Chapter Text
The first concert of the tour and everything had gone horribly wrong. Floyd wasn’t sure how things could have possibly gone worse. Branch, absolutely drowning in nerves and far too overwhelmed from everything that had happened, had started crying as soon as they were backstage and away from judging eyes. He couldn’t be calmed, and it was a silent agreement that somebody should take him home and put him to bed.
John Dory’s attention was on talking to their stage managers and the theater crew. Nobody could agree on what exactly had gone wrong, let alone how to go forward from here. The theater people wanted to be compensated for the failed show. John Dory argued that they’d gotten insurance for the event, which should cover whatever had happened, and everything he said frustrated the theater trolls even more.
Spruce reluctantly talked to the fans to try to keep them calm. He hated addressing the public, but if an upset and disappointed audience was going to be calmed by any of them, it would be by ‘the heartthrob.
Floyd would normally be the one to volunteer to take care of Branch. It would get him away from the fight that he was sure was inevitable, and calming his brothers always helped Floyd to calm himself. But today he didn’t jump at the chance. He just sat on the floor in the corner, staring numbly at the wall. The only reaction he gave was a small ear twitch when one of his brothers came too close to him or spoke too loudly.
He wasn’t sure if his brothers were even aware he was there. They were all caught in their own heads as they mentally replayed the night and focused on their individual tasks. Clay had spared him one look, and then he’d immediately rolled his eyes, picked up Branch, and taken him home. Floyd felt alone and invisible, and he almost wanted it to stay that way.
How could things have gone so wrong? Yes, John Dory had tried to improvise something, messing up their carefully rehearsed choreography, but he encouraged improv every once and awhile. That wasn’t unusual. They just hadn’t been ready for it, so they hadn’t done it right.
Floyd hadn’t done it right. He shouldn’t have been the first to hop onto John Dory’s hair. He was the second smallest. He should have been towards the top. And because Floyd was the first he hadn’t ended up as part of the Brozone tower the others had made, because it wasn’t as though his older brothers would have used him for support. Clay held Branch while standing on Spruce, who stood on John Dory, who also had Floyd there, throwing off the balance.
He should have let Spruce up first, or let Spruce and Clay be the stable foundation on John Dory’s hair. Maybe then they wouldn’t have fallen.
At the very least he should have stopped himself from rolling off the stage. Or he should have just let himself fall. If he hadn’t grabbed onto that vine in an attempt to save himself then he wouldn’t have swung into his brothers and they wouldn’t have gotten all tangled up, ruining the whole show.
Maybe he would have gotten hurt, but the others would have been able to walk off the small fumble, and everything would have been so much better.
Floyd drew his legs closer and wrapped his arms around his knees as he tried to make himself as small as possible. His stomach was all twisted and he felt like he was going to be sick. He had told Baby Branch that he got pre-show jitters, and he hated that he had lied to his little bro like that. The truth was, Floyd got post-show jitters, and being with his brothers didn’t make it better, because they were the reason why he always felt nauseous after their shows in the first place.
He could take an unhappy audience. He could deal with entitled fans who wanted them to give more than they could. What Floyd couldn’t handle was his brothers getting at each other’s throats and throwing blame and harsh words around after every show. Things were never perfect. Something, no matter how small, always went wrong, and his older brothers were all so quick to point fingers and lay the blame.
Tonight’s show had been a disaster unlike any of their others had been. The fallout hadn’t happened yet, but it was coming, and Floyd felt sick with the stress of thinking about it. Why couldn’t his brothers just get along?
He saw Spruce return backstage. The grumpy and tired look in his eyes broke Floyd’s heart and made him grow tense. That was how Spruce looked when he was at his breaking point, and he hated seeing his older brother pushed so far, and he despised that when Spruce snapped he always did so with a hot anger and sharp words that cut right to the heart.
John Dory also seemed to be finishing up with the theater trolls, at least for now. He looked numb and tired. When Johnny was like this he might say a few snappy comments about their flaws, but if nobody responded negatively to what he said he would let it go and just seethe quietly in his own thoughts until he calmed down.
But Spruce wouldn’t let those comments slide. Not like this. Floyd grimaced and drew in even tighter, becoming so tense that it felt almost painful. He watched his brothers nervously as they didn’t even acknowledge each other. John Dory gathered their lingering belongings, sighed tiredly, and then looked at Spruce.
