Chapter Text
For the first time, that week, Branch didn't leave for the restaurant with Bruce.
Bruce had tried to convince him, but had ultimately left without him and promised to check in on his breaks. Branch huddled himself up on his bed under his blanket, hiding his lack of colors from the world.
He couldn't shake the feeling of being ugly. Ablaze's dama's words echoed in his head with the sneers of the trolls at the tree, after his doctor's appointment, about how he was different, contagious, all kinds of bad things. That he'd been a cat-a-list (whatever that meant), that his grandma's death was his fault.
His brother tried really hard to convince him otherwise, and he had started to believe him. Then, his friend's parent reminded him of the truth.
Branch didn't know why no one else had said it. He knew he looked strange. The vacaytioners all acted like he was perfectly normal, but he knew they saw this sad, ugly little gray troll that was too dull to be around all the colorful people on the island. He wondered what they thought of the gray vacaytioners, if they treated them the same as he'd been treated by other trolls.
Part of him felt that wasn't true; no one had looked twice at him since he'd come to the island. They just treated him like normal. It wasn't until another troll was there that he'd heard his colors even mentioned. So a part of him wanted to believe that all of the awful comments were wrong.
But at the same time, those comments stuck to his brain like they had claws. It felt like all he ever thought about was the face someone made at him back at the tree, or the snide whispered comment he overheard as they passed him. The way Bruce had snapped at them to shut up, angrier than he'd ever seen him.
He felt like his fur was wrong. Like he'd been shoved into a different body as punishment for getting Grandma Rosiepuff killed. That felt like the only thing that made sense; he was trapped, forced to show the world that he was an awful, horrible troll inside and out.
Branch had wondered for a moment if Bruce was lying to him on purpose. His brother insisted that those things he'd heard weren't true, that they'd been cruel to him for no good reason. But he knew that wasn't true. He just wondered if Bruce knew that too, and was just being nice, or if his brother truly didn't realize.
Bruce came to check on him like he said he would, but Branch stayed under his blanket. He couldn't be coaxed out until dinnertime, and even then he kept the blanket wrapped around him.
His brother mentioned that Martin had asked about him, that the vacaytioners at the restaurant were worried about him. But Branch couldn't stomach the idea of showing his face again; all they'd see was his gray colors, and they would probably feel grossed out by him too.
It was like that for the first couple of days. But the third day, when Branch refused to budge, Bruce just picked him up off the bed, blanket and all. Branch squeaked in surprise, wriggling, but his brother was strong.
"You can't stay in there all day," Bruce said decidedly, dropping him onto the couch. "It's not good for you."
Branch had to wriggle around to pull the blanket up, glaring at him when he could see him. Bruce had a stern look on his face at first, but it faltered quickly, and he sighed and crouched down in front of him.
"I know you're hurt," he murmured gently. "Trolls have been needlessly mean to you, and that's not fair. I'm sorry."
His breath shuddered with emotion. His brother shifted his arm to hold his paw.
"Staying in a dark room under a blanket is going to make you feel worse," Bruce went on. "And the things they said aren't true."
"They are," Branch whispered thickly. "Stop- stop lying to me."
Bruce blinked, looking taken aback. Then, he looked concerned. "I'm not lying, Branch."
"Yes you are," his voice came out as a sob. Branch grabbed at his own arms, breath hitching. "I'm ugly, and gross, a-and I just-!" He choked up, scrunching his eyes shut and swallowing hard. "I-it's like I have to show everyone what a bad troll I am, like a punishment, an' I deserve it…"
"No," Bruce's paws pressed over his, pulling gently at his fingers, "no, no, Branch, that isn't true. You aren't a bad troll-"
"What kinda good troll gets his own granma killed?" Branch asked witheringly.
"That wasn't your fault," Bruce pressed. He breathed in sharply, and Branch suddenly realized he looked upset. "Whoever told you that was wrong, Branch. This isn't your fault, you don't deserve what they said about you."
And here he was, upsetting the only family he had left.
Branch's chest shuddered. "I'm sorry…"
Bruce's mouth pressed into a shaky line for a moment. Then, he shifted his hold on Branch, pulling him into his arms. As he shifted to lean back against the couch, Branch could feel the tremble in his brother's paws.
They just sat there for a few moments. Branch felt guilty; he didn't mean to upset his brother. He wasn't really sure which part was upsetting. His feelings just bubbled up in his chest and made it hurt, and he wanted it to go away. But hurting his brother's feelings in the process just made him feel worse.
Bruce leaned back against the side of the couch with a shaky sigh. Branch pulled his blanket tighter around himself.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled again. Bruce's hand brushed through Branch's hair gently, soothingly.
"You don't need to be," Bruce murmured, but Branch didn't believe him.
They sat together in silence for a couple more moments. Long enough to let Shelliot trundle over to them, settling right beside them to lean against them both.
"I know," Bruce said suddenly, haltingly, "how you're feeling. About feeling ugly, and thinking anyone who says otherwise is lying to you."
Branch leaned into his brother's chest. "You do?" he sniffled.
His brother sighed heavily. "Do you remember in the kitchen, when I told you why I never eat?" Branch nodded slowly. "I… it started out like that. Feeling awful about myself and how I looked, because people told me I should. So… so when John gave me the title he did for the band, I just… I didn't know how else to deal with it."
"You stopped eating?" Branch whispered.
Bruce nodded sadly. "It turned into this… this fear. That if I didn't keep doing it, I was gonna look worse. That I was gonna ruin the band because I didn't fit my title." He hesitated, then sighed again. "Whenever anyone told me I looked good, I… just assumed they were trying to be nice. Or that I looked good, but I needed to look better."
He had never known Bruce as anything but confident in himself. He always seemed so put together, even on the bad days. But that image cracked back when they talked in the kitchen, and this just shattered it completely.
The band had hurt his brother in ways he never realized before. Suddenly, he wondered if the rest of their brothers had been hurt, too.
"So," Bruce went on softly, a paw rubbing at Branch's shoulder, "you and me, we're gonna learn to stop listening to that stuff." Branch peeked up at him, and he smiled back at him. "We'll do it together, so it isn't scary."
Branch's chest shuddered again. "It sounds hard."
"Yeah," Bruce agreed slowly, "but we can do it. I believe in us."
After a moment of hesitation, Branch shifted and wrapped his brother in a hug. "Okay."
They spent that day in the apartment, Branch helping Bruce look through his maps as they tried to figure out where their brothers were. The idea of going outside made him anxious, but Branch kept remembering Bruce would be with him. His brother wouldn't let anything bad happen.
So, when it came time to leave for the restaurant the next morning, Branch held tight to Bruce's paw as he shuffled into the sunlight.
Immediately, the sun felt so nice on his fur. It was warm, but not hot, and Branch couldn't help but relax a little bit.
Bruce grinned at him. "Sun feels good this morning, huh?"
"Mm-hm," Branch agreed softly. He hesitated, then looked up at his brother, brows pinched together. "They really won't… say anything?"
"Nope," Bruce promised easily. "And if they do, they'll have to deal with me." He squeezed Branch's paw reassuringly. "They'll be happy to see you again."
Branch squeezed his paw back. "Okay," he whispered.