Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He hears the horrifying screams of his grandmother. 

Half of her crushed in the palm of that bergen, the sound of her bones breaking with each squeeze.

The way her eyes seemed to bulge from the pressure. He can still feel where her hand had pushed him off the tree.

“John Dory?”

Right, he's in the group home.

Sitting with some lady.

Holding a sleeping Branch close to his chest. Feeling the pulse on his small wrist. He was breathing. Alive.

It could've been any one. It could have been Branch. It could've been any one. But it had to be John.

“John Dory, are you okay?”

He looks up at the women again. She has this weird small smile on her face.

“Will we stay together?” He asks, gaze dropping to the toddler in his arms.

“We have a suitable home for Branch, he'd be placed in a home with nuclear parents.”

That's not what I asked– he wants to say, but he doesn't, he bites his tongue.

“He's still young, he has a better chance at a stable childhood, a bright future ahead of him for sure.” John is almost certain she doesn't have Branch’s best interest at heart.

“What about me?”

She gives him a different smile, the kind of smile that's nothing but pity. “Since you have no other family, or a friend you can stay with.”–Blunt. It's so blunt and so true, because John Dory's priorities in life weren't friends and apparently it wasn't family either. His brothers are gone, his grandma is dead.

Muses she's dead–

“You're almost old enough to be on your own.” She flips through a stack of papers on her desk. 

“You can stay in the group home till then. In the meantime we'll get you situated with a job so when the time comes, living on your own won't be an issue.” 

He stays quiet, pretending to be thinking it over. 

“Is there another option?” He's hopeful for a moment, that they'll just let him go home with Branch. He'd been looking after his brothers for years. He can do it again, he'll do it better and he won't make any mistakes. Home. He just wanted to go home. 

“I'm afraid not. You're far too old to be taken in by a family. This is the best option for your younger brother.” She gestures to the sleeping troll. 

This system is fucked. Every system in this tree is fucked– Just like this world. Just like this tree– he wants to scream, because he knows they just want to take Branch away to hand him off to whatever rich family is desperate for a trolling at the other side of the tree.

To keep trolls happy, to keep the world in the cage moving. To keep the word outside of the cage moving.

“I also understand your younger brothers have gone missing under your grandmother's care, correct?” Her brow is raised at him, trying to get confirmation. But it feels so wrong the way she asked, it wasn't his grandma's fault. He was supposed to watch them, but he just let them walk out. It is what they wanted, to be out.

It wasn't her fault– She just died– don't blame her, she wasn't home– it's my fault they're missing– he wants to tell the social worker, and maybe snatch away the pen she keeps clicking. 

But he just nods instead.

“After everything that's happened you wouldn't want anything bad for Branch. Trust in me John Dory, my job is to help you.”

He wants to ask who the blame is being turned to. Him, his grandmother, or the monsters outside. 

“Can I take him home for a bit? To pack him some clothes?” He does his best to look more pitiful, he just has to get home.

The smile is different again, it's almost happy that he seems to have given in to abandoning his baby brother.

“Of course, take your time. We'll have one of the staff members escort you.”

Great. Fucking great. “Okay.”

•

The pod was deadly quiet as he stepped in, the troll escorting him had stayed outside. It seemed John Dory still had some luck. 

A game of rummy forgotten on the table, a loose card on the floor. It was dark and gloomy, and had the floorboards always creaked so loud? 

He walked quickly to his room, Branch still in his arms sleeping. With a gentle shake he whispers for Branch to wake up.

“Branch, it's time to wake up buddy.”

Sleepy eyes flutter open and look around, hands rubbing away the tiredness as he yawns.

“Are we home?”

“Yeah..” John sets Branch down on his bed, kneeling in front of him to be at eye level. His mind raced to think of a way to explain their current situation to a child.

And in that moment he does what he knows, he pretends.

“Branch, we're gonna play a game.”

“What kind of game?” 

“A survival game.” John says, keeping his voice low. “We have to stay quiet and hidden, and then we have to run.” 

“Run from what?” Branch mimics his low voice.

“From.. from the bad guys trying to catch us.”

“Like from bergans?” 

“Yeah. Like from bergans.” Bergans were the least of his concern right now, despite everything. Because sometimes the very creatures living in this cage with them could be just as bad.

“How long will we play?” Eyes look at him with so much trust and innocence it kills him to lie

“For as long as you want.” John says, but he knows it's not true. This game he's inventing will last as long as it needs to.

Branch stays still and thoughtful while his eyes scan the room, and then he nods in agreement and John quickly moves to stuff two bags with clothes.

One is Branch’s diaper bag, which he dumps out before stuffing with Spruce's old clothes, a decoy. The other is a bigger bag he puts his own clothes and Branch’s in. After grabbing some more items and a map. He walks to the bathroom, placing the bag near the window and pulling back the curtain. 

He walks back to pick up Branch, the small troll clinging to him. He picks up the diaper bag next and heads to the door, with a deep breath he opens it and the social worker immediately stands straighter.

“These are his things, he needs to use the bathroom though so we need a minute.”

