Chapter Text
When you go over a decade without seeing your family you kind of lose touch on how to talk with them. And John Dory is realizing that as he sits next to Floyds bed in the medical pods of Pop village.
After they arrived Clay made it a top priority to get Floyd checked out, no matter how much he tried to insist he was okay. Which he wasn't, he was very bruised from being shaken around in a bottle, and extremely dehydrated.
They had all taken turns staying with him while an IV dripped, and now it was John Dory's turn.
Floyd is asleep so he knew there was no reason to talk or try and make small talk, but the thought still crosses his mind every so often. Because he could wake up any minute, and John can't really stand sitting in awkward silence.
Just asking how Floyd feels is stupid, and even a little insensitive, because clearly he's not feeling great.
Or he could just ask- “How have the past few years been treating you?” But did he have that right to ask or even know?
He lets out this loud sigh, and stares up at the ceiling, and then a voice startles him.
“Bored?” Floyd says suddenly and John looks to see his eyes open, watching him.
“You’re awake.”
“Have been for a while I think.”
“You should’ve said, I could’ve gotten you something to eat.”
Floyd shakes his head, “I’m not hungry. But thanks.”
The silence inevitably follows and John crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair. “So… how have the last few years been?”
Laying in the med pod's white bed makes Floyd look so pale, and sad. And he says nothing, just stares at the ceiling with a sad, almost angry look. John immediately feels awful, guilty, and he opens his mouth to apologize-
“Can I be honest?” Floyd says in a hushed tone, “I think- I think I need a trusted adult.”
And John knows what that means, it means shut up and listen. “Of course, yeah, I’m here to listen. Or I can go get Bruce, he’s a lot more adult-y now.”
It gets a small smile from Floyd but he shakes his head, “No. You.”
John nods, “I’m listening, no judgment.”
Although Floyd wants to speak he visibly struggles to get his words out, and when he does he avoids John's eyes. “They were bad. The last few years, it’s just been me really. On my own.” His hands move to fiddle with the blankets.
“I– I got into some bad stuff JD.”
John feels his guts twist with anxiety and worry while Floyd explains.
“The whole solo career didn’t really work– well it did, I guess. I almost got a label.”
“Almost?”
Floyd swallows, “Yeah, they liked my stuff- but not me. They wanted to change everything about me. Wanted me to do– things..”
John can immediately guess what that all means, because he had witnessed that side of the music scene. And Floyd glances at him, this look of sorry in his eyes before turning to the ceiling again.
“But, you didn't accept it right?” John asks, but after that glance he has a feeling it's only wishful thinking.
And Floyd goes so quiet, John can hear his own pulse. He’s quiet for a long time and the tightness in the air does nothing to alleviate the anxiety.
“Floyd?”
There’s a shaky breath, then another, and Floyd covers his face with his hands. And John can quickly recognize the tall tale sign of Floyd trying not to cry.
“I did so many stupid things- and I keep thinking if I hadn't I wouldn't have ended up like that. Like this.” Floyd aggressively wipes at his tears while John moves to sit on the end of his bed.
“Hey, no. Don't say that.”
“You don't get it!”
“I do, I've done things I'm not proud of either.”
Floyd sniffs, “What kind of things?”
John feels uneasy, as a silence takes over again and all he can hear are sniffles.
“I'll share if you'll share.” He tries to give a hopeful look.
The face Floyd makes, has John think about all the times before. Back when Floyd was smaller. When he'd refuse to eat greens so John would tell him– “I'll eat one if you eat one.”
And if it worked then it might work now, he hopes.
“I'm not a kid anymore John.” Floyd scoffs, gripping the blanket and twisting the fabric in his left hand.
“I know.” That's all he can really say, he thought if anything, if he ever got the chance to try all of this over again he'd be a lot better. But John isn't.
“...you go first.” Floyd says, much to both their surprise and John immediately straightens up in his seat.
“Well- I.. um.”
He gets a look from his younger brother at his stuttering and he raises a hand a bit defensively. “Give me a minute, you know I suck at talking.”
“It can't be that bad. You were the one always telling us to follow rules and not do anything reckless.”
John knows he's making a guilty face because Floyd blinks at him and fixes him with a slight glare, “Unless, you finally took the chance at being stupid too.”
“Stupid doesn't even cover it, I'm afraid.”
It gets a laugh, and he can't tell if it's Floyd laughing at him or laughing in disbelief.
“In my defense I didn't really get the chance to be a dumb teen.”
“Oh I'm very aware of that John.” With a bit of struggle Floyd moves to sit up, “I won't judge either, promise.”
“Is that so? Because you're giving me a lot of judgmental looks.”
“I promise not to verbally judge. So go on.”
John rolls his eyes, he should once again start getting used to how expressive Floyd can be. But he'll just have to be as vague as he can.
“I guess- I had bad coping mechanisms for… you know, loneliness.”
“Like?”
“I shared, now it's your turn.”
He gets a visible frown and then Floyd just looks him dead in the eyes and blurts out, “I worked in a host club at seventeen.”
“You what!?”
“It's your turn now!”
And John wants to press on but knowing Floyd it won't do much. So they go back and forth for a while. Sharing their past shames? Screw ups? He's not really sure what to call them. But they spill out one by one.
“I was a bit of an alcoholic.”
“So was I.”
“I got into fights.”
“I had a fling in the mountains-”
And there it was, the deep deep dark secretly still smoldering, an inescapable part of himself. It's like he'd been ready to talk about it, to talk about Hickory, because for a very long time John Dory almost convinced himself it hadn't been real at all.
