Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Branch is used to the stares.

Losing his colours when he was just a trolling gained him many, mostly worried ones from worried parents, but as he grew older and his grey tones only got duller, the faint blue undertones fading the longer he stayed that way, only served in making the worry shift into uneasiness.

The stares he’s getting now aren’t malicious; quite the opposite, actually, curious and full of cautious wonder, trollings pointing at him with exaggerated gasps having to be quieted down by harried parents.

He brushes a hand over his cheeks, hoping the gold glitter freckles would go away like dust is swept away by a mop, but to no avail.

Sighing, he goes back to his bunker; Floyd is waiting for him with some type of flowery tea brewing in his usual cup, a walking cane resting against his chair. There’s not much Floyd can do without growing exhausted quickly, nowadays, and while their other brothers agreed to visit on a regular schedule, they all have their lives to go back to.

Bruce has his wife and kids, Clay has, apparently, a tribe to keep safe, and JD is simply unwilling to let go of his nomadic lifestyle, so Branch agreed, even if hesitantly, to house Floyd for as long as it was needed.

“Did everything go okay?” Floyd asks.

Branch nods. “Trolls keep on staring, but I guess it’s expected.”

“As long as they don’t make you uncomfortable.”

“How’s the cane?”

Floyd frowns at the obvious avoidance but says nothing. “It’s fine, thanks. Was it really necessary?”

“Yes,” Branch says. “And Poppy wants to bedazzle the whole thing, so be ready for her to drop by anytime this afternoon.”

“She’s nice,” Floyd says. “She means well.”

“She does. Thanks for the tea.”

“It was no problem, Branch.”

Poppy giggles as she gives out invite after invite to every troll in the village; the 20 years of Freedom party ready to blast, and Branch willing to at least come by for a few minutes, she can’t help feeling giddy at the prospect of finally, finally having the older troll attend one of her parties.

Of course, she had to endure a long, boring lecture on crowd safety and noise pollution, but she doesn’t think lowering the volume a little bit would be too bad- ‘trolls can go deaf from too loud noises, Poppy,’ Branch had said, and Poppy trusts him to know this kind of thing better than she does, so she listens- or making sure water and a first aid kit are easily accessible, just in case, would certainly not be the end of the world.

Branch promised to come to the party if she made it less, well, less , and for her friend she'd be willing to move mountains.

For all her friends, not just Branch, of course, but she’s just so excited for him to come, that she wants to make sure he’s as comfortable as he can be for how little he might stay.

Creek has always been the kind of troll to preach inner peace, steady communication, and healthy choices.

Seeing Poppy interact so freely with Branch doesn’t exactly help with channelling either of these things.

He doesn’t hate Branch, of course he doesn’t, but as Poppy’s boyfriend- as unofficial their relationship may be- he thinks he has the right to question if she’s making the right choices.

Knowing she’s listening to Branch, out of every other troll, to help with organising a party thoroughly baffles him.

Why didn’t she ask him anyway? She knows he’s a total party guy, even if their preferred songs aren’t always a match, but they generally agree on everything else!

Frowning, he performs his usual duties with those same, negative thoughts in his mind; the other trolls at his yoga lessons only vaguely notice, but none of them is close enough to him to actually dare ask.

Spotting Branch fixing a troll’s pod at sunset is what makes him decide to ask.

Branch is unused to positive attention; he is, however, familiar with his repair and crafting skills being appreciated and getting asked to fix one thing or another by the other trolls in the village.

Fixing pods- especially the high hanging ones- is something he’s done a lot, and one repair job now takes him very little, compared to when he first started out; his clients keep him hydrated and fed as he works, sometimes even coming to chat for a bit, buy he’s generally left alone to work quietly, something everyone knows he prefers.

Creek approaching him is so far removed from a preferred situation he almost leaves there and then. However, he prides himself on being professional and leaving before completing a job just because he sees someone he doesn’t like is not it, so he grits his teeth and goes back to his duty, trying to increase his working speed to avoid Creek as fast as he can.

“Namaste, mate, I see you’re as dutiful as you’ve always been,” Creek says, not quite yelling but still too loud for Branch’s tastes.

“What do you want?”

“Can’t I simply encourage a fellow, hardworking, troll?”

Branch scoffs. “Do you take me for a moron?”

“Of course not, mate-”

“-Don’t call me ‘mate’.”

“- Branch,” Creek corrects. “Do you really hate me so much to not want my company?”

Branch stills, ears perking up lightly. “I don’t hate you. I simply can’t stand you.”

Creek steps back, eyes wide, letting the grey troll pass.

