Work Text:
- denial
Joseph had seen it coming weeks, no months, away. The way his twin, Claude, had grown paler and spoke less each day. The way it seemed to get harder for him to move to simply create a smile. The way he just can’t seem to get out of bed. And yet, he had shut these signs away from his mind.
All that, just so he could stare blankly at his parents when they told him the news. When they told him he could come and say goodbye. Just so he can stare them blankly as his head refuses to register the words and simply reply with a “No. What are you talking about?”
He had refused to come out of his room for the next two weeks. The maids left food and water outside his door. He only opened his door to collect those. Two weeks later, Joseph had shakily exited his room and stumbled right into his mother’s arms.
He was handed black clothing, and had the gold ribbon that tied his white hair replaced with silver one. His mind couldn’t register why, but his mouth refused to part and ask for the reason. Bright blue eyes seemed rather dull as pale hands fingered with seamless black cloth.
It was only when his eyes met the coffin made of a wood he couldn’t recognize, did the dam his mind built crash and fall. For the first time in months, Joseph broke on the inside. He held it together for the solemn part of the funeral, though he didn’t manage until they were away.
~~~
“Jos!” Claude tugged at his twin brother’s wrinkled blue sleeves. He looked just like him: White hair tied back with a gold ribbon, bright blue eyes, pale skin…… And yet now something divides the two. His body was see-through and translucent. Although he could still interact with items to a degree, he knew -- through experience -- that these actions did not reflect on the actual world, and will revert the moment he left.
Joseph didn’t look like a human boy at all, even though he had four limbs and a humanoid face coupled with a humanoid head and torso. His eyes lacked the glow Claude was so used to. His skin felt cold even though Claude’s ghostly hands would often clasp the other within his own. Joseph’s deathly still posture and slouched over form didn’t resemble the boy who would chase Claude around, or clutch Claude’s sleeves so tight in the dark because he was terrified.
No…… Joseph looked numb and hollow. Like a shell without a soul, or a sculpture which had taken the form of his twin.
That day, like any other belonging to those two weeks, elicited no response despite the incessant tugging and actions for attention that Claude made. He only really moved to fetch his meals left outside the door.
Claude saw for himself the shaking shoulders and downcast yet wide eyes that Joseph had displayed during his funeral. The moment his twin stepped out of the venue, Claude had to watch him cry harder than he had in his entire life so far, muffled as the twin that was still alive buried his face in his knees, which were hugged close to his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Claude mumbled. “I’m sorry I left you alone.”
---
- sorrow
For the years until Joseph became a young-adult, unless you had known him before Claude fell ill, you’d never would’ve guessed he was capable of being happy. You’d never would’ve guessed those eyes used to shine, nor those lips capable of curving into a genuine smile.
Joseph would look into the mirror and not see his own face, but Claude’s. He would feel the tears begin to spring in his eyes. His hands would grip whatever was closest and shake as his whole body trembled. He had never been good at dealing with grief.
One of the only solace he ever had was art, and not merely painting. He had dove his head into literature, both fiction and non-fiction alike. Being of noble heritage, Joseph had access to such luxuries. At one point, he had even got his hands on a sword and practiced with it. His swordsmanship cannot be compared to the true masters, but it’ll do.
And yet, Joseph found himself constantly distracted by the longing for his other half. He would often cast his gaze outside the window. He was no longer scared of the dark, but oh, what would he give to be able to grip his twin’s sleeves or hands tightly as the latter led him through the night while he was terrified.
~~~
Claude clung onto Joseph in the following years. His ghostly frame following the now-older twin wherever he went. If it weren’t for Joseph looking nearly the same and that Claude had been with him, he would’ve not recognized him. Claude still found it in himself to love Joseph though, no matter how far he had strayed from the twin he grew up with.
The sound of sobs stabbed at Claude’s heart, and the trembling of Joseph’s body did not help at all. This wasn’t the first time Joseph had sobbed, but it was the first time he had sobbed because of Claude.
He wished Joseph could feel his ghostly arms wrapped around him, could hear his ghostly words of comfort, could see the ghostly tears that too ran down his cheeks. He hated seeing his twin in a mess. Shaking a bit, Claude gathered himself a lot quicker than Joseph did.
