Please excuse typos or mistakes in this chapter! I have a tendency to write when I'm completely exhausted, and that's usually fine as long as I read it later to correct everything... But I was pretty lazy correcting this chapter, and it was mostly written when I was really tired...
The air was wet; the roof was wet; after a few minutes, they were wet. Both Striders were relieved to take their frustrations out on something so simple, so easy, so natural to them. Dave could tell that the other didn't want him to hold back, but he couldn't help his anxieties. On a bad day, he wore out quickly, exhausted halfway through the fight. He simply pretended that today was one of those days. He took measures to honest-to-goodness tire himself: dodging just a bit further than he usually would, wasting energy on strikes just a hair too slow to actually make contact… He even risked more severe injury when Bro, through his ungodly speed, even in his current state, ended up behind him, pushing him forward, and instead of his normal reaction of tucking into a good old youth roll (which didn't seem like a term copacetic with the movement anymore considering he was seventeen-and-a-half) he sort of just fell forward with an arm up to protect his face, at which point Bro finally determined something was up.
"What are you doing?" he asked, stepping toward the younger and holding a hand out to help him up.
"Sparring?" He ignored the offered help and stood on his own, picking up his sword.
"No you're not."
"Dude, yeah I am."
"Dude, no you're not. Fight me."
"I am."
"Did you really think I can't tell the difference between you sucking and you just pretending to suck?"
Yes. "No! I'm just distracted, okay? I think I have an excuse to be, don't I?"
"You're essentially always distracted, Dave. It doesn't make that much of a difference when we're sparring."
"The water is throwing me off?" he tried.
"Fight me, kid. I don't want your pity. I want your effort." There was a look in Dirk's eyes that Dave couldn't see, but he didn't need to. He could sense the hurt in his gaze.
Dave sighed in defeat and drew the tip of his katana away from the ground.
"Don't hold back, man; we're going to the hospital anyway, right? If we're gonna have two birds, I don't wanna have to get another stone."
"You'd better have a pretty fabulous stone collection for all the birds there are gonna be, Bro."
"Yeah, okay. Just fight. Take the first blow, come on." He stretched his arms out to the side to make himself an open target, taking a few steps backwards.
Dave took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. Could he be tired enough at this point, especially with that fall, to give it his all for the rest of the fight, and still have Dirk win in all scenarios? He decided the answer had to be yes. Bro overpowered him in extreme ratios, and now he was a little worn out while Bro had barely broken a sweat, though it was a little hard to tell that with the rain. He nodded and shifted his feet into a more battle-ready stance before launching himself forward, bringing the sword down above Bro's head. The last second saw the katana flawlessly parried with Dirk's own. From there Dave took a much more active state in the spar. He was moving as close as he could to the speed of flames, and still Bro was faster, deflecting nearly every would-be strike with zero effort shown on his part. He swore under his breath. Why had he been going easy again? He really needn't have done so, he realized as he slipped in a small puddle trying to counter a move. Dirk was so clearly having a fantastic morning. Dave would have given anything to keep his day going like that, but he knew there was nothing. No amount of self-sacrifice would fix this.
It wasn't too long before Dave fell once again, this time for real. He curled his back and rolled backwards for a quick recovery, but found he was too weary to move from the kneeling position he landed in. Chilled metal came into contact with his skin as Bro pressed the flat end of the blade against his neck.
"You lose," he said cockily, "care to try again?"
Dave shook his head carefully so as to not shift the dangerously placed sword. "Fuck no, it's cold and wet and I'm tired and outmatched anyway."
"Of course you're outmatched. It's not like I've got nearly sixteen years on you or anything."
The blade moved, and Dave sat back, regarding his brother. It was so easy for him to forget how old he was. He looked so young; how could it possibly be that Bro was in his early thirties?
His blood ran cold at the unwelcome thought that hey, at least he had lived through the best part of his life.
NO, he thought, yelling at his own subconscious. None of that even MATTERS, because Bro is going to be completely fine! We're going to get through this together, and we're both going to be fine and happy after it all blows over!
