Floyd's head hurt, but that was nothing compared to the ache in his heart.
He'd found Clay. After far too long he had seen his older brother again, and Floyd couldn't have been happier or more excited. And Clay was happy. Happier than he'd been when they were kids. He'd found trolls that he felt accepted by, and Floyd was happy for him. He really was. But…but…
But he hurt so much.
Clay didn't want him. He had a new family, and that was fine. Floyd had expected all of his brothers to make new lives for themselves. It was what he had wanted for them. But he had hoped that there could be a place for him too.
Branch had a family in Poppy. He was doing well for himself. He'd really grown up, but he still wanted Floyd around. He didn't know who he was, but Floyd could tell that Branch was sincere. Even though for all he knew Floyd was just a stranger, he still cared about him. He wanted to help him.
Floyd had hoped to at least have that with Clay, if not more, but he couldn't even get that. Clay refused to leave his family, even just temporarily for a visit, and that made Floyd feel like his heart was breaking, because where was that loyalty when they were younger?
Clay had walked away from them. He'd left, and he had probably never thought about coming back. And yet he claimed that he would never abandon his family. Not that he wouldn't ever do it again, but that he would have never done it in the first place.
Floyd had never hated his brothers for leaving. He'd done the same thing. He had needed time and space to figure himself out before he thought he could be a good brother. He had thought his older brothers had been doing the same, but it was clear now that Clay, at the very least, hadn't. He hadn't left because he was understandably upset with their family, he had left because he hadn't seen them as his family in the first place.
Floyd wondered if he was being mean or unfair to think such a thing about his older brother. But if Clay loved them, if he truly saw them as family, why would he leave them when it was something he claimed he would never do? It didn't make any sense to Floyd. The only thing that made sense was that Clay didn't just hate their family like he'd claimed a couple of times in their youth, but he had completely disavowed them
Clay didn't want his brothers. He didn't want Floyd. He must have done something really bad as a kid to make his older brother disown him like this, and that was…fine. It was fine. Clay was happy, and that was all that mattered. So what if Floyd felt like his world was falling apart? So what if he wished he was back in his cell, locked away from the world and oblivious to his brother's indifference?
Floyd didn't matter. The rock trolls had made that very clear. His older brothers who all left without a proper goodbye or a hug or anything had made that clear.
Floyd didn't say anything on the way back to Pop Village, though Poppy kept trying to encourage him to talk. He didn't react to her questions at all. He understood them, it just felt pointless to answer when he knew he couldn't be as good as Poppy, or Branch, or anybody hoped he would be.
It was only when Poppy said that she hadn't gotten around to telling Clay who he was, and when she offered to go back to tell him did Floyd react. He shook his head vehemently. He didn't want Clay to know. Not now.
Clay didn't want his brothers. If he knew who Floyd was he would welcome him back, but he wouldn't be happy. Clay would just see him as an obligation. A reminder of the family he had never wanted to be a part of. Floyd couldn't do that. Not to Clay, and not to himself. He didn't want to just be an unwanted responsibility. He just wanted his brothers. That was all he had ever wanted.
Floyd should know by now that it was the one thing that he could never have.
So they went back to the village. Back to the bunker. And though Floyd's heart was breaking, he was desperate to get back home. He wanted to pull Branch into his arms and apologize for not being a better brother to him. He wanted to promise to do more, and beg for another chance. He needed to know that one of his brothers still wanted him, no matter how broken he was now and how flawed he'd been as a child.
Poppy opened the entrance to the bunker, and Floyd dropped inside as fast as he could. He opened his mouth, as though to call for Branch, but no sound came out. He wanted to talk, but he wasn't ready yet. Instead he ran into every room, looking for his baby brother. But Branch was nowhere in sight.
Finally, reluctantly, Floyd returned to Poppy, giving her a desperate look. She gave him a guilty look.
"I-I don't think Branch is here right now." Poppy said. She sounded genuinely apologetic. Floyd blinked and looked around before he nodded in understanding. Branch was probably out in the village, running errands. Floyd had been silly to just expect him to be there, waiting for him.
So Floyd would wait for his brother instead. He sat down, looking towards the entrance. Poppy gave him a sad look as she sat down next to him.
