Chapter Text
“Take it.”
It wasn’t the egg being dropped into his hands that caught him by surprise, knocking his nature book out, but the warmth tickling his fingers as red coated his father’s skin. One quick glance confirmed the blood dripping down his palms as if he’d pressed them into wet paint. Fresh, his mind helpfully clued as his attention shifted to his father’s cold expression.
Maybe there was a question in his face he didn’t dare to speak, because he watched his father’s features squash and scrunch, as if tasting bile on his tongue. Or maybe it was the blood he’d been decorated with. The metallic scent brought a wave of nausea in his stomach while his shaking hands instinctively brought the blue egg up to his hair, attempting to lock it in place. He couldn’t make sense of his dad’s expression.
He supposed he didn’t have to, with what he said.
“She’s dead,” he said simply, and John froze in place. Then he clarified, as if there was any need, with a dry voice. “Eaten. Good luck on Trollstice tomorrow.”
And that was it. His father turned as John stood there like a fool, hands still caught up in his hair. Watched his father’s retreating figure, waited to see if maybe he’d turn back around. Five steps until the figure had slipped out of the door and disappeared into the night - and then that was that.
Blood stained his hair, slowly dripping from his lowering hands down to the floor. His fool’s parade continued as he watched the door widely, lips pressed together tight with a weight pushing against his heart; perhaps emanating from his head, buried in the tangle of his roots, vying for the ears of the deaf to hear a distant voice as he stood in the middle of the living room, thinking that maybe, his father would return.
Quietly, in that same mind, he counted heads. One, two, three, four…
Baggy eyes turned upwards.
“Five,” he mumbled as he idly reached up to try and wipe off the blood sliding down his forehead. Maybe it was his voice, or the quiet fuss from earlier, but his grandmother clambered to his side from what must’ve been her bedroom and grabbed his shoulders - shaking him until he blinked and focused on her, the fuzzy world in his head clearing up just enough for her words to cut through.
“John-” Her expression shifted to something unreadable, licking her lips as her eyes flicked towards the door, then at him again. The urgency of her voice temporarily lifts him from the strange world he floated in. “John, listen to me, okay?”
Hands trailed down his shoulders to his hands, lifting them up as his grandmother softly kissed his knuckles, then his forehead. When she pulled back her lips were stained red. She didn’t ask; he didn’t either.
“Take your brothers.” Her hands landed on his face next - thumbs anxiously rubbing his cheeks over and over. He wondered if she was trying to soothe herself. “The bergens are getting greedier; they aren’t waiting for tomorrow- there’s-” She tensed when their home trembled. John heard a scream echo in the distance, and instinctively he turned to look-
But then the hands rose to his ears and he was pulled into his grandmother’s chest. He could feel her shoulders shake the same way their home did, and though the pod shakes ended after a few seconds his grandmother’s grip remained tight. His hair felt wetter.
When she pulled back a minute later, tears welled up in her eyes and stained her cheeks. Her hands sweetly lowered from his ears so he could hear again.
“There are rogues,” she said to him softly, a tremble at the end of each word that she was trying to fight. “You need to leave- it isn’t safe here anymore - take your brothers and go- go, I’ll prepare a bag- just go!”
He followed her urgency, if only because she was desperate for it. Leave home, that’s what she was saying, wasn’t it? It made sense; it wasn’t safe here, and there was no reason to linger. Legs moved faster than his heart did. The only goal that mattered was getting his brothers and getting out of here. From the hanger right on the wall next to John’s bedroom, he pulled off the baby carrier and quickly slipped it on before he quietly stepped inside Floyd and Clay’s room.
Fast asleep despite the tremors, he wondered if they’d be able to sleep through a hurricane.
