Are You Afraid of the Dark? {Caspar}

[CURTIS CRANE]

There was nothing Curtis disliked more than class field trips. They were somewhat pointless, and he felt that the teachers were basically forcing you to look at something, and before you could even get a really good look at it—they were yanking you off in the opposite direction. To make matters even worse, it had to be the stupid natural sciences class. Normally, he loved this class. This class was wonderful. At least, the subject was. The unfortunate thing about this class, was that there was another boy in the class wearing his face. He had it first dammit! How dare Caspar show up with his matching one in his class. The nerve!

That made what could have been a tolerable field-trip even more miserable. Curtis kept his arms folded across his chest, his fingers grasping his own elbows as he straggled behind the class, trying to get a better look at the exhibits and actually read the plaques in front of each one. The longer he could take staring at those plaques, the less time that he had to stare at the back of Caspar’s head. Whatever. An irritated sigh escaped his lips, and he shook his head slightly, glowering at the general populace of the class. Normally, he was a pretty bright kid. Happy, smiley. Except when his brother was involved—Caspar just had a really good way of getting under his skin. And it seemed like it was getting worse as the years went on.

Curtis pulled out his phone from his back pocket, and thumbed through his facebook. A few messages, a few status updates. Anything had to be better than the straggling group that either moved too slowly, or too quickly. He chewed on the insides of his cheeks, moving on to his texts to thumb through his contacts. Most of his friends would be in class, and he wouldn’t dare interrupt them from their class. Not him, of course not! With another agitated groan, because everyone deserved to know how miserable he was in his brother’s company, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and dragged his converse along the linoleum. Of course when he had decided he was going to avoid that pretentious asshole for the rest of eternity—that same pretentious asshole decides to show up in his classes. As though it couldn’t be any worse, some of the girls in their classes seemed to have a real hard-on for the idea of twins. You’d think that if they were so fascinated by the idea of attractive identical twins, they could at the very least learn to tell them apart.

Honestly. If one more person called him Caspar, he was gonna scream.

There had been several ridiculous questions about him and his brother asked by various classmates. Could they feel when the other was in pain (no, otherwise Curtis would break every single one of his bones for Caspar to feel it)? Could they communicate telepathically (why the hell would Curtis want to get into that poser’s mind?)? Were they absolutely inseparable (Curtis almost puked when someone asked that)? But no…it seemed like a foreign concept to these people that leaving the twins alone for any length of time would result in injuries, and possibly damaged property(again). Did Curtis wish that he and his brother could get along? Sometimes. There was that unmistakable feeling that something was missing—this didn’t happen much. But he felt it sometimes when he did something that reminded him of when they were little. Sometimes when he played certain cords on his violin. Or when he found that abandoned rooftop on top of the school, where several old chairs remained. Certain times made him miss his brother, and wish they were closer. But those moments were fleeting, and he would easily laugh them off.

Glaring once more at the back of Caspar’s head, he considered spearing his brother with a particularly sharp fang that belonged to the skeleton of what was once a saber-tooth tiger. Instead, Curtis trudged on; trying to make sure that there was a decent distance between him and his brother. The droning of the teacher went in one ear and out the other—after all, Curtis had read past this chapter, and most of the plaques on the walls already. He enjoyed the museum on a regular day, but now…now he couldn’t stand it. All he looked forward to was climbing back onto that stale bus, and bouncing their way back to the school. Where he would then hopefully shower to get the smell of pretentious asshole off of his clothes that Caspar was surely putting into his clothes.

Outfit

[CASPAR CRANE]

Natural History Museum. Awesome. A bunch of pretty-looking displays that reeked of patriarchal influence. He trudged at the center of the group with his headphones in, glaring down at the plaques surrounding the disgustingly large skeletons of whatever-the-fuck-asaurus they were supposed to be learning about now.

Rob Baker, Barnum Brown, Edwin Colbert, Edward Cope, Jack Horner… He felt the names of the various paleontologists who were responsible for digging up these monstrosities pass softly through his lips. This might as well have been a privilege-fest. Where were all the Asian names in this museum? Where were the Hispanics, the Africans, the Indians? Had there just been some like, magical land barrier between Europe and Russia preventing the dinosaurs from dying over yonder? God, this was all just so disgustingly Euro-centric. The people who ran this museum were such entitled pricks. It made Caspar want to vomit into the mouth of the nearest oh-shit-it-has-wings-asaurus.

”Hey fucktard, wanna move your ass for two seconds so I can read the damned plaque?”

Caspar spun around to see some weird-looking red haired kid glaring at him. He cleared his throat, feeling rage boil in his chest. ”Excuse me. Would you mind refraining from that discriminatory language in my presence?”

The boy seemed taken aback. Served the entitled little fuck right. "S-sorry man, I was just kidding—"

”Well, kiddo, hate to burst your bubble here, but adding the syllable ‘tard’ to any word you please is in no way humorous. Got it? It’s ableism, and not cool.”

The little ableist, privileged prick backed away slowly, glaring like Caspar had just punched his girlfriend or something. He sighed, moving along to the next dinosaur skeleton. Standing up for the right thing was hard. Not everyone was willing to do it. But Caspar was willing to shoulder the burden. The world needed more people like him, in his humble opinion.

