Build a Fire: Part Four (Broken Memories)

Author's Note: Whooo this was hard to write. I had a lot of stuff I wanted to say, and it was hard to work it all out, but I think it turned out alright! Hope y'all enjoy, this one's a LOT.

***Plus there's a little extra fun bit at the end so… yeah!***

The tension that flashed between the two of them was probably thick enough to cut with a knife.

"You're joking, right?" Bruce asked, eyes narrowed. "Tell me you're joking."

"I… what?" John Dory managed to say, baffled by his brother's reaction. Did he say something wrong?

"Gosh, you're not joking," Bruce said under his breath, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "What 'good 'ol days' are you referring to? Because for some reason, they're appearing to slip my mind."

"Well, y'know," John Dory replied, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. "Back when we were kids. Before I started BroZone. Before we all split up and didn't talk to each other for twenty years?" Before I drove us all apart.

Bruce blinked incredulously before his eyes narrowed again. "John, those were not good times."

"What?" JD laughed, an almost hysterical tone creeping into his voice. "Yeah they were. We were all together, everyone was happy… What's not to love?"

"You just called them 'perfect'," Bruce continued, practically spitting the word out of his mouth.

"Well, maybe perfect wasn't the right word," John Dory said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Uh, yeah. No kidding," Bruce replied, his body looking uncharacteristically tense. "Those were not 'perfect' times. They were hardly even 'good' times. Heck, I'd even go as far as to say they were 'bad' times. We–" Bruce gestured between the two of them, "–had a bad childhood."

"No we didn't," John Dory said dismissively, turning away from his brother towards the fire. "It was a hard childhood, but it wasn't bad."

"Yes, it was," Bruce insisted, his voice sharp. "Five kids should not be left alone to fend for themselves."

"We had Grandma," John Dory mumbled, fiddling absently with the glove on his hand.

"She was hardly around for the first few years," Bruce countered, and JD could hear the irritation in his younger brother's voice. "So the only person we had to take care of us was you."

"Yeah, and I made it work," John Dory replied earnestly, turning back towards the purple-haired troll. "We got along just fine, didn't we?" There was an edge to his voice; he wasn't sure why that was there.

"Barely," Bruce scoffed, his face unreadable. "If you call five orphaned kids trying to scrape by day to day 'fine', then sure."

"Look I… I did my best, alright?" JD said, gripping tightly onto his pants. "I know I messed up a lot–"

"No, John, this isn't about that." John Dory's ears perked up, turning towards his brother with confusion. Bruce looked at him, eyes flashing with intensity. "This is about you somehow thinking those were 'good times,' when out of all of us, you should be the first to recognize how terrible they were."

John Dory tensed up further, his jaw tight. Now it was his turn to be defensive. "What are you talking about?" he questioned, not liking how this conversation was going.

"How old were you when Dad left, huh? Ten?" Bruce asked, and JD felt his ears begin to burn.

"Nine…" he admitted quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

"Nine, John. Nine. Just think about that for a moment. Nine years old, and suddenly, you had to take care of four younger brothers. That is not ok," Bruce said, his voice soft but firm.

"It was fine!" John Dory insisted, mixed feelings of anger and hurt flooding through his chest. "Yeah, it was hard, but someone had to do it. You guys are my family; family is supposed to take care of each other."

"And who was taking care of you, huh?" Bruce replied, his voice growing a bit louder. "Because you sure as heck weren't accepting any help from us, let alone anyone else. You took on everything yourself, and didn't let me lift so much as a finger to help you!"

"Because you were a kid!"

"So were you!"

Both of them were breathing heavily, staring into each other's eyes. But there wasn't anger there. More like a frustration, a desperation. Finally, John Dory let his gaze fall, his shoulders slumping.

"I don't want to argue, Bruce," he said softly, turning away from his brother.

"We're not arguing. We're talking. That's what people do," Bruce replied, not taking his gaze off JD. Then, he reached up in his hair, pulling a large piece of paper from it. Intrigued, John Dory took a closer look. It was covered with photos, photos from when they were young. He didn't know Bruce had kept any of these.

"Look at this, John," Bruce said, holding the page towards the firelight so they could see. "Look at these, and tell me what you see."

JD peered at them, feeling his body begin to relax a bit. Memories flooded back into his head, and he gently took the page from Bruce. He wasn't sure where his brother was going with this, but it was nice to see the photos regardless.

"Heh, these are cute," John Dory said, a soft smile stretching across his face. He brushed his fingers carefully across the pictures, his brother's smiling faces looking right back up at him. "How can you say these weren't good times, Bruce? Look how happy you all were."

"Yeah, we were happy. Ish," Bruce replied, his voice tight. "But where are you?"

"Does it matter?" John Dory asked, looking closer at a picture of Floyd practicing on his new piano. "Aw, look at him go."

"Yes, it matters!" Bruce exclaimed, exasperation in his voice. John Dory jumped at the sudden change in volume, his ears twitching slightly. "Where are you in these photos?"

