Sunday morning, two days after arriving at the ER, Floyd Piccolo woke up in his hospital bed. He was too groggy to really follow what was going on around him. His mother, who'd been waiting there all night, was up on her feet almost immediately. Nurses and doctors were almost waiting in line to check on him, while his mother stood there overseeing everything. A little later, when things were a bit clearer, she leaned in.
"Floyd, sweetie. They found your friend Piers. He's alright. He's in another room. He had some minor injuries, but he's okay. He's a little shaken up."
Floyd eyes went wide open. "Oh my god! Where did they find him?"
"He was at that teacher's house. Mr. Manse, is it? He was tied up and he had a few bumps on his head. But don't you worry about him, he's fine. I'll bring him over in a half hour, okay? If you're up to it, that is."
"Yeah, yeah! Definitely!" Floyd winced. His head was a little banged up, too. A lot banged up, actually.
His mother went on. "They'd only let one of us wait here overnight. I called home. Your father will bring everyone back. Okay?"
Floyd nodded. "Yeah, Mom."
Floyd had gotten a little food down when Piers strolled in, a smile stretched upon his face. His head was wrapped up like Floyd's, but it was plain that his injuries weren't quite as serious. "Hey, Floyd," he said softly.
"Piers! God, I was so worried! Mom said you were at Mr. Manse's house."
"Yeah," Piers replied.
"What happened?"
"I was walking by and I saw him standing outside. His house is on my way home. He was doing something in his garage. I stopped and I told him a little bit about what you and I were doing. I didn't tell him any of the supernatural parts, I just talked about the possibility of a fire, and a few other things. I must have given it away, somehow. I don’t remember. He must have hit me or something. The next thing I knew I was tied up on his couch."
"What was it like in there?"
Piers' brow crinkled a little bit. "It was strange."
"Strange how?"
Piers let out a long breath. "He was talking to himself all the time. Very loudly."
"Talking to himself? That's probably the least crazy thing he does."
"He went on and on about Mr. Moderick. He despises him. He yelled about how he ruined his play."
"Almost, Maine? Wow. He was burning the backdrops he made. All of this was about that dumb play? It can't be."
"Yes, it was."
"He's insane. People almost died for that dumb play."
Piers shrugged. “I kind of like it. I read it when I was tied up.”
Floyd sighed. He would never understand what people saw in that play. “But he is nuts, right?”
"I suppose so. I don’t really know what else to call it."
Floyd changed topics. "How's your mom? She must have been going crazy."
"Oh, she's fine, now."
"Yeah?"
"It's my grandmother."
Floyd stiffened up. "What happened?"
The small boy paused for what seemed a long time, and then his words came out with a tiny croak. "She died. When I was away."
Floyd didn't know what to say. What can you say? "Oh, my god, Piers. I'm so sorry."
Piers nodded. "Thanks, Floyd."
After that, Piers sat down. The boys remained in a thick silence for a while. Piers' soft, staggered breaths sounded a little like weeping to Floyd. He hoped his friend would be okay. Floyd thought that Piers had a lot of strength. Not the kind of strength that lifts heavy weights, but the kind that allows a person to endure when life got hard. That was the best kind of strong, in Floyd's opinion, and Piers had it. He still couldn't believe how awful he'd treated him. Floyd would never forgive himself. Not entirely.
Pauline swept into the room. "They're here, Floyd."
"Okay, Mom."
Piers stood up and started to go, looking like he'd been dismissed. This was family time. But Floyd stretched out his arm and snatched Piers by the elbow, stopping him. "Don't go, Piers. Be my family. I want you to be. I want you to be my brother." Floyd was suddenly overcome with emotion. He didn't realize how much he'd been worrying about Piers until he had him back.
Piers stared back at him. His face barely moved, but his eyes spoke volumes. "I would give anything to be your brother, Floyd," he said.
Floyd squeezed Piers' arm. "You don't have to give anything, Piers. All we have to do is want it to be true, and it is."
A short time later, Martin and the rest arrived to find Pauline trying to spoon more food into Floyd's mouth. Floyd didn't want her to, but he decided just to let her have her way. Soon, his family was standing all around him. Floyd saw his other brother walk around the bed and come at him from the right side. Lloyd took his brother's hand. He was a wreck. He looked like he'd lost a lot of sleep. For more than one reason, probably. He’d just had a brush with death.
"God, you scared us all, Floyd," said Lloyd. "Man, this was the worst. The worst ever."
Floyd tried to smile. "This was a pretty big one."
"Yeah. No joke."
"The biggest ever."
"Probably. For now, anyway." Lloyd took a step back and rested his arm on Piers' shoulder. Piers looked surprised. His face was almost blushing.
Martin stared down at Floyd. Like his brother, he looked sick with worry. Relief hadn't quite set things right, yet, on his face. "How's your head, Floyd? You have a concussion."
"Yeah, I know."
"Oh, you know?" said Lloyd with a smirk. "Well, don't you just know everything."
"I just had a feeling."
"You're gonna be in here a while this time, sweetie," said Pauline. "Longer than normal."
"Yeah, I figured."
There didn't seem to be any animosity left in Lloyd. Perhaps all had been forgiven? He would be glad to go back to the way things were before this school year started. It seemed like a million years ago. He realized now, just as he looked on his brother's still-concerned face, that maybe, no matter what happens, they would always find their way back. Floyd could always depend on that. That’s what brotherhood was. That's what love was.
The Piccolos went home, satisfied that Floyd was gonna bounce back from this, just like he always did. His dad would be coming back almost immediately, taking over the watch for Floyd's mother. He slept for a few hours. His dreams were peaceful. Not filled with the fire, yelling and explosions he'd witnessed. They were as mild as a Saturday morning. When he woke up, he took a self-assessment. His face was covered in bandages. He was pretty sure there would be scars. Maybe. Anyway, that was fine. Scars were part of being Floyd. Every new one just made him even more Floydian. He still wasn't sure if that was a good thing to be, and he might never be sure, but that was the way it was. Eventually, his dad came back in, looking down at him.
