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Chapter Text

The merciless cold cut through Creek's ashen skin, each a brutal reminder of his betrayal. His once-vibrant purple complexion—the envy of many trolls in the village—had withered to resemble a sickly grey, a physical manifestation of the hollowness consuming him. The glittery sparkle that once danced across his cheeks had dimmed to nothing, leaving his face a canvas of regret.

He couldn't bear to glimpse his reflection in the crystal-clear lakes he passed, each accidental glance brought pain. His once-proud teal hair—an array of azure and turquoise that had once been his pride—now hung lifelessly down his back, its vibrant colors muted to a sickly blue-green.

Alone. So utterly, devastatingly alone in the hostile wilderness since his exile. The cheery songs that once flowed effortlessly from his lips had died in his throat, strangled by the guilt that clawed at his insides day and night. His betrayal of Pop Village —his princess, his friends, his home—burned like acid in his veins. He had condemned his entire village to what should have been certain doom, serving them up to the Bergens on a silver platter with a smile plastered across his face.

Creek dug trembling fingers into his scalp until pain shot through his nerves, curling into himself until his spine cracked in protest, his body convulsing with sobs that tore from his throat like wounded animals.

He was so agonizingly sorry that the emotion threatened to split him open. Scalding tears carved clean treks through the layers of grime on his hollow cheeks, the salt stinging his cracked lips. His once smooth arms were now coveres in jagged scars, desperate attempts to feel something —anything—after his skin had lost its color and its warmth.

He wandered aimlessly through the wilderness, a ghost haunting the forest, never lingering in one place long enough to leave even a shadow. The forest—once a playground for the adventurous—loomed sinister and unforgiving for a lone troll, especially one as despised as him.

"Not safe," his mind screamed in an endless, pounding rhythm, driving him forward on bleeding feet crusted with mud and debris, fueled only by the regret and a desperate yearning for an atonement he knew would never be possible.

.
.
.

Creek trembled violently, huddled into a tight ball within the dank confines of an abandoned critter burrow, his knuckles white as he clenched his arms around himself against the bone-deep chill that had become his constant companion. The suffocating smell of damp earth and decay filled his nostrils—a pungent mix of rotting leaves, fungus, and stagnant rainwater that somehow still felt preferable to the putrid stench of his own guilt.

In the oppressive stillness, memories flooded back with the force of a tidal wave—his pod in the village where he'd grown up neglected and painfully alone, meticulously crafting a carefree façade whenever he ventured outside its emotionally barren walls. His parents had flitted in and out of his life like disinterested butterflies, always with the same dismissive assertion that he was "mature enough" to care for himself. He wasn't. He never had been. He had simply been quiet, obedient, the perfect vessel for their expectations and projections, silently drowning in the shadows of their abandonment.

Creek forcefully pushed those thoughts away, the familiar pain too sharp, too raw to bear in his current fragile state. Instead, he retreated further back, focusing on earlier memories, to the Troll Tree, ancestral home of the Pop Trolls, where he had spent his first blissful, innocent years.

His chest tightened as he remembered the cold iron bars that had caged his people like cattle, the annual horror of Trollstice looming over their heads like a guillotine. The Bergens—those massive, hideous giants whose crooked eyes held no joy except when feasting on trolls—would pluck them from their home with grimy fingers and carry them away in cooking pots.
Every year hundreds died, their songs silenced forever.

Creek could still hear the screams that had pierced the air when he was too young to comprehend what Trollstice truly meant, desperately covering his ears with tiny hands in a futile attempt to block out the nightmarish symphony of terror.

The Great Escape, orchestrated by King Peppy, had saved the Pop Trolls from yet another year of slaughter. They had found refuge deep in the forest, building a paradise where they believed themselves safe from Bergen clutches—until that fateful party thrown by Princess Poppy. The "Loudest, Craziest Party Ever!" Creek winced as though physically struck by the memory of being captured by Chef, along with several of his friends, destined to become Bergen purée.

What followed was a whirlwind of panic and primal self-preservation, decisions made in heart-stopping fear that he would never be able to erase, no matter how far or fast he ran.

"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly to the emptiness around him.

Knowing his words would never reach those he had so terribly wronged. Despite learning later that his people had been rescued by Princess Poppy and the village grump Branch, he had still betrayed them all to save his own skin.

He had tricked them, served them up, and he would never.
Could never forget the look of utter betrayal on Poppy's face.

Creek succumbed to the crushing weight of exhaustion, fresh tears glistening on his freckled cheeks.

If only he could rewrite the past, fix what he'd done...

Crack..

His eyes snapped open at the sound, adrenaline surging through his veins. Darkness pressed against him from all sides, but something felt different. Wrong. Claustrophobic.

Crack...

Creek tried to push outward with his arms, panic bubbling up like boiling water in his chest as he realized he couldn't move freely. His heart hammered against his ribcage like a trapped bird as he struggled futilely.

CRACK!

He flinched violently, instinctively trying to cocoon himself with his hair for protection, but realizedhe couldn't control it. He hadn't been able to since he'd gone grey.

Through his escalating panic, he began to register voices—muffled and distorted, as if coming through something through a thick wall.

"...woah!" He felt himself shift, and a terrible suspicion began to dawn on him..

Warmth suddenly enveloped him like a blanket, and Creek realized with shocking clarity just how cold he had been. He instinctively curled toward the unfamiliar sensation as excited exclamations continued outside his current condiment.

"Honey..." he heard someone coo, the voice dripping with affection.

And like that he felt an undeniable, primal urge to break free.

.
.
.

Outside, in a warm pod nestled within the sprawling branches of an enormous caged tree, a family was gathered in breathless anticipation around a vibrant Pop Troll egg. The glittery light purple shell was adorned with a distinctive tuft of teal hair that peeked out like spring grass. Four boys with expressions ranging from wonder to concern and an elderly woman watched in awed silence.

A boy with wild bright yellow-green hair that stood in spiky tufts broke the awed but concerned silence.

"How could they just leave them out there in the cold?" His voice cracked with raw emotion, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "It's not fair! Why do Mom and Dad keep doing this to us?"

The elderly troll wrapped a comforting arm around his trembling shoulders, her weathered purple hand squeezing gently. "Clay, sweetheart, I know you're upset. I am too, honey," she said softly, her voice a soothing balm. "But this little baby won't want to come out if they get scared by all the noise."

