Chapter Text
He’s back in Mount Rageous.
He doesn’t know how, but when he opens his eyes he’s back in Mount Rageous and the world is tinted purple by the diamond walls around him. His breath catches in his throat.
(no no no how did I)
“Vels! Vels come look at him I think he’s—”
Frantically he swings his head around, trying to find the voice’s source. He can hear it so clearly but he can’t see—
“EUGH, what did you do to him?!” The bottle rattles like someone’s just jabbed it HARD but he can’t SEE anyone—he covers his ears against the ringing echoing around him and he tries
(stop it please stop I’m)
but he can’t hear himself. The words bunch up and tangle in his mind but he can’t get them out
“I didn’t do anything he was already like this when I found him!”
“So why didn’t you get rid of him, genius??”
Movement: someone picking up the bottle, and he tries but he slips on the crystal and goes knocking against the walls behind him. Ringing in his skull. Still clutching at his temples as he feels himself being lifted, carried off to
“You should be grateful.”
(what what are you)
Light, bright: it’s the sky, it’s the sky and the lights of the city below and it’s outside the window and she’s holding him out of it, holding him out and over the clouds and
(no please)
He bangs against the walls, kicks at them, anything to get them to
(stop PLEASE stop I’m alive I’m ALIVE I’m still)
He can’t HEAR himself, his limbs going numb and his heart burning in his chest
“They’ll never know what you really are.”
(please don’t I’m)
She lets go.
“....stt…. stop, please”
“Floyd—”
Choking. Can’t get the words out. “Nnngh pl—eas ”
“Floyd will you look at me. Please.”
Someone—someone’s arms around him. Someone pulling him close. His own arms shake, flail feebly. They latch onto someone. Someone warm. He clutches for them desperately.
“It’s okay, kiddo, deep breaths, come on—”
Burying his face in the warmth. For what feels like forever all he can hear is his own strained breathing clamoring in his ears.
(please)
“—don’t want to leave him—”
“—I got him. I got him, he’s fine….”
(please….)
It feels like forever, but little by little, Floyd comes back to earth.
“There we are….”
Remembering where he is: in his room, in the bunker, underground in the middle of the night and miles away from…. well. Somehow he’s also down on the floor, caught up in a tangle of blankets, but that’s not the first thing on his mind when he’s finally able to reason again.
“J-John….” He gasps it out as he pulls away from John Dory, reaching up to dash his arms across his face. They come away wet. “Hhn…. I’m sorry, I woke you up.”
“N-no no no, it’s okay!” John’s hands come up to flail awkwardly in an attempted don’t worry about it! gesture. Gently placing them back on Floyd’s shoulders, hesitating only slightly like he expects Floyd to bat them away. He doesn’t. “Wasn’t sleeping.”
Floyd’s still sniffling, still dashing at his eyes like he’s trying to will them to stop streaming but they won’t listen to him. Frowning, John lifts a hand so he can reach for the lamp on the nightstand, flick it on. His arm brushes against the sachets Floyd had left there earlier, ready to start being taken in the morning. “Okay, let’s try this….”
With some gentle maneuvering, John sits himself and Floyd against the side of the bed, taking Floyd up in one arm and letting him fall into him, securely in place. Still Floyd doesn’t say anything, keeps futilely wiping away tears with increasing desperation, his breath starting to hitch again.
Without thinking, John grabs Floyd’s hand. Brings it down towards his lap. Holds it there. Floyd doesn’t try to stop him.
“....What happened?” His voice unusually quiet. “You were screaming.”
Floyd’s given up fighting the tears, but there’s a cry building in his throat that he swallows back hard. Enough to hurt. When he answers his voice comes out wispy.
“....I’m okay.” Snff. “Just a bad dream.”
Almost immediately: “Are you okay?”
Floyd lifts his head just enough to catch John Dory wincing, instantly horrified at himself. His hold on Floyd tenses.
“Gah…. I—I mean—” Cutting himself off with a sharp breath, relaxing again as he lets it go.
“....Are you okay?” He tries again, softer this time, turning to Floyd with a look that can’t mean anything other than he’s holding back tears of his own. “Really okay?”
He doesn’t want to say it. He really doesn’t want to say it but he’s tired, he’s tired and he’s hurting and he just doesn’t have it in him to lie anymore and so Floyd presses himself into his brother and answers….
“....I’m scared, JD.”
So small. He doesn’t fight it this time—he sobs, and the wave of relief crashes down over him so suddenly that he doesn’t even realize when he’s burying his head in John’s side, crying into his brother and clutching at himself as if to remind himself that he’s here, he’s here and he’s alive.
“I don’t” — SOB—”I don’t know what’s gonna happen to me—”
“Sshh sshh it’s okay, Floyd. Just let it out.”
It feels like forever, but little by little, Floyd does.
He’s exhausted by the time he finally transitions back into irregular sniffles, but for the first time in a long time it’s a good kind of weariness, one that settles comfortably into his bones and makes him feel like he can go back to bed and sleep undisturbed for the rest of the night. Funny how that works.
John hasn’t let go of him this entire time, and he says now as Floyd once again starts swiping at his tears, “Whatever happens….”
Again, Floyd looks up at him. John turns to meet him and even though there’s something shiny welling up in his eyes he’s smiling. A genuine, determined smile.
“Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together, okay?”
(They’ll never know what you really are)
Floyd’s dream echoes faintly in his mind but— ssh. He tells it. I won’t let you hurt me.
He returns the smile. “Okay.”
“Mm-HM.”
Someone clearing their throat faintly from the doorway.
Branch. Looking down at them shyly with a steaming mug in one hand and a rolled up blanket under his arm. Floyd blinks away the last few tears. Smiles fondly. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Timid. Branch doesn’t step forward just yet, shifts in place. “Are you…. um.”
“Yeah.” Floyd nods. Sniffles. “I’m okay.”
For the first time, it’s the truth.
With that settled Branch finally steps up, first stooping to carefully give the mug over to Floyd. “It’s lavender,” he explains, as he sets about unrolling the blanket. “It helps me when I…. well. When I have bad nights.” Draping the blanket carefully over Floyd. It’s extra fluffy, weighted, and the pom poms decorating the edges tell Floyd that it was probably a gift from Poppy. Suddenly he wants to thank her for it.
At last Branch takes a seat at Floyd’s other side. Leans back against the bed with his knees drawn up. He doesn’t say anything at first, mouth pressed together as he contemplates.
“I was thinking….” Turning to Floyd, still so timid as he voices his idea. “...if maybe you’d like to talk to someone? If you think it might help?”
Floyd takes a sip of lavender tea. Branch is right—it soothes him almost instantly. “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, actually.” A yawn. “But do you think we could talk about it in the morning?”
That gets a genuine chuckle out of all of them, finally stomping out the tension in the room. John pulls Floyd in close again with a lighthearted jostle and Branch follows close behind, wanting in on the action.
Nothing more has to be said. Floyd finishes off his tea and nestles in between his brothers, the night’s events already seeming like a distant memory.
You’re going to be okay, as he drifts back into sleep.
For the first time in a long time, he believes it.