Chapter Text
“What about Rhonda?”
Branch shot John an incredulous stare and shook his head. “We are not naming her Rhonda.”
“What? Why not? I think she looks like a Rhonda,” John turned his attention to the armadillo and began scratching under her chin.
“You look like a Rhonda, don’t you girl?” He cooed at her, “you do. Yes you do.”
She trilled happily under the attention and nuzzled closer to him. Branch scoffed and crossed his arms unhappily as he leaned his back against the log they were currently stationed in.
John had started a fire earlier, but it had died down to mostly embers. Occasionally, he fanned the flames to create a small flicker - but he never let the sparks get too big; lest it burnt down their entire temporary ‘home’.
He had noticed Branch eye the fire warily earlier, but now he avoided looking at it completely.
John looked up at his brother and gave a curious tilt of his head. “You okay?” He asked quietly, his voice uncharacteristically serious.
Branch looked momentarily taken aback, but gained his composure quickly.
“Just peachy,” He muttered. His ear gave an agitated flick, but other than that, Branch gave no other signs of being too upset or angry. Maybe a little disgruntled, but that was just his normal state.
Still, John worried. He supposed that it was big brother instincts kicking in after being out of commission for so long.
A flicker of guilt passed through him, but John shook it away. He was here now; being a big brother now.
“What about you?” Branch asked after a few moments. His tone lacked its usual amount of bite, causing John’s eyes to widen a fraction.
He brushed it off with his usual air of confidence and rolled his shoulders. “Me? Never better,” John stated with a grin. “Takes me back to my days on the Neverglade Trail.”
He let out a wistful sigh as Rhonda nuzzled underneath his hand again, demanding his attention.
“You’re making yourself sound old again,” Branch snorted, causing John to roll his eyes.
“I think it makes me sound wise,” He said smartly.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
John hummed before fidgeting with his hands. His mind wandered back to his times on the Neverglade Trail. It was scary - being alone out there; not that John would ever admit that.
He grimaced at the memories of floods and storms. Threatening to kill him and everything else in the surrounding area. John had to be wary of Bergens and other creatures far larger and much more hostile.
It was terrifying.
But… it was also freeing, in some odd way. He wasn’t tethered down by any responsibilities or expectations. His only worries were survival.
John mentally kicked himself at the thought. He shouldn’t think like that. His brothers - they needed him.
“You do that a lot.” Branch suddenly said, effectively snapping John out of his thoughts.
He looked up at his brother curiously. “Do what?” He questioned.
“I dunno, that .” Branch said, motioning with his hands to John’s own gloved one. “You're always fidgeting with your glove. I mean, it’s a pretty weird fashion statement, so I don’t know if it’s your stupid pride keeping you from taking it off, or something else.”
John blinked slowly and forced his hands away from each other. “I didn’t realize I did that,” he chuckled awkwardly. “And it’s not a ‘weird fashion statement’,” he huffed. “It’s a compression glove.”
Branch gave him a weird look and slowly sat down; immediately signaling to John that he was not going to like where this conversation was going.
“What for?”
Bingo. He knew it.
“Oh, y’know. For this and that,” He deflected casually.
Branch gave him a look, “This and that?” He scoffed. “Seriously?”
The words sparked an uncharacteristic flame of agitation. “I don’t know why you care so much about this,” John shot defensively.
He winced as soon as the words left his mouth. John went to say something else, but Branch beat him to it.
“Why do I care so much?” He echoed. “Why do you care so much? Wasn’t your whole thing trying to get me to open up? To talk to you more?”
John flinched at the words and let his head hit the wooden walls with a thud. He let out a heavy sigh, his mind running in circles to scrape together an apology.
Sometimes, he hated how smart his brother was. How easily he could read through the lines and pick apart John’s motives.
“You’re right,” John muttered, his eyes not leaving the ceiling.
The log fell into a tense silence as John chewed on his cheek in thought.
“How about a game; a question for a question.” He suggested after a few beats. “That way we both open up. Sound fair?”
Branch watched him carefully before slowly nodding.
“We’re allowed to refuse certain questions.” He tacked on, “ And, you have to answer it thoroughly. You can’t just reply with half-assed statements.”