She turned her attention to her other grandsons, whose faces wore equally sorrowful expressions in varying degrees. A mumbled "sorry, Grandma" came from Clay as he scrubbed at his eyes with small blue fists.

Rosiepuff's heart hurt as she cradled the cold shell that had been callously left outside her pod, just like the others had been. Her eyes narrowed briefly in quiet fury before softening as she noticed a small blue hand come to rest atop her own. She looked up to see vibrant pink hair—Floyd, the current youngest, staring in open-mouthed wonder at the light purple egg.

Her oldest grandsons, John Dory and Spruce, gazed with a complex mixture of love and sadness at the new arrival. John Dory—his shoulders already carrying the invisible weight of responsibilities that shouldn't be his —gently twirled his fingers through the egg's teal hair, remarkably similar to his own. His lips curved into a tentative smile as the trolling inside seemed to shift toward his touch.

"He's got my hair," John Dory whispered.

Despite being woken in the middle of the night, he'd immediately slipped into his role as the family's backbone, checking the egg's condition.

Spruce, fourteen leaned forward as he gently traced a finger over the shell.

"Another brother," Spruce murmured, his voice caught between excitement and trepidation.

"Think he'll be blue like us or purple like Grandma?" His purple hair—usually styled to perfection—was disheveled from being woken by Grandma's 4am discovery.

CRACK!

John Dory took back his hand, eyes widening as larger cracks appeared on the purple shell, spreading across its smooth surface.

His protective instincts immediately kicked in as he positioned himself to catch the egg if it rolled off Grandma's lap

The family drew near as a light purple hand—impossibly tiny, with even tinier fingers—broke through the shell.

Smiles bloomed across all their faces, excitement replacing sorrow in an instant. Another small fist punched through with surprising force as the shell began to fall away in glittering fragments, revealing a purple troll with a constellation of glittery freckles dotting chubby cheeks.

Floyd squealed with delight and surged forward toward the newest addition to their family. The rest followed in a heartbeat as the baby looked around in bewilderment, enormous eyes taking in everything with an intensity unusual for a newborn trolling.

"Whoa, he's not crying," John Dory said surprised, his brow furrowing slightly. Most trollings wailed upon hatching, overwhelmed by their first exposure to the world.

"Is that normal?" His voice a trace of concern.

Spruce pushed past his older brother, rolling his eyes. "Not everything has to be a problem, JD." He knelt beside Grandma Rosiepuff, his face breaking into a radiant smile as he wiggled a finger in front of Creek's face.

"Hey there, little guy! I'm your big brother Spruce!" His voice rose to the singsong pitch that trolls naturally adopted around trollings. "We're gonna have so much fun when you're bigger! I'll teach you how to style your hair and—"

"Let him breathe, Spruce," John Dory cut in, though there was a softness in his tone that contradicted his stern words. He knelt down on Creek's other side, gently touching one of the baby's tiny hands with his finger. When Creek's hand instinctively wrapped around it, John Dory's carefully maintained composure cracked, his face melting into a adoring smile.

Spruce leaned in closer, examining Creek's freckled face. "He's got such cute sparkly freckles!" he exclaimed, then grinned at Creek confidently.

"I'm gonna be your favorite brother, just you wait. Johnny's too bossy, Clay's always reading, and Floyd's... well, Floyd's cool, but I'm definitely the most fun."

A 'hmmph' from Floyd and Spruce held back a chuckle as he continued fawning over purple trolling.

John Dory shook his head but couldn't hide his smile.

Grandma Rosiepuff leaned over and scooped up the tiny trolling up with practiced ease, peppering his cheeks with featherlight kisses.

Meanwhile, Creek felt like screaming until his lungs collapsed.

How was he here?

Who were these trolls?

Had he been magically abducted from his miserable wallowing?

As bright, loving smiles were directed at him with unmistakable affection, Creek reluctantly ruled out abduction and began examining his surroundings with growing confusion. The pod was warmly lit with glowing lamps, family photos in handmade frames decorating the curved pod walls.

"Baby..." he heard a gentle coo and glanced up at the elderly woman holding him, her eyes crinkling at the corners with undisguised love.

Rosiepuff smiled when those big, curious eyes—far too knowing for a newborn—blinked up at her. "Welcome to the family, baby." She pressed another tender kiss to Creek's forehead, the scent of wild berries and something comfortingly familiar wafting from her hair.

"Wow..." Floyd gazed starry-eyed at his baby brother, practically vibrating with excitement. "Grandma, what's gonna be his name?" His voice lilted with childish eagerness.

Rosiepuff hummed thoughtfully, studying the trolling's unique features with careful consideration.

"Creek," she said finally, caressing those freckled cheeks with a thumb that felt impossibly gentle against his baby soft skin.

Creek blinked at the ceiling, his mind racing desperately to process what was happening. He'd fallen asleep in a cold cave, utterly alone and wretched.

And then, BOOM! he had somehow come out from an egg. He stared at his chubby arms in disbelief.

Click

He turned to see the elderly troll taking his picture with an old-fashioned camera, her face glowing with unabashed adoration.

*This can't be happening,* Creek thought, his adult mind trapped in an infant body, a horrid, malicious, and unfunny joke of astronomical proportions.

His mind reeled with possibilities as exhaustion—different from before but no less overwhelming—overtook him once more. The last thing he registered was soft cooing as the brothers piled into the hallway and to their rooms.

The tender press of Rosiepuff's lips against his cheeks anchored him to this impossible new reality.

As sleep claimed him, wrapped in warmth, one thought remained crystal clear amidst the confusion: somehow, against all odds, he'd been given a second chance.

And he swore he wouldn't waste it.

Chapter Text

Three weeks had passed since Creek's unexpected rebirth, and he was still struggling to make sense of his new reality.

What disturbed him most was the realization of when he had arrived. The Pop Trolls hadn't yet escaped from the Troll Tree—they were still living under the constant threat of the Bergens and Trollstice. All the progress, all the safety his people had achieved in his original timeline... it hadn't happened yet.

And Branch—the village grey troll who had helped save their village alongside Poppy—resembled these trolls to much...

Creek had somehow been born into the family Branch had never once mentioned.

What had happened to them?

