Chapter Text
He’s upside down.
He supposes it’s no one’s fault but his own. He’s the one who had decided it would be a good idea to take shelter for the night in a tree, but then again it was his instincts that told him it would be safer up there than to take his chances down on the ground and so in the absence of anyone else to blame, he’s decided to pin it on evolution.
Because: one wrong step and WHOOSH— he’d gone falling right off his branch, and the only reason he hadn’t gone plummeting straight down to the ground was because he’d gotten tangled in the spiked vines hanging from the tree and now here he is, upside down and alone in the middle of the trollforsaken wilderness. Great.
John Dory grunts as he reaches for the vine keeping him dangling over the ground. It’s not too big a drop at this point, he figures he can take the bump and go shimmying back up the tree no problem, but here’s the issue: the vine won’t let him go. Somehow it managed to wrap itself completely around his leg, and its thorns dig cruelly into him as he tries to untangle it but it’s no use. He can’t reach, and so he lets himself fall back into a dangle with a frustrated groan that echoes through the forest around him.
Great. GREAT! Now I’m going to die here. He makes one more half-hearted attempt to grab the vine, if only to try to relieve the lightheadedness from dangling like this for so long. It would be so much easier if he had his blade with him but alas, it’s still up in the tree where he left it, along with the rest of his supplies. I’m going to DIE and not even in a COOL way, like getting eaten by some giant bug, or falling into the river, or—
He’s startled out of his thoughts by the sound of snapping twigs.
Instantly he swivels his head towards the source, or at least as much as he’s able from his position. There’s a shadow moving through the trees. Something big. John’s breath hitches in his throat.
“I—I take it back!” Out loud now. The shadow’s moving closer, rustling in the grass. Without taking his eyes off it he fumbles for his hair, digs around until he finds the stake he keeps in there for emergencies. “I take it back! I really, REALLY don’t want to die out here!”
More grass rustling, the shape of something lumbering its way out of the trees until finally it’s parting its way through the grass and it’s—
He’s upside down, but even if he were right-side up he doesn’t think he’d be able to tell what he’s looking at. All he can make out from this angle is that it’s soft and white and it has a face, a pair of big green eyes blinking up at him curiously. And it has a mouth, one that’s more than big enough to swallow him whole without even needing to chew.
His hands shake as he holds the stake out in front of him. Like he thinks it stands a chance against this thing. “Please don’t eat me.” Barely above a whisper.
The creature, of course, doesn’t answer, but it does step terrifyingly closer. At that John squeezes his eyes shut and accepts his fate right then and there because
oh god it’s SNIFFING ME oh god oh god just make it quick PLEASE—
Rustling in the grass. A sound like something stepping away and then thumping against the tree trunk, and then—
“WAAAAAGH!”
THUNK.
“Oughhh….”
John Dory’s back on the ground. So much for being able to take the bump.
When he lifts his head, the creature’s still there.
“AAH!” He bolts upright—
Sharp, shooting pain, all the way up his leg. He hisses as he goes to grab at it, his other predicament temporarily forgotten.
Something’s cut the vine, but it’s still looped around his leg, thorns still digging into his skin and, now that he can get a clearer view of it, those thorns are in there pretty hecking deep. John grimaces at the sight of his own blood before deciding he would very much prefer to look at something else. So he turns his head….
The creature’s standing directly over him, its face practically pressed up against his, and he shouts again— ”AH!” —and he only doesn’t scoot away because trying to do so sends another bolt of pain up his leg. The creature does seem to startle, hissing defensively as it backs away, but it still doesn’t leave, just stops a few feet away from John and stares down at him with an expression that screams TAKE CAUTION.
But: through the pounding of his heartbeat in his throat John gets out a nervous, “You…. did you….”
He gestures in the general direction of his leg, still not looking down at it. “....do this?”
The critter remains silent, still guarded, but it offers John a single blink. As if to confirm it.
“....Oh.” Well, if the thing wanted to eat him it probably would’ve done so while he was up in the air and less likely to run away. Not that he could run away, even if he really really wants to—he forces himself to address his leg again, the thorns still buried in it.
He takes a deep breath. Okay. It’s okay, just like ripping off a bandaid….
Multiple bandaids. He grits his teeth through row after row of thorns until finally he reaches the last loop and throws that vine as far away from himself as he can, letting go the breath he was holding and dropping back to the ground, suddenly exhausted.
“Gahhh….”
Without even looking at it he can tell he’s not going to be able to get up. Now that they’re exposed to the open air the wounds all around his leg sting and he has to grit his teeth again against the lurching of his stomach. Ooooh it’s bad it’s bad it’s bad. His supply pack is up in the tree, far out of reach, the thought of dragging his sorry ass back up there makes his insides lurch even more and so he goes on laying right where he is, trying to think. He’s John Dory, he’s the idea guy, he should be able to think of a way out of this one, right?
Interrupted again by a shadow falling over him, something pressing into him.
“Wha—n-no, no no no don’t do that—”
Because the great white beast is back, and now despite John’s attempts to ward it off it’s peering down at his injured limb, snuffling down at it, not touching it but close enough that it sends John panicking again.
“Please, just—just go away….”
