Chapter Text
Walter and Edwin do not talk when they arrive in Paris. Nor do they talk when they arrive in London. Charles does most of the talking in their place. He leads Walter along unfamiliar streets, to some familiar buildings, and to the office. The office of the Dead Boy Detective Agency is a quaint little place in a decrepit building stacked full of old books, games, equipment, and artifacts that Edwin insists he not touch or stand near.
It’s quite impressive, their adventures, and Walter can’t help being envious of it all. Charles picks up file after file, object after object, and tells long wondrous stories about what he and Edwin have been up to the last thirty odd years. Vampires and werewolves and fairies and ghouls. Witches and banshees and even a siren. Creatures Walter always assumed belonged squarely in storybooks for children. Charles waves his hands around amiably as he tells Walter about the crew of undead pirates they fought off once- Edwin interjecting on occasion to correct Charles’ embellishments. It’s all very lovely when Walter ignores the parts of the stories where one of the boys gets run through with a sword or kidnapped by magicians.
Also lovely as it is, Walter is trying to find a way to quietly and politely tell Charles to stop talking. The boy’s mouth is going faster than their train out of France. Walter enjoys the stories- truly, Charles should take up writing, he has a knack for storytelling- but Walter very desperately needs to talk to his brother. Perhaps it would be easier to find an opening to have a private discussion if it didn’t seem like Charles was deliberately keeping them apart.
Walter has learned that Charles and Edwin liked to stand very near each other. Since deboarding the train, Charles seems to have rapidly grown a fondness for standing between Walter and Edwin. Moreover, his constant chatter seems an intentional misdirection from all his attempts to try and address Edwin, who still won’t look at Walter properly. Walter knows he spoke too harshly with Edwin before, but really this all seems a bit much. Walter supposes he should just be glad Edwin’s friend is so keen on looking out for him, but Walter really just wants to apologize to his brother.
His opening finally came with the arrival of a very imposing woman in a suit jacket and pants.
“Boys!” she shrills, “Where have you been?”
“France,” Charles says at the same time as Edwin says “On a case.”
She fumes, “I authorized no such travel.”
“You did not have to,” Edwin says without looking up form whatever he was writing, “You are not in charge.”
The woman squabbles about some type of system and rules Walter had never heard of. He can’t help but feel she is somewhat familiar, and her eyes flick in his direction he can feel his posture straighten instinctively. “And who is this young man who should surely be in his afterlife?,” she points an oddly accusing finger at him.
“My brother,” Edwin says, “He still has unfinished business.”
The woman looks surprised, then sympathetic, “Well, be sure to help him finish that business soon.”
“Walter is an adult, he does not impact your department’s quotas.”
The woman pinches the bridge of her nose, “Firstly, you claim the Lost and Found Department is not your boss or your concern and now you lecture me about our quotas-“
“That was hardly a lecture,” Charles tries to interject,
“Silence!” The woman says, bringing her fingers together, “Just do your jobs and alert me the next time you leave the entire country!” With that, she disappears out the door.
“Goodness,” Edwin mutters, “What is her malady?”
“Awww, Edwin I think she was worried about us,” Charles says with a grin.
“Who…?” Walter starts to ask.
“Ah right,” Charles says, “That was the Night Nurse she works for the afterlife and is kind of like our babysitter. It’s a long story.”
It dawns on Walter then, why she seems familiar. The red hair, the strict tone, the exasperation, “My,” he says, “She acts quite like Nanny Montgomery.”
Edwin immediately grimaces, “I know,” he says like it is the worst thing in the world.
Charles barks out in laughter, “Hang on what? You never mentioned good ol’ Charlie reminded you of your nanny.”
“Because I try to ignore it,” Edwin grunts, straightening out a stack of papers on his desk, “I hardly remember the woman anyway so it’s easy so long as I do not think about it.” Charles laughs again and makes a teasing joke.
