Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The fifth anniversary of the loss of Branch’s grandma came and went with little fanfare. He shouldn’t be surprised, as loss was something that trolls just didn’t let themselves feel for some reason. People came and went during their time under the Bergens, and by the end of the week they were partying like nothing happened. Even funerals were not exempt from being a party, getting banners and three layer cakes. For that reason he was almost glad that no one seemed to care enough to have hosted a funeral for grandma. If someone had tried to feed him cake after the worst day of his life he couldn’t be blamed for what he would’ve done or said. Well he shouldn’t, that is. In all likelihood he would have been blamed, called a ‘party pooper’ and maybe even been made to leave.

So he wasn’t surprised that five years later nobody seemed to care what the day was, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t still fill him with anger. These people claimed to be her friend, lied to his face and told him how much his grandma meant to them, and yet each anniversary came and went with not a single mention of her name. Maybe he was the only troll who actually said words they meant, and to everyone else the word ‘friend’ was used to mean ‘nice person you see once in a while’. It would make sense, seeing as everyone threw around ‘best friend’ so freely too.

As the last few hours of that day faded away, it felt like the last of something faded too. What that was he didn’t know, as he didn’t have an ounce of color or happiness left in him. Faith, maybe, as he’d been handed off from home to home as King Peppy tried to find someone to look after him. Grey or not, he wasn’t keen on a child having no caretaker. But as each family found some reason it just wouldn’t work, he’d felt that fading feeling in his stomach. Eventually he just wandered off to the edges of the village and began to look after himself. The idea of his bunker was never meant to be the marker of him leaving society for good, it had once been something he was meant to share, before becoming his plan to survive should the Bergens ever find them. Now, as his shovel broke dirt, it felt like he was burying something that died on that day. It felt like he’d lost something even greater than his color, and he had no idea what it was.

Following that day, Branch spent almost every hour working on his bunker. It was a slow and grueling process, lasting from sun up to sun down. Dig, haul dirt up, collect supplies, eat, sleep and then dig again. His visits to the village got shorter and now only the princess still even attempted to talk to him. She’d wave, toss glitter in his face and try to invite him to their next loud party that was practically a beacon in the sky to come take everyone back to be eaten. No matter how many times he’d tell her, or how loud he’d tell her, she’d come back with the same old party invites and attempts at hugs.

That was the pattern he was currently attempting to avoid by venturing slightly further out of the village than he normally went to gather vines strong enough to (hopefully) restrain a Bergen for his next trap. Poppy and her friends were of course out in the field, looking at clouds or something equally as time-wasting. It was dangerous, heading outside his self-made safe zone without his scouting gear all to avoid a few trolls. Normally, this would be an entire process of mapping out the area inch by inch while armed to the teeth. In hindsight, that would have likely prevented this whole encounter from ever happening.

Someone else was here. That in and of itself was cause for alarm, as even he didn’t venture this far away from the village. If it had been any other troll, he would have lectured them on how unsafe the area was for trolls who couldn’t pay attention and randomly broke out into song, but the words died in his throat. Any other troll should be a walking neon sign. Pink or cyan or yellow, possibly half a pound of glitter covering their body. Trolls didn’t look like him. Grey, muted, dull. Trolls didn’t look like him, and yet a troll with grey skin like his was picking up rocks from a small trickle of water. Unlike him, her hair was still vivid red.

As he shuffled closer, a twig snapped under his foot. He wanted to punch himself, in all his shock he’d made the most amateur mistake there was. The other troll’s head snapped towards him, looking him up and down.

“Hey! Pipsqueek!” She yelled at him, “Weren’t you listening when dad was talking? Babies like you don’t leave the group!”

The stranger marched towards him and tossed him over her shoulder like a sack of berries. Again, in his confusion, Branch said nothing. Just looked blankly back toward where he’d come from and wondered what was going on. This was another troll, probably a teenager, who looked more like him than any of the trolls in the village. He didn’t know her, but she seemed to recognize him enough to know he shouldn’t be by himself. Maybe her family was the next one King Peppy had asked to look after him? Normally he would have brought Branch back to the village while explaining why he was sure that this next family would be one hundred percent perfect for him, then introduce them formally and Branch would follow them to their home awkwardly. There hadn’t been any change in that, aside from the fact Branch was now working on his bunker. Maybe King Peppy had gone to grab him to meet the family while Branch was off collecting stones or while he was underground digging out a new room?

His theory was somewhat falling apart as he noticed they were walking away from the village. His eyes caught a flash of pink movement before the two walked through thick brush into a new clearing. Other dark grey trolls were loading into sharp looking… metal fish?

This wasn’t right.

Unfortunately, he’d picked too late to start trying to fight back. The stranger’s grip didn’t let go and kicking her in the face only served to make her more annoyed.

“Brat!” She set him down inside one of the contraptions, the interior similar—if Branch was being generous—to a caterbus, “Dad! Whoever was in charge of the babies needs a boot to the face, I found this one wandering around.”

The stranger's dad, an elderly grey troll with frizzy black hair sitting in a spiked wheelchair, turned around, looking between Branch and his daughter in confusion.

“What was that, dear?” He asked.

“This brat just wandered off! Found him out where I was gettin’ obsidian.” She held up a shiny black rock, “This is gonna make some gnarly guitar picks and we all agreed that babies weren’t supposed to be there.”

Her dad seemed to realize something, concern flashing across his face, “Oh Barbara… that’s not one of ours.”

“Huh?”

“Like I told you, we’re near Pop Troll territory.”

Barbara gestured to Branch, “Yeah, Pop Trolls! Sparkly, brightly colored, annoyingly cheerful. This,” She gestured to him harder, “Is not a Pop Troll. I mean right, you are- you are a Rock Troll? Back me up here.”

“A what?” Branch asked.

“A Hard Rock Troll.” Barbara’s dad answered, “That’s what we are. Hasn’t your king talked about the other types of trolls?”

Branch shook his head.

He scoffed, “Bah, figures. Well, guess that’s up to us. Long ago, all trolls lived in harmony with the six strings. The strings could play any kind of music, and each of the six main groups had their own string. Pop, however, wasn’t satisfied with their own songs. They took the strings and our songs, trying to make everything Pop. The rest of us—Rock, Techno, Funk, Country and Classical—we all grabbed our strings and ran, never looking back.”

“Which is why Pop sucks!” Barbara said, jumping onto a beat up looking couch, “Which brings me back to my original point. You said Pop Trolls are all sunshine and rainbows and breaking out into annoying earworms every ten seconds.”

“Hmmm, yes that’s normally the case.” Her dad looked him over.

“I wouldn't be caught dead singing, and if I have to see any more glitter in my life I’m gonna throw up.” Branch crossed his arms.

“Preach it, brother!” Barbara threw her hand up in a weird gesture with her index and pinky finger.

Her dad rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “I’ve heard of this, but never seen it. He’s gone grey. When a troll loses their love for music, they lose their colors.”

“Hardcore. He just looks like a Rock Troll to me.” Barbara said, “A badly dressed one, but a Rock Troll.”

“We need to turn back, before your family notices you're gone. If your king hasn’t mentioned that we exist, we would appreciate it if you could keep this between us.”

Branch panicked. He was finally with people who were actually talking to him. Not telling him to smile and cheer up. Not telling him he was ruining their day just by being unhappy near them. Not trying to drown out his feelings with lollipops and soda. Greatest of all, Barbara’s dad knew why he was grey. He’d never heard anyone, even King Peppy, able to explain it. All anyone could ever tell him was that it was wrong, he shouldn’t look like that. That he must have something wrong with his head to look like that, and if he changed the way he thought, he could be better in an instant. It was his fault he wasn’t happy, he didn’t want to be happy, he wasn’t trying hard enough to be happy. Branch wasn’t ready to go back to that.

“No!” He grabbed onto Barbara’s dad’s hand, “Don’t make me go back.”

He looked Branch over, and Branch hoped the fact there was nothing for him to go back to was evident. He didn’t want to say it. Even if it was his reality every day, admitting there was no one for him to go back to made the wound reopen.

Eventually, the older troll nodded, “Alright then.”

And that was it. King Thrash, as he introduced himself, would let Branch come back with them to Volcano Rock City. As it turns out, they occasionally made stops for supplies in other areas, and when Pop Village had escaped from the Bergens, they’d settled right next to where the Hard Rock trolls would harvest ores, unknowingly pushing closer to the borders of Rock. After Branch had pointed out where they had built their town, King Thrash began making plans to move their mining operation back to avoid any further encounters.

Meanwhile, Barb—as she preferred to be called—began introducing him to the other Rock Trolls. For the most part they laid around, barely acknowledging the both of them with a head nod or a lazy wave. Then the speakers would blare music that shook the walls and they’d all be up doing what Branch assumed to be what Rock Trolls considered dancing, or throwing each other around. It was almost as overwhelming as Pop Village, but in a completely different way, so Branch just sat on a couch in the back silently. Alone.

Maybe things weren’t going to change that much from Pop Village after all.

“Sup, dude?” Barb fell back onto the couch into the seat beside him, one of her legs sprawling across his lap and her head hanging back over the arm.

“Hey.”

The two sat in silence for a few minutes. Barb didn’t seem uncomfortable with the quiet, even with her fidgeting and chewing on her necklace. It wasn’t even awkward, like the long dinners he’d have with his (many) failed foster families where his lack of reply led to them squirming around, throwing out as many conversation starters as they could think of. He lost count of how many times he’d been asking his favorite color, or if cupcakes or ice cream were better. Then when that failed they’d come up with all sorts of games or activities that they were sure could “force a magical family bond with even the most miserable troll”. Each attempt had him digging his heels in further, and most parents would give up within the week.

“We’re sorry,” They’d say, despite the relief on their faces as he was passed back to King Peppy, “But he doesn’t try to connect with us over anything. We can’t build a bond with someone who refuses to meet us halfway. Maybe if he could learn to have some normal interests, but he won’t talk, and if he does it’s Bergens and doomsday and bunkers. What are we supposed to do with a child like him? Maybe some other family would be able to fix–I mean help him.”

Back home—if it could be called that seeing as he was never going to return—the idea of not talking or doing anything together for even five minutes was up there with all the other weird social faux paus Branch couldn’t make heads or tails of. There were all these rules for interacting that no one bothered to inform him of until after he’d broken one, to the point he decided to give up on keeping track of them. It only served to make him more aware of the fact that there was something wrong with the way he thought. As himself or when trying to be on his best behavior he still managed to offend everyone else. Some days it seemed like his very existence was some sort of slight against everyone.

“This is nice,” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. Barb looked up at him and tilted her head. He clarified, “Just sitting here like this.”

“You mean hanging out? Yeah dude, hangin’ with the bros is always good.” She laid her head back, but then shot back up, “Oh! You gotta meet Debbie! Debbie, come ‘ere girl!”

Something small and fast launched itself into his face, growling and snarling loudly. He most certainly did not scream loudly and panic until Barb pulled it off his face.

“Here she is! My little hairy baby!” She cooed, “Isn’t she the most precious thing you’ve ever seen? She’s so sweet, and so friendly. Aren’t you, girl?”

Debbie, a white ball of fur and teeth with dark grey wings, snorted in response. Branch had never seen anything like her in Pop Village, but he did remember reading a survival manual years ago which mentioned a winged creature called a ‘bat’. Nearly blind, somewhat aggressive and capable of carrying rabies. Not exactly what he considered ‘pet’ material.

“Does she bite?”

Barb rubbed her face into Debbie’s fur, “Noooo, not at all! She… nibbles. It’s how she shows love.”

Branch, preferring his blood to stay inside his body, refrained from attempting to pet Debbie. Instead. he let the two of them fall back into a comfortable silence. By now he was sure he was several days of walking away from the village, and the reality of his impulsive decision was beginning to set in.

He wasn’t exactly sure what his plan was now, seeing that he was on a one-way trip away from everything he’d ever known. He wasn’t even sure he’d had a plan at all, past the building of the bunker. His only goal when he started building it was to stay alive. Well, maybe keep everyone else alive. Without him, he wondered what would happen if the Bergens ever were to show up. Would everyone be caught and brought back to the tree? Would some escape thanks only to the distraction of their friends and neighbors getting caught? Would anyone stop and remember he tried to warn them? That even after everything he wanted to protect them?

He knew he couldn’t just live off the good fortune of these trolls forever. If he was an outcast even with his own kind, how could he hope to fit in with trolls he’d no idea even existed until now? Just because he and Barb disliked pop tunes and scrapbooking and Hug Time didn’t mean they had anything they actually liked in common. Not liking pop didn’t mean hating music, like him. As the angler bus continued on towards the city, Barb was playing riffs on her guitar while the other trolls banged their heads along to the music or were otherwise rowdy.

“Come on, little dude. Cleanse your palette with some real music.” Barb nudged him in the side with her elbow.

“I don’t sing.” Branch said, as flatly as possible.

She held the guitar out to him, “Come onnnnn.”

“Fine, may I?” He held his hands out.

She thrust the guitar into his hands. Not breaking eye contact, he tossed it into the barrel fire the trolls next to him had made. The previously chaotic rumble of the angler bus stopped as Branch felt the crawling sensation of everyone’s eyes on him, the only noise now being the fire crackling and the sharp ‘twang’ sounds of the strings violently snapping from the heat of the fire.

Why did he do that? Barb’s dad was helping him and he–

Loud yelling and cheering broke out, Barb herself jumping onto the back of the couch while grinning, “Metal!”

Branch shifted his eyes towards the couch and rubbed part of his vest between his fingers, “You’re not mad?”

She waved him off, “Hard Rock is all about destroying stuff! Do you have any idea how many guitars we break a day?”

Riff, who was introduced as Barb’s friend, twirled a drumstick, “Normally we just smash them. Setting them on fire is like, ten times more hardcore… or something.”

“Uh, it’s a hundred times more hardcore!” Barb jumped off the couch and put an arm around Branch, leading him away from everyone and lowering her voice, “But bro, what’s your issue with music? Isn’t rock the coolest thing you’ve ever heard?”

Branch scowled. Hoping that someone else would understand him was too much to ask for. Even with their different appearance, the Rock Trolls still loved music just as much as the Pop Trolls, they just were weird about how they showed it. For some reason, even without the threat of Bergens looming just behind the trees, the idea of singing still made his stomach hurt and a burning feeling to creep up his back. He blinked away the burning sensation in his eyes and shouted, “Music ruined my life! Singing a bunch of dumb songs and pretending that it will somehow make you happy is just stupid! If singing some stupid song about being happy would magically make me actually happy don’t you think I would have done it by now?!”

“Music is about more than happiness, Branch.” King Thrash said, rolling over to the two, “If you aren’t happy, your music doesn’t have to be happy.”

“That’s not what King Peppy says. Music is supposed to make people happy, and you make music because you’re happy. If it doesn’t make you want to dance and smile, then it’s not music.” Branch mumbled.

“Then it’s not Pop, maybe. Rock can be whatever you want it to be. You can pour all those terrible feelings out into your lyrics. Music is only music if you’re singing your true feelings.” King Thrash winked at him and whispered, “Trust the King of Rock on that.”

“Especially when those feelings are anger! The best songs are all about all-burning rage!” Barb ran off, shredding on a new guitar and jumping into a full on brawl with the others.

Thrash smiled at his daughter, then turned back to Branch, “Branch, when we get to Volcano Rock City, you’ll be staying with Barbara and me.”

“You? But you’re the king, aren’t you supposed to ask around and find some other family to deal with me? Or better yet, just leave me alone. I can take care of myself.” Branch said.

A king couldn’t look after him, he had way more important things to worry about. Besides, if King Thrash could take him in, then it stood to reason that King Peppy could have done the same. And if King Peppy could have but didn’t, it meant he didn’t want to. Which meant that Branch was left on his own simply because King Peppy couldn’t find anyone else to pawn the task on. Which meant that… King Peppy had given up on him too.

King Thrash looked at him strangely, like he was torn between being disappointed and amused, “Is that how they do things in Pop Village? You’re my responsibility now, sorry to say. Now where did Barbara go? Barbara!”

“What, dad?!”

“Branch will be living with us, so be good to your new foster brother.”

“New brother? I’m a big sister! Carol, did you hear that?! I’m a big sister!” Barb yelled excitedly, slamming her guitar into the ground.

While Barb seemed ecstatic with the news, the word ‘brother’ stirred up some old and painful memories of a time when he had everything he could have wanted. Before the feelings could fester any further, however, a red glow appeared on the horizon. The dark and sinister looking silhouette of the home of the Rock Trolls, Volcano Rock City, was quickly growing closer, and with it, a future that Branch couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Chapter Text

Back in Pop Village, something small and pink rushed its way through the center of town, swinging from branch to branch and knocking over plant pots and trolls alike. Moving so fast she was practically just a blur of barely recognizable pink, Poppy blew past the greetings of shop vendors, her friends’ attempts to stop and chat, and the concerned voices asking why she was in such a hurry.

Everything had gone wrong so fast.

The day had started out perfect. Poppy had been relaxing with her friends, watching clouds go by after a successful picnic and scrapbooking party, when she saw the telltale dull colors of Branch sneak by. In the village he could normally sneak by her if he stuck to the shadows, but in an open field of lush green grass and bright blue sky he stuck out like a sore thumb. Why he kept trying to sneak off though she couldn’t wrap her hair around. Why would anyone go out of their way to avoid friendship? He wouldn’t be half as gloomy if he’d just let them help him let loose and boost his mood with a fun day of all of her favorite things in the world! Poppy had lost count of all the invitations to parties, birthdays, potlucks, waterparks and cupcake fights she’d given him. Each one would be torn, stomped on and ripped to shreds, but she never let herself be discouraged once. Every troll had happiness deep down inside them, and Poppy was sure with enough persistence and elbow grease she could pull Branch’s to the surface!

She quickly dismissed herself from her friends, promising to meet them back at the village, then set off further into the forest after Branch. While she followed his trail she decided to pass the time playing a game with herself. She called it “Guess What Branch Is Doing This Far Away From The Village: The Game”. Maybe he was meeting with a Super Secret BFF, or planning his first party, or Ooooh! Maybe he was going to practice singing and dancing!

Her friends would probably tell her that she was overthinking it, and a boring troll like Branch was probably looking for Bergen tracks or collecting sticks. It wasn’t that she disagreed, after all this was Branch of all trolls, but she liked to give him the benefit of the doubt that he wasn’t being lonely and miserable every hour of the day. Just… every hour she’d ever seen him for.

When she caught up to him, Branch wasn’t doing any of those things.

He also wasn’t alone.

Poppy never assumed the worst of someone, ever . There wasn’t a troll alive that wasn’t friend potential. It’s why even though everyone else had deemed Branch a lost cause, she had decided to double down on her efforts. She was going to be so welcoming and friendly that it’d make up for the entire village and then some. So this new troll was probably just Branch’s Super Secret Friend, or a new friend in the making he met while they both reached for the same rock, or they were practicing carrying trolls so they’d be extra good at Team Hug-a-Thons. Anything other than taking him away.

But for some reason, her legs locked in place behind the brush, and she didn’t move until the two had disappeared. In the distance, several dark shapes were flying away towards the horizon. When they were nothing but specks in the sky, she ran back to the village.

“Dad! Dad dad dad dad dad!” Poppy burst into her dad’s pod, “Dad, it’s an emergency!!!”

She opened her mouth to spill everything she saw, but no sounds came out. All her words seemed to jumble up in her throat like a crowd pushing through a single ‘pull’ door, fighting and blocking the way so that all that escaped was a shaky wheeze as her breath hitched. She could practically feel the words trying to get out, the choking feeling getting worse.

Just talk, Poppy! You’re good at that and Branch doesn’t have time!

“Slow down Poppy, slow down.” Her dad eased her into a chair, “Big breaths now.”

Poppy followed her dad’s lead, slowing down her quick and shallow gasps until she could talk again, “Dad it’s an emergency, we have to hurry!”

King Peppy chuckled, having seen Poppy rush into their pod in a panic a thousand times before, “What’s the matter dear, did we run out of streamers? Did someone make a party foul?”

Poppy growled in frustration. If this was what it was like to not have your concerns taken seriously she was beginning to understand why Branch was so grumpy all of the time! “No dad, this is actually serious! Someone took Branch!”

 His grin faded as he seemed to process her words, “What?”

“I didn’t recognize them as anyone from the village. They looked… weird. Kinda grey like Branch, but their hair was red and spiky, and they had on weird, dark clothes. They picked up Branch and flew off to–” Poppy stopped and muttered to herself, “Never Eat Sour Watermelon– East! They went east!”

“Oh no, oh dear. I feared this day would come. Poppy, pack your things. We need to go.”

“Yes! We have to go save him!” She stood up and headed for the door.

“No, Poppy.” Her dad gently grabbed her arm and pulled her back down into her chair, “I have something important to tell you. About our history and who those trolls were that took Branch. It’s imperative to when you become queen, but you can never tell another soul. Not what I’m about to tell you, and not what you saw happen to Branch.”

…

Just outside the borders of Pop Village, Poppy stood in front of a small tent, gripping blue scrolls of paper in her hands so tightly that the paper crumpled and threatened to tear. Blueprints. A detailed set of instructions on making a fortified place that could keep trolls safe. Once you were inside, not even an army of Bergens could find you, let alone get in. This was what Branch was spending his time working on. This was the bunker that everyone laughed at him for talking about. After everything, he still designed this haven for them…

She set the paper down gently on the workbench, smoothing out the wrinkles. Branch’s art project would become a collaborative piece. She had duties to attend to as a princess and friend, but being future queen would require sacrifice, so she would find the time for this.

She picked up a leather bound journal, unraveling the plant fiber cord that held it closed. Branch’s journal…

Maybe now she could find out why he kept himself so unhappy.

She slowly turned to one of the first pages, but instead of seeing a recount of his day or paragraphs of his unfiltered thoughts, all that was written was some sort of log.

“Granite - 3 units, Limestone - 4 units, Marble - 1 unit, slate - 6 units…” She read aloud, tracing her fingers over the letters. Inventory? She flipped to the next page, “Birch branches - 14, Aspen branches - 12, Fir branches, 18…” She skipped ahead several pages, “Mondays - rocks and branches, Tuesdays - plant fibers, Wednesday - berry bushes– what is this?”

Everything read almost like one of her party planning books, if you replaced party supplies with building supplies and created a strict, inflexible time limit for all the party games. The next ten years were coursed out, each day repeating the same schedule over and over again. Even all his meals were planned out, though there weren't many options to begin with, as he ate the same few things over and over again.

It was so close to one of her favorite hobbies that it was almost uncanny. If Branch could do this, he could plan parties! He’d just need a little improvement on being so restricting with time, and learning what everyone’s favorite foods were. She’d start on writing him some feedback and helpful tips, and when she found him she could help him learn to be a party planner and he’d find his true purpose!

But to find him she’d have to wait until she was a bit older. She’d only just barely talked her dad out of moving everyone away again, reasoning they might grow suspicious without an evident enough threat. Not only that, she needed to learn everything she could about what was out there so she could find Branch without getting eaten or caught herself. Once the bunker was done for everyone and she was sure she could fight off the trolls who took Branch, she’d find him. He just needed to wait for her.

She wouldn’t give up on him, ever .

“Today’s schedule, keep up the process of digging the storerooms.” She recited the entry to herself, “I can do this.”

She took a deep breath and pulled her hair into a tight ponytail. A single strand flopped down in front of her face. Sighing, she began to tuck it in with the rest when something moved just above her forehead. Slowly, grey slid down the strand of hair, her petal pink hue disappearing.

“No! No no no no no!” She rushed over to Branch’s water barrel, staring at her reflection. Her eyes darted across the reflection. Her complexion was still its normal bright pink. Her cheeks were still dusted with glitter. Everything was normal, save for the one grey strand of hair that laid lifelessly down her face.

She couldn’t let people see this! What would they think if their princess started going grey? This was just one bad day, a fluke. That’s why it was just a small bit. She just needed to think positive thoughts and it’d go away. Yeah, that was it. Happiness was a choice, and she welcomed it. She closed her eyes. 

Deep breath in, think about hug time. Deep breath out, think about cuddly animals. Deep breath in, Branch was going to be rescued. Deep breath out, no troll left behind.

Cracking one eye, the grey strand had not magically gone away.

She needed some way to hide this. She dug through her emergency craft supplies she kept with her at all times. Crazy glue? No. Scissors? Yeesh, a little drastic. Markers? That had some potential.

She grabbed a pink marker closest to her shade of hair and rubbed it against her hair. With enough passes back and forth, the grey was covered, but the dark shade tinted the color into a muddy mauve color, and when her fingers rubbed over the hair the color brushed right off onto her hand. She needed something stronger than a marker.

Maybe Branch knew of something that could help? She flipped through his notebook, stopping at his flowers and fruits inventory page.

“Red plum skins can be used to dye fabrics when boiled in water for an hour. Leave the fabric soaking in dye for at least an hour.” She snapped the book shut, and began looking for the fruit, “There we go! Surprise hair spa day, solo style!”

…

Poppy wrung her hair out, admiring the seamless match of her newly dyed strand to the rest of her hair in the reflection of the water. It still wouldn’t hold its normal gravity defying shape on its own, so she tucked it into the middle of the ponytail and got back to work. She was ready to put this incident fully behind her.

Chapter Text

With a name like ‘Volcano Rock City’, Branch had a slight inkling as to what the city would probably look like. He’d never seen a volcano, nor had anyone else from Pop Village, but he had a vague idea in his head of what it was and what it should look like. As for the rest of the city, he expected more or less greyed versions of the neighborhoods he was used to. Replace the ice cream parlors and nacho bars with whatever it was Rock Trolls were obsessed with. Guitar stores, maybe? They did seem to go through a lot of them, so it would probably be a lucrative market.

Volcanoes were a lot more intimidating in person, as it turns out. Branch had been operating under the impression it wasn’t an active volcano and he wasn’t going to be centimeters away from what he assumed to be a very hot and agonizing death, but naturally both Pop and Rock trolls apparently seemed to be fond of playing limbo with the thin line between living and dying a horrible (and preventable) death. 

The volcano had been carved partially into the shape of a troll, hands in the air doing the same gesture Barb kept doing, surrounded by speakers made from twisted and bent metal. Lava flowed in a lazy stream down either side of the monument, branching off and then reconnecting to make two main rivers that stretched across the ashy dunes that stretched out as far as he could see in all directions.

The angler buses circled the jagged opening of the volcano, spiraling around the continuous, geyser-like spout of lava shooting into the sky. The inside walls had also been carved into, making several rings that wrapped around the circumference of the volcano of blocky rows of homes and businesses. They stopped around halfway down, which is where the top of a large stage reached. At least Branch assumed it was a stage. Pop Village had a few stages for specific performances, but people normally (read: unfortunately) preferred random breaks into song. Those few stages paled in comparison to the size and detail of the Rock stage. The stadium seats also branched back into the volcano’s inner walls, looking like it could seat thousands of trolls. Was the Rock Troll population large enough to necessitate that?

Barb was clearly excited to be home. Once they’d begun their descent into the city she’d pulled him up to the front of the angler bus so he could get the best view of his new home—wow that was slowly starting to sink in—and she’d been hopping in place ever since.

“You’re going to love it here, Branch.” She said, grinning so wide he could see her gums. Her teeth looked razor sharp.

He hadn’t said anything. The open entrance of the bus was letting all the heat in and Branch was already sweating. The air inside a volcano was scorching hot, who would have guessed?

The bus pulled up to a dock built into the wall, jostling him when it came to a stop. He would have stumbled if Barb hadn’t grabbed his shoulder just before the hissing sound of breaks. Excited chatter picked up from the other passengers as they all poured out of the exit. Barb waited until her dad was completely out of the bus before grabbing Branch’s hand and leading him out of the bus. Attempting to, at least. As soon as his foot touched the rock walkway he hissed in pain, jumping backwards onto the bus.

“Ow!”

“Branch?” Barb followed him back onto the bus and crouched down, “Step on somethin’?”

“Yeah, burning hot volcano rock!” He yelled. He pulled his foot up, the skin looking red and tender but not badly injured.

Barb cocked her head and then placed her hand flat on the walkway, “Feels fine to me. Guess Pop Trolls are pretty tenderfooted.”

“Just great. At this rate I should have just jumped into a Bergen oven, at least I’d be cooked more evenly.” Branch said, “Should’ve known this was a stupid idea…”

“Nuh-uh, you wait right here.” Barb cracked her knuckles loudly and ran at one of the trolls unloading the bus, “C’mere, punk! Time to pay the boot tax!”

The troll shrieked as Barb leapt and tackled him to the ground with the ferocity of a wild animal. She certainly growled like one as she grabbed one of his legs and started pulling it so far back he was practically kicking himself in the head. “Not Blaze’s sweet kicks! I just got these!” He yelled.

Barb ripped one of his shoes off with her teeth, “Yeah, and now I got ‘em! Now drop the gloves!”

After watching Barb strip the poor man of his spiked black boots and gloves, Branch watched her wordlessly walk back to the bus. She held up the boots, talking as if Branch hadn’t just seen her hold another troll in a headlock, “One of my friends was nice enough to loan me these. Certified Rock Troll gear, one hundred perfect lava proof.”

Barb handed him the gloves and began helping him tie his laces as he fastened the wristbands. Shoes weren’t a very common accessory, at least for Pop Trolls. In the soft grass of their home there wasn’t much need in the first place, and most trolls tended to prefer not to have anything on their feet when not necessary. He could definitely see why. The heavy sensation made it feel like he was dragging his feet and the boots boosted his height a small amount at the expense of him stumbling a bit. But a tentative step onto the walkway proved Barb right, he couldn’t feel a thing through the shoes, and his hands could safely touch the walls to help him keep his balance, and so the benefits outweighed the cons.

Branch tried to keep track of the buildings Barb was pointing out, but everything seemed to just blend in together. Pop Village was barely half this size even after their population had begun to climb thanks to leaving the threat of the Bergens—not that Branch memorized where more than the essential buildings were, which did not give him much help in memorizing city layouts. Not to mention, with everything being one big multi-level carving, Branch had to also keep track of the entrances to duck into to reach the stairs and lifts to the other levels. Thankfully since he was following King Thrash’s lead they couldn’t take the stairs, so he wouldn’t have to attempt those in his new ankle-destroying shoes. If on the off chance the fall didn’t kill him, the embarrassment would. Inside the elevator Branch noticed that despite there only being about seven levels worth of rings, there were fourteen floors listed; half were numbered U1 to U7 and the rest from B1 to B7.

King Thrash and Barb’s—and his , he still couldn’t believe he was saying that—home was located at the very top of the rings of buildings, positioned directly in front of the stage so that you could see all of Volcano Rock City from the front door. On one hand, it was the perfect tactical advantage to keep his eyes on everything and spot any potential threats from within the confines of the city. On the other hand, he was now stuck in the epicenter of the city should a threat come from outside the walls. In the air. Suspended above pools of lava.

“C’mon Branch, let me give you the tour!” Barb grabbed his hand and pulled him inside.

The air inside the house was cooler and less suffocating, which Branch was eternally grateful for. He had been seriously doubting if he could even bear to live here under the constant barrage of heavy heat and smoke, but now he had a retreat from the broiling temperature and everything else. Hopefully. He’d be sharing it with two complete strangers, so it would be hard to consider it a full escape. It also had the benefit of being familiar, looking much like the inside of the angler bus. He wasn’t sure what that said either about their living conditions or the quality of the buses. Saying the room was messy was an understatement, every surface having clutter covering it. That’s not to say Pop Trolls were an image of cleanliness, in fact they were far from it, but most pods tended to not have much in them. Most trolls carried their belongings with them at all times, which lessened the amount of things they needed to store at home, leading pods to consist mostly of furniture and a few odd items. Pop Troll homes also tended to be as vibrantly colored as their owners, which could technically be said about the Rock Trolls, seeing as both the trolls and their homes were darkly colored. Aside from the occasional red or blue accent the room was refreshingly black and grey. Color had always been another point of contention between Branch and everyone else. At times the colors and patterns that saturated every inch of the village made his eyes hurt and his head dizzy. Between that and the constant sounds from every direction, his mind felt like a live wire and he felt prone to snapping at everyone who got too close, which only worsened his reputation as a bad mannered kid.

“So here’s the living room,” Barb said, pointing things out, “Couch, TV, normal junk. I’ve got a console if you wanna play some video games. Oh! I’ve finally got a player two! Hope you don’t mind losing all the time.”

“I don’t really do games.” Branch said. He wasn't sure what sort of game 'video games' were, but he could only be forced to play so many board games before he'd grown to hate those too just by association.

Barb’s ears turned down in disappointment but she quickly shook her head, “Yeah, no that’s cool, that’s cool. You can just watch me play solo then. C’mon, follow me.”

Barb began dragging him throughout the house. Several rooms were dedicated solely to junk and looked like more wrecked versions of the living room, with sawed in half couches and smashed guitars being the only key differences. There was a kitchen which Barb told him he could help himself to, and a dining room where Thrash said the only rule was no weapons at the table. The rule seemed to be unenforced, as Barb then stood on the table (which for some reason was not against the rules) while brandishing a slingshot.

“Rules were made to be broken.” King Thrash whispered conspiratorially.

After coaxing Barb off the table, Thrash led Branch down the other hallway, “This here is my room and next to it is my office. My door’s always open to you, Branch. I need to finish some work. Take good care of him, Barbara.”

“Okay dad, love you!” Barb waved to her dad as he closed the door, “C’mon I’ll show you our room.”

Branch nodded and followed her. There were two doors across from Thrash’s room on the right hand side that Barb quickly glanced at then looked away and continued on further down the hallway.

“What’s in these?” Branch asked.

Barb turned back and opened one of the doors. The room was medium sized, with half the room being behind a half wall with a large glass pane. That smaller room had some large speakers, a drum set and—for some reason—two microphones hanging upside down from the ceiling. Just outside the smaller room was a large box-like machine with hundreds of buttons and dials, all lit up different colors. One of the walls housed a bunch of shiny looking guitars, next to a golden sign that read ‘Barbara, Do Not Break’. Barb slammed the door shut after he’d gotten a quick look, making him jump.

“Recording room. Figured you wouldn’t wanna see it.” She said.

“Oh.” Branch wasn’t sure what else to say. She was right, he didn’t really care to see any reminders of music, but he’d sort of accepted that music was inescapable outside the safety of his half-made bunker. Music was as important to trolls as breathing, and he was sure if they had a choice most trolls would find a way to not need to breathe to fit a couple extra songs into the day. He’d accepted that no matter how many times he’d ask, demand, or shout that the music would continue. Maybe it was less ‘acceptance’ and more ‘resignation’ that he wouldn’t be listened to. If he had accepted it, he wouldn’t have continued to tell everyone he met that he couldn’t stand to hear them singing. But now that he thought about it, after the announcement that he’d be living with Barb, she’d stopped playing her guitar. The stereos had been turned off on the angler bus. She hadn’t even so much as hummed on the way here. Was he actually being listened to for once?

It felt weird.

He was torn between feeling the urge to thank her profusely for such a basic kindness and screaming at her for being so easily accommodating. Did she expect him to be grateful for her not forcing music down his throat? Did she expect him to thank her, call her a good person for listening to him and doing this one measly thing for him? Something so simple and yet she was the only troll he’d met capable of doing? It was this easy and it took until now for it to happen?

It made him furious.

“Last up is our room. Dad’s getting us bunk beds tomorrow, so I’m gonna crash on the couch tonight.” Barb opened the door on the other side of her dad’s office.

Having seen the rest of the house, Branch had come up with a general idea of what Barb’s room would probably look like. He was right, to a degree. Naturally the aesthetics were the same throughout the house and her room was no exception. There were a few piles of clothes or randomness he couldn’t exactly place, but the room was actually cleaner than the rest of the house, which might have been the purpose of the rooms full of trash down the other hall. One corner of the room had a few more instruments, which Barb quickly utilized one of the piles of clothes to throw over top of them. From her attempt at a ‘nonchalant’ look and aborted whistle (likely when she remembered whistling was still music), she thought he didn’t notice, so Branch decided to let her continue to think that.

The thing about the room that surprised Branch the most was the large black bookshelf that was filled to the brim. Barb didn’t exactly give off the impression she was an idiot, but considering the attitudes of the other Rock Trolls he met and their preferred pass time of beating the hair out of each other, she also didn’t give off the impression of being well read. He skimmed through the titles, though half the book's titles were written in such a way they looked more like an abstract painting or tree roots than words. The other half seemed to be non-fiction for the most part. A History of Rock , The Art of Heavy Metal , Rock and Revolutionaries , A Guide to Pyrotechnics , Anatomy of Stage Lights , and The Complete Guitar Cleaning Handbook were just a small sample of the books Barb had.

“I didn’t know you read.” Branch said.

“I’m gonna be queen one day, and I’d rather be a smart one than a dumb one.” Barb said with a smirk, “Rock Trolls might not be the smartest of the tribes, but we know our way around mechanics. Speakers don’t grow on trees, after all.”

Branch raised an eyebrow, “All of you?”

“All of us. If you can’t disassemble and reassemble an entire stage set up by the time you’re five you’ll never graduate. Which has never happened. Rock teachers are that good.”

“They teach that in school?” Branch asked, “All we learned is the history of Hug Time, the last Trollstice, and Party 101.”

Barb’s face scrunched up like she bit into a lemonberry, “I– I don’t even know which part of that to start with. Hug Time?”

Branch hoisted himself up onto the bed, “Every hour.”

“Barf. That’s like, completely ingenuine! You shouldn’t just hug someone because you’re told to! Physical affection should happen on its own, if someone has to be told to do it then they don't flippin' want to in the first place!” Barb screamed and kicked a hole into one of her half-covered drums.

“Well the rest of Pop Village would argue with you. Apparently there was a vote to change it to every half hour once, but that would cut into their singing time.” He said. He remembered that vote, since he’d stuffed the ballot box with ‘No’s.

“The more I hear about these nerds, the more punchable their dumb faces sound.” Barb grumbled.

Branch sighed, “Yeah. Can I please be alone now?”

“Yeah, sure thing. I’ll just,” Barb pointed behind her, “Be in the living room. Yell if you need me.”

Barb left, closing the door behind her, leaving Branch alone for the first time since the whole ordeal had started and the exhaustion hit him all at once like a tidal wave. He’d been accidentally kidnapped, refused to leave and then got adopted by Rock Troll royalty in the span of hours. Simply because they didn’t immediately annoy him.

He was an idiot.

What did he know about King Thrash and Barb? That they liked angry music? On what basis was that a good reason to run away from home without so much as a word? When people realized he was gone they’d waste time and valuable resources on a search party to find him, and at least one of them would probably die since not a single one of them knew anything about survival at all.

If they even noticed he was missing.

It had been months since King Peppy had last attempted to contact him about a new foster family, and now that Branch thought about it, there really wasn’t a couple of adult age that he hadn’t stayed with, as well as most single adults. Most notably excluded from that was King Peppy himself, and if he had any desire to do so he would have done it in the first place. It stood to reason there were no more willing families to try out, meaning that King Peppy had no reason to continue to come see him. He had no friends in the village, and no one had ever bothered to seek him out other than Poppy. When he went into town it was very clear that most people were strongly hinting for him to not come back, so they’d likely take his absence as him finally getting the hint. And while Poppy did come to seek him out at times, he normally hid from her or wouldn’t answer her, so she would likely assume that was the case there as well.

So no one would be the least bit affected by his disappearance.

Shockingly, that did not help him feel any better.

His own personal feelings on that matter aside though, that was technically no longer a logistical concern he needed to worry about, so any further feelings about it could be pushed to the side. He still didn’t really know these trolls. Sure they were welcoming. Really welcoming. Barb had gone out of her way to get rid of the one thing he told her that he hated without asking her to. She had beat up a troll just so he could have some protective shoes. That maybe wasn’t as big of a deal, considering she fought three people just on the way there, but she did it for him. And despite her insane amount of energy, she seemed content to let him spend time with her in silence, or alone. So she listened to him and was pretty considerate, that was two things he knew. It was also her first impression, so she could be acting since her dad would be keeping a close eye on her behavior. Who's to say how she’d act in a week, a month, a year from now? There were too many unknowns to make a call just yet.

Branch supposed when it came to Barb he was really beating around the bush for the real issue. Branch was not ready to be a little brother again. He had been one once, and he’d been burned enough for a lifetime from it. Giving Barb the title—the trust—was paramount to handing her the key to the quickest way to hurt him. He’d tried it, when he first lost grandma. He wasn’t as far gone back then as he was now. He wanted a home. He’d given his foster siblings a chance, and they blew it. After that, any family he was placed with that had other children were immediately met with walls. They tended to last less time than childless caretakers, typically only two or three days at best. Sometimes not even a full day. Barb being nice and accepting now didn’t mean anything because that could end at any time.

Branch was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of speakers screeching outside. With his mood now worsened, he forced himself off the bed and looked out the window that faced the large stage outside. While Barb had been taking every precaution to keep him away from music, the same concern was not shared by the rest of the Rock Trolls. Still, some warning would have been nice. He wanted to give Barb the benefit of the doubt that no concerts were scheduled, that this was a spontaneous event. If that was the case then he was mourning the loss of his hermit lifestyle. On the stage was an orange toned troll with thick navy blue hair, along with three other bandmates he couldn't quite make out from so far away.

I'm the master of construction

Because I'm building walls like it's my occupation

If you portray a liar

I'll shut you out without hesitation

It's an art form of consummate skill

Oh, how she plays them like the pawn

Making boys drool at her will

Like Pavlov to the dogs

No doors exist on my fortress

The only entrance is the one I bear

You're nothing more than a temptress

I fell victim to a heartless snare

They weren’t kidding when they said rock could be anything, including angry. And– Oh. Wow. They didn’t mention the fact that Rock Trolls didn’t censor themselves. So that was a thing.

“Just great.” He sighed, walking back to the bed and crawling under the covers. Maybe he could sleep through it? He pulled the pillow over his ears, which didn’t have much effect but it was the best he was getting.

Branch quickly drifted off to a deep and dreamless sleep, completely oblivious to the abrupt end of the concert and the sounds of a familiar troll hijacking the stage for a very important announcement.

Chapter Text

Let it be said that Barb did not mean to accidentally kidnap a Pop Troll and barely avoid triggering an all out genre war. It just sort of… happened.

Every month they did a routine run to the mines. It was a standard trip that her dad oversaw and had begun to let Barb attend when she was old enough to require only minor supervision. They couldn’t bring anyone who wasn’t willing to treat the trip as seriously as it was. They were close to Pop territory, and worse, they were in an overall dangerous area for the inexperienced to be roaming around. The obsidian stream especially required trolls to be extra cautious. Slipping on wet rocks was bad enough without the threat of razor sharp obsidian lining the ground. Even Barb herself was technically too young to be making this trip, but her dad had faith in her and said she’d proven herself responsible enough to be trusted to follow his exact instructions. The ability to pay attention and listen to the instructions of anyone older than you were vital to the privilege of making this trip. An ability that apparently this kid lacked and still had the gall to show up anyway.

She was normally better with kids, but the danger of the situation outweighed the urge to be nice. While the kid was definitely going to be in trouble for sneaking away from the group, someone else was going to be in even more trouble for not keeping an eye on the children. Really Barb had just done them a favor by grabbing the kid before anything bad could happen. If she had instead gone up to her dad with news that a kid had gone missing or been injured, well, let’s just say that whoever was in charge of childcare that day would be meeting some departed family members ahead of schedule.

…Which is exactly what Barb thought was going to happen to her when she realized she kidnapped a Pop Troll, which was most certainly some sort of war crime. War crimes could happen if they weren’t in war, right?

Branch wasn’t exactly what she expected of a Pop Troll, and her dad’s explanation of ‘greying’ didn’t really help clarify much. What made a grey troll different from any other troll? Appearance wise he just looked like a Rock Troll with questionable fashion sense. While Rock Trolls could and did have some vibrant colors like her own red hair or Carol’s blue tinted skin and hair, grey and black were not out of place enough to be considered some sort of strange phenomenon. Sure it meant that he didn’t like the music of the tribe he was from, but that could have easily have been because pop music was trash. However that didn’t answer all of the questions (and red flags) that had been raised from his reaction to almost being sent back home. Even if her dad played the worst music in the world, she wouldn’t jump on the first bus away from him. Maybe his parents were gone? But what about friends? It seemed like he’d never hung out with anybody, based on his reaction to hanging out with her, so maybe he didn’t have those either. It wasn’t helping to guess what made him so desperate to leave. If anything, imagining that his parents left him alone in the wild before she found him made her desperate to punch them, so she compromised by scrapping with the first person to start a brawl.

She’d found out exactly what greying meant when she had tried to show Branch what rock music was like. She hadn’t meant to upset him. She’d taken his disinterest in music to be about the music he’d actually listened to, not all music to ever exist . She wasn’t exactly sure how music could do anything like ruin a life. Someone could use music to say something terrible to you, sure, but that doesn’t mean music did it. It was some jerk with a crummy guitar that did it. She racked her brain trying to think of how all music could ruin someone’s life, but every scenario she thought of could be traced back to someone or something else being a wad.

Barb’s dad had once told her ‘ You don’t have to understand to help ’. Being a king is a difficult job that comes with all the troubles of the tribe and then some. There were times when he’d be worn down, and while her dad could always swoop in and make her problems go away, there was no one to do the same for him. One particular time she’d wanted to be that troll for him, so she’d tried her best to solve the problem for him. In the end, her frustration at not even being able to understand what the issue was in the first place—let alone know how to fix it—had her sitting in his office crying. Her dad had dried her tears, held her close and gave her that advice.

“Just knowing you want to help me makes me feel better.” He had said.

Barb didn’t understand Branch, but Branch was very vocal about what he wanted. If he hated music, he wouldn’t want to have to listen to it, so Barb took the moment to run off and unplug the rest of the speakers in the bus. To stop any further temptation, she smashed her guitar at the news that Branch would be her new brother. Well, partially. In truth it was more at the excitement of the news. Okay it was fully from the excitement, she hadn’t planned that far ahead. The important thing was now she didn’t have a guitar to accidentally play while on the bus, which would have immediately ruined the rockin’ vibes of having a new brother.

Could you blame her though? She was getting her own little brother! She’d always wanted to be a big sister, but unfortunately it just never happened. She could dote on the younger trolls in the city, but none of them saw her as any more than a cool big kid. And if you thought about it, she actually got to pick this one herself.

It turns out that being a big sister instantly makes you ready to throw down at a moment's notice. At each setback Barb’s first reflex was to jump in front of her new baby brother and start swinging at the problem. This sentiment was not limited to people. If punching the ground would have made it up to Branch for burning his foot she would have, but he didn’t seem the type to count it as a victory to punch rocks a few times, so she settled for punching some guy for his boots instead. While fighting was a pastime of Rock Trolls, there was an etiquette to it and unfortunately picking a fight at random and robbing that troll of their shoes broke that etiquette. She’d have to make it up to this Blaze guy, but at the very least he seemed to not hold much of a grudge if the thumbs up he gave her as she walked away was anything to go by.

She should still probably dial it in, though…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…scratch that, she needed to dial it up .

The house tour had gone pretty well. There’d not been any further incidents and Barb had been able to stealthily hide most reminders of music. The recording rooms she’d unfortunately had to show off when Branch had asked, she didn’t want Branch to think any room in the house was hidden or off limits. She’d been able to toss her laundry over her drum set and electric guitar without him even noticing though, which was the one she was most proud of. She’d almost started whistling on reflex but he also didn’t seem to notice that, so she was on a roll.

He’d asked to be alone and Barb knew he was probably at his limit for the day. If she thought today had been crazy then Branch must be bordering the edge of a nervous breakdown. She’d decided to play a game to pass the time, then changed her mind when the game loaded up the title screen music. Instead, she set all of her games' sound settings to ‘sound effects only’ and turned the TV off. Now if Branch ever did change his mind about playing video games he wouldn’t immediately regret the decision.

She’d done all of this to make her house into a musicless sanctuary for Branch, and yet some idiot was outside blasting music through her walls at like 300 decibels.

Barb was a very reasonable woman, who would one day be queen, and so she needed to handle this situation with tact and respect. No one was at fault for this situation. These people had no idea that Barb now had a little brother with more baggage than a double-decker tour bus. They weren’t doing anything wrong. She reminded herself of this as she made the march down to the open air stage. This was how they always did things and the entire tribe didn’t magically rewrite itself to prioritize Branch’s comfort the second she became a big sis. It should have , but for some reason the world did not revolve around Barb.

Because she had so much tact and respect, she very calmly cleared the stage security by telling them she had important royal announcements and very calmly took the mic from the lead singer of Bad Hair Day. Without any violence. Because she could do that.

Her left eye twitched.

“Listen up everyone! Concerts over! This stage is closed for the week, so take it to the underground venue!” Barb said, her voice booming through the speakers. There was a bit of an uproar of protests, which she shut down with the same Look her dad would give back in his prime that was his only warning before he started swinging. “Don’t be a bunch of cry babies. The stage is down for repairs.”

Barb launched the mic at the base of the metal scaffolding that held up the lights and speakers. Not only did she hit one of the lock releases, she sent a whole chunk of it flying off. Now missing part of itself, the right leg collapsed, bringing the rest of it down like a house of cards with the ear splitting sound of scraping metal and shattering glass. Pieces of metal rolled off the stage, falling into the audience or into the pools of lava surrounding the stage. The drummer had run backstage, and the guitarist and bassist had leapt into the crowd to avoid being crushed, which Barb had assumed they would. She wanted them gone, not dead. For now.

The lead singer, Billy Reverb, stared at her like she’d lost her mind, “Barb, what the–”

Barb cut him off by throwing her arm over his shoulder and pulling him close, “Buddy, guy, friend, come here a sec. You see that window right up there? That’s my bedroom window. Inside that bedroom is my brand new brother, I just got him today, and he really isn’t feeling good. I’m a big sister now, I’ve gotta put him first, get it?”

Billy raised his hands in surrender, “Okay, okay, I get it. No loud music. Did you really need to break the stage?”

“I needed an outlet. Next time I’ll remember you’d rather I break your face.”

“Nevermind, the stage is good! We’ll just be going. C’mon guys! Tell your baby brother I said to feel better soon!”