“I’m sorry,” Claude hiccuped, “I’m sorry I made you sad.”
---
iii. bargaining
Joseph still hadn’t resolved the ache that sometimes attacked in painful jabs in his heart even when he reached adulthood. Only this time, the sadness had slowly changed itself into bitterness and a small twinge of hope that came in the form of a small device able to record moments in time with perfect clarity.
“I wonder…… If souls……” The now-adult Joseph muttered under his breath, eying the camera in front of him. One of the first prototypes there are that he labored on. Fiddling with the knobs at the side, and bending down a bit before snapping a picture. A black and white replica of the scene in front of him.
No painting could ever hope to capture the scene in such precision and clarity, although it may have vibrant color (Joseph was confident that given several more years or decades, the photographs might come out in color too) while the photograph he held only black and white, with varying shades of grey.
To the outside eye, it might’ve looked like Joseph picked up a nice hobby. Just something to pass the time and distract from the grief that once -- and still was -- tangling his thoughts and actions. However, Joseph was self aware that this was no simple hobby, this was an obsession with a goal that seemed impossible to achieve.
That is, until some years after his obsessive tinkering and research, where even his family’s staff started to pick up on it. They were taking leaves much more frequent than they used to. Joseph shook the stray observation out of his mind. He was shaking, blinking away tears that came from fatigue with prolonged periods that he spent without sleep.
Joseph was certain that he had found it, after years of deliberate lack of sleep and obsessive research with the camera. He coughed, hands shaking a little and leaning against the wall to keep from falling down. He did anyway, sliding down from his position on the wall, eyelids drooping and chest rising and falling evenly.
The next afternoon, Joseph was in possession of a photograph film depicting a lifelike replica of a man. He was sure he had reached it, a soul trapped in a photograph. He was shaking yet again with…… A feeling of accomplishment? Joy? He wasn’t sure anymore.
But still, being able to capture souls within his photographs is one thing, being able to find the soul he wanted to bring back while being able to let them out is a whole other story. However, being able to accomplish what he did was an impressive feat on its own, and one it’s one step closer to his goal.
He needed more people to aid in his experiments. He wanted -- no, needed -- to bring him back. He had to, he’d been hoping beyond hope for so many years, and now there was a glimmer that was actually visible. He couldn’t let it go at that point. He wouldn’t be able to look at himself in the mirror without going mad.
Was it a year? Or two? Or three? Or ten? Joseph didn’t pay mind. His fingers trembled as it gripped the pencil tightly, softly reading aloud what he wrote in a quick pace, “...... Silver nitrate can be replaced by silver chloride. The paper coated with silver chloride should be placed continuously in the dark box.” He stopped his rambling for a bit before the words blurred together into barely intelligible, but to him it made sense.
Joseph coughed, eyes watery, before noting down. “The fumigation effect of mercury vapor is unexpected. Even ordinary workers can do the same…”
His writing in his diary grew ever messier and urgent, “Beautiful but fleeting. Even the most advanced painting techniques cannot perfectly reproduce the scene from the Black Box. Perhaps this is the limit of humans.”
He found himself writing to Claude in his diary, “The maids and workers have recently become strange. It seems that they're whispering about something and more of them are taking sick leave. Lacking help from others, the experiment had to be put on hold because of the uncontrollable shaking of both my hands and feet. Claude, I can sense the approach of old age.”
Was it old age? Joseph can’t remember. He’d lost track of time.
He had known that the populace was mad at him, to say the least. He leaned against the wall, and let out a breath of complex emotions with tinges of resignation and defeat, although majorly overruled by grief and disappointment instead.
“Claude, my end is very much like yours.”
~~~
To say it didn’t hurt watching Joseph spiral into obsession and turn to what was essentially murder would be a lie, at least to Claude. In other circumstances, Claude would’ve found the fact that Joseph had invented something like this impressive. Well, he still did, it’s just the drive and reason why he did so had the feeling of worry overwhelm any positive emotion he felt about this whole mess.