Floyd was picked up first, being so much smaller, carefully set inside the front side of the carrier on his chest. He slotted in easily enough, though he wiggled and squirmed the entire time and the weight was a quiet pressure on his body. Clay was next - a lot taller, but too skinny to be a big problem. Fighting to squeeze him into the backpack section of the carrier as he briefly startled awake, then immediately drifted back, and even when he was mostly secured he was still awkwardly spilling out from the top. Not enough to be dangerous, but enough to know that this was probably going to be the last time he was fitting in there.
The thought pulled at him, but he didn’t linger.
Once both sleeping brothers were in place, his legs strained under the combined weight, but at least they were ready. Not a second later, he walked towards Spruce’s room- and the door flung open from the other side; his brother would’ve rammed into him if Floyd wasn’t in the way.
“Johnny-“ His brother’s big eyes tearfully stared up at him. “Johnny, why’s the house moving- why are you red? What’s that smell-“
He said nothing. Took Spruce’s hand, and marched back to the living room, his brother’s questions nagging on persistently.
“Where are we doing- Johnny!” he called out to him as he uselessly tugged against his grip. And John was just a troll; a bergen would tear him apart. “I don’t understand- is it bergens? Why are you holding- Johnny-!”
Each question was left ignored as John arrived just in time for their grandmother to hastily hold out a backpack towards them. Despite the added weight on his body, he reached out towards it first - Spruce lagging behind a second later as John swung it over one of his arms.
No words were exchanged despite his brother’s panic, his whimpers rang in John’s ears more than the cries surrounding them. Outside the pod? Outside was even worse.
His world burst with sound, beasts crawling up the cage of their world, desperate to find any way inside. A few of their grimy claws managed to pluck kicking and screaming trolls from their hair. The commotion brought Floyd and Clay to alarm, bleary eyes looking around in dazed fear. If they had questions, they died on their lips at the sight of the bergens so close. He could’ve, maybe should’ve, reached around to at least assure them they’d be okay. His eyes, however, remained sternly on the road ahead.
Trolls were rushing everywhere - pods weren’t safe, the tree wasn’t safe, nothing was safe.
Their words etched into his memory, a flame scarring into his mind. ‘Let me in!’, ‘I need to be happy, I need to!’, ‘I can’t stand another night!’
His body surged forward by a desperate hand, and he could hear his grandmother calling to him - he didn’t hear the words, just the panic in her voice. His legs moved, chasing after her heavy figure with fuzzy focus.
Their eyes were dilated, manic as saliva bubbled in their rotten mouths, and their breaths so sour he could almost see their acidic clouds poisoning the air; he could almost taste the bile in the air mingling with copper. Hands swooped down and clawed at the tree’s long arms, scraping up trolls with hunger in their beady eyes. For two trolls, their bodies couldn’t withstand the aggressive dragging - blood trailing behind and marking the tree like paint.
Screams were cut short, others still audible for seconds within a bergen’s mouth before it silenced with a snap of a jaw, and his grandmother pushed at him to start climbing up the tree before she shot up past them.
Spruce yelped, a noise that John had to bite down on to resist joining as hot pain shot from their fingertips - he could feel the weight of his body, and his brothers, threatening to tear his claws from his finger tips. Their claws were still too small to dig comfortably against the bark, but there was little choice now.
Spruce lost his footing and made a tight sound- but their grandmother caught him quickly. She shushed them all, though John Dory had made no noise. Clay squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the nightmare to be over. He at least had that luxury. Floyd wasn’t quite as understanding.
The bubble of a cry pushed out, small at first, followed by a sharp intake- and then a piercing scream burst out. Surrounded by cries of terror, it was Floyd’s voice that managed to raise the loudest alarm, glowing, titan eyes turning like stone statues. His grandmother whipped around with wide, near-dilated eyes - John froze at the sight of her.
She almost looked like a bergen.
Heartbeat picking up, John used his tail to push his youngest brother against his chest - less to comfort, and more to muffle. Floyd’s little body wiggled uncomfortably, gasping sounds breaking through each sob - more so when the tree quaked as a bergen, breaking through the containment, slammed into the tree and fought against the other greedy beasts attempting to push it back down for their own glory.
