Warnings: Fear, bullying, self harm

Happy ending? Call it how you want:)

Malcolm was two years old when his parents told him he was going to have a baby brother.

"Really?" He asked with wide eyes.

"Yes, what do you want to call him?"

"May I choose that?"

"Why not?"

"Mmmmh ... Angus! Can his name be Angus?" The parents thought for a moment.

"Okay, his name will be Angus."

*

Two months later.

"Here he is." Margarete held a bundle with something that was screaming in her arms and showed it to Malcolm.

"This is Angus?" Malcolm asked suspiciously.

"Yes, this is your little brother."

"But why is he so small?"

"You were so little too. He's also getting bigger." Malcolm nodded and looked at the baby a little more.

"I love you, Angus." He kissed the baby on the forehead.

*

Three years later (Malcolm 5, Angus 3)

"Look mom!" Malcolm exclaimed excitedly, holding a picture in his hand.

"Mh. Don't have time, Mal. I have to take care of Angus."

"But mom, I've made an effort and look, it's-"

"It's over now, Malcolm. I don't have time for your things." With that she was out of the room. Malcolm bowed his head and went back to his room. Tears ran down his cheeks. He angrily tore up the picture he had made of his family and threw it in the trash can.

*

(Malcolm 6, Angus 4)

"Look dad! I can write!" Malcolm exclaimed excitedly and ran into his father's office. Malcolm was in first grade and had learned to read and write quickly. He was holding a piece of paper on which he had copied a text.

"I don't have time, Malcolm. I have to finish my tax return."

"But dad-"

"No Malcolm. Go out. You're distracting me."

"Sorry." Malcolm muttered and went back out. He closed the door behind him and went back to his room. There he looked with watering eyes at the paper, which he had carefully copied several times so as not to make any mistakes.

*

(Malcolm 8, Angus 6)

"Look, this is Malcolm." Said a girl in disgust, pointing to Malcolm, who was standing alone in a corner in the school yard.

"Ew. Who wants to do something with someone like that?" The other girl giggled.

"That's why he has no friends."

*

"Who can tell me what is 26-8? Mh. How about Jacob?" The teacher asked, turning around.

"Em ... 10?"

"No, that is wrong."

"Malcolm told me!" Shouted Jacob, who was sitting in front of Malcolm.

"You have to pick it up for that, Young. We don't tell anyone anything, especially if it's wrong."

"But sir, I haven't-" Malcolm wanted to protest, but the teacher interrupted him.

"Out! That's enough! In my office this afternoon!" Teacher turned back to the blackboard. Jacob showed his tongue to Malcolm and laughed at him. Mal looked down at his notebook and crushed his pencil in anger.

*

(Malcolm 10, Angus 8)

"Dad! I can play a little on the guitar!" Malcolm exclaimed excitedly and ran to his parents in the kitchen. His brother George was there with his buddy Harry. Malcolm liked Harry.

"Not now, I don't have time." Said the father. "What did you say, would that cost George?" Malcolm bowed his head and went back to his room. Harry noticed this and ran after him.

"Hey, Mal. What did you say what you can?" Malcolm's eyes lit up. Finally someone was listening to him!

"Look!" He shouted and pulled the 17 year old into his room. There was George's guitar on his bed. He took it and played a little bit.

"How can you do that?" Harry asked in amazement.

"I heard it on the radio."

"And you just acted it out?" Malcolm nodded quickly and played something else. The door opened and George and William came in.

"This is my guitar." George gasped.

"Give it back right now!" William yelled, slapping Malcolm. Mal squeaked and held the guitar out to his older brother. George took it in his hand and hugged it as if it were a pet.

"I never allowed you to touch my things!" He then yelled.

"But George, I can do chords now."

"House arrest! You are under house arrest Malcolm! You're not leaving this room for the next week!" William yelled. He pulled George and Harry with him. Then he closed the door and locked it. Malcolm started crying. Harry, stopped in front of the door and asked:

"Can you hear me, Malcolm?"

"Yes." Malcolm whimpered.

"You played very well, Malcolm. You have real talent. Make use of it." With that, Harry was gone as George called for him. Malcolm slid down the door and wiped the tears from his eyes. I mustn't cry, it just makes the others happy, he thought.

"I mustn't cry." He whispered.

*

(Malcolm 11, Angus 9)

"Hey! This is my skateboard!" Malcolm yelled as Angus drove away with it.

"Not anymore!" Laughed the younger one and pushed his foot back a little. Malcolm grabbed Ang's bike and rode after him. Angus saw this and started screaming: "Go away from my bike!"

"You have my skateboard too." Malcolm defended himself when he stopped.