“Jos- Please-” Claude tugged uselessly at Joseph’s sleeves as the latter smiled at the man. Deceptive, and although Claude knew the man was not exactly well loved, he still had nothing to do with this. Being a ghost, the young boy didn’t age physically. His twin’s form now towered over him, and even if he was alive, he wouldn’t have been able to do much anyway.
“Just stop…! You’re not being rational,” Despite knowing his words would never reach, Claude still let them slip. Watching his brother smile despite having done an evil deed brought a new wave of helplessness over the ghost boy. He had been trying for so many years, and what effect had it held?
Claude had freed the poor man’s soul, when Joseph had passed out sometime later. The image stayed, so Joseph wouldn’t know. He had kept doing this for the coming years.
It was painful to watch Joseph degrade from a healthy young man into someone with shaking hands and feet in the span of a few years. His eyes seemed dull to an empty shade of black, there seemed to be cracks forming at the side of his face, and his skin seemed to be ashen grey. Claude was fairly certain his brother still looked human to the other humans, as nobody had commented on it.
He had to watch as the cracks spread to his arms, although his form seemed to still be held together. It worried Claude because he had no idea what they were supposed to represent. Was it the state of Joseph’s soul? His mind? Or was Claude just hallucinating for years on end?
He watched Joseph lean over a table, writing in his diary and lab notes, mumbling what he was writing under his breath. Claude had looked in curiosity, but he didn’t understand most of the complicated and technical terms that his brother noted. He didn’t understand what they were supposed to do, or what replacing one with the other would improve.
His diary though, Claude could understand plenty well. It was the same diary Joseph had as a child, now that he looked closer. He had obviously skipped writing in it for years, but had picked up the habit again recently.
“Claude coughed so much that he could hardly sleep. Father said to wait for just another month and we would arrive.”
His heart clenched at the elegant handwriting that still had room for improvement. That was so long ago. Claude thought for a while, although he preferred his health as a ghost, for Joseph’s sake, he liked it better when he was sick and alive. At least Joseph didn’t destroy himself like he’s doing now.
The diary entries were few and far between after that, mostly containing just a line or two of the same recurring theme: “I miss him. I want him back.”
This time, Joseph finished writing in his diary and sat down with a sad smile that was soon accompanied by a sigh. His gaze was sad and mixed with both resignation and determination at the same time.
“Claude, my end is very much like yours.”
It broke his heart to hear his brother say that, with the man’s shaking form and grip. It was the first time in years that he had looked this resigned. Claude found a comfortable spot beside him, eyes brimming with tears that he let fall without protest.
“I’m sorry,” Claude cried. “I’m sorry I can’t come back.”
---
- anger
It was at this stage that things changed drastically. Joseph was no longer in England, he was living in a manor with other individuals scarred by their own past. It was quite a bit to take in, at first. There was a little boy who was headless, and even Queen Marie Antoinette was there, although the former royal kept up no pretense and seemed far more casual here.
Still, he didn’t make many attempts to socialize with the others. He just didn’t feel like doing so. (He still wasn’t completely rid of his grief, nor handling it the right way) He couldn’t get his brother back, not even now in this manor that is anything but normal.
He hits harder than most of the other Hunters. Apparently even the Mercenary, who can run for some more times after being hit twice, gives out when withstanding two of Joseph’s hits. One syringe cannot completely rid a survivor’s after a hit from him, unlike other Hunters.
Joseph wasn’t blind, nor deaf. He could tell that the Survivors disliked it when they noticed his cameras around their playground. He could tell they were terrified at the beginning, but slowly got used to him appearing beside them, serving a terror shock.
Was there a particular reason why? Joseph didn’t realize he was harboring bitterness and anger at the world until one day he had sent off a Survivor on a chair. He guessed this was his subconsciousness’ way of expressing them: through violence in a never-ending game.
He grit his teeth and stepped on the fallen pallet, glaring at the Mercenary who just dropped it. He was already injured, and yet still found the strength to do so. The man was edging away, backing to the window. That was bothersome, he’d vault that and loop him.
He took several steps closer to the window, and, as expected, the Mercenary vaulted it. With a small grin and furrowed brows of concentration, he was suddenly by the window, tucking away a photograph after a quick, subsequence slice. The Mercenary fell down, new blood wetting the blade that Joseph wielded.