Claws dug into his skin, the pain snapping him away from the sight with a hiss before his body was hauled up - right to the top where Spruce was already pulled up, shaking like a leaf.
The moment they reached the highest branch they were welcomed with a humid, spoiled milk-like scent that contaminated the top of the tree. His grandmother let him go, ushered them across and chased them towards the very edge. Despite all the weight he was carrying, she was somehow still slower than John, limping after them and waving her arms to urge them to keep going.
Before they could reach the final stretch, they suddenly toppled; the world tilted as titanic hands latched onto the branch - yanking like they were trying to snap it off. John struck his knee hard to stop from falling directly on top of his crying brother. From above, that same scent from earlier suddenly clouded over them like a wet fog, and John gagged. With his head pulling up to look, the only thing John could describe what he was looking at was…
Monster.
Strings of saliva began to spill around them, dragging pillars that snapped off from the rest of the mouth and spilled down. Those crooked, yellowed teeth joined by a slithering tongue, extending out like a snake. John’s heart pounded in his ears, Floyd’s shrill cries getting louder as Spruce went deathly still, and Clay’s claws dug sharply into his shoulders.
Five trolls all together, what a feast they’d be.
His grandmother snapped, snarled, hair bristling wildly before it smacked sharply against the bergen’s dry skin. Not before shoving John with enough force to get his legs moving again. “Run!” She cried to him, and that’s all he needed to hear.
“What?” Spruce’s eyes shot wide. “What- No! Johnny?!”
Ignoring Spruce’s confused shouts, he strained against the weight of his screaming knee and dragged his brother by his hand, bolting the rest of the way.
Ears pinning back at the sound of his grandmother screaming to get the eyes of the bergens on her. It worked. The world cleared for just a moment as the beasts crawled towards her, all of them greedy for one rush of euphoria.
Ears caught Floyd’s stubborn cries, and one quick glance showed him that horrified face. Based on the shouting, he’d assume his grandmother was being picked up now. His heart quietly picked up its pace, just a little, as they broke through the leaves - one good jump was what they needed to make it to the cage walls.
But that wasn’t what mattered. He grabbed his brother and yanked him close, as close as he could with Floyd between them - covered both their ears and hunched over them, his tail coiling around Clay’s ears - Spruce wasn’t having it, struggling against him and screaming something that John’s mind couldn’t make out. He wondered how quiet the world had gotten for the other two, the ones rolling in their minds at the chaos that gnawed around them. At least Floyd’s cries weakened. Fuzzy eyes tore over to his grandmother-
All it took was one sickening crunch.
There was nothing left of her. Just like that, her body was swallowed down. The bergen trembled with desire, a feral grin stretching their face before a manic laugh took over. Relieved to feel joy, screaming to the skies. “Yes, yes!” its squawking voice gargled, hands raising up like preaching to a god. “The burden of sorrow, gone for one more night! One night, I can survive one more night!”
The blood was not so different from the colours that had contaminated John’s skin.
He watched from between the leaves, ugly yet relieved tears spilling over the bergen’s eyes - they rattled at the cage with screams of ecstasy, knocking all of them over again. John watched pods drop towards the spike trap in the ground. Some simply crushed, others? Splattered, red pooled the walls. The sound of laughter snapped down like teeth. Overwhelmed with thrill at their extinction.
Bergens were such ugly creatures.
They couldn’t linger here - he may as well follow his grandmother’s last order, otherwise she’d have died for nothing. His gaze flicked back towards the cage, keeping a stubborn grip on Spruce and walking over to the edge. It was a bit of a jump, they’d need a running start, but they’d be able to make it. So long as they did that, they could reach the rooftops. It was a better shot than copying the others, desperately blending their hair against leaves, bark, whatever worked.
It only worked for some.
His eyes turned back towards his goal as he let go of his brother’s hand, one step back. Two, three, four. On the fifth, he dashed. Legs pounded against the hard bark, all the weight pulling him further down. He just needed to make it once.
