Apply First Aid: Part One (Running Out Of Time)

Author's Note: Oooooo new part let's go! And y'know we had to start it off with an angsty backstory, you know me. Thank you all for your comments on the last chapter! I'm so glad you liked it! Ugh, this is so fun, amiright?

John Dory was exhausted.

Keeping up with the high demand for BroZone was really starting to take a toll on him. The band was starting to get huge, with more and more trolls asking them to perform. Fans adored their music, gushing about their cute "family dynamics," and practically throwing praise their way. And the payoff wasn't too shabby. He didn't have to worry about money anymore, his brothers were happy. It was almost perfect. Except…

More performances meant more songs, more songs meant more choreography, and more fans meant more pressure. People were counting on him now. They expected great performances. No, they expected exceptional performances. John Dory had been pumping out as many songs as he could, so much so it almost felt like they were running together in his mind. He spent hours working on choreography designed to amaze the crowds. He had to organize the venues, the costumes, the publicity. He had to fight with the stupid managers and producers who never took him seriously. They didn't understand this needed to be perfect. There was so much more to this than just the performance.

And on top of all that, most importantly, John Dory was still making sure to take care of his little brothers. They were just kids after all.

That's what he was doing right now, actually. Grandma was out for her weekly Rummy night, so John Dory was in charge of dinner. He stood above a large skillet, slowly sauteing a bunch of vegetables, his gaze lidded and unfocused.

He could hear Floyd singing to himself as he drew at the table, his soft voice lulling John Dory deeper into his exhaustion. Clay sat next to him, reading, his feet kicked up on the tabletop. John Dory didn't have the energy to tell him to take them off. He knew Spruce was off in his room, likely doing pushups with Bitty B on his back. His brother swore he just liked the extra challenge, but John Dory was certain he just liked to show off to the small trolling, Branch's giggles echoing around the pod.

John Dory's head nodded forward, and he quickly shook it, trying to focus. But every time he blinked, it felt like his eyes were closed for longer and longer. He stirred the veggies slowly and methodically, making large circles in the pan. They were almost done. He just had to finish these, and then he could go rest. Well, after dinner of course. And he did need to finish writing up the rest of the lyrics for that song he was working on. Oh, and he needed to wash Floyd's vest. And the posters… Did he finish the posters? He could finish those, and then he could rest.

His head dipped down again, and this time, he just let it hang there. He could keep stirring like this, it was fine, he didn't have to see what he was doing in order to stir. Maybe he could close his eyes, just for a moment…

"John?!"

Floyd's frightened voice popped up behind him, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He could smell smoke. The food was burning. How?! He'd only closed his eyes for a few seconds!

He frantically reached down to turn off the stove, moving the pan away from the heat. In his panic, he let his hand drop down, pressing up against the side of the scalding hot surface. A jolt of searing pain burst to life on his skin, and he let out a yelp, dropping the spoon and jerking his arm back on instinct, elbowing Floyd right in the face.

Floyd let out a soft cry of pain and surprise, bringing his hand up to his eye. John Dory spun around, the burn on his hand immediately forgotten. Floyd's eye was already starting to swell, hot tears pouring down his face as he winced.

"Floyd!" John Dory shouted, icy fear shooting through his body. "No no no, I'm sorry, it was an accident!" He rushed forward, grabbing his brother's shoulders tightly. Floyd's eyes widened with alarm, an expression of shock on his teary face. The look shook JD to his core. What had he done? "It's going to be ok!" he said, his voice almost hysterical as he tried and failed to reassure his brother. "I'm sorry, Floyd, I'm sorry, I… I'll get some ice, hang on, just let me get some ice!"

He turned around, racing to the freezer and grabbing a bag of frozen fruit before rushing back, shoving it into his brother's hands. "It's ok, it's ok…" he stammered loudly, moving Floyd's hands so his brother was holding the frozen bag to his face. "It's ok, it's ok, it's ok…"

"John!"

John Dory felt strong hands grip his shoulders, pulling him away from Floyd and spinning him around. Spruce.

"You need to go," Spruce commanded, his face unreadable as he pushed JD away.

"No, I… It was an accident!" John Dory exclaimed, panic pulsing through his veins. "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry!"