”And you!” His eyes, which had been scanning the gallery for anything else mildly interesting to look at, settled on an onlooker wearing an official-looking uniform. Caspar strode towards her. ”Might I just comment on that revolting excuse for music you and your corporate compatriots have playing in the lobby?” He had to resist spitting, since the marble tiles on the floor had definitely been hand-carved by helpless child labor in some third-world country, and he wasn’t going to mess with that shit. ”The Harlem Shake? Really? The Harlem Shake? The so-called ‘viral song’ most well known for appropriating the cultural icons of a group historically marginalized in American society for fetishist use by the privileged white majority? You should be ashamed of yourselves. Isn’t this a place of hist—“

”I, erm, beg your pardon, sir, but it wasn’t quite my—“

Caspar wasn’t interested. He had more important things to do than hear her stupid, entitled little rebuttal. ”And how about this plaque here? Describing this little diorama? The stegosaurus leads his children beneath the ash cloud? And this one, here. The velociraptor swoops towards the ground with prey in his beak? Just what exactly compels you and your little historian friends here to assume that these creatures are all male?”

”Sir, I really must get back to—“

”Yes, because only a male specimen could ever be worthy of display in such a prestigious museum as the Museum of Natrual History, am I right? God, you people and your subscriptions to the patriarchy just make me sick.” He shook his head and stormed back across the hall, muttering to himself irritably. ”And what are you looking at? he added hotly, catching the eye of that twerpy little bastard of a brother of his, who had been eyeing him weirdly from the other end of the room.

outfit

[CURTIS CRANE]

Curtis only raised a brow, before applauding his brother slowly as he stormed back across the hall. He shoved his hands afterwards into his pockets, and looked towards the woman in uniform. “Sorry, about him. He’s kind of damaged.” Curtis tapped his head slightly and shook his head, and then looked back to his twin-but-still-younger-brother. “You realize that you made a fool of yourself right?” He blinked those green eyes at his brother. Seriously—if his brother could at least be SMART about standing up and making a difference, Curtis wouldn’t give him such a hard time. But, unfortunately Caspar was a hypocritical little shit who had climbed far too high on his pedestal.

“Seriously, that woman has no control over anything that happens. If you wanna get all McPreachy, go find the museum curator. Blaming her because this isn’t the Muesum of What Makes Caspar Happy, is like blaming you for mom ditching us.” Seriously. How exactly were they twins? Because Curtis was stumped—he didn’t possibly think that Caspar could actually get even more stupid, and yet here he was. Proving him wrong.

Sometimes lighting a fire under his brother’s ass was fun, other times it was a genuine attempt to cool his britches. This was one of those times. Seriously—if his brother could just go be a prick elsewhere, it’d be a lot less stress on him. “When you make a spectacle, people are going to think we’re both little libertarian shitheads because you had the nerve to copy my face, you unoriginal swine. So do me at least one favor, if it’s the last one you do in your pathetic life—cool your fucking jets when we’re actually stuck together.” Curtis’ brows furrowed. No one could get under his skin like Curtis. At first, he was embarrassed. But as the words came stumbling out of his mouth, he found himself growing more and more agitated. He could go on for days about back-asswards his brother was about certain things. To an extent, Curtis was proud of him. Caspar could make a change in the world—he just preferred his brother to do that when people wouldn’t lump them in the same group.

“Your neuroticism is making me look crazy by proxy, so get your panties out of your ass and chill the fuck out.” He rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms across his chest before turning to go catch up with the class—who couldn’t have gotten too far away. Except they did. Adding more fuel to the fire, Curtis spun around on his brother, gesturing to the empty space the class had taken up what felt like moments prior. There was a slight vein in Curtis’ neck that pulsed above his skin, before his hand dropped, slapping the side of his thigh. “Great, now because I had to babysit your yappy little ass, I’ve lost the class. Why don’t you put that little brown nose of yours to some use, and go sniff out our classmates.” Curtis clapped his hands, staring at his twin expectantly. “Chop, chop, Fido. Time’s ticking. Or would you go like to rip the elderly woman a new ass for using a walker instead of her own God given limbs?”

Outfit

[CASPAR CRANE]

Oh God, fuckface was talking. Why, why was he talking. He was talking a lot, from the sound of it. Oh Lord in heaven, why wouldn’t he just shut up and leave Caspar alone? Why couldn’t he just live his life and try to ignore his twin-in name-only to the greatest extent possible, like Caspar had been for the past semester?

He can talk if he wants, you idiot. It’s his First Amendment right.

Okay, okay, fine. With all the fuss he’d made about censorship at the school newspaper meeting two days ago, he probably couldn’t complain about Curtis’ speaking his mind. But, still.

”You realize that you made a fool of yourself, right?” God, there were a lot of things that made Caspar angry, but few of them could even come close to infuriating him as much as that stupid little voice always did. Just ignore him, he thought to himself, thinking so hard that it almost pained his head. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, felt his teeth clamping, as if they could somehow block that stupid little voice from infiltrating his head. Just ignore him. Don’t let him get to you. He cleared his throat and tried to walk away valiantly, in the direction he assumed the rest of the class had gone. Wow, where had they gone? He literally couldn’t see a single other student in this hall. Huh. Well, they couldn’t be far. God, what uncultured prick of a guidance counselor had decided to put him and Fuckface in the same class? Caspar had been doing so well on the pretending-Curtis-didn’t-exist front up until now.

“Seriously, that woman has no control over anything that happens. If you wanna get all McPreachy, go find the museum curator. Blaming her because this isn’t the Muesum of What Makes Caspar Happy, is like blaming you for mom ditching us.”

Holy mother of…had he just brought their Mother into this?

That fucking did it. Before he could mentally discipline himself, he could feel his muscles seizing control, spinning him around to face his identical adversary, curling his hands into fists. ”For your information, bro,” he snarled, spitting out the last syllable like a sunflower seed shell, ”Mom’s ditching us is something that you would know nothing about, since you weren’t dumped on her doorstep because someone couldn’t keep his little mouth shut for five goddamned minutes.” He turned again, continuing on towards the end of the gallery. There. That was all he’d let himself say. No more. He was back to pretending his stupid twin had never been born.