At the very edge of the branch, he leapt off. Legs forward and tail raised high, his narrow pupils focused solely on the hard metal. Claws wouldn’t dig through the bird cage, but at least they could grip-
He grunted, falling hard against it as his teeth clacked together. He almost bit his tongue off as metal filled his mouth, and gently nudged Floyd’s head out of the way to spit blood out towards the distant ground. His hands and arms burned against the strain, but there wasn’t time to idle. John looked over his shoulder for his brother.
Who stood completely frozen. John paused when he noticed the tear marks, which only urged his eyes to glance down at the rest of his brothers. Floyd and Clay both bore the same marks. He wasn’t sure if they were crying over grandma’s death or the bergens, but it wasn’t exactly something he had time to prioritise. Even if Floyd’s crying suddenly grew louder again.
So he focused on his separated brother - calling out might catch attention, but amongst all the screams they’d probably be lost in the noise. He didn’t exactly have any brighter ideas.
“Spruce,” his voice was dim, but Spruce still managed to catch it despite the hell raining down around them. Good. He held out a shaking hand towards him, fingers curling painfully around the bars. Every second stretched out was testing his grip. “Jump.”
Immediately he was met with a shaking head, bad. Spruce hiccuped wetly and rubbed at his eyes, choking out his next words.
“I can’t-” he gasped, grasping at the nearest leaf like it was going to offer any support. “I can’t- I can’t, D, I can’t-!”
“It’s scary,” John cut him off quickly. “But we can’t stay here, we have to move, we-”
“Grandma…!”
Spruce wilted as he said it, curling up and raking his claws against his ears like he could somehow claw away the memory of her. Maybe he hadn’t covered his ears as well as he thought.
His distress tugged at him, though, ears twitching at his tight sobs. The weight in his own heart would’ve dragged him down more than his own brothers if he could afford it - his eyes landed on a beast’s, one that caught the sight of Spruce’s distress, and immediately he needed to move. Another bergen noticed him, too, and the pair clawed at each other for the right to an easy troll.
Sprinted up the cage to reach the rooftops, which was only a short leap by comparison, he hardly blinked when he set the bag down and pulled his brothers out of the carriers. Floyd reached out for him with a sharp cry, and John grasped at his hands. His spare one tapped at his lips - which didn’t exactly encourage Floyd to quiet down, but he couldn’t prioritise him right now. Nothing else mattered.
He had to get Spruce.
“Don’t let him cry.” He swallowed down more blood before he talked again, voice turning raspy as he shot a glance at Clay. “No matter what, do not let him cry.”
Clay sucked his lips in and nodded quickly, scrambling towards his younger brother and holding him as close as he could. John didn’t wait a second longer.
Another five steps, a sprint, and a leap. It was as simple as it was important.
Without hesitating, his feet left the roof. Dove between the bars of the enclosure until he collided against the branch with a grunt and nearly tumbled right off - his hands scrambling to dig into the tree, pain flaring against his claws that almost forced him to let go. A raw gasp broke out of him, shock shooting up his arm and tearing through his shoulder - a sensation that cleared a little bit of the fog in his mind. Eager to chase it, he clawed his way up despite his body’s warnings until he’d pushed himself up.
His mind zeroed into his brother’s curled up form. Eyes as wild as his hair, he crawled towards him like an animal, teeth baring for a monster that was too big to fight. John ignored the rough bark against his tender skin, the pounding of his heart muffling the world around him - pounced across and grabbed his brother, rolling them both into the thicker foliage, narrowly escaping the winning bergen’s bony fingers. His hand slapped over Spruce’s gasping mouth, both frozen at the sight of it sliding across the bark. Its chewed nails couldn’t quite reach far enough to grab the branch and rattle it - this beast must’ve been too small.