"I know, but you're freaking him out!" Spruce replied, gesturing back towards Floyd, who was crying harder now, Clay rushing over to comfort him. John Dory felt his heart drop into his stomach. What had he done? "You need to go," Spruce repeated tightly, pushing John Dory back again. When he hesitated, Spruce pointed behind him, his voice climbing to a yell. "Just go! Now! Go calm yourself down!"

John Dory took a step back, a fearful grimace on his face as he looked between his brothers. Spruce was angry, Floyd was crying, Clay was shaking with worry. All because of him. Spruce was right; he had to go. He turned tail, taking off towards his room. He raced inside, closing the door behind him before stumbling into his closet, shutting that door too.

He huddled up in the dark corner, pulling his legs in towards his chest as his breaths came out in short gasps. What did he do? He hurt Floyd. He'd messed up and hurt his brother. He squeezed his eyes shut, grabbing at his hair, his hands so tight his skull began to ache.

It was too much. This was all too much for him. He couldn't keep up with the band stuff, he couldn't take care of his brothers. I can't… he thought, his grip tightening. I can't, I can't, I can't…

He could hear his fathers last words, echoing in his brain…

Don't mess this up.

Those goggles felt so heavy on his head.

No, he couldn't do this. He couldn't fall apart. He wasn't allowed to fall apart, his brothers needed him. He had to keep it together. He clearly just wasn't trying hard enough. He needed to keep the band going, he needed to keep his brothers happy. He needed to be better. No, not better. He had to be perfect.

He wanted to go check on Floyd, but right now, he felt like he couldn't move. His body was too tense, shaking so much he could feel his muscles aching. He let out a hiss, angry that his mutinous body wouldn't listen to him. He didn't have time for this.

Suddenly, he heard the door to his room open, before shutting softly. Small footsteps walked towards him, and the closet doors were gently cracked open. Blue eyes peered in at him, shimmering with worry.

"D?"

John Dory slowly unclenched his hands from his hair, finally able to move again as he took in a few shaky breaths, forcing himself to speak. "Hey B," he said, his voice breaking slightly.

Branch pushed his way inside, standing in front of John Dory. He stared at his face, reaching up and touching his damp cheeks. John Dory hadn't even noticed he'd been crying.

"We're sad?" Branch asked, his little body trembling.

"No, no," John Dory assured him, grabbing his hands and holding them in his own. "We're not sad. We're happy, see?" He pointed up towards his face, flashing an exaggerated grin. Branch blinked a few times, then did the same, grinning wide before letting his smile fall. He reached up, touching JD's cheek again. His face scrunched up, hiccuping as tears started to well up in his eyes.

"No no no, c'mere," John Dory said, pulling Branch's trembling body up onto his lap. The trolling buried his face into his chest, and JD gently stroked his hair, feeling himself relax a bit. "We're ok," he said softly. "We're happy. We're fine."

Are we?

John Dory stiffened, swearing he heard someone whisper into his ear. But he chose to ignore it, instead just murmuring assurances to his little brother. He began to sing a lullaby, his voice low and husky, but it seemed to do the trick.

After a few minutes, he gathered Branch up into his arms, the small troll humming in his sleep as he instinctively wrapped his arms around John Dory's neck. He slowly climbed to his feet, exiting the closet. Just as he did, the door to his room opened up again, and Spruce walked in, his face a mix of apprehension and concern.

"Is Floyd ok?" John Dory asked immediately, feeling his heart kick back up a notch.

"He's fine," Spruce replied slowly, his jaw tight. "He's going to have a black eye, but that's it. It's not even that bad."

John Dory nodded, feeling guilt clawing deep in his gut.

Spruce's mouth tightened. "I'm sorry I yelled at you," he said, rubbing his hand together nervously. "You were just freaking out, and it was freaking Floyd out, and… I just didn't know what to do."

"It's fine, Spruce," John Dory replied, dropping his gaze to the floor. "You were right to yell. I can't believe I…" He trailed off, feeling a lump form in his throat. "I'm sorry."

Spruce looked like he was about to say something when he paused, his eyes widening. "John, your hand!" he gasped, grabbing JD's wrist as the older troll shifted Branch to his other side.

John Dory looked down. Oh right, he'd burned his hand. He'd forgotten about that. It really didn't look that bad, just some dark blue irritation and a few blisters. It was fine.

"Oh, heh, whoops." He laughed dryly, pulling the hand back from Spruce. "Forgot about that."

