Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Things were different for Floyd after everything. In a multitude of ways, some good and some bad, but after his time in captivity everything had changed. The most jarring, oddly enough, was once again living with trolls. He'd spent a lot of his time since initially leaving the Troll Tree all those years ago traveling from city to city. He'd settled more permanently in Mount Rageous somewhere along the line as a vocal coach for up-and-coming stars. He'd needed something steady, without the unknown that hung over his head while going from place to place. He has no plans of going back to the life he'd built for himself. He doubts he'll be stepping foot in Mount Rageous anytime soon and his work was how Velvet and Veneer had gotten their hands on him to begin with. Those memories were tainted in a way he wasn't sure he could ever remedy. The mere thought of the bright lights and constant bustle of the city was enough to make his hands start shaking.

Now every morning he opens his eyes to dirt ceilings and furniture his size made of warm woods. And every time a gentle confusion greets him. Where was the pink hue? The world made for beings at least thirty times his size? Then he remembers that he was free now and Branch had stiltedly offered BroZone his home before they inevitably returned to their own lives. Even now, as he sits up in the bed he would never take for granted again, Floyd has to take a few deep breaths and remind himself that this is the new normal. It's been a week officially but it seems that wasn't near enough time to shake off the two months of captivity.

Floyd exhales slowly and takes a few minutes to ensure he was well enough to get up to start the day. The more time that passes between when Velvet had selfishly tried to drain him dry and now the better he feels but he still had plenty of dizzy spells that could easily send him toppling if he wasn't careful. He feels stable enough that he hops off his bed and grabs one of the cozy sweaters Poppy-- who was apparently the Queen and Branch had just forgotten to mention that-- had given him. It's a simple lilac thing but it's Floyd's favorite of his growing collection of Welcome-to-Troll-Village gifts. It had been so long that Floyd had forgotten just how overwhelmingly hospitable Pop Trolls tended to be. It was more jarring when he'd barely been able to stand and Queen Poppy had tried to shove a welcome card and a piece of cake into his hands but he'll never forget the eye roll and fond smile on Branch's face when he'd swooped in to grab the items and gently scold her. It was more than enough to gain Poppy some more brownie points from him. Brownie points, he muses, the pink Troll seems almost desperate to earn. He brushes imaginary dust from his sweater and tries to ignore the flashes of white swinging at the corner of his vision as he makes his way over to the door and steps out into the rest of the bunker.

The rooms that had initially been meant for the rest of BroZone according to the plans a little Branch and Floyd had eagerly put together when they were much smaller were now full of meticulously organized supplies and storage. Poppy had swiftly offered her own pod to house the reunited family but they'd only lingered around the Queen's home for a few hours when Branch had shown up covered in dirt with a satisfied grin and the news that he had more than enough room for his brothers. Turns out that had meant individual rooms dug out on the lowest level of Branch's bunker with cozy furniture sets that Floyd didn't really want to ask about. He figured that whatever answer he got would put a pit in his stomach and a lump in his throat.

He casts a cursory glance around the large room as he makes his way towards the elevator. There are plenty of shelves covered in canned goods and dried fruit and others towered with construction supplies that were clearly organized in a specific way that Floyd couldn't quite discern. There are a few small alcoves filled with similar things but one space always stands out to Floyd. It's just a small little place with a table and shelves with curtains always pulled neatly shut. It's a cozy little corner that's so starkly different from the rest of the overflowing bunker that Floyd's eyes are drawn to it nearly every day. He doesn't know what's behind the curtains and he doesn't want to upset Branch by asking but he figures one of these nights when he can't get to sleep it wouldn't hurt to take a little peek.

He nods to himself, satisfied with the idea, and hops up onto the elevator platform. It's a cool little contraption that Clay and Branch had talked about in detail with each other just the other day. Floyd hadn't followed the conversation itself but they'd caught him looking at them fondly just the same. Clay had teased him a bit but Branch, who Floyd could see just over Clay's shoulder while the tall Troll ruffled his hair, had looked back with a similar bittersweet expression. Floyd didn't really know how exactly the elevator worked but he was immensely grateful that he didn't have to use stairs to get around the place or else he'd never get anywhere. He felt like he had plenty of energy to spare but it was like every little thing took more effort than it should. He can admit that even a single flight of stairs would take up all he had to give.

He flips up the lever and smiles softly to himself as the elevator rumbles to life and starts the easy crawl up. He couldn't hear anything coming from the kitchen and things echoed through the large space so he was pretty confident none of his brothers were up and about yet. It was likely that Clay was nestled in the armchair Branch had put in his room, curled up around the latest novel for his book club to catch up for the next meeting. John Dory and Spruce-- Bruce, he reminds himself sharply-- were up in the air but considering he couldn't hear them arguing over something it was safe to say that at least they weren't in the same room.

He pulls the lever straight just in time to stop at the kitchen's level and waits for the platform to come to a complete stop before letting go. He'd watched Bruce get lectured by Clay and Branch for improper handling once and he had zero intention of being on the receiving end, even if it was nice to see Branch integrating back into things. Floyd doesn't know if anyone else noticed but he watched how Branch kept his distance, always tucked away in the corner and watching them interact with a wariness that made Floyd's heart hurt. It was a hopeful but steely look that he had never wanted to see on his little brother's face. Like he wanted but he wasn't willing to risk the disappointment.

Speaking of Branch, Floyd slips into the kitchen and spots his little brother sitting at the stone dining table with a mug of something steaming cradled in his paws and a green robe wrapped tightly around him. Branch is already looking at him, eyes narrowed, but his expression softens when he realizes that it's only Floyd. Floyd smiles and offers a soft wave, making his way over to the cabinet to grab down a mug of his own. Branch's eyes follow him and he hums a soft greeting in return. Floyd has come to learn that Branch is somehow not a morning person but also exclusively a morning person. Branch is always the first one up but he never seems happy about it. Floyd grabs down another gift from Poppy, a pink mug the same shade as his hair, and sets it gently on the counter. He sees the pitcher of coffee just a few feet over and can't help but wrinkle his nose in disgust. Coffee sounds absolutely dreadful right now. "Hey," He meets Branch's gaze, "Do you have any tea?"

Branch blinks drowsily a few times and nods, "Yeah, third shelf up on the right in the pantry." He nods towards the door next to the hallway Floyd had entered through. Branch takes a long drink from his cup and lets his eyes fall closed in the quiet bliss of morning coffee, "Be careful with the door, it keeps getting stuck." He warns without opening his eyes.

"Got it," Floyd nods despite knowing that Branch can't see him and moves back across the room. It's not exactly a large kitchen but it could fit them all comfortably. Barely. He pries open the pantry door with only a little effort and he doesn't know why but he's still surprised by the unnecessarily large space. It's more like a restaurant pantry than a home pantry, maybe four Trolls long and three Trolls wide, but the shelves make the space seem infinitely smaller. There are long, sturdy shelves lining the walls from floor to the ceiling packed with bottled drinks, snacks, even more canned foods, and other assorted goodies. Floyd is pretty sure this is the only perishable food he's seen in the whole bunker. He keeps the door propped open with his foot and glances over to the third shelf up on the right and sees plenty of different teas to choose from. That's the Branch he's coming to know and already loves; overprepared and overstocked.

There are plenty of good options but Floyd spots a little green box a bit further into the pantry and perks up immediately. It's a brand he recognizes and the label reads mint chamomile and he knows without a doubt that he needs it. He squints, trying to measure the distance in his mind, and frowns when he realizes that he won't be able to keep the door propped open and also reach his prize. He hears Branch offer an amused snort behind him but waves off his little brother in favor of contemplating his options. He could try to keep the door open and stretch to reach the tea but he's pretty sure he'll just end up falling and that sounded like a bit of a nightmare. He could also just choose a different tea but he's made up his mind now and would be disappointed with something else. He sighs and decides to just step into the pantry, letting the door fall softly shut behind him despite Branch's earlier warning. Push comes to shove he'll just have to either force the door back open or ask Branch to do it but at least by the end of it he'll have his tea.

He grabs the box, turns on his heel, and pushes against the door.

It doesn't budge.

He huffs, tucks the tea under his arm, and braces his shoulder against the door. He pushes. Nothing.

His heart stutters in his chest and he swallows thickly. He's fine. It's just a door, Branch is literally only a few feet away on the other side. This isn't a big deal. He places the tea down gently on top of another box right beside him and places both hands against the door and pushes with all his strength. Nothing. How? He'd barely even let it shut all the way. His arms are shaking and suddenly he's lightheaded and oh no that's not fair he was fine just two seconds ago--

He was fine but now he's not and he can't get out. He needs to get out. His chest is getting tight and his hands and feet feel cold and he jerks away from the door in a panic, glancing down at his hands to make sure that he's not fading away again. The world is pink around the edges and his eyes are burning and oh no he can't get out and--

And the door rips open and Branch is there with wild eyes, reaching in and dragging him out of the pantry with an urgency that matches Floyd's own. Floyd makes a choked noise and his mind briefly flashes to the tea still in the pantry but it feels like he blinks and suddenly Branch has him tucked neatly into his abandoned chair at the table. Branch kneels in front of him, eyes not the same blue that Floyd remembered but bright and worried all the same. "Hey, Floyd, just breathe for a second, okay?" Branch coaxes softly, telegraphing his movements as he reaches out a hand and places it softly atop Floyd's knee.

Floyd hadn't realized that he was practically hyperventilating, muscles so tense his whole body coiled up on the chair. He stutters through his first attempt at an even breath but Branch doesn't say anything, waiting patiently for Floyd to sort himself out. He sucks each breath into uncooperative lungs and with each exhale he unwinds just a bit more. It takes a few minutes for him to calm himself down but Branch is an unwavering support through each agonizing second. With one last exhale Floyd sags back, boneless, and closes his eyes against the wave of exhaustion that crashes into him. Great, there goes all of his energy for the day.

It was incredibly frustrating to be too tired and fragile to do even the smallest things more often than not. He had never been the most productive of their family but he certainly wasn't a slacker either. He liked to get things done and get out of the house, run errands and do chores. His heart twists when he remembers that Grandma had always praised him for his willingness to help her keep the pod up and running.

The soft clunk of ceramic on stone rings loud in his ears and startles him from his thoughts. His eyes shoot open to find his mug sat in front of him filled to the brim with tea. "Oh," he blinks a few times, emotions still high and touched at the thoughtful gesture. He turns his gaze to Branch, standing beside him and once more clutching his own now lukewarm mug in his hands. "Thanks." He smiles warmly.

Branch huffs but his lips pull up into a grin, "You okay?" He asks carefully, so clearly testing the waters to see if Floyd wants to talk about it. It's such a sweet, if not incredibly awkward, gesture and it only adds to the growing adoration nestled beneath Floyd's ribs.

"Yeah, yeah," Floyd nods distractedly, reaching out to wrap his fingers around his cup to hide the near imperceptible tremble. The warmth seeps through the ceramic into his skin and a soft sigh of contentment slips out before he can even think about it. The tea and the cozy comfort of the sweater do wonders to soothe his frayed nerves. "I'm fine, really. I don't know what that was." He admits softly, chuckling in hopes of removing the stiff line of tension in Branch's shoulders despite the unease still churning in his own stomach.

He succeeds, technically, but Branch seems to only have lost the tension in his new confusion. He tilts his head and stares at Floyd in that terrifying way he does where it feels like he's picking you apart and digging up all your best-kept secrets. Floyd wonders if he ever looks at the others that way or if this was an expression reserved just for him. He's noticed that Branch is quiet but it's not because he's not paying attention. Branch, Floyd has learned, is nothing if not observant. A look of brief realization crossed Branch's face, "A panic attack." He says, suddenly.

"What?" Now it's Floyd's turn to be confused.

"A panic attack." Branch repeats, shifting his eyes downward to the contents of his cup. "They can happen after something traumatic or because of stress and stuff." He explains offhandedly, swirling his drink. He seems to stare at the contents even more intently then, "I get them, sometimes." He shrugs, bringing the cup to his lips and downing the rest.

"Oh," Floyd feels like he's always at a loss for words with Branch these days. Sometimes Branch just says or does something that really forces Floyd to remember that Branch has lived his life without them. He's not the little kid they left behind and sometimes what that might entail sneaks up on Floyd in the worst way. "That's--" The sound of the elevator humming to life and starting it's descent back down to the lower floor breaks through his thoughts and spurs Branch into action. The younger quickly deposits his mug in the sink and flees down a different hallway, likely to scamper off down a flight of stairs and find some project around the bunker to busy himself with. That's one more thing Floyd has realized. Every room has at least two exits.

He can already hear John Dory and Bruce bickering as the elevator climbs back toward the kitchen level. All Floyd can think about is who had been there for Branch when he'd been scared and panicking?