“Goodbye, Creek.”

The party starts early; it was Branch’s advice, really, to start at sunset with a more relaxed music choice, giving the trollings a chance to have an in in the fun in a more controlled environment, then, once they’re asleep in the nursery pod set up for the occasion will the party fully turn wild, music louder with harder songs sung thorough.

As promised, Branch is there helping Poppy with the final details, setting up a water station right beside the snack bar to go along the few choices of fruit punch, monitoring the trollings alongside their own attentive parents as they give their own performance a try.

That’s where he stays for the most part, Floyd even joining right as the trollings get put to sleep, his cane perfectly shiny with all the rhinestones Poppy stuck to it only that afternoon.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Branch passes his brother a drink, the older troll accepting the cup with a grateful nod. “Everything’s okay?”

“Yeah, thanks. I can’t believe it’s been twenty years.”

“Me neither,” Branch agrees. “I just hope nothing goes wrong.”

“ Hey ,” Poppy starts, spreading her arms wide, her sparkly dress glittering under the lights. “ Callin' all grown-ups, animals, and kids
Right this way
We have prepared for you today
A dazzlin' display
Presentin' the one and only Branch! ”

“ Go! Go! Go! Go! ” the crowd sings, clapping their hands in rhythm.

“ Ladies and gentlemen
It's Poppy and me again
My rhythm comes from the heart of Troll Village
And I bring a bit of it to every city I'm livin' in
I was given a gift
I'm never givin' up or givin' in
The time-honoured traditions of the Tribe, ” Branch sings, fast-paced and perfectly in tune, the other trolls cheering him on, though their baffled faces make it clear how unused they still are to hear him sing.

“ In a collabo with Branch, the fabulous friend ,” Poppy interjects, grabbing Branch’s hands and spinning him around.

“ We have battled the elements and villainous reptilians ,” the two join in together, “ By bouncin' to the beat of our own drums with brilliance
My fine feathered friend has flown the whole meridian
And this party can't help but bring the pretty in
They shine like a diamond of the finest obsidian
And tango like a eccentric ballerina
But dang, yo
Y'all don't understand my singin'
'Cause I'm runnin' rings around
This riveting rhythm and swingin'
So gimme the rhythm and gimme a minute
And gimme a limit so I can exceed it
A brand-new song's just what we needed! ”

Then everyone joins in, pairing up and dancing together. “ Hey
Lo le lo lai
Lo le lo lai, lo le lo lei ”

“ And if you like that dance
Won't you clap your hands? ” Floyd joins in, using his bedazzled crutches to dictate the rhythm.

“ If you like that dance
Won't you clap your hands? Go! ” the crowd repeats. “ Hey
Lo le lo lai
Lo le lo lai, lo le lo lei ”

“ And if you like that dance
Won't you clap your hands?
If you like that dance
Won't you clap your hands? ” Poppy sings once more, her voice distinct from all others.

“ Go! ” Branch shouts. “ Que diga ¡presente! ”

“ Que diga ¡presente! ” Poppy echoes.

“ ¡Presente, presente! ” the crowd answers, then they all sing together. “ And if you like this song
Won't you sing along?
If you like this song
Won't you sing along?
And if you like this song
Won't you sing along?
If you like this song
Won't you sing along?
Go! ”

“Hey, ” Branch and Poppy sing once more, hands joined together as they dance in synch with each other. “ Lo, le, lo, lai
Lo, le, lo, lai, lo, le, lo, lei
Lai le lo lei
If you like this song
Won't you sing along?
If you like this song
La, lo, la, lo, la, le lo lei
We are one of a kind…”

Fireworks explode high up in the sky, taking the shape of flowers, hearts and starts, and Branch frowns.

“I thought we agreed on no fireworks.”

“Come on, Branch, let it be!” zshe cheers. “They’re so pretty, and everything’s going so well…”

He sighs. “Fine, fine, just- try not to go overboard, okay?”

Branch lasts one more hour before he can’t deal with the crowd or the loud noises; he scurries back to his bunker, reminding himself to tell Poppy and Floyd instead of just disappearing like he did other times, and makes himself a cup of tea.

He takes deep breaths, hand over his thundering heart.

His hand is a pale blue, fading back to a dull hue now that he's by himself, though the gold, glittery sparks left over from the family harmony- gold that also stayed with his brothers and Poppy- are as bright as the first time he saw them.

The music of the party can be heard even through the layers of soil separating his home from the village; he hears Poppy singing alongside Creek, their other friends joining in, a quick paced, funny tune he can’t quite dischern the words of; DJ Suki, as skillful as ever, matching her beats with their rhythm, and the crowd cheering them all on.