“What do you mean you hardly remember?” Walter asks. Walter’s memories of their nanny were not perfect by any means- but she was such a present figure in their lives it feels difficult to forget anything.
Edwin stills, “Time has not done me any favors, among other things.”
Walter blinks in confusion. He understands it’s been a long time but surely not enough to erase so much. Charles leans in low and murmurs something to Edwin who waves him off. They speak quietly for sometime more, Charles points his thumb back to the door and Edwin squeezes his hand. Charles gets up from the desk, gives Walter a hard look and leaves.
“There are some things we should probably discuss,” Edwin says primly, not looking at Walter.
While the prospect is a little frightening, Walter can’t help but feel relieved, “I agree. I must apologize for earlier.” Edwin finally looks in his direction, head tilted slightly. “I did not mean to be cross with you. I was unkind when I shouldn’t have been. I only,” Walter breathes in, “I did not appreciate our parents being spoken of so crudely in front of strangers.”
“They are not strangers,” Edwin says stiffly, “They are my friends.”
“Of course, my apologies.”
Edwin sighs, “I can’t entirely fault you for being more fond of them, I know you had different experiences with them.”
“I don’t,” Walter says dumbly, “I don’t know what you remember.”
“Of what little there is, even less of it is good,” Edwin says roughly, “They always loved you more, that I recall clearly.”
Walter tries to protest- their parents did love Edwin. He remembers faintly how delighted everyone was when Edwin was born. His protests die in this throat with one swift glare from Edwin.
“They did love you more,” Edwin says firmly. “You were the model son. It always seemed like the more good you did, the more they loathed me for my flaws. At a certain point, I think they stopped thinking about it at all and just filed you as ‘a blessing’ and me as ‘a misfortune’.”
Walter feels at a loss for words. He didn’t know any of this until Edwin said it out loud and frankly, Walter struggles to understand. Their parents were strict, rather harsh, but not out of line. At least not among their contemporaries. Truthfully, Walter doesn’t understand what flaws Edwin has that would constitute him as unlovable or unwanted even as a child. He had been a sweet, clever boy with a bright future- maybe not the future their father had in mind, but Walter was there to fulfill those visions for him.
He says as much to Edwin- that he didn’t know what flaws of his would caused so much ire in their parents. Walter thinks privately to himself, that perhaps Edwin had conjured it all in his mind. He could be overly critical at times, he remembers.
Edwin blinks at him, “Do you need me to spell it out for you? Fine then. I was overly sensitive, unathletic, and even more unsociable. I am more than aware of it, I’ve only been demeaned and pushed out for it my entire life. And-“ Edwin pauses, frustration replaced suddenly with nerves. He balls his hands into fists and mashes them together, “Surely you know about my ah, proclivities,” Walter gave no sign of recognition, “For other men,” Edwin adds.
“Ah, no, not entirely,” Walter stumbles awkwardly,”You’re friend Charles, he is…?”
“No,” Edwin says immediately then falters, “I- not quite, I don’t think.”
Charles had said something similar in France. Walter hummed awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. He knew very little about homosexuality, he skimmed over the sections of newspapers that ranted about it and seldom listened to the grumblings of associates about moral depravity. He elects to move on- he is not sure if such discussions are appropriate now and he does not wish to offend. He wishes he could reach out- when was the last time he hugged his brother? When he left for the Front? Before?- but Edwin’s posture is rigid and does not seem open to Walter’s affection.
“I’m sorry,” he says. I’m sorry I did not notice how bad it was for you.” Walter says. He shifts on the couch to be a bit closer to where the desk was.
“It was not your job to,” Edwin says simply.
“It is, I’m your brother,” Walter wallows, “And I left you alone.”
“Walter,” Edwin says, “You were killed in combat, that is hardly abandonment.”
“Didn’t make things easier for you, did it?”
“No,” Edwin admits. “Father got harsher and we all but stopped existing to Mother. Father needed an heir, and he no longer had an adequate one.”
