Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s John that comes up with the idea. He’s got one of his signature wide smiles plastered on his face when he shares the thought with the others.

Tunnel exploring.

Without skipping a beat, Viva offers to join him, already up on her feet and bouncing on her toes. Some of the others perk up, but with their responsibilities to tend to, they turn down the idea. John understands and doesn’t push them further.

Branch, however, doesn’t waste time in telling him how horrible the idea is. The various hazards and dangers that they could face, whatever ugly creature that may cross their path, and the different catastrophes that could put them in real trouble. The possibility of being face to face with a predator like a snake, getting stuck in a wormhole, or even an entirely different beast. Not to mention the weather, the temperature, the supplies needed. In other words, it could go to total shit if they weren’t careful and well prepared.

And somehow, by some miracle, John Dory had managed to convince Branch to come with them. It baffles him, really. Only Grandma Rosiepuff knows how he managed to pull that off, and yet, with an exaggerated roll of his eyes and a curt nod, Branch agreed to come along. Viva jumped high in the air at the news.

Their bags were ready the next day, not long after the sun began to peek from above the horizon. Courtesy of Branch.

“Someone might as well keep an eye on the both of you. I still think this is a terrible idea, though.” Branch had told John, who simply swatted his paw at him with an amused scoff.

The three of them are out by the time the sun finally rises above the skyline, setting light across the world. The air has that morning chill to it, gently biting over skin, and the sky changes hues ever so slowly. It’s a pretty spectacle to witness as the trio make their way through the forest.

John Dory leads the group, Viva following closely behind with Branch sauntering not far from her.

For the most part, Branch is quiet, listening to both Viva and John’s chatter with a deadpan face, piping up a few times whenever he deems fit. They spend some time trying to find the right tunnel. According to John, a cavity is bound to be good depending on the entryway. Branch rolled his eyes at that. Viva, on the other hand, giggled, despite Branch telling her to not encourage him.

When they find a pit that John Dory finds appropriate, they finally begin their great journey to tunnel exploration, even as Branch reminds them how poor of an idea this is. Viva reassures him quickly, that it won’t take long, that they’d most likely make it back before the sun settles under the horizon. For some reason, Branch had a hard time believing that.

John’s flashlight illuminates their path, casting a glow on the roots, dirt and rocks before them. Quick the spectacle, and Branch huffs out of breath through his nose.

Viva trots past the two brothers and looks around, wide fuchsia eyes darting to whatever catches her attention, and she leaves them on their own. Branch doesn’t speak, and he just stares ahead, ears twitching a few times, taking in every sound, every little crack, any odd movement. He’s like a prey, as though waiting for something, anything to happen. And John must notice, because he bumps his arm against Branch’s.

“You’re thinking real loud, B.” John says with a smile. There’s a slight crease between his brows when Branch sighs.

“This is stupid.” Branch breathes out, pursing his lip. He narrows his eyes when John bumps his arm again.

“Cheer up, bro. We’re bonding! I see this as a good way for us to get some fresh air. ‘Sides, look at Viva, she’s having fun.” The eldest gesture to the pink troll ahead of them. She’s looking at some roots dangling above her.

“Yeah. Fresh air.” Branch deadpans.

“What? You’re too good to hang out with your older brother?” John chuckles, that same grin plastered on his face. He cackles when Branch shoves him gently.

“I’m above whatever stupid idea you may spew at us, John Dory.” A smile tugs at his lips, and Branch looks away to keep it hidden from his brother’s eyes.

“Right. You say that, but we’re literally underground. And, you’re here, with me, rolling with my ‘stupid’ idea.” John lets out a laugh when Branch outright punches his arm at that, though there is no real force to it, and he rubs where his sibling hit him.

Viva walks beside them, abandoning whatever she was examining and instead eyeing them with a wide beam. She’s got a bounce in her step, the same that Poppy has, and despite having been separated for two decades, the two sisters have so many similarities that it nearly makes Branch’s head spin. If their hair was the same, they could be considered twins. That would be a nightmare to deal with. It didn’t help that Poppy made the occasional joke of changing her or Viva’s hair to match, off to trick trolls and leaving them confused.

Branch glances at Viva. She’s got a wide beam on her lips, eyes sparkling as she looks at where John directs the light before them. As if she’s got nothing to worry about, nothing to fear, and Branch admires her, admires her courage, her curiosity, akin to a child’s. Despite all the horrors she’s witnessed, what she’s lost, the tears she’s cried, she’s still willing to reenter the world, face whatever danger may come her way. Part of him was concerned of the reaction she may have at the mention of tunnels, let alone walking into one, and yet, she seems so mirthful, more than ready to explore and learn new things, new activities, get to form friendships and bond with other trolls.

It’s something Branch struggled with for a while, something he still struggles with at times. His ear twitches the slightest.

“You’re doing it again.” John speaks up, drawing Branch out of his inner rambles. He snickers when Branch cocks an eyebrow. “If I tried hard enough, I could hear you think.”

Branch rolls his eyes with a scoff. He has to admit, he had a bad habit of being lost in his own thoughts, nearly drowning in them, unable to resurface and focus on the present, the real world. Many times he found himself detached from reality and so deep into his own worries and scary scenarios that nothing really made sense at some point, and not even his grounding techniques were enough to allow him to come back to his senses.

They walk in silence, and John visibly fidgets, rolling the flashlight in his paw. Viva doesn’t say anything, and keeps her gaze in front of her, the same smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Branch has a slight furrow between his brows.

John spares a few looks at Branch, like he’s contemplating his next words. He’s obviously nervous, and he nibbles the inside of his mouth. Finally, he inhales, a long, deep breath, and he straightens his posture.

“So, the bergens, huh?” John starts, an uneasy grin splitting his face. Viva nearly winces next to him.

Branch doesn’t blame them for being this unsettled. The bergens uniting with the trolls and dropping the Trollstice was still a touchy subject to some, including Branch. Despite being friends with them, such as Gristle and Bridget, fear lingered, making his fur bristle and his heart thump loudly, and somewhere deep in his mind, he wondered if the peace would last, if this was all too good to be true. Even if their alliance with the bergens was stable, Branch still kept his distance, remained alert, ready. Crazy prepared.

“It’s—“ Branch begins, but he stops and thinks. He inhales, feeling his chest expand, his lungs grow, and it grounds him. “It was something.”

Viva glances at him, past John Dory, and she’s got this look. Like she knows, and her smile turns sad.

There’s silence, and Branch looks at the ground he walks on.

“I’m still not used to it, sometimes.” He murmurs after a beat.

And neither of the trolls speak. For a moment, Branch thinks it’s because they didn’t hear him, and he finds that he doesn’t mind it. He struggles to speak when it comes to the bergens, his mind going wild at times, still. He knows they’re friends, knows the Trollstice times are over, and yet, whenever he least expects it, his heart races when someone mentions bergens, and his hands feel clammy, and all of his fibers feel like they’re being set on fire. He figures it’ll get easier over time.

