(Okay, so I really felt like writing something with all these feels I've been having lately with personal issues. This will be sadstuck and all that jazz. And also I know this chapter is short, I had actually intended to write more but I like where the chapter ended…soooo yeah..I'll work on the next chapter as soon as finals are over…hope you enjoy (also this may be subject to changes if I find mistakes later after I've slept some))

You're Dave Strider, 24, and you hate this place. It almost seems like the rest of your life was a dream. Like you've been in this sickly blank room your whole life, wearing these awful not ironic hospital attire. In reality, you've probably only been here for maybe a month, no time what so ever compared to other patients who arrive here. But that doesn't make you any friendlier to anyone who tries to help; you just stare blankly through dark ironic shades, barely speaking to anyone at all. They had one young nurse come in today to timidly tell you that you would be getting a roommate today. You had just stared blankly, not letting her see your reaction and after a few moments she seemed to get it and almost jumped back into the hallway.

After she is gone you sigh and let your head lull back, lifting your hand up to attentively rub the bridge of your nose. Well Great. You were going to have to share your room with someone else and that probably meant their family members coming in and being noisy. After contemplating this you simply shrug to yourself and think about something else. Like how you ended up here.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

You drowsily wake up in your dark Houston apartment. Sighing, you grope for your phone, not being able to tell the time through your blackout curtains. Its common knowledge a Strider does not get up early, and you are definitely not intent on breaking this sacred tradition. It illuminates a bright '11:38 A.M.' and you groan softly to yourself. Deciding since it is basically lunch time that it is no longer too early, you practically roll out of bed, slide your shades onto their proper place, and pad out to the washroom.

After refreshing and heading back to your room to throw clothes on, you drag yourself into the kitchen, intent on finding some sort of sustenance. You stretch lazily like a cat, yawning and look over at the table seeing a note stabbed with a throwing star. On closer examination it appears that it says 'Roof. Now. We're doing this. We're making this happen.' You silently eye your Bro's note, half way expecting a smuppet attack to randomly launch itself from some unknown corner of the apartment. After another moment, you waltz back into the bedroom and grab a shitty sword and head towards the roof.

You cautiously exit the stairwell onto the hot, black roof. Your red t-shirt and jeans immediately starting to trap heat. The Texas heat is so thick it could literally be cut like butter and slathered onto some bread the sun toasted up for you as well.

Without moving your head, you cautiously glance around the roof with, your crimson eyes flicking behind your shades. Feeling a sudden breeze, you whirl on your feet, lifting your sword up just in time to deflect Bro's attack.

The smallest of smirks creeps its way to the corner of your mouth. You and Bro are pretty evenly matched, now that you've gotten more experience.

The strife continues on for a while, as you both take turns having the upper hand. Both brothers performing acrobats with the grace of a ninja.

You start to feel yourself becoming fatigued. Lately, you've been getting tired more quickly, which you don't understand since you've never really taken a break from strifing since you were a kid. Puffing air out, you stamp the fatigue down, ignoring it, even as sweat starts to form.

"What's wrong lil' bro, getting tired already?" Bro asks from behind you. You whirl around, right in time to receive a blunt kick to the stomach. "Oomph" you gasp, sprawling out backwards. Pain blossoms through your whole midsection, trickling to every corner of your body. You start to freak out as your vision loses all ability to retain color. This shouldn't be this painful. Fuck

You breathe in deeply trying to calm yourself down. The edges of your vision go a bit blurry as you let yourself lay back down on the hot roof, trying to get a grip. Bro waltzes over to stand above you, looking down with his pointy shades, smirking a bit triumphantly. Then the smirk slips his lips. "Hey kiddo, you look paler than usual," he says, as your vision blurs more.

You don't respond as you slip into unconsciousness.