you’re fics are my fav and im feeling absolutely empty after chot so im BEGGING for a charlotte and matthew fic…literally anything i would read about them sitting in silence at this point im desperate
Ahh thank you so much! I'm so honored that you enjoy my fics so much <3
I'm sorry it took me a while to finish the fic, I had a bunch of random ideas and I had to figure out how to thread them together, but I'm happy to finally present this fic to you and I hope it helps mend your heart, just a tiny bit :)
**Major CHOT spoilers; Don't read this if you haven't finished Chain of thorns!!***
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Open your heart
"What happens when people open their hearts? They get better."
-Haruki Murakami
...
It felt strange sleeping in his old house with his parents again, but Matthew couldn’t bring himself to sleep in his flat alone.
No. Matthew couldn’t sleep in his flat alone. He’d realized this at Kit’s funeral when the sudden realization of Christopher’s death had finally sunk. Before, with all of the trouble Belial had stirred up, there hadn’t been time to mourn. To truly process what had happened; Matthew and James were in literal Hell, trying to find a way to save their world. To save their loved ones.
But, on that cold winter’s day, dressed in all white, the sudden wave of pain threatened to suffocate him. Matthew realized that he would never see Christopher again. Kit, who had been a friend since before Matthew could remember. Matthew didn’t know how to live in a world where Kit wasn’t there, in constant need of supervision and protection. Memories flooded his brain, memories of Christopher collected by Matthew throughout the sixteen years they had known each other.
Matthew felt his world crashing before him. His palms began to sweat, despite the cold, as he watched the fire rise high. Suddenly, he felt his mother’s hand find his own. She held it tightly as they both watched the pyre burn.
“Come stay with us for a while, Matthew.” She whispered. “Just until you’ve had time to grieve, if you’d like. But I’m worried for you, and I want to be able to help you.”
Matthew thought of James and Thomas. He knew that if he stayed by himself in his flat, his friends would want to help and stay with him so that he could slowly stop drinking. But he didn’t think that was fair to them, especially since they were greatly suffering as well.
So Matthew nodded, leaning towards his mother, ever so slightly, as if she might protect him from the pain he felt in his heart.
Since then, Matthew was slowly remembering what it was like to let himself be loved. After telling his parents his secret, he felt like an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Of course, he still felt guilt over what he’d done to his unborn sister; he didn’t think there would ever be a day in which he didn’t feel that pressing guilt on his conscience. But knowing that his parents still loved him, even after he’d told them what he’d done, made it easier to start forgiving himself. Moreover, getting through every day was significantly easier: he’d train with James and Thomas, spend time watching Henry work in his crypt, help him mother with daily tasks, even though she kept insisting that just because she was pregnant, it didn’t mean she was incapable of doing something as simple as going down the stairs.
“Might I remind you that I fought in the Clockwork war while I was pregnant with Charles,” Charlotte said, throwing Matthew a fond look.
“And might I remind you how he turned out.” Matthew pointed out.
Charlotte scowled, “Don’t be cruel towards your brother.”
Matthew should have known that if his mother could still love Charles, despite all of his flaws, she would have loved him, even after she found out about his secret.
Tonight, however, Matthew was not all right. He’d been laying in his bed when all of a sudden he’d begun feeling as if he were suffocating. He’d thrown open the window, breathing in the icy winter air in between gasps. He stood there until he was shivering and covered in goosebumps. Even then, he still felt destabilized. He looked around his room, dread filling his lungs. It seemed his mind wouldn’t stop replaying every horrible memory he’d ever experienced. He was drowning in the past, each image coming sharper than the last. He wanted nothing more than to drink and numb the pain. To make it fuzzy and unrecognizable so that he could tolerate it. Matthew squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw tightly as if he could shut the world out if he tried hard enough. He ground his teeth together so tightly he felt his jaw crack.
Suddenly, he felt a soft tuft of hair on his fingers. Matthew opened his eyes to find Oscar, who had been laying in Matthew’s bed, beside him. As he looked at Matthew with his big round eyes, he managed to calm the boy down, just enough for Matthew to slowly make his way to the parlor.
Matthew sunk down on the couch, Oscar laying down by his feet. Matthew already felt calmer at the change of scenery, no matter how small that wave of calm was. He leaned over, letting his head hang as he rested his elbows on his knees.
You don’t need to drink, he told himself. You’re all right. You do not need to drink.
Matthew clenched his fists, feeling the bite of his nails against the sensitive skin of his palm, hoping that the pain was enough to bring him back down to earth.
Matthew clenched his fists even harder, digging his nails deeper into his palms when he heard a thumping sound—Oscar tail wagging against the wooden floor—accompanied by light footsteps sounding from the hall. Matthew looked up to find Charlotte standing by the doorway, a hand resting lightly on her lower abdomen, her face worried.
“Matthew,” She said, making her way towards him. “Are you all right?”
He heard her gasp as she put her hands over his arms. “Matthew, Matthew darling, stop.” He could hear the desperation in her voice as she begged him to stop, to unclench his fists. Matthew looked down and saw that his hands were full of blood. Slowly, he opened his fists, looking at the blood caked under his nails and at the deep grooves they left behind on his palms.
