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Kusuke knew he was special five year old. He knew it, and his parents knew it, and his teachers knew it, and even those dumb kids that he had to go to school with knew it. (He still can’t believe he had been forced to endure a year in that stupid school full of stupid kids before people eventually realized he needed to be moved up. Like way up.)
And he knew that his new brother was gonna be special too, even if his parents kept telling him to “Not be disappointed if she isn’t as smart as you when she grows up a bit, okay, Kuu-kun?”
And seriously, how dumb did they think he was? The baby was very obviously a boy, no matter what those stupid doctors said. He just knew. Seriously, he thought he might as well conduct the ultrasound, make sure that someone competent could make sure his baby brother was going to be just fine.
So he took offense that his parents (his sweet, oblivious, well-meaning parents) thought he’d be jealous when his baby brother— which, duh, he called it— turned out to be just a little more special than he was.
No. That wasn’t it at all. If anything, he was elated.
“Kuu-kun, watch over your brother, okay?” His mom called, as she and his dad walked out for a date.
Kusuke yelled back an affirmative just for show. They all knew there was no real point in watching over the newborn, not when he’d managed to complete his first errand just last week. But still, he supposed they wanted the reassurance.
Kusuke stared at Kusuo (Kusuke picked that name, thank you very much, it was ten times better than the name Kuriko, which they wanted to use when they still thought the baby would be a girl) and blinked, before speaking.
“Do you want to talk yet?” He asked. “You’re a few weeks old now. I started talking when I was a month old.”
Kusuo stared back, drool gathering at the corners of his mouth.
“That’s a no, then.” He frowned, “Then… how about you try to practice your telepathy?”
For some reason, call it a hunch, Kusuke knew the baby understood him. Kusuo knew how to speak, how to read, write, and understand what was being said to him, at least, Kusuke was about 99.9999% sure of it. If not that, then the baby at least knew how to grasp emotions straight from others.
“I’ll think of something, and you can think right back. You won’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
Are you sure? A childlike gurgle reverberated through his brain, and Kusuke knew this was a response.
“You’ll never have to speak again if you don’t feel like it,” Kusuke promised, “As long as I’m here, I’ll understand everything you say. Or don’t.”
Kusuo shared a tentative smile, all gums and saliva and then it’s gone in a second.
***
Mom wanted to enroll Kusuo in some asinine preschool. It would be useless, of course, because if Kusuke was a genius, Kusuo was a prodigy, a million and one times smarter than him, practically omniscient and all-knowing with the way he acted. Kusuo wouldn’t ever tell Kusuke how much he knew, but Kusuke was sure Kusuo knew a lot more than what he was letting on. He’s three now, and Kusuke is eight, and the family’s gotten used to the whole psychic power thing when they really shouldn’t be.
Dad liked to take advantage of Kusuo’s powers, and Mom said Kusuo should try to hide them in case something dangerous happens. Kusuke was still pretty firm on his stance of using the powers for good, and getting Kusuo in his grade so they can do super cool stuff together when Kusuke goes to college abroad.
Kusuke had brought it up a million times, and Kusuo shrugged it off, urging him to just mind his own business with his robots and blueprints, but Kusuke was gonna crack him eventually. He was already working on some power enhancer equipment for Kusuo, and some cool robotic designs that would work as support items. Kusuo and him could be the coolest scientific duo in the world, and Kusuo just wanted to ignore it! Unbelievable!
It’s just— Kusuke knew what it was like to be so fundamentally different. And he knew how annoying it was when people didn’t take it seriously, and he’d be damned if his little brother wasn’t able to reach his full potential because Mom wanted him to experience a normal childhood.
Well screw a normal childhood, screw everything regular and ordinary because Kusuo was nothing but extra ordinary! Why squander the kid’s potential by teaching him to hide what made him so amazing?
Kusuo could help so many people, could help everyone on the planet earth if they cultivated his power, made him something to be in awe of, make the world realize just how phenomenal he was. If the world saw him the way Kusuke saw him.
Kusuo heard this from Kusuke all the time. Kusuke actually thought his baby brother was getting sick of it, if the glares and purposeful ‘misuse’ of his powers in Kusuke’s presence were any indication.
I’m simply stating a fact. You are unbelievable. Kusuke huffed, shrill and annoyed, directing the thought towards the stoic kid who sat at his mom’s side.
Kusuo stuck his tongue out. Leave me alone. And enroll in your loser middleschool.
Kusuke made a point of rolling his eyes, not missing the attitude in the way Kusuo smugly said middleschool . The truth is, Kusuke wanted to skip ahead to highschool, but everyone advised his parents to let him at least try to spend time with some kids a little closer to his age.