John responded with a huff but relented. “Yeah, that’s fair. I guess.”
“The glove,” Branch started. “Why do you wear it?”
“Shouldn’t I ask a question first?” John asked with a tight grin, “I’m the oldest.”
John felt his smile waver at Branch’s unimpressed stare. He let out an uneasy chuckle and situated himself against the log. Rhonda nestled closer to him and laid her head on his lap, creating a comfortable pressure for John to lean into.
“The glove,” Branch repeated firmly. “Why do you wear it?”
“Got hurt,” John shrugged, massaging a hand against the leather. “There’s some pretty nasty stuff out there - on the Trail.”
“What happened?”
“That's two questions, little man.” John huffed, “You’re already breaking one of the rules.”
“You’re breaking one of the rules,” Branch shot back heatedly. “You gave me a two worded answer; that sounds pretty half-assed to me.”
“Language,” John responded quietly.
He frowned at the glare that Branch gave him, before letting out a sigh.
“Yeah - yeah, I guess you’re right. Again.” John relented. He watched the dying flames for a moment in an attempt to get his thoughts together.
“It happened on the Neverglade Trail.” He finally murmured. His brows furrowed as he briefly noticed Branch lean in closer to him.
This wasn’t exactly how he’d plan for him and Branch to reconnect. At all.
John shifted uncomfortably as embarrassment crept up his spine like an intolerant leech. He wasn’t supposed to be vulnerable - he’s John Dory. But, goddamn did Branch know exactly what buttons to push; which words to use.
His baby brother was so smart and it infuriated John to no end. But, it also made him swell up with so much pride, that - if he were a balloon - he’d go pop.
“A few years back, there was this huge storm. I’m talking - catastrophic, man.” John said, motioning with his hands to create emphasis. “The entire area I was in was completely flooded. It was… not good.” He shuddered at the memory.
“I got swept up in the flood, nearly caved my skull in on a rock.” He chuckled uncomfortably, “I dunno what happened; I think I tried to grab onto a branch or something. But, I guess the current was too strong and,” John imitated a cracking sound, causing Branch to grimace.
“Snapped my wrist clean in half. I mean, we’re talking bone through the-”
“Okay,” Branch interrupted. “Did not need those details.” He gagged dramatically, making John snicker.
His laughter eventually faded to silence and John took a few moments to himself; watched the fire and pointedly avoided Branch’s prying eyes.
“I guess the bone never healed right.” He said. “I mean, it was kinda hard to fix. Hurt like hell.” John wrinkled his nose as if he tasted something bitter.
Branch rubbed at his own wrist and frowned. “Sounds like it.”
They both fell silent again, each stewing in their own thoughts. Eventually, John let out a sigh that bordered on a groan and leaned backwards to pop his back.
Rhonda resituated herself against him and began purring into his lap. John felt a smile begin to form on his face and looked over to Branch. His younger brother was watching him expectantly; an uncomfortable grimace took over his expression the longer John watched him.
Right. It was his turn to ask a question.
“How long ago did grandma die?”
Branch’s ears flicked at the blunt wording, but John didn’t pay any mind to it. He noticed the way his younger brother curled in on himself at the question.
He noticed the guilt etched onto his face in such a similar way to John’s own. The hesitation and drooping ears.
John noticed it all; burned it into his brain in a way that said, “ this is your fault. All your fault.”
“A few years ago,” Branch said quietly. “I think I was ten - maybe eleven. I dunno.” He tried feigning nonchalance, but John could see right through it.
“How?” He asked.
Branch sent him a sharp look and curled his lip into a scowl. “That’s two questions; twice, you’ve broken the rules, JD.”
“Sorry, sorry-”
“Just shut up,” Branch hissed. “No more sorry’s. No more talking.”
He turned away from John, signaling the end of the conversation. John gestured his hands helplessly and eventually just let them fall with a tired sigh.
John Dory. Ruining yet another chance to make things right with his brother.
Typical.
He looked back to the dying light of the fire and chewed on the inside of his cheek in thought.
Branch was on his own for four years, John thought to himself bitterly. And I wasn’t there. For any of it.
He looked back to his younger brother’s restless form. Branch had his back stubbornly turned to John; he was laying curled into a ball.