"Are you waiting for him?" Poppy asked. Floyd nodded. Poppy grimaced. "You're going to be waiting for a bit. Branch is…busy. He's not here right now."
Floyd blinked. He didn't completely understand. "W-w-where?" His chest tightened when he spoke. He hated how hard it was to just say one simple word. But he didn't want to stay silent forever. He wanted to talk. He wanted to connect with other trolls. And Poppy made talking seem so easy. She made Floyd want to try.
"Um…" Poppy brushed some of her hair out of her face. "He's…" She sighed. "Look, Branch has a hard time being around other trolls sometimes. He gets a little crowded, and he needs some time and space for himself."
Floyd felt like his heart stuttered, and it had nothing to do with the off-beat rhythm of his soul. He was intruding into Branch's space, making his baby brother feel the need to run somewhere else to just have some space to breathe.
Floyd had chased Branch out of his own home.
His face fell, probably showing his devastation. Poppy gave him a soft look and she rubbed his arm. "Hey, it's not so bad. I promise Branch is okay, and he'll be back soon." Floyd was relieved to know that Branch was okay, and that Poppy knew how to give him what he needed, but he still felt bad that he was in his brother's space. Branch deserved so much better than that. He deserved better than him.
They sat there for a few minutes before Poppy took a deep breath and stood up. She stepped in front of Floyd, holding a hand out to him. "Come on, let's go out. I think you need some fresh air, and some personal belongings that you can call your own."
Branch blinked and stared at Poppy in shock as he accepted her hand. He'd never really had possessions. The rock trolls didn't let him keep anything of his. Even before that he hadn't had too much. Traveling on the road, it was hard to have any personal belongings. And when Floyd was a little kid he hadn't had too much then either. In such a large family almost everything they owned was shared between them. One of them may use something more than the others, but it still belonged to the family.
Floyd didn't think he knew how to have things to call his own, but Poppy wasn't going to take no for an answer. He followed her outside of the bunker and together they walked to the village proper.
"So, do you know what you want?" Poppy asked. Floyd shook his head. She wasn't discouraged. "That's okay. I've got some ideas myself." She looked excited, but there was an odd look in her eyes. She seemed a little upset. "You need a hat."
Floyd didn't understand. Trolls didn't really wear hats. Their hair was another limb. For many of them a hat was restrictive. Was his hair damaged and he didn't even realize it? Did she not like the look of his gray hair and was ashamed of it? He didn't think that was it, but he was confused.
"Why?" Floyd asked. Poppy stopped in her tracks and for a wild minute Floyd was scared that she was going to punish him for speaking out of turn. When she turned towards him she saw pity and distress in her eyes. She gave his hands a reassuring squeeze.
"I don't want you to hurt yourself anymore." Poppy said quietly. She reached a hand out and gently rubbed his forehead. He flinched at the touch. She gave him an apologetic look. "Why did you do this?"
Floyd frowned. Why did everybody ask him this? Wasn't…wasn't it obvious?
"I cried." Floyd said. Poppy gave him a bewildered look.
"How is hurting yourself supposed to fix that?!" Poppy asked loudly. Floyd grimaced. He wasn't used to shouting, but whenever he heard it it was always followed by something bad. Floyd took a small step away from Poppy, and she looked stricken. "Wait, I didn't…I'm sorry." She took a deep breath. "We can address why you did this later, when you're feeling up to it. Right now why don't we try to make sure that if it does happen again, and I hope it doesn't, you don't seriously hurt yourself."
She continued walking, moving faster this time, and Floyd just followed her. They started to see trolls walking around, going about their day. Floyd wasn't really scared of them, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen so many trolls, and he knew that there were a lot more. He shifted uncomfortably and scooted closer to Poppy, who just smiled at him and patted his arm comfortingly as she brought him to a clothing shop, which was fortunately fairly empty and a lot quieter than outside.
"Okay, let's see what we can find." Poppy let go of his hand and started browsing. Floyd looked around, feeling lost and confused. He didn't know what he was doing here.