So dumb.
***
Something happened. Something happened, and now Kusuo is quiet— not quiet in his regular, snarky way, but quiet in the sense that he didn’t even take the bait when Kusuke tried to engage him in a dumb competition they knew he would lose.
And it’s frustrating . Because Kusuo could read his mind just fine, but Kusuke was clueless as to what went on in his little brother’s mind.
Mom and Dad say to just leave the youngest alone, but Kusuke’s never been good at leaving things alone. He was made to tinker with things, pull things apart to figure out how they worked and put them back together when he was done.
It’s frustrating and horrible because Kusuke couldn’t do that with Kusuo, no matter how hard he tried.
“What’s wrong?” He prodded, cautious as he sat next to him on the bed. “Tell me, so I can make it better, okay?”
You can’t. Kusuo denied, sounding as miserable as his mostly-monotone voice could be. (He’d been working on it for the past few months now, trying to perfect the art of nonchalance and average behaviour. Kusuke didn’t see the appeal.)
“Well.” Kusuke paused, knowing that if he couldn’t fix it in one hour, his parents could at least make it feel better.
It wouldn’t. Kusuo denied, It was my fault. I shouldn’t have— A pause . It was my fault.
Kusuke thought to respond, before Kusuo was interrupting his train of thought.
Mom and Dad wouldn’t understand. They would just say it was my fault. The downtrodden six year old stared down at his hands. Kusuke fumed.
I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. And even if it were, that’d only be because you couldn’t help it. So it wouldn’t be your fault. Kusuke insisted. You’re smarter than that. I know you are.
But—
No buts, Kusuo. You’re smart, but I’m even smarter, so I know I’m right.
You don’t understand…
I’m your big brother. I always will. I promise.
Kusuo didn’t respond.
“Kuuuuusuo.” He said this aloud, poking at his brother’s soft cheeks.
Kusuo stared back, irritated, and then twitched, and—
“ No, nononono— “ Kusuke rushed out, gripping tightly onto Kusuo’s shoulders. The kid recently discovered that his teleportation had no limits, and had a small tell that Kusuke was exploiting to the max, because goddamnit, he wouldn’t let his baby brother teleport to hod knows where just to get out of conversations he didn’t like. (He dreaded the day Kusuo would master the power, and Kusuke would no longer be able to tell when his brother would just… disappear. He was already drafting some designs for undetectable trackers, which were getting harder and harder to hide.)
You can’t promise that.
“So talk to me. What’s wrong?” He begged again. “If I know what it is, I can fix it.” He promised.
Kusuo’s eyes stared at him, unblinking, before: If I couldn’t fix it, you wouldn’t be able to. No matter how smart you are.
“Try me.” Kusuke said seriously, already walking towards his tiny little desk in their shared room. It was covered in sticky notes and scrap metal and things that no eleven year old should have.
Kusuo sighed. Good grief… Someone at school. They found out about my powers, and…
“And that’s not a good thing,” Kusuke finished. He still didn’t agree with the sentiment, but understood that sometimes, what was right to him wasn’t always right to Kusuo.
Kusuo nodded.
“Told you I would understand. How’d they find out?” Kusuke asked.
I healed them, and I thought they wouldn’t remember. But they did, and… and they told everyone, because they were being bullied.
Kusuke didn’t really see the connection between those two things, but he figured he couldn’t really understand how the mind of his little brother’s dumb friend worked anyway.
“Would it cheer you up if you could go back in time and stop it from happening?” Kusuke mused, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper.
Can’t, butterfly effect. Already tried.
“You underestimate me,” Kusuke sighed dramatically, but nodded, “Something to make him forget, then.”
You can do that?
“What, you can’t?” Kusuke snorted, before turning to his paper, “Thought your powers would fix it.”
Kusuo rolled his eyes. Memories are tricky.
“Of course they are.” Kusuke snickered, drafting up a design of a robotic crowbar, one that would be able to wipe an individual’s memories of a certain subject or event, and would let the victim reframe what had happened with their own conclusions.
Isn’t a crowbar too threatening?
“I thought it’d look cooler,” Kusuke explained.
Mom would be mad if she saw you giving me a crowbar. Kusuo countered.
“Fine. A banana.” Kusuke settled, erasing his progress, before pausing. “Your stupid friends would probably eat this if they saw it. Degenerate monkeys . I’ll make… a nanana object instead.” He sniffed.
A nanana object. Kusuo repeated, in disbelief.
“You heard me. Or should I make you mechanical ears since yours aren’t working just right?”
