Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“He doesn’t speak.”

“What do you mean he doesn’t speak? He’s Papa!”

“Yes, I understand that,” Sister said dryly. “But the fact of the matter stands. He does not speak.”

“Then how—”

“He can still sing and perform,” she cut him off, “so that isn’t a worry. He is capable of speaking. He just won’t.”

“But why?”

Her lips curled up.

“I guess you’ll just have to ask him.”

Copia sighed and slumped into a chair.

“I don’t know,” Sister quietly told him after a moment. “I don’t know what happened to make him this way. He came to us in this state, refusing to speak. The ghouls will translate for him on occasion, but he doesn’t spend much time around them. You’d have better luck asking him to write it down. And by better, I mean no luck at all.”

“Why not? I’m Frater! I’m his brother! Why won’t he speak to me?”

“I don’t know, Copia,” she sighed. “You seem to be taking this as though he won’t speak to you, but you’re not special, sweetheart. He’s like that with everyone, including me.”

He could hear the hurt in his mother’s voice, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. On the one hand, he felt bad for her that her own son would not speak to her.

On the other hand, she had abandoned him first.

“Well, at least I’ll get some peace and quiet around here,” he grumbled to himself.

—

“It’s eh… nice to meet you?”

Copia cringed inwardly, hating that he couldn’t get out a simple greeting without being painfully awkward about it.

The man before him remained silent and still, simply watching him.

At least he didn’t laugh.

“So… I hear that we’re brothers,” he tried, unsure what he was hoping for, but he continued to receive nothing in return.

No, he did know what he was hoping for, and he was disappointed. He’d hoped that since they were twins, since they had this rare, unique bond, that he might be the exception. Maybe even his position as Frater would get the man to speak since he apparently communicated with the ghouls, but that didn’t seem to be the case either.

“Alright,” he sighed. “This has been a wonderful conversation, but I have some work I need to get done.” A lie. He had nothing at all to do and was bored out of his mind, but he couldn’t take the awkward standoff. “Congratulations on your ascension, and feel free to go and do as you please. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

With that, he walked back around his desk and dropped into his chair to look over his desk, which was empty save for the old computer monitor. Maybe he could play solitaire and watch the cards dance around the screen. It would be better than nothing.

He startled when the chair in front of his desk moved and a thin figure slowly lowered themself onto it.

“Oh… was there something else?”

Papa V Perpetua made no indication that he’d even heard him speak. He simply sat back in the chair and folded his hands in his lap.

“O—okay, sure, you can sit there. I’ll just… work, now.”

As though desperate to humiliate him, the universe decided that, despite the fact that he knew he’d turned the volume down, remembering hitting the button when his mother was scolding him for not listening to her just that morning, the volume had miraculously skyrocketed, and the game’s music filled the room while he fumbled to turn the sound off. Once he did, he looked forward and saw that Papa’s eyes were still lowered, but he had his hand hiding his mouth.

Great. Now his brother was silently laughing at him.

What a fantastic start to a relationship.

—

The rest of the day passed as usual, with the occasional clergy member making their way to his office to remind him what he could and couldn’t do and to give him an unimpressed look that also reminded him that he held the respect of very few within the church. At least, that’s how it felt. His mother swore it wasn’t true, but she was his mother. Of course, she would say that.

Though she’d never been one to sugarcoat his shortcomings before.

All the while, his brother sat silently in the chair before him. He tried to strike up a conversation a few times and received only a blank stare in return. A few of the clergy members who noticed him startled and gave him a polite greeting, but they didn’t even get the glances Copia did. At least Copia felt acknowledged. That was better than the nothing the others were getting.

Maybe their brotherhood did count for something after all, no matter how small.

Papa V did not budge from his seat until Copia decided to get some lunch. He stood up and was startled when his brother gracefully rose from his chair as well and waited for him to move. Once he did, Papa followed close behind. Copia went to the cafeteria and ordered a light salad before looking at his brother, curious to see how he would order. Instead of doing so, he just looked back at Copia patiently with his hands folded before him. After an awkward silence that Copia was starting to expect was going to become the norm, he walked off back to his office with his brother trailing close behind.

Once they settled back in his office, Copia hesitated to eat, worried it would seem rude when his guest had nothing.

Well, it wasn’t like Papa could call him out for it.

Still, it felt wrong.

“You can have some of these if you’d like,” he said, putting a cup of grapes in the middle of the desk to share. He knew it would be in vain, but it didn’t hurt to try—

Just as he went to stab some lettuce and chicken with his fork, Papa reached over, plucked a grape from the stem, and popped it into his mouth.

“Do you like grapes?” he asked, startled by the action.

