Apply First Aid: Part Five (Epilogue)

John Dory made a beeline through the lobby, eyes locked on the arching exit as his pace quickened with every step. Within moments he was striding across the soft sand of the island, headed towards the tree line. He didn't know where he was going exactly, but he knew he had to get away. It was too much. It was just too much.

He ripped the stifling hat from his head, throwing it to the side as he continued to march towards the trees. It didn't matter if he had it on or not anymore, the island now bathed in the dark of the night. He scanned around the clearing desperately, his eyes flicking frantically across the cooling sand. He needed Rhonda.

He brought his hand up to his lips, using it to let out a shrill, piercing whistle, the sound making his ears ring as it echoed across the night air. It was an emergency call, one he hardly ever used, but he knew if Rhonda heard it, she'd come running.

Finally, he reached the shaded jungle, stumbling up against a palm tree as he tried to breathe, the humid air clinging to his shaking body. His heart was racing, his stomach twisting into knots as he squeezed his eyes tightly closed, dizziness swimming around his head. What was that? What was he doing? He shouldn't be acting like this. He felt completely and utterly out of control, and it scared him.

Stop, just stop! he screamed at himself, trying to take in a few deep breaths, but failing miserably. Please, you have to stop! You're fine! Get it together, John Dory, c'mon!

I can't! his mind seemed to sob back. I can't, I can't, I can't…

"John!"

John Dory felt his ears perk up to the sound of his brother's voice, his footsteps getting closer and closer. No no no, Floyd couldn't be near him right now. Not when he was like this. He thought about taking off, finding somewhere to hide until he stopped freaking out, but it was too late. Floyd was already here.

"John, what is…" Floyd walked around his side, his voice trailing off as he looked at his brother. John Dory closed his eyes, feeling as if he were curling in on himself. This wasn't right, Floyd wasn't supposed to be seeing him like this. He was better than this. Or at least, he thought he was…

"I'm fine, just… Just give me a second. I just need a second," John Dory choked out, his voice heavy.

"What is going on?" Floyd asked, his eyes wide with distress. "This isn't like you."

A breathy laugh escaped his lips, the sound grating against his ears. "Really, Floyd? Because this seems exactly like something I'd do," John Dory replied, grabbing at his hair. "I took what was supposed to be a happy moment for you, and somehow made it all about me." He wanted to stop, but found that he couldn't, the words practically tumbling out of his mouth. "I mean, how selfish can I be, right? This was supposed to be a celebration of you getting a clean bill of health, and I ruined it because I couldn't manage to keep my crap together!" His voice rose to a yell without him meaning it too, flinching at the noise.

Memories flashed through his head of that night, all those years ago. That final performance. Everything had gone so wrong so fast, and before he knew it, he'd destroyed everything. Because he wasn't strong enough to keep it together. And now he was doing the same exact thing. He just couldn't stop messing everything up. He was ruining everything, again, and this time, he didn't even have an excuse. He was just falling apart.

Another wave of dizziness seemed to shoot through him, his arms and legs tingling as his head seemed to sway, spots dancing at the edge of his vision. He bit his cheek, focusing his eyes forward. Don't you dare pass out, he told himself, gripping harder onto the tree bark, his breaths short and strained.

"John? Just breathe for a moment, please," Floyd said shakily, holding up his hands. "Breathe."

Bro, you look stressed. Breathe.

Right, Floyd had said that to him before. When he'd been freaking out about that stupid performance. But he couldn't breathe then, and he couldn't breathe now. He was suffocating.

"I'm fine, Floyd," he replied breathily, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm fine…"

"Stop saying that!" John Dory looked up slowly, his eyes meeting Floyd's desperate gaze. "Please stop saying that! This…" He gestured to John Dory. "This is not fine!"

Floyd was shaking, his hands clenched into tight fists. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pushed so hard about your hand. I was just trying to help, but I didn't think… I didn't realize…" He hugged his arms around himself, looking back up at John Dory. "I didn't know. This is deeper than just some old scar. And it scares me that you don't think you can talk to me about it."

"It's ok, Floyd," John Dory murmured, trying to sound reassuring through his raspy breaths. "I can take care of myself. I always have."

"No, you haven't!" Floyd exclaimed, exasperation filling his voice. "You've never once taken care of yourself, not a day in your life! Not when we were kids, not when you were forcing yourself to stay in Branch's bunker, and certainly not now!" He shook his head, gesturing wildly with his hands. "You're more worried that I might be upset? What about you?"