They stayed frozen, watching, as the fingers curled up in anger, grabbing the air like a missed opportunity before they pulled back completely. John didn’t dare take the chance yet, waited a while longer. Five seconds, ten seconds, twenty… half a minute later, there was a scoff, and the sound of metal rattling carefully as the bergen moved. Only then did John let himself breathe, slumping and gasping in deep as the beast finally left them.
Lowering his hand from Spruce’s face, he kneeled down right beside him - hissing quickly and switching knees - and his brother looked worse for wear up close with his frizzy hair and scraped up knees. Arms fought to coil around his trembling form that fought to pull away, before he hauled him up to piggy back on him, hands adjusting his legs to secure around his waist - and a little hand clenched around his hair and yanked.
John winced, and his brother gasped into his ear.
“No- no!” he cried out, wet and panicked eyes frantically looking over his shoulder, fists squeezing his roots. “Go back- go back, go back! We have to go back!” Each word tugged a little harder at John’s hair, cluelessly threatening the unassuming egg wrapped up near his roots. His voice was turning raw, clawing down at John’s arms. “We have to save- we can’t leave!”
There wasn’t much choice, he didn’t entertain it. Keeping a stubborn grip on his hiccuping brother who kept trying to yank at his hair as if he could force him around like a car, stopping on occasion to catch himself before Spruce knocked them both over, he repeated his earlier steps to the letter. A brief worry kissed his mind that maybe Spruce was too big for him, but he’d made it in about the same length from carrying everyone else’s combined weights.
Except this time, he lost his grip.
His brother screamed in a panic, clawing harder into John’s skin when one of his hands refused to clench tight, leaving them dangling on the edge of the bar and the death pit stalking them from below. His eyes bore down at the jagged spikes, choking as his brother’s grip moved from his hair to around his neck. His throat squeezed with alarm, and he fought his twitching hand to clamp onto the bars. One hand up, then the next, then the-
He froze again, his left hand refusing to cooperate once more. His brother’s sobbing panic surged a harsher ache to push him forward, and if his hand wasn’t going to work? John bit down on the metal, could hardly taste it past the nauseating wetness flooding his tongue already. His teeth complained for every little pull, but it worked. It was more to stabilise him so he could get his single hand up to the next bar, rather than actually hoist himself up, and even then his jaw ached against the pressure.
But eventually, with enough grit, he reached the rooftops. By the time he’d made it, bergens with batons were coming in and smacking away the rogues. The remaining trolls would survive another day. At least, until tomorrow. Shivering around the tree like they were waiting for some miracle to come rescue them, the screams had died down by now - replaced by that quiet terror.
That was no longer their concern, however.
Spruce hadn’t stopped crying at all, so John pulled him around to sit him down in front - Clay's body slumped with relief as soon as he saw the two, visibly pale with Floyd’s head tucked into his shoulder. John’s hands cautiously reached up to Spruce’s face and cradled it gently, pulling his attention briefly. Lips pulled down, his brows furrowing until his hands met with the soft hair curling around his brother’s tearful face.
“...I’m sorry,”
That was the first thing he could think to say, and he wasn’t even sure if it was the right thing. His brother looked struck, John confirming something he didn’t want to hear as the tears burst right back out and flooded his cheeks. Bad mess, he was making a mess again. He should fix the mess.
Gently, his hands lowered down to pull his brother in by his waist, tail coiling around the carrier to tug his other brothers close as well. Clay chewed down hard on his lips like he was holding himself back. He tucked them all under his chin, or as much as he could, until their hair scratched at him. A pretty, sunset array of colours. They were always bright.
A short breath escaped him, eyes drawing down to each precious head that his hands sweetly caressed; combing the hair and adjusting the wild bristling until it was returned to its normal state. Two pairs of eyes looked at him, and familiarity quietly dawned over his frame like a blanket, soothed by their fear more than rattled by it.
All of a sudden, tension drained out of his body and soared all the way up to his head - a dizzy lightheadness tickling him, dazed and glancing back over his shoulder towards the tree. The bars he climbed, the leap that… that suddenly looked a lot wider than it had before. John blinked slowly, had he made that? That jump? With his brothers?