John let his head thud against the wall behind him and exhaled sharply through his nose.
Great. Everything was great. So what if John flunked one of his only shots at reconnecting with his brother. There were more chances to take. More opportunities to be given.
He hoped.
John internally groaned and shut his eyes. He was never good at talking. At least to fans. And his family.
That’s why he handled the professional stuff. Booking them gigs and getting them into concerts. It was easy-peasy, no-emotoinal-stuff-squeazy.
He was good at being professional. The perfect leader that his brothers needed.
Just keep telling yourself that John Dory. Maybe you can manifest it.
He couldn’t hold back the snort that escaped him at the thought. He opened his eyes to see Branch bristle, but he didn’t turn around, or make any comment.
The sight sobered John and his small smile turned into a scowl.
The perfect leader. Not the perfect brother.
Something told John that he wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night.
He was right, of course. John couldn’t sleep a wink. He saw Branch eventually fall into a fitful slumber, his body as tense as John felt.
Rhonda had curled into a ball next to him and began purring. A sign that she too was asleep.
Then it was just John.
Not that he minded; he was used to this. He sort of expected it, anyways. Being the oldest meant more responsibility. Such as keeping watch over everyone to make sure they weren’t eaten by bloodthirsty Bergens.
He’s done this sort of thing all the time.
John made a conscious effort not to fidget with his hands after Branch’s comment earlier. And the whole conversation that it caused.
A wave of discomfort made its way up his spine and he shook it off.
It’s fine.
John leaned his weight against the log; relaxing his body against the vibrating walls.
Wait. That wasn’t right.
Wow, great intuition JD. The world is shaking and all you say is ‘that’s not right.’
John shook his head and jumped to his feet warily. He snuffed out what was left of the fire, plunging them into darkness. He stole a quick glance to Branch and saw that he was still sleeping, thankfully.
Rhonda, on the other hand, was up and watching him cautiously. She had a look of anxiety in her eyes as she timidly stepped forward.
“It’s okay, girl.” John whispered softly. “I’m gonna go out there and see what’s happening, okay?”
He reached out a hand and stroked her face gently; she leaned into the touch before John pulled away.
“I’ll be right back.”
John turned to leave, silently thankful that Rhonda didn’t follow him. He couldn’t help the thrum of anxiety that buzzed underneath his skin as he stepped out of the log and into the cold, night air.
The ground was worse outside the log. The vibrations were bad enough to shake the leaves off of nearby trees. Pebbles danced around the dirt covered ground and nearby creatures skittered under rocks.
A chill traveled up his spine, stopping at the base of his neck to leave goosebumps. John sent an anxious glance back to the log before creeping forward.
God this is something straight out of a horror movie, John thought bitterly to himself. He couldn’t help but get a wave of deja vu.
Another vibration rumbled beneath John’s feet; almost large enough to knock him to the ground. He felt his breathing become shallow as he finally clocked in the familiarity of it all.
It was times like these when John questioned how the hell he managed to survive on the Neverglade Trail for nearly a decade.
Just as John started creeping backwards, the area around him fell silent. Eerily silent. He felt his heartbeat kick up a few notches as he scrambled back to the log, throwing all caution to the wind in a desperate attempt to be hidden again.
A small voice rang in the back of his head, telling him that he’s leading the Bergen right back to Branch. Right back to his baby brother.
Despite the voice being so quiet and so minuscule, it was enough to stop John dead in his tracks. It was also enough for John to suddenly be thirty feet in the air - clenched in something’s sweaty grasp.
He let out a shocked cry, but it was quickly muffled by the Bergen’s thumb.
Oh my god, John thought frantically to himself as he struggled against the Bergen’s hold. Oh my god, this cannot be happening.
His mind immediately shifted to Branch; alone and vulnerable as John was swiftly taken away from their temporary home. He made fruitless attempts to break free from the Bergen’s grasp. Going as far as to sink his teeth into its sweaty thumb.
It didn’t even flich, just continuing to take John to his new location. Full blown panic settled into his gut as the reality of the situation finally set in.
John didn’t know where he was being taken. He was trapped inside of a creature’s hand; his breathing restricted and his sense of direction was completely cut off.
And Branch.
John left Branch again.
