"I didn't want to wake up. I was having a much better time asleep. And that's really sad. It was almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare you're so relieved. I woke up into a nightmare."

-Ned Vizzini

I couldn't sleep, which was fucking annoying. I don't know why but sometimes I feel restless and it's on nights like these that I can truly be a god... of video games. I was totally immersed in this amazing game Dave had bought me for my birthday (the first time he'd bought me something that wasn't a shitty sword) when I heard a whisper from behind me.

"Bro?"

The little shit was up at this time of night? Or should I say morning, because it was three o' fucking clock. Little man needed sleep to grow so I was about to turn around and chew him out about proper sleeping habits and shit when I noticed his eyes reflected in the TV. They were red, the fuck?

I mean, no, that came out wrong. Dave has red eyes so that didn't surprise me and though he usually falls asleep with his shades on, he ends up with no shades by the end of night because he rolls around or something. I don't fucking know because I'm not a creeper who watches him sleep at night but he was a rock and roll baby, literally, so I assume his rolling habits are still strong.

No, what surprised me was how red they were. I turned around to confirm after pausing my game in the middle of stabbing some asshole who was trying to kill me, and yes, his eyes were red as if he'd been crying. The hell was going on? I could barely remember the last time he'd lost his cool, let alone cried. I raised him not to be a pussy, so he obviously wouldn't cry over something trivial.

"What's wrong little man?"

He was silent for a bit, as I watched him press the heels of his hands into his eyes, taking deep breaths. But it seemed trying to calm himself down didn't work so well because when he spoke his voice wavered and cracked at the end.

"I had a n-nightmare."

A nightmare? He was crying over a nightmare? What kind of fucking nightmare was that bad? I mean, he'd never cried over a nightmare, or if he did he never came to me because I wasn't someone who coddled him. I raised him to be an independent bad ass mother fucker, and he knew that if he came crying to me he'd better have a pretty good reason, because if it wasn't a good reason I'd send him to his room after calling him a pussy. Sounds mean but obviously if he was actually sad I didn't do that so don't get your panties in a knot.

"What kind of shit went down in it to get you so worked up?"

I was always careful about going over and hugging him or something equally as chick flicky when he was sad because I wanted him to be able to deal with it by himself in case I wasn't around someday, so I stayed on the couch. That being said, you have no idea how fucking bad I want to hug him to comfort him when he looked at me like that. I hate seeing my younger brother sad.

"It started off when one of my friends online got this game."

Okay, it didn't sound that bad. It must've shown on my face beecause he quickly made his way over to the couch and flopped down on it next to me, burying his face in his hands as he spoke in quick, choppy sentences.

"John got a game. Then a shitload of bad things started going down and because of this shit. I had to get a copy of the game. A comet hit our house... you saved me. But then... so much happened... and so many of my friends died... I made new ones... one of them went crazy... killed some others... you..."

His breath was getting faster and faster. I felt a chill in the base of my spine. I mean, I'd obviously read a bunch of parenting books because I wanted to be a good parent to the kid and all that shit, so I knew if a teen dreamt about people they know dying but weren't sad it meant their relationships were changing. But Dave was getting more and more upset the longer he talked about it, so it obviously wasn't something I could pull psychological bullshit out on.

"...died... Bro, you died and I was scared but I... I kept going... I was the knight of time and I thought it was sick but then I had to keep doing it because shit was getting messed up so I did it but I was scared and my own blood was everywhere but it wasn't mine you know..."

Doing "it"? What the actual fuck was he talking about? He was more or less hysterical by this point, and the coldness I'd started to feel suddenly made me completely freeze when he said something about his own blood.

"Little man, stop."

But it was like a switch had been turned on and he couldn't stop. His hands shook and his face had lost all colour.

"...the other me didn't but you were dead and I was so scared and that timeline I fucking did it I killed him I killed him I killed him..."

"Little man, I said to fucking stop!"

But he was looking at something I couldn't see, his voice dropping lower and lower until I could barely hear it.

"It was me. I killed myself."

It was barely a whimper but I heard it and my heart stopped. Dave would never ever contemplate suicide and fuck, those parenting books who said it was normal and it was about change don't know my little man. He was still shaking and muttering under his breath about how he killed himself when I finally snapped.

"Dave that's e-fucking-nough! If you ever talk about killing yourself again, I'll... I'll... I'll really fuck you up, you little shit, you don't do things like that!"

I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him fiercely for the first time in at least five years. I was scared shitless. I couldn't even imagine what kind of hell life would be if my little man killed himself. He buried his face in my shoulder and choked on sobs while I sat there, game forgotten, slowly rocking him back and forth like I had when he was a kid. It couldn't have been more than half an hour but it couldn't have been less than an eternity when he finally stopped crying and just clutched onto me like an exhausted little kid. He was calmer now, and I guess that gave him incentive to speak.

"I couldn't handle it anymore so I decided to do it even though they said I shouldn't."

What was this about? Killing himself again? I was about to protest angrily when his next sentence stopped me.

"I went back in time and stopped John from playing the game. It was the only way to save everyone. I had to so I stopped the game from ever being made."