Shut up. And my friends aren’t stupid.
Kusuke didn’t bother to dignify that with a response, instead, he said, “Do me a favor and get the things on this list. And make sure you get some foam padding, too, unless you want the metal to concuss your friends and make them even dumber.”
Kusuo stuck his tongue out at him but disappeared nonetheless. In a matter of hours, Kusuo had a new, handy-dandy memory-wiping nanana object, and Kusuke had the satisfaction of knowing he’d managed to cheer his baby brother up.
***
Kusuke liked coffee. It’d become a sort of guilty pleasure, stealing his dad’s cup and getting Kusuo to whack Dad upside the head to test the nanana object. Purely experimental, of course, he assured Mom, when she’d seen it happen once. (Kusuo had to whack her head with the object too, because she’d gotten pretty heated about it, face screwing up in a way that made the house’s walls glow red.)
He loved coffee, and for some reason, Kusuo was trying to get in on the action. And it was adorable! Really, it was, was nice to see that he was rubbing off on him in some way. But Kusuo was only seven, and psychic or not, you were not supposed to get a seven year old hooked on caffeine, no matter how reserved said seven year old was.
Kusuke knew this because when he was seven, he drank too much coffee, and accidentally decimated a town a few miles away, and it had taken a very long time (three weeks) to create a robot that would wipe any proof of its existence away. (This is why it had taken him only a day to create Kusuo’s little nanana object.)
Anywho— yes, it was cute to see Kusuo try to steal sips from Kusuke’s cup. Try being the keyword. Psychic or not, Kusuo was still a little baby brother, and every single big brother had the innate ability to keep their younger sibling from doing something stupid. Most of the time, at least. If they weren’t doing the stupid thing with them.
“Nope,” Kusuke said again, flicking a beetle-sized Kusuo off his hand and onto the table. “I always have my eye on you. No matter how small you are. No sneaking into my cup like it’s a jacuzzi.”
Kusuo groaned— or at least projected the grating noise into Kusuke’s head, before returning to normal size. It worked on Dad.
Well, Kusuke responded, sparing a conscious look to their father, who was sipping on a new cup of coffee as though he’d never lost the first one, He’s stupid. But you know that we’re different, right?
He’s our dad. Kusuo said, as though that made any difference.
And you’re my brother. Kusuke countered, Big brother intuition, I know you like I know myself. Dad wouldn’t get it.
Kusuo huffed at that, crossing his arms. Nothing’s stopping me from getting my own coffee.
“I dare you to try,” Kusuke rolled his eyes, “You only like it because I like it.”
Dad likes it too. Kusuo pointed out, again, as if that made any difference.
“Is he why you like it, though?” Kusuke asked smugly, downing the rest of his cup. It wasn’t even a question.
Kusuo bristled at that, teleporting away, probably to try and get his own coffee. One that was undoubtedly going to be the brand that Kusuke had in their room, a can of black coffee.
Kusuke didn’t have to have psychic powers to know Kusuo was embarrassed because Kusuke had been right. Kusuo liked coffee because his big brother liked it first.
In the back of his mind, Kusuke was pretty sure he was supposed to be annoyed by this. He felt nothing but endeared. He was a special kid, though, so it wasn’t anything to be worried about.
***
He was 14 now, about to fly off for college, and Kusuo was begging him for power limiters. Well, as close as the psychic would ever get to begging, so in this case, he had offered Kusuke the last of the coffee jelly in the house.
(Kusuke had gotten the kid hooked on it— as it turned out Kusuo did love coffee, but preferred it to be sweeter— and coffee jelly had since then become a house staple. What a loser, his brother was.)
“Say please.” Kusuke grinned. “I won’t make you them unless you say please.”
…
“Come on, a genius psychic like you isn’t smart enough to string tigether the syllables to say please ?” Kusuke egged on, “I think that dumb little friend you have is rubbing off on you!”
Kaidou’s not my friend.
“I never said it was Kaidou,” Kusuke snickered, “Getting soft now? I thought I was the only one you talked to.”
Kusuo was irritated now, genuinely irritated, but it was nothing Kusuke hadn’t seen before.
“Now, ask me properly!”
I need power limiters.
“Sorry, what was that?” Kusuke asked, grin not moving from where it was plastered across his entire face, “Didn’t hear that.”
Good grief. Fine. Pl…ease.
Kusuke knew he shouldn’t push his luck. “Okay, here you go.”
Kusuo shot him a look that said ‘seriously?’, and Kusuke grinned.
“I’ve had them ever since I made myself the telepathy blocker. These are actually why I made the blocker at all,” Kusuke explained, “so I wouldn’t spoil your surprise before I left.”