Creek lay in his crib, staring at the mobile of colorful felt stars hanging above him. His infant body required far more sleep than he was used to, but his adult mind remained restless, constantly churning with questions and anxieties.

The bedroom door creaked open, and Creek turned his head to see John Dory—JD, as the others called him—peering in. The eldest brother's teal hair was disheveled, his blue skin slightly pale from exhaustion.

"Hey, buddy. Still awake, huh?" JD whispered, approaching the crib. "That's three nights in a row.."

Creek merely blinked at him. He'd discovered quickly that his new family found his serious demeanor unusual. Pop Trollings were typically bubbly and giggly from birth, but Creek couldn't bring himself to fake the cheerfulness expected of him. Not with the weight of his past—or was it his future?—pressing down on him.

JD sighed and reached into the crib, lifting Creek with practiced ease. "Let's not wake the others. Grandma finally fell asleep, and she needs her rest."

As JD carried him to the main living area of the pod, Creek observed the eldest brother closely. At sixteen, John Dory carried himself with the worn confidence. Creek had quickly realized that despite Rosiepuff being their guardian, it was JD who truly ran things—making sure everyone was fed, clothed, and cared for.

"You're a strange little dude, you know that?" JD whispered, settling into a worn chair with Creek on his lap. "Most babies can't stop smiling. But you... you look like you've got the weight of the world on those tiny shoulders."

Creek couldn't help but appreciate the irony. If only JD knew.

The sound of shuffling feet made them both look up. Spruce stood in the doorway, his purple hair disheveled from sleep, muscular arms crossed over his chest.

"Couldn't sleep either?" JD asked.

Spruce shrugged. "Heard you get up. Thought I'd check."

Creek had noticed over the past weeks how Spruce always seemed to be watching JD, ready to step in and help, though he tried to make it seem casual.

"Did he eat enough at dinner?" Spruce asked, nodding toward Creek.

JD nodded. "Yeah, he's fine. Just... quiet."

Spruce came closer, ruffling Creek's teal hair. "Hey, little bro. Still giving us the silent treatment?"

Creek had yet to utter a sound since his rebirth. He could, he supposed, but what would be the point? His vocal cords were undeveloped, and he wasn't sure he wanted to draw more attention to himself yet.

"Maybe he'll be like Clay," Spruce suggested. "Didn't Clay not talk until he was almost one?"

"Yeah, but Clay still smiled and laughed," JD replied. "Creek just... watches. Like he's studying us or something."

‘Because I am’, Creek thought.

Spruce took a seat on the floor next to JD's chair. Creek noticed how the second brother subtly sucked in his stomach as he sat, an almost imperceptible gesture unless you were looking for it. It wasn't the first time Creek had observed this behavior—Spruce's relationship with food seemed complicated at best.

"Did Grandma head out again tonight?" Spruce asked quietly.

JD's jaw tightened. "Yeah. Said she just needed to 'clear her head.' Took the jar from behind the root cabinet."

"That was supposed to be for new strings for Floyd's guitar."

"I know."

The weight of responsibility in JD's voice was unmistakable. Creek had quickly pieced together the family's financial situation—Rosiepuff had a gambling problem that JD was constantly trying to manage, often hiding money around the pod to keep it safe, only for Grandma to find it eventually.

"We've got that gig at the Podium next week," Spruce offered. "Should bring in enough to cover what she took."

JD nodded, absently stroking Creek's hair. "Yeah. We need to practice the new arrangement tomorrow. Clay's been slacking."

A small figure appeared in another doorway, pink hair drooping sleepily.

"Floyd," JD said. "What are you doing up, buddy?"

"Had a bad dream," the seven-year-old mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Is Creek okay?"

Floyd, despite being second-youngest, was remarkably attentive to others' emotions. He padded over and peered at Creek with concerned eyes.

"He looks sad again," Floyd observed. "Maybe he misses mom and dad?"

The statement hung heavy in the air. Creek had gathered that his "parents"—whoever they were supposed to be in this timeline—had simply left him outside Grandma Rosiepuff's pod, just as they had apparently done with all of the brothers at different times.

"Maybe," JD said carefully. "But he's got us now, right?"

Floyd nodded earnestly and reached out to touch Creek's hand. To everyone's surprise, Creek grasped the small blue finger, holding on tightly.

It was the first time he had initiated contact with any of them.

Floyd beamed. "See? He likes us!"

Spruce chuckled. "Well, he likes you at least."

"Why don't you go back to bed, Floyd?" JD suggested gently. "We've got to be up early for practice."

"Can I take Creek with me? Just for tonight?" Floyd asked hopefully. "I'll be super careful."

JD hesitated, then nodded. "Alright, but straight to sleep, both of you."

Floyd carefully took Creek from JD's arms, holding him carefully and steadily. As they headed back toward the sleeping area, Creek heard Spruce and JD continue their hushed conversation about finances and band practice.

Floyd carried Creek to the bunk beds he shared with Clay. The middle brother was curled up on the bottom bunk, a book still clutched in his hands even in sleep.

"Clay reads too much," Floyd whispered to Creek as he climbed up to the top bunk. "John Dory says it's gonna hurt his eyes, but Clay says JD just doesn't understand."

Floyd settled Creek beside him, creating a nest of blankets to ensure the baby wouldn't roll off. "You can sleep with me tonight. I won't let the bad dreams get you."

Creek stared up at Floyd, struck by the simple kindness. In his past life, he'd never paid much attention to children, viewing them as noisy and chaotic. But Floyd's warmth touched something within him.

"It's okay if you don't smile yet," Floyd whispered, his voice growing drowsy. "Clay says some people have deeper feelings that take longer to show. You just take your time, okay?"

Creek blinked, surprised by the insight from someone so young. As Floyd drifted to sleep, Creek found himself contemplating his situation with new clarity.

He was trapped in the past, reborn into a family headed for some unknown tragedy—why else would Branch never have mentioned having brothers? And worse, he was back in the time before the Great Escape, when Trollstice still loomed as an annual threat.

But for the first time since his rebirth, another thought occurred to him: maybe this wasn't just a punishment for his betrayal. Maybe it was a chance to change things.

Not just for himself, but for this fractured family that was showing him more care and acceptance than he deserved.

