Signal for Help: Part Two (At the End of the Day)

Author's Note: This wasn't supposed to be split into two chapters, but I had too much to sayyyyy. It started getting way too long, so now I gotta split it… Anyways, another chapter for you guys! Fair warning for this one, it is actually pretty intense. We get to see the depth of how deep some of the trauma goes, and yeesh, this poor dude, amiright? He's also kind of dissociating hard core, and considering the lack of food and sleep, things are just getting worse, so yeah, big warning for dissociation/panic. (Also, sorry a little for the POV shifts, but I think it adds a lot to know what his brothers are thinking rn, so… yeah. Probably one more POV shift after this, but then it's all John Dory)

Thirty one, thirty two, thirty three, thirty four, thirty five…

Clay paced back and forth on the soft, dirt floor of Branch's bunker, his brow furrowed in concentration. His mind was cluttered with flurried thoughts, whipping around his brain in a frenzy. He was trying to think, find some sort of organization through the chaos, but he was continuously failing, the thoughts refusing to be tamed. Counting helped. Helped him focus. But he'd already lost count, again, so now he'd have to start over.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…

Clay's mouth tightened into a grimace, fidgeting with his hands as he continued to pace. All of his tumultuous thoughts seemed to have one thing in common; they all revolved around John Dory.

Things had been going just fine. All things considered, he'd actually been excited to spend some time with his oldest brother, which was something he'd never thought he'd experience again. He even thought they'd made some progress, talking about how much the other had changed. And John Dory had changed. He wasn't the same troll he was twenty years ago, and Clay surprisingly found himself growing closer to his brother, the rift between them starting to narrow, bit by bit. And what surprised him even more was how happy he was about it.

But something had been off that day. Something was wrong with John Dory.

Clay was no stranger to his oldest brothers' odd behavior. He'd seen plenty of it when they were kids, and even now, as they were adults. But he and JD never really… talked about that kind of stuff. It just wasn't their thing. Floyd was good at talking about things like that. Bruce was good at it. Even Branch had his moments. But Clay? He never really was. But even he couldn't ignore how strange his brother had been acting, how completely and utterly exhausted he looked…

It reminded him too much of when they were kids.

Dang it… Clay cursed, biting his lip. He'd lost count again. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…

That day, he'd broken the unspoken rule between him and his oldest brother. He'd asked if he was ok, and of course, John Dory refused to give him a straight answer. Like he said, they never talked about that sort of thing, so it was fine. It was all fine.

Until Clay fell into that stupid lake.

It was an accident. He should have been more careful. But he was so caught up in the joy of bonding with his brother again, it just slipped his mind. Until he fell off that branch, into the freezing water below.

The flurry of emotions that followed he couldn't even begin to unpack: The fear, the panic, the relief, the shame, the confusion, the apprehension, the indignation, and then…

The argument. The confrontation. The frustration. The anger. The hurt.

When John Dory had refused to talk to him, it felt like something had snapped. Like a raw, festering wound had been ripped open, spewing out of his mouth as a venomous cacophony of words. He'd just been so angry, unable to stop the verbal onslaught that was released. He thought his brother was just doing the same thing again, treating him like a little kid who couldn't handle the truth. He thought his brother was disregarding his worries, and not taking his concerns seriously. He thought his brother didn't trust him, and that hurt.

He and JD had always argued a lot, the most out of all their brothers. Clay always had something to say, and John Dory always had to get the last word in. But this last fight… it was different. Because John Dory didn't fight back. He just stood there and took it, completely silent as Clay threw twenty years worth of pent up anger his way. That wasn't normal. He should have known something was wrong, but he was too upset to see past his own anger.

When he'd gotten back to Branch's bunker, ranting to his little brother about what had happened, he was pulled out of his fury and pain by the look of alarm on his brother's face. It confused him at first, but then Branch explained.

John Dory thought they had died.

For twenty years, the entire time he and his brothers had been separated, John Dory thought they were dead. Killed or eaten by Bergens. And suddenly, things made sense. He understood. Despite being separated from his brothers during the Great Bergen Attack, he never lost hope that they were alive. But John Dory…

Clay hadn't known. How could he have known? He and John Dory never talked about stuff like this! Just like how he didn't know John Dory was claustrophobic, just like how John Dory didn't know Clay couldn't swim. They never talked to each other.