Somehow, the absence of the thrill was what wrought a discomfort in his chest. A sickening anxiety he didn’t understand, that was immediately forgotten when pain burst across his entire body. Like a fire, it crawled up from his feet to his jaw, and everything sagged like he’d been dragged down from a high he hadn’t realised he’d been on.
What a miserable sensation.
“She told us to run,” he mumbled under his breath, right by his brothers’ ears, fighting to be heard over the chaos behind them. “We have to go. We can cry once we’re out of the town, but you have to promise Grandma that you’ll listen to her until we get out.”
Whether they wanted to listen or not, there wasn’t much choice in the matter. Small as they were, they were bright enough to be caught if some bergen just happened to tilt their eyes up. He couldn’t afford that; it was already insane to be out this far, he may as well make it actually worth the trouble.
Spruce, the only brother that better understood what was going on, finally began to ease down. His distress was still readable, but he didn’t have time to take care of it. Based on what he was hearing, the bergens were being scrapped together and taken away - angry shouts blasted the streets like demands to be heard, cursing the king’s greed.
Slowly, he pulled the carrier back on and picked up the bag with one hand, before holding out his other towards Spruce. His brother latched onto him quickly - too big to be carried, so he took whatever he could get.
“D…?”
He hummed, acknowledging Clay’s small voice. His brother anxiously clung to his back.
“F’oyd wasn’t-” He hesitated, trying to find the words. “F’oyd was- was-”
Quickly, John glanced down at their smallest brother. He wasn’t making much noise, which should’ve been fine, but Clay’s concern forced him to pay attention closer. There was no fresh blood, but John caught some bruises forming on his baby brother’s skin - and it wasn’t just that that caused his tension, but the way they crawled up, like poison, right to his head.
Floyd was hurt, John stiffened as his hands quickly searched his head, digging his fingers through his fluffy hair - the lack of wetness was fine, but it offered little comfort. Had Floyd hit his head when he dropped against the bars? He hadn’t even checked to make sure both brothers were okay, just set them down and moved on-
His heart quickened briefly, squeezing down a little harder than he meant to on Spruce’s hand. He needed to check that as soon as they made it out of this hellish town.
The walk was long, and quiet, even if John hurried his pace for Floyd’s sake. At least it was quiet the moment they made it far enough for the bergens’ shouts to fade away. John stayed on high alert anyway, brothers all close and his eyes widely scanning the town. The rooftops were all relatively connected, thankfully, so making their way across them wasn’t too bad, but ten minutes later and their slow traversal wasn’t getting them any closer to the end of the town.
It was strange, though, glancing back on occasion to catch the tree - he’d never have thought it could look so small from so far away. How many other trolls lost their parents tonight?
He didn’t dwell on it, it didn’t really matter.
Throughout the hour’s walk, John’s body began to get a little sluggish. His twitchy arm stung every time he nudged it, both knees whining for a break. He had to resort to dragging his feet across to make progress and at least attempt to reduce the strain on his legs-
And he wished it was just his legs.
His breaths began to grow harsher, throat swollen; still raw from the blood, too. Had he twisted his tail at some point? John winced when one of his dragging feet caught a cruel texture, refreshing a wound he hadn’t noticed was there.
Great.
By the end of the hour, they reached the edge of the town, and he could tell it was starting to get to his brother. Stumbling every few seconds and rushing to rub at his eyes, the night had been a bit too exciting. Clay and Floyd had at least fallen asleep.
He wasn’t sure if Floyd sleeping was good, though, as his fingers anxiously pressed against the frail throat to check his pulse. Still there.
They reached the final house, and John forced himself to move for the final stretch. They were right there, they could take a break afterwards. So, he let go of Spruce’s hand and used his working hand to grasp onto a roof tile first, before dropping onto a stuck out brick - biting down his lips when his legs threatened to completely crumble - there were a lot of those bricks all across the house; bergens even treated their construction poorly, it seemed.