From below, Creek heard Clay shift in his sleep, muttering something about "a spiderweb" before settling again. Above, Floyd's arm draped protectively over Creek's tiny form.

Morning came with the usual cacophony of a household with four active boys. Creek lay in his crib, where JD had transferred him at some point during the night. The sounds of squabbling over bathroom time, Clay shouting that someone had dog-eared one of his books, and Rosiepuff's weary calls for order filtered through the thin walls.

The door to his room opened, and Clay shuffled in, his yellow-green hair sticking out at odd angles, a thick book tucked under his arm.

"Hey, Creek," he greeted, peering into the crib. "JD says you were up half the night again. That's very inconsiderate of you." Despite the words, his tone was gentle.

Creek merely gazed back at him. Of all the brothers, Clay was the most intellectual, constantly reading or creating some new dance move. Creek had observed the twelve-year-old's frustration whenever JD insisted he practice his "fun" stage persona instead of allowing him time with his books.

"Anyway, you're stuck with me this morning," Clay continued, lifting Creek from the crib. "Grandma's sleeping off her... night out. Floyd and Spruce are doing band stuff, and John Dory is doing breakfast."

Creek found himself carried to a comfortable chair in the corner of the room, where Clay settled with him.

"I'm supposed to be working on my routine for the upcoming show," Clay confided, "but I figured we could do something better instead."

He opened the book, revealing intricate illustrations. "This book has stories from outside the tree."

Creek stared at the pages with interest.

"See, we used to live all over, different forests, in different places," Clay explained, his voice taking on a professor-like quality that Creek suspected he rarely got to use around others. "Pop Trolls, especially loved places with good acoustics."

Creek found himself genuinely fascinated. This was information he'd never known in his previous life.

"Then the Bergens found us," Clay's voice dropped. "And now we're stuck in this stupid tree, waiting to be eaten."

The fear in Clay's voice was palpable, and Creek felt a chill. The Bergens. Trollstice.

"JD says not to talk about it, that it scares Floyd," Clay continued, "but I think it's important to know things, even scary things. Don't you?"

Creek blinked in what he hoped would be taken as agreement.

"Anyway," Clay flipped to another page, "the best part is the stories. Listen to this one..."

As Clay read about ancient heroes and their adventures, Creek found himself oddly comforted. The familiar cadence of storytelling, combined with Clay's surprisingly expressive reading voice, lulled him into a rare state of calm.

The door suddenly burst open, causing both Clay and Creek to jump.

"There you are!" JD stood in the doorway, looking hurried. "Clay, we were supposed to start practice ten minutes ago!"

Clay's expression darkened. "I'm watching Creek."

"Bring him with you. Everyone needs to practice."

"I'm reading to him!"

"You can read later. The gig is in five days, and you still can't get the timing right on your dance."

Creek felt Clay's grip tighten slightly around him.

"Maybe I don't want to be 'the fun one' anymore," Clay muttered. "Maybe I want to—"

"Not this again," JD sighed, running a hand through his teal hair. "Look, we've all got parts to play. This gig pays double what we usually get. We need it."

Clay stood abruptly, still holding Creek. "Fine. But I'm bringing my book."

"Whatever. Just hurry up."

As Clay carried him toward what Creek had learned was the practice room, he whispered, "I'll finish the story tonight, okay? Just you and me."

Creek found himself hoping Clay would keep that promise. For all his cynicism and distrust of others, Creek was starting to look forward to these quiet moments with his new brothers.

The practice room was really just the living area with all furniture pushed aside and to the walls. Spruce was already there, adjusting his look, while Floyd sat cross-legged on the floor, carefully tuning his small guitar.

"Finally," Spruce said as they entered. "We've been waiting forever."

"It was ten minutes," Clay retorted, setting Creek down in a cushioned basket they used as his daytime seat.

JD clapped his hands. "Alright, from the top. 'Baby girl baby' first, then we'll work on the new one."

As the brothers began to play, Creek was genuinely surprised by how good they were.

They were talented—really talented. Creek found himself wondering why he'd never heard of them in his original timeline. Brozone should have been famous, especially after the Pop Trolls escaped to the forest.

Unless something had happened to them.

(Or bro just lived under a rock 🪨)

The thought sent a chill through him that had nothing to do with the upbeat song they were performing.

As the brothers launched into their second number, Creek noticed Spruce discreetly wiping sweat from his brow, looking slightly unsteady. The second-oldest brother had skipped breakfast—Creek had noticed him pushing food around his plate but eating very little. Now, under the exertion of singing and dancing, he seemed pale.

"Wait, stop," Floyd suddenly called out, his emotionally perceptive nature kicking in. "Spruce doesn't look good."

JD spun around, his expression shifting from annoyance to concern. "Spruce?"

"I'm fine," Spruce insisted, though he was clearly leaning foward hunched. "Just got a little dizzy."

"Did you eat this morning?" Clay asked pointedly.

"Of course I did," Spruce snapped, but the lie was transparent.

JD set down his microphone. "Take five, everyone. Spruce, come with me."

As the two oldest brothers disappeared into the kitchen, Floyd moved over to sit beside Creek's basket.

"Spruce doesn't eat enough," he confided in a worried whisper. "He thinks we don't notice, but we do."

Clay flopped down on the other side, opening his book again. "It's because of that stupid 'heartthrob' thing. Ever since the fans started talking about how hot he looked."

"Should we tell Grandma?" Floyd asked.

Clay snorted. "Grandma barely notices us half the time, unless she needs more gambling money.'"

"That's not fair," Floyd protested weakly, though his expression suggested he knew Clay was right.

Creek watched this exchange with growing unease. The cracks in this family ran deeper than he thought. JD shouldering too much responsibility, Spruce starving himself for approval, Clay's growing resenting, Floyd trying desperately to keep peace, and Grandma Rosiepuff—the only adult—caught in the grip of a gambling addiction.

And Branch wasn't even born yet.

What had happened to tear this family apart so completely that Branch had never once mentioned having brothers?

From the kitchen, JD's raised voice carried: "—third time this week, Spruce! You can't keep—"

"—none of your business! Just because you act like Dad doesn't mean—"

"—someone has to! Or would you rather end up in separate pods like the Shimmer twins did when their parents—"

The argument was cut short by the front door opening. Rosiepuff stood there, looking tired but smiling. Her purple skin seemed paler than usual, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

"Grandma!" Floyd jumped up, running to hug her.