Chapter Text

Living with his brothers is strange after all these years. They hadn't seen each other since they were kids and now suddenly they were all under the same roof again. Bruce didn't mind the quiet. Over these past few decades he'd gotten used to the loud hustle and bustle of work and the chaos of a home full of kids. It's been nice getting to wind down and it felt good knowing that Brandy was fully behind him in his decision to stick around for a bit longer. He had to admit that he missed his kids and he longed for his loving wife every day but there's a different kind of happiness nestled deep in his very bones when he watches his little brothers laugh around the dining table.

Getting along with John Dory has been a bit more of a challenge but not impossible. Even now they clashed like they did when they were kids, old resentments sparked back to life and their vastly different priorities making it difficult to find common ground sometimes. Still, even then, it was really nice to see him again too.

They're gathered now in Branch's small kitchen, awkwardly trying to stay out of their youngest brother's way while he goes about making lunch while all being equally unwilling to leave. Branch grumbles as he easily twists and steps around them but makes no move to tell them to get out. It makes Bruce smile and Branch very blatantly ignores him. Branch sighs for the umpteenth time as he grabs a pan from a low cabinet and spins around Clay to get to the stove. It was nothing fancy, just a few sandwiches to keep them running until dinner, and Bruce was proud to see that it wasn't the sweets he's sure Queen Poppy would've offered.

Branch grabs the butter dish from his counter and drops a dollop into the heating pan before bending over to open another cabinet. He curses under his breath and swiftly curses again. "Damn it," Branch huffs, eyes flitting around the small space one more time before he lets the doors fall shut with a heavy thud.

"What's up?" Clay prods, curiously looking between Branch and the disappointing cabinet like he could piece together the issue off that alone.

"I thought I'd restocked," Branch sighs, running a stressed hand over his hair absentmindedly. He crosses his arms and frowns, tapping his foot while he thinks in a way that Bruce finds adorable but would never dare say out loud. Or rather, not until it was the right moment. "Hey, Bruce, you know where the carrots are?"

Bruce startles when he's singled out but nods quickly, offering a thumbs up and a lazy smile, "Yep! Want me to go grab some for you?" He guesses, already peeling himself away from the table to head off towards the towering shelves lined up on the lower floor.

Branch sags a bit with gratitude and returns the smile hesitantly, "That'd be great, thank you." It's interesting, Bruce thinks, the war that appears to constantly be waging inside of his grown baby brother. He's far from the little bundle of nervous, excited energy he'd been back when he was a baby but there still seems to be some kind of uncertainty that never leaves him. Branch always looks like he's caught between throwing himself back into the family and keeping them all at a safe distance. Admittedly, ashamedly, Bruce thinks that had he reunited with his brothers only a few years ago he'd have been bitter about it. One of his kids, Brandon, was an anxious kid. Even though his siblings had always been welcoming and encouraging he was still hesitant to ask for what he needed or say no when his siblings pushed a boundary he hadn't communicated yet. Brandon had taught Bruce a lot about how fundamentally different people could be and that some were introverted and wary even around people they loved. He can't begin to imagine what was going on in Branch's head after all these years, experiencing who knows what on top of Grandma's death and the apparent Rock Apocalypse. Bruce was more than happy to offer up a little patience in return. The last thing he wanted now after everything was to push Branch away.

"You got it, little bro!" Bruce beams, stretching an arm around Clay to ruffle Branch's hair just to see his brother's face scrunch up in annoyance as he bats his hand away. He doesn't stick around to face Branch's wrath, whether that be in the form of a disgruntled glare or a few sharp words, and instead spins on his heel and makes for the hall.

"Don't eat all the rations!" John Dory calls teasingly just as Bruce slides into the hallway and slips out of sight. Bruce freezes. He knows it's a joke. None of his brothers had been anything but kind after seeing that he'd lost his iconic figure and John sounded nothing but fond. On top of that, Bruce has never been happier since he's given up on those strict diets and workout routines! Still, despite that, there's a spike of anxiety that shoots through his chest hearing those words. John Dory has said similar things to him plenty of times when they were younger, pushing Bruce to keep up the grueling work lest he disappoint the fans. Disappointing the fans always meant disappointing his brother and when he was a boy that had been crushing. Anything to keep that perfect image. It had tainted Bruce's love for fitness and twisted it into something that could break him. If he didn't do enough sit-ups would the band lose its fame? If he ate too much would they lose popularity? Would his family resent him?

It's been a long, long time since Bruce had felt any sort of discomfort about his body. Nearly fifteen years now since he'd shed those insecurities and found love and acceptance in Brandy who'd helped him more than he could ever hope to express to her. He loves who he is now and the man he's become. Yet somehow he still feels that telltale hurt stir up inside of him. He feels more resentment towards those feelings themselves than he does John Dory. He wishes it didn't bother him at all.  

He has half a mind to storm back in there and tell John Dory off but he reminds himself that starting a fight while he's angry would never go well, especially when it came to his older brother. A skill that parenting has given him is an almost unnatural level of patience and calm combined with a self-awareness that lets him know that he should cool down before he does something he'd regret. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, letting the tension bleed from his body as he raises his head up high. He takes a few more steps down the hall towards the elevator but he's once again stopped in his place. This time by Branch.

"What the hell was that?" Branch hisses, seething with a simmering fire that Bruce was starting to associate him with.

"What was what?" John Dory asks, sounding genuinely confused and instinctively on the defensive.

"That was kind of uncool, man," Clay pipes up. He's wary. Rightfully so, Bruce thinks. Both Branch and John Dory were forces to be reckoned with and stepping between the two was dangerous. Bruce thinks Branch has snapped at all of them at least once since they've moved in and it wasn't at all what he had ever imagined his sweet little brother would grow up to be. He figures that was what happened when you had to raise yourself though. It only serves to highlight his regrets when he thinks about it.

"What?" John scoffs, his defensive tone overtaking his initial confusion. Bruce can sense a fight brewing but he still can't seem to unglue himself from that spot. He wants to know where this will go.

"You already gave him one eating disorder, you want to give him another one?" Branch snarls. He sounds more like he's facing a threat than talking to his brother and the tone itself is enough to send chills down Bruce's spine. It takes a few seconds for the words themselves to register but when they do Bruce's whole body tenses right back up. What? 

"..what?" John Dory echoes Bruce's thoughts. He's starting to sound like a broken record but his voice is something weak and shocked now. The mask John had been raising was knocked aside with ease. Had he really not known? Had little Branch, maybe only four at the time, really seen something that John Dory hadn't? Had their eldest brother really been so blind?

"What? You think nagging someone every damn day about their body wouldn't make them hyperaware of it? I was the one who would sit in the dining room waiting for Bruce to finish eating, you know. Sometimes it took hours." Branch snaps, entirely unimpressed by John Dory's sudden meekness. Bruce remembers those days too. There had been times, way back when he was a teenager, when he'd been stuck at the dinner table pushing his food around trying to convince himself to clear the plate. Grandma had always had a rule about not leaving their seats until they'd finished their dinner and for a few years Bruce had greatly struggled to do so. He hadn't known that little Branch had lingered so often because he was waiting on Bruce. He had been so focused on trying to get the courage to just put the food into his mouth that he'd thought maybe Branch had just wanted to stick around. Kids could be weird. He thought it was just one of Branch's little quirks that he'd be able to tease him about when they were older. You were always just sitting around in the kitchen, he would say, you were so weird. He'd never known it had been for him. "Maybe, instead of being an ass, you could just-- oh, shit--" The smell of something burning reached Bruce's nose and he took that as his sign to make a break for it. He finally makes it to the elevator in time to hear the loud clangs of the pan being thrown into the sink.

He doesn't know what he'd expected. His brows furrow and his hand feels heavy where it pushes down the lever. He doesn't know why he just assumed that his other brothers would've brushed off John Dory's comment or even laughed along with him. He thinks, maybe, that he had some residual insecurity lingering in his head somewhere that he never had a reason to address before. The idea doesn't weigh on him. Instead he feels lighter than he had when he'd left. They stood up for him. Branch had gotten angry on his behalf and told John Dory off without hesitation and Clay had backed him up without much thought. He could even perfectly picture the disapproving expression that might have crossed Floyd's features.

The elevator rumbles to a stop on the lowest floor and he swiftly steps off and makes a beeline for the shelves holding most of Branch's food storage. He didn't want to take too much longer if he could avoid it, he doesn't know what he'd say if anyone asked him why he took so long. He knows they probably knew he stayed back, especially since the elevator itself wasn't exactly silent, but he wanted to have plausible deniability at least.

It doesn't take him too long to find the crates of carrots tucked away and he quickly hefts one into his arms before someone clears their throat. He admittedly startles at the sudden sound, nearly dropping the crate before he barely manages to regain his grip. He whips around to see Branch leaning up against the wall, arms crossed, and watching him carefully. Branch must've taken the stairs down but damn was he fast. Bruce didn't think he had lingered too long but maybe he'd been a bit more lost in his head than he thought.

"What's up?" Bruce asks after a few beats of silence when Branch makes it clear that he isn't going to start. "Was I taking too long for you?" He jokes, wiggling the crate still held in his arms to prove he'd completed his task.

Branch's eyes narrow just so and he hums noncommittally. He clearly finds whatever it is he's looking for because he pushes off the wall and strides up to Bruce, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, and says "You don't need to change yourself for us." Warmth thrums through Bruce's veins, amazed by Branch's kindness despite his prickly exterior. Branch seems to hesitate for a brief moment, a blink-and-you-miss-it sort of thing, before he visibly steels himself. "We love you." He assures. A dopey smile spreads across Bruce's face.

Branch is scurrying off before Bruce can really get a word in but that doesn't stop him from brightly calling after him, "I love you too!" and he takes a sick pleasure in seeing the tips of Branch's ears turn a dark blue before he disappears around a corner.

Bruce still carries the carrots up to the empty kitchen and places them into the cabinet that Branch had been looking for them in earlier. He sees the pan still in the sink, a few drips of butter turned black pooled at the lip, and grimaces. They end up going out for lunch suspiciously devoid of Branch. John Dory pays for their meals.

Chapter Text

It's been a few weeks now since they've settled down in Troll Village after the disaster that was Mount Rageous. John could admit to himself, and only himself, that he's been neatly knocked down a few pegs by his brothers since then. Branch has been especially ruthless but he supposes he hadn't really known where the baseline was before they'd had time to relax around each other these last couple weeks. Branch wasn't as receptive to John Dory's playful bickering as he initially expected and it turns out that the anger that was directed towards him in retaliation was genuine more often than not. Good to know. Maybe it's only fair. Branch has made it clear that they weren't close enough to taunt and tease like that anymore.

Ever since Branch had snapped at him over his throwaway comment to Bruce John has been spending his nights tucked away in Rhonda. He was painfully aware that the relationship between him and his brothers was strained and while he didn't give that much thought during the day it lingered in the back of his mind when he was alone.

He's shuffling around the kitchenette while Rhonda snoozes away, her gentle snores humming through the floor and acting as a firm reminder that he wasn't alone. He doesn't know exactly what he's looking for as he rummages through the cabinets and peels open the fridge but he's peckish and needs something to do with his hands to keep the more unsavory thoughts at bay. Finding a snack just so happened to solve both of those problems so he throws himself into it.

He's humming the hook to one of Branch's songs-- because of course his brother was so amazingly talented, obviously-- and he grins in triumph when he finds a box of pasta in one of the cupboards. He mumbles the chorus, the words escaping him at the moment, and goes about collecting the rest of what he'd need to make himself some dinner. It's as he's filling the pot in the sink, singing fading out as his focus narrows in on his task, that his darker thoughts bubble up to taunt him. He thinks back to what Branch said a couple of days ago. He scoffs, rolling his eyes while he swings around and settles the pot on top of the small stove. He hadn't given Bruce an eating disorder. That's ridiculous, right? Any issues that Bruce had back then were his own, it was immature to push that onto him, and Branch was just a little baby back then! What did he know?

Here, alone in his home with only Rhonda's familiar rumble and the sounds of the night to keep him company, John Dory allows the guilt to creep in. He looks back on those days and just how pushy he'd been with Bruce about his figure and can easily connect the dots. He doesn't know how it never occurred to him before but he was no stranger to willful ignorance. He figures he'd pushed those thoughts away subconsciously, keeping himself free from the responsibility before the idea ever could have crossed his mind. He knows he hadn't been the best brother after BroZone initially took off. He knows that the pressure of the fame and the fans had gotten to his head and he'd become strict with his family, turning something that had been a passion and a hobby into an obligation.

He had been relieved when Clay and Bruce had brought up leaving after the incident. He'd been so wrapped up in the idea of perfection that anything else made him feel sick and he'd taken that and directed it outward. Clay couldn't be serious. Bruce had to keep his figure. Floyd had to showcase his sensitivity for the world to see. Branch, their baby brother, couldn't possibly be nervous to go out on stage in front of hundreds of people. It would've ruined everything.

