Chapter Text
Branch stares off into the distance as he messes with the bandages wrapped around his arms. He listens to the forest as he walks down the path to the village, passing by roots and mushrooms that have grown familiar to him over the years.
He had a bad feeling about this. Why did he even come out here? Turning around and heading back towards the bunker was a very tempting idea, way better than going into the village.
Yeah, he thought. I should just turn back around and go to the bunker–the bunker I destroyed last night after another nightmare….
Shame settles deep within his gut. He couldn’t stop the memories from last night flooding his mind. He counts his fingers, his thumb pressing down repeatedly on each one.
The pounding of his heart was all he could hear. It seems to bounce off the walls, echoing throughout the bunker as he rips and tears up anything within reach. He couldn’t even remember what woke him up or why he was so angry, why he was so scared. All he knows, all he feels, is deep hollowing pain. He just wants it to go away.
Caught up in his fuzzy mind, he moves his hands to grip around his arm. Digging his claws into his biceps, and subconsciously drags them down. He doesn't even realize what he’s doing until he feels something warm trickling down his hand. His eyes lazily move towards it.
Blood. That's what it was. He didn't even feel it.
Shakily, his bloody hands finally let go of its death grip. Why did he do that? Why did he hurt himself? He didn't want to hurt himself. What if someone saw? Oh, no no no no, this is bad, this is bad.
“I’m going to die. I don't want to die.” His voice shakes as he rocks back and forth.
He sobs desperately into the frigid, desolate bunker. He doesn’t know how long he sat there curled up sobbing on the cold dirt floor before everything turns fuzzy.
Branch pushes his hair back and releases it as he breathes in, then out, trying to calm his racing heart. He continues to count his fingers.
One-Two-Three
One-Two-Three
One-Two-Three
“It’s going to be okay. You’ve faced worse. Dealing with other trolls should be a walk in the park. Just get what you need, then get out. Keep your head low and don’t make eye contact.” He mumbled to himself, hoping if he said it aloud, he would believe it.
Shaking his head, he looks to the ground as he walks through the village, making his way to the trade market as he goes over his mental list again.
Duct Tape
Lather Glue
Super Glue
Nails
Sting for sowing
It isn’t a lot, but it should be enough to fix what he broke or damage in the bunker. He also already has wood and scraps of fabric and lather, so he doesn’t have to get those. Branch just really hopes he could trade for what he has on hand. He didn’t have any time to go into the forest to gather herbs and silk to trade.
Before he could even set foot in the market, the earth rumbled beneath his feet.
Slowly, the panic that was just underneath the surface takes hold of him. Branch looks around frantically, confused. He sees trolls wrapping their hair around pods and holding onto mushrooms or rocks to keep them steady.
He’s breathing heavily as his hands shake. What is going on? Why is the ground shaking? Are the Bergens coming? Did they finally find them? The realization that the Bergens have found them almost knocked him off his feet. The Bergens are going to take them back to Bergen town to be eaten. They have to hide; they have to run! Why is no one hiding or running?! Are they idiots or something?! They are more important than some pods! Do they not understand the situation that they’re all in?!
He couldn’t even think or form a plan before he started running, warning everyone, “THE BERGENS ARE COMING! WE HAVE TO HIDE, DON’T JUST STAND THERE, RUN!” He yells, waving through trolls and critters alike on unsteady legs.
On his rampage, Branch grabs a troll and shakes them. Locking his panicked, crazed eyes with the troll’s. “WE HAVE TO HIDE! THE BERGENS ARE COMING!” The troll pushes Branch back, falling onto the ground.
Confused, Branch looks up. What feels like a million eyes stare back at him, unblinkingly. Why are they looking at him like that? Did he do something wrong?
“The Bergens aren’t coming, Branch!”
“Yeah! So stop being a party pooper!”
“You’re scaring everyone with your nonsense... Again.”
Couldn’t they understand that their loud parties and singing are going to lead them here? Just because the Bergens haven’t found them yet doesn't mean that they aren’t going to. And the shaking was obviously a Bergen. “What about the shaking?! That had to be a Bergen!” Branch looks around, keeping an eye out for whatever Bergen went.
“That was an earthquake.”
“You always jump to conclusions. You should be more positive. It might help with all that…grey.”
He stares at the group of trolls around him, as they whisper to each other. The rage that consumed him feels like a fire has been lit inside of him as a ringing flooded his ears. He can’t believe what they are saying. There are more pressing matters than him being grey, or him not going to parties, or why he doesn’t sing or dance. They don’t see all he has done for them. How many sleepless nights he worked setting up traps. Countless times, he had to treat his own wounds from fighting critters that were attracted to the village or the amount of lonely nights he spent blaming himself.
Finally, fed up with everything, he gets up and moves on autopilot back to his bunker, pushing and shoving trolls out of his way, ignoring the stares and blank faces.
Once he gets to the bunker’s entrance, he lifts the hatch and climbs down the ladder, passing by empty, dark rooms until he reaches the bottom. Turning around, he’s met with the mess from last night. broken glass, ripped-up pillows and books thrown everywhere. Furniture scratched up and broken. The walls also have scratches, with words repeating and scraped into them.
RUN
HIDE
BERGENS
EAT US
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
Sharply, Branch tears his eyes away from his paranoid writing and carefully walks around the mess, avoiding the glass on the floor as he moves towards the hallway. Passing by finished rooms with names of trolls etched into the doors until he reaches his. It's only half dugout with a backpack, some books stacked neatly off to the side, and a sleeping bag on the floor.
He kneels to the floor, pushing his backpack towards him, grabbing his sleeping bag and rolling it up. He’ll need his supplies if he’s leaving.
He pauses.
“Leaving? No, I can’t leave.I have to stay here, where it’s safe. I have to wait for my brothers to come back. I can’t just leave.” He desperately laughs, pushing his hair back.
Who’s he kidding? The village is the most unsafe place he could be, even if he’s in the bunker. The Bergens are still out there and can always find them, and if not the Bergens, then the critters will. There is also the fact that the other trolls hate him, throwing their hurtful words and judgemental stares his way. It just isn’t worth it…His brothers probably aren’t even coming back.
A heaviness settles in his stomach at the realization. “They’re–They’re never coming back.” How could he be so stupid, to believe they would actually come back? All he ever did was mess everything up, a burden they had to deal with. Why would they come back after everything he’s done? After everything he did?
Still, he holds on desperately to that childish hope that they’ll come back, that they’re just going to knock on his bunker door and welcome him with open arms. That he’s worth coming back for.
That he’s worth staying for.
Tears pour down his face, clouding his vision. He clumsily tries to wipe them away. But every time he does new tears from shortly after.
He gazes down the barren hallway. All he sees is empty rooms that will never be filled. A home that will forever be soulless, no laughter to fill these halls, no confronting words or arms to hold him when he’s sad or hurt.
He’s truly alone.
With his mind made up, he picks up his rolled-up sleeping bag and straps it onto his backpack. He quickly gets up off the floor and moves back to the main room, gracefully overstepping the mess towards the kitchen. Well, it was more like a room off to the side with a poorly made table with a bunch of supplies surrounding it, from medical supplies to food to camping gear. Everything he’ll ever need.
Slowly, he packs everything up. It’s a somber occasion. He knows he has to do this. He can’t stay here anymore.
Once he finished putting the first aid kit into his hair, he zips up his bag and turns towards the ladder, walking to it, but stops. With one last look at the remains of what’s left of a child’s broken dream, he turns back and climbs up to the surface. Opening up the hatch, he climbs out, letting it close on its own behind him.
Reaching into his hair, Branch pulls out his map. He doesn’t care what direction he goes. As long as it’s away from here and nowhere near Bergen town, he’ll be fine. He wipes the remaining tears away from his eyes as he marches away, leaving the only life he ever knew behind.