It wasn't that Dewey didn't understand; he understood it all quite perfectly. Once a family has already pumped out three children (all boys, at that) who, on a day-to-day basis, make it their mission in life to create as much chaos in their environment as possible, it's easy to see why the fourth child might receive less attention. The novelty of cuteness has an expiration date, and that time simply passed by before Dewey really got a chance to experience the same level of doting and affection that Hal and Lois foisted upon Francis, Malcolm, and Reese.

Again, he understood. But it still stung, now and again.

Nevertheless, he made the most of his lot in life. Indeed, if anyone were to ask - and no one ever did - he would proudly claim that he took full advantage of the unexpected perks of his situation.

While he wouldn't go so far as to claim he was a "good child," since the Wilkersons were generally seen, both by themselves and by outsiders, as a collective of pure destructive energy, but he was still young and cute enough (and, in comparison to his siblings, well-behaved enough) to fly under the radar with most of his mischievous activities.

Meaning, he was usually able to listen in on other people's private affairs without their knowledge. When he was younger, this particular skill was of little use to him, since he found Hal and Lois's grown-up talk and Reese and Malcolm's bickering profoundly boring. But times had changed, and the sweet nothings whispered behind bedroom doors held a sort of perverse fascination for him.

His first introduction to sex, not an atypical scenario for children, involved spying on his parents from within their closet. It was nothing too graphic, just a soft-spoken, loving conversation at the end of the day followed by a lot of kissing and a little bit of groping. Nothing that Dewey wasn't aware of, but still, seeing his parents engaged in even the mildest act of private intimacy was off-putting and strange. He much preferred keeping his parents' sexual behavior abstract, disliking the way it had been laid bare before his young eyes.

After that experience, Dewey turned the focus of his exploration towards his brothers, whom he viewed as much more relatable figures. He'd observed Francis's innumerable conquests, consisting mostly of airhead cheerleader bimbos and anti-conformist artsy types. Although Malcolm and Reese had always seen Francis in more exaggeratedly mythological terms, Dewey's perspective was more grounded in reality: he knew for a fact that regardless of the self-satisfied, free spirit exterior he maintained to frustrate authority figures, Francis was more likely to spend several hours on the phone with his current girlfriend than he was to make out with her in the mall parking lot. Reese was the sex-hound: deficient in intellectual conversation, but an expert at flirting (with a certain type, of course; not everyone was particularly interested). And even he valued emotional intimacy over physicality; the only problem was that most girls who would give him a second thought were only interested in flings.

Malcolm was trickier to pin down at first because Dewey had been so sure that he was destined to be the awkward dork forever: a loser who tried to seek romance by using strict logic to demonstrate his intellectual superiority. And in many ways, he was, at least to the untrained eye. But after a while, Dewey came to realize that Malcolm was more like Reese: as sex-obsessed as any normal teenage boy, and desperate for a real connection.

So the thought had occurred to Dewey before, purely in jest, that his brothers were perfect for each other. It was his own private joke.

But then he started noticing the signs: shared glances, late-night whispered secrets, even discreet touches. And he thought, Surely not...there's no way...

But there was, and he knew it.

It even made sense. Once he got past the "holy-fucking-shit-they're-brothers" part of it, Dewey began to think he could be okay with the whole thing. But he wanted to know, needed to know that it wasn't just screwing around. He wasn't sure he could handle living in the house if this blew up; which it most definitely would if Lois and Hal ever found out. He was sure of that.

So that's how he chose to open the conversation.

"You two should really be sneakier, you know."

Malcolm looked up from his homework and Reese lowered his sports magazine. They both frowned in confusion.

"Huh?" Malcolm said, quirking his eyebrows.

"Last week," Dewey clarified. "That night Dad and I went to the park. You remembered to change the sheets, but the room still smelled. You should have used Febreze or something."

Dewey treasured that moment, savoring the way his brothers' jaws dropped and the color drained out of their faces.

"Uh...umm...what..." Reese stammered.

"Wh-what do you...uh...huh?" Malcolm put his pencil down, breathing hard. He and Reese looked terrified.