And then Viva had come back, distressed and nearly frantic with worry, saying John Dory had almost broken down after Clay had left. Mentioning how pale he looked, how unstable he seemed to be, and Clay knew he'd made a huge mistake. He and Branch tried to catch their brother before he took off again, but they were too late. And now, the guilt was eating Clay alive, his stomach twisting into knots.

He was scared… Clay thought, heart beating anxiously. He was scared, and I screamed at him. I called him stupid, I told him to grow up… Gosh, what is wrong with me?!

John Dory wasn't back yet. He didn't know when he'd be back, but he needed to make things right with his brother. He had to tell him he was sorry.

He'd lost count again. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…

I'm sorry, John, I'm so sorry…

Branch slowly stirred a pot of soup, watching as his brother anxiously paced around the kitchen, becoming more agitated by the minute.

He'd tried to calm Clay down, to get his brother to relax, but the wild-haired troll was practically inconsolable. Branch could tell he was fully blaming himself for John Dory's behavior last night, which was manifested in this restless pacing he'd been doing for the past few hours. Branch was about ready to strap his brother down to a kitchen chair and keep him there.

But to be honest, he was starting to freak out a little bit too.

John Dory had been doing really well. Branch knew it was going to be a bit of an adjustment for his brother, living in Pop Village. This place was a lot, especially for an isolationist like John Dory, who'd lived almost entirely alone these past twenty years. Branch was actually probably one of the only trolls who could understand exactly what his brother was going through. As much as he hated to admit it sometimes, he and his oldest brother were a lot alike.

That's why he'd been trying so hard to help his brother adjust. Dragging him out to random events/activities, pushing him to go to therapy, trying to meet up with him every day for the sunrise… everything that helped him after his years down in the bunker. And John Dory was definitely trying, he could see that. But he was struggling too. JD fell back on bad habits real easily, which was frustrating to see, but also understandable. Branch was guilty of the exact same thing.

When John Dory had decided to stay in Pop Village, Branch was thrilled. And when his brother said he wanted to build a home here, a real home, his heart practically soared. It was like a little part of him had healed, ever so slightly. It meant the world to him that John Dory had decided to stay, that John Dory wanted to stay. He had been so caught up in his own excitement for his brother that reality didn't really set in for him until later…

The fact that John Dory wanted to build a home was… odd. It was a good thing, no doubt about that, and his brother deserved a real home (not that Rhonda wasn't, but y'know, a home that stayed in one place). But it just seemed like too much, too fast. It felt… rushed. It'd only been a few months. He'd seen the way his brother's face fell as he looked around his new pod, the fear that seemed to flicker across his eyes… It worried him.

And the whole thing with the photo album did not instill more confidence in his brother's mental state. That's why he'd sent that letter to Bruce and Floyd, asking for more information about their childhood. Bruce had told him a little bit about their less than ideal childhood before, but not enough that Branch felt like he could understand his brother's troubling reaction. And things just seemed to keep spiraling from there.

John Dory showed up to the sunrise the next morning as a walking ball of anxious energy. The way he bolted to go visit Bruce, staying there for only a night, before running back here. And then having what sounded like a panic attack in front of Viva because of everything that happened with Clay, before taking off again. He probably wasn't lying about going to help Floyd, but it was very convenient timing. Just like that, it seemed like things were starting to get bad again. His brother wasn't just falling back on bad habits; he was crashing, hard. He seemed to be running from something; Branch just didn't know what.

When John Dory came back from Vacay Island, that's when he'd really started to get worried. Not only was it troubling that his brother was back so quickly, his behavior only serving to deepen Branch's concern, but for a moment, he'd almost looked…

Branch shook his head, trying to clear the thought from his mind. He didn't want to jump to conclusions. He had a bad habit of always seeing the negative side of things, and he didn't want to overreact just yet. But Branch felt his jaw grow tense, his hand tightening on the spoon. John Dory reminded him a lot of himself sometimes, and that wasn't exactly a good thing. He felt like he could understand every move his brother made, but couldn't understand at the same time. It was incredibly frustrating.

