One of Ken's fondest memories, despite the haze of age surrounding it, making it feel like some kind of dream, was standing out on the porch, making bubbles with Sam. He could still feel the warm summer air on his face, smell the mix of lemons and soap from the bottle in his hands, hear the dream-like sound of his brother telling him, "I'm always too rough."
In fact, when he really thought about it, that seemed the be the only time he could ever remember his brother sounding so warm, so human.
He would sit on the porch, letting the sunshine warm him to the depths of his soul, a small cup of soapy water sitting on the table beside him. Even after so many years, he could never quite get Sam's formula down for the perfect bubbles he could remember so well. He tried and tried, varying the amounts of soap, the different brands, but the shimmering rainbow globes would never reappear. Perhaps the recipe was something Sam had taken to his grave.
He sighed contentedly, one hand draped comfortably over Wormmon who was curled up in his lap. It was days like this, where he could find solace in the memory of his brother instead of just pain, the he could never figure out why his mother fretted so. Every time he said he was going to make a new bubble solution, she would give him a certain look, one he could never read but one that seemed to worry her so.
Asako stood in the living room, nervously biting her thumbnail. She couldn't understand just why Ken was so enamored with making those damnable bubbles, or why his expression lit up whenever he thought about it. Didn't he remember the pain? The fear?
It had taken so much prying, and bribing, and even threatening, before Sam would tell her what had happened that day while they waited in the hospital with that same cold voice that had always terrified her.
Masafumi was staying late at work, probably gloating about his genius son to his coworkers again. He had a bad habit of that, and she worried that one day one of the other parents would do something drastic to shut him up, but he would just laugh her off. Tell her, "He's the pride of Heighton View Terrace, no one would dare to hurt him."
Asako grabbed her purse, looking to her two young boys playing in the living room. Ken was happily completing a puzzle, the large picture slowly forming over the beige of their carpet, and Sam was sitting on the couch, reading an advanced textbook on quantum physics. He looked absolutely bored as he flipped through the pages, already knowing how to solve each equation.
"You boys have fun," Asako told them. "I'm going to the store for dinner. Sam, keep an eye on Ken – make sure he doesn't get hurt."
Sam scowled at his textbook and looked at her. Asako shivered at the frozen nothingness that lay in his eyes, and he spoke in his even, emotionless voice, "Whatever you say, Mother."
Asako fought back the shudder, fleeing the apartment without trying to look as though she were, cutting off Ken's cheerful goodbye. The sooner she was away from Sam, the better she would feel.
Sam frowned at the four-year-old boy on the floor. There was a momentary look of hurt in Ken's young eyes as the door slammed and the sound of running footsteps could be heard, but he forced a smile and went back to his puzzle, humming happily. The noise was off-key and he babbled his song under his breath in the still, summer air. Sam couldn't take it. He grabbed his textbook and stood, intending to go to his room. He would shut the door and lay in his bed for the next hour or so, thinking about the way it seemed that everyone around him was so full of raw emotions that he couldn't even fathom, much less feel.
But Ken, always wanting his adored big brother's attention, got to his feet as well, stepping on the half-finished puzzle.
"Sam, what are you going to do?"
No, Sam decided. He could feel one thing. Hate. He hated the brightness in Ken's eyes. He hated the warmth to his voice. He hated the way Ken always followed him around.
He hated Ken.
It was so much better, he knew, when he was younger. Before Ken was born. When he was an only child and had all the attention to himself. And then this warm, bright, emotional child had come screaming into the world and destroyed all that. It was right then that Sam knew, he had to get rid of this irritant that had plagued his life.
Sam's eyes brightened, not with warmth, but with a smoldering flicker like the remains of a house fire.
"We're going to make bubbles."
"Bubbles?" Ken questioned with a tilt of his head. He wanted to put his thumb in his mouth, but the last time he'd done that near Sam, his older brother had grabbed his jaw, squeezing it tightly around the digit until Ken had almost bitten it off. But Sam had said it was to help him not be such a baby, so Ken didn't mind at all. He also didn't suck his thumb anymore.
"Like this." Sam put his book on the table and walked into the kitchen. Ken followed happily, running after his brother. For once, he wouldn't have to compete with some dumb book for Sam's attention!
They moved into the kitchen, and Sam opened the cabinet under the sink, Ken watching in awe. It was amazing how easily his older brother could get past the child-locks that had always stumped him.
"First we need this," Sam said, pulling out the large bottle of dishwasher detergent their mother used. It smelled like lemons and clean dishes and it made Ken smile. "And then some water."
