The life of the most unfortunate, and yet the happiest of the brothers of this family started with a beginning that predates time itself: birth.

Thus one can say this is an old beginning; a familiar, extremely ordinary beginning. Such an unremarkable appearance into this world wouldn't even be worth mentioning, and would've remained unmentioned if it wasn't for the birth certificate, kept somewhere in a damp basement in City Hall, with the ordinary and quite common name 'Malcolm Wilkerson' written in big, bold letters on top of it.

His life continued the same way the life of an average boy would; he had friends (although not so many), he went to school, he was discovered to be a genius (which made his life even harder), and finally, he went to college.

All in all, an ordinary life indeed.

But an extraordinary person.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Twenty-six years after the beginning, a sudden sound broke the silence of Malcolm's apartment.

Ding-dong.

That's the doorbell, he thought. As if pointing that fact out to himself would help his stiff and sleep-laden limbs to move. As if it would stop the incessant irritating noise that was piercing his ears and his sleepy, numb mind.

As if it would make the person he knew he was going to see behind the door go away.

Finally he realised he couldn't just ignore it. So he got up, a heavy and tiresome process, and walked slowly to the door. He felt as if his head had been stuffed with cotton.

He unlocked the door and opened it and his worst suspicions were confirmed.

It was Dewey and Reese, his brothers.

"Hey." Dewey smiled, but Malcolm could clearly see that this cost him a lot of effort. Reese just stood by his side, shifting nervously and drilling holes into Malcolm's head with his eyes. Malcolm decided to ignore him and instead focused his attention on Dewey.

God it's been months since I last saw him. He's changed a lot. He looks a lot older now.

We all do.

In fact, he hadn't talked to his brothers since the time they had had that terrible row. Malcolm wasn't even sure what they had fought about; all he knew was that neither of them had backed down and they'd kept going until they couldn't look at each other any more.

"Hello," Malcolm said in an indifferent tone, not bothering to smile back. Dewey was rather taken aback by such an icy welcome, but said nothing. The smile disappeared from his face, though.

"Aren't you going to let us in?" Dewey asked, now more coldly. Malcolm made a gesture in a who-cares-anyway sort of way and opened the door wider. Then he turned his back to his brothers and headed to the sofa in the living room, without waiting for them to come in.

He slumped on the cushions that already had Malcolm-shaped dents in them and looked at his brothers with a look of dull curiosity. He already knew why they had come, even before any of them said anything.

They both came in after him and stood in the middle of the living room, not sitting down on the armchairs behind them and carefully avoiding looking at Malcolm.

"So... This is a nice place."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Is that all you came to say?"

Now Dewey's mask of calmness fell and he turned to Malcolm suddenly, anger flickering in his eyes.

"Why are you acting like that?"

Malcolm shrugged his shoulders. "Like what?"

"Like you're all mighty and superior. Like you have nothing to say to us."

Malcolm sighed, looking irritated. He looked like the epitome of indifference.

But on the inside he was being torn apart by the memory of their last meeting—what they had said, and what had remained unspoken but they both knew what it was. He hated Dewey for coming here and for making things so complicated when they could've simply left that behind them and gone on with their lives, minding their own business. It would've been simpler that way. But no, Dewey had to come here and twist the knife in the wound. Malcolm felt anger rising in him, suffocating the guilt he had initially felt. He welcomed that anger, glad to distract himself from the uncomfortable feelings of shame and embarrassment.

"Why are you acting as if we have something to say to each other?" he retorted. "As far as I remember, we said everything we had to say to each other during our last conversation."

Reese clenched his hands into fists and his jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Malcolm knew he wouldn't take a swing at him, not here and now. It might not look like it, but sometimes Reese was the biggest coward of the three.

Dewey stared at him, as if unwilling to believe Malcolm had just said those words. Malcolm blinked and averted his eyes, because he couldn't bring himself to meet his brother's gaze. He seemed really hurt.

"I thought you'd understand," Dewey said, the anger now gone from his voice. "Mom sent us here to make amends, not to fight."

Malcolm couldn't stop his next outburst, and part of him despised him for that.

"No, I don't understand. You're always hiding behind Mom, even now! God, Dewey, you're a grown man! You're the same coward as you've always been!"

Dewey narrowed his eyes and bit his lip. His outburst was as sudden as Malcolm's.

"No, you want to know who's really the coward? You! You're always hiding from everybody and everything! You're afraid of what happened to Dad! You're afraid to face what you feel, so you shout at others!"

He was panting heavily, as if he'd been running.