“That was never supposed to be your job. I was supposed to do that, so Father would worry himself with what you and the girls wanted to do with your lives.” Walter’s shoulder slump forward. He could hear Father’s voice in his ears, hissing to straighten his posture and to quit whining.
“I would brag about you all to my friends on the Front,” Walter confesses. “You, Augusta, and Esme. I would tell them how bright you all were and showed them your letters.” Walter swallows and lets out a shaky breath, “It was hard, thinking about what I left behind. What might have become of Mother after my death.” He blinks back tears, “It was better to remember you and the girls. I had- I had to believe you were all safe and happy. It couldn’t have all been for nothing.”
“I forwent law school, I went to Mother’s social events, and I joined the army. And still-“ Walter dug his nails into the palm of his hands and looked towards Edwin. Edwin who still had youth clinging to his cheeks, Edwin who sat emotionless and had done so since meeting, Edwin who barely flinched at nearly losing an arm. “I can’t recognize you anymore,” he confesses. “You were so kind and shy as a child. I remember you clinging to my leg when I went to school. Now you carry yourself like a soldier.” Walter stares at the ceiling and mumbles to himself, “All for nothing.”
Edwin seems surprised, “I did not know you wanted to be a lawyer,” he says slowly. “I’m sorry,” he adds, “I’m sorry they did not let you have the life you want.” Edwin sighs, “Truthfully, I do not blame you for our parents’ behavior. It was their fault. My… resentment towards you is more anger towards them than anything. I’m sorry I’ve been cold. In the past few decades I have found I am no longer good at pleasantries.”
Walter narrowed his eyes slightly, “Only in recent decades,” he says for clarity’s sake. “Was it not Father’s insistence…?”
Edwin smiles to himself as quietly amused, “Father tried his hardest but I fear I was a lost cause. At least for his mortal hands.”
Walter stares at Edwin. He had assumed Edwin’s changed demeanor was due to Father’s efforts. The cold aloofness was reminiscent of the man after all. Although not entirely, his father loomed over people. He was harsh, Walter believes he had their best interests at heart but sometimes it felt like he was hard on them purely for the thrill of power. Edwin seems cold, but not imposing. He shares fond smiles and hugs with Charles and silent, private jokes with Crystal. Father seldom should such blatant gestures of affection even with Mother.
“I was killed in a ritual sacrifice,” Edwin says as if it were an explanation. Perhaps it is- such a dreadful thing, Walter’s stomach turns to think of faceless boys holding Edwin down. Something like that would definitely change a person- “A sacrifice to Hell,” Edwin continues.
It takes a moment for Walter to understand, because the implication is too absurd to even consider. “No,” He says quietly.
Edwin nods with a mild grimace, “For seventy-three years. That is why I am unaware of the exact fallout in our family. I was, ah, indisposed.”
“No,” Walter says again, as if that were enough to undo what Edwin is telling him. Perhaps it is a cruel joke. It’s a cruel joke Edwin is playing on him for leaving and Edwin will next tell him so.
Walter thinks back to the last century. The true curse of his predicament had been boredom- and if he thought too much, not knowing what happened to his family. But it was pleasant enough. Pretty scenery, familiar people. And that whole time Edwin was… down there.
He remembers church stories of Hell. Of fire and torture and demons. He remembers how Edwin cried as a child when he broke his arm. He remembers how Edwin hardly blinked at the same one getting blown off.
“You can’t be serious- Edwin.” Walter stands and reaches for his brother instinctively.
Edwin obliges his hug awkwardly. “It’s alright,” Edwin says in a tone that tells Walter he is certainly lying. “It’s all in the past now.” Walter holds him tighter. Edwin is still short enough that Walter can feasibly rest his chin on his head. Distantly, he wonders if Edwin was ever meant to be taller than him.
Walter pulls back and rests his hands on the upper half of Edwin’s arms, “The whole time?”
