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Rowan.
It's the name Casper had erased from his mind all those years ago. The name of the brother he loved and lost and grieved. The name he convinced himself he had forgotten in a spiral of addiction and desperation.
It's the name of the person in the Loser League that looks most like Casper. The person that immediately recognized him upon their first introduction, but that he couldn't identify in return.
Because this Rowan—it's not his brother. His Rowan is dead, likely buried in some unmarked grave back in Louisiana, discarded and forgotten.
His Rowan—his soft, gentle, kind little Rowan—never stood a chance of surviving foster care. Casper knew the instant they were separated that Rowan would die. Hell, Casper barely managed to survive, and he's always been the stronger of the two of them.
He didn't need confirmation that Rowan was dead. He didn't want it. His heart had broken enough without proof that he was right.
So this—this person, this thing wearing his little brother's face, it's not his Rowan. It's not the Rowan he raised until he was torn from Casper's grasp by the people who promised never to separate them.
It can't be. He won't let it be.
It's so much easier to tell himself that this isn't his brother, that his brother is rotting away in a grave somewhere back home. He's already processed those feelings, accepted that grief, and then buried it deep where he never has to think about it again. He's already put himself through Hell to get over his brother's presumed death, and he's not going to let himself suffer like that ever again.
This is just another trick by God. Casper's always been His favorite person to torture, after all.
None of this is even real.
Not fake Rowan, not the apocalypse, not the face staring back at him whenever he catches his reflection. It’s all a nightmare, a hallucination, his own personal Hell.
He could kill himself right now and it wouldn’t even matter. It wouldn’t change a thing.
But how could he die and leave his little brother behind? After spending so long grieving over a life that was never lost to begin with?
His little brother. His Rowan.
Rowan.
The name Casper has been trying and failing to forget since he was thirteen years old and the brother in question was ripped from his arms. The name of the brother he loved more than he’s ever loved anything else in his life. The name he could never forget, no matter how hard he tried.
The name of his little brother, alive and well.
Casper should be relieved. He should be so fucking grateful that God gave him a second chance with the most important person in his life.
But he can’t bring himself to feel anything at all.
Even as Rowan begs him for any sign that Casper hears him, that he recognizes him. Even as Rowan openly sobs into his chest. Even as Rowan shuts down, avoiding Casper at all costs because it hurts too much to face the brother that won’t even look him in the eyes.
Despite everything, Casper watches from the sidelines, unable to do anything to comfort the little brother he’s wanted nothing more than to comfort for the past eight years.
And he hates himself for it. He hates himself for not even having the strength to talk to Rowan.
Part of him hopes Rowan hates him too. He knows he’s weak for even having the thought, but it would be so much easier to ignore someone that doesn’t love him back.
And there it is. The admittance that, even though he’s given zero indication of it, he does love Rowan. How could he not? That’s his brother. But fuck, he can’t say it. He’s not strong enough, not brave enough. He’s not good enough. Not deserving enough.
Because that’s the real issue, isn’t it? He doesn’t deserve Rowan’s love and devotion. He doesn’t deserve a little brother that spent eight years straight looking for him, clinging to nothing but the hope that his older brother was alive and searching for him too. Because all Rowan got from Casper in return was a middle finger. A great big “Fuck you,” when they reunited for the first time since their separation as kids. And Rowan deserves so much more than that. So much more than Casper.
So Casper shuts in on himself, shuts Rowan out, and pretends like he’s okay with that. But he isn’t okay with that—he’s never been okay with that—but he doesn’t have the words to tell anyone. He can’t afford to, not when Rowan looks at him like a kicked puppy every time their eyes meet.
But Rowan will move on over time. He’ll give up eventually.
And Casper… Well.
He won’t be happy, but that’s nothing new. He’ll get over it.