No. He knew well just what had ruined everything. He's had two decades to ruminate on it, after all.

He jumped at the chance to get out when the opportunity presented itself and in turn their family split apart. He had pitifully believed that nothing terrible happened. That it was just a disagreement and if-- why had it always been if? Why had he never planned for when?-- they came together again it would all be in the past. He hadn't known at first that they'd all left after he'd gone. He didn't know that Grandma Rosiepuff got eaten. He didn't know that Branch grew up completely alone. He didn't know. But he knew whose fault that was too. Huh. Willful ignorance.

Poppy had broken through that excuse with ease on their trip to Mount Rageous. She was right then and it applied now. He didn't ask. He never followed up. He was always his first priority, even when he felt like he had four younger brothers to raise despite the fact that Grandma Rosiepuff had been there to shoulder most of that burden and do so proudly. It felt like the world had been on his shoulders and rather than communicate that and break the untouchable, perfect persona that he'd built he let that turmoil simmer inside of him until it inevitably boiled over. Looking at all of his brothers now he thinks that maybe he hasn't grown at all.

A knock on the door startles him from his spiraling thoughts and he spares a quick glance at the steaming pot before he goes to see who's outside. It's late, he wasn't expecting to see anyone else until the next day, but a part of him is hopeful that maybe they might need him for something.

He pushes open the door and blinks down in surprise. His youngest brother is illuminated in the cone of light stretching out from the open door, standing awkwardly with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. It's only been a little while but John Dory thought he was learning how to read the different expressions of his siblings. This scowl wasn't angry. It was uncomfortable and hesitant. Trying in vain to cover up the more vulnerable feelings. John Dory leans against the door frame and plasters on an easygoing smile, "Hey, Bitty B!" He greets brightly, "What do I owe the pleasure? Everything alright?"

Branch rolls his eyes, already annoyed, but his expression softens into something much less apprehensive and John considers that a win. "Everything's fine," He assures easily, tapping his fingers anxiously against his arms. It's that little motion that clues John Dory into the fact that this is something serious. At least something serious to Branch. Branch was a wary person by nature, honed by years of isolation and paranoia if the tales that Poppy told in a far-too-bubbly tone were anything to go by, but still he was usually very steadfast and confident in what he did. When he hesitated it was something personal. John wanted to take that seriously, especially now that he's seen how his negligence could affect his family. "I just… wanted to talk."  

Oh. That was daunting. John absentmindedly tugs at his jacket, a self-soothing gesture that he hopes looks as mindless as he tries to make it. "Yeah, of course." He steps back, leaving the door open in a clear invitation. He doesn't bother to linger and instead heads back over to the stove to drop the noodles into the now boiling water. He hears Branch follow him in, those telltale near-silent footsteps trailing slowly after him. He doesn't hear the door close but he has the awareness not to mention it. He figures Branch would feel more comfortable having an easy exit and he was trying really hard to be more conscious of what his brothers are feeling. The silence stretches for a few long minutes before John Dory realizes that Branch isn't going to start on his own. "So," he drawls, propping himself up against and counter and smiling over at Branch, "What's going on in that little head of yours, buddy?"

Branch grimaces but visibly steels himself, steepling his paws together and taking a bracing breath. "I'm sorry," He forces it out in a clear attempt to push past the emotions holding him back. John Dory is stunned by the apology, and he honestly doesn't know what it is that Branch is apologizing for, but Branch takes his silence as something else and rushes to continue. "I shouldn't have blown up at you the other day. There had to be a more civil way to bring it up and I don't want you to feel like you have to avoid everyone just because I lost my temper,"

"Oh," John Dory can't seem to figure out how best to articulate that he didn't think Branch had to apologize. Or rather, he didn't want Branch to apologize. Despite how humiliating he found the whole ordeal he thinks that he needed to have some sense knocked into him and that couldn't have happened if Branch had broached the topic with kindness like Floyd would have. It was humbling even if that made him uncomfortable. A necessary evil he was grateful for even if it made his skin crawl.

Branch barrels on, gesticulating more and more the longer John Dory remains unresponsive. "It's fine, if you don't feel like being in the bunker right now, but I just wanted to make sure you knew I wasn't kicking you out and that I know I should have handled it better, you know--"

"Woah, woah, Branch," John Dory cuts in swiftly, pushing away from the counter and waving his hands soothingly as he gets his wits about him. "We're cool, you just caught me off guard there." He chuckles lightly, noticing the wild look in Branch's eyes fade a bit at the reassurance. It makes him feel lighter knowing that if nothing else he could still soothe his baby brother. "You don't need to apologize," He starts, holding up a paw when Branch immediately moves to protest. He takes a long, fortifying breath. He needs to start communicating, he needs to start expressing his needs or else the cycle is just going to keep repeating and repeating and John has seen how change has benefited his brothers. He needs to open himself up. He's never been the closest to Branch but his youngest brother has done nothing but try to accommodate them and express a genuine desire to tentatively patch their family back up. John Dory figures that if he's going to start trying that Branch isn't a bad person to test the waters with.

"I'm sorry, too," John Dory starts. Branch doesn't even hide the shock on his face and John can't even find it in him to be offended. He had never liked apologizing. He doesn't now either. The only thing that's changed is now he understands that sometimes sorry is necessary and an apology is not a flaw. "I know I can be a bit self-centered but I didn't realize how much I hurt you. Any of you. I needed that call out, bro." He tries to get it out evenly, keeping his sentences measured so they don't come rushing out of him. He falters, watching Branch carefully, but he loses his nerve and turns around to stir his pasta instead. He laughs awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders, "It's really not a big deal, we're all good."

"You've put a lot of pressure on yourself, huh?" Branch asks softly. John Dory tenses up before the words even fully register and he mentally curses how obvious that must look.

He forces his muscles to uncoil and scoffs, "Well, I was single-handedly putting together a rescue mission just a few weeks ago," He jokes stiltedly, trying to push the conversation to a lighter note. One that he felt like he could handle. Branch, sadly, wasn't one to beat around the bush. Not when he had his sights set on a goal and someone else to unravel.

"No, before that," Branch states it now with such confidence. Like it's so obvious. That tears at John's walls and shreds through them. He knows his carefree expression is wavering so he keeps his back to his brother despite just how transparent that must be. John Dory missed his oblivious little brother who would look at all of them with wide eyes filled with wonder and amazement, willing to believe every word that came out of their mouths. "That perfection you wanted for everything, that was yours. You needed it for you, didn't you?"

John Dory doesn't respond. He doesn't need to. The clue board should have clued him in, he supposes. Branch was a smart one. Observant and meticulous. There's no doubt in John's mind that he'd be able to figure out anything if he really put his mind to it. He just wishes that attention had never been directed at him and his carefully covered faults.

Those near-silent footsteps head back towards the open door and John Dory's stomach drops. What was it that made Branch feel the need to flee? He thought that opening up was a step in the right direction but maybe he'd misjudged the moment. John glances over his shoulder to see Branch hovering by the open door, weight shifting from foot to foot while he considers his next words, "You don't have to be perfect for us to love you," he finally says. He doesn't look back to meet John's eyes but his expression is still firm. John feels like he can't breathe, air trapped in his lungs while he waits for whatever comes next. "You're our brother. We want to know you for who you are, not as the person you think you have to be." With that, Branch leaves. The door shuts behind him with a finality that John isn't sure he appreciates and it leaves him alone in the quiet with nothing but a boiling pot of plain noodles and the soft and noisy grumbles of a waking R.V.

His appetite is gone, shriveled and killed by the twisting in his gut, so he rinses the pasta and leaves the bus to feed the noodles to an excited Rhonda. He gently runs his paw across her cheek and smiles softly when she trills lovingly at him. His stomach is in knots and he doesn't know whether or not it was a good thing he'd tried to put his feelings out there. It made his skin crawl and the vulnerability had quickly put him on the defensive but he feels like he'd made progress with Branch that he hadn't been able to before. He goes back to his room in the bunker that night.

Chapter Text

Clay sat perched up on one of the many stone clusters scattered around the entrance of the bunker with a clipboard sat on his lap, an inventory for Branch's perishables printed across each page in neatly made rows and columns. He wanted to help out with his brother's organization but Branch was adamant that his system didn't need any adjustments. Clay had hesitated then, wondering what else he could do to take some weight off of Branch's shoulders, but before he could even ask Branch had shoved a list and a pen in his hands and asked him to check the stock on the lower level. Clay was more than happy to have a task to do. This has definitely been the longest he's gone in quite a while without having a job to keep on top of and it was starting to make him antsy. He had only made it halfway through the five-page list, Branch had a lot more perishables than he expected, and so he made his way up to the surface after a few hours to get some fresh air.

That had been two hours ago. He's looked over the list at least fifteen times now, checking and double-checking that he hadn't overlooked anything so far, and he was quickly running out of excuses to stay outside. But Viva had come over with Queen Poppy and so her friends and his older brothers were locked in an outrageous water balloon fight over in the clearing he conveniently had a perfect view of. It looked like a lot of fun. Clay wasn't fun anymore.

He's been trying to subtly keep an eye on the all-out war waging just a few meters away, watching as the group laughed and splashed about. They cheered and groaned in equal measure with each blow that landed and Clay wondered with no small amount of yearning whether or not they'd split into teams or if it was a free-for-all game. It took all of his focus to not jump up and join in. He'd spent years proving that he was more than just the fun one, that he still deserved to be taken seriously, and he would be damned if he threw all of that away just for one silly little water balloon fight.

His frustration with himself only grew when his ability to do his one task was inhibited. He knew he was being ridiculous. He could very well just get up and head back inside but he hadn't yet found the willpower. Each time he nearly gave in and went back in to finish up his work another loud cheer would break out or they'd spread apart to start another round and he'd be drawn right back in.

He doesn't know why this was so hard for him. He's been just fine all these years and he found a lot of joy in the work he did for the community back at the golf course. It seems that his restlessness was starting to get to him in ways he hadn't really considered. There was an eagerness buried under his skin that called for something to do and he could admit to himself that he still wanted to throw himself full-force into the parties and events that made up Troll Village. There were a lot of parties and events in Troll Village. Clay has still gone to his fair share of get-togethers with Viva unbeknownst to his siblings. It was easy to let loose with Viva. Viva never once doubted that he was someone serious and respectable and she had been a large contributor to how he viewed himself now. It was also really nice to be able to come back to the peace and general quiet of Branch's bunker, unwind from a loud day full of bright colors in the comfortable quiet surrounded by muted and natural tones. There was a balance that Clay found for himself that he really enjoyed but he was afraid of showing that to his brothers. He'd been so adamant after seeing them all that he was no fun at all anymore but he'd never expected to spend any extended period of time with them again.

He couldn't escape it now, he supposes, and honestly he doesn't want to. He had forgotten how much he loved them. He'd never say that to their faces but he was grateful to have them in his life again. His cold relationship with John Dory has even improved significantly and he finds that it's actually really nice to talk to his eldest brother. They've spent a few long afternoons just chatting around the bunker, exchanging stories about their lives since the band broke up. It was still weird to see John really listening but it was a nice kind of strange.

Another round of cheers breaks out and drags Clay from his thoughts. He looks up to see one of Poppy's friends drenched, the big blue one, with an empty bucket rolling along across the grass beside him. He's clutching his pet worm to his chest as he guffaws, pushing his hair back with his free paw. Clay groans softly and lets his head fall onto the clipboard with a muted thunk.

A light chuckle from somewhere behind him startles him out of his wallowing and he whips his head around to see Floyd and Branch making their way over. "Having fun?" Floyd pressed with a soft smile on his face. It's clear that it's one of his bad days. His eyes have large bags hanging under them and he moves slowly without his usual grace. Clay can even see his hands shaking slightly after he gets a little closer.

"Me? Never." Clay scoffs and smiles back in greeting. He raises his clipboard in one hand, spinning his pen expertly in the other, "Just getting some fresh air while I check over my work." They exchange a look that Clay can't really place and Branch hoists himself up onto the rocks that Clay has made his home the last couple hours. "What brings you two out here? Poppy finally convince you to join in?" He turns a teasing look to Branch.

"Ha, ha," Branch deadpans, looking every part unimpressed. Fun or no fun Clay could never give up messing with his brother.

"Also getting some fresh air," Floyd cuts in before their banter could escalate. "I really needed to be outside for a little." He shrugs but Clay's smile drops at the haunted look in those pink eyes. Despite everything it could still be so difficult to overlook everything that Floyd has been through. He still hasn't told them just how long he'd been trapped with Velvet and Veneer but even the handful of hours that Clay had been held captive had been enough to rattle him to his core. Floyd was fragile in a way the rest of them weren't, his heart on his sleeve despite how delicate it could be. On days like this Clay was reminded that despite that Floyd was no less strong.