A hand was offered once again to help him up, pulling him from his own terrified thoughts which didn't register to his expression. "Come on, get up." Bro said. "I'll make strawberry cocoa," he tacked on teasingly in a singsong voice.
"I have not had strawberry cocoa," Dave began, taking Bro's hand and pulling himself to his feet, "since I was twelve."
"Then you're long overdue for some strawberry cocoa," he responded with a smirk.
"Maybe I don't want strawberry cocoa."
"Don't be a bitch; of course you want strawberry cocoa."
There was no room left for the mock argument as Bro went to the door that would take them back inside to their kitchen. "Are you seriously making strawberry cocoa?" Dave asked as he jumped through the ceiling door and closed it.
"I am seriously making strawberry cocoa."
"Is the challenge of the day to see how many times we can use the term strawberry cocoa in context?"
"The challenge of the day is definitely to see how many times we can use the term strawberry cocoa in context. Bonus points if you can say 'use the term strawberry cocoa in context' in context."
"Well I can definitely use the term strawberry cocoa in context."
"I can likewise use the term strawberry cocoa in context."
Dave snickered and leaned on the counter, carefully avoiding all sharp objects on it. "This is stupid."
"You're stupid."
Though they only originally started having strawberry cocoa for ironic reasons and because it was on sale at the grocery store when Dave was seven, he had forgotten in those five years without it how good it was. Sickly sweet, but with the comforting aftertaste of nostalgia.
"Hey Bro?" he had to ask after a few minutes.
"Yup."
"I'm… I'm coming with you today."
Bro rocked back onto his heels, taking another sip of his drink. "Yeah."
"Yeah."
"I don't think it's a genius idea to start something like that without someone else there. With all the potential effects and everything."
A question bit at Dave. He wasn't sure if he should ask it. Why was Bro so okay with all this? He understood the Strider poker face. That had always clicked to him. He didn't understand why his brother seemed so comfortable. Even with the emotionless expression, there were telltale signs in body language that the Striders could read in one another to communicate their feelings. But everything about Dirk's body language screamed 'chill.' His movements were loose; his back was slouched ever so slightly… Dave thought there was even something of a smile itching at his brother's lips. But he couldn't bring himself to ask. Instead, he chose another question to fill the silence.
"When are we leaving?"
"In…" he leaned forward to look at the clock on the microwave. "Shit, really?"
"What."
"Down your strawberry cocoa. Right now. Early is on time."
Dave set his mug down as Dirk did the same, moving quickly over to the futon to grab a jacket. Only then did Dave realize that he had gone the entire fight without one on, and his shirt was still dripping. Dave fucking hated the cold; he had no clue how Dirk could have done it without batting an eyelash. "Dude, change your shirt," he said while turning to a cupboard. He opened it, caught a falling sai by the handle, and pulled out two travel mugs. He wasn't going to down his strawberry cocoa for several reasons, the first being that he would probably gag on the syrupy sweet taste if he did. Another reason being that it was still cold out, and Dave wanted his strawberry cocoa to keep him warm, dammit.
"Fuck off."
"Come on, the hospital people are gonna stare."
"Well I say let them stare," Dirk shot back, diva-like, but even as he said so, he was pulling off the soaked garment and grabbing another, shoving it over his head and then donning his jacket, an bright orange zip-up hoodie with a pink heart embroidered on the breast.
"Gayyy," he teased at the clothing choice.
"You are so one to talk, lil' man." He slapped Dave lightly in the chest with the back of one hand while reaching behind him with the other to grab the car keys. Dave held up one of the travel mugs, close to his face, and he snatched it away with a smirk and a joking glare. "You can't live without something warm to drink?"
"I can live, but I figure you'd rather me not spend the entire visit bitching about the weather."
"That is fairly true, you bitching gets annoying." Dirk opened the door to the apartment, holding it. "Would you like to grab an umbrella first, Princess?"
Dave scoffed, rolling his eyes and moving forward. "No thanks, mom."
"Damn right I'm the queen," he countered, going back to his diva voice. He dropped it to add. "You wanna drive on the way home, kid?"
"Yeah."