The troll takes the bait. “That's fine, take all the time you need.”

With that John closes the door and calmly shuffles to the bathroom again. He makes sure to lock the door and then he settles Branch atop the sink. 

“Okay Branch, we have to hide now. If we don't we'll get caught.”

Branch opens his mouth to say something but quickly covers his mouth remembering he has to stay quiet. He nods.

John smiles softly at him, running a hand in his indigo hair. 

“It's okay B. No one's going to take you from me. Not ever.” He pokes at Branch’s side, getting a small giggle from the trolling.

“Because we are gonna hide?” His baby brother quietly asks.

And John nods, “Because we are going to hide. So stay in my hair for now, okay?”

With the most determined nod a toddler can give, Branch makes grabby hands, ready to be lifted and placed in John's hair.

Once he's safely nestled John puts on the back pack John moves to climb out the bathroom window. That is until he finally catches a glimpse at himself in the mirror and freezes. His once teal hair is dark, pitch black. And his blue skin is gray. 

He gulps, no wonder passing trolls had looked at him weird. He looked so different devoid of color. 

Climbing out of the window and onto the roof to jump into one of the closest branches was easier than he thought, even with all the extra weight.

“JD?” Branch whispers, poking his head out a little. 

“Yeah?”

“What about grandma?”

John freezes, Branch hadn't seen what happened to their grandma. And he had no idea how to tell him. 

“Is grandma gonna be okay while we hide?”

“Yeah. Yeah, she's gonna be just fine. In fact she's gonna meet us at the end of the game.”

“When we win?”

He feels like he's been punched in the gut he doesn’t know if it’s worse than everything he’s already feeling.

“Yes. When we win.”

He looks around for a dense part of the tree to hide in and when he finds it he begins his climb. Him and Branch will stay there till it's dark and right before curfew they'll head out to find Clay. 

John knew Spruce and Floyd had left the tree, because none of their friends had seen them or were housing them while they weren't at grandma's pod. He just hopes they made it out safely without getting caught. 

His escape would be more risky than just slipping through the cage bars. He had thought about it for years, waiting for the longest branch on the troll tree to grow just far enough that it stuck out of the cage slightly. He'd then jump and use his hair to swing onto the roof of the building closest to the tree. That would give him a better chance at getting out without the risk of being grabbed. 

Just a little longer and he'd be out. They'd both be.

•

John knocks rapidly on the pod door, it's late and dark and he really hopes someone opens. And someone does, a troll he knows as Clay's closest friend. “Fern! Thank muses–”

“Dude, it's way past curfew. Can I help you?”

“It's me, John Dory.”

The troll eyes him up and down with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, “John Dory!? Your–”

“Look, is Clay here? I really need to talk to him.”

Fern makes a face, glancing around like avoiding eye contact will help him lie better. It doesn't.

“No..”

“I know you're lying.”

The troll walks out and lightly closes the door behind him. “I'm not supposed to tell. He's still really pissed, like really.”

“It's about our grandma.” He insists, hoping it will make Fern relent and call Clay out.

“Can you leave a message?”

John groans, frustration building in his eyes. “Fine. It doesn't matter. It's better if he doesn't hear it from me..”

If he did hear it from John Dory first Clay might deck him, and he already felt like shit for getting their grandmother killed. Someone in the tree will spread out the word. And in the tree a death wasn't kept secret.

“Tell him I'm sorry. And that I'm leaving. That I'm taking Branch.” He moves a hand to the trolling strapped to his chest with a wrap.

He had to move Branch out of his hair if he wanted to escape using the tree branches. 

“Are you sure you can't call him out?” He's pleading at this point, half a mind to just start banging on the pod windows and yelling for Clay. He wants to at least say goodbye face to face, maybe ask him to come along. But he's supposed to be keeping a low profile. 

The protective services are probably looking everywhere for Branch.

“Look. He doesn't want to see you.”

Maybe it's the frustration and the grief and anger but he just blurts it out. 

“Our grandma's dead.”

Fern stands there frozen and shocked before opening the door and moving in backwards, “Wait here.” He closes the door and John hears footsteps retreat.

He waits. Keeping his ears sharp and eyes constantly scanning around when a light flashes in his direction and he covers his eyes from the light.

“It's past curfew, kid. You can't be out.” Shit-

“You'll have to come with me to the center.” Shit-

Shit.

He books it. Running as fast as he can to swing his way to the top of the tree. He couldn't wait any longer and risk getting caught. The sound of shouting and other trolls patrolling are called, running after him. But John was always good at running, it was the only thing he didn't screw up. 

With nothing but the heavy bag on his back he swings until he reaches the edge of the tree, the highest branch that sticks just slightly out of the cage. And when he reaches the end he leaps, extending his hair just enough that he hopes it grabs onto the antenna of the bergen building just in front.

And it does, with one arm around Branch he manages to scramble onto the building's roof. And even as he reaches the ground again after hopping from roof to roof he's still running, running until he can get as far away from the cursed tree as possible. 

•

He woke up to a small hand slapping his face. 

“Jay dee!”