He and JD were similar in a lot of ways, but there was a stark difference between the two of them. Branch had Poppy, who he felt he could trust no matter what. And John Dory felt like he had nobody. It hurt, sometimes, knowing that his brother didn't fully trust him yet, but then again, he could understand. He knew how hard it was to open up to someone, especially after being alone for so long. They'd had a moment, after the whole "cave in" thing, but it hadn't fixed everything. Change takes time. But after everything that's happened these past few days, he wasn't about to let John Dory bottle everything up again. Something was going on, and clearly his brother wasn't dealing with it in a healthy way. The situation seemed all too familiar to Branch for his liking, and he needed to talk to his brother before things got any worse.

So that's what he was doing. That's all he could do. Wait. Wait for John Dory to come back. And his brother would come back, he had to. He promised. Branch grimaced, unable to ignore the slight panic that flickered to life in his chest, prickling across his skin and causing him to shiver slightly. He would come back.

Suddenly, there was a loud knocking sound from the hatch leading into Branch's bunker, the sound echoing down the elevator shaft. Branch and Clay exchanged looks, frozen in place.

It couldn't be Poppy or Viva; they had a tendency to just let themselves in, and trolls from the village didn't typically stop by to chat. Within seconds, both Branch and Clay had leapt onto the platform, willing it to go faster as it rose to the surface.

Branch threw open the trapdoor, hoping to see his eldest brother standing on the other side. But he was wrong. It wasn't John Dory. It was Bruce and Floyd.

They were slightly out of breath, their eyes wide with worry as they looked between Branch and Clay, who wore matching expressions of concern. This wasn't right… Why were they here? It wasn't that he wasn't happy to see them, but…

Branch felt his heart drop, a sinking feeling washing over him. Something was wrong. Something was missing. No, not something. Someone. He was supposed to be with them; why wasn't he with them?

"Bruce? Floyd?" Branch asked in a low, shaky voice.

Bruce looked at him, his face a mix of emotions as he seemed to set his jaw firmly. Branch could detect a hint of fear behind his brother's eyes, and felt his breath catch in his throat. Floyd was shaking, looking as if he was struggling to keep himself together as he gazed at Branch desperately. They didn't have to say anything, Branch already knew. He swallowed, trying to keep his voice level despite the panic starting to crawl up his spine.

"Where's John Dory?"

John Dory didn't know where he was.

He was in the woods, that much he knew. He shuffled through the undergrowth, eyes open but unseeing, hardly taking in what was around him. He wasn't sure where he was going exactly, he was just… walking. Somewhere. The forest felt dull, muted, his footsteps the only sound he could hear over the rushing in his ears.

His brain was eerily quiet.

After a moment, he stopped, looking around. Where was he? This wasn't right… Just like that, it was like his mind woke up again, a jolt of fear shooting through him. Was he lost? No no, he couldn't be lost… He scanned the area frantically, looking for anything that might look familiar…

There, that log. John Dory stumbled towards the familiar sight, catching himself on the gnarled wood, head swimming ominously. Yes, this log. He'd fallen off it, when he was talking to Clay. So that meant… He turned his eyes outwards, towards a large clearing.

Yes, the fruit tree grove. The lake. He knew this place. But how did he get all the way out here? He hadn't been walking for that long… had he? His mind felt all fuzzy.

He slowly made his way out into the clearing, heading towards the lake. He wasn't sure why, exactly, his body appeared to have a mind of its own. He stopped once he reached the edge, staring down at the water. He didn't recognize the dark, gray troll that stared back at him.

His hands clenched slightly, a heavy feeling settling in his gut, when suddenly, he became aware of a dull, stinging pain radiating out from them. He looked down to see hints of bright red blood, smeared across his were a few cuts on his knees as well, and some on his feet. Probably from that stupid mirror.

John Dory's nose wrinkled up in disgust, kneeling down next to the water. He started to slowly rinse the stains off his hands, the small nicks stinging in protest. After the blood was gone, he found himself staring down at them, unable to move. Then his eyes traveled out towards his reflection, drawing his hands in close to his chest.

His colors… he'd lost them. He'd completely lost them. There was nothing left anymore. His skin was gray, his hair was practically black, even his eyes looked dull and lifeless. They were gone. He hugged his hands in tighter, as if the action might help him somehow draw the slightest color back into them, but there was nothing. He'd failed.