He was vaguely aware of his mother taking his head on her arms, holding him tightly as she whispered words of endearment in his ear. He knew she was crying from the slight tremors in her voice and the occasional soft droplets weight that fell on his hair, which he knew were teardrops. Charlotte pulled away slightly, holding his face in both of her hands. It was strange to see his mother with tears in her eyes; she hated crying in front of others.
“Darling, why would you do that?” She asked, her voice cracking.
Matthew shrugged, even though his eyes were full of tears. He tried to turn his face away from her so that she wouldn’t see him crying, but Charlotte only sat beside him and put a hand on his back, knowing perfectly well that something was bothering him.
“What’s the matter, darling?”
A single tear slipped away from Matthew, which was a catalyst of sorts for an entire waterfall of tears to flow. Charlotte put her soothing arms around him and he clung to them as if he were a child again, his tears came in large waves that pulled at his heart. He didn’t want to get his blood on his mother’s nightgown, so he kept his hands in front of him, his wrists on his knees.
“It’s difficult, Mama,” he said finally, “It’s so incredibly difficult to stop. All these years I’d been running away from my pain by drinking and now I have to confront them and it’s harder than I could have possibly imagined. But I know I owe it to Christopher, to Jamie and Thomas, to you and Papa to stop and—”
Charlotte pulled away, grabbing hold of Matthew’s head in between both of her hands. “Matthew, you owe it to nobody but yourself. You deserve to be loved. You can do things because you want to be healthy, not because you want to please others.” She kissed his forehead. “I wish you thought yourself deserving of happiness.”
Matthew bit his lip. “Kit also deserved happiness. And instead, he’s gone.” Matthew wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s not fair, Mama,” He said in between tears, “He didn’t deserve to die. He had so much to live for.”
“I know, darling,” She said, rubbing circles into his back, “Nobody should die so young. And no mother should have to bury her child. But if there’s one thing I will never forget about Christopher is that he was always happy.” Charlotte said to a watery smile, “It was infectious really. He reminded me a lot of your father.”
Matthew nodded, putting his head on her shoulder.
“Christopher lived a full life, Matthew. He did everything he had set out to do and, unfortunately for us, the Angel decided that that was enough, that his life’s purpose was fulfilled and that now he could rest both his mind and spirit.”
Matthew huffed a laugh, “Kit is incapable of resting his mind.”
Charlotte smiled, “His form of resting is by learning. And he’s slowly discovering the secrets of the universe, I’m sure. We can only learn so much on Earth. Imagine all that he must be learning in the afterlife.”
Matthew managed a wobbly smile. “He’s probably jumping out of his skin at some rainbow fungi he found somewhere.”
Charlotte laughed. “And in between each of his discoveries, he’s probably watching over us.”
Matthew turned to look at his mother, and smiled at her. Charlotte’s eyes softened and she pressed a long, soft kiss on his forehead.
“Stay here, darling,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
…
Charlotte rushed to get a water basin, a clean rag and a stele. She relaxed when she saw that Matthew was still in the parlor, smiling softly at a sleeping Oscar. She quickly set everything down and wet the rag. She sat down beside Matthew once more and motioned for him to give her one of his hands.
As delicately as she could, Charlotte began cleaning away the dried blood caked on his hands. Matthew winced as she dabbed as lightly as possible over his wounds from where the blood had come from.
Once she finished with his left hand, she rinsed the rag in the basin before starting on the other.
Matthew watched her placidly as she cleaned, his expression blank.
“All done,” Charlotte said, setting the rag in the basin and reaching for her stele. She drew up Matthew’s sleeve, trying not to despair over how thin he’d gone these past few weeks due to his alcohol withdrawal.
She was about to draw an iratze rune when she suddenly froze. Across Matthew’s arm there were thousands of tiny scars, many of them overlapping. She glanced up at her son in surprise. Matthew, confused, looked down at his arm, catching sight of what caused Charlotte’s reaction.
“Oh,” he said, as Charlotte ran the tips of her fingers over the new scars that trailed up Matthew’s arms. “Those are new.”
“When did this happen?” She asked, her voice coming out soft. The unasked question hung in the air between them: did you do this to yourself?
Matthew shook his head, even though Charlotte didn’t ask a yes of no question.
“I got them in Edom,” he said. “James was trying to heal me.”
Charlotte put a hand on his cheek. “From what?”
Matthew told her, each word piercing Charlotte’s heart like a million little needles.
Matthew seemed to notice this. “You don’t have to worry, Mama,” He said, “I’m getting better.”
Charlotte looked down and drew two quick but careful iratzes on his forearm. “I know, darling. But I’ll always worry, for I love you.” She finished off the iratzes and kissed Matthew’s cheek. “And because that is simply what mothers do.”
She stood and straightened her nightgown. “Now then, I think it’s high time we go to bed.” She held her hand out to Matthew and smiled at him when he took it.
...
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