"Probably cooking or something," John Dory mumbled back, looking back down at the photos. "See, yeah. There." He pointed to himself, seen behind Floyd setting the table.

"Yeah. Cooking, or cleaning, or taking care of one of us, or sleeping because I know you never got any sleep!" Bruce said, gesturing dramatically. "That doesn't seem messed up to you?"

"No," John Dory insisted, letting out an irritated scoff. "I did what I had to." His hands tightened on the page. He looked down at himself in the background of one of the photos, his mouth curling down into a frown. He looked at the bags under his eyes, the way his exaggerated smile didn't seem to reach the rest of his face. The image made his stomach hurt. But that wasn't important; he was making his brothers happy, and that was worth everything. They were smiling. They were happy, so he was happy, right? Bruce just didn't get it. He shook his head, trying to clear the memories threatening to appear. All of this was giving him a headache. "It doesn't matter. The important part is that we were happy. And as much as you want to claim otherwise, I was just fine."

"I don't think that's true," Bruce said, his voice rising again. "It scares me that you can't see something when it's right in front of your face. Have you deluded yourself so far that you think this is good? That this is ok? This is not what a good childhood looks like!"

"Then we're remembering very different childhoods," John Dory replied curtly, handing the page back. All of a sudden, it felt very heavy in his hands.

Bruce looked at it for a moment, before tucking it gingerly back into his hair, turning his gaze towards JD. "The only reason any of us had a semblance of a normal childhood is because you gave up your own, and that's not ok. You were practically destroying yourself, and I couldn't do anything but watch!" He seemed to draw himself back a bit, taking in a deep breath and looking up towards the sky

"You know what I remember about those times?" he asked, and JD turned slightly so he could look at him. "Once I got older, once I got past all the anger and frustration I had for you back then, I realized that at the root of all of it, I was just terrified. For all of us." He turned to look at John Dory. "But mostly for you."

"Me?" John Dory replied, bewildered.

"Yes," Bruce replied, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. "I don't know if you're blocking out the memories or what, but here's what I remember." Bruce shifted himself so he was facing directly towards John Dory, his face turning dark. "I remember finding you the morning after Dad left, kneeling in front of the door with his goggles strapped to your head, arms wrapped around Branch's egg. You wouldn't let go of him; it was like you were frozen. I had to get Grandma to come over to try to snap you out of it."

John Dory tried to picture this, tried to remember what had happened after his father had left, but it was almost like the memory was slippery. As soon as he tried to think about it, his mind would slip away to something else. The whole thing made his head hurt.

"I remember how terrible those first few months were, how lost and scared we all felt, and how you had to step up and shoulder everything. I remember you dropping out of school, pulling away from your friends because every waking hour of your life was spent taking care of us. I remember you waiting up in the hallway in the middle of the night, because I can't remember a single time when any of us started crying and you weren't there." Bruce looked back at JD, eyes clouded with concern.

"I watched you fall deeper and deeper into this… obsession with being perfect," he said, his lips curled like the word tasted sour on his tongue. "And with BroZone, it only got worse. Beneath all the anger and frustration, it scared me, John." Bruce's gaze was intense. "It scared me to see you struggling with it then, and it scares me to see that you're still struggling with it now. It was bad, man. It was really bad."

John Dory looked down at the ground, no longer able to keep his brother's gaze. "I… don't remember it like that," he said quietly. That heavy feeling was back again, creeping out from his gut and into his chest, making it feel hard to breathe.

"I do," Bruce replied solemnly. "I remember every minute of it. Heck, I even remember before Dad left, after he went gray. Pretty messed up stuff."

"Wait, you remember Dad going gray?" John Dory asked, surprised. His brother had never mentioned it, and they were so young, he just assumed he didn't remember.

"Of course I do," Bruce answered, his eyebrows knitted together. "I'm only two years younger than you." His face grew troubled as he continued. "I don't really remember what he was like before Mom died, but I certainly remember what he was like after. Walking around the pod like a ghost… It was like the life was sucked out of him."

"Yeah…" John Dory said with a grimace, thinking back to his dream and his father's death grip on his shoulder. "He was a jerk."

"He was broken."

Broken… John Dory's eyes shot wide open, as if he'd been slapped. The word seemed to slice through John Dory's heart, leaving it open and bleeding.

"When Mom died, something just broke inside him," Bruce continued, his face grim. "Something that couldn't be fixed. It wasn't any of our faults. He was just broken beyond repair."

Beyond repair? John Dory suddenly felt the urge to hide his own graying hands, his heart racing. His mind seemed to swirl as dark thoughts popped into his head. All of this stuff that happened in his past… Had it broken him? Was that why he was turning gray? Was he broken beyond repair, just like his Dad? The idea shot icy terror through his veins, and suddenly, he needed this conversation to be over.

He was about to say something, make some dumb excuse to change the subject, when he heard another twig snap behind him. On instinct, he leapt to his feet, whipping around almost feverishly towards the sound and pulling out the whittled wooden stake from his jacket. However, before he could even get a good look at anything, he felt his foot slam into the bucket of water sitting at his side, sending it flying through the air and directly onto the fire, plunging him and his brother into darkness.

