Chapter Text
When Clay was little, he used to get big frustrated. It wasn’t too often, but he’d get so angry and upset, that he needed to do something. Most often, he’d choose scratching himself. He’d scratch, and eventually he’d be fine again. As a kid, Clay thought this was perfectly fine. The others, however, were worried.
Clay would scratch the inside of his wrists, mostly. He’d scratch until they were reddened and raw. He at least once scratched to the point he started bleeding. Grandma bandaged up his wrists at that point. “Why do you scratch like this, Clay?” She asked him.
The young troll rubbed at the bandages covering his wrists. He shrugged. “I dunno.”
“So you’re hurting yourself like this for no reason?”
“I dunno!” He insisted. “I just do! It’s something to do, I guess? I dunno!” He got up from his chair and began to storm off.
“Hey! Clay!” Grandma called after him. “No more scratching, okay?”
“I got it, Grandma!” But Clay wasn’t exactly known for following rules. He was the Fun Boy of Brozone. He pulled pranks that drove his brothers crazy. He still tried to rub at his wrists even with them covered by bandages. Both older brothers looked worried. Floyd was the precious, sensitive baby brother, so he was kept from seeing any personal problems the brothers had.
And when the bandages finally came off (he swore Grandma kept applying bandages longer than they were needed), Clay started scratching again. This wouldn’t do. John Dory had had enough. The very day after Clay started scratching again, he came back with a thick pair of wristbands. Clay stared at them. “Uh… what’s this?”
“You can’t stop scratching, so you’re gonna wear these to keep from scratching.” He pushed them into Clay’s hands. “Go on! Put them on!”
Clay stared at them with uncertainty. “But… I like scratching…”
“No you don’t! It hurts you! Put them on! I’m the oldest, and the leader, so I know better.”
Clay rolled his eyes and looked over to Spruce. The purple haired troll kind of shrugged and gestured for him to put the wristbands on. Then Clay made the mistake of looking over to his younger brother, Floyd. Floyd looked at him with his big, almost tearful eyes. “Clay hurt?” he asked tearfully.
“No! I’m fine!”
“Yeah! Because he’s gonna put on the wristbands, and he’ll be all better!” John Dory threw an arm over Clay’s shoulders and pulled him into a classic John Dory side hug. “And the super cool, special wristbands will make sure he never hurts his wrists again.”
“Really?”
And with Floyd looking at him like that, and John Dory putting him on the spot, Clay couldn’t NOT put the wristbands on. Surprisingly, he felt nice wearing them. The way the elastic squeezed just so on his arm. And they felt just the slightest bit scratchy. He could twist the wristbands around his wrist, or rub at where they cover his wrists, and Clay was fine.
Eventually, their dad, on one of his rare visits to see his sons, says that the scratching is just because Clay has too much energy. They just need to figure out a good way to get all of the energy out of him. John Dory was the one to suggest the fun dances. He was turning into the Fun Boy of Brozone, after all.
So, Clay came up with fun dances. And he joined a sad book club, too, for good measure. And that all helped. He didn’t feel like scratching anymore! Not even when dad dropped off a new egg and stopped coming back. Not when Brozone started getting more real and serious. Not when people stopped taking him seriously. Not even when the band split.
When the band split, Clay stubbornly decided to be okay. King Peppy was beginning work on an escape plan. Tunnels were being dug, looking for a place far from the Bergens. Between keeping the digging hidden from notice, and trying to find a good place with food, water, and sweet acoustics, it was a project that took years to complete. Clay volunteered.
He wasn’t all that strong, so he didn’t exactly help with digging. But he liked numbers and math. He could help with logistics, and he did that well. As a bonus, he could hide out at the opening of the tunnels during Trollstice, leaving him safe from being eaten. Were his brothers safe? Was Grandma safe? He didn’t need to worry about that, because Floyd and his older brothers were clever enough, and Grandma wouldn’t let anything ever happen to Baby Branch.
The day of the escape came.
Clay was running in the tunnels. King Peppy wanted the younger kids closer to the front, so they were less likely to be left behind. And any older troll catching up to them was likely to scoop them up and keep running. “No troll left behind!” the king could be heard shouting through the tunnels. Clay was just a teen, but he was scrawny enough that someone suggested he be with the trollings.
They had to run. Keep going. Or else the Bergens would catch them. The window of time they had to go unnoticed was so small. “No troll left behind!” No troll. No troll. Clay looked among the young trolls for the unique, deep blue of his baby brother’s hair. Where was Branch? Where was Branch? Grandma wouldn’t—
Grandma has Branch!
Clay saw a troll child shove a gray troll over (that’s way too young to lose your color), “Outta the way, Black-and-white!”
Before the kid could fall to the dirt and get trampled, Clay caught them. He put them back on their feet and pushed them forward. “GO!” and shouted to them, then he immediately turned around and sprinted back towards the Troll Tree.
Grandma would personally be carrying Branch. She had to be. And she wouldn’t be moving that fast! She was old! Clay had to make sure they both made it! He couldn’t lose his family to the Bergens! It was luck he’d been a dancer, because it made him nimble enough to slip around the running trolls. No troll left behind.
Their small window of opportunity ended. Shovels were tabbing into the carefully crafted tunnels. Clay kept moving, because even if he couldn’t save Grandma, he had to save Baby Branch.
Branch had to be five by now. And oh god, that’s a lot of growing Clay missed out on. Guilt consumed him, but he had to keep going. He had to find Branch, then try to run back through the tunnels without being stopped by Bergens or tunnel collapses.
Where’s Branch. Where’s Branch. Branch! “Branch! Branch, where are you! Branch !” Clay started to turn desperate. He couldn’t see his baby brother! And no troll he tried to stop and ask, “Have you seen my brother? He’s got this deep blue hair, about five, and—” was gonna just stop the escape to help him look. The farther back towards the Troll Tree, the more desperate the other trolls were to hurry before they got cut off or caught.
The farther back towards the Troll Tree, the more desperate Clay was to find his baby brother. The only troll he found willing to help him at all was Princess Viva. She’d stayed further behind to make sure everyone was moving in the tunnels. “I’m looking for my little brother. I didn’t see him with the other little kids, and—”
And then they got cut off from the tunnels. The two of them weren’t the only trolls left behind, but they still had to fight their way out. Fight until they managed to escape. They went in what Clay thought might be the opposite direction that the tunnels would have gone in. But it was the only way they could go. And if it wasn’t, it was still better not to go in the same direction everyone was going to go, as to not risk leading the Bergens right to the new safe haven.
It was pure luck, maybe, that they made it out of the town without getting caught. Clay had no doubt that everyone in the tunnels made it through before getting cut off. Every person that ran past him in his desperate search for his family made it. Everyone he saw was alive. If he had only seen Branch, he’d know he was alive.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t find him.
Clay slipped a finger under his wristband and scratched.