Chapter Text
It takes him a minute to remember where he is when he wakes up.
It’s early, the sun barely beginning to rise as John Dory yawns himself awake, stretches his arms out. The remains of last night’s fire rustle beside him, ashes lifting slightly in the morning breeze.
It strikes him as odd to see it out here in the open, but it’s quickly overtaken by another odd sensation: he actually feels…. rested. Normally a night spent sleeping on the ground or on a tree branch or in the occasional cave has him feeling stiff in the morning but today there’s something soft propping him upright, something close to comfortable. Huh, John thinks as he yawns again. Wonder what that’s abou….
He turns his head just slightly to the right.
Everything comes flooding back to him all at once.
“WAOUGHOH MY GOD—”
It’s the creature. From yesterday. It’s still here, still propping up John as it slumbers on, apparently undisturbed by his outburst. Its breaths rumbling up from deep in its core. John stares at it with clammy hands clamped over his mouth, his pulse thrumming frantically in his skull. Oh god oh god oh god oh god….
It occurs to John then that he’s still alive.
Slowly, his heartbeat starts to quiet down. He lowers his hands to clasp them before himself, not that it stops them from trembling anxiously.
He’s alive. The creature didn’t eat him in his sleep. Just like it said.
‘It said?’ What am I saying?
John Dory takes a deep breath. Turns himself away from the critter.
His leg doesn’t look any different than it did last night, still bandaged up tight. It feels stiff, probably from having it stretched out all night, but at least the pain has gone down, more of a dull ache. John takes another deep breath, then another, trying to psych himself up for this next part.
Shakily he lifts himself off the ground, just slightly, keeping his back pressed against the critter for support. Okay, so far so good— this time his leg only thrums slightly when he moves it. Carefully he twists himself over, presses his hands up against the critter’s side so he can slowly bring himself upwards….
He’s barely put the slightest amount of weight on the injured leg before it buckles, and he can’t hold back the “FUCK!” that escapes him as he falls back down to the ground, cheek scraping against the dirt. Fresh pain goes tearing through his leg and he grits his teeth hard as he lays there, breath going wheezy. Something warm wells in the corners of his eyes. He balls his fists in the dirt. “Dammit….”
The ground beneath him rumbles slightly. A large shadow falling over him.
Something snuffling at his hair, his vest. A low, curious coo from above him, and if he didn’t know any better he’d say it almost sounds concerned.
He answers it with a soft groan. Resigned. “I guess I woke you up, huh?”
The creature, of course, just blinks down at him soundlessly.
Well, no use wallowing in his own pity any longer. Slowly he moves to sit himself upright again, grunting, extra careful to not tweak his leg further. He glares at it hatefully. Yeah, that feels like the right word.
More rumbling as the critter pulls up beside him. Just like it did yesterday, it leans in to snuffle at his leg but this time it doesn’t protest when John gently pushes it back, just stares down at him with those big green eyes.
“Appreciate the concern, pal, but I’d really rather you didn’t.” He tries on a smile for the creature, awkward. “Nothing personal.”
Or, maybe he shouldn’t have bothered with that last bit. The critter blinks once, breathes out another long coo, and just like that, it goes dashing off into the woods, so suddenly that John Dory is left slack-jawed and blinking in the dust.
He coughs.
“....Bye, then.”
Well. That’s one less thing to worry about, he supposes. Now, about his leg: he should probably change the bandages before they can cause him any more problems. So, with a deep sigh he reaches over for his pack, but no sooner has he finished tying off the fresh bandages than he’s hit with a new issue.
His canteen is dangerously low. Damn, he hadn’t realized how much of it he’d used up cleaning off his wounds. On that note, he’s also starving, but it’s his water supply that has him really worried. And with no way of knowing when he’ll be able to walk again….
He forces himself to take a deep breath, trying to tamp down the rising fluttering in his insides. “Come on, come on, don’t give out on me now….” He doubles over, hands burying in his hair as his breathing quickens, almost frantic now.
You’ve made it this far alright you know you can do this so just PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER and THINK—
He’s startled by the sound of something rustling from the treeline. He gasps, reflexively reaches for his emergency stake, remembers he dropped it when he fell from the tree. No no no PLEASE not now—
The critter breaks through the treeline, stopping to shake leaves and miscellaneous flora off of itself. It’s carrying a branch in its mouth. When it spots John Dory staring at it it offers him a muffled little yip, its tail wagging softly. Completely oblivious to the fright it’s just given him.
