Chapter Text
Touch. Trolls live off of it. They’re known for not being able to go long without any sort of physical contact, whether that involves hugging, holding hands, bumping their shoulders together, or just lingering around each other.
Floyd doesn’t mind it. He isn’t the type to say no to a good hug or a quick nuzzle. Especially if it comes from his brothers. Speaking of which; Floyd finds that, out of all of them, Branch is the least tactile. His brother doesn’t initiate any sort of physical touch, and that leaves Floyd wondering how long their baby brother has been like this, why touch didn’t seem as appealing as it once was.
Branch keeps to himself the majority of the time, and the only times he’s seen accepting any sort of physical affection is with Poppy. It was no surprise, the queen had a way with Branch that no other troll had. There was something she had that the others didn’t, and part of Floyd felt guilty at the fact that he himself didn’t know his brother as much.
The only time Branch had hugged them, is when Floyd was rescued, and since then, the younger troll hadn’t reached out to them much. He still spoke to them, still hung out with them. Hell, they all had practically moved into his bunker, with the exception of Bruce, who went back to Vacay Island to spend time with his family. Though, he still visited every once and a while.
Each of Floyd’s brothers have been very careful around him since his rescue, lingering close by each time he moved, making sure he wasn’t too tired, always on guard in case anything was wrong. If it didn't warm his heart as much as it did, and if it had been anyone else, it could’ve been irritating. But Floyd appreciated the care he received.
Another thing Floyd notes; Branch has crazy reflexes. Any time someone tries to catch him off guard, either to attempt and hug him or touch his hair, he’d somehow be able to move out of the way, as though already aware of their presence before they came into view. A neat little trick, if it didn’t prick at Floyd’s mind so much.
Since when has Branch been so hyper-aware of everything? It worried Floyd, perhaps too much for his own comfort.
The only one that ever manages to sneak up on him is Poppy, and even then. Branch lets his guard down just the slightest bit, only because he’s with friends and family.
Floyd does mental notes at each little thing he notices about his little brother, every reaction, mannerisms, each detail he can see. It felt weird, to finally get to discover more about his brother, to figure out things he should’ve already known years ago. Regret seizes his heart again. He makes a silent promise, to try and make up for lost time, get to actually know who Branch was, what his sibling had become.
It’s around noon when Floyd makes his way to the kitchen, hunger clutching at his stomach, moseying along the hall. Both Bruce and John Dory had left for the day, for different reasons; Bruce mentioned something about needing to help out Brandy, whereas John just needed some fresh air. Clay was most likely around and about, Vive by his side. As per usual, Floyd had no real idea of Branch’s whereabouts.
Yet another thing Floyd notices. Branch was a quiet little shit, whether he meant to or not. Then again, he knew the bunker better than anyone, so it was no surprise there. But even then, Floyd takes note of the fact that Branch had a habit of sneaking away whenever no one was looking. He was like a ghost, able to leave without anyone taking notice of his absence until much later.
Floyd hates the way his stomach turns at the thought of Branch being alone for as long as twenty years. He feels sick, guilty about leaving, mournful of everything he lost, what he could’ve had with his brothers, what they all could’ve had with Branch.
He decides to cast that aside for now. He doubts any of them are ready to have such a deep and intense conversation yet, and even if they tried to, it all depended on Branch and if he even wanted to discuss those things with them. And even in the worst scenario of Branch refusing to forgive them, Floyd would never hold that against him.
There’s an uncomfortable itch in Floyd’s arms, and he wraps them around himself to hopefully get it to tone down, brows knit together. It’s been like that for a while, and he figures it must be due to what happened back in Mount Rageous. That whole ordeal left him with a bit more stuff to deal with.
The fatigue, for starters. His mind would sometimes blur, leaving him dazed and lost. Other times, he’d be scared to death, paws shaking, chest tight and breath short. Not fun. No wonder his brothers always hovered by him, ready to help any time an episode started and the pain began to flare throughout his entire body, leaving him a trembling mess.
Floyd sighs, rubbing his arms, ears twitching in frustration. The itch persists, and he hopes it’ll ebb away as the day progresses.
When he passes a hall, he can’t help the sudden halt, ears now raised. A blur of greyish-blue caught the corner of his eye, and he was sure he was alone in the bunker. He reels back, looking into the room, and he’s surprised at the sight.
Branch is there, putting away what seems to be rations as well as other supplies he continuously collects for his hideout. He works silently, almost zoning out, as though working on autopilot.
Floyd watches him for a moment, contemplating whether or not to join him, perhaps engage in small talk, or just help him tidy up, or just to keep him company. It shouldn’t be this awkward, this difficult to spend time with his brothers, but Floyd finds that the five of them share the same issue. It has been twenty years.
However, Floyd finds that he doesn’t have the time to decide on what to do, because one of Branch’s ears twitch, and the troll looks over his shoulder, spotting his brother at the entrance, and he hums.
“Hey, Floyd.” Branch greets, and he continues with what he’s doing.
Floyd nearly jumps. He hadn’t made that much noise, yet somehow, somehow, Branch heard him. He’d be impressed if that didn’t worry him as much as it did. With a chuckle, Floyd just enters the room. Food can wait.
“Hi.” He says, and he settles on a nearby table, leaning against it so he wouldn’t feel as dazed from standing too long. “I didn't know you’d be here. I thought you were out with the others.”
Branch hums again as he picks up a stack of sticks. He stores them into another rack, one at a time, at a certain pace. Floyd continues to eye him.