Edwin nods, “Until I escaped in 1989,” of course he found a way out. He was always clever and more tricky than anyone gave him credit for. Nanny Montgomery was driven half insane trying to keep track of him. “There was a small stint in Hell, when we were in America. But it was short, Charles came and got me out.”
Walter cocks his head to the side, “That boy followed you into Hell?”
Something unidentifiable gleams in Edwin’s eyes, “Yes, he had the Night Nurse hold a door open and he brought me back.” Edwin clears his throat, “So seventy-three years and a couple of hours give or take. Better than the intended eternity.”
Walter ought to get Charles a gift basket, “Well,” he says, “Thank the Lord for Charles.”
Edwin beams in the subtle way he seems to do wherever his friend is mentioned, “Indeed. I am very fortunate to have his company.”
“I’m glad you have someone,” Walter tells him, “He seems lovely.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him. I think he wants your approval.”
“What- why?” Walter asks, utterly puzzled.
Edwin shrugs Walter’s arms off him, although he did not seemed bothered by it, “Because you are my older brother,” Edwin explains, “And Charles is bothered when people do not like him.”
“I see,” A gift basket is surely in order then, or proper thanks at least. The silence that fell over them was neither comfortable nor unpleasant. Walter falls back onto the sofa and rests his head in hands for a minute. “You were really… there,” he says in place of the word.
Edwin nods, “A sacrificed soul is technically property of Hell, so I was sent there. It was dreadful- I’ll spare you the details.”
Walter swallows, “I- you may tell me. If it is helpful for you. I think I would want to know.”
Edwin stares at him for what feels like a long time, “Maybe someday- but not now. I-“ he gets a faraway look in his eye, “I can’t right now.”
Walter nods, if pressed, he doesn’t think he could tell Edwin much of anything about the trenches either. “You said dying was not such a bad thing,” Walter realizes, “How-“
“That is not- It is terrible, my death, and Hell even worse. But I am happy here, now, more than I ever could have been if I lived. That is what I had meant.”
“You don’t know that.”
“That may be the case. But I find it exceedingly unlikely I could have built something as wonderful as this. I do not wish to relive what happened to me. But it brought me here, brought me him, in the end.”
Edwin stood up and sat next to Walter on the couch, “I would have been quite miserable for most of my life. I don’t know that with the way I am and the expectations of our time I’d ever truly be happy. Perhaps content if I were lucky, but not happy.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Certainly. I, for one, am quite happy. Until recently, I was not entirely honest with myself about who I truly was- because I was raised to shun that part of myself. Then I was content with what I had in this afterlife, happy at times too, but mostly content. Although I didn’t notice the difference until after becoming more accustomed to happiness.” Edwin fiddles with his cuff links as he talks. “The distinction did not matter to me until I knew the better path.”
Walter leans back in his seat, “I was a bit more like you when I was a boy,” he confesses.
Edwin tilts his head to the side, “Pardon?”
“Father scolded me incessantly about being too soft and womanish. I was quite young and grew out of the crying soon enough.”
Edwin considers it for a moment, “That sounds… familiar. I think I remember Father mentioning it in one of his comparisons.”
Walter nods, “I had hoped to shoulder the brunt of his expectations for the sake of you and our sisters. I was not entirely oblivious to it all.” Their house was always cold, no matter the weather. There were times when the ice was clearly coming from his siblings. Augusta was the worse offender. “There were times when I felt so far away from you and the girls. I didn’t know how to bridge the gap and appease Father at the same time. I simply did not want you to lose part of yourself for the family’s sake. I’m sorry I did not notice it happening anyway.”
“To be fair,” Edwin says, “It was not Father or Mother that altered me so.”
He says it as if it were meant to be a joke. But it conjures images in Walter’s mind, of Edwin down where he never should have gone. A sob seizes in his throat- he keeps it down but pulls Edwin close in another embrace.
“I love you so very dearly, and I am so proud to be your brother,” he gasps quietly. Edwin was very still for a moment, then he brought his hands up and grips onto Walter’s jacket.
