Floyd was tired. He wasn't necessarily sleepy, he was just emotionally drained. He wanted to sleep just to get away from the constant ache that came with being awake. He just wanted everything to stop. He wanted to stop feeling scared. He wanted to stop running. He wanted to trust again.
But he couldn't, because those things took effort and energy, and Floyd was just so tired.
He curled up in the bottle. He'd woken up a fair bit ago, but he hadn't moved since awareness came back to him. He'd just stayed on the ground in the exact same position, staring blankly at the wall ahead without really seeing it.
He'd found all of his brothers again. They all still cared at least enough to pretend to care. He should be happy. He should be taking this chance to get to know them again. He should be letting them get to know him. This was an opportunity he had never thought he would get, and he shouldn't throw it away.
Their relationship was still fragile. One wrong move or word said in the wrong tone could ruin everything and tear them all apart again. He should be taking advantage of this chance, but instead he was squandering it.
Clay just wanted to be taken seriously. He wanted to be respected, and Floyd couldn't even trust him. Bruce had a family now, and he probably wanted to introduce them to his brothers, but Floyd was scared to even look at any creature larger than he was, and he was far too tired to try to figure out how to be brave.
He was letting his brothers down, because he just didn't know how to be better, and he knew that if he tried he would somehow mess it up again and hurt them even more than he already had.
There was a light tapping on the diamond. It wasn't a threatening sound, but Floyd grew tense anyway and let out a weak whimper. His brothers had stayed back because they thought he was asleep, but the show was over now.
"Floyd?" Bruce's voice was calm and gentle. It was the way that people spoke to small children or a frightened animal. It was a tone that barely bordered on patronizing. Floyd wasn't insulted though. For twenty years he'd just wanted his brothers to be nice and gentle with him and each other. So what if it was probably forced and a little fake? It was better than shouting and angry accusations.
"Floyd." He said it softer this time. He sounded sad, and Floyd stiffened and wrapped his arms around himself. This was his fault. He was making his brother sad. He wasn't trying to, but this was all he seemed to be able to do.
"Come on, Bro, talk to me." Bruce said almost desperately. Floyd blinked back tears. He was just making things worse. "Tell me what's wrong." As much as he wanted to continue pretending to be asleep, he couldn't. Bruce was reaching out. He was trying. The least he deserved was an answer. And he wasn't in any state to tell anything but the truth.
"Me." Floyd said plainly. His voice was emotionless.
"You?" Bruce just sounded confused. "You what?"
"You want to know what's wrong." Floyd said. He curled up into a fetal position. "Me. I'm wrong."
Bruce took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt on this. What do you think you're wrong about?"
Floyd shook his head. "I'm not wrong about anything. I'm just wrong. About everything." Tears were filling his eyes again. He was crying, and Floyd hated it. Couldn't he do anything else? He growled at himself in frustration and tried to clutch at his hair, but his fingers wouldn't curl. They tingled and stung, and wouldn't do what he wanted them to do.
They were stupid, and useless, and the world would be better off if these things didn't exist at all.
Floyd growled in frustration and raw pain that he needed to get out. His chest felt so heavy that it felt like it was tearing him apart. He couldn't breathe. The cold weight inside of him was too much. He couldn't cry to release those feelings, because he was so sick of his tears. He couldn't scream, because Bruce deserved better than to be screamed at when he'd done nothing wrong. He couldn't pull his hair because of his stupid hands. But he had to let it out somehow.
He brought his hand to his mouth and bit his palm. It started as just a little nibble, and then he went harder because it wasn't quite enough, but it was something.
His hand shook as he applied more pressure. He felt the ghost of pain lace through his fingertips, but his hand mostly just remained numb. He bit harder, choking on a growl and a sob as he did so. His ears were ringing but he didn't know if it was his own head buzzing or if there was real sound that he just wasn't processing. All he could focus on was trying to get this heaviness in his chest out.
Floyd gasped as his hand was yanked away from his mouth so suddenly that he grazed the skin. He didn't feel the cut on his hand, but he could taste the iron in his mouth and see the slight blood. He breathed harshly and his fingers shook. He stared numbly at the thin strands of purple hair wrapped around his wrist, holding it taught. He stared at it in confusion for a long minute before his gaze followed the strands to the keyhole.