“Oh my—” John Dory releases the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. One hand pressed to his chest as if trying to slow down the pounding in his chest. “You have got to stop doing that!”
The critter, for its part, just trots on over to him, all merrily. Still oblivious to John’s frazzled glare, it stops in front of him and
THUMP
drops the branch on the ground between them. It sticks its tongue out its mouth with a proud little pant.
It’s a branch from a berry bush; John Dory recognizes it, he’s been gathering from its ilk for years. For what feels like the hundredth time in the past two days he blinks up at the critter cautiously.
“Um…. thanks?” At that the critter just leans down to push the branch closer to him, peer back up at him with a look that almost looks like please.
It gives John Dory an idea. A stupid idea, but it might be worth a shot.
“Hey, uh….” The critter blinks at him again. He shifts a little in place, hopes he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels. “Th-thanks for the food and all, but…. do you think you could help me out with something?”
He holds the canteen up by the strap. “Do you know if there’s a water source around here? A creek or something?”
Another blink.
“If you find one, do you think you could fill this up for me?” Hastily he adds on, “Please?”
Another blink. God, did it even understand any of that? But the next instant the critter’s leaning over, startling John only a little bit when it takes the canteen’s strap in its mouth. It rumbles down at him, like an affirmation, before it goes jetting off towards the trees again, once more leaving John Dory in its dust. He waves it away with another cough.
Whelp. All he can do now is wait.
Despite his hunger he’s too shaky with anxiety to touch the berries so instead he busies himself with replenishing his wooden stake supply. Plenty of sticks where he’s sitting. Occasionally he stops to stretch out his back, his arms. He’s been sitting here too long but he’s worried if he tries to stand again, with no support this time, he’ll only end up hurting himself, so….
He’s whittling away at his third stick when his ears perk up at a noise from the treeline. Sure enough, it’s the critter, marching back into his makeshift camp with the canteen still hanging from its mouth. Relief washes over him before he can even think to check that it’s actually done what he asked it to do.
“Hey!” Big smile. “How’d it go?”
The creature stops beside him, but when he reaches up for the canteen it unexpectedly pulls back, sudden enough that his pulse spikes again, abruptly nervous. “Wha—”
The critter snorts, almost sternly. It shifts on its haunches, gestures its head downwards; John Dory follows its gaze down to his lap….
“Oh! Oh, th-these aren’t for you, sorry!” Quickly he fumbles for the stakes he’d been making, hastily shoves them into his pack. “It’s just—I’m alone out here, and-and not everything that lives here is as friendly as you….”
It doesn’t occur to him that he’s just called this creature friendly.
But regardless—he clumsily buckles his pack closed and holds his empty hands up for good measure, tries on another vaguely reassuring smile. “That’s all of them! I promise!”
It seems to satisfy the creature. With another affirmative rumble it leans down so that John can (carefully) take the canteen.
He’s almost shocked to find it’s been completely filled up.
He lets out a relieved chuckle, feels some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “You actually did it!” Still chuckling he looks back up at the critter. “Thank you!”
Another small shock: the critter smiles at him. It coos, a soft little sound of accomplishment, before it lays back down beside him.
It reaches out a paw to tap at the still untouched berry branch. Makes a quiet warble in its throat that sounds more like a command than a plea this time.
John can’t help one last chuckle, softer this time. “Yeah, you’re right, you’re right….”
For the first time, he’s able to get a good look at the critter. It’s mostly white, but it’s accented with red and orange stripes running down the length of its bumpy surface. Along the top of it there are green extensions that…. what are those, antennae? They don’t look very antennae-like. Its body seems to be split up into segments, and set into each of those segments are what John would call windows if he didn’t know any better.
“No offense, but,” he says between bites of berry, “what are you, exactly?”
No answer beyond a vaguely curious stare.
“‘Cause, you don’t really look like any of the other bugs I’ve seen out here. Maybe you’re…. more of a mammal?”
The critter yawns. Licks a paw and dashes it over its face.
“I bet Clay would know.”
He doesn’t realize he’s said it aloud until the creature is turning to peer at him curiously again. He bristles, suddenly embarrassed without knowing why.
“Ah…. he was my brother.” Dropping his gaze as he says it. All at once he wants to stop talking, feels like he has to wrench the words out of himself, but: “He knew lots of cool stuff. Used to read a lot.”
Petering out into silence. Something works in John Dory’s throat and he can still feel the critter’s eyes on him, inquisitive, like it’s waiting for him to say more. Suddenly he wishes it would mind its own business. Wishes he’d never started talking in the first place.