Branch nearly jumps when a paw settles on his shoulder, and he turns to see John. He’s smiling, but he looks steady, a lot less unsure than he did seconds prior. As if he gets it. And Branch finds that this must be a drastic change for John as well, how destabilizing it must’ve been at first.

Viva is also beaming at him, paws holding the straps of her bag over her shoulders, and she’s bouncing as she’s walking. Her eyes glimmer with a newfound confidence, and Branch can’t help the smile that overtakes his own face.

At that, John pulls him closer, rubbing their cheeks together, and Branch’s grin grows. He’s grown a lot more fond of the close proximity lately, basking in it, enjoying it, almost as if he was afraid to lose it. His chest always felt tight at the thought of never getting to be close to his brothers again, and each time, he’d shove it away. No use to dwell on that.

“On a lighter note.” John has that smile again, all teeth and wide, and oh, Branch can only imagine what he’s going to say. “Queen of Pop, eh?”

Branch groans, cheeks flushing purple, and Viva giggles near them. He tries to pry himself out of John’s hold, but finds that his brother has a good grip on him, and he submits quickly with a huff. He pulls at his bag, tugging it closer to him, though John still doesn’t release him.

“Don’t have to make a big deal out of it.” He grumbles. Now that he thinks about it, he’s really eager to see Poppy again, get to settle with her, unwind, relax, just breathe.

John shoves him, and Branch tries to get a hit on him, internally cursing when he misses. Viva watches in amusement, snickering the slightest.

“Oh, sure. ‘Cause my baby brother dating a literal queen isn’t a big deal.” John deadpans with a paw in the air, gesturing around. He whirls the flashlight to Branch, not even paying any mind to his brother’s groan when the light blinds him. “I don’t care what you say, Branch. I’m never letting this go. Ever.”

“John.” Branch growls, hands up to shield his eyes. He lets out a low sigh when John lowers the light, redirecting to its previous position. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

“I mean, he isn’t wrong,” Viva pipes up, and she grins when Branch sends her a look.

“You’re not helping.” Branch warns, but it does nothing, as Viva only giggles and trots away, skipping past them, like a bundle of merry glitter and sugar and she resembles Poppy so much. He can’t help the smile tugging at his lips, shaking his head.

“I’m just saying.” John goes on, and he bumps against Branch, despite the grumble. “It isn’t everyday that you get to tell everyone that your bro’s with the queen. I mean, no offence, but, how’d you even pull that off?”

Branch pondered about that for a long while. Sleep refused to come to him at times because of it. He never found himself worthy of love, let alone think of himself as being capable of loving. Yet, despite everything, after the bergens, his heart swelled each time Poppy came near him, and he felt all giddy, breathless, and his knees went weak. Never would he have thought of being able to fall in love this hard for someone, especially Poppy.

A sheepish beam crosses his face, and Branch ducks his gaze away, ears going warm. His chest flutters, and he tightens his grip on the straps of his pack.

“I don’t know. Still don’t get it, sometimes.” He mumbles, more to himself than to John, and for a second, he forgets he was even talking to his brother in the first place. It’s only when John chuckles, the sound coming from his chest, as he pulls the youngest against him again, that Branch blinks and his entire face heats up.

“That’s when you know it’s real, lil’ bro.” John shakes him gently, paw squeezing Branch’s shoulder. “She’s a keeper, like I told you.”

Branch only manages a nod, and he no longer trusts his voice for now.

“We should have a sleepover!” Viva’s voice echoes around them, and the two siblings perk up. John shifts the light, and she’s deep into the tunnel, a few feet away from them. She’s waving a paw up, and she beckons them closer with a wide grin. “A family sleepover!”

“Oh, yeah!” John pumps a fist into the air, and he’s quick to catch up with her.

With a roll of his eyes, Branch follows, shaking his head, ambling not far behind.

“We could talk about all the little adventures we had! The friends we made, new food we tasted, hobbies. All the kinds of candy we ate. All the fun explorations we went on. And—“ Viva cuts herself off with a loud gasp, and she’s nearly jumping, hands flapping in front of her. “We could scrapbook and make candy necklaces as well! And braid each other’s hair! We could go to the mini-golf course if we don’t have enough space! Or maybe even your bunker, Branch. Oh, that would be so fantastamazing!”

John nearly looks overwhelmed at that last part, ears twitching as he tries to grasp at what she’s saying. Branch walks next to him, and he looks about as nonchalant as earlier. Unlike his brothers, other than Clay, Branch was able to understand just about anything Poppy could say, even if her words seemed to blend together. And for the sound of it, Viva wasn’t much different from her sister, especially when excited.

Branch chuckles, and he takes notice of the fact they’ve made it pretty far. They’re engulfed in the darkness, John’s flashlight providing the only source of light, and the air isn’t a lot less clear than on the surface. It leaves their throats the slightest bit scratchy, but nothing a little water can’t fix.

“I’m sure Branch wouldn’t mind lending his bunker to his precious family. Ain’t that right, B?” John elbows his brother, grinning as Branch slaps his arm away.

“I’ll consider it when you wash your jacket. That thing reeks, man.” Branch crinkles his nose, and he smirks at John’s dramatic gasp, a paw to his chest, like he’s been wounded. Viva’s got a hand to her mouth, barely covering her smile as she struggles to stifle a chortle.

“I’ve washed it! And you call me a pain in the ass.” John pouts, pursing his lips, and he shoves Branch away. “You got no room to talk. From what Poppy told me, you use the same vest everyday.”

“Yeah, and I take care of it.” Branch retorts, his expression all smug now, and it only causes John to scowl even more.

“You’re as much of a little shit as Floyd. Maybe worse.” John states, and he decides that he’s looked at Branch enough, focusing his gaze before him, into the inexhaustible darkness.

“He’s my favorite.” Branch adds, like a final stab, and he bites his lip to hold back his guffaw at John’s face when their eyes meet.

Viva breaks next to them, bursting into laughter, and Branch can’t help the cackle that escapes him. Soon, John’s own frown shifts, and he’s smiling, shaking his head. He gives a quick shove to Viva, before he reaches and pulls Branch into another side hug, and he ruffles his sibling’s hair.

Branch punches his shoulder once he breaks free.

They walk for some time, their voices echoing through the dark tunnel, a few chuckles cutting through at times. Branch finds that he’s a lot less tense than he was when they first left, and his senses aren’t working on overdrive anymore. Despite that, he still keeps his ears open, twitching a few times even as John and Viva chat together to his side. It’s almost grounding, listening to them speak.

“Look at you! Loosening up!” John Dory remarks with a proud smile. “You gotta learn to not be so tense all the time, B.”

Branch looks at the ceiling with a scoff, shoulders slumping. He’s heard that so many times before, he’s lost count. Old habits die hard, and Branch wasn't able to fully relax just yet. His nerves never allowed him to, and he was always on high alert, anticipating whatever next calamity may come their way. He had to be prepared, he couldn’t afford to slip up, not once.

He goes to snap back, send a snarky remark, a sarcastic comment, maybe even a shove or a slap.

