Apply First Aid: Part Four (And The Bad News)

Author's Note: This chapter was actually kind of hard to write, and the next one is also going to be… not so great. But we're getting through it!

"Could you pull down your shirt just a bit for me, please?"

John Dory did as he was told, pulling his collar down ever so slightly, turning so the front of his graying body was facing away from Floyd. He directed his eyes up towards the ceiling, jaw tight as Dr. Desiree pressed a stethoscope up against his chest. She listened for a moment before turning back to her notesheet, writing another thing down.

John Dory had decided that he really did not like doctor appointments. They ranked right up there with therapy as a complete waste of his time.

"Heart rate is elevated, as is BP…" Dr. Desiree seemed to mumble to herself, serving only to make John Dory feel even more tense.

"Heh, is that… bad?" he tried to ask casually, annoyed by how small his voice sounded.

"In your case, I imagine it's just from stress," she quipped, grabbing a small tool from the counter. John Dory rolled his eyes, looking over at Floyd with a disbelieving scoff. Floyd just smiled tightly back at him, bringing a hand up to rest against his mouth.

Dr. Desiree leaned in again, pressing what John Dory assumed was a thermometer against his forehead. "Mmm, that's normal, so no fever…" she mused quietly, looking him up and down. He felt his body stiffen under her analytical gaze, trembling ever so slightly. "Are you cold, John Dory?" she asked smoothly, a noticeable edge to her voice.

"No…" he mumbled, barely above a whisper as he absently pulled his hat down a bit lower. That icy feeling was beginning to claw its way back into his chest, so he quickly shook his head, plastering on a cheerful grin. "Look, is all this really necessary? We're just looking at my hand, right? No need to waste your time with all this… other stuff. I'm sure you're very busy."

Dr. Desiree hummed, writing something else down. "Well, I suppose we can skip the formalities for now," she replied hesitantly, looking conflicted. She leaned forward, holding out her hand to John Dory. "Alright then, let's see this injury of yours."

Oh, right, his hand. He actually had to show her his hand now.

He slowly held it out to her, despite every fiber of his being screaming at him not to. She tilted her head, a strained smile stretching across her face. "Preferably without the glove, if you can," she said gently.

"Oh, right, right." He laughed nervously. "Duh." He drew his hand back, beginning to remove the old leather compression glove from it. He felt his jaw tighten, irritation flashing through his mind. He couldn't get it off. His hands were shaking too much, and he couldn't get a good grip. C'mon man, this is ridiculous… he thought, fumbling with the leather strap around his wrist. Just show it to her so we can get this over with.

Suddenly, he felt Floyd by his side, his brother setting a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. He gave Floyd a soft smile before focusing back on his task, finally undoing the strap and slowly removing the glove from his hand. He didn't miss the way his brother's body tensed, the sharp intake of breath that hissed through his teeth.

John Dory was proud of his scars. There were the claw marks on his back from when he'd narrowly escaped a hungry critter who desperately wanted him for breakfast. There were cuts on his shoulders from when he'd been blown off a cliff, falling into the sharp foliage below. He was particularly proud of the ones on his chest, from when he'd fought off three spider critters who'd tried to wrap him up in a little cocoon. Each one told a story, a heroic tale of him being up against all odds and still coming out on top, stronger on the other side.

But his hand… that was a different story. There was no triumph there.

He'd never shown anyone his hand, not even his brothers. Heck, he barely even looked at it himself, just once in a while to make sure it was clean. But he looked down at it now, trying to ignore the way his stomach turned at the sight.

Most of his palm was dark blue, almost black now with his own fading pigment. The skin was unnaturally smooth and stretched tight across it, reaching out past his palm and wrapping around his crooked fingers. Ridges of rough scar tissue lined the outside, snaking around the back of his gnarled hand and into his normal fuzz. His face curled up in disgust as he stared down at it. This scar was a weakness, an imperfection. All of his other scars had healed up just fine, but this one… this one lingered. It ached. And he hated it. It felt like a true reflection of what he really was on the inside: ugly, twisted, and broken…

His chest felt tight. That probably wasn't a good sign.