Once he landed, John set the bag aside to have his hands ready to catch Spruce, who looked relieved for the extra hand as he turned around, tummy first on the tile, and inching down as low as he could go before he let go- right into John’s arms, and John flinched, hand going limp immediately. Probably wasn’t good, he didn’t dwell on it.
With that, John picked up the bag and repeated the process with Spruce again. On the third descent, his brother spoke up.
“Where are we going…?” His voice was soft, lowering down on his stomach again and searching for the next ledge. “Are we going into the forest?”
“I think so.” John reached up to take his brother by his waist, quickly helping him down to the next brick. “We can’t stay in town.”
“But-” Spruce’s ears turned down, eyes anxiously flicking to the forest ahead. “No troll’s ever gone out there, right? At least- not in a while, we don’t- we don’t even know what’s out there.”
“We don’t,” he agreed, then quickly jumped to the next ledge, pausing to adjust Clay’s tall body, and held up his hands again for Spruce. “We’ll figure it out.”
Spruce was quiet, timidly hopping off to land into John’s arms again. They’d almost reached the ground by now, just a few more hops.
A tongue darted out and licked at dry lips, Spruce didn’t let go of John for the next jump, so John waited.
“Did we have to go?” He asked it like he thought John would get upset, squeezing into a quiet uncertainty, shoulders hunching in and curling up. His puffy, mane-like hair coiling around his frame. “Couldn’t we have hidden somewhere?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly as he crouched down to prepare for the next ledge, though still holding onto Spruce for that extra piece of comfort, it was the best response he could think of. “Grandma wanted us to leave - she didn’t think it was safe.”
Spruce said nothing at first, visibly fighting something in his mind as his hands let go of John’s and let him descend to what looked like the final ledge. John waited for his brother once again, caught him, and then he finally leaped one last time to reach the ground.
On the final jump, John nearly buckled under the weight - his little brothers jostling, and he had to catch himself against the rough brick of the house to keep himself from falling over - only to bristle as his tender claws roughly dragged against the texture. Yanked his hand away to instead retract his claws and hold his brothers gently. Then, when they began to relax, he inwardly cursed at himself and wondered if he should’ve let Floyd snap awake.
Spruce’s head raised in alarm and quickly looked him over, cutting through his thoughts.
“Johnny- are you okay? Did you get hurt?”
“No,” he responded swiftly, before pushing himself up to stand straight and adjusting the bag, helping Spruce down for the last time. No later than that he had Spruce’s hand in his own again, and quietly tugged him towards the forest. Even the edge of the town was surrounded with walls, but there were prominent gaps all across. He wondered if they were from age or something else. The design seemed intentful, like they wanted it to look as monstrous as the beasts that resided within it.
The arch above bore down at them, like a bergen’s jaw ready to snap shut. John could feel Spruce’s feet hurrying up - maybe he had the same sort of thought.
And then he stopped; froze, even. John did, too.
Their feet were no longer touching the aged and aching, uneven stone of the town, but rather a softer, welcoming sensation met their heels. They stared at the ground, the… brown specks all over. John curiously dug his feet deeper into the earth. Was this dirt? Was this what dirt was supposed to feel like? Their tree didn’t have anything like this. The ground, that they weren’t even allowed to touch lest they wanted to be swooped up by a greedy bergen, had been artificial at best. Or at least, a poor attempt at recreation. Rough, jagged, it didn’t look anything like this. More like a spike trap eagerly waiting for a troll to slip.
Red, pod stained with red, hiding the family-
At the sound of a chirp, the magic ended.
His wide eyes lifted up, ears snapping around to hone in on the sound. Far away, sure, but being close enough to be heard wasn’t comforting. Spruce was still distracted by the earth under their feet - John wished he didn’t have to, but he unfortunately tugged on his brother’s hand to get them moving. The ground wasn’t safe; he at least learned that from the Troll tree.