What luck it is, that the basement was just by the house the two were in? It’d be hard to rescue a rescue from the basement, especially if Joseph had taken a picture right after placing the Mercenary on the chair.
It was a flawless win that round, very much like many others of his games.
Was he angry? He didn’t even know anymore. All he knew was that he enjoyed hitting particularly hard and playing particularly seriously.
~~~
The manor was a strange place, that Claude was certain. It’s a place filled with strange energies that he can’t identify, only that it made his skin crawl before he got used to it. It’s surreal, that people can’t die permanently in this place or the games this place supervises (At least, not yet). Not only that, but the other Hunters are just so intriguing.
Quite a lot of the Hunters were supposed to be dead. Like the pair of gentlemen he often saw wandering around talking to one another. He noted that one of them disliked rainy days and the other glares at every bit of rope he sees. Then there’s a queen who’s definitely supposed to be beheaded. He’s fairly certain Joseph should be dead too when the angry mob stormed in his house, storing away his own self somewhere according to the device he created.
Claude found himself curious about this unknown place that would soon become familiar. Joseph had picked up on how to master hunting the Survivors, knowing what tactic to deploy against what Survivor. He had the edge of knowing who’s participating while the Survivors would have to wait a while before they realized he was the one hunting.
To a less perceptive eye, it might’ve seemed like Joseph got better. Despite his attempts to avoid the others, a Hunter or two would’ve grabbed him on whatever event or help to settle a dispute. Sometimes they’d even asked him to take a photograph for them, though Claude could tell that Joseph would get annoyed at these interactions and acted very much unlike himself.
He winced as he watched the poor Mercenary fall forward with a cry, clutching his wound. Although he knew that he’d be healed when he got sent back (Or otherwise bleed out), he can’t help but imagine the pain. Especially since he knew his brother hit harder than the other Hunters, probably as a way to release whatever pent up emotion he had left.
The boy in the young form of a ghost leaned against the door leading to Joseph’s room, now closed. He didn’t want to disturb his brother resting after a game. The Priestess was in that game, along with the Mercenary, the Doctor and the Lawyer. He finished the game very frustrated and tired.
Could the manor be something that helps his brother through the grief that Claude himself had caused? He was lost in his thought until-
“What- Did Miss Yidhra turn you into a child as some sort of joke, Photographer?”
Claude’s head snapped upwards, blue eyes wide met with a confused, violet pair. The voice was definitely referring to him, but how could they see?! He’s a ghost, and dead, and countless other things.
---
- acceptance
“I- What?” Claude blurted out, “How can you see me?! I’m dead!”
The man whom the voice belonged to cocked his head, glancing to the other man beside him that Claude had just realized was there as well, with a smile that showed understanding. He had long black and white hair (Which was majorly white) that were tied back into a braided ponytail. While the man beside him was like the opposite version, with black and white hair (But was majorly black) that were also tied back into a braided ponytail. They seemed a little familiar somehow.
“Ah, that explains it.” The man smiled, “Seeing dead people are considered as a sort of a unique trait of mine. I’m Bi’an, my friend over there is Wujiu.” Claude blinked as something clicked, he had heard mentions of these two gentlemen and remembered seeing them around before leaving to follow Joseph around. They’re one of the ones supposed to be dead, and the one with more black hair was the one who hated ropes.
“I’m Claude,” Claude introduced himself. “Claude Desaulniers. Joseph is my twin brother - or maybe he’s just Photographer to you.”
“You two were close?” Bi’an questioned. Claude nodded.
“That explains a lot,” Wujiu added. “The Photographer did not seem to be able to handle grief well.”
“It’s been years……” Claude mumbled, then he looked up. “Can you help? You can see me right? Then-”
Bi’an coughed awkwardly, and Wujiu laughed. He grew serious again, although this time a ghost of a grin on his face. “I’m sorry, but Bi’an is not the person you should ask to help with grief. He hung himself when I died. It’s no laughing matter, but it looked stupid in retrospect.”
“Oh.” Claude just blinked. He didn’t expect that, although it could be hinted. That’s why Wujiu hated ropes!