When Barb finally got back to her house she beelined right for the couch and fell face first onto the beat up cushions, taking care not to land on Debbie. Being a big sister was a lot of work, and required a lot more acts of violence than she had imagined. At this rate she was going to need to ban music if she was going to keep Branch safe. She wasn’t really looking forward to a life without music, but it would be a lot easier than fighting every musician who crossed her path.

“Been busy I see, Barbara.”

Barb sat up, smiling as her dad moved to sit next to her, “Dad! I gave Branch the full tour like you said!”

“You did good. Ending that concert for your brother was a very nice thing for you to do for him, but it’s not something we can keep doing. As much as I want Branch to be happy and comfortable in here, we can’t stop people from doing what they want to do out there.”

Barb sat Debbie down in her lap and ran her fingers through her fur, “I know. But he just got here and there’s music everywhere . I don’t know how to fix it.”

Thrash patted her hand comfortingly, “I know, dear. We don’t need to solve this in a day. We can start with making him a safe place he can go to where he won’t be able to hear the stage.”

Barb suddenly had a very good and much less totalitarian idea for Branch’s musicless utopia. “Dad, you’re a genius! I’m gonna borrow the couch for a bit, okay? Okay, love you!” She yelled quickly.

Her dad chuckled and watched her begin dragging the couch (and Debbie) towards the hall, “Have fun. Try not to break too much.”

Barb couldn’t exactly promise that, so she pretended she didn’t hear him.

Why hadn’t she thought of soundproofing the house? It would certainly be a much faster and easier solution than what she had been doing. In fact, she didn’t even need to do too much to soundproof a space for Branch. There was already a space that was completely soundproofed to the point she could stand on one side of the room and Branch on the other and they couldn’t hear each other yell. It just hadn’t crossed her mind considering it was a room Branch would have never wanted to set foot in. The thought of presenting it as is was out of the question, but there was no reason she couldn’t alter it to better suit his needs.

Barb set the couch down in the hallway and opened the door to one of the two recording rooms they had. While the entire room was slightly more insulated than the rest of the house, the half of the room behind the laminated glass was fully contained. As long as that door stayed closed there was no risk of sound contamination, an effect that was vital when recording music and would ironically be what made it the perfect space for Branch. All she needed to do was move everything out and shove some stuff Branch might like inside. That was two steps. Yes, each of those steps were made up of a lot of smaller steps and parts. And yeah, Barb didn’t actually have any clue what Branch might like, only what he didn’t like. When you looked at it like that, it wasn’t as simple as she was making it out to be, which is why she wasn’t going to look at it like that. It was two easy steps.

Bringing the couch into the hallways might have been getting ahead of herself slightly, considering it wouldn’t fit until she moved everything out. She carefully crawled over it (avoiding crushing Debbie) and began pushing it back towards the living room, so that both recording studio doors were clear. Her dad was sat on the other side of the couch, blocked from returning to his office and watching her with an amused grin.

“Get ahead of yourself?” He asked.

“Nope. I meant to do that.” She lied.

“Get tired of me sitting holed up in my room, did we? Guess I’ll go get started on dinner.” He turned his chair towards the kitchen and began to leave, before turning back, “Barbara, I’m proud of you. Please don’t feel discouraged if Branch doesn’t seem to appreciate everything you do. I suspect that this is all new to him, and new things are always a little scary.”

“It’s okay, dad, I won’t.”

With that cleared out of the way, she could start removing things from the room. For this she couldn’t be as rash as she was with the couch. The instruments in this room were her dad’s and each held a lot of sentimental importance to him. He’d told her the stories behind all of them, and promised her when she was older that she could play them any time she wanted. He was probably waiting for her to grow out of the habit of smashing guitars as a display of excitement, which was fair enough. She didn’t want to break anything important to her dad anymore than he did. She decided to move the guitars first, since they were the lightest, and started with the first guitar her dad ever owned. It was the most battered of all the guitars, but that didn’t mean she could be any less careful with it. Her dad remembered how he’d gotten every scratch on it, each being its own story, and she was not about to hear ‘the story of the time Barb scratched my guitar trying to make a hideout for Branch’ for the rest of her life. After it came the others, the stories coming to the forefront of her mind as she cradled each one in her arms carefully on its walk to the next room over. Being trusted with these meant so much to her. They made her feel even closer to her dad when they could play together. Music was how she and her dad bonded, and without it she wasn’t sure how to bridge the gap between her and Branch. 

The rest of the instruments and equipment went a lot faster once she’d stopped reminiscing, and soon she was pushing the couch into the recording booth with no small amount of difficulty. The process might have gone faster if she had just moved Debbie, but she was just sleeping so cutely that it would be a crime to wake her up. With enough twisting the couch slid into the room, taking up a good amount of space. Exhausted, she collapsed onto the couch, falling asleep.

She awoke to her dad nudging her foot, “Dinner’s ready.”

Barbara sat up and yawned, tiredly following her dad to the dining room. She sat down across from him, taking a few bites of her food before she realized what was wrong.

“Where’s Branch?”

“Asleep. Today was a lot for him.” Her dad said. At her concerned expression he added, “I put his food in the fridge, so if he wakes up before breakfast he can heat it up.”

“Oh.” Barb was too tired to come up with anything else, so she tiredly shoveled another forkful of rice and meat. “Can I go check on him?”

Her dad chuckled, “He’s not going to disappear. Of course you can, just don’t wake him up.”

Barb stood up and hurried down the hall, feeling slightly more awake than before. She slightly cracked open her bedroom door, light from the hall pouring in. It wasn’t that Barb didn’t believe her dad had checked, but for some reason she needed to see for herself. Sure enough, Branch was curled up on her bed, fast asleep. At some point he must have kicked his blanket off, as it was laying in a pile on the floor.

Silently, Barb tiptoed into the room, picking up the blanket and carefully laying it back over Branch.

“Night, Branch.” She whispered, closing the door back slowly after her.

Chapter Text

“Branch, breakfast!”

Branch groaned, rolling over. Meals with the families that King Peppy set him up with were always terrible. While game nights and parties were forced on him by the parents, escaping them had no real consequences other than being handed back to King Peppy and maybe a few choice words about his attitude issues. Skipping meals, however, had a rather large consequence called ‘starving’ that Branch wasn’t keen on. And unlike a game or party where you could just endlessly babble about whose turn it was or the next song playing, meals could only hold so many comments about the quality of the food before the entire table was squirming under the awkwardness. So meals tended to be the most invasive line of questioning of his entire stay. When it came down to it, they were at an impasse. Branch couldn’t stand talking and would prefer a quiet meal, whereas they couldn’t stand not talking and kept trying to goad him into a conversation. Branch couldn’t keep them from talking, and they couldn’t keep him from staying silent, and so by the end of the meal neither of them had gotten what they wanted. Neither could ensure their own ‘win’ and so they ensured the other ‘lost’ as well.

It hit Branch about three seconds after he sat up that this was not the normal foster scenario. King Peppy was not a short walk away for him to be returned to. If he didn’t meet their expectations he had no clue what they would do. Would he be boarded onto an angler bus headed straight back to Pop Village? Unlikely, as King Thrash had been very clear he didn’t want the rest of Pop Village to know about the Rock Trolls, and he wasn’t likely to trust Branch with that secret anymore if he was sending him back. Maybe they’d set him loose in the wilderness to fend for himself. If he was dropped off outside of Rock Troll territory then maybe he could survive on his own, but in the volcanic ash desert that surrounded Volcano Rock City he didn’t see himself finding much resources. And of course there were… “ other options” .

In short, it was a matter of life or death that he be as likable as possible.

Shockingly, the higher stakes did not make him any more eager to do so.

“Branch, outta bed or I’m gonna have to carry you!” Barb yelled.

“Coming!” He shouted back.

Time to get this over with.

He met Barb in the dining room, passing by King Thrash at the stove who was holding some black and red rock-looking thing. Feeling slightly more concerned about what his new diet would entail he sat down in the seat next to his temporary foster sister. She grinned and slipped something into his hand under the table.

It was a slingshot.

“Barbara, you didn’t happen to have slipped Branch a weapon at the table, did you?” King Thrash called from the kitchen.

“No dad!” She winked at him, “No weapons at the table.”

“Alright, I’m gonna turn around and I better not see any weapons.” Thrash set three plates onto a tray fastened across his wheelchair and turned towards the dining room. Branch decided not to risk already breaking a rule and slipped the slingshot into his vest pocket. King Thrash set a plate of food down in front of him and smiled knowingly at Branch, “Sleep well?”

Branch poked his food with a fork. Seems those ‘rocks’ had been eggs. “Yeah. Would’ve been nice to know a concert would be going on right outside my– Barb’s window.” Ah, his award winning personality was already out in full force. Great.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Normally you have to book the stage, but if no one’s reserved it for the day you can usually just use it—thanks dad—as long as you clean up. Don’t worry, the stage is down for ‘maintenance’.” Barb said with a smirk.

“Quite unfortunate,” Her dad agreed, “But for the best.”

The two shared a devious looking grin and started eating. Neither made any effort to continue the conversation, so Branch took that as his chance to finish breakfast before the awkward ice breakers could start. Whatever animal that Rock Trolls got their eggs from was different from the ones in Pop Village. Besides the shell resembling a volcanic rock, the inside was red with an orange yolk, compared to the purple and blue eggs he’d always eaten. Taste wise there was a heat to it too, like it came pre-seasoned, which he didn’t mind. In fact he actually preferred it to the almost sweet taste of the eggs from home. He enjoyed it, but for some reason he was simply stuck on the color.

“I can make you something else if you’d like, Branch.” King Thrash said.

“No, no it’s fine. It just… looks different.” Branch mumbled.

“Oh?”

“Normally eggs are purple, and the yolks are blue.” Branch explained, “And kind of sweet? These taste better, they're just… different.”

“Purple and blue eggs, huh? Well, I’ll see what I can do about that.”

“You don’t have to.” Branch said. The last thing he wanted to do was create more work for his new foster dad on his first full day here. Not to mention, it would mean returning to Pop territory and risking a confrontation. Now that he was aware of the tensions between tribes, he was all the more worried about conflicts arising. He wasn’t worth that risk, and certainly not over something as dumb as his picky eating habits.

“I have my ways, don’t you worry.” Thrash said.

Branch glanced over at Barb to see her shoveling two whole eggs into her mouth. She chewed for a moment, then slammed her fork down and stood up, “Dad can I show Branch the thing now?!”

“Ask him, not me.”

Barb’s head snapped towards him so fast Branch thought she’d break it, “C’mon! You need to see this.”

“That technically wasn’t asking–AHH!” Branch was cut off by Barb grabbing his arm and dragging him back down the hall that led to their room. Instead of continuing towards the end, they stopped in front of the recording rooms that Barb had reluctantly shown him yesterday. Why she was now dragging him back was beyond him. Had yesterday been some sort of act so he’d let his guard down? Poppy had done that a few times, and it made him madder each time he fell for it.

“Okay, so, I was thinking about how you can hear the stage outside from our room and how that sucks. And I can’t just beat everyone up on stage so dad had this idea for your own space and just look.” Barb spoke so fast that Branch could barely keep up with her. 

Before Branch could decode the full meaning of her words, Barb opened the door to the recording studio. Just yesterday it had been filled to the brim with all sorts of instruments and other music related paraphernalia. Somehow overnight everything had been cleared away, making the room feel barren and empty. Faint outlines from where each guitar had rested on the wall could be seen, the hooks that held them in place still there. It reminded Branch a bit of when everyone was packing up their homes from the Troll Tree on the night of the last Trollstice. Everything of importance had been taken from the room, leaving only imprints. Barb didn’t seem the least bit upset at her home being uprooted however, grinning ear to ear as she practically skipped to the door of the back half of the room. A handwritten note had been taped to it. ‘ Branch’s Secret Room - Do NOT Enter! ’

“Eh? Like it? Lemme give you the tour.” Barb opened the door and stepped in, ironically ignoring the sign that she had very obviously hung up. Was that ironic?

The smaller room was very clearly not made for the purpose that Barb had given it. A couch that looked suspiciously identical to the one in the living room took up nearly every square inch. Beside it was a small side table with a tower of books, two notebooks and a pack of pencils. The giant window that showed the other half of the room now had a curtain and rod added, though the rod was crooked. Shoved in the corner was a much smaller version of the fridge. Barb jumped onto the couch, laying back with her arms behind her head and her legs crossed.

“So we’ve got the couch, for all your chill time needs. Dad had some books that he thought you might like about, like, random stuff. There’s some notebooks, in case you draw or write or somethin’.” She got up and sat on the floor next to the small fridge, “And look, mini fridge full of soda.”

Branch could only muster a quiet, “Uh, wow.”

“Now here comes the best part! Wait right here.” Barb positioned him so he was centered in the room and ran out, closing the door behind her. He could see her through the window, and her mouth was still moving, but no sound came out. Her mouth opened wider, like she was shouting now, and she began jumping up and down and banging on the glass. Still not a sound came out.

The door opened and Barb poked her head back in, “See? Completely soundproof! Do you like it?”

Branch noticed her hands nervously fidgeting. That was the question, wasn’t it? Did he like it? In a word, yes. Even his bunker had never been a surefire way to avoid noise if Poppy showed up, though he had hoped to improve that by the time it was done. This room was like a paradise in a noisy world. It was so thoughtful and caring. So why did that make him so mad ? Barb had been perfect. She was everything he could ever want in a big sister (or in a big brother) and more. It wasn’t enough, but it was too much at the same time. Was it because of his foster families? Countless trolls insisted that his demands were too large, his wants too outlandish and his needs too burdensome. He’d accepted that was true. It had to be. There had to be no way for anyone to deal with him. There had to be no way for him to escape music. There had to be no way for anyone to love him.

Because if there was, if this was here the whole time, why was he only receiving it now?

If it was so easy for Barb and King Thrash to tear up their house, their lives, everything for him, why didn’t anyone else even try it? Miss Mags, Mr. and Mrs. Grooves, King Peppy , not one of them ever tried. He didn’t need all of this, especially not back then. He would have taken two pillows on either side of his head as an acceptable solution from his new families. Just something, anything , that meant they were listening to him. It took Barb less than a day to come up with something, so it couldn’t have been that hard. He would have been content with a fraction of this if anyone had even tried it. If everything was just so easy then why was he all alone? Why wasn’t he worth trying? Was there something everyone else knew that Barb and King Thrash hadn’t picked up on yet? Did everyone know what he did to his grandma? Was that why they hated him so much?

Maybe this awful feeling wasn’t about them. Maybe it went further back. Back to when he had the four best brothers in the world. Back then they would have done something like this for him. JD would have oversaw the whole thing, which really meant bossing other people around while he did nothing. Spruce would have moved the couch since he was the strongest. Floyd would have probably hung the curtains, and straighter than Barb had. Clay would have stood outside the window dancing to show off how soundproof it all was, and maybe included some of his sad books. And then Branch would have hugged them all and thanked them for the best room ever. And then… they’d leave and take everything with them. Barb was being the perfect sister now, but perfect brothers and sisters didn’t have to stay. They couldn’t. If they could, why would his brothers leave? Why would Barb stay?

“Branch? Are those tears of happiness or sadness?” Barb’s concerned voice cut through the vivid images of Floyd leaving.

“Get out.” His voice was deceivingly steady, feeling more like someone else was talking than him. He only knew it was his own voice because it was only him and Barb in the room.

“Branch? Did–”

“ Out! ” Branch yelled, pushing Barb through the door and slamming it shut.

The door slammed loudly, but the room killed any echo, making the silence fall on him much quicker. Whatever Barb’s reaction had been, he couldn’t hear it. All he knew is she didn’t attempt the door, even if a small part of him wanted her to. He didn’t dare look out the window, closing his eyes as he pulled the curtains shut. Now that he was out of the memory, reality (and the walls) was closing in on him like a cave-in. He’d told himself this morning he needed to do things differently. If– no. When King Thrash tired of him that would be it. Even if King Thrash was kind enough to drop him off close to home, how was he supposed to continue on like normal knowing that an entire new race of trolls had also given up on him? He could somewhat cope with the fact Pop Trolls were some perpetually happy freaks of nature, but Rock Trolls weren’t like that. Rock Trolls felt the closest to normal that he’d felt in a long time and even still he couldn’t fit in. They were trying so hard to be nice to him and he was acting up. Everyone had been right, it really was him that was the problem. He didn’t want to be happy, people who wanted to be happy didn’t act like this.

Branch curled up on the corner of the couch, hugging his knees and laying his head against the wall. For as much as he hated being alone, he couldn't help but constantly make sure he stayed that way. Why? Why was he like this? Was this why his brothers left? He thought he’d become this way after grandma died, but maybe he was always doing this. Greying didn’t make him act like this, it was a signal to everyone else that they should stay away. A way of showing how rotten he was on the inside.

Hot tears poured down his cheeks silently. Even in the soundproof room he refused to give in to the urge to sob. He hated the feeling of it, the sound of it, almost as much as music. Any time he had the urge he’d fight the tears, the heavy breaths, the need to wail. He wouldn’t so much as let his lip wobble. And it paid off. He'd perfected silent crying. His previous foster families never noticed his tear-streaked face. He’d be breaking mere inches from them and none of them ever said anything. This surely meant they had to have not noticed. They would have said something if they noticed.

Branch looked up at the sound of the door handle twisting, quickly wiping his face as the door cracked open. “Branch?” It was King Thrash, “I would have knocked, but…” He trailed off as his eyes met Branch’s, “Oh, Branch…”

King Thrash’s chair wouldn’t fit in the space between the couch and the front wall, so he parked as close as he could and slowly stood up, shambling over to the couch and easing his way over until the two were sitting side by side. Branch waited for Thrash to scold him, to call him disrespectful, to ask why he would act so cruel to people trying to help. He looked up, expecting to see Thrash’s disappointed face, but he was only met with the same understanding smile he always had.

It broke something in him.

The tears came back full force, and cries tore through his throat. Like that, the dam was broken and he was sobbing in a way he hadn’t since before he’d lost his grandma. Two warm arms pulled him close, and Branch latched on, fingers clasping into Thrash’s vest as his face was pressed into the thick leather. A gloved hand slowly stroked his hair in a familiar motion.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Branch wailed, his voice sounding pathetic. He didn’t know what he was apologizing for, his actions or himself. He just kept repeating it, hoping it would do something.

“It’s okay, I’m here.” Thrash murmured.

And he was. Thrash stayed, even as his sobs raged on. Minutes turned to hours, and Branch’s cries had subsided to nothing but a few tired sniffles. His cheek had dried uncomfortably to the leather vest, and his head ached in that awful post-cry way. Still, Thrash gave no sign he was going to move until Branch did, so he reluctantly began to pull away.

He felt numb, like he’d cried out every bit of emotion he had. With that distance, the shame started to take hold, filling in the void where the anger and loneliness had been. “ Why would you cry over a gift? Are you so ungrateful of a gift that you asked for? What more could you want from them? ” It said.

“Seems like you needed that.” Thrash said, squeezing his hand and pulling him from his cruel thoughts, “Why don’t we talk about what upset you so much?”

“It’s stupid.”

“I’d bet you that it isn’t.”

Branch looked down at his hands, “Barb’s too nice. It makes me feel… bad.”

Thrash nodded, as if that made sense, “My Barbara can be a bit overzealous.  What part made you feel bad?”

Branch spoke slowly as he tried to find the words, “She’s done a lot… but also not?”

“Stuff that people like King Peppy should have done?” He asked.

Branch nodded, “She acts like it’s so easy, but it’s not .”

“No, it’s not.” Thrash agreed, surprising Branch, “Caring about people can be hard, one of the hardest things in the world. It’s easy to be there when everything’s good. When you care about someone though, you have to be there even when it’s hard. You take a little bit of their pain and struggles on as your own. But just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”

Branch was silent. He had always been taught that love was the easiest thing in the world. Love was infinite, something you could never run out of, and natural. Love was like breathing. Instinctive. Children were born loving their parents and parents loved their children the second they laid eyes on them. Trolls could meet and instantly feel a connection. Love was easy, except when it came to Branch. He made it difficult for them to love him.

“I think I should apologize to Barb.” Branch finally said, “She did all of this for me and I didn’t say thank you.”

“Well,” Thrash groaned and slowly stood up, hobbling back to his chair and sitting back down with an ‘oomph!’, “Between the two of us, I don’t think she’s holding that against you. If anything gets too much for you, let us know. Barbara wants you to feel safe here, but she can get carried away.”

Branch knew he needed to do this, but now that he was actually in front of their bedroom door, his resolve had faded. King Thrash had limitless patience, which was surprising given his somewhat intimidating appearance. Barb was a lot more… erratic, in a word. In the two days he’d known her, he’d seen her fight people for at most a pair of shoes. What would she do to someone who actually offended her?

Steeling his nerves, Branch knocked on the door and took an awkward step back. Nothing. He knocked again, but still no answer.

“Barb?” He cracked the door open and poked his head inside. For some reason, the first thing he took note of—rather than Barb herself—was the fact that at some point the bed had been replaced with a bunk bed. The absurdity of there now suddenly being a bunk bed oddly made the situation less terrifying.

Barb was lying on the bottom bunk, staring up blankly at the bottom of the top mattress and wearing a pair of headphones. The song she was listening to was at full volume, leaking out slightly so all Branch could detect was a muffled mess. Her eyes seemed to catch the movement of the door and she quickly sat up, only barely missing slamming her head into the top bunk. “Branch!” She yelled, then stared down at her music player before quickly throwing it and her headphones out the open window.

“Wh– Why did you do that?” He asked, stunned.

“Do what? I didn’t do anything.” She said quickly, eyes darting between him and the window.

“I just saw you throw that. Actually, never mind. Can we talk?”

“Yeah!” She moved her legs off the bed and patted the spot next to her. Branch sat down beside her.

“I’m sorry for–” Both started at the same time, then said, “No, wait–”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say thank you, and that I yelled at you.” Branch said, “I did like it.”

Barb shook her head, “No, I’m sorry for making you cry. Whatever I did I won’t do it again.”

Branch sucked in a breath, hoping to explain it slightly better than he had to Thrash, “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just a lot, and I’m not used to it. To people being this nice.”

Barb looked straight ahead blankly, curling her hands into fists, “I’m gonna go fight them.”

“What? No! You can’t do that, your dad said–”

Barb cut him off, “I’m not actually , but I really wanna.”

Branch tapped his thumbs together nervously, “I was gonna go read. Do you want to come?”

“Yeah!” Barb scrambled off the bed and grabbed a book off her shelf, knocking three onto the floor in her haste, “I’ll clean that up later. Oh! Later we can fight over who gets the top bunk. I’ll even fight fair since you’re so little.”

“I’m not little, and I don’t care if you have the top bunk. The bottom bunk is more fortified, all it needs is a blanket over it.”

“You are so little, look at me and then look at you. I’m like two of you.” Barb held her hand at her forehead level, which brushed the top of Branch’s hair.

 “I’m still growing. I’m gonna be taller than you once I hit my growth spurt.” Branch said.

“Oh you wanna bet on that? I’ll dunk myself in the pinkest glitter imaginable if you get taller than me.” Barb held out her hand.

Branch shook on it, “And I’ll get ear piercings like you if you stay taller than me.”

Barb grinned, “Ohhh you’re so on. Don’t worry, I know a great piercer.”

“We’ll take a trip back to Pop Village and I’ll ask Poppy for her best glitter, the one that never washes out. You’ll love it, it’s shaped like hearts.” Branch felt his lips tug into a small smile at the thought of Barb being the one to get coated in glitter at the hands of Poppy.

“Hah, puke. Good thing you’re staying short, shortie.”

Banter and silence came easily between the two as they settled into Branch’s new hideaway, each curled up on opposite ends of the couch with a book. Fear and doubt still clawed at the back of Branch’s mind, warning him to keep his distance so that he wouldn’t get hurt when the fairytale ended. One day Barb would leave, just like his brothers. But for a brief moment he had hope that things would be different.

Chapter Text

Two days came and went in Branch’s new home after the ‘incident’, and he’d developed somewhat of a schedule in that time. Barb would wake him up for breakfast, during which he wouldn’t be forced to talk at all. Afterwards he’d go read in his new room until lunchtime, which Thrash would come get him for since it was easy to lose track of time in there. Then he’d go back, only this time Barb would join him until dinner. After dinner he’d join the two in the living room and watch TV—something that the Pop Trolls never had—until either bed or if there were only music related shows on, in which case he’d go back to his room. Despite the sudden uprooting from the schedule he’d stuck to for the better part of a year he found the new pattern pleasant, floaty, almost like a vacation. It was new, but didn’t feel like it was replacing his previous one, but rather that any day now he’d go back to how things were. Eventually it would sink in that this was how things were now, and he hoped that by then that the repetition would already have sunk in.

Living with Barb and Thrash was a weird experience full of contradictions. They were so down to earth, and yet so much to deal with. They were emotionally intelligent, but Rock Troll culture was centered around pointless violence. They were there for him, but kept as much distance as he wanted from them. Most of all, he hadn’t had anyone care for him in so long, and yet he felt lonelier than ever. Don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t looking to make a bunch of friends or be surrounded by crowds of people, but there was something unnerving about the situation. Even if he didn’t like interacting with them, at Pop Village he at least knew the names of everyone and where everything was. Here he was in a maze of unknown twists and turns, surrounded by strangers. He could maybe place one or two trolls, the people that Barb had introduced him to when they first met, but even then he wasn’t sure, and he didn’t know anything other than their names. Except for that Blaze guy, who Barb had beaten up to take his shoes. Even if he could identify him, he’s not sure he’d want to considering he was wearing his stolen clothes.

The phrase ‘speak of the devil’ had never been truer than it was now, though perhaps ‘think of the devil’ would be more accurate. It was his fourth day living in Volcano Rock City, and Barb and Thrash were finishing up lunch in the kitchen while Branch read on the couch. There was a pounding on the front door, but Barb and Thrash seemed fully distracted by their conversation. Thinking it might be a package or delivery, Branch opened the door, only to be met with Blaze.

“Tiny dude! Good ta see ya!” Blaze greeted loudly.

Branch couldn’t help but flinch and cover his ears, “Yeah, you too.”

“Still rockin’ the Blaze kicks I see. Lookin’ sharp!” Blaze snapped his fingers and pointed at him with finger guns.

Branch wanted very desperately for this to be over.

“Do you want them back?” He asked.

“No need! Has Barb shown you around yet?”

“Uh, sorta. On the way here.” Branch said.

“Well then let Blaze give you the full rock experience! Nobody knows the best moshes like me.”

Blaze reached to grab his hand and Branch instinctively jumped back, hitting something as hard as a brick wall. He looked up, the ‘brick wall’ being a very angry looking Barb. Blaze, apparently lacking the part of the brain that works to keep you alive at all costs, merely grinned as Barb growled like a wild animal.

“Branch, cover your ears.” Barb said, gritting her teeth, “Me and Blaze are gonna have a big kid talk.”

Branch decided to scoot out of what he considered the probable danger zone and covered his ears. He wasn’t sure why Barb had asked him too, unless it was simply to protect his hearing, as the verbal onslaught that came next was so loud it was likely half the city could hear Barb laying into Blaze with words that Branch didn’t dare repeat even in his head. Rock Trolls had a very impressive vocabulary when it came to ‘words that should not be said in front of small children’. Blaze, at the very least, had the sense to look admonished and not interrupt too much. 

Barb motioned for Branch to uncover his ears, so he did. She pointed at Branch and glared at Blaze, “Apologize.”

“Now hang on. I might not be the smartest of trolls, but Tiny Dude didn’t say no to a Blaze Tour.” Blaze said. That poor man was going to die.

“No, now leave me alone.”

Blaze stared at him blankly, then grinned, “Okay! See ya Barb, Tiny Dude!”

“Hang on, hang on. That’s it? I say no and that’s it? Is this reverse psychology?”

“Blaze… has no clue what that is. Anyway, not to worry, Blaze has many adoring fans to get back to. Later Haterz!”

Branch watched in confusion as Blaze then turned and left, arms moving in motion as if he was holding a guitar as he made weird noises and headbanged. Barb stuck her tongue out, then slammed the door.

“Sorry ‘bout him.” She said.

“Was he serious?” Branch asked.

“Yeah, he’s like that all the time. If he bothers you again, don't hesitate to punch him in the throat.” Barb headed back to the kitchen and Branch followed.

Branch began helping Thrash set the table, “He’s not gonna pop back up tomorrow, is he?”

“He shouldn’t, he might be dumb but he can take a hint.” Barb said, “It’s one of his only good qualities. That and he does a mean mouth guitar.”

“Do I even want to know what that is?”

Barb shrugged, “Considering you don’t even like normal guitars? Nah.”

Branch sat down at his seat at the table as Barb brought the skillet over to the table, resting it on the stone center. Food had been one of the things that Branch had been most concerned about for his new life, only to find himself pleasantly surprised by how much he preferred it over the normal Pop Troll diet. Pop Trolls were notorious for their love of sweets, to the point it made up most of what they ate. Even the crops that were grown had been bred to be sweeter than their wild counterparts. Branch liked sweets, to a degree, but nowhere near as teeth-rottingly so as everyone else, leading to him having a very small rotation of foods he could stand. This didn’t necessarily bother him, but not many trolls were as content to make alterations to their recipes, and for some reason scraping icing off of a cupcake was tantamount to throwing it on the ground and insulting the chef’s mother. In complete contrast was Rock Troll cuisine, where almost everything had a level of spiciness to it. Rock Trolls also ate a fair amount of meat, something that Branch only got to indulge in after he'd stopped living in the village. It wasn't taboo but Branch knew of at least one troll who'd absolutely imply Branch was a monster for it, so it was nice to be able to eat it without judgment. Also in contrast to the Pop Trolls was Thrash and Barb’s reaction to any time he disliked the spice level. The two had begun toning down their meals, adding the harsher spices either onto their plates or separating Branch’s blander portion before adding to the dish.

Barb had picked today’s lunch out, assuring Branch he’d love it as it was one of their more mild dishes, even being slightly sweet. Despite its bright red color—which reminded Branch of the lava that flowed constantly outside—the dish was deceptively mild, at least in comparison to the other night’s dinner that had Branch practically attached to the sink with a cup in hand.

“It’s good,” Branch said between bites, “What’s it called again?”

“Tteok-rockki.” Thrash answered, “If you like it we can make it more often.”

Despite how enjoyable lunch was—Branch himself having thirds—something uncomfortable yet familiar felt like it was nestling over his shoulders. It was something he’d grown used to, so he was surprised that he hadn’t noticed that it had been absent for a few days. No, now that he thought about it, he’d noticed it, just not had a name for it. The lack of it was that floaty feeling that made the deviation from his old life so pleasant. Now it was back, and everything felt wrong.

Barb seemed to have caught on during their reading time, setting her book down and turning around on the couch, “Alright, what’s up?”

“Huh? Nothing, nothing is up. Just reading about,” Branch twisted the book to check the cover, “Rocks.”

“Just thought I’d ask, since you’ve been on that page for a while.” Barb said in a smug voice, “And it’s mostly pictures.”

Branch turned back to the page he was on. He’d tried reading to take his mind off the constantly nagging feeling, but he’d found himself looking over the same paragraph again and again without taking anything in. He hadn’t realized that paragraph had been the only paragraph on the page. He shoved a bookmark into the pages and snapped the book shut, sitting it on the arm of the couch.

“Just anxious, I guess.” Branch said.

“About what?” Barb asked.

“Just… anxious.” He glanced over and saw the empty notebooks on the table. Suddenly, he had an idea, “Can you hand me those?”

“Hm? Oh,” Barb passed over one of the notebooks and some pencils, “Gonna draw something? Draw me, and add extra flames. Oh and don’t forget my muscles.”

“I’m not drawing. I’m remaking a comprehensive survival manual, one that’s more suited to a volcanic biome.” He said, slightly annoyed at her misassumption.

His old survival manual had been a point of pride, being worked on in solitude under blankets and in empty corners, and Branch was now mourning its loss. Of all the items to be left behind, it was one of the few he cared the most about. He wished he’d brought it along as he normally did when exploring new areas, but since that trip was meant to be routine until his split second decision to veer off course it meant his most valuable possessions had become his only possessions from his old life. His most valuable items were always kept tucked away in his vest pocket, away from prying eyes, or in case of accidental abductions, it seemed.

He told himself it didn’t matter, after all it would be of no help to him in Volcano Rock City. For a brief moment he wondered if maybe some other troll might find his guide and get some use out of it, but knowing them it was far more likely it’d never be found at all, and if it did it would be shredded up to make confetti or something equally as terrible. The thought of months of hard work being left to soak in the rain put his stomach in knots, but it was a far kinder treatment than what anyone else would do to it. That was part of why Branch liked his home in the forest. For as terrible as nature would treat you, it did not discriminate in that. If something happened to Branch in the wild, it was not because he was Branch. The same could not be said about life in the village.

What was done was done, and there was nothing to do about his missing guide now but move on. There was something exciting about starting over from scratch, getting to repeat the process now that he knew the exact way he wanted it to look. Adding to it was one of his favorite pastimes, apart from puzzles, and lately he didn’t have much to add besides inventory updates. He’d start with a map of the city, rank the various exits, then he could start charting escape routes from any and all locations in the city(with backups, naturally) and note any areas that would be difficult to escape from. After he was familiar with the city, he could ask King Thrash for some books on the flora and fauna of the area and began making entries, leaving space for his own in-person observations when he began making trips out of the city.

He was so excited by the project he’d tuned out Barb, until she began leaning over his arm, “Looks like a drawing to me.”

“It’s not a drawing, it’s a side profile of the outside of the city. I didn’t get a good look at the statue part so it’s a little messy.” Branch said.

“Pretty sure that’s another way to say drawing.” She argued.

“ Sure , if you think a map is a drawing.” Branch rolled his eyes, grabbing the colored pencils so he could color in the lava spout.

“It is, someone had to draw the map for a map to exist.” She leaned against him, “You’re a really good draw-er.”

“Artist. The word is artist. A drawer is what you put clothes in.”

Barb shrugged, “Eh, a rock’s a rock even if you name it.”

His pencil stopped mid-scribble as he looked up at her, “...What?”

“It’s a Rock Troll saying.”

“Maybe I should make a second notebook specifically for Rock Troll culture.” Branch muttered to himself.

“Is this what you normally do?” Barb asked, blunt and flat.

Branch’s ears drooped at the tone. In all his excitement he’d forgotten that this was not an appropriate hobby. It was weird, and morbid, and boring. Working on his guide under blankets with a flashlight or just out of view didn’t start for nothing. Several adults had come to the conclusion that if the book was the problem, and if it were put out of reach or otherwise banned, that he would instead play with the other children or perform whatever task they had decided was suitable for kids his age. In reality, all it resulted in was Branch learning to hide the book better and when it was safe to work on it.

This was not one of those times.

Branch tucked the notebook into the couch cushion, staring down at his feet, “Yeah, it’s dumb.”  His voice felt small when he spoke.

Barb jumped up and began frantically waving her hands, “No no, it’s not dumb! I was just askin’!” She grabbed a second notebook and pencil and began practically shoving it in his face, speaking in a desperate tone like she was trying to placate a screaming baby, “We can make all kinds of notebooks, look I’ll write down the rock thing right now! See, ‘Rock Sayings: a rock’s a rock even if you name it’. I can come up with another one, too!”

Barb began scribbling frantically in her notebook, leaving Branch reeling. That seemed to be happening a lot over the past few days, almost always because of Barb. She was seemingly the kind of person to wear her heart on her sleeve, none of her reactions feeling put on or fake. They seemed too impulsive to be faked, she’d react before he’d even finished having a single thought at times. She was blunt sometimes, too. Branch was also blunt, but he’d learned that this was a bad thing to be, and when other trolls were blunt it meant they were trying to be rude. He never understood that, since it was possible to be blunt and not mean to be rude. He’d tried to explain that, but he was told that making excuses was also rude, which was confusing as well. Maybe Barb was like him, and he wouldn’t have to worry that her being blunt was a sign she was mad at him. Maybe .

“You shouldn’t put those on the first page. First page should be about the physical differences of Rock Trolls.” Branch took the notebook from her and tore out the page, moving it towards the middle of the book, “Your handwriting is really bad.”

“Is not. What do other Pop Trolls look like?” Barb sat back down beside him on the couch.

“Well, similar in build to Rock Trolls,” Branch began drawing the basic shape of a troll, “Well, except for Cooper. He’s different from everyone, but that might be an isolated mutation. Your eyes have a red tint to the whites. Evidently more heat resistant than a Pop Troll. I’d need to see a bigger sample size of Rock Trolls to know more.”

“So you’re like a science-y guy?” Barb asked.

“I consider myself more of a survival expert.” Branch said proudly, “Being able to identify animals is crucial when in the wilderness, and you can sort of use that process for trolls. Sometimes. Most trolls get offended by that kind of thing, though.”

“Bunch of losers.” Barb said, “Since you’re already drawing a troll, make it look like me.”

Branch sighed, “It’s a model, and I’ll do it but only because I need a reference to look at.”

“Make my muscles bigger.”

“Dad, look!” Barb yelled, running into the kitchen with Branch trailing behind her. Branch had only just finished the page when Barb asked if she could take the page out of the notebook to show Thrash. It was his attempt at a simple biological illustration, showing two examples of Rock Trolls and how they compare to a grey Pop Troll. Naturally, that Pop Troll was him, and Barb and Thrash were the only trolls he had seen enough to draw mostly from memory, so they were his example for Rock Trolls. The page had also been labeled with the noticeable similarities and differences, including things that were similar between the three but differed for normal Pop Trolls.

Barb jumped onto the back of Thrash’s wheelchair and handed him the page, “Look what Branch made!”

“Ooooh, what’s this?” Thrash held the page up, “Who’s this handsome devil?”

“Dad, that’s you!” Barb laughed.

“I see it now. Look at that! The strong little lady beside me must be you, and this big tough guy must be Branch.” Thrash said, “I know just the place for it.”

Thrash wheeled himself to the fridge, sticking the page to the door with a flame shaped magnet. Branch noticed it was now nestled between two faded drawings, both clearly done by Barb when she was younger. Not only was the aged paper an indicator, but what he assumed was meant to be Barb (as it was only labeled as ‘Me’) was much shorter in comparison to what looked to be Thrash. The crude rendition of Barb also had impossibly large biceps and was engulfed in flames.

Part of Branch wanted to protest the placement, as it wasn’t art, it was an informative graphic. Branch knew what the fridge was for, Floyd had taught him. Parents put the best work of their kids on the fridge. Neither ‘best work’ nor ‘their kid’ applied to this situation. Branch’s notebooks weren’t art, and they weren’t fridge worthy.

Thrash ruffled his hair, still looking at the drawing, “Who knew I’d have two gifted artists in this house?”

He wasn’t ‘their kid’, but maybe he didn’t have to be to belong here.

Chapter Text

King Thrash was more than happy to provide Branch with books about his new home on any number of subjects. He’d brought Branch into his office that could rival the village library in sheer number of books, showing him how he sorted them and inviting him to come borrow as many as he'd like at any time. A large portion were centered around music—specifically rock—and its history and techniques. Unlike Barb, who frantically hid every allusion to music, King Thrash seemed to understand that Branch wasn’t immediately bothered by the mention of it or the sight of a guitar. He wasn’t really bothered by Barb’s… enthusiasm, but he was getting concerned with the amount of times she’d thrown her things out of the bedroom window. He knew Rock Trolls liked breaking things, but even he could tell she was breaking things at a faster rate than normal.

Branch practically devoured the books, reading during nearly all of his free time and copying the new information into his notebooks. Barb was surprisingly helpful with the process, filling in gaps left by the books and adding in her own observations. One plant mentioned in a botany guide was hailed as extremely useful in spite of having a ‘minor odor’, leading Branch to consider stocking up on it in case of any number of disasters. It was Barb who let Branch know that it was no ‘minor’ smell, and the plant’s oils would cause some trolls to experience nausea just by being in the same room as it. Branch wasn’t fully convinced, but it was clear Barb was well informed on a lot of matters of her people and land.

Branch had officially been in Volcano Rock City for two weeks, but he’d still yet to leave the house. He didn’t particularly mind, he’d once shut himself in his bunker for nearly a month to avoid a particularly annoying festival, so it took a lot to give him cabin fever. Being stuck inside didn’t bother him. His blank map of the city layout, on the other hand…

While he could ask King Thrash and Barb for their help, that would only solve a small part of the issue. They would know most of the layout, but Branch needed to see each building in order to properly scale the map. Not to mention he doubted Barb made note of the location of every possible safety hazard or window. No, he needed to visit as many buildings as possible to make his guide as accurate as possible. What if he hinged an entire evacuation plan on a window that Barb misremembered being there?

Visiting as many buildings as possible came with its own issues. Crowds weren’t Branch’s thing, a fact that was far from shocking. This wasn’t always the case, there was a time years ago that he loved being center stage, surrounded by people. Everything changed after he lost his grandma, though, and crowds brought nothing but stares, whispers and ‘well-meaning’ harassment. 

The longer Branch put this off, the less likely he was to get a tour and the more likely he was to get caught in an emergency unprepared. So, despite his reluctance, he asked Barb for a tour of the city.

“Are you sure? I mean, you definitely need one, but outside it’s so…” Barb trailed off.

“I need to map out the entirety of the city, or at least the publicly accessible areas.” Branch said.

“How about baby steps? We’ll do a tour of this ring, and then see how you’re holding up after, sound good?” Barb suggested.

“Then what?” Branch asked.

Barb shrugged, “Come back home and do the rest later. There’s no rush, right?”

There was no rush.  

Branch had waited a very long time for someone to say those words. Life with the Pop Trolls felt like rapids at times, dragging him forward while he struggled helplessly to hold on to anything that might keep him from being overwhelmed by the rushing water. When a Pop Troll had an idea, there was no time to wait or ease into it in their minds. They were an impatient and impulsive bunch, and worst of all, didn’t believe in doing anything half-way. While there was some merit to that, it also meant that the very idea of ‘easing into something’ was absurd. If you had a goal in mind, anything other than tackling it head on at once to completion was a failure. 

He’d told the first family he’d stayed with he didn’t want to hate music. His grandma had loved music as much as any other troll, but she’d especially loved his voice. He hated that he felt nothing but hate towards something she loved—two, actually, he hated himself for what he’d done—and he wanted to get better. He wanted to be better. A small part of him naively believed that any second his brothers would somehow know what had happened and come back for him, and when they did he’d need to be able to sing with them so they wouldn’t leave again.

That family took him to karaoke night the very next day. He’d sat through two songs, barely able to tolerate it, let alone enjoy it. Two songs was all he could manage before his chest hurt so badly he felt on the verge of passing out from lack of oxygen. He tried to step out for air, but his foster mother’s hand grabbed his wrist so tight that he could still feel it. They told him to be brave, that as long as he wanted to he could succeed, then they pulled him, sobbing, onto the stage and handed him a microphone. Everyone was chanting encouraging words, but to Branch there wasn’t any kindness behind them.

They’d left without Branch singing a single verse.

Failure was terrifying, so Branch had never tried again.

Branch hadn’t realized he’d been staring at Barb silently until she gently took his Rock Troll culture notebook from his hands and opened it to a page in the middle. She scribbled something down then handed it back to him. She’d opened the page to ‘Rock Proverbs’ and written down a new sentence.

‘A stone a day gets heavy fast.’

Branch looked up at her, “Why are all of your sayings about rocks?”

“Gee, I wonder.” She rolled her eyes, “Now c’mon, we’ll try to map out at least one level today.”

Branch adjusted his notebooks and nervously followed after Barb. For the first time in two weeks he stepped outside the safety of his home. The heat hit him almost as strongly as it did his first day, but he didn’t mind as much. Perhaps he’d built up a small amount of tolerance while staying in the house? It was much cooler than the outside, but still quite warm compared to summers in Pop Village.

“This top row is just other houses, so unless you have some latent Pop social butterfly gene, you’re not gonna get a look inside.” Barb said as the two began walking, “I can point out who lives where, though. That helps, right?”

“Twelve… thirteen… fourteen…” Branch whispered, taking slow, calculated steps.

“What are you doing?”

“Counting paces. It’s the best scale I have right now.” He said.

The trip around the first ring took far longer than it would have if he hadn’t been counting paces, but Barb didn’t seem to mind all that much. For each house she’d tell Branch not only who lived there, but various things about them. Not many people were out, though a few who were stopped to introduce themselves.

“You must be Barb’s new little bro. You’re taller than I thought you’d be.” An orange and blue troll stopped them and shook Branch’s hand, “I’m Billy Reverb, and your sis is somethin’ fierce.”

“Uh hi, I’m Branch. Thanks?” Branch mumbled.

“Sorry if our playing kept you up on your first night here. We’re lucky Barb broke the stage and not us.”

“That was you?” He asked, then turned to Barb, “ THAT was you?”

Billy laughed, “Only her royal rockness could bring a stage down with one hit like that.”

“No one got hurt, right?” Branch asked. Breaking her own stuff was one thing, but destroying a stage with people on it was another and made her violent reactions a lot less endearing.

“Nah, Barb’s way too careful for that. So where are you two headed?”

“None ya business.” Barb said.

“I’m making a map of the city.” Branch said, holding his notebook out.

“Well, when you finish make sure to send me a copy. My drummer, Beryl, keeps getting lost constantly.” Billy winked, “By the way, that’s a cool vest. Pound it, kiddo.”

Billy crouched down on one knee and held out his fist, but made no move to actually punch him. Branch looked up at Barb in confusion.

“Pound it, Branch. Use your fist.” Barb touched her own fists together.

“Oh.” Branch hit Billy’s fist with his own.

Billy grinned and stood up, brushing gravel off his leather pants, “Your first fist bump. You and your sis should stop by a show sometime. See you.”

Billy waved and left before Branch could disappoint him with the knowledge he didn’t care for music. Barb had some sort of half-snarl look on her face, which Branch took to mean she really didn’t care for that Billy guy. He seemed nice enough though. Really nice, actually. He reminded Branch of someone, but he couldn’t exactly place who. He didn’t think Rock Trolls could be soft like that. Barb was nice of course, but in a very loud and violent way. Billy was quieter, gentler.

“You still good, Branch? Need to go home and rest?” Barb asked, concern lacing her voice.

He shook his head, “No, I’m still okay.” He began counting paces towards the stairs, “Um, is there a reason you don’t like Billy?”

Barb looked confused, “I never said I didn’t like him.”

“You made a face.”

“Yeah, some of his stuff is kinda… you know… puke. Lovey dovey pretty boy kinda stuff.” Barb waved a hand dismissively, “Not my thing.”

“You think he’s pretty?” Branch teased.

“Alright you stinker, are you gonna make your map or keep asking me questions?”

The next ring went similarly to the first, if not quicker as Barb had picked up on Branch’s system and took over writing down the notes as he counted. The second ring was also more houses, which meant the two couldn’t do more than make note of doors and windows. 

That success is likely why Branch went against his better judgment and told Barb they should continue onto the third ring.

The third ring was part of their shopping district, and was much more crowded than the housing rings. Neon signs flashed on every building, and each store had a different song playing on loudspeaker, making an absolute cacophony of violent noise and chatter. His plan for this floor was to do a circuit like the other two, then begin mapping out the insides of the stores. That would ensure everything stayed to scale.

There were many stores or restaurants in Pop Village, mostly due to how small the village was in comparison to Volcano Rock City. Branch did notice though that there did seem to be a bit of a weird attitude in the village towards competing businesses. Selling an identical or similar enough product was an instant friendship-ender, which was saying something when it came to the perpetually friendly (except to Branch) Pop Trolls. Rock Trolls did not seem to share that stance, as Branch could see three separate guitar stores just from the entrance of the staircase.

The variety didn’t stop there. Clothing stores, restaurants, CD stores, a coffee shop, a video game store, a hair salon, a tattoo parlor and a stage gear repair shop were just the beginning of everything life in Volcano Rock City had to offer. He’d known the city was big, of course. You could see everything from his new home, but being in the middle of it was a new and terrible experience. People bumped into him on all sides, at times causing him to lose track of his steps and he’d need to start all over again. Exhaustion hit him like an angler bus and Branch wanted nothing more than to just magically be home. His paces had become uneven, rendering the last three counts useless.

“Branch? You okay?” Barb backtracked once he’d stopped calling out numbers.

He shook his head, “I can do it.”

“Branch–”

“I can do it!” He snapped, then lowered his voice, “Sorry.”

“How about a break? I don’t know about you but all that counting made me tired.” Barb began walking back towards the first few buildings they passed.

“I was the one counting!”

Barb turned to face him, walking backwards, “Yeah, and I got tired just listening. I want coffee. Do Pop Trolls have coffee?” She spun back around.

“Yeah? Like lattes and frappu-cappuccinos and stuff.” Branch said.

“What? No, just regular coffee, not your sugar pixie lacy kissycinos or whatever you call it.” Barb held open the coffee shop door for him. A logo of a flaming skull and crossbones was printed on the glass, surrounded by the words ‘ Death Metal Brew ’.

“Yeah, that sounds like something that exists.”

Branch stepped through the entrance of the coffee shop, taking a deep breath. Coffee wasn’t something young trolls were often allowed, due to them (normally) already having a proclivity for hyperactivity, but a few foster parents had let Branch try theirs in the hopes it might be the nudge he needed to be as active as the other kids. While it smelled amazing when brewing, every version he’d ever tried was like drinking a cupcake shoved in a blender with an extra cup of sugar. He’d heard in passing that coffee was bitter on its own, a flavor that most trolls hated with a passion, so the coffee shop back at the village served it with as many flavorings and sweeteners as they could come up with.

Speaking of the coffee shop back at the village, it was more of a coffee stall than a true shop. There were a few tables set up in the grass, but most tended to get their coffee and go about their day. The inside of Death Metal Brew was the opposite, full of tables and comfortable looking couches that encouraged people to stay. It was working too, the place was pretty full. The only difference between it and outside was the lights were pretty dim, which was a nice relief on his eyes.

As Barb ordered—which didn’t take much deliberation considering there were only four types of coffee listed, compared to the thousands of combinations that were possible at Pop Village—Branch noticed something else that made the coffee shop more inviting. Three bookshelves were lined with various board games…

…and puzzles!