John Dory sucked in a breath, closing his eyes as memories flashed through his brain. The crushing, suffocating dirt and darkness, the sound of the explosion ringing in his aching ears, the excruciating, burning pain in his hand as he crawled desperately towards a nearby stream… Just stop thinking about it, he commanded, trying to force his brain to listen. But it stubbornly refused.

Suddenly, this seemed like a very, very bad idea.

You going to break your promise? A voice seemed to whisper. Upset Floyd, just like you upset the rest of your brothers?

John Dory bit the side of his cheek, flicking his eyes open. No, he could do this. It was just an old wound. He shouldn't be getting so worked up over an old wound. He'd have the doctor look at it quickly, and then he could leave. No problem. It was fine. He clenched his good hand into a tight fist, then quickly shoved his other hand out towards Dr. Desiree before he could think twice about it.

She leaned down, her face growing incredibly serious as she reached out, delicately taking his hand into her own, much larger ones. Her touch was gentle, but it still sent shivers racing up his arm, and it took everything he had not to jerk his hand back. He just felt so… exposed. Like by just looking at his gnarled hand, she could see everything that was wrong with him, everything he despised about himself. He felt like he was going to be sick.

"This is quite a nasty scar, John Dory," Dr. Desiree said, her voice quiet. "How old did you say this was?"

John Dory tried to think. Time was hard, out on the Neverglade trail. The years just kind of flowed together. He was still pretty young when it happened, so maybe fifteen years? He really wasn't sure.

"Uh, I don't know," he said finally, trying to sound nonchalant. "It was a while ago. I was probably in my early twenties, I think."

Dr. Desiree traced her fingers softly down the scars, her face grim. "And what caused it?"

John Dory cleared his throat, hoping to remove some of the shakiness that had settled into it. "An explosion. Dynamite, specifically." He really didn't want to get into the whole 'being buried alive' thing, so he told the shorter version of the story. "I was trying to escape from a cave-in, and set off a stick of dynamite to clear the way. I put my hand up to block most of the blast, and then boom, heh heh."

He felt Floyd's grip tighten, turning to see a mix of distress and guilt flashing across his brother's face as he stared at his scars. "I didn't know it was that bad," he whispered, his body trembling slightly.

John Dory quickly shifted his full attention to his little brother. "It's not that bad, Floyd, really," he said reassuringly. "It's just a burn. I mean, I'm lucky I didn't lose my hand."

"You're lucky to be alive," Dr. Desiree chimed in, her voice grave. "This is a serious wound. It looks to me like you had heavy second, even third degree burns, not to mention what looks like several broken bones." She let go of his hand, blinking incredulously. "Have you ever seen a doctor for this?"

John Dory quickly drew his hand back, holding it in a way so that Floyd wouldn't have to keep looking at it. "No…" he grumbled quietly, jaw growing tight. He felt like he was a little kid, getting scolded for doing something wrong. "There's a bit of a shortage of doctors out on the Neverglade Trail."

He peeked over at his brother, who seemed to be growing more worked up by the minute. That was the last thing he wanted. He immediately backtracked, giving the pink-haired troll a tight smile. "It wasn't anything I couldn't handle, though. I just stayed by a stream for a while. Let it soak in there, keep it clean, and in a few weeks, it will be just fine."

John Dory couldn't stop the memories that flashed through his head, of the time he spent next to that mountain stream. He'd pretty much been stuck there, too wounded to travel or gather food, or even find a decent place to sleep. He'd lost a lot of his supplies when that cave collapsed, so for a while, he was really stuck out in the middle of nowhere with practically nothing. That was actually when he'd first met Rhonda, the large critter stumbling upon him laying in the rocky stream bed. Honestly, if Rhonda hadn't found him when she did…

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Floyd didn't need to know that, he'd keep that part of the story to himself. Not helpful, brain… he chided, feeling his hand begin to ache. He just couldn't seem to focus today, his mind continuously drifting towards unpleasant memories.