I wasn't sure what he was talking about but it sounded like the nightmare had a relatively happy ending. I mean, he had saved everyone right?

"That's a good thing right, little man?"

He leaned back and looked up at my face. The expression on his face was so pained I wanted to hit something, cut something, do whatever I could to make it go away. I fucking hated being so powerless.

"Bro, have you ever heard of my friend John? I know I've talked to you about him."

I frowned in confusion. No, I'm sure Dave had never mentioned a person called John. So this wasn't just someone from a dream?

He recognized my expression and shuddered, closing his eyes with an expression I'd never seen him wear before.

"Then I guess you've never heard of Jade or Rose."

Jade? Rose? Nope, he'd never mentioned any girls by name, just 'that hot babe' or 'the nice one that was sick as fuck' or 'her, from my class you know?' Contrary to his appearance, I think girls made him a little nervous because he wasn't around them growing up. He'd certainly never mentioned any friends that were girls that he felt comfortable with.

"Yeah, I've never heard the names."

I'd normally make some joke about him being popular with the ladies because he's a Strider, but right now jokes were the last thing on my mind. He laughed a little, his voice carrying a sadness that shocked me; no kid should have sadness of that depth. It was like an ages old sadness of someone who had seen the deaths of many friends. It was as if Dave's dream was reality or something equally as unsettling.

"You... remember your parents, right?"

My parents? Fuck yeah, laid back people that knew shit about how to be ironic. They'd passed away when I was young but... why was Dave asking? I studied him. Or tried to. For some reason it was as if his profile was blurred. I blinked rapidly but it didn't seem to become any clearer.

"Thank god. I guess you didn't need the game because you existed without it before it was made. But... I'm sorry."

What in the love of-

"John, Rose, Jade... I'm sorry I wasn't thinking straight. I'm so, so sorry."

Now tears leaked silently down his face as his eyes flickered open. He reached up and took my face in both of his hands, his eyes searching mine through the shades I wore. It didn't make sense; his profile almost seemed to be melting into the darkness.

"Bro, thanks for raising me. You've been a better fucking brother than I deserve. You're the sickest, most ironic person I've ever met and I hope you have the best life you can imagine. Shit, become the president or something and spread the smuppet love throughout the world. I don't fucking know how but if it's you, you could do it. Or just stay here and be a big Japanese-loving cool kid. I don't give a shit what you do as long as it makes you happy. Happy as a guy with crazy-ass hair who just discovered some boring fucking equation or even happier."

The fuck does a person say to that mushy shit? But... I swear to god I could see through him. And in my arms he suddenly felt insubstantial, light. The warmth I'd been feeling earlier was gone and the tears that had soaked into my shirt... why was my shirt dry?

"No."

It slipped out of my mouth and I don't know how I fucking I knew but somehow I knew.

"Don't go."

And where my hands had been resting, suddenly there was nothing and they hit my chest with a thunk.

"Dave."

I didn't say his name often but when I did it was something serious. And this was goddamn serious. Because all that was left of my younger brother was a gleam of something that could only be seen if one squinted.

"Dave."

A small, frightened smile. A smile that said 'I'm trying to be brave but I'm scared. I'm scared of not existing.'

"DAVE!"

My fingers went through air as the last trace of my younger brother vanished into thin air, and as they fell I lost my breath as if someone had punched me, along with my consciousness.

Bro woke up on the couch, stretching and wincing at the stiffness in his joints. He wondered why the fuck he'd fallen asleep on the couch when there was a perfectly good bed in his room. His eyes flickered to the TV screen and he frowned. It really was weird; he hadn't even been playing a video game so why was he on the couch.

He shrugged idly and got up, making his way to the kitchen to grab some food. He opened the fridge and scanned the contents before grabbing a bag of Doritos and going back to lay down on the couch. As he munched on them, he let his eyes wander over the contents of the room.

Most of it was generic shit but on one of the walls was a shitty sword. He'd picked the thing up from a yard sale once when he'd thought swords were cool. Then he'd realized they weren't and he didn't really like them, so he'd just thrown it up on the wall for no reason in particular. His eyes kept being drawn back to the sword over and over, though he didn't know why.

Something was at the back of his mind, not really a memory but more of a feeling of something that had happened. For some reason it made his chest pang so he pushed it away. He let out a deep sigh, bored as usual, and slightly lonely. Living all by oneself was lonely after all.

Again he looked at the sword and suddenly he had an image of a bunch of shitty swords. Why the fuck would that be in his head? He didn't even like swords so why would he keep them?

"I didn't want to hurt his feelings."

He had spoken aloud without thinking and now he was really stumped on what he'd said. Whose feelings? Who would he care enough about to keep a bunch of shitty swords just because he hadn't wanted to hurt someone's feelings? No, that was ridiculous. But all of a sudden he got the feeling that something was missing.

He bolted up with a name on his tongue.

"Da-"

But just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. And it would never come back.

As he sat by himself in an apartment that was big enough for one person and unreasonable for two, he couldn't understand. He couldn't understand why it felt so empty, as if something had been torn away from it. It didn't feel like home, it felt cold. And lonely. Why?

And, for no reason in particular, a single tear rolled his face.

"It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."
― Rose Kennedy