"Bro?"

"…Dave?"

"Where are we?"

"I was hoping you knew."

The black area yawned around them, no beginning or end to the space, just a rough approximation of a floor underneath their feet. Where they were was probably a appropriate question, one not easy to answer or easy to grasp, as the neither of the brothers could quite recall what in the ever-loving-fuck was even going on, or much that had happened before they were in this…

…wherever they are.

Something was wrong, that much the younger of the two knew. In fact, it wasn't really something being identified as wrong, it felt like everything. Dave was smart, or, hell, if he wasn't that, his memories were usually confident (or so he hoped, the mind was a fragile thing, always against you), but this time he couldn't think. There was a wall and-

John.

John's face, stained with blood.

Black hands and a sickening crunch and realizing it was you and that was your blood and everything was on fire and you couldn't breathe and then there was nothing-

Dave shivered. "Well, shit." He started giggling, off-kilter and a bit too frantic. "I think we're dead, man."

Bro stood perfectly still, nothing coming over him (see no evil, speak none either?), or at least nothing appearing to. In truth, it felt like he was walking across a godamned tightrope with broken glass shards glinting up at him, one misstep and he would

"Shit. Fucking HELL GODDAMNIT."

His voice surprised them both.

(fall)

"Whoa, dude, calm down." At that point, Dave was beyond freaked out. Not only was his timeline's (doomed timeline?) John dead, but he was dead and his bro, the one he could count on to at least be cool (if nothing else), was flipping his shit.

"Yeah, sure, what-fucking-ever!" The older man lets out a shrill laugh, but then seemed to calm down slightly, for Dave's sake, of course. In reality, he was still very much flipping out inside. "I'm so sorry." He muttered after a long time without speaking, hoping to convey his tangled emotions and shatter the crushing blackness.

"For…what?"

"I was…strifing. Jack Noir. For you." Bro's sentences were broken and a little throaty- at that point in time, he was struggling with a thick disappointment in the back of his throat.

"Yeah, so?" Dave seems unaffected by the proceedings, but he's still a little unnerved by his brother's actions.

"So…so…" Silence and black reign between the two already so estranged from each other. "SO I COULDN'T SAVE YOU!" He finally screamed, causing Dave to jump and scramble back a couple steps.

"Du- Bro, chill the fuck out. Alpha me still exists, I'm just another of a thousand dead Daves."

That wasn't bitterness laced into his tone, not at all.

Not at all.

"No, no, I get it. But the fact is, I could have saved them the same way I could have saved you."

"We're all the same person. Just at a bunch of different times."

Bro shook his head at Dave. "You can say that, but that doesn't change the fact that you're your own person. Alpha Dave doesn't make up your mind. Alpha Dave isn't the one dealing with my shit right now. No, fuck, you are."

The younger is now frightened, and it's starting to show in the shake in his hands and the crease of his brow. He takes a shaky breath, pauses as if he wants to say something, then exhales.

"Sometimes…"

The scene around them, the fucking blackness that threatened to suffocate them both started to shatter apart, cracks of white and static and other scenes of things only to be dreamt about splitting the place they were in.

Bro took a step towards Dave, holding out his hand. To placate? To save? To grab and not let go?

God, even he didn't know.

The floor beneath them splintered and showed the image of a dead John in his room, acting as if nothing was wrong. Dave looked down and there was a slight tilt in his lips. He wasn't happy, not by a long shot, but he knew then that he had time to make things right.

Bro, however, was still so scared and so angry and so disappointed and he had nothing left because, really, his session was over and he had hoped that maybe through Dave, he could get the redemption he had craved ever since he had carried Jake's coffin through the streets of Prospit.

"Sometimes, Bro, shit just…"

Dave's eyes rose, and suddenly, there was a switch. It was like Bro was sixteen again and stilled called Dirk, and Dave was older, the older one, the one who could always manage to stay cool.

"…shit just doesn't work out."

"Wait, Dave, please don't go-"

White.

Camryn, you have a running fanfic to work on.

Fuck you, me, I can churn out Strider sadstuck if I WANT TO.

So, yeah, this is inspired off of a trollmegle log, I was Bro (I DID take a couple liberties off the original, as I lost the log). Unfortunately, I have no idea who the Dave was, but...yeah.

Thanks for reading, you are a great fantastic person wow okay yeah bye.