He’d made it halfway to the shelves before Barb noticed he was no longer by her side, “Branch! Hey, don’t wander off, you’ll get trampled.”

He quickly looked over the stack of puzzle boxes and grabbed the one with the highest number of pieces on it. Those were always his favorite, but even more so as he’d gotten older and better at completing them. Anything less than a thousand pieces was child’s play, barely worth the time it took to open the box. It was still enjoyable, but he’d rather spend the time on something that lasted long enough to enjoy.

He held up the puzzle—the box depicting a giant flaming bird-like creature—up to Barb, “Can we please stay long enough to do a puzzle?”

Barb smiled, looking relieved for some reason, “Absolutely. There’s no rush. Let’s go steal a table from someone.”

A lot of the big tables were being taken up by groups or similarly being used for board games, but far in the back of the dining area a rather large table was mostly empty with a few seats empty on one side. On the other half was a group for four trolls, each with notebooks and dice. As they approached the table, Branch realized he recognized one of the trolls.

“Riff! Sup my man?” Barb shouted, setting their coffee down on the table and hoisting herself up into one of the tall chairs. Branch attempted to do similarly, but even with the height his shoes gave he couldn’t jump high enough. Barb slid off her chair and picked him up, setting him down on the chair and returning to her own seat, “Riff, you remember Branch, yeah?”

Riff nodded, “Sup?”

Branch mimicked him, “Sup?”

Barb slid his coffee over to him while she and Riff began chatting about the game he and his friends were playing, but as he went to pick it up he could feel the borderline scalding temperature though his gloves, which did not bode well for his tongue. Given the heat resistance of Rock Trolls, he shouldn’t be surprised that their interpretation of a warm drink would be slightly more painful than his own. He decided to start on his puzzle while it cooled, carefully emptying the box onto the table and sorting the pieces into piles.

“You’re pretty excited about that puzzle. I think this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.” Barb said.

“Puzzles are my favorite thing after safety. The great thing about puzzles is the pieces always fit together, just like they’re supposed to. That’s what my grandma always said.”

He’d regretted bringing up grandma as soon as it came out of his mouth. Remembering her through puzzles was one thing, but it’d been years since he’d actually talked about her or even heard someone talk about her. That was with people who knew her, and what happened. Barb didn’t know her, and Branch wasn’t ready to relive that day just yet. Or worse, he wasn’t ready to see if Barb would agree it was his fault.

Barb seemed to sense he didn’t want to talk about it, and acted as if she hadn’t just heard the first mention of him actually having a family since meeting him, “Alright, show me how this puzzle business works. I’ll totally beat you.”

“You can’t win at puzzles.”

“Uhh I think I can.” Barb smirked, “You’re looking at the future Puzzle Champion.”

It was nice getting to do a puzzle again after so long. Any time he’d felt alone or scared he would finish a puzzle and it would almost be like his grandma was there with him. He’d done one almost every day, though it was harder to do them when he was getting bounced from family to family. A few of the families tried to entertain the idea, but they got distracted quickly or bored.

The fun was beginning to wear off with the noise of the coffee shop. Riff and his friends were playing some sort of game with narration, and between the constant chatter and sound of dice hitting the table constantly it was hard to fully focus on his puzzle.

“It’s too loud!” Branch covered his ears with his hands, but it didn’t help.

“Branch?” Barb leaned over the table, “You okay, buddy?”

“Is he good?” Riff asked.

“No! Nobody knows how to shut up!” Branch snapped.

“Ohhh, hang on I got just the thing.” Riff lifted a backpack off the back of his chair and dug in it, pulling out a bulky pair of headphones, “Try these. They’re my drumming headphones. They’re like, totally soundproof.”

Branch was skeptical, considering he’d only ever known headphones to be used for one purpose, but he wanted to trust Riff. He seemed to respect Barb, and he’d been on the bus to hear that Branch hated music. He slipped them on and instantly the loud chatter and music of the coffee shop faded into nothingness.

It was like bliss.

A few times at the village Poppy had invited him to their various (never-ending) parties and celebrations and he had shown up in secret. He’d stand at the edge of the village, hidden in the trees and watched. Other times he’d stay in his tent or bunker just staring at the invitation, unable to force himself to get even that close. The noise of the parties was just too much to bear, even from the outside. With the noise blocked out, working on a puzzle in the crowded shop was downright pleasant. 

His coffee had cooled down to a degree that wouldn’t scald his taste buds off, so he could finally try it. He took a small sip. It was perfectly bitter. Pop Trolls would absolutely hate it. For some reason, he liked it slightly more just for that fact alone.

Barb and him finished the puzzle after a few hours and a couple more coffees each. Barb even let him put down the final piece, which is always his favorite part. Riff and his friends were also wrapping up their game, so Branch reluctantly took the headphones off and held them out to Riff.

“Thank you for letting me borrow them.” Branch said.

“You can keep them. I’m getting another pair when the new model comes out.” Riff pushed the headphones back towards Branch.

“Branch, did you wanna keep working on your map or head home?” Barb asked.

“We can head home,” Branch smiled, “I think I made enough progress for today.”

Chapter Text

Branch loved singing, it was his favorite thing in the world. Well, favorite after his family and friends, of course. There was nothing better than singing with people you loved, and Branch was lucky enough to have been blessed with a voice that made it all the easier.

But that love and luck wasn’t enough.

He’d failed the perfect family harmony, and it tore his family apart. He needed to get better. He needed to be better. Floyd was coming back one day, and he’d bring the rest of his brothers with him and they would ask if Branch had gotten better. The answer needed to be yes. He couldn’t give up, so he never stopped practicing. That night of the failed attempt had been Branch’s first real show, his inexperience causing the rift. If he’d had more practice then no one would have been stressed, and they would have been able to do the show as they had done dozens of times before. That was his fault, so he’d fix the issue on his own. He joined another band, this one with four other boys his own age. Making friends was hard, but those four—Hype, Ablaze, Trickee and Boom—made him feel less alone. He couldn’t let them down either, so he needed to be perfect.

He didn’t mean to get so lost in song.

“And I need you now tonight, and I need you more than ever.”

Why the chef changed her schedule he’d never know.

“And if you only hold me tight, we’ll be holding on forever.”

“Branch, watch out!”

(Wake up.)

“And we'll only be making it right.”

“Watch out! Branch!”

(Branch wake up.)

“'Cause we'll never be wrong–”

The feeling of being shoved .

He opened his eyes.

Despite his grandma’s terrified screaming ringing in his ears, he was not at the bottom of the troll tree, nor was he a little kid anymore. He was far away from the Bergens, the tree and the village. He was safe with the Rock Trolls.

It was odd though, the shove never woke him up before.

He was shoved again.

He rolled over and was met with Barb’s upside down face.

“Geezus!” He quickly sat up, banging his head against the bottom bunk, “Ow.”

“Language.” Barb scolded. The nerve of this girl sometimes…

“What the heck do you want, it’s like four in the morning!” Branch whisper-yelled. He wasn’t sure how light of a sleeper King Thrash was and he’d hate to wake him.

“Dude, you were crying, and when I tried to ask you why, you were asleep.”

Oh.

“Yeah ‘oh’!” Barb yelled, apparently not against the idea of waking her dad up as she proceeded to flop onto the floor loudly. Branch had no idea how that didn’t hurt, for a brief moment she lay sprawled out like a ragdoll before standing up like it was the most normal thing in the world. She pushed aside the blanket that he’d secured to the top bunk that made his bed into a den and crawled onto the bed, sitting at the foot of his bunk.

“Sorry if I woke you, but it was nothing.” Branch said, laying back down and pulling the covers over his head.

“Hey, none of that.” Barb pulled the blanket back down, “Come on, talk to me. Did you have a bad dream? Sometimes I have this dream where I’m back in preschool but I’m not a baby, and there are these zombies outside that bite me and I turn into a Pop Troll. So then I’m a Pop Troll and I can’t play sweet guitar solos and then dad shows up–”

“Barb!” Branch yells, interrupting her rambling, “It’s not a bad dream.”

“Oh…” 

Barb didn’t seem to know what to say, so Branch continued, “It’s a nightmare, except it’s not. It’s something that happened.”

“My pop dream probably seems really dumb now. Sorry.” She paused, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.” He said firmly, “I want to go back to sleep.”

He yanked the blanket back, gripping it tight in case Barb attempted to pull it again. Thankfully he felt her weight shift until he was sure she was off his bed, then heard the sounds of the ladder to her own bunk squeaking as she climbed up. Thinking that was settled, he closed his eyes and resigned himself to either more uneasy sleep or a long night of restlessness.

“Pssst, Branch.” 

Long night of restlessness it is, he supposed.

“What?” He couldn't keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“You can borrow Bobo.” 

Something plush was shoved against his head. He rolled over to see Barb had set one of the most tattered toys he’s ever seen on his pillow. If he’d had to hazard a guess as to what animal it used to be, based on the hooves and floppy bit of fabric on its forehead he could only assume it was a unicorn. Although the fur was dark grey, Branch could tell from the uneven coloring that at one time it had likely been white. The matted fur of its faded rainbow and black mane and tail needed serious brushing out, though Branch would never waste time on that considering the more pressing issue being that the toy was in tatters. The torso was little more than shreds of fabric, all of the stuffing having fallen out at some point, and each leg was held on with little more than a thread and tenacity. The nose had been ripped off and one of the button eyes looked like it’d been chewed on by a pack of wild animals.

“Why does it look like that?” Branch nudged it onto the bed, flipping his pillow over and making a note to change his bedding in the morning.

“To be loved is to be changed. Or something.” They stared at each other for a moment. Barb added, “Riff said that once. With the ‘or something’.”

“I don’t need a stuffed animal. I don’t even think you can call it a stuffed animal anymore.” Branch said.

“Rude.” She dragged Bobo back up to the top bunk, like a predator pulling a corpse into its tree, “When you change your mind, Bobo will be expecting an apology.”

“Bobo can suck an egg.”

“No you can suck an egg.”

That morning Branch had to practically drag himself to the table. He’d not been able to fall back asleep after the nightmare, instead rolling around and fussing with the covers until it was time to get up. As tempted as he was to just roll over with his new headphones on and try to sleep through the day, he’d never actually worked up the courage to ask about the schedule to know if he was even allowed to sleep in. He could always sneak a nap in during his solo reading time in his hideout though, so he wasn't too worried about it. He just needed to make it through breakfast.

As he passed King Thrash his eyes were drawn to the unusual colors in the skillet. After his first day here, King Thrash had caught on that for some reason the colors of eggs churned his stomach and he barely ate any, and so he’d never had it again. Today there were four of the usual eggs in the skillet, alongside two blue and purple ones.

“I did say I’d see what I could do.” Thrash sprinkled some ground peppers onto his eggs, smiling, “Since you like the heat.”

Feeling slightly more awake, Branch sat in his usual spot, his leg practically shaking the table he was bouncing it so hard. Was it silly to be this excited over eggs? Yes. Was he excited anyway? Absolutely. While he loved a lot of the foods that Volcano Rock City had to offer, it was difficult for every day to be a new culinary adventure.

He looked over at Barb, who was grinning somewhat smugly. She turned to him and mouthed, ‘ Suck an egg. ’

“Did you tell King Thrash to make eggs just because I insulted your toy?” Branch whispered.

She grinned wider.

Branch decided to use an age old art he learned from living with a family with six kids—kicking her legs under the table.

By the time Thrash turned around to bring breakfast to the table Branch and Barb were in an all out kick war, Branch with the advantage of wearing heavy boots and Barb the advantage of having rock hard skin and very painful shins. If Branch didn’t know any better, he’d think her bones were made of steel.

“Oh, to be so young and full of energy.” King Thrash sighed dramatically, “If it weren’t for my bad knee, you kids would be outmatched.”

“Dad, both your knees are bad.” Barb said.

Branch covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

“When I was your age I had knees that could kick through stone. I did, too. They called it ‘Gettin’ Thrashed’.”

Barb rolled her eyes, grabbing her and Branch’s plates from him and setting them down in front of them, “Dad, you said the same thing about blowing up an oil drum.”

“Did I?” Thrash scratched his head, “Well, one of those is probably true.”

“That sounds really dangerous.” Branch said.

“Because it is. Threw me from the stage to the fourth floor. Or was it the third? Whichever floor had that burger joint with the giant burger challenge.” Thrash rambled, “Can’t believe I walked that one off.”

“Why’d you blow it up in the first place?” Branch asked.

“Blowing stuff up is cool.” Barb answered.

Thrash nodded, “Hardcore as fu– fun.”

“Hardcore as fun?” Branch repeated. For some reason Barb was suppressing giggles.

“Hardcore as fun. Yep, that’s the saying.” Thrash said quickly.

“I’m not stupid, I know bad words. Barb says them.” Branch said.

Barb kicked him under the table, “No I don’t, I’ve never said a bad word in my whole life.”

“Oh my bad, that day Blaze stopped by you were just speaking gibberish.” He said sarcastically.

“Well, good to hear it.” Thrash said.

“I was being sarcastic!”

While breakfast had lifted his mood considerably—something Branch never thought could be possible—it didn’t last. By lunch he was burnt out and by dinner he was sure he looked ready to bite anyone who said a word to him. They ate dinner in silence, and for the first time since living there it felt awkward and heavy. It had him wanting to say something, anything, but between his exhaustion and his rising irritability he didn’t have the energy to hold a conversation.

After dinner Barb dismissed herself for band practice, so Branch took it upon himself to help King Thrash with the dishes. One nice thing about the house is that the sink, stove and counters were lowered to the perfect height for him, on account of Thrash’s chair. It was pretty funny watching Barb try to use the stove, she’d normally do a weird sort of almost-splits to lower herself to reach it easier.

It seemed that Thrash had been waiting for the two to have a moment alone together. “Something bothering you, Branch?” He asked.

“Just didn’t sleep good.” Branch said, sharper than he meant to. Mouthing off to Barb was one thing, especially considering she didn’t seem to mind no matter how rude or inconsiderate he was, but Thrash could change his mind about this whole arrangement any second. He bit his tongue to keep it in check and focused on scrubbing the stone dishes.

“Branch,” Thrash’s voice was firm but kind, “You don’t have to tell me why, but let me help you.”

To any other troll, the thought and consideration of the request would leave a warm and fuzzy feeling in their heart, maybe even resulting in some tears of relief. To Branch though, it was a slap to the face. Another reminder that anyone could have helped him. Thrash didn’t even need to be told what was wrong, just what Branch wanted him to do and say and no doubt it would be done. He growled in frustration and threw the plate he was holding back into the sink, hearing a loud crack but not caring. 

“It’s not safe! If the Bergens find us, this city might as well be called Buried Alive Rock City , because that’s what we’ll all be! And they will find us, because everything’s so loud !” Branch shouted.

Branch hadn’t even realized that was the root of the issue. While he was upset due to his lack of sleep and the resurgence of the awful memory of when he lost grandma, that dream had really reignited his worst fears. Pop Village hadn’t seen a Bergen in five years, but that didn’t stop his worrying. You could cover a lot of forest in that time, especially with the numbers and size of Bergens. So even with as far from both Bergens and Pop Trolls alike as his new home was, the fear that something—Bergens, it was always Bergens—would show up and he’d lose what little he had left was a feeling he couldn’t escape. Like the heat of the volcano, the fear was the heavy cloud that wore at him, draining him with each day. The noises—singing and cheering and existing —worsened that fear, falling on top of him like heavy quilts, suffocating and sweltering. He couldn’t lose any more, it would kill him. He needed his books, his bunker, his walls to save him from losing anything more.

“That’s a lot to be worried about Branch. As king of the Rock Trolls it’s my job to make sure every one of my subjects feels safe. I’m sorry I haven’t made you feel safe.” Thrash took his hands in his and looked him in the eyes. Branch didn’t know how, but Thrash’s voice always managed to cut through his spiraling thoughts, “Why don’t we fix this together? Do you have any ideas to make us more safe?”

“You– you want to hear my ideas?” Branch asked breathlessly. 

He couldn’t remember the last time someone asked to hear his ideas. Any plans relating to Bergens were a ‘waste of time’ and anything that made the village safer would ‘kill the fun’. His suggestions of patrols around the forest, protective fences, helmets for sports, lifeguards for the pond, all of it was shot down and laughed at. 

“I do. I’ve seen what you’ve been working on in your notebook. You’re a very smart young man, Branch.” Thrash said.

Branch’s legs seemed to catch onto his excitement before his brain did, hopping in place, “Stay here, I’ll get my notebooks!”

…

Barb had made several changes to her life the minute Branch became a part of it, one of which being a strict ‘no music in the house’ ban. Even with owning two (now one) studios that were completely soundproof, she worried that even seeing Barb with her bandmates or knowing that music was being made just a room away would upset Branch. After discussing it with her band, they all agreed to move practice to someone else’s house. She felt guilty leaving the house when Branch was so upset, but she had a secondary mission to carry out.

After practice she took a slight detour and returned home to find Branch and her dad still at the dining room table, several of Branch’s notebooks opened to random places. Branch was excitedly babbling while pointing to the pages and adding new sticky notes. Her dad was nodding along, his replies too quiet to be heard from the doorway.

“–and then the two tongs would stab it in the foot, and the Bergen would fall into the lava and die!” Branch said with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.

Barb smiled. Kids gain their love of violence so fast these days.

“I bet it would! That’s a very clever trap, Branch. How can we modify it so that no troll can set it off accidentally?”

“Uh…” Branch stuttered, frowning, “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay, we can think it over. Barbara! Why don’t you come join us? We’re planning some good old fashioned maiming!” Her dad shouted.

“Maiming? Sweet ! I’ll go get my mutilating guitar!” Barb dropped the bag she’d been carrying onto the couch and ran to her and Branch’s room.

…

Branch groaned. Mutilating guitar? Did Rock Trolls have a guitar for every day of the week and holiday? Guitars to Rock Trolls were like glitter to Pop Trolls, he guessed: pointless, annoying and everywhere. 

Barb returned from her bedroom with a different guitar than her practice one and his headphones, “What are we maiming and where is it?”

“Easy, Barbara. No maiming right now, we’re planning in case of an emergency.” Thrash said.

Barb sadly lowered her guitar and whined, “But I got my guitar out.”

“Are you really going to play guitar while fighting something? Is music so important you’d waste valuable space and energy that could be diverted to an actual weapon on a guitar?” Branch huffed, annoyance returning in full force.

Barb tilted her head, confused, “What? Guitars are a weapon.”

“Branch, do you remember earlier when you said every troll should know how to use at least one weapon?” 

Branch nodded.

“Every Rock Troll learns the ins and outs of our instruments for a very good reason.” Thrash grinned in an unfamiliar way, baring his teeth in an almost snarl. Branch could see the family resemblance between Thrash and Barb.

“Dad, can I take Branch to Rage’s tomorrow? I’ll make sure he keeps his headphones on and stays behind me!” Barb pleaded, doing what was likely meant to be puppy eyes but more looked like her eyes were about to pop out.

“Alright, but both of you are wearing protective gear.” Thrash said.

Protective gear? Branch was becoming increasingly worried about what this Rage guy was like if visiting him required safety gear. Worried, but intrigued. If Poppy had provided him protective gear to deal with her, maybe he would have been more open to tolerating her. Pop Trolls didn’t do protective gear though, so there was no chance of that ever happening.

Barb nodded enthusiastically, then turned to Branch, “Oh! Branch, I got you a surprise! Wait here.”

She ran back to the living room and brought back a black bag, handing it to Branch. He had a good idea of what it might be just from the way the lump in it felt as he grabbed it. Sure enough, when he reached in he could feel the soft fur of a stuffed animal.

“Barb, I don’t need a stuffed animal–”

“Just look at it. Trust me.”

Branch rolled his eyes but pulled the toy out of the bag and turned it over to get a good look at it. The face looked to be that of a cat, with big ears the size of its head that bent downwards but atop a sort of bipedal looking body, much like a teddy bear’s. One of its eyes was missing, instead replaced with an X shaped stitch. The majority of its fur was a dark charcoal grey, with a few sewn patches of lighter grey around its left eye and right paw and a dark blue puzzle piece shaped patch on its stomach.

“He looks just like you! Do you like it?” Barb asked, looking so excited one might mistake her for the person getting a gift.

He shouldn’t. He wasn’t a child (he was in age, but he was mature) so he didn’t need a stupid toy to comfort him. It was a logical fact that a stuffed animal wouldn’t stop nightmares. At best they were a placebo, which only worked if you believed in it, and even then it wasn’t a guarantee. He’d shared many rooms with other children while being passed around in a game of responsibility-hot-potato, and nightmares came to them no matter if they had one stuffed animal or a bed full. He didn’t need a stuffed animal. He hadn’t had one since they’d lived at the troll tree. The toys gifted by his brothers and grandma were among many of the sentimental useless items left behind so that he could escape with the necessities. He didn’t need them…

…and yet…

Clutching the toy close, he looked up at Barb with teary eyes and nodded. He loved it. He loved that unlike the toys his fosters would loan him (they called them gifts, but are they really when he’s packing his bags and he’s asked to leave them for the younger kids?) that were bright purples and pinks, this toy was grey, just like him. It liked puzzles just like him. It wasn’t alive, but it was him.

Barb cooed about how cute he was all the way up until bedtime, much to his annoyance. He drew the line at her attempt to tuck him into bed, threatening to bite her if she didn’t get on her bunk. He didn’t plan to follow through on that threat, as experience showed that he’d probably lose a tooth, but the threat still had her backing off.

He pressed his face into the fur of his stuffed animal, the faint smell of a campfire clinging to it, and quickly drifted off to sleep.

His sleep was blissfully dreamless.

Chapter Text

The next morning was the day of their trip to “Rage’s”, and Branch still didn’t know what they were going to teach him about guitars or why he’d need to be careful. It was a new place, however, and potentially the only look he’d get into someone’s house, so he grabbed his notebook containing his maps and tucked it into a backpack that Barb had lent him next to his headphones.

Hesitantly, he held up his new toy and asked, “Can I bring Bitty?”

Barb’s eyes got all watery and doe-y like they do every time he does something she deems cute, “Aww, you named him Bitty? Is it ‘cause he’s an itty bitty version of you?”

“No, it’s because he bites. Past-tense of bite is bit. Bitty.” Branch lied.

“Radical. Of course Bitty can come. I bet he’d love it. You’ve got everything?” He nodded. “Awesome. Dad, we’re leaving!”

“Alright, have fun you two!”

Barb didn’t give any further clues to what and where they were going to, but Branch was able to tell right away it wasn’t a normal visit to one of their neighbors when they went straight for the elevators. Instead, the elevator took them to one of the lower levels of the upper rings that he hadn’t had the chance to map out yet, level two. Barb led him to a building with a cracked sign that read ‘Rage’s Reck Room’ in lights that flashed erratically like they were on the verge of blowing a fuse. Looking closer, the ‘W’ in ‘Wreck’ had its lights busted to the point the shape of it was barely visible.

The front room was a small reception area, where a loud red toned troll loudly greeted Barb. Too loudly, in Branch’s opinion, so he decided now was as good a time as any to put his headphones on.

Barb and the shop owner talked for a bit, at one point Barb gesturing to Branch in the way that she always did when she was bragging that he was her ‘brand new little brother’. Why that—why he —was something to be proud of Branch didn’t understand, but Barb seemed ecstatic every time she got to introduce him. Maybe it was part of the novelty of him being new. When he was born, his brothers showed him off constantly. ‘ Our new baby brother and the newest member of BroZone! ’ He’d heard that a million times, seen it on dozens of magazine covers. Back then he’d thought they couldn’t be more excited, but maybe it had all been some marketing campaign. Or maybe they weren’t excited for him , they were just excited to be big brothers. When Branch wasn’t how he was supposed to be that was when they decided to stop being brothers. Maybe Barb was just excited to be a big sister, opposed to having a little brother.

The shop owner handed Barb a key and she led Branch down a long hallway of numbered doors and stopped at door five, unlocking it with the key she’d been given. The doors in the hall were all spaced far away from each other and after looking inside it made sense why. The room was enormous, filled with tables covered in assorted junk. Glass bottles, plates, cups, small statues, TVs and other electronics that Branch had never seen before, all sorts of randomness that filled the room like some sort of yard sale.

Branch slipped off his headphones just in time to hear Barb say, “C’mere Branch, put on this stuff so you don’t get hurt.”

Barb slid a protective chest plate that was slightly too big on him and helped him with the straps of a face guard. Barb chose to skip the chest plate (though considering how tough her skin was he doubted she’d need it) but put on her own face guard.

“What are we here for again?” Branch asked.

“We’re here to show you what a guitar can do. Remember all those books I have about guitars and guitar maintenance? This is what they’re for. Put your headphones on.”

Branch lifted his headphones back up as Barb fiddled with the settings of her ‘Mutilating Guitar’ and plugged it into a speaker. She lifted her guitar, then looked back at Branch and motioned for him to scoot back. He did, but she motioned again. He took a few more steps back. She motioned again, and he took another step back. Rolling her eyes, she put her guitar down and gently put her hands on his shoulder and pushed him back until he was pressed against the wall.

“Just get on with it.” He huffed. The headphones worked amazing, he could barely hear his own voice with them on.

Barb rolled her eyes again and lifted her guitar up. He couldn’t hear whatever she was playing, but there looked to be some sort of build up before she brought her pick down harshly. A red flash erupted from the guitar, tearing across the room and leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. The glasses had burst before the lightning even reached them and the tables had been sliced in two, the wood glowing red with embers along the cut. She kept playing, shockwaves erupting between flashes of lightning that did just as much damage. The room shook, small flecks of stone chipping from the ceiling and walls. The wall on the receiving end of her guitar was gaining black char marks with each bolt fired from the guitar. She looked completely in her element, banging her head as she played and keeping time by tapping her foot.

He wondered how much she missed getting to do this all hours of the day in their house, and if she resented him for taking that away yet.

The destruction she was able to yield with just a guitar was mind blowing. He knew that technology could do a lot more than his whittled spears that were little more than sharpened sticks and his rudimentary snare traps, but the expanse of the difference between the two wasn’t something he’d been able to imagine. While a spear would only tick off a Bergen enough for him to hopefully disorient it to help him escape, a guitar like Barb’s could stand a real chance of actually hurting one.

Barb finished her song and Branch put his headphones away. She grinned, all teeth like always, and said, “Pretty impressive, huh?”

“That… was crazy! Your instruments can do that?!” Branch pulled the guitar from her hands and began looking it over, as if he’d be able to decipher how it worked from the outside, “We don’t have anything like this in the village. The closest is when I got hit in the head with a rogue cowbell.”

“Of course they can! That was on low too, these things can blast through rock like nobody’s business, but considering what the walls are made of we keep our stuff at three or under.” Barb showed him one of the dials that went all the way up to ten.

That was a low level. At max volume, it could maybe even kill a Bergen.

“You didn’t tell me they were weapons ! This changes everything . I need to learn how to use it.” He held it similar to how Barb did and tried to mimic her finger placements. The strings were thick and heavy, hurting his fingertips when he pressed down on them.

Barb’s grin faded, “Branch, you hate music, why would you wanna play it?”

He cocked his head. Was it not obvious? “It’s a weapon. It’s different than an instrument.”

“It’s both. You’d be making music to use it.” She took the guitar back.

“Can’t I just make noise on it? Does it have to be music?” Branch asked.

“‘Fraid so, baby bro. It’s just how it works. Does it have to be a guitar? We could buy you a really cool chainsaw, or maybe a flamethrower? Chainsaws are really classic but flamethrowers are all the rage these days.”

Branch crossed his arms, stamping his feet, “No! I want to use a guitar!”

Barb didn't look convinced. Branch had an idea. It was childish, it was degrading, but it would also be effective. Between Barb and Thrash, Branch had found her to most likely be the weak link when it came to getting something he wanted. While they had both been doing everything they could to make him happy and comfortable, it was clear that Thrash was levelheaded about it and likely had some sort of reasoning behind it. Barb, on the other hand, was pretty dedicated to making him happy. She gave him gifts and freaked out whenever he was sad, and when he was happy she got all gooey-eyed.

He started crying. Loudly. The awful, loud kind of cry that was basically all screaming. He fell on the ground and started banging his fists against the stone floor and kicking his feet.

He’d often been told his bad moods and aversions were him throwing tantrums. No, this was him throwing a tantrum.

“I want a guitar! I want it, I want it!”

Just as expected, Barb began to panic. She crouched down beside him, very clearly wanting to hug him but remembering his stance on it. “Don’t cry! Okay, okay, we can get you a guitar! We’ll get you a really cool one right now!”

He stopped crying, “Thank you!”

The look on her face was priceless, “You absolute brat! You hustled me!” She lightly punched his shoulder, “I am so proud of you!”

“Your standards are weird and dumb.” Branch said.

“I’ll show you weird and dumb, c’mere!”

Barb grabbed at him and he ran off, laughing. She chased after him on all fours, not at all bothered by the broken bits of debris on the ground. He tried to outmaneuver her using the remains of one of the tables, but he hadn’t accounted for the fact Barb liked to jump. A lot. She cleared the table and picked him up in a quick scoop.

“Got you!” She swung him around, “You’re so weak, I can just scoop you up! Someone’s gonna kidnap you someday!”

He laughed, “Yeah, you did! Remember?”

“It wasn’t kidnapping, it was surprise adoption. Totally different.” She said.

“Call it whatever you want, a rock’s a rock.” Branch said with a grin.

“I’m gonna flip you upside down if you keep sassin’ me.” She threatened playfully.

“If you do, I'll kick you.”

“Oh with those weak little legs of yours? Oh nooooo.” She spun around with him in her arms, “Someone stop this maniac and his tiny baby kicks!”

“Put me down or I’ll start biting!” He struggled helplessly. Her grip on him was ironclad, and reminded him of the day they met.

He remembered when he briefly stayed with Cooper’s family. They’d been one of the first (and only) fosters to willingly take him in rather than be cajoled into it by King Peppy, as they had experience with adopting an unusual child. No one had been able to place where Cooper’s egg had come from, or why he looked different, but he was a Pop Troll through and through with his positive attitude and love of music and dancing. Cooper’s dad would chase Cooper around the house, and when he caught him he’d toss him in the air and hold him upside down. He’d tried to do the same for Branch, but Branch wouldn’t play his chasing game and so he’d just randomly be picked up while he was reading. It hadn’t been fun then, but when Barb did it, he could understand why Cooper giggled like a madman each time.

“Okay, okay, putting you down.” She set him down, careful to avoid any broken glass, “I guess I owe somebody a guitar now.”

“I can use an old one, you don’t have to buy me a new one.” Branch only needed a guitar, it didn’t need to be new. Any guitar would do as long as it worked.

“Oh no. One thing you need to know about us hard rockers is we take our instruments seriously. Your first guitar is special.” She helped him take off his safety gear and put it away.

As they walked out, the troll in the front waved to them, “See you two!”

“Bye Rage!” Barb shouted, tossing the key back at him.

Branch waved, “Bye.”

The two took the elevator up to level five, the level that Branch had begun to map out last week. It was still only partially completed, but the coffee shop was the first building besides Branch’s home that had a finished map of the interior. Hopefully whatever guitar store they were visiting would also be joining it in completion.

Now that he thought about it, there were a lot of guitar stores in Volcano Rock City. If his first guitar was supposed to be special, how was he supposed to find it if it could be anywhere?

“Barb,” He tugged on her hand, “Where did you get your first guitar?”

“I got my first guitar at Die-namics, but lately I’ve been buying all my guitars at Fleet Street Guitars.” Barb pointed each of the shops out.

Fleet Street Guitars was a smaller shop, nestled between a barbershop and a pastry(?) shop. The sign had a bright red splatter across the silhouette of a rather sharp looking guitar. More interesting to Branch, however, was the familiar swoosh of hair he saw next to the shop.

“It’s Billy!” Branch yelled, running over, “Billy!”

Billy turned around, grinning when he saw Branch, “Branch! Hey, kiddo! Workin’ on your map?”

“Not today. Barb’s taking me to get my first guitar. Where’d you get your first guitar?”

“My first guitar was a hand-me-down from my older brother. No clue where he got it. Lucky for you I was just here for a new one.” Billy said, holding open the door for him and Barb.

While Branch had expected the large inventory of guitars the shop would have, he hadn’t anticipated the variety. Rock Trolls seemed to favor a very limited color palette of black, red and blue for the most part, but he should have figured that on an individual level there would be outliers. A full rainbow of options were available, though to his credit there was a decent split of black or grey options. It was the most color he’d seen since he’d left Pop Village, and it was a weird mix of familiar and an eyesore.

…

Watching Branch’s reaction to his first guitar store was a memory Barb was never going to forget. She felt a little selfish, her dad should be here for this, but she’d been so excited about him wanting his first guitar that it totally slipped her mind.

She was still unsure of how this whole ‘hating music’ thing would come into play with the fact he was about to be making music . She knew Branch was scared of something. For all his preparations and anxiety, there was something out there he thought was a constant threat if he was scared even out here in the city. They should be out of range of whatever threat was lurking around Pop Village, but Branch acted like it could show up any minute. She knew he had a grandma at one point that he was close to and something happened to her or related to her, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so eager to leave with a bunch of strangers. He also seemed unwilling to talk about it. At the coffee shop it looked like bringing her up had been an accident, so Barb hadn’t pressed on it. As for his parents and any potential other relatives it was hard to say. There should have been someone out there looking after him, enough to make him consider that suddenly disappearing might worry someone. Maybe those three things—that fear, his family and his hatred of music—were related. It seemed likely, otherwise it meant three completely unrelated disasters happened to him, making him the unluckiest kid in the world. Although maybe he already was. She had no clue what those Pop Trolls were up to or how they handled orphaned trolls, but considering his reactions to being given the bare freaking minimum it sounded like they did more harm than good. There was also the chance that his family was still in the picture but Branch would be better off if they weren't, which was why he'd been so eager to leave.

If she ever saw that King Peppy guy she was gonna punch him so hard in the face his eyes would be on the back of his head. That way he could see her kick his butt.

Branch, for some reason, hit it off really well with Billy. While he liked Riff, she couldn't see him lighting up at just the sight of him like he did when he saw Billy. He might now, but Riff had given him a very useful gift, while Billy had really just been around. Billy did have that sort of soft rock vibe that wasn’t very common, and Pop Trolls weren’t hardcore like most Rock Trolls, so maybe he was just familiar? That didn’t exactly track because Branch didn’t have a single nice thing to say about Pop Trolls or their attitudes, so she doubted he’d be this clingy if Billy was anything like the average Pop Troll. Maybe Branch had wanted an older brother? Heck, Branch could have had a dozen older brothers and Barb wouldn’t know. Sisters too.

Whatever the reason, Branch looked up to Billy, so she needed to make sure he wouldn’t disappoint him.

“Branch, go ahead and look around. Me and Billy are gonna catch up for a minute.” She called out.

“Okay!”

Barb pulled Billy aside until they were far enough away that Branch wouldn’t overhear, “We need to talk.”

“What’s up? This isn’t a ‘break the stage or your face’ kind of talk, is it?” Billy asked. He was clearly trying to play it off as a joke but the fear was there.

“Not unless you royally screw this up. Branch seems to really like you, and I need you to understand how big of a deal that is.”

“Right, he’s a foster, yeah? Been a long time since your dad’s had one, and I know there are families looking to adopt.” Billy said.

She nodded, “Yeah, this isn’t the normal sitch. Unless Branch brings it up, he’s staying with us.”

“Figured as much. You’ve been going on and on about how he’s your new brother. What I can’t help but notice though is that a kid of his age should have definitely been seen around town before, but he only just turned up three weeks ago. He came back from one of the mining trips, but as far as I’ve heard, he wasn’t on the departing bus.” There was an edge to Billy’s voice.

Barb smirked, “You’re pretty observant.”

“I try to be. It’s a pointless offer, considering the kind of man King Thrash is, but if there’s some parents to be blamed for this…” He grinned, “Well just say the word, your rockness, and I’d be happy to give them some helpful reminders.”

“If there was anything left after dad got through, I’d have next dibs, but I’ll keep you in mind. This stays between us for right now, but we picked him up from Pop territory.”

“Pop? Doesn’t exactly fit the mold.” Billy looked at Branch thoughtfully, “It makes sense, but still…”

“He’s been through a lot. I don’t know what, but I do know he doesn’t like a lot of people, and it would mess him up if you turned out to be a jerk.” Barb took a deep breath. Billy had proven himself, but she was still nervous on Branch’s behalf. “He’s pretty open about this, which is why I’m telling you. ‘Cause it would suck if you upset him over this. He hates music. All of it.”

“As in ‘all of it’ all of it?”

“Yeah.”

He let out a low whistle, “Wow. That’s… Wow. What’s the deal with the guitar then?”

“He saw what a power chord can do. I’ve got no clue how well this whole thing is gonna work out, but maybe it’s a good thing.” She leaned closer to his ear, “So this is your first and only reminder that if you break his heart, they’ll never stop finding pieces of yours.” 

He held up his hands in surrender, “No reminder needed. He’s a cool kid, the last thing I wanna do is hurt him. You know, I actually always wanted a little brother. I’ve got three older, so I’m the baby of the family.”

“Oh so you’re looking to poach mine, huh?” She teased.

“Barb, I found one!” Branch shouted, hurrying over with a blue guitar taller than him, “How do I know if it’s special enough?”

“You gotta test it out!” Billy said, “On level one, otherwise you and your sister are gonna be buying a lot of broken guitars.”

“I don’t know how to test it.” Branch said, looking lost as he stared down at it.

Billy held his hand out, “May I?”

Branch looked at the guitar nervously, then up at Barb. It hit Barb that Branch had said those exact words to her before throwing her guitar into a fire. She fought the urge to laugh, “It’s okay, he’s just gonna show you how it sounds.”

Branch handed the guitar to Billy, who sat down on one of the benches and started tuning the guitar, “This ones a semi-hollow, so it’s got a block in the middle but the sides are hollow.”

“So if I hit somebody with it, it’ll break easier?” Branch asked, sitting down next to him.

Billy laughed, “Probably, so maybe don’t go smashin’ people on the head with it.”

Billy began playing a few chords, then moved on to part of one of his own songs. Branch’s face scrunched up, and Barb fought the urge to cover his ears and carry him out of the store and miles away from the closest guitar.

“I don’t like that one. The sounds are too… oval shaped. I want one like Barb has that sounds spikey.” Branch said.

“Solid body. Go look over on that wall, Branch.” Barb pointed out the wall and Branch took off.

“Think that’s the first time I’ve heard the term ‘oval shaped’ for music.” Billy said.

“For a kid who doesn’t like music, he sure can tell the difference though. He’s only heard me play once, on the bus. He had his headphones on when I was playing today.” Barb mused.

“Hey, I’m sorry if I messed up your special moment. I know the first guitar is supposed to be a family thing.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Branch is happy so I’m happy. I’ll just have to bribe him into liking me more.” She said. A small part of her was jealous, but it was hard to be mad at Billy for being likable.

Billy looked at her like she’d said rock was dead, “I think you have it backwards. That kid adores you.”

“Barb! This one matches your hair!” Branch ran back with a black and red guitar and handed it to Billy, “Test this one.”

Billy gave her the classic ‘I told you so’ look, then turned back to Branch, “An ST-Type, nice choice. Let’s test this bad boy out.” 

Billy repeated the same testing process as he did with the first guitar, this time with Branch looking a lot more pleased with the sound. He was coping pretty well with the music from the guitars, which she could only assume was due to their now elevated status as a weapon. He seemed to still have an issue with music from the way he winced when someone started singing as they tested their guitar. Billy also noticed his reaction and began distracting Branch by asking about Bitty while Barb paid and packed the guitar up in its case.

The trio left the shop together, Branch between them holding one of their hands in his and babbling excitedly about the new manual he could write about testing the destruction capabilities of the different guitar types.

He was such a sweet kid. If only someone in Pop Village could have seen that.

Chapter Text

Branch’s life didn’t change that much after getting a guitar. This shouldn’t be a hard concept for him to understand—especially given that not even a week had passed—and yet it was. Logically, he knew that despite his insistence it was a weapon, a guitar was an instrument. It produced music and a side effect of the music was lightning and shockwaves. This meant that Branch would be making music. Something he hated and swore to never do.

Except, technically he didn’t?

Branch swore he’d never sing again after his grandma was eaten. He hated the idea of singing, but he didn’t yet hate when others did. Music made him scared. Hearing it reminded him of that awful day and twisted his stomach in knots. Even after leaving the Troll Tree and running far away he worried that they’d be heard. 

He didn’t hate music, he feared it.

Family after family tried to help him get over that fear, or so they claimed, but all they succeeded in doing was turning that fear into hatred. The fear was still there, below the surface, but the memory of his grandma’s fate was being drowned out by so many other things. Now when Branch heard a song, he did not think of that terrible day. He thought of the constant barrages of music at all hours of the day meant to desensitize him, that awful karaoke night, and the cruelty that stemmed from his difference. It all opened his eyes to how much music ruined his life. The loss of his brothers stemmed from their pursuit of the perfect family harmony. Music taunted him at every turn and bend, and he hated it for that.

And yet here he was, reading a book on guitars.

From the way those in Pop Village had spoken, the minute he held an instrument he should have immediately been fixed. The act of accepting a guitar should have removed his hatred of music and brought back his color and love of all things fun and happy, but here he was, grey and no more ready to sing songs than he was last week. Things were supposed to be so much different now, and yet all that had changed was the material he was reading and that he now owned an instrument. He hadn’t thought of the guitar as anything other than a weapon at the wreck room, but now he could see his guitar for the instrument it was, and yet he still did not feel any different. His guitar. It was weird to think about and even weirder to say. 

Five days ago he’d returned from the guitar shop with Barb, and he had felt something then. Fear. Barb and Thrash hadn’t attempted to make him sing or even so much as listen to music once. He’d set up a boundary, and they actually respected it. Now he’d gone and broke his own rule, so what would they think? Was this a sign to them that he’d changed his mind? He wasn’t ready for Barb to become like everyone else, constantly trying to get him to sing. He felt nauseous at the thought of Thrash telling him to face his fears head on and sing something. Their faces twisting into that taunting, pitying smile formed and replayed itself in his head.

“Dad! Branch wants to learn how to play guitar!” Barb had yelled when they got home that day.

Thrash didn’t immediately celebrate like his past fosters would have done. His expression remained calm, if not a bit confused, “Well this is a surprise. What brought this on?”

“Barb showed me a power chord at Rage’s. If a Bergen ever shows up I want to know how to use it.” Branch said.

“Did Barbara tell you about any other weapons? If you aren’t comfortable with a guitar, there are others.”

“I did,” Barb chimed in, “Someone, not naming names, didn’t wanna hear it.”

Thrash chuckled, “I see you’ve got a case there. Went shopping already? Well, come on, show me what you picked out. You can tell a lot from someone’s first guitar.”

Branch sat the case down on the couch and opened it, carefully pulling out the guitar and handing it to Thrash.

“What a beauty, you picked a great one, Branch.” Thrash carefully brushed a hand over the glossy finish, “Looks like Barbara’s hair.”

“That's what I said!”

“I suppose you’ll need a teacher to help you play this.” Thrash rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “I suppose we’ll need someone with years of experience. Someone who’s taught before. Would probably help if he was handsome and funny as well. Do you kids know anybody like that?”

“Nope.” Barb said, failing to hide her grin.

Branch made a show of thinking really hard, “Hmmm, oh! Billy!”

“Oh!” Thrash clutched at his chest, “Oh my broken heart! I’ll never recover from this. I’ll have to retire. Retirement, when I’m in the prime of my life.”

It had felt so natural to laugh and joke with them. Just like it had been natural to run around with Barb at the wreck room. It felt… comfortable. Soft.

“Branch,” After the teasing had ended, Thrash had sat the two of them down to talk, “I know you want to do this, and I’ll support you, but I have concerns. I don’t know what happened to ruin music for you, but I know it’ll take more than a power chord to change how it makes you feel. We’ll go at whatever pace you’re comfortable with.”

“Where do we start?” He had asked.

“Typically the first thing young trolls learn is the basics of your guitar. That’s the parts, how to tune it, how to hold it and how to read chord boxes. After that you learn chords and riffs and work your way up to full songs. You’ll also learn how to disassemble and reassemble it. Wiring might sound a little boring but–”

“I love wiring! I was practicing before I came here so I could make an elevator for my bunker.”

“We could give Branch some books. That way he’s still learning but he’s not playing it right away.” Barb said.

The two hadn’t pushed him to do anything he didn’t want to at all, and reassured him that he would set the pace for his introduction to music. In fact, they both seemed to want him to slow down. It was another situation that was exactly what he wanted to the point it frustrated him. He doesn’t want them to make a big fuss, but he can’t help but expect it. How else can he know they’re proud of him if they don’t make a fuss? What if they weren’t trying to make him slow down out of consideration, but because they didn’t believe in him?

No, he couldn’t think like that. Barb was always straightforward with him, so he had to believe her. 

Barb and Thrash weren’t like the others, so Branch could ask them questions.

Branch closed his book and left his secret room. During the mornings he could normally find Thrash and Barb watching TV together, so he went to the living room. TVs were an interesting bit of technology that the Pop Trolls never had, or at least hadn’t in the past several generations. Pop Trolls actually didn’t have much in terms of technology that didn’t apply to music making, such as record players and boom boxes. According to one of the books he’d borrowed from King Thrash’s office, record players predated the splitting of the six tribes, and so it was possible to find recordings made during that time from any tribe and listen to them. It was why Barb and Thrash were familiar with pop music and how it sounded. Through small incidents and accidental encounters, the Rock Trolls had found that most tribes had other means of storing music now. Rock Trolls had moved on to CDs, Funk trolls had something called an eight-track, Country had music rolls, Pop had cassettes, Classical had music boxes and Techno had mp3 players. Naturally, Branch had no idea what any of those things beyond cassettes and CDs were, but it was slightly fascinating that so many other ways of recording music had been created.

It was weird to have positive thoughts of music again. Did these count as positive thoughts? He really only wanted a guitar so he’d always be safe, and he was interested in the technology behind the other ways of recording and playing music simply because it was technology rather than the fact it was for storing music. If they were made to record nature sounds he’d be just as interested, if not more so.

Branch entered the living room to find King Thrash organizing some papers with Barb.

“Branch, great timing, I was just about to come get you.” Thrash greeted him.

“Is everything okay?” He asked. Normally Thrash did his paperwork in his office, and he didn’t need Branch for that.

“Everything’s fine. Do you remember when we mentioned that we made monthly trips to our mines just outside of Pop territory?”

“The mines that are actually a stone's throw away from the village and it’s a wonder there hasn’t been a run in yet?” He said sarcastically.

“I mean… technically there was.” Barb said, adding unhelpfully, “We kidnapped one of their kids.”

“Yes, I remember that. That is why you’re banned until further notice from joining us.” Thrash said.

Barb shrugged, “That’s fair.”

“It’s not been a month though, has it?” Branch asked. It certainly didn’t feel like a full month had passed. Three weeks and five days wasn’t a month, was it? He should still have a week left before he has to grapple with being here for a month.

“It’s a few days off, but now that we know that Pop has decided to change their borders we can’t keep returning to the same spot. We’ll be using the map you’ve drawn up to find somewhere else.” Thrash straightened his papers and Branch could see the map he’d drawn of the new location of the village at the top of the stack.

“I’m gonna go hike the Neverglade Trail.”

As validating as it was for someone to be using one of his maps, the feeling was overshadowed by worry. There were all sorts of dangers out there, what if something happened to King Thrash? He’d be closer to the forest, which meant closer to Bergentown. If something happened to King Thrash, what would he and Barb do? Where would they go? Would Barb be able to handle being the queen at her age? Would Barb be able to handle taking care of him? Would she even want to? Would she go after her dad?

“But not you, Floyd. You’re not leaving too.”

Thrash ruffled his hair and hugged Barb, then headed towards the door, “Barbara, you’re in charge. Branch, take care of Barbara.”

“Branch, you are gonna do the most important thing of all. You’re gonna take care of grandma.”

Barb waved, “Bye dad!”

“Bye, see you later…” His voice was so small even he couldn’t hear it.

Thrash waved back, smiling, “Goodbye forever.”

“Goodbye forever.”

“Goodbye forever.”

“Goodbye forever.”

No. No no no no no no no no no. He can’t do this. He can’t do this to him. He can’t leave Branch alone again. He can’t take Branch in and care about him and then leave him like everyone else did. Why would they care about him and then leave, they had to have cared at some point, they couldn’t be lying. Right, they weren’t lying? They cared at some point, if they didn’t it meant nobody cared and somebody had to care about him. They had to have cared and just stopped, why would they stop? They can’t leave, he was finally starting to trust them and they’re leaving, they can’t leave him he’s their baby brother and he needs them, why would they leave their brother here all alone –

Please come back! I can do better this time, please don’t leave me! I know I’m grey but I can fix it, please don’t make me be alone again!

…

“Bye dad!”

“Goodbye kids–”

“No!”

In hindsight, Branch had been clearly upset at the thought of Thrash leaving. Thrash was prepared for that, and had instructed Barbara to remind Branch that Thrash had both his guitar and an army of rockers at the ready should they encounter any dangers (including any of those so-called Bergens that Branch was so terrified of), as well as share some of his stories of his glory days. The ones that were child friendly and not as gory, naturally, although knowing Branch he would love to hear the not-so-friendly ones as well.

Thrash had been sure that nervousness had been out of a concern for his welfare, but he was wrong. Branch didn’t seem to have any issues with members of the house coming and going normally, Barb left several times a week as did he and Branch seemed content. He had deemed attachment issues a low risk and he had been wrong, and it was Branch who was suffering for his miscalculation.

Before the word ‘goodbye’ could even fully leave his mouth, Branch bolted for him. His attempt at a tackle nearly toppled his wheelchair over and he clawed at Thrash with calloused hands that no child should have. Desperate and unintelligible pleading sobs combined with wild, unfocused eyes told Thrash that Branch’s mind was somewhere else.

A memory.

Thrash had gathered Branch was an orphan from how he spoke of their arrangement that first day, and from the sounds of things, he had gone through quite a few foster families. Whatever malady or misfortune that made him without any family left was never said, and so Thrash could only speculate. Perhaps his parents had gone before he was even hatched, incapable or unwilling to care for him, though it seemed more likely that they had died later. Whenever Branch spoke of ‘Bergens’ he had this haunted look in his eyes that Thrash had only seen in those who had looked at death. Branch’s reaction today, however, told a different story. Someone had abandoned him, which meant his suffering through whatever joke of a foster situation the Pop Trolls had put him through was not the result of some inescapable tragedy, but instead the result of selfishness.

No, he couldn’t jump to conclusions. While he didn’t doubt Branch’s recollection, there could be factors that Branch was simply too young to understand. Picking someone to blame right now wouldn’t help Branch, which is what he needed to do.

Poor Barbara had froze in confusion at first but was now attempting to pull Branch off his lap, “Branch! Calm down, you’re hurting dad!”

“Barbara, stop. Go get Bitty.” Thrash said sternly, but didn’t raise his voice. There was no need to yell and make the situation any worse.

“Okay dad!” Barbara ran off, bumping into the hallway wall about three times from the sounds of thuds.

Thrash took the time to attempt to guide Branch’s hands down. Normally in these situations it would be best not to touch him, but considering Branch was practically mauling him, that little tidbit didn’t apply here. Barbara was back in seconds, and Thrash put Bitty between him and Branch. Thankfully Branch latched onto the toy immediately with a deathgrip, burying his face in the fabric.

“Are you okay, dad?”

“I’m fine dear. I’ve been in moshes that made that look like a hug.” Thrash reassured her. His legs hurt a bit, and he’d taken a rather unfortunate kneeing, but he was fine. Branch would likely feel terrible about it when he calmed down, and Thrash wasn’t about to make him feel worse by acting fragile.

“Is Branch okay?”

“He will be. Say, my legs are starting to fall asleep, would you mind helping me move Branch to the couch? Be gentle with him.” 

She nodded and lifted Branch up into her arms easily now that he was no longer holding onto Thrash. He’d curled up into a ball around Bitty, and Thrash couldn’t get over how small he was. It was easy to forget with how Branch tried to act much older, but moments like this would remind Thrash that Branch was still so young.

“Branch, it’s Thrash. You’re home with me and Barbara. We’re here, and you’re safe.”

He needed to orient Branch. The boy needed to know that whatever happened has already passed, that right now he’s with people who care about him and aren’t leaving.

“Should I get his headphones?” Barbara asked.

Thrash shook his head, “No, he needs to be able to hear us. We want him out of his head right now.” She nodded and fidgeted nervously. Barbara always wanted to do something to help, so Thrash thought of a task he could give her, “Could you write a note to Drag Thundershock that we’ll be delaying the trip and have Debbie send it out?”

With Barbara momentarily busy, Thrash could focus fully on Branch. While this was far from the first flashback he’d helped someone through, it was the first where one of his best methods was off the table. Music was a great way of pulling trolls into the present and working through their emotions, except in cases where said troll has explicitly said how much they hate music and just the sound of it causes them anxiety. Branch had taken an interest in guitars, but it was clear to Thrash that the music aspect of it was still distressing to him, and so until Branch told him in no uncertain terms that he enjoyed music and was content to hear it unprompted, Thrash wouldn’t play so much as a note without asking for permission.

Permission that as of right now, Branch wasn’t lucid enough to give.

So Thrash was stuck repeating the normal affirmations until he noticed Branch’s eyes start to focus again. His body began to uncurl and his grip on Bitty loosened. His eyes scanned the room, darting between a few objects before he looked at Thrash. He was coming out of it quickly, too quickly in fact. Even with help, it normally took longer for trolls to be firmly in reality again.

“Sorry I freaked out.” Branch’s voice was scratchy.

“Branch there’s nothing to apologize for, and you didn’t ‘freak out’.” Thrash said gently, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. This happens sometimes.” Branch looked down at Bitty, “Sorry I didn’t tell you. I can deal with it by myself normally, it’s never this bad.”

How often was ‘sometimes’ to him? How many times did Branch go through this alone to be used to calming himself down? How many adults had left him no other choice?

“Do you want to talk about why it happened?” Thrash asked, swallowing the urge to break something (someone). Branch tensed up a bit, so he was quick to clarify, “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I just wanted to know if we do something that upset you, that way we don’t do it again.”

“You said ‘goodbye forever’.” Branch mumbled.

“Branch, I didn’t–”

Branch cut him off, shouting, “I know what I heard!”

“I don’t doubt that you heard that, Branch. I’m very sorry for scaring you.” As much as he wanted Branch to know it was a misunderstanding, pushing too hard would only make him feel like it was an argument, or worse, make Branch feel like he couldn’t trust his own senses.

He frowned and stared at his hands for a few moments, “Did you really not? I’m not crazy, I know what I heard.”

“You’re not crazy, Branch.” Thrash would kill anyone who tried to tell this kid he was, “I said one of those two words, but not them both. Those words really upset you, don’t they?” Branch nodded, “I’ll be sure not to use them, and Barbara will too. What are some words you’d prefer?”

Branch stared at him with those confused eyes he often had any time Thrash or Barbara ask his opinion or otherwise treat him as a troll and not an object not allowed to have any boundaries. While Branch didn’t go much into details, he’d made it clear that in past homes he was not allowed much agency or personal space. He was very protective of the few items that were established as ‘his’, like his clothes and notebooks, and very secretive about anything he enjoyed. It seemed Pop Trolls were very particular about what they considered to fit their label. Ironic, given that in the past Pop Trolls were content to just take whatever and pretend it was theirs.

“Um, I don’t care if you guys say bye…” Branch paused, “But if you’re leaving the city it feels too permanent. Can you say ‘see you later’ next time?”

“Of course I can. Next week when I leave we’ll do that.” Thrash said reassuringly.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Not at all. When Barbara was your age, she got so upset that she wasn’t allowed to come with me on those trips that she locked me in the bathroom before I was about to leave. She passed me chips under the crack of the door so I wouldn’t starve and told me to drink the sink water.” He chuckled at the memory.

“How’d she fit a bag of chips under the door?”

“She didn’t, she shoved them under it one by one. Really had to trust in my cleaning skills that day.”

Branch’s nose scrunched up, “Did you really eat bathroom floor chips?”

“I ate worse in my heyday, trust me. If you don’t want me to eat floor chips, don’t be like Barbara and lock me in rooms.”

The playful banter seemed to work as a perfect distraction to Branch. While to some it might seem like Branch didn’t care for talk or opening up, that was far from the case. Thrash felt Branch had shared a great deal about himself. He didn’t like to be interrogated or forced to share things he wasn’t ready for, and who could blame him? Branch seemed to cling to these kinds of moments like a lifeline, especially any story about Barbara’s childhood. Thrash thought perhaps hearing their similarities and knowing that Barbara had a home still made him feel safer, less at risk of being passed to the next troll should Thrash grow tired of his antics. Of course Thrash would never, but he knew Branch couldn’t trust Thrash—or anyone—to not have conditions to their love.

It made his blood boil that a child was made to feel he could do something that would make him not worth the same care as any other child. Worse yet, Branch hadn’t done anything that was even that remotely strange or intolerable. Not that such a thing existed that would make their actions justified, but Thrash has read records of some children so violent and traumatized that they certainly weren’t for any troll who became a foster simply to get a free child. Were the Pop families so horribly mistrained that they couldn’t manage a few accommodations?

If Thrash ever met this ‘King Peppy’ he hoped that the man already had a few heirs, because if he was still alive after Thrash was done with him there wouldn’t be any hope of future children for him. Perhaps it could even be a family activity.

As for whoever it was who left Branch with such a cruel goodbye, Thrash hoped whatever they left for had been worth all that Branch had suffered for it.

Chapter Text

Branch could tell that Barb was bothered by how he acted yesterday despite how much she tried to hide it. It wasn’t that she seemed upset with him, like most typically were, but she was definitely upset because of him. He hated it. He hated making problems for other people. He hated that he felt guilty for people being upset that he was upset. He hated how awkwardly Barb was dancing around his emotions, hovering uncomfortably around him constantly and treating him like something on the verge of breaking. He wanted things to go back to normal again. He hated how she looked at him, with pitying eyes bearing down on him that reminded him of the days following the loss of his grandma.

“Aren’t you supposed to go meet your friends or bandmates or whatever?” He asked through gritted teeth.

Barb had been trying to entertain him for the past ten minutes by making Bitty dance around and tell jokes.

Terrible, awful jokes.

“I figured that can wait. I can spend the whole day with my favorite brother.” She said.

“I’m your only brother.”

“And you’re doing great at it.” She gave him a thumbs up and toothy grin.

“You’re lame and I wanna be alone.” He stood up, “And give me Bitty back.” He said, snatching his toy from her hands.

“Okay, but I’ll be right here if you need me!”

Branch rolled his eyes and went back to their bedroom, shutting the door slightly too loud behind him. He face-planted onto his bed and groaned into his pillow. There was something cruelly ironic about feeling suffocated and crowded by Barb only a day after he was terrified of being left alone by her.

When he felt this way at other homes it helped him to get away for a bit, so maybe it would help here? He normally would leave to the outskirts of the village, relaxing near the river where he’d settled his bunker near or in the lowest branches of the shorter trees. He hadn’t figured out how to actually leave the volcano just yet, nor did he think the ashen desert that surrounded it would be much of an enjoyable place to visit, so he’d need to think of somewhere else to go.

His map was still barely finished, so maybe he could walk around and fill it out? With the headphones Riff gave him he shouldn’t have any issues like last time, and when he was done maybe he could stop and get some coffee again at Death Metal Brew and even do a puzzle. Actually, that all sounded really nice right about now.

Luckily, their bedroom window faced the city, so Branch carefully tossed his backpack out and then followed after. He turned right and kept looking over his shoulder to make sure that Barb didn’t randomly decide to peek out of the front door and see him on his way. As long as he was back by dinner they hopefully shouldn’t notice he’d left, unless Barb decided to randomly go into their room. Normally she was good about giving him privacy when he asked, but she was being extra clingy today. Maybe he should have left a note, he didn’t want them to think he got kidnapped or anything. None of the other families ever noticed when he left, and if they did it apparently wasn’t an issue, so it was probably fine.

Thanks to his headphones, navigating the crowded area of the shopping district was much more tolerable. He still didn’t like how people bumped into him or brushed past him, but as long as he had his headphones on and kept looking down at his feet or notebook he wasn’t at risk of getting overwhelmed. All the bright signs were actually helpful too, in spite of being an eyesore, helping him label each building without needing to go in or ask for help.

Volcano Rock City was, against all odds, starting to feel like home. His map was helping, after all it was hard to feel at home in a place where you had no idea where anything was.

Walking into the coffee shop, Branch could definitely see this place being where he hid when things became too much. Puzzles, bitter coffee, employees who understood you just wanted your drink and not to ‘catch up’ for an hour straight, the place had it all. The only downside was that for the first thirty minutes his coffee was as hot as lava, but Branch was fine with any excuse to hang around and do puzzles for longer.

With his coffee and puzzle in hand, Branch took a small booth in the back of the dining area and let his mind go blank. He was halfway done with both his puzzle and coffee when he noticed a shadow fall over the table. Two girls around his age were standing near his table, looking at him expectantly.

He pulled his headphones down, “Huh?”

“I asked if we could sit here.” The girl with pigtails said.

Branch looked behind her and noticed the shop had filled up more, similar to when he and Barb had come. Sharing a table with Riff had been alright, so he nodded, “Yeah, sure.”

“Thanks mate.” The other girl, whose blue hair reminded Branch of a heart, said cheerily, “Name’s Petra, and this is Val.”

He stared at her blankly, “...Branch.”

“Aren’t you that troll that just showed up and nobody knows where you came from?” Petra asked.

“Maybe?” Technically Barb and Thrash knew where he was from, and most people who’d been on their bus probably knew or at least overheard something with as much as Barb was yelling about it.

“My dad said they found you living in the mines like a feral troll.” Val said.

Branch opened his mouth to correct her before remembering his conversation with Thrash on the bus. Pop Trolls weren’t meant to know about the Rock Trolls, though whether the reverse was true wasn’t said. Those on the buses knew they were close to Pop territory, and could likely draw the conclusion that the child that was suddenly grabbed was most likely a Pop Troll. If a rumor about where he came from was circulating, it meant none of the trolls he met had come forward with that, meaning that his origin was likely meant to be a secret. So instead, Branch just shrugged.

“Would definitely explain why you’re dressed like that. The boots are nice, but what’s with the vest?” Petra said.

Branch clutched his vest, “What’s wrong with my vest?”

“The vest is fine if you ask me, it kinda stands out. The shorts though…” Val trailed off, making a so-so gesture with her hand.

“Gee thanks.”

“We were just about to head off to the shops if you wanna tag along.” Petra said. In a weird way she reminded him of Poppy, if Poppy was anywhere near calm and could go five minutes without attempting to hug him or give him invitations.

He wanted to say no. His base instinct was to say no for any and all invitations or attempts at making him ‘socialize’. His instinct was to say no because an invitation to go shopping in the village would turn into an attempt to give him an entire wardrobe he hated, a glittery makeover, and contain no less than five musical numbers. Rock Troll hangouts—minus the violence—seemed to be a lot calmer and less intrusive, so maybe he could give it a try? He did need new clothes. Whenever he needed to wash his current (only) clothes he had to borrow one of Thrash’s old t-shirts that looked more like a dress on him. It’d be nice to have at least one change of clothes, and he had a considerable amount of allowance left after coffee.

“Sure.” He agreed before he could change his mind.

“You’ll love Grateful Thread, they have the best band tees. We were gonna go see if they had any Bad Hair Day ones yet.” Petra said.

“Wait, Petra, I have a way better idea.” Val stood up and grabbed Branch’s hand, “I know just the place.”

He jerked his hand out of her grasp, “That’s cool, let’s do that without grabbing… please.”

“So how are you liking Volcano Rock City?” Petra asked.

“It’s nice.” He shrugged, then added with a smirk, “A lot nicer than the mine I lived in for ten years.”

“Alright, we get it, the mine theory’s a bust.” She lightly punched his arm, “Val’s dad is a bit of a goofball, so we didn’t believe it that much.”

Val groaned, “Don’t even get me started on him. At my last concert he tried to crowdsurf onto the stage! It was so embarrassing, you have no idea.” She covered her face with her hands.

Branch stared at her blankly, “Yeah.”

Petra jabbed Val with her elbow and hissed, “Val.”

“Huh? Oh– OH! I mean, I’m thankful to have a dad! Since some people may or may not–” Petra elbowed her harder, “I mean– let’s talk about something other than dads! Like– uh, music?”

“I hate music.”

Val pulled her pigtails and growled, “Oh come on! Okay how about rocks? Nothing particularly traumatic about a rock, right?”

“I was found in a mine, rocks are deeply traumatic to me.” He deadpanned, but couldn’t help but laugh at Val’s anguished face.

Petra seemed to feel the same, laughing so hard there were tears in her eyes, “I’ve never seen anyone pull one on you like that, Val!”

“Ohhh funny guy, huh?” Val leaned in so close their faces nearly touched, “I’ll get you for that, and I’ll make it look like an accident.”

He smirked, “You’re welcome to try.”

Val grinned and slapped his back hard, “I love this guy! You’re alright, Branch.”

His smirk faded into a nervous smile. As much fun as he was having messing with trolls who actually seemed to share his sense of humor, he couldn’t help but felt like an imposter. They didn’t know how weird he was, they didn’t even know he wasn’t a Rock Troll. He didn’t want to deceive them, but maybe if he could just act normal for a bit, enough to become friends, then when they saw how weird he was they could ignore most of it.

It would be difficult to believe, with how he acted in the village, but Branch wasn’t against having friends. There had been days when he’d been by himself near the beginnings of his bunker where he propped up a random hammer or shovel and explained his entire plan to it, imagining it was a troll just as interested in water tables and soil compaction as he was. He kept every invitation Poppy gave him, staring at the cutouts of him next to her or her other close friends and imagining what it would be like if they were his friends. The fantasies were just that, too out of character to be considered real, but sometimes he imagined Cooper reassuring him that the two of them looking different was okay, or Satin and Chenille fixing the holes that developed on his clothes and explaining stitches to him in great detail. He’d actually picked up a book on stitching once (books on the arts seemed to be plentiful, while books on practical matters had a single bookcase in the back of the library) and read it with the hope that they’d be impressed with his knowledge of their interest. He still cringed thinking of how terribly that had went.

He wanted so badly to take a familiar postcard out of his vest and trace his fingers over the writing, but he’d been nervous to bring out the few items he’d had with him. Ashes and embers clogged the air, and the thought of any one of his remaining possessions going up in flames made him nervous. Other than the clothes on his back, he had only four things from his old life. Four pieces of paper to remember everything he had lost. Two he could no longer bear to look at, filling him with anger and regret. The others he would pull out when he was alone, whenever he felt lonely or homesick for a time he could never go back to.

“What do you think, Branch?”

“Huh?”

“I said, ‘What do you think, Branch?’” Val gestured at the shop that Branch hadn’t noticed they stopped at.

He narrowed his eyes at the sign in the window and read it aloud, “Shred and Thread: make your own rockin’ patch pants in two simple steps. Step one: Mosh hard to rip our jeans to shreds. Step two: Sew on our sick selection of patches.” He turned to Val, “What’s a ‘mosh’?”

“I’m really starting to think you actually lived in a mine your whole life. C’mon you’ll love this place, your whole vibe just screams crustpunk.” Val motioned for him to follow her in.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” He asked, but followed her and Petra.

The inside of the store was loud . Louder than outside. He supposed that had to do with the area labeled ‘mosh pit’ where people were jumping around to loud music and shoving each other around. Val and Petra had already moved on to looking at jeans, holding them up and comparing them.

“I’m thinking more like a smoke black than a void black, you know? Matches his hair.” Val held up a pair of jeans.

“I was thinkin’ more like a tank green.” Petra turned back towards him, “What do you think, mate? Mate?”

Branch flinched at a particularly loud yell from the mosh pit and covered his ears, “It’s loud– I mean, whatever you guys think.”

The two looked at each other and frowned, and Branch was sure this would be the moment the two realized something was wrong with him and left. Petra’s hands reached out towards him. He wanted to move, smack them away or even just flinch, but he felt frozen. She grasped his headphones, but rather than pull them away from him or break them she lifted them from around his neck and slipped them over his ears. They were turned off, so rather than the normal full silence, the chaos of the store was merely muffled.

“There you are. Forgot to put those back on.” Petra said, then began arguing with Val over shades of green as if nothing had happened.

Branch’s fingers ghosted over his headphones where her hands had been. He hadn’t meant to jump to assumptions, he didn’t think either girls were intentionally malicious, but intentions didn’t matter when it came to his things. There was a very good reason he was so protective of his things.

Accidents happen, after all. Whether they meant to or not, his things could be broken.

“Hey Shortstack, these are supposed to be for you.” Val snapped, “You’re gonna be stuck wearing them so choose.”

“Oh, uh,” He pointed at the pair in her hands, “The black’s good.”

“Ha! In! Yo! Face!” She yelled at Petra.

“Yeah yeah, good job winnin’ a coin toss. That was fifty-fifty and you know it.” Petra rolled her eyes with an amused grin.

“No one likes a sore loser, Petra. Anyway, Shortstack–”

“I’m like a hair shorter than you.” Branch interrupted.

She grinned smugly, “Yeah, and? Anyway , I’m guessing you don’t know how to mosh.”

“Is that necessary for buying jeans?” He asked.

“For these jeans? Yeah.”

He fidgeted with his gloves, “Are there non-moshing jeans?”

Petra took the jeans from Val, “How about I go mosh and you help Branch pick out some patches?”

“Sounds like a plan, c’mon Shortstack.”

He’d been a little confused at the implication he’d care what the patches looked like, and overall why these trolls would want to ruin a pair of jeans just to repair them. His own patchwork shorts weren’t a fashion choice, they were the result of necessity. Whenever he’d outgrow clothes or they got damaged he’d take scrap cloth and repair the damage, not caring how tattered or dirty they looked. As long as they were durable and got the job done, it didn’t matter how they looked.

Seeing the boxes of patches, each square and circle a detailed work of embroidery, Branch understood the hype. A little. Unlike his threadbare scraps, here trolls were adding artwork to their clothing. Also unlike his patches, these weren’t very likely to develop new holes anytime soon.

He dug through one of the bins alongside Val. Many of the patches seemed music related, but he still managed to find a few he liked. Some blue flames, a skull and crossbones, and a rose with thorns that reminded him of his grandma.

“So was the music thing part of messing with me or were you being serious?” Val asked.

“That was real.”

“I'm guessing band patches are out of question then?”

He nodded.

“Fair enough. Random junk it is.”

Val didn’t make any other attempts at conversation, though she kept glancing at him like she expected him to say something. If he had to guess, Petra did most of the heavy lifting conversation-wise, and with her gone she had no clue what to say. Eventually she seemed to decide on something.

“I’m not really good at feelings junk.” She said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I can be mean, too. I’m telling you since you’ve got issues.” She paused, “See? That was probably mean.”

Branch shrugged, “It’s true, though. I don’t think true things are mean.”

Val threw her hands up, “That’s what I’m saying! Sometimes I just say things that are true but they hurt people's feelings.”

“One time I tried to figure out why this kid looked so different from the rest of us and everyone told me it was rude of me to pick on him and it didn’t matter that he was different.” Branch said, frustration of the event returning, “I wasn’t picking on him, and it kind of does matter. I don’t think that it’s bad that he’s different. What if he has different dietary needs than us though? What if he’s not a troll, but a species with a convergent evolution to trolls?”

“Con-what evolution?”

“They keep insisting that how you look doesn’t matter but it does. It matters to them even if they lie about it, they all treat me bad since I’m grey. The only reason that Cooper looking different doesn’t matter is because they like him.” Branch growled.

“Yeesh. You need something to break?”

“Very much.” He snapped.

Val handed him a guitar, which he quickly brought down against the stone floor the same way he remembered Barb doing so. It splinted on impact, shards of woods and bits of the inner circuitry spraying out, scratching his legs.

He could see why Rock Trolls liked this sort of thing.

“I’m back! You two didn’t rip each other’s heads off while I was gone, did you?” Petra teased.

“Nah, Shortstack and I were just doing feelings stuff.” Val said dismissively.

“You? Feelings stuff? Who are you and what’d you do with the real Val Thundershock?”

“I’ll have you know I am actually a deep and emotionally vulnerable troll.” Val placed a hand over her heart.

The two stared at each other for a moment before falling over laughing, and Branch snorted at their antics. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous at the display. Despite Val’s insistence she wasn’t great with feelings, the two seemed to understand each other pretty well. What was it like to have someone who just got you like that? Someone who could make anything fun, that could make you laugh because they knew your sense of humor as well as you? Someone like Petra, who gently helped him put his headphones on? Someone like Val, who knew what it was like to have the things you say be misconstrued?

The two bickered and joked as they sewed patches onto the newly shredded jeans. Branch wasn’t sure how Petra had managed that from a few minutes of moshing and seeing how much damage could be done in such a short time had Branch a lot more reluctant to ever try it.

On one hand, it was nice to be included without the lingering expectation he should be participating more. Sure, they paused or gave prompts for him to jump in on, but if he stayed silent or gave short, uninterested replies they didn’t stare at him and wait for more or keep pressing him for details. Really it was a preferable way to spend time with peers. So why did he feel like he wasn’t supposed to be there? They were clearly having fun with just the two of them. If he left the conversation wouldn’t be lacking anything. Yeah they invited him, but maybe he ignored some sort of non-verbal cue that he wasn’t supposed to actually accept, or some cue that they were tired of him and he was supposed to leave.

Maybe not, as after his new jeans were done and paid for, they invited him somewhere else.

“We were gonna head to the music shop to look for CDs and meet up with our friend Demo. I know you hate music but you should come meet him. I bet you two would get along great.” Val said.

‘Absolutely not.’ His mind said.

“Yeah, sure.” His mouth said.

He briefly considered saying one of the many swears he’d picked up from Barb, but decided against it. Knowing Barb, she had a supernatural sense and would come running from the house the second he did.

“Cool. I said friend, but technically Demo’s my manager. He handles all the other junk about being in a band so that all I have to do is rock hard.”

“Is there a lot of ‘junk’ that needs to be done for a band?” Branch asked.

Val shrugged, “No clue, Demo also takes care of keeping track of how much junk there is.”

“Oh. So are you both in the same band or…?”

Petra shook her head, “Nah, I’m more of a devotee.”

“A what?”

“Devotees are hardcore fans of bands. They normally have one band they follow to every concert or listen to more than any other.” Petra explained, “My band is Bad Hair Day. Billy Reverb is just the coolest troll in the whole city.”

Branch immediately perked up, “You know Billy?!”

“I’m one of his biggest fans! I’ve got to see him at meet and greets, but I’ve always been too nervous to go up to him when I see him around the city.” Petra was grinning ear to ear, “I’m surprised you know about him, what with your music… issue.”

“He helped me pick out my first guitar. He said he liked my vest.” Branch was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Maybe I should get one like it to wear to his next show then.”

Val and Petra had a lot to tell him about Billy and his band Bad Hair Day. Petra had apparently been at a cafe where Bad Hair Day had booked one of their first performances and she’d been a fan ever since. She’d brought Val to a concert and Val got hooked too. Bad Hair Day was still in its early stages, but according to Val and Petra (who may be a bit biased) the band was climbing the ranks pretty quickly and had a good shot at becoming one of the top bands.

As much as he liked Billy though, he was still skeptical of listening to his music. He knew he needed to. If he ever wanted to move forward in his guitar lessons he needed to force himself to tolerate the sound of music. He didn’t want to tolerate Billy’s music. He deserved more than Branch listening to his songs with white knuckles and his body wound so tight he feels like a star about to collapse in on itself. What troll would ever want someone to have that kind of reaction to their music?

Well… Branch could think of one troll who would be most likely to be accepting of that reaction. Thrash never seemed offended by anything he did, so if any troll were to be fine with it, it would be Thrash.

“Looks like Demo isn’t here yet. Alright, let’s divide and conquer. Petra you look over here, I’ll check the middle and Shortstack you can take the back. We’re looking for Stricken’s album.” Val said once they arrived at the store.

“Are the CDs arranged by album name or band name?” Branch asked as he looked through one of the shelves. From a quick glance they certainly didn’t seem to be by album name.

“They’re not arranged by anything, they’re just all mixed in.” Val answered.

“What? That’s stupid, how is anyone supposed to find anything?”

“Just gotta look for it!” Petra yelled from the other side of the store.

That wasn’t going to fly with Branch. If there was one thing he was good at, it was organizing. He likely couldn’t organize the whole store before he had to get back home, but he could probably sort his entire section while still keeping an eye out for the CD Val and Petra wanted. Which sorting system would be best though? Album name certainly had its benefits, you’d simply go straight to its alphabetical location. What if you wanted to search for multiple albums from the same artist though? Then you’d be jumping around all over the store. Not to mention the difficulty if you had a specific song in my from an artist and didn’t know which album it was a part of. In both cases, sorted by artist name made more sense.

With the ‘how’ settled, Branch got right to work, grabbing CDs by the handful and pulling out any by artists with names beginning with A, B, C and D. It was a little difficult to read some of the names—Rock Trolls certainly liked stylized fonts—but he was slowly getting the hang of it thanks to Barb’s collection of books.

He’d just gotten into a groove when Val appeared at his side, her voice causing him to drop the CDs he’d been holding, “Are you really cleaning up the store for fun?”

He hesitated before answering, “Yeah?”

She and Petra (who he hadn’t noticed also wandered over) exchanged a look before bursting into laughter, and Branch wished more than ever he could just like something normal for once. He bit his lip and lowered his head, resigning himself to waiting out their taunts and cruel words.

Instead, an arm wrapped around him and tugged him close. The arm belonged to another troll his age with blue spikes for hair. “You would mock a fellow appreciator of all things alphabetized? Shame upon you, m’lady, shame!”

Val wiped at her eyes, still giggling, “Demo! About time you showed up. We’re not mocking him, it’s just that we both thought you both would get along really well–”

“–but we weren’t counting on you two having so much in common!” Petra finished.

“So you weren’t laughing at me?” Branch asked.

“No! Well, not really? It was just funny because Demo does the same thing any time we take him anywhere.” Val said.

“Oh, remember when he tried to organize the jeans at Shred and Thread by color and he almost popped a blood vessel he couldn’t tell if one pair was grey or blue?” Petra said.

Demo tsked, “Don’t even get me started on the orange versus red issue.”

“It’s just one of Demo’s quirks.” Val said with a shrug, “It’s why he’s such a good manager. Demo, this is Branch. Branch, Demo.”

Branch looked up at Demo, still being pressed into his side, “Hi, nice to meet you. Can you let me go?”

“Sorry, your royal rockness!” Demo quickly pulled his arm away.

“Royal rockness?” Branch raised an eyebrow.

“Indeed! Your dad is King Thrash, isn’t he?”

“Kinda? It’s complicated.” Branch quickly changed the subject, “Are we still looking for this CD or what?”

The group split up again, with Demo joining Branch in organizing his part of the store. Pop Trolls didn’t have band managers, at least that he knew of. In BroZone, all of the scheduling, wardrobe, equipment checks and set lists were handled by John Dory, which often led to conflicts. In Kismet, each of them took on whichever tasks they were good at. Boom handled wardrobe, Trickee scheduled shows and promoted them, Ablaze handled equipment and Hype planned out the shows and choreography. Branch would do a little of each, helping each where he could and picking up the smaller jobs. It was chaotic, and a lot of work, but it had always felt worth it. Maybe if John Dory had hired a manager to help with the band, there wouldn’t have been so much stress on him and the band wouldn’t have…

No, it still would have. It was Branch’s fault, not John’s, not Spruce’s, not Clay’s and not Floyd’s.

Managing actually sounded really interesting, especially when Demo brought out his color coded schedule. Val actually fell to the ground like she was about to pass out, gasping out ‘so boring!’ as she grasped at the air. Demo didn’t seem insulted, assuring Branch it was just how they teased each other. Even if Val found some of the things Demo liked to be mind-numbingly boring, she didn’t want Demo to stop doing them.

What would life back home have been like if Poppy and her friends had been like this? Where instead of laughing at his bunker, they listened to him share his plans. They wouldn’t have understood a word he was saying, but maybe they could have learned? He had learned. He learned about sewing and worms and weightlifting just so he could keep up with their own interests.

He really shouldn’t be thinking like that. If they had wanted to be his friend, they would have tried. They could have tried. They simply didn’t want to, and to save face they gave him empty invitations. He was stupid for thinking they were genuine.

“Here, can you organize the Ts?” Demo handed him a stack of CDs.

“Yeah.” He began flipping through them. Tantrum, Tears Run Black, Thorn, Thrash, TOOL–

What was that last one?

Branch flipped back to a dark orange and black CD. The art on the case depicted what looked like a much younger Thrash with some sort of monster behind him.

“Is this King Thrash?” He showed Demo the case.

“Oh, that’s old school rock!” Demo held up the CD like it was the Trolly Grail, “This is one of King Thrash’s most popular albums. Can’t believe I didn’t even notice it!”

Branch took the CD back and stared at it for a minute, “Hey uh, I’ll be right back.”

He hurried over to the register, standing behind Val, who had finally found what she’d been looking for in the unorganized mess of the store. She raised an eyebrow as he paid for the CD, but thankfully didn’t ask any further questions.

“Alright, I’m starved. You guys wanna get somethin’ to eat?” Val asked, arms crossed behind her head.

“Ooooo, loaded fries would be a~maz~ing!” Demo sang.

“Demo, no singing.” Petra chastised.

“Branch!”

Uh oh.

Chapter Text

“Alright, I’m starved. You guys wanna get somethin’ to eat?” Val asked, arms crossed behind her head.

“Ooooo, loaded fries would be a~maz~ing!” Demo sang.

“Demo, no singing.” Petra chastised.

“Branch!”

Before Branch could say he didn’t mind, since he’d actually never brought up his music aversion to Demo, his name was screamed and something fast and hard crashed into him, tangling around him and sending him tumbling away from the trio. Whatever it was protected him from getting scratched up on the rocky floor, but his head still spun from the tumble, as well as landing upside down.

“Branch!” The thing that had tackled him—that he was currently on top of—was Barb, “I found you!”

“Barb? What are you doing here?” He rolled off of her and brushed himself off.

“What am I doing here?! I go to check on my baby brother and he’s missing!” Barb picked him up and tucked him under her arm like he was a sleeping bag. “I’ve got to get this little guy home. Either thanks for keeping an eye on him or I’ll kill you three for kidnapping him.” Barb told the trio.

A feeling of deja vu struck Branch, as he was once again being carried away by Barb against his will. It was a brief distraction that quickly washed over him before being overtaken by pure annoyance. Why’d she have to show up now, when he had finally found other kids his age that didn’t think his greyness was contagious? She humiliated him in front of the closest thing he’d gotten to friends in years.

“Put me down!” He kicked his legs as hard as he could until eventually Barb’s grip faltered and he fell onto the ground. “What’d you do that for?!”

“Uh, how about a ‘thanks Barb for coming to get me in case I had been kidnapped’?” Barb huffed, hands on her hips.

“What kidnapper would let me pack up my stuff before taking me from the literal King of Rock’s home?!” Branch asked incredulously.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t take inventory of all your stuff before going out to find you!” She shot back, then asked, “Where have you been? I went to your room and you were just gone. No note or anything! If you just wanted to look around town you could have asked and I would have brought you!”

“I didn’t want you to bring me! What’s the big deal? I was gone for a couple of hours inside the city.”

“The big deal is I was worried sick about you!”

“Well I didn’t ask you to be! None of the other families ever complained when I left for a few hours!”

Barb’s expression froze for a second before shifting into a snarl. She leaned down, pressing her face against his, “Well we do, so deal with it!”

He growled in frustration, “I’ve been on my own for years now, I can handle myself!”

“Branch, you got kidnapped. By me! A teenage Rock Troll!” Barb gestured at herself wildly, ”Full disrespect, but no, you can’t handle yourself! That’s what big sisters are for, protecting baby brothers."

“Careful Barb, don’t hurt your arm patting yourself on the back.” Branch spat, “I get it, you’re such a good big sister! You’re sooo happy to be a big sister.”

“Yeah, I am. What’s the problem?” Barb stood up straight and crossed her arms, her angry expression becoming clouded with confusion.

“The problem is you don’t need me for that. Go find some other pathetic orphan who actually needs you to baby him!” Branch shouted, “You’ll probably like him better since he’ll like music instead of being defective like me! ”

“Branch, you’re not–” Barb started, reaching towards him. He swatted her hands away.

“I am!” He was tired of trolls pretending there wasn’t something wrong with him. They acted like he was just like them, and so they could treat him like they treated anyone else and then were shocked when that didn’t work. Something was wrong with him and he was tired of people pretending there wasn’t.

Branch marched back towards where they’d left Petra, Val and Demo, stopping after a few steps and turning back towards Barb, “I’m going out. There’s your note.”

“Branch…” Barb called after him, but didn’t make any move to follow him.

He stormed back towards the music shop, slowing down when he began to realize he wasn’t even sure if they’d want to spend time with him anymore. He was still waiting for them to realize how different he was from them and how weird a troll who didn’t sing was. Now he was the weird troll who didn’t sing and got carried away by the princess of Rock, who threatened them. Even if he wasn’t weird, who would want to hang out with someone who’d get them in trouble? Trouble with royalty, no less.

The worst part? He doesn’t want to spend time with them either. Not fully. He wants to run back to Barb, hang onto her leg and beg her to take him back home and forget he said anything. He wants to promise her he’ll never leave the house again if it means he can keep playing the part of her little brother. He wants her to pick him up, tell him she’s just glad he’s safe and that’s all that matters.

But he doesn’t go back. He kept walking forward, forcing his legs to carry him away, hoping that as long as he focused on putting one foot in front of the other until he sees familiar faces that he’ll keep it together.

He spotted his frien– he spotted Petra, Val and Demo still hanging around the CD shop chatting. Val was the first to notice him, getting the attention of the others.

“Woah, I thought you were a goner. Did Barb really let you off that easy?” Petra asked.

“No, she had a lot more left to say but I don’t wanna hear it right now.” Branch said, then hesitantly added, “I need a break. If you guys were still going out can I tag along?”

Please say yes, please say yes. Please don’t let me have misunderstood everything. Please don’t let me be wrong and embarrass myself again.

“Yeah dude, you can hang with us.” Val said with a nonchalant shrug.

He forced himself to not look too excited.

“The rumors of you being a lost prince of all things metal and awesome must be true, to stand up to Princess Barb!” Demo said, walking beside Branch while Val and Petra led the way.

“What? I thought the rumor was that I was a feral mine troll, now I’m a lost prince?” Branch raised an eyebrow, “How many rumors are there about me?”

Demo made a show of counting on his fingers, “Seven. Nine if you count alternate details as separate theories.”

Branch struggled to even come up with a single theory other than what was the truth, and if the truth is one of those theories he’s not even sure he could properly deny it outright. He’ll just need to blanket deny everything, “I can tell you right now that none of them are probably even close to the truth.”

Demo pouted, which was a weird expression to see on a Rock Troll, “None of them?”

“Probably.” He shrugged, “If feral mine troll and long lost prince are the prime example of your guys’ creativity.”

The restaurant Val picked wasn’t too packed, thankfully, and she took them to a booth far in the back. There was something weirdly bright about the place when compared to the dark and stoney aesthetics of the other stores. The rock walls and floors weren’t exposed here, instead covered by black and white checkerboard tiles. Red neon lights cast an almost pink hue over the place. The lunch counter was bright chrome, with the stools and booth seats red and white and what looked to be some kind of games were sat in the corner.

The menu was a bit overwhelming, with too small font on a colorful patterned background. He tried to find something he knew he enjoyed, or had at least eaten before, but it felt like he was racing against the clock of a server coming over to take their order.

He’d still not decided by the time their waitress came over, but help came once again in the form of Petra.

“Haven’t decided yet, can you come back in a few?”

She winked at Branch and then went back to chatting with Val, not even calling attention to it. Val and Demo definitely hadn’t noticed that Petra had closed her menu after saying that, clearly knowing exactly what she wanted, yet she didn’t even mention it. She’d just done it. She helped him and didn’t announce it, or even really draw attention to it beyond a single signal to him.

With the Pop Trolls, there was this weird idea that nice things couldn’t be done in secret. Anytime someone went out of their way to do something nice they made sure to point it out and talk about it for months. There had been one family he’d stayed with and he’d stupidly told their son about how nervous he was to ask for things, too scared to draw attention to himself. His foster brother had offered to do that for him, then went and told all of his friends how ‘kind’ he was for doing this for Branch. Branch hadn’t wanted attention drawn to his shyness and he’d thought they’d understood that and wanted to help, but in the end it was just about ‘feeling’ like they were helping.

It felt like kind deeds were tallied, and if you didn’t speak of it then it didn’t count. He’d once heard Poppy say that kind deeds deserve proper thanks, and giving gifts anonymously was a mockery to that. That had been after a few months of slipping labelless gifts into stacks at parties. He couldn’t help it, he didn’t really like how people would act when they read the gift was from him. Somehow they always assumed it would be terrible, and when it would actually be a nice and thoughtful gift they would overly praise it with backhanded compliments like how it was so surprising someone ‘like him’ could manage to be so thoughtful. After a few times of that, Branch had switched to never attending and just sneaking gifts to them in secret, but apparently that wasn’t how trolls did things.

Petra had a chance to make herself look better here. He could imagine how a Pop Troll would phrase it. ‘I don’t actually need a few minutes, but I noticed you did Branch.’ Then everyone would look at him and question why he needed so long and why he couldn’t have said that.

Petra just did it and moved on.

“Hey Shortstack, you good?” Val asked.

“Yeah, just… can’t decide.” He said quietly.

“Get the Greaser Special.” Val said, leaning over the table and pointing at one of the pictures, “It’s literally the best thing here.”

Branch looked at the picture and made a face, “I don’t like olives.”

“Ask for no olives then.”

The waitress came back to get their orders, and Branch rehearsed what he was going to say as she asked each of the others first. When he successfully ordered without stuttering or messing up it felt like a victory…

…until his food came and it had olives on it.

He weighed his options and resigned himself to picking them out, knowing that whether they actually changed the flavor of the dish or not he’d still feel like he could taste them.

Val slammed her hands down on the table and shouted, “Hey! He said no olives!”

The waitress looked between him and her and switched their plates, apparently just having mixed up which dish was which. Val looked down at her fries and then looked bashful. “Oops. My B.”

“Val!” Branch whisper-yelled at her, “You shouldn’t yell at the waitress.”

“I thought she messed up your food,” Val shrugged, “And you definitely weren’t gonna say anything. For someone who got Princess Barb off your back you sure are a doormat.”

“I’m not a doormat.” Branch said, “It’s just easier to yell at someone who keeps acting like she has any right to be worried about me.”

The three stared at him, not saying anything but giving their full attention.

“I’ve been on my own for years and now I’m supposed to just do whatever she wants just because she’s my ‘big sister’ now? Like that matters?” Branch paused his rant to eat some of his fries, “She’s just a foster sister, and whenever they’re tired of me I’m just gonna go to the next place so why should I listen to her?”

Val and Petra exchanged glances, Val then slowly said, “If it helps, I caught King Thrash and my dad talkin’ about somethin’. I dunno what the first part was, but King Thrash definitely said he was keeping you.”

Branch looked at her. King Thrash told someone that? King Thrash told someone he was keeping Branch forever?

“You’re sure? Did he say forever or could he have just meant for a bit?” Branch spoke in a rush, desperation tinting his voice.

“He didn’t say forever but it was kind of implied?” Val said unsurely, “I didn’t understand a lot of what they said, and I missed most of it.”

Branch huffed, looking out the window.

“Branch?” Petra asked, getting his attention, “Why are you so mad at Barb?”

He tried to look Petra in the eye but couldn’t, going back to staring out the window, “She keeps being all caring and stuff and I want her to stop.”

“How come?”

“Because it’s fake!” Branch yelled, “She doesn’t care about me, she just likes getting to be a ‘good big sister’.”

“Branch, I’m gonna say one of those things that everyone tells me is rude.” Val said, “I think you’re being paranoid and dumb.”

Branch glared at her, but Petra chimed in, “I think what Val means is she’s worried that–”

“No, I know what she meant.” Branch interrupted her, “I’m not paranoid if I’m right every single time. Just watch, before the year’s up I’ll have lived with every troll in the city.”

“Is that a bet?” Val asked.

“Val!” Demo exclaimed.

“What? I like those odds. End of December I’ll be showing up at Thrash’s ready to collect my winnings.” Val held out her hand for him to shake.

“Fine, when I win you have to admit you were wrong and…” Branch paused and tried to think of something he could gain, “And you have to help me with one favor. You’re not allowed to complain that it’s stupid or boring or lame either.”

“And when I win, you have to tell me your deal. Unless you decide that I’m such a cool friend and tell me your epic backstory before then, in which case…” She paused for dramatic effect, “When you’re old enough you have to get a ‘Val Thundershock’ tattoo. Somewhere noticeable and you can’t cover it up.”

“Well now I definitely won’t tell you, even if I wanted to.” He said, then added, “Not that you have any chance of winning.”

“Yeah yeah, do we have a deal?”

He took her hand and shook it, “Deal.”

Feeling lighter, for some reason, Branch tried to go back to eating his fries before hearing the sound of a record player turn on. What he’d thought was some sort of arcade game was a giant glowing record player, and soon the diner was filled with the sound of music. Unlike the fragments he’d heard before, like Barb’s playing or Billy’s singing, there wasn’t harsh screeching electric guitar or loud drums. The lyrics didn’t sound very aggressive either. The whole thing sounded almost Pop-like.

“Well, since my baby left me,”

“Well, I found a new place to dwell,”

“Well, it's down at the end of Lonely Street,”

“At Heartbreak Hotel.”

“You wanna put your headphones on?” Petra asked, “We’ll let you know when it’s off.”

“Wait what’s happening?” Demo looked between them, confused.

“Branch hates music.” Val said bluntly.

“ Hates–” Demo’s voice cracked loudly and the pair shushed him. He lowered his voice to a stage whisper, “Hates music? Like all music all music?”

“Yeah.” Branch said.

“Soft Rock?” “Yes.” “Metal?” “Yes.” “Thrash Metal?” “Yes.” “Indie Rock?” “Yes!” “Emo? Goth? Grunge? Prog-Rock? Nu Metal? Rockabilly? Screamo? Sludge Metal?”

Branch’s hand shook as he hit the table, “Yes, yes, a million times yes!”

“I gotta hand it to you Demo, you know a lot of subgenres.” Petra said, sounding impressed. Val nodded in agreement.

“What can I say, I’m a music connoisseur.” Demo said with a shrug, then looked nervous, “Well a Rock connoisseur. Obviously not music as in from other genres, that would be crazy!” He laughed loudly.

Val stared at him suspiciously, then shrugged, “Yeah, would be pretty wild.”

Okay, they cannot be this clueless.

“Demo, are you maybe interested in other genres?” Branch pressed.

“Who, me? Interested in other genres? What gave you that idea? Definitely not, my interests in music are completely normal.” Demo was practically sweating in his seat.

Petra seemed to catch on, “Wait, are you actually? That explains a lot.”

Val glared at Demo from across the table, “Tell the truth, Demo.”

“Okay fine! I admit it.” Demo’s head hit the table with a thud, “I’ve always kinda wondered about other music. Now get out of my head!”

Branch raised an eyebrow, “That’s hardly a secret. You lie so badly, you started to break immediately.” Branch looks at Petra and Val, “Seriously, he was so obvious.”

Petra shrugged, “Rock Trolls don’t really lie.”

“Wait what? You don’t– I mean we don’t?” Branch asked, quickly correcting himself.

“We’re a ‘say what we mean’ kind of group.” Val said.

Branch frowned at that. Pop Trolls had weird attitudes on lying, often doing this weird dance around using the word but fully enjoying the act. Naturally there were justifications to lying. They would lie to spare your feelings, or save face, or preserve their illusion of safety. There were a hundred reasons why you could lie and Branch often butted heads for being too truthful. He wouldn’t mince words to make someone feel better, which led to his poor image in the eyes of the village.

It was also why he didn’t trust anyone to actually be truthful when it came to the matter of his living arrangements.

“Huh…” Branch said, mostly to himself. Maybe Barb was just like that, completely honest with her intentions, wearing her heart on her sleeve.

What was he meant to do with that revelation? Just believe everything she said forever? Just because Rock Trolls didn’t lie often or weren’t good at lying didn’t mean they couldn’t lie or lie well. Believing everything someone said obviously backfires regularly, if this was anything to go by. Petra and Val are good friends with Demo, if how they act is anything to go by, and they never questioned what Demo said. Even when he was clearly lying they believed him. It was weird when he always thought Pop Trolls were too trusting, especially given how regularly they're stretching the truth.

“–so go ahead, give me the face of utter disappointment.”

Oops, it seemed Branch had tuned out most of Demo’s admission.

“What? Demo I’m not disappointed in you man.” Val said, “I mean… it’s weird.”

Petra nods, “Pretty weird.”

“But you’re weird, so it’s all good.” Val pointed at him, “So long as you don’t go thinking anything is better than my music.”

“Never!” Demo shook his head and waved his hands, “Nothing’s better than the Val Thundershock’s pure awesomeness!”

“You and Branch can even each other out.” Petra said, “The troll who hates all music and the troll who loves all music.”

“A classic duo!” Demo practically had stars in his eyes when he took Branch’s hands, “Your royal rockness, it would be my highest honor to be one of your trusted bros.”

Branch pulled his hands away, unable to match Demo’s intense eye contact. He looked to Val and Petra for help, but the two were just giggling at them, “Just ‘Branch’ is fine, and we can do that? You’re asking to be friends, right?” Demo nodded, “Yeah, we can be friends.”

“Welcome to the band, Shortstack. You wanna try to beat my pinball score now?”

The rest of the day felt like a dream. He was worried it was, actually. He and Val took turns on the pinball machine, Demo and Petra each joining a ‘side’ and rooting them on. His first game hadn’t gone very well, but Petra and Demo had assured him it was his practice round and to try again. He was surprised to find that there was a skillset to the game. Thought that needed to go into timing and knowledge about trajectory.

The next few games went much better for him.

They talked about TV and books and coffee and a million random things that Branch will keep playing over in his head for years because it was just so perfect. Even when Branch would go on tangents about pulley systems or sap collecting, the three just nodded along, chiming in with their own interests he knew nothing about. 

“South facing side of the tree is the best side for collecting sap, so I normally aim for that unless I’ve already drilled on that side last season.”

“How come?”

“So the south side gets the most sunlight–”

“You just can’t get that kind of powerslide on a moto critter, it doesn’t have the horsepower. Now a coupe bug? It has the horsepower and the limited slip differential–”

“What’s that?”

“Okay so with wheels–”

Somehow they’d managed to turn him accidentally telling them he’d ranked utensils (they even agreed that spoons are a solid fourth) into an interesting conversation. They made up a tier list and began arguing the rankings of random groups of things, starting off with random kinds of chairs–

“Bean bags beat out folding chairs, what are you even saying?!”

“I can’t hit a guy with a bean bag and knock him unconscious!”

“You could if you weren’t weak!"

–and ending with ordering one of every soda and ranking them. After that they took what was left, mixed them all together, tried that and ranked it. Val and Branch both liked it a lot, while Petra just shrugged and Demo made a face so awful that Val quickly took a photo to use as ‘blackmail’ against a photo Demo had of her looking, in her words, ‘too cutesy and un-awesome’.

“Please, my image!” Demo faked a sob, “You’ll ruin my reputation as an iron-bellied Rock Troll!”

“Demo, you almost threw up in the lava pools because you jumped right in after eating.” Val said, holding the photo out of his reach with a smirk, “You don’t have a reputation to lose.”

“Maybe I should get a camera, then I could’ve taken a photo of your face earlier.” Branch said, remembering her expression of pure horror at believing she’d accidentally offended him by talking about rocks.

“We don’t need to bring that up–”

Petra slung an arm around Demo, “Oh, I’ve gotta tell you about it, mate.”

Branch started to laugh, “Wait let me–”

“Don’t you dare, Shortstack!”

“Hey, kiddo.” 

Branch looked up to see Billy waving as he walked up to the table. Petra was not-so-subtly hitting Val on the arm while whispering ‘oh my god oh my god’ over and over again, who looked like she was trying to play it cool. Demo, meanwhile, looked as if he was about to pass out from excitement.

“Billy!” Branch grinned before remembering the world that existed outside the diner, “Did Barb make you come find me?”

“She asked if I’d keep an eye out for you. It’s getting late, so you kids should probably head home.” Billy said, only to be met with a chorus of booing, “I know, I know.”

“Wait!” Val pulled out her camera, “We should get a picture first.”

Val thrust the camera in Billy’s hands, who looked like he’d been about to do the standard ‘no photos’ dismissal John Dory used to. Branch could tell because his face passed through confusion, embarrassment and acceptance in a single second afterwards.

“Alright, squeeze in. Everyone say ‘Rock n’ Roll’!”

Branch let himself be squeezed into the middle of a group hug, timidly matching the same hand gesture the others threw up as they all yelled.

“Rock n’ Roll!”

Billy snapped the photo and shook it, handing it to Val along with a marker, “Looks good. Make sure you sign it. It’ll be worth a ton when you four are famous.”

They each took turns signing their name on the photo. Val had written ‘Val Thundershock’ in black marker, with thick letters that took up nearly half the free space, along with drawing on the corners. Petra had used her own blue pen, writing her name beside Val’s as ‘+ Petra’. Demo’s handwriting matched his own manner of speech, curlier and elegant. Branch had written his own name smaller than even Demo’s, almost afraid his signature was ruining the entire photo.

“Here,” Val held the photo out to Branch, “If your foster sister doesn’t kill you for sneaking out, we’ll be seein’ you.”

Billy took Branch’s hand and led him out of the diner. He watched as his friends turned the opposite way, waving until they were out of sight. The diner had really been a bubble away from the world, the bright fluorescent lights making Branch not notice how dark the sky had gotten. He yawned, trailing behind Billy.

“Did you have fun?”

Branch nodded. All at once exhaustion came crashing down on him.

“I like your new friends.”

“I do too.” Branch yawned again, “Is Barb mad at me?”

“Maybe. She’s mostly worried.”

“She doesn’t have to be. I can take care of myself.” Branch stumbled a bit, legs feeling heavy.

“Okay, up we go.” Billy lifted him up into his arms with ease, Branch’s head tucked into the crook of his neck, “And I know she doesn’t have to be, but she cares about you.”

“Even though I snuck out?”

“Branch, we’re Rock Trolls. Sneaking out is a rite of passage, and you’re an early bloomer on that. I didn’t sneak out until I was fourteen.” He could practically hear the smile in Billy’s voice, “My brothers were such snitches about it too. I got them back though, being the baby of the family means having a lot of dirt on them.”

Branch just hummed in acknowledgement. Of course he’d know that. That had been him once.

“She won’t be too mad about that, is my point.”

“I yelled at her, too.” Branch mumbled, “Again.”

“I yell at my brothers a lot. Sometimes siblings fight.”

He knew that better than anyone too. It was precisely why he was so afraid.

His eyelids were getting heavy, “I don’t want her to leave forever though.”

“I know, bud, I know.”

He must’ve dozed off, because he awoke to being jostled. He was pulled away from Billy’s chest, despite how tight his fingers had grasped his jacket, and tucked into someone else’s arms.

“–know more than anyone I don’t mind.” Billy’s voice said.

“I’m gonna get him to bed. Thanks again, man.”

He was still fighting sleep, nearly dozing off again before waking up as he was being laid in bed. Barb was sat on the edge of his bunk, barely illuminated by the orange glow that shone through their window. She untied each of his boots and set them down carefully on the ground, then dug into his backpack and pulled out Bitty.

She placed Bitty into his arms and pulled his sheets up. She must have noticed his eyes were open. “Hey.” She greeted him in a hushed voice.

“‘m sorry.” The words came out slow and muffled.

She smiled and ruffled his hair, “Get some sleep.”

He grabbed her hand as she started to get up, “Don’t leave.”

“Okay.”

Branch fell asleep for the rest of the night to the soothing feeling of Barb’s hand running through his hair.

Chapter Text

Branch woke up uncomfortable. He was sweating underneath the sheets, his back was twisted up like a maypole and his legs were in a weird position. Sitting up, despite his protesting muscles, he quickly realized the reason for his odd sleeping position. Barb had fallen asleep at the foot of his bed, forcing him to twist around until he was nearly diagonal to have space. If he had to guess, at one point she’d been on top of his legs, leading to him getting too warm under his cooling blanket.

“Barb?” Nothing. He nudged her with his foot. “Barb?”

“I’m up!” Barb shot up, slamming her forehead onto the bottom of her bunk and falling back onto the bed with a groan and a very loud swear.

He flinched, feeling the phantom pain himself. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, right as a wrong.” She rubbed her head and grumbled, “I’m gonna break these bunk beds one day.”

It was such a normal interaction that Branch almost felt safe. Like things weren’t going to be different. Like he hadn’t ruined everything yesterday.

But he had.

Barb seemed to notice his bad mood because she was quick to wave her hands, “Really, I’m okay!”

“It’s not that…” He trailed off. How does he even bring this up?

“Oh,” Barb seemed to catch on, “We can talk over breakfast. Dad told me to tell you you’re not in trouble. He said he didn’t want you to worry about that.”

Branch froze. He’s not in trouble? He snuck out when he apparently wasn’t supposed to, yelled at Barb, snuck off again and he wasn’t in any trouble at all? That didn’t make any sense. There wouldn’t be any reason for Barb to be so angry yesterday if he wasn’t going to be in trouble. Thrash didn’t want him to worry, Barb said so, so maybe this was one of those ‘bend the truth’ situations?

“I see you doing that.” Barb poked his forehead, “The overthinky thing you do. That’s why dad wanted to get that out of the way, so you wouldn’t be wondering how much trouble you were in all through breakfast.”

“Forgive me for being skeptical.” He grumbled, getting out of bed and stretching out his sore back, “You didn’t have to sleep on my bed the whole night. You could have left once I fell asleep.”

“You asked me not to leave.”

He froze mid stretch.

‘But not you, Floyd. You’re not leaving too.'

He’d asked. God how he had asked before. He’d gotten so tired of asking people not to leave that he had stopped. No one stayed so why bother asking just to be disappointed? He hadn’t asked anyone to stay in over two years but his tiredness must have clouded his mind last night because he’d asked Barb.

And she did it. Barb stayed. It was for such a dumb reason, and he likely wouldn’t have noticed if she went to bed after he fell asleep, so long as she woke up before him. Even then, without the reminder he wasn’t sure if he would have remembered asking her that.

But she had stayed.

“Branch?” Barb nudged his shoulder, “You okay?”

“Don’t make this weird.” 

That was the only warning he gave her before quickly wrapping his arms around her waist. If Barb was a Pop Troll, she’d probably have a lot to say about his technique. He could practically hear a voice like Poppy’s in the room with him. ‘It’s too limp, you need to really squeeze to show how much you care! And take your time, hugs should be annoyingly long!’ Barb wasn’t a Pop Troll though, and he couldn’t imagine her ever saying something like that. If she knew what the Poppy–like voice in his head was saying Branch could practically hear what Barb would say back. ‘You wouldn’t know a good hug if it kicked you in the head! This is the best hug ever from the best little brother ever! Go eat dirt!’

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d willingly hugged someone just because he wanted to. It must have been the day Kismet left. But a hug not related to loss? To grieving? A hug not meant to comfort him, but was because he was thankful? Because he was grateful? Because he cared? It must have been before his grandma…

Barb was warm. Were hugs always this warm, or was Barb’s Rock Troll genetics in play? He didn’t know, but he didn’t mind either way. It was… Nice. He was surprised by how soft it was. Despite her skin’s stony texture against his cheek that was pressed against her stomach, it didn’t feel like hugging a statue. Up close like this he could notice how the smell of campfire smoke clung to her clothes, mixing with warm cologne. It was nice and familiar, like home.

The hug had only been a few seconds long, not even enough time to take in the sensations fully. He’d pulled away fast, looking up at her nervously. He could see her processing the hug, eyes wide as she looked down at him before her lips pulled back in her signature grin that was all teeth and gums.

“Don’t make it weird.” He repeated.

Barb made a noise that sounded like if you could scream in lowercase.

“Stop it.”

“Dad!” Barb scrambled out of the room on all fours and screamed, “I got my first ever hug!”

There was a crash from the other room that meant Barb had likely smashed something out of excitement, and Branch couldn’t help but roll his eyes with a faint smile. Typical Barb.

Maybe… maybe she would be different. Maybe she’d stay.

He followed her path of destruction to the kitchen, sitting next to her at the table. Thrash ruffled his hair, and his worries began to fade away. A warm plate of food was waiting for him, along with gentle conversation about everything Thrash and Barb had scheduled to do today. Once he was finished eating his nerves returned a little as he waited for the difficult conversation to start.

“Heard you went on a little adventure yesterday.” Thrash said.

Branch nodded, “Yeah…”

“And that you and Barbara had a little disagreement.” He sipped his cup of coffee.

His cheeks burned with shame as he looked down at his plate, “Yeah…”

King Thrash patted his hand, “It happens. Let’s talk about it. Who wants to go first?”

‘ It happens ’? He’s not wrong, it does, it’s just never been something that someone like him was allowed to do. Friends have ‘disagreements’, then they hug and make up. Except for him. He doesn’t have ‘disagreements’, he has fights. Fights that are just another sign he’s not trying to get along and be happy. Another sign that he’s broken.

Barb raised her hand, “Me! Pick me!”

He chuckled, “Alright, Barbara. Why don’t you explain what happened yesterday from your point of view?”

She nodded, “So I was cheering up Branch when he said he wanted alone time. I’m like ‘alright chill’ and he leaves, and like two hours later I’m like ‘okay he’s had too much alone time I should make sure he’s not dead’–”

Branch interrupted her, “Why would I be dead?”

“It’s my turn!” Barb hit the table with her fist, “So I open the door and he’s gone ! That’s when I yelled that Branch was kidnapped and ran out to go find him. Then I found him with a bunch of kids and safely retrieved him. Then we started yelling.”

“Why did you start yelling at Branch?” Thrash asked. There wasn’t anything accusatory in his tone, just genuine curiosity.

Barb threw her hands up, “Cause I was frustrated! I thought he was kidnapped and he just went on a walk!” She crossed her arms and huffed, “Then Branch said stuff that bugged me, and then he left.”

“Branch, why don’t you tell me your side of the story, and then we can address what those things were?” Thrash suggested.

“Um, okay.” Branch tried to recall the day from the beginning, “Barb was right, she was trying to cheer me up, I guess, but it was getting really smothering. I used to go out to the edge of the woods all the time when I lived at Pop Village and no one ever said anything about it–”

“That’s one of the things he said that bugged me.” Barb interjected.

“ It’s my turn! ” Branch mocked in the same tone she’d used.

“Kids.” Thrash’s voice had a warning laced into it.

“Sorry. Um, so I went out to work on my map for a bit, then got some coffee. I was gonna come home after that, but then these two girls invited me to hang out with them. We went out a couple places and I met one of their other friends and we were about to go out for food when Barb tackles me!” Branch turned back towards Thrash, “She carried me away and threatened to beat them up!”

“Only if they had kidnapped you!” Barb corrected.

“Well they didn’t! I feel like you’re forgetting you’re the only person who has kidnapped me!”

Barb huffed and crossed her arms, sinking down in her chair. She mumbled, “Yeah well… not my fault you look like a Rock Troll.”

“Branch, what are some things that Barbara said or did that upset you?” Thrash gently asked.

“Well for starters, she could have scared off the first trolls who wanted anything to do with me since I went grey! Did you think I was drowning in friendships at Pop Village? Do trolls with plenty of friends go with a bunch of strangers in their giant critter buses?! Even if I ‘look like a Rock Troll’–” Branch made quotation marks with his fingers because he didn’t believe that, “–I definitely don’t act like one. I actually was a Pop Troll and I didn’t act like them so they wanted nothing to do with me! I’ve got maybe a month before they realize how weird I am and ditch me anyway, and because of you I could’ve not had even that much!”

Barb looked torn between being sad and being offended, “We’re not like Pop. We like weird–”

“Everyone always says they ‘like weird’ until it’s not fun-weird, it’s ‘Branch likes to organize sticks’-weird.” He said, rolling his eyes.

Pop Trolls insisted they enjoyed weirdness too. Poppy’s friends were all trolls seen as ‘weird’ in some regards, with the exception of Creek, who was apparently just so perfect and wonderful. They were ‘fun and quirky’ weird, which was an acceptable thing to be. Branch wasn’t. He was ‘unsettling and bad’ weird. He was paranoid, anxious and boring. Biggie’s excessive sensitivity was seen as endearing. It was enjoyable that he was such a sensitive and gentle troll. Branch’s lack of sensitivity? It was shameful. Just being near Branch was like torture. Satin and Chenille's sharp tongues came from a place of love, so their insults were playful. Branch's were cruel, no matter his intent. Smidge's gruffness was admirable, a sign of strength that complimented her cute appearance. Branch's gruffness was comparable to an animal, violent and dangerous.

But… Demo was weird in ways that Branch was. He liked organizing things into categories and making detailed schedules almost as much as Branch did, and yet Val and Petra never seemed to mind. Even when they teased him about it, it was done in a way that didn’t sound like they wanted Demo to change. They liked Demo, not in spite of his quirks, but because of them. It almost gave Branch hope that they might feel the same about him. Branch wasn’t like Demo though. Even Demo’s brand of weird when it came to music was a much more palatable version of Branch’s. All music or no music, it was obvious which option Trolls would pick, being the musical creatures they are. Demo was weird, but he was likable weird.

“Barbara,” Thrash said, “Would you like to share something that Branch said that upset you?”

“Yeah. I don’t like that just because Pop Trolls are such sh–” She cleared her throat, “Terrible parents he expects me to just not care where he is or what he does. I mean what kind of parents just let their kids run off into the wilderness?!”

“Why are you upset over how I was parented?” Branch asked, bewildered.

“Because you weren’t parented! Dad, tell him!” Barb whined.

“I would like to make sure you know this, Branch. Not caring that a child placed in your care is sneaking off unsupervised is negligent and irresponsible.” Thrash said firmly, “I have a lot of concerns about how you were treated, and I would like us to sit down and talk about it some time.”

Branch supposed that he should have seen this coming. The reason he was even here in the first place is because Barb thought he had wandered off. Rock Trolls surprisingly cared a great deal about safety, at least in some areas. Branch didn’t necessarily disagree with that. He actually appreciated it a lot. At the village he kept a close eye on how close to the outskirts the other kids would get, knowing that even an adult Pop Troll likely wouldn’t last a day out in the wilderness, so what chance would a child have?

Branch had just not considered himself included in the ‘kids’ category.

He was a child, technically speaking, but he wasn’t like other kids. He had more important things to worry about than parties and festivals or learning the Cha Cha Slide and Cupid Shuffle. He was a survivalist. He didn’t need anyone to take care of him because he could do it. Even if he shouldn’t have to. Even if he should have never been put into the position where he had to learn how to because no one else would. That wasn’t odd to him because he was Branch, and he wasn’t like other kids. The families of Pop Village only acted like that because he was different.

Thrash clearly didn’t agree with that, and Branch already felt uncomfortable at the thought of that conversation, “It’s not– you make it sound– I’m just difficult, it’s nothing I don’t already know.”

“Difficult things are just as worth doing.” Thrash said firmly.

“Tell dad the thing you told me.” Barb put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him, “The last thing you said.”

“What thing?” Branch tried to remember their conversation word for word, but he was drawing a blank.

“He said he was defective and that I should get a different baby brother!” Barb pulled him into a bone-cracking hug, “Tell Branch there’s nothing wrong with him and he’s the perfect baby brother ever!”

‘–if we aren’t perfect, we’re nothing!’

Branch wasn’t perfect. Grey trolls couldn’t be perfect, that much was obvious. He was as far from perfect as a troll could be now. Worse yet, he’d never been close. John Dory had thought Branch would help them be perfect. They’d needed perfection because without it they would fall apart. Branch remembered John Dory telling them that failure was not an option, and Branch had stood there smiling. So conceited as to think he was actually perfect.

Why did Barb think of him so highly? Looking at him it was obvious he was far from normal, and in the time she’d had to get to know him it wasn’t like he’d made a great impression. He barely appreciated anything she did for him, he yelled at her, pushed her away. They barely had anything in common. What was there to him that was even likable, let alone perfect?

“Don’t call me that. I don’t like that word.” He said flatly. 

Barb frowned, “Sorry. You’re not defective though.”

He should feel upset, but truthfully he was starting to feel numb. Like someone was flipping all his switches to ‘off’. This was getting to be too much and they were getting nowhere. Everything was just digging up more feelings and memories without actually fixing them, like he was bailing out water while they continued to puncture holes. What was the point of this? Why did he have to do this?

“Branch?” King Thrash tapped his hand gently, “Do you need to take a break? These are a lot of heavy topics we’re talking about.”

Branch shook his head, “I just wanna be done. I’m sorry I yelled at Barb and ran off without leaving a note.”

“Branch, do you know why we’re upset you snuck out?”

“Because I wasn’t supposed to?” Branch answered, though it felt more like a guess. The answer seemed so obvious that it felt like a trick question.

“Why weren’t you supposed to?”

“You didn’t tell me I could.”

“And now that you know you’re not allowed to leave without letting us know, do you know why that is?”

“Because you said so?” Branch said unsurely. That was normally what the other fosters replied with. Reasoning didn’t matter, all that mattered was they were in charge and wanted it done that way.

Thrash had that sad look in his eyes that he gets at random times when Branch talks, “I don’t want you wandering off without me knowing because I need to know where you are in case something happens. If I don’t even know if you’re gone, how can I know when you’ve been gone longer than you should’ve been?”

“I guess that makes sense…” Branch mumbled, looking at the floor. It made a lot of sense. Rationally that was completely logical and why he kept an eye on the other kids. It just never mattered if Grey Branch was gone for too long. No one ever checked in on him in the woods, which meant they wouldn’t have noticed he disappeared. Branch had disappeared and no one would have cared enough to find out.

Thrash wasn’t going to allow something like that to happen again, it seemed. Was that why he was doing this?

Thrash winked, “Just this once, I’ll let you off the hook. You did good today, Branch. I know this is hard to talk about.”

Branch just shrugged.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Barb said, not looking at him. Despite what he’d been told about apologies, he felt it was sincere. It was still weird to be apologized to.

“...I’m sorry too.”

Thrash was smiling at them fondly, “Now, you mentioned making some new friends? I’d love to hear about them, if you feel up to it.”

He looked up, “Really?”

“Yeah!” Barb put her hands on his shoulders, shaking him, “This was like, seven of your firsts! First sneak out, first solo trip, first new friends–”

“Okay, okay, I get it! Here, I have a photo of them. Billy took it!” Branch pulled the photo out of his vest pocket, only to have it snatched by Barb immediately, “Hey!”

“Oh my gosh look how cute you are!” Barb screamed and kicked her feet, “Little baby rocker!”

“Stop being weird.” Branch reached for the photo, but she held it out of reach.

“Stop, I gotta burn this into my memory. Look at your little devil horns!” She squealed, “You’re so adorable, I’m gonna throw up!”

“Ew! Give me the photo!” He stood up in his chair and grabbed the photo from her, handing it to Thrash, “Why are you so weird all of the time?”

“Ah, this is Drag’s little girl.” Thrash said as he looked at the photo, “Valentina.”

“Yeah, that’s Val, and that’s Petra. They’re best friends.” Branch pointed at the photo, “And that’s Demo, he’s Val’s manager. I didn’t even know Rock Trolls had band managers. Normally Pop Trolls just do everything themselves, minus some stage hands.”

“What? That’s like, so much work though!” Barb said.

Branch grimaced, remembering how busy he and Kismet would be before every show, “Yeah, yeah it is.” He paused, realizing what he just implied, “I mean–”

“Is this the Jailhouse Diner?” Thrash interrupted, saving Branch from his slip up, “Haven’t been there in ages, not since Barbara broke their jukebox.”

“That was an accident!”

Thrash chuckled, “Oh it was so precious. It was skipping so she tried to hit it like they do in movies. Her fist went right through it!”

Branch brought a hand to his mouth, laughing, “You tried to fix it by punching it?”

“It works in movies!” Barb’s cheeks and the tips of her ears were flushed red.

Branch remembered something else he could show off to the two, “Oh, I need to show you the new pants Val and Petra helped me pick out! Stay right here!”

Branch ran back to his room, grabbing his backpack from where Barb must have left it when she helped him to bed and opening it up. He tossed Bitty back on his bunk and pulled out the pair of patch pants they’d made yesterday. There was a clacking sound as the CD he’d bought tumbled to the floor, having been wrapped up in the jeans. He quickly shoved it under his pillow. Despite knowing his room was too far away from the kitchen for it to have been heard, the sound of it hitting the floor had felt like the loudest noise he’d ever heard. He didn’t want them to know about that yet. Not until his plan was ready.

He quickly pulled on his new jeans, fixing his boots back and grabbing his notebook before he ran back to the kitchen. He did a few spins to show them off, “Val and Petra helped me sew the patches on, but I picked them out. Mostly. Val helped.”

Barb grinned, “Look at you! You’ve got a proper Rock get up now!”

“Yeah?” He asked nervously, “It looks okay?”

“Better than okay!” 

Barb scooped him up and tossed him into the air. He screamed, kicking his feet until she set him back down on the ground. “No tossing! Too big to be tossed.”

“We’ve been over this, you’re so tiny.” Barb tousled his hair roughly then put an arm on his head, using him like an armrest as she grabbed his notebook from his hands, “How’s the map coming along, Twigs?”

“Twigs?”

“Yeah, like a tiny branch. Twigs.” She began flipping through the book, still leaning on him.

Branch looked between her and Thrash. Each of them were holding something important of his. Barb had even snatched both out of his hands. That never led to anything other than ripped pages, and yet Branch hadn’t doubted the safety of his things for a second. He’d been annoyed, sure, but he wasn’t scrambling to take his notebook back.

Huh. He trusted Barb with his things.

Mostly. He wasn’t about to go showing her any of the things he kept in his vest just yet.

“Did you stop at the CD store? You’ve got the whole thing mapped out.” Barb asked.

“That’s where we stopped so Val and Petra could find a CD they liked and meet up with Demo. Did you know they don’t sort their CDs at all? They’re just all mixed in! So me and Demo– wait, I need to go in order. Gimme my notebook so I can show you all the new stuff I did before meeting them!”

Barb handed the notebook back and Branch began going over the new locations he mapped out. It was funny, this was the sort of milestone that would have had his other fosters jumping up and down. He’d made not just one but three friends. They would have also asked him to tell him everything, but then suggested he maybe skip over his map creation to get to the interesting part. Thrash and Barb didn’t though. They listened just as intently when he was describing the new symbols he’d integrated into his map key as they were when he described meeting Val and Petra. They were amazing listeners, actually. Nothing like before when someone would start a tangent and Branch’s retelling of his day was taken over by others and he was shut out of the conversation. When he’d try to steer back to finishing and they’d stared at him like he was the one who interrupted them.

He left a few things out of the story, naturally. He left out his purchase at the CD store, the rant he’d given about Barb at the diner and naturally he left out Demo’s secret. It wasn’t his to tell. Even if Demo was a terrible liar, and even if he really wanted to tell Barb and Thrash that there was someone who had weird opinions about music too. He knew what it was like to have your business shared for someone else’s benefit or amusement, and he would never inflict that on anyone. At Pop Village the concept of ‘other genres’ didn’t even exist, so he didn’t have much of an idea for how bad it actually was to like their music. Barb had seemed to want him to like Rock, but that may simply be that each tribe thinks their music superior. Even Thrash seemed to hold a low opinion of Pop, so he wasn’t sure if he’d appreciate one of his subjects being open to it. He didn’t like that thought, after all Thrash had been so nice and welcoming. He didn’t want to think Thrash could be mean.

It was nice being the center of attention. This time, at least. He’d missed having a family who wanted to hear all about his day. Even the boring parts he knew they couldn’t care about they listened to with rapt attention, even asking questions. They didn’t just stay quiet until he moved onto the parts they cared about.

“So they were nice? They didn’t do anything to make you upset?” Barb asked him when he had finished.

He shook his head, “They did a couple things on accident, but they were nice about it.”

Branch had handed Barb the photo back halfway through the recount of his day and she was still staring at it, “Y’know, you’re all blue. Kinda. I could call you the Bitty Blues.”

Branch made a face, “Or you could not do that.”

“Yeah. I’ll workshop it.”

“Please don’t.”

“Do you wanna work on your map more today? Or do you need alone time?” Barb asked.

“...Could I just have some alone time?” He asked slowly. Scared if he answered too quickly that she might take offense and the offer would be gone.

Barb nodded, “Yeah! See you at lunch?”

He nodded and retreated to his hideaway, a small smile on his face. He looked at his notebooks and colored pencils. He had an idea.

Just before lunch, he slipped a folded up piece of paper on Barb’s pillow.

‘You’re Invited - Barb and Branch Hangout Day’

Chapter Text

“Um, King Thrash?”

Loud thuds.

“Yes, Branch?”

The sound of breaking glass.

“Is this really okay?”

The crashing of furniture being knocked over.

“Oh, yes, it’s how she expresses herself.”

Branch was sat on the couch next to Thrash, Debbie curled up on his lap while they watched Barb run from room to room wreaking havoc. Barb had gone into their room after dinner and found his invitation about fifteen minutes ago and she’d been destroying the house ever since. At some point she’d taken a sledgehammer to the TV, and Branch could see cans of food roll into the hallway that likely meant a shelf had been knocked down in the kitchen.

“Isn’t it a pain to keep replacing stuff she breaks?” Branch asked.

“Not at all, I was the same at her age. Besides, she’s being quite tame. Normally by now she’s brought out the chainsaw.” There was the sound of revving in another room. Thrash chuckled, “There it is.”

He ran his fingers through Debbie’s fur, “Does this last long or…?”

“Depends. What’d you give her that has her in such a tizzy?” Thrash asked.

“Just an invitation. To a full day hangout.” Branch said nervously over the sound of Barb sawing something in half.

Thrash let out a low whistle, “I’d say she’s got another good fifteen minutes left, maybe more if she’s feelin’ spunky.”

Branch didn’t see what was so exciting about it. His invitation was lackluster in nearly every area. He didn’t have any of the craft supplies associated with the ‘art’ of invitations. No construction paper, felt, or glitter glue. Just lined notebook paper and a twelve pack of colored pencils. He’d tried to draw things that Barb would like. Skulls, flames, him and her holding hands. It was cheesy but Barb evidently was a huge sap. It wasn’t just the aesthetics that were hastily put together either. Branch actually didn’t have anything planned, nor did he have the ability to set up any grand outing or party. All he could promise Barb was a day where he’d do anything she wanted within reason. No singing, no dancing and a limit to the amount of hugs she could give him. If it got to be too overwhelming he’d go home and hole up in his secret room, though he was going to attempt to grin and bear it. Barb had tolerated a lot with him, so he should return the favor. It shouldn’t be too hard, as unlike with Poppy there wasn’t a risk of glitter showers.

______________________

Barb had still yet to calm down by bedtime, practically vibrating with excitement still as she crawled into her bunk.

“I have the best idea for tomorrow, Branch, you’re gonna love it!” He could hear her smacking her pillow, then muffled screaming as she presumably shoved her face into it, “I’m so excited, I dunno how I’m gonna sleep!”

“Well find a way. If you keep me up all night then all our hangout day is going to include is sleeping, sleeping and more sleeping.” Branch said, closing his eyes.

______________________

He awoke to the sound of Barb hitting the floor. It was just barely morning, he could tell before he even looked at the clock. One thing about a city set up in a perpetually active volcano is that day or night it was bright outside. While there was a noticeable difference, Branch found it easier to tell about what time it was based on the noises outside. Distant rowdy sounds and machinery? Morning. Even louder distant rowdy sounds and no machinery? Night.

“Branch!” Barb grinned up at him from the floor, “You ready for our super awesome brother-sister bonding day?”

He stared at her with his eyes barely open, “... No . What time is it even?”

“I dunno. Morning, technically.”

He gave her an unimpressed look and rolled back over, “Ten more minutes.” He closed his eyes and attempted to fall back asleep, but he could feel her hovering. He rolled back over to see her standing over him, “I can’t sleep with you on top of me like this.”

“Can’t sleep? Great, we can get an early start!” She grabbed him by the ankles and began pulling him out of bed.

“Barb!” He clawed at the sheets, gripping the edge of the mattress, “Lemme go! Arrrgh! You’re a plague on trollkind!”

She gave a hard tug and pulled him from the bed, holding him upside down, “Nuh uh.”

“Yuh huh now put me down!” He banged his fists against her legs, “I’ll tell your dad!”

She lowered him onto the ground slowly, “Feel that blood rushing to your head? Now you’re wide awake and ready for the day! Little Rock Troll secret.”

Branch stayed on the warm ground regretting his choices, “Oh joy.”

“Get dressed, we’re going out for breakfast as part of our super amazing day together.” 

Barb sat down at her desk and started styling her mohawk. Branch’s routine didn’t take nearly as long as Barb’s, though he’d never actually watched to see what took so long. He did promise her that he’d do things her way today, so he should see what exactly she’s up to. He pulled himself onto the edge of the bench and sat next to her. She had pulled out a cracked mirror and a jar of some sort of black dust. Make-up. He shouldn’t be surprised, she did have that whole smokey eye thing going on, but he’d never seen make-up be used like this. Make-up was bright and colorful, used to make a troll prettier, to ‘doll them up’. He didn’t know what Barb’s intended look was, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t that. She dipped a brush into the powder and began applying it messily around her eyelids.

“Can I have some?” Branch asked.

Barb lowered the brush and looked over, “You wanna do your make-up?” He nodded. She grinned, “Alright! Close your eyes.”

Branch closed his eyes. The clinking sound of the brush on the side of the jar, the smell of smoke, the feeling of Barb’s hand holding his face steady as she swiped the brush over his eyelids. There was something familiar about it. The clinking sound of the brush on the side of the jar, Spruce’s hand under his chin as he helped him get ready for his first live concert.

“What do you think?”

He opened his eyes and looked at his reflection. His eyelids were now a pitch black shade that managed to stand out against his grey skin and charcoal colored hair. It matched him.

I get it now.

Branch smiled, “I like it.” He paused and tilted his head, “It smells like smoke though.”

Barb pulled out a pencil sized wooden stick and held it over a flame, “Yeah, soot normally does.”

“...Wait what?” Barb ignored him and blew out the flame, dragging the burnt end of the stick over her waterline as if it were eyeliner, “Barb!”

“What?” She pulled out a mascara tube and began dragging the brush on her lashes, “Actual make-up doesn’t give the look I’m going for.”

“If I get ash in my eye from this I’m gonna kill you.”

She shrugged, “Price of looking sick.”

“Whatever.” He grabbed his headphones and put them around his neck. Normally he’d store them in his backpack along with his notebook, but today was about Barb, so he wouldn’t be working on his map.

The two said goodbye to Thrash and Branch let Barb take his hand and lead him through the city. Not many trolls were up in the morning, another interesting difference from Pop Village. Branch was pretty sure the average Pop Troll could survive off of two hours of sleep and enough coffee to stop a Bergen’s heart. Meanwhile, according to Barb, the average Rock Troll slept like the dead for ten hours or more.

The diner Barb had picked to have breakfast in was nothing like the bright diner he’d gone to with his friends. Calling it ‘run down’ was both generous and rude. The restaurant wasn’t dirty, at least in terms of sanitation, but the table they were sat at was propped up with a guitar case and held together with duct tape and prayers. The clientele matched the building, consisting of haggard looking Rock Trolls that were an even split of ‘five seconds away from falling asleep’ and ‘so rowdy they made Barb look mellow’.

“I know what you’re thinking and I promise the food is worth it.” Barb said quickly.

Branch shrugged, “Even if it’s not, today we’re doing whatever you wanna do.”

“Yeah but I figured you might like this place. You like writing down language stuff, right? Like Rock Troll sayings?” Barb pulled his notebook out of her hair, “When you order, listen to the kitchen.”

“You grabbed my notebook?” Branch asked quietly. He’d felt anxious without it, but he knew from experience that he shouldn’t have it when he was supposed to be paying attention to others. How would Barb know he was serious about spending time with her if he had his nose in his book?

“Yeah you left it on the bed. Can’t finish your map without it.”

Branch opened his mouth to say something about how today was supposed to be about her, but was cut off by the appearance of the waitress. The two ordered and as the waitress turned towards the open kitchen Barb began tapping his arm and gesturing to pay attention.

“Two mugs of murk, dry stack with zeppelins in the alley, and two dots and a dash!” She yelled.

The cook yelled back, “Heard!”

Branch looked back at Barb, bewildered, “She didn’t say a single food.”

Barb was grinning, “I know! They just say random things but it works!”

He pulled out his notebook, “Right so obviously ‘two mugs of murk’ has to be our coffee, I think? It’s in a mug, it’s murky, it makes sense.”

It became something of a game for him and Barb. They’d listen as the waitress called out orders and they’d try to guess what food it could possibly be before she brought it out. Some of it made sense, and others made Branch realize why Val called him Shortstack. She was barely taller than he was, why was he apparently two pancakes tall to her? Asking Barb didn’t help, she laughed so hard she nearly choked on bacon. Some of the terms were nonsense. ‘Burn one, drag it through the garden and pin a rose to it’? What was that even supposed to mean? They didn’t seem to be shorthand, some like ‘city juice without the hail’ being longer than saying ‘water no ice’.

The game helped distract him from the unruly patrons, who at one point attempted to fight one of the cooks before getting their breakfast thrown in their face. The fighting was difficult to get used to, let alone understand. They fought with each other when they were happy, when they were mad, and sometimes for no reason at all.

“Whatcha writin’ there, lil pebble?” The waitress leaned over to look at his notebook when she came to refill their coffee, “You want to be a waiter or somethin’?”

Branch shook his head, “No, I just think linguistics are interesting.”

It didn’t seem like she understood what he was talking about, but she smiled and ruffled his hair anyway, “Well aren’t you a smart cookie? This one here?” She tapped his notebook with a sharp nail, “That’s a cola with cherry syrup.”

Branch erased what he had down and wrote that instead, “Thank you.”

She pinched his cheek and tugged on it, “Polite too. Where has Thrash been hiding you? You know Barbara, you could stand to learn something from your brother.”

“I’m plenty polite!” Barb yelled, slamming her hands down on the table.

“Mhm.” The waitress put a hand on her hip and didn’t look very convinced.

“Rosie! Come run this food!”

“I’m comin’!” Their waitress stood up and adjusted her bandana, and Branch finally noticed her name badge said ‘Rosemary’.

The nickname made Branch flinch, but before he could dwell on it too long Barb got his attention, “Branch! I’m totally polite, right?”

“Uh, do you want a serious answer?”

“Hey!”

Their game continued on until Rosemary—he couldn’t call her Rosie, he just couldn’t—returned with a slice of pie for both him and Barb. “So what are you kids up to this early in the morning? Not too much trouble I hope.”

Barb spoke through a mouthful of pie, “Brother-Sister Hangout Day! We’re going to hangout the whole day!”

“Well ain’t that puke! I wish my kids were half as happy to be stuck together as you two.” Rosemary ruffled both of their hair.

“Puke?” Branch repeated.

“It means ‘so cute it makes you wanna throw up’.” Barb said, reaching her fork towards Branch’s plate.

Rosemary smacked her hand with her notepad, “Forks to yourself, leave–” She paused awkwardly, likely realizing she didn’t know his name, “–your brother alone.”

“Branch.” He introduced himself, then held up his notebook, “Can you check these to make sure they’re right?”

She took the notebook, holding it open with one arm and using her other hand to pull out a pencil from her apron and begin making corrections. “Never thought I’d be gradin’ homework doing this gig.” She mumbled.

As he listened to the sound of her pencil scratching against the pages, it hit Branch that he just handed his notebook over to a complete stranger. He’d only just come to terms with trusting Barb and Thrash with it, and now he’s handed it to a person he just met? Had he lost his mind?! He couldn’t trust people with his books! They’d open them, read them and show them off to their friends. He just wanted her to look at the notes he wrote, he didn’t want her to flip through everything else!

She finished writing, tucking the pencil under her skull patterned bandana, “I added a fun one for you.” She handed the notebook back and pointed to her own writing at the bottom of the page.

‘Customer ordered the dentist’s special - punch this guy for me.’

He snorted, covering his mouth and Rosemary brought a finger to her lips with a wink and a ‘ shh ’, “Don’t go sharing that one around.”

He nodded and mimed zipping his lips. She left the check that was suspiciously blank of any mention of pie—that Branch was just now remembering they didn’t order—and went back to work. He looked back down at his notebook. Her alterations were neat and orderly, and she took great care to wipe away the eraser shavings and avoid smearing the writing. How ironic it was that a tribe of trolls who destroyed their own possessions for fun could be so careful with his.

“Alright, you’re gonna love what I’ve got planned next! Go ahead and work on your map on the way there.” Barb led the way out of the diner, “Oh wait!”

She grabbed him under his arms, lifting him up and pulling him into a tight hug that had his back making a popping noise. He shouldn’t be surprised that Barb’s hugs are as violently affectionate as the rest of her is. Still, on reflex he struggled to escape the hug.

“That’s enough!” He dropped down out of her arms and brushed himself off. Then came the guilt. He’d promised Barb she could hug him as part of the day, and he was already going back on his word. Barb had been doing things at his pace for a month and he couldn’t even make it to lunch. He tried to force himself to look her in the eye, “I mean–” He stuttered trying to save it, “Maybe ask first, next time. Please?”

She nodded vigorously, “Sorry! Got carried away. Next time though I got you!” She didn’t seem too upset, thankfully, already walking off to whatever their next activity was, “Go ahead and work on your map! When we get there, you can map out the building before we start. I know the place like the back of my hand, so I have an advantage.”

“Are you sure? This is your hangout d–” Her words caught up to him, “–Wait, advantage? Advantage in what?” Barb didn’t answer, just laughed and ran ahead, “Barb wait! Advantage in what?!”

______________________

“ Laser tag? ” Branch read the sign on the building, looking up at Barb questioningly, “Really? Tag? I didn’t take you for the type.”

Branch had watched Trolls play tag before, and he didn’t find it very fun. The few times he’d joined in, he’d been admonished for one reason or another. Tagging too hard, breaking rules they made up on the spot when he did something they couldn’t do, taking the game ‘too seriously’ by deciding to call out when those new rules were then broken. Oh, and he couldn’t forget the time his fosters gave him a talk for not ‘going easy’ on the younger kids by not letting them win.

“This isn’t some lame-o Pop Troll tag. There’s lasers! And guns!” Barb said, tugging him inside, “You’ll love it!”

Branch doubted that, but he didn’t voice that opinion. It didn’t matter if he liked it, he was doing this for Barb. “Wait–” A realization hit him, “Who would we even be playing with? You can’t play tag with two people.”

He knew the answer. He’d have to play with a bunch of strangers. All he wanted to do was spend time with Barb. He could tolerate some level of people, as long as he didn’t have to deal with them, but in a game of tag? He was dreading it already.

“Oh don’t make that face.” Barb said, and Branch tried to school his face into a passive look, “I think you’ll like them.”

He followed her into a small room lined with lockers and mumbled, “Doubtful.”

A voice that wasn’t Barb’s spoke, “Come on now, we’re not that bad.”

Branch turned to see Petra looking at him with a playful smirk, “Petra!” Behind her were two more familiar faces, “Val and Demo! You’re here?”

“Here and ready to beat you into the dirt at laser tag.” Val said, punching a fist into her hand, “Don’t expect me to go easy on you just because it’s your first time, Shortstack.”

Branch looked up at Barb, who grinned and said, “We’re doing a three v three, so I hope you don’t mind that we have to kick their butts.”

“Well, me and Val never did fully settle the score over pinball.” Branch teased back.

“Your royal rockness, as much as it pains me to betray a fellow appreciator of spreadsheets, you’re facing off against Val Thundershock .” Demo gestured to her with a flourish, “The undefeated queen of laser tag! The champion of paintball! Dominator of all aim-based sports!”

“Only thing you three will be dominating is the floor when we wipe it with you.” Barb said confidently, pulling Branch against her side, “Try not to make a mess sobbing your eyes out.”

“Uh Barb? You said this is a three v three, right? Where’s our third teammate?” Branch asked.

“Probably fussing with his hair like a loser.” Barb turned towards the rest of the locker room, “Billy! Get out here!”

Branch grinned as Billy rounded the corner, adjusting a bulky looking vest, “The hair is part of the brand. Hey kiddo.”

“Billy!” Branch ran towards Billy, who crouched down and fist bumped him, “Are you on my team?”

“If that’s cool with you.” Billy said, and Branch was quick to nod excitedly, “Rock on!”

Barb put her hands on her hips, “Alright listen up! We’re all in agreement Branch gets to map out the arena first, right?” There was a chorus of agreement, “Great, because your opinions meant nothing anyway. Branch, head on in and when you come back we can explain the rules.”

Branch stepped into the arena, eyes needing to adjust to the dark. Overhead red strobe lights slowly turned, casting spotlights that swept across the room. Okay… Rock Trolls play tag in the dark. Seems safe. The ‘map out’ comment finally made sense. While Pop Trolls picked large, open spaces for their games of tag, the arena was a maze of graffitied brick walls, cement barriers and metal barrels. A rolling fog covered the floor and cast a haze over the room. There were a few sets of stairs that led to an upper area and a large lookout tower in the middle of the room. Without the tower, mapping the entire room would have been nearly impossible, but thanks to it, Branch had both levels of the arena drawn out on a new page in his notebook fairly quickly.

“I’m done.” Branch stepped back into the locker room, shielding his eyes from the lights, “What are the rules?”

Barb looked up from where she was talking with Billy, “That was fast. This isn’t like normal tag. The aim of the game is points, and you get them with one of these bad boys.” She held up a large toy gun. Unlike the normal water guns he was used to, it was a lot less colorful and goofy looking, looking sharper and more metallic.

“Woah…” He reached for it, but Barb quickly held it up out of reach.

“Nope, rules first. This is a laser gun, so it doesn’t fire any actual ammo. You get fifteen shots before you have to reload it, which is this button.” Barb pointed it out, “The gun only fires if you have both hands on it. You’re not an idiot so I don’t think I have to tell you this, but don’t look into the gun. There’s no ammo but it’s still a light being shot directly into your eyeball.”

“Demo did that the first time he played.” Val said, pointing at Demo with her thumb, “He ended up running into a wall.”

Billy chuckled and walked over to Branch with a vest like his, “This is how your gun knows you hit someone. Sensors on the chest, shoulders, and back. If you get hit, your vest will make a noise and your lights will go off for a second. You score points for each hit.”

“You can also shoot someone’s gun and it’ll jam, meaning you can’t fire from it for a few seconds.” Petra added.

“I think that’s the basic rules?” Barb looked at the group, waiting to see if anyone had anything else to chime in before she remembered something, “Oh yeah, there’s friendly fire too. If you shoot one of us, you lose points.”

Val and Petra turn to look at Demo, who chuckled nervously, “It was one game, guys!”

“Seventeen times in one game.” Petra said, crossing her arms.

“By the way, seeing as you’re a feral troll from the mines, I should warn you that here in Volcano Rock City we take all fights seriously.” Val put an arm around his shoulder, “Laser guns are the weapon of choice, which means anything else is off limits.”

“And don’t be like Blaze and hit somebody with the gun. That’s also not allowed.” Petra chimed in.

“Feral mine troll?” Billy asked, an amused look on his face, “Is that one of the theories going around? I’d heard he was born from the lava pools.” Billy helped him snap his vest shut, “Popped out at just the right age to be a cool little brother and friend.”

“These theories get dumber and dumber.” Branch said, adjusting the vest so it rested comfortably.

“That they do.” Billy agreed, “Alright, ultimate vest test time. Jump up and down and run around for me.”

Branch held onto the laser gun that attached to the vest and jumped up and down in place. Nothing shifted, so he ran around the locker room, jumping over a bench and running back to Billy.

Billy held out his hands for two hi-fives, which Branch gave him, “Lookin’ like a pro already. Glad you’re on my team.”

“What’s your team name?” Val asked, “Ours is Thunderstruck !” 

Branch looked up at Barb, “You pick the name.”

“We’re the Rock Royals.” Barb said, then added, “...Plus Billy.”

Billy had a weary smile as he placed a hand over his heart, “Ouch. Can’t even be something like Triple B?”

“What’s the ‘B’ for?” Barb asked in a teasing voice, opening her mouth to say something before looking back at Branch and his friends. Her mouth hung open, “Uhh, nevermind.”

Branch tilted his head. It seemed pretty obvious what the B was for.

“Anyway!” She clapped her hands, “Enough talking, it’s laser time!”

Val’s team walked over to the other entrance so that both teams were evenly spaced out and had time to make some sort of formation before the pandemonium started. Branch was surprised to find he was actually excited for this. There was a completely objective points system, pre-established rules that wouldn’t change, there were even safety guidelines . They weren’t as thorough as Branch would have made them, but it was something! Not only that, but he knew Val wasn’t the kind of troll to throw a fit or get angry at him for winning. He also couldn’t see Barb or Billy being upset with him if they lost. He could actually just… enjoy the game.

A timer began counting down to the game’s start, and Branch remembered how dark the arena was. He shut his eyes, keeping them closed until the doors shut behind him. Now they’d adjust much faster.

“What’s the plan, Twigs?” Barb whispered, crouching down behind one of the walls. Branch mimicked her and Billy’s pose.

“Me?” Branch had expected Barb to take charge, “Well… we should get to the tower. It has a view of both levels and is a tactical advantage. One of us takes the tower, and the other two should patrol around it in case anyone tries to take it over.”

“They’ll probably also go for the tower, so it’ll be up to whoever gets inside the door first.” Billy said, “The stairs aren’t wide enough for two, so whoever gets to them gets to the top first.”

Branch brought a hand to his chin and looked up at the tower, “There’s no rules against climbing the outside, are there?”

Barb shook her head, “No, but I’ve tried to climb that thing and it’s not easy.”

“I’ve got an idea.”

A buzzer sounded, signaling the start of the game, and Branch began leading the way to the tower. Barb and Billy flanked him on both sides, checking around corners and keeping an eye out behind them. If Branch knew his new friends at all, they’d immediately disagree on a plan and split up.

He was right. Only a few seconds after they reached the center clearing of the tower, he saw all three of them appear from around different walls on their side of the area. He took a breath and focused on the window of the tower facing towards him, then whipped his hair up towards it. He felt it hook around something inside and tugged to make sure he had a good hold, then bent his stretched out hair into steps.

“What the– You can do that?!”

“He can do that?!”

He filed their reactions away to deal with later. “Barb, go!” He yelled, turning his focus towards Val. She’d been making a run for the door, stopping when she saw his hair zip past. His first few shots missed as he got used to the gun. ‘ One. Two. Three. ’ He counted his shots as he aimed for her gun. There was an electronic noise as the light on it turned off, and he switched to aiming for her vest.

Barb was halfway up to the tower when his vest buzzed with a hit. He turned his focus off the now retreating Val to see Petra smirking at him from a window. He started to aim at her when he heard the sound of someone behind him.

“I’ve got Demo, you get Petra.” Billy said, moving so that he and Branch were back to back.

Branch knew that this was a game, but in that moment he felt like a warrior in the heat of battle. Tag had never been this fun.

‘Eleven. Twelve.’ Petra’s gun flashed with a hit. ‘Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.’ He pressed the reload button without even looking, immediately going back to firing.

Barb jumped through the window, taking her spot in the tower, so Branch pulled his hair back. Now they just needed to keep an eye on the door and pursue points.

“Val’s on the second floor aiming for me!” Barb yelled down, “Demo’s going for the stairs!”

“They could be going for a pincer maneuver, we should head up there.” Branch whispered to Billy.

“Lead the way, Sergeant Branch.” Billy flashed him a smile and Branch couldn’t help but grin.

This was so cool!

Branch kept low to the ground, staying in the fog cover. Beyond its use in obscuring him from view, Branch quickly realized you could see the laser sight from the guns through the fog. He kept his gun pointed low, stopping when he saw a beam pass by in front of him. Demo hadn’t seen him yet, but now he knew exactly where Demo was.

He pressed his back into the brick wall and pointed his gun around the corner, aiming a few shots. Two buzzers sounded, and Branch realized there were slightly different variations of buzzer for when you hit a vest and when you hit a gun.

“Oh come on! You weren’t even looking at me!” Demo whined.

Billy’s vest buzzed beside him and Branch mentally noted which buzz it made. Petra had pursued them, but before Branch could worry about her, two more buzzers resounded from the barrel she was behind. Barb must have taken her out. She quickly left her cover, trying to find a wall that would cover her from Barb, and Branch quickly fired at her as she ran. He counted again, and once he hit fifteen he reloaded.

“How are you so good at reloading?!” Petra yelled from a corner.

“It’s counting, it’s not hard!” He yelled back.

“You’re counting shots?” Billy asked, “You’re way too good at this for your first game.”

A bit of pride swirled in his chest. Billy was impressed! With him ! He tried not to dwell on it too long, especially since he could hear Barb yelling about getting hit, “Let’s go get Val!”

They followed the path Demo took up the stairs before breaking off to go find Val. Branch didn’t have the entire layout fully memorized, but he definitely remembered the area that Val was in.

“Billy, go that way until you hit a wall with purple graffiti, then turn right. We can box her in.”

Billy nodded, “Got it, Sarge.”

Billy hurried off, still crouching low. He no longer had someone covering his back, but from the sounds of buzzing in the distance it seemed Barb was holding Demo and Petra off as much as she could without tipping Val off that she’d changed targets. He peered around a corner, only to have to duck back as a blast was fired.

“Nice try, Shortstack!”

He risked a tuck and roll over to the next barrier, hearing her fire two more shots. He knew just the opening he needed, but he’d have to get shot for it. He jumped over the barrier, running for a wall cover. Five more shots, then one hit to his vest. Then the noise he was waiting for. The sound of a reload. He aimed for the gun, not leaving his cover until he heard it buzz. He vaulted through the window, chasing after her. She didn’t get far, Billy jumped out from around a corner and cut her off.

“Gotcha!”

Val shrieked, her vest and gun an endless amount of buzzing as Branch and Billy relentlessly fired. She was boxed in, and with Branch switching between her vest and gun, there was no chance of her getting any more shots in unless her teammates arrived. Eventually she dropped to the floor, holding an arm up dramatically.

“Wounds… bleeding! Life… passing before my eyes!” She gasped with mock-strain, “It was so… awesome…” She sprawled her limbs out and closed her eyes while making a ‘blehhh’ noise that he’s pretty sure is supposed to be her impression of a corpse.

The arena’s buzzer sounded again, signaling the end of the game. Branch let his laser gun hang from his vest as he held out a hand to Val, “Wow Val, you sure dominated laying on the floor.”

She grasped his hand tight and let herself be pulled up off the floor, “Not my fault that you being a feral mine troll gave you superpowers. Not to mention the whole soldier act. You jumped through windows like crazy! That theory about you being an undercover spy might have some merit.”

Branch made a show of groaning loudly as the three of them walked back to the front, “Undercover spy? Isn’t the point of a spy to blend in?”

She shrugged, “The theory didn’t say you were a good spy.”

At the front of the area was a large scoreboard with their entered team names and points total.

Team Rock Sibblings + Billy: 7,450

Team Thunderstruck: 2,900

Branch looked at the board and grinned at Barb, who was jumping up and down and cheering, “We did it!”

“We did it!” She wrapped an arm around Billy, “Not half bad, Reverb!”

Branch ran over to Barb, wrapping his arms around her and Billy. They both leaned down, putting an arm around his back, “Barb did you see me?! Did you see how me and Billy cornered Val?!”

“Heck yeah I saw you! You were a beast!”

“I don’t think I can call you kiddo, not when you could end me if you wanted to.” Billy ruffled his hair, “You’re promoted to ‘Sarge’ full time.”

Branch looked back at his friends, hoping his celebrating wasn’t upsetting them, only to see them looking at him like he was a celebrity. Once he turned around, the three charged him. Val was hugging onto his arm, Demo had jumped onto his back and Petra was pressed against his side. All three started speaking at the same time,

“That was the most hardcore thing I’ve ever seen!”

“You rocked so hard, mate!”

“We have to do that again!”

“We have time for a few more rounds.” Barb said, pulling Branch out of the group hug, “Same teams.”

Branch looked back at the scoreboard, “You spelled siblings wrong.”

“That was Billy’s fault. He can’t spell.”

Billy looked offended, “It was on purpose! Two ‘B’s for Barb and Branch!”

“That doesn’t make any sense–”

______________________

Several games and some arcade pizza later, Branch and Barb were parting ways with his friends outside. The sky had gotten darker, and by Branch’s math it was probably the late evening by now. He held onto Barb’s hand as she walked him to the elevator. He’d thought that was the end of the day, but instead of hitting the button for the top floor, she hit level B7. The bottom floor.

He looked up at her, “Where are we going?”

“One last thing planned for today.” She said with a grin, “I think you’ll like it.”

Normally he’d disagree, but today had been really fun so far, so he trusted her judgment, “If you say so. Man, I can’t believe everyone was just at the tag place at the same time as us! We got so lucky!”

Barb laughed, “Branch, that wasn’t luck. I called them all last night and asked if they wanted to hang out.”

“You did? I didn’t know you were friends with them. Billy yes, but–”

“No, goofball, I asked if they wanted to hang out with you .”

“Why?” He asked, then in a quieter voice added, “They wanted to?”

The elevator opened and Barb led him out, “Duh, of course they did! And why wouldn’t I ask them? You don’t like strangers, so it wouldn’t be much of a hangout day if you were miserable the whole time. It’s our day!”

“It’s your day.” Branch stressed. Of course because of his subpar invitation skills she’d misunderstood what today had been for. Now he’d owe her another day to make up for this one! “Today was supposed to be us doing stuff you like to make up for all the times you put up with me!”

“What?” Barb frowned, “I’m not ‘putting up’ with you. We’ve just been hangin’ out.”

“Barb.” He gave her a flat look, “I know you’re not having fun listening to me make a map of doors and windows. I know that would never in a million years be an activity you’d choose to do.”

“Probably not, but you know what is my favorite activity?” She grinned, “Hanging out with you! I don’t care what we’re doing, you make it fun.”

Oh.

It was the sort of cheesy, corny remark he’d expect from a Pop Troll. The kind of ‘so intune with our feelings’ junk they spout off constantly without ever really meaning it. When Barb said it though…

He was sure she meant it.

She squeezed his hand, “You ready for the grand finale of the best day ever?”

He squeezed back, “Yeah.”

“You’re finally gonna get to see the lower bowl! The upper bowl is way better, but it’s a different kind of cool down here.” Barb rambled excitedly.

Before he could ask what either of those meant he was led out of the small area that housed the elevators and stairwells. Unlike the other levels that consisted of rings around the walls of the volcano, the bottom floor was an open circle that was far more cave-like in appearance. The ceiling was high overhead, large stalactites hanging down. The walls weren’t carved or smoothed out, keeping the natural stone look. There was a stage on the other side, but it didn’t seem to be set up for a concert at all. Instead everyone seemed to be crowding around a square platform set up in the middle of the room.

“It’s your first ever wrestling match!” Barb shouted over the crowd, “I got us front row, come on!”

Barb shoved her way through the crowd, keeping a tight hold of Branch’s hand. He wasn’t a fan of the noise, but thankfully most people moved out of their way, likely due to Barb’s shouting that anyone who shoved her brother was getting used as a punching bag. There weren’t any seats up close, though with how many people were standing Branch didn’t think they’d be of much use anyway. The barricade they were up against had small footholds that Branch climbed on, getting a perfect view of the entire center area.

“Hang on, I forgot something.” Barb looked around, her face lighting up when they landed on a certain troll, “Sid! Sid!”

Barb pushed her way over to Sid, dragging him over to Branch. He didn’t recognize Sid as anyone she’d introduced him to, but judging by her reaction he must be one of her friends. He looked at Branch and the scowl he had on his face made Branch flinch.

“Branch this is Sid Fret, one of my roadies! Sid this is my baby brother I was telling you about!” Barb nudged Sid and his face relaxed, “Watch Branch for me while I go do a thing, okay?” She grabbed Branch’s hand and put it in Sid’s, “Don’t let go, I don’t want you getting pushed around.”

Sid’s voice was relaxed, a jarring difference from how upset he’d seemed, “Sure thing. Sup tiny dude?”

Branch waved nervously as Barb ran off, “Uh… hi?”

Sid gave him a nod and stared off into space, not paying Branch any mind. He wished he could do the same, but his skin buzzed with the contact. He’d had a lot today, and he didn’t mind it too much, but Sid wasn’t Barb or his friends. He was a stranger.

He shook his head. He could tolerate this until Barb got back. He pulled his headphones over his ears, not turning them on so that they only muffled the noise rather than fully blocked it out. Full silence was a bit alarming in places like this, feeling almost unnatural even, not to mention Branch didn’t like being fully unaware of the things going on around him.

He was thankful he did, as he felt a pair of hands grab his waist and start to lift him up. He yelled, squeezing Sid’s hand and grabbing onto the barrier. Sid’s head whipped towards him, a scowl worse than earlier on his face as he yanked Branch back, moving him so that he was sat on the barrier.

“Hey!” Sid yelled, standing between Branch and the troll who had grabbed him, “Hands off the kid! He’s under size!” Sid pointed to the foothold Branch had been standing on.

“Sorry!” The troll who grabbed him backed away, retreating into the crowd.

“You cool, little dude?” Sid still looked annoyed as he checked over him, but Branch was beginning to think he just looked like that.

“Yeah… What was that about?”

“They were trying to help you ride the wave.” Sid said.

“Huh?”

“Crowd surfing.”

Branch crossed his arms, “They shouldn’t just grab people.”

“I got you, tiny dude.” Sid took off his bandana and tied it around Branch’s head.

Branch raised an eyebrow, “And how does this help?”

“Crowd etiquette basics. ‘Dudes in headbands are just tryna chill’.” 

Sid lifted him off the barrier and put him back down. This time he felt more comfortable holding onto Sid’s hand, “So just because I’m wearing a headband, people will leave me alone?” He touched the headband and chewed on his lip, “What about you? Now you don’t have a headband.”

Sid shrugged, “It’s cool.”

“I’m back!” Barb’s voice broke through the crowd as she pushed her way over to Branch. A bucket of popcorn was held in one arm, with her free hand holding a drink and a second held against her chest with that arm. When she saw his headband she looked at Sid and growled, “What happened?”

“Someone tried to make me ‘crowd surf’, but Sid helped me.” Branch answered for him, worried Barb might bite his head off.

“Thanks dude, I owe you one.” Barb handed Branch the bucket of popcorn and one of the drinks.

“Is this what took you so long?” Branch asked.

“Don’t worry about it. Oh, it’s starting!”

Barb moved to stand behind him, creating a physical barrier around him from the rest of the crowd. She rested her chin on his head, parting his hair so she could see. Spotlights passed over the crowds before landing on the first stage. Branch noticed a dark entryway was there, a shadowy figure waiting in the shadows.

“Rockers of all ages, tonight is the night you’ve all been waiting for! The fight between Enigma and Sunbreaker for the VWL World Championship!” An announcer’s voice rang out over the venue.

“This is the fight everyone has been waiting for, me included. I mean these two have been dominating the ring on their own, and now we see who’s top dog.” A second voice added.

“Here he comes, three time World Champion: Sunbreaker!”

A TV screen above the entrance displayed fiery graphics as a muscular troll in bright orange shorts confidently strutted out, waving at the crowd. The crowd seemed split on cheering or booing for him, some trolls even holding up signs either praising or insulting him. Sunbreaker didn’t seem phased by the mixed reception one bit, smiling and waving even at those who were jeering at him.

“One thing’s for certain, Sunbreaker is certain he’s taking home the title! I mean just look at that confidence!”

The lights suddenly shut off, Branch reaching over and grabbing Barb’s hand. “It’s okay, it’s part of the show.” She whispered.

“What’s this?!” A few lights turned on near the entrance that Sunbreaker had just left, heavy smoke pouring out as the ground crumbled. A troll dressed in all black pulled himself out of the ground, “Enigma’s risen from the ground like some kind of zombie!”

“Woah…” Branch mumbled under his breath.

Enigma shuffled around, several trolls in the audience holding out hands for high fives or fist bumps as he passed by them. Enigma ignored them all, finishing his circling and crawling under the ropes to face off against Sunbreaker. A troll that wasn’t announced followed, dressed in black and white stripes. A referee?

“Barb, what’s the referee for?”

“He checks for the winner and makes sure they follow the match rules.”

“There are rules for beating people up?”

Barb sounded amused, “Of course there are. The goal is to pin them to a three-count or knock them out of the ring for ten seconds. There’s some other rules too.”

The match started, and for a moment the two didn’t move, neither wanting to give their opponent the upperhand. Sunbreaker was the first to move, striking at Enigma with his elbow. Enigma ducked under the move, grappling Sunbreaker onto his shoulders and falling backwards with him, slamming Sunbreaker onto the ground.

There was something practiced about their moves. As opposed to the brawls he watched day to day, each move seemed to be very specific, and the way the other took the hit seemed to be in a way that lessened the actual blow while still looking like it hurt. There weren’t any punches, only open handed blows, and the fight was kept ‘clean’ in a way. They didn’t aim for weak points like the eyes, or scratch or bite the other. Combined with the theatrics, it all made sense. This was more than just a fight, it was a performance. The hits were all very real, but these trolls had somehow perfected safely beating the hair out of each other.

With that worry out of the way, it was easy for Branch to get swept up in the excitement.

Sunbreaker tossed Enigma, knocking over the referee in the process. Enigma quickly scrambled out of the ring, and with the referee down, the ten count didn’t start.

“Why’s he getting out?”

“You’ll see!” Branch could practically hear the grin on Barb’s face.

Enigma marched over to the announcers’ table, lifting one of them up and taking their steel folding chair and sliding back into the ring.

“Enigma’s taking advantage of the ref being out! This is a risky move, if the ref gets up, Enigma can kiss that title goodbye!”

Branch frowned. It seemed a little against the sport of it to just break the rules when the referee has his back turned. He’d actually started to like Enigma too. He wasn’t as tough as Sunbreaker, instead using clever tactics and speed to stay in the ring this long. He guessed underhanded tactics work, but he’d been excited about watching a fight with rules.

Except… Enigma never hit Sunbreaker with the chair.

The referee began to stagger to his feet agonizingly slowly, and Sunbreaker braced himself for the hit as Enigma raised the chair up. Instead of hitting the other troll however, Enigma brought the chair down on the mat with a loud slam, then tossed it into Sunbreaker’s hands before falling onto the mat almost comically. The referee finally looked up, taking in the scene in front of him. One wrestler on the ground, another with a steel chair in hand after a loud slam was heard.

“Disqualified!” The referee shouted, pointing at Sunbreaker.

“Oh my god, Enigma’s done it! You’re looking at the new VWL World Champion!”

“I can’t believe it, I mean did you see that?! Never in my career have I seen a stunt like that!”

Branch ignored the rest of the commentary, cheering loudly, “Barb did you see that?! That was so smart!”

A few more matches came and went, Branch watching them all with renewed appreciation. He was sure a couple hours must have passed, and eventually they seemed to be reaching the end of the performance.

“Oh, Branch! See that guy there? He’s got a t-shirt cannon!” Barb pointed, “Let’s see if we can get you one!”

Before Branch could ask how he was meant to do that, Barb lifted him up and sat him on her shoulders. The trolls around him were all yelling and waving their arms, so Branch tried it too. The troll with the cannon locked eyes with him, gesturing to his cannon with a grin. Branch waved his arms harder and the troll aimed at him. The t-shirt hit him in the face, rather painfully for something so soft, but he didn’t care.

“I got it, I got it!”

Barb lowered him to the ground and Branch excitedly unrolled the shirt. The design was of the main fight of the night—Sunbreaker versus Enigma— printed in black on white cotton. He wanted to put it on immediately.

“Barb, hold my vest!” He handed his vest to her without waiting for a reply and slipped on his new t-shirt. He pulled his vest back over it and smiled up at her, “How do I look?”

“Dude, you look so hardcore! Wait until dad sees you!”

______________________

Branch ran ahead of Barb once they’d arrived back to the top level of the city, rushing to beat her home, “King Thrash, King Thrash! Look what I got! Barb took me to go wrestling, and to play laser tag–”

It was well past his bedtime when he finally finished telling Thrash about his day. By the time he crawled into bed he could barely keep his eyes open. He hugged Bitty close and yawned.

“Hey Barb?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you have fun today?”

“Of course I did, today was awesome! Did you?”

He closed his eyes and mumbled happily, “Yeah. It was the best day ever.”

Chapter Text

Two more weeks came and went in the Rock royalty’s home rather uneventfully. Relatively speaking, that is. There’s never a day where something doesn’t happen, though Branch has become accustomed to spontaneous fires and broken windows far too quickly. He and Barb gained a steady routine of going out for coffee and doing a puzzle together, and then after dinner the three of them would sit down and watch wrestling on tv. Every day was a bit of a ruckus, but Branch’s routine was typically left unaltered. One day Barb apparently scaled the walls from floor one all the way to seven because the walkway was too crowded and she didn’t want to be late for their coffee time. It was all incredibly amazing, especially for a tribe where every troll ran on their own timer and hated structure.

So why was Branch so unsatisfied?

He knew the answer, or at least part of it. He’d still been working on learning the basics of guitar from Thrash, the notes, finger placements and how to disassemble and reassemble it. Technical skills only. He hadn’t once so much as plucked a string on it. He was learning so much, but he felt so behind . How was he supposed to use a power chord when the thought of playing his guitar made his skin crawl?

As much as he didn’t want to, he needed to build up his music resistance. He tolerated lots of things he hated in Pop Village, he could tolerate music for a few minutes. He just needed to build up to a full song. A full song and then he could wield a power chord and never have to worry about a Bergen ever again.

The first step was already done, the CD he’d bought when he met his new friends was hidden safely in his hair. The next step would be harder to pull off: getting a CD player. While he could just ask to borrow Barb’s or buy one the next time he was out with his friends, that would result in someone knowing what he was trying to do.

It’s funny, Branch is more sure than anything that Barb, Thrash and his friends would all manage to have the perfect response to his efforts towards music. Unlike the people from Pop Village, they wouldn’t go overzealous with praise or minimize his efforts (sometimes in the same breath) nor would they be disappointed when he ultimately fails and curls up under the bed with his hands over his ears. Somehow Barb would manage to give exactly the response he’d been hoping to get, something chill and supportive. Something that held both appreciation for his efforts and a subtle reminder that even if he couldn’t do it, at least he tried. Thrash would say something wise, and Val and Petra might not say much about it but their actions would speak loud and clear. Branch would feel seen once again…

…and then be filled with indescribable rage.

Why did they have to be so perfect? It was almost insulting to have this thrown in his face now of all times. Where was this when he needed it? Where was the understanding when he was grieving? Where was the personal space when he was being passed around the village like an unwanted game of hot potato? Where was this willingness to learn when he was still fixable? Why couldn’t he have had this before he was a lost cause? Had… had he always been a lost cause? Did Pop Trolls figure that out quicker, and eventually Thrash and Barb would realize their hard work was for nothing and do the same?

Branch shook his head, manually clearing away his thoughts. Spiraling like this wouldn’t help, he needs results . If he manages to tolerate music enough to use a guitar, maybe it would make him tolerable enough to keep. Maybe they’d see progress and he could ride on the fumes of that one success until he was old enough that Thrash would just send him on his way rather than passing him on to the next home. Being a recluse in Volcano Rock City seemed a lot easier and nicer than it was to be one in Pop Village.

Branch opened the bedroom door in time to see Barb throw her CD player at the wall. He looked down at the cracked pieces before looking back at Barb, asking in a blunt tone, “Why?”

She shrugged, “I thought it’d make a cool sound when it hit the wall.”

“Did it?”

She crossed her arms behind her head and laid back against her pillow, “Meh.”

“How are you supposed to listen to music if you keep breaking things?” Branch began gathering up the pieces of the broken device.

“I’m fixing up one of my old ones. Hey can you do me a favor and toss that one in the junk room?”

Branch rolled his eyes, “I’m not your maid, I came in here to grab a book.” He set the broken pieces down on her desk and began browsing her bookshelf. He skipped over all the fiction books. He wanted to actually learn something useful, which meant all her video game guides could also be ignored. A book on Albino Furrybats? That could be interesting, and might help him figure out Debbie’s body language a bit better. He pulled it off the shelf and tucked it into his hair. He skipped over a few autobiographies of famous rockstars before stopping on one that didn’t match the rest.

“Who’s George Thrashington?” Branch asked.

“He founded Volcano Rock City.” Barb said lazily, then asked, “Don’t they teach that in school?”

“In Pop school? No. No Barb they don’t.”

“Oh right.” She peered over the bar of her bunk, “I’ll be honest, sometimes I forget you’re not a Rock Troll.”

He shoved the biography in his hair, “I find that hard to believe.”

“Branch, have I ever lied to you?”

“Alright, then you’re dumb for forgetting that. I’m literally nothing like a Rock Troll.”

She ignored him, instead ordering, “Go take my stuff to the junk room.”

“Take it yourself, I’m doing stuff.” He snapped.

“Yeah, nothing like a Rock Troll. Branch, we should honestly go through your family tree at some point because I feel like we’d find a Rock Troll somewhere on there.” She pulled out a book and began reading, “It’d explain a lot.”

“I doubt it, but good to know the only benefit of everything that’s happened to me is one troll thinks I pass as a Rock Troll.” He said bitterly.

“If you keep making faces like that you’re gonna get wrinkles.” Barb said, not even looking over at him.

“No you’re gonna get wrinkles.” He grabbed a random book from the shelf and threw it at her head. Despite the fact it bounced off harmlessly, he still immediately wondered if he went too far.

“Hey!” She leaned over the side of the bed, “Don’t make me come down there!”

“ Neh neh neh neh neh! ” He mocked, mimicking her tone with one hand on his hip and another miming her talking, “Please, you’re too lazy to come down here, you won’t even take your trash to the junk room.”

“No you’re too lazy.” Barb grinned down at him as he picked up the book he’d thrown at her.

He read the title, then read it over. A newly formed idea in his head, he tucked it in his hair, “Unlike you, I have a good work ethic. I’ll take your stupid stuff to the junk room for you, Princess .”

He picked up all the pieces of the music player and walked to the other side of the house. While all of their bedrooms, Thrash’s office and the recording rooms were on one side, the rooms on the mirroring side of the house were all utilized for storing junk. Branch wasn’t sure why they kept all this trash around and he was a bit hesitant to ask. While Barb and Thrash were the ones he could go to for any Rock culture related questions, there was the odd chance they were just hoarders and he would offend them.

He stepped into one of the rooms and looked at the sea of broken trash. The TV Barb sledgehammered after getting his invitation was here, along with a sawed in two couch, endless busted amps and stereos, broken bottles, a pile of smashed guitars, and various other bits and pieces that had been so mangled Branch couldn’t tell what they could have came from. He looked into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear then quickly stuffed the broken music player into his hair. He grabbed something random and threw it into the pile, making a crashing noise that would hopefully keep Barb from getting suspicious.

He rushed back to his secret room, locking the door and closing the curtains to the giant window. Barb had told him if he ever didn’t want her to walk in that he could do that and she’d respect his wishes. The panel on the other side did have a speaker that would let her talk to him, and she had a key in case of emergencies, so neither she nor Branch ever worried about him barricading himself inside. He spread everything out on the ground and pulled out the last of the three books he’d grabbed.

‘Radio and Portable CD Player Repair Handbook’

It made sense she had something like this, she did say she was fixing up one of her old ones. She had guitar repair manuals too. He’d seen her with a guitar last week that he was sure she’d brought home from a concert smashed to pieces. She probably wouldn’t notice the book was gone, as she evidently hadn’t needed the guitar manuals since he was using them for his guitar lessons with Thrash. He could safely read and work on repairing her old CD player with Barb and Thrash none the wiser.

While he could just skip to the parts of the book relevant to the CD player, it might give him more insight to read the entire book cover to cover. So he did just that. The next few days he shut himself away, focusing only on the book. He wanted to get through it as quickly as possible so that he could start on repairing. Eventually Barb would likely get frustrated by the loss of their hangout time and start asking questions, and depending on his own lying skills she might start to get suspicious.

______________________

It wasn’t Barb who’d gotten suspicious first.

The downside of focusing only on the manual is that by next week's guitar lesson he hadn’t done any of the reading he’d been assigned by Thrash.

“What does an ‘H’ mean on a guitar tab?” Thrash had asked, and Branch had stammered out a random guess. It was the first question he’d gotten wrong since starting these lessons. He’d memorized everything perfectly, but because he hadn’t done his assigned reading he was failing. Every question was like that until eventually Thrash set his own guitar down and placed his hand on Branch’s.

“It’s okay to make mistakes. Now we can go over what you’re having issues with. Are we moving through the material too fast?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll have it memorized next week, I promise.”

“Branch, it’s alright.” He paused, and Branch had hoped that would be where they left off, “I noticed you’ve been having a lot of alone time. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I want to make sure you’re okay. Is something bothering you?”

“No!” Branch answered quickly, shouting the word. He grimaced, shaking his hands as he tried to play it off, “No, I’m fine. Just felt like being by myself a lot this week. I can stop, Barb can come in after dinner, even. Is she upset?”

“Not at all. This isn’t about her, and you don’t have to spend any time with her today if you don’t want to.” Thrash said.

That’s not what I want them to think is going on! If they thought Branch didn’t want to spend time with Barb anymore they might think he’s rude, or even worse, think he doesn’t like them. If they think that, they might send him away. He was doing all of this so he could stay with them! He couldn’t get kicked out because he was neglecting their bonding time. He needed to find a way to juggle repairing the CD player, doing his lessons and spending time with Barb. Maybe he could do his homework during their reading time, and he could work on the CD player when she had band practice?

“It’s not that!” He needed to clear that up right away, “I love hanging out with Barb. I’m just– It’s just that I’ve been– I’m–” He struggled to come up with an excuse.

“Branch,” Thrash looked him in the eyes, “If you don’t want to play guitar, you don’t have to.”

“I do! I really, really do!” Branch yelled frantically, “It’s not that but– thank you…”

He trailed off. He’d never been told that staying like this was an option. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe this was a loaded question, one with a right answer and a wrong answer. That had to be it. It was like asking a picky toddler if he wanted to go hungry. He wasn’t meant to take Thrash up on that offer.

“I’ve been… busy. Working on something.” Branch then said the stupidest thing he’s ever said, “For Demo.”

Why did he just throw Demo under the anglerbus?

Thrash gave him a smile that seemed to tell Branch he didn’t believe him, “Well that’s very nice of you. Demo’s lucky to have such a good friend.”

“Yeah…” Branch mumbled, looking down as his fingers messed with the hem of his vest.

Great, now he’s neglecting his lessons, family time and he’s a liar. As if he wasn’t already bad enough, he just had to go and ruin the few things he had going for him.

“Let’s end today’s lesson here. Next week we can go over the questions from today. Sound good?” Thrash asked, and Branch enthusiastically nodded. Thrash smiled and ruffled his hair, “Alright, run off now.”

______________________

Branch worked to balance his time better after that. His time between breakfast and lunch was still his alone time, but afterwards Barb would join him while he read up for his lessons with Thrash. After dinner he’d spend time in the living room for a bit, but at the first sign of music he’d take the excuse to head back to his room and work on repairing the CD player. He’d finally finished the book and identified all the parts he’d managed to grab. He wasn’t sure if it was badly damaged until he reassembled it, but from what he could see, the casing and board had broken when it hit the wall. The casing was cosmetic, easily fixed with glue and tape. The board however…

“How am I supposed to solder this?” Branch whispered to himself, the manual open to a page on repairing boards.

Soldering and epoxy. That was how the book instructed him to fix it. Branch wasn’t even sure what epoxy was , let alone where to get it. He’d also need a soldering iron and some sort of thin metal wire he could use as the solder. It was looking like repairing would take more than just knowledge and the original parts. There wasn’t any way to repair it without those things, and he had no clue how to get them.

All of this work for nothing.

He shook his head. Barb was repairing one just like this, so she must have that stuff lying around. He just needed to find it and borrow it, then sneak it back.

He looked down at the broken bits of the CD player. Stealing. He was planning on stealing. Even if he put it back, he was taking it without asking. Was he really going to do all of this for a CD player that may or may not work when he’s done? There had to be some other way…

But no matter how hard he thought about it, every solution required asking someone for help. Barb, Thrash, Billy, Val, Petra, Demo, he could ask any of them to help him repair this, but then he might as well just ask for a brand new one. Heck he might as well just yell ‘I’m going back on the boundary I set myself so feel free to ignore it’ from the upper bowl stage at that point. This was the only way he could avoid risking that mixed signal and disappointing Thrash and Barb when he inevitably fails and can’t sit through a single song.

This was necessary if he wanted to be fixed.

That’s what he told himself when he took the tubes of epoxy from a drawer in the kitchen. It’s what he told himself when he found Barb’s toolkit and took the soldering tools from it while she was out practicing. It’s what he told himself when he dug through the piles of junk until he found another broken CD player to remove the belt and a ribbon from as spare parts. It’s what he told himself as he stole and borrowed from around the house. From the trolls nice enough to take him in. It would all be justified in the end when this worked and he could fix this. Fix him.

Finally, he was sure he’d done everything right. Three weeks after he’d had the idea and it was finally done. The outside was ugly, as was his soldering, but it should work and that was all it needed to do. He locked himself in his room and pulled out the CD he’d bought over a month ago. He held the disc carefully, worried about smudging it and leaving a permanent blemish on it—as if touching him would ruin it—then loaded it into the top and shut it with a quiet ‘click’. He hadn’t bothered to move over to the couch, still sat on the floor where he’d been working on it. He sucked in a breath and pulled his headphones up over his ears.

This was it.

His stomach churned during the brief silence, the anticipation of music nearly as bad as music itself. There was a vibrating sound as the CD spun, positioning itself, then… ear splitting static . Even for how harsh and metallic rock music was, Branch knew this wasn’t right. This wasn’t music, it was a screeching mess of something having gone wrong with his repairs. Branch tore his headphones off, covering his ringing ears. The sound still poured from the headphones, filling his secret room with an awful racket.

He ripped the headphone cord out and silence descended on him. He stared at the CD player. He’d been sure he’d done everything right. He’d checked every part half a dozen times. He’d made sure he had every screw and bit of plastic, no matter how cosmetic it was. He’d worked so hard on this. It was supposed to work. This was supposed to fix him. He couldn’t even fix a stupid piece of plastic, how was he supposed to fix himself? He’d wasted nearly a month on this. He’d gone through Barb’s things. Taken them without asking. He put himself behind on his lessons and disappointed Thrash. He’d ignored Barb for days. He lied to their faces .

All for nothing.

All for this stupid piece of junk!

The room was no longer quiet, instead filled with the sound of heavy panting. He was alone, it should be quiet. His hands trembled, reaching out and grabbing the CD player. He’d risked everything for this, and it was worthless. It’s no wonder Barb threw it away, things that can’t be fixed should be gotten rid of. Why would you keep broken garbage around? Why would you waste time, energy and space on something that can never go back to the way it was?

His grip on the hunk of garbage tightened, making small cracking noises as the glue holding the casing together crumbled in his grasp. It was making noise and he hated it. He hated it so much. A scream tore through his room, followed by the sound of plastic and metal shattering against stone.

Branch looked down at his hands. They were empty. He looked up at where the CD player had been thrown into the wall. Once again it laid in pieces on the ground, joined this time by the shards of the CD that were left inside it.

“No…” Branch rushed over, falling to his knees and grabbing the two largest shards of the disc, “No no no no–!” Tears spilled over his cheeks, dripping onto the fragments of his CD, “No please–”

No amount of crying or begging would fix what he’d done. Why did he break everything he touched? It wasn’t junk, Barb could have fixed it. He didn’t try hard enough. He wasn’t a fixer, he was a ruiner. It wasn’t the CD player’s fault he was too stupid to fix it, and now he’d broke it worse.

All he could do was break things.

He’d break Thrash and Barb if he stayed. He’d poison them. Turn them on each other until they’re tearing each other’s throats out. They’d be filled with resentment until staying in this house—this city—would be too much. His presence would clog the air like smoke, choking them until they had to run to breath. To be free of their shackles of him.

His hands hurt. He slowly unballed his fists, dropping the shards that had dug into his palms back into the pile and sweeping it under the couch. He’d deal with it later. Right now…

He needed to talk to Thrash.

Chapter Text

The house was quiet as Branch marched his way to Thrash’s office. Barb was out at a concert, and Thrash was almost like a ghost in the house most times. Some days Branch would forget he was there until he’d turn around and see him in the hallway, nearly having a heart attack at the scare. It was weird, especially with how boisterous he knew the man could be and how even when she was quiet Barb could fill up a room. At first he’d needed to get away from her, but now he found the times she wasn’t around to feel empty and as if the house was in stasis. Trying to do anything felt impossible and uncanny without the knowledge of Barb lurking somewhere in the home. It was as if he was stuck in a weird limbo of waiting for her to come back and make time start around him again.

He’d need to get over that.

He was relying on her too much. What would he do when he left? Barb wouldn’t show up to his new bunker just to what? Sit there and exist so time feels right? How did that make any sense? Time was a unit of measure, his own feelings had no effect on whether or not it existed. He was being clingy and ridiculous. Barb had better things to do than cater to his weirdness already, and once he was out of their hair she’d have no reason to tolerate him.

Branch briefly wondered if Thrash would ignore his request to be left alone to begin rebuilding his bunker and instead begin the ‘passing of the Branch’ anew. Who would be the first victim? Val had mentioned that Thrash talked to her dad, and he’d heard Thrash often mentioning that ‘Drag Thundershock’ would need to handle this or that. Val’s dad was likely either his friend or someone important, so he might ask him to do it as a favor. Peppy had done that with his friend Mags. After Cooper’s family fell through, he’d gone to stay with her. She’d tried hard to make it work, but more for Peppy’s sake than his.

Maybe he’d go to Demo’s family. Demo, from what he’d learned, wasn’t your typical Rock Troll. Cooper had also not been your typical Pop Troll in appearance, not that anyone would have ever said that. Branch had quickly learned he was just as much ‘Pop’ as everyone else. He’d had a theory about what that meant, but Peppy had shut him down immediately.

Demo’s family might’ve heard that Branch was weird for a Rock Troll, and if they were fine with Demo being weird, they might volunteer like Cooper’s had. Though Cooper’s family also had experience with adopting that had been the main driving factor in the decision. So maybe not Demo immediately. Billy was seventeen, so his parents were possible options. He doesn’t know much about Billy’s family, other than he has some older siblings that he got hand-me-downs from. Living with Billy would probably be nice, as nice as it was with Barb. He was really cool and thoughtful, so he wouldn’t make a bad foster bro–

Oh…

Scratch that then. He couldn’t live with Billy’s family. Maybe he’d end up with Petra? She was nice and helpful like Barb–

Branch groaned and shook his head. Of course it came back to Barb. This wasn’t helping. Whatever happened to him was ultimately up to Thrash, so there was no point trying to plan things out too far. He sucked in a breath and knocked on the office door.

“Come in!” Thrash’s voice called out.

He opened the door slowly, peaking around it before slowly shuffling into the room. Thrash looked up from his work and Branch mentally kicked himself for interrupting him now.

“Branch, need something?”

“Um– if you’re busy I can– I can come back later–” Branch awkwardly stuttered.

“I was just about to take a break.” Thrash pushed himself away from his desk and stretched, his shoulders popping loudly with a groan. He laughed it off, “Oh my aching everything.”

Branch rushed over, leaning against the arm of Thrash’s wheelchair, “Are you okay? Do you need medicine? Should I get a doctor?”

“I’m fine, Branch.” He reached out to ruffle Branch’s hair, but pulled his hand away when Branch recoiled from the touch. He set his hand back down, not mentioning the reaction, “Now what did you need?”

Branch’s resolve faltered. Thrash was tired and wanted a break and now Branch was throwing more work at him. He’d be making trouble while Thrash was hurting. No, no this wasn’t trouble. This would help Thrash in the long run. This would take a burden off of him.

He must have stalled for too long, because Thrash began to move away from the desk, “I could use some fresh air. How about we go take a walk and talk there? I can show you my thinking place.”

Branch nodded, following after Thrash. Thrash paused outside the front door, taking in a deep breath and letting it out with a relieved sigh. It was weird to think of the volcanic air as ‘fresh air’, even if it makes sense. It’s air outside; ergo it’s fresh air. Of course it doesn’t smell like plant matter, river water and rich soil. It’s a volcano. It’s a matter of location and personal experiences that’s making the disconnect.

He took a deep breath. The smoke used to have him coughing if he breathed too much in at once, but this time it simply fills his lungs same as any air. The scent is familiar, dare he even say nostalgic, reminding him of the walk to the wrestling match. It’s less metallic smelling than the morning and noon air when he and Barb go to get coffee, instead tinged with a hint of gunpowder.

The walk with Thrash was silent. He had no idea where Thrash could be taking him. No spots came to mind as scenic and quiet that might be a thinking place. Branch had toured most of the city, and ‘quiet’ was not one of the words he’d use to describe it. It was nowhere near as bad as Pop Village, but occasionally Branch could venture to the edges of the village bounds for a few hours and enjoy some time away from the endless parties and Poppy. Volcano Rock City was mostly industrial, not much ‘nature’ to enjoy that wasn’t lava. Maybe a viewpoint on top of the volcano?

No, they were going underground.

Maybe some sort of lava river or something? That seemed reasonable—which was an odd thing to say—and lava was something the city had in spades.

Thrash turned into a building, and unlike the sorts on the top levels of the city, it was enormous. Branch wasn’t sure he could even reach the ceiling if he got a ladder and stretched his hair as far as it could go. Stepping inside he was hit with the overwhelming smell of molten metal, stronger than it had ever been in the volcano. Rhythmic banging and clanging echoed off the walls, sounding almost like drumming but Branch was sure Thrash would never bring him anywhere that played music.

“King Thrash? Where are we?”

Thrash merely smiled, continuing on his way down a railed walkway. Branch realized that for as big as the place was, there was an entire lower level that they were suspended over as well. Long conveyor belts loaded with twisted and mangled pieces of scrap metal covered the lower level like a spider’s web. Mallets and saws worked at the metal, turning it into small fragments that were carried towards a large contraption. The door of it would open, fire pouring out as it was filled with the scrap, then shut with a loud clang. The pieces would emerge from the other side, melted together and glowing bright orange as large metal crusher plates slammed down on them and pressed them into ingots. Elsewhere a faucet poured liquid slag into a large cauldron, a spray of glowing mist covering the floor around it in steadily growing build-up.

He knew Rock Trolls produced things at a grander scale than Pop Trolls, but he had no idea this was what that looked like. There was something unnatural about the process that made Branch’s skin crawl, the giant machinery looking almost monstrous as it continued to march along despite the blazing inferno that raged each time the door opened like a beast’s maw. Each clash of metal against metal shook him to his core, as if he was on one of those conveyor belts. Every bit of this place was lethal and terrifying, but more importantly?

It was powerful.

His stomach tied in knots at the thought of falling into the machine as if it were a Bergen’s mouth, but safe from the walkway all he could feel was awe at the fact the Rock Trolls controlled these machines. They harnessed power in a way he never thought possible, building contraptions and weapons that would give any Pop Troll nightmares for life.

“Takes your breath away, hm?” Thrash’s amused voice cut through the air, but Branch couldn’t tear his eyes away from the factory.

He gave the faintest of nods. “What is this place?” He asked breathlessly.

“Our metal recycling factory. I like to come here and watch the machines when I need to think.” Thrash turned, giving Branch his full attention, “Now, what did you need to talk about?”

Branch’s hands gripped the safety rails tightly. He was thankful to have his gloves, because he was sure his palms were sweating so much that without them he’d slip. He had to do this, for Barb and Thrash. If he cared an ounce about them, he would do this.

He forced the words out, “I want to move out.” He bit his lip, immediately wanting to take it back, to unsay them. This is for them. This is for the best. “You don’t need to find any other family. Before I came with you I was working on a survival bunker, I can start it again here.”

He turned to look at Thrash, and he felt his resolve begin to crumble. Thrash looked so… upset. He always had this calm look on his face, even when Branch was freaking out, but now he looked like Branch had yanked his heart out and stomped on it.

“Can I ask why? Did we do something to make you uncomfortable?”

Branch was quick to shake his head, “No! No you’ve been really nice. The best family I’ve stayed with.” His hands went to the hem of his vest, rubbing at the familiar fabric, “I just think I do better on my own, so there’s no need to put me with any other family.”

“I see. So you don’t want another placement, you want to go off on your own.” Thrash repeated slowly.

“Yes.” Finally someone who understood–

“No.”

“No?” Branch repeated incredulously, “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I mean no. If there’s no issue with our arrangement, and you don’t want a different foster, you can’t move out to go live on your own.”

“Why not?! I’m fully capable of doing it, I was on my own when you picked me up and I was doing just fine! I just came with you so I could stop getting glitter shot into my face and dragged to parties against my will.” Branch shouted, hitting the railing with his fist.

“I don’t doubt you’re very capable Branch, but you’re still a child, so my answer is no.”

Branch growled in frustration, “You can’t just say no! You’re not my dad and you’re not my king, you can’t just tell me what to do!”

“Branch, when you asked to come live with us you were asking to become a resident of Volcano Rock City. This makes you one of my citizens, and me your king. But more than that, you’ve been placed in my care. I’m not your father, and you don’t have to pretend that I am, but you are my responsibility. Even if you weren’t, I can’t just let you go live by yourself in the wild.”

“Why not?! I can handle it!” Branch’s face was flushed, tears pouring down his face as he screamed at Thrash. Why was he making this so difficult?

“You shouldn’t have to.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms and looking away, “Well I do.”

“You don’t. Not anymore.” Thrash had that same, calm understanding look on his face.

Branch wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. He’s just so perfect and understanding and Branch is not . He felt his rage boil over, unable to stop himself from screaming at Thrash, “Would you just shut up?! I can’t take any more of this! I get it, you care sooo much and want to fix me and I’m just so ungrateful! Fixing me would make you look so good and prove what a good person you are! You know what would actually make you a good person? If you just left me alone like I wanted!”

“Branch–”

Branch’s voice was shrill, his throat hurting with the strain of screaming, “Just leave me alone, Poppy!”

His eyes opened and he slowly looked up at Thrash. His own bewilderment was painted on the elder Troll’s face as well, his eyes wide. “Thrash.” Branch corrected under his breath, “Just leave me alone, Thrash.”

“Branch,” Thrash let out a small sigh, “What are you running from, Branch?”

Branch turned away from him, leaning on the railing of the walkway and looking ahead at the machinery. The warm metal pressed against his skin was just hot enough that it was uncomfortable but not burning. It was a welcomed distraction. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do.”

He gritted his teeth together, turning his head to the side, fully away from Thrash, “You’re wasting your time, you know. On me.”

“Oh?” There was an almost playful note to how Thrash said it. He didn’t believe him.

“You and Barb are probably thinking ‘This is really tough, but it’ll all be worth it when he’s better’. You see a kid who’s not acting right and you wanna fix that. You’re like that. Fixers. You keep piles of broken junk because you think you can fix it.” Branch scowled, “You don’t know what you’re getting into, I’m not like all that stuff in your house. There’s no fixing me. I’m just broken.”

Thrash slowly moved his chair forward, sitting beside Branch and watching the machinery in silence. Minutes passed before Thrash spoke again, “I know.”

Branch turned to him, “What?”

“I know you’re broken. When I met you, I was never under any impression you’d be a repair job.” Thrash turned and looked at him with a smile, “Would you like to know what I saw?”

Branch hesitantly nodded.

Thrash’s hand slowly lifted off the arm of his wheelchair, pointing down towards the conveyor belt where the scrap metal was being piled on.

“Trash?” Branch asked.

“Potential. That metal’s been beat up, broken and mangled. Half of it I’m not even sure of what it used to be.”

Branch crossed his arms, hugging them tight against himself. He wondered if his brothers would be able to recognize what was left of him, or if he was too twisted and bent like the metal on the conveyor belt. He’d been waiting for them to come back, but what if they couldn’t even recognize him? It’d been almost ten years since they left, would they remember his face? Even if they did, could they recognize him now that he was grey? He supposed Thrash’s analogy was on the mark about that, at least.

“It’s still good metal though, we’d be stupid to just throw it away. Just a bit of warmth and it’s a clean slate again. It can be anything.” Thrash’s hand rested on the railing, there if Branch wanted it. He did. He slipped his hand into Thrash’s, who rubbed small circles into the back of his hand. “What would you like to be, Branch?”

There were so many things he wanted to be. He wanted to be alive. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to be brave. Most of all…

Most of all he wanted to be someone people would stay for.

How could he tell Thrash that? He’d only just met the man. All telling him would do was confirm to Thrash that Branch wasn’t someone worth keeping around. “What if that doesn’t happen? What if it stays a busted up piece of scrap forever? Or what if the metal’s bad and anything you try to do with it doesn’t work? What if you don’t like what it ends up being?”

Thrash lifted Branch’s hand up and held it close to his chest. He tried to look Branch in the eyes, but Branch stared down at their hands. He’s never liked eye contact. “Branch, I know there’s nothing I can say to make you believe that Barbara and I genuinely want you. It’ll take time to prove that to you. You’re a practical troll, so why don’t I give you a good reason you have to stay?”

Branch mumbled, “Okay.”

“I don’t know what your life was like with the Pop Trolls, but I do know that anyone who looks at this situation is going to see that Rock Trolls kidnapped a Pop child. If I don’t personally see to your safety and comfort, that may come to bite us if we have further contact in the future. Does that make sense?”

Shockingly, it did. Thrash was right, from an outside perspective it would look bad on Thrash for keeping him. He couldn’t see anyone being upset over him of all Trolls, but Thrash didn’t know his reputation. Logically a king finding out one of his subjects had been kidnapped would be upsetting, and made worse if Thrash left him to fend for himself in the wild. Not only that, but giving Branch to another subject would be dragging someone else into that mess.

He couldn’t believe that Thrash wanted him, but he could believe that Thrash was stuck with him.

“In fact, let’s make this more official, the Rock Troll way.” Thrash let go of his hand and began moving down the walkway, looking back to see if Branch would follow.

Branch rushed after him, the metal walkway clanging loudly under his boots, “It’s not another bet is it?”

“Bet?”

“Uh, nevermind.” It occurred to Branch that Thrash might be upset to hear he made a bet about when he’ll give him up to the next foster home.

“I’m not a gambling man myself. No, this is more of a symbolic promise.”

Thrash took him to a lift to the bottom floor, leading the way to a much smaller cauldron of liquid metal. Small scraps that had fallen from the conveyor belts littered the floor, as well as cooled droplets from the spray of the spouts.

Thrash leaned over in his chair, collecting a handful of scrap in a closed palm. Branch’s heart leaped out of his chest as Thrash proceeded to then shove his entire hand in the vat of lava. He yelped, reaching for Thrash’s arm to pull it out before seeing the calm look on Thrash’s face. Right, because ‘heat resistant’ means ‘lava-proof’ apparently. Branch watched, enthralled, as Thrash pulled his hand out and dipped it in a basin of water nearby. Once cooled he rolled the melted lump of metal in his hands, then began braiding the strands together. Branch had only seen a metalworker once, back at the tree. It was their job to make and repair the pickaxes and shovels used for the tunnel. They didn’t have much access to materials like raw metals, so they were all made with melted down cowbells and scrapbooking tools. Actually… he wondered if that was at all related to Poppy’s odd obsession with cowbells and scrapbooking. After that, there wasn’t much need for as many tools, as the existing ones were barely being used. For a brief time, Branch had thought blacksmithing might be the avenue for him to go down, but as many of the adults were quick to point out, it was a useless career in a village of non-stop singing and dancing.

“Does that hurt at all?” Branch asked.

“Not at all. It’s like being in a hot bath.” Thrash said.

Jealousy tinted his voice, “Do all the tribes have way more useful abilities?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about the other tribes. What can Pop do?”

Memories of Guy Diamond and Cooper flashed in his mind. He shuddered, “You don’t wanna know.”

Thrash chuckled, “That bad huh? Alright, hold out your arm for me.”

Putting perhaps a bit too much trust in Thrash, Branch held his right arm out. Thrash carefully wrapped the warm metal braid around his wrist, bending it into a cuff-like shape. Thrash dipped a single finger back into the cauldron, pulling it out and running it across the two ends of the cuff like a welding iron and sealing it shut.

Thrash made sure to cool his hand off in the water again before holding onto Branch’s hand, “This is something we call ‘Forever Jewelry’. As long as you have this, you’ll have a place with me.”

Branch looked over the dark steel bracelet, “Are they like, super unbreakable or something?”

“No more than any other steel.”

“Then what’s ‘forever’ about it?” Branch made quotations with his fingers, “What happens if it breaks?”

Thrash had a look on his face as if he was sharing some great secret, “The ‘forever’ is that as long as I’m around, I’ll be here to fix it. Stuff never lasts, but if we love something enough, the idea is always there. Even if it falls apart, the memory of it is still here with us.”

Branch ran his fingers over the braids, enjoying how the bumps felt under his thumb almost as much as he liked how the fabric of his vest felt. “Why does everything you say sound so sentimental and wise?”

“Wisdom comes with age.” Thrash looked rather smug about it.

“Peppy’s as old as you and he’s pretty stupid.”

Thrash barked a laugh, then covered his mouth, “In my wise old age, I’m supposed to tell you to respect your elders.”

Branch raised an eyebrow, “Then do that.”

“I never bought into that. Respect people who show you that same respect.” Thrash backed his chair up and turned back towards the exit, “And I have a feeling this King Peppy hasn’t done that so… he’s pretty stupid.”

Branch followed after him as they left the factory, feeling much lighter than when he’d walked inside. The feeling was made better hearing from someone who didn’t think King Peppy was perfect just because he led the way out of the Troll Tree. He respects the king for that, of course, but other than that one moment of glory… Branch found his leadership to be lacking. The village had no traps to protect them other than the ones he’d set up, no scouts to keep an eye out for danger, no emergency plans that weren’t for something like party fouls or confetti shortages.

Branch envied the Rock Trolls. Thrash was everything he thought a king should be. He had this presence that demanded respect, but a rough gentleness that was strangely befitting of a Rock Troll. He was educated and emotionally aware. At times he felt like Thrash was the father to all of the Rock Tribe, not just Barb. How would things have gone if Thrash had been the king of Pop Village? Branch knows that Peppy got everyone out of the tree, it was one of the first stories they tell in school, but he can’t help but feel like they still lost something. Would he still feel that way? Would people have still been hurt? Would Thrash have had them out sooner, before the threat of Poppy getting eaten was looming over Peppy’s head?

If Thrash had been king of Pop Village, would he have taken Branch in first? Was there something keeping Peppy from doing the same? If Thrash had, maybe he wouldn’t have been forced into parties and hug times at all hours of the day, and if he hadn’t been forced to try singing maybe he wouldn’t hate it as much.

No, no because that would mean it was Peppy’s fault, and it couldn’t be Peppy’s fault that Branch wasn’t normal.

“Branch?”

“Huh?” Branch jerked his head up, “Sorry, I spaced out.”

“It’s alright, I was just asking if you’re okay.”

“Mhm.” 

“Got a lot on your mind still?”

Branch thought about the thing that sparked this whole mess, that CD player, “Yeah…”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it yet. When I have a lot of thoughts it helps to have a friend who’s good at listening. You and that Demo boy seem to get along well.”

At the reminder of one of the lies he told Thrash Branch rubbed at his bracelet, quickly changing topics, “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“I forgive you. Did you yell a lot at Pop Village?” Branch nodded, “It must’ve been tough, feeling like you had to yell so people would listen.”

“Yeah… it didn’t work.”

Thrash made a low humming noise, “I was going to save this until it was done, but I think you could use a surprise.”

Branch boarded the elevator with Thrash, but instead of pressing any of the fourteen numbers, Thrash hit a button that said ‘R’. The elevator moved, taking them up past the top floor of their home. The door opened, and Branch was surprised to see open skies above them rather than the rock ceilings. Wind whipped around him, making him feel surprisingly chilled despite being much warmer than Pop Village ever had been. Looking out, he could see the entirety of the city below him. 

They were on the rim of the volcano.

Branch had no idea what surprise could possibly be up here, but he actually trusted Barb and Thrash to have something enjoyable planned for him. For the first time in a while, surprises no longer filled him with fear and anxiety.

“The plan is to have one of these pointed in every direction, but for now it’s just this one.” Thrash explained as they approached a metal contraption mounted to the ground. It was pointed out towards the way back to the forest.

“What is it?”

Thrash grinned, “Why don’t you try it out and see?”

He guided Branch’s hand over the two handlebars, instructing him to aim the sights at a rock formation in the far distance. With no clue what it would do, Branch pressed the trigger, jumping slightly as it fired. Through the sights he watched a harpoon four times his size pierce through the giant rock as if it were nothing. The rope attached to the harpoon went taught, and Thrash set Branch’s hand on a crank. With a quick spin, the harpoon was yanked back, causing the rock formation to crumble apart as if it were made of chalk.

“Let’s see a Bergen go up against that, hm?” Thrash looked at him with a bloodthirsty grin. That grin was quickly replaced with a look of shock as Branch threw himself on top of him. “Oof!”

“I love it! Did you see how sharp it is?!” Branch hugged Thrash tighter, “Thank you, King Thrash!”

Thrash smiled, wrapping his own arms around Branch and patting him on the back gently, “I can’t take all the credit. A very smart young man showed me all of his trap ideas. I took a few and mixed them with some Rock Troll ingenuity.”

Branch stood up, grabbing onto the handles of it again, “Can I try it again? Please?”

Thrash chuckled, “Oh alright, one more, then we go home for dinner.”

Chapter Text

“Twigs, you’re pacing a hole in the floor.”

Branch stopped his pacing to glare at Barb, “You’re one to talk, you run around in circles any time I so much as sneeze.”

“You’re gonna get stress wrinkles by the time you’re fourteen.” She set the TV remote down and got off the couch, picking Branch up under his arms, “It’s gonna be fine.”

Branch pouted, hanging limply in her arms, “That’s easy for you to say, you hang out with people all the time. Do you know how many times I’ve had friends over since I went grey? Like none! What do people even do when coming over? Should I have made plans? Got some party games? Am I supposed to– Hey!” 

Branch yelled as Barb shuffled him in her arms until he was hanging upside down. She gave him a few good shakes and said, “Just gotta shake out all those thoughts.”

“Barb!” Branch could feel the blood rushing to his head, “I’ll kick you in the face!”

“Yeah ‘cause that worked so well for you last time. Stop wriggling, I’m doing you a favor.” She shook him more, “Shaking all that anxiety out onto the floor, makin’ a mess. Oh it’s alllllll over the floor.”

Branch sighed. The most infuriating fact of Barb holding him by his legs and shaking him like he owed her money is that it did help, if only by making him more irritated than he was anxious. He wasn’t even sure why he was so worried in the first place…

That was a lie. He had an entire list of reasons he was worried, and his mind kept supplying new ones each time he was sure he’d thought of them all. After his (thankfully) failed attempt at convincing Thrash to let him move out and finding out that Thrash had actually listened to him about making Volcano Rock City safer, Branch had taken a day to not think about his failed attempt at fixing Barb’s CD player. Somehow what had felt like the worst thing in the world suddenly became just a small roadblock after a night’s sleep and an entire day with Barb. After he’d calmed down he came back with a plan, and he owed the idea to Thrash.

If Branch had to rely on anyone to hand his secret plan to, it should be someone who had a secret just as stressful. Someone he trusted and knew just how serious secrets like these were. He’d taken Thrash’s advice and would ask Demo for help. Under the guise of wanting to hang out—though he doubted Thrash bought that—he had invited Demo over.

And now he was a nervous wreck.

Ignoring the ‘what if’s of confiding in Demo going poorly, what if Val and Petra are upset that he’s hanging out with Demo alone? What if they find out what he told Demo and get mad that he didn’t confide in them? What if he was a bad host? He never paid much attention in school to how to properly host a friend, as he never thought he’d have a friend to come over. Then again, those things probably only applied to Pop Trolls. Even if Demo had an interest in other music, he couldn’t see him jumping at the offer of glitterball or a game of ‘pin the cherry on the cupcake’.

“Are you done being a little nervous wreck?” Barb asked.

He let out an exaggerated sigh, “Yeah.” She dropped him to the ground, “Hey!”

“You wanted down. Listen to your big sister, Demo’s gonna come over and it’s gonna go fine and you’re gonna have fun because he’s your friend. Okay?”

Branch opened his mouth to reluctantly agree with her, only to be interrupted by the sound of knocking. He quickly scrambled to his feet and shoved Barb out of the way, “Move your butt! That’s him!”

He thinks he heard her fall into a vase, judging by the sound of glass breaking and her yelling, but he was too distracted by rushing to the door. He opened it as calmly as he could and tried his best to sound casual, “Sup?”

Demo smiled excitedly, “Greetings, your royal rocknesses!”

“You don’t have to call us that.” Branch said.

Barb walked over, dusting herself off, “I dunno, I kinda like it. Makes me feel important.” Branch glared at her before pushing her into the pile of shoes by the door. “Ack!”

Demo laughed, “Guess that theory that you’re Princess Barb’s child from the future who time traveled is also wrong.”

“Now it’s time travel? Why do these get worse every time I hear them?” Branch asked in an exasperated tone.

“That’s one with another variation! Some people think you time traveled from the far off future, when the world has been doomed to an apocalypse!” Demo stepped into the house and Branch shut the door behind him.

Branch rolled his eyes. With each awful theory, he was beginning to doubt anyone was actually attempting to guess where he came from, instead just using his appearance to goof around. A secret spy and time traveler? Who comes up with this stuff? He grabbed Demo’s hand and began leading him out of the living room, “Come on, let’s go to my secret room.”

“You boys have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn't do!” Barb called after them, waving.

That was terrible advice, considering the things Branch was learning about Barb. He genuinely wondered if there was anything at all that she’d consider to be a ‘bad idea’ or ‘safety risk’. Oh well, that was a problem for another time, right now he had an important discussion with Demo.

His secret room wasn’t anything impressive, but Demo still marveled at it when he opened the door. He was thankful for Barb adding the mini fridge, as he could at least pretend to be a good host and give Demo a drink. The two plopped back on the broken-in couch and Branch took a deep breath.

“Demo, I wanted to ask you about something, but I understand if you don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Hm?” Demo hummed through his sip of soda, tilting his head.

“Why do you like other kinds of music?” Demo choked on his drink, and Branch had to wait for him to stop coughing to continue his question, “I’m just– curious, I guess. I don’t know a lot about… a lot, but I get the feeling that everyone only likes their own music and that’s it.”

“Well– that’s– I really um–” Demo stuttered, “I just… do?”

“Oh.” Branch couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice. He doesn’t know what answer he’d been hoping for, he didn’t know he’d even been hoping for an answer at all. Maybe something that would help him understand what was so great about the very thing that ruined his life? Something that would explain why it was special that entire tribes were apparently built around these concepts of Pop and Rock. Something that would cement them as having some quality other than their own familiarity to their respective tribes that could be noticed if you paid attention like Demo did.

“Wait, that’s not what I–” Demo shook his hands quickly, “It’s just really hard to explain. I never thought I would have to explain it.”

Demo took a few breaths and Branch sat quietly, waiting for him to be ready, “You know how Rock has all these subgenres?” Branch nodded. He didn’t really, but he remembered Demo talking about them when they first met. “It’s kind of like that. I could never pick a favorite subgenre because there’s so many differences, and I wanted to learn about them all! The signature sounds, chord progressions, lyric subjects and even production techniques vary so much between genres!”

Demo practically had stars in his eyes as he spoke, “Each subgenre invokes their own unique feeling that it’s impossible to compare them! I mean how could I choose between Rock N Roll and Death Metal? They’re two completely different things! Like with Rock N Roll–” Demo paused, laughing nervously and rubbing the back of his neck, “Sorry, getting off track. After learning about all the subgenres, I realized I wanted to see what else music could do so I sorta kinda… snuck into the restricted part of the library and ‘borrowed’ a Classical album?”

Demo was visibly nervous at the admission, sweating with his eyes darting at the door. Branch supposed admitting to the ‘son’ of the king that you stole restricted records would be stress-inducing. 

“And you liked it?” Branch asked.

Demo nodded, “I loved it! I can definitely hear similarities between it and our music.”

“Have you heard any of the other genres?”

“I’ve also listened to Country, but I haven’t had the chance to hear Techno or Funk.”

“And Pop?”

“I don’t think I’ll have the chance.” Demo seemed to wilt, “After the tribes split, apparently most records left of Pop music in the city were smashed. The few that weren’t are locked up and aren’t in the restricted area.”

Branch weighed his options, coming to a quick conclusion. He wanted Demo’s help, and people should be compensated for helping. “I need a favor. If I could somehow get you some Pop music, would you help me?”

Demo gasped, “Your royal rockness, if you got caught taking the records–”

“I won’t get caught. I’m not talking about the records. I have some Pop music that Thrash doesn’t know about, but it’s our secret. You take it to the grave, understand?” Branch pointed a finger in Demo’s face.

He nodded, gulping, “To the grave! But– how?!”

“Don’t ask questions. I can’t get into the how or why right now, I just– do we have a deal?”

Demo nodded, a serious look on his face. Branch reached into his vest, pulling out one of the only items left from his old life…

An invitation from Poppy.

The construction paper was just as vibrant as the day he’d gotten it, with faint creases where he’d crumpled it up and then smoothed it out at home. This was one of the first invitations where that tradition started, of destroying them only to fix them up when he was alone. It had become the only way people would accept a ‘no’ from him, but for some reason he couldn’t ever bring himself to throw away the ones Poppy gave him.

He held out the card towards Demo and opened it, several cardstock versions of Poppy’s friends popping up under a rainbow banner that wished him a happy seventh birthday. He could hear the motor meant to spit out glitter (that he’d depleted long ago) whirl and a small recording of their voices cheer out “Happy birthday Branch!”

Demo’s face was a mix of confusion and intrigue, clearly torn between recognizing that this card wasn’t something that came from Rock Trolls but unsure of just what it meant or how it was related to Branch’s offer. Branch held the card closer to Demo, “Pull the tab at the front.”

There were several pull tabs, one for each of Poppy’s friends that would play recorded messages minus the one at the very front. He’d accepted long ago that Pop music was inescapable, so while hearing it infuriated him to no end, he found he could grit his teeth and complain his way through it. He could never manage that with Rock music, but he never had to. Everyone around him made sure that he would never have to listen to it. Even if he was used to it, he still couldn’t bring himself to actually be the one to start it.

Demo reached forward and tugged on the tab.

Annoying cheerful music began to play.

“You are the dancing queen,

Young and sweet, only seventeen,

Dancing queen,

Feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah!

You can dance, you can jive,

Having the time of your life,

Ooh, see that girl, watch that scene,

Digging the dancing queen!”

Branch watched as Demo’s face lit up at the sound of the song, his face split into the widest grin he’d ever seen on a Rock Troll. The sheer joy on his face could probably rival a Pop Troll on their best day. Branch felt an odd mix of elation and revulsion at the sight. As happy as he was for Demo getting a lifelong wish fulfilled, and pride that he was the one to give that to him, he couldn’t help but hate that it was over the very thing that plagued him for years. Music had some sort of vice grip on every Troll in Pop Village and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d just infected Demo with their sugar-coated mentality. He knows it doesn’t work like that, but the thought of waking up to these same songs again has him nauseous.

“Well?” Branch asked after a few moments of Demo still staring at the card after the music had ended, wincing at the way his voice cracked.

Demo shook his head violently, snapping himself out of the apparent spell the song had on him, “That was incredible! I can see what our ancestors meant by ‘hummable hook, upbeat melody and a catchy rhythm’!”

Branch raised an eyebrow, “That sounds like a compliment. Didn’t they hate Pop?”

“Well I’m paraphrasing.” Demo said sheepishly, “They also said that was the disaster recipe to an earworm that crawls into your brain and that it’s bland, cheesy and the lyrics are repetitive.”

Branch nodded, “Yeah that sounds about right to me.”

Demo gasped, clutching a hand to his chest as if grabbing imaginary pearls, “Your royal rockness! I know it’s not our music but that doesn’t make it bad!”

“Demo, are you forgetting something?”

“Huh? Oh… right…” He rubbed at his neck again, “You hate all music. I forgot.” He looked down before his face scrunched up, “Actually, wait. Your royal rockness, how did you even get this? It’s Pop music but it has your name on it!”

Branch felt shame begin to creep into him at the familiar disappointed tone. He snapped the card shut, shoving it back in his vest, “I don’t want to talk about it. I gave you Pop music, so you’ll help me, right?”

“Yeah! I would’ve helped you anyway, you know. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Branch didn’t believe that, but he nodded along anyway. He slid off the couch, crouching down on the floor and pulling the box he’d put all the pieces of the broken machine and shards of CD. He sat back down, leaving the box between them.

“I tried to fix it but,” He stares at his hands, “I can’t.”

Demo takes each piece out of the box, examining them closely, holding some up to the light or up against another part. The CD shards he only glances at before moving on with the CD player. Eventually he places each piece back in the box, neat and organized.

“If I had to guess, it was either the pins or the spindle! Those can be super finicky. If you want I could take this home to my place and give it a go? CDs though you’ve just gotta turn in for a replacement at the music store, you can’t fix those up at home.”

“ Please. ” The word was said like a prayer. Hastily he added, “And don’t mention this to anyone.”

Demo tucked the box in his hair, “Cross my heart!” He tapped his fingers together, “Can I ask you a question? Why do you hate music?”

Branch stared ahead, rubbing his fingers over the grooves of his new bracelet. He’d always been open about the fact that music ruined his life, but Demo had given him a thought out answer about his love of music, so maybe he should try to put more thought into his answer?

“Music took everything from me. All the family I had left is gone because of music and me . My grandma…” His fingers grasped the couch, his knees curling up against his chest, “But even after that I didn’t hate it. I was scared of it. I loved it but it kept hurting me. And then it kept hurting me. At every corner it tormented me, taunted me. I just needed time away but it was always there, telling me to cover up my feelings and forget about it. Forget about her.”

“Music did that?” There was disbelief in his voice.

Branch laid his head against his legs, “I know that sounds stupid. Music isn’t alive. It can’t do anything.”

“It’s not stupid!” Demo put a hand on Branch’s shoulder, “I don’t think it’s stupid at all.”

“I want to like music. I don’t enjoy being like this. I don’t like never being able to leave the house without headphones. I don’t like that Barb can’t even play her guitar in her own house because she’s worried I might walk in and hear it.” He looked up at Demo, “I thought that if I could fix that CD player I’d have a chance of at least faking being normal.”

“That’s what you want to fix it for? So you can listen to music?”

Branch didn’t answer, too afraid of what Demo might do with it.

“If you want, while I’m fixing yours,” Demo took out a dark blue CD player, “You can borrow mine?”

“Are you sure? What if I break it?”

“It’s no big deal, I can fix it. Val always breaks my guitar when she borrows it. It happens.” Demo shrugged. “Oh! I have a copy of that CD you can borrow too.”

Demo pulled out a thick binder of CDs, flipping through them. Branch leaned over, the binder was organized by artist name like they’d done for the music store. Sorting was one of the things he and Demo had fun doing, as odd as it was to everyone else. He remembered one Hairloween in particular while living with Cybil that she insisted his aura was ‘troubled and agitated’ because he kept sorting his candy by color, type and flavor as opposed to eating it.

“Here you are, my liege!” Demo snapped the disc into the CD player and handed them both over.

“Thanks.” Branch slid it under the couch for later.

Demo shot him a cheerful look that reminded him of Poppy, “Anytime! So what do you wanna do now?”

Before Branch could answer, the door cracked open, Barb’s face peering in, “Heyyy! You guys doin’ okay?”

“Barb!” Branch jumped off the couch. He can’t believe he forgot to lock the door. They’d almost been caught! “We’re hanging out, go away!”

“I’m just checkin’ on you! Demo, you want any snacks? If you guys want, you can play on my GameBox. Oh! Demo, do you wanna see the invitation Branch made me for our brother-sister hangout day?”

Branch started pushing on the door in an attempt to close it, “Get out of my secret room! You’re so annoying!”

Barb put a hand against his forehead and pushed him back, holding him at arm's length as she barged in. He tried pushing back with his whole body, arms stretched out to try and grab her but to no avail thanks to his height deficiency.

“Baaaarb!” His voice was a mix of a yell and a whine.

“Nyehhh!” She stuck her tongue out at him.

“I’m gonna kill you! King Thrash! Barb won’t get out of my room!”

Thrash’s voice boomed from across the hall, “Barbara, stop picking on your brother!”

“Daaaad! I’m not doin’ nothin’!” Barb yelled back.

“Don’t make me count to three, young lady!”

Barb threw her head back and groaned dramatically, “Fine.” She let go of Branch, and he immediately took the opportunity to push her out of the room, “I’m going, I’m going! I’ll be down the hall though if you need me.”

“Yeah yeah now out!”

“Bye Twigs, bye Demo!”

Demo, the traitor, waved, “Bye Princess Barb!”

Branch tried to push the door closed but Barb put her weight against it, “Say ‘bye Barb’.”

Branch rolled his eyes and continued to push. When the door refused to budge he groaned, “Bye Barb.”

Barb practically giggled with glee, “Okay bye, love you!”

“Yeah whatever.” He slammed the door in her face. He looked back at Demo, who was grinning ear to ear, “What?”

“You guys just love each other so much. ” Demo actually sniffled, wiping a tear from his eye, “I wish I had a cool big sister.”

“Ew, no. First of all she doesn’t– Barb says that to everyone, even Carol, who doesn’t even talk to her. Second of all she’s not cool. Third of all having a big sister sucks. She held me upside down today, you know.”

“Out of love.” Demo clasped his hands together, his eyes doing the same gross gooey thing Barb’s does.

“No, out of awfulness. She’s awful and annoying.” Branch crossed his arms.

It’s true, Barb is annoying and too much to handle almost all of the time. She’s obnoxious and they bicker all the time. She kicks his legs under the table and shakes him around. Branch can’t remember his brothers ever treating him that way. He… he can’t remember doing much with them other than practicing or recording at all, actually. He thinks he remembers being carried around a couple of times. Floyd singing him to sleep and Clay sneaking him cookies. But… he remembers they treated each other like that. With pranks and roughhousing and arguing over toys. Clay and Spruce especially bickered back and forth like there was no tomorrow but…

But they left that night with each other.

Satin and Chenille can never agree on anything. The two are almost always tugging the other around and yelling, and yet they insist on staying together. They love each other. Any home Branch stayed in with other kids he’d see them act the same way.

None of them treated him that way either.

Was that a sign that his brothers had never actually cared about him? Maybe good siblings weren’t just nice, but annoying too. Barb was both. Barb holds his hand when they walk to the coffee shop, and helps him tie his shoelaces to be extra sturdy, and helps him get his boots off when he’s too tired. Barb knocked down an entire stage his first night here just so he wouldn’t have to hear music. She searched the entire city for him when he ran away.

“Oh my god.” Branch whispered to himself at the revelation, “Barb actually likes me.”

“Yeah! If she didn’t, you’d definitely know. Her royal rockness is pretty open about when she doesn’t like someone.”

“I don’t know what to do with this information.” Branch rubbed at his arm, he needed a distraction. “...Do you wanna play rummy?”

______________________

“Bye Demo!” Branch tiredly waved as Demo headed out that evening. Nothing against Demo, but people tired him out. Especially when he was talking about things like music to said people. He shut the door, yawning as he staggered over to the couch and fell on it face first. He now had a CD to listen to, but that would be a chore for future Branch. For now he wanted some rest.

“You okay, Twigs?” Barb nudged him.

“Mhm, ‘m just tired.” His voice was muffled by the couch cushion.

“Okay.”

He’d thought that’d be the end of it, and Barb would leave him to rest, but of course she didn’t. Suddenly a heavy weight fell on his back as Barb sat on him, propping her feet up on the coffee table and turning the TV on.

“Barb!” He kicked his legs in an attempt to throw her off.

“Oh wow the couch is extra loud and wiggly today.” Barb said as if talking to herself, “Wow that’s so weird.”

“Your stupid butt is crushing me!”

“Yeah, well, next time don’t push me into a pile of spiked boots.” She said smugly.

Branch almost accepted his fate before remembering one thing he could do that Barb couldn’t. He stretched his hair around her in a tight coil, lifting her up. He quickly swapped places with her, leaving her wrapped up like a bug in a web as he sat back and changed the channel.

“Wow you’re right, the couch is extra loud and wiggly today.” He grabbed her drink off the table and took a long, loud sip, “You know, grape soda tastes extra good when it’s the last one.”

Barb thrashed about, growling like a wild animal, “You little pest! Oh just wait until I get my hands on you!”

“Sorry, it’s hard to hear you over the TV!” He turned up the volume of the wrestling match that was playing.

Tomorrow he could start on actually trying to fix himself, but for now, hanging out with Barb wasn’t so bad.

Chapter Text

A week later and Branch found himself no closer to starting his mission to tolerate rock music. Every day he told himself tomorrow he’d start for real, then tomorrow would come and his stomach would hurt at the thought of listening to music. He’d gotten as far as taking the CD player out for a minute before he was hastily shoving it back under the couch.

He shook his head. ‘Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.’ He told himself, knowing it was a lie.

It was about time for him and Barb to go get coffee, so he quickly hurried out of his secret room and grabbed his backpack off his bed.

“Barb, coffee time!” He shouted as he ran into the living room.

Barb was already there, staring out the window with a hand on her hip, “I don’t know if we’ll be able to today, Twigs.”

“What? But we always go– we have to go!” Branch said frantically.

They always go at this time. When they go at this time it’s not too crowded and they always get the same table, and it’s his favorite table because it’s in the back corner. If they go later then it’ll be more crowded and someone might be at their table and he doesn’t want a different table–

“I know, but it’s storming pretty bad outside. Summers are always the worst of them.”

“What? A little rain isn’t that bad, especially since the walkways have roofs.” He guessed Rock Trolls weren’t fond of water if some rain was enough to keep Barb in the house.

“Yeah… this isn’t your normal storm, and considering you’re a Pop Troll, I’m not sure how safe it is.”

Branch stared at Barb, confused, before he nudged her out of the way of the window and looked out. The volcano was perpetually going off, the lava always in a steady flow that defied gravity. That was the sight he was accustomed to, but today the stream was twisting like an angry garden snake, sending a downpour of lava raining down on the city. Wind pushed the rain into the walkways, leaving glowing puddles and pelting the window with a mist of molten liquid.

“This place is stupid.” Branch said flatly, glaring at Barb.

“Your face is stupid.”

“It’s raining fire, Barbara.”

Barb cringed, “Ew don’t call me that, it sounds weird when you say it.”

“It’s raining fire, Barbed Wire.” Branch corrected.

“It’s called barb wire.”

“Barb wire? As in Barbara wire?” He asked incredulously, “Are you dumb? It’s barbed wire because it is barbed.”

“Everyone calls it barb wire, dude. I dunno what to tell you.” Barb shrugged.

“It’s barbed wire though. That’s what it’s named. I’ll go get an encyclopedia just to prove you wrong.” He shook his head, “This is dumb. What are we gonna do about the rain?”

Barb put a hand to her chin, staring out at the storm. After a few minutes, a grin spread across her face as she slowly turned her head towards Branch.

He had a very bad feeling about this.

“Stay here.”

Barb scampered off towards their bedroom, and Branch could hear her throwing everything out of the closet. He tapped his foot, willing her to hurry up. He should be thankful she was attempting to find some way for him to safely leave the house, but all he could think of is how late they were going to be.

“Baaaarb! Hurry up!”

“Coming!” There was a crash that Branch assumed was Barb tripping over the mess she made. She ran back into the living room now wearing a red hoodie and holding something oddly tarp-looking in texture in her arms. With a toothy grin she unfurled it, holding it up for Branch to see. “It’s my old raincoat from when I was a baby!”

The raincoat was black, with a hood decorated with a bat-like face and the sleeves connected to the coat to give the illusion of bat wings. He had it halfway on when he looked over and realized Barb had a camera pointed at him.

“Really?” He asked.

“Shut up and put on the raincoat.”

With a scowl he fastens the snaps of the coat and pulls the hood up. His head raised up just in time for the flash of the camera. Barb snatched up the printed photo, giving it a good shake and looking at it with a sappy grin. “Awww, you’re sooo cute, Twigs!”

The photo was shoved in his face, and unfortunately for him, his scowl looks more like a pout in the picture. It’s objectively cute.

“Yeah, whatever. This is great but is this really lava proof? What about the rest of me?”

Barb began adjusting his hood, flipping down a clear face guard that would keep his face protected from any lava spray, as well as keep the hood from blowing off. “All Rock Troll clothing is lava proof. As long as you keep your fingers tucked in your sleeves, you should be fine.”

“Then let's go!” He slung his backpack on over his coat and hurried to the door. Despite wanting to get to the coffee shop in a hurry, he found himself frozen at the door as an onslaught of lava blew onto the walkway.

Barb’s hand slipped around his, “C’mon, don’t wanna be late, do you?”

He took a few tentative steps out of the house, stopping at the edge of where he noticed most of the droplets stopped. A few lone droplets hit his coat, sounding strangely identical to rain hitting his tent back at the village. He took a few steps forward and the pitter patter of droplets picked up.

“All good?” Barb looked him over.

“Mhm!” He nodded.

“What’re we standing around for then? C’mon!”

Barb tugged on his hand, pulling him behind her as the two ran for the elevators. The doors of an open elevator slid shut just before they could get there, and Barb spammed the call button for a second before growling. She glanced at the staircase, then back to Branch, “I know a faster way.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. Those were the kind of words that typically preceded a horrible idea. Barb picked him up, rushing over to the railing of the stairs and climbing over them. She launched herself off it with a loud cheer, and Branch quickly snagged a railing with his hair, ready to pull them back up moments before they hit the pavement hundreds of steps below them.

Thankfully, Barb landed on the landing of level five, completely unharmed.

“Tada!”

Branch punched her arm as hard as he could, “Are you trying to kill us?!”

He felt slightly proud of himself when Barb actually rubbed the spot, having actually had an effect on her this time, “It was a shortcut!”

“A shortcut to the afterlife maybe!”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand again, “Yeah, well, when we get there on time you can thank me.”

______________________

“I’m not thanking you.”

Branch sat down at their booth, pulling his hood off and setting out the puzzle he’d selected. They had gotten there on time, but he was choosing to accredit that to their running and not the stunt Barb pulled on the staircase. He opened up his backpack and sat Bitty down next to him.

Barb had an unabashed grin on her face across from him, “If it’s stupid and it works then it’s not stupid.”

“Is that a Rock Troll saying? Because if it is, I worry about how things are run here.”

“I don’t think we’re the ones who can’t run things.” Barb said, the dig at the Pop Trolls kept vague in case anyone overheard them.

“To be fair, they can run things… straight into the ground.”

Barb snorted and started picking out the edge pieces of the puzzle and sorting them into a pile. Ever since they’d made a habit out of coming to the coffee shop her technique had improved. Yes , there was skill and technique to puzzles. It used to take them twice as long to do a single puzzle, not that he really minded of course. A puzzle was great no matter how long it took, and Barb’s slowness was a great reminder to take his time and savor the puzzle.

“Does Volcano Rock City ever get rain? Like actual rain?”

“Hmm,” Barb was staring at a puzzle piece, “Not in the volcano, normally. I think the lava makes any rain evaporate before it can touch the ground. It rains around the beach, and I think it rains around the outskirts of the city?”

“The outskirts?” Branch tilted his head.

“Yeah! You didn’t think the volcano was all there was, did you?”

“Yes? It’s called Volcano Rock City. It comes implied in the name!”

“It’s called that since it’s built around the volcano, but there’s more to it. The volcano is the city part of Volcano Rock City. If you leave through the entrance of the Upper Bowl, then go down the tunnels you’ll find the rest of the city.” Barb explained, “Most of the cool stuff is in the volcano though.”

Branch stared blankly at the puzzle pieces, “I’m gonna need a bigger map.”

“It just gives us more fun stuff to do! When your map of the volcano is all done we can start going out that way! There’s an all you can eat pizza place there. Oh, and a monster truck arena!” Barb leaned over the table, “I have to take you to a derby some time!”

“What’s a monster truck?”

Barb grinned wider, “You’ll see. You liked watching me break stuff with my guitar right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you’ll definitely love a monster truck derby!”

“If you say so.” Branch pressed the back of his glove to his coffee cup. There wasn’t any heat so he took a careful sip, “There’s a lot of stuff to do here.”

“Don’t–” Barb mouthed the words ‘Pop Trolls’, “Have anything to do?”

“A lot, but most of it’s pretty repetitive if you ask me. There’s at least one holiday every day, I think the record was three years ago when a bunch of holidays ended up falling on the same day so there were twenty-five on the same day.”

Life in Pop Village was basically one endless party. One long, ceaseless, noise-riddled, headache inducing party. To be more precise, your average night included eighteen parties, twelve soirees and at least five shindigs, and that was before accounting for holidays, of which Pop Trolls had hundreds. Every asinine thing you could be happy for got its own holiday. Pop Trolls even celebrate half birthdays and quarter birthdays. It was nearly impossible to keep track of, and utterly pointless in Branch’s eyes.

“That’s annoyingly excessive.” Barb grumbled, slamming a puzzle piece down a bit harder than she should.

“Thank you! It’s enough to drive a Troll mad. Other than parties there’s singing, dancing, hugging, games, sleepovers, yadda yadda annoying stuff that ends with me getting covered in glitter.” Branch sipped his coffee, “So much flippin’ glitter.”

“I’m glad I got you outta there when I did.” Barb said.

Branch looked down at his bracelet and smiled, “Yeah, me too. I don’t think I’ve enjoyed this much quiet time since… forever.” There was the sound of breaking glass from a few tables over, “The bar is really on the ground.”

Barb was leaning out of her seat, looking at the commotion, “So’s that guy. Went clean through the table.”

“Hey Princess Barb, Prince Branch.” Riff approached their table with a lazy wave.

“Sup dude!” Barb greeted him with a fist bump and dual devil horns.

“Hi Riff.” Branch waved. No matter how many times he told Riff he didn't have to call him that, he still did it. Something about 'giving proper respect, or something'.

“Just lettin’ you know we’re about to start playing.” Riff said.

Riff was also a part of his and Barb’s coffee ritual. He and his friends would play their tabletop games in the coffee shop around the same time as their puzzle time. Branch unfortunately found the constant clattering of dice to be extremely distracting and more than a little overwhelming at times. Despite not being nearly as loud as the constant fighting and yelling, the sound was something his ears unfortunately always fixated on. He’s not sure why, but considering he once almost yelled for Cooper to stop playing so loudly, he supposed it reminded him too much of Pop Village. Riff had noticed his discomfort and so now any time he was about to start a game he would warn Branch so that he could put his headphones on.

“Hey Riff, settle a bet between me and Branch. You know that spikey stuff you wrap around baseball bats? What do you call it?” Barb asked.

“Uh, barb wire?”

Barb turned to Branch with a smug grin.

“Barbed wire! Barbed!” Branch shouted, “Just because no one knows the real name doesn’t mean you’re right!”

“Yeah it does. Thank you, Riff.”

Riff scratched at his head with a drumstick, clearly confused, “You’re welcome?”

As he walked away Branch slipped on his headphones, resuming his puzzle-solving in silence with Barb. He liked that Barb never seemed to be bothered by the fact he didn’t always talk to her when they hung out. Sometimes he wanted to spend time with her, but he couldn’t muster the energy to hold a conversation, or there were times like these where he needed his headphones.

Once their puzzle and coffees were finished the two began packing the pieces away. Branch moved his headphones back to their normal place around his neck, “Is it still raining?”

“Lemme see.” Barb turned around in her seat towards the front window, then shouted, “HEY! Is it still raining?”

There were several chorused yeses from the front of the coffee shop.

She turned back to Branch, “Yeah it’s still rainin’.”

He picked up Bitty, “Bitty needs a raincoat too.”

“Bitty’s lava proof.”

Branch’s face scrunched up, “So are you and you’re in a hoodie.”

“And Bitty gets a whole backpack to himself.”

“How about you give Bitty your hoodie and you ride in the backpack and see how much you like it?”

Barb huffed as she began fixing his hood, “Didn’t realize Bitty was so picky about how he travels. I think they might have a raincoat in Bitty’s size at the toy store. Until then, Bitty can have the choice of being carried or being in the backpack.”

Branch stared into Bitty’s eyes for a minute before nodding, “Bitty wants to be carried.”

“Alright, the toy store is down a couple levels.” Barb held out her hand for him, “You got everything? All covered up? Got your backpack?”

“Mhm.” Branch took her hand, holding Bitty in his free arm so that his sleeve covered most of him, “Can we actually take the elevator this time?”

Barb smiled and rolled her eyes, “Yeah, yeah. You did the hair thing again when I jumped that I’ve been meaning to ask you about. What’s up with that?”

“What, stretching it? Can’t all Trolls do that?” Branch closed the coffee shop door behind him.

“Not like that. Plus you made stairs with it that one time.”

“Oh. I guess it’s just normal for… you know. They live in trees, and the stretchier hair helps.”

It was odd to think that he was able to do something Barb couldn’t. He’d figured Pop Trolls didn’t have anything useful going for them, and especially not as cool as ‘lava resistance’. How much of his knowledge of Trolls only applied to Pop Trolls? He supposed that ‘blending in’ was a Pop trait, having come about due to the Bergens. Not that it really mattered, he wasn’t able to do it, being devoid of color and all. One of the only perks of being grey was that he could pass for a moss covered rock in the forests, and evidently he could pass for a weird Rock Troll in the city.

The elevator dinged, drawing Branch out of his thoughts as he quickened his steps to keep up with Barb. The lower levels seemed to be getting the worst of the storm, the droplets coming down faster and harder than on the level the coffee shop was on. Barb’s own hood had blown off, lava rolling down her face like tears.

He felt a splash under his boot. He looked down, nearly the entire ground was covered in glowing puddles that rippled as he walked through them. He stopped, letting go of Barb’s hand and gave a few tentative taps to one of the deeper puddles. He could feel warmth seeping through his boot, painless and comforting, like the heat of his coffee through his gloves. He stomped his foot down harder, watching how the puddle splashed up. It was thicker than water, almost mud-like in thickness. Drops hit his pants, but like with his coat and boots there was no burning or intolerable heat.

______________________

Barb felt Branch let go of her hand. She looked back to see what the hold up was, Branch was staring intensely at the ground, tapping at it with his foot.

“Branch?”

Branch didn’t answer her. Instead he continued stamping his foot down into a puddle, staring at it almost fixated. He took a few steps forward, stomping his feet hard as he did and kicking up lava. It wasn’t until he then jumped forward with both feet that she realized…

He was playing!

Her little brother was hopping in a circle, each jump kicking up a splash. His look of concentration melted into a giddy smile, excited laughs slipping from his mouth as he played in the puddles. It was such a normal and familiar scene. Rock Troll kids aren’t allowed to swim freely in the volcanic rivers, the lava too thick for them to safely tread through. They’re instead limited to small pools under heavy supervision, or if they’re too young for even that they get their fix from playing in storms and puddles. She’s pretty sure her dad actually has a picture of her in that exact raincoat sat playing in a puddle.

Speaking of pictures, Barb quickly took out her camera and snapped a quick picture of Branch. The photo slowly came into view, showing Branch mid-splash with his arms out and a huge grin on his face. She cooed at the photo, then put it away.

Barb ran over to Branch, her own feet kicking up a splash, and hoisted him up in her arms, spinning him around with a holler. He screeched in delight, giggling and kicking his legs as they spun in circles. She lowered him as if she were going to set him down, dipping his boots in the lava, then quickly lifted him back up again. Up and down, down and up, making him hop through the deepest puddles. 

When she finally set him down she was quick to run off, letting him give chase until she tripped face first into a puddle. She hurried to get up, but only managed to sit up before Branch was on her.

“Get her, Bitty!” Branch yelled, then smacked her in the face with his toy as hard as he could.

Barb dramatically fell back, making sure to splash Branch. He crouched down, continuing his assault with Bitty, occasionally calling out wrestling moves he’d watched on TV in between laughs. She closed her eyes, a huge grin on her face. She didn’t care that Branch wasn’t a normal Troll, but it was nice to see him having fun instead of sitting around worrying. It was hard to remember sometimes he was really just a kid. He acted older than her at times.

A tiny hand tapped at her cheek, “Hey, are you dead?”

“Maybe.”

She peeked one eye open. Bitty was taking up her entire view. Branch’s hand guided Bitty’s arms that began ‘punching’ her in the cheek. After having enough smacks to the face with a stuffed toy, Barb shot up, wrapping her arms around Branch and falling back into the puddle. “C’mere you!” She was careful that nothing uncovered touched the lava as she hugged him close. “Tap out!”

He went limp in her arms, “I can’t, my arms are under me.”

“Oh… Say you tap out.”

“How do I do that?”

She raised an eyebrow, but like a good sister she instructed him, “Like this. I tap out.”

“I win!”

“Wait–” Barb stared up at the walkway’s cave-like ceiling, “Wait no that’s not… Son of a– You rat little–”

When she looked back at Branch she noticed he was grinning the same way she did, with an overbite. Legally there was no way she could be mad at him now, he was just too cute. She let go, and Branch carefully got up with her help. They’d have to get him some gloves that covered his fingers completely for when it stormed like this.

The toy store was just a few shops away, and Branch wandered off almost as soon as they stepped inside. He hadn’t seemed too interested in toys when he first moved in, but Bitty had made a change. Now she’d catch him talking to his toy when he thought no one was looking, and Bitty always got a seat at the dinner table or when they went out for coffee. It was like he was finally acting his age instead of constantly worrying about something showing up to murder them all.

Since Branch was exploring Barb decided she’d find where the toy clothes were. They didn’t have as big of a selection as the store she’d bought it at, so she’d have to go back sometime if Branch was ever looking to expand Bitty’s wardrobe.

“Barb,” Branch tapped her arm and held up a puzzle, “Can we get this?”

“Of course!” Barb took the puzzle and held it in her free arm.

A few minutes later Branch returned, “And this one?”

“Yep, add it to the pile, Twigs.”

That repeated a few times, until Barb had to go grab a cart to put it all in. She was glad he was asking for stuff, for too long he’d insist he didn’t need anything, but at this rate they’d buy the entire store. How could she say no to his cute little face?

Eventually she figured out what she’d thought was a good work around. Branch came back with another puzzle and instead of putting it in the cart, she picked him up and set him in the seat at the front. It worked too, at first. Branch was still holding onto the puzzle and excitedly reading off the box.

“It’s all one solid color, which means you can’t figure it out based on the picture, you have to solve it based only on how the pieces fit together. My grandma had one and she called it a milk puzzle, because it was completely white.”

“With a hammer and enough elbow grease, any piece can fit.” Barb said, pushing the cart up to the front.”

“That defeats the fun of a puzzle– Barb! Barb! Barb Barb Barb!” Branch kicked his legs and pointed at a display, “Barb look! It’s Enigma!”

To be more specific, it was an Enigma action figure. A new one too, considering it was wearing the VWL Championship belt that he won during the match Barb took Branch to. Branch leaned out of the cart, snatching one up and holding it up to Barb.

“Please can I have one? Please? I’ll put the puzzles back!”

Branch was giving her the saddest looking eyes she’d ever seen. Those sad eyes were going to be the death of her. She would be absolutely evil to not let him have it, or to make him put his puzzles back. Barb was smart enough to have figured out puzzles were important to him and his grandma, and doing them was clearly soothing to him. She loved the excuse to get to go with him to Death Metal Brew, but he should be able to do them in the comfort of their own home.

“Of course you can have it! And the puzzles! Now put those bad boys away.” She covered his eyes with her hand.

“Thank you!”

______________________

Barb stepped out of the store with one arm loaded with bags of puzzles. Branch had dressed Bitty up in his new raincoat and had elected to keep his new action figure with him. Barb held out her hand for him to hold onto and Branch looked between his two toys, clearly torn on which to put away.

“Alright, c’mere you.” Barb lifted him up with her free arm, holding him up on her hip.

“It’s Enigma with the steel chair! But wait, it was a fakeout!” Branch made his toy flop over and held up Bitty, “Bitty was framed! He’s disqualified!”

______________________

“Bitty’s on the ropes!”

“Time for bed, Twigs.”

Barb watched Branch grab both toys and crawl into bed. With Bitty tucked under one arm and Enigma under the other, Barb was the one left to pull his blanket up. Her theory that Enigma is going to become another staple of Branch’s entourage was confirmed the next morning when she walked into the kitchen to see Branch using the table as a wrestling ring for the thirtieth wrestling match since getting that toy.

Chapter Text

“Do I really have to do it now? I can do it tomorrow.” Branch tried to argue.

“Never put off tomorrow what can be done today! Demo’s going to come back any day now with the CD player and ask if you listened to the CD yet. Do you want the answer to be no?” Enigma said.

“No…” Branch lowered his toy, “But what if I freak out?”

“Barb is in the other room. You can always count on your big sister to help!”

Branch’s cheeks turned red and he slammed the toy into the couch cushion, “Don’t say weird stuff like that.”

“I’m just a toy, you’re the one that said it.”

“I said shut up!” Branch crossed his arms, pouting.

Enigma was a lot smarter than Bitty, so Branch had been asking him for advice all week. Nothing against Bitty, but Enigma was older than both of them. Probably. You have to be an adult to be a wrestler, he thinks. He’d felt silly at first, talking to a toy, but Enigma helped him through a lot of his problems. Like the other day Enigma helped him decide which book to read next, and the day before that he helped Branch calm down when Barb got called for an emergency band meeting during their reading time. All of that was heavy evidence that Enigma knew what he was talking about, meaning Branch should just listen to the CD and get it over with.

He sighed, reaching under the couch and pulling the CD player out. He didn’t have to listen to the whole thing, just a few seconds. A few seconds. He could do that. He listened to Billy test out his guitar at the store, and music was playing at the diner where he hung out with Val, Petra and Demo. He was used to music seeping through the cracks, so he’d be fine.

“I’ll be fine.” He whispered, plugging in his headphones.

He gripped Bitty so tightly that the toy was close to ripping. There was a pause and a quiet hiss as the CD spun, then… the beating of drums. It was quickly joined by guitar, then…

“Overkill, enough is enough

There's nothing left of me to devour–”

His hands dug into Bitty’s fur. He was fine, everything was fine.

“You've had your fill, I'm all I have left

What can stop your hunger for power?”

His chest ached, but that was fine. He ripped the headphones off. He did it, he listened to thirty seconds of music. He just needed to do that about six times in a row and that would be about the length of a song. His hands were still shaking as he put the CD player away but that was fine. Normal, even. His nerves were just a little shot but it was fine, he just needed to calm down with a little light reading.

Branch leaned over, fingers brushing the edges of one of his books. The book slid right off the pile, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

He watched it fall. He knows it was a book that fell. He can see the book on the floor.

So why can he hear the thundering steps of a Bergen?

Branch tore out of the room screaming, almost tripping in the hall as he ran to the kitchen. King Thrash and Barb were there, the two having some conversation that he couldn’t focus on. They turned when they heard him screaming, worry on their faces instead of the annoyance he was used to when he ran to warn the village.

“The Bergens are coming!” Branch ran a circle around Barb, still screaming.

“Branch!” Barb snatched him up, holding him tight against her chest, “I got you!”

“Put me down!” He kicked at the air, “The Bergens are coming, we gotta hide!”

“Barbara, put your brother down.” Thrash said firmly. She did. Thrash held his arms open and Branch ran into them. Thrash was the safest person in the whole city, so it was only natural he’d run to him, right? It didn’t mean anything deeper than that. Thrash’s voice was quiet and soothing, like his grandma calming him down after Trollstice was finally over and they could leave the house. “It’s alright. We don’t need to hide. Remember what I showed you? We can fight back.”

“Right, we can fight back…” Those words brought Branch out of his head. There was no Bergen, just a book that he watched fall. He pulled away from Thrash, hanging his head and wringing his vest between his hands, “It’s okay, there’s no Bergen. I dropped one of my books and freaked out.”

Thrash patted his hand reassuringly while Barb wrapped him in a tight hug, “Awww, Twigs, you’re okay! No stupid Bergen is gonna get my baby brother! I’ll bite its head off!”

“I don’t think that’s even physically possible. Bergens are way too big.”

“How big?”

Branch held his arms out, “Huge! Haven’t you ever seen one?”

Barb shook her head. Bergens must not have come out this far… yet. All it would take is one lone Bergen to show up and spread the word that more trolls were here and ripe for the taking. They’d have to be vigilant. Eyes on the horizon and ready to act when one showed up.

“How much do you know about Bergens? What do your books say? Whatever they say, know that a real Bergen is ten times as awful.” Branch clung to her arm.

Barb looked up at Thrash nervously for some reason, then back to Branch, “Uh… nothing? We don’t have any books on Bergens.”

“What?!” Branch yelled, then turned to Thrash, “Why don’t you have any books on them?! People need to know how dangerous they are! I mean– you know how dangerous they are, right King Thrash?”

“I’m sorry, Branch, but I’m afraid I’ve never heard of Bergens apart from what you’ve mentioned.” Thrash said.

“What? No, no, that’s not possible. If you don’t know what a Bergen is, why are you adding those harpoons? You’d have to know that they’re a threat to add something like that. Heck even Pop knows that Bergens are dangerous but they still don’t do anything!” Branch sat down on one of the kitchen chairs and tugged at his hair. “How can you not know? How can something that bad happen and you just don’t know?!”

“I added those harpoons because whatever a Bergen was, you were scared of it. Making you feel safe is part of my job.” Thrash took his spot at the table, “I didn’t ask because I was worried the topic would make you upset. I thought you would tell me when you were ready, but I can see I was wrong for that, and I’m sorry.”

Branch’s grip on Barb’s arm tightened, “I just thought you didn’t do anything because of those stupid strings. If you’d known, would you have helped us?”

“Known what?”

“That they were killing us!” Branch shouted, tears welling up in his eyes, “You would have saved us if you’d known, right? You– You wouldn’t have just left us there, would you?”

“Of course we would have saved you!” Barb hugged him tightly, her cheek pressed to his, “Right, dad?”

“Absolutely." The word carries a weight to it. Any doubt Branch had melted at hearing the determination in Thrash's voice. "We may have taken issues with Pop in the past, but we would never have wanted something like that to happen to them. Branch, can you tell us everything you know about Bergens?”

Branch nodded and took out his Bergen notebook. The first entries were from shortly after his brothers left, where he tracked the chef's rounds to the tree. Trollstice wasn’t the only time Trolls were taken from the tree, though the days leading up to it were filled with more frequent visits. It was part of his work in taking care of Grandma, not that it helped at all. From there he filled it with observations and sketches, as well as a few eyewitness testimonies. Those had diminished after the escape, however. After all, no one wanted to dwell on ‘old painful memories’, even for something as important as his notebook.

“This is a Bergen.” He pointed at a drawing of the chef, the one who took his grandma away. She was the perfect specimen for his Bergen studies because he would never forget her twisted face that blocked out the sky as he fell. He’d drunk up her every feature in those few seconds, and now he was sure he could pick her apart from a thousand Bergen chefs. “The worst one of them all.” He said with a shudder.

Barb pointed at a small blue speck, “What’s that?”

“The scale. That’s an average sized adult Troll compared to her.”

“She’s huge!” Barb’s eyes were wide as she stared at the page.

“Bergens are all big and awful. Once one grabs you that’s basically it. Your best bet is hiding and blending in and waiting for it to go away.” Branch flipped the page to a drawing of a Bergen chewing up a Troll, “Their teeth are super sharp, so you want to avoid getting put in their mouth as much as possible.”

Branch winced as Barb shouted, “They eat Trolls?!”

He nodded, “Bergens are miserable monsters that can’t feel any happiness, but they found a way. Us. They built a cage around the remaining Troll Tree and kept us there. Once a year they’d throw a big party and we were the main course.”

Branch looked up as he heard Thrash say in the smallest voice, “How long?” It sounded so un-Thrash-like. So… broken. It sounded wrong.

He rubbed at his bracelet, “I don’t know. My grandma was born there, and so was her grandma.”

“How’d you even get outta there?” Barb asked.

“Five years ago King Peppy led the escape. They were going to eat the princess, so he sped up the work on the escape tunnel.”

That was the story, anyway, but Branch was always confused by one thing. The Bergens always let the royal family keep one child. The Heir and The Spare. One to lead and one to feed. King Peppy himself had a younger sister who was eaten, not that he ever talked about her. He’d found out from his grandma. She said she used to play with her when they were kids, until the day the future Bergen King was born. Then she was fed to him to fulfill her role as the spare. But Poppy was an only child, so she should have been left alone until a second was born. Branch supposed not disrupting the chain of command kept them calm, and they always said a calm Troll was a tasty Troll. So why the change for Poppy? He’d tried to ask Peppy about it, but the man started freaking out any time he asked, rapidly changing the topic or leaving the room.

“Dad, what are we gonna do?” Barb asked, and Branch had never seen her look so subdued, her ears downturned and her brows furrowed.

“Stay here.” Thrash ordered, then left the kitchen. He returned quickly, laying a map out in front of Branch. “Branch, where were these Bergens when you left them?”

The map showed six kingdoms, Pop, Rock, Techno, Classical, Country and Funk. The other four genres were unfamiliar to him. Classical was set up at the top of the map near some mountains and nestled next to Country, which seemed to be some sort of desert. Beside Country was Funk, which was drawn to look like the night sky for some odd reason. Rock bordered the ocean, being closest to Techno—the last of the unfamiliar kingdoms—on the map. The forest where Pop Village was set was instead labeled ‘unclaimed’. Instead, Pop was marked as further away from the tribes, being where Bergen Town was set up.

Branch pointed at where Pop was noted to be, “There. That’s where the Troll Trees used to be. They built Bergen Town around us, so we moved here.” He tapped the forest. “That’s probably why you accidentally ran into me, if you thought Pop was so far away.”

Thrash marked a skull and crossbones shape on the map where Bergen Town was. “Thank you, Branch. We were looking for new areas to mine, and if we had looked there…”

King Thrash had a weary look in his eyes, his normal smile completely gone. A guilty feeling clawed at Branch. Not for making Thrash worry, he didn’t feel bad about that. No, he was glad Thrash was worried, and that was the cause of his guilt. Thrash was taking this seriously. Barb was taking this seriously. They were both rightfully afraid of Bergens. For once since the escape someone was just as scared of Bergens as Branch was all the time, and he was happy about it. Barb was looking around like a Bergen might burst through the walls and the first thing he felt about that was a vindictive glee that now she understood how it felt.

“Dad can fight ‘em though, right?” Barb asked, “Dad could go there and burn it to the ground!”

“No, Barbara.” Thrash spoke quickly and firmly, a bit of panic flashing in his eyes, “No one will be going near that area. One Bergen, I don’t doubt I could bring it to its knees. Two? Sure. A few? Might need a bus or two’s worth of Rockers. But a whole town? I won’t risk it. We’ll have the harpoons, and of course we have our guitars.”

“But–”

“I said no, Barbara.”

Barb wiped tears from her eyes, “So we just have to sit here and wait to see if an army of Troll-eating monsters shows up? We just have to be terrified every day forever? How’s that fair?!”

“Life’s not fair. That’s how I live every day, welcome to my world.” Branch was almost gloating.

Barb had a look like he slapped her guitar out of her hands. She stood up, her chair screeching loudly behind her, and ran for their room.

“Wait, Barb–” Branch started, only to be interrupted by the sound of the door slamming behind her.

“I’ll talk to her.” Thrash took his hand in his and gave it a pat, “Branch, you are so incredibly brave, and I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

An ugly feeling fell on his shoulders. Shame. Why was he so proud of the fact he was terrified and miserable every day? Even on days where he was having fun with Barb or with his friends, the looming threat was always dragging behind him, weighing him down. He could never properly enjoy any moment, unless that moment was inflicting misery on others, evidently.

“Can I talk to her? I shouldn’t have said that, even if it’s true.”

Thrash nodded, “Of course, but give her a few minutes to process. What I wanna know is how are you feeling? That can’t have been easy to talk about.”

He shrugged, “Fine, I guess. Confused, maybe? I’m used to doing this all the time, talking about the Bergens, I mean. It doesn’t bother me to tell people how awful they are. Sometimes I freak out and run into the village and warn everyone about the Bergens. Then they tell me I ruined whatever party is happening and that I’m bringing down the vibes. I try to tell them about Bergens, they tell me there’s nothing to worry about. It’s always the same.”

“You’ve never had anyone actually listen?” Thrash guessed.

“No. It’s weird. They know how bad Bergens are. They’ve seen them. They lost people to them. I shouldn’t have to tell them we need to be ready. I shouldn’t even have to tell them they should be scared, they should already be. You didn’t even know what I was talking about but you still did something . Did you even think Bergens were real, or did you think I was crazy?”

“I don’t think you’re crazy Branch. I wasn’t sure what Bergens were, but I knew you were scared of something, and that fear was real. Did you know Barbara used to be scared of ghosts?”

Branch leaned forward in his seat, shaking his head, “She was?”

“Terrified.” He chuckled, “Her bed didn’t see much use during that time. Her fear might’ve been silly, but do you know what she told me one night when she was sleeping in my bed? She told me that if a ghost grabbed her, I wouldn’t be able to hear her because our rooms were so far apart. The odds of a ghost grabbing her were pretty low, but she had a point. If something happened, I might not have heard it. That was something I could do something about.”

“And that’s why you added the harpoons?”

“And that’s why I added the harpoons.”

“It was that easy? I can just tell you I’m scared of something and you’ll do things to fix it?” Branch balked.

“I wouldn’t say it’s easy, but it’s not impossible. For you it’s worth doing.” Thrash ran a hand through Branch’s hair.

Branch’s ears lowered even further than they normally were, “I don’t know about that… I’m not good. My thoughts are really mean. I was really mean. I’m happy that Barb is scared. I want people to be scared of Bergens. They should be scared of Bergens. Why should I be the only one who’s scared all the time?”

“You shouldn’t be. Your king should have been making you feel safe. He should have made plans for if Bergens returned, taught you what to do and how to stay safe. You shouldn’t have to be this scared.”

Branch brushed Thrash’s hand away, “Being this scared all of the time is what will keep me alive when the Bergens show up.”

“Being this scared all of the time will also make living not worth it.”

Branch glared at Thrash and slid off of his chair, “I’m gonna go talk to Barb.”

He hurried out of the kitchen. Why was everyone so determined to just ignore every bad thing that ever happened? There was nothing wrong with being scared. You’d have to be crazy to not feel scared of a giant monster that desperately wanted to find you and eat you and there was nothing you could conceivably do to stop them. Maybe Thrash wasn’t as bad as the Pop Trolls but he was still trying to live in blissful ignorance and Branch wasn’t going to stand for it.

His knuckles rapped on the door of his and Barb’s room, “Barb?”

“Go away!”

It was weird to be on the receiving end of this treatment. From experience he knows that he normally gets mad when no one listens to him, but he also feels disappointed in the few times they do. What’s he meant to do here?

“Barb, it’s me… Branch.” He called out.

“I know who it is!”

Maybe he could distract her?

“Barb, it’s almost time for wrestling. Miss Magma is fighting tonight! She’s your favorite, right?”

“I don’t care about wrestling anymore!”

That didn’t work. Maybe he could bribe her?

“Barb, if you come out I’ll give you a hug!”

“I said leave me alone, Branch!”

He growled, ears pinned back in frustration. He doesn’t really know why she’s acting like this, or why he cares so much. She should be scared. She should feel bad. They could die any second but there’s no need to be such a baby about it. She should be facing it like a grown up, like he does. What does she want? Someone to have come in and told her that she’d be alright, that they’d protect her? To listen to her questions about how they were going to keep the village safe and actually have answers? To have sat with her when she was having nightmares of her grandma taken away and reassured her that they’d keep her safe and–

…Oh.

Branch cracked the door open, “Barb?” 

The room was empty. His and Barb’s bunks, her desk, the closet, Barb was in none of them. He ran to the window, looking out of it and sliding it open. “Barb?!” Panic slipped into his voice. He didn’t want her to run away! What was he going to do now that he’d scared away another sibling? This was what he got for being so awful to her when she was nice enough to listen to him talk about Bergens.

“Down here.”

Branch startled, looking around before looking towards the beds. A pair of familiar eyes were staring at him from under the bed. “Barb?” He blinked away the tears that had been forming, “Why are you under the bed?”

“It’s not because I’m scared or anything. Obviously. It’s good for thinkin’ is all.” Barb said quickly.

“Right…” Branch got down on the floor and crawled under the bed with her. He hated to admit it, but it actually was kind of nice under there. “It’s okay if you are.”

“It’s not. I’m supposed to protect you and I didn’t even know about those stupid Bergens! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I figured you knew! I thought all Trolls knew, that we were just the ones stupid enough to get caught.” Branch huffed.

“Of course I didn’t know! How am I supposed to sleep knowing a giant could come and crush the entire city under its big stupid foot?!” Barb hit her fist against the ground. “Is this how you feel all the time?”

Branch chewed at his lip, “Maybe not all of the time. Ever since coming here it’s like… sometimes it’s like… I don’t really forget, but it goes to the back of my mind. I don’t like when it does that because I don’t want to be like the Pop Trolls and just ignore all of the danger like that makes it go away.”

“There’s gotta be a middle ground. It can’t just be constantly scared or never scared that are the only options. There’s gotta be like… medium scared.” Barb rolled onto her back and stared at the bottom of the bunk, “Like you accept that sitting around waiting isn’t gonna do anything and you’ve gotta get on with your life, but you still prepare for if something does happen. Like we get really good at guitar. Maybe not ‘perfect power chord’ good but still.”

Branch’s veins went to ice. No… no he was probably misunderstanding. It couldn’t be that.

“Perfect power chord?” He repeated slowly, hoping she’d correct him.

“Yeah! You know how our guitars go up to ten? Well the rumor is that if you crank your guitar up to ten and you play it just right, you’ll unleash a perfect power chord! It can even–”

“Shatter diamonds?” Branch whispered.

“Yeah, it’s that powerful. How’d you know?”

Branch grabbed her hand, squeezing so hard that even with her thicker skin it was bordering on painful, “Please don’t ever try it. Please?”

“Okay, okay! Dad would probably say it’s too dangerous anyway.” Barb grabbed onto the edge of the bed and slid herself out from under it, pulling Branch out afterwards, “C’mon, Twigs.”

Branch stood up and dusted himself off. Ignoring the power chord for a minute, Barb maybe had a point. He’d thought Thrash was being like the Pop Trolls by wanting him to be less scared, but Pop Trolls wouldn’t have done everything that Thrash had done. They wouldn’t have listened to him talk about traps and tried to refine them to be safer but still effective. They wouldn’t have built harpoons to keep everyone safe. Thrash would have told Branch there was nothing to be scared of. To forget his fears and worries and embrace joy and happiness. To pretend that Bergens never existed and act as if he didn’t lose everyone he’d ever loved. Barb and Thrash weren’t stupid, they had to have figured out he was on his own for a reason.

“Barb?” Branch found himself being pulled to the living room.

“Yeah, Twigs?” 

Barb sat down and wrapped an arm around him. Bitty and Enigma were placed in his arms by Thrash, who smiled and sat next to him. He buried his face in Bitty’s fur and took a deep breath. That familiar and safe campfire smell helped calm his nerves.

“You know how I’ve mentioned my grandma sometimes?”

“Yeah?”

He closed his eyes. He wasn’t ready to tell her the full story, but maybe someday. “She was eaten by a Bergen.”

“...I kinda figured.” Barb pressed a kiss to his temple. He groaned but didn’t stop her. “I’m sorry, Twigs.”

“Barbara.” Thrash’s tone was chastising.

“What? I did!”

Branch had a small smile. Barb’s bluntness was appreciated, Pop Trolls barely said anything to him at all about the news of his grandma, too focused on saying the wrong thing that they’d rather say nothing at all. He leaned on Barb’s shoulder, focusing on the TV.

A few matches passed and Branch’s eyes were getting droopier with each one. The exhaustion of today finally hit him, the price of baring his scars to Barb and Thrash. His head was flopped against Barb, who was rubbing a hand through his hair, which definitely wasn’t helping him stay awake. He doesn’t remember the last time he had something like this, a type of closeness that wasn’t forced on him. Of feeling safe in the arms of a big sibling, knowing they would protect him. When was the last time his brothers had held him? It hadn’t been the night of the concert. Maybe the day before? Not that he can remember that. He can’t remember much of them at all.

He yawned and rubbed at his eyes. Beside him Thrash chuckled, “Sounds like it’s time for bed.”

“Nuh uh.” Barb said, then yawned, “We’re not tired.”

“You don’t have to go to sleep but you gotta go to bed.” Thrash said as he moved himself from the couch to his chair.

“But dad– um– Branch here is too scared to sleep alone in our room.” Barb said, moving her arm to gesture at Branch and making Branch flop the other way and hit the couch cushion, “So we should sleep in your room tonight!”

“Is that so?”

Branch curled up, sinking deeper into the couch and closing his eyes, “Sure, whatever.”

“Alright then. Come on, kids.”

“No, not moving.” Branch yawned..

“I got ‘im.”

Branch was scooped up and carried towards the bedroom. Barb set him down on the edge of the bed, and he pulled the heavy comforter over top of him. He could feel the wind of a box fan hitting him, the sound of it helping lull him to sleep even faster.

He didn’t quite hear what Barb said, but he thought he heard the words ‘sing’ and ‘lullaby’. He heard Thrash say no, and even with his tired mind he could put together what they were saying. Barb wanted Thrash to sing to her, but Thrash wouldn’t because he was there.

“It’s okay,” He mumbled, “I don’t care.”

His head sunk into the pillow, and the moment felt both like only a second and an hour. Thrash was singing, his voice deeper and raspier than it had been on the CD.

“But a shot in the dark,

One step away from you,

Just a shot in the dark,

Nothing that you can do,

Just a shot in the dark,

Always creeping up on you–”

He fell asleep to his first lullaby in years.

Chapter Text

It was a perfect summer day out in Volcano Rock City. The smoke clouds were thin, allowing the sun to shine down into the upper bowl, so naturally everyone was out in the lava pools. Barb was sat on the edge of one pool, watching Branch use a pumice float to swim small laps in the warm lava. He swam closer, his legs kicking up a storm and splashing her with lava.

“Hey! You lil pest!” Barb stuck her hand in and scooped up a handful of lava, splashing Branch back.

“Got you!” He giggled, grinning at her.

“Yeah, yeah, keep practicing your laps.”

“Okay! Watch how far I can swim!”

Branch turned around, kicking his way towards the middle of the pool. Barb grinned and leaned back, he was practically a full-blooded Rock Troll at this point.

Someone in the distance screamed. It wasn’t unusual for people to scream and shriek while playing around, but for some reason it sounded wrong. Barb turned her head just in time to see a giant clawed hand grip the edge of the volcano. The rim began to crumble under its grasp, raining rocks down on the city below.

“Barb!”

Branch!

Barb turned back to the pool, jumping to her feet and preparing to dive in after her brother but it was too late. A hand closed around him, lifting him higher and higher away from her.

“Branch!”

…

…

…

Barb sat up with a groan, a hand coming up to run through her hair.

“Great. Just great.”

Those freaks are invading her dreams now. It wasn’t enough that they took over Pop territory and ate them like a bunch of monsters, now they were ruining her super cool dreams about her best baby brother ever. Did they have any idea how rare a good, sensical dream about Branch was? Sure he was swimming in lava in the dream, but that was a minor detail, really. It had been shaping up to be the perfect dream and those stupid beasts had to ruin it for her. Oh, if she ever saw one she’d make it regret being born. She’d smash their stupid teeth with her guitar so that they could never eat another Troll ever again.

She looked over at the other side of the bed. Her dad had gotten up for the day, somehow getting out of bed without moving her or Branch. Branch was still curled up fast asleep, one arm holding Bitty while his other hand loosely gripped his Enigma toy.

“Awwww.” She cooed at him, reaching out to pet his hair.

“If you pet me, I will bite you.” He said, not even opening his eyes.

She pulled her hand back. Despite the fact it wouldn’t really hurt, she wasn’t keen on getting bitten. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I have a sixth sense for when Trolls are going to try to disrupt my sleep. Be it annoying princesses with another invitation or rotten sisters trying to fawn over me like I’m a baby cuddle pup.” Branch said, sitting up and stretching with a yawn.

“I can’t help it if you’re so incredibly puke that my teeth are rotting out of my head just by looking at you!”

______________________

That should have been the indicator to Branch that Barb was going to be absolutely awful that day. She clung to him like a leech, never giving him a moment alone. It wasn’t much different than his normal day, but when it was time for their daily coffee and Barb kicked up a big fuss about staying in, that was where Branch drew the line.

Barb at least seemed to be content to let him be alone with Thrash, though she nervously fidgeted with the TV remote as he left the room.

“King Thrash?” He opened the door to his office and stepped in.

“Branch!” Thrash had a tired smile on his face and dark bags under his eyes. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you okay? You look…” He fumbled for a nice word, “Tired.”

“I’ve been thinking about everything you told me, and I have something I’d like to run by you.” Thrash motioned for Branch to join him at the desk. Once beside the king, Branch could see he had updated the map to properly show the changes Branch had told him about. “I can tell that you cared a lot about the Pop Trolls.”

“What? No!” Branch quickly denied, “They were always bothering me, I’m glad I’m not there anymore.”

“Yes, but even so, you wanted to keep them safe. You felt responsible for their safety since King Peppy wasn’t fulfilling that role, right?”

“That’s true…”

He did watch over the other kids, even if he wasn’t asked to, because he knew no one else was going to do it, and he put traps around the village to keep the more dangerous animals out. He planted more berry bushes so more food would grow, and gathered plants for medicine and left it on Dr. Moonbloom’s doorstep. His bunker would have been big enough for every Troll in the village to hide in, and he had plans to make enough spears and stakes to arm them ten times over. He tried so hard to keep them safe and they just kept sabotaging all his hard work.

He’d just wanted one Troll to see what he did, and now Thrash had.

“I don’t want you to have to feel responsible for that any more, so I’m arranging for some Trolls to keep an eye on the Pop Trolls. If Bergens do come back, we’ll assist them however we can. How does that sound?”

Branch stared at Thrash in disbelief, “You’d do that? But they’re Pop Trolls. They’re not your responsibility.”

“No, but they were yours. They shouldn’t have been, so I’m taking over that role. I’ll keep them safe.”

Branch’s eyes were misty as he said, “Thank you.”

Thrash smiled, reaching up and wiping away a tear with his thumb. His hands were rough and warm. “Thank you , Branch. On behalf of every Pop Troll who has no idea what a kind and caring boy you are, thank you.”

Branch had a crooked smile as the two stayed there like that for a few moments. He sniffled, wiping at his eyes. “Um, I wanted to talk to you about something, if that’s okay.”

“Of course, Branch.”

“Barb’s being… weird. She’s really clingy today and she won’t take me to get coffee like we always do. We always go get coffee and we missed it today. We’ve never missed it.”

“Ah…” Thrash frowned, looking thoughtful, “I think our Barbara’s just scared. It’s a lot for her right now. I’d tell her to spend some time with her friends but… well Barbara’s never been good with Trolls her age.”

“What about her band? She’s over there all the time?” Branch asked.

Thrash shook his head, “Barbara’s just with them temporarily while she figures out her sound. I wouldn’t call them friends.”

“So if she hung out with friends, she’d leave me alone and go back to normal?” Branch mused, placing a hand to his chin. He could do that. He could find Barb some friends. He just needed a chance to get away from Barb. “King Thrash, can you pretend that me and you are having a private talk? I’ve gotta go find Barb some friends!”

Thrash chuckled, “Sure thing.”

Branch snuck out of the window, waving goodbye at Thrash. After a bit of walking he realized that without his backpack he didn’t have his map, nor did he have Bitty and Enigma. He reached up to his neck. At the very least he had his headphones with him.

How was he going to find friends for Barb if she’d lived here her whole life and didn’t have any? Why didn’t she have any friends? She wasn’t mean, and she was only kind of annoying. She was nice and funny and thoughtful, so why didn’t she have any friends?

What kind of friends would even be good for Barb? They’d have to also be nice, fun, oh and definitely cool. If he liked them or knew them at all it’d help too. He wasn’t excited about asking strangers to be Barb’s friend, but he would if it got him back his coffee trips. Who did he know that fit the criteria? Someone cool and understanding who would help Barb with her fears–

“Billy!” His revelation was punctuated by the appearance of Billy, who was stepping out of his house, followed by three other Trolls.

Billy looked up in time to catch Branch, who barreled straight into him, “Woah! Hey there, Sarge.”

Branch took a minute to bask in his cool new nickname before looking up at Billy with urgency, “Billy, I need your help with something! Do you like Barb? Do you think she’s cool?”

He had no idea why, but the three other Trolls behind Billy started laughing hysterically. One was jabbing his elbow into Billy’s side while another was leaning on his shoulder and the third was bent over, hands on his knees. Already he didn’t like these guys, they would not be Barb’s new friends.

Billy looked back at the other three, “Alright, knock it off! Don’t you three have to be stupid somewhere else?”

“No no, I wanna know what this is about.” One said.

“No! You guys leave, this is an important discussion between me and Billy!” Branch kicked one of them in the shin and began waving the other two off, “Beat it!”

The tallest of the trio laughed at the one who Branch had kicked, “Hah! David got beat up by a baby.”

Branch narrowed his eyes at him, then kicked him in the shin as well. He stared at the third, who began to back away with his hands up. Billy laughed and picked Branch up, “Branch, these are my brothers. David, Freddie and Jimi Reverb.”

The three brothers waved at Branch. For some reason he hated them even more. “They suck, you should get different brothers.”

“Tell me about it.” Billy smiled and rolled his eyes, “Anyway, what’s this about Barb?”

“I told Barb about Bergens and now she’s freaking out so I need to find her friends so she’ll calm down. Will you be Barb’s friend?” Branch spoke quickly, the words coming out in a tumble.

Billy stared at him for a moment, processing, before asking, “What are Bergens?”

“There’s no time for that!” Branch kicked his legs.

“Sorry, sorry! What about Barb’s other friends? It’s not that I don’t like Barb, I think your sister is very nice–” He turned to glare at his giggling brothers, “–but wouldn’t it be better to ask her friends?”

“She doesn’t have any! Thrash said her bandmates aren’t her friends and she doesn’t hang out with anyone else except you. That’s why I need to find her some friends. If you don’t wanna be her friend that’s fine–” It wasn’t, it upset him. “–but you gotta help me find her some.”

“I’ll be her friend!” David raised his hand.

Branch glared at him, “No, I don’t want her to have dumb and stupid friends. I want her to have cool friends, like Billy!”

“Hear that, Davey? Even the kid thinks you’re lame.” Freddie teased. Branch slipped out of Billy’s grasp and kicked Freddie in the shin, completing the set. Honestly he was just looking for a reason, it was bugging him to only have kicked two of them. He didn’t seem too phased by it, instead grabbing Branch by the back of his vest and lifting him up. “Kid’s a little spitfire! I swear kids get more vicious every year.”

“Put me down or I’ll scream as loud as I can. Barb will hear it and she’ll come and murder you.” Branch growled.

“Alright, that’s enough teasing.” Billy pulled Branch from their grasp and held him, “This is an A-B conversation so ‘C’ your way out of it.”

“Yeah, scram!” Branch stuck his tongue out at them.

“Alright, see you Baby Bill.” 

David ruffled Billy’s hair and the three of them finally left, leaving Branch alone with Billy. Billy didn’t seem too bothered, but Branch certainly was. There was something… unsettling about the three that made Branch feel uncomfortable. He couldn’t place what, but it left him wanting to hide behind Barb while she chased them off.

“So, Princess Barb needs some friends, huh?” Billy said, setting Branch back down.

“Mhm.” He nodded.

“I guess I’m surprised but not shocked that she doesn’t have any.”

“Hey! That’s my sister!” Branch glared at Billy, ready to defend Barb.

Billy quickly shook his hands, “I don’t mean it like that! Have you ever heard the phrase ‘it gets lonely up top’?” Branch shook his head. “People probably figure someone like Barb has her pick of friends, so they’d have no shot.”

“Oh.” Branch frowned, “So Barb’s lonely because people assume stuff?”

“Yep.”

“People are dumb.”

Billy laughed and led Branch towards the elevators, “Yeah they are. So what kind of other friends are we looking for?”

“Someone cool, like you. They should be nice too, so they can make Barb less scared and sad. They should also be funny, because Barb is funny. They gotta like wrestling, that’s the most important part.”

“How about I give you a better view since you’re the brains of this operation, huh Sarge?”

Branch gave a determined nod and let Billy hoist him up onto his shoulders. With his new bird’s eye view Branch was able to get a better look at all the Trolls they passed by. None stood out especially, Branch finding various things wrong with each one. Truth be told, now that he was out in the crowds, he was worried about walking up to a stranger and demanding their friendship.

“How’s it lookin’ up there, Sarge?” Billy asked after they had checked half of the ring they were on.

“Not great. I wanna know the person we pick, but I don’t see anyone I recognize– wait–” Branch looked closer. Laying on a bench was a familiar looking blue troll drinking out of some sort of juice box. “Carol.” Branch’s ears pinned back as he narrowed his eyes, distaste heavy in his voice.

“Not a fan of Carol?”

Branch climbed down from Billy’s shoulders, “Barb thinks she’s so cool but it’s like she doesn’t even exist to Carol.”

Barb was always talking about Carol, and if he hadn't met her, he would actually believe that Barb and Carol were friends from how Barb spoke about her. Barb was always calling out to her whenever she saw her, and yet she wouldn't even so much as look up. And it wasn't like Branch couldn't understand the sentiment, some days he couldn't even bother to give Poppy the dignity of a response. The difference though was that Branch was clear to Poppy that he couldn't stand her. He outright told her he didn't care about hanging out with her at one of her stupid parties. He didn't leave things vague of whether he liked her or not, unlike Carol, who was fine letting Barb continue to make a fool of herself.

“Well it sounds like Barb likes her, so it might be worth a try anyway.”

Branch hated that Billy was right. This was for Barb, so if Barb wanted Carol, he would get Carol. He marched up to her, standing over her head. She blinked up at him lazily, “Sup, lil dude?”

“Why don’t you like my sister?!” Branch couldn’t help but greet her with an accusation, “She’s cool and awesome and funny and nice and I haven’t heard her but she probably rocks really hard! She’s so cool and you don’t even give her the time of day!”

She stared at him with a dumb look on her face, “Huh?”

He growled in frustration, “Barb! Barb really likes you for some reason and she’s always trying to hang out with you and you don’t even answer her!”

“Princess Barb thinks I’m cool?”

Branch wanted to throttle this woman.

“Yes! She’s always trying to talk to you and she’s always telling me how cool you are!”

Carol sat up, crushing the juice box against her head and tossing it in a trash can, “Awesome!”

Branch yelled, burying his face in his hands.

Billy’s hand ruffled his hair, “Branch here is trying to find Barb some new friends. Care to join our crusade?”

“Yeah!” She hopped off the bench and shook Billy’s hand roughly, “Carol! Nice to meet you, Boy Toy.”

Billy just shrugged off the nickname, “I’ve been called worse. Alright, Sarge, let’s find one more friend. Any ideas for a cool, nice, funny Troll who loves wrestling?”

Carol shrugged, further cementing her role as ‘useless’ in Branch’s mind. He didn’t know very many Trolls to begin with, other than his friends. Riff honestly seemed pretty terrified of Barb, so he was out. Blaze was annoying, so he was definitely out. Who else had he met? On his and Barb’s special day out he’d met Rosemary. She was cool and nice, but probably too old to be friends with Barb. He’s pretty sure she’s old enough to be Barb’s mom. He didn’t meet anyone new at laser tag. The only other place he went was wrestling, but he can’t just ask the wrestlers to be Barb’s friend. Other than that the only person he met there was–

“Sid Fret! He’s Barb’s roadie and he’s really nice and he likes wrestling!” Branch jumped excitedly, tugging at Billy’s vest, “He’d be a really cool friend!”

“Alright, to Sid Fret then!” Billy picked him back up, “Now if I was Sid, where would I be?”

Carol was leaning over the half wall that looked over the upper bowl, “Probably on that stage down there, movin’ junk.”

Billy leaned over the wall. Sure enough, Sid Fret was down on the main stage, moving speakers around and pulling wires out of boxes.

“Perfect, let's go!” Branch moved to jump down from the ring, ready to use his hair as a parachute, but Billy grabbed him.

“Woah woah woah! Nope, no jumping. We’ve got a lil Barb Jr over here.” Billy said.

He huffed, “I would’ve been fine.”

“Not risking it.” Billy walked them away from the edge, “We’re taking the elevator.”

“Awww, I wanted to see him do a backflip.” Carol said, rushing to follow Billy.

“That kind of attitude will have Barb on you faster than you can say ‘rock n roll’. If a single hair on Branch’s head is out of place, they’ll be fishing bits of you out of the lava for years.”

“He’d be fine, you worry too much. You know how tough a Rock Troll is to crack.”

Billy seemed to jolt at that, as if he knew that weren’t true. But he shouldn't. Branch had never told him and no one on the bus seemed to have spread it around that he was a Pop Troll. Did he figure it out? Billy quickly stammered out, “Well– Branch here is different. Barb mentioned he’s– Branch is– he’s got a skin condition. He’s not as thick skinned as the rest of us, and he’s heat-sensitive.”

He definitely knew.

“Aww, so the poor lil guy is squishy?” Carol pinched at his cheeks and he slapped her hand away, “So puke.”

Branch hated to admit it, but Carol reminded him of Barb a bit too much. At the very least, maybe they could bond over all the stuff they have in common. Barb was cooler than Carol, though.

The upper bowl was hotter than anywhere else he’d been to, and the open pools of lava made him nervous. What if Billy tripped and dropped him? What if when Branch walked on his own he stumbled and fell in? Billy seemed to tell that Branch was nervous, as he stayed as far in the middle of the walkways as he could and always took the widest ones.

Billy waved at Sid and called out, “Sid! You busy?”

Sid set a speaker down and shrugged, “Almost done. ‘Sup?”

Billy set Branch down and nudged him forward, “Tell Sid your plan.”

“Right.” Branch ran over to Sid, “Will you be friends with Barb?”

“Sure.”

Branch continued his pitch, “She’s really cool and awesome and I know she’d be the best friend ever if she had any– wait you will?” He finally processed what Sid had said, “Just like that?”

“Yeah dude, Barb’s chill.” He said with a shrug.

“Perfect! Then let’s go!” Branch grabbed Sid’s hand and tried to pull him along, only to get pulled back.

“Not so fast, dude. I’ve gotta finish setting up the stage.”

“Is that gonna take long?” Branch asked, frowning.

“Nah, just let me work my magic.” Sid lifted Branch up and set him on a speaker, “This is an important job.”

“Setting up speakers? How is it important? Don’t you just plug them in?” Branch asked, unaware of the floodgate he’d just opened.

“Not at all, tiny dude. Being a roadie is one of the hardest jobs. You gotta pay attention to everything written down in these bad boys.” Sid set a paper stack as thick as his fist down on the speaker with a loud thud, “You skip one step or forget to tighten a single bolt and this whole stage will come crashing down on the talent. Here, you can help.”

The next hour was spent following Sid around, listening to him explain what each step and part was. Billy and Carol seemed to be a bit interested, both of them not having much experience with the ‘behind the scenes’ set up as they were both performers. Billy was the lead singer of his band and Carol played the bass in her band. Neither was as interested as Branch, who soaked up every word. He didn’t have his notebook with him, but Sid was nice enough to give him one of his to write everything down in. He even let Branch help plug in some of the amps! He double checked all of the wires that Branch did, but that just proved that Sid was really thorough, so he wasn’t offended.

“Now we gotta do a soundcheck.” Sid grabbed the microphone from the stand and turned it on, “You wanna do it, lil dude? All of the city will hear you.”

“All of it?” Branch grabbed the microphone and looked up at his house. He grinned and held the mic up to his mouth, “Barb! Come outside!”

His voice projected from every speaker, nearly deafening in volume. Some people on the higher walkways stopped to look at the stage, but Branch’s eyes were fixated on the front door of his house. The door slammed open and Barb came running to the edge and looked down. She shouted something, but he couldn’t hear her from all the way up there.

“Hi Barb! I have a surprise for you!” He waved at her.

Barb climbed over the barrier wall, dropping down and latching onto the wall of level six, then doing that again and again until she reached the top of the stands. She tore across the seats on all fours, running at the stage like an animal. Similar to how she had tackled him the first time he’d snuck out, she again crashed into him, sending them both tumbling back on stage.

“Branch! What are you doing out here?! I thought you were with dad! Do you have any idea how dangerous it is down here?!” Barb stood up, lifting Branch up by the under of his arms, “Whose idea was it to have you down here?!” She looked up and pointed at Billy, “You!”

Billy let out a rather pathetic sounding squeak as he hid behind Sid, “Mercy!”

“Oh, I’ll show you Mercy, it’s what I named my nail-studded baseball bat! Sid, hold him down by the legs!”

“Barb no! He’s part of the surprise!” Branch had to intervene fast before she beat up all of them and ruined all the potential new friendships he’d found her. He’d have to play up the ‘pukeness’ factor. He stared at her with big eyes and grinned, “I know you’re sad, so I went out and found you new friends! They’re the three coolest and nicest Trolls I could find!”

Barb’s face went red as she sputtered, “Wha– Branch, I already have tons of friends, everyone knows that.”

He pouted, giving her the saddest eyes he could, “So I did bad?”

“No! No no no, not at all!” She squeezed him in a tight hug, “You did good! You did so good, Twigs! You’re such a good baby brother!” She patted him on the head, “I just meant that you didn’t have to, that’s all!”

Billy grinned, “Good save.”

She growled at him, “You’re still up for a mauling, Reverb.”

He raised his hands and hid behind Sid again, “Shutting up now.”

“You were sad, so I got you new friends. You gotta spend time with them now so tomorrow we can get coffee again and you’ll stop being so weird.”

“Did you find me new friends just because I didn’t take you out for coffee this one day?” Barb raised an eyebrow.

“Your freaking out was affecting me.” Branch replied vaguely.

“You little stinker.” Barb shook him, “You’re a little stinker.”

“I get it from you.” He squirmed, trying to escape her grasp.

“Oh no you don’t. Alright, I’m gonna take this little guy home. Thanks for keeping an eye on him, I guess.” Barb tucked him under her arm.

“And then you’ll hang out with your new friends, right?” Branch asked.

Barb looked up unsurely at the three, who gave her a thumbs up, “Yeah, we’ll go out for pizza. Which you’re not allowed to have since you snuck out again.”

______________________

“Brought you some pizza, nerd.” 

Barb sat the box down on the coffee table and Branch immediately reached for a slice, also handing one to Thrash. Barb fell back onto the couch, kicking her feet up next to the box of pizza and staring at the TV.

“So,” Branch said through a mouthful of pizza, “How was it?”

“Not terrible. Me and Carol were already friends, obviously, and Sid’s a cool dude. I punched Billy in the face.”

“What?! Why?!”

“Why not? We’re Rock Trolls, it’s what we do. He also told me about what you guys got up to today. Did you really yell at Carol?” She leaned forward and grabbed his soda, taking a drink.

“Yeah. I was mad at her but I don’t think she’s mean, just stupid. Also don’t take my stuff.” He grabbed his soda back from her and took a sip, “You got your gross germs all over it.”

Thrash took the drink from his hands, “Here, I’ll sacrifice myself for you.” He downed the drink in one gulp, then crushed the can against his head.

“Carol did that too. Why?”

Barb shrugged, “It’s cool, try it sometime.”

“Whatever. Are you done being clingy and weird?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that, Twigs.” She ruffled his hair, “I got too in my own head. I’ll buy you a new puzzle to make up for it, and we’ll get our coffee tomorrow.”

“Good.” He leaned over, giving her a quick hug, “If I didn’t get it tomorrow, I was going to put out an ad selling you.”

“Hah! Good luck gettin’ rid of me.”

Chapter Text

Demo had brought Branch his repaired CD player two weeks ago, and he was steadily increasing the amount he could listen to of the first song. After the first failure he’d decided to decrease the amount, starting from five seconds and slowly working his way back up towards thirty. He thankfully hadn’t had a repeat of his last freak-out either. For once he felt like he was making actual progress, like he was moving towards an actual goal.

He felt good about this because, for once, he was beginning to believe there were no consequences to failing. Barb and Thrash hadn’t made any moves to get him to like singing and dancing. Every step towards that had been initiated by him. Guitar lessons, the CD player, the lullaby, it was all on Branch. And he was doing it. He was actually doing it! Sure listening to music was uncomfortable, sometimes bordering on painful, but it didn’t send him into a rage like it did in Pop Village. He didn’t want to avoid it anymore, he wanted to be able to hear it without freaking out. Sure that wasn’t the same as wanting to listen to it, but it was something!

Actually, speaking of the lullaby Thrash had sang, it was sort of stuck in his head. He’d have to see if it was on any of his albums. It might not be, for all he knew it was a private thing for him and Barb. He sort of hoped not. It’d make it awkward if there was ever a day he wanted to hear it again if he had to go to Thrash and ask him to sing it for him.

There was a knock on the door that brought Branch out of his thoughts.

“Barb! Door!” He yelled from the kitchen. He’d agreed to do the dishes for Thrash, whose hands were hurting a bit.

“Got it!”

He could hear the sound of the door opening, then a familiar voice, “Sup, is Branch home?”

“Val!” He set the plate he’d been scrubbing back into the sink and ran over. Petra and Val were both at the door.

“Sup Short Stack? We’re going to the arcade, wanna come?”

Branch frowned, “I’m supposed to do the dishes.”

“Aw, don’t worry your little head about that, I’ll do the rest.” Barb gave him a pat on the head, “Go grab your backpack and have fun. Be back by eight.”

“Thanks Barb!”

He made a quick stop to his bedroom, grabbing his backpack and then rushing to meet back up with Val and Petra. The two grinned and waved, then began leading the way to the arcade. If he was being honest, he didn’t have a great opinion of arcades, at least in his experience. They were loud, bright, assaulted his ears with a million different sounds and the games were all incredibly, annoyingly cutesy. Hug Time Warrior, Hug-a-Bug, Snuggle Squad Xtreme, the list went on. Even the so-called “cool” games were painted over with the classic Pop Troll aesthetics, one of the most glaring examples he could recall was a racing game where everything was decorated with candies and cupcakes. Not to mention the prizes weren’t ever anything he’d want. Balloons, candy, noise-makers, prank items, Hug-Time bracelet accessories, rubber balls and the like but all Branch saw was junk, junk and more junk. He couldn’t see Rock Trolls having anything remotely like that. Not the overly saccharine games and definitely not the lame prizes. Even if it wasn't much better than the one at the village, he was willing to risk it to spend a day with his friends.

“What’s the arcade like?” He finally decided to ask.

“Yeesh, the fact you’re a feral mine Troll never fails to surprise me.” Val said.

“You know the funny thing is it’s not even that far off, I lived in a hole in the ground.”

Petra stared at him, mouth agape, “You’re joking, mate.”

“I’m not.”

“Like a proper hole? Not a burrow or anything?” She asked.

“Wide open hole in the ground.” Branch said, oblivious to the horrified looks the two girls exchanged, “Anyway, arcade.”

“Uh, yeah! The arcade’s cool. They’ve got a new game me and Petra wanna try out and I said ‘You know who would probably rock at this game? Branch.’ It’s a shooter, and considering how you slaughtered us all at laser tag, I figure guns are just kinda your thing.” Val said.

“Are they my thing? That’d be such a cool thing to have as ‘my thing’.” Branch mused.

“If they’re not, we at least know laser tag’s your thing!” Petra said, slapping him on the back,

“We should go play that again sometime, it was really fun.” Branch said.

“Yeah! I’d kill to see you in one of the big matches with like twenty people. You’d dominate! I could make so much money off of you.” Val said.

“I dunno about that. I might’ve only done good because it was you guys. Around strangers I might… freak out.” He hunched his shoulders and rubbed at his bracelet.

“Don’t worry about it, mate.” Petra slung an arm around him, “We’re happy to keep you and your laser tag skills to ourselves.”

“Thanks. Where’s Demo at? Is he gonna meet us there?”

“Demo got into an accident after he managed to get me a show during the upcoming Mosh-a-thon. Dude got so excited he tried to do a stage dive into lava and he hit the floor.” Val said.

Branch winced, “Ow. Is he okay?”

Val waved a hand dismissively, “He’ll be fine. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if he hadn’t been on the third ring when he jumped.”

“I don’t know why but I’d been under the impression Demo was the smart one. No offense.” Branch said.

“None taken, and Demo’s only smart when it comes to music and managing. Guy’s a bit thick everywhere else.” Petra said with a laugh, “But that’s pretty much the case with every Troll, ain’t it?”

“If you say so.”

“We’re here!” Val ran towards the door.

Branch was right that Rock Troll arcades would be different from Pop. The arcade was dimly lit, the only source of light being the games themselves, which glowed red, orange and purple. The games also seemed to be more advanced than Pop’s, which didn’t have the same technology that Rock did. Many games seemed to be video games shoved into busted up consoles, with art on the sides depicting flames, transport critters, monsters, transport critters shooting flames and various other cool looking images.

The one downside was that the noise was about the same as a Pop arcade, each game having its own music playing and excited Trolls were standing around their friends cheering them on or talking loudly. Thankfully the noises muddied together making it sound more like a mess than true music, so while he had to put on his headphones, he could keep them turned off to only muffle the sounds rather than block them out.

He exchanged his allowance for a bucket of tokens and followed Petra and Val towards a game where a line was formed.

“Ughhh,” Val threw her head back and groaned dramatically, “That’ll take forever.”

“How about we warm Branch up to shooters with Zombie Island?” Petra nudged Val, “Eh? It’s your favorite.”

“Yeah sure. It’d suck to waste our turn trying to explain the rules to him.”

The two led him to one of the bigger consoles, with a large screen and huge plastic guns attached by a cable that looked similar to the ones used at the laser tag arena. He put in a token as Val began explaining the game, not that there was much she needed to explain. Shoot the zombies before they kill you, and the only controls he had to worry about were ‘shoot’ and ‘reload’. He tested the aiming on the freeplay screen, then hit play.

The ammo bar drained based on the kind of gun he had, so until he learned how many shots each gun had, it was easier to stare at it out of the corner of his eye and reload when there were no enemies rather than when he was empty. He didn’t have to worry about turning his character around, the game took care of that for him, and unlike in laser tag he didn’t have to run around. The only thing that made the game more complex was the shifting weaponry and the larger waves of enemies, but even that was easy to manage. The coming zombies had a special animation before they were actually able to be hit versus being part of the background, so he was easily able to target them at just the right time rather than waste ammo on them.

“Woah, dude you’re killing it!” Val cheered.

He smiled, but kept his focus on the screen as he battled the onslaught of zombies. There was a lull in the wave before a large hand hit the ground in front of his character. A massive zombie crawled through the wreckage, letting out a loud shriek. A boss fight, then. A hit box appeared over the shoulder, and hitting it caused it to rear back. Firing at anything other than the hit boxes was pointless then. He shifted tactics, hitting each target the second it appeared. The zombie collapsed and the words ‘Level Two’ appeared on the screen.

It was about halfway through level two that he noticed people seemed to be getting in line for the game. Odd, it didn’t have anyone even looking at it when they came over, but maybe the line for the other game was so long that people were looking at any other shooter game rather than waiting? That made sense.

“He’s got a five hundred kill streak!” Someone whispered rather loudly.

“Forget the kill streak, he hasn’t taken any damage! He killed the boss before it could do its slash attack! I didn’t even know you could not get the bleeding effect in this game! I’ve had it every time I’ve played! I thought it was just part of the gameplay!” Someone else said.

Branch had no clue what they were talking about, but they were getting a bit distracting, so he reached up to his headphones while reloading and turned on the noise canceling function. The arcade went from a muffled mess to silent in a second, letting Branch focus on the game even better than before.

There were three more levels after that, ending with a cool cutscene of his character destroying the island and all of the remaining zombies. The screen flashed ‘You Win!’ before switching to a score sheet. The numbers on it slowly rose before settling.

Kills - 1,256
Max Kill Streak - 1,256
Accuracy - 95%
Penalties - 0

Final Score - 130,350
High Score!

Branch took off his headphones to the sound of loud cheering. He looked around. A crowd had gathered around him, and Trolls were clapping and jumping, some shouting random congratulations. He turned to Petra and Val for any indication of what was going on, only to see both were clapping as well.

“Way to go, mate!” Petra said, “That was incredible to watch!”

“Wait, what happened?” He asked, dazed.

“You did! I’ve never seen anyone get through the entire game without taking any damage at all!” Val yelled, pointing at the screen, “Just look at that score, dude!”

“You can take damage?” He asked, “I thought it was you get hit once and you die and the game ends, so I didn’t get hit.”

“Absolute legend!” Petra laughed, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.

Several other Trolls agreed, many giving him fist bumps, pats on the back or punches to the arm. It was a bit overwhelming, knowing so many Trolls were watching him this entire time, more so that their cheering was genuine. They were actually impressed with him. Not only that, but it had nothing to do with the fact he was grey. There was no one commenting that it was crazy that he got such a high score on a game about hugging when he was so terrible at hugging in real life, making everyone in earshot laugh.

Still, it was almost too much. Would they be impressed with him if they knew what he was like? Would they still think he was ‘cool’ or ‘hardcore’ if they knew he hated music? Would they quickly realize how awkward he was and take back the praise?

“Alright, back off!” Val began shooing people away, “Being this awesome takes concentration so scram!”

Petra put a hand on his shoulder, grounding him, “Don’t mind them. People always crowd when someone’s gearing for a high score. Speaking of which, you made the top of the leaderboard! Put your name in!”

There was a list of nine other names, the top slot being empty and waiting for him to enter his own name. Assumedly, he’d bumped everyone down one, the former number one, ‘Spider’, now being number two… and three? Half of the scores were actually accredited to Spider, the others belonging to ‘Trash’, ‘Scuz’, and then the familiar names of Val and Petra.

“This Spider guy really likes this game.”

Val gasped, “I can’t believe I forgot about Spider! He’s been trying to fill this entire board up with his name, but me and Petra keep knocking him down! I wish I could see his face when he sees that you took number one!”

“He’ll never get that back!” Petra said gleefully.

Branch looked back at the board and realized his score was nearly three times higher than Spider’s top score, which barely went over fifty thousand. His jaw dropped, “I beat him by that much?!”

“Yeah dude! You killed it!” Val said.

“Put your name in already!”

“Okay, okay!” 

Branch used the gun to enter his name. The scoreboard updated, then began spitting out tickets. It took a few minutes, but eventually the tickets stopped. He shoved the bundle in his backpack and turned to Val and Petra.

“Well, I know an easy way to earn tickets now.” He said with a smile.

The two shared an evil grin, Val turning to him and saying, “You know… Spider’s plan doesn’t sound so bad.”

______________________

Branch finished typing in his name for the tenth time and cracked his knuckles, “Alright, my trigger finger needs a break. What other games are good?”

“Allow me to show you the joys of racing, mate.” Petra then gestured to a huge game with a flourish. The seat was decorated like some sort of transport critter, flames painted on the sides. Petra sat in one seat, so Branch took the one beside her.

“This one is the most realistic of the bunch! The gear shifting is super immersive and it handles just like the real thing!” She said, picking from the options on the screen.

Branch didn’t really know much about racing or driving in general, so things like drift, torque and drag didn’t mean much to him. He picked the critter he thought looked the coolest and looked to Petra to explain the controls.

“Okay so that’s the clutch, that’s your break and that’s the gas. This is your stick shift, and you’re gonna want to have your foot on the clutch whenever you shift gears.”

“How do I know when to shift gears?”

“You’ll feel it.”

“And this is accurate to real life?” He asked nervously. The thought of driving something this complicated had him nervous.

“Oh yeah. You can learn all the basics from this game. All the others are automatic, but I prefer the feel of a manual.” Petra said.

“Are transport critters your thing then?”

Petra laughed, “Yeah, I guess you could say that. That and Bad Hair Day.”

A countdown started, and Branch followed Petra’s lead of when to put his foot on the gas. She was right that he could feel when the gears needed to be shifted, but his first few attempts were rather sloppy. He’d slipped back to twelfth place, but was steadily gaining on eleventh.

“Hey, Petra, what’s being a devotee like?” Branch asked.

“Hm? It’s pretty awesome. Sometimes there’s difficult points, like concerts overlapping with other stuff, but I’d go whether I was a devotee or not. Sometimes you can’t do everything you wanna do, y’know?” Petra had one hand on the wheel, driving like a natural, “Being a devotee is less of a thing you decide to do and more something you just end up as.”

“I think I get it. Doesn’t Val have a band though? How come you’re not her devotee?”

“Cause she sucks.” Petra said with a snort.

“Branch, jerk the steering wheel left and run her off the road.” Val said, tapping him on the arm.

“Okay.” He twisted the wheel as far left as it would go, his car clipping the edge of Petra’s and causing them both to crash and get a game over screen.

“Not cool, Thundershock, not cool.” Petra gave Val a playful glare. “Anyway, to answer your question, I love Val and I’d pick her band over Bad Hair Day any day. Devotee status is more towards bands you don’t know. It’s expected that I’m gonna know all of Val’s songs.”

Branch put another token in the game and hit start, “Hey Val, could you sing something?”

Petra, who had just started the race, immediately crashed into a wall, “Woah, mate, are you sure about that?”

His hands gripped the wheel tighter, “No, but I wanna try it anyway. Maybe racing will help me not freak out about it?”

“Alright fine, but I’m gonna stop if you look ready to pass out or something.” 

Val pulled out her guitar and began playing. The sound was much different than the music on Thrash’s CD, or the music in the diner, or how Billy tested the guitars at the store. It was still Rock, just… different. How did one genre have so many different ways to make music? With Pop music if you heard one Pop song, you’ve heard them all. There were some exceptions, weird songs that stuck out in a way he couldn’t describe, but for the most part every Pop song was the same catchy tune.

“You don't know anything

You don't know anything

You don't know anything about me, yeah”

His hands tightened around the wheel. Val was his friend. She was playing this because he asked her to. Val wouldn’t bombard him with song after song in an attempt to make him join in and be just like her. Val liked him the way he was. He didn’t know why or how, but Val didn’t need Branch to change in order to be his friend. Every other Troll’s friendship came with a condition, an expectation that the friendship should fix him and he would become like them. No one offered him friendship because they liked him, they offered it in the hopes he’d change for them. Val was different. Val offered him friendship for the Troll he was, not the Troll he could be if he changed everything about himself.

“Once it starts, it never stops

Discipline, it's all I'm not

Can't help myself, you listening?

Why can't I say just what I want?”

Which is exactly why he wanted to change. He wanted to be a better Troll for Val, and for Petra, and Demo, and Barb, and everyone else. He wanted to be one of her biggest fans, her supporters. He wanted Val to be able to sing without having to worry about if he was within earshot. He wanted her to come to him with song ideas and ask his opinion, and Branch be able to actually give one. He knew music was the language of Trolls, and it was what connected them all, but until he met the Rock Trolls, he’d had no one he wanted to learn that language for.

“You don't know anything

No