There’s a distant rumble, sudden, soft and quiet, and Branch’s mouth snaps shut. His ears perk up, twitching, and the other two look at their surroundings, brows knitted together.

Then, the tunnel begins to shake, and the three trolls tense up, eyes darting around. They brace themselves, and dust and rocks begin to fall from the ceiling. It grows violent, louder, and they nearly tumble due to the vibrations. Startled shouts escape them as they plant their feet into the ground, arms flailing to keep their balance, and they take a quick look at each other. They come up with the same conclusion.

Snake. Going right over them. And shaking the entire tunnel cavity as a result.

Of course, just their luck.

Branch growls, cursing internally. He goes to yell something, until he stills when a particularly loud crack resonates through the tunnel, echoing against the walls. Viva and JD jump at the sound, and they share worried looks. With wide eyes, Branch glances at the ceiling, and his ears pin back against his head when he spots large fissures forming along the rock. They’re deep, large, and growing in size as the walls continue to quake and groan, echoing throughout the ground, into the trolls’ ears.

The tunnel is going to collapse, and it’s going to crush the three of them if they don't do something now.

“Cave-in!” Branch yells, and the two trolls jump at the sudden shout.

Back. They have to run back. Get out before they’re buried under rocks and mud and roots.

Viva moves first, turning on her heels to run. John is not far, Branch even less so. They struggle through the harsh quaking of the earth, steps unsteady and sluggish, and Branch curses the damn snake slithering above them. John’s light flickers as he runs, nearly blinding them, bright rays hovering over the walls around them.

This was not how they pictured this outing to go. Getting caught in a cave-in and crushed was certainly not on their list, and being able to get out with minimal harm would be fantastic. They should’ve heeded the warnings, they should’ve listened, should’ve turned it down, and John was stupid enough to offer it in the first place.

Branch feels his heart nearly beat out of his chest, and he feels sore. He tries to balance his body, all while running straight to the exit, right back home, where it’s safe, where there are no risks of danger and harm and death. Where family and friends are safe and sound and they get to be carefree and not fearing for their literal lives.

Maybe he should’ve been more firm. Maybe if he had tried harder, none of them would be here.

Behind them, parts of the tunnel already began falling apart, filling up the cavity with dust and debris, and the sounds, oh, the sounds. Branch swears they could go deaf. It’s akin to thunder, loud and rumbling all around them, echoing against the tight walls and reverberating right on them, causing their little ears to ring in discomfort.

John shouts something, and Branch can’t exactly make it out. Something about running faster he thinks, and if he could, he’d quip back with a snarky remark, a sarcastic comment, a punch to the shoulder. But they don’t have time for that, not now.

Poppy. Oh, Poppy. She would lose herself if she ever found out the three of them were caught in a cave-in. His brothers. The village. It would all be disastrous. Branch feels a tightness in his chest, going up his throat, and he isn’t sure if it’s the dread or the lack of air going into his lungs from how hard he’s running. A mix of both, he figures.

There’s a particularly brutal shake, and Branch stumbles, his pack slips off of him, and he nearly falls over right onto his face, just barely catching himself. A choked cry leaves him, and he nearly bites his tongue. If he could, he’d scream, most likely tear out his hair too.

John stops, whirling back for him, and Viva also halts her sprint. Branch grits his teeth as he picks himself up, and he goes to scream at them to continue, to just go. Better have one of them make it out than none of them.

Branch feels his mouth go dry when he spots the ceiling start to give in, just over Viva, and his heartbeat somehow overthrows the loud rumble echoing around them. It’s too quick, and he can’t reach her, can’t move. He won't make it in time, not at this distance.

“Viva, get back!” Branch shouts. And oh, air gets stuck in his throat.

He watches as Viva just barely has time to look up with wide eyes, take a few steps back, and the ceiling crumbles. The sound booms around them, loud and thundering throughout the tunnel, and Viva disappears from their sight. Dust invades them, and the two brothers duck at the sudden cloud, and their lungs are burning, eyes watering, minds so loud and frantic.

The rumbling continues, relentless, and Branch nearly stumbles over on his feet and he spots John struggling to keep his balance.

And Branch feels time stop when he sees the fissures along the earth above John Dory. They’re terrifying, threatening to give out any time, and Branch hears ringing in his ears. His heart seizes at the thought of John, buried under rubble, unable to breathe, unable to free himself, unable to cry for help.

The image is horrifying, and Branch moves before he thinks.

His paws make contact with John, and he pushes. Perhaps a bit too hard, but hopefully enough so that his brother isn’t crushed before him. Branch winces when he hears the ceiling collapse just behind them, right where John stood seconds prior. He sees white for a moment, senses all wild as if they were set ablaze. Another large cloud of unforgiving dust assaults them. John lets out a startled cry, and the two fall into the ground, the air knocked right out of them. John’s flashlight lands somewhere, light flashing, flickering as it shakes around.

For a moment, the earth shakes, constant, loud, booming around them, and it gives no sign of stopping. They’re left in the dark, unknowing of the others’ conditions, and they wait with frantic hearts for it all to cease, to finally return into peaceful silence and comfortable calm. None of them move, and it feels as though the entire earth would collapse at any point.

Branch was right, this was a stupid idea.

Chapter Text

Silence reigns after some time, and the ground stops shaking not long after. Dust is heavy in the tight space, and it’s nearly suffocating.

John’s lungs burn when he blinks his eyes open, and he coughs into his paw. It’s terribly dark, and he squints as he looks around. He spots his flashlight not too far, the light flickering, but still alive, so he’ll take it over total darkness. His backpack is right next to it, and luckily, it’s intact. Branch’s pack is nowhere to be seen.

Nothing feels broken as he picks up the light, and he quickly hovers it over his body. No blood, just minor scrapes and bruises. Someone coughs not far behind him, and John turns to see Branch picking himself off of the ground. He seems fine overall, maybe a bit shaken up and frayed, but nothing too major.

The eldest allows himself a breath, and he goes to properly check over his baby brother, before he stops.

Viva.

His heart skips a beat, and he looks around, frantic. No sight of bright pink or golden locks. Shit.

Oh, Poppy was going to kill him if anything happened to her sister.

“Viva?” John calls out, voice dry, and he coughs again. He waves a paw in front of his face, trying to get the dust out of his nose so his lungs don’t ache each time he breathes. He hears Branch shift behind him. “Viva? Are you okay?”

No response.

John swears he’s going to be sick.

What if she hadn’t moved away on time? What if she was knocked out, or severely injured, or crushed under the rubble? What if the snake may have got her? He was never going to forgive himself—

His ear flicks when he hears something behind the remains, and he perks up.

A few coughs, then a clear of one’s throat, and he recognizes the voice, recognizes her. His heart beats quicker, and he hopes, prays that she’s unharmed, please, let her be alright.

“I’m okay!” Viva responds, voice just barely making it through the rubble.

John nearly crumbles. She’s alive, she’s breathing, she’s well. He lets out a long breath, and his shoulders sag.