Nope, he was still talking. Caspar could hear the snoobish little voice echoing across the gallery. Seriously, did this child ever shut up? Caspar began to hum Chopin’s Nocturne in D Flat Minor to himself, trying to tune out the patronizing jabs that were coming at him from all sides. Ignore him. Don’t let him get to you. Ignore him.

“Great, now because I had to babysit your yappy little ass, I’ve lost the class. Why don’t you put that little brown nose of yours to some use, and go sniff out our classmates.”

Groaning, Caspar spun around again. ”What, am I your slave all of a sudden? You’ve done nothing to earn my respect, you flappy-mouthed prick. You’ve got legs, haven’t you? You find them.” He crossed his arms and planted his feet. He actually had been on his way to hunt down the teacher and invent some half-assed explanation for why he’d been delayed, but now…nope. He wasn’t some overexploited proletarian worker who existed solely as a back for Curtis to step on. If Fuckface wanted to find the class, then fuckface would damned well find the class himself.

Great, and now he was in the middle of spewing some other snippy retort. ”I don’t even know what that—“ Caspar began, but was interrupted by a loud metal clanking sound. He spun around and stifled a gasp: A large metal gate resembling a medieval portcullis had clanged shut behind him, barring the hallway between this gallery and the next one. He’d had barely a second to register the occurrence when another metal clang plunged the room into complete darkness.

Oh, shit.

”Oh, great. Just great,” he called out into the surrounding blackness. ”And now we’re here after closing time, and we’re probably going to get arrested for trespassing or something. Great. I hope you’re happy, dumb butt.”

outfit

[CURTIS CRANE]

It was like the sole reason their mother had given birth to two kids was to make sure Curtis’ life was a living hell. Had he been an only child, everything would have been fine, Maybe their mother would have stuck around. Maybe Curtis would still have his friends back home, and not have had to transfer to a new place. But no. He got stuck with a twin who couldn’t stop flapping his self-righteous gums for two minutes. “That was entirely your fault. What did you expect me to do? ’Oh, sorry dad. Caspar knocked over a candle. Just a little accident! Please. Maybe if you weren’t such a troublesome little shit, then we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess.” He was going to be cordial, but he’d be damned if Caspar didn’t have a way of getting under his skin.

“You’ve done nothing to earn respect in my book either, baby brother. You’re lucky you’ve made it this far.” Almost like a mirror, Caspar crossed his arms, and planted his feet as well. He was definitely not going to give in to his brother, or help him in any way. He’d go off and look for their classmates in the completely opposite direction that his brother would go in. He raised his chin in defiance, before his whole body started at a loud metal sound. “What the—“ He turned with his brother, and felt his heart sink when he saw the gate was closed. The second clang made Curtis jump again, twisting to look where the noise came from. But he’d never see it, because the room was suddenly dark.

It took him a few minutes to understand exactly what was going on. The sound of his heart pounding in his ears almost drowned out his brother’s voice. They were locked in a museum. Overnight. No food. No water. Who knows what alarms would trip. Who knows what could be lurking around the corners. Who knows what freak had hidden out in here over night. And worst of all, the irrational fear of darkness was gripping Curtis’ wildly beating heart in a vice-grip. His breathing was quickened, and it was the only sound he could hear over his heartbeat. He felt every single one of his muscles lock into place. His legs wanted to run, but his brain stopped them from moving. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t think. A steady tremble started up his arms, “W-where’s your ph-phone?” Curtis attempted. Or was that Caspar? His own voice sounded so far away that even he couldn’t tell if it was his own voice, or his brothers.

Ever since he was a child, Curtis held a strange, bizarre feel of the dark. He couldn’t remember when it began, but it had always been there. He could remember being so small, before school—and crawling into bed next to his brother if he woke in the middle of the night and their father had closed their door all the way. Without the hall-light filtering in, Curtis would cling to his little brother, and Caspar would sing him back to sleep. When he was little, even though he was afraid—he wasn’t alone. As the years went on and the brothers separated, Curtis found new ways to cope. In his own room, he left the bathroom light on, or put his phone on the charger, face up so the blue light would fill his room. This was the first time in quite a while that he had to deal with the full brunt of the darkness. And there was his brother, within grasp—and yet Curtis felt very, very alone.

There would be no hanging onto Caspar anymore. No singing from Caspar, no more comfort. Somehow, that idea regressed Curtis into a child. He wanted to just push everything away for the night, find someone safe and hang onto his brother’s sleeves. But things had changed too much now. And the darkness had just fallen…it was going to be a long night. And Curtis couldn’t even begin to move his legs. He wasn’t aware that the small noises that came from his throat sounded pathetic. All he could do was keep his green eyes wide, praying that a light would turn on somewhere. Praying that this was just a big joke for the twins being such pains in the asses. Because there was no way, no, no freaking way—that this could be happening.

Outfit

[CASPAR CRANE]

Were they still talking about this? Months afterwards when all was said and done, Fuckface was still going to push the topic and pretend that he wasn’t responsible for everything that was wrong in Caspar’s life. What an ignorant little shit this kid was. God, could he seriously just—oh, fuck it. Now that was over the line.

”My fault? My fault? My fault that your stupid little ass came and ruined my damned party? Excuse me for wanting to have a little bit of fun in my life, though you clearly don’t know what the fuck that is, do you, Mr. Study-Buddy. Just because some of us have more exciting things to do on Saturday nights than read the Periodic Table of Quantum Neuro-Physics or whatever.” He cleared his throat, trying to gather his thoughts as more fury kept shoving itself into his brain. ”Oh, and another thing. Let’s cut it with this ‘we’ bullshit, alright? There is no we in this ‘situation’, alright? There is no ‘us’ that we’re dealing with here, alright, you and I have nothing in common.”