Spruce glared at him before letting out an exasperated sigh. "Just go get some ice, you idiot. I'll put Bitty B to bed." John Dory let Spruce take the small troll, Branch looking sleepily over his brother's shoulder and giving a small wave. John Dory smiled softly, waving back at him.

Spruce went to leave, but paused in the doorway, shooting a look back towards John Dory. He seemed conflicted, but after a moment, he opened his mouth to speak. "Are you ok?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically small.

"'Course I am," John Dory quickly assured him, resting his hands on his hips. The last thing his little brother needed was to be worried about was him. "Y'know, just… had a moment. It won't happen again."

Spruce looked unconvinced, but didn't try to pursue it further. "Ok, John," he said, sounding… disappointed? Then he walked off with Branch, leaving John Dory alone in his empty room. He let his hands fall back down to his sides, his shoulders drooping.

Liar…

John Dory spun around, anxious energy prickling up his neck. He could've sworn he heard a voice again… He nearly jumped when he saw movement, but he quickly realized it was just his reflection in the large mirror by his closet. He let out a sigh of relief before taking a closer look at himself.

He was surprised by how young he looked. It didn't seem right. He felt much older than the baby-faced troll staring back at him. He huffed, starting to turn away to maybe go grab some ice for his aching hand, when he stopped dead in his tracks. His reflection hadn't moved with him.

He felt fear shoot through his body as his reflection's expression changed, shifting into a look of anger and hatred as he glared back at John Dory. John Dory jumped back, slapping a hand over his mouth to silence his frightened yelp. This wasn't real, it couldn't be real…

LIAR! His reflection shouted, his face curled up into a snarl. There was that voice again. John Dory's face curled into an identical snarl, feeling anger bubble to life inside him as well.

"Quiet!" he hissed back. What if his brothers heard? He could ruin everything.

This only served to piss off his reflection more. He watched as it balled his hands up into fists, and with another yell, punched into the surface of the mirror, sending cracks scattering across it.

Suddenly, John Dory's own hand exploded with burning pain, and he watched in horror as slate gray shot up his arm, followed by cracks that seemed to cut deep into his skin. He clasped it to his chest, falling to his knees as he tried to speak, to tell his reflection to stop, but the pain was so intense he jaw remained firmly clamped shut. His reflection continued to scream, his voice guttural and strained. He punched the mirror, every hit sending more cracks across its surface, and more cracks through John Dory's body.

It hurt. He could do nothing as the gray continued to spread, the cracks crawling up his neck…

LIAR LIAR LIAR!

Finally, the mirror shattered. And John Dory shattered with it.

John Dory was really getting sick of these stupid dreams, and this time he woke up with his hand aching.

He was sure Bruce would have a field day trying to interpret them for him. His brother was into that sort of stuff. He could almost imagine it now. "Hey Bruce, I keep having these crazy dreams about our childhood that always inevitably end with me turning gray and shattering into a million itty bitty pieces! I'm sure that's not indicative of anything deeper, right?" Yeah, right. That sounded more like something he should talk to his quack of a therapist about. Well, maybe not, considering therapy is what seemed to have gotten him into this mess in the first place.

He huffed, letting out an irritated growl. He'd been driving all night, every so often drifting off at the wheel and letting Rhonda just run. Each time he did, however, he'd dream of some other memory from his past, and every time, without fail, he'd wake up with a start, sure he was falling to pieces on the floor. It was really annoying.

They'd reached the cliffs on the edge of Troll Kingdom, and just across the ocean a-ways stood Vacay Island. He'd considered spending the day with Bruce and Floyd at the resort, but something held him back. He was almost… afraid to be around his brothers right now. He truly felt like a liability, like he couldn't trust himself to make good decisions. Especially after what happened with Clay… What if he did something stupid again, and it ended in a fight, or troll forbid someone else getting hurt because of him? No, it felt too risky. He'd stay out here for now, and meet up with Floyd for his appointment later this afternoon. Easy.

Plus, this gave him some time to brainstorm solutions to his problem. He was definitely noticeably pale now, to anyone who might look at him. He still wasn't completely gray, but it was enough. And his hair was darker than it should be. He didn't like looking at himself in the mirror for too long, memories of his dreams seeming to have scarred him slightly. But he also didn't like what he saw. He looked too much like his Dad.

