Title: God is Cruel

Author: darko28
Characters: Dick, Cassidy, Casablancas parents, Woody, a little Logan and mention of Sean.
Word Count: 2,540
Rating: PG-13 (just to be safe) for thematic elements

Disclaimer: I don't own Veronica Mars. If I did, Cassidy would most definitely not be dead.
Summary: Cassidy Casablancas is slowly disappearing.
Spoilers: Through 2.22, although it's AU. Pre-Series.

Author's Note: Let's see, this story is inspired by Joseph Arthur's "A Smile That Explodes" and a book called "The Schwa Was Here" and a repeated line from the Stephen King novel "Desperation".

Those who have crossed

With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom

Remember us – if at all –not as lost

Violent souls, but only

As the hollow men

The stuffed men.

-'The Hollow Men', T.S. Eliot

I.

It's a nice funeral and everything.

There are flowers and pictures and crying classmates everywhere. His mother and father have even managed to stand in the same room for almost an hour without the assistance of alcohol. The preacher has only nice things to say about Beaver, even though what he did was wrong and the general consensus among the catholic half of the family is that he's going to hell (or he might already be there, Dick considers, since the "accident" was over a week ago and it's probably not that long of a trip anyway).

From his seat in front pew, Dick listens to the homily and the sounds of assorted family members crying all around him. It's a cornicopia of sorrow and it's smothering him.

Yet, he's not crying or sobbing or even staring blurry-eyed down at the floor, like Logan is next to him.

Because he knew something like this was bound to happen. He had prepared himself. His brother had been disappearing for years and he knew it wouldn't take long before he was gone for good.

"God is cruel," the preacher declares from the pulpit, his face set in a stony resolve. "He is fair and he has a plan for everyone, but in every plan is an inherent cruelty."

Dick has to agree wholeheartedly.

II.

His existence was temporary. Dick could feel it. Even as a baby, his brother was like a shadow.

To his mother, children were like playthings. She dressed them up, showed them off and when she tired of them, the nannies swooped in and carried them away.

Cassidy was almost a year and a half old before he started walking. Every couple of days his mother set him down on the floor and tried to coax him to her with 'goos' and 'gaas' and promises of new toys if only he would act like the other babies. If it had been Dick, a fifty dollar bill held out like a lure would have sufficed. Even as a child, money said what words couldn't.

One morning, Mama Casablancas had just called for the nanny to come and take her broken toy away when Cassidy pulled himself up, using the expensive mahogany coffee table for support, and took a tentative step towards his mother.

She clapped excitedly, like a little girl about to receive a present on her birthday.

That was when Dick burst into the room, screaming with laughter as the nanny (Abigail? AnnSophie? Alice? Or had they been onto the B's at that point? So many came and went that Dick hardly cared) chased him, severely out of breath. As he slid past the couch he took his jelly covered hands and pushed Cassidy with all his might, whooping with joy as his younger brother fell down, bumping his head against the table on the way down.

Mama Casablancas and the nanny held their breath, waiting for an explosion of tears, a Dick-style royal tantrum. But it never came. Cassidy sat silently on his behind, his eyes focused on the ground, looking as pleasant and placid as usual. He didn't cry out. It was as if to simply exist was enough for him, but even that had already begun to slip away.

Dick was five years old before he started to feel it. There was this transient glow about his brother, like if you blinked, even for a moment, he would be gone and the world would continue to spin on its axis regardless.

He was disappearing, slowly but surely and Dick, even as a child, braced himself for the inevitable.

III.

"Look both ways," Dick warned automatically as they approached the crosswalk, not that he ever bothered to look himself. At nine years old, he was unconcerned with things like life and death and the lack of mercy that fast moving cars showed to little boys who got in their way.

There had been at Logan's all morning, setting off highly illegal fireworks in the wooded portion of the Echoll's Estate. Mrs. Echolls had warned them not to burn their fingers, but even her mildest warnings were accompanied by a soft, understanding 'boys-will-be-boys' smile. They had left with all body parts intact, not that anyone besides the newest nanny would care if they didn't.