“Oh— That’s good. I thought— Holy shit.” John curses. He settles a paw against his chest, and he feels his heart hammering, thumping at such a rapid pace, he’s surprised it hasn’t burst yet. He manages a quick inhale. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m—“ A pause. “I’m fine. What about you? Is Branch okay?”

“We’re good. Just a bit shaken.” John sighs. He takes a look around.

They’re practically trapped from both sides, and John does not want to risk moving any rubble and making the walls collapse further and possibly crush them. No way out, how lovely.

“We’re stuck, we can’t move.” John tells Viva, and he winces when a few rocks tumble from the ceiling. “Can you find a way out on your end?”

Viva makes a noise, soft and pensive.

“Yeah, I think I can do that.” She replies, and John furrows his brows at the hint of hesitation in her tone.

“You good?” He asks.

A beat of silence.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine! Just—“ Another beat. “Sprained my ankle. But I’m okay! It doesn’t hurt that much.”

John inhales sharply, rubbing a paw over the side of his face.

This was shit.

John hears a groan, and he turns in time to see Branch lean against the wall closest to him. He shines the light on him, and the sight causes John to hold his breath.

A nasty gash, starting at Branch’s thigh, just under his shorts, going down just below the side of his knee. It’s deep and bleeding, badly, and Branch is visibly pale already. John feels his body grow cold, dread grasping at him and squeezing so hard he fears he might not breathe properly. His brother is bleeding, he’s hurt, and John curses himself internally because he should’ve done something more, should’ve tried and prevented this from happening.

Branch is shaking, and he meets John Dory’s gaze with tired eyes. There’s something in the way he looks at the eldest, like a silent plea, and he looks small, frail, like the little brother John left so many years ago.

That seems to snap John out of his storming mind, and he blinks, ears pinned back.

“Oh. Oh, shit.” John swears, and he moves quickly. He stands by his brother, and his free hand ghosts over Branch, trembling, unsure if he should touch him or not. He settles on resting his paw on his sibling’s shoulder. “Okay, uh— shit, okay. Just— just sit down, alright, B?”

Branch doesn’t speak, and he tries to nod, but the movement is sluggish, so he simply leans his head against the wall in defeat. Achingly slow, he lowers himself to the ground, until he simply collapses, landing with a choked breath, and John nearly shouts, startled. With a groan, Branch lets himself sag against the wall, chest heaving as he pants. John kneels by him, brows furrowed in worry.

“John?” Viva pipes up, laced with concern. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Branch. He’s hurt.” John informs her, and he tries to ignore the prominent tremor in his voice. He looks over Branch, and his chest feels terribly tight. No doubt that his brother got hurt when he pushed John out of the way, and fuck, that only digs the knife deeper into John’s heart. “Bad.”

“‘M fine.” Branch grumbles, and he hisses when he tries to shift his leg. He looks around, dazed, and he groans when he doesn’t spot whatever he’s looking for. “Need to stop the bleeding.”

John nods, and he whips around. His bag is right where he last saw it, and he’s quick to snatch it. He settles the pack near his brother, and he rummages through the contents, lips pressed in a firm line. Frustration bubbles up his chest, and he grits his teeth, until a burst of relief comes forth when gauze meets his paw, soft to the touch, a promise of solace. He almost rips it out of the bag, hands trembling the slightest.

He’s done this before, he’s tended to wounds, of others and himself. Despite that, his heart is loud in his ears and his tongue is unfamiliar in his mouth. His entire body feels sore and numb and like it’s on fire and he’s so terribly afraid—

Focus. He needs to focus.

Branch just about yelps when John presses the dressings onto his leg, his hold firm and strong, and Branch’s entire body tenses for a second. John winces, but keeps the pressure, he has to. It’s as though he tastes iron in the back of his throat, overwhelming his senses, and he scrunches up his nose.

“John?” Viva’s voice cuts through. She sounds so wobbly, so frail, and for a moment, it’s like John can hear his baby brother, wide eyes glimmering with unshed tears, small paws fidgeting, ears pinned back.

“Viva.” John begins, and he shakes his head, and he puts more pressure on the wound. Focus. He has to stay concentrated. He murmurs a soft apology when Branch inhales sharply next to him. “I need you to go get help. You have to go, now.”

“But you— I—“ She stammers, unsure, contemplating, weighing her options.

They don’t have time for this.

“Go.” That familiar stern tone laces his voice, the same one he used when his brothers were young, when they would get fussy and do as they pleased, and he’s urging her to just go, run back, get help.

Branch is panting, eyes closed, brows furrowed as he attempts to keep himself grounded, trying to deal with the pain coursing through his leg. John only scowls, ears twitching.

“I’ll be back.” Viva states, firm and assured. It’s a promise, a vow.

John nods, and he inhales slowly. Distant echoes meet his ears, signaling Viva’s departure, and the two are now left alone, in the dark, the flashlight being their only beacon.

There’s warmth against John’s paws, and he pulls one back, wincing at the sight of smeared blood. Branch’s shorts are ruined, sticky with red and there’s no way they’re getting that out.

“Shorts are done for.” He informs, trying to get his mind on something, anything else, and he manages a nervous smile as Branch groans. “‘S okay. We can get you new ones.”

“I liked those.” Branch almost whines, and he swallows hard.

“Know you did, B.” John nods, and he reaches into his bag again. He pulls out more gauze, with a roll of bandages, setting them aside before he stuffs his paw into the pack once more. A bottle of water comes out next, placing it by the rest of his supplies.

Carefully, he shifts the gauze away, taking a peek at the wound, and he lets out a hiss at the sight. The skin is an angry shade of red, and the gash is deep enough to leave a scar. The edges of the cut are dark, like it’s been slashed open by something, like rock, and John’s guilt seizes him harder. Branch doesn’t move, or, he’s doing his hardest not to. He’s visibly tense, and when John glances at him, his eyes are squeezed shut, lips sealed into a stiff line, and his shoulders shake.

John’s chest flares, and he curses at himself, so angry, frustrated. If he had listened.

“I gotta clean it.” He speaks so gently, apologetic and small, and he reaches for the bottle, uncapping it. Blood smears over the container, but it’s the least of his worries. As long as the water remains clean.

Branch doesn’t say anything, and he keeps his eyes shut, anticipating the sting, the flames that are bound to burst from his wound and travel through his entire leg, up his body, making his throat go dry and oh, John’s chest tightens at the thought. This won’t be fun, and if he could, he’d take Branch’s place, take the injury, bear it any day, as long as his brothers get to stay unharmed.

He’s so careful as he removes the bloody gauze, and beads of red rim the edges of the wound almost instantly, some already trickling down Branch’s leg, and John furrows his brows.

“Here goes.” With an inhale that doesn’t quite fill up his lungs as much as he’d like, John tips the bottle, and his ears lean back.