Floyd stops sharing all together and John barely notices, because he gets questions after question, and once he starts he doesn't stop, and for once he's responding to them.
“That's not a fling. Like at all.”
“Well I don't exactly know what else to call it.”
“In my generation we call that a situationship.”
To John that feels like an insult, “Your generation? Yours? Are you calling me old?”
“John, that's kind of bad.” Floyd looks at him with all seriousness, and it feels scrutinizing.
“I know Floyd.”
“Do you miss him?”
He should have expected it to be asked, but it still manages to catch him off guard. And of course John misses him, he doesn't think that will ever stop.
“I- don't think that matters now.”
“So you do.” It's not even a question to confirm, just a fact. Floyd has this frown, in confusion and in understanding all the same. Coincidentally. “Why didn't you go back then?”
“Let's be real here, he wouldn't have wanted that. To see me again after that, he'd hate me. More. If he doesn't already.” Which he probably does-
“Wouldn't that be for him to decide?”
There's a pit in John's stomach at the thought and image of Hickory in front of him. Thoughtful eyes with about a thousand words behind them scanning him, studying him, trying to decide if he's worth anything. And John Dory knows the answer, he's not worth it.
“That- there isn't a point. When he and I would both know the answer.”
There is no combat to his words, just a quiet sigh from his brother and the sound of medical equipment.
“If you ever saw him again what would you do?”
“Die.”
With that Floyd whacked him in the arm and told him to be serious. But boy he is serious.
Because if they ever, in any way, cross paths John Dory's heart might actually stop. But if his heart does stop and he doesn't drop dead, he'd do a lot of things.
He'd let Hickory take a swing at him, and he would hope it lands hard and heavy and it hurts and he bleeds. He would hug Hickory tight if he's even able to get close, because he wants to feel those warm hands again. And he would spill out about a thousand apologies until Hickory is tired of it. John would do all of that, in no specific order.
“I'd tell him I'm sorry.” Is the answer he gives Floyd. Because that's the most important one.
“Do you want to see him again, one day?”
I can only wish– John thinks, but for Hickory's own sake he hopes he never does. “I don't think I will.”
“But-”
“Hey it's your turn to share.” John decides to change topics. “It was your turn a bunch of turns ago. So what was that about a host club?”
His own scrutinizing does its job at getting Floyd to stop with the questions.
•••
It’s five-ish months since that day at the med pod, the holidays are on their way. Floyds feeling better. A lot better.
Branch had been helping Poppy plan for all the parties, she had to go meet the construction team that would help rebuild the community center. Which left Branch to take over the guest list for the gift exchange, which was about a month away. It was a lot of writing names on the little papers, so Floyd volunteered to help him out a bit.
They split the list, which was long even when split between the two of them, and started writing names.
“Remember not to write to ones with the stickers on them, they won’t be able to make it. And please use your nice handwriting.” Branch reminded him.
“Okay. I’ll make sure to write extra nice.” Floyd waved Branch off with a hand, turning to the next page on the list. And it’s a certain name at the top of the list, stickered, that makes him do a double take.
He abruptly stands up, holding the list in his hands. “Oh my god.”
It startles Branch, “What? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Branch, do you know this guy?”
His brother looks at the paper that's been unceremoniously shoved in his face, tilting his head back so he can actually read what Floyd points at.
“Yeah, Poppy and I met him during the whole rock apocalypse thing. Why?”
“Why can't he make it?”
“Uh.. I don't know.”
“But you said you knew the guy!” Floyd practically slams the paper down on the table. “You have to get him to come!”
Branch looks at him, brows furrowed and utterly confused. “Poppy knows him, they're friends. He's an acquaintance to me at best. And why?”
“Because he just has to be here, Branch!”
“Buy why?”
Floyd bites his tongue to stop himself from telling Branch everything, because John had trusted him with his past and he can't just spill it out like that. Yet.
“Branch, just trust me. He has to be at the gift exchange.”
Branch gives him a sceptical look, “… but I can't just make him show up. So I don't know what to do about that.”
“You said Poppy and him are friends can't you ask her?”
“What do I ask exactly?”
“Ask her to convince him!” Floyd puts his hands together in a pleading gesture, “Please- please, please-”
“Okay!” Branch agrees, despite the absolute confusion and a bit of reluctance. “So you know Hickory?” He asks, because why would anyone want a stranger at a party?
“Oh, no.”
“What!? Then why are you so adamant about-”
Floyd shushes him with a finger, “Just wait and see Branch, just wait.” He gives a small grin and moves to pick up the pen and write the name onto the tiny paper, putting it into the envelopes for the draw.
•••
All he had done was make sure that name made it into the exchange envelopes. And Floyd figured fate would do the rest. Before he knew it the holidays were present, he's got an envelope in his hand reading the name of the troll he'll have to give a present too, when John's trying to get his attention.
“Hey Floyd-”
“I'm not telling you who I got.”
“No it's not that– read this.” John shoves the little paper in his direction.
“I can’t read yours, it's against the rules!”
“Floyd.”
And he sighs and takes the paper.
“Hickory.” He reads then squints, because fate is fucking hilarious and he has to hold back a laugh.
“Is this the Hickory? From the mountains Hickory?”
John shrugs nervously, “I don't know any other. It can't be like a common name right?”
“One way to find out.” Floyd says handing him back the paper and gesturing to the multi genre trolls piling into Pop village.
“Look for him.”