Barely listening to his brother's warning, Cassidy nodded, turned his head both ways and slipped his hand out of Dick's. He started ahead as Dick lagged behind. There were some things that just weren't cool and one of them way crossing the street with your dorky little brother. By this time, the idea of a disappearing brother seemed like a stupid Kindergarten magic trick to Dick. It's not like one day you could have a brother and the next day he would be gone; although, sometimes Dick couldn't see him when he was standing right next to him, and other times when the light from the dining room window hit him just right he looked almost transparent.

Dick saw the car before Cassidy did. It was a blue Volvo, an '84, almost certainly from the South Side of Neptune. Inside a young woman who had just finished her grocery shopping was humming softly to herself. Through her windshield she could see a blond boy crossing the road, far enough to her left that she could drive right on past.

Breaking into a run, Dick knocked his brother onto the sidewalk right before the car zoomed by. Shaking, Dick wrapped his arms protectively around Cassidy as they sat on the grass, trying to comprehend what had almost happened. It took him a moment to realize that his brother was sobbing into his shirt.

"She c-c-couldn't see muh-muh-me," Beaver sputtered into Dick's shoulder. He let out a phlegmy cough and Dick patted him comfortingly on the back. "It won't be long before nuh-nobody c-c-can."

Dick tried to come up with something encouraging to say, but all he could think about was how hugging his brother felt like hugging the air.

IV.

Dick and Cassidy had a silent agreement to keep the incident on the crosswalk to themselves. Dick wasn't sure if he was scared that his parents would be angry that he wasn't holding Beaver's hand or if he was scared they wouldn't care at all.

Cassidy joined the little league team that spring. At first, it all most seemed to help. He would come home with dirt on his cheeks and knees, bursting with excitement, wanting to tell anyone and everyone what a great coach he had. Did I tell you about how he said I had a great pitching arm, Dickie? Did I tell ya?

One time their father actually took off a day at work to come and watch a game. The sharks won, as per usual, and Cassidy even caught a foul ball. After the compulsory Gatorade and fruit snacks post-win celebration, Cassidy came running over to where Dick and his father were waiting, a smiling exploding on his face.

"I caught the ball," he exclaimed as his father swooped him up and spun him around.

"You sure did," their father agreed as he pulled the brim of Cassidy's hat down over his eyes playfully. Dick and his brother laughed, mostly because it seemed impossible to them that their father could actually be at a baseball field during working hours. He didn't even seem to care that he was getting dirt all over his good suit.

It was the last good day.

After that there were no more smiles that exploded. No more talk of Mr. Goodman and his awesome coaching techniques. There were only days when Cassidy would show up an hour late from afternoon practices, shivering even though the temperature hadn't gotten below ninety degrees in almost two weeks. Days when he would lock the door to the bathroom and would refuse to come out, even though Dick made it very clear that he really needed to take and leak and he was probably going to piss himself before he made it to the downstairs toilet.

Dick didn't want to think about his re-disappearing brother, so he thought about other things. Like how Logan was going to have a boy-girl party for his birthday this year and they might even play spin the bottle. Or how sometimes he could see Madison Sinclaire's bra strap when she wore a white shirt to school. Those things were important, too.

One afternoon he came into kitchen, shaking the sand out of his shoes and he went. He had spent a productive afternoon with Logan and Sean, searching for the reputed "nudie" end of the beach where supposedly skinny hot chicks and fat rich men romped around without bathing suits.

Noticing the flashing light on the answering machine, Dick grabbed an apple out of the fruit bowl on the counter and pressed the button, simply assuming that another maid had quit via a passive aggressive phone message.

Beep. Hello, Casablancas! This is Woody Goodman, Cassidy's baseball coach. We had a practice this afternoon and I didn't see the little guy, so I was just calling to make sure he was feeling alright. Just a reminder, our next game is Saturday at four. Hope Cassidy is able to join us; I'd like to start him as pitcher. I really think he's ready. Alright, you all take care now..

"Beaver?" Dick screamed up the stairs with a mouthful of apple. He could hear the water running in the hallway bathroom and took the stairs two at a time.

"Cassidy?" He knocked lightly on the door as the water turned off. There was a small splash and then a sob. Dick turned the knob, found the door unlocked and threw it open.

