Chapter Text
Getting old sucked.
Not just the back pain or the arthritis in his hands. Not his increasingly lacking endurance he had whilst singing and dancing. Not even the fact that he was rather out of shape now compared to what he used to be. All that didn't even compare.
The worst part of it all was getting left behind.
You begin to become more of a nuisance than anything else as you get older and it's the worst when it noticeably happens more and more often. It usually begins with something small that can be brushed off easily but before long it becomes difficult to simply ignore.
With John Dory, everything had started slow, with something he's done a million times.
Not being able to perform the choreography Branch crafted for a performance had thrown him off guard. He's never had such problems before so when he found he wasn't able to keep up, it kind of bruised his ego. Doing a backflip, a handstand, and a kick slide wasn't good for any of his joints nor his back so John had been forced to follow the backup choreo instead.
John of course never blames Branch for his shortcomings. After all, it’s Branch’s band and he's allowed to craft any choreography he so pleases without worrying about John Dory's limits. In fact, he was proud of his brother for branching out (haha) and getting fancy with his performances. It’s exactly what he would've done back in his Brozone days.
Nevertheless, John began avoiding performances subtly that he knew contained extreme dance moves. He'd always show up, always, but any invitation to get up and perform with them was turned down, making up some lame excuse along the way. Branch never said anything so he figured it didn't matter if he sat out a performance or two. If it could help salvage his confidence, then it was worth it.
But things only got worse from there.
It was common for John Dory to go out and visit Bruce since his younger brother wasn't always able to make the trip out to see them all. They understood and made accommodations for him living on his tropical island home. Often when John visited his brother, he liked to help out around the restaurant and Bruce always appreciated it. As of late though, running around all over taking orders and delivering food really flared up his arthritis. It wasn't severe at first but after a few hours of hard work he was sore all over and it made his joints feel like they were on fire. Even his compression glove didn't do very much to help.
It unfortunately typically forced him to cut his visits with Bruce short because he just couldn't bear the look on his face had he told him the truth. JD can't have already outlived his usefulness. His brothers wouldn't throw him out over nothing…unless given the opportunity he thinks. If Bruce found out he wasn't helpful in the restaurant anymore, he'd surely opt at the chance to stop inviting him around.
Now, Clay, Clay was easy. All they usually did together was read, or at least try to. John was awful at reading especially without his reading glasses but at least that didn't require anything physical.
Unfortunately for him, Clay recently got back into dancing after dealing with a lot of poor memories surrounding it. That was on him so it made him happy to see his brother dancing again.
His younger brother had insisted after the success of him joining his sad book club, that he join in on his dancing hobby as well. JD had been touched when he’d been invited, taking it as a positive sign that Clay didn't hate him so much anymore. Though he knew what kinds of dances Clay liked to partake in and worry crept in quickly.
Don't get it wrong, John Dory was an excellent dancer but Clay was in much better shape than his oldest brother. Clay had always been the better dancer of the two of them but he had the unfair advantage now of being younger and more flexible. His younger brother often performed moves such as the well-oiled robot, the worm, and various other moves that were both very physically demanding and required more finesse than John Dory’s older body could handle.
John could do most of the moves decently, but his performance was lacking compared to what it once was and that hurt more than anything else. While Clay had improved over the years, he’d only declined.
He supposed he just had to practice more. Obviously he wasn't trying hard enough.
Now, Floyd was the easiest to keep up with by far, but was also the most painful to be around. John Dory loved his brother to death but being around him felt like his heart was being torn out of his chest. It wasn't intentional, but he had started to compare himself to his brother. To even begin to go down that road felt incredibly selfish and narcissistic and he was mad at himself for even thinking it.
How could he dare compare himself to Floyd, who was still having such a hard time recovering after the events at Mount Rageous?
The pink-haired troll was simply tired all the time and often had headaches due to having been drained so heavily. Despite that fact, he was improving steadily and would likely make a full recovery. JD was incredibly thankful that Floyd would be okay as he often worried over him but at the same time, it burned jealousy deep within his gut. It was upsetting to see his brother struggle unlike his usual self and obviously he wants him to be all better, right?
However…he didn't.
John was actually grateful that Floyd was slow, tired, and struggling…
Just like him.