“You want to help your twin, but he can’t see you.” Bi’an changed the subject. “You can interact with objects, but it will not reflect upon the real world. So nothing you could do can help him, and he clearly can’t handle it on his own.”
“How do you even know so much about the situation I’m in?!” Claude asked. “It’s weird! A lot of the Hunters here should be dead, but even they can’t see me!”
“That is because they don’t have souls that cling onto them,” Bi’an explained, “Mine and Wujiu’s souls are currently residing inside our umbrella. However, although only one of us can exist physically outside the umbrella at once, we can still see each other. The only thing is that the one residing within the umbrella is in a similar predicament as you. I assume you can see Wujiu? He’s currently in the umbrella.”
“There’s a legend that the realm of the dead are the closest to the realm of the living in…… October 31st was it in this new calendar?” Wujiu chuckled, “You may want to try your luck then. It’s the most likely day that you’ll be able to communicate with your brother. Best of luck, we have a match soon. We do not want to keep Miss Michiko waiting for too long.”
Wujiu and Bi’an left shortly after, leaving Claude alone to digest this new information. He decided he wanted to explore the manor more. Maybe those two weren’t the only ones who can see ghosts, after all not every Hunter here was human. And maybe he could wander on the Survivors’ side. The portal thing that the Priestess uses just can’t be a product of Science, and how could the Seer’s owl still be alive at late match? He’s also plenty confused about the Perfumer’s perfume, and the Enchantress’ skull.
Conclusion he got from his roamings: The Dream Witch who introduced herself as Yidhra and the Feaster who introduced himself as Hastur can see him as well, though it is because they are deities. The Grave-Digger and the Embalmer can also see him and the actions he made, although it’s a lot harder to grab their attention, given they’re still human. Claude guessed that it’s because they worked with death. He still giggled at how bad he scared them both at one point when they were both in the same room and he yanked on the chair that the Embalmer was sitting on.
Anyhow, he got them to figure out who he was by repeatedly scribbling on the table. Of course the marks would disappear, but not before the two caught sight of it. They should keep quiet about it for a bit, until if he decides to make himself known anyway.
He counted the days. He had sought out Bi’an and Wujiu several times over. When he got bored, he’d either climb over to the Survivors’ side and talk with those two, or visit the deities when none of the others were available.
There are some really nice people in the manor. Claude absentmindedly thought, watching the clock tick past midnight.
October 31st, Halloween. He had confirmed with the deities that Halloween was indeed the closest day where the realm of the Dead and Living would meet, and that he and Joseph couldn’t see each other before because the regular world simply had too thin concentrations of magic. But here in this manor where everyone is trapped in a state of rewind, it’s just thick enough for him to be seen.
~~~
Something felt off. Joseph’s not as blind nor shut off as some people in the manor had perceived him to be. He breathed in the chilly morning air, the seasons seemed to be without order within this manor.
He shrugged it off. He hated having morning games. His lips curled into a small smile, remembering the times when he had to be physically dragged out of bed by his parents. Sometimes Claude would do it. Joseph was never the morning person among the twins, it was always Claude who was the one able to wake up on time.
Knuckles white on his sword-hilt, he made quick haste to the closest Survivor. The poor guy hasn’t spotted him yet, far too focused on decoding the cipher. He saw a small metal box with a small light bulb lit, signalling that the cipher was part of a connection.
Amusement found its way into Joseph’s mind and he slowed slightly in his approach. What exactly did Balsa run into, having dyed his hair blonde? And instead of his usually black and white striped top, he instead wore a blue and white top. What exactly were the Survivors doing on the eve of Halloween?
It was clear that the “Prisoner” found the new hair slightly off-putting, sometimes removing his hand to ruffle through it, although those hands would always fly back just in time to complete a calibration successfully.
Quite unfortunate for the “Prisoner”, having his cipher positioned near the nearest camera. He jumped when his beating heart started going off the charts, cursing as some of the sparks belonging to a failed calibration flew in his direction. A quick glance met Joseph’s own black ones, and he bolted. He made doubly sure to sever the connection, luckily he hadn’t made much progress on the cipher yet, if he activated the camera world none of these survivors would be able to complete a cipher before it ended.