He walked slowly, uncertainty, reaching out every once and a while to run his hand across the fabric of different scarves and such that he saw. When he brushed his hand against a pair of fingerless leather gloves he froze, his breath catching in his throat.
Floyd blinked, feeling tears gathering in his eyes. He slowly picked up the gloves and slipped them on his hands. He flexed his fingers, trying to get used to the unfamiliar, somewhat restricting feeling around his hands. It wasn't unpleasant, but it would take some getting used to though. He wanted to, he really did, for one very important reason.
Floyd closed his eyes and brought his hands to his face, cupping his cheeks. Now this felt familiar. Floyd started crying, feeling both sad and happy. He could almost pretend that John Dory was right in front of him, holding and comforting him when he just couldn't stop crying.
His oldest brother used to have leather gloves that he loved to wear around the house, though he refused to wear them in public, and especially not in front of their fans. He had an image to uphold, after all. Floyd had always liked it when John Dory wore the gloves, because he saw it as his brother accepting himself. It was so much easier to feel John Dory's love when he knew he wasn't putting on a show.
"Bud?" Floyd jumped when he felt a touch on his arm. Poppy had returned to his side. "Are you okay?" Floyd nodded. He was fine, he was just feeling bittersweet and nostalgic.
"Well, I found some bandanas." Poppy said. "Can you come see if there's something you'd be okay with?" Floyd nodded and let Poppy lead him to the other side of the store. There were a few fancy but impractical hats. What Poppy led him to though were headbands and bandanas. Things he could use to cushion his forehead without restricting the movement of his hair.
"Do you want to try some of these on?" Poppy asked. Floyd didn't really want a headband, but this seemed to matter a lot to her, and Floyd didn't dislike the idea enough to put up a fight about it. He looked at the headbands, and his gaze was immediately drawn to one in particular. It was blue with a camouflage pattern on it.
It made him think of Branch. His brother's colors were muted now, but he was still blue. And Branch was a bit of a survivalist now. He cared about being prepared, and hiding from danger. Poppy said that was what the bunker was for, and even though Floyd knew it was really the hideout he supposed that it could be both.
Maybe Branch would like this headband. Maybe if he saw Floyd wearing it he would see that he had noticed that he had changed after all these years, and he accepted him for who he was. Maybe Branch wouldn't feel the need to hide from his own home, and Floyd could stay.
Floyd picked up the headband, looking to Poppy instinctively for approval. She grinned and took the headband, pulling it over his head so it rested on his forehead.
"Looking good." Poppy said teasingly. Floyd huffed in a way that was nearly a laugh. Poppy giggled. "I like the pattern." She took his hands. "And these gloves too. Do you want them?" Floyd nodded. "Okay. They're yours."
He gave her a very small smile. "Thank you." The words were barely audible, and his voice gave out in the middle. But Poppy understood him.
"Don't mention it." Poppy said. "Really. I just want you to be happy. After what you've been through I think you deserve it." Floyd wasn't sure about that, but he wasn't about to tell her so. Besides, he desperately wanted to believe her. He really did.
Poppy paid for his gloves and headband, and then they left. Floyd thought that would be all, but she wasn't satisfied. They walked past a number of different pods, shops, and stalls. Poppy was watching Floyd carefully, looking for any sign that he was interested and wanted to browse a shop properly.
Floyd was content to just look at things from a distance, but then he saw something that made him feel like he didn't just want it, but he needed it. He hadn't felt like this since he was a very little kid, before Branch had even been born.
Floyd made an odd sound like an excited squeak. He let go of Poppy's hand and ran to the vendor who was selling blankets. He ran up to one of the blankets, shoving his face in the softness and immediately feeling like a small child again.
The blanket had the texture and look of troll hair. A lot of parents had blankets like this for their children, to ease them away from needing to rely on being wrapped up in their parents' hair for protection. Floyd had never had a blanket like this because he'd never needed one.
Spruce had always been happy to wrap Floyd up in his hair. Some of Floyd's favorite memories were when Spruce was exercising, but he needed to babysit him at the same time, so he would wrap Floyd up in his hair and lift him up and down as he did his sit-ups. Or the times when Floyd had a hard time sleeping and Spruce would let him climb into his bed with him. Spruce would let Floyd use his hair like it was a blanket, and Floyd had never felt more safe.