"Well, you're more than welcome to join me," Clay assures warmly, he glances back at his clipboard and very pointedly ignores the game going strong in the background. "Just don't expect much from me in terms of company." Because he was working and not because he was captivated by the water balloon fight. Obviously.

"Thanks," Floyd's smile is soft and he takes Branch's hand when the other offers him help. Branch easily pulls Floyd up and Clay wonders if Floyd is just that light or if Branch is just that strong. "What're you working on?" He asks as he settles down between Branch and Clay.

"Oh," Clay blinks. He had expected their conversation to end there. Sure, he wanted to be taken seriously but he didn't expect the others to have any interest in his work. He was always entertaining back then, he told good jokes and did cool dances, but he expected their attention to drift elsewhere when they realized he was being boring. He didn't really think that would change just because they were older now. It was the price he had to pay for the results he wanted. The only person who seemed to enjoy things like this in the way he did was Branch. It made something melt sweet and soft beneath his ribs to see Floyd expressing a real interest. "It's inventory for some of Branch's provisions. I wanted to help out a little so he asked me to take stock of the perishables." Saying it out loud he knows it doesn't sound interesting. All the detail work and the tedious counting rarely caught anyone's attention. Even Clay got bored of cataloging like this from time to time.

"Oh, yeah, should probably know what you have if it can expire." Floyd realizes, nodding along. He looks pale now that Clay can see him in the sun. Floyd's pelt is a bit dull still compared to Clay's own and there's a haziness to his eyes that speaks more to how unwell he's feeling than to bad memories. "I'm honestly a bit surprised you have more than what's in the pantry," Floyd turns his head to Branch and the older two bask in how the tips of Branch's ears turn a deep blue. Clay wasn't stupid. He's seen that Branch's skin isn't as saturated as the rest of theirs, even compared to a still-recovering Floyd. He doesn't know if anyone else has given it much thought and he's pushed it to the back of his mind. The possible implications made his stomach twist and he didn't want to jump to any conclusions. Maybe after years of holing up with Viva a bit of her paranoia had rubbed off on him. Either way, it was really nice to see some color back in Branch's face.

"I may have stocked up when I knew you guys would be staying." Branch mumbles, averting his gaze and staring intensely down at the tall grass brushing against the rocks.

"Aw," Clay coos because he can't resist. "You bought real food just for us." He reaches over, carefully avoiding knocking too hard into Floyd sat between them, and ruffles Branch's hair. Expectantly Branch quickly tries to push him away, hands flailing up to bat at the offending arm. It was becoming a running joke between the three eldest brothers to see who could manage to touch Branch's hair the most before they went home. Branch was usually quick enough to duck away or hide behind someone else but there were still plenty of opportunities to catch him by surprise.

"The rations are real food," Branch argues, successfully untangling Clay from his hair and scooting away for good measure. He shoots Clay a sharp glare and huffs, though he doesn't retaliate. "They're for emergencies though. I only had enough fresh food stocked up for me and apparently it's important to be a good host." Branch rolls his eyes and Clay can already picture Poppy ranting with great exasperation at Branch about the importance of taking care of your guests.

"Thanks Branch," Floyd says it with such sincerity that Clay couldn't even hope to follow it up with any more teasing remarks. Well played, Floyd. It's interesting to see Branch immediately soften under Floyd's kindness. There was a general affection that rested on Branch's features when he thought no one was looking, content in a tired way that felt like it should be foreign to the youngest of them, but he always visibly relaxed with Floyd. It makes sense. Floyd was the one who brought them all together, and Floyd caused the least amount of ruckus, but Clay thinks there's something more to it that he's just not privy to.

"Of course," Branch nods, shyly soaking up the gratitude. Clay has learned that Branch isn't really used to others being grateful for him. He doesn't know exactly why, whether no one ever really explicitly thanked him or he'd never had someone who could, but Poppy made it no secret that she was always grateful for Branch. His face got several shades darker every time.

Another round of cheers draws Clay's attention before he can think to ignore them. Viva is somehow covered in glitter and cackling like a madwoman, leaning heavily on a chortling Poppy to stay upright. Branch chuckles and Clay glances over to see the other troll shaking his head fondly with an easy smile on his face. His face always melts when Poppy is involved. The Queen flips some sort of switch in him that rounds out all his sharp edges. Clay doesn't know how to thank her for being there for Branch but he wants to find a way. Maybe he'll ask Viva.

"You know, you could always take a break," When Clay looks at Floyd his expression is far too knowing. Clay hates it when Floyd gets smug. He's sure the last twenty years have only made Floyd better at being a little shit. Floyd's expression only turns smug, though, when Clay doesn't immediately respond. He tilts his head towards the ongoing game, silently urging Clay to get up and enjoy himself.

"Psh, what?" Clay waves a paw, "Nah, why would I do that?" Even to his own ears he sounds painfully unconvincing. He had an image to upkeep now and he wasn't about to shatter it just because he had no self-control.

Branch tilts his head, raising an eyebrow, "Why not?" His confusion catches Clay off guard a little. He'd expected Branch to question him the least. Out of everyone, Branch is the only troll around who wouldn't want to participate simply because he didn't feel like it. "It's not like that's gonna take you the rest of the day, and it's not important anyway." Branch gestures to the clipboard with a shrug, settling back on his paws and turning his head back towards the fun. "The more the merrier, right?" Coming out of anyone else's mouth the question would've been rhetorical.

"It's not really my scene anymore, Bitty B," Clay tries to explain with a warm smile, watching fondly as Branch's face screws up at the nickname. "I don't really do that kind of thing anymore, I got my own stuff to do." He wiggles the clipboard again. Branch's frown doesn't move, if anything it only becomes more pronounced. Floyd and Branch look at each other again and this time Clay can practically see the silent conversation bouncing between the two. He doesn't know when this happened, they didn't have time to cultivate this kind of close relationship without everyone else noticing, but Clay has never felt more like the middle child than he does right now. With his two youngest brothers conspiring against him and his older brothers off doing the exact thing he yearned to do he felt particularly out of the loop.

"You know," Floyd starts. It's not a good sign when Floyd starts. Floyd won't hesitate to give him shit. "No one will care if you have some fun." Clay expects teasing, some remark about how he'll always be the fun one, but Floyd's face is sincere and open. Clay's stomach twists and he resists the urge to focus his attention back on the clipboard. That'd only look like he was avoiding eye contact.

Clay rolls his eyes, "That'd be great. If I wanted to." He places the clipboard aside and subtly stretches out his fingers. He hadn't realized just how hard he'd been gripping the wood until he'd let go. "Seriously, guys, I'm good. I'm right where I want to be." He goes for a reassuring smile but Branch is looking at him with those calculating eyes of his so Clay knows he's screwed. He sighs, sticking a hand into his messy hair and picking at a knot there, "I'm fine, really. I have work to do right now and I don't know if I'm comfortable being the fun guy in front of so many trolls." Branch's gaze softens and Clay lets out a relieved exhale. Floyd's smile is sympathetic as he hugs his knees to his chest.

"I get it," Branch nods, turning his gaze away again. That only sparks Clay's unease again. Branch avoided eye contact sometimes when things got emotional. Floyd says it's an easy way to disconnect yourself from the situation without leaving. Clay thinks Branch is just awkward. Bruce thinks they can both be right. "After the Bergens discovered that they could be happy without eating a troll a lot of Poppy's friends tried to invite me to things afterwards. Ya know, since I helped out. It took me a while to take them up on it, I didn't want anyone to think that I was an entirely different troll just because we all went on some crazy adventure together." He shrugs and clears his throat, turning his head back towards his bunker when his discomfort rises.

Clay laughs, "I don't know what that has to do with me," He tries to play it off but quiets quickly when Floyd shoots him a pointed look.

Branch huffs a soft laugh and turns back at him just far enough for Clay to see him roll his eyes. "I wanted people to still take me seriously, and not assume that just because I changed I suddenly wanted to do everything a normal troll does. Don't get me wrong I love being a troll, and it's nice to do things every now and then, but I'm also still me." Floyd gently knocks into Branch and offers an encouraging smile when it seems like Branch is getting off track. Branch clears his throat again, "Right, the point is that I know what it's like. To avoid doing things so that people don't look at you differently." Finally Branch makes eye contact again and Clay is taken aback by the open compassion there. It's warm and understanding and makes Branch's blue eyes shine. "You can still have fun sometimes, Clay. We know that's not all you are."

Floyd quickly agrees, jumping in to give Branch a moment to pull his thoughts together and compose himself. "No one is gonna hold it against you if you want to enjoy yourself." Which is such a nice sentiment and Clay knows they both mean it but… but it's different when it comes from your younger brothers. Of course they'd still take him seriously. To at least some extent they'll always remember the days when they were kids and he knew more than them. When they were kids they could come to Clay for things, whether they took him seriously or not, because more often than not he had the answers or knew someone who did. Floyd's encouraging smile dims when Clay clearly isn't convinced.

Branch sighs, tilting his head back with a small groan of genuine frustration, "Clay," he starts firmly, rolling his head back up to clock Clay with a dark look. "The only person who you're gonna convince with this is you. No one is all stiff and professional all the time, and everyone has hobbies that they do for fun. If you want to have fun you should. You're not the fun one anymore but that doesn't mean that you can't hang out with your friends." Branch stands with a grimace, holding out a paw to Clay. Clay stares blankly back for a few long moments before Branch impatiently shakes his offered hand and Clay takes it on instinct.

Branch pulls him unceremoniously to his feet and drags him off the rocks and off toward the commotion without so much as a pause. "Woah, woah, hey," Clay protests, trying to pull back only to find that Branch's grip is strong. He turns back to Floyd in search of help but Floyd just offers a smug little wave with a smug little grin. "What're you doing?"

"We," Branch corrects, "Are gonna go join a stupid water balloon fight." The closer they get the more trolls pause in their battle to send them curious glances. Clay can already feel the nerves building under his skin but they're chased away by the growing excitement and anticipation. Branch was offering him an excuse. He saw that Clay wanted to join but he was too caught up in himself to take the chance and he decided that he'd give Clay an in. Clay's heart bursts with affection, warmth seeping into his body that had nothing to do with the summer sun.

"Hey," John Dory greets, hair soaked and dripping water from tall strands hanging in front of his face. He tosses a water balloon lazily into the air, catching it lightly while his eyes flick between them. His smile widens when Branch and Clay stop only a few feet away. The whole field was still, waiting with baited breath for the next move. Clay was equally frozen wondering just what Branch would say. Branch, as it turns out, doesn't say anything. He takes one step forward, sighs a long-suffering sigh, and extends his arms out on either side of him in open acceptance.

Approximately three water balloons slam into Branch at once; John Dory lands a swift bullseye to Branch's face, Poppy hits him square in the torso, and Bruce gets a shot in on Branch's hip. Branch falls back like a man shot, landing on his back with a quiet oof, and looks up at Clay with a deadpan expression ruined by the shine in his eyes and the nearly imperceptible twitch of his lips. "Avenge me." He monotones.

Clay doesn't hesitate to jump into the fray. Chaos erupts across the field as every troll scrambles for ammunition. Viva joins Clay in his quest for vengeance and Poppy cries betrayal when her sister nails her in the back of the head. Clay can hear Floyd laughing from here. Branch sits up from where he'd fallen, watching with a soft smile as Clay finally lets himself have this. Clay smiles back. He has a lot of fun.

Chapter Text

It's dark. Not in the way that's familiar like the dreary shadows of the bunker. He knows that darkness, those shadows that he wraps himself up in like a blanket. No, rather, it's dark like he's lost. Dark like when he'd wandered into the forest when he was a trolling and he had no one to come look for him so he'd stumbled hopelessly through the pitch black praying that he'd find his way home. It's dark and he can't remember why.

He doesn't call out or feel around for someone else. He's not an idiot. He knows that more likely than not he was alone. He wouldn’t dare alert anything that could be out here. Instead he carefully moves forward, arm extended in front of him in hopes to keep himself from stumbling into anything while his feet silently drag across the floor to prevent himself from tripping. It's slow progress but no matter how far he goes nothing changes. The floor is rough but even beneath him and he doesn't run into anything. Not a wall or a tree or even a table. It's like the world itself has disappeared and left him behind in its shadow.

Despite that he feels strangely calm. There's no panic rushing through his veins or anxiety clogging his mind. He just moves slowly and silently through the darkness like something will change. It doesn't. Not until it does.

A long stretch away a ball of light is birthed into existence. It doesn't come into view or appear from around some invisible corner. It simply just is in the same way that before it simply wasn't. He startles at the small ball of orange and yellow flickering a forever away. At this pace he'll never reach the pinprick of fire dancing slowly closer but he was far too cautious to just make a run for it. The burst of flame was all there was. It didn't illuminate a world he couldn't see. It just sat in the center of the black, its glow absorbed into the vacuum of nothingness that consumed everything.

