Chapter Text
When a voice shouts to stop the wedding, Branch is not the only one startled to stillness. When the owner of the voice comes into view, something in him goes hot and cold and ragingly terrified, and he freezes. (He doesn't notice the brighter blues from singing with Poppy dull down towards the muted shades of his worse days.)
He can't- he can't do this! John Dory doesn't get to do this!
"Is this a bad time?"
He feels his ears fold down and Poppy's focus on the stranger switches over to him in a heartbeat, "Branch?"
"I can't-" he wants to turn on anger and denial, but it's not easy with her looking at him with such concern, "Please, I- not here, I can't deal with him here."
The intrigue that had been directed at the advancing... stranger... is hit by her concern and instantly subverted into protective rage. Poppy thankfully is well aware of his opinion on certain types of attention being directed towards him, and she steps forward, pressing Branch back and shifting to block John Dory's path.
"Yes," Poppy bites out, practically clipping the word with her teeth, "It is a bad time. You're interrupting a royal wedding with our new allies. If you don't have a legitimate reason to protest, anything you have to say can wait outside this town."
Branch loves Poppy more than anything. She can be oblivious and meddlesome and naive and sometimes even hurtful in her meddling, but she always does it with the genuine intent to help. And the instant she feels one of hers is in danger, this is the result.
John Dory clears his throat, suddenly awkward, "Uh, but this is really kind of important-"
"Allow me to rephrase," Poppy steps up, her hair bushing out to further block Branch from view, "Anything you have to say either will wait until this is over, or will not be heard at all."
The other trolls may not have any idea what's going on and all Poppy knows about it is that the sight of this teal wacko had nearly sent Branch spiraling, but every one of them knows their Queen doesn't get angry. She's the brightest, kindest, most forgiving troll of them all, so if she's being curt and hostile with this stranger, then that's all the reason they need to take it seriously.
The trolls starting to gather into an aggressive crescent between John Dory and the small platform tips off the Bergans that something isn't right, and Gristle glances first at Bridget, then at Branch and Poppy, "Guards," he says, "Please escort this gentleman and his..." he squints at the creature doing an odd, bounding scuttle up to John Dory's side... "...companion," he settles on after a moment, "to the Troll Tree."
"I'm going!" JD says, holding up his hands and actually looking cowed, "I'm going. Don't hurt Rhonda!"
"You're not being hurt, you're being evicted," Poppy says firmly, and both the guards nod.
"Whatever you did, Queen Poppy's not happy with you," one of the Bergans confides, reaching down and scooping up the suddenly terrified troll in a inescapable - but gentle - grip while the other leans his spear against the wall and scoops up the odd creature, holding it so it can't bite and carrying both off down the lane.
The Troll Tree is in direct line-of-sight, and even though Branch knows that nothing bad is going to happen, he can't help but be a little relieved when John Dory and his pet are deposited on the small patch of green and left there unharmed.
The wedding resumes, a little less cheerful, but the dampened mood doesn't hold because Bridget and Gristle are both just so happy.
Branch can't shake the hot-cold tangle from his chest, and he wants to go home.
Poppy shifts a little closer and takes hold of his paw, and some of the clawing edge of everything eases. "...we're gonna have to talk about this," she says quietly. "He's a Pop Troll, so I have the duty to hear him out."
She's right, and she's wrong, "I think he's here for me," Branch admits, low and scratchy like he's been screaming or crying or both, even though he hasn't been able to do much more than breathe.
She glances at him, and he looks around, but the wedding is coming to a close and what's likely to be a truly spectacular party is winding up, and no one's paying them any mind or even close enough to hear them.
"He'll tell you he's my brother," Branch says, slowly, and Poppy jolts and opens her mouth and then claps her paws over it, clearly biting back an excited something. "It doesn't feel like it, though. I have four of them - we were more a band than a family. I was pretty young, so I don't remember all that much, but the day of my first stage performance... it went bad. John Dory walked out, and by the end of the night the other three had, too. Only one of them even bothered to say goodbye. I had Grandma for two years before... you know, but I never heard from any of them after they left."
Poppy lowers her paws, "Maybe he wants to reconnect?"
"He crashed a wedding, Poppy." Bless her eternally optimistic heart, he knows from her tone she doesn't really believe it. "A Bergan Royal Wedding, even. He wanted all attention on him, and he came back because he wants something."
Poppy droops in concession, "Well, maybe at least he has a good reason," she offers, "but we'll never know if we don't at least hear him out."
Branch does not want to face his oldest brother. Just the sight of him has dozens of ugly feelings rearing up, and Poppy's paw twining fingers into his tells him she sees it. "Hey. If you want, I can talk to him alone and then tell you what he says?"
Branch desperately wants to take that out, but with how he's feeling, he doesn't think he can hold together without Poppy right next to him unless he's safe in his bunker, which this very much is not.
Poppy watches him for a few more moments, "Would you be okay in the escape tunnels? Or, I don't know, Bridget's room?"
The escape tunnels are more like his bunker, but they're in varying states of collapse and that's not safe, and they have so many entrances and not enough exits- but Bridget's room has dozens of hiding places and carefully cleared troll-sized exits, and he knows it well enough that... yeah. Okay. "Bridget," he chokes out, throat tight and hot and aching.
Poppy takes his paw and leads him away, pulling him up with her to Bridget's shoulder - where she first congratulates her friend, and then asks if it's all right to hide Branch in her room for a while.
"Of course!" the gentlest Bergan says. "Anything that might help."
"Great, thanks!"
Branch doesn't lose track, exactly, but he gets so focused on each individual moment that he can't string the memories into a cohesive whole. The next thing he knows, he and Poppy are settled under Bridget's bed, where there's a metal box with two troll-sized doors - one facing the wall and the other facing the bedroom door - bolted the floor, doors that bar from the inside but don't have key locks at all.
...had Poppy arranged for this? Maybe Bridget had done it herself. Either way, he's thankful.
It's not his bunker, but there's a bed and a candle and a table, and little windows for aeration that also bar from within, and stored water and food enough for two or three days.
Branch blinks, and something wet slides down his nose.
Poppy inhales, "Can I hug you?" she asks, and she always asks now that she understands, and never just hugs without warning.
Oh. He's crying. He also really, really wants a hug, so he nods.
It helps, a little, and Poppy lingers until he's caught his breath and his vision clears, and lets him settle into the little mini-bunker beneath Bridget's bed. "Okay. I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?"
Branch nods, and is wretchedly grateful to not have to try and face his brother's demands head-on with so little warning.
"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it," Poppy tells him. "Together."
Branch nods again, but he doesn't trust his voice, so he makes a gentle shooing gesture instead.
She hears him bar the door behind her and says one more thing to the unforgiving metal, and Branch is so, so grateful for her. "I'll be back."
Branch hunkers down in the quiet dark and tries to sort through his feelings without breaking down.
(It doesn't work.)