Floyd nuzzled his face against the blanket. It didn't smell like Spruce, but it felt like him, and the color of the blanket was purple. It wasn't the right shade of purple, but it was close enough that Floyd felt like he was being wrapped up in his brother's hair again.
"Excuse me-" He heard an unfamiliar voice, but that was all he heard from it.
"I'll take care of it." Poppy said. She rubbed Floyd's back. "Hey, Bud. I guess I don't have to ask if you like the blanket."
Floyd nodded passionately, like he'd never nodded before. He turned to look at Poppy with pleading eyes. He hated taking advantage of her, but he really wanted this.
Poppy ran her hand on the blanket. "Is it just how it looks, or how it feels?"
Floyd leaned against the blanket, holding it protectively. "Both." He finally turned to look at her. "My brother…" That was all he needed to say. Poppy brought her hands to her mouth and she looked like she was going to start crying and smiling at the same time. Floyd was familiar with those conflicting feelings.
"I get it." Poppy said. She looked at the vendor. "I'd like this, please."
Floyd squeaked happily again and pulled the blanket down from the display rack. He wrapped it around his shoulders, burying his face in the faux hair. He didn't pay attention to the transaction. He didn't want to hear how much this blanket cost, because then he might just change his mind and feel like he was being too much of a burden.
Soon they were on their way again. Floyd imagined that he looked incredibly wrong. He was the only Gray troll in the village, and definitely the only troll older than three who had a blanket wrapped around them. He was probably given more than a few odd looks, but he didn't care about them.
Feeling more confident in himself, and knowing that he needed one more thing before calling it a day, he looked at Poppy. "B-books?"
"You want a book?" Poppy beamed at the request. "No problem." She grabbed his hand and pulled him to a bookstore. It was bigger than the clothing store had been. The size was a little intimidating, but Floyd knew exactly what he was looking for. There was just one book he wanted.
It took some time to find it, but soon Floyd found his treasure. It was a kid's book. Floyd remembered hating this book with a passion as a child, but it had been Clay's favorite story, and that was what was important.
It was a sad book. It made both Floyd and Clay cry every time they read it. He had never understood why Clay had always come back to this book, but that was why he wanted it. Maybe he was old enough to understand Clay's favorite book. And if he understood his brother's book, maybe he'd understand his brother.
Though it was probably too much to hope for, Floyd hoped that if he could show Clay that he understood him now, he might want him around. He might give him another chance.
Floyd opened the book, skimming through the pages and looking at the simple pictures. He hadn't read this book in years but he remembered what it was about. The story was about a young troll who wasn't happy at home. There was too much pressure from their family, and the young troll had felt like he wasn't heard or wanted.
One night the young troll ran away from his home, with no intention of ever going back. But when he went to the woods behind his home he found himself in an enchanted forest full of all kinds of magical and amazing creatures.
The young troll met all kinds of beings, and he had a number of misadventures. All of his new friends were able to convince him that his home wasn't so bad, and his family probably missed him. Eventually he decided to say goodbye to his new friends and go home.
If that was how the story ended Floyd would have been fine with it. It would have just been a fantastical story about the importance of home and appreciating what you have. But the book went on for a few more chapters.
The troll went home to find that his family hadn't really missed him even though he'd been gone for so long. He got in trouble for leaving, and things at home didn't get better from there. His parents did their best, but it wasn't good enough, and the young troll always knew that he was burdening them financially and emotionally.
His friends liked him, but the young troll didn't feel as loved by them as he'd felt by the new friends he'd made in the enchanted forest. He missed the forest, and it wasn't long before the young troll started to feel homesick for the place that he'd escaped to.
The young troll had done his best to give his family and friends a real chance, but eventually it became too much for him. He tried to run away again, determined to stay gone this time. He tried to return to the enchanted forest, to his new friends, but he couldn't find it. All he could find were the woods near his house.
The young troll looked for the forest all night before he eventually had to go back home. Every night he would go looking for the enchanted forest, hoping for another chance to escape, but it never appeared for him again. The young troll was left in his home with friends who were fine, but not the best, and a family that tried, but it wasn't quite enough.