He can easily imagine the light show illuminating the night sky, a win for Poppy’s party planning skills even despite his concerns, and he remembers the pale, blue lights she’d decided on using as her main, outlining shapes and words filled with colours.

He gets ready for bed humming a BroZone’s song, throwing his usual clothes into the repair bin once more- his vest, once Floyd’s, is something he keeps immaculate, having used high quality thread and fabric to repair and substitute pieces at it started falling apart from use, the same can’t be said for his pants, now more patches and frayed edges to be practical, but he only throws clothes out if they can’t be repaired any longer, so into the repair bin they go- and he slips into his night clothes and under the covers in record time.

Then’ he’s abruptly awoken by frantic knocking on his door, and Poppy’s barely contained sobs.

Chapter Text

“They took Floyd!” Poppy screams, hands fisted on the warm blanket Branch put around her shoulders. “I’m sorry! I couldn’t stop it!”

“Let’s get everyone safe,” Branch says, his tone giving nothing away.

“Branch-”

“Poppy. If you want to go save them, you’ll need to be well rested.” He pins her down with a sharp stare, eyes shiting grey. “Rest.”

They get every single troll left in the village inside Branch’s bunker.

It doesn’t matter if they’re old, young, male or female, all of them are awoken and ushered there, each taking just the bare necessities with the promise of being kept safe while Branch and Poppy recover their lost friends- well, Poppy’s friends; to Branch they're more like friendly acquaintances, and Creek is someone he finds annoying on a good day, but none of them deserves to be Bergen food- and King Peppy takes on the dubious honour of keeping Branch’s bunker intact.

Mostly intact.

They leave after barely saying their goodbyes; the road is long, and the dangers are many, and not even Branch, with his many years spent surviving in the forest and fighting off predators and other dangerous creatures on his own, is completely sure on what, or who, they may encounter.

Still, they have no time to waste and by morning of the second day they’re by the old, dug out tunnels used by the trolls for their grand escape.

“Which one are we taking now, Branch?” Poppy asks, looking at the dozens of tiny entrances before them.

Branch cringes. “I really have no clue. Sorry.”

“Choose wisely!” An unknown voice booms, echoing through the trees. “For one tunnel leads to Bergen Town and the others… to certain death!”

Poppy shrieks, jumping to take shelter behind Branch, the older troll narrowing his eyes towards a very specific bush. “Come out,” he orders, tone flat.

“Wooaaaa, party poopers,” the same voice says, now without its echo. It belongs to a cloud, its main body a dirty grey, wisps of cotton fraying at the edges, and long, thin, blue limbs, feet covered by loose socks.

“What do you want?”

The cloud chuckles. “What’s up, I’m Cloud Guy, and I can help you find whatever you want!”

“You know how to get to Bergen Town?” Poppy asks, slowly approaching.

“Sure do!” Cloud Guy confirms. “And I will tell you… for a high five!”

Poppy squeals. “Ooh, I love high fives!”

“Ooooh, I bet you do,” Cloud Guy says. “But no, I want him to do it.”

Branch gapes, pointing at himself. “What, me? No way.”

“Come on, Branch, it’s a high five!”

“I don’t do high-fives.”

“Um, hello? Most of these tunnels lead to ‘certain death’! Priorities, Branch!”

Branch stops in his tracks, having separated from the other two to check the tunnels in person. “All these tunnels were dug out by the Trolls for the Trollstice Escape of twenty years ago, Poppy. They all lead to Bergen Town.”

“Wait, how do you know?” Poppy asks.

“Cloud Guy here is also real fucking curious,” Cloud Guy says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Branch sends it a glare. “Please leave.”

“No you.”

“Branch,” Poppy calls, holding his hands into hers.

“You were just a baby when we escaped the Bergens,” he says, looking down. “It’s fair you don’t remember; I was four. I remember enough.”

“Oh, Branch…”

“Save the comforting for the others. And you, Cloud, go find your amusement elsewhere.”

Bergen Town is just as Branch remembers; with tall buildings covered in dirt and grime, and its inhabitants going around dragging their feet, the only thing changed is the addition of a few buildings and the aura of decay coming off the ancient Troll Tree.

But its unchanged air tells Branch and Poppy one more important thing.

“They still haven’t eaten a troll!” she cheers, rushing ahead, using her hair to jump onto the nearest rooftop. “Come on, Branch! To the castle!”

He flinches, almost falling back. “Poppy wait!” he rushes to join in, taking greater care to stay in the shadows. “You need to be careful.”

“I can take care of myself, plus, our friends need us!”