He'd wanted so badly to be better. He wanted so badly to be what his brothers needed him to be. He wanted to be happy, but he failed. He failed them when they were kids, and now, he was failing them all over again. He just couldn't do it.

He stared out at the gray troll in the water, his face curling into a snarl as anger surged to life in his chest. "What is wrong with you?" he hissed, eyes narrowed with fury. "Why can't you just be happy!? They need you! I need you!" His voice broke on those last words, unwanted memories flashing through his head. He remembered screaming those exact words at his father, all those years ago. He pressed his hands into his face, letting out a growl. He didn't want to think about that.

"Gosh I hate you…" he snarled, not even sure who he was talking to. But the anger was dying. It was slowly being replaced by despair, the feeling seeming to rip through his chest. I can't do this anymore… he thought, his hands pressing harder into his face. I can't, I can't, I can't…

He felt like he was about to explode. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to curl into a ball and cry. But he couldn't do any of those things. He had to fix this, he had to–

You can't fix this! his mind seemed to scream, causing him to wince as if the words were being said aloud. You can't be fixed! You're too broken. You're just too broken.

John Dory's hands fell limply to his side, his entire body drooping. Fine… he thought, numbness washing over him once again. You're right. I can't fix this. He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut. I give up.

Images of his brothers began flashing through his mind, pictures of their lives. Bruce and his beautiful family, Clay and Viva's loving relationship, Floyd's laughing face, Branch's life he'd built for himself… They were all thriving, despite everything they'd been through. Despite everything he put them through. They deserved to be happy.

And maybe… maybe this was what he deserved. He'd been alone for so long, maybe that was just how it was meant to be. How it was supposed to be. Maybe that's why he couldn't be happy. Because at the end of the day, he didn't deserve it.

Maybe he should just leave.

John Dory felt his hands tighten, that panic once again growing in his chest. He didn't want to leave, he didn't want to be alone anymore. But he was hurting his brothers, just by being here, because he couldn't fix himself. John Dory felt his arms wrap around his shoulders, a sudden chill washing over him.

If he left now, his brothers would hate him. But if he stayed, he was only going to make things worse. Maybe it was better for his brothers to hate him then force themselves to try and love something that would only hurt them more. He could just leave, he could protect them, spare them from all of this. Leave, just like–

John Dory's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening.

Just like his dad.

His eyes flicked back down to the still water, and for just a moment, he could've swore he saw his father's lifeless eyes staring back at him.

He recoiled away from the lake, feeling his breath quicken as his thoughts became more and more frantic. What was wrong with him? What had he become? Not only did he look just like his Dad, but now he was acting like him too. Like the very thing he hated, for so, so long…

He grabbed at his hair, taking short, hissing breaths through his clenched teeth, his eyes squeezing shut. Gosh, what was he thinking? He couldn't do this; he couldn't leave them. What was wrong with him!? How had things gotten this bad? How could he have let them get this bad? It was too much, it was just too much. He couldn't do this, he couldn't do this alone, he needed… he needed…

So you don't have to worry about me, ok? If I need help, I'll ask. Alright?

You promise?

The conversation he'd had with Branch, just a few days ago, he could hear it echoing in his mind. He slowly reached a shaky hand into his coat pocket, pulling out the worn piece of paper he'd kept all these years. He looked at it, eyes tracing over each of the steps he'd failed so miserably at. There was only one left. One he had never tried, never even considered trying. Not when he was a kid, not during BroZone, not out on the Neverglade Trail… But now, it seemed like it was his only option left. His last chance. Maybe he'd fail at this one too; maybe everything would fall apart. But he didn't have a choice. He'd promised, and John Dory wasn't about to let himself break any more promises. He had to at least try.

He forced himself to his feet, dark spots dancing on the edge of his vision. He couldn't leave. Not yet, anyways. He may be the worst brother in the world, but he was not going to leave them. Not again.

He'd go back, and if they saw him… if they saw what he'd become and they wanted him to leave, then he would. He'd take off, and leave them to their happy lives. But if there was a chance they might want him to stay, a sliver of hope that they might still want him around…

He didn't want to lose his brothers again. He was kind of selfish that way.

He began stumbling back through the woods, his head pounding and steps unsteady. He had to go back. He refused to be like his father. He would at least show up, and if they told him to leave, he would. But right now, he needed to get back to them.

He promised.