Since I wrote one for reverse verse Edwin, here’s one for Charles. Takes place in Hell, though nothing’s too graphic (still, be warned.)
I had to go through the torture of rereading/viewing this comic to write this (it wasn’t torture at all, this is one of my favorite @technically-human comics. Charles is so precious, and I almost cried while writing this and looking into his face at the same time.)
I will also add @i-am-as-normal-as-you-are because I forgot you last time. I’m very sorry, that was rude of me, I know this is your au too.
When I got to the end I realized that I was ending similarly to the way I ended Edwin’s, so I leaned into that and used the same wording.
(Ps. @technically-human, you have no idea how much of a euphoric adrenaline high your response gave me last time. Thank you so much, and happy belated birthday!)
Apparently, 70 years of practice became null and void when interrupted by three decades of peace. Safety. Home.
Charles tripped, and was immediately caught up in the storm of people running by, most of whom didn’t pay any attention to the sixteen-year-old struggling to get back up, to keep going, to not get caught.
Charles couldn’t even blame them. He would have, had in the past, done the same.
That didn’t make him less scared.
That wouldn’t make it hurt less when The Conductor eventually caught up to him.
He did manage to get up, though (a minor miracle on its own.) As he prepared himself to run again, get out as fast as he could, try to make up for lost time, a flash of blue in the corner of his eye gave him barely a moment's notice before he was being grabbed from behind.
His first instinct was to fight. To shove off whoever, or whatever, had grabbed him. Punch and claw and fight to leave the other behind in the dust as he got as far away as possible.
He would have, too. He would have, had it not been for the slightly panicked call of, “Found you!” in his ear, spoken in a voice he knew better than his own.
“Edwin!” The name came out more of a gasp, than Charles would have liked. “What are you doing here?”
Because he was here. God, Edwin Payne (just, devout, brilliant, Edwin Payne,) was here. In Hell. The one place that Charles thought he could protect him from, despite the others’ insistence to protect him (and the others newly added to the ranks of the Dead Boy Detectives.)
Edwin, who he had always thought believed, if only a little bit, that Charles deserved the torment he had been sent to.
“Protecting you, as always.”
He was here, because he really believed that Charles needed protecting. Who wanted to protect him, despite the Hell forged demeanor, the unspeakable things he had done before they met.
He was here, in Hell, actively going against his God, mustering up a fragile smile for Charles’ benefit.
So Charles grasped Edwin by his shoulders, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he made the declaration that could change everything (just please don’t take him away from me.)
“I love you,” He all but sobbed, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth against all odds.
“What?” Edwin asked, taken aback. He blinked, eyes wide with shock. “Well, I- You know that- Me too, of course.”
Charles gave a short chuckle, shaking his head, because he didn’t get it. “That’s not what I meant, mate.”
He sniffed heavily before looking back up into Edwin’s eyes. “I love you. Like courting, sweethearts, holding hands in the park, love you.”
Edwin’s eyes had gotten larger, if that were even possible, panic taking over any kind of control he’d still had. Charles’ heart only sank a bit at that. He could have predicted how Edwin’s deeply moral sensibilities would take this sentiment.
But Charles wasn’t able to figure out what Edwin couldn’t as a burning hand closed over the back of his neck, ripping him away and towards the engine room.
He was taken away to his next death with the sound of Edwin calling his name behind him.