He could feel himself starting to pace, but he was too incensed to care. He wasn’t clever like Curtis; he didn’t have sardonic jibes or puns to insert at every turn, but he had his anger, and god damn, he was going to express it. ”Let me put this in perspective for ya, bucko. My father, my own father, told me he never wanted to see my sorry ass again, and threatened me with foster care if I didn’t pack up my shit within a week, alright? Not only that, but he stuck me on a plane and shipped me off across the motherFUCKING country, to some dumb Atlantic state, where some lady who couldn’t give less of a shit whether I live or die graciously offers me a fucking camp cot in a tiny cubbyhole thing in her ramshackle little shack she calls a ‘house’, she and her dumbass boyfriend who spends his days slaving away in some shithole of corporate corruption and for God’s fucking sake, Curtis, I spent Thanksgiving eating shitty Chinese food on Mom’s couch while she and her boy toy fucked on the front lawn!”

He cleared his throat again. ”So don’t you fucking dare pretend that you’re anything like me, Curtis Christopher Crane. The fact that poor Daddy sent his darling golden boy off to fancy private school for nine months doesn’t mean jack shit compared to me, alright? So you can hop off this whole entitlement binge, and stop pretending that your ‘situation’” he drew air quotes “is even a fucking fraction as shitty as mine right now, okay? Don't you even dare equate us.”

What was he even talking about right now? This was probably more personal than he’d ever gotten with Fuckface before. But the rockets were blaring now, and there was no turning back.

“W-where’s your ph-phone?”

His phone? Good God, it was in his back pocket, but it wasn’t like Curtis needed to know that. ”My phone? What kind of shit do you give? What, you need to do some math homework or something? Use your own damned phone, you entitled prolonger of the patriarchy.” Caspar spat on the floor, fairly confident that that was okay now, since there weren’t any privileged little curators here to jump on his ass. ”What, does his Majesty the King believe that he deserves to use his little overexploited peasant’s phone because rich daddy made him go to boarding school?” He made little crybaby with his fists. God, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d retaliated this harshly, but it felt so good. He didn’t care that the lights were out, or the gates were locked, or that they were trapped in some stupid museum in the middle of the city, because he felt like he was finally letting out the emotions he’d kept bottled inside him since the stupid day of that stupid fight, and with every new insult he spouted, he felt cleansed.

”Well let me tell you something, your royal highness,” he hollered, gesticulating furiously. ”Here’s how I feel about you and Dad and your white-ass suburban privilege!”

He reached over his left shoulder to fish his ukulele from his backpack, and strummed the most sinister sounding chord progression he could think of as hard as he possibly could. E minor, b, e minor, d, g, d, e minor, b. Grinning smugly he returned the instrument to his backpack. Man, this was almost as good as being high.

outfit

[CURTIS CRANE]

Had Caspar berated Curtis like that on any other day, with lights on or the sun shining—Curtis would have jumped on his brother and brought the fight from words to physical. Just like that one night. Curtis didn’t do too well with words when he was furious, and when it came to his brother it was easier to just rough him up. But at the moment, he couldn’t see his brother’s face. His brain was all but fizzled out due to the nyctophobia. It was the one and only time that every single thing he learned over the past few years went flying out of his brain.

All he understood at the moment was that he was scared, and that the only person that ever made the dark not-so-scary was yelling at him. They weren’t a ‘we’? They had always been a ‘we’. Even if they didn’t agree, even if they hated each other’s guts, Curtis had referred to them as a single unit. Despite him wanting to be a separate identity from his brother, it was always ‘we don’t like anchovies’ ‘we want another serving’ ‘we’re going to school’ ‘we don’t get along’ ‘that’s ours’.

Curtis tried to trace his brother in the dark after hearing his footsteps. But it didn’t want to register that those were Caspar’s steps. He knew the weight of them, and the way they hit the pavement from anyone else. But that moment they echoed on the linoleum, bouncing off things in the dark that did nothing but put Curtis more on edge. Caspar’s words hit Curtis’ ears—he didn’t know the full extent of it. His father didn’t tell him that, Caspar hadn’t told him that. How could their dad tell one of them he never wanted to see one of his sons again? Was Curtis really that close to being an only child? He had always wanted to meet their mother(there he went with the unit thing again). He always thought Caspar someone lucky that he got to meet her, and from what he thought—he figured she was better off. That even though Caspar was a little shit, he got the better end of the deal by going to hers.

If he had known that his brother spent Thanksgiving like that—he would have done something. Shown up. Hell, who knows. The only time he even remotely got along with his brother these years were on holidays. Thanksgiving was probably the one where they got along the easiest, because one of the few things Curtis could cook was tofu. He made sure that every single one of the dishes were cooked with pure vegetable oil, that any milk used was soy, egg substitute in place of actual eggs—the sides were completely vegan. He made the tofu with the same seasonings as the turkey, so it was like they had the same meals. And yet…this year, the first one they were separated—Chinese food.

His brother went through all of that, while Curtis had absolutely no idea. Yes, Curtis was the better brother…his mind wouldn’t change on that. His breathing hitched in his throat on its own accord---he didn’t want his brother to go through hell. He just wanted him to be better. Despite all their fighting and his frustration, how could he not love his twin? And yet, he had sold him out. That guilt finally hit him, on top of his fear. In the dark, he sniffled loudly. “A-ac…actually…I just…” Curtis was breathing heavier now, it was a miracle that he was still on his feet. God, could Caspar stop rambling for like two seconds? His own hands clutched at his arms tightly as he felt the tightness in his chest.