“Poppy!”

She stumbles to a halt, turning to look at him.

“Poppy, I know you’re worried and you want to get everyone to safety,” Branch starts, gently leading her to a more hidden corner, “but you can’t rush off and do things on impulse. I told you, remember? We need to be careful. None of these bergens will hesitate to eat us, we can’t jump in without a plan.”

“Okay,” she says, and that’s it. They proceed at a more sedate pace, Poppy following Branch’s lead on where to go, how to move, keeping themselves quiet as they traverse the town until they reach the closest window in the castle, one covered by overgrown bushes but thankfully still able to open.

Once inside, they stay hidden on the high, stone ceilings, clinging to light fixtures and old tapestries, scouring one room after another, keeping their ears and eyes open for any sign of the other trolls being alive.

Then Poppy’s hug time bracelet goes off, a soft ping echoing through the silent room.

Then, more pings are heard.

The imprisoned trolls are put on the long dinner table on a silver platter, right under the young king’s eyes.

“Trolls,” the king whispers, earring his guards’ attention. “How…?”

“There’s more out there, sire,” Chef says, dipping into a low bow. “I only need to retrieve them. But for now…” she grabs Creek, calloused, spindly fingers curling around his small body in spite of the kicking and screaming, depositing him on the young king’s outstretched hand. “You’ve never eaten a Troll, before, right sire?”

“All thanks to you,” the king grumbles, staring at the purple troll in his hand.

Chef scoffs. “Well, go ahead now. You, out of all of us, surely deserve happiness.”

“I do, don’t I?”

“Then, eat, my King.”

The king opens his mouth, pulling a struggling Creek close, then- “what about everyone else?”

“Pardon, sire?”

“I’m gonna be the king who brings back Trollstice,” the King decides, puffing out his chest, “yet there’s nowhere near enough trolls for everyone, here. I promise everyone a troll.”

“There’s more of them,” Chef hurries to assure, “where I found these. I assure you, sire, I can go get more. Now,” she picks up a terrified Creek, putting him inside a stale-looking taco. “Eat.”

And the king takes a bite.

Branch has to rush Poppy into an unoccupied room to give her the chance to shed her tears.

He may have learned to keep his emotions silent, year after year spent alone with none the wiser to his needs and wellbeing, never needing to externalise his feelings when there was nobody there to hear and see, but Poppy never had to do it.

Branch is thankful she never had to experience overwhelming sadness and grief in her life, but with Creek being eaten right in front of their eyes, there’s no helping her sudden influx of tears and barely muffled sobs.

The only thing he can do is hold her, feeling her tears turn his vest damp.

They find the cage with Poppy’s imprisoned friends fast enough, only needing to find the scullery maid Chef had entrusted them with and wait until nighttime and she heads back to her sleeping quarters.

The bergen girl falls face-first on her bed, asleep within seconds, and the two trolls hop down from the ceiling, landing in front of the cage.

“Poppy!” the captured trolls cheer, somewhat keeping their voices some semblance of quiet, then, “Celebrate freedom from the bergens!”

Branch shushes them, tone sharp. “Be quiet. Everything’s okay, Floyd?”

His brother manages a smile, a white-knuckles grip on his crutches. “I’m managing.”

“Branch!” Biggie cheers. “I knew you liked us!”

“You’re fine, I guess, and no one deserves to be food.”

“We need to leave and find Creek,” Poppy says.

Branch turns, shoulders hiked up. “Poppy, I’m sorry, but Creek’s gone.”

“They put him in a taco,” Guy reminds her, watching Branch as he tinkers with a pair of scissors twice bigger than he is, using them to open the lock, and thus the cage.

“It was undignified,” Cooper mutters, the first to step out.

“He has to be alive,” she insists.

“How?” Branch asks. “Poppy, we saw the same thing. Again, I’m sorry, but there’s no way he’s alive.”

“What are you all doing out there?” a voice shouts, distraught; it’s the bergen girl, now awake, looking at them with wide eyes. “Go back in there!”

“Scatter!” Branch shouts, and they all do, using their hair and smaller body to avoid the bergen’s girl attempts at recapturing them; the chase goes on for a few minutes, until they’re all up above, nestled in the rotting wood of the celigins' support.

“You’re in love with King Gristle!” Poppy declares, standing in front of a pink curtain on the girl’s vanity.

Branch groans. “Poppy, come up here!”

“She can help us!” the Princess says, stubborn. Fearless, she faces the bergen. “You can help us.”

“No,” she says. “And that’s not mine.”