"Hello, my darlings," she said, her voice warm despite her obvious exhaustion. "How's practice going?"

The brothers exchanged glances as JD and Spruce emerged from the kitchen, their argument shelved but not resolved.

"Great, Grandma," JD answered with forced cheerfulness. "We're almost ready for the show."

Rosiepuff nodded, then her gaze fell on Creek in his basket. "And how's our littlest one cutie today?"

Before anyone could answer, she crossed the room and lifted him up. Creek found himself studying her face—the kind eyes, the smile lines, all the love.

"Still so serious," she murmured, touching his cheek. "You remind me of someone..."

For a moment, her eyes grew distant, as if seeing someone else in Creek's place.

"Who, Grandma?" Floyd asked curiously.

Rosiepuff shook her head slightly. "Oh, just someone from long ago. Before you were born." Her smile returned. "Now, who's hungry? I brought back jerryberry buns!"

The mention of food immediately lightened the mood, though Creek noticed Spruce hanging back as the others eagerly followed Rosiepuff to the kitchen. As they passed, Spruce gave Creek a small, secret smile—one troll who wasn't eating to another.

The irony wasn't lost on Creek. In his past life, he'd been so focused on spiritual wellness and physical fitness that he'd often judged others for their indulgences. Now, watching Spruce's unhealthy relationship with food, he recognized his own former pretensions for what they were.

As Rosiepuff carried him into the kitchen, Creek caught sight of a small calendar pinned to the wall. With a jolt, he realized what it showed: less than a month until the next Trollstice.

His tiny body went rigid with fear. Trollstice. The Bergens. Chef. Being carried away in a fanny pack, almost eaten...

"Creek? What's wrong, honey?" Rosiepuff's concerned voice barely registered as panic overtook him.

And then, for the first time since his rebirth, Creek did what any baby would do when faced with overwhelming terror.

He began to wail—loud, heartbroken sobs that brought all conversation to a halt as his new family stared in shock and concern at their normally silent baby brother

Chapter Text

Creek's sudden crying was like breaking a dam. After weeks of eerie silence, his wails echoed through the pod, causing a flurry of activity among the family.

"What happened?" JD was immediately at Rosiepuff's side, peering anxiously at Creek.

"I don't know! He just started crying," Rosiepuff answered, gently bouncing Creek in her arms.

Floyd pushed his way forward, blue hands outstretched. "Maybe he's scared? Let me try!"

Clay pointed to the calendar. "He was looking at that before he started crying."

All eyes turned to the simple calendar pinned on the kitchen wall, with its ominous red circle around the approaching Trollstice date.

"Don't be ridiculous," JD scoffed, though his voice wavered slightly. "He's a baby. He can't read calendars."

But Creek could, and the sight of that red circle had triggered every horrific memory of being captured by Chef, of betraying his friends to save himself, of the terror in everyone's eyes as they faced what should have been certain doom.

"He's probably just hungry," Spruce suggested, though he looked uncomfortable at the mention of food.

Rosiepuff continued trying to soothe Creek, her weathered purple hands gently stroking his hair. "There, there, little one. No need for all this fuss."

But Creek couldn't stop. Weeks of bottled emotions—fear, guilt, confusion—poured out in the only way his infant body knew how.

Floyd tugged at Rosiepuff's dress. "Grandma, can I try? Please?"

After a moment's hesitation, she carefully transferred Creek to Floyd's waiting arms. Despite being only seven, Floyd held him with surprising confidence.

"Hey, Creek," Floyd whispered, his voice cutting through Creek's sobs. "It's okay to be scared. I get scared too."

Creek's cries began to quiet as he stared at Floyd.

"We all get scared of Trollstice," Floyd continued softly, carrying Creek away from the calendar and toward the cozy living room. "But JD says we're safe as long as we stick together."

Together. Creeks lips quivered as the tears fell silently.

As his sobs subsided into hiccups, Creek found himself comforted by Floyd's gentle rocking. The other brothers and Rosiepuff had followed them, forming a protective semicircle around the pair.

"See? He likes Floyd best," Clay remarked, sounding slightly jealous.

"Floyd's good with feelings," Spruce said, ruffling the pink hair of his younger brother. "That's why he's the sensitive one in Brozone."

Creek noticed how Floyd's smile dimmed slightly at the label, though he didn't protest. Another reminder of how JD's insistence on these band roles was slowly fracturing the family.

"Maybe he was just keeping it all inside," Rosiepuff suggested, watching Creek with concern. "Some trolls do that, you know. They hold everything in until they can't anymore."

Creek felt a pang at how accurately she had described his past self—always projecting calm and enlightenment while suppressing his own insecurities and fears.

JD knelt down to eye level with Creek in Floyd's arms. "Well, at least we know he has lungs. That's good for singing."

"Not everything is about the band, JD," Clay muttered.

JD stood up sharply. "The band is what puts food on our table, Clay."

"Boys," Rosiepuff interjected wearily, "not now. We should be celebrating—Creek just had his first cry!"

The absurdity of celebrating tears brought Creek back to the present moment. What a strange family he'd found himself in, where his emotional breakdown was treated as a milestone rather than a weakness.

"I think he's calming down," Floyd reported proudly, as Creek's hiccups subsided.

Spruce leaned closer, his face coming into Creek's field of vision. "Hey, little bro. You gave us quite a scare."

"See, he's all better now" Rosiepuff said. "Maybe he just needed to let it all out."

JD checked the time. "We should get back to practice. The Podium show—"

"Can't we take a break?" Clay interrupted. "Creek's obviously upset."

"The show is in five days, Clay. We need the money."

"Always about money," Clay grumbled.

"Yes, always about money," JD snapped. "Because someone needs to think about how we're going to eat next week, or how we're going to fix the roof before rainy season, or how we're going to buy new clothes when Floyd grows out of his again!"

The pod fell silent, save for JD's heavy breathing. Creek could see the toll leadership was taking on the eldest brother—only sixteen and carrying the weight of an entire family.

Spruce stepped forward, placing a hand on JD's shoulder. "Hey, we'll practice. But maybe a short break first? For Creek?"

JD's expression softened. "Fine. Thirty minutes. Then we get back to work."

