John Dory!

The whole thing had started the way most things did when Poppy was involved—fast, bright, and completely unstoppable.

One minute, there had been talk about the mission, about Floyd, about how urgent everything was becoming. The next, the Hug Time Bracelet energy had basically turned into decision-making momentum, and Poppy was already in motion. Not just planning, but doing. Packing. Organizing. Talking through ideas out loud like the world would reshape itself if she just stayed confident enough.

Branch had been trying—very carefully—to slow things down and point out every possible risk, every gap in the plan, every “this might go wrong” scenario he could think of. John Dory, meanwhile, had acted like caution was optional, already halfway into leader mode, already convinced that forward was the only direction that mattered.

And you had been there for all of it.

You weren’t really the “enthusiastic mission type,” at least not on the surface. You had mostly stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching everything unfold with that tired, unimpressed expression like you’d already accepted that nothing was going to go smoothly anyway. The kind of presence that says you’d rather be anywhere else—but still end up staying anyway.

Poppy had noticed that immediately.

She always does.

She had been gentle but firm about it, like it wasn’t even up for debate. Not pushing you away, not asking in a way that left room for an easy no—just including you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like of course you were coming. Like of course you’d be part of it. She’d moved around you while packing, checking things off her mental list, occasionally glancing over with that steady, encouraging energy she gives off when she’s decided someone is important to keep close.

Branch had looked like he wanted to argue it for your sake. John Dory hadn’t really reacted at all, too focused on the mission ahead. But Poppy had simply made space for you in the plan, like she always does, like she’s quietly decided you belong in the middle of things even when you act like you don’t care about any of it.

And eventually, you were in the camper.

Now, hours later, the energy from earlier has burned down into something quieter.

John Dory’s strange, half-functional camper-vehicle hums steadily down the road, rocking slightly with every stretch of uneven terrain. Inside, everything feels dim and settled, like the world has been folded into a smaller, slower version of itself. The urgency is still there in theory—Floyd, the mission, everything ahead—but it’s buried under exhaustion for now.

Most of the group has drifted into rest in some form. Even the tension between Branch and John Dory has softened into silence, though not exactly agreement.

Poppy is somewhere nearby, likely still holding onto that same quiet determination even in sleep, the kind that never fully turns off. The way she includes you in everything doesn’t really stop either—it just becomes background noise, like it’s already assumed you’re part of the “together” of it all.

You, though, are still awake.

Sitting near the window, you stare out into the dark moving landscape. Trees and shadowed shapes pass in slow rhythm, the outside world barely visible except in fleeting fragments. The glass is cool, and the motion of the vehicle makes everything feel slightly detached, like you’re existing in a space that doesn’t fully belong to any one moment.

It’s quiet enough that every small sound feels sharper than it should—the soft shift of the vehicle, distant settling noises, the faint presence of others nearby.

And then that quiet changes.

Footsteps approach from behind, unhurried but certain, cutting through the stillness without trying to hide.

A familiar figure leans into view behind you.

John Dory is there, standing just close enough that his presence fills the space without warning, his posture relaxed in that way that still somehow feels like he’s in charge of everything around him. His attention lands on you immediately, like he’s been tracking you for a while without saying anything.

He tilts his head slightly, as if he’s already decided what this moment means.

“What are you doing up this late?”