Poppy wordlessly pushes the curtains open, revealing a cutout print of two lovers holding each other, with her face and the King’s in the original’s places.

The bergen sighs. “Why does that even matter? He’s not even aware I exist.”

“We can help you score a date with the king,” Poppy promises. “And, you can help us free our friend!”

“Your friend that just got eaten?” the girl asks, flinching immediately after. “Sorry, that was rude. I’m Bridget.”

“Poppy! And he’s alive, I just know it!”

“Nice to meet you, I guess… How would you even get me a date with the king? He’s the king, and I’m… me.”

“We can give you a makeover!” Satin and Chenille offer, jumping down.

“And we can help you act like a total babe” Poppy continues. “There’s no way the king’ll be able to resist you!”

As the other trolls jump back down, spurred by Poppy’s easy enthusiasm and Bridget’s nervous, non-threatening aura, they all seem to be on board with the plan, starting on an easy song all together, then-

“Why is that one not singing?” Bridget asks, pointing a finger to where Branch still hides. “You can come down, yeah? I won’t eat you.”

Begrudgingly, Branch does, helping Floyd down as well. “I don’t sing.”

“You don’t think this is gonna work!” Bridget wails, hands over her teary eyes.

“What no,” Branch rushes to say, cringing as he does, “I just don’t sing a lot.”

“It is a rather risky plan,” Floyd adds.

“We’re gonna miserably fail!” Bridget cries out once more, burying herself face-down on her bed.

“Of course you can sing,” Poppy says, grabbing his hands. “Come on, Branch! This might be our only chance!”

“Of what?” he demands. “The world isn’t all cupcakes and rainbows, Poppy. I’m sorry, Creek got eaten and it’s time for you to face that.”

“I know he’s alive!” She protests.

“He was put into a taco!”

“I need to try, Branch!”

“What you need is a reality check, Poppy!” He takes a deep breath, the gold glitter on his cheeks glowing, hair taking on a darker hue. “Creek got eaten. If, and I say if, he somehow managed to avoid that, there’s no way he did it without making some sort of compromise. What that could be, I don’t know, but for your sake and everyone else’s, I hope it’s nothing bad.”

“We can still try,” Poppy pleads, locking her eyes with his.

“Only if you promise to run away if it gets too dangerous.”

Poppy beams. “Deal!”

“I’m still not singing.”

Coaching Bridget into becoming a rainbow-covered babe takes less than the trolls imagined; the bergen girl has heaps of confidence and willingness to break from the mould, but all of it is equally covered in thick ropes preventing any of it to shine through.

She only needed a little push, and the safety brought by her newfound anonymity.

“Nothing much changed,” Branch mutters, hidden underneath Bridget’s new hair.

“How can you tell?” DJ Suki asks.

Branch shrugs. “A few buildings are painted differently, and some have one more floor, but everything’s still the same. Dark and dreary and overall nasty.”

“That’s true,” Floyd confirms. “The smell got worse as well.”

“Wait a second,” Guy Diamond says, “you two have been here before? At Bergen Town?”

The two brothers share a glance.

“I was fourteen when King Peppy led everyone to safety,” Floyd explains. “Granted, by that time, me and my other brothers already left the Tree and Bergen Town through other means, but you need to remember that our tribe has been living in trees for only twenty years, and no one truly remembers for how long we’ve been caged by the Bergens.”

“I was just a baby when dad made us escape,” Poppy muses, “I’ve never really thought about who was older and lived in captivity for a time. I guess we all got lucky, right Branch?”

“Yeah…”

Poppy blinks. “Branch?”

“Oh, we are not gonna like this,” Cooper mutters.

“Mr Dinkles, be strong,” Biggie whispers, the glow worm letting out a squeak.

Branch cringes, leaning against his brother. “I, uh, lived through a few Trollstices… I’m a little older than you are, after all.”

Branch’s revelation, as horrifying as it is, is pushed aside in favour of helping Bridget. 

Floyd’s grim face only enforces it, reminding them all with harsh brutality that BroZone was a Tree band, born from the unwillingness of the brothers to surrender to their past lifestyle, to bring hope to their peers and the chance to forget their situation was as dire as it was.

Still, there is no time to waste and in just a few minutes they’ve turned their own hair into a rainbow, glittery wig to match Bridget’s ‘undercover’ persona, and the bergen girl, dressed in one of Satin and Chenille’s creations, strut through the town with barely contained excitement.

“I see him,” Branch says, carefully peeking through the hair. “In the shop over there.”

“You can do it, Bridget,” Poppy encourages, and Bridget smiles, strutting towards the king as she prepares to follow the Trolls’ lead.