As the others dispersed—Clay retreating to a corner with his book, JD heading to his room to work on arrangements, Rosiepuff disappearing to her private area at the back of the pod—Spruce stayed with Floyd and Creek.

"You want to hold him for a bit?" Floyd offered. "You haven't had much time with him yet."

Spruce looked uncertain. "I'm not as good with babies as you are."

"It's easy," Floyd insisted, already transferring Creek to Spruce's arms. "Just be gentle and don't drop him."

Creek found himself looking up and making eye contact with Spruce as he reached for him.

"Hey, little guy," Spruce said awkwardly. "Sorry about all the drama. We're not usually this... well, actually we are kind of always this chaotic."

Creek simply stared.

"You know," Spruce continued, voice lowered, "you're lucky you don't have to worry about stuff yet. Being a baby must be nice—everyone takes care of you, no expectations, no pressure."

Floyd, who had moved to pick up some scattered toys, looked over with a concerned expression. "Are you okay, Spruce?"

"I'm fine," Spruce replied automatically, then sighed. "Just tired. The choreography for the new song is tough."

"Is that why you didn't eat breakfast again?" Floyd asked innocently.

Spruce stiffened. "I ate."

"No, you didn't. I watched you push your food around."

"Mind your own business, Floyd."

"But you're my brother—"

"I said drop it!" Spruce's voice came out harsher than intended, causing Creek to flinch in his arms.

Immediately, Spruce's expression shifted to remorse. "Sorry, Creek. Sorry, Floyd. I didn't mean to yell."

Floyd approached cautiously. "I just worry about you. JD does too, even if he shows it by being bossy."

Spruce sank into a chair, still cradling Creek. "I know. It's just... hard sometimes. Being 'the heartthrob' isn't as fun as it sounds."

"Then why be that?" Floyd asked with the simple logic of a child.

"Because that's what JD decided I should be. And it works for the band."

"But does it work for you?"

Creek was impressed by Floyd's insight. For a seven-year-old, he understood emotions better than most adult trolls Creek had known.

Spruce didn't answer, instead focusing on adjusting Creek in his arms. "He's so tiny. Were we all this small once?"

"Yep! Grandma has pictures." Floyd bounced on his toes. "Want me to get the album?"

Without waiting for an answer, Floyd darted off, leaving Creek alone with Spruce.

The second-oldest brother looked down at him with a tired smile. "Between you and me, sometimes I wish JD would back off with all the band stuff. Don't get me wrong—I love performing. But all these roles he's created for us... they're starting to feel like cages."

Creek understood that feeling all too well. In his past life, he'd crafted a persona of spiritual enlightenment and calm—a cage of his own making that had ultimately led him to betray everyone rather than admit vulnerability.

"But we need the money," Spruce continued, echoing JD's constant refrain. "Especially with Grandma's... hobby."

Creek had quickly learned that "hobby" was the family's euphemism for Rosiepuff's gambling problem.

"I found it!" Floyd announced, returning with a large, worn photo album. He climbed onto the chair beside Spruce, opening the book across both their laps, with Creek still in Spruce's arms.

"Look, this is JD when he was born," Floyd pointed to a picture of a tiny blue trolling built like box with a shock of teal hair, held by a much younger Rosiepuff. "And this is Spruce!" Another photo, this time of a chubby blue baby with purple hair.

Creek studied the images with fascination. There were photos of Clay as a baby, his yellow-green hair barely visible as his head leaned out the framw, and Floyd, tiny and with pink hair. What struck Creek most was how happy everyone looked in the early photos—Rosiepuff beaming with each new grandbaby, the brothers playing together without concern.

Then Floyd turned to a page that made Creek's heart skip a beat. It showed a troll couple—a male with teal hair and blue skin like, and a female with pink hair and purple skin like Rosiepuff and Creek himself.

"These are our parents," Floyd explained, his voice losing some of its enthusiasm. "They're not around much."

"They're not around at all," Spruce corrected gently. "They drop off eggs and leave."

"But they might come back someday," Floyd insisted, though without much conviction.

Spruce didn't contradict him, instead turning the page to show more family photos. But Creek's mind was racing. Those were his parents in this timeline—Branch's parents too. The father's teal hair both he and JD had inherited it, while his purple skin was inherited from this timelines mother.

Which meant Branch, when he was eventually born, would likely have blue skin from their father and blue hair from... somewhere else in their genetic lineage.

"Here's one of all of us with Grandma," Floyd said, pointing to a more recent photo. Four brothers of varying ages posed with Rosiepuff outside their pod, their arms around each other, smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes anymore.

"I wonder when we'll get a new family picture with Creek in it," Floyd mused.

"Soon. After the show" Spruce promised.

The mention of the show brought Creek back to the family's current struggles. Brozone—a band of siblings performing to support themselves because their grandmother's gambling left them perpetually broke, and their parents were completely absent.

And JD, trying to manage it all but he was only a teen. The pressure had to be taking a toll. Creek could see the pattern now, the cracks that would eventually break this family so completely that Branch would never speak of them.

But maybe... maybe things could be different this time. Maybe with Creek here, somehow knowing what was to come, the story could change.

His thoughts were interrupted by Clay's reappearance.

"JD says break's over," he announced, not looking up from his book. "Time to practice."

Spruce sighed, rising carefully with Creek still in his arms. "Duty calls. Let's go watch your big brothers make fools of themselves, Creek."

Floyd closed the photo album and bounced to his feet. "We don't look like fools! We look awesome!"

"Speak for yourself," Clay muttered, but followed them toward the practice area.

As they arranged themselves for rehearsal, JD positioning everyone perfectly, Creek watches from his nest of blankets. .

The music began, and despite their tensions, something magical happened when the brothers performed. They moved in perfect synchronization, their voices blending in harmony, creating something greater together. For those moments, the fractures between them disappeared, unified by a harmonious melody.

Creek found himself captivated. In his past life, he'd never appreciated music this way, too focused on his own image and spiritual enlightenment. But here, watching his new brothers transform through their music, he felt something shift within him.

As the song ended, the brothers froze in their final pose, breathing hard but grinning with the satisfaction of a job well done.

"That," JD declared, "was much better. If we can perform like that at the Podium, we'll bring down the house."

For once, no one argued with him.