It was gross, it was wrong and John knew it. He shouldn't be happy his brother was struggling so much and he shouldn't be upset that he’d get better until he was leaping bounds ahead of him. Floyd would get better and things would be right again for him.
However, there wasn't anything wrong with John Dory. He was just…old.
John hung around Floyd quite often during his recovery, as it was very important to him to see that his second youngest brother was okay. It was very difficult for John though after a while with his thoughts and guilt plaguing his every thought. Eventually, he pushed off the responsibility more and more until Floyd became suspicious and asked him about it. He'd said it was just because he was getting better enough to not need him as much. Hesitantly, Floyd had accepted it but John felt his eyes on him every time he visited now. It unnerved him because he always feared one day he'd grow enough nerve to ask about it.
When he wasn't feeling incredibly guilty about being jealous of Floyd's recovery, he felt ashamed for enjoying Floyd’s hair. His hair, odd thing to feel guilty about, sure. However, the only thing he felt guilty about was his white roots.
The white roots, which he'd gotten from Velvet and Veneer viciously sucking the life out of him, were a harsh reminder of what had happened. John Dory was well aware that Floyd hated them just by the look of distaste on his brother's face when he looked in the mirror. Though he’d never said it aloud, he could tell he despised them.
John Dory on the other hand, loved them. Not what they represented, but rather what they looked like.
The harsh white against the bright pink was extremely similar to his own hair and that was what had drawn him to it. It wasn't the same by far, of course. Grays creeping up his sideburns like a disgusting poison was not the same as the bleached roots Floyd got from pure torture. That didn't stop him from appreciating their resemblances and feeling less alone in Floyds presence.
The gray color reminded him of his age and just how close he was to becoming ‘out of date.’ Amongst his younger brothers with their bright, youthful hair made him feel washed out and self conscious of his ever-dulling hair. John, similarly to Floyd, hated the washed out colors that blended in with their gorgeous ones.
It tainted the look and was ugly.
He felt ugly.
And if Floyd hated the whites in his own hair, then why would John Dory's be any different?
Even Poppy, who was always so kind to everyone, always smiling, forever positive; she was actually a big factor in John’s conclusion that he was just…irrelevant.
The second they'd met, the first thing she’d told him was that he was ‘the old one.’ Not the leader, too smug to be the heartthrob, not the fun one(too uptight for that, ouch), and too insensitive to be the sensitive one.
He was old and that was all that mattered. His defining characteristic. That was all she could see.
If Poppy took one look at him and made that conclusion, then surely everyone else must be thinking the same thing.
Did he have to be the same as he always did though?
Maybe it wasn't so bad. John Dory figured his brothers were far too old to really need him anymore anyways. He’d say his job was done but he’d been MIA for 20 years so in reality he's just a slacker taking credit for things he shouldn't.
After a while he decided he would just have to suck it up and deal with the inevitable change of being left behind.
Stretch more til his muscles ache, dye his roots before they get out of hand, start working out more, and likely practice his backflips. He was willing to pretend that he was still in the loop with everyone else.
John feared when pretending wouldn't be enough.
One day it wouldn't matter how much he pretended. He’d eventually become obsolete no matter what and he just had to accept it.
His back would give out for good, his arthritis would flare up especially bad and never be normal again. He’d wake up one day and his hair would be greyer than he could fix again. His clothes would stop fitting and he'd have to replace them with new ones that just didn't feel right. His brothers would move on without him.
It made John physically sick to think about.
Until then though, he'd just try to push off the inevitable for as long as he can.
It occurred to him that he could just tell his brothers of his issues but his pride refused to let him. More than once he's approached one of them only to ultimately chicken out in the end. It never felt like the right time though he knew in his mind there was never going to be a right time to bring it up.
A part of him knew his brothers likely wouldn't cast him out over something as trivial as that but regardless, he just couldn't bring himself to spit it out.
He’d just have to settle for practicing the more complicated choreo so he could participate longer. He'd have to stretch and pace himself at Bruce’s restaurant so he could help him longer. He was willing to stay up late and practice Clay's dance moves until they were perfect, just for him. He’d dye his roots and his sideburns the right color, praying to someone he never sees the horrid gray color again. He'd get over his jealousy over Floyd.
He’d pretend he was just the same as he always was. Even if he wasn't.
Because yes, he had to be.