The frosted shell of the elevator gave Matthias silhouettes of the machinery as he was whisked beneath the surface. A reconciliation after all these years. He tapped his foot, pacing around the small space. When the eerie echo from the glass rang back in his ears he stopped, only to begin shuffling his feet and tapping a finger on his holster. The echoes continued, twining with the sound of the factory. It didn't surprise him that his brother hadn't ceased production, what with his industrious little imps to cater to.

He wondered how they had grown. Surely his nephews were too old to hang from his arms now. Emil would have to had grown as well; their family's youngest brother had reached his fifteenth solar cycle after all. He could chase the children around the lab; all three of his younger brothers would chastise him and go on about the complexities and importance of Berwald's lab. The wife would call the boys away and leave them together.

The last time that happened, he and Berwald had to settle for glaring at each other across the table holding towels to their faces. Erik had stitched them up, sometimes swatting at the backs of their heads while young Emil looked on with wide eyes and wrung his shirt in his hands.

Matthias exhaled heavily, shaking the memory away. He transferred at the platform, the harmony from the unintentional glass harmonica grating on his nerves. He mentally prepared himself for the evening.

They would go on, admire the labs and sit together for a decent meal and pretend that nothing had ever happened. He wouldn't cause trouble. He wouldn't pick a fight.

Instigation was forbidden, unless he wanted Erik on his case. He definitely wouldn't make comments on how Berwald had married his lab assistant. In Berwald's defense, Timo was pretty cute. He would leave his pack at the door, though the very thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. No weapons at the dinner table, no exceptions.

His mouth quirked into a sour grin. It was fitting in a way. Berwald made things, Erik saved things, and Matthias destroyed things. Emil would likely follow in Erik's footsteps, the youngest tending to mirror his favorite brother.

The lift's landing jarred him from his thinking, letting him off in the middle of the main lab. Berwald, after all, was a bit of a show off.

The tubes were new additions, lined up like soldiers. Long cylinders that stretched from the floor to the light fixtures. A few were stagnant with preserved objects, while most bubbled and circulated fluid around suspended specimens. He wondered when Berwald had taken interest in biology over technology. In his memory the lab was usually full of crates and table littered with parts and circuitry.

The sole table in the room had been knocked to the ground, dirtied scalpels scattered over the floor. Why did his brother have to be so messy? He had kids running around the lab; couldn't he stop to pick things up? Spare himself the crying child and angry wife and Erik. Matthias strained his ears for their voices.

Where were they?

Absolutely hilarious, inviting him over to the ridiculous isolated rock outside of central orbit to visit his stupid little brother, in his stupid little lab with everyone gone probably having fun on the planet while he would be stuck waiting for them. He really hated the lab.

Matthias groaned and peered into the nearest tube. He was greeted with a nasty looking invertebrate, pincers and spines rolled in on itself. When did bugs get so huge? The thing was easily as long as his arm.

He made a face and trudged over to the back rooms. With shaking hands he detached his packs and unfastened his holster, leaving them at the door to the living area. With a fleeting glance behind him, Matthias stepped into the actual house. He took a deep breath and shouted his brothers' names, throwing expletives at them to get a reaction. A rebuking and mild abuse from Erik would be better than wandering around the labyrinthine facility looking for them.

He peered around doorways, pressing an ear to the walls to catch a voice. They would be in so much trouble when he found them. He crossed into the empty dining room and slapped uselessly at his pant leg, desperately searching for his holster and stumbling to retrieve his pack. The sound from the kitchen wasn't human.

…

This was an English assignment dubbed 'flash fiction'. A short story that we based on one of the instrumentals we heard in class. Linkin Park's Sessions spawned this. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it yet, but I think I'm going to continue it.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Critiques? Let me know.

-Waltz.