The practice continued for another hour before Rosiepuff called them for dinner. Creek noticed Spruce's smile falter slightly at the announcement, though he covered it quickly. Creek frowned as Clay carried him into the dining area, the baby troll found himself wondering what he could do to help Spruce—not just Spruce but this entire family.

Creek didn't want his new family to drift apart, he didn't want Branch to be grey, he didn't want to be alone.

He intended to use his second chance. But how? Could he really help?

Chapter Text

A few weeks had passed since Creek's emotional breakthrough, and life in the pod had settled into a rhythm. The Brozone Brothers' performance at the Podium had been a resounding success, bringing in enough funds to ease their financial strain temporarily. Creek had grown more comfortable with his infant body, though the limitations still frustrated him endlessly.

Night had fallen over the Troll Tree, and Creek lay awake in his crib, listening to the sounds of the sleeping household. Floyd's gentle snores drifted from the bunk beds he shared with Clay, while the occasional rustle of pages indicated that the middle brother was still awake, reading by flashlight despite JD's strict "lights out" policy.

Creek had become accustomed to these nighttime rituals—Spruce doing push-ups before bed, Clay reading until his eyes couldn't stay open, Floyd whispering goodnight to every toy he owned, and JD making one final round to check that everyone was safe before allowing himself to rest.

What wasn't typical was the hushed argument now filtering through the pod walls.

"I need it, Johnny. Just a little to get me back in the game." Rosiepuff's voice was pleading, using the nickname only she called JD.

"There isn't any more, Grandma. All the money went to buying groceries and preparations for Trollstice."

"But I have a system this time! I know which mushroom has the lucky beetle. I can feel it!"

JD's sigh was heavy with resignation. "That's what you said last time, and the time before that."

"You don't understand! I'm due for a win!"

"There's nothing left to give you, Grandma," JD's voice cracked. "We're barely getting by as it is."

A long silence followed, broken by Rosiepuff's cold response. "I raised you, fed you, took you in when your parents abandoned you. The least you could do is help me when I need it."

Creek winced at the emotional manipulation. He heard JD's sharp intake of breath.

"That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair, Johnny. Now, are you going to help your grandmother or not?"

Another pause, then the sound of movement. Creek strained to hear JD's response but caught only mumbles. Minutes later, the pod door opened and closed softly. Rosiepuff had left, presumably with whatever money JD had managed to find.

The silence that followed was deafening until it was broken by a different voice.

"You shouldn't have given it to her."

Spruce. He must have been listening too.

"What was I supposed to do?" JD's voice was defensive but exhausted. "She would have just kept looking until she found it anyway."

"That was the money for Creek's checkup next week."

"I know."

"So what are we going to do now?"

"I'll figure something out. I always do."

Creek heard footsteps approaching his room. He quickly closed his eyes, feigning sleep as the door creaked open. Through barely-parted lids, he watched JD and Spruce enter, their faces drawn with worry in the dim light.

"He's getting bigger," Spruce observed, leaning over the crib. "But he still doesn't smile much."

JD reached down to adjust Creek's blanket. "He's different. That's not a bad thing."

"Do you ever wonder about Mom and Dad? Why they keep having kids just to abandon them?"

JD's expression hardened. "No point in wondering about things we can't change."

"But what if they come back someday? What do we tell Creek about them?"

"The truth. That they left him, just like they left all of us. But that he has brothers who love him and will never leave him."

The conviction in JD's voice made Creek's chest tighten.

"You think they'll drop off more eggs?" Spruce asked, his voice barely audible.

JD shrugged. "Probably. They seem to have a pattern—one every few years."

Another sibling. Branch. The knowledge sat heavily in Creek's mind. Branch would be born soon, completing their strange family circle.

"We should get some sleep," JD said finally. "We've got extra rehearsals tomorrow. King Peppy wants us to perform at the Trollstice Eve Celebration."

Creek's heart skipped a beat. Trollstice Eve. The night before the Bergens would come to collect their annual feast. The night when, in a few years, King Peppy would lead the Great Escape.

"Do we have to?" Spruce asked. "Everyone's always so tense at Trollstice Eve. It's like performing at a funeral."

"It's good exposure. And Peppy pays well."

As the brothers left, closing the door softly behind them, Creek's mind raced.
For the first time since his rebirth, Creek wished he'd paid more attention to troll history. So much of what had happened before the escape had been glossed over in favor of celebrating their freedom.

Sleep eluded him as he pondered what was to come. If events unfolded as they had originally, in the coming years his people would flee the Troll Tree to the forest beyond Bergen Town. But what would that mean for his new family?
___
(\^_^/) WOW
_/ \_

The day before Trollstice was a whirlwind of activity. The Trollstice Eve Celebration was a massive event for the Pop Trolls, a forced enthusiasm designed to mask the underlying fear of what awaited the next day. Rosiepuff was bustling around the pod, trying to get everyone ready, her earlier weariness replaced by a nervous energy.

The brothers, too, felt the shift in atmosphere. JD was more focused than ever, directing everyone with even greater intensity, his usual sternness tinged with a brittle anxiety. Spruce was quieter, though Creek noticed him making a conscious effort to eat a bit more breakfast than usual, perhaps prompted by Floyd's earlier concern. Clay was even more withdrawn, his nose buried in a book whenever he wasn't explicitly required for practice. Floyd, ever the sensitive one, seemed to absorb everyone's tension, his bright pink hair looking a little less vibrant.

Creek watched it all from his high chair, his infant body restricting his ability to do anything but observe. He heard snatches of conversations – hushed worries about Bergen patrols, the King’s new security measures, and the ever-present question of whether this would be the year they got unlucky.

As the sun began to set, painting the Troll Tree in hues of orange and red, the Brozone brothers huddled together before leaving the pod. Creek felt a strange pang of emotion when John Dory kissed his forehead, his lips trembling slightly. "Wish us luck, little one," he murmured, his eyes brimming with a mixture of false bravado and dread.

They made their way to the main plaza, a vast open at the center of the Troll Tree, now strung with twinkling lights and colorful banners. A large stage had been erected, already filled with other performing troll groups trying to lift spirits. The air hummed with a forced festivity as trolls danced and sang along.

When it was Brozone's turn, a hush fell over the crowd. JD stepped forward, his voice clear and strong despite the tension. "Good evening, Pop Village!" he announced, his trademark confidence momentarily masking his own anxiety. "We're Brozone, and we're here to bring you a great performance!"