“....He had an answer for everything. And even when he didn’t, he’d leave and come back an hour later with whatever you wanted to know.”
Without realizing it he’s drawn his uninjured leg up to his chest. Wrapping his arms around it. “And he’d always have this huge spark in his eyes when he did. Like he was excited that he’d learned something new.”
The last time he saw Clay that happy was…. god, he can’t even remember how long ago now. It couldn’t have been since before the band took off, was it? He’d been only a teenager back then, only agreeing to joining the band because he’d wanted to do something fun with his brothers. He’d never wanted the spotlight, the superstardom, even the fans, he would’ve been content to just sing and dance with them all for the rest of his life….
Suddenly John Dory’s being snapped out of his thoughts by the critter sniffling at his shoulder. It’s cooing again, softly, pressing its face against his. Maybe not fully understanding, but wanting to.
He doesn’t try to push it away this time. Rather, he just presses his hand against it gently, not quite a pat yet. He’s smiling softly despite himself. “I think Clay would have liked you, is what I mean.”
He tosses the critter a berry.
It turns out the critter is a great conversationalist. John Dory swiftly changes the topic to less weighty things, namely the numerous escapades he’s gotten up to in his years in the Neverglades. Close run-ins with predators, braving the river on a rickety makeshift raft that had broken apart the second he crashed onshore. The time he’d lassoed a giant butterfly and taken it for a joyride across the valley, whooping ecstatically at the wind rushing through his hair. He gives up trying to keep anything from slipping out; it feels good to have someone to talk to again, even if the conversation is largely one-sided.
By the time noon comes around he’s feeling better than he has in days, properly nourished and rested. The time comes to change his bandages again but even his wounds are looking better when he inspects them, finally scabbing over. Looks like his earlier panic might have been a little unwarranted.
Only one way to test out that theory. “Mind helping me out with this, pal?”
The critter had been starting to fall into a nap but it snaps back to attention on the instant, cooing its agreement as it shifts into a sturdier position to give John more support. Just like he did this morning, he braves trying to lift himself off the ground, hands planted firmly in the creature’s side.
At least this time around he’s able to put more weight on his leg when he tries, but he can only hold it for a few moments before the ache becomes unbearable again, no way it’s going to let him take any steps yet. With a short groan he slides back to the ground, shoulders bumping against the critter.
But at least it’s progress.
He sighs. He hears the critter sight too, like it’s sympathizing with him.
“So, what about you?”
The critter purrs.
“What’s your story, huh? How long have you been living out here?”
The critter doesn’t react for a few moments, and for a second John wonders if it’s actually considering an answer. If this thing actually starts talking after all of this it might for real do him in this time. But no—after another few moments the creature turns its head and, without warning, licks John Dory.
On reflex he lets out a nervous laugh, more like a squeal, really. He shoves the critter’s tongue away and immediately sets to shaking off its spittle. For some reason its saliva is glittery.
“Whoah, okay! If you don’t want to spill it’s fine! It’s cool!” But his tone is playful as he says it, broken up by a genuine chuckle of amusement. He flicks the glitter spit from his vest, his hair.
It’s in that moment that he says, “Hey, what’s your name? Anybody call you anything out here?”
At the critter’s curious blinking he holds out his hand. “I’m John Dory, by the way.”
The critter sniffs at his hand once. Gives it a little lick. John shakes off the spittle.
“Okay then. How ‘bout I pick out something to call you, does that sound alright?”
The creature’s responding coo doesn’t sound like a no, and so John Dory taps his knuckle to his chin and gives the critter a good once-over.
“Hmmm…. I’m seeing something retro here….” Running his eyes down the creature’s bright stripes. “Mmmmmm…. maybe Wilma?”
The creature seems to ponder this for a second, then shakes its head no. Then it nips at a fly that happens to be buzzing by it in that moment. The fly quickly hastens its pace.
“Okay, then what about…. Tanya? Wait, no, no—you don’t really look like a Tanya.” The critter nods its head in agreement.
“Okay, let me think here….”
A few minutes of thoughtful silence. The still unnamed critter goes back to licking at its paws.
Cautiously, John Dory speaks up again. “....Maybe Rhonda?”
The critter pauses, rolls its eyes up to the sky as it considers. It takes it only a few seconds.
It purrs contentedly as it turns to nuzzle at John Dory again, give him another affectionate lick. He laughs as he once again sets to wiping the critter spit from his face.
“You like that one? Hah, alright then!”
He pats the critter’s side. Smiles at its quiet purring.
“Nice meeting you, Rhonda.”