Branch just barely manages to brace himself, and then he’s letting out a strangled gasp the moment the water makes contact with the open gash. His entire body goes stiff, paws digging into the earth, and he bites his lip so hard he might just draw blood. John holds his leg down for good measure, but he feels the tension under his paw, just how hard Branch is keeping himself from flinching away, kicking John and putting an end to the pain.

John murmurs apologies under his breath, and his heart clenches when a whine dies in Branch’s throat.

Finally, he pulls the water away, setting it nearby, and Branch just about slumps, a visible tremor in his limbs, and his chest rises heavily as he pants. He blinks his eyes open, and John can see the glimmer of unshed tears, and shit, he curses himself for not doing more. Gingerly, and wipes at the wound, removing any excess blood, drying it and giving gentle pats along the injury to avoid upsetting it further. Branch only breathes next to him, chest heaving, and he doesn’t even flinch away as John pats the gash dry.

The two of them are quiet as John begins to bandage the wound, making sure the dressings are snug enough. Branch allows him, too weak to protest, and by the time the eldest is done, his breathing has evened out, lines fatigue now present in his face as well as dark bruises under his eyes. He doesn’t speak, blinking slowly, and he only winces when John ties the final knot.

“There. That should do it.” John nods to himself. He stares at the fresh bandage, and to his relief, blood has yet to seep through. Much to his distaste, he has no idea how long this bandage will hold, if it’ll last until aid finally comes their way, and his stomach churns uncomfortably.

Branch breathes in deep, closing his eyes as he lets himself sag against the wall. A knit forms between his brows, and his lips are tightly pressed together, trembling the slightest, and John feels his ears fall at the sight. The youngest exhales, the sound shaky.

“Poppy’s not gonna like hearing about this.” He sighs with a slight rasp to his voice.

John doesn’t speak as he sits by his brother, and he only looks ahead. Only dirt and roots meet him, and he’s already tired of it. His mind wanders as he zones out, and he wonders what the others are up to, if Viva will get to them in time despite her ankle most likely torturing her with every step. Poppy was definitely not going to like hearing about this.

The silence causes him to shift slightly, unable to find comfort in their current situation, and his paws fidget over his lap.

“You think it would be a bad idea to pinky promise in here?” It comes out without him being able to stop, and he almost winces. He knows it isn’t time to joke around, and with Branch’s silence, he figures he’s overstepped. He waits for his brother to turn to him sharply, a scowl on his tired face, ready to bite him, maybe punch him or simply snap at him.

John’s eyes widen when a snort escapes Branch instead.

“You’re an idiot.” Branch breathes out, shaking his head as a fond smile replaces his previous frown.

A quiet chuckle leaves John, and he lets himself lean back on the wall, feeling his chest rise and fall, rhythmic, following a pattern, and it distracts him from the suffocating feeling of being stuck in here, alone, with his brother wounded, and he closes his eyes. Guilt and dread return, like a punch to the face, and John tries to not let his breath hitch, and it’s like ice cracks through his veins, making him shudder.

There’s anger seeping through all the jumbled feelings in his chest, fury directed at himself, at how much of an idiot he was, and he grits his teeth. As a pathetic attempt to soothe his nerves, he inhales, slowly, taking in as much air as possible, allowing his lungs to expand to their limit. Then, he lets it go, just as slowly, and he feels the urge to scream as his mind continues to spiral, unwilling to stop, ferocious thoughts churning around like in a tornado.

“I can hear you think, y’know?” Branch’s soft voice is loud in the deafening silence.

“Huh?” John blinks his eyes open, and he turns to face his brother.

Branch looks at him with those eyes, like he’s analyzing him, picking him apart and seeing past those tall walls John built around himself over the course of many, long years. It’s uncomfortable, and John isn’t used to someone being so capable of seeing right through him that easily.

“You say I think a lot, but you’re not any better.” The younger troll points out. A wince flashes across when he shifts the slightest to sit more appropriately, and he lets out a breath as he leans back against the wall.

With a dismissive wave of his paw, John shifts his gaze, finding the ground under his feet to be a lot more interesting to stare at. He squirms where he sits, unable to find a comfortable position, and despite not meeting his brother’s eyes, he knows the younger troll is looking right at him. When he knows Branch won’t stop staring at him, John lets out a sigh, his shoulders dropping.

“Listen, I’m sorry, okay?” John starts, voice wobbly, and he swallows hard. He goes to run a shaky paw over the side of his face, but stops when he spots the dark stains of red across his paw, and he wrinkles his nose at the display. His nose twitches as he breathes in, and he grabs the water bottle he previously held.

Branch just watches him, face soft, blinking slowly, waiting for him to continue. John’s frown deepens.

“I shouldn’t have brought us here. You were right. It was stupid.” He goes on, and he rinses his paws with the water. Tension releases from his shoulders at the contact, and his fingers flex to ebb the dull pain away. The blood slowly flows off of his paws, water turning red as it trickles to the ground, saturating the dirt. “I was an idiot.”

Finally, his poor paws are clean, free of dry blood, and he huffs out a breath. Branch doesn’t speak next to him, and part of him is glad, while the other is shaking in discomfort. The silence is too much, and being stuck in such a cramped space doesn’t soothe his rapid heartbeat.

“Yeah, you were.” Branch pipes up. John looks over at him, ears raised, almost offended at the statement, even if it was nothing but the truth. “It was a dumb idea.”

John’s ears drop at that, and he tries to ignore the acute sting underneath his ribs, and his breath nearly hitches but he regains control of his lungs. He can’t argue with the blatant truth, as clear as the water he used to wash both Branch’s leg and his own dirty paws, covered with his little brother’s blood, a nasty memory of a mistake he’s made today, and his chest tightens.

“But I don’t blame you.” And he sounds genuine, stating nothing but the truth and John nearly flinches.

“Branch. Look at your leg.” John bites back, gesturing at the bandaged wound, and his brother follows his gaze.

“I see it.” Branch deadpans.

“You got hurt.” John adds.

“Yeah.” His brother nods. He places a paw over the dressings, smoothing it down, and there’s a slight wince to his eyes when he does.

“Branch, you—“ John groans, throwing his head back. His ears heat up as frustration bubbles up his chest, and his nostrils flare as he breathes. “If I hadn’t been stupid enough to think of this, your leg would be—“

“If I hadn’t pushed you out of the way on time, you wouldn’t be here, John.” Branch cuts him off, almost snarling at his brother as he does. His ears pin back against his skull, the stress lines at the edges of his eyes deepen and John’s mouth snaps shut. “I’ll be fine. I’ll get over it.”

The eldest doesn’t speak, and his own ears drop the slightest as his wide eyes lock onto Branch’s face.

“I’d do it again.” He continues, and his tone is a lot softer, calmer. His eyes lose the sharpness they held a few seconds ago.

John doesn’t try to argue, and he watches as Branch breaks their gazes, staring at the ground in front of them. As he looks at his brother, he sees a different troll than the one he left, and the realization is like a punch to the stomach. Ever since they rescued Floyd, John would look at each of his brothers, and his mind would spiral. There were so many things that he didn’t even know about his own flesh and blood, and his siblings looked like strangers at times if he stared at them for too long. It felt odd, wrong, so wrong.