"Branch?" Poppy? "Branch where are you?" She sounds worried. Scared. There's a tremor in her voice that shouldn't ever be there and it sends a spike of ice through his chest.

"Here!" He calls, looking around frantically like suddenly he'd finally be able to see. Poppy broke his calm. The false sense of ease he'd felt was ripped away from him in a moment and suddenly he could feel his heart pounding a desperate rhythm in his chest and anxiety curled around his ribs and squeezed the air from his lungs. "Poppy, where are you?" He screams into the void but there's nothing there. Nothing but the fire. He throws caution to the wind and runs for it.

"Branch?" She sounds so small, so meek. She sounds so close but she's nowhere to be found. The fire, the light, it's his only hope. "Branch!"

"I'm coming!" He's trying, please, he's trying. "Just stay where you are!" She doesn't respond, just sobs, and he can't breathe. She's crying, she's scared, he can't find her. He's supposed to protect her. He's getting closer. The small speck of light is growing alarmingly fast. The fire has to be gigantic, a large ball of flame at least four times the size of him. "Poppy, please." He begs. He's still not close enough. He's still too far.

"Branch?" His heart stutters and stops and lurches into his throat. That's not fair, this isn't fair-- "I don't know where I am." Floyd. Floyd's here. Why are they here? Where are they? What is this?

"I'm coming," He swears. He's getting closer, the fire is almost as bright as the sun and somehow there's still nothing but darkness. There's no warmth, no heat, only all-consuming shadow. He feels the weight of it now. It presses in on him and slows him down. "Just wait for me."

"You're taking too long," John Dory. No. No no. He's coming. He's moving as fast as he can. "We can't wait forever." His voice is unsteady, eager to escape the unknown that makes him uncomfortable. The knee-jerk reaction to get away before something terrible could catch up to him.

"I'm almost there," He promises. He lies. He doesn't know where they are. He doesn’t know where he is, either. He can't lose them. He can't lose her. "Just wait for me."

"We're waiting," Bruce's soothing voice cuts in. He sounds sad. Patient and bittersweet and it feels dismissive.

They're lost. They're scared. They're asking for him, searching for him, and he can't find them. The fire is there. It's right there. It's the only beacon in this terrible, vacant nothingness. He's getting close enough that he can see it's raised high in the air. He has to look up now to keep it in his sight.

"Come on, Branch, you can do this," Clay urges, using his anxiety to fuel his support. He can imagine the green-haired troll wringing his hands together and he wishes that he could see it. He wants to see them. Please. He can find them, he can do this, please--

The ball of light is directly above him now and he cranes his neck to look up at it. "I'm here," he breathes, panting less from exertion and more from the weight of emotion crushing his chest.

"Branch?" Poppy whimpers. The light goes out and he's plunged into the suffocating nothing--

Branch jerks awake, eyes snapping open as he scrambles up against his headboard. His chest is heaving with each breath and panic courses cold through his veins. A dream. Of course it was just a dream, it was unrealistic and ridiculous and… haunting. It couldn't have been anything other than a nightmare but he can still hear the tremor in Poppy's voice and JD's false bravado and when he looks down at his paws cupped in his lap he can see them shaking even in the low light. Damn it. He really figured he'd be better by now. At least about this. He'd been riddled with nightmares most of his life, ever since Grandma Rosiepuff died, but he'd gotten better after he got his colors back. Until his brothers started staying with him at least.

The dreams had started back up with a vengeance after that. Some of them were completely unrelated, the Bergens betraying them or Poppy's bubbly friends ridiculing him again, but some of them hammered home just how deep his issues ran. Sometimes it was his brothers sitting him down and explaining in painful detail how the band breaking up had been his fault. Other times it was waking up to the bunker empty and all of his brothers nowhere to be found. Every once in a while the dreams would twist and morph into something unreal but no less painful, like it had tonight. Usually those ones are easier to brush off. They should be easy to pick apart and see for what they were: fake. He couldn't make rhyme or reason of the nightmare that's left him drenched in sweat and trembling like a leaf in his bed. It's infuriating that something so fantastical could shake him to his core. Sitting here alone in his room he can admit to himself that he was still scared. The terror lingered heavy over his head and he pressed his back harder against the headboard like it could protect him from some unknown evil trying to sneak up on him. He felt pitifully unsafe in his own home and the shadows he usually found soothing were quickly becoming oppressive.

Branch leaped from his bed and turned on his bedside lamp, taking a few grounding breaths when the warm glow gently spread across the room. He needed to calm down. He was fine. The others were fine. With the darkness pushed away he feels a little more at ease but his chest still feels tight and there's still a chill between his shoulder blades. He's still pitifully, achingly afraid.

Running a hand down his face and counting slowly to ten in his head he makes for the door. Always, without fail, he was the last up and the first awake. He hated the idea of being caught off guard, especially in his own home, and the constant hypervigilance kept him up and focused until he just couldn't be anymore. Ever since his brothers came back into his life he'd gotten maybe five hours of sleep every night, rarely uninterrupted. He didn't mind the routine but there was an exhaustion in his day-to-day that hadn't been there before. It was starting to catch up to him, his energy and focus were waning more often than not, but at least he knew with a fair amount of certainty that no one else was awake at this hour.

He steps silently out into the open space of the bunker and moves swiftly towards the stairs. He doesn't want to make any noise and wake anyone up so he avoids both the elevator and the lights despite how his anxious mind insists that the darkness is nipping at his heels, eagerly reaching out to drag him away from the light--

He makes it to the kitchen faster than he should have.

He speed walks down the hallway and flips on the light the second he crosses the threshold, bracing his hands on the table the moment he's close enough and just taking a few minutes to breathe. His whole body is wracked with fine tremors and his knees feel weak. You're fine, He seethes to himself, Get it together. His heart is racing beneath his ribs and he feels like it's only moments away from bursting. He pries his fingers off the edge of the table and forces himself to take measured steps over to his fridge. You're fine, he insists as he sifts through the bottles and jars tucked into the fridge door, You're fine, he chants as he selects a bottle of homemade strawberry milk Poppy had gifted him.

He lets the fridge door swing shut behind him and turns on his heel to grab a mug from the cupboard. He pointedly ignores how the bottle visibly shakes in his grip and grits his teeth when his fingers clumsily miss the handle of the mug the first few times he tries to grab it. His heart stutters and stops and aches sharply and he's fine. He snatches the cup with a violent anger that's stirring to life deep in his stomach and slams it onto the counter. Immediately he winces, cringing at the loud sound that echoes ruthlessly through the space, and when he places the bottle down beside the mug it's with a much lighter hand. He goes through the motions subconsciously, grabbing a small pot from a cabinet and pouring a generous amount of milk into it before placing it on the stove. He barely even registers that he's turned the stove on, staring blankly into his empty cup and wondering if it would be overstepping some unspoken boundary if he were to show up at Poppy's pod right now. Maybe, if he was quiet enough, he could slip unnoticed into his brothers' rooms and make sure that they were okay. Assure himself that, against all odds, they were still here. He knows it's a ridiculous fear, they were adults and they all seemed fairly happy with the arrangement, but a small part of him pleads with him to check anyway. A terrifying what-if that persists despite his best efforts to squash it with logical thinking.

He startles from his stupor when the milk boils over, hissing and spitting when the liquid dribbles into the flame. He scrambles to turn off the stove and pull the pot away from the heat, sucking in a sharp breath when the milk almost sloshes over the side in his rush to avoid making a bigger mess. Like he hadn't already been on edge before. He quickly goes about pouring his drink into his cup and setting the pot into the empty sink to cool. Haphazard clean-up complete he gently cradles his warm drink in his hands. Immediately the warmth seeping from the mug begins to soothe his nerves and a trembling sigh falls from his lips. It's a small comfort, one that does very little to calm his heart or stop the tremors wracking his body, but he's never been one to take the small things for granted. He hadn't been for a long, long time.

You're fine, he closes his eyes, focusing on the weight of the mug in his paws. You're fine, you're fine, you're fine, he chants it like a mantra inside his head. The shaking doesn't lessen. His chest still aches. He still feels like he can barely breathe and his heart is desperate to escape. You're fine, he tries in vain to convince himself, messily leaning back against the counter and sliding down until he's curled up on the floor. You're fine. They're fine, it was just a stupid dream. Nothing happened, no one left, they're all still here, His thoughts sound desperate even to himself, he knows that he's working himself up but he's helpless to stop himself from spiraling.

He sets the mug aside before he spills the scalding drink and instead wraps his arms tight around himself, drawing his legs up to his chest and burying his face into his knees. "You're okay," He chokes out just to fill the silence. His voice is strained and choked and his breath is warm against his face, "You're okay." It sounds like an empty promise, one he's tried to keep for decades. He thought he'd gotten better. Maybe he had just gotten better at fooling himself. He sobs, clenching his jaw in a futile attempt to keep his cries at bay. His eyes burn and he squeezes them shut like that would make the tears go away. "You're okay," He pleads, arms tightening around himself in a poor imitation of a hug. What's wrong with him? Why is he like this? It was just a dream, he knows that!

Another cry bursts from his lips and he gives in. He shakes apart on the kitchen floor, muffles whimpers into his arms and jerks with silent, full-body sobs that leave him gasping for air. He tugs at his hair and bites his lips to keep quiet and he falls apart because he can't possibly keep himself together anymore. Instead of some sort of catharsis, he only feels worse. He feels tired and broken and still so agonizingly frightened. He feels like he's lost himself to these empty rooms, like they've gutted him and left him hollow and alone. He cries and cries and cries and all he feels is empty and haunted. Alone, the way he's always been. Branch doesn't move for a long, long time. When he finally uncurls and peels himself off the floor he picks up his mug long gone cold and dumps the milk down the drain.  

Chapter Text

Branch is off his game. Ever since that nightmare a few nights back he's been all out of sorts and his inability to get himself back on track is only making him increasingly upset. Floyd came by yesterday to ask him where he kept his extra pencils and Branch had to hold his tongue to keep from biting the poor troll's head off. He's been able to keep up appearances so far but he can feel himself unraveling and knows that it's only a matter of time before he snaps. Sleep hasn't come any easier either. Every night it's been something new and every night after he bolts awake with his heart thumping wildly in his chest the fear is chased away by a boiling anger. This is ridiculous. He is a grown troll in a happy relationship. He was in the middle of reconciling with his brothers and it was even going well, all things considered. Despite that, he was still falling apart at the seams. No matter what he did it didn't seem like he could keep it together for more than a few months at a time and he was tired of it.

He was supposed to be better now. It's been over a year since he got his colors back and while they might not be as bright as they were, not when he was a kid and not when they'd first returned, he was still a soft blue instead of a cold gray. He was happy. At least he was supposed to be. He knows that it's stupid to think that a few great months of wavering joy was going to erase years of loneliness and trauma but he can't understand why he's doing so poorly now of all times.

He has his brothers back. The same brothers he spent years of his life waiting for. The brothers he dug out rooms in his bunker for. That he handcrafted whole furniture sets for when he was just a kid in the pathetic hope that they'd be grateful and stay. They're here, they're staying in his bunker like he'd always dreamed about when he was just a trolling, and somehow he still finds himself filled to the brim with resentment sometimes. Some days he wakes up knowing that if he leaves his room he'll have to come face-to-face with his siblings and all he can feel is bitterness and anger. He'll find himself standing on the edge of a conversation, watching them laugh with each other like nothing was wrong, meanwhile, all he can think about is how they all came back but it wasn't for him. They never cared that he was alone, that they abandoned him and he had no one, they only cared that Floyd was in danger. The worst part is that he gets it. He's hurt that they never thought of him but he understands. Floyd has always been the one that connected them. Floyd brought them together and Branch could never hope to do that. He hates that it makes him angry. He hates himself for being mad at Floyd for being enough when he had clearly never meant anything to them.

Some days he can't even look at his brothers without wanting to tear them apart. He'll see a glimpse of their hair around the corner and he'll have to flee before he went off, demanding apologies he wasn't sure he was due. He'll be so infuriated that they left him. Pissed that the only one who ever came back was John Dory and it was only for a cursory glance at a long abandoned Troll Tree. Devastated and enraged that Floyd said he'd come back and never did.

He wishes he wasn't so angry. It sits in his chest like a ball of fire and pulses with a fury that he couldn't possibly ignore. It contrasts with the dread emptying out a pit in his stomach so starkly it feels like it might consume him.

Branch closes his eyes and lets himself breathe in the quiet of the morning, trying in vain to untangle the emotions coiled up inside of him. He's grateful that he's planned today out. He doesn't want any free time to lose himself to his inner turmoil and he definitely doesn't want to give anyone a chance to push him over the edge. He was looking forward to getting together with Poppy that afternoon. They hadn't seen each other for more than a few minutes since last week and he was sure that just a few hours with her would inevitably quiet the cacophony inside of him. He really needed a normal day not centered around his brothers. So, he carefully planned to get most of his errands and favors out of the way in one go.