I should’ve just stayed inside of the stupid log. God, I’m so stupid. Stupid, stupid. John’s thoughts ran circles around him as he felt himself drift further and further away from Branch and Rhonda.
God, Rhonda.
She tried to warn me, didn’t she? John uselessly thought to himself. I’m such an idiot. Why didn’t I listen? Why did I have to fucking -
He cut himself off with a sharp breath; a vain attempt to calm himself down.
It’s fine, John attempted to soothe himself. You’ve been through worse. Just - just breathe. Think. Fucking think.
Okay, first thought: He couldn’t do anything trapped inside of this sweaty palm.
Perfect. What could he do about it though?
Panic threatened to creep back up again and John quickly stuffed it down.
Nothing. John would do nothing. He would wait it out; let the Bergen take him to wherever the hell it was taking him, and make an attempt to find his way back to Branch.
No. Scratch that. He would find his way back to Branch.
Just… wait it out.
Come on John Dory; you’ve done this before. You can do it again.
He ignored the fact that he had someone that was depending on him. That things aren’t the same.
John took a shallow breath, careful of his oxygen supply. He continued on like that until he felt the Bergen’s steps slow.
He felt it loosen their grasp on him and as soon as John could take a gasping breath, the Bergen quickly shoved him into a wooden cage. John stumbled over himself, trying to shake the near whiplash that he got from the whole ordeal.
He took a few moments to recover before a jolting thought stopped him in his tracks.
I’m in a cage.
John rushed forward, running his hands along the bars in an attempt to find imperfections. He needed to get out of there. Now.
The Bergen watched him with a sick sort of curiosity before picking up the cage and dangling it in front of its face. John scrambled backwards, away from the foul odor that came when it opened its mouth.
“I didn’t get trollstice,” it murmured sadly.
John could see a few blackened, rotting teeth in the Bergens mouth as it talked. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, averting his gaze away from the sight.
“I can see why,” he blurted. Before John could process what he said, the Bergen was violently shaking the cage; causing John to hit his head with a loud crack against the wooden back.
“Mean,” the Bergen hissed. It puffed out a big breath, sending another wave of its rotting stench.
John blinked the stars out of his eyes as he attempted to stand on shaky legs. The Bergen gave the cage another firm shake, sending him toppling down again.
“Bad Troll.” It said with a tone of finality.
John didn’t make another attempt to get up again. He laid on the floor instead, trying to get a reign on his bearings.
The Bergen set the cage down on a log before lumbering away to who knew where. John took the time to suck in a few deep breaths. His head was beginning to pound and his limbs felt like jelly.
After a few moments with his eyes screwed shut, John opened them and slowly lifted himself up to a sitting position. He shuffled closer to the bars of the cage and peered outside.
It looked like he was in some sort of makeshift camp. There was a small (for a Bergen, that is) unlit campfire just a few feet away from where John was. A bed made up of sticks and leaves was to its left; sitting dangerously close to the campfire.
John furrowed his brows in distaste and continued looking around.
He was in a clearing; the Bergen was at the edge of the forest, collecting logs and shrubbery for a fire later. The implications of that left a sour taste in John’s mouth.
Why would it need a fire right now though? John scoffed to himself. It’s not even night.
Not even night.
Fuck.
When was John taken? Around dawn? Branch was definitely awake by now.
He must think that I abandoned him again.
The thought sparked a sudden wave of adrenaline, causing John to jump to his feet. He frantically began running his hands along the bars again, eyes and fingers scanning for imperfections. When he couldn’t find any, he began checking the floor and the back wall.
John tried to stave off any panic that threatened to overtake him, but he could feel it starting to crowd his vision.
“I need to get back to Branch,” John muttered desperately. It wasn’t until his hand throbbed with a sharp pain did he stop.
John sucked in a breath and clutched his compression glove with narrowed eyes. He could feel his adrenaline die down the longer he stood, and the pain from before came back in waves.
He clenched his teeth and slowly navigated towards the wall before slowly sliding down to a sitting position.
Why are you giving up? A voice hissed at him. Get up.
John gripped at his hand and pinched his eyes shut.
Get up.
He couldn’t stop his body from trembling as he thought of Branch all alone.
Get up.
John couldn’t.