“You grew up a lot.” He states, almost in a whisper. “When did that happen?”

“When you left.” Branch answers, voice so flat it causes John to wince. “When grandma got taken.”

“I’m sorry.” John apologizes again, so quiet he fears his brother may not hear him. His worries are snuffed out when he spots the twitch in Branch’s ear.

“I don’t want to lose you.” Branch mumbles. He wraps his arms around himself, a pathetic attempt at shielding himself, and John knows that if he could, he’d most likely pull both of his legs up to his chest, trying to be as small as possible, invisible to the outside world. The troll pauses, eyes scanning the ground, before he closes his eyes. “I can’t lose you.”

Oh, that stings. It jabs at his heart in a way that almost makes him double over in pain, and John blinks once, twice.

“Branch.” He begins, and his mind spins. John fears his brother’s answer. He doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to know, but he needs to. “How old were you when grandma—“

He’s unable to finish his sentence, but the silence is loud, and Branch’s brows knit tighter. John waits for him, and his heart doubles in speed as his brother takes in a long breath.

“Four.” The number feels so big to hear, despite it being so small, too small.

John lets out a shaky breath, and he pushes a paw into his face, and the pressure soothes the growing headache across his temple, throbbing underneath his palm. He and the others left when Branch was around two, old enough to walk, talk, sing with them, and the memory is brutal, raw, and his heart splits in half at the image of his baby brother, so small, frail, mourning the loss of his family, one right after the other.

“Four.” John echoes, and a wet laugh rips out of his throat. His other paw meets his face, and he presses the meat of his palms into his eyes. He lets out what he thinks is a groan, or a whine, and his shoulders tense up. “Four.”

The realization dawns on him, and his entire body goes rigid.

Branch was four when their grandmother had been eaten. Branch was four when he was left all alone to fend for himself. Branch was four when he went grey.

“You went grey at four.” John says.

“John.” Branch tries to cut in.

“You had no one at four.” The eldest continues, and his ears ring.

“I had Poppy.” Branch counters.

“Yeah, after the bergen thing.” John snaps, and he doesn’t mean to, but everything just causes his blood to boil and he desperately wants to punch his own face at the moment.

“She was around even before we got attacked by a bergen.” Branch doesn’t falter, and he manages an amused scoff. “She never really left me alone. Always tried to get me to come to her parties. Kind of like you and your genius ideas.”

With a sharp inhale, John removes his paws from his face, and he glances at his sibling. He looks at Branch with intent, almost trying to spot a hint of hatred, anger, distaste, anything, because his brother has every right to be furious. But all he sees is a fond smile and tired eyes, and John feels his body go numb as his mind continues to spiral out of control.

John chuckles, a weak, wobbly sound, and his hands fall into his lap.

“I messed up, huh?” He asks, but he already knows the answer.

“A bit.” Branch nods. It’s an understatement, though it burns less. “But you’re trying your best to make up for it, and I’m grateful for that.”

Guilt flashes across John’s eyes again, and he tears his gaze away once more.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats, and it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. The words aren’t enough. He isn’t enough.

“Quit it.” Branch shakes his head, and he gently shoves John. “I heard you the first time. It’s fine, really. Let’s just focus on getting out of here alive. You can apologize all you want when we’re home.”

Home. Home sounded nice. The word is warm and unfamiliar, but also right, and John senses something flaring in his chest, a fondness that grows as the word continues to repeat and echo in his mind. Home, with his brothers, with Branch, and he can’t wait to get out of here.

“You’re doing it again.” Branch points out. John rolls his eyes at that.

“I mean it.” John presses on. “I am sorry.”

“I know.” The youngest nods. He looks tired, more so than before. “And I’m saying that I’ll forgive you.”

John can’t help but raise an eyebrow at that, and it causes Branch to huff out a chuckle.

“Get me out of here in one piece and I’ll forgive you.” He taunts, a grin on his lips.

At that, the older troll manages to blurt out a laugh, and his throat scratches uncomfortably as he does, but he could care less. With care, he pushes a fist into Branch’s arm, shoving him so gently his brother barely budges. Branch only snickers with him, and he lets out a sigh.

“How’s the leg?” John glances at the bandages, and luckily, it’s still clean, devoid of any blood, and relief blooms under his ribs, allowing his heart to beat at a normal pace.

Branch shifts it, testing it, and he winces slightly. He hums as he runs a gentle paw along the dressings, and he pulls back when the touch seems like too much.

“Bearable. I’ll manage.” He answers, and he leans against the wall behind him.

John nods next to him, and he lets out a breath through his nose. He feels drained, worn out, and his back hurts. His legs are sore, and his head throbs and he’d kill for a coffee along with a blanket, to snuggle inside Rhonda, away from danger, where it’s safe and warm, and he mourns his armadillo bus. He looks at Branch when the troll hums again, almost thinking his words over.

“I’m happy you came back.” Branch smiles, a small, genuine thing, and it’s enough to make John grin himself.

He knows it’ll take some time for everything to finally fit into place again, even more so for stuff to properly work out, but as John looks into Branch’s blue eyes, all he sees is a promise of a better life onwards, a new chance at something that will actually last this time, and he’s completely elated to be back with his brothers, to have returned to them.

Branch suddenly shivers, arms wrapping around himself to rub at his skin, and a shaky sound escapes him. John frowns, and he scoots closer until his shoulder hits his brother’s. A soft smile splits his face when Branch immediately leans against him, drawn towards warmth, safety, the youngest letting his head rest on top of his shoulder.

John allows him, and since he figures they’ll be here a while, he lets his own head fall atop Branch’s. Slowly, he wraps an arm around his sibling, keeping him close, needing him to be close. Fatigue crashes onto him without warning, akin to a punch to the face, and his eyes grow heavy, limbs aching and his mind becomes all hazy. He tries to keep a steady grasp on consciousness, but as he listens to Branch soft breathing syncing up with his own, and the silence of the earth reigning around them, he loses his grip.

In the dark, with his little brother safely cuddled against him, John slips away, worn and exhausted, hoping that when he awakens, the morning sun will be there to greet them.

…

John stirs awake when something catches his ears, and he flutters his eyes open. His neck hurts, a dull ache forming along the sides of his nape, and he groans. He isn’t sure how long he’s been out for. Hell, he isn’t even sure if it’s still day out there.

He blinks, and, of course, the scenery hasn’t changed, sadly.

He spares a quick glance at Branch. The troll hasn’t moved from his spot. If the situation wasn’t so horrible, John would have smiled and tried to take a picture.

Another sound, muffled, but slightly louder, and John Dory perks up again.

Voices.

Viva managed to get help.

John lets out a strained laugh, and he squeezes his brother’s shoulder, gently shaking him.

“Viva got us some help, B. We’ll be out of here soon.” John informs. He sighs, eyes closing as he leans his head back into the wall behind him. This hell would finally be over. He owed Viva for this, owed Branch too for not listening to him. Owed Poppy and his brothers too. He owed a lot, and the thought is almost dizzying.

