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Swan dive down eleven stories high
Hold your breath until you see the light
You can sink to the bottom of the sea
Just don't go without me
Go get lost where no one can be found
Drink so long and deep until you drown
Say your goodbyes but darlin' if you please,
Don't go without me
-The Civil Wars, C'est La Mort
He dies trying to save a child.
He remembers that much. He does not remember the child's name, or even his own last name. He does not remember the scent of his mother's perfume or the way that her aloo gobi tasted or even what warmth feels like.
But he does remember that much.
He remembers the child, and the lake, and the frost-
And the man in the moon, coaxing him upward, breathing frost into his lungs, moon-gray eyes calling him to his new home.
That is what Charles has to cling to, in those long, hard spaces between the winters where he gets to skate along with his cricket bat, bringing snow and frost and fun to the children.
That he is home. That being Frost, the spirit of winter, is a lonely endeavor, yes, but at least he has the man in the moon as all other attempts at connection fail.
Because along the way, he will meet other spirits, but not a single one will allow him to stay.
The spirit of Spring, with the silvered hair and the way she brings the touch of warmth and spring, with eyes a bit too bright with sun and a bit too shining with tears that bring spring showers, who brings the kiss of spring romance but also the drowning mud of approaching hurricanes.
He'll meet the spirit of Summer, with curls as bright red as her summer heat, who burns hot, too hot for him to touch, who he cannot touch without being burned, who he understands the extremes of and yet fights as often as he gets along with her.
He'll meet the spirit of Fall, that creature with eyes the color of amber, with the sort of smile that would make cats jealous, who wishes nothing more than to trap the warmth that Charles no longer has.
And he'll meet the crow.
Or, rather, Charles supposes, the boy who wears all black and steps through nightmares and wishes to be called Monty.
Others call him Pitch Black, the bringer of nightmares, the crow-harbinger of death, but Charles knows well enough that a boy who fades in and out of the night sky, who sings to the stars, cannot be the true master of nightmares and evil.
But for the most part, life is lonely, him and his man in the moon.
The snow dances along everything that Charles touches, and thus no one can come too close to him without getting frozen.
Sometimes, Charles wonders why the man in the moon would curse him like this. Would make him so alone.
Even the other spirits cannot stay long in his presence. Spring smiles, but she shivers too long in his presence, her pinks and greens and oranges fading away into whites of mourning the longer he spends with her. A single hug from him nearly overwhelmed her the first time they touched, stealing away too much of her energy, and thus he has kept himself from making any contact since.
Summer can stick around for a night or two, a single kiss that burns both directions, her fire, his frost, but eventually they always sear each other too deep.
He has passed a night or two in Autumn's bed, that cannery of cats and decaying leaves, leaving claw marks on each other's backs. But Autumn's capes of spiderwebs and skirt of leaves crumple under his frost-bringing touch, and that can be fun for foreplay, sure, but not for anything long-term.
And so Charles always leaves, leaving behind a part of his heart in their seasons.
It cannot be the man in the moon's fault, of course. It must be Charles’. There must be something fundamentally wrong with him, that he cannot touch a thing without freezing and breaking it.
He must carry some shame from his life before the lake, before he became nothing more than Frost, the spirit of the season, the loneliest boy on earth.
Only the man in the moon is safe with him, unable to be touched, unable to be frozen.
And so Charles only feels at peace in the moonlight.
---
And then, one winter, Monty falls down from the sky in a pair of wings made from nightmares, dark, snarled things that fall to nightmare dust as soon as he lands.
And yet, Monty is smiling.
It is hard to think of the boy in front of him as a title and not a name.
Spring, Summer, Autumn- they cannot stay.
They have their own worlds, their own friends, their own griefs.
But Monty?
He is as lonely as Charles. As unable to touch as Charles is. Everything that Monty touches turns into the dust of nightmares, gnarled soot, and so for as long as Charles has known Monty, they have both been unable to touch the world.
But on this occasion, in the moment that Charles goes to catch the boy as he falls from the sky, as he goes to land-
Charles' hand, frost-tipped as always, lands on one of the falling feathers before it falls into dust.
And frost immediately travels up it, silver-blue fractals crystallizing dark soot, weaving the billow of nightmares into the frozen fractals of dreams.
Monty stares for a moment at the feather in Charles' hand, and when he reaches out with a trembling hand to touch the feather, it does not fall apart- nor does the frost spread to Monty's skin.
Monty grins, this pretty starlight beam, the first time that Charles has ever seen him smile, and in an instant, Charles suddenly feels like a boy again for the first time in what might be centuries as Monty and him instantly start conjuring up anything that they can think of.
They go running and flying and dancing on conjured creations of Monty's dreams and Charles’ frost, flying carpets and sleight and skateboards and hoverboards and castles and palaces and racetracks in the sky, playing cricket with Charles' cricket bat and a black-dust-and-frost cane.
At the end of it all, they collapse into snow angels- or demons, depending on how you look at them both- and Charles left his heart in a lake so many moons ago that he cannot count the eons, but for a moment, just a moment, he almost feels like he's found it in the curve of Monty's smile, in the way that he can touch so much suddenly, in the way that he doesn't feel alone-
"Y'know," Charles says, "This almost makes me feel like I'm not destined to destroy everything I touch. Like I'm not the monster that everyone thinks that I am-"
And the moon drops from the sky.
