Resurrection
@gravemagicks
In the months following his outburst and manifestation, Beau watched as Percival continued to spiral—toward a different destination, a different form of self destruction, but spiral nonetheless.
He still—and quite often—brought home new lovers in attempts to incite Beau’s ire enough for him to manifest.
It was never a difficult thing to do. Trapped in an incorporeal form where he couldn’t touch his hisband unless angered enough to do so, Beau very easily became jealous of the young men Percival brought into his bed. None of them ever into their marriage bed, of course, but still into his bed and into his arms—and Beau hated it as much every time.
However, with the knowledge that Beau still remained, tethered to their home, Percival had become single-minded toward the purpose of finding a way to bring him back to life. Not help him move on to the next life or to join him—no, Percival was attempting to defy Fate itself. And Beau couldn’t dissuade him from it.
He knew Percival couldn’t hear him except when he so purposely angered him, but Beau continued to attempt to dissuade him anyway and turn him away from this path, hoping against all logical thought that something would get through to him.
It wasn’t worth the risk. It wasn’t worth what he would have to sacrifice to be successful.
Beau could see Percival driving himself mad with it—and driving himself ever closer to joining Beau in death before he would ever achieve his goal. Percival didn’t seem to care that his own demise looked to be the only end in sight, and all Beau could do was watch.
For months upon months, Beau watched Percival inch toward his goal. For months, it seemed every step Percival took toward finding the correct amalgamation of spells would send him five steps back—always with new injuries, new scars. Always with new signs of aging. Age that came far quicker than it ought—for every month that passed, Beau could swear Percival aged a full year.
And as Percival continued to experiment, Beau noticed something else beginning to occur. He had always been able to see himself even though Percival couldn’t, translucent and fuzzy as he appeared to himself. But now his form grew clearer, less out of focus. He knew Percival had noticed it as well. Percival’s efforts turned more toward the details of the spell, toward tweaking little things with each attempt.
Beau’s voice seemed to get through to him now, too, but still Percival wouldn’t listen to him. He stood obdurate, insisting he almost had it, that this time it would be the right spell.
Beau continued to plead with Percival to stop, to just let it be, up until the moment the world disappeared from around him.
The next thing he was aware of was his own breathing.
Wait...breathing?
He was breathing again. He could feel his heart beating in his chest. For months on end he had felt neither, and now suddenly he could.
Percival had done it. He’d managed to bring Beau back to life.
But where was he?
Awareness of touch came next. He was on his back, that much he could tell, but he didn’t have the strength yet to even open his eyes.
And then he did, and his newly returned breath caught in his chest.
A coffin. He was still within the coffin where he’d been buried.
Oh, Dieu miséricordieux, he’d been brought back directly into his body.
Barely had the realization occurred to him, when light broke through the wooden surface above his head, and he was gathered into another’s arms.
Percival’s arms.
“You did it,” Beau breathed, barely able to believe it. “You really...you really did it.”