It was his room and Dane's room connected. There was a white space where the edge of the ripped rooms were. Dane sat in his chair while Dave stood up. He stared down at his older brother. For once, he felt like the one in charge, but it wasn't a good feeling. He was the one taking charge over both of them—life or death in a way he couldn't imagine happening to them.

"This is sick," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "This is harshing Strider vibes, and you... don't care."

"I'm not one for appearances," Dane stated. He sounded tired. His tone made him much older than he was supposed to be. A sigh. "I just want this all to end."

"Want what to end? Nothing's going on." Dave dropped down to one knee. He pressed his hands together. Before he knew it, he was right in front of his older half, hands on Dane's knee. "Dane. What are you talking about?"

"You just don't see it."

"See what?" He chocked. His head tilted back as Dane's hand tightened around his throat.

The white aviators were gone from his brother's face, and he could see his eyes clearly. His own shades must have been gone too. He could see all the fatigue written on his brother's face, but that didn't soften the fact that he was choking him.

"I'm sorry, baby brother," came the apologetic voice.

And it would have been genuine if Dave didn't see something in Dane's eyes. That glimmer or spark that said he was enjoying this. He was watching the life being drained out of his younger half's eyes. For a moment, Dave could feel what Dane could. And it was good.