Malcolm sat, unmoving, staring somewhere in space, not wanting to show how deep these words had cut. For a while there was silence that none of them wanted to break, because they both thought they'd gone too far once more. Now Malcolm couldn't help the stinging feeling of shame, of regret. He felt like he had let his brothers down because of what he was, and what he wasn't, and what they expected him to be.

"I think you should go," he croaked, his mouth suddenly gone dry.

"You won't even look at us?" Dewey shouted. "You are a coward! You can't even face your own family!"

Malcolm was still silent, as if frozen. He looked like a statue, his face pale, his eyes still fixed on the same spot in space, not even blinking. "Go!" he repeated, and this time it sounded more like a plea than anything else. Dewey's mouth was open mid-word, but he shut it and clenched his jaw. There was something in Malcolm's voice that subsided his rage.

His shoulder slumped and he put his hands in his pocket. Once more, they had said things neither of them wanted to. Once more, they left so many unspoken things between them.

"Come on, Reese," he said and headed for the door.

Reese followed him, after throwing one last glance at the frozen figure of Malcolm.

The door banged shut. After a while, the sound of his brother's footsteps died off and there was silence again.

That silence had been his companion for... how long? Six months? Ten years? His entire life?

It sure felt like it.

He was fighting with his brothers because of what had happened after their dad's funeral. His brothers had wanted to talk about it, to share their best memories of him—they knew this was the only way they'd get through it.

But Malcolm couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to talk to them. It hurt too much, and the only thing he knew how to do with feelings like that was to hide from them. He had been like that his entire life, but it was just then that his brothers saw—or let themselves see—what he really was. And they were horrified, and they rejected him; and he rejected them, and there had been a terrible row... a row that neither of them knew how to stop.

Malcolm was supposed to be smarter than that, he knew. But, as it turned out, he wasn't.

He wanted to scream. He couldn't stand the silence any more; he never could, but he didn't know how to get rid of it.

He wanted to scream, but his throat was tight and dry and he didn't seem to be able to part his lips. And he wouldn't have done it anyway. It was too animalistic, too unbridled, and that wasn't Malcolm. Malcolm was perfect self-composure, not saying a word out of place. Malcolm was hardly showing any emotion at all. Malcolm was...

...Stupid? Self-centered? Cold? Distant?

No. No, he wasn't. He shook his head, as if a physical expression of denial would help him believe that more easily. He wasn't, and he'd never been that.

Then why did you drive your brothers out of the house?

Malcolm finally shifted, breaking that trance-like state he had been in for the past half an hour. He couldn't stand the empty apartment any more, so he got up. He was going for a walk.

It was cold outside, so he grabbed a jacket on his way out. His body was stiff from sitting in one place for so long, and he thought vaguely that he was going to regret it later, when he got home, because by then his whole body would be aching from the cold. But it didn't matter. He couldn't stay here any more.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Dewey felt awful the moment he stepped out of Malcolm's apartment. The anger was gone now, replaced by anguish and guilt. He shouldn't have said those words. How long was this new silence between them going to last? Another six months? Possibly even years? Knowing how stubborn Malcolm was, this wasn't exactly impossible. Oh, why had he opened his stupid mouth? Why did he ruin everything?

Since they had left the apartment, he and Reese hadn't said a word. He didn't know what his brother was thinking right now; Reese's emotionless expression didn't tell him anything, and he didn't know how to ask.

Oh great, their family was falling apart.

Now he couldn't even talk to Reese. What was wrong with him? No, what was wrong with them? Now that he thought about it, they had never talked to each other, not like that. They didn't share what was on their minds, what was bothering them. Maybe they just weren't that kind of family.

But then again, what other kinds of families were there? Wasn't that what the family was all about?

Perhaps he should go back and apologise properly this time. He didn't want to leave thing like that.

They were already a few blocks away, but there was still time. He grabbed Reese's hand and lead him back in the direction from which they came. Reese was just about to ask where they were going, when they saw Malcolm coming straight at them, walking fast, his eyes fixed on the ground. Dewey waved with his free hand and shouted, "Malcolm!"

Malcolm looked up, saw Dewey and Reese, turned around and started walking even faster. He was practically running now, trying to avoid them, but Dewey didn't give up that easily.

"Malcolm, wait!" he shouted. He started running too, pulling Reese after him. But then he caught sight of something to the left of Malcolm, just as his brother was about to cross the street in an attempt to put more distance between them. Dewey stopped dead in his tracks, frozen with terror, and all he could manage was a scream, "Malcolm! NO!"

And then there was the sound of a horn, the screeching of brakes, a quiet 'thump', a louder crash of broken glass, and silence. For a moment, that seemed to Dewey to have lasted hours, there was silence.

Then some people started shouting.