Floyd had hated the sad ending as a child. He cried because the young troll was sad, but he'd also cried because he knew that Clay probably liked the book because he related to it. He hated thinking about why Clay might like the story about a troll who didn't feel like he belonged with his own family.
What made the story even worse was that whenever they read the book and Floyd would inevitably start crying John Dory would get mad at Clay for choosing a story that was so sad. He always accused Clay of traumatizing Floyd, and then Clay would shout back that it wasn't his fault that Floyd was too sensitive, and that he'd probably start crying if they read the happiest book in existence.
Then a fight would happen, and it would go on until the neighbors complained about the noise or Grandma would sternly send them all to different rooms to calm down and go to bed. Since the brothers all shared a room, that resulted in some of them sleeping in very uncomfortable places. Floyd would sleep under the kitchen table, because he hoped that if one less person fought for the bed then the arguing would stop sooner.
Baby Branch would sleep in Grandma's room with her. Clay slept on the couch. Spruce stayed in their bedroom. John Dory would go to the music room, and he probably spent the entire night working on more music.
All of them would wake up grumpy and upset, having gotten very little sleep. The next day their tempers would be shorter than usual, and a fight would frequently break out before the end of breakfast.
Even if Floyd hadn't hated the story itself, he would have hated it for what it led to and what it represented.
But this book made him think of Clay, just like the headband made him think of Branch, the gloves of John Dory, and the blanket of Spruce. The book itself didn't make Floyd happy, but it filled him with hope, because he had a proper reminder of all of his brothers. Even if none of them wanted him, he would have something that made him feel like maybe they did. Pretending they were a loving and happy family had helped him a lot as a little kid. He could easily pretend again.
Floyd had started crying again. He was sniffling and clinging tightly to the book. He hated it so much and yet he wanted it. He needed this book. He needed to understand his brother better, and this was the only way he could do that.
He didn't know how he was feeling. He was sad. He was hopeful. He was happy to have these reminders of his brothers, and absolutely devastated that he couldn't have his real brothers.
"Bud, are you okay?" Poppy came up to him. "You're crying again." Her eyes widened in alarm. "You're not going to hurt yourself again are you?"
Floyd shook his head. He knew he wasn't supposed to cry, but Poppy didn't seem to mind it. She had told him it was okay to cry. She genuinely seemed to just want him to be okay.
Poppy didn't look too reassured. "Maybe you're getting overwhelmed? It happens to Branch sometimes when he tries to do more than he should, even if he wants to or if he's having a good time."
Floyd knew how it felt to be overwhelmed, but he didn't think this was it. He didn't know what he was feeling though. He couldn't describe his feelings to himself, let alone to Poppy. He desperately wanted to go home though. He didn't know if home meant back to Branch's bunker, or back to the golf course where Clay was, or back in time before their family completely fell apart.
Only one of those was an option right now though, so Floyd let Poppy take his hand again. She got him the book that he held onto like a lifeline, and then they walked back to the bunker. Floyd felt numb and a bit like he was in a dream. Poppy was trying to talk to him again, but this time Floyd really didn't hear what she was saying. He was too deep in his own thoughts.
When they got back to the bunker Floyd went to a corner of the underground entrance room, as out of the way as he could get. He curled up on the ground, wrapping the blanket tightly around himself. He clutched the book so much that he felt like his fingers were going to go numb. With his free hand he wrapped it up and down his arm, just like John Dory used to do.
It felt good, but it wasn't quite right. None of this was. It was all just a poor substitute for the brothers he wanted. But he couldn't have them. This had to be good enough, and he hated that it wasn't. Why was he so selfish and needy? He'd handled having absolutely nothing for twelve years. The second he was free he felt like it wasn't enough. He needed more.
He was frustrated with his brothers for not being able to give him what he needed, and furious with himself for daring to want them to. He used to get so upset with Clay for feeling the same way. What right did he have to complain now? His feelings shouldn't be their problem.
Feeling guilty, upset, and so homesick that it physically hurt, Floyd just sat on the ground and cried, because that was all he ever seemed to be able to do.