I hate that blocker. Kusuo said, eyeing the lump in Kusuke’s backpack that left little to the imagination. It’s unnecessary and ugly.
“You’re ugly.” Kusuke huffed, feeling a little insulted by Kusuo. “You’re just mad you can’t snoop when I have it on.”
So? Kusuo frowned, crossing his arms and looking a lot more like a nine year old than Kusuke was used to. It was easy to forget sometimes. I like knowing what’s happening.
Kusuke figured he and Kusuo weren’t all too different in that regard. He had hidden a tracker in Kusuo’s power limiters, so he could make sure his baby brother wasn’t getting into any risky business, because god knew if he was , their parents would be the last to know.
Seriously? Kusuo relayed this one with an unimpressed expression that prompted Kusuke to burst into laughter.
“I’ll miss you when I’m gone!” Kusuke said brightly.
“I’ll miss you too.” Kusuo said, after a beat. Kusuke pulled him into a hug at that.
“Don’t lie. I know you’re glad you’re getting the room to yourself, idiot.” Kusuke said.
Kusuo doesn’t take the bait, instead sinking deeper into the hug.
***
It’s different after that, because Kusuke is miles and miles away, across an ocean and hours apart from his family, and video calls are difficult for his parents, and now he can only check in every few weeks, then months, then the closest he can get to it is staring at the red dot on a map of Japan on his cellphone.
And he was jealous. He didn’t know why. He had never felt jealousy so fervid while growing up, especially not towards Kusuo. He knew he was special, and he knew his brother was too, just in different ways. After all Kusuo could never invent the things he did, in the same way he didn’t have the innate power Kusuo did. They evened each other out.
He was jealous of Kusuo, for being able to stay in Japan and be normal. The most absurd thing he’d ever heard in his life. He couldn’t— shouldn’t be jealous of the fact that Kusuo had the ability to disappear in a crowd, had the ability to be perceived as completely average in a way that Kusuke had not been able to. He shouldn’t be jealous of Kusuo having to dumb himself down to be palatable.
But he was jealous, and it was getting under his skin, and everyone around him knew it, even if they didn’t know why. Could see it in the way he became more eager to prove himself in lectures, eyebags dragging gown his face, both hands cramping from all the studying he was doing.
It wasn’t fair how Kusuke had to be special, and Kusuo was allowed to be normal. It wasn’t right. His brother was… his brother was untouchable.
Kusuo said he missed him when he rang the home phone. Mom and Dad were out, and he had apported himself some food in with the money Kusuke sent over, and he’d accidentally ordered a second serving thinking Kusuke was just out late.
It hit him then that this was his baby brother. It hit him then that he’s supposed to be a big brother, a guardian, someone Kusuo could look up to. If that means setting aside his jealousy and instead trying to give Kusuo the best life possible, then that’s what Kusuke would do.
He wondered if this was a little bit like what fatherhood felt like. If it was, who could blame him? Because this was his job now, and when Kusuo turned to him for help— not Mom or Dad or anyone else— could anyone blame Kusuke for feeling so?
Would his parents be mad if secretly, Kusuke thought that he could protect Kusuo better than anyone else? Could he be blamed for feeling that way when he put all his time into experimenting on different ways to make Kusuo’s life easier?
Kusuo sniffled on the other end of the call. Kusuke had mailed over one of the power enhancers he’d made a few months ago, from blueprints drawn in crayon. He hoped Kusuo was wearing them.
Can you hear me? He asked, I’m here when you need me.
I know.
***
Kusuo is sixteen the next time Kusuke is back in Japan. And sure, he’s seen Kusuo grow up through videocalls and photos, but seeing it in person is an entirely different story.
It was as though he had blinked, and Kusuo was all grown up.
“Kusuo!” Kusuke cheered, and his little brother was scowling, but he didn’t pull away from the bear hug he’d been trapped in. “I missed you!”
Can’t say the same.
”You wound me! Going through your rebellious stage, aren’t you!” Kusuke exclaimed good naturedly, patting Kusuo a few times on the back.
What a brat.
Heard that.
”Glad to see your powers are still working fine,” Kusuke hummed. “And the gear I sent over? How is it?”
Fits perfectly. Helps me and my friends.
“That’s good.” Kusuke beamed, “How are they? Still annoying?”
Pretty much, Kusuo smirked. I accidentally wiped Atlantis out of existence because of them. Your old machine helped, Mom told me where to find it. It took a while to figure out how it worked.
Kusuke burst into laughter. “I missed you!”
Yeah, yeah.