With a groan he rubs his eyes, opening one to look at Branch. “Wake up!”

“I'm awake, Branch, what's wrong?”

Branch shrugs, wiggling in the wrap wanting to be let out. “Where are we?”

John unties the wrap and lets Branch stand and stretch. “In a forest, I think.”

“Where are we going?”

“I don't know yet.”

Branch hums, moving a hand to his mouth. John packs away the wrap before moving Branch’s hand from his mouth. 

“Come on, let's keep walking.” 

“Where will we go?” He asks, grabbing John’s hand.

“I don’t know.” He says as he looks down at Branch with a fond smile. “But we'll figure it out.”

“Will Floyd meet us at the end of the game too? And Spruce? And Clay?” 

At their mention John looks straight ahead, the fond smile disappearing from his face. “Maybe, I’m not sure B.”

“I hope so.” Branch says, jumping over a rock in the ground.

“Me too.” 

That was six years ago, but John was still waking up to a small hand slapping his face. 

“Jay- JD. JD.”

He grabs the hand slapping him and sits up, “I'm awake.” 

“I'm hungry.” Branch says, pushing the glasses on his nose up and looking at John. 

“Does your head hurt less today?” He asks, as he brushes a hand through indigo hair. 

“It's- It– It will hurt more with no food.” He huffs, frustrated by his stutter or maybe his hunger. He’s hangry–

“Okay, do you want anything special?”

Branch groans and waves his good arm around, “I don't care! Juh– just food. Please.” 

John chuckles as he moves to unpack their leftovers from the night before, pulling out the burner from his bag and setting it up to reheat the food.

“C–can't you. Give it c– cold?” Branch says, a grunt leaves his throat at his mistakes and he moves his good hand to knock against his head, but John quickly stops him. 

“Don't hit. Just take your time.”

Branch sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. “Can't you.. just give it- to me cold?” He beams a lopsided smile on his face, happy he was able to say it without a stutter. 

John smiles too, moving around the fried vegetables in the pan he's heating up over the burner. 

“No, it'll give you a stomach ache.” 

At his response Branch flops onto his side and complains, kicking his stronger leg out. “But hunger pains!” He says. 

“Be patient, just a little bit more B.” 

And when the food is finally heated up, Branch scarfs it down like a starved troll. Ignoring John telling him to slow down before he chokes. 

But Branch is a growing troll and needs all the nutrients he can get. Especially in his condition, he's still healing after all. 

He does cough a little at his last bite and John fights back an, I told you so- As he hands the canteen of water over and Branch sips it. 

When they finish breakfast John packs everything up, pulling on his backpack and helps Branch up. He pulls Branch’s crutch from the loop on his bag with one hand, while Branch holds his arm for balance until John finishes unfolding the crutch and hands it over. 

“You don't want me to carry you?” He makes sure to ask. He always makes sure to ask.

“Not yet. I'll let you.. when I am tired.” Branch answers, steadying himself with the help of his crutch then he points west. “That way?” 

John nods, sticking close in case the younger troll loses his balance or falls. They continue the journey they've been on for a week. Heading for the location of what they truly hoped was home of other pop trolls. Once they got there things would be easier, for Branch that is.

John looks down at his small brother, watching his focused eyes scanning the ground to make sure he's stepping right.

Then John's eyes glance to Branch’s head. Noticing a bit of scar peeking out of the bandana Branch wears. He moves his hand to adjust it, he knows Branch hates anyone seeing it. 

At the motion Branch glances up, a grateful smile on his face. “Thanks.”

John smiles back. “You're welcome.” 

His dull hands move to grip the straps of his backpack, as the well known guilt sits on his shoulders and grips something in his chest. 

It's your fault, it all your fault– 

With a deep breath he tries to push the words to the back of his mind, the guilt can eat him alive later. Right now they had a trail to follow and a village to find. 

Chapter Text

They walk through the forest for a while, until Branch grows tired and uses John's arm along with his crutch to help him walk a little longer. But they don't get far before John stops walking and forces them to take a break.

He helps Branch sit back against a tree and takes out their container of water and offers it to him, “Water?”

Branch nods and takes it, chugging water way too fast. John moves to pry the canteen away from him, afraid that he'll choke.

“Hey, slow down-”

But the young troll just smacks his hand away. John raises his hands defensively with a small smile. 

“Okay, okay. It's all yours.” 

When he's finally finished drinking enough water he takes deep breaths.

John brushes back hair that's stuck to Branch's face from the humidity, “You okay?” 

“I'm tired.” He shoves the canteen away to John's who puts it back in his bag. 

John stands, putting on their bag forwards and crouches down so Branch can hop on to his back.

“Come on, I'll carry you.” 

Branch doesn't argue, he never does when he can't continue walking. At least not anymore.

He folds up his crutch and clings to John, it takes him no effort to stand and start walking. Branch practically weighs nothing to him, which concerns him to some degree, but he'd always been small. 

“JD, do you know- where to go?”

“We'll probably hear them before we see them, but yeah I know where to go.” In truth he only has a vague idea, just the general direction, but he doesn't want Branch to freak out about that.