The dark wasn’t just scary now, it was actually suffocating him. Wrapping its cold fingers around his throat, and forcing the air out of his lungs. His breathing became labored, and that only made him panic more. Between the struggled gasps for air, there were choked sounds. Curtis rarely cried—but that was his sound. He didn’t sob, he didn’t bawl. It was like he was trying to drink down his own tears, and resulted in a strange, choking sound.

“To call…to get us out.” God, again with the unit. “You--…get you and I…out.” Separate the unit, right? Because that’s what Caspar wanted, right? Even though he couldn’t spare the breath for the extra words at the moment, he struggled to separate the unit. If Caspar could see at all in the dark, he might see Curtis shaking, his arms crossed and clinging to himself. Shoulders hunched up, and legs struggling to hold him upright. Phobias were funny things, and it didn’t help when the cure for that phobia was currently telling you how much of a shit person you were. The music echoed as well as the footsteps, and leaving strange sounds to bounce off of the displays. Curtis entire body was aching with his trembling, and with the amount of fear pushing its way through him. He felt dizzy between the choking and the gasping as the dark continued to strangle him to death.

He was going to die right here. His legs finally buckled, and he had to lean over slightly, one hand grasping his chest as he felt his lungs scream beneath his fingers. His other hand clutching his knee. He was not going to pass out. He was not going to pass out. Pressure was building up in his face, and his cheeks were wet. He was not going to pass out, crying like a moron, while his brother played that stupid song on his fucking ukulele.

Yeah, he was gonna pass out.

Outfit

[CASPAR CRANE]

Caspar was breathing heavily, and probably sweating too. Damn, this interacting-with-people-he-didn’t-like bullshit was hard work.

He and Fuckface had always rubbed each other the wrong way. Since before he could remember, he’d felt nothing but animosity towards the snobby-voiced version of him that had been thrust unceremoniously into life with him. Well, animosity and, for whatever reason, love. But he always ignored the love. He’d never known why it was there. It was like, an alien presence in him, like a parasite or something. His whole life, he’d paid it little heed.

But this year, at Baum, had been a nice break. The fact that they weren’t part of the same family units anymore had made it very easy to pretend that he and his brother had no relation whatsoever. He’d stood back, on the sidelines, watching Curtis excel at everything possible, knowing that Curtis ruled the school while he, Caspar, was the lowest of the low, an outcast, a misfit, with no future and no talents, except for one, which he couldn’t physically show anyone. He’d accepted that this barrier would keep them apart. He’d graciously accepted the fact that he’d go to Delaware on holidays, and his brother would go to Colorado, and they’d live their own, separate lives, and never have to interact or pretend to be able to stand each other again.

But now that they were finally being forced to face each other head-on, well…this wasn’t so bad. Maybe taking out his anger on a willing scapegoat would do him some good, every once in a while. He’d have to see if he could make this a more normal thing. Oh, great, Fuckface was talking again.

“You--…get you and I…out.”

Before Caspar’s brain could fully process his brother’s statement, he could feel his mouth going at it again. ”Well use your own damned phone then, you lazy shit! What, want me to breastfeed you while I’m at it? Just because we’re locked in a museum and all you have the balls to do is sit there crying and…” His voice trailed off as his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness enough for him to comprehend the before him. ”Oh God, you’re crying.”

He should’ve kicked him while he was down. Every fiber of his being was urging him to continue his verbal assault, destroy the little shit’s emotions while he’d left them temporarily vulnerable. Fuckface deserved it, for all the verbal abuse he’d put Caspar through during their unfortunate sixteen years of association.

But somehow, some deep-down part of Caspar knew that that wasn’t going to work for him.

Sighing and rolling his eyes exasperatedly at himself, he made his way across the room towards his brother. ”Aaalright Curtis. What’s the matter? Spit it out.”

God, he had no backbone.

outfit

[CURTIS CRANE]

Hyperventilating. He was going to hyperventilate and pass out right here. And god knows what then? His brother could just leave him on the cold floor. What if a guard found him? But worse, what if the things in the dark found him? He was sixteen now—he didn’t believe in monsters in the closet or under the bed. There was no scientific proof of them—however in a dark room his eyes always found themselves staring at the creaked open closet. He’d dart out of bed and close it, then leap back into bed so nothing under the bed could grab at him. An irrational fear that any logic could not break through.

“I-it’s dark.” For God’s sake, man, just grab your phone. “I can’t…I don’t…where.” In your back pocket, Curtis. See? Pathetic. Unable to function, and all he wanted was his dumbass brother to make a call. The soft glow of the phone would give him just a little bit of relief. To make sure that it was actually his brother coming closer, and not some monster pretending to be his brother. Sure, they were only a few minutes apart, but Curtis took his role of big-brother very seriously. If a monster had gotten a hold of Caspar…well. He was gonna….he was gonna…probably pass out, let’s be honest.

His eyes tried to see in the dark, and all he could see was a darker shadow moving towards him. It was just Caspar. It was just Caspar. It was just Caspar. It had to be, they wree alone. Who else could it be. Finally, Curtis’ legs buckled under him, leaving him on his rear on the ground. The cold floor sent a shock through him that stopped his breath for a moment, and the shadows in the dark all shifted. He watched the Caspar shaped one move in closer, and his eyes began playing tricks on him. The shadow that was his brother was changing, swaying in the darkness. Another whimper stuck in his throat, and the tears didn’t stop coming. Maybe a guard would hear him, and turn on the lights. Which would be somewhat pathetic, actually. A boy sitting on the ground and crying. A teenage boy, at the very least!

