It's a beautiful funeral.
There's nothing of Edie's to bury, the only thing Erik has taken from Europe is the coin Schmitt killed her for, and for a while he's hesitant to use that. He hasn't yet given up hope of one day finding Schmitt, and maybe the coin will one day lead him to the man, like a very particular compass.
But it's a funeral, and you need something to bury, at a funeral. So it's the coin. Raven digs the hole, in the mansion rosebeds, with a few of the bushes cut back and several brilliant red blooms already lined up in front of it- Charles must have seen how much his mother had loved roses.
The three of them line up, and Erik kneels down, makes a smaller hole inside Raven's, puts the coin in, and heaps soil over it. It's stupid. She's dead and it's just a coin and a rosebed but the tears come anyway. And Charles is crying because he's seen Edie through Erik's eyes, and Erik has to stop and sit up and hold him, both kneeling, stroking his hair, feeling the shudders that are as much for nearly losing him as a woman he would never have a chance to meet. He can't stop crying. His mother would have loved Charles and he wishes the boy- the fierce, determined Submissive he has no idea how to care for- could have known the joy of having a mother deserving of the title.
Raven pats them on the back awkwardly, and distracts herself with filling in the hole. Erik can feel the coin growing dimmer through the layers of soil. Then she walks over to the pile next to the roses and plants the bedsteads they stole from the dozens of spare beds into the earth. She looks at Erik expectantly.
Erik looks at them, the singing of the brass almost drowns out the coin. He reaches out a hand, then stops. He can't even feel try and feel angry, any attempt just makes him feel bruised, and hurt, and lost, as he had in those miserable days in the British hospital before Charles and Raven found him. Just a lead weight, in the pit of his stomach.
Charles looks up, his eyes are wet and shining like stars, so much like the first time he'd seen him, when he'd rushed into Erik ward and thrown himself at him, and looked up at him - just like this - and Erik had known, and felt him in his mind for the first time in those two horrific, wretched years
The dead weight can't compete with those eyes, then or now, and it sloughs off Erik to melt into the ground with the coin. Erik cradles his face and kisses Charles, feels a tentative brush in his mind, on the memories he has of his mother.
Maybe, use there? Shy.
It's worth a try, it would work, and it feels right, righter than anger would. He reaches his hand out again and the memories fill him up like water.
- The earliest memories of a hand on his, guiding one step after the other, teaching him to walk
- The bitter days of school, coming out in tears, mother's eyes snapping cold before she snatches him up and sails out of the gates like a queen - you're never going back there again-
- The screams and terror outside, the flames, but inside they're safe in the cellar, mother's arms around him, a safe place no one can break.
- The Hanukah night, the menorah, lighting the candles so carefully. Another, earlier coin, this one covered in foil. The first chocolate Erik has had in two years. There's another, mother promises, for when they're free.
- In the ghetto, the miserable cold days of hunger. Mother standing on an ancient table, looking out of the skylight - Erik, look- coming up to stand beside her and seeing the brilliant scarlet sun turning the clouds to pink and gold.
Erik's face is wet, Charles must have accidentally projected his thoughts because Raven is crying too. She cuddles in with them, and Erik frees an arm to hug her too. She kept Charles alive, she kept him searching for Erik, she was able to pass as an adult and make the demands that finally, finally allowed her and Charles to track Erik down to that hospital. She's only twelve and Erik owes her everything.
Behind her, the brass melts and flows without heat, a small, delicate tombstone, all whorls and half-finished sketches of things unseen. It's beautiful. There's Edie Lehnsherr's name on it, and a small inscription Erik had only seen on his grandparent's tombs, before the Nazis smashed them. He never had a chance to find out what it meant, but something tells him his mother would be glad to have it.
They sniff and hug and wipe their eyes, and Charles puts down an old metal vase he assured Erik his parents wouldn't miss. It is half busied, with only the mouth exposed. The roses go in. The evening draws in, and it's getting cold. Erik takes off his coat and insists Charles takes it. He still doesn't know how he's going to take care of the boy he'd been sure he'd lost forever, but he's learning.
Erik goes back to the grave many times, something to leave flowers, something for a place to think quietly, sometimes just in passing. He can hear the coin still, a shrill, trilling buzz, every time. As the years go by, the tone changes, gets duller, rougher as the coin rusts and blend with the ground, until the day comes when there's nothing but the ancient purr of the world around.