A drop of water fell from the faucet and landed with a plonk in the water below. The tub was filled almost all the way up and at first Dick couldn't see anyone. He blinked and when he opened his eyes, there was a Cassidy, huddled in the corner of the tub, shivering, wearing his sopping wet baseball uniform.

Speechless, Dick stared down at his little brother. When a ripple ran through the water, it seemed to run through Cassidy, too. His skin was so pale it almost seemed to blend in with the white tile behind his head.

On impulse, Dick stepped into the tub, still fully dressed, wincing at the heat of it. A scalding hot tub of water and his brother was still shivering? Suddenly Madison's bra strap didn't seem so important.

"This is worse," Cassidy whispered as Dick sat beside him. "This is much worse than being hit by a car."

"Don't be stupid," Dick admonished, possessively pulling his brother's head down onto his shoulder. "Don't be so stupid."

V.

Cassidy made Dick promise not to come to the game on Saturday.

"In case I mess up," he explained with a small smile. "You'll make me nervous."

So Dick pinkie promised and spit swore and called Logan to see if he wanted to
go try out the matching surfboards their father's had gotten them for the 4th of July party down at the beach later that week. He figured the quickest way to the beach was the path that went right past the baseball field and he wasn't really reneging on his promise if he didn't stay long.

"Love you, Dickie," Cassidy told him as he picked up his baseball mitt and walked out the backdoor. He slammed the glass door shut and turned, giving Dick a small wave before he disappeared from sight.

It was weird, Dick would realize later. Hadn't they mutually agreed last year that they were too old for brotherly affection? There was a sort of finality about those three words and the way he said them that made Dick want to run after him and make sure he got to the baseball field alright, but then Logan rang the doorbell and those thoughts ran from his mind.

They were half way to the baseball field when they heard the first ambulance. It zoomed past them down the street and neither thought much of it. Probably one of the older '09er boys showboating in his new car. God knew it happened all the time.

The hairs on the back of Dick's neck started to stand up when he saw the crowd around the corner where the crazy woman in the blue Volvo had almost hit his little brother a few months before.

"It was terrible," a young man was telling a police office with a notebook as the paramedics ambled down from the ambulance. "He just walked right into the street in front of a car. Whoever was driving just took off, didn't even slow down. I hope they catch whoever did it. You want to know something strange, though? The kid, he didn't look left or right or anything, just stepped right off the sidewalk like he was jumping off a ledge, like he was expecting to fall into the sky or something. Sounds weird, right? He just had this sad little smile on his face like he knew exactly what he was doing. But a little kid like that – he couldn't have…you don't think he did it on purpose, do you? A little fella like him? God, it's just awful to think about isn't? The saddest thing of all is that he was all dressed up in a baseball uniform. He must been on his way to the game at Sanduskeag Park. Golly, who's gonna tell his teammates?"

Dick fell to his knees and emptied his stomach onto the ground.

No one had to verify. He already knew. Deep down, he had always known.

VI.

Everyone thought it was a horrible accident until their mother found the note. It was meant for Dick, but he couldn't even bear to open Cassidy's door, let alone go far enough into his room to see the paper marked DICKIE sitting folded on his pillow.

Dear Dickie, it said in Cassidy's unmistakable chicken scratch. I'm sorry. I hope you're not mad at me, but it seemed like the easiest way. I tried to do it in the tub that afternoon when you found me, but I was too scared and it hurt too much.

I don't feel real anymore. Whenever I walk I can't feel the ground. When I breathe I can't feel the air.

I don't think you were supposed to push me out of the way. I think I was supposed to get hit so I'd be saved from something worse. And now I'm making things right because I think there are even worse things waiting for me if I stay.

Love you (even if it's not cool),

Cassidy (Beaver)

So, yes, the funeral is nice. The flowers and pictures and the pity are nice. But Dick doesn't need it. He doesn't need his mother's denial or his father's whiskey. All he needs is the light from the dining room window or a ripple in a tub of water to remember that death is final and concrete and now so is Cassidy.

And years later when allegations are thrown around and boys who once wore their baseball uniforms with pride and gushed about how awesome their coach is become targets, will Dick realize his brother was right.

It was easier this way. It was easier to go out like a smile that explodes than to disappear into nothingness.