“I love you too,” Edwin says and Walter can hear the tears in his voice. “I’m sorry as well.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry I let our parents drive a wedge between us.”
Edwin starts to say something more, then he shakes his head. “Perhaps it is best we agree our parents failed us both in different respects,” he says and he pulls away.
Walter nods and squeezes Edwin’s shoulder, “Still, I want to be a better brother.”
Edwin winces, “Perhaps I should be too. I truly did not look closely at what happened to Esme or Augusta- It’s just, so much time had passed in a blink of an eye.”
Walter nods sympathetically, “I do want to find where Esme went- or about Augusta’s children. Perhaps your friend and her mobile technology can help?”
“I’ll ask Crystal, what records are and are not available seems to vary.”
“I’m sure we can find them,” Walter says. He pauses for a moment, “Do you know anything about our parents?” It’s a dangerous question- not just because the sensitivity of the subject- Walter doubts good things fell upon their Mother.
“Father died in his old age- of what I do not recall, I think his heart gave out. As for Mother,” Edwin fiddles with his fingers guiltily, “Mother was placed in an asylum some months after my death. She died there in the 1930s.”
Walter stares at his hands. Mother changed after Georgie’s death, and perhaps she was too cold but Walter couldn’t bear the thought of her being left alone in a facility to die. Alone she was because while she and Father got along well enough, he would never dared to be seen visiting an asylum for the unwell. He wouldn’t have let Esme or Augusta either.
“She got unwell again, after your death,” Edwin says, “I fear my own worsened her condition beyond the household’s capabilities to tend to her.”
“Do you know how she died?”
“It was not recorded. Their system was disorganized and Father would not have pressed them any more than he did with St. Hilarion’s over my disappearance.” The air of bitterness in his words suggests Father did very little to investigate Edwin’s passing. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised by that now.
“I wish you knew her more, before Georgie,” Walter sighs. Mother cared for them, in her own way at least. She did not delight in having control over her children in the way Father seemed to. Walter still remembers what she was like before he days of mulling in bed and staring out windows. She used to be more engaging when they saw her at meals and tea.
“What… do you intend to do now?” Edwin asks slowly.
“Travel, I suppose. I wanted to, before the war happened.” The mirror hopping Edwin and Charles showed him will prove fruitful in his endeavor. Endless possibilities, Walter never thought such a thing is possible. “I suppose it is pointless to convince you to come with me?”
“I have work here,” he says in a sympathetic tone that tells Walter he is not actually that bothered by his refusal. “I am not well suited for travel anyways- you know that.”
Walter laughs because he does. Edwin loathed their summer trips to France to visit Mother’s family estate. Hell, he loathed taking trips into London as well. He had terrible seasickness too, although he doubts that is still a problem as a ghost.
“Charles makes me take holidays with him sometimes,” he complains, “It’s positively dreadful.”
“Certainly,” Walter says, utterly unconvinced. He’s seen the way both boys trail after each other without thought, he doubts Charles needs to apply much force to get Edwin to come with him, and he doubts Edwin actually abhors the quality time.
“Perhaps we can write to each other,” Edwin offers, “I can show you how to send messages through the Postman.”
“There’s a postman for the dead?”
“There is,” Edwin confirms, “Odd fellow, but very efficient.”
Walter nods and files that knowledge away to question for later, “I’ll come by for visits too, if that is amenable.”
“It is, but I request you please send a warning before you do. Some of our cases are hectic.”
“Of course,” Walter agrees, “Will Charles find that agreeable?”
Edwin nods, then looks down at his hands. He presses his fists together, “You are truly not… bothered then? By him- I mean… by us.”
“How could I be?” Walter asks, “I have never seen you so happy to be in someone’s company. Or at all.”
Edwin looks up and appears relieved. Walter should have followed this conversation earlier after all then. “I told you, he seems like a lovely young man.”
Edwin brightens, “I think he’ll enjoy your company on the holidays. He is always trying to get me to be more celebratory.”