"Well, that explains quite a bit…" Dr. Desiree said, brushing a strand of hair out of her concerned face. "Mind if I look at it again?" John Dory hesitantly let her take his hand once more. She scanned it up and down, her mouth curling into a grimace. "I have a few tests I'd like to run," she said finally, looking back up at John Dory. "They're really quick, and will just give me an idea of what we're working with. Will you be ok with that?"

JD shot a look over to Floyd, who gazed back at him worriedly. He felt guilt begin to settle in his stomach. He really didn't want to be here longer than he had to, but… No, he told Floyd he would do this, so he'd do it right. He didn't want to let his brother down. Besides, Floyd had been through much worse than he had, and he still managed to get through his appointment. It was silly that John Dory was getting so worked up over the same thing. "Yeah, yeah, sure…" he replied, swallowing down the lump forming in his throat. "It's fine."

Dr. Desiree smiled encouragingly. "Alright. First, I just want to check your range of motion. Can you spread your fingers out for me?"

John Dory did as he was told, flexing his hand as much as he could. However, he couldn't exactly straighten his fingers all the way. At a certain point, they just stopped, no matter how hard he strained. He bit back the urge to let out a frustrated growl as he glared at his stubborn hand.

"Ok, good…" Dr. Desiree mused, scribbling something down. "Now squeeze my finger for me."

Once again, John Dory complied, doing his best to squeeze down on her large pinky. He knew his grip was weak, but it seemed to be ok. That is, until his muscles twinged, sending a sharp jolt of pain up his arm. He winced slightly at the sudden pain, but quickly tried to play it off. Hopefully it wasn't that noticeable.

"Alright," Dr. Desiree said, reaching into her desk and pulling out a small, pointed object. John Dory felt his eyes widen at the sight, which did not go unnoticed by Dr. Desiree, who gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry," she assured calmly. "I'm just going to lightly poke your palm in different places, and I just want you to tell me when you feel it, alright?"

"Mhm," John Dory hummed stiffly, eyes still locked on the small tool.

"I'll just have you look towards Floyd for a moment," she said, cupping his hand gently in her own. "You just tell me when you feel something." John Dory did as he was asked, unable to meet Floyd's eyes, staring down at the countertop beneath them.

After a moment, he felt something poke up against his fingertip. "There…" he said tightly, his heart thumping nervously. Hadn't this been just the thing he'd been worried about? Some stranger poking around at his hand?

He felt the pressure again, this time on a different finger, a bit closer to his palm. The touch sent tingles shooting up his arm. "There…" he repeated, trying to keep his voice level.

"Good, good," he heard Dr. Desiree say, but the words offered him no relief.

He waited for the next poke, but it seemed to be taking longer than expected. He waited a few more seconds before looking up at Floyd, confused. His eyes were met with an alarmed look on his brother's face. He turned to see Dr. Desiree poking near the center of his palm, looking at him expectantly. But he couldn't feel anything.

"Can you feel this at all?" she asked, poking a different part of his palm.

"No…" he replied shakily, pulling his hand away from her. His chest was starting to feel even more tight, his ears pinned against the side of his head. He felt like he was failing a test, but a test for what he wasn't sure. But what he was sure of was that he wanted this to be over now. He couldn't take much more of this.

Dr. Desiree leaned back, her face troubled as she scribbled on her note sheet. "Definitely have some nerve damage going on there, as well as a bit of muscle damage." She looked back up at him. "And you said it's been hurting?"

"No, it just, aches sometimes," John Dory mumbled, pulling his glove back on. He couldn't help but feel the slightest sense of relief as he covered up the ugly scars.