And maybe it’s heard him: suddenly the thing is moving back, its face pointed down to the ground before it shifts upwards again, seeming to sniff at the air. It plods away, somewhere behind John, and he’s just barely able to duck its tail when it inadvertently comes swinging towards him. WHOOSH.
Okay, back to the problem at hand. John thinks he can scoot over to the base of the tree. From there he can probably get his hair to reach one of the lowermost branches, and if he can somehow swing himself all the way up without hurting himself further—
A series of THUNKS sounds from behind him, then something that sounds like branches rattling and leaves scattering. He jumps (another hearty jolt of pain from his leg), but before he can even turn around the shadow is falling over him again and WHUMP.
His pack getting dropped on the ground in front of him. He balks at it for a moment, almost surprised to see it, before looking up again.
Once more, the creature stands just a few feet away from him, stoic. This time it doesn’t blink, instead it sinks down to lay on the ground, rest its head on its front paws. It keeps its eyes trained on John Dory as it does so. Like it’s waiting for him to react.
John keeps his own gaze trained on it, too, pulse hammering in his ears. CAUTION, CAUTION. Slowly he reaches for the pack. Keeps staring firmly at the critter in front of him as he feels around for his canteen. He doesn’t break his stare until the feeling of cold water running over his leg forces him to, wincing, hissing again at the blood running off into the dirt. Cool, cool cool cool cool cool.
It watches him the entire time. Silent. He pulls a roll of bandages out of the pack and wraps up his leg, hands shaking slightly but he can’t tell if it’s from adrenaline or blood loss or some combination of both. Or maybe it’s just fear. Either way, when he’s done he once again lets himself drop to the ground, exhausted, allowing himself one long, resonant groan.
He can just barely make out the sky through the dense tree cover above, but even from this angle he can tell the sun is starting to set, the shadows around him growing long. He frowns. If the tree is out, he needs to find somewhere else to take shelter, and fast.
Deep breath. He sits up. Carefully he moves to lift himself up….
GAAAAH, nope nope nope. Even just lifting his leg up slightly causes a new wave of agony to go ripping up his spine and so he drops again, breathing hard, gripping at the dirt to try to keep himself from passing out.
It’s bad. He’s hurt, he can’t move, he’s stuck out in the open with no shelter, no provisions, night is quickly setting in and, oh yeah, there’s the giant animal staring him down from the treeline. He looks and—yeah, yeah it’s still there, idly licking at its paws without a care in the world. Probably waiting for him to finally conk out so it can eat him.
Anger rises in his chest at the thought, sudden, hot, stinging at the corners of his eyes and before he can really think it through he’s shouting out, “Just get it over with already!!”
The critter looks up from its grooming and blinks, almost intrigued. John drives a fist into the ground, thumps the other against his chest. He’s shaking. “Here I am! I’m RIGHT HERE!” Arms thrown open. “So just go ahead and do it already!”
It’s not like anybody will miss me
He shuts his eyes.
Distantly, he can hear the critter getting up. Parting through the grass towards him.
He’s ready, he thinks. Ready….
Something’s pressing against his back.
When he opens his eyes and turns around, he sees the critter settling down behind him, laying back down and going right back to licking its paws, all nonchalant. Like it doesn’t see any problem with this at all.
Through the breath sticking in his throat, John manages to get out a quiet, “....You’re not gonna do it. Are you?”
The creature stops what it’s doing to crane its head towards John. Its face gives away nothing, but it does answer him with a low cooing sound, the soft rumble resonating in John as he sits against its body. Bizarrely, he feels soothed by the sensation.
“....Huh.”
They sit like this for a while, not saying anything more. The sun finishes its descent and soon nighttime is tinting the forest, bringing with it a chill that has John reaching back into his pack for his flint. There’s no proper firewood but he manages to scrape together a little pile of leaves and grass clippings from where he’s sitting and only a few tries later he has a neat little fire going. He may not have a shelter, but the light and warmth are nice. Comforting. Maybe the critter agrees—John feels it purring slightly as it coos again, sleepily resting on its paws.
The crackling of the fire fills up the silence between them.
“....I, uh….” He’s leaning back against the creature’s side again, hands crossed over his middle. If he looks up he can just manage to make out the stars above them. “I never thanked you. For getting my stuff.”
Silence from the creature.
“You could’ve just let me bleed out down here, you know.” John keeps talking anyway, not really sure why. “Though, heh” —an awkward little chuckle—”I probably wouldn’t taste as good then, would I?”
The critter shifts, turns to blink at him soundlessly. Suddenly John’s questioning why he even said that; he feels his face flushing as he turns away from the creature’s gaze, clearing his throat. “But, ah, I mean….”
Another long stretch of silence. The breeze ruffles the flames, throwing oblong shadows over the two creatures sitting beside it.
“Thanks, again.” All John can think to say in the moment. Soon after he’s said it he’s yawning, the day’s excitement finally catching up to him. Behind him he hears the critter doing the same, feels it shuffling slightly as it makes itself more comfortable.
Sure, there’s still the slight possibility that this thing is just going to get him in the night. But at least for now….
John Dory presses himself further into the critter’s hide (Is it hide? Whatever it is it’s at least soft) . Closes his eyes and finally lets himself rest.