Milou Henderson was on the telly again. She was riding the fighter plane that Casper usually mends. This time she was going to meet Princess Yves of Virinia, just a month after Xeno attacked us two years ago. It was exciting to see it flying graciously on the air, rather than with my brother, covered in oil and all of that sort. Milou was perhaps the youngest pilot to command the Vicious. A rather odd name for such a sleek-designed masterpiece, but I’ve come to like it. I see her on the field near my house, not too far from my backyard. Many say that Harleen’s government was off their heads when they decided to put their military base near a family’s residence. It is beneficial to me, at least. Seeing the planes so close is a rarity for most children, but not me. I could see the wonders of world just from a little glimpse of Milou’s smile as she takes off.

“See, Coop? That’s Milou over there,” Casper said to me. I was nine and watching the Vicious fly to Flawkin to assemble a peace treaty. Milou landed near the palace, holding a parchment. Flawkin’s queen greeted her with open arms, as did the crowd watching. “Flawkin’s people are really happy about this, huh?” Casper said. I nodded in reply. I knew exactly why they were cheering so loudly. It’s because they’ve never seen a greater presence than Milou Henderson, who had just hugged with the queen herself. At the acme of fame, Milou stood, as the embodiment of perfection.

Unlike Ms. Henderson, my name isn’t widely known. “Oh, it’s Cooper!” my friends would exclaim. “Casp’s brother!” people from the military might yell. “Ah, it’s the OCD boy,” some say. I do exhibit tendencies of such, and I was diagnosed since a very young age. Many people with OCD tend to think about what will happen if they don’t check the stove and such, but ‘my OCD’ tends to be a bit different. I picture it as a little devil. They have the appearance of the one you see on Disney’s animated shorts, with full red bodies and pointy horns and tail. This devil would come to me every time and so. They whisper to my ear, “What will happen if Casper really messes up?” This time even closer, they say, “Do you really want your brother to be responsible for that?”

Casper’s a mechanic for the military. I’m positive that mechanic isn’t the right term for his job, but that is what he claims to be. I believe that he misuses a lot of terms, but that’s beyond the case. Casper handles very important tasks, such as mending Milou Henderson’s plane. Ironically, he is rather unreliable, I wouldn’t trust him to even be near Milou. My brother is bright and intelligent, don’t be fooled. “I graduated with the highest score known to man!” he once said. “which is a relief because my professors didn’t help at all.” But this man with a high score rarely, if ever, checks anything. Not to mention his horrible luck. There’s many times when he forgot to answer an exam sheet or forgot to hire a babysitter when he was at the other side of the planet. “Hiya, Coop,” he let out a nervous laugh. “So, do you mind going to McCartney’s until I get back home from Audria?” It was a rather common problem for us. Sure, he might be extremely clever and has a record of planes he mended and didn’t crash, but who’s to say that he won’t ruin everything one day?

It was night-time, and Casper had just gone home from work. “Hey, Coop,” he yawned. “Today has been a real doozy! I had to manage not only the Vicious!” he yelled, “but also Hernandez’s plane, as well as Dorian’s Basilmouth.” He opened the refrigerator and poured himself a glass a milk. “Oh, and Haruhi’s! I was hard at work while she sat there watching me, encouraging me,” he said before noticing he poured too much milk. “As if that helps.” I walked over and gave him a tissue. “How exhausted were you while doing all of that?” “I might’ve gotten a bit less sleep, but I did everything wide awake!” he said. “So don’t you even think about going to the base.”

Here it is. This is what I feel that I have to do. Whenever Casper comes home like this, I go out to the base to check on the aircrafts. You might think, “What in a world could a ten-year-old do that his brother, a fully matured adult, can’t?” Well, honestly, not a lot. But I did have more knowledge than a normal fifth-grader. I know these machines. Casper didn’t have any interesting hobbies, so he thought, “Wouldn’t it be cool if Cooper understands how the planes work as well?” He got so addicted to the thought that he made, and I’m very serious, a kid’s edition to his college books. Everything was worded in elementary-level grammar, with colourful drawings around the edges. He, unexpectedly, helped me to understand what he actually does for a living. But that ended up backfiring pretty badly.

If I was overwhelmed by my little devil’s questions (“what if Milou died? What if Milou and your brother die?”), I would’ve just break into the base, which is easy for someone how has access to Casper’s keys. But knowing that I could fix his mistakes with this newfound knowledge, that’s a whole different level of power. It’s wrong to do it. I know it’s dangerous and unreasonable, but it’s simply uncontrollable. I can’t stop thinking about how people could die- how Milou could die- and how my brother could get the bad end of it. If a flight culminated in the aircraft crashing, Casper would certainly be pointed at. Accused as being ‘not attentive enough’ and ‘lacking focus’. I don’t want that. I really don’t want that. If I ever get sleep, it’s because I’ve managed to stop thinking about how broken Casper could be if he made one simple mistake. One mistake could mean decades of him not trusting himself, having nothing to rely on, and thoughts of bringing harm to his ‘useless being’. He’s done that before, and it wasn’t pretty.

So there I was, in the base, checking every single plane he mended that day. I checked the Vicious one, two, three times before going to the others. Haruhi’s Kraftermaine, six times to be exact. Nine checks on Dorian’s, since it six plus three is nine. Three more checks on the Kraftermaine, to be sure. A total of eighteen checks on Hernandez’s aging Shootwin. Another row of checks for the Vicious, and again for Haruhi’s, and maybe a couple of the other aircrafts there. Again, and again, and again, I looked for anything that might just be dangerous, anything. Nothing’s there, it was perfect, I know it. 

“Maybe Milou’s plane needs a bit more checking!” the devil said. 

“Go on, have a look.” “No! I’ve checked too much, it’s already the next day!” 

“A little look wouldn’t hurt.” 

“But it does, I’ve not only ruined my body because of lack of sleep, but I’ve also given Casper a bad name for carelessly letting me go to base!” 

“Well, it’ll be worse if he killed Milou now wouldn’t he?” 

Again and yet again, I let them control over what I do. It’s pointless, it’s dumb, it’s despicable how I even doubt my brother’s skill. But the devil goes on and on, reminding me of how it’ll be for Casper, for the pilots who die, for Harleen. And so I checked. I analyze every bit of metal in my surroundings just to be extra, extra, extra sure. I looked again and again until my eyes got hazy. My legs were tired from walking from plane to plane. My brain still running, the devil still ranting, but everything was too foggy to make sense of. 

I was at my bed, with Casper’s co-worker McCartney sitting next to me. “Oh? You’re awake!” he moved closer to the bed. “Casp says he’s going to treat you to some ice cream soon,” he said. “You mean like always?” I said, remembering the other times I broke in. “Of course, I’d expect no less from a brother like him,” he chuckled. “You might idolize Henderson, but Casper’s manufactured to be of the highest quality, you know!” McCartney joked. 

“Don’t you think so, Coop?” 

“…Definitely.”