“‘Kay.” Branch hums, “Can I nap?”

John smiles, “Of course you can.” 

He feels Branch's head shift to lean onto his shoulder. Giving piggyback rides wasn't unknown to him, he gave them a lot to Floyd and Clay. For Floyd it was for comfort, for Clay it was for skinned knees. He would fall a lot as a child, usually because he was never watching where he was going, simply looking at his injury would send him to tears.

John wonders if the Clay he'll meet soon will be the same. Still skinning his knees.
 

•

Branch wakes up by nightfall, John had already set up camp and he had taken Branch’s bandanna off. Branch is on the sleeping bag, his head resting in John's lap as a hand cards through his hair. Stopping in some spots to detangle knots. He stays still, letting John brush through his hair. And then he turns onto his back, wincing at the pain that shoots down his spine and the left half of his body. 

“Morning sleeping beauty.” John teases.

“It's dark.” Branch mumbles. Rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“You hungry?”

“No.”

“Try and eat a little anyway, you walked a lot. And you need to eat so you can drink your tea.” 

Branch doesn't protest; he sits up and takes the dried meat and berry mix John gives him in a container, placing it in his lap and holding his spoon with his stronger hand. While he eats John prepares his tea. Although Branch picks at his food he still manages to eat a good amount before John hands him the cup of tea. When Branch takes a sip he recoils and makes a face of disgust.

“It tastes bad!” 

“I know, I'm sorry. We ran out of honey so I couldn't sweeten it.”

Hopefully they'll be able to get some soon, or else Branch might start refusing his tea. He knows it doesn't taste the best, he's tried it before. Either way John makes sure Branch at least drinks half.

“Just a bit more Branch.” He urges holding the cup Branch had tried to hand back.

“No. It's gross.”  

John sighs and looks into the cup, “You'll feel better, just have one more sip.”

“I never ff-feel better!” Branch gives him an angry glare. 

The small frustration John had felt disappears, “I'm sorry, I know.” He puts an arm around Branch. “Just take a minute, breathe, okay?” 

Branch leans into his side, taking a deep breath through his nose and then exhaling. The way Floyd used to tell them to do, back when he really thought it was pointless. Now John’s learned the simple thing that is breathing is so incredibly important.

He waits for Branch, and once he’s ready his brother reaches for the cup and takes one final gulp before handing it back.

John pats his shoulder, “Good, thank you.” 

Branch just frowns as he leans towards John more, letting him run a hand in his hair for comfort.

They get settled into their sleeping bags for the night, tomorrow morning even if Branch is feeling well enough John will carry him the rest of the way, no matter if Branch will protest. 

•

As John steps through leaves and forest overgrows he's mumbling a song to a quiet Branch. 

“We're going on a bear hunt-”

Branch's eyes are closed as he listens to John and the crunching of twigs with every step.

“We’re gonna catch a big one. What a beautiful day. We're not scared-”

The weird rustling of leaves from up above makes him open his eyes and glance up.

“Oh look, a forest. A big, dark forest.”

He notices something moving in the trees, it's a blur that dashes farther up the tree branches. He lifts his head off John's shoulder.

“JD.” He whispers.

“Yep?”

“Something’s there.”

John stops walking, turns his head to glance at Branch, and seeing his younger brother looking up into the trees intently he does the same. They stay still, watching the top of the trees, their ears flicking at every sound. 

And suddenly it feels dead silent.

He can feel Branch tense and hold onto him a bit tighter. 

“What did it look like?”

“Mm- brown.”

As much as he wishes he could see what Branch did he can't. It’s only leaves above them and well– trees.

“Can you be a little more specific?”

“It- I heard it. I saw- something.” He pats John’s arm and points up. “There.”

And John looks in said direction and squints. “I don’t see it.” He says, adjusting his hold on Branch. “But you keep looking out, okay?”

Branch nods, lowering his hand, still keeping eyes up as John continues walking.

They find a little clearing with a giant boulder to camp out for the night. And while John sets up a little ring of twigs around them as an alert system. Branch continues scanning the area with his eyes, taking being look out very seriously.

By the time they're ready to sleep, he's trying to calm a very anxious Branch.

“Branch, it'll be okay. If anything comes near us while we sleep we will hear it.”

His brother lays in his sleeping bag, staring at the trees, “B-but what if. We don't?” 

John runs a hand through Branch’s hair, trying to help comfort him enough to sleep. “That won't happen, and if it does- I'll be ready.” 

Branch still looks unsure, and ready to argue, so John thinks quickly for a way to distract him. 

“Hey, you see the sky?”

“Yeah…”

“See any stars?”

This time Branch stares up at something that isn't trees, he blinks as his vision agusts to the dark night sky. 

“Lots.”

John lays in his sleeping bag, right next to Branch, and points. “Our brother, Clay, he liked looking for constellations. You see those to the left? That's Orion.” He traces at the series of stars.

“Mm- the warrior?”

“Close, he's a hunter. Well- he called himself a hunter. You remember his story?” 