Bruce was on the other side of the diamond, leaning against it. His head was bowed, but Floyd thought he saw some tears running down his cheeks. His shoulders were shaking. Bruce's hands pressed against the glass, and they were shaking as much as Floyd's was.
"Please, stop." Bruce said desperately. He was crying. Floyd could hear his words, but he had a hard time understanding what the words meant. He just knew his brother was upset, and he sounded like he'd been talking for a while. Floyd felt like he was supposed to be paying attention to him, but he couldn't focus on anything. His attention was solely on the hair wrapped around his wrist.
The hair was at the point that bordered on where his hand was numb. He could feel the pressure, and it was a ticklish sensation, but it didn't feel quite like a hair grip He wished it did. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he had felt the touch of someone else's hair. This was a restricting grip, but it was also comforting. He wanted to appreciate it in its entirety, but it was still better than nothing.
Floyd didn't know how long he sat there just looking at the hair around his wrist, entranced by it. Eventually the hair started to loosen and Floyd panicked.
"No!" He reached his other hand out and put it on the hair. He couldn't grab it to keep it in place, and if Bruce really wanted to pull away he could, but he didn't. Bruce's hair remained.
"Hey, hey, it's okay." Bruce said. "I'll stay." He extended his hair so it was loosely wrapped around more of Floyd's hand and part of his arm. He liked seeing it over his hand, even if he could barely feel it. What he loved though was that he could actually feel the hair the way he was supposed to on his arm. The sensation brought tears to his eyes again, but they weren't sad or overwhelmed tears. He wasn't really feeling happy either. He didn't know how he was feeling.
"Do you think you can talk now?" Bruce asked when Floyd had calmed down. "It's okay if you're not, but-"
"M'fine." Floyd blinked slowly. He forced himself to look away from Bruce's hair and look his brother in the eyes. Bruce smiled at him, but he still looked so sad. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize." Bruce insisted. "You scared me, little bro."
Floyd's shoulders hunched up, almost to his ears, which were drooping more than usual. "Sorry." He said again, because what else was he supposed to say?
Bruce took a deep breath. "Why…why would you say you're wrong like it's just an inherent thing?"
Floyd's fingers twitched and his heart thudded in his chest. "Because it is." He was bad, and imperfect, and so incredibly flawed that it hurt. He was a coward who didn't know how to trust his brothers because they left him, even though he had done the exact same thing.
"There's nothing wrong with you." Bruce said like he was just stating a fact. When they were younger Floyd would have taken his word for it, but they weren't little kids anymore. And how could Bruce speak so confidently about something he knew nothing about?
"Everything's wrong with me." Floyd said. He needed his brother to understand this. Maybe Bruce would know how he could fix himself. Or he could lower his expectations a bit. "I'm too sensitive-"
"You're empathetic." Bruce said.
"I'm scared of everything." Floyd plowed on. Even Bruce had to understand that it was stupid of Floyd to be scared of his niece and nephews.
"You probably have a good reason to be." Bruce said in a frustratingly reasonable way. "Trauma is not a character flaw."
"I couldn't keep our family together." Floyd said. "Not back then, and I can't even do it now." He ran away instead.
"That was never your job." Bruce said. "We all have to put in the effort. I mean, you wouldn't expect any of the rest of us to be solely responsible for it."
"But it was my job." Floyd said. "I-I should have been able to stop your fighting, and I didn't. I-I wasn't good enough." He was never good enough.
Bruce's grip tightened on his hand. "You were always good enough. We…I was the one who let you down." Bruce sighed. "I'm your big brother. I was supposed to take care of you, and protect you, but I kinda failed there, didn't I?" Bruce let out a self-deprecating laugh that Floyd hated hearing from him. "I was so busy thinking about myself. All I cared about was what I was going through, and how much I hated the pressure that John Dory was putting on me. I never thought about what all of us were doing to you."
Floyd's chest tightened painfully at the words and he felt like he couldn't breathe. "I-it's not your fault."
"It's not yours either." Bruce said. "You're good enough."
"But I'm not." Floyd looked at the diamond around him. "If I was, I wouldn't be here."