“Come on.” John Dory said. “Grandma’ll want us home soon.” And then he just…left. No pointed comments. No passive aggressive remarks. He just left.
Spruce glared at the door that John Dory had just left through. He looked so mad, and Floyd felt like crying. Brothers shouldn’t look at each other like that. But then Spruce rolled his shoulders back and his glare was gone. He looked frustrated, but not any more than usual.
“Let’s go, Floyd.” Spruce said quietly. His voice wasn’t strained with fury, but just because he wasn’t taking his anger out on Floyd didn’t mean that he was oblivious to the fire that was burning just under the surface.
Floyd wanted to stay in his little corner, but Spruce was patiently holding a hand out to him, and he didn’t want to do anything else to upset his brothers. Floyd let out a shuddered breath and reached for his brother. Spruce pulled him to his feet, and when Floyd didn’t immediately let go of his hand he let him cling to him.
They made their way home. Floyd didn’t really want to talk, but Spruce wouldn’t let him get away with that. Floyd had always been the sensitive one, which meant he wore his emotions on his sleeve. Sometimes they ignored his distress, especially when they were in a group. When they were just one-on-one like this they almost always addressed it.
“You’ve been pretty quiet.” Spruce said. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’m sorry.” Floyd said. “I ruined everything.”
“What?” Spruce froze. He turned and put his hands on Floyd’s shoulders. “Kid, you did nothing wrong.”
“I fell.” Floyd said. “I-it was my fault.”
Spruce sighed. “Loy-loy, none of us blame you.”
“I wish you would.” Floyd said. Spruce looked frightened by what he said. “Cause you’re just going to blame John Dory. You guys are going to fight. A-and I don’t want you to fight. Not when this was my fault.”
Spruce stared at him with wide eyes for a long moment before he sighed and pulled Floyd in for a tight hug. “None of this was your fault.” Floyd grimaced and looked at the ground. Spruce sighed and stretched his hair out, wrapping it around Floyd’s. He hesitated for a moment before returning the hair hold, intertwining his hair with his brother’s.
Hair holding was an intimate gesture amongst trolls. Many associated it with romantic partners, but it was common for families to hold hair. Most trolls grew out of seeking comfort from their siblings or parents in this way at a young age, but Floyd didn’t think he would ever not want to be held like this. It was a reminder that his brothers were not just a part of him, but that they loved him as much as he loved them. That he wasn’t just another brother for them to take care of, or ‘the sensitive one’ in the band.
“I can’t promise that I’m not going to fight with John Dory.” Spruce said slowly. “I’m not happy with him. And I know he’s mad too. And we both know that if we just leave things alone to fester then everything will just get worse.”
Floyd sniffled. “I know.”
“But I’ll try really hard to not just yell at him.” Spruce promised, and somehow, despite all the times he’d been let down by such promises in the past, Floyd believed him.
“You’ll just talk?” Floyd asked.
“I’ll certainly try.” Spruce said. He gave Floyd one more hug. “And we’ll have our discussion in private. You kids don’t need to be involved.”
Floyd wanted to call his brother out. If his brothers argued in private then he wouldn’t know if things escalated or not. Spruce and John Dory could fight and just say otherwise. The only way to know for sure that things wouldn’t go too far was by witnessing their discussion or fight, and Floyd was tired of being involved. He didn’t want to be the mediator. He just wanted to be a little brother.
“It’s getting late.” Spruce pulled his hair away, but he went back to holding his hand. “Come on. It’s been a long day.”
Floyd nodded numbly and clung tightly to Spruce as they continued the journey home. He was glad they weren’t stopped or recognized by their fans. Floyd wasn’t sure if he could handle a curious and disappointed mob right now.
As they approached the pod they heard their brothers before they saw them. Floyd’s ears drooped and he tightened his grip on Spruce’s hand. His older brother’s eyes narrowed.
“I’ll talk to Johnny.” Spruce said tensely. He gave Floyd’s hand a squeeze before giving him a gentle shove. “Go through the bedroom window, get your headphones, and just turn on your music. I’ll try to get John Dory somewhere more private, but just in case…”
“Yeah.” Floyd gave him a shaky smile. “Th-thanks.”