"Ma! Mal has my bike!" Angus cried. Malcolm got off quickly.

"Here, I'm sorry, Ang. Everything is fine. Here." He pushed the bike over to him, but it was too late. Margarete stood next to them. She hit Malcolm and pulled him back inside by the hair.

"You are stealing your brother's things!? That's what you got for it!" She dragged him by his shoulder-length hair into his room, threw him in and locked the door. "Now you can think about your behavior!" Malcolm looked through his window onto the street, where his brother was laughing across the street on his skateboard with the other children. He let himself fall on his bed and cried. But he quickly wiped away the tears.

"I mustn't cry. Only weak people do that." He muttered to himself. "And I mustn't be weak."

*

(Malcolm 13, Angus 11)

Malcolm was in a football club. He liked the sport in the beginning, but as the children hated him, as all children did, he began to hate the exercise. Once he was a good player, he was mostly on the bench. Even in the game. He was good at thinking and tricking tactically, but the coach wouldn't let him play once he knew that the team could win with Malcolm. It was 5-0 and in the last two minutes the coach let Malcolm play. Mal ran happily onto the field and let his legs run as fast as he could, knowing that this was his chance to prove himself. He straddled, grabbed the ball and outplayed them all until he got to the goal. He shot and the ball flew cleanly into the goal. However, while the ball was in the air, the referee whistled and the game was over. Malcolm went sadly into the locker room.

"You are a loser, Young. That was clear again, if you let you in, you don't win." The team captain grumbled and the other boys agreed.

"But I only came in the last minute. You lost yourself because you played stupid." Malcolm defended himself.

"Don't make excuses for your stupidity." The trainer scolded and pushed him aside. The others laughed. Malcolm went out into the parking lot where his parents were.

"You just shamed us once again!" Shouted William. "Get into the car! When we're home, I don't want to see you again today!" Malcolm nodded sadly and got into the car.

*

At home, Malcolm went to his room and did a little drawing. His father came in and saw that.

"You're not a girl! Boys don't draw!" He shouted and pulled the sheet away from him. A tree was drawn on it. He tore the sheet of paper and tossed the scraps on Malcolm's table. Mal looked at it and started crying. It had cost him so much work. "Do you need a reason to cry!?"

"N ... no." Malcolm swallowed.

"Why can't you be like Angus or George?" With that, the father was gone. Weeping, Malcolm picked up the scraps of paper. Why? Why me? He cried. He sat down in his closet, since he had his peace there and cried himself out until not a single tear came out of his eyes.

*

One year later:

Malcolm was bad. All day long. But why should he tell someone that? Everyone would laugh at him or call him weak. The room was spinning all the time. You played sports with Mr. Turner. They had him in music too, and that was the only teacher Malcolm liked.

"And now we're running! From! Five laps!" Malcolm started to run slowly. Very slowly. The others passed him and laughed at him. Malcolm ran a little faster, but stopped immediately when he felt sick. "Come on Malcolm, you know you can do it better!" Shouted the teacher. Malcolm nodded and ran faster. Suddenly everything went black and he collapsed.

"Tired?" Jacob laughed.

"Malcolm!?" Mr. Turner exclaimed, walking towards him. He turned the boy over in a panic. Malcolm was barely breathing. Turner caught him and ran with him to the secretary's office, where they called an ambulance. The teacher went with the boy. "W ... what did he have?" The adult asked after they had put Malcolm in a hospital bed and given him IV fluids and other things.

"He had a heart attack for an unknown reason." The doctor explained.

"Will he be okay again?"

"Yes, I think so. But he'll stutter badly at first." Turner almost cried. Again something the other kids could tease him with. After a few minutes, Malcolm woke up with a groan. He touched his forehead. Everything hurt.

"Keep calm, boy. All is well. You're in the hospital."

"W ... What i ... is ... go ... going...on?" Malcolm's eyes widened when he realized he was stuttering. "W ... why ... do ... I ... s ... stutter?" He asked in panic. Turner looked at him crying.

"You had a heart attack, Malcolm. Nobody knows why. You'll stutter like that for the next few months. You'll need a speech therapist to teach you to speak again." Malcolm yelled:

"N ... no!"

"Yes, there is no other way." Mumbled the teacher. Malcolm started crying.

*

One month later:

Malcolm had already improved but still stuttered badly on some words. He sat next to his little brother and studied with him.

"Can you question me?" Asked Angus. Malcolm nodded.

"W ... Wh ... When was Jul ... Julius Caesar ... mor ... murdered?" Malcolm bit his lip, he hated it so much that he couldn't speak normally.

"March 15, 44 BC." Replied Angus. His legs swung under the table.

