sought in his afterlife– save for the fact this was a boy. He’d never flirted with a boy, it was uncharted territory for him and for the first time in a while, he felt out of his element. It was exhilarating. He wanted to dive head-first into that feeling.

“Cat got your tongue?” Charles automatically winced at his own choice of words, “Oh nevermind, rubbish saying”

“I would rather enjoy another… kiss that is,” Edwin clarified, even if his face was enough attestment to his eagerness.

Their lips met again, warm and familiar with the way they seemed to fit together, not like pieces of a puzzle but how'd you'd expect a warm chocolate on a snowy day or an ice cream on the beach. How can something this new and exciting feel this comfortable and easy? As Charles' hand reached for the back of Edwin’s neck, fiddling with the longer hair at his nape, he thought he understood why. It felt like coming home, a home they had unknowingly built over the last thirty years, where they could finally rest and heal all they had endured, alive and dead. They were meant for each other and that alone could almost rock his world upside down.

It had only been a couple of seconds but it was hard to tell where Edwin's soul ended and where Charles’ soul began, which, although expected from two ghosts kissing, could never have prepared them for how full it made them feel, how completed and accomplished their kiss felt. Being engulfed by each other's souls, Charles felt like crying, as if he had finally rescued that part of himself he had disregarded and damaged for years.

Once the kiss ended, it felt nothing like a loss, more like a promise or an open door with a welcoming doormat. It was the start of something that had been going on for a long time now with the candid knowledge it'll continue for a long time moving forward.

“I'm never letting you go,” it was obvious yet Charles needed to say it anyway, to get the want out of his chest and watch as Edwin’s smile bloomed even more colourful in front of him.

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” it read not as a promise but as a fact. They’ll always be together, even with hell's resolution and heaven’s resolve. They felt greater than that and maybe they were, judging by the electricity still lingering between them.

Were they greater than the stars above them? After all, those twinkly lights scattered across the night sky were long dead, just like them, with a memory of their brightness strong enough– greater enough– to transcend their life span.

Even with all that, Charles did not believe he could be a star, at least not on his own. Only with Edwin by his side did Charles feel greater than the stars adorning the view. Only with Edwin by his side did Charles dared to stargaze into himself, inspecting the dulling pieces of his own star, periodically dimmed by a great deal of damage. Only with Edwin by his side did Charles feel greater than the universe itself, and if that were true who's to say Charles couldn't also be greater than his anger, greater than his past?

“Thank you” Charles' words may have seemed sudden to an onlooker, someone not aware of his journey and thoughts, but not for Edwin, who’d seen Charles at his worst and his best and had loved him the same both times, “If not for you I don't imagine I would be half as brave.”

His words were concise, but the message behind them was far from. He needn’t elaborate as the feeling was deeply felt in Edwin as well, this stance and push to being braver just by having Charles at his side was sometimes the only thing pulling Edwin out of his guilt and shame. Charles had been the harsh pull to free him from an unforgiving childhood and its fruits with a playful smile and far too many unplanned hugs.

In Charles, Edwin could imagine what brave could rebate, what those words meant. Violence and anger had plagued his childhood, learning from it less than kind beliefs which needed tender care. Charles needed to prove to himself that roughness, even if efficient, wasn't always the answer. That force and anger could not dim the kindness inside his heart, no matter how hard his father had tried. While Edwin might have needed harsher handling, Charles needed a gentle hand to guide him out of that unforgiving darkness.

They had pulled each other out. They had helped each other back on their feet too many times to count. They had found family in each other.

“In the end, even after all of that, I'm glad I have you.” Charles' words danced into the midnight breeze.

After all of that. After all of hell, after all of the torture, after all the hypothermia, after all the bad memories and all the anger, I'm glad you were there at the other side of all that pain waiting for me.