Dewey rolled his eyes. "Relax, I'm not going to tell or anything. That's my point actually; I won't have to tell because you're not being very careful. If I could figure it out, Mom will definitely figure it out. Sooner or later." Malcolm opened his mouth and Dewey added, "Don't deny it, by the way. I can make this conversation much more awkward if I deem it necessary."

Malcolm clamped his jaw shut, breathing slowly returning to normal. Reese put his magazine down, looking defeated. "How'd you find out?" he asked frustratedly.

"Uh, other than the thing I just mentioned? You two are probably the least subtle people on the planet. I could list plenty of examples, but the worst one was probably a couple of days ago when you were wrestling in the living room." He crinkled his nose. "I know brothers do that, but no one makes noises like that..."

"Okay, okay, we get it," Malcolm said, pinching his nose. "So..." He looked at Dewey cautiously. "Are you cool with this? Or is this blackmail?"

Dewey stroked his chin, pretending to consider it. "Well, the thought had crossed my mind, but I figured you're stressed out enough already." He sighed. "It's weird, okay. I'm not going to lie about that. It kind of freaks me out, but it's not really any of my business, so I'm not going to stick my nose in the middle of it."

Reese mumbled, "It's not that weird. We can't get each other pregnant or anything."

Malcolm and Dewey stared at him.

Dewey covered his face. "Ugh, come on. I really don't want to think about you guys having sex..."

"It's perfectly natural, little brother. Minus the incest part."

"Reese, just shut up," Malcolm groaned.

They sat not looking at each other for a few minutes before Dewey spoke up again. "Does it ever bother you?"

Malcolm looked at him. "What, that we're related? Or that we're both boys?"

"The first one. I don't care that you're gay, or bi, or whatever you are." He thought for a second. "Yeah, I don't care. Besides, why would I make gay jokes when I've got a whole world of brother-fucking jokes to choose from? But anyway, yeah, I meant the first one."

Malcolm and Reese looked at each other, communicating silently with their eyes. Reese responded first.

"It doesn't bother me. We've never been normal in any other ways, so why should this be an exception?"

Dewey frowned. "I'm not sure it's really that simple..."

"Why not?" He looked at Malcolm. "Didn't you write that one report about social constructs and human sexuality, and how most of our conventions of morality are just reflections of our own fears and insecurities?" He broke into a grin at the expression on his brothers' faces. "I read the dictionary to prepare for that sentence."

Malcolm shrugged. "He's right. I won't deny it's unusual, and I have moments where I feel strange about it, but..." he looked down, blushing, "...I love him. And that's all that matters to me."

Reese scooted over on the bed to place his hand on Malcolm's shoulder.

Dewey looked between them. "You're serious," he said, surprised. "You guys are actually, like, in love with each other? It's not just a sex thing?"

They nodded.

"And if you try to break us up or tell Mom or Dad, I'll beat you until you piss blood, Dewey!" Reese snarled, shaking his finger threateningly. "You got that?"

Dewey shook his head disbelievingly. "Yeah. Got it."

Malcolm shot Reese an admonishing glare, then turned back to Dewey, looking apologetic.

"I know this isn't...I know it's weird and crazy, and you have a right to be freaked out. But trust me, we're much happier than we've been in a long time." He thought for a moment. "And we'll try to be more subtle about it. You're right about that part."

Dewey nodded, his mind spinning. "Yeah, good." He fidgeted, looking back and forth between them, his eyes drawn repeatedly to Reese's hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "We're still cool," he said reassuringly. "I'm not going to disown you or anything. Who knows? Maybe I'll be comfortable with it someday." He got up to leave, pausing at the door. "I still don't want to know more than I have to, so, you know, from now on, just tell me when you want the room to yourselves, okay?"

By the time Malcolm and Reese had been dating (if, indeed, that was what it was that they were doing) for two months, life in the Wilkerson household was finally back to normal, as much as it could be. Reese was still required to go attend therapy, but only once a week, and Lois didn't insist on driving him every time; she had caught on to the fact that the best way for him to heal was to be given time and space. Hal had struck a fairly solid balance between his need to be an "involved parent," and acknowledging that teenage boys didn't want to spend every waking moment with their father. Neither he nor Lois had any real suspicions about Malcolm and Reese's decrease in bickering. Most likely, they were just grateful for the reprieve from yelling. For a kid who had recently discovered that his older brothers were fucking each other, Dewey was handling it all surprisingly well. Malcolm and Reese still got the occasional eye roll if they said or did anything too sappy, but Dewey kept to his word and didn't say a word.