The full bottle was shoved at Ken's chest and he held it as though it were the holy grail. Something his brother had touched was willingly being handed over to him. He would be sure not to drop it, to prove that he could be trusted with such things.
Sam clambered up on the counter, grabbing the plastic cup that had Ken's name written in magic marker. It was the only thing Ken was allowed to use at his age, Asako worried that he would drop anything glass and injure himself. He leaned over the sink, filling it with water and hopped down, splashing himself. He frowned at the cold water that seeped through his shirt, feeling the coldness of it and wondering where the anger was that his father always showed whenever he spilled something.
"Sam?" Ken asked after a moment. He didn't like when his brother stood there, not thinking. It scared him, and he didn't like being scared of his brother.
Sam looked up, the anger filling him as he looked at Ken. This was where his feelings were, the all-consuming rage that hardened him lay. And he couldn't stand it.
"Let's go to the porch. Mother would be upset if we made a mess in here." And Sam twisted his lips to imitate the warm smile his mother always made.
If Ken could see the difference, he didn't seem to care as his expression brightened and he nodded happily. The heavy bottle in his hands was starting to slip, and he frowned at it, readjusting his grip. He didn't want to make his brother mad.
The two boys walked back through the living room, carting their goods with all reverence due to holy items, one knowing it would make him find that emotion called "happy" and the other already bubbling over with joy. The sliding glass door was heavy, but Sam tended to find himself on the porch late at night, so he knew how much of his strength he had to use, and just where each and every bump and hitch was on the track. Immediately, the smell of summer washed over them, and Ken closed his eyes and smiled. He knew he would remember this moment forever.
Sam frowned at brother, the expression darkening into a scowl before he smoothed his face. Even if Ken was too stupid to realize he didn't like him, much less "love" him, the expression had made the boy run off before. And he couldn't have that happen now.
"Over here," Sam called, walking onto the porch. The sun warmed his skin and he watched as Ken's expression continued to soften until he had that dream-like look on his face that Sam had seen on him whenever he slept.
"How do we make the bubbles?" Ken asked, finally opening his eyes to set that same loving look on his brother. "Is it gonna be fun?"
"It'll be really fun," Sam reassured. He closed the door behind them and held out the cup. "Now, drink this."
Ken set down the jug of detergent, frowning in confusion. "Why?"
Sam fought back the snarl, instead trying to sound as sweet as his mother as he said, "Because you need water to make the bubbles."
Asako tapped her foot impatiently in the elevator. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten her checkbook in the apartment. She must have forgotten to replace it in her purse after she'd paid the phone bill. It was a good thing she'd thought to check before reaching the store, otherwise she would have been so embarrassed. She unlocked the front door, calling out to her children as she entered.
But there was no response.
That was common with Sam, she knew, but Ken always made it a point to run over and hug her and babble about all the things he'd done while she had been gone. The fact that her youngest had remained silent worried her.
"Sam? Ken?" she called, stepping into the apartment. The living room was empty and she almost turned away before she noticed Sam through the glass door. He was kneeling, looking at something with absolute fascination. She shuddered at the memory of what he'd done to the last animal sorry enough to be caught by the child's hands. Hopefully whatever he was playing with now was still alive.
She approached the door, each step filling her with dread. Ken always followed Sam around, but she couldn't see him. Where could that boy have gone? The closer the walked, the more she could see. Sam, reaching out for something, a look that might have been a smile on his face. Her bottle of dish detergent on its side beside him, empty enough to have not spilled. And then a familiar slipper, moving in harsh, jerking motions.
Asako pulled desperately on the glass door, the damned thing always sticking, and it groaned as it opened just enough for her to squeeze through.
"Ken!" she screamed, falling to her knees. Her youngest was on his back, limbs twitching as he seized. His eyes were rolled back, showing just the whites under fluttering lashes and he was burbling, lemon-scented foam dripping from his mouth. There was an angry red mark on his throat, the size and shape of the tiny hand that had held him down, and she could see the round bruises already forming on his lips where the rim of the detergent bottle had been pressed hard enough to break the capillaries under the skin.
"Oh my God, Ken!" Asako grabbed her child, trying to hold him still through his seizure. "Sam, what have you done?!"
Sam looked at her, eyes glassed over with ice. He couldn't even pretend to feel the warmth that was missing from his soul as he reached out to press his hand roughly against Ken's quivering stomach. The boy belched, rainbow-filmed bubbled floating into the air and Sam said simply, "We're making bubbles."