Nevertheless, they were getting out of this, and things would go back to normal. John didn’t think he could hate snakes even more than he already did. He was never particularly fond of the beasts.

And—

And something’s wrong. John opens his eyes, creases of worry splitting his face as he frowns.

Branch is eerily silent.

John shifts to have a better look at his brother, and he just realizes how warm Branch feels to the touch. His ears pin back, and anxiety creeps on him, akin to a predator, and his heart starts to beat faster.

The younger troll is unconscious, and he’s limp against John. His chest rises and falls, too slowly for John’s liking, and he looks terribly tired. Somehow, he’s paler than before, and it’s worrisome. He shudders a few times, and his mouth is slightly agape, trying to draw in as much air as possible. There is a slight wheeze to each inhale he takes, and he looks sickly.

Oh, this is bad.

John scrambles to sit up better, and he moves Branch to inspect his leg. His stomach turns when he sees the blood seeping through the bandage, dark red contrasting with the white of the dressings.

“Oh, no. Shit, shit— Branch.” John stammers, and he shakes his brother, paws gentle on his shoulders, careful to not disturb his leg. Branch is unresponsive, and that only causes John’s heart to skip a beat. “Branch. Bro, come on. Wake up.”

He moves a hand up to Branch’s cheek, and he grimaces at how warm he feels. He keeps nudging him, desperately trying to bring Branch out of his unconscious state.

John only allows himself to relent when Branch lets out a sound, a strained groan, and the older troll inhales quickly.

“Branch.” He tries, and he pulls his sibling closer, almost cradling him. Fear courses through his veins when he feels Branch grow weak in his arms, and he shakes him again. “Hey, you have to stay with me. Viva’s not far.”

He reaches for his bag, stuffing a paw inside and searching for a second, and once he’s got it, he nearly yanks the gauze from how quick he moves, and he fumbles for a second. When he presses the dressings against Branch leg, he winces at the choked sound leaving his brother, and he murmurs apologies as he continues to apply pressure. It’s hot against his paw, and John curses under his breath.

This was bad, really bad. They needed to get out, and fast.

He almost jumps when he hears Branch mumble something, slurred words incomprehensible, though the way he looks at John with half-lidded eyes, a furrow of confusion in his brow, is enough for John to get a decent idea on what he was trying to say.

“Need you to stay awake for a little bit.” John tells him. His voice wavers, and he despises it. Keep it together. He grits his teeth when a whine slips past Branch’s lips, and he instinctively holds his little brother closer. “‘M sorry, B. Just hang on a sec’.”

Branch doesn’t respond, if anything, he seems more out of it, dazed eyes unfocused and blinking languidly. His head falls onto John Dory’s shoulder, resting there, and his eyes flutter close. He opens them again when John squeezes his shoulder after his lack of movement.

“Stay with me, Branch. Please.” John rarely begs. He seldom found himself pleading, that just wasn’t a thing he did. Yet, now, panic grasps at his core and he’s sure he’s going to lose his baby brother if he doesn’t beg for him to stay awake a little longer, like the thought of him falling asleep would mean he’d probably never wake up again. He can’t let that happen, won’t let it happen.

John pulls his paw back, and he curses internally at the sight of blood, red and warm on his palm.

“John! John Dory!” Clay’s voice echoes on the other side of the tunnel. He sounds out of breath, and about just as panicked as John already is.

The eldest huffs out a tense laugh, relief washing over him like warm water after a long day, and, boy, is he ready to get the hell out of here.

“Clay, brother.” He breathes, almost a wheeze. He holds Branch closer when he feels him shift the slightest. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice, man.”

A laugh from Clay, muffled by the wall of debris separating them, and he sounds relieved.

“Got ya, bro. We’re getting you out of here.” Clay calls to him.

John nods, even if his brother can’t see him, and he glances over at Branch. He inhales, chest flaring, and he nuzzles his nose against Branch’s hairline. His winces and his ears pin back further as he feels the warmth radiating off of him, and he sees how flushed his face looks.

“Serious Boy Clay’s here.” John chuckles, a dry sound. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat at Branch’s silence. One of his ears twitches at the muffled voices on the other side of the wall, and it perks up when he recognizes Viva. Something warm nestles in his chest. Despite her injury, she came back, and he manages the tiniest of smiles.

“Hey, JD. I heard that the other end’s blocked off, too?” Clay pipes up.

John nods, before he blinks and remembers that neither Clay or Viva can see him right about now, and he smacks himself internally.

“Yeah. In quite the pinch.” He scowls as he looks around. He’s seen enough dirt and rocks and roots for the day, hell, for the week, even.

“Alright.” Clay acknowledges, and he goes to speak with Viva, but the rest of his words are lost to John.

As the two discuss, John turns his attention back to Branch. Oh, he isn’t looking too good, and the eldest nibbles the inside of his mouth. He takes a look at the bandage, and shit, the sight makes his heart skip a beat. Somehow, the bleeding got worse, and the smell is horrid and John feels bile rise up his throat, burning as he swallows.

Branch’s breath hitches, and John nearly jumps right out of his skin, because for a moment he thinks something is wrong, terribly wrong, that his brother is slipping, falling, wilting right before his eyes, but he feels the younger troll shift closer to him, as if searching for warmth, searching for John and his heart breaks. With trembling paws, John pulls Branch closer, practically cradling him at this point, and it pains him to see his sibling simply curling up against him, empty of snappy remarks and comments, and suddenly it’s far too quiet to John’s liking.

“Hey, John?” Clay asks, voice the slightest bit wobbly.

“What?” John tries to ignore the growing pit in his stomach. Clay has that tone in his voice that just means he’s about to do something that isn’t the smartest. Or, in this case, not the safest. But then again, they didn’t have many options as of now.

“I’m about to do something stupid.” Clay informs him.

John inhales sharply. Of course.

“Stupid how?” He asks, apprehensive of Clay's answer. There was very little they could do without running the risk of the tunnel potentially collapsing on top of them all, and that alone causes John to shudder.

“Really stupid.” A beat. “But, it might work.”

John sighs. Better than nothing, at this point.

“Just get us out.” He doesn’t mean to sound so dry, but the fatigue is deep in his bones and he isn’t sure how long Branch can hold like this, and the smell of iron fills his nose so much he feels like he’s going to puke. It’s all too much.

He doesn’t hear Clay or Viva for a few seconds, and John believes the two of them have left as the silence drags on. Anxiety blooms within his chest at the thought, his paws begin to shake, and he isn’t sure how good he’ll do if he’s left alone, unable to properly tend to their youngest brother, hands empty of the correct supplies needed to care for the wound, and swallowing becomes difficult.

Guilt settles comfortably underneath his skin, like an unwelcome guest, and John feels a shudder travel through him. It’s all too familiar, and to his dismay, it’s accompanied by this dreadful feeling of failure. If he had been wiser, if he had been better, if he had been perfect, perhaps they wouldn’t be in this predicament.