If anything, he went out of his way to be supportive: one day when Malcolm and Reese got into an argument that nearly led to blows, Dewey rented a movie and ordered pizza for them before conveniently getting himself and the parents out of the house for the evening.

Francis didn't take advantage of his new boundaries around Thanksgiving time. He called ahead under the pretense of warming Lois to the idea of spending two weeks with Piama, but Malcolm knew the message was really for him.

"Francis is coming for the holiday," he told Reese, who nodded nonchalantly.

"Okay."

"He'll be here for two weeks."

"Alright." Malcolm peered at him intently, trying to get a read on his emotions. Feeling his eyes boring into his skull, Reese looked up from his paper. "Is there a question in there?"

"Don't be like that. I just want to make sure you're ready for this."

Reese's eyes softened. "I know. Thanks. And yeah, I'm fine. Might as well get it all out of the way at once. So we can move on for good."

Francis's arrival wasn't nearly as unpleasant as Malcolm had anticipated. Everyone greeted each other with hugs and smiles (and a cold, robotic handshake between Lois and Piama), and Hal, eager to use his new camera, rounded everyone up for a family photo. To both Malcolm and Francis's surprise, Reese positioned himself next to his older brother, giving his arm a quick squeeze.

"Welcome home," he said softly.

And that had been it. There was no weepy apology or long, somber conversation about the matter; Reese simply chose to forgive Francis and enjoy the holiday with as little drama as their screwed-up family was capable of. Even though he knew he should be used to it after all they had been through recently, Malcolm couldn't help but feel surprised by the swell of pride in his chest upon witnessing Reese's act of maturity.

That first week leading into the break from school was pretty smooth sailing. Hal and Francis spent most afternoons chewing the fat out the backyard while Lois and Piama put their differences aside to collaborate on the Thanksgiving feast. "It shouldn't be too much work," Lois said cheerfully. "We just have to gather the ingredients, and we'll make Reese put in the real work." Reese and Dewey's workload evaporated while Malcolm's teacher's piled on the exams. So most nights, he was left in the bedroom, buckling down on Calculus or Political Science while his siblings played outside. But the family was still getting along better than it had in a long time, Grandma Ida had thankfully not made an appearance, and Francis was respecting Malcolm's rules and rebuilding his relationship with Reese at a slow pace. It was shaping up to be the most drama-free holiday in years, so Malcolm had no complaints.

Thanksgiving came quicker than anyone anticipated, and it went splendidly. The food was delicious, the tone of the house was amicable, and the dinner conversation somehow avoided descending into a screaming match. After a few drinks, Lois even shared a few laughs with Piama. It was so perfect, Malcolm actually felt relieved when Hal dropped the chocolate pecan pie and shattered the glass container; up until that point, the entire evening had felt like he was outside of his body observing someone else's life play out. It hadn't felt quite right.

"Oh, honey. Be careful, don't cut yourself," Lois said, getting up to help him. "Boys, don't get out of those chairs until this is cleaned up."

Feeling a sense of peace, Malcolm decided to help Piama wash the dishes while Hal and Francis played football with Reese and Dewey in the backyard and Lois drove to the store to pick up another tub of ice cream.

"How can they see out there?" she asked, peering out the window while pouring dish-soap into a pan. "It's completely dark!"

Malcolm shrugged, blowing a bubble off one of the plates. "Trust me it doesn't matter. They suck no matter what, so they actually prefer to play when it's dark out. It keeps them from embarrassing themselves as badly."

She snickered. "Really now? So should I take it that Francis's talk about being a big-shot at sports is just him blowing smoke?"

"Hey, you're married to him," he replied, grinning. "If you haven't figured out that he's a class-A embellisher by now, you were never going to."

Piama smiled at him, washing the pan under the sink. "So what about you?" she asked. "How're things going?"

"Well..." Malcolm answered, drying off a bowl, "...it feels really weird to say this, but...good. Really, really good. Better than ever. My classes aren't too stressful, I've been getting along with kids at school, and everything's good here, too. Not too much to complain about."