"What about me, Floyd?" John Dory shot back, but there was no strength behind his words.

"You are not ok," Floyd replied, his lip quivering. "And I know you don't want to talk about it, but I can't pretend like everything's fine anymore. I just can't." His ears drooped, clutching his arms to his chest. "I tried not to push, I tried to give you space, even though I knew something was going on." He looked back at John Dory, eyes wide and pleading. "But now, I need you to tell me what's wrong. I need you to talk to me. Or if you can't talk to me, talk to Bruce, or Branch, or Clay, or someone, anyone! Please…" His voice broke.

Guilt seemed to shoot through John Dory's chest, making it feel even more tight. This was all his fault. If he was a better older brother, this wouldn't be happening. "I'm sorry…." he said softly, his heart aching. He pressed his hand up against his face, which curled into a pained grimace. "Gosh I… I ruined everything." His tired brain kept flicking between the present and his memories of that night; he wasn't even sure which one he was apologizing for.

"You didn't ruin anything!" Floyd replied, tears starting to roll down his face. "I'm just worried!" He took a deep, shaky breath, centering himself before continuing. "Please, John, you're not well. Come home with me? Come back to the resort? We can talk to Bruce, we… We can figure this out. Together, right?"

John Dory watched as Floyd attempted to reach out to him, as if to grab his hand. He immediately recoiled back, panic shooting through his veins like ice.

"Don't!" he gasped, taking a step back. "Just… don't." His voice was breaking, a lump forming in his throat. This was bad. He was already falling apart. If Floyd touched him now, he might break completely.

Floyd had this expression on his face, one of shock, alarm, and desperation. John Dory recognized that look. It was the same one from his dream last night. He stiffened, eyes wide. He'd hurt Floyd. He was falling apart, and he was hurting his brother. A chill crept across his body, and an aching numbness seemed to spread down into his bones. He turned away, guilt and shame burning in his chest. He couldn't be around him anymore. He was just making things worse. Floyd shouldn't have to deal with this, he deserved better than this.

Suddenly, he heard a crashing sound off to his side. He watched as Rhonda burst through the undergrowth, racing towards him. John Dory felt an overwhelming sense of relief at the sight of her. Thank troll she heard him. She slowed as she neared the two trolls, eyes shifting between them, looking confused. She walked up to John Dory, who leaned forward, pressing his forehead against her, his jaw clenched so tight it started to ache. She gave him a questioning churr, nuzzling against his side.

Alright, he thought, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he gently pet her face. Now leave. Leave before you cause any more damage.

"I think I should go," he said in a husky voice, his mouth dry. "Can you get us home, girl?"

Rhonda hummed back at him, with almost a note of concern. He started to move to her side when he felt Floyd grab his jacket, pulling him back.

"Wait, don't!" his brother said, sounding panicked.

John Dory pursed his lips, not looking back at him. "I'm really happy for you, Floyd," he said quietly, his shoulders hunching up. "I am. Go celebrate with Bruce, ok? You deserve it."

"Come back with me," Floyd seemed to beg, his grip tightening on John Dory's jacket. "Please."

John Dory wasn't panicking anymore. The fear had been replaced by that choking numbness, the feeling sending a shiver down his body. He gently grabbed Floyd's hand, removing it from his jacket and letting it fall back to his brother's side. He finally met his brother's gaze. He swallowed, his entire body deflating as he spoke in a low voice.

"I can't."

There it was. His admission of defeat. He'd tried to be better. He'd tried to be happy, like he was supposed to be. And he failed. At every, single, step. In just a few days, he'd managed to completely destroy his perfect life. And it was all his fault.

Not only did he fail himself, he failed his brothers too. He just seemed to keep doing that, didn't he? Well, no more. He'd figure out a way to fix himself alone. He needed to be better, and he refused to keep hurting his brothers in the process.

"Please don't leave, John," Floyd pleaded, his voice trembling. "Not like this."

John Dory tried to give him a reassuring smile, but he was sure it looked much more like a grimace. "I'll be ok, Floyd," he replied, opening the side hatch. "I always am." He tried to ignore the panic that flashed across Floyd's face as he ducked inside, shutting the hatch behind him.