Mid-loading the photograph film, Joseph froze. There was a faint shout in his ear, like a thought, except it wasn’t. He brushed it off, eyes focused on his camera and hovering over the trail that the “Prisoner” left behind.
Then he heard it again. He stopped in his tracks, eyes scanning his surroundings frantically. He thought he heard a huff of annoyance.
“Joseph Desaulniers I swear if you’re actually this dense-”
Joseph blinked. He had finally placed where that voice should’ve been slotted in his memory, he tried to call out in return. Hoping for confirmation, but his tongue felt tied and his throat felt dried. His mouth opened and closed, unable to force words out of them.
“Oh…… You can’t see me?” A mumbled apology. “But you can hear me right?!”
A numb nod, and Joseph could hear a cheer. Something flickered in his sight. A familiar face. His own face from his childhood, but Joseph knew it didn’t belong to him. But then it was gone just as suddenly and quickly as it came.
“Claude……?”
Then he felt a tug on his sleeve, and the boy flickered back into view. He looked just like the day he passed, but healthier. His cheeks instead of deathly pale, sustained a shade of pink. Joseph would’ve thought he was never sick at all, except Claude was transparent. Like…… A ghost.
“Jos!” The ghost of his twin grinned, eyes bright. Joseph stiffened. He didn’t realize his eyes felt wet until those tears were already rolling down his face. He blinked, which didn’t help the situation before.
“I- Jos- Don’t cry,” Claude hurriedly blurted out, “There- I’m back. You’re still such a crybaby, huh?”
“You-” Joseph felt a bit of childish insolence find its way up his throat. “I don’t exactly cry a lot. You’ve been dead and you suddenly- Just… Appear. In the middle of a match.” He wiped those tears off with his sleeve, and even though he’s positive his sword would just pass through Claude harmlessly, he made sure to avoid it coming into contact with the ghost.
“I didn’t think that through,” Claude laughed, feeling tears down his own cheeks. It had been so long since he managed to talk with his brother in a proper conversation that wasn’t just him trying to console Joseph without those words actually reaching.
Claude turned serious again, finding the words he longed to say and apologies he longed to be heard surfacing once again. He struggled to find the words. “Um…… I’m sorry. For leaving you alone.”
Joseph’s eyes widened in confusion and understanding, and only a small twinge of guilt was visible. “You shouldn’t apologize for that, you can’t help it.”
“I know…… But I was watching you-” Joseph’s form stiffened further. Claude was what. “You were- Really different. You cried a lot for a bit after my funeral. You were really sad. Then you got angry at people who didn’t deserve it. Then you started chasing after something you can’t reach. Then you got angry again when you can’t chase after that anymore, but I think it’s at yourself. I mean- I’m sorry, it’s just-”
To Joseph’s surprise, his hands found that he could come into physical contact with the young ghost, who looked surprised too. Joseph’s shoulders slumped, and a sigh escaped his lips. “Really…… I should be the one who’s sorry. You weren’t the one who…… Destroyed me, so to speak. I did that to myself.”
“Still-”
“Are we doing this again?” Joseph’s lips curled into a smile, reminiscing. This was hardly the first time the twins pulled off troubles or pranks, and the two kept putting the blame on themselves. Claude paused, although his body was that of a child, his mind wasn’t that of one. He allowed a laugh, realizing this was but one more atop their pile of antics, this one lasting particularly long.
“Stop acting dumb then!” Claude demanded. “You’re so bad at this. At least let me help you!”
“To be fair, I haven’t been able to sense your presence until now.” Joseph smiled. “But if you insist, I will oblige.”
Joseph let out a breath containing mainly relief, but with a multitude of other emotions mixed within them. Sadness? Grief? Defeat? He didn’t know, but it felt like a weight lifted off his chest, or a spike that has been there for so long he didn’t realize it was there suddenly removed. That sort of relief.
He leaned against a wall when he found the “Prisoner” looking his way. That was uncharacteristic, and the latter didn’t seem to notice Claude, either.
“I’m just…… Tired,” Joseph sighed, shoulders slumped.