“He… got banished. For bragging.”

John nods, “Yeah, he kind of sucked right?”

Branch laughs, finally relaxing a little. “Yeah.”

“If you go clockwise around Orion you can see Taurus.” 

He keeps up pointing at stars and telling Branch about them, until he finally falls asleep. John lets out a deep breath he was holding, taking one last look at the trees. Then he rolls on to his side and puts a hand on Branch's shoulder, closing his eyes and trying to fall alseep too despite his own growing anxiety.

“Which one’s that?” Clay points to a series of stars in the book.

“That’s Orion.”

“What does he do?”

“Orion is a hunter, I think.”

Clay stares at the picture, head tilting to try and see what John is talking about. 

“Why is he a hunter?”

John traces a series of stars lined up on the page. “Because he said he was, right there.” He points to a text next to the picture, something Clay can't entirely read yet. 

“Read it.”

John laughs lightly, “I got you this so you can practice your reading.”

“Come on JD-” he complains, shaking John's arm.

“It says- Orion boasted that he was such a great hunter and that he could defeat any beast.”

“That doesn't mean he was a good hunter! What did he hunt?”

“I don’t know, maybe there's a biography on Orion or something, in another book.”

“Can you get me one?”

John makes this half grimace, “I can try but-”

“Yeah I know. They don’t like it when you check out lots of books.”

The tree had a lot of rules, he hated a lot of them. So Clay made a list of the ones he hated most.

One, curfew.

Two, one library card per family. 

Three, no checking out more than two books.

It’s a stupid rule really, what would anyone do with a lot of books anyway? Chuck them at the king? He didn’t see how it was a threat to them, something about knowledge is dangerous and ignorance is bliss. 

Clay hates that, and if anything their species could do with more reading because most trolls were so clueless. 

“When you finish reading this one, I’ll get you another, promise.” John says, ruffling his hair and making it more messy.

There was never a good enough book that accounted all of Orion's life. Just snippets of stories about how he was banished from the sky, how he died to a scorpion, and his endless pursuit of a gods daughter. Meaningless fables. And sure the books John could get for him were able to satisfy his need for knowledge, but never enough. 

It made him sad, angry.

Anger was easy, easier than trying to understand sadness. It's easier than talking about the things felt so deep he can't even put into words. 

Clay could handle anger, it was easy. 

And he found that grief was a very difficult thing. 

“Your grandma is gone.” 

The worst sentence he's ever heard. Spoken from the mouth of his best friend

“What?” He says, but it doesn't sound like him when he says it. 

“Your brothers are here, John Dory and Branch. He said your grandma’s gone.” Fern repeats.

“Gone? What do you mean gone?”

His friend makes this grim sort of look, “You should go talk to him...”

There's an immediate pit in his stomach, dread, and he stands and makes his way to the front door. “Why didn't you let him in?”

“You told me not to!”

And when he opens the door there's no one, no John or Branch. Just the fading flashlights of the night patrol. He yells out for John, halfway out the door before Fern pulls him back inside before they get into trouble for breaking curfew. 

Two months before the escape

“They're looking for stronger trolls to help with the last of the digging.”

Clay immediately sits up from where he was laying on the couch. “Tell me you're not going.”

Fern gives him a sheepish look, “I don't want to… but I feel like I should.”

“No- haven't you heard the tunnels aren't stable? Peppy is rushing to get out, he's not thinking about safety.”

“I know, but come on Clay his daughter's life is on the line it's understandable he's rushing things!”

Clay can only scoff, “Of course. His family isn't the exception anymore so it's okay to put everyone else in danger.”

His friend frowns at him, crossing his arms he looks away from Clay and stays quiet for a bit. “I know you're not okay right now. But being like… this, it's not going to make things better.” And Fern looks at him with so much determination. “We have to get up and help, for that exact reason, because people are in danger.”

Fern gestures to himself and to Clay, “We're in danger too.”

There's a silence, and Clay pulls his legs up and hugs his knees to hide away his face and his clear disapproval.

“I'm not asking you to come help, I'm just letting you know where I'm going.” Fern says, and Clay listens to him walk to the door and open it.

“We can't… we can't just do nothing. The escape is going to happen, you can't pretend it won't.” And then he walks out and the door closes.

Clay sits still for a minute before flopping down on the couch, staring angrily at the door.

“Watch me.” 

One month before the escape

Clay's mashing potatoes in a bowl with a little too much force, while his best friend sits at the kitchen table writing down a list of supplies. 

“Clay, have you gathered things from your pod?”

“No.” He answers, and stops mashing potatoes, instead he stares them down. Trying not to think about his last attempt to go back to his grandmother's pod, his home. Where flowers littered the door, from those who had been her friend.

The only objective was to get his important stuff and get out. But he couldn't make it past the front door. 

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No. I don't need anything from there.”

He can hear Fern sigh, the scribbling of his pen stopping. “You do need things from there. Stuff your family would want, clothes-”

“I have clothes here, I don't need more.”

“But you will! You'll need a lot more to prepare for the escape–”

Clay turns around, “There isn't going to be an escape! Because it's not going to work!”