He knew he was running away. He knew that. The guilt sat heavy in his gut as he walked up to the console, watching as Rhonda gave Floyd a soft nuzzle before turning around, sprinting off into the night. This was for the best. As he was right now, Floyd was better off without him.

He stripped off the stifling clothes, tossing them to the side as he pulled on his regular shorts and jacket. He felt like he was getting more dizzy by the second, the constant motion inside Rhonda not helping. He grabbed a blanket, the one he and Branch typically sat on to watch the sunrise, and threw it on the floor, along with an old pillow, before unceremoniously flopping down on top of them, his head spinning.

He stared blankly at his good hand, which looked even grayer than it did before. His color was almost completely gone, but right now, he just didn't care. Floyd was upset with him, Clay was angry at him, Bruce thought he was broken, and Branch… What would Branch say when he saw him like this?

He's a toxic person. People like that always mess up their own lives, then come crawling back to ruin others.

John Dory let out a shaky sigh, burying his head in his pillow. He didn't know what to do anymore. But whatever it was, he needed to keep his brothers out of it.

It was just better this way.

Floyd watched helplessly as Rhonda took off into trees, completely frozen with fear as his heart threatened to beat out of his chest.

As soon as he had seen his brother's hand in that doctor's office, he knew he'd messed up. He hadn't known how bad it was, how deep the scars ran, both physically and mentally. John Dory had downplayed the injury so much that at some point, Floyd must have just started to believe him. Or maybe he had just wanted to believe him. But this wasn't even about John Dory's hand anymore. This was much, much worse.

John Dory had been so supportive of Floyd throughout this entire mess. He was the first one to come find him when he was trapped in that diamond prison. He'd gone to the edges of Troll Kingdom to find their brothers, and bring them back to save him. And even though he wasn't feeling well, he'd gone out of his way to show up, helping Floyd push through his fears and supporting him every step of the way.

Floyd had just wanted to do the same for him. Be that same source of strength that John Dory had been to him these past few months, and for a large chunk of his life. He just wanted to help. He thought maybe, if he could just give his brother the smallest nudge in the right direction and support him along the way, it would be ok. But he was wrong, he was so wrong.

Floyd's gaze drifted down to the darkened sand, his eyes wide and unseeing. Guilt surged through him, so powerful and raw he nearly fell to his knees. What had he done? He knew something was going on with his brother, and this had just sent him over the edge. John Dory's words seemed to echo in his head, causing his body to shake.

Gosh I… I ruined everything.

What was he talking about? It was certainly more than just this stupid appointment. It sounded like a lifetime of guilt and regret, wrapped up into one small sentence.

I'll be ok, Floyd. I always am.

But he wasn't. He hadn't been for a while now. Floyd had started to get suspicious when he'd seen Branch's letter, and even more so when Bruce told him about their fireside conversation. And then today… the weird clothes, the constant deflection, him screaming at the doctor? The way he was practically falling asleep next to him, hand locked so tight around Floyd's that his knuckles were turning white. As if he thought that at any moment, he might lose him. And he looked so pale… When was the last time he'd slept? Eaten? He'd said he was sick, but was that just another deflection? Or did it have to do with his apparent "condition?"

I can't…

Those words… Floyd couldn't even remember a time he heard those words leave his brother's mouth. John Dory was completely stubborn that way, refusing to give up, no matter what. But when he said that… The despair in his voice, the look of utter defeat on his face… It scared Floyd more than anything. He'd never heard his brother sound like that before. He'd never seen his brother look so… broken.

Why hadn't he said something? He knew something was wrong, but he still kept quiet. He didn't want to push it. He thought maybe, if he gave his brother space, that he'd talk to him when he was ready. But John Dory had almost died before admitting something was wrong last time. How could he be so stupid?

Floyd's breath caught in his throat, panic starting to set in. His brother was having a breakdown because of him, and he'd just let him leave. John Dory was scared, and he was panicking, and now, he was all alone.

Floyd shook his head, trying to think through his flurried thoughts. No, his brother couldn't be alone, not now. He couldn't. It would just make things worse. John Dory needed help, even if he refused to admit it. This was too much for him to handle on his own. Floyd looked up, jaw clenched tightly. He'd come to a decision.

Floyd felt himself spin around on his heels, hardly aware of what was going on around him as he sprinted off across the sand, heading straight for Bruce's resort. His lungs strained for air, his fingers and toes growing numb as he forced himself to run faster and faster, fueled by an overwhelming desperation.