Bruce gave him a sad look. "Clay said you were beating yourself up because you weren't perfect."
"Because I'm not." Floyd said. How did his brothers not get it? "And I can't be. I can't."
Bruce was quiet for a moment before a determined look came to his mind. "Can I show you something?" Floyd nodded. Bruce straightened and wrapped his hair around the diamond, though he still kept the strand wrapped around Floyd's hand. He lifted the diamond and carried it out of the room. They went down the hall. Floyd was a little nervous about seeing the Vacaytioners and other large creatures, but they didn't go into the main area. Bruce went into another back room that looked like an office or something.
Bruce let go of the diamond and went to get a large scrapbook. It looked too big for trolls, but not too much. It was a little awkward for Bruce to manage, but he still carried it okay. He brought it back to the diamond and sat on the ground near it.
"Some of my kids like drawing." Bruce said. He opened the book and adjusted it for Floyd to see. "They draw me all kinds of pictures. I try to keep them in the place of honor on the fridge at home, but there's only so much space there, and thirteen kids make a lot of drawings, so when we need more room I'll take some pictures down and put them in a scrapbook to be preserved."
Floyd leaned closer to the drawing to get a better look. It was clear that a child had drawn it, and Floyd couldn't tell what it was supposed to be a drawing of, but he still loved it. "That's so sweet."
"I don't have it in me to throw their drawings out." Bruce said. He turned the page. "I'm terrified of discouraging them, so I'm going to keep their pictures as long as they want me to."
Floyd smiled slightly, but Bruce's words made him a little sad too. Had Bruce really been so torn down by John Dory?
"I love my kids, and I love all of their drawings, because they made them and they're always so proud of them." Bruce said. "But half the time I can never tell what I'm supposed to be looking at." Bruce looked at the current page, tilting his head at it. "Rainy drew this a few years ago. I don't know if it's supposed to be a butterfly or an alien, or a self-portrait." He laughed. "Rainy looked at this drawing a while ago, and even he doesn't know what it's supposed to be."
Floyd couldn't help but laugh at that. Bruce smiled and turned the page.
"Their drawings aren't perfect." Bruce said. "I know they're not, and that's fine. It doesn't have to be. My kids like drawing. It makes them happy. That's all I can ask from them. They don't need to be master artists. They don't need to be perfect. They just need to be themselves." He turned and looked at Floyd. "That's the case for my kids, and it's the case for you."
"B-but," Floyd started, but Bruce didn't let him get far.
"No." Bruce said. "You're my brother. I love you. That's all I need from you. You're more than good enough."
The sentiment was nice, but Floyd knew he wasn't right. But for just a few seconds he wanted to pretend that he was.
"But what if I wasn't?" Floyd asked. "If I wasn't good enough."
Bruce shook his head and tightened his hair around Floyd's hair. "Doesn't matter. Nothing would change. You'd still be my little bro. I'd still love you. I don't think there's anything you can do, or fail to do, that can make that change."
Floyd whined and brought his hand to his face so he could really feel Bruce's hair. It was weird and he half expected his brother to pull his hair away, but he stayed where he was. He let Floyd take the comfort that he needed, and he appreciated it.
"I missed you." Floyd said. "I-I was so scared you wouldn't want me anymore."
"Never." "Bruce said. "Who wouldn't want you?"
Floyd didn't know how to answer that. His brothers always talked about him like he was the type of troll that anybody would be lucky to know, but in the last twenty years nobody really stuck around.
Or maybe Floyd was the one who didn't stay.
"You didn't want me at your wedding." Floyd muttered without really meaning to. He didn't want to talk about that.
Bruce looked at him with wide eyes and Floyd felt sick with guilt for bringing it up. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Bruce spoke before he could find his words. "What are you talking about? Of course I wanted you there."
"B-but I wasn't invited." Floyd looked at Bruce in confusion. His brother looked as confused as he was.
"What do you mean you weren't invited?" Bruce asked. "I sent an invitation to Grandma. Didn't she tell you and Branch?"
Floyd blinked slowly. There were a few things wrong with that. Floyd didn't know when Grandma died, or how long Bruce had been married, but it was possible that she was gone before that time, which meant the invitation would have never arrived at all. Beyond that, Floyd didn't understand why Bruce thought he would have gotten her invitation.
