Chapter Text
He never should have left them.
He never meant to be gone this long.
John Dory stood on the edge of Bergen Town, his eyes flitting back and forth as he scanned the eerily quiet streets. With a practiced, silent step, he raced through the shadows, ears pricked for any sound of movement. Night had fallen, so the horrifying creatures should all be tucked away in their homes, dreaming of whatever it was those troll-eating monsters dreamed of. But one could never be too careful.
He peeked around a corner, eyes locked on the distant metal spires near the center of the town. The Troll Tree. That was his target.
A year. He’d been gone for a year. At least, he figured it had been about a year, maybe a bit longer. Time was hard, out on the Neverglade Trail. He’d tried to keep track for a while, but everything just seemed to blend together. The only thing he could focus on was making it to another day. Just making it to tomorrow. This whole survival thing was a lot harder than his Dad had made it out to be.
As a kid, John Dory’s father weaved elaborate stories of surviving out in the woods, fending for oneself and charting territories unknown with only a backpack on your shoulders and your own quick thinking. Tales of strength, of glory, of bravery… John Dory had lived for them, soaking in his father’s every word. He’d wanted to be just like that when he got older.
But in reality, living out in the wilderness was nothing like those stories.
And John Dory wasn’t a brave troll.
Neither was his father, for that matter, but that was besides the point.
After blowing up at his brothers, years of frustration and anger and fear exploding out of him in a way it never had before, he had to get away. He’d grabbed his Dad’s camping bag, and with a cruel “Goodbye Forever!” walked out of his brother’s lives. He’d stalked across the trampled grass surrounding the troll tree, snuck carefully through the cobbled streets of Bergen Town, and marched into the surrounding woods without ever looking back. At least, that’s what he’d meant to do.
He didn’t mean to spend hours sat in a tree just outside Bergen Town, staring back at the Troll Tree, feeling as if his heart was being torn into pieces. It looked so small compared to the world John Dory had just stepped into. And he was scared. He was a coward.
He was running away from his brothers because he was too scared to face them. And he was sitting here because he was too scared to leave them. But after a while, he set his jaw, wiped his tears, and pulled out his father’s map, slowly making his way towards the Neverglade Trail.
John Dory wasn’t a brave troll. But he was nothing if not stubborn, and full of young, stupid pride. He said he was going to the Neverglade alone, so that’s what he would do. His brothers had made it clear they didn’t need him. They didn’t want him around. And that was fine. They’d be fine without him. They still had Grandma. And John Dory would be just fine on his own.
He had never been so wrong in his life.
He’d only meant to be gone a few weeks. But weeks turned into a month, a month turned into months, and soon, a year had passed. And it took everything he had to just try and make it to another day. His father had lied to him. There was no glory out here.
Nature was cruel. It was ruthless. And most of all… It was lonely. After months of being beaten down, again and again and again, John Dory finally broke. He just couldn’t do it anymore.
He missed his home. He missed the feeling of being safe. He missed his family.
He just wanted to go home.
So here he was, a broken troll, making his way through Bergen Town, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. Not just from the fear of weaving his way through the oversized houses of creatures that would gobble him up before he could squeak out a protest, but the apprehension of what was waiting for him back at the tree.
He’d messed up, he knew that. But at this point, he had no pride left. He was ready to throw himself at his brother’s feet and beg for their forgiveness. Nearly dying so many, many times alone out in the woods will do that to you. It puts things into perspective. Makes you realize what’s important. And John Dory realized the most important thing in his life was his brothers. And he’d left them behind. He just hoped he wasn’t too late to fix things.
John Dory shook his head, guilt settling heavily in his stomach. He couldn’t think about that now. He had to get back to them, ideally in one piece. He could deal with the consequences later. He just had to get back to them first.
He scampered across a potholed street, diving behind a foul smelling trash can. He was getting closer, and thankfully, there was no sign of Bergens yet. His eyes caught on a torn banner, hanging limply in the stale breeze wafting through the town. It was difficult to make out, but John Dory quickly recognized the crudely stitched word:
Trollstice.
A jolt of anxiety prickled across John Dory’s skin. Trollstice… When was Trollstice? Had it happened recently? Considering the banner was still up, it must have. Memories of panic filled nights filled John Dory’s head, memories of playing games with his brothers to keep them quiet and distracted while his parents helped patrol, memories of their Grandma Rosiepuff shooing them away from the windows of their pod, trying her best to remain upbeat as screams rang across the tree…
Memories of the night his father came home without their mother, handing John Dory his bloodstained goggles and Branch’s tiny egg, before walking out into the night without another word.
John Dory stared at the banner, dread building inside his chest. He quickened his pace, drawing closer and closer to the tree. He had to get home. He needed to see that they were ok. They’d be ok; they had to be ok.
Finally, he reached the edge of the large, metal cage surrounding the Troll Tree. He’d always wondered why the Bergens had built this stupid thing. It was much too large to keep the Trolls from slipping in and out. But regardless, he hated it. It always made him feel trapped.
John Dory pulled himself up the small stone wall surrounding the tree, shooting one last anxious look over his shoulders. Satisfied when he saw no movement, he turned his attention towards the Troll Tree. It took a moment for his brain to register what he was looking at. But when it did, he felt his blood run cold, freezing him in place as his eyes widened in shock.
His home lay in shambles, destruction etched into every part he could see. The ground was torn apart, holes cut deep into the dark, upturned soil. Colorful pods lay decimated, mud muting their bright tones. Claw marks raked through the Tree, leaving raw wounds that bled dripping sap down the rough bark. John Dory slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from gasping, horror surging through him.