Careful paws wrap around Branch, keeping him close, and John can only curse internally at how warm his little brother’s skin is. With a sigh, he presses his nose against Branch’s forehead, lingering there, his only source of comfort being his sibling’s shallow breaths, and he winces when he hears the occasional wheeze, crackling as Branch inhales.

An echoing rumble begins to groan around him, slowly growing in volume, and John flinches, looking around with frantic eyes. The snake comes to mind, and familiar hatred returns, like venom on his tongue. If that forsaken creature was back, John was sure to lose it—

Then, a booming sound echoes through the tunnel, like a roll of thunder, and oh, his heart gets caught in his throat. Everything shakes once more, and despite the fact it being less aggressive than the first round of rumbling, at this very moment, John can’t tell the difference.

“Wh— Clay!” He calls out, hoping that his voice overpowers the thunder around them.

His brother doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t hear Viva either, and John’s heart sinks. Horrifying images of his brother and his stepsister crushed under rubble flashes before his eyes, and he hurriedly blinks them away. He tries his best to reason with himself, that the both of them ran out as soon as they felt the earth shaking. As long as they both made it out.

But when he spares a glance at Branch, the youngest of them, his chest tightens and everything feels like it’s crumbling. He feels like he’s failed Branch, again. And this time, he may not make it out alive.

John wraps himself around his brother when he hears the rumble of the earth reverberate across the tunnel, and his hair flares out to curl around them, like a shield. He closes his eyes, and just focuses on Branch, feeling him against him, listening to his strained breaths.

It’s as though the snake is back, traveling by them, shaking the earth as it does so.

He suddenly hears Clay speak, and the slightest bit of relief cracks through the hazy panic filling up his mind, and he isn’t sure if he’s speaking to him, or Viva, or both, but John can’t concentrate on anything else but how loud his heartbeat is and how limp Branch feels inst him.

Branch remains unresponsive, unbothered by the shaking around them, and John feels suffocating dread settle in his chest at the thought of his baby brother losing consciousness again, but he feels frozen, too afraid to move, to risk getting them crushed. So, John only holds him tightly, waiting for it all to end, hoping, praying, begging.

He isn’t ready to lose his brother, any of them, not a second time.

The rumbling continues for some time, and John’s ears are ringing so loud that he no longer hears the world around him. He pushes his nose against Branch’s forehead, and despite the concerning heat that emanates from his brother’s skin, he stays there, unmoving, tethered to his baby brother.

He can’t fail him. Not again. He wouldn’t be able to handle the horror-stricken faces of his other brothers if Branch didn’t make it, and his entire body aches at the thought.

And he doesn’t notice when the earth stops quaking, doesn’t notice when everything goes quiet and calm. Inside his chest, John’s heart is thumping, frantic and so rapid it makes his head spin.

John refuses to move, curled around Branch, overtaken by this familiar, primal urge to protect, protect, protect. It sinks in deep, and the thought of just letting his brother go makes his head sway and his heart stutter, and he can’t afford to lose him, not again, not ever.

His hair is firm, and it’s like he goes deaf for a moment. All he’s focused on is Branch’s body pressed against his, his labored breaths barely ruffling the fur of his jacket, dark strands tickling his face, a paw touching his hair—

And he nearly jumps when he feels it.

Everything is hazy and he thinks it’s Branch at first, but the troll has yet to move from his spot, head tucked under John’s chin, secured in his embrace.

Clay.

John recalls his hair, and before him stands a green mane and wide blue eyes and a familiar sweater romper. He could weep at the sight, shoulders sagging, and Branch’s head lolls against his chest. They’re free.

“Branch.” Clay is kneeling in front of him, paws hovering by, as if afraid to touch their little brother. He’s eyeing him all over, and once he spots it, his ears pin back. “Oh— Shit.”

Viva’s behind him, and her own eyes are nearly bulging. She stands awkwardly, putting more weight on one leg, but she doesn’t seem to notice it, too focused on the scene before her.

“Clay, Clay. We have to get him back—“ John’s throat is so dry, and he swallows the cough that threatens to rip out of his mouth. He moves to stand, and Clay is by him in seconds, carefully taking Branch from his shaking arms, cradling him so gently. His knees hurt, his arms feel weak, but he refuses to let that deter him. “Get him on, quick.”

And it’s like the two brothers don’t need words anymore, because Clay shuffles closer, helping John, and Viva blinks back into the moment, and she limps over, one of her eyes twitching with each step.

John is terrifyingly quick, yet so gentle as he settles his brother on his back. Dread pools in his chest at Branch’s lack of response, and he grits his teeth at how limp the other troll is. Viva and Clay are by him, aiding him in securing Branch, all the while talking, but their voices don’t meet John’s ears.

All he focuses on is the faint breaths grazing his shoulder where Branch’s cheek rests. For good measure, John wraps his hair around his baby brother’s, keeping his head in place. That seems to prompt Branch to stir, fluttering half-lidded eyes open.

“J’hn?” Branch slurs, and he sounds terribly small.

“I got ya, bro. Just hold on.” John reassures him, and he shifts the slightest, keeping a steady grasp on Branch’s legs around his waist. Once he’s sure his brother won’t fall right out of his grip, John takes off, the others following suit not far behind him. His heart pounds in his chest, echoing within his ears, and his lungs seize painfully as he keeps on running. He can’t afford to stop, not until they were safe, until Branch was safe.

“I got ya. I got ya.” He repeats, like a mantra, a promise, a plea to the sky. Branch doesn’t respond, but John swears he feels him rub his cheek against his shoulder, gesture so weak, so small.

Clay shouts something, that the exit isn’t far, and John doesn’t bother responding, and just keeps on sprinting, running, faster.

Branch is a lot more limp behind him, and John figures he’s fully out again, and he curses under his breath. His grasp tightens, hair curling around Branch’s protectively, as if he was afraid the troll would disappear if he didn’t hold him close enough.

His legs burn, his feet are aching, and his lungs are completely spent, but John goes on, forcing his body to hold on just a little longer. He can collapse into a puddle once they’re back home for all he cares, as long as Branch is tended to.

“I’ve got ya.” John says again, and his voice nearly breaks. He isn’t sure if he’s trying to reassure Branch, or himself. Perhaps he’s doing both.

The only indication that Branch is still very much with them is his soft breaths tickling John’s skin, and that alone feels like a blessing. His brother is still breathing, still holding on.

Soon enough, light breaks through the darkness, the moonlight coming down the tunnel like a beacon of emancipation, leading the way, guiding them out to safety, to home. John feels his chest loosen up, and he quickens his pace. Just a little more, and they’d be out of this hell hole.

“Almost there, B.” John says, voice wet, and he allows himself to laugh a little. He squeezes one of Branch’s legs, and his hair tightens the slightest bit. “Hang tight, bro. We got ya. I got ya.”

John swears his heart nearly collapses by the time they reach the surface, and, for the first time in his entire life, he’s fairly certain he beat the record for reaching Pop Village in such a short amount of time.