He cursed, unable to see anything but the moon and stars in the sky and the remnants of smoldering coals in the firepit. He was breathing heavily, and he curled his hands over his face in frustration. Perfect. He'd ruined another good thing.

"It's fine, John, chill," he heard Bruce say from off to his side. "It's getting late anyways. Brandy will be wondering where I am."

"Right, right…" John Dory replied, his heart still racing as he slowly pulled his hands down from his face. "You're right. We should probably get back."

"Here," he felt Bruce set a hand on his shoulder, his eyes not yet fully adjusted to the low light. "I know the way back by heart." He led JD back through the jungle, following the lights of the resort in silence.

Once they'd reached the resort's beach, burning lamps basking the sand in a yellowish glow, Bruce finally spoke up, his voice low. "I don't want this to be the last time we talk about this. Not now, but at some point, we need to talk about this again." He glanced at John Dory out of the corner of his eye, his mouth curled into a frown. "Whatever this is, whatever you're doing? It's not healthy."

John Dory didn't know what to say, so he just nodded, staring down at his feet.

Bruce's gaze seemed to linger on him, his face unreadable. He looked behind him, towards the resort, before turning back to John Dory. "I know you always like to stay in Rhonda when you come over, but I… I feel like you should stay with us tonight. We have a spare room," he offered, gesturing invitingly behind him.

John Dory looked at the resort, considering it for half a moment, before ultimately deciding he'd bummed off enough of Bruce's hospitality for one night. He stepped back, holding up his hands as he shook his head and tried to sound as cheery as possible. "Thanks, but I'd better not. You know Rhonda; she'll miss me. I'll see you in the morning, ok?"

Bruce couldn't hide his disappointment, letting out a soft sigh, but he nodded nonetheless. "Ok, John," he said softly, leaning into John Dory and wrapping him in a hug. His grip was tight, almost too tight, like he was trying to convey something he couldn't put into words. But just as soon as he started, he let go, patting John Dory's shoulder one last time before heading off into the resort. "Goodnight. Try to rest a bit, ok?"

"You know me," John Dory chuckled dryly, waving after his brother until Bruce's frame slipped behind the door. All at once, his body seemed to slump down, and he quickly turned and made his way towards where he left Rhonda, his mind a whirlwind of troubled thoughts.

This was supposed to help him clear his head, not muddy it up even more. John Dory's jaw tensed as he raced through the jungle, frustration seething through his clenched teeth. It was supposed to make him feel better. So why did he feel so much worse? This is exactly why he didn't like to think about these things.

He broke through the treeline, spotting Rhonda wading into the water on the beach. She let out an excited rumble as he approached, panting as her entire body wiggled with delight.

"Hey, sweet girl," he cooed to her, wading into the water as he pet her face. He felt a little bit better, the ache in his chest lifting slightly. But not by much. He pursed his lips together, resting his forehead against her side. "You don't think I'm broken… do you?" he asked, but he wasn't really talking to Rhonda.

As he stood in the water, he happened to glance down briefly at his hands. He really hoped it was just the lighting that made him look more gray.

Build a Fire: Failed

BONUS STORY

Spruce walked out of his bedroom, letting out a yawn. He rubbed his eyes, heading towards the kitchen to grab a glass of water. As he blinked slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the low light, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a figure sitting against the wall at the end of the hallway.

John Dory.

He stifled a yelp, adrenaline shooting through his veins. He thought for a moment his brother might be asleep, but then John Dory lifted his head, very much awake. He brought a finger to his mouth, shushing Spruce gently.

"John?" Spruce hissed, trying to keep his voice low. "Are you crazy? What are you doing? It's the middle of the night!"

"Someone's going to start crying," John Dory answered, like it was the most normal answer in the world. He had a strange look on his face, his voice uncharacteristically devoid of any emotion, and Spruce felt a shiver travel up his spine.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, trying not to show how unnerved he was by all of this. How long had his brother been sitting there?

"Someone's going to start crying," John Dory repeated in that same voice, although it was a little more intense now. Spruce could see the way his brother's hands clenched and unclenched, his ears twitching slightly.

And just like that, Spruce heard a whimper from Clay and Floyd's room, and without turning towards it, John Dory pointed in that direction.

"There. You see?" John Dory said quietly. He climbed to his feet, walking over to Spruce. He gently squeezed his shoulder, a soft smile on his face that didn't reach his tired eyes. It looked like he was shaking. "Go to bed, Spruce. You need sleep." And with that, he turned into Clay and Floyd's bedroom, and Spruce could hear him mumbling reassurances to his younger brothers.

Spruce stood there for a while, feeling as if he couldn't move. Something was wrong. John Dory shouldn't be acting like that; it just wasn't right. His brother was loud. He was exuberant. He was arrogant, he was annoying, and he never acted like that.

Spruce eventually made his way back to his room, the glass of water forgotten. He didn't get any sleep that night.

That was one of the first times he'd truly felt scared for his brother. And it certainly wouldn't be the last.