Curtis attempted to pull himself together, but to no avail. His green eyes stared at the changing shadow. Turn on the light. Turn on the phone. He could feel the press of his phone in his back pocket now, but his fingers were grasping as the front of his shirt too tightly to reach for his phone. He didn’t want to take his eyes off of the shadow, just in case it sprouted teeth when he wasn’t looking. In case there were eyes staring back down at him. “C-caspar?” Came the meek sound. That had to be his brother—logic was screaming at him. There was absolutely no way that that could be a monster. And yet the violent pounding of Curtis’ heart said otherwise.

Outfit

[CASPAR CRANE]

Okay, this blabbering aimlessly thing had been kind of cute at first, but after multiple unanswered questions, Caspar was getting a bit annoyed. ”Curt, what the fuck are you talking about? What can’t you do? Where’s what?” God, this was like talking to a small child. Caspar had vague memories of Curtis’ being afraid of the dark when they were little, but…no, they were sixteen-year-old boys now. This had to be something else. There was no way a sixteen-year-old could actually be this freaked out about a lack of light. No, Curtis was probably just nervous because he had a history project due tomorrow or something.

It took him a few seconds to piece together what his brother had been trying to say. ”Phone? You want to call someone and like, report that we’re in here? I mean…”

A thought occurred to him, suddenly. Shit. No. With a sudden sinking of his heart, he remembered that the bag of weed he’d been smoking this morning was still in the front pocket of his backpack. ”Uh, no. No, we…we probably shouldn’t call…anyone.” Caspar, you idiot. How could he possibly have forgotten about that? It was a damned good thing he’d forgotten to leave his backpack in the coatroom, or else he’d have the cops on his ass right now for sure. Oh God, if Curtis heard about this, Caspar wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up in an orphanage the day after. He wouldn’t have put it past the little snitch to rat him out to either or both parents. Shit, shit, he couldn’t let his brother call the cops either, though. Or the museum security. Or even their teacher. Oh, fuck, fuck, no, what was he going to do? All of a sudden, he felt very, very exposed.

”Uh, yeah, I’m pretty sure calling the police would be…not…such a good idea. Actually I feel like the best thing to do would probably be to like, maybe just sit somewhere, say, over in that corner, behind that giant triceratops skeleton, and be, uh, really really quiet, and…”

“C-caspar?”

”What?” he snapped. He hadn’t been expecting the irritation in his voice, and as he spun back around to face Curtis, he realized with a start that his brother was now in a sitting position, hugging himself tightly like a fucking mental hospital patient or something.

Caspar felt his features soften slightly. ”Oh for fuck’s sake, Curtis, it’s just me. Cut the crap.” He fished his phone from his pocket and shone the backlight under his face like a flashlight. ”See? It’s me. Caspar. Hi. Now, let’s just, uh, put the phone down, alright? And then you can tell me what the hell's going on with you.”

outfit

[CURTIS CRANE]

God, finally. Caspar was dumb. He was really, really dumb. Well…at least he was talking, so Curtis was latching onto his voice. But there was a complete chance that this sixteen year old boy was still terrified of the dark. “Yeah…I want to get out of here.” He murmured quietly. His voice was slowly coming back, but he still felt uncomfortable tremors quaking through his bones every now and then. His skin felt like it was crawling, itching.

Why the hell wasn’t his brother calling someone. The sooner they got out of here, the sooner he wouldn’t have to be trapped with his stupid ass. Curtis’ eyes would have narrowed, if he wasn’t so desperate to try and catch every single ounce of light he could do. Of course. There would be one reason his idiotic brother wouldn’t want to call the police. And that’d be if he has something very, very illegal on him. Curtis pressed his lips together in a thin line. Of course—Curtis wouldn’t accuse him unless he knew for sure—but he had a sneaking suspicion. The irritation snapped out of him, when his brother’s voice mimicked his own irritation.

Curtis’ fingers dug into his sleeves, grasping himself a little bit tighter. His eyes ached when the sudden blue light lit up his brother’s face. An identical one, illuminated with a blueish-white goal. A nightlight, his nightlight. Keeping his eyes locked on his brothers face, he managed to use his long legs to push himself up into a stand, and before Caspar could turn off his phone, Curtis grabbed the hem of his shirt. Just so he didn’t lose his little brother on the dark. That was it. Only. He wasn’t still scared, or anything. Of course not. “If we’re stuck in here all night, you better have food inside of that bag of yours.” He whispered to him.

This mess was entirely his brother’s fault. He got him locked in here because he had to go and start yapping at that poor woman who had no control over anything the museum did. But of course, Caspar would never admit his fault. “Come on.” He grumbled, his voice dropping down to the barest whisper as he tried to make his wear to where he thought the stupid skeleton was. This place was freaking creepy. It was weird—shadows danced in the dark, and everything was so quiet. Curtis yanked his brother with him, “Why do you always have to run your mouth?” He asked—his voice sounding innocent. It wasn’t a berating question, for once. It was a sincerely curious one.

Caspar was always blaming people who had nothing to do with it. He had good intentions---but went about them all wrong. Curtis just wanted his brother to be the best, but apparently Caspar just wasn’t having it. “So mind telling me…why we can’t call for help?” He asked quietly, his eyes sweeping almost frantically over the area. His toe thumped something, and Curtis lurched forward almost stumbling. Reaching out with his vacant hand, he felt out and felt a sort of podium, his fingers slid down and he realized it was some sort of display case. “I think we can…sit here.” Finally, he let go of his twin, and carefully felt out for the wall, and moved his way down the wall to slink down slowly.