Rather than answer, Papa took another grape to eat before settling back in his chair.

“Noted,” Copia murmured.

And he did note it. It was the first piece of information he’d gotten about the other man, even if it was a tiny one.

His brother liked grapes.

—

When it was time to leave, Copia was almost reluctant to go. His comment about peace and quiet had turned out to be accurate. It was peaceful and quiet with Papa around. He seemed to unsettle people, so they kept a distance, and those who came to his office did not linger the way they tended to do. It should feel isolating, but it was… nice. Copia was so used to being in the spotlight, to having people begging for even a fraction of his attention. It was somewhat of a relief to get a break from that.

Still, he wanted to get home to some true quiet, to have time to himself. His brother rose when he did and followed him to the door.

“It was nice meeting you,” Copia told him honestly. “Today was… good. I expect I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Twin mismatched eyes held his own for a long moment before Copia broke eye contact, oddly flustered.

“Okay, goodnight, Papa.”

He didn’t know why he expected a response, but he was disappointed when he didn’t receive a “goodnight” back. He would need to break the habit of expecting a response.

With that, they parted, Papa immediately turning to walk down the hall in the opposite direction from his brother. Copia watched him until he turned the corner, and then he made his way home.

—

The following day, there was a knock at his office door shortly after he arrived.

“Come in!” he called, curious to see who might be coming to him so early and hoping it wouldn’t be someone wanting to scold him for something.

To his surprise, it was his brother.

“Oh! Hi, Papa. I wasn’t expecting you.”

With no response, which Copia had once again forgotten to expect, Papa walked across the room to his desk and settled in the chair before it, folding his hands in his lap just as he had the day before.

And just like that, a routine was born.

Every morning, Papa came to Copia’s office and sat in the chair across from him, where he would spend the entire day. The only times he left were when Copia left. Thankfully, he didn’t follow him into the bathroom, but he did wait outside the door, which made Copia nervous. There was a pressure knowing someone was waiting for you when you were relieving yourself.

Copia was starting to feel like a mother duck with one little duckling of his own.

Papa did occasionally get up to leave on his own for a brief time. On one such occasion, Copia jokingly got up to follow him. To his surprise, Papa flashed a quick smile at him and then held the door to his office open so Copia could follow. With that visual memory in his mind, Copia started following his brother around as well until it became rare to see one twin around the abbey without the other.

Lunch went the same as it had on the first day, and it made Copia uncomfortable that Papa never ate, especially with how slim he looked. He started ordering extra food and sliding it across the desk for his brother to take, just as he had done with the grapes. It took a few minutes, but Papa would eventually reach over and begin picking at what was presented to him. Copia took note of what he consistently ate and what he left untouched, so he knew what to order in the future. The first time he ate everything set before him, Copia felt a strong sense of accomplishment.

It was so easy to fall into step with him, to adapt his lifestyle to include this stranger.

Except he didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. They’d never spoken, and Copia was beginning to accept that they never would, but he was starting to feel a bond with the other man. Every time he saw those painted lips curl up, he may as well have been getting a hug for the way it warmed him.

—

The day it happened, Papa had been lingering near Copia more than usual, standing closer as they walked and later peeking at the computer as he genuinely did get some work done. Frustrated with the tasks, Copia made some comment he was hardly aware of, rambling to himself as he often did and bitching about something or other, when he was startled by a breathy sound. It was soft and barely there, but it was so drastically different from every other moment Copia had spent in the presence of the man before him.

When he looked, Papa’s eyes were lowered, and he was shaking his head, still silently laughing. Copia felt a mix of pride and affection, the latter surprising him, but he’d think about that later. He considered addressing the sudden break in silence, but he worried it would make the other man shut up again.

Papa returned to his quiet stillness a moment later, anyway, and the rest of the day was spent just as peacefully as all the others had been when he was around.

From then on, Copia made it his mission to get his twin to laugh as often as possible. As far as he knew, no one else had been able to do so. He didn’t tell anyone, choosing to keep the precious moment close to his chest.

Papa remained silent the vast majority of the time, and Copia had still never heard him speak, but his brother smiled more when they were together and met his eyes on occasion, that same affection Copia had felt when he’d laughed reflected in his gaze.

He was finally starting to understand what it was like to have a brother.

Chapter Text

It was a choice.

People regularly debated around him whether it was or wasn’t, speculating about the cause of his silence as though he weren’t in the room. 

It was always interesting to see how people reacted to his silence. Did they get frustrated? Annoyed? Offended? Did they start treating him like a child or cut him off entirely, not bothering to talk to him at all? So often, people behaved as though he had no hearing, occasionally even raising their voice to talk to him. Some treated him like he was developmentally delayed, and he hoped those people were never actually around anyone who was, because their behavior was appalling.