"R ... right. W ... where was ... he b ... b..."

"Born?" Asked Angus, trying to help him. Malcolm nodded quickly. "Rome."

"Yes."

"What are you doing?" Asked George, walking in. He didn't actually live with them anymore, but he came here now and then. Harry was there too.

"Mal's questioning me." Explained Angus.

"You're being questioned by a disabled person?" Grinned George.

"I'm ... n ... not d ... dis ... disa ..."

"You can't even pronounce it." George laughed.

"Let him." Harry scolded.

"He's too stupid to say disabled." George was still laughing. Angus giggled a little too. Malcolm wiped his eyes angrily.

"I can ... say it..."

"Well then, tell me, you little idiot!"

"Dis ... Disabl ... Disab ..."

"You can't!" Laughed George.

"Stop it, George!" Harry called. He knelt in front of Malcolm. "Come on try again. Slowly." He put a hand on his knee. Malcolm screwed up his eyes and shook his head. "Come on, you can do it. Try it."

"Hopeless case." George laughed and went into the living room. He pulled Angus with him.

"You can do it, Mal. Did you hear me? You can do it. Try." Harry urged.

"Dis... Disable ..."

"Yes! Nearly! Keep trying!" Malcolm whimpered.

"Disabled."

"Yes! You can do it! Well done!" Harry hugged him happily. He wiped a tear away from him. "Well done. I told you, that you can. You just have to practice. You can speak normally again, okay? You can do it." Malcolm nodded. "George, come here, Mal wants to tell you something!" He shouted. George came back.

"What is?"

"You are disabled!" Malcolm shouted fluently. George stared at him while Harry laughed and grinned at Malcolm.

"Do you see? He can." Harry laughed.

*

Malcolm sat in his room every night reading books aloud. He was upset that he still couldn't pronounce some words. He wrote it down on paper and went to see his brother the next morning.

"How do you speak ... th... that?" Malcolm could speak much better than before, but still stuttered at times.

"What?" Asked Angus, turning around. Malcolm held out the paper. "Niagara Falls." Red Angus forward and looked up at his older brother.

"Nia ... niagara ... falls." Malcolm repeated. "Niagara Falls. Thanks Ang." With that he had disappeared from the room and continued to practice. Two months later, he spoke again as if nothing had ever happened.

*

Years later:

Malcolm continued to be bullied by his classmates. But he stood the test. He either hit them or told them something they couldn't understand because Malcolm read a lot. For Christmas he got a guitar from Harry. It was needed because he got it from a flea market, but Malcolm didn't care. It was a Gretsch G6131. Malcolm took it all apart and then put it together the way he wanted it. He removed the red paint so it was brown. So you saw the wood and then practiced. Every day. Each night. Even if his fingers were bleeding, nothing stopped him. His parents kept laughing at him that he would never achieve anything with it. Angus got a guitar from them and took guitar lessons while Malcolm practiced alone at home. He never showed it to anyone, however. Everyone pushed him away and didn't care about him. He put it away well. At 18, Malcolm couldn't take it anymore. He had a girlfriend. Her name was Elizabeth. She was actually a nice girl. However, it turned out that she was only with him to find out things about him that she could then tease him with.

"So how is Elizabeth?" Asked Margarte one evening. Nobody knew she was breaking up with him. Malcolm had learned in life that no one would ever listen to him and so he didn't tell anyone.

"Quite good." He lied.

"Don't you want to bring her back again?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Good night." Malcolm got up and left the table. But William grabbed his hair and pulled him back. He hit him on the nose and called:

"Answer your mother!"

"Because I do'nt want to."

"That's not an answer!"

"Yes, it is."

"Go! Nobody wants you! I don't want to see you today again!" Malcolm ran up the stairs to his room with a bleeding nose. Angus looked after him pityingly. "You stay seated." Warned William, when Angus got up. Malcolm went to his room. He didn't care about the blood that ran down his neck and shirt. He slammed the door angrily and went to his desk. There he could see an envelope. He opened it and read it through:

Malcolm Young, die! Nobody wants you! Kill you! Nobody cares! Not your family or anyone else! Die in the dirt where you belong! You're the son of the devil! Go to hell!

Malcolm tore the paper angrily. He received such letters more and more often. He pulled a knife out of his pocket and opened it. The blade sparkled in the light of the table lamp. He pulled it over his upper arm and gasped as he watched the blood drip down his arm. It relieved him. That's it! That's exactly what I have to do! He thought.