"Peyton and her parents are here. Do you want to see them?" he asked.
Floyd froze. For a moment, he didn't know what to say. Would things be okay with Peyton? Would she be all cold to him? What was this? Was it just some kind of obligatory visit her parents were forcing her to make? He would know by the look on her face. For a moment, he was kind of scared. He would never forget the last time they’d been in this very hospital. It was the worst moment of his life, he was sure. Maybe the worst moment he would ever have. "Okay, Dad," he answered.
"Okay, then. I'll send them in."
A few minutes later, the Flores family was standing right where his own family had been earlier. He immediately checked Peyton's face. She was completely passive, like they were strangers. He didn't know what to make of it. It didn't reveal anything important.
"How are you doing, Floyd?" asked Joca.
"I'm okay."
There seemed to be some real emotion on Joca's face. He was suppressing it as much as he could, trying to look composed. "You saved our angel's life, boy. We owe you everything. You'll be in my prayers every night until my dying day."
"Yes," said Peyton's mother. She reached out and gently brushed his cheek. "You'll always be in our hearts, Floyd. Forever."
Floyd looked, again, at Peyton. Still, her features were stagnant, unreadable. "Can we talk, Dad?" Peyton asked her father.
"Yeah, sure. Goodbye, Floyd. Get well, again. Please. The world needs people like you."
Then they were gone, leaving Peyton standing there alone. "Hi, Floyd," she said softly.
"Hi," he replied even softer.
There was a short pause, then a smile bloomed on her face. For a second, he saw the Peyton he knew, again. She was back, hopefully. Was it possible? His heart wanted to explode.
"They're calling you Floyd the Unfortunate. Unfortunate Floyd. Did you know that?"
Floyd rolled his eyes. "Jeez. That’s stupid."
"I know! Who's the doofus that came up with that, though? And why are people repeating it?”
"But why Floyd the Unfortunate? What does that mean?"
Peyton sighed. A pause before delivering unwelcome news. "Students don't know what happened. They don't know about Mr. Manse. They think you had some kind of freak accident, or that you started a fire by accident. They don't know you saved everybody."
"Hmm," grunted Floyd. He knew what was happening. He wasn't going to be celebrated. Not Floyd the Unfortunate. The school and the police would cover up that a teacher tried to blow up a bunch of students, the paper would repeat the lie, and everything would go back to the way it was. The mind that was watching him from above was going to make sure of that. It was just a feeling, but Floyd was pretty sure it was true. Kids were always going to laugh at him. It made Floyd feel a little sad, but just a little. It didn't matter what people thought, as long as the people that mattered knew the truth. And they did. As long as that was true, people could call him anything they wanted.
"I'm going to tell everyone what you did," said Peyton. "My dad might know people. Important people. Then someone will write a news story all about you. That will straighten everyone out."
Floyd shook his head. "Don't bother," he said. Floyd would never be a hero. That's how it was meant to be. He guessed that was for the best. You weren't supposed to do the right thing to be called a hero, you were just supposed to do it because it was right.
"It's true. Everything my dad said," Peyton went. There was some emotion bubbling up from inside her. Floyd just smiled back. He didn't know what to say. "I'm really sorry, Floyd. I treated you really badly."
Floyd dismissed this. "No. It's okay."
Peyton was insistent, as she could be at times. "No. Don't say it's okay. I don't want it to be okay. I was wrong. I didn't give you a chance. It was so stupid."
Floyd understood, though. He didn't blame her for anything. He was even worse to Piers. Floyd made a promise to himself that he would never forget who his friends were. "It's really, okay. I understand. You were right. I was jealous, and something awful happened. Something I did. I was awful."
"No, you didn't do anything! It’s just…” she said. She was flustered. “Right before you got there, I snuck out of the hospital bed and I saw my face in the mirror with the bruise. I freaked out! I felt so hideous!” She paced for a minute. Calmed down.” I knew you wouldn't hurt me. I always knew that, but I hurt you anyway. It's the worst thing I ever did to anyone. I'm so sorry."
"It's okay. Really. That's just being me. That’s being Floyd. I'm just glad that this is better. This thing with you and me is better."
Peyton shook her head emphatically. "Don't ever say you're awful, Floyd. You're not awful." Peyton stopped, took a long breath. She stared at him for what seemed like a long time. It seemed like she was seeing him for the first time. "You're beautiful." Peyton was suddenly a bit overwhelmed. She was holding a lot back. She composed herself, then started to look confident. "You know what I think? I think that the reason you're Floyd is because you're the only one who can do it. You're the only person strong enough to be you. That's what being Floyd is. Being strong. And you are. You're the strongest person I know."
Floyd didn't know what to say to that. Compliments were not really a thing in his life. He was pretty sure they would never be.
Peyton went on. "I think it's all happening for a reason. I think it's all going to make sense someday. All of this stuff is shaping you. It's making you into someone wonderful. You're gonna get stronger and stronger and stronger until you're made of steel, and you're gonna do something important. Something big. I really believe that. I really do."
Floyd was almost in tears. This was more than he ever hoped for. When he spoke, there was a little crackling of emotion in his voice. "I was so worried you still hated me."
She smiled. Widely and sincerely. "I could never hate you Unfortunate Floyd."
She stood up on her tiptoes, leaned in, and kissed him on the forehead. By the time she was back on her feet her eyes were moist. Floyd was crying, too. He had never been so happy in his entire life. Still, all of that aside, he hoped that the nickname didn't stick.