"I wasn't with Grandma." Floyd said. "I left."
Bruce looked confused for a long moment before horror slowly grew in his eyes. Floyd shifted uncomfortably. "You left. When'd you leave?"
"When you left." Floyd said. Bruce looked shocked and slightly ill. Floyd started to feel like he had done something wrong.
"You were ten." Bruce said with a shaky voice. Floyd frowned.
"You were fifteen." Floyd said. They were all really young. Floyd didn't see how his situation was that much different than Bruce's. Fifteen was still a child.
Bruce groaned and brought his hands to his face. He shook his head and made a sound that almost sounded like a sob, but why would he be crying. It wasn't that bad, was it?
"Please tell me you at least stayed with a friend for a bit." Bruce said without taking his hands from his face. "Please tell me you weren't alone. That you were safe."
"I was fine." Floyd said. Why was Bruce getting worried about something that had happened twenty years ago? Obviously Floyd was fine. "I-I wasn't always alone." He occasionally stayed at camps or villages where other trolls were and interacted with them, though he usually kept his distance even then.
"Oh, Loy-loy." Bruce sounded like he was about to start crying. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"But I'm fine." Floyd said.
"But you very easily couldn't have been." Bruce said. "If I had known you were going to leave too I would have brought you with me. I-I would have sent you your own invitation. Please believe me, I would have loved for you to come to my wedding."
"I would have come." Floyd said. In the last twenty years he hadn't had anything that tied him to one place. He had always subconsciously made himself available to drop everything at the first sign that his brothers wanted him around.
"I know you would have." Bruce gave a very small laugh. "You probably would have volunteered to help plan it." Because as a little kid one of Floyd's favorite games was wedding. He would force his brothers to play the parts of the people getting married. He'd get them dressed up, and decorate the whole pod, and come up with an extravagant menu of pretend food. Floyd didn't really like going to parties, but weddings had always been the exception.
Floyd snorted. "I would be the worst bridezilla who isn't even the one getting married." Bruce laughed and Floyd did as well.
"What about you?" Bruce asked with a smile. "Any special someone?"
"N-not really." Floyd's smile fell. "I've had some interest, but I didn't pursue anything. I-I was too scared." Of being abandoned. Of disappointing his partner. Of being disappointed. He'd had a family, and while he thought it was better to have and to have lost than to have never had at all, he didn't want to go through the pain of losing someone again. He wasn't strong enough to do more.
Bruce's smile softened. "Do you want someone?"
"I don't know." Floyd said honestly. "I-I don't want to be lonely, but I don't want to be hurt either." Bruce just looked at him, and Floyd felt strangely exposed. He felt like Bruce was seeing something that he didn't even know was there. "What?"
"And you say we didn't mess you up." Bruce shook his head. "Have you had anybody these past twenty years? Any friends?"
Floyd grimaced. "Not really." Bruce groaned. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize." Bruce said. He gave Floyd a stern look. "We need to get you out of that bottle. You need a hug, and I'm not going to feel better until I can give it to you."
Floyd gave him a shaky smile. "I'd love a hug." He couldn't remember the last time he had one. Bruce tightened his grip with his hair. It was just a little too tight, and it was the greatest thing that Floyd had ever felt.
"We're going to get you out." Bruce said. "And you're going to be okay. Okay?"
Floyd wanted to agree, but he couldn't. He couldn't lie like that. "I don't know how."
Bruce gave him a sad look that looked so much like how Clay had been looking at him lately. "Can you at least let me try to help you figure it out?"
It wasn't a promise that Bruce would make everything better. It wasn't an empty reassurance. It was just a brother offering his help, and that felt so much more real than the firm promises that were too much and too easy to break.
Floyd nodded and leaned against the bottle. "You can try, if you want."
"I do." Bruce said. "I really do." He cleared his throat and turned the page to show off another series of drawings. Floyd admired all of them. They weren't great drawings, but Bruce had stories about all of them and the kids that drew them, and the more he heard the more Floyd loved them. He wondered if Bruce was right. If there could be perfection in something so flawed.
And if it could be true for Bruce's kids, could it be true for him? He didn't really know, but it was a nice thought.