Once again, those stupid tears started streaming down his face.

Bruce pulled a platter of cookies out from the oven, letting out a sigh of relief that no smoke came barreling out with them. He'd finished closing up the resort early, and decided to whip up a batch of cookies to celebrate Floyd's clean bill of health. And if, for some reason, it wasn't exactly great news… Well, who didn't like cookies?

He set the platter on the counter, humming to himself as he worked. He was so glad John Dory finally managed to convince their little brother to go to that doctor's appointment. Poor Floyd had been stressing out about it for weeks now, and it was probably a huge relief for him just getting it over with. Besides, Bruce was sure it was going to be good news; there was no doubt in his mind.

There was one thing he was slightly worried about, though. Floyd had told him about his and John's little "agreement;" that Floyd would go to the appointment if John Dory let the doctor look at the scars on his hand. He knew it was a bit of a sore subject for his brother, so he was honestly surprised to hear that John Dory had actually agreed to it. Even if it was done begrudgingly as a means to get Floyd to go, John Dory still accepted his brother's offer to help, which truly showed how much he'd grown since they were kids. It was… nice, seeing his brother trying to do better.

But that was the thing. John Dory was known for pushing himself a bit too hard. Of hiding his true feelings, even from himself. And this was especially true when it came to his brothers. Bruce had a feeling that maybe there was more to the scars on his brother's hand than the secretive troll cared to mention, and if he was forcing himself to do something he wasn't ready for…

Bruce frowned, thinking back to the other night. In Branch's letter, his little brother had mentioned John Dory's strange reaction to looking through an old photo album. He'd asked if there was anything he should know about their childhood, anything bad that might be troubling their oldest brother. And yeah, there was plenty. But what was most disturbing to Bruce was how John Dory almost refused to even acknowledge it. The fact that his brother had referred to those times as "perfect" set off major red flags in Bruce's mind. There was a lot to unpack there, and that was even before John Dory had lived out on the Neverglade Trail by himself for twenty years. Who knows what might have happened to him out there?

Bruce pulled the oven mitts off his hands, letting out a sigh. Maybe he could talk to John Dory about it later tonight. Perhaps a little more… delicately than last time. Bruce peeked to his side at the dark kitchen window. They should be getting back any minute now…

Right on cue, he heard the door to the kitchen swing open, a smile starting to stretch across his face.

"Hey! How'd it go?" he called, untying his apron and pulling it over his hair. He was just about to set it on the counter when he felt a body slam into him, wrapping their arms around his torso. Bruce looked down, startled, to see Floyd burying his face into his chest, his hands gripping tightly onto the back of his shirt. He was crying, his entire body shaking as he gasped with exertion. Bruce immediately shifted into protective mode.

"Woah woah, easy, Floyd, what's…" he started to say, but then he paused, looking around the kitchen. There was a certain troll missing from this picture. The cogs in his mind began to churn. Poor Floyd looked like he'd just run all the way back from the clinic. Had he gotten bad news? But no, no that wasn't right. If something like that had happened, he wouldn't be alone. John Dory would have… Bruce felt his heart drop into his stomach, a sudden feeling of dread washing over him. He looked back down at Floyd, trying to keep his voice level. "Where's John Dory?"

Floyd pushed himself back, sucking a few deep breaths. Bruce gave him a few moments to collect himself, the younger troll struggling to form words. "I don't know, I… I think he's going back to Pop Village," Floyd said finally, his voice shaking and frantic. He met Bruce's eyes, and Bruce could see the panic in them. "It's bad, Bruce," he choked out, a small sob tearing itself from his chest. "It's really bad."

Bruce felt a jolt of panic shoot through him as well. He'd been right, hadn't he? Something had set John Dory off at that appointment, and if this was anything like the classic John Dory breakdown's he'd seen when they were kids…

Bruce tried not to let his fear show on his face. He took a deep breath, squeezing Floyd's shoulders. "Hoo, ok," he breathed, turning to call over his shoulder, his voice cracking ever so slightly. "Brandy?!"

"I heard," Brandy materialized beside him, kissing him on the forehead. "Go." He nodded, a look passing between them before he turned back to his younger brother.

"C'mon Floyd," he said, his heart racing in his chest. "We're going after him."