"That's great," she said, still smiling. "So, things have been good? It hasn't been too hard?"

Malcolm stopped drying. He looked up slowly, noticing that Piama's smile seemed somewhat forced. He felt his heart sink in his chest.

I knew this was too good to last.

"What do you know?" he said in a monotone voice, staring into her eyes as though he could read her thoughts if he looked hard enough.

She dropped the fake smile and sighed, putting the pan down and leaning against the counter. "Just what I heard on the phone," she said. "Your mother telling Francis about what happened to Reese."

Malcolm swallowed. "Yeah."

She looked away. "Look, Malcolm, I know I'm sort of an outsider here, and it's not really any of my business...but I do care about you guys, and I want to be there for you when you are going through tough times."

He nodded understandingly. "I get that. But I wasn't lying. Things are actually really good right now. And not just for me. I really think Reese is in a better place now. It was tough for a long time, and he's probably not totally healed, but things are definitely looking up."

Piama wiped her eyes. "I'm really glad to hear that. I know you all are still getting to know me, but even with...certain tensions, I feel like I am, at least in some way, a part of this family. This has been difficult for me, too." She turned back to the dishes, picking up some silverware. "I wanted to come down to visit back when I first heard, but Francis said we should give Reese some space, and let the immediate family process everything before we got involved. I don't know if my being down here would have helped or not, but I still feel guilty."

Malcolm shook his head. "No, don't. He didn't really talk to any of us that much about it, anyway. He's been seeing a psychiatrist for that. Mom's idea, of course." He felt slightly more calm not, but there was still something nagging at the back of his brain. He hesitated, then asked, "But what about you?"

She looked at him quizzically. "Me? What do you mean?"

Malcolm felt his heart thumping in his chest.

Relax. It doesn't prove anything yet. Just calm down.

"I mean, how's stuff between you and Francis?" he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

She frowned. "He and I are fine...why do you ask? Did he say something?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. I was just wondering..." he paused, unsure of what to say.

Piama smiled encouragingly. "Hey, it's okay. Don't be afraid to ask."

Alright, here goes.

"Well, I was wondering if Francis was having trouble...with alcohol?"

She looked puzzled for a few seconds, then it dawned on her. "Oh, I see." She looked relieved. "Francis told me he used to have a bit of a drinking problem."

"Used to?" Malcolm whispered, his blood running cold.

"Yeah, back before he and I met." She smiled sympathetically at him. "It's so sweet that you're worried about him, but trust me, he doesn't have that problem anymore. He's been sober since before we got married. Won't even have a sip, except on special occasions."

Malcolm forced a smile. "O-okay. Thanks, Piama."

"Of course."

They returned to washing and drying, and though he was vaguely aware of Piama talking to him about her job back home, Malcolm wasn't listening. His attention was focused on Francis through the kitchen window, laughing and playing with the family.

The son of a bitch...that fucking son of a bitch...

He had been lying all along. He'd never had a drinking problem. He'd never hit his wife. It was all bullshit, and Malcolm had bought the whole fucking thing. Malcolm had allowed this parasite back into their house, back into the home of his victim.

But even Reese had said Francis had been drunk. Both times.

That doesn't mean it was the reason he raped him. Correlation does not prove causation.

But then...what did that mean? Why would Francis lie about the alcohol? Why would he lie about that, but not deny the abuse?

So that he could outsmart you. He made himself sound especially pathetic so that you would find him more sympathetic.

So he'd lied. He hadn't been drunk. Which meant he'd raped his brother...

...

...because he wanted to.

Malcolm stared out the window coldly. If this was to be a chess match, then so be it. Chess he could play. The wheels in his mind began to spin as he concocted a plan of action...

AN: End of Chapter 6. Thanks to those of you who have reviewed so far (and to those of you who are reading, but don't feel like reviewing). It's cool with me if you don't feel like reviewing, but I AM writing this story to entertain you (because we all need a little escapism in our lives, don't you think?), and reviews help me know what you're thinking; what you like or don't like, or aren't sure about, etc. Anyway, hope you're enjoying, and I will update in the near future!