“I had some things to get.” He states, and that’s that. Branch glances at Floyd, as if he was observing him, examining him, before he turns to the shelves again. “Are you feeling okay?”
Floyd perks up at the question, and he figures his eyes must tell more than they should. Or perhaps Branch was just that good of an observer. Yet another thing Floyd took notice of; Branch could somehow figure out things a lot quicker than anybody else, and his hunches were more often correct.
“Oh, yeah. I’m good. Just wanted to get something to eat.” Floyd nods, a smile on his face. He watches Branch nod, and Floyd isn’t too sure what to say, what to do. It feels odd, to not know how to approach family, and Floyd loathes it. It shouldn’t be that hard.
The itch grows stronger, and if he could, Floyd would probably scratch at his arms ferociously, to try and get it to stop, to fade away. It’s not uncomfortable, but it sure as hell isn’t pleasant. It annoys him more than anything.
He looks at Branch, and his ears drop slightly. Because Branch just doesn’t look the same. Obviously, twenty years is a long time, and it can change about as much as you’d think in someone. However, Floyd almost doesn’t recognize his own brother. Branch is just so much more different than when they last saw him.
For a start, his fur is grey. Or, it’s a lot less saturated than it was, and that causes anxiety to pool into Floyd’s heart. Because, if he was right, Branch had turned grey. And that alone nearly sends him into a crazed haze.
Another thing, Branch looks tired. A different sort, not like Floyd’s kind of tired. There’s something different in his eyes, a dull light in them, devoid of that spark they once had. It didn’t feel right.
“You know, I can almost hear you thinking.” Branch’s voice causes Floyd to blink.
Branch is putting away some jars now, and Floyd notices that he’s nearly done. He’s a quick worker. Very quick.
“I’m sorry.” Floyd apologizes with a smile, fingers tapping against the wood of the table. He inhales, almost holding it in. His chest slightly tightens, but it doesn’t feel the way it does when a panic attack creeps up on him. “I just zoned out a little.”
“You should go eat.” Branch notes, and yeah, maybe Floyd should go and get something in his stomach.
Perhaps that’d help in quieting down his mind a little and tone down the weird itch under his fur.
With a nod, Floyd hums, and he stares at Branch, watches him stash away his supplies, working meticulously, carefully. And Floyd just doesn’t move, stuck with his gaze glued to his brother, eyeing him intently. Branch doesn’t say anything, as though tuning out the world around him.
Branch’s shoulders are loose, eyes soft and movements relaxed. He doesn’t seem as alert as he usually is, and even his ears don’t twitch around, catching any little sound that may resonate around the bunker or the world above them. And Floyd realizes that Branch has let down his guard, too caught up on what he’s doing to truly pay attention to what’s around him, something he’s never done since they’ve all reunited.
And Floyd finds that he can’t leave him, not now. It’s silly. He’s not actually leaving, not like last time, all he needs is some food. Yet, as he looks at his brother, he can’t bring himself to go, to miss this opportunity, miss this chance, and his entire skin screams at him, as if pleading, longing, urging him to go for it.
With a smile, Floyd moves away from the table, taking careful steps towards his brother.
“Hey. Branch.” He calls out, voice soft. His fur itches a lot more as he approaches the blue troll.
Branch hums out a sound, blinking as he turns to face Floyd.
And Branch stills when arms suddenly wrap around him.
Floyd feels him tense, and he nearly moves away and goes to apologize, but when his entire skin tingles at the contact, he finds that he can’t bring himself to release him. The itch ebbs away slowly, as if finally satiated, and that brings a smile to Floyd’s lips.
His worries are set aside for now, and he basks in the warmth, the comfort this simple hug brings him. He nuzzles into Branch, eyes closing, hugging him closer, tighter, like he’s afraid the troll would disappear from his grasp, fade away somewhere he wouldn’t be able to reach him.
Branch doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, and his arms are in the air, unsure where to go, a slight tremor to them. He’s stunned, and Floyd is sure it’s the first time he sees his brother like this.
Floyd’s skin buzzes, a gentle hum, and he breathes out through his nose, a wide beam on his face. He needed this.
Then, after some time, Branch seems to come back, and once he regains control of his body, he squirms out of Floyd’s hold. Floyd allows him, releasing him and meeting his eyes with a grin. Branch looks at him weird, with something in his eyes, like confliction, or perhaps confusion.
Branch clears his throat, and he walks past Floyd, off to go who knows where. Floyd is sure that Branch’s cheeks and ears are flushed, if the darker shade of his skin is anything to go by, and that causes his smile to nearly double in size. He’s unsure of why this simple makes him so jolly, but Floyd doesn’t complain.
“Hold up.” Floyd pipes up quickly, and he reaches for Branch’s hand. He grabs his wrist, though his hold is gentle, and Branch halts at the sudden touch.
Branch only gets to turn around before Floyd’s temple bonks against his own, and he blinks. Floyd leans back, somehow smiling even more than before.
They’re silent, staring at each other, Branch’s wrist still in Floyd’s hold, and they stand there. Not long after, Floyd releases him, and Branch wastes no time in leaving, haste in his steps.
Floyd feels a tingle under his fur, content, soft, all elated. It’s nice, getting to catch his brother off guard for once, get to see color return to his face, watch the way his eyes widen and something sparkles in them. And Floyd stands there for too long, he thinks, but he finds that he doesn’t care.
All that matters to him now is that he needs to make up for lost time, and if he had to tackle Branch into the ground with the biggest bear hug, then so be it, he’d do it in a flash.