Fern stares at him, this frown and glossy look in his eyes. “You're so infuriating.” He says, blinking rapidly and looking away.

“I'm infuriating?”

“Yes!” His hand slams down on the table. “You act like everything is fine- like you can go on existing like nothing is going on around us!”

He gets up and moves towards Clay, “You can't continue to be ignorant. You have to prepare, be ready. The markets are closing, the school let out early. Everyone is frantic Clay. The escape is a month away!” 

Clay stands silent, watching his best friend get teary.

“And when that day gets here- I want you there with me.” Fern says, “Because I'm scared out of my mind and I can't do it by myself.”

And he's hit with this instant guilt, watching Fern cry. Clay can't bring him self to say anything, not with the lump forming in his throat. He blinks back his own tears and then moves to hug his friend.

“Sorry.” He says, and Fern moves to hug him back.

They stay like that for a while, and then Clay asks, “Could you come with me? To my grandma's pod?”

He feels Fern nod, “Of course.”

One week till the escape 

The day Fern went with him, to his grandmother's pod. The flowers had wilted, and Fern opened the front door.

They walked in, turned one lamp on and Clay was suddenly overwhelmed by a tight feeling in his chest.

They gather photos, a couple stolen library books, his clothes. He's missing the smell of his grandmother's cooking and her quiet singing from the kitchen, that tight feeling hurting.

And when he's sitting on the floor of his childhood bedroom, that's been ransacked by his brothers packing their things and leaving him behind in the tree. It's that moment when he's finally crying, realizing his grandma and his brothers are really, truly, gone and not coming back.

The escape 

It's the smell of earth in the air as trolls make their way through the tunnels as fast as they can some knocking into each other. Pushing their way through in panic.

It's Fern's hand in his, the smell of dirt and the echoes of footsteps and screams. A stream of light suddenly above them in the dark tunnels, dirt and debree fall around them, someone yells. And before he can process it Ferns hand is gone, and he shoves Clay out of the way of falling rubble. 

In the middle of a tunnel, on his knees while trolls continue to push through rubble and avoid the falling dirt.

He starts digging, feeling the dirt between his fingers. Desperately moving rocks and trying to find any signs of his best friend. And he almost would've gotten crushed again as the tunnel starts collapsing and rocks fall around him. 

Clay would have gotten crushed had it not been for the blur of pink that knocks into him to push him out of the way. 

It was Princess Viva, “We have to run-” She tells him, hand on his arm to get him standing. Pulling him to run, away from the danger, away from Fern.

“The tunnels are collapsing!” He heard– “Run- run, run-” but through the sound of his own coughs, from the dust suffocating and in his lungs, he doesn't think he'll make it. 

Did he even want to make it?

It was only because of the pink hand on his wrist guiding him, forcing him to keep moving that he managed to get to the other side. 

•

The escape was still a fresh in his head as he walked along with all the survivors, Princess Viva leading them, holding the kings scepter in her hand. Two trolls behind her carrying the mangled half alive body of their king. 

For hours as they walked he could hear people behind him and infront of him crying, for loved ones that didn't make it. And he would have joined them too if his eyes weren't so dry, but he also couldn't entirely feel that sadness. Because to him Fern's hold on his hand was still there, he could still feel it. 

The forest grew more and more dense and thick with vegetation, flora, and giant trees.

During the day the humidity was thick and at night it was cold, almost freezing. The fear of starting a fire for warmth was big, because they might be spotted. So trolls would just cling to blankets and huddle close. And it was that moment he felt insane gratitude towards Fern, for insisting on packing extra clothes. 

As they walked, he tried to go around and help those who were scratched up or injured from the tunnels collapsing. He held the first aid kit his best friend had shoved into his back pack. Although there weren't enough resources in it for everyone he tried to cut gauze and tore a clean shirt for wrapping. Clay felt that it was the least he could do, Fern would insist on it. Stand next to him and say- “We have to help them.” 

Princess Viva was mainly taking care of her injured father, along with a couple of trolls that offered assistance. He knew one of them was a doctor, and he had found them to give any help he could with his aid kit. But when he found the Princess she was sitting tending to her father alone, while the king tries to speak to her.

“Viva- Viva, where's Poppy?” Peppy croaked out, frantically moving his eyes around while Viva cleaned the wound on his head.

“She's okay, they're looking after her.” Princess Viva's voice is calm, surprisingly. 

“Viva- there's something I must tell you-”

“Dad, you have to hold still. Please.”

The king moves his bandaged hand to Viva's arm, stopping her from tending to his injuries. “We've lost so many, I'm so sorry.” 

Clay suddenly feels like he shouldn't be listening to this, but just as he's about to step away King Peppy says something he just can't ignore.

“There are others out there. Other trolls.” He confesses, letting out this rattling cough. 

Standing just a foot away, med kit in hand, hearing everything the king says to Viva. About the strings, the tribes, their ancestors. And he's never felt more rage burn within him than he does at that moment. 