You could tell a lot about a person from the way they responded to someone like him.

Regardless of how people felt about it, the result remained the same: Perpetua refused to speak, and he had done so for decades.

As a boy, he had grown up in the Catholic Church. He’d left when he was old enough to find his own way, and his desire to meet his parents eventually led him to the ministry, but his formative years were spent having psalms beaten into his memory by righteous priests, nuns, and others of the like. One such priest, Father Jim DeFroque, had taken it further than beating, tainting his body in the eyes of God for eternity.

Perpetua hated God for that. If he were there, he should have stopped it. And if Perpetua’s soul truly was sullied by the assault, that only infuriated him more. Why should he be punished for the actions of others? For surviving torture to his mind, body, and soul? Why should he be seen as tainted rather than one who would put their disgusting, greedy hands on a child?

Father Jim’s office was soundproofed so he may “speak to God in pure privacy,” and he loved utilizing that fact, notably when he was harming others or pleasuring himself.

Usually both.

When he had his private time with Perpetua, he always wanted him to be loud, to scream and beg and cry as he was used. He wanted God to hear them.

Perpetua had never quite understood that. It wasn’t until he was older that he wondered if Jim had been intentionally spitting in God’s face, if he was egging on his damnation. And if that were the case, he’d never know if that desire was born from rebelliousness or because he knew he deserved to burn.

The reason didn’t matter when the result was the same: he had to cry for God. And he did cry for Him. He begged Him for safety, to free him from his abuser’s grasp, to please, if nothing else, just make it stop hurting. It never amounted to anything, and even his broken little mind, which would latch onto the tiniest crumb of hope, couldn’t make up a reason other than that he really was tainted.

I know your soul is not tainted, even though you’ve been told so.

Perpetua closed his eyes as the lyric caressed his mind.

It was one of his favorites, as though Papa were singing directly to him.

Once he was free of Father Jim’s grasp, his interest in Perpetua waning as he matured, Perpetua made a decision on the very steps of the church before he left it for the final time.

No more.

It was a difficult choice to accomplish, even if it was effortless to make, but he didn’t care. He would neither cry for His help nor curse His existence. He was tired of being ignored, and God could not ignore words that were not spoken.

No, God would never hear his voice again.

Consequently, neither would anyone else.

—

As difficult as it was to maintain his silence at all times, it was a decision he had never come to regret.

Perpetua had no interest in being part of the world. He was content to sit back and watch and listen, letting people pass him by like he was nothing more than a wisp of smoke. He listened to those around him, heard their needs and desires, and then he watched them drift on by.

When he felt his calling to the church and papacy, he made a single exception to his vow: the only time God would get to hear his voice was when he was spreading the word of His most hated one to thousands of people at a time. But even during the rituals, whenever they were to begin, he expected to be little more than a projection on a stage to display the glory of Satan and encourage the people to seek damnation just as he had.

On only the rarest of occasions, he was required to communicate in some way, and he hated it. It felt wrong, like it went against everything he believed in. He knew different types of sign language, and he was capable of reading and writing, but he didn’t want to. So when he had to, it felt like his control was being ripped from him just as Father Jim and the church had stolen it away as a boy.

—

When he found out about his twin brother, Perpetua was fascinated. He prayed the other had not gone through the same torment he had, and he was curious to see what type of life he had chosen. He knew he’d been with the church and even became its leader, but he didn’t know what his brother was like. When it was time to find out, he held his breath, keeping his back straight as he walked into the office that had been made just for his brother.

Even though he knew they were fraternal, he was still surprised by the lack of resemblance between them. He didn’t see himself in his brother at all.

Except…

No, he did see himself. He just had to look for it, and he found it in his eyes. Not just the color, but something more. He couldn’t name what it was.

Until he could.

His brother was lonely.

It was evident in the way he spoke, in the tentative words and looks. He seemed almost shy with the way he shuffled his feet and avoided his gaze, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

It was rare for Perpetua to feel bad about choosing not to speak, but he almost did when his twin deflated at his silence and disappointedly dismissed him. Rather than go, he decided the least he could do was offer his presence as company. Copia had reacted with surprise, but he didn’t send him away, so he stayed.

He knew he had made the right decision, if for only his own amusement, when the solitaire music played and his brother turned beet red as he fumbled to turn it off. Perpetua tried to hide his laughter for his brother’s sake, but he doubted he succeeded, especially when he looked up again and saw him with his head in his hands.

The rest of the day was spent in mostly peace and quiet, further proof that he was where he should be.