Dr. Desiree blinked empathetically, her lips pursed tight. "I can imagine. On top of the tissue damage, it doesn't look like the bones ever healed properly. And considering what a traumatic experience it was, I'm sure there's some psychosomatic pain there as well." She adjusted her glasses, folding her hands over her lap. "Did you suffer any other injuries from the explosion? Concussion? Hearing loss?"

John Dory let out a huff. "Pft, no. If anything, my ears just got more sensitive," he replied, his ears twitching at their mention.

She nodded, as if this made perfect sense. "Hyperacusis. We can see that too."

John Dory turned to Floyd, to see if his brother had any idea what she was talking about. But Floyd seemed to be lost in his own little world, his eyes trained towards the ground and his mouth curled into a grimace, fiddling nervously with his hands. JD felt his heart drop into his stomach.

This wasn't good. He knew this was a bad idea. Instead of Floyd being happy about his own clean bill of health, now he was stuck worrying about John Dory's stupid hand. He was ruining this for his brother.

Right, it was decided. This appointment needed to be over, now. He turned around, about to make up some excuse so they could leave when Dr. Desiree spoke up again, beating him to the punch.

"Well, John Dory, this is…" She paused, as if she was thinking about how she wanted to proceed. "This is a lot," she said finally, taking off her glasses and looking him in the eyes. "If you want my honest opinion, I think we need to run more tests."

John Dory felt his entire body go tense. "What…?" he exclaimed softly, feeling his hair begin to bristle. No no no, he didn't need more tests. He just needed to leave. He needed to get Floyd out of here.

"This is a serious wound," Dr. Desiree continued, her gaze heavy with concern. "And if it's still bothering you, I'd like to see if we can help change that." She turned back to her notes, jotting a few things down. "For starters, I'd like to get you a new compression glove, and start you on some physical therapy. See if we can help with that muscle damage."

Was he damaged? It wasn't that bad…

"Then, I'd like to get a few x-rays," she continued. "It'd be nice to see what's going on underneath all that damaged tissue."

There's that word again; it wasn't that big a deal…

"There's even a possibility we may be able to go in and fix things with surgery."

Surgery?!

John Dory felt as if he'd been slapped, his breath catching in his throat. The word seemed to rip through his chest, leaving it open and gaping. He took a slow step back, unable to breathe as he let the doctor's words sink in. He wanted to laugh out loud at the absurdity of it. What was she talking about? He didn't need surgery. It was an old wound, and it had healed. It was fine, and he was fine.

Dr. Desiree continued to write on her notesheet, seemingly unaware of John Dory's plight. "Of course, it'd probably be best to wait on the surgery, considering your current… condition. We can just start with the compression glove and physical therapy for now, and see where things go from there."

John Dory felt frozen in place, unable to move as panic seemed to surge through his veins. His hand ached even more, like it was taunting him.

"Wait, wait…" John Dory heard Floyd speak up for the first time since they'd started this whole mess. He flicked his eyes to the side, seeing an alarmed look on his brother's face he stared up at Dr. Desiree with wide eyes. "Condition? What condition?"

Dr. Desiree blinked, as if she were surprised by the question. "Well, yes," she replied, sounding confused. "His gr–"

"Hold on!" John Dory finally found his voice, breathing heavily as he glared up at Dr. Desiree. "I do not need surgery," he said, his voice low.

She was quiet for a moment, her face unreadable. "It's just an option to consider," she explained hesitantly.

"Why are we even considering it?" John Dory replied, a hysterical laugh escaping his lips. "I don't need surgery! It's just a stupid scar!"

Dr. Desiree's gaze became more serious. "John Dory, your hand–"

"Is fine!" he finished for her, his hands clenched so tight he could feel them tingling. "It's fine, it's always been fine, and it will continue to be fine! It's not a big deal!"

"John…" Floyd said softly from his side, his brother's fingers brushing against his arm. "She's just trying to help."