Clay sits on the ground clutching the kit so tightly. A lump forming in his throat at the sheer thought. That if their tribe hadn't been so stupid maybe things would be different. 

For a moment his ears ring and it's so quiet. 

And then Princess Viva is frantically calling for her father. 

“Dad? Dad!” She yells, hand on his chest maybe checking for a beating heart. She shakes her father trying to wake him. And when he doesn't she screams for doctor Moonbloom.

Trolls rush past him, and he sits there watching their every attempt to save the already dead king. His daughter clutching his lifeless hand, begging with him, with anything to make her father wake up. 

And when he doesn't, the only thing everyone hears is her screams. 

The forest is silent with only the night critters humming. The grief and loss thick in the air and suffocating. And although the night is quiet he can still hear the way Princess Viva had screamed. Still see the millions of emotions that flashed across her face.

But it was the look on Viva's face, the pure anger. At what he wasn't sure, Clay could only guess it was at everything. That anger sending questions through he head. Had he looked like that? Does he still look like that? Because he was angry, at the world, the king, his brothers, and even a little at his best friend. For the awful, lying, leaving things that they are. 

They camped out under the thick trees for a few days, tending to injuries and foraging for edible plants. He went around with his first aid kit, helped forage, waited along with the rest of the survivors. Until it all got to a point they had to keep moving, except Princess Viva refused to move. She layed in the dirt next to her father, silent. 

Not matter the trolls that offered comfort, she lay still and stubborn.

Clay watches her for a moment, before walking and kneeling down to shake her shoulder light. 

“Pr-” He almost calls her by her title, her old title. Technically she's queen now. But that didn't feel right to say so soon. And he's never exactly liked having to say those titles.

“Viva… it's- we have to keep moving.” 

Her shoulders tense and she moves away from his hand, curling into herself even more. 

“If we don't find a safer place, farther from town, we could get caught. We have to go.” Clay can hear the pounding of his own heart in his ears, the anxiety in his bones, the god damn anger. Because here she was the new queen, laying just as lifeless next to her fathers corpse. She was supposed to be their guide, their hope, their leader, do the one thing she was trained for. And she just wouldn't move, or speak. 

“Viva. We have to go.” He tries again. 

No answer to movement or anything, he sits back, fingers digging into his dirt and dust covered pants. Biting his tongue while the voice of John Dory rolls in the back of his head. Be nice Clay. Be nice.

But Dammit- John wasn't here. 

John left him behind, like Spruce and like Floyd. Left him all forgotten in the tree they said they'd all escape from. Alone tending to injuries and trying to make direction in this pointless place. And he's angry. He's so angry.

“I lost people too. My best friend is dead. I get it. But being like- this isn't going to make things better.” He says through gritted teeth. “Everyone lost someone.”

Screw being nice-

“So you can't lay here and grieve while your tribe struggles. You have to get up.” He stands, wiping sweat off his palms. “Get the hell up Viva.”

Chapter Text

There was a time one summer when their grandma's pod was overheating, she propped all the windows open and the door and hoped the breeze would be enough. It wasn't and Spruce had absolutely been losing it he stuck his head in the freezer, John Dory had pulled him away and shut it with a loud slam. 

“There's a reason it stays closed you know!”– John had said, annoyed and probably just as overwhelmed by the heat. 

Clay watched from the couch while they argued about the freezer, Floyd had been laying on the living room floor, eyes closed and occasionally spraying himself with a bottle their grandmother used water her plants. Then Floyd got up, walked over to John and Spruce and sprayed them both with the cold water from the bottle. 

The memory used to make him laugh a lot, and he's trying to think about it to distract himself from the forest surrounding them. So errie and dark he can’t see a thing, with only the small sounds of other trolls shivering next to him, and the impending doom he knows is settling in them.

The whispers of- “What will we do?” And “Are we going to die out here?” 

Would that be it? Surviving troll eating giants only to die in the wilderness. 

Because there’s a rule of three John Dory had instilled into him and the rest of their brothers, sat them down at the kitchen table and made them listen to his “Wilderness lessons”.

“Three hours without shelter, three days without water, three weeks without food.” John said.

And Clay immediately raises his hand to question him, “Where did you get this from? Can you cite your sources?”

John just glared and said, “Rule of three. Write it down.”

It's been far more than three hours without a proper shelter, Clay can assume John had been wrong about that part.

Clay just hopes the three weeks without food is right, lack of water wasn't an issue, it was food they had none of. It had barely been a week and he was so hungry he could feel emptiness in his stomach. And although he’d been trying to forage for food, he didn’t exactly have a lot of plant knowledge. Maybe he should’ve given more attention to those “Wilderness lessons”. 

• 

With each day that passed his anxiety only grew and grew.

He tried not to look at Viva, not after what he had said and not for any form of hope. But he would sneak glances and watch others try to get her to do something as simple as drinking water. Something she wouldn’t respond to, she looked completely lost. Almost catatonic, and it only made the anxiety worse.

It felt all too familiar, that blank expression, like he'd seen it before on someone else but he can't remember who no matter how hard he tried. 

