Spot could never quite remember when his mother had brought Ingvar home with her, stoically trying not to cry, already a tough guy at age 5. That bullheaded refusal to cry was really all Spot remembered, only six himself at the time, or so he was later told. His mother had found the boy, all alone in the market place, clearly lost, and she spent years trying to figure out where he'd come from. But Ingvar didn't speak English at first, and they didn't know anyone who spoke whatever it was Ingvar spoke, and by the time they're managed to teach him enough English to actually communicate, Ingvar had long since forgotten where he'd come from as well.
He became the blessed other brother in a household of giggling girls, Spot's best friend, partner in crime, although neither of them were any good at keeping Mel away from whatever it was they were planning. The three of them ended up forming a strange little trio, Ingvar, pale and blonde, towering over them, and then Spot and Mel, as alike as two peas in pod, slightly darker, but with the same sort of startlingly blue eyes as Ingvar, enough that eventually, people actually just assumed they were all related.
The bad ideas were always Mel's, but Spot always got in trouble for them, and Ingvar never got in trouble for anything, even if the ideas were actually Spot's. In some awkward way, Ingvar was their mother's favorite, perhaps because she could only take so much credit for him.
The only time he came close to getting into trouble with anyone was when he was seven, and he accidentally shoved Spot down a flight of stairs, in the midst of playful roughhousing. If their mother hadn't been there at the sound of Mel's shriek, who knows what might have happened. As it was, two ribs were almost broken, not to mention his arm, in two place. The only thing that kept Ingvar from getting the belt for having hurt his big brother was the fact that he started bawling, the only time anyone had ever seen him cry. It startled their mother so badly that she spent more time comforting him than holding her son's hand as his arm was being set.
And yet, Spot never resented the big lug. As they got older, and Ingvar very quickly got taller and broader than he was, Spot realized just how useful it was to have a brother like him. It was Spot's quick wit, and Ingvar's muscle that won him Brooklyn, after all. Absolute loyalty was worth more than money could buy.