“John?” Spruce asked carefully, shoulders hunched up and worried. John said nothing to him, and his brother deflated into compliant silence.
Unfortunately, he didn’t think he had it in him to traverse much further. They should absolutely make more ground to be safe, but his body was screaming at him to set everything down - and he was sure Spruce would like to sleep sooner rather than later. He’d be fine to carry them all, if he had the room - much less the strength - but there was no chance of that happening.
So he spotted the nearest tree he could find with roots expanding out through the ground, shaping around like leafless bushes that they could use as cover. He pulled his brother over towards it, had to duck under the roots to fit but was comfortable enough. The bag dropped first, and then he slowly pulled his brothers out of the carrier to set them down next to each other. His shoulders burned, somehow getting them off hurt more than keeping them on.
He took Spruce’s hand regardless and pulled him to lay down next to his brothers.
“I’ll make this place safer,” he told him when he got that anxious look in his eyes. “Sleep. I’ll be right outside.”
Spruce’s nod wasn’t exactly convincing, but he didn’t linger on it. Under normal circumstances, they needed to minimise their scent. Clumped together was begging for trouble; he just had to pretend everything out here was a bergen, and then he could probably use the same logic.
But they were so close to Bergen Town, he had a feeling most creatures would probably avoid this place anyway. John would. The architecture was always uncomfortable to look at compared to the natural curvature troll homes followed, blending with nature rather than carving into it.
He took a few steps out deeper into the forest, not too far where he couldn’t see the little makeshift burrow - no, he kept glancing back at it every few seconds. The sounds of the forest were deathly quiet, even that earlier chirping had completely vanished. His ears were almost desperate to hear something; at least in the pod there was some noise happening.
Along the path, he came across a particularly large leaf from one of the lower branches of a tree, and figured that’d probably do. So, he shook out his legs after glancing back at the burrow once again, and then leaped up onto the tree’s great side. Tall as it was, its bark was just as brutal on his claws as the troll tree itself. He just wasn’t big enough yet.
Though, without added weight he found climbing wasn’t that bad. Painful, but plenty doable.
Flexing his aching claws, he swiftly made it up to that branch in about ten seconds, and once the leaf was plucked? Right back down he went. Task completed. He spared his fingers a glance where the claws retracted, noting the inflammation, before he focused back on his goal.
Pleased, he began to wrap the large leaf above the roots like a makeshift blanket, squeezing it between the gaps so it held in place. He tried to recall some of the details in the nature book that’d been knocked out of his hands before everything fell apart, and while some of it was fuzzy, he did recall that it was best to remain hidden out here. The leaf was the best idea he had, given most of everything else here was dead.
Especially if it started to rain, and to better hide them from anything overhead.
…The thought tickled at the back of John’s hair, and he glanced up towards the sky. Empty, but for how long?
Grabbed some fistfuls of dirt to spread across the top of the leaf, figuring that’d help in some way, before he finally slipped inside the burrow again.
His brothers were curled up and fast asleep. Spruce’s fluffy tail managed to wrap around the other two completely, but even he couldn’t subside the cold of the night.
He hadn’t even noticed it was cold until he saw his brothers shivering.
John moved towards them and squeezed between Floyd and Spruce, pulling the former into his lap and then dragging the other two closer to his legs. He wasn’t that warm, he didn’t think, but he hoped his body would at least help soothe. Stroking their heads gently, he glanced out towards the entrance of the burrow. Distantly, he could feel their bodies relax further under his touch.
Sleep was not a plan he was interested in, personally, but that was nothing new.
The roots in his hair curled tighter around the egg as his eyes glued at the entry. If anything came in to attack, he’d be ready. Nothing would interrupt his brothers’ sleep, not on his watch.
Not when they needed it this bad. Their safety and comfort was the only thing that mattered.
Nothing, and no one else could mean as much to him as they did.