“You better have a g—“ his voice caught in his throat, almost like he wasn’t ready to go back to speaking. His throat tightened up, and he took a slow, deep breath. “You better have a good reason we can’t…call for help.” He said quietly, pulling his knees up, and draping his arms over it. Curling up was comfortable, he was small this way. Less imposing in case there was a monster in the area---but with his brother there, Curtis felt a little safer .Now…if Caspar got the idea to walk away, all hell would then break loose. Slowly, Curtis reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his own phone, placing his hand over the screen. Blocking out most of the light, there was still a dim haze that he could use to make out the familiar lines of his brother---his finger resting over the button to the phone.

Curtis raised his chin somewhat, and bit his tongue. He could easily rip his brother a new ass, his could easily begin to berate him, and tear him limb from limb. But there was something inside stopping him, and for once—Curtis decided to not press it. He pressed his mouth against the inside of his elbow, hand still over the screen to stifle the glow of the phone, as his eyes stared expectantly at his brother in the dark.

Outfit

[CASPAR CRANE]

Locked in a dark room with the person he hated more than anyone, the person who had fucked his life up the ass and backwards, was probably one of the places Caspar least wanted to be right now. He toyed with his phone in his hands, tossing it back and forth between his fingers, knowing that ending this stupid encounter was fully within his capability.

One phone call and he’d never have to see or think about this mainstream-ass brother of his again. One phone call and he could retreat back into that nice, safe world of pretending Curtis Crane did not exist.

But he’d said it was one of the places he least wanted to be. If there was one thing higher on that list, it was probably prison. And as he thought about the sheer amount of illegal substance that was currently residing in the bag on his back, he realized that that was without a doubt where he was headed if any sort of authority figure caught a whiff of it.

Weed in a museum. Fuck, Caspar, you stupid idiot.

Still, the phone remained between his hands, and his fingers danced hesitantly over the screen. He probably held more power over his own life in his hands right now than he ever had before, and…was Curtis holding his shirt?

Caspar looked down incredulously. ”Curtis, what the—“ Oh God, he was being dragged. Caspar staggered after him, blinking as if in a haze. Was he tripping right now? Why was Curtis being so weird? Why did he sound like he was on the brink of insanity? Why was he holding Caspar’s shirt? This literally felt like some hallucination you’d get from being super high on like, rubber cement. This wasn’t Curtis. Curtis was cool and calm and lofty and disdainful, and not weird and helpless like this. Something was very wrong with this picture, and it was making Caspar incredibly uncomfortable. ”Curtis, what the fuck is going on with you? Get off me!”

“Why do you always have to run your mouth?”

Well, that had been out of nowhere and irrelevant to anything. Oh, was he talking about the stupid curator lady? Right. Leave it to Curtis to put all the blame for every single stupid little thing on Caspar. This was all Caspar’s fault. Fucking Pearl Harbor was probably Caspar’s fault, according to Curtis. What an entitled little douchebag. ”We’ve been through this before, Curtis. I ‘run my mouth’ because I speak for the masses. I speak for the proletariat, those who can’t speak…oh my God, are you on drugs?” Curtis was lurching forward like some kind of walking corpse towards the display case on the far wall. ”You’re going to set off the alarm, you idiot!”

Caspar hurried after his stupid brother, sitting gently next to him and gritting his teeth, hoping to God there weren’t any stupid trip wires or anything around them.

“You better have a good reason we can’t…call for help.”

”Tell me why you keep stuttering like a fucking toddler first.” This awkward panicky-stuttery-touchy-feely Curtis was really starting to get on Caspar’s nerves.

Frantically, his mind tried to search for an excuse, but he was drawing a blank. Damnit, he wasn’t creative enough to come up with things like that. Curtis could usually tell when Caspar was lying anyway. It was probably one of those stupid little twin telepathy quirk things that Caspar detested so vehemently. He was just going to have to tell him, and hope he was too far gone to make anything of it.

He sighed. ”Look, it’s just that…I have…quite a bit of weed in my bag.” He inhaled sharply. ”It’s not mine though. Well, I was kind of planning on taking some of it. But like, I didn’t pay for any of it. I was just like…holding it for someone. But anyways, doesn’t really matter. The important thing is that it’s…” He lowered his voice to a whisper reflexively “…a lot. Like, enough that it looks like I’m dealing.” He cleared his throat, knowing how bright red his face must be right now. He could feel something like shame bubbling in his chest, but he forced it down. ”Which I’m not, by the way. Dealing. But I mean, there’s enough in there that…Anyways, we could hide it somewhere, but I mean, they’d find it sooner or later, and it’s not like there are a ton of suspects to choose fr…”

He felt his voice trail off. He knew he was beating around the bush now, and he knew that this was probably the least convincing argument that had ever been made in the history of ever. Sighing again, he swung for the home run.

”Look, I just don’t want to get sent away again, alright? I just…” He cleared his throat again, running his left hand nervously through his hair. ”I-I’ve already lost one family, you know? I know I fucked up, but…”

It suddenly felt way colder in here than it had before. He hugged his knees instinctively.

[CURTIS CRANE]

“I keep stuttering li—like a fucking toddler, because I haven’t been in the dark since…I was a kid.” Curtis finally spat out. He hugged his knees a little bit tighter, frowning. Yeah…this was the first time he was in pitch blackness in several years, and he wasn’t exactly thrilled with admitting it. He managed to cover it up pretty well, but…being thrust into it suddenly had his nerves on edge.

