There's some stuff that Kevin just knows, without having to learn it, even when he's only a little kid.

For one, he knows from the start that he's different from other children.

—

It's in the way his father comes and goes at random in his life—breezing in with bandage-covered limbs at three o'clock in the morning on a Tuesday, bearing all kinds of weird presents from outer space. Other kids might have dads who drop them off at preschool every day, or who bake cookies for the entire class, dads who work in offices or at home to get the money they need.

Kevin's dad flies in a spaceship and carries a green badge, which means he's in charge catching of bad guys from other galaxies: sometimes on Earth but usually not. Both he and Kevin's mom tell Kevin all the time that his dad's job is important, really important, and that's why he can't be around as much as Kevin wants.

It sucks, but Kevin knows without having to ask that there's nothing he can do to change it. So he keeps the souvenirs safe and waits by the front door every night, until his mother arrives, shaking her head, and carries his sleeping form upstairs to bed. He looks at his dad's pictures a lot and tries not to be sad, at least when he knows his mom is watching.

It's in the way that he has powers and the other kids don't.

Kevin knows he isn't supposed to use them, same as how he's supposed to tell anyone who asks that his dad fixes toilets for a living, even though that's boring and a lie and also kind of gross. He can't remember either of his parents talking to him much about his powers, but the answer is in the way his mother tenses when Kevin asks about it; how she reminds him, sometimes, that there's a lot of stuff he's not supposed to worry about until he gets older.

Kevin knows it's against the rules, but he practices, sometimes, when he's alone in his room and bored and missing his dad a lot. He thinks about how Devin can just touch something with his hands and then turn into it, remembering the awe of watching his father absorb the surface of the grainy wooden table so that it traveled all the way up his whole arm.

Kevin tries it on his own, with his steel bedframe, and succeeds a few times in transforming the tips of his fingers into metal. Changing them back is hard, though, and he's too young to have the patience to really stick with the practice long enough to avoid becoming cranky at his own failures. Absorbing raw energy from wires and plugs is easier, and way more fun, but Kevin doesn't forget the way his mom slapped him once when she caught him doing it near the living room TV.

He'd felt amazing, then, like a toy with new batteries, and he hadn't cried at all while his mom was shouting at him. He didn't care about being in trouble, even tried to hit her back, only to have her catch his tiny wrists mid-swing. He'd screamed his head off when she locked him in his room for an hour as punishment, had thrown all his toys around in a giant mess, but after the energy wore off and he felt normal again Kevin was sorry for doing it. And even sorrier at having to clean it all up.

Kevin doesn't know why his mom got so mad at him, but he knows his dad will be angry disappointed in him when he finds out. Kevin doesn't try to absorb energy again for a long time.

— — —

A few weeks after Kevin turns four, he knows something is wrong when he hears his name called out over the PA system at school.

His teacher walks him to the principal's office. Kevin doesn't mind getting out of class, he hates class, but going to the office means trouble. He's only been there once, after he pushed Mary Adler off the swing set at recess, but it had been his turn to play and besides, she'd called him the F-R-E-A-K word that morning in homeroom when she thought he couldn't hear her.

Kevin knows this is different then that, though—somehow this has got to be worse. It's in the way his teacher is moving too stiffly, refusing to meet Kevin's eyes.

It's in the way Kevin's mom is already there, when he steps haltingly into the office. It's in the way she's crying, hard, hunched over in one of the soft leather chairs in front of the principal's desk. Her black hair is hanging down in lank strands, and there's makeup running in dark rivulets down her face.

He's never seen her like this. Never seen her so undone. "Mom?" Kevin asks, frightened, running as quickly as he can to reach her side.

The teacher says something, sounding pained, and the principal answers, but as far as Kevin is concerned his mother is the only other person in the room. She reaches out to catch him as he gets close, pulls him up into the chair with her by the arms so that he's sitting in her lap. She hasn't done that in a long time. Kevin's heartbeat races as she holds him very close and sobs, brokenly, clinging to Kevin like she's afraid he'll disappear.

"Mom?" he asks again, weakly, his voice muffled and afraid in the purple fabric of her shirt.

"K-Kevin," she says, breathing deeply and stifling her sobs so she can talk clearly. "Kevin, sweetie, listen to me. I need you to know that your father always loves you, no matter what happens. He loves you so much. We both do. And you and I, we—we have to be very strong for him right now, okay?"

And just like that, Kevin knows his dad is gone.

— — — —

Little by little, Kevin comes to know death.

At first he thinks it's something like when his dad is off in space, killing bad guys and fighting evil aliens. He thinks it might take longer this time, a lot longer, for Devin to come home, but he doesn't doubt that it's going to happen eventually. He begs his mother to stop crying and doesn't understand, why she looks so upset when she sees Kevin waiting by the door like he always does.

Then Kevin sees the body in the coffin at the funeral. There's more aliens present than humans, and they all seem to want to talk to him about his father, but Kevin isn't paying attention to anyone. He shouts for his father to wake up, screams until he's in the face and out of breath, and he only stops when an older man gravely puts a hand on Kevin's shoulder and points out that he's making his mother cry.

After that, Kevin thinks of death as very serious, very bad, but still temporary. In his mind, something's wrong with his dad; his body isn't working anymore the way it's supposed to. Like a lamp that won't turn on. Kevin asks his mother if there's something they can do to fix it, like plugging the cord back in, but she cries and shakes her head and slowly Kevin understands that it's not that simple.

Weeks pass, and slowly Kevin begins to realize that death lasts forever.

The knowledge frightens him. He starts paying close attention to his own breathing, overcome by a terrible fear that his heart might stop at any moment. He wakes up in the middle of the night and runs into his mother's room, shaking her by the arm and screaming so that he knows she can still wake up if he needs her to.

When that happens, his mom hugs him close and tucks him in under the covers beside her. Her eyes always seem tired now, but she lies awake with him in the early hours of the morning, stroking Kevin's hair and talking to him about his dad. She uses the word hero a lot to describe Devin, and brave, and good, and did the right thing.

She doesn't use the word strong to talk about his dad, though. Strong is a word for Kevin and herself. He clings to it like an emblem.

"We're going to make it through this, baby," his mom whispers to him over and over again, tears running silently down her cheeks. "We have to be strong for your father. He would want us to live our lives and go on. I know it isn't fair, but we have to be strong and move forward, okay? We're going to make it because we have to."

This is Kevin's first real lesson about the world: the universe they live in is a cruel, unfair place. And only the strong survive.