No… no no no… What had they done?
Where were the lights? Where was the music?
Where were the Trolls?
John Dory barely registered he was moving as he began to race across the destroyed ground, blood rushing in his ears. He could see openings beneath the grass, tunnels snaking their way through the dirt. Had the Trolls built these? Had they been trying to escape? His gaze locked on a torn cape, laying discarded near what looked like a collapsed tunnel. He recognized that cape. That was King Peppy’s.
John Dory squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to let dark thoughts cloud his mind as he leapt up onto the truck of the Troll Tree. No no no, they were fine, they were all fine. They were just hiding or something; they had to be here.
He climbed up the tree quickly, his hands fitting easily into the familiar grooves in the bark. And within seconds, he was standing amongst the leaves and branches he’d grown up in, desperately scanning around for any signs of life. His mouth curled into a panicked snarl, breaths coming out in short gasps.
There was nothing. No sounds, no movement. Nothing. He swallowed down the lump forming in his throat, beginning to walk down a branch he’d walked many times before. Then he started to jog, then to run, then sprint, eyes locked in desperation on a pod swaying near the edge of the foliage. Home. They would be there. They had to be there.
Please… John Dory thought, his teeth clenched so tight he was worried they might break. Please, please let them be there.
He didn’t bother to knock. He pushed the door open quickly, his breaths echoing loudly through the quiet pod. He took a few shaky steps inside, his heart pounding. Quiet… no, this pod should never be quiet… It was never quiet. There was always some sort of sound. Spruce playing his records too loud, singing along as he worked out. Or Clay practicing his new instrument obsession of the week. Or Floyd chatting excitedly about a new song idea he had. Or Branch’s giggles lighting up the room.
It was never quiet. Why was it quiet?
John Dory checked every room in that pod. Then he walked through town, checking every pod for signs of life. Then he followed every one of the tunnels, each one painstakingly ending in collapsed grass and mud. He wanted to believe they’d gotten away. He wanted to believe they’d escaped, that they made it out before the tunnels collapsed. But he kept finding torn clothes, items dropped and discarded in the dirt. And blood. Some of the tunnels had remnants of blood.
It was when he was heading back to the tree when he found it. It was near one of the collapses, half buried in the mud. He honestly probably wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t nearly tripped on it. He reached down, picking up a small, leather-bound book, gently wiping off the dirt caked into its pages.
It was a dictionary. A Troll dictionary, but a dictionary nonetheless. Which wouldn’t be a big deal. However, John Dory only knew one Troll who carried around a dictionary religiously, one Troll who would pull it out at the stupidest of times to say some elaborate, fancy word to make himself sound smart. And sure enough, when John Dory opened the first page, he could see his brother’s name printed inside, the penmanship stilted and neat:
Property of Clay
John Dory’s breath caught in his throat, eyes wide. Clay would never just leave this. It was his pride and joy, meticulously annotated and bookmarked by the young troll. He would never just leave it. Unless he… John Dory tried not to look at the splattering of dried, blue blood on the ground next to where he found the book, the dark stains on the cover, but it was too late.
He walked back to his pod in a daze, the small dictionary clutched tight in his hands. He stepped inside, not bothering to close the door as he looked around once again at the empty hall. The quiet that greeted him was deafening.
His legs began to shake, and suddenly, he found he couldn’t stand up anymore. He fell to his knees, his body shivering as panic, guilt, and grief swirled around inside him so violently he felt like he was going to explode.
He lost them. He lost his brothers. He didn’t want to believe it, but he knew exactly what had happened. The Trolls had tried to escape. The Bergens had caught them. And they killed them. Every. Last. One. There was no denying it. The collapsed tunnels, the clothes, the blood…
John Dory wrapped his arms around himself, Clay’s book falling loudly to the floor. His brothers, his family… He’d left them here, and now they were gone. They were gone, gone, gone…
And it was all his fault.
A chill washed over John Dory’s shaking body, a heavy, hollow feeling that seemed to crawl into every fiber of his being, snaking up his chest and into his throat. A sob escaped his lips, and he hugged himself closer, tears starting to stream down his face. And suddenly, he couldn’t keep it inside anymore.
He let out a painful, anguished scream, the sound ripping through the suffocating silence around him. His ears twitched at the noise, but he didn’t care. He didn't care about anything anymore. He didn’t care if it was stupid and childish. He didn’t care if he screamed until his throat was raw. He didn’t care if the Bergens heard him. He hoped they did. He’d lost the only thing in this world that mattered to him. And it was all his fault.
No longer would he hear Spruce’s teasing voice, making fun of his dead social life. No longer would he see the mischievous sparkle in Clay’s eyes that said he’d just thought of the next perfect prank. No longer would he feel Floyd grabbing at his vest, begging him for another story. And Branch, Baby Branch…
John Dory sobbed again. He couldn’t move, he could barely breathe, choking on the numbness flooding his body. His world was crashing down around him, and all he could think about was how the last thing he’d ever said to his brothers was “Goodbye Forever”.
He hadn’t meant it. But now he’d never get to tell them.
Suddenly, a small noise pulled John Dory out of his despair. It sounded like a cupboard door closing. He sucked in a breath, eyes turning towards the kitchen as his ears perked up. He could hear soft, hesitant footsteps pattering slowly across the floor. And the tiniest bit of hope flickered to life in his chest.
John Dory watched, frozen, as a small, grey figure peeked out from the corner of the hall, his eyes wide and wary. Despite his dull appearance, John Dory recognized the young troll immediately, his heart aching with shock and relief. He felt his body relax ever so slightly, and for the first time in months, he spoke.
“Branch?”