But his brother’s next words snapped him out of it, and he had to do a double take, “You wh---“ Curtis wasn’t sure if his eyes could bulge out of his had any further, but he stared at his brother’s shape in the dark. “You have got to be kidding me.” Fire ignited in his veins. His brother better not be dealing. “Casper Cyrus Crane.” Was the stern, solid response. “And you brought it with you on the field trip why?” His hand shout out, grasping his brother’s shirt tightly. Usually, this would be followed by shoving his brother to the ground. Punching him. However he just let go after a moment. Angry. No—fighting his brother when they were supposed to be hiding wasn’t going to help. “You realize that if anyone caught you, they don’t care if you’re dealing or not. You think I want my brother to end up in prison for possession? You think those friends are gonna stand up and say, ‘Hey, yo. That’s my weed’.”

Curtis sighed. His brother was a fuck up—there was no changing that. There would never be any changing that, not if Caspar kept falling in with the wrong crowds. “If you don’t want to get sent away again, stop being an idiot.” Curtis elbow him slightly, glancing to the side once more. “I don’t know who the hell you’re hanging out with, but people that are trying to get you to be your scape goat aren’t your friends. They’re using you, and they’re gonna let you take the fall on your own.” If Curtis had any idea who loaded the weed on his brother, he’d give them a piece of his mind. But Caspar could be stubborn…he wasn’t sure if he’d spill it.

“Look…” His hands raised from his knees, and ran them through his hair as well, phone balanced on his knees with the screen off. “You haven’t lost one family. Unless you go and get some loser’s face transplant, you’re always gonna have me. And as much of a pain in the ass that you are—there’s really no shaking you off. Second…” Curtis let out a low breath. Could he do this? Would he do this? “Give me your backpack. You’re already in shit for burning down dad’s house. You can have it back when we get to the dorms.” He pulled one hand from his hair, holding out his hand to take the bag. He shouldn’t do this. But he was responsible for sending his brother away the first time. Did he want to be responsible for the second time? Especially when it would drastically affect his life?

“You’re just dumb. Maybe if you shut your trap and did a little bit of listening for once, you wouldn’t be such a screw up.” Curtis’ words were harsh, but he wasn’t very good at sugar coating. He never was. “If you hadn’t been yapping at that woman, than we wouldn’t have missed the ride back. If you had listened to me when I told you that the party needed to stop, the house wouldn’t have been burnt. So listen to me when I say these pricks aren’t your friends. They’re using you as a mule, because if you take the fall---none of it’s their fault.” Curtis felt sick to his stomach, knowing that his brother was in this situation. That he was somehow in the wrong crowd, and there was a fear gripping his heart that in the time he had left Curtis’ side—that things had gotten bad. He didn’t want to go to his twin’s funeral. He enjoyed sharing his face, no matter how much he complained. He didn’t want to only see it when looking in a mirror, even if that meant his brother was in jail for months…or under the ground for the rest of his life.

“If you know you fucked up…stop fucking up. If you even actually give a shit.” He challenged.

Outfit

[CASPAR CRANE]

He hadn’t been in the dark since he was a kid.

What?

”What, do you sleep with a night light or something?” Caspar couldn’t help it: a laugh escaped his lips. ”What do you mean you haven’t…wait, is that what you’re afraid of?” He couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice. ”That’s why you’ve been grabbing my shirt and shit? The dark makes you antsy?”

He was having trouble believing it. Curtis Crane, poster boy of Baum Academy, reduced to a babbling little idiot by a lack of light. Wow. That was…different. Caspar laughed quietly to himself. Even Curtis had kinks in his armor.

“And you brought it with you on the field trip why?”

Oh God, here came the questioning. ”I said I was holding it for someone, Jesus! And I just forgot it was in my bag, okay? It wasn’t like, high on my list of priorities.” He felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle defensively. With all this scardey-cat stuff, he’d almost forgotten how stupidly judgmental his brother was. He was the embodiment of the elite and privileged patriarchy that was such a burden on today’s society. And the cops absolutely 100% did care if someone was dealing where searching and arresting was concerned, but Caspar was hardly going to dig himself into a bigger hole than he was already in by bringing that up to Mr. Straight-Edge here.

“I don’t know who the hell you’re hanging out with, but people that are trying to get you to be your scape goat aren’t your friends. They’re using you, and they’re gonna let you take the fall on your own.”

”What, you think Maz and Jake are my friends?” He laughed bitterly. ”You actually think I have…” His voice trailed off. He’d already had enough of his brother’s patronizing lectures to last a lifetime. The last thing he needed was another about how being a loner was unhealthy or whatever. ”Look, I’m not a complete idiot, okay? You’re not exactly offering groundbreaking insight here. I know they just gave it to me because they didn’t want to get caught with it. Any self-respecting toddler can see that. I just…” He shrugged. ”I don’t really give a shit, to be honest. I know I can handle myself with it. And it’s not like anyone ever does shit for me, so I figured I might as well like, build up some good karma or something. Alright? So will you lay off?” He glared in the opposite direction from his brother, hugging his backpack to his chest.

“ “Give me your backpack. You’re already in shit for burning down dad’s house. You can have it back when we get to the dorms.”

”No way!” The douchebag would probably throw it all down a well or something. But as he finally glanced back, he saw that Curtis was giving him that look. Oh no. He’d never, in his entire life, been able to say no to that look. Sighing, he rolled his eyes. ”Fine. Just let me…” He zipped the top open and fished out his ukulele. ”Here.” He handed the rest of the bag over resentfully. His fingers strummed the instrument absentmindedly.

“If you know you fucked up…stop fucking up. If you even actually give a shit.”

”It’s not that easy, alright?” he felt himself blurt out, before his mind had fully processed his brother’s statement. ”I mean, that’s easy for you to say. You’re like, the King of Baum, alright, you have everything, and I have nothing. You don’t know what it’s like to have…” all these stupid pent-up emotions and hormones and nothing to do with them. But that was the lamest sounding thing he’d ever thought. So he said nothing.