Spruce gave him a return smile that looked more like a grimace. “You don’t have to thank me for something like this.”
Floyd didn’t know if he agreed. Holding back from a fight took effort. Spruce wouldn’t be doing this if Floyd didn’t want him to. That was worth thanking him for, but he didn’t want to start another fight, so he went to the back of the pod to go through their bedroom window, just like he was told.
Branch was already asleep. Floyd wanted to curl up and just leave this day behind him too, but he couldn’t. Not when he knew his brothers were fighting. He picked up his headphones, but didn’t put them on. He looked towards the door. He could hear some raised voices, and he couldn’t help his curiosity. He edged closer to the door, keeping out of sight but trying to listen.
He couldn’t hear specifics, but he could recognize which brother was speaking. Spruce’s voice was definitely quieter than the others’. John Dory didn’t sound too worked up. But Clay definitely sounded mad.
A few minutes later Floyd heard Spruce and John Dory’s voices get quieter. He relaxed. They were leaving to go talk, or argue, somewhere else. Spruce was being true to his word so far. Maybe he’d follow through with not fighting too.
Floyd relaxed. He was about to put his headphones on when he heard Clay shout in raw frustration. Floyd’s chest tightened and he poked his head out the door to see Clay pacing around the kitchen, fuming and hungry for an outlet.
Floyd knew his brothers were mad. He knew they were desperate to get their frustrations off their chest and take their bitter feelings out on somebody. He hoped that Spruce and John Dory would be able to just calmly talk things through, but Floyd hadn’t considered that pulling two of his brothers out of the fight wouldn’t stop the third one from feeling worked up and deprived of the chance to work things through.
Clay was mad. He was probably mad about a lot of things, not just John Dory, but taking things out on their older brother was easy, and it gave Clay the chance to reclaim some power he felt was being taken from him.
But it wasn’t fair to their older brother, and it didn’t actually make Clay feel better. Floyd had seen over and over again that Clay would get mad at John Dory, they’d fight, and at the end of it all Clay would still feel mad and upset, and he would get even more upset because his solution hadn’t fixed anything.
Floyd wanted to leave Clay to his anger. He wanted to turn his music up to the max, crawl onto his bed, and just pretend he didn’t see the hurt hiding behind his brother’s anger. But he couldn’t.
Taking a deep breath to try to steel his nerves, Floyd put his headphones around his neck and left the room. He approached his brother. “Clay. You okay?”
“Go away, Floyd.” Clay said stiffly. Floyd hesitated at the dismissal, but he didn’t retreat. This was his brother. He was hurting. He deserved better than to be left alone to his pain. And Floyd knew that when he was upset and telling his brothers to leave him alone he usually wanted nothing more than for them to stay.
“I’m here, you know, if you want to talk about tonight.” Floyd said. Clay glared at him with a cold fury that sent shivers down his spine. He had to keep himself from taking a step back. This was his big brother. Clay wouldn’t hurt him. “O-or you can tell me about your favorite book. We haven’t read together in forever.”
“Didn’t you stop to think there’s a reason for that?” Clay rolled his eyes. “Bro, if I wanted to spend time with you, I would.” And, okay, ow. Floyd somehow always forgot that Clay’s words could be just as sharp as Spruce’s.
“I-I just thought you might want to have someone to talk to.” Floyd tried to sound strong, because he knew Clay didn’t like it when he drew in on himself and ‘acted like a little kid’. He must not have done a very good job, because Clay scowled in annoyance or disgust.
“What makes you think I want to talk to you?” Clay asked. Floyd blinked back tears.
“I just want to help.” Floyd felt like both crying and screaming. Why did his brothers always make this so hard?
“I don’t want your help!” Clay gave him a shove that was just a little harsher than he usually did. Floyd stumbled back and watched helplessly as Clay stormed out of the pod. Floyd wanted to go to bed. It would probably be smart to do so. But Clay was mad and alone, and Floyd had made things worse. It didn’t feel right to just look the other way.
Floyd wanted his brothers to notice his pain and pull him out when he needed them. He would be a hypocrite if he just went to bed now. So knowing that he would probably regret this, Floyd followed his brother outside.