—

After that first day, Perpetua found himself drawn to his brother’s office, always curious to see how he might react to his presence. He inevitably stuck around when he had nothing else to do, and they settled into a routine fairly quickly, with Perpetua staying close by his brother’s side and becoming increasingly reluctant to be anywhere else.

One of the main reasons for that was that Copia talked to him.

Just because Perpetua was silent did not mean he wanted to be isolated or ignored. While he didn’t mind his solitude, it was refreshing to have company, and his twin seemed the type to chatter regardless of whether anyone was around to listen. He was the polar opposite of Perpetua, and he liked that about him.

He also just liked his voice.

At the same time, Copia seemed content to sit in silence with him, often for hours at a time. But when he got up, he always told Perpetua what he was doing, and when they left the office together, he told him where they were going. It seemed instinctual, like he was hardly aware he was doing it, but Perpetua was grateful to be thought of.

Copia also offered him things: snacks, drinks, papers he didn’t want to deal with. He’d even once shown him blurry pictures he’d taken of some rats he’d seen in the yard the night before.

No one had ever spent so much time with Perpetua before, especially knowing they’d get nothing in return.

That was the most significant part of his being drawn to his brother. He never tried to make him speak. He didn’t question his silence. All of his questions could be answered with a simple look or action. The few times he did ask something that required a verbal answer, he quickly caught himself, rolled his eyes, and muttered something along the lines of “he can’t answer you, dickhead,” before moving on.

That always made Perpetua smile. His brother didn’t tiptoe around him or gush apologies when he forgot or made a mistake. He simply waved it off and moved on, which was incredibly relieving. Perpetua hated when people made a scene about him.

Yet another way Copia was different from anyone else in his life was that he touched him.

People made a lot of assumptions about Perpetua, and a common one was that, since he didn’t want to speak, he didn’t want physical contact either.

That wasn’t true at all.

He was not a virgin by any stretch of the word. He’d had his fair share of encounters, all of them beginning in clubs or bars where he could get away with not talking, coming across as mysterious rather than broken. He liked being embraced, though he couldn't recall the last time that had happened. He found comfort in the warmth of a body beside him, though it was rare for anyone to get close enough for him to feel it.

He liked being touched, but it happened so rarely that the first time Copia touched him, just a simple pat on the back as he walked past, Perpetua jumped in surprise and immediately wished he hadn’t. His brother retracted his hand like he’d been burned, though he acted like nothing had happened. Another comforting instance of him not making a scene. Perpetua knew he must have been thinking what everyone else thought, and he didn’t want that to be the case. Copia understood him so much better than anyone else ever had, and he didn’t want this misconception to linger.

To remedy the situation, the next time he passed his brother, he put a hand on his arm and gave a slight squeeze.

That simple action opened the floodgates, with touch quickly becoming the primary way for them to communicate, and Perpetua was delighted to learn how physically affectionate his brother was. A pat on the shoulder here, a squeeze of the hand there, elbowing his side playfully when he was in the way.

Knowing he felt any sort of affection for him at all warmed his heart.

He still had no desire to speak, but there were sometimes messages he wanted to send to his brother that he couldn’t with looks alone, especially if Copia wasn’t looking back.

If he found his brother slumped over his desk, he put a hand on his shoulder or gently rubbed his back, letting him know he was there for comfort and support, and smiling when Copia relaxed under his touch. When Copia was speaking to him and he felt a strong emotion, be it affection, sympathy, amusement, or anything else, he would reach over and lay his hand over his brother’s.

Perpetua had always been content to let the world pass him by, but not Copia. Copia made him feel like a person, something that was exceedingly rare in his life, and he didn’t even have to change who he was. It was comforting and grounding.

He hoped his brother knew how grateful he was to have him in his life.

Chapter Text

In the short time he’d known him, Copia took great pains not to listen to any of his twin’s music. It felt wrong, like he was overstepping a boundary. His brother didn’t want to be heard, so it felt wrong to listen. Even though the videos and record were released with the intention of being watched and listened to, he still avoided them. He’d also stayed away from the rehearsals leading up to the tour, waiting to watch in awe with the rest of the world as Perpetua presented himself for the very first time.

He also just wanted the first time he heard him to be in person. He wanted to watch his lips move and hear the words as they came out. He was sure he’d put the album on repeat once the first ritual was over, but until then, he kept himself in the dark, anticipating the grand reveal.

He had no idea what Perpetua sounded like. His laughter was almost always hushed, but when it was audible, it was higher than he expected. Gentler. He expected something low and rough from disuse, not sweet and clear, and yet that was what he got. Would his singing voice be the same?

