He always liked it when I played the piano for him. He'd spend hours sitting on the ground, helmeted head leaning against the piano, feeling the vibrations as I played slowly and smoothly. Whenever I'd play, he'd no doubt come out from wherever he had been rotting that day and for once, stop wringing his hands and just sit still. After it'd taken me a while to realize, that me playing had become one of his new stims. I'd never complain about this one. It was something we both liked to do. Counting, picking at his skin, chewing his fingernails, hitting at himself when he smelled, heard or saw something that he didn't like, it all stimulated him. But nothing compared to when I played for him.

I'd play long songs I'd learned from his favorite video games or videos on youtube. Anything that had a steady rhythm and seemed like it'd be something that he liked. My hands would cramp after a while and I'd have to stop, but he'd just look at me with his face so emotionless that it could be scary. He'd grip onto the fabric of my pants, and I'd help him up, getting him something to eat. We'd sit together, watching cartoons on the TV, but he'd just space out, making a mess of his food.

It was easier when his aid was here to help, but to tell the truth, I didn't really like her too much. Both her and my brother were at college age, and she'd come in sometimes to help take him off my hands and to get more social. All she was doing was getting experience for her college class, but she took it like he was her best friend sometimes.

She'd take him to the park and she used to take him to some shops until one time, the noises were so loud that he beat himself bloody. I was the only one who could do that with him. No matter where they went, she'd always hold his hand. Sometimes he'd tell me in fewest words possible that she was his girlfriend. I'm guessing that'd be because she'd sometimes kiss his forehead when his stimming and panics calmed down and he was home and safe.

Dad was always at work weekends and nights so that he could take care of my brother while I was at school. He's such a handful that I'll never understand why dad ever wanted another kid. All the time I ever had for friends when I was younger quickly disappeared when I hit the age of ten and had to take care of my brother full time. The kids at school wouldn't understand and to them, both me and my brother were a joke.

When dad was gone for nights on end, I'd find my brother up at odd hours of the morning, sitting on the sofa and looking at the black tv blankly. I'd get him up and bring him to bed with me, and in this only time, he'd tuck his head into my chest and grip on to the fabric of my shirt.

Being born into the job was something that I had never planned for and for the most part never wanted. But in the end, he was my older brother and I needed to care for him. When I was younger, it was hard to realize that all the things my brother did weren't normal in the slightest. I grew up knowing this disability like the back of my hand, and all in all, it was hard to learn otherwise.