And with that there came the realization in the pit of his empty stomach, that no one was going to do a thing. With a leader currently grieving, no one else was stepping up and there was no way any of them were going to survive that way.

For a brief moment he thinks about saying something, but he doesn't. Maybe if his best friend was here he'd say something. Hell he'd be stepping in. Fern believed it more than him- “We have to get up and help, for that exact reason, because people are in danger.”

The words ring in his head, his mind changing with such volatility.

“If we want to survive we have to do something.” Clay says, to no one but himself which earns him a strange look from the trolls standing near him. 

“I'm going to find food.” He says to anyone within ear shot as determination fills his chest, to survive, to make it another day, and with that he turns away from the group to venture deeper into the forest. Because if he could just find something, maybe even a berry bush-

Good fortune however hadn’t exactly been on his side recently and as he walked through forest undergrowth his ears twitched to find a deadly silence. If he thought the night time could be eerie the lack of bird chirps and critters was even more so. 

Clay turns his head to the direction he’d come from, squinting at the plants and holding his breath, and just when he thinks he is just being paranoid he sees something move. A yellow line slithering closer is the first thing he sees, the next is two eyes and fangs. 

A snake, lunging towards him.

Naturally he screams, at least he thinks he does, not being able to tell with his own heart thundering in his chest as he barely manages to duck to the side to avoid being snatched up by it and its baring teeth. He’s falling onto his hands and knees with a yelp as he tries to stand and run. But he more so scampers and the next snap of jaws that tries to grab him almost takes his head, leaves him shaking-

Having missed twice the snake almost looks mad at him for moving so much, because it reels back getting ready to make its next hit count.

It feels like the snake's eyes are piercing right through him, he's frozen just staring up at it, terrified. Like a moron, he can’t move.

The snake hisses, teeth ready to latch onto him or just swallow him whole. 

And in that moment he's thinking about sitting in his grandma's living room, John and Spruce arguing over the freezer, Floyd laughing after spraying them with water, and baby Branch who's in his own little world stacking blocks on the coffee table. Singing some song- “Oh look, a forest. A big, dark forest-” 

Its mouth opens, Clay almost closes his eyes to accept his fate. But something in the tree catches his gaze, wild yellow hair, leaping off the tree branch.

Small pink blur falls onto scaly skin, almost by pure luck managing to cling to the back of the snake as it flares around, in panic, surprise, attempting to throw her off. 

Viva's grip didn't falter, and the moment the snake stilled, just slightly, to let out a warning hiss, the king's scepter that she had strapped to her side was grabbed.

She held it in her two hands, and plunged it right into the back of the snake's head. And it was dead.

Its long body fell onto the forest floor with a loud thud. Only coming slightly close to crushing him he covered his face to avoid getting kicked up dirt in his eyes.

When Clay looks up dust has settled and Viva’s elbow deep in snake blood, her breathing heavy, still gripping the scepter which she proceeds to pull out of the snake's head and standing atop the reptile's body. 

A hand lands on his shoulder and he flinches. 

“Clay, are you alright?” It's Moonbloom's hand, steady as she kneels next to him, he guesses checking to make sure he's not injured.

He manages a nod at her before looking back at the snake, Viva is now off of it and surrounded by a couple trolls who are also asking if she's alright while others poke at the dead snake.

Stomach churning he stands up on shaky legs, for the briefest moment making eye contact with Viva. There's blood splatters smeared on her face.

“Looks like you did find food.” She says, with a tone so unlike the Princess Viva he knew of.

John dreams about the Neverglades a lot, even when he doesn’t want to, he’s usually at the top of the mountains. Where the wind feels different, it's stronger, it howls in his ears. Up there closer to the sky, the sun, the clouds, no one can hear him and he can't hear anyone. Up there, where he used to feel careless, no worries, no responsibility. Him at the top of the world, he dreams of it right then.

Until reality hits him both metaphorically and physically in the face, in the form of a small hand. And he really has to talk to Branch about being woken up like that.

“Branch- please, no more slapping me awake.” He covers his face with his arm in hopes to get a bit more sleep. 

“JD…” Branch says, with this unease in his voice.

Immediately telling John that something was wrong he frantically rushes to sit up and check on Branch only to get a spear pointed right at his face, inches from leaving a scar or taking his eye. Three trolls standing in front of him and Branch. How had he not heard them?

Well, he thinks they're trolls, he’s having a hard time telling with how they look.

Wearing these brown cloaks a bit mud stained, hoods over their heads and skulls. Mouse skulls, as masks, covering their faces.

Placing his arm in front of Branch to shield him, this instinctive warning sound leaves his throat. But the way the troll pointing the spear doesn’t flinch at his warning or react at all makes this fear run down his neck.

“Back away.” John tells them, voice unwavering despite it.

To his surprise they do listen, the three take some steps back. He thinks of just picking up Branch and making a run for it, but with one still pointing a weapon John Dory can't do much. Just stand between them and protect Branch. 

The one pointing the spear moves head, clocking to the side, almost owl-like, as if examining him. “What kind of troll are you?”