He climbs out of bed and stretches, shaking out the stiffness still clinging to his limbs from his latest nightmare. It wasn't a particularly bad dream he doesn't think, he doesn't even remember it now, but it's left him tired and tense all the same. He goes through his morning routine as quickly as possible before making his way up the stairs in hopes of grabbing something for breakfast. He's nearly to the entrance of the kitchen when he freezes. The soft clinking of a spoon stirring inside of a cup reaches his ears and he assumes that Floyd is likely up early making tea again. Usually he doesn't mind when he and Floyd cross paths in the early mornings, more often than not he actually really enjoys the quiet company, but the idea of seeing Floyd right now makes him want to scream.

He continues his trek up the stairs with more caution than before and quickly passes right by the kitchen. He doesn't need to stop. He can just grab something to eat later. The growing pit in his stomach left no room for his appetite anyway.

By the time noon rolls around Branch is actually feeling pretty good about things. He's still caught in his simmering anger but he's spent the day being productive out in the sun and it's lifted his spirits enough that he feels almost normal again. He's just finished putting away a few more jars of an antibiotic sap he'd been out in the forest collecting and he still had plenty of time to make it to his meet-up with Poppy. Most of the other trolls still give him his space even though Poppy's been trying to integrate him into the day-to-day for the past few years so he's left blissfully to his own devices as he makes his way across the village. The sun is high in the sky, filtering through the trees and scattering the floor with patches of cool shadow, and Branch peacefully tilts his head up into the glow.

It's not long until he spots the bright pink of Poppy's pod and he's not ashamed to say that he picks up the pace to make it there quicker. He's across the village in record time, making swift work of the short climb up to Poppy's vibrant home. He barely manages to get his feet on the ground before he's bodily tackled by a pink and blue blur. Poppy's happy squeal rings in his ears and he's helpless to stop the bright smile from spreading across his face as his arms instinctively wrap around her shoulders. He swings her around with ease, burying his face into her soft hair and sharing a laugh with the light of his life. The hug ends too quickly for Branch's liking.

Poppy grabs him by the shoulders and holds him at arm's length, her smile still a beacon of sunshine on her face as she eagerly glances him up and down. "Ugh, it's been forever," She complains dramatically, face twisting into a playful pout that did nothing to dim the mirth in her eyes.

Branch snorts, grinning back at her without a second thought, and rolls his eyes, "We saw each other a few days ago." He's so happy to see her. How hard these last few days have been has just made the time he's gone without her feel even more like torture. Poppy was never one to let him stay inside his head, even before they'd become real friends she's always been so determined to help him get out of his shell. It's why he started falling for her long before they'd ventured to Bergen Town together. Her willpower, her sharp wit, her unwavering support for him. She never gave up on him, even when he tried to force her hand. The more she's learned about him the more caring she's become. She's gentle now when she tries to dig him out of his ruts and understanding when all he needs is some time to himself. He can't ever express to her how grateful he is for everything she's given him. He feels lighter now talking with her than he has in weeks.

"Yeah, for like fifteen minutes," She scoffs, "That's not nearly enough time, Branch!" Her eyes narrow, her playful expression taking on a note of something more serious when she more carefully looks him over. Her hands squeeze his shoulders reassuringly and he wants to melt into the touch. "How're things going over there?" She presses cautiously.

Branch shrugs, reaching up and wrapping a loose hand around her wrist, "They're going," He dismisses easily. He doesn't really want to think about it right now. He doesn't know how to tell her that he feels like a ghost in his own home. That he's hopeful and scared all at once over what he could have. Her eyes lock onto his and he knows she won't let this go. He sighs, allowing himself to sag into her touch, "Really, it's fine. I'm just caught up on some stuff."

Poppy visibly hesitates and Branch wishes he could know what was going on inside her mind. It'd be so much easier to navigate these conversations if he just knew what exactly Poppy wanted from him. "Okay," She settles on after a few moments, her thumbs rubbing comforting circles against his shoulders, "I'm sorry I've been so busy recently but if you need anything I'm here for you, okay?"

Branch smiles, expression painfully smitten, "I know." He assures, squeezing her wrist. "You're already doing a lot." Because she is. Her being here, supporting him, it's like she's lifted the weight that's been crushing him and she's given him a chance to breathe.

Though it takes his breath away watching her expression soften the way it does. He's noticed that she only ever looks like this with him. The happy crinkle around her eyes smooths out and her lips form this soft, loving smile and she just looks so overwhelmingly fond it never fails to plant a pocket of warmth beneath his ribs. "Okay," She nods, squeezing his shoulders again, "Thank you for letting me be here for you."

Branch shakes his head, "Thank you for wanting to be there for me." He shoots back. It's still such a foreign idea to him it catches him by surprise every time. She's always so happy to drop everything for him like he matters. When it comes to Poppy, he's starting to think he might.

"Always," Poppy promises. Promises like that are so easy for her but she's learned with time that they mean everything to him. She lets her arms drop to her sides as she rocks back on her heels, "So," She drawls, another wide smile spreading across her face, "I might have a surprise for you." She's already getting caught in her own excitement, arms starting to swing back and forth while she tries in vain to contain her joy.

"Oh?" He cocks an amused eyebrow as he watches her energy build. This was exactly what he needed after the week that he's had. He may not be ready to open that particular can of worms but Poppy released some of the pressure building up inside of him.

Poppy nods, reaching forward and grabbing his hand, "Yep! Just follow my lead, I have it all planned out," She sweeps her other arm in front of her as she drags him along. "I cleared my whole afternoon and everything! It'll just be you and me." She turns to look at him over her shoulder as she leads him expertly down from her pod. His heart is turning to a puddle in his chest and he feels safe in the bubble that Poppy's carefully crafted just for the two of them. She was so unbearably kind he didn't know what to do about it most of the time. She was terribly busy and most of the time that worked for them but either she had missed him or she'd seen that he needed some time away from his bunker, or possibly even both, and she'd planned something special out just for him. He was so incredibly lucky to have her.

He holds her hand tight and listens as she rambles, talking about her latest duties, how Viva was acclimating to Troll Village, and how her friends were doing. He's so overcome with adoration that he cuts her off before she can go into detail about Satin and Chenille's latest fashion project. "I love you," he says and her words stumble to a stop. She stops in her tracks and stares at him not with surprise but with that same fondness reserved just for him. They stand in the middle of Troll Village hand-in-hand and his weak heart flutters when she responds.

"I love you too," She chirps, bouncing on her toes and leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his cheek before she drags him off again. He loses himself in her voice, following merrily after her without so much as a glance around, but he doesn't have to wait long to figure out where they're going. He can already see their destination set up next to the trunk of a large tree and his heart simply melts at the sight. Things came more into focus as they got closer and he took in the pink and white checkered blanket smoothed out across the grass, a bright yellow picnic basket and a large pitcher of what looked like lemonade settled neatly on top. "I know today was probably busy for you since you've been holed up with your brothers so much recently! I figured a nice lunch would be a good idea." Poppy explains, watching him for his reaction when they come to a stop at the edge of the blanket.

"It sounds great," Branch agrees readily, basking in the glow of her smile as she absolutely lights up. She pumps a fist in the air, celebrating a surprise well done, and leaps over to the basket to start unpacking their meal. He follows at a much slower pace and settles himself down on the blanket across from her. He watches lovingly as she pulls out muffins and little sandwiches and even a side of chips and dip. He takes the glasses from her silently and pours their drinks. Poppy playfully swats at his hands, insisting that it was her job to get everything ready, but he only tisks and tells her that maybe she should have been faster then.

It's while he's sipping at his lemonade feeling more at peace than he has in quite a long while, since before he reunited with his brothers even, that their bubble is broken. "Poppy!" A shout startles him and he only barely manages to avoid spilling his drink all over himself. He whips his head around to see Viva running over at an impressive speed, a bright and giddy smile on her face. She barrels into her sister and Branch grabs Poppy's drink before they go tumbling to prevent another almost-mess.

"Viva," Poppy greets cheerfully, returning her sister's tight embrace, "Can this wait--?" She tries to ask but the blonde troll interrupts, likely too caught in whatever has her so excited to be paying too much attention.

"There is this fantast-amazing little smoothie place over by the grove," Viva bounces in place, visibly shaking in her delight, "It looks so good, like so good, and we have to go because I didn't want to go without you! Come on!" Viva reaches out and grabs Poppy's arm, pulling the Queen to her feet and dragging her away before either of them could get another word in. Viva looks back at him over her shoulder and waves excitedly, "Bye Branch! It was nice to see you!" And just like that he's sat all alone at a picnic for two. It's just like Viva to come rushing in only to disappear just as quickly. The whiplash she left in her wake was overshadowed this time by the sudden wave of bitterness that crashed into him. He'd lost himself so completely in the bliss that Poppy brought him that her sudden absence was absolutely crushing. Everything that he'd let slip away for the past half hour or so was back in a flash and for a moment it overwhelmed him.

He just sat there, one glass of lemonade raised in each hand, staring blankly in the direction that the royal trolls had disappeared. The bitterness turns to sorrow which quickly morphs into anger. It's always easier to be angry than it is to be sad and he knows he has a bad habit of masking his more vulnerable emotions with his rage but he doesn't know how to stop and now is no different. His eyes burn and he blinks away the tears that are too eager to form. With nothing left to do Branch cleans up. He pours the lemonade back into the pitcher and carefully packs away all the food that Poppy had so generously brought out here just for him. He can't help but be furious with Viva, angrier than he knows he should be, but he had been so relaxed for once and she had inadvertently ripped that away from him with a smile on her face. He moves the basket and the pitcher to the side and picks up the blanket with shaking hands, scowling down at the soft cloth while he meticulously folds it up and places it gently on top of the basket.

He had other things to do today. He had a long list of chores that he had been ready to get done. He can't even imagine doing them now. His entire day down the drain because of one little incident. He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he picks up the basket and the pitcher and starts the journey across the village back toward his bunker, his whole life was just a long series of little incidents, though, wasn't it? Failure after failure, mistake after mistake, let down after let down. He shouldn't have been surprised that his moment of happiness was fleeting. If anything, he should have expected it. He's given a wider birth than usual by the other trolls as he storms through the village and beneath all his bubbling rage he's grateful no one will get close enough for him to snap at them.

He knows his quick retreat probably wasn't the best idea. Poppy will get a word in sooner rather than later and she'll go rushing back to the picnic in an attempt to pick things back up where she'd left off, apology and a bubbly laugh on her tongue. Even though he wants nothing more than to finish his afternoon with her he doesn't think he'll make good company right now. His mood was already ruined and he doesn't think even Poppy could lift him out of this spiral. It's just the accumulation of too much crashing down on him at once.

He enters the bunker as quickly as he can, trying not to let his already cracked composure shatter when he has to wait for the elevator. He can feel everything building, bubbling up and up and up until it's moments from boiling over and he doesn't want to deal with this right now. He was supposed to have a good day. His blood feels like fire in his veins and his eyes are still burning and he wishes more than anything he knew how to release the constantly rising pressure but nothing ever feels like it's enough. The elevator comes to a stop on the bottom floor and Branch makes straight for his room. He needed to get away from anything and anyone that could possibly set him off before he did something he'd regret.

"Oh, hey, what's the rush?" JD's voice breaks through the storm. Branch turns his head to see John sitting in the cozy alcove where he keeps all of Poppy's invitations tucked neatly away behind the curtains. He's sat at the table there tinkering with something or other, probably for Rhonda. "Is that for the Pop Star?" John's eyes look down to the picnic supplies still grasped in Branch's hands. He wiggles his eyebrows playfully and suddenly Branch sees red.

"Don't," He seethes through gritted teeth, exhaling sharply in a futile attempt to calm himself down. The burning in his eyes gets worse and he furiously blinks away the tears but they're forming too fast now for it to do him any good. The angry shake in his arms from a grip far too tight shifts to a pathetic tremble and he's lucky he can keep hold of the basket clutched in his fist.

"Woah, hey," John Dory stands up. His face is twisted with concern and Branch feels his heart breaking because how long had he wanted that? How long had he been alone, taking care of himself, imagining what it'd be like for his big brother to come in and help him? How long had he held out hope that his brothers would come back and look at him like that? "What's going on? what happened?" John moves around the table and starts to come closer.

Branch takes a few hurried steps back, "Don't," he repeats but his voice cracks and he's losing his grip on the anger that's supposed to protect him. It's slipping quickly through his fingers and leaving only the sorrow and panic that thrummed beneath and he feels terrifyingly exposed. "Do not--" He sneers, "Leave me the hell alone." He tries to sound firm but he hears how his voice trembles. John Dory looks lost and Branch takes that opportunity to turn on his heel and hurry off to his room. He slams the door behind him. Poppy's picnic drops from clumsy fingers and he tries desperately to hold himself together.