He tried talking to his brother about the tour leading up to it, but he obviously got nowhere. He couldn’t help the concern that rose in his gut as the first ritual approached. How would he do? It would be incredibly nerve-wracking for anyone, but the fear had to be higher when he never even spoke to people. How could he sing in front of thousands?

The lights were dim as they walked their way backstage, the ghouls flanking him and his brother, and the walls were like a dam holding back a sea of screams and cheers, the sound so loud and yet muted at the same time. He glanced at Perpetua as they went, but his face was impassive as always. He looked almost relaxed, which Copia knew could not be the case. Even now, knowing he had no part in this show, Copia felt the echo of nerves. He was certain Perpetua had to be feeling something far amplified.

His suspicions were all but confirmed when he noticed his white-knuckled grip on the silver cup he’d carried everywhere for the last few days like a safety blanket.

“You can do this,” he told his brother once they were given a brief moment alone as everyone prepared to take their places on stage. The crowd was far louder this near, so he had to lean in close to speak to him, something in his stomach fluttering at the proximity. “They’re going to love you. They already do.”

Perpetua didn’t respond, and that only made Copia more nervous for him. He thought he’d start opening up just before the ritual if for no other reason than to make sure his voice was prepared, but he remained silent.

What if he couldn’t do it? What if he choked up? What if he was about to humiliate himself in front of thousands?

As the time counted down, Perpetua began to look more and more focused, lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders even as his chest rose and fell faster than usual. Copia wanted to wish him “good luck,” but he decided against it. He used to enter a zone before performances, and he didn’t want to throw his brother off.

When Perpetua stepped out onto the stage to stand before the camera that would project him onto the screens before the curtain fell, Copia held his breath.

This was it.

It began with a sweet, childlike voice washing over the crowd, hushing everyone in the building as they listened to the choir join in. The lights were blinding, the music was deafening, and there Perpetua stood, all alone, about to do something so beyond out of his comfort zone.

And then, he began to sing.

The dawn of prosperity

A faded scar

An ended calamity

A slaughtered tsar

Copia was floored. His voice was clear and strong, without even the tiniest waver. It stole his breath away, and he assumed the crowd felt the same way as they’d quieted again after their initial screams at seeing the face on the screens.

And then the shredded curtain fell.

Even after his years on stage, Copia was stunned by the roar that followed, the noise somehow managing to increase in volume when Perpetua waltzed out on stage like he’d done it a thousand times before.

He looked entirely at ease, totally in his element. If Copia didn’t know him, he could have never been convinced that the new Papa spent every day of his life in silence, nor that he’d never performed before.

When they’d first met, Copia had been secretly bitter that his twin looked so much younger than him, but now he looked even younger still. He was energetic and animated, and he looked so happy. He had these broad, delighted smiles that seemed so unlike him, yet they looked natural on his face and were undeniably genuine. Copia soon found himself beaming along with him as he watched his brother dance around the stage.

He was where he belonged.

As it went on, Copia became engrossed in the ritual. Perpetua was captivating, and he put on an unbelievable show. When he was raised in the air donning vestments far lovelier than Copia could have imagined, he was dumbfounded.

He was also dumbfounded by how similar they sounded. He’d performed those same songs in the same way, and if someone played this to him, he would fully believe them if they told him he was listening to himself.

They really were twins.

After he’d quickly changed out of his vestments into something that looked more comfortable, he walked back out there and started to speak.

Somehow, hearing him talk so casually was even more startling than his singing voice. His words flowed easily rather than being stilted or unsure. He tripped up a few times but quickly caught himself as though it were a regular occurrence. Copia smiled at the cheesy intro to The Future Is A Foreign Land, and he couldn’t help wondering what it might be like to have a conversation with his brother. What was his type of humor? He got a taste of some of his speech patterns and mannerisms, but what else might be hidden away from the world?

When an intimately familiar tune started up, Copia’s eyes widened. He’d never performed this song before. It was too near to his heart. But now, the closest person to his heart was parting his lips to sing it to an audience of thousands. 

When the summer dies

Severing the ties

I’m with you always

Always

This time, it wasn’t just Perpetua that struck him to his core. It was the audience. They knew every word, and they gently sang along, snapping in sync and making a shiver go down his spine. He could feel the love and emotion they were radiating, and it echoed in his chest.

Once the song was over, Copia cleared his throat and looked down, blinking hard. He was fine. He just needed a moment.

Year Zero was an entire experience of its own, as it always was. Copia could feel the heat from the flames even backstage, and it reminded him of all the times he’d felt it close up, channeling his god and projecting him to their people. It was clear Perpetua felt something similar, and Copia felt a surge of pride as he passionately guided the crowd in worship, especially when the song was followed by He Is.