“I'll be by in the winter then,” Walter says with a smile.
*
Edwin has never been so relieved to have a case be done with. He bloody hated fairies- the fae were more cumbersome to deal with than demons and until a few years ago, dealing with demons ran the risk of Edwin being sent back to Hell.
So Edwin feels elated to be inking the last line of the Case of the Blooming Window to send off to the Night Nurse. Charles seems to feel much the same, even though he does little of the paperwork.
“Bloody hell,” Charles whines as he shakes the last of glitter out of his hair, “Fae magic does even produce this shit naturally, he was just being a git!” He flops on the couch, “That was worse than the Fae Festival Debacle of ‘99!”
Edwin laughs and joins him on the couch, brushing a missed spot of glitter off his cheek. “If I recall, that one was your own fault.”
“Hey,” Charles pouts, “How was I supposed to know the food was cursed?”
“That is what it is known for Charles,” Edwin teases.
Charles pouts further and slides his head onto Edwin’s shoulder. “Someone’s just jealous they never got to try fae food.”
“Ah, you caught me,” Edwin says sarcastically. In all honesty, the fae food always looks sickly sweet. Of course the appeal of eating again is irresistible to some ghosts.
Charles sits up just enough to press a kiss to the bottom of Edwin’s cheek. Edwin smiles and brings up a hand to run through Charles’ hair, “I think we’re due for a holiday,” Charles says with a mischievous glint in his eye.
“No,” Edwin groans.
“Yes,” Charles counters, “Come one mate, Crystal’s busy with Uni, we’ve already gone over the Night Nurses quota for the year.” He sits up straight to pull Edwin into his arms, “We deserve a break.”
“Why can’t we have a break here?” Edwin whines.
“Because it’s bloody boring! What about Thailand? I’ve never been, have you been to Thailand?”
“You know very well I have not.”
The mischief in Charles’ eyes grows, “Y’know, how about we call up Walter? I’m sure he’d love to come to Thailand with us.”
“That’s not fair,” Edwin complains. In the past two years, Charles and Walter have gotten along too well and have taken to ganging up on Edwin. Last spring he was cajoled into taking a trip with them to Brazil, which, admittedly, had been quite enjoyable. “I’ll consider it,” Edwin concedes to buy himself more time.
Then, there’s a knock on the door. Charles groans and buries his face in Edwin’s chest, “Please no,” he begs, “I can not do another case right now.”
Edwin pats Charles on the back sympathetically then untangles himself from the couch despite protests from his partner. But, before he can make it the door and tell a prospective client of their business hours, a head pokes through the doorway.
“Walter!” Edwin exclaims, “I did not know you were in London!”
Charles waves in greeting from the couch, “What brings you here, mate?”
Walter smiles, “I did not plan to come until last night.” Most of the weariness and exhaustion is gone from his eyes. He’s swapped his military uniform for more comfortable, modern clothes before he left for b his first trip. Walter said he found it enthralling to partake in modern fashion rather than maintaining the clothes he was familiar with, even though it’s easier for a ghost to do so.
What he’s wearing now is a touch closer to what he wore in life though, a plain button up and slacks. His light hair coiffed neatly, he would look like their father if his expression were not so pleasant. “May I speak with you in private?”
Edwin blinks, “Of course,” and he follows Walter out into the hall.
They sit on an old wooden bench set up against the wall outside the office. “I’ve been feeling odd, as of late,” Walter says. His demeanor is calm, peaceful even. “And I’ve been thinking.”
Edwin suspects he knows what kind of private conversation this is. Walter’s letters had seemed different as of late- not to mention more frequent as well. Edwin’s acquainted enough with goodbyes to recognize one.
“I think I am ready for what comes next.” Walter continues. “I don’t think I gain anything from staying here, my purpose no longer lies on this plane.”
“I see,” Edwin says. “You are certain? There is no going back from Death.”
Walter nods, “I’ve seen the world, I found my family, I don’t know what else there is for me to do.”