Days of barely holding on and he's finally reached his breaking point. What does it matter? He'll just have to put himself back together again anyway.

Chapter Text

Floyd was curled up in bed cuddled into his lilac sweater, sat up against the headboard wrapped in a cozy pink quilt. This sweater was quickly becoming one of his favorite things. Poppy's gifts were always well-made and soft to the touch but one of these days Floyd was going to insist she stop giving him things. For the moment, however, he was more than content to swaddle himself in the small comforts. He's been holed up in his room most of the day, excluding the one time he left to go make himself a cup of tea, but it's not a bad day by any means. He feels great, all things considered, with only a nearly imperceptible weakness in his limbs and a vague chill burrowed into his bones. It's a good day to be nestled into his blankets with a nice book.

A firm knock at his door gets his attention and a quick glance at the clock mounted on the wall tells him it's half past noon. Oh, he's been holed up in here much longer than he'd thought. He puts his book aside and climbs out of bed, allowing himself a few extra seconds to stretch, and goes to open the door. John Dory is on the other side, his usual self-satisfied grin nowhere to be seen and a worry in his eyes that immediately puts Floyd on edge. "BroZone meeting," John says it so seriously that Floyd can't even find it in himself to roll his eyes at the phrasing.

"What's going on?" Floyd doesn't wait to ask as he follows John out into the bunker. It's weird to see his eldest brother so noticeably thrown off. John Dory wasn't one to wear his more uncomfortable emotions on his face where the world could see them.

John Dory doesn't answer, instead ushering Floyd over to the elevator. "The others are already in the kitchen," He half-explains, pulling Floyd up onto the platform and pushing up the lever at the same time. "It's Branch." That's all it takes to make Floyd's anxiety skyrocket. Branch? Branch was pretty reserved and he's been a little tense the past few days but he seemed okay. Did something terrible happen? Is he okay? Branch was so independent. What could have happened that John Dory called them all together with such grave intensity? John Dory was dramatic but it's never caused unwarranted worry before.

Floyd fidgets with his paws while they silently ride the elevator up, brows furrowed in thought while he stews in the worry rising in his chest. He clearly wasn't as in tune with Branch as he thought he was despite the one-on-one time they spent together most mornings. The elevator comes to a stop and Floyd is the first one off the platform. He moves swiftly past John Dory and rushes into the kitchen to find his other brothers, excluding Branch, already sitting around the kitchen table with matching expressions of concern on their faces. Great. "Do any of you have any idea what's going on?"

"No," Bruce shakes his head, "John just showed up all out of sorts so we figured it was serious." Clay nods along, gesturing to Bruce in a show of agreement.

"Because it is serious," John Dory insists as he steps into the kitchen after Floyd, circling around to stand at the table. "There's something wrong with Bitty B." He swears. Floyd is hoping that this is another game of the Troll who cried Bergen. John could blow things out of proportion sometimes and Floyd would prefer that to something being actually wrong. "He nearly bit my head off thirty minutes ago." Oh, okay. Maybe this actually wasn't so bad.

"I think before we go overboard here you should tell us what you did." Bruce cuts in, watching John warily. No one was willing to outright dismiss their eldest brother but it was hard not to take this with a grain of salt. Branch was snappy. He didn't like to be pushed and his boundaries weren't all out there yet so it was easy for one of them to overstep, John Dory especially. John was never one to stop his pestering, even when there were clear signs that he was pushing too hard.

"Nothing!" John throws his hands into the air and his tone turns exasperated. Floyd rolls his eyes fondly and crosses his arms, silently urging John Dory to continue. "He came home with this cute little picnic packed up and I asked him if it was for Poppy." Floyd waits for more but it becomes clear that there wasn't anything else John Dory had to add.

"That's it?" Clay presses in disbelief.

"That's it!" John nods quickly, leaning against one of the chairs and gesticulating with his gloved hand, "He looked at me and I swear he was about to break into tears right there. I tried to ask him what was wrong and he snapped at me to leave him the hell alone." He looks at them expectantly, eyebrows raised while he waits for them to admit defeat.

"That… sounds rough, actually." Clay is the first to break, the concerned crease between his brows returning with a vengeance. "Did you get anything out of him?" John offers a dejected shake of his head and they all share a collective sigh. Of course not. It was wishful thinking to assume that Branch would willingly open himself up to them, let alone when he was clearly already in distress.

"I doubt he's gonna wanna talk about it guys," Floyd reminds them softly, smiling sadly when they all turn to look at him. "He's not really open on a good day and I don't think forcing him to talk about whatever's going on is gonna make it better." It's not like the rest of them were getting together to share their feelings or anything but sentimental conversations sparked up naturally between the four older brothers. Branch seemed to actively avoid them and usually fled when things got too emotional for him. They've all had their moments with their youngest sibling, sure, but it was also obvious to all of them that Branch had been uncomfortable. Floyd doubts that whatever this is about is something Branch will want to share during a cuddle pile on the couch.

"Yeah, but haven't you noticed how tense he is all the time?" John Dory retorts. Honestly, out of all of them, Floyd half-expected John to be the least aware of Branch. Not in a particularly bad way, no, but the teal troll wasn't known for being the most observant when they were kids. It was hard to remember that maybe the last twenty years changed them all a lot more than Floyd initially thought. "Clearly whatever's going on with him isn't getting better on its own and we can't just sit here and wait for him to break down."

"Of course not," Bruce assures readily. He has a thoughtful expression on his face and Floyd really hopes that whatever he's thinking could help them figure out what to do. "Floyd is right, though, we can't pry it out of him. We'll only make it worse if we do that." They share a few more silent looks around the table and a familiar feeling of helplessness is starting to stir in Floyd. He can't help but remember the little blue trolling that he could pick up and settle on his lap. Back then Branch was so easy to cheer up, all it took was a quick little song or a fun story to distract the baby from his woes. Now Floyd doesn't even know where to start. He doesn't know what Branch has been through or how to comfort him. He doesn't even know how to approach it if Branch is having a rough time.

"I think he'd more likely shut down than open up if we try to force it out of him," Clay sighs, folding his arms on top of the table. They all murmur their agreement. If it were any other situation Floyd would be amused at the sight of them all huddled up around the kitchen trying to figure out what made their baby brother cry. The horrifying thought is that he can't imagine what could make Branch cry. Branch was a tough cookie but John Dory was right, Branch has been on edge from the moment they stepped foot in his bunker. There were times when the tension let up and Branch enjoyed himself but there was always wariness in his eyes. Floyd had really hoped that it would ease up on its own as they all got used to being around each other again. He's saddened to see that apparently it's only built up until Branch couldn't carry it anymore. It needed to be addressed, that was certain, but they were all stumped on how to go about it. "We need a plan. At least an outline on how to start." Floyd was really glad to have more than one plan-oriented brother right now. It feels wrong to conspire against Branch like this but it feels worse to just let his little brother keep hurting the way he clearly has been.

"I think the best approach is to test the waters first," Floyd steps further into the room, finally pulling out a chair and taking a seat at the table, "We need to make sure that he's receptive before we move forward with whatever we're gonna do." His brothers nod but John Dory looks a little unsure.

"Are we sure he'll ever be receptive?" John Dory brings up a painfully good point, looking between his brothers with earnest uncertainty. It's clear that John's desire to push comes from a place of real concern but that didn't mean it couldn't cause problems. It was important to stop him in his tracks before he got too far. Pushing Branch only ever led to the divide between them growing.

Bruce clears his throat, looking sorrowful when he speaks, "I think there's a decent chance that he won't talk to us." Floyd frowns, averting his gaze at the reminder. It was a fair thought, really. What right did they have to assume that they could just pop back into Branch's life and be part of his support system? The only person Floyd had ever seen Branch be actually vulnerable with was Poppy and that was only a few brief glimpses of soft moments meant for just the two of them.

"If push comes to shove we might just need to recruit Poppy and hope she can get it out of him." Floyd agrees with a sigh. His eyes are a little misty at the thought of being so useless when it comes to helping the people closest to him but he knows that he couldn't just insert himself back into Branch's life like that. If what he needs to do is rat his brother out to his girlfriend then that'll have to be enough.

"Well--" John cuts himself off and his ears perk. Floyd frowns and shares a confused look with Clay before he tries to listen for whatever caught John Dory's attention. For a moment there's nothing and he opens his mouth to ask what the oldest had heard but then he hears it. Footsteps. They're carefully tiptoeing up the stairs toward the kitchen and there was only one troll they could belong to. Floyd looks to Bruce and then Clay but his siblings look just as startled as he is. Obviously Branch hadn't heard them, right? There was no way he would be coming up here if he heard them talking about him, right?

The footsteps are only getting closer the more they sit in silence and Floyd gestures in quiet panic to the back hallway. What are we gonna say? He tries to convey in his sharp movements. They hadn't gotten anywhere besides acknowledging that Branch would want nothing to do with this conversation but if Branch had been on the verge of tears only a mere hour ago it would probably be hard to ignore.

John Dory blinks and gestures to himself, the how am I supposed to know? is easy to pick up.

Clay jerks his head towards the back hallway in obvious warning that Branch is nearly there and tries to lean casually against the table so it looks like they haven't been panicking over the dumbest thing. They all scramble to follow Clay's lead and only just manage to get themselves settled before Branch appears around the corner. Their youngest brother stops in his tracks the second he notices that the kitchen is more occupied than he thought. Floyd watches as a flurry of emotions flits across Branch's face; anger, yearning, fear--

"Hey B," John Dory greets with an awkward wave that cuts through the silence.

"Hey," Branch grunts, moving further into the room. He very intentionally keeps his eyes straight ahead as he steps over to the counter and reaches up to get a cup from the cabinets.

Floyd shares a determined look with Bruce before he turns his attention back to Branch. "Are you doing okay?" He decides that the best approach would be a direct one. Beating around the bush with Branch only ever leads to confusion or irritation and Floyd doesn't want to risk blowing anything out of proportion. He just wants to help.

Branch only offers a noncommittal hum and slams his cup down harder than necessary. Floyd can see his grip is so tight his hand is shaking. Not a great start but he hasn't exactly shut them down yet either. They should proceed with caution but Floyd would try to keep an eye on Branch's reactions so he can help calm things down if he needed to. He wants to avoid causing any more problems and he doesn't want to hurt Branch in their quest to figure him out.

"It's just that you've been pretty tense recently," Bruce pipes up, testing the waters with more awareness and care than Floyd would have expected from him. Being a parent had really changed his brother in a lot of really amazing ways. It's nice to see someone else in their family is experienced in the gentle approach now. "We were wondering if we could do anything to help."

Branch keeps his back towards them but the kitchen is small and Floyd is sitting at the end of the table. He can see the side of Branch's face even if it's still mostly obscured and he can see how his little brother clenches his jaw and takes a calming breath. "I'm fine," Branch says after a long stretch of silence. His voice is toneless and strained and Floyd can't help but cringe.

"It's just that you were pretty pissed earlier," John starts. He looks like he's about to make a joke but he thinks better of it. Instead, he sighs and straightens out his goggles absentmindedly. "We're just worried. It doesn't seem like you're doing alright." That was surprisingly heartfelt coming from John Dory. He's sincere and quiet and the worry seeps into his words.

Branch sighs and braces his hands against the counter, hanging his head and leaving his cup forgotten beside him. Floyd's gut twists and his heart thumps anxiously in his chest. He's seen Branch uneasy and uncomfortable and upset, he's seen Branch happy and shy and lovesick, but he's never seen Branch look so genuinely defeated. "Branch?" He presses softly, "Are you okay?" He echoes his earlier question and watches as Branch deflates.

__

Branch doesn't know how to handle this. He didn't really expect John Dory to follow up and he definitely hadn't been prepared for all of his brothers to confront him together. He hates listening to them like this. They sound so worried and he has no idea what to do. The mask slipped and he lost his temper and it seems like it wasn't something he could just sweep under the rug this time. He holds the counter in an iron grip and allows his weight to lean further and further into the edge. How the hell is he supposed to answer that? How does he explain to his brothers that he can't remember the last time he could genuinely and sincerely say he was doing great and that okay felt like a few and far between? "Does it matter?" He mumbles in lieu of a real answer.

There's a sharp inhale behind him and Branch flinches at the sound. Great. He hadn't meant to sound so dismissive but he couldn't take it back now. He's just so tired. He's exhausted, both from the nightmares keeping him up night after night and from the turmoil that seemed to constantly rage inside of him. He feels like he's just been coasting through the days, letting everything build up until it all inevitably came to a head. He was a fool to think he could escape the consequences. He knew better than to think it would all just even out and go away but he had hoped. He let himself and hope and look where it got him. How stupid could he be?

"Of course it matters, bro," Clay soothes quietly. There's a tension in the air that was only getting thicker and Branch wonders if the others could feel it too. "We wanna know if you're alright."