The music started, loud and vibrant, and the brothers launched into their most energetic numbers. They were performing at their best, trying to be a beacon of joy in a time of fear. Creek watched from where he was nestled in Grandma Rosiepuff's arms backstage. (Ugh does that even make sense)

But even as they sang and danced, Creek noticed the subtle details: JD's smile was tight at the edges, Spruce's covered up his dizziness with forced smolder, Clay occasionally glanced nervously at the surrounding branch's, and Floyd often looked toward Grandma/Creek, who stood backstage, his brow pinched with worry.

(Heh branch's)

As their set ended to thunderous applause, JD stepped forward again. "Thank you, everyone!" he called out, his voice a little hoarse now. "Remember, as long as we stick together, we'll find our happiness!"

The crowd cheered, and the brothers took their bows, their faces flushed with exertion and a fleeting sense of triumph. But as they made their way off stage, the forced smiles began to fade, replaced by the familiar lines of worry. The reality of Trollstice was a shadow that even happiest songs couldn't entirely dispel.

Backstage, Rosiepuff immediately gathered her grandsons for a hug. "You boys were magnificent!" she exclaimed, but her voice was tight. "Now, hurry. We need to get back to the pod before..." She didn't finish the sentence, but everyone understood. Before the midnight bell, before the Bergens guards made their final rounds.

The walk back to the pod was quiet, the usual chatter replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant cries of nocturnal critters. Creek felt the tension in Rosiepuff's arms, the hurried pace of her steps. He knew what was coming. The Great Escape was still years away, and tonight, like every Trollstice before then, was a night of terror and desperate prayers.

As they reached their pod, Rosiepuff quickly ushered everyone inside, securing the door with multiple locks before dragging her trembling form towards her room. JD immediately went about checking the windows, ensuring they were tightly sealed, while Spruce paced restlessly. Clay retreated to his bunk with Creek, book forgotten, simply staring at the wall. Only Floyd seemed to cling to a semblance of normalcy, humming a soft tune as he gently tidied his toys.

John Dory, ever the leader, albeit a visibly trembling one, was the first to move. "Alright," he whispered, his voice a strained croak. "Everyone… everyone to the nest. Now."

Spruce didn't need telling twice. With practiced efficiency born of countless previous Trollstices, he began pulling down the thickest, plushest blankets and pillows from their beds. Floyd, eyes darting towards the door, started dragging his own blanket towards the center of the room.

Creek watched them, a strange sense of deja vu washing over him. He’d been through this before, hadn’t he? The screams, the terror, the scent of fear in the air. His first run through life had been blurry in the days before the trolls escaped, but the fear of Trollstice was unshakable. (Ughhh me can't spell)

Within minutes, a substantial mound of fabric rose from the floor, a soft, warm fortress against the world. John Dory, once the blankets were somewhat arranged, gestured for them to pile in. Spruce, surprisingly gentle, carefully disentangled Creek from Clay's grip and passed him to John Dory, who settled the baby deep into the center of the nest. Clay and Floyd then burrowed in, pressing in close on either side of John Dory, who in turn wrapped an arm tightly around Creek, pulling him close against his chest. Spruce, the last to join, squeezed himself in, effectively completing their huddled circle.

The only light in the room now came from the faint, silvery glow filtering through the thick, blanketed windows. Every shadow seemed to writhe, every creak of the pod became a hungry, approaching Bergen.

"It's okay, don't worry.." John Dory whispered, his voice muffled by the blankets and Creek's fuzzy hair. "It's just… it's just the wind outside, Creek. Nothing to worry about." His words were meant for Creek, but the way his own hand trembled as he stroked Creek's hair betrayed his true feelings.

John Dory, surprisingly, started to hum. It was a soft, wordless tune, a melody of comfort that vibrated through Creek's small body. Floyd, pressed against John Dory's side, reached out a tiny hand and found Creek’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Spruce, meanwhile, had buried his face in John Dory's shoulder, his breathing shallow and quick.

They stayed like that, a tangle of limbs and fear and desperate hope, for what felt like an eternity. The sounds outside of trolls hurriedly returning to their homes slowly began to recede, replaced by a tense, heavy silence. No one moved. No one dared. The air in the nest grew thick and warm with their shared breath and suppressed fear.

Hours ticked by and the first faint hint of dawn began to break, a barely perceptible lightening of the shadows outside their blanket fortress. But still, they didn't move. They remained, huddled together, silent, waiting for the death sentence that the morning would bring to their kind. (°_°)

Then it started.

Low, guttural cheers sounded from Bergen Town, the sound of the heavy iron gates imprisoning the trolls' opening brought more terrified silence. Creek flinched, instinctively burying his face deeper into John Dory's chest. He couldn't help it, his tiny heart was pounding like a drum.

"Shhh," John Dory whispered urgently, his hand clamped over Creek's mouth, not to silence him, but to muffle any accidental whimper. His grip was tight, but not painful. It was a desperate plea for silence.

A high-pitched shriek tore through the silence, followed by the sickening thud of something large impacting the tree. Creek’s small body stiffened, and he could feel the tremors running through his brothers. They were all holding their breath, ears straining, every muscle tensed.

Another scream, this one choked off abruptly, then the unmistakable, horrific squelch of a Bergen's hand squeezing a troll. A collective gasp rippled through the nest, quickly suppressed. Creek could feel the sharp inhale and slow, shaky exhale of each of his brothers.

John Dory tightened his hold on Creek, his chin resting on the top of the baby's head. "We're okay," he mouthed, not even daring to whisper now. "We're safe." His eyes, wide with terror, scanned the shadowy room, as if expecting a Bergen to materialize out of the darkness.

Clay's hum had stopped, replaced by shallow, quick breaths. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hand instinctively reaching out to grip Spruce's arm. Floyd, remarkably, was still holding Creek’s hand, but his tiny fingers were now clenched tight enough to be painful.

The sounds continued. More cheers, more terrified screams, more snuffed out lives, the Bergens scratching at the bark, and then, the heavy, dragging sounds that meant trolls were being taken away to be eaten.

Creek, despite his mind trying to reason they'd been through this before, was overwhelmed by the raw, visceral terror of the moment. The comforting scent of his brothers, