Chapter Text
Another brown leaf detached from the dry branch, gently swaying in the autumn wind.
It landed next to a gray troll, making him flinch. When he saw it’s nothing but mother nature announcing her change of season, he huffed, then calmly resumed his foraging.
Winter seemed to come early this year. Branch could feel it from the chill in the air, the crunching of dried leaves beneath his bare feet, and how his moist breath condensing into smoke. It had never been his favorite season for a multitude of reasons, cold and food scarcity among them. The first winter he spent alone, Branch almost didn’t make it due to food shortage and the sorry excuse of a hole he dug out to call home. Only thanked to Poppy with her stubborn insistence to check on everyone in the village, him included, that he made it through alive.
He braved the second one a bit better, although plan A of hibernation proved a failure, and plan B of rationing his stock turned him into a walking skeleton by the following spring. From there. Branch learned to plan ahead, stock up his ration accordingly. The only thing he needed to do all year round was to keep digging his bunker deeper, more secure to keep the cold out. Many times, Poppy and even king Peppy convinced him to ditch the whole thing altogether and moved in some temporary foster home for winter, but Branch respectfully declined.
As grateful as he was to their annoying care, Branch couldn’t stay put. He moved this far into the woods to specifically stay away from all the music, the singing and dancing, and worst of all, party. His hatred for the joy of being a troll hadn’t diminished even after all these years. Sometimes he wondered if there’s any troll trait left in him. First, his brothers walked out on him because he failed to sing the Perfect Family Harmony, taking the joy of singing out of him. Then, his grandma died because of him trying to get back to it, to find whatever shred of joy left in song, taking what’s left of him out, too.
Branch shook his head. He’s getting distracted again. It’d been years since that happened. He’s fifteen now, not a kid anymore. He didn’t have anybody by his side since then, and he’d been getting by just fine, albeit barely. He sure shouldn’t expect help from anybody now. Sure, there’re the foster homes, but after his fifth panic attack whenever they forced him to sing, they deemed him a lost cause, awkwardly dodging their responsibilities when it comes to him, and Branch was fine with that. He preferred it that way. The less trolls paying attention to him, the better.
Pulling the knot tight on his stack of twigs, he hauled it over his little frame, the straps grinded into his shoulders, weighing on his steps. Compared to his older brother Spruce around this age back then, he’s still scrawny, despite being stronger than most trolls his age now. Spruce would have no problem lugging around this twig stack, and then some. But back then he had nothing else to worry about beside his heartthrob image and his exquisitely chiseled rock-hard abs. Branch scoffed, imagining how Spruce would fare in his hair, surviving by himself while keeping up his workout routine.
“Hey, Branch! How’re you doing?”
Branch had the displeasure of having his thought cut off. He recognized that shrill, overly happy voice anywhere, unfortunately. It always reached his ears way before its owner’s footsteps.
“Good day to you too, princess.” He replied sarcastically, didn’t bother to turn around.
“Aw, come on. Just call me Poppy.” He could almost hear the pout in her voice. “You know I don’t like anyone calling me that, even though I really am the princess. But seriously…”
“Fine! Pop-py!” Branch stretched each syllable, finally turning around to face her, unsurprised to see her Snack Pack gang tagging along. “Would you leave me alone if I call you that?”
“See? It’s not so hard.” Poppy gave him her usual ever so bright smile. “I just wanna see my friend. You really don’t make it any easier by moving this deep into the woods.”
“That’s kinda the point, Poppy. I don’t wanna go anywhere near all the loud and crazy party you guys hold almost every day, every waking hour…”
“Remind me why we’re here again?” One of the conjoined twins cut him off, Chenile or Satin, Branch couldn’t remember which was whose, and he didn’t see the point to. “I swear, Poppy, if you’re not my bestie…”
“Shh! Come on, Satin, we talked about this!” Poppy reprimanded her friend in a hushed tone, but still loud enough for him to hear. “You’re making him feel not welcomed.”
“What’s going on?” Branch asked slowly, dreading the answer. “You better not planning to spring any surprise party on me.”
“She doesn’t, actually.” Another friend of her, Creek probably, stepped up. “I know, mate. I’m just as shocked as you are.”
“Then what are you guys doing all the way out here?”
“To give you this, of course!” Poppy fished out a small box from her hair, carefully wrapped with colorful glitter paper. The only positive thing Branch could say about it was it’s wrapped with so much tape, not much glitter could fall out and stick to him, if he ever wanted to touch it. “Happy Birthday, Branch!”
“… What?”
“Oh, come on! Don’t tell me you don’t remember your own birthday. You’re turning fifteen, right? I’m pretty sure I memorized everyone’s birthday, including yours, so don’t even…”
“I know my birthday, thank you very much.” Branch snapped, then he caught himself. “What I mean is… why? Why bother with a guy like me?”
“Well, just because you’re gray doesn’t mean you’re not one of us. You’re still a troll. And like my dad always says…”
“‘No troll left behind’, yeah I remember that.” Branch rolled his eyes.
He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this, but it’s better than them jumping at him, yelling “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” and freaking him out. By the reluctant look on their faces, Poppy definitely convinced them to join her on this, he couldn’t be rude to her now. Why did she have to keep doing this?
“And of course,” The other of the twin stepped forward, her tone couldn’t be any less energetic. “We all have a gift for you, not like Poppy convinced us or anything. Here.”
Branch took the gift from her hand quickly but still as politely as he could, sparing them both the awkwardness. One by one, each gave him something, while Poppy still explaining away:
“I did plan a surprise party for you, but then Creek reminded me about the last three times that freaked you out. Biggie here still doesn’t wanna go anywhere near any tassels after you strangled him with one that one time…”
“Poppy!” The big troll squeaked, backing up from him after giving his gift. “Don’t tell him that!”
“… it’s actually Creek’s idea to just get you something. See? As princess and future queen, I do listen…”
“I actually wanted to skip the whole thing, but it’s Poppy we’re talking about here. She won’t let us no matter what…”
“Creek! Come on!” Poppy hissed to shut him up, then turned to Branch. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about any party, just know that you always have a place here with us. Winter holiday’s coming, you know?”
By this point, Branch’s arms were already full with gifts from Poppy and her friends. If his hair wasn’t stuffed with mushroom and fruits, he could’ve shoved these all in. But given there’s no space left in there, they had the amusement of watching him trying to hold a small mountain of little boxes in his arms, trying not to drop any.
The gray troll didn’t know how to feel about this. He didn’t like being the center of attention like this, not anymore. He was under the spotlight once. It had felt incredible then, but quickly turned disastrous and humiliating. He never wanted to feel that way again. Them surrounding him like this put him dangerously close to that point.
Branch could also see that aside from Poppy, none of them enjoyed giving him birthday presents. The haphazardly wrapped boxes were proof of that. They only did it because of her, for her, not him. They’re not here with her to celebrate his birthday. They never did. They just wanted to get this over with so she wouldn’t pester them anymore and they wouldn’t feel guilty about it.
Fine, if that’s what they wanted…
“Yeah, thanks. Great gifts.” Branch mumbled, holding his voice steady. “Now if you excuse me, I still have work to do.”
He walked past them as fast as he could, trying not to run and drop the presents. Frustrating tear was welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill. He rather jumping into a bergen’s mouth than let them see it.
Branch could still hear Poppy calling after him, asking him to join the village’s celebration when it happened. AS IF!
Kicking open the hatch to his bunker, he dove in. Twigs, forage and gifts scattered on the dirt floor as he slumped to his knees. He hated this. He hated that he wanted this! Why didn’t they just outright refuse Poppy when she suggested that? It could have spared all of them this misery. He wouldn’t have to remember his birthday and realize no one else did. They just had to follow whatever idea she had, simply because they didn’t want to upset her! Why? Because she’s a princess? Or because trolls had to always live happily and in harmony with each other?
What about him, then? Didn’t they think he wanted any of this? To be alone and miserable?
Music was his life. Being surrounded by loved ones was his happiness. Once.
But… after his brothers, after his grandma… it’s like there’s an invisible cage around him. Whether Branch put himself in there or not, he didn’t know. The only thing he knew was that he couldn’t listen to music without remembering all the horrible things that happened with it. He couldn’t sing without seeing his grandma being snatched away, couldn’t be around other trolls without seeing their back turned to him one day, leaving him by himself.
Wiping his eyes, Branch stood up and pulled out a shovel. This bunker wasn’t going to dig itself. And winter definitely wouldn’t wait for him to get over his wallow of self-pity.
Loneliness and silence could be colder than snow, but it beat disappointment, he figured.
Clang!
Branch bit back a hiss, dropping the shovel. Seeing he didn’t make much progress carving into the wall as planned, he cursed under his breath.
The blisters on his left hand just burst, the sting making his eyes water. On top of that, his arms were throbbing from the impact. He just hit something while digging a new tunnel. His arms had been sore for a while now, but he pressed on, too engrossed in the working state. That way he didn’t have to think about the pile of presents still sitting in the living room. Unable to lift the shovel now, Branch had to use a trowel to chip away the dirt, to see what’s blocking his way. He could remove a small rock, or even a boulder, but if it’s bigger, then he had no choice but to go around, and that would throw a wrench in his floor plan.
The dirt suddenly fell away. Branch must have hit a leverage.
The obstacle in front of him wasn’t a rock.
It looked like a cabinet-sized door, with an intricate leaf carved smack dab in the middle of it. The thing looked ancient, like it’d been made from a long time ago. But the wood seemed brand new, as if being buried underground did nothing to deteriorate it. Branch ran a hand over a groove, feeling it cold to the touch. Not even a grain of soil stuck onto it. In fact, the dirt that fell off from the door fell a bit too far away to be the work of gravity, as if clearing a path. Further inspection revealed its frame and hinge also intact. There wasn’t even any rust.
This would make a nice door for a bedside drawer, Branch thought. He just needed to move it out of the way first. But, tried as he might, Branch couldn’t dig his fingers into the frame to even bulge the thing. The frame wasn’t even bolted to anything, and the only thing around was dirt, yet it felt like he’s pulling on concrete. With a huff, Branch reached for the knob. With a door this size, he had to dig wider just to remove the thing, and his blistered hand made it impossible now. Might as well dig through it…
… or not.
What greeted him wasn’t more dirt, but a tunnel. It lit up the moment the door swung open. Branch didn’t know if his eyes were playing tricks on him, but the tunnel seemed to be stretching out in front of him, like it’s… alive. A warm breeze waffled over Branch, embracing him in what smelled like…
… food?
Did someone dig another underground home before Branch that he didn’t know about? But that didn’t make sense. No other troll besides him would want to live so deep in the woods, and even so, they’re more likely to use their hair to make a pod to hang from trees, unless they’re gray like him. As far as he knew, Branch was the only gray troll in this entire village. Also, he scouted this area beforehand. No one else but him lived out here. What could this midget-sized tunnel possibly lead to?
Curiosity winning, but mostly his stomach growling, Branch crouched down and started crawling through the threshold. His hands and legs touched on not hard soil, but soft fabric, smooth as silk. When he applied pressure on the wall, it gave slowly, like kinetic sand… or living tissues.
Whoever’s on the other side was definitely cooking up a storm, urging Branch on. Maybe he could… ask for some, then offer to wash their dish or something, then go back to seal this up and dig the other way. He didn’t need, or want, any neighbor.
There’s another door at this end of this tunnel, looking exactly like the one he just went through. From its slightly ajar position, warm light with alluring aroma spilled through, inviting the young gray troll. And Branch followed.
He didn’t know what he should expect to see on the other side, but the sight of his living room wasn’t among it. Did he accidentally turn around somewhere? But he’d been crawling straight, without any turn. Before disappointment hit, however, Branch noticed something different.
This living room was much more spacious, he’s sure of it. Usually when he stood up, his hair could touch the ceiling. He planned to expand it when he’s older and needed the space, but definitely not this much. By the look of this, Branch could stack himself up four times over and still have to extend his hair if he wanted to reach that bright lightbulb hanging up there.
And it’s clean. The walls as well as floor were smoothly flattened. Branch’s bare feet gingerly stepped over, afraid he might dirty this nice clean floor, carved from dirt. Looking around, he saw the same furnitures he happened to come across, salvaging just so he had something for his barren living room. Yet, they’re not the same either. No dust, no patchwork, nothing. They all looked brand new, with soft colors just the way Branch wanted if he could afford them.
Compared to this dream living room, his was literally a hole in the ground just for him to crawl into, which wasn’t much of an exaggeration.
A soft hum pulled Branch out of his marvel stupor. It’s coming from the kitchen, which was in the same direction he put his. Branch followed the sound, wondering if in this magical world of troll, he somehow accidentally crawled into a parallel one.
The closer he came to the kitchen door, the louder the hum became. By the baritone, this definitely belonged to a male. What’s stopping Branch from opening the door was how familiar it sounded.
He recognized the voice of that hum. He also recognized the melody, how he dreadfully still remembered it by heart, even after all these years.
But it couldn’t be. They hadn’t been in his life for more than a decade. It couldn’t be any of them.
Biting his lips, Branch pushed the door open. Something told him he must know the troll behind the voice.
Standing by the sink was indeed a troll. He had his back turned, and he looked nothing like the one Branch remembered: still square shaped, but his hair had been cut a bit shorter, shaved in the back and no longer formed the pointy top. He’s also wearing a brown leather jacket instead of a puffy vest, with white and dark-brown spotted fur collar, completed with green pants that went down to his knees. When he turned around, Branch saw a glove on his left hand, and a huge, tinted goggles covering his eyes.
The smile when he greeted him though was unmistakable.
“Hey there buddy! You’re just in time for dinner.”
“… John Dory?” Branch breathed, never imagined he’d utter that name ever again.
“Who else do you expect, lil’ bro? Just a sec, mincing onion’s a real pain.”
Branch stood frozen as the supposedly John Dory pulled up his goggles.
Where the signature icy blue eyes of his family rested a pair of big, round, black buttons.