Or, rather, the moon itself does not fall, does not descend from the sky, but a silver star falls from the sky as the man in the moon descends to the very clearing where Monty and Charles have stopped, both of them grinning from ear to ear.
The man in the moon is a breathtaking figure, a nearly translucent ghost highlighted in silver, sharp features and bushy eyebrows and gorgeous moon-gray eyes above an old-fashioned suit, his presence as peaceful and bright as it always has been.
Both Monty and Charles scramble to their feet as the man in the moon meets Charles' gaze, long and hard, and says, “I have watched over this world for decades. I have seen the best of people and the worst. And trust me, Charles Rowland- you are the best person I know.”
Monty grimaces. "So you'll descend for him the moment that he starts to say shit about himself, but I pray to you for centuries to not make me alone and you leave me to my mother and the nightmares?"
Monty turns on his heel, as if to go, but the man in the moon reaches out a hand. The man's hand passes just a bit through Monty's skin, but it mostly grasps as it should, holding him back from running- just as, when he reaches out to catch Charles' wrist, it does the same to Charles.
But the man in the moon doesn't get frosted. He doesn't get dusted.
"Shut up, mate," Charles says, "That is brills. You're safe to touch us! Is that like, some sort of rule, with how your magic works?”
"There are many, many so-called "spirit rules,"" The man in the moon says, voice sharp, wrist flicking as he lets go of Charles' arm- though, keyly, not Monty's, even though Monty is not pulling away to escape and run from them both- "I shan't waste your time listing them."
"Well, I only asked about the touch, didn't I?" Charles asks.
And the man smiles, this bright thing that falls on Charles' heart like moonlight, peaceful, kind, a bit smug. "Because I choose to be able to touch you both. Happy?"
Monty's voice sounds a bit choked as he says, "Very much so."
"And as for your question, Monty- I brought him back, did I not?" The man in the moon smiles at Charles, this bright, sweet thing, all teeth, all delight. "Charles was stubborn enough to stick around by himself, but I gave into that stubbornness and gave him the chance to stick around. The chance to be something more. It is not my fault that it took you two so long to realize what you could have."
Charles has not felt warmth in so long. As a matter of fact, he thought that he'd forgotten what it felt like, period.
And yet, in this moment, with the man in the moon, Charles' constant for so many decades, so many centuries, and Monty as well, just as lonely as he is, just as able to be touched as he is-
Charles swallows and, as he's always done, steps out on a limb, just as he does when there is frost on the ground and the kids are begging for a little shower of snow. He puts his faith where it needs to be for the story to end with happiness instead of grief, connection instead of loneliness.
And he says, "What if all three of us took off running together?"
Both Monty and the man in the moon- who needs a name, Charles has decided, now that he is here, now that he is real, and touchable- snap around to look at Charles, eyes wide, lips thin.
"You cannot just make decisions just based on some feeling," the man in the moon says, "I am meant to stay in the sky, I cannot just stay here."
"That's how I've been making decisions my entire life," Charles says, "And it's gotten me here, now. Truth is, mate, that the moon's still up in the sky, and you deserve a chance to explore the world you've gifted with spirits and gifts for so long. Monty deserves a chance to explore and be free. So what do you say?"
While the man in the moon seems contemplative, Monty instantly shakes his head. "My mother is the mistress of darkness. Her creatures- they chase after their marks forever. If I were to come with you-"
The man in the moon laughs, but it is not a disbelieving or mocking laugh; it is one that sounds strangely delighted, and it makes Charles smile. “And I cannot keep a human form and wish to keep death away from me, either.”
“We'll be running forever," Monty says, "And I can't even touch you-"
"You can't touch me. I can't be touched. And Charles has the same problem as you, when it comes to touch, but you two seem to have found a solution for that, yes?"
It is not a true solution, Charles' instinct begs to say. He still cannot truly touch Monty without Monty beginning to turn to dust, and Monty cannot touch him without Charles starting to frost, but they are starting to get there.
They are starting to get there, and thus Charles cannot protest too heavily, because he wants this more than anything.
Charles grins. “You're stuck with us. Me and-" Charles says the first name he thinks of, a name that is as sharp and old-fashioned and yet snazzy as the man in the moon is. "Edwin, we'll take you anywhere."
The man in the moon- Edwin, now- smirks at the name, giving Charles this small nod of approval that makes Charles' chest warm even further.
“Super,” Monty says with a roll of the eyes, "I'll be running forever," but he's smiling, and Charles thinks that the world is a cold, lonely place, with so few people within it that can touch him, that can understand him, but in this moment, he has never felt more at home in his own skin.
---
And so they run, three boys, silver and blue and black, frost and dust and moonlight, death chasing forever after as the seasons turn and the ages progress and yet sometimes, when the snow arrives, when the darkness of the winter comes, they say that you can still hear the laughter on the wind of three boys who have finally found home in each other's arms and smiles.