"I'm supposed to die! I'm supposed to die! Nobody wants me!" He shouted and cut faster. Soon he came to his thighs. "I'm a wretched bastard. I don't deserve life." He grumbled. At some point he stopped and snuck into the bathroom. There he connected everything and then went to bed. The next morning, he sat down at the kitchen table. They all talked as if nothing had happened and what made Malcolm the most puzzling: Nobody cared that he was hurt. Absolutely no one.

*

It went on and on. Malcolm even cut his neck, hands, cheek. He hoped someone would notice it, but nobody did. Not even Angus. Nobody. Nobody cared. No one is interested in me, he thought. I have never. If I died, no one would care.

*

Five years later, they were on stage. He no longer hurt himself. But suddenly, he saw someone in the crowd holding up a poster that said:

Die Malcolm Young! Nobody wants you anyway! Die so the band can get a new guitarist! You're just filth!

Malcolm froze. He knew the person who held up the poster, knew this handwriting. It was Jacob. But wasn't he right? He was just the crap that nobody needed, wasn't he? Nobody cared if he was sick or injured. After the show, he went to the bathroom and cut himself again. After five years, it was so incredibly good. He was redeemed. Nothing hurt anymore. He deserved it. When he came to the backstage afterwards, he saw the others laughing with a beer in their hand.

"Where have you been, Mal?" Asked Phil. He was the drummer.

"At the toilet."

"So urgent that you have to go there right after the concert?" Laughed Mark. He was the bass player.

"Yes." Malcolm sat down on a chair and watched the others. Phil stood next to him and he moved especially so that Phil should see his cuts. But he didn't. Or he did and said nothing. Malcolm's mind went dark. Everyone hates me. Nobody cares.

*

The years passed. Bon, the singer had died. Which Malcolm was very shocked about, because Bon had been a fine guy. That was another incentive for him to cut himself. And then ... then came the man who changed everything. His name was Brian Johnson. He was British and theyr new singer. He was funny. Just like Bon. Malcolm was still cutting himself. One day, they were sitting on the sofa. Malcolm didn't even think about his injuries anymore, since nobody cared anyway and leaned over to the living room table to put down his beer. Brian and he were home alone.

"What's that?" Asked Brian.

"What?"

"This." Brian took Malcolm's arm and looked at the older wound. Malcolm gasped for air. He ... he noticed? Was he finally important to someone? "What's this? That scares me, Mal. Did you cut yourself? Please tell me, that you don't cut yourself." Brian pleaded in panic and pulled the shirt over Malcolm's head. Brian saw the many white scars that were strewn all over Malcolm's body. "Oh my God. You cut yourself. Why didn't you tell anyone?" Brian asked in shock, his eyes watering. Malcolm smiled.

"Did you notice?"

"Of course you idiot! How should I not notice that!?"

"You were the first." Malcolm was still smiling.

"Why are you grinning?" Brian asked in shock.

"Because I mean something to you."

"To hell! Of course you mean something to me! You're my friend!"

"Nobody has ever noticed it."

"How long do you do this?"

"Since I was 18."

"Oh shit!" Brian hugged him tightly. "You have to stop!"

"I will." Malcolm whispered into Brian's hair.

"Then why did you do it? Even here. On neck! On the cheek! Oh shit! Everywhere!"

"Nobody was interested in me and nobody noticed." Malcolm muttered.

"Wait ... you did this to get attention?" Brian asked, eyes wide. Malcolm sighed and told him the whole story. Brian gasped and ended up crying. "W ... Why did nobody cared about you? You're a wonderful person and everyone pushed you away. E ... even Angus. And ... when you had shuttered, did everyone just laugh at you?"

"Yes. Everyone except Harry. He was the only person who believed in me. Even I didn't do that."

"Is that why you don't want another guitar? Because it's from Harry?" Malcolm nodded. At that moment the others came in.

"Oh, I'm sorry if we interfere with something." Phil giggled. As Malcolm was sitting bare chest in Brian's arms.

"You idiots!" Shouted Brian.

"What? It looks like it." Cliff laughed too.

"Mal hurt himself his whole life and you didn't noticed it!?" The laughter stopped and they looked at him in shock.

"What?"

"Mal has been scratching himself since he was 18! And nobody noticed!?" They all ran forward and looked at Malcolm's body.

"Oh Mal!" Angus cried and wanted to hug him, but Malcolm pulled back.

"It's okay, Ang. I know I don't mean anything to you. But you do to me. You all mean something to me. Even if I mean nothing to you. The first one who really liked me was Brian. And I'm happy to have a friend like him."

"But, Mal!" Cried Angus.

"It's okay. I have a real friend now. I still love you guys." Malcolm disappeared into his room.

"W ... what was that?" Angus cried. Brian explained everything to them.

"Oh no."

THE END