"Do you?" Branch asks bitterly. He hadn't meant to say it but it feels useless to hold his tongue now. He's kept it all inside for too long and it's drained him completely. He's hollow in a way that's terrifyingly familiar, a frightening reminder of how he lived for almost two decades of his life, and he's so sick of it. He wants to feel okay again and he can't keep burying it all deep down. It's twisting him up inside and leaving him with a painfully short fuse and he can't do this anymore.

"Of course we do!" John Dory sounds offended at the mere thought that Branch could possibly think otherwise and that's not fair. He doesn't get to be hurt that Branch doubts them. He has no right. Branch grits his teeth and his eyes are burning again and damn it he's getting worked up again--

"Since when!" Branch snaps, ripping his hands away from the counter and whirling around to glare daggers at his family. His family. The family who left him and came back only because they needed him. Would they have ever come back at all if he wasn't a necessary part of helping Floyd? "You all left. You left me alone and I had no one for most of my life!" He's screaming now. He's screaming and his eyes are burning but he doesn't think he has any energy left to care. "Grandma died and I spent twenty years being the outcast of the village and then you all just come back and assume that things are okay? That I'm okay?" Branch slams his hands against his chest in a wild gesture to himself and lets out a desperate, almost hysterical laugh. His brothers are staring at him with wide-eyed expressions of shock and he should really stop before he does something that will be irreparable but now that he's started he doesn't think he can stop. "No, I'm not okay! I haven't been okay in a long time! I'm trying really, really hard to hold myself together but sometimes I'm so pissed at all of you I don't know what to do with myself. Sometimes I can't even fucking look at any of you because it hurts. You can't expect me to think that all of you care about how I feel when all of you walked out on me and didn't even look back!"

Branch realizes that he should calm down. His chest is heaving with each breath but he's never let any of this out before and the release is addicting. He's fruitlessly blinking back the tears quickly filling his eyes and beneath all the anger and pain he feels guilt for putting those devastated expressions on his brothers' faces but he can't seem to reel himself in. "Did I ever even matter to any of you?" He asks, scrubbing a frantic hand across his face to wipe away the tears when they start to fall. "The only person who even said goodbye was Floyd, the only person who cared was Floyd. If you didn't need me would you have ever come back?" The guilty look on John's face is enough of an answer for him.

He runs his hands through his hair and grits his teeth against the sob bubbling up in his throat. He's realizing that maybe he didn't really put himself together as well as he thought back in his room and he might be having a breakdown in front of his brothers. The realization isn't enough to stop it from happening. He's already lost himself to the panic and desperation curling up beneath his ribs. His hands were shaking and his chest was getting tight but he knew from experience that he couldn't stop this now that it's started and he could already feel the humiliation starting to bloom on top of it all.

"Branch," Floyd gets his attention. Somewhere along the line the other troll had stood up from the table and took a few cautious steps closer, hands held up to show he meant no harm. "Breathe, buddy, come on." Branch instinctively tries to take a breath at the gentle coaxing but the air gets caught in his throat. Floyd only offers an encouraging smile and nods for him to try again.

Branch stutters through the first few breaths, leaning heavily back against the counter and wrapping his arms tightly around himself in a pathetic attempt to physically hold himself together. Floyd doesn't push him and the others watch on in curious silence. They look at Branch with such sad eyes and Branch wants to be angry but he can't. He's too tired to be angry anymore. He's burnt out. He breathes with Floyd's kind encouragements urging him to keep going and slowly but surely he calms down enough to force the stiffness out of his legs and drop unceremoniously to the floor. He ignores the startled cries around him and tugs his legs up to his chest, burying his face into his knees to hide the tears shamefully coating his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he breathes. He can't believe he just yelled at them like that. He'll be lucky if they even want to stay with him after this.

"Hey, Branch, look at me," Branch lifts his head to see Bruce kneeling on the floor beside him. Bruce still gave him plenty of room, staying a few feet away to avoid crowding him, and Branch felt a brief spark of gratitude at the consideration, "I think you had the right to blow up at us. You've been holding all that in for a while, huh? And none of us ever really brought it up. I guess we all just assumed that it was water under the bridge." Bruce has the decency to look sheepish at the admission. Branch huffs and tries again to wipe away his tears. It's a losing battle, the tears are still falling, but he feels like he has to try all the same.

"I think we're the ones who should be sorry," Clay sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, "I don't think any of us wanted to admit that we messed up. It wasn't cool of us to leave you behind and then just assume that everything would be fine. I'm sorry, Branch." The apology is unexpected. Branch thinks that maybe it shouldn't be but it still comes as a shock to him.

"You already apologized," Branch reminds him.

"I'm not apologizing for missing out on you growing up," Clay disagrees, shaking his head and offering a sad smile, "I'm apologizing because I walked out and because I never came back. It hurt you a lot, the least I can do is acknowledge that." Oh. A lump forms in Branch's throat and the tears pick up speed. He feels ridiculous and childish curled up on the kitchen floor with his brothers huddled around him offering comforting words but he can't deny that a part of him feels hopeful too. Hope was a terrifying, disappointing thing but it led him to Poppy so maybe… maybe he could try to see where this goes too.

"Thanks," Branch sniffs, wrapping his arms around his legs and drawing them closer to his chest.

"The least any of us could do is acknowledge it," John Dory steps away from the table and comes around to kneel beside Bruce, "I'm sorry I left, Branch. I could give you a million different reasons but at the end of the day none of them really matter, do they?" John Dory offers a bitter laugh, meeting Branch's gaze with sad eyes, "It wasn't fair to you and I never should've just walked back into your life like it never happened. I'm glad Poppy convinced you to come along but I should've said this all then. That's my fault, Bitty B. After everything we put you through you have every right to be angry." That's the most mature John has ever been, Branch thinks. At least with him. No condescension, no punchline. Just a sincere and heartfelt apology.

"I think that's the most serious I've ever heard you," Floyd playfully teases from Branch's other side and Branch notices that Floyd lowered himself down to the floor too. Clay is already walking over to sit beside the pink-haired troll, completing their messy half-circle.

"Shut up," John Dory laughs, picking up a loose rock tucked under the door of a cabinet and flicking it over at Floyd.

"Seriously, though, Branch. You aren't the one who should apologize. It's us." Floyd assures warmly, the same sad smile on his face but it's fond now too. "I'm sorry that you felt you had to keep this in. I know we haven't been the best brothers in the world but you can talk to us. You've been there for us," Floyd looks around at the others and Branch watches as they all nod in eager agreement. "Let us be there for you, okay?"

Branch frowns. As good as that sounds he doesn't like vulnerability. He's very intentionally kept to himself for a long, long time and the idea of relying on someone else was still very new to him. He's learned that nothing is certain in life and that everything good could be gone in a moment. The only thing he could rely on was himself. He knows this. But Poppy's taught him that even though good things might be fleeting they're also wonderful. Poppy came into his life and brought with her a happiness that's evaded him since he was just a trolling and now he can't imagine living without her. What would he be denying himself if he decided that this was too good to be true? He missed his brothers so much all these years and they're here now because they care about him more than he ever could have hoped for. "Okay." Branch decides before he can overthink it. He wants this so badly he can allow himself to take the risk. If everything collapses and it all fails he knows that at least he'll have Poppy with him in the aftermath.

His brothers sag a little with relief. Bruce claps a hand on John Dory's shoulder and Clay slings a celebratory arm around Floyd's shoulders. Floyd's expression softens, "Thanks, Branch. I know that this sucks but we won't let you down." Branch huffs an amused breath but lets a shaky grin form in response.

"So what's been going on?" John Dory asks as he shifts into a more comfortable position, crossing his legs beneath him and giving Branch his full attention. It's equally overwhelming and appreciated.

"Nothing," Floyd and Bruce give him matching stern looks. Branch rolls his eyes but concedes, "Really, it's nothing. I've just been having nightmares again recently and it's made me more on edge than usual." He pointedly ignores Clay mouthing again? at their brothers and focuses his eyes instead on the dirt floor. He sighs and buries his face into his knees again, "I'm supposed to be normal now."

"What do you mean?" Bruce asks with genuine confusion. Branch can't help but offer a resentful snort. Right, like Branch was the epitome of normal when it came to trolls. "You only need to be you, Branch." That catches Branch off guard and he peeks over at Bruce with a doubtful expression. Bruce only smiles, "I'm serious. I remember what you said to Viva back at that golf course you know. I'm sure you've spent a lot of time in this bunker and I know that Poppy of yours invites you to all sorts of things but no one wants you to be something you're not. You don't need to be like everyone else. We don't want you to be like everyone else." That's an angle that Branch hadn't really considered before. Branch often entertained the idea that Poppy invited him to so many parties and events because she wanted him to be more like a regular pop troll. Despite the fact that Poppy's always respected his boundaries he has an underlying fear that she wants him to change but she's even walked him home before when a party proved to be too much for him.

"Oh." Branch murmurs, still uncertain.

"You're weird," John cuts in and startles at the resulting incredulous shouts of his name. He raises his hands in surrender, "But that's what makes you you. We wouldn't love you if you weren't you, kid."

"Not a kid," Branch grumbles more on instinct than anything. He sighs, reaching up and tangling his hands in his hair, "But trolls are supposed to be fun. I'm not fun. I don't like big parties and too many sweets make me sick and I prioritize safety over entertainment--"

"You don't need to be fun all the time," Clay cuts him off before Branch can start spiraling again. Branch huffs and Clay shrugs apologetically. "You don't have to have fun all the time. Everybody needs their downtime and if you need more quiet time than the next troll that doesn't make you defective." Clay reaches out, telegraphing his movements carefully so Branch has plenty of time to pull away, and carefully untangles Branch's paws from his hair. "Besides, you're plenty of fun. I have a great time whenever we talk about the layout of this place and your organization system."

"Nerds," Bruce coughs into his fist.

"The point is," Floyd rolls his eyes but he looks happy. "Fun or no fun, quiet or loud, there's nothing wrong with being different. No one should ever force you to be someone you're not, and we don't want you to be anyone else." Branch feels a hesitant burst of warmth struggling to form beneath the uncertainty wriggling in his gut. The hope is growing with each passing moment but he's still scared of what it could lead to. He's been disappointed so many times.

Branch shakes his head, "It's not enough." He disagrees. There were plenty of trolls in the village that were still on the fence about him. He's seen the weird looks he gets sometimes when he's in town and the disapproval when he's with Poppy. No one is vocal about it and most of the village has been open to him being a part of the community but that doesn't erase the years of him being the outcast party-pooper. "I'm not enough."

"You're perfect." Branch's head snaps up and he stares at John Dory in disbelief. John Dory said it so vehemently and his face his set in a stern expression. The small, wounded part of Branch that always believed that he was the reason the band disbanded is squirming beneath his skin.

"What?" Branch breathes, laughing awkwardly at what he assumed had to be a joke.

"You're perfect, Branch. Never, and I mean never, imply that you're anything less than that again." John seems almost angry but Branch has to be imagining that. He looks genuinely upset at the idea that Branch could possibly think so little of himself but that seems unlikely. "Branch you have two seconds to tell me no before I touch you," Oh, what? That's a weird sentence-- but suddenly his face is cupped in John Dory's hands and his focus zeroes in on his brother. "You are amazing. You're a little rough around the edges but so is everyone. This past month you've been nothing but accommodating to us. You dug us out whole rooms in your home just because you wanted us to stay with you, that's crazy. You're dedicated, brilliant, and even kind under all that sharp wit. You are way more than just enough, little brother, you're perfect." Branch blinks stupidly up at John Dory and a few more tears tumble down his cheeks. John smiles sadly as he brushes them away with a few gentle strokes of his thumbs.

Branch sniffs pitifully and pulls away, scrubbing at his eyes with a startled laugh, "Jeez, isn't Floyd supposed to be the sensitive one?" He tries to joke but it comes out strained and teary. They all chuckle anyway and Branch is grateful that they're giving him a moment to try and compose himself. "I'm still sorry I yelled." He admits after a few beats.

"Psh, it's fine," Bruce waves him off easily. "You clearly needed to get some stuff out. What else is family for?" He assures lightheartedly.

"I know it's not hug time, but can we hug you?" Floyd asks. Branch moves to say no on instinct but Floyd is looking at him with pleading eyes and Branch honestly thinks that he could use one too.

"Fine, I guess," He grumbles and Floyd doesn't hesitate to swoop in and gather him up. The others don't take long to follow his lead. It's only a few seconds before Branch finds himself at the center of a cuddle pile. There are elbows jabbed into his side and someone's hair is tickling his nose but somehow he can't remember the last time he felt so safe and comfortable. "Thank you." He whispers into the bundle of warmth and support surrounding him.

"We'll always be here for you, okay?" Floyd says.

"Okay." Branch replies and finally lets the hope win.