Walter has explored a significant portion of the modern world. Being a ghost aided in that endeavor well- ease of travel, no need for money or sleep- Walter was able to enjoy the ghost friendly experiences offered by the many continents within the two years since being freed from France.
Finding Esme was a less easy, less cheerful endeavor. They probably never would have if not for Augusta’s great-grandson who took a liking to preserving family history. There, they found unopened letters sent from Esme to Augusta. Esme did in fact elope with a jeweler Father was not fond of. The information sent to Augusta led them to a passenger ship's records that brought Esme to New York, where they then found a newspaper of her obituary only a year after arriving in her new life. It had been the influenza, while the worst of the illness had already run its course in most countries, Esme’s weak immune system likely had done her no favors in building an immunity.
Augusta had seemingly died as she had lived, isolated even when among company, miserable and determined to make everyone else miserable too. She died in a care home for the elderly as both of her children moved away from London and did not return until after her death. Her eldest son moved to California after World War II and her younger daughter moved to Australia. Her son returned with his own children to deal with Augusta’s remaining estate, where the family stayed. Now, her great-grandson heads a museum’s archive and he maintains his own family records as a hobby to entertain his children with stories.
Edwin had not wanted to visit his great-grandnephew but Walter insisted he came. It was unnerving in a way, something about man had been achingly familiar but Edwin could not place what. It was not until they found family photos among his research that Edwin was able to recall his older sister’s face clearly enough to draw similarities between her and her descendants. After that, Walter had insisted Edwin take the photograph he had carried for the last century. Edwin keeps it tucked in his desk where it could not be damaged by the sun, although it is a ghost object and likely would not take sun damage. Still, he rather be safe than sorry.
“The only thing is I don’t know if I can leave you again,” Walter says.
“I will not leaving Charles,” Edwin replies immediately.
Walter nods, “I assumed as much,” he sighs.
“Please don’t stay on my account, you need not worry about me and I will hold no ills against you for moving on to your afterlife.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes- this is not like last time.”
This goodbye is quite different from when Walter left for the Front. For one, Edwin knows Walter is not heading for hell on Earth and he knows his home is not about to become more hostile. For another, Walter seems informed and self-assured- nothing like the naive young man who dismissed Edwin’s anxieties.
“Have you saved my letters?” Walter asks next.
“Pardon? I- yes, I have.” Edwin says with mild confusion.
“Good,” Walter says, “I want you to have something to remember me by for the next one hundred years.”
“Oh! Yes, I will,” Edwin promises. “We’ll miss you,” he adds.
“And I you,” Walter replies, “Be safe, alright?”
Edwin promises he will. Walter claps him on the back but his hand shakes, then he pulls Edwin into a tight embrace. “I mean it,” he whispers, “No trips to Hell, no explosions, none of it.”
“It doesn’t happen on purpose,” Edwin groans, “I told you, you don’t need to concern yourself with me. I have Charles too.”
Walter nods and pulls away reluctantly, “Look after him too.”
“Of course I will.”
“Right,” Walter clears his throat and stands up, brushing imaginary dust off of his clothes. “I’ll be saying goodbye to him next then.”
Back in the office, Charles takes Walter’s departure with less grace.
“What do you mean you’re leaving?”
“My business here is finished,” Walter tells him, “It’s simply my time.”
They hug, Charles pouts a little in a theatrical way that tells Edwin he’s exaggerating, Edwin hugs Walter once last time as well.
Charles grips Edwin’s hand tightly as they bid their final farewells to Walter. “You okay, mate?” he asks softly.
Edwin watches the blue light slip through the cracks of the door from the hallway. “I believe so,” he replies, resting his head on Charles’ shoulder. “We both got what we needed most in the end.”
Later that night, Edwin takes the photograph out of the desk drawer and brushes the dust off of it. They’ve accumulated a surprise collection of empty picture frames over the years, he reasons. He gently presses the photograph into a frame and places it on an empty shelf spot by the desk.