So that posed a little problem, but nothing John Dory couldn't handle. He just had to figure out a way to get his colors back completely before he went to talk to Floyd. Easy. He could totally do this. The only problem was…

He was completely out of ideas.

A fresh start hadn't worked. Talking things out hadn't worked. Not even distracting himself from the problem had worked. So what was he supposed to do now? His list was no help. He'd failed almost every step of his stupid "routine." He thought absently about the next one…

Apply First Aid

He was taking Floyd to a hospital, so maybe that counted as following his routine, but it felt like a stretch. He also couldn't exactly "Apply First Aid" to himself. It wasn't like he was hurt. This wasn't something a bandaid could fix. And the last step… No. He didn't need that yet. But he had to think of something, he was running out of time.

He parked Rhonda near the cliffs, stepping outside for a brief minute to watch the sunrise. But he couldn't relax, his mind reeling too much for him to even sit down. Instead he paced along the soft dirt, hardly focused on the growing light as his brows furrowed in concentration. He needed a plan, but his exhausted mind was so fuzzy, his thoughts jumbled and unorganized. This wasn't going to work. Without a second glance out towards the rising sun, he ducked back inside Rhonda, starting up a pot of boiling water.

He also grabbed a plate on instinct, pausing for a moment as he stared at it. When was the last time he'd had an actual meal? It probably wasn't a great sign that he couldn't remember. But the thought of eating right now made his stomach lurch. He poured himself a mug of hot chocolate, leaving the plate to sit on the counter. He'd eat later. Right now, he had work to do.

He sat down on the floor, leaning up against Rhonda's side as he thought, sipping his hot chocolate slowly. C'mon, ideas, I need ideas… he thought, his eyes staring unfocused at the floor. C'mon John Dory, think, we have to fix this…

But what if he couldn't? What if he was just stuck like this for the rest of his life? Broken beyond repair, just like his Dad?

What would happen when his brothers found out? Would they hate him? He was supposed to be happy for them right now. He was supposed to be better. He and Branch had had this whole conversation about breaking the cycle, of being more honest and not running away. But what was John Dory doing now? The same crap he'd always done. Except this time, he was dragging his brothers down with him. Those Vacationers were right; he was toxic.

Why couldn't he just be happy? Things would be a whole lot easier if he was… His head swirled, feeling completely and utterly stuck.

After a while, John Dory blinked, feeling like he'd just been snapped out of a trance. The hot chocolate was now cold in his hands. How long had he been sitting here? He quickly downed the bitter drink before racing outside, peeking up at the sun. Midday.

He felt his shoulders tense, his heart beating in frustration. He'd just wasted his entire morning sitting there. What the heck was he doing? He had even less time to figure this out now. He walked up in front of Rhonda, starting to ramble to her.

"Ok girl, we've got to figure out this whole issue…" He gestured to himself dramatically, "...right freaking now." He sat down on a log, looking at her attentively. "You got any ideas? C'mon, lay 'em on me."

Rhonda stared at him blankly, a dopey smile on her face. Utterly unhelpful.

"Right, no, perfectly fine. John Dory's got it," he replied with a short, hysterical laugh, climbing back up to his feet. "Totally got it…"

He began to pace, throwing out ideas to Rhonda before immediately shooting them down. Nothing he came up with would work. Go back to therapy? No, that's what caused all this to happen. Find a book about it? No, he needed to fix this now, not in the weeks it would take his stupid brain to read it. Stay out here until it just went away? …Now that one had something to it. But he couldn't do that either. He'd promised his brothers he would stay. He promised he would be there for them. He wasn't about to break that promise, no matter what.

After hours of pacing and muttering, reaching dead end after dead end, John Dory whipped around towards Rhonda, a wild look in his eyes. "I've got it! I'll just paint myself blue, and dye my hair! It's foolproof! No one will ever have to know!" Rhonda rolled her eyes, letting out a huff. "Well, I'd like to see you come up with a better idea," he pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. He peered up at the sun, his jaw tightening. He was out of time. He had to go meet up with Floyd.

It was fine, he could just wing it. John Dory was great at winging it. Maybe he could say he was sick or something. He really had no choice at this point. He promised he would be there for Floyd, so he would be there. No matter what.

He pet Rhonda's face, feeling dread begin to weigh in his stomach as his head drooped with apprehension. "Alright, Rhonda," he said, voice dripping with defeat. "Let's go."