"Well I don't need her help!" John Dory yelled back, his heart practically beating out of his chest. It pounded in his ears, much too loud. He brought his hand up, clutching onto his shirt as if it might help him breathe. What was wrong with him? Why was he acting like this? This wasn't right… But he couldn't think, his mind was too tired, dizzy from so many thoughts and memories and fear… It was too much.

"John Dory…" He heard Dr. Desiree say gently, and he whipped his gaze up towards her, his mouth curled into a snarl.

"There's nothing wrong with me!" The words practically ripped themselves from his throat, his voice raw and breaking.

He didn't know if he was trying to convince her, or himself.

The silence that followed was deafening.

John Dory quickly drew himself back, shame and guilt and anger welling up so forcefully inside his chest that he could barely breathe. He took another staggering step back, training his gaze at the ground so he couldn't see the look of shock on Floyd's face. Now he'd really messed up.

"I… I'm sorry," he choked out, reaching up to grab at his hair, but grabbing at his hat instead. "I'm sorry, I… I think I'm going to leave now." He was shaking as he spun around, forcing himself to move. "Thank you for your time." He leapt down from the counter, walking as fast as he could towards the exit.

"Wait, John!" He heard Floyd call, but he didn't turn around, pushing his way out the door. He couldn't stay here. He had to get away.

He was falling apart.

Apply First Aid: Failed

This is it. This is what finally kills me.

John Dory lay across thousands of tiny, jagged rocks, their sharp edges digging into his cheek. He stared absently out at his hand, hanging limply in the mountain water. It was numb now, so that was good. No more burning, no more pain. But he was starting to get cold again, and night was falling fast.

He closed his eyes, hunger gnawing at his stomach. He was so hungry… But every time he left the stream, his hand would start to burn, becoming too painful for him to even think, let alone find food. So he stayed there, shivering, half delusional from lack of sleep.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the reality of his situation really began to set in. It was going to be too cold tonight. He needed a fire, or at the very least a shelter. But his hand, his stupid hand…

He closed his eyes, his teeth chattering. At least I'll get to see my brothers again… he thought absently as he curled in on himself, his mind growing more and more fuzzy. I wonder if they'll be happy to see me…

Suddenly, he heard something. The sound of something big, walking across the rocks. He could hear the critter's heavy breath, feel the vibration of its steps as it grew closer.

Oh, cool, I'm not going to freeze to death, John Dory thought. This thing is going to eat me.

He listened as the creature walked closer and closer, before finally, it was standing directly over him, sniffing at him curiously, its breath providing him with the smallest semblance of warmth.

He let out a groan, turning towards the large critter. Large, green eyes stared back at him out of the darkness, blinking. He felt a smile stretch across his face. Y'know, the thing was actually kind of cute. If he was going to get eaten by some giant critter, at least it was a cute one.

He chuckled deliriously, letting his head fall back down onto the rocks. "Just make it quick, alright?" he said, his voice cracking from non-use. "I hear we taste delicious."

He waited for the critter to leap on him, to tear him to shreds, but it never happened. Instead, he heard the rocks shift a bit, and then the creature lay down beside him, hard scales pressing into his side.

John Dory was confused. What was it doing? Was it waiting for something? He blinked slowly, feeling warmth leaching from the creature's large body and into his own. Maybe it was just resting for a moment before it ate its dinner. But that was ok. It was warm. And John Dory wasn't shivering anymore.

Just then, a low rumble started to emanate from it, deep and tremulous. It was almost… calming. John Dory could feel his eyes beginning to shut, his weakened body being lulled into a deep sleep. Maybe he would just stay here for now. Surely the critter would eat him in the morning.

But she didn't.

She continued to come back to him, bringing him berries, keeping him warm. And every night, she would snuggle up next to him, helping him to sleep. It was weird, but John Dory wasn't complaining. He didn't really want to be eaten, and it was nice to have someone to talk to after all this time.

He thought he'd call her "Rhonda."