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Grandma's pod is empty when Spruce sneaks back in that night.
Which works out just fine for him: carefully he drops himself in through a window, skipping the front door because the beaded curtain would make too much noise. Stealthily through the living room to the bedrooms in the back, to the room he shares with his brothers—or, used to share, up until a few hours ago. Grandma's still asleep in hers.
Moving quick but quiet in the dark he starts pulling his things into a backpack. He hadn't had time to pack earlier. Or, he hadn't given himself time. They’d all stormed off so suddenly….
A determined look on Spruce’s face. He snaps the backpack shut, slings it over his shoulders, makes a break for the doorway—
He stops himself, right on the threshold between the bedroom and the rest of the home. His home. Was. Hand on the doorway he turns around to look.
Branch is still asleep. Curled tight in his crib with a slightly crumpled sheet of paper clutched in his hands like a teddy bear. He looks so peaceful. Like this night had never happened at all.
Spruce had wanted this to be quick, but he stands over his baby brother a little longer than he needs to, not saying anything. Nothing to say that Branch would understand, anyway. He rests a hand on his brother’s head, runs it gentle through his hair. He sighs.
See you later.
He isn't paying attention when he turns back around.
“AAH!”
“AAH!”
He’s on the floor now because he's tangled up with whatever it is he just crashed into, and they're both struggling dazedly down on the floor until they both stop, going quiet, when they hear the shifting sounds of Branch turning in his sleep behind them. Settling back down.
Spruce’s pulse is jabbering in his ears. He pushes himself free, limbs flailing.
“What the— Clay?!”
With a groan Clay sits up on the floor in front of him. “Ughhh…. Spruce?”
“What are you doing here?” A whispered shout. Spruce brings himself back up to his feet and reflexively holds a hand out for his brother, only realizing that he’s done so when he sees Clay take it. His brow creases.
“I came back to get my stuff, what do you think I’m doing?” Clay massages at his back, wincing. “What are you?”
“What do you think?” Repeated as Spruce gestures to the backpack straps, expression changed to one of disbelief at the question.
“Right, yeah, that makes sense.” Clay aims the sentence at the floor. Awkwardly he brings a hand up to the back of his head.
Neither of them says anything for a bit. Neither of them knows what to say.
“....How long are you gonna be gone?” Clay tips his gaze up shyly at Spruce. Uncertain. Spruce returns his look and sighs, shoulders rising up and dropping back down.
“I don’t know.”
He doesn’t want to go. But at the same time he has to.
“Oh.” Clay drops his gaze again quick. Drops his hand. “Me neither.”
Suddenly there’s a lump in his throat that Spruce forces down, mouth pressed tight. He doesn’t want to go, but he has to. He doesn’t know what else to do.
It surprises him to hear Clay mutter a soft, “I’m sorry.”
Hands on Clay’s shoulders. He blinks up, confused, at Spruce’s face as Spruce brings him in closer, not quite a hug but almost as needed.
“It’s not your fault.” And really it isn’t. It’s not each other they’re mad at. But they’ve known each other their entire lives since before Floyd and Branch existed, since all they knew of the world was a tree full of music and the iron bars outside it, and it’s been a good run and they love each other like only brothers can but maybe it’s time they start trying to find their own paths. The whole world is open to them now. Branch and Grandma are safe here with each other. It’ll be okay.
They’ll be okay.
Spruce gives Clay’s shoulders one last squeeze before letting him go. Readjusts his straps. “Well. I guess—”
He forgets the next word because Clay’s arms are around his middle and his face is nearly buried in Clay’s hair, the force of him almost toppling the both of them over. His hands flail. He’s not sure what to do.
“I’ll miss you.” Clay says it softly into Spruce’s shoulder. It comes out waterlogged.
Spruce—who won’t be Spruce for much longer—wraps his arms around his brother and draws him in close, tight tight. Their baby brother goes on sleeping soundly behind them, their grandmother mutters to herself in her sleep in the next room, and neither of them knows that the next time they’ll see each other they’ll both be different people.
Spruce hugs his little brother for the last time and wishes he could hold all his brothers one more time, too. Just like this.
“Me, too.”