Rats was just as fun as it always was, and he was amused by the way his brother trilled his r’s in the same way he did and looked like he was about to playfully pounce on those closest to the stage.

The start of Mummy Dust was a signal to him to go relieve himself. It felt awkward to watch his brother perform it just as it had been awkward to see his uncle do the same, so he walked away with an unusually warm face, coming back just in time to see the cannons fire the confetti and bills into the air.

The appearance of the purple jacket surprised a laugh out of Copia. He loved those jackets, and it amused him that his brother followed along with the trend and had his own made.

Twins indeed.

As the ritual drew to a close, Copia was undeniably disappointed, wishing he could watch his brother for hours more. The long stretch of the tour seemed far more enticing now. As his brother and the band took their final bows, Copia clapped along, just as eager as the audience to applaud their performance.

He hadn’t been sure what Perpetua would be like once the ritual was over, but he saw the immediate change from the performer to the man he knew as he left the stage. His shoulders sagged, and he closed his eyes for a moment, his smile fading to the stoic look he usually wore.

When their eyes met, Copia hurried to his side and pushed everyone else away, giving him some breathing room. The gratitude was evident on his brother’s face and far from his lips, which were once again firmly closed as he stepped forward.

And then he dropped his forehead onto his shoulder.

Warmth bloomed in Copia’s chest, and he smiled against the nest of curls. They’d never been this close, and yet it felt perfectly natural, like they were meant to be that way. He reached up to stroke a hand over his brother’s hair as he spoke into his ear.

“That was incredible,” he simply said, not sure how else to phrase it. He couldn’t think of a word powerful enough to convey what it really was.

When Perpetua nuzzled his neck, the metal of his mask smooth and warm against his skin, Copia felt an intense rush of affection for him as he recognized the “thank you” for what it was.

He wanted to praise his twin further, to tell him what watching him had been like, but first, he wanted to get him some place where he could relax. Copia knew how draining these rituals were, especially the first one of a tour, and this man had just revealed a hidden part of himself to the world. That level of vulnerability was surely something that needed recovering from.

As soon as they made their way to the dressing room, the dainty thing sank into an armchair, curled up, and was asleep in moments, not even bothering to remove his jacket or silvery mask.

Copia stood and watched over him for a little while, propping himself against the doorframe as his eyes trailed over the slack features and relaxed form. As he did so, what he’d felt during Year Zero returned to him. He’d never really felt pride for another person before, but that was undoubtedly what he was feeling now. He thought he’d be bitter and jealous watching Perpetua up there, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. He was so proud of his brother. His performance would have blown anyone away, but seeing it after knowing the man as he was in his everyday life, completely nonverbal? It made it that much more special, and Copia was thankful he got to be there to witness it.

The love and passion his brother displayed, along with his incredible talent, meant everything to him. He had to leave one day, to step aside and let someone else become Papa, and there was no one better suited to take on that mantle than his twin brother.

As he walked off to procure a blanket for him, Copia finally felt at peace with the closing of his chapter.

Chapter Text

As his first ritual approached, Perpetua felt calm and confident. He was nervous, of course, but no more than anyone would be in such a situation.

He hadn’t been forced into the position. He had chosen it, and he knew what he was signing up for when he made the decision. He’d already sung for the recording sessions, and he’d been required to do so during rehearsals for the rituals. He wouldn’t have done any of it if he didn’t want to. His faith and his desire to reach the people were enough to inspire him to open his mouth and allow himself to be heard.

As he stood backstage with the audience a short distance away, though, he did feel his nerves start to rise. He kept rubbing his fingers together and bouncing on the balls of his feet, his jaw clenched as he awaited his time. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was afraid of. He truly believed he could do it and that he would get through it, but his heart raced nonetheless.

“You can do this.”

Perpetua’s breath hitched, though he didn’t look over, trying to stay focused on the stage. He hadn’t heard his brother approach, but he felt the tiniest release of tension in his shoulders having him there.

Copia leaned in close, probably not wanting to have to shout to be heard. Perpetua found himself leaning in as well, though not necessarily to hear better. He just always found himself drawn to his brother, and he’d take any opportunity to be close to him.

“They’re going to love you,” he said firmly. “They already do.”

Those words made him close his eyes and take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He knew his reception had been exceptionally positive, but being told that by his closest family member—the closest person in his life—made it feel all the more real. Copia wouldn’t lie to him. At least, he hoped he wouldn’t. And he was a good judge of character.

With his brother’s words in mind, Perpetua finally stepped out onto the stage and prepared himself to sing.

And he did.

He was finally getting used to hearing his own voice. It had been incredibly off-putting at first, and he felt like he was betraying himself, but he’d forced himself to keep going despite those feelings. He hadn’t even been sure he’d be a good singer. He’d been in the church choir as a child, but that was a long time ago, and his voice was not yet fully mature.

It was now, though, and he was relieved when the weak, wavering notes he’d struggled with in the beginning were totally absent. His confidence grew as he went on, his body relaxing as he let himself do what he’d been called to.

Even after all the preparation, rehearsals, and repeated viewings of past rituals, nothing could have prepared him for the crowd’s reaction to him. Part of him had expected a sort of trial phase, where they would decide whether or not he knew what he was doing, but no. He was enveloped in warm, welcome acceptance the moment he stood before them.

Before Peacefield was even over, Perpetua had the confirmation that performing for them was easy. It felt no different than performing for an empty arena, at least in terms of stress. If anything, it was easier. He didn’t have anyone directly speaking to him, telling him what he was doing wrong. He didn’t have to answer any questions or give his opinions on anything. He simply got to sing and feel the joy of the crowd wash over him.

It felt almost comfortable, far more comfortable than any other time he’d been made to sing or speak. And when the audience sang back to him, he felt like they were one, a single being radiating love and passion.

Let God hear this.

He did have to pause each time he left the stage and take a moment to steady himself, but when he returned, he felt as though the whole world was embracing him.

He loved every second of it.

Despite how much he loved it, relief washed over him once the ritual was over and he was allowed to leave. The exhaustion hit him all at once, even as his heart still pounded and adrenaline continued pumping through his veins. His limbs felt heavy, sounds became too loud, and the lights too bright; he was becoming increasingly overstimulated with every passing moment.

When he saw his twin like a beacon of light amongst the diligently working crew, he walked right up to him and dropped his forehead onto his shoulder, only realizing that the mask was probably uncomfortable when it jabbed his own face. He didn’t move, though. He didn’t want to pull away.

If anyone would understand that, it would be Copia.

“That was incredible,” his twin told him as he petted his sweaty hair.

Hearing that from his predecessor and favorite person made something flutter inside him, and he nuzzled his brother’s neck in thanks.

For the rest of that evening, Copia utilized his power as Frater Imperator, which he rarely did, and essentially acted as a bodyguard for Perpetua, keeping anyone from bothering or speaking to him. Somehow, he managed to do it in such a way that Perpetua didn’t feel like something was wrong with him. He knew there wasn’t, but people often behaved as though he was incapable of doing anything independently, as though he wasn’t a grown ass man. Copia had never made him feel that way, and tonight was no different. If anything, he probably seemed like the odd one with the way he glared and shooed people away, throwing crumpled pieces of paper at them here and there when they tried to get their attention. If Perpetua weren’t so drained, he’d laugh.

When he finally got to a place where he could be alone, he found the nearest cushioned surface to curl up on and close his eyes. He breathed out through his nose, settling back into a comfortable silence. His jaw and cheeks ached, and it was a relief not to have to move them anymore. As much as he’d enjoyed performing, there was still a part of him screaming to close his mouth and swallow back any sound that might try to escape. And now he could do that in peace.

He didn’t mean to fall asleep. He’d just wanted to relax for a few minutes before getting back up to change out of his clothes and maybe find his brother again, just to hear his voice, as it was calming to him. He hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep at all until he opened his eyes to find a thick blanket wrapped around him. He knew exactly who put it there, and he smiled as he snuggled into it for a moment.

Then he sat up straight and stretched his arms over his head. As he did so, he noticed a slip of paper float to the floor. Curious, he picked it up to see what it was.

To his surprise, he found a note written for him.

Congratulations on your first ritual. I never wanted to leave the stage, but now I see I was simply making room for something better.

Good job, Papa.

—C

Perpetua stared at the note for a long time, taking the words in. There was so little written, and yet it felt like he’d just been given the world.

The Papa he looked up to thought he was worthy to take his place. His brother was proud of him.

He had Copia’s blessing.

Pressing the note to his chest, he leaned back and closed his eyes again, letting the words and the blanket comfort him.

He couldn’t have asked for a better first ritual.

—

As the tour went on, Perpetua found little time to spend with his brother. He wished he could, but his time was almost entirely taken up by either performing or preparing to do so. Copia was always there at the end of rituals to shoo people away from him, but that was about the extent of the time they shared.

When they were finishing up the European leg of the tour, he was beyond relieved. As soon as they were back at the abbey, he went to his room and flopped onto his bed with a sigh, so grateful to be back, before promptly passing out.

Later that evening, a knock at his door woke him up. He straightened the mask he’d forgotten to remove on his face and went to open it to find his twin brother with a large paper bag in his hand and a nervous expression.

“I figured you probably wouldn’t have eaten yet since you looked dead on your feet when you stepped off the bus,” he began, before gesturing to the unkempt state of him. “I can see I was correct about you falling asleep without even getting undressed.”

Perpetua’s lips quirked up, charmed that his brother had put so much thought into his well-being.

“I doubted you had anything around, so I figured I’d get us both dinner.” He shuffled his feet. “Is that okay?”

Perpetua stepped aside, and it took only a moment before Copia walked into the room and looked around. Perpetua quickly scanned the room, making sure there was nothing out of place or that might embarrass him. Satisfied with what he saw, he looked back at Copia and watched as he settled on the couch, pulling containers of food from the bag and placing them on the coffee table.

He walked over and sat close beside him, leaning forward to see what was being presented to him.

“Take your pick,” Copia said, gesturing to it all. “I’ll eat whatever you don’t want.”

Before him was an array of bastardized Chinese food. He wanted to sit back and look pointedly at his brother until he decided what to eat himself, but he was tired and hungry, so he took the first container of noodles he saw and settled back on the couch, forgoing the fork in favor of the wooden chopsticks provided.

Copia did the same, and they ate together in peace and quiet.

That was until Copia’s nature caught up to him and he started chattering about seemingly whatever came to mind. Perpetua barely listened, knowing him well enough now to tell that he was just trying to fill the silence. He simply allowed the voice that had become a comfort to him to soothe his mind, his brother’s cadence warming him as much as the food.

When they finished eating, Copia asked if he wanted to watch a movie or something. Leaning forward, Perpetua grabbed the remote and handed it to his brother before sitting back again. Copia skipped through some channels before settling on some cooking show that seemed far more intense than was necessary but was entertaining nonetheless.

His full belly and the comfort of his brother made the sleepiness return, but he didn’t want to just go to sleep after Copia had been so thoughtful. In an attempt to show that he was grateful and that he was glad to have him there, he shuffled closer until their sides were pressed together and he could tilt his head onto Copia’s shoulder.

After a moment, Copia rested his cheek on his head. Smiling, Perpetua closed his eyes and let himself relax.

From there, yet another routine was born.

A few nights a week, Copia showed up at his door with a bag of food and something to entertain them with. At first, it was some of his favorite movies, but when he learned Perpetua didn’t have a gaming console, he was scandalized and brought his own for them to use. He left it there when he went home, and Perpetua was curious if he had a second one or if he was just leaving it so that he could see his twin whenever he wanted to play.

The thought made him smile.

There were a few multiplayer games that they tried together, but Perpetua was terrible at them and didn’t find much joy in them, apart from when things got competitive and they ended up shoving at each other and laughing as they tried to mess up the other. Instead, he enjoyed watching Copia play, squeezing his arm and smiling at him whenever he finished a particularly challenging level or defeated a formidable boss. Copia beamed back and leaned into his side in thanks.

Perpetua loved their nights together. He liked to imagine them as children who had never been separated, getting to simply be kids together. It sobered him up more than once, remembering the harsh reality of his childhood. Copia always noticed the moment he started to retreat into himself and would ask if he was alright. Warmed that he could tell the difference in him despite the silence never changing, he’d lean into his side as he often did to feel the comforting and solid frame of his brother.

The first time it happened, Copia tentatively put his hand on his back. In no time at all, that evolved to him wrapping an arm around his shoulders and holding him close.

Soon, Perpetua started sinking onto the couch and immediately tugging Copia’s arm around him until he no longer had to do so, as his brother would hold his arm open for him to snuggle up against his side.

Before Copia, Perpetua could not remember the last time anyone had shown him physical affection. Having it initiated by his brother, he realized just how touch-starved he really was, and he began seeking out his touch more and more.

They returned to their previous schedule of spending each day in Copia’s office, and Perpetua often gave his brother a hug when they got up to go anywhere. Copia had been startled at first, but he quickly accepted it as the new norm and immediately hugged him back whenever he walked into his arms. Perpetua felt safe there, safer than he’d ever felt with anyone in his life.

Maybe it was because they were twins. Maybe it was just because of who Copia was as a person. Whatever the reason, Perpetua came to view Copia as his safe space, as the one person he could completely let his guard down around. He didn’t bother with his mask or paint in his presence, content to simply be as he was.

That was the core of it. Copia let Perpetua be himself in every sense of the word. He could exist as he wanted to, in pure comfort and ease, and not have to feel excluded or like he was the black sheep.

That acceptance meant everything to him. Copia meant everything to him. They’d only known each other for a few months, and several of those had been spent on the road with minimal time to spend together, and yet he’d come to feel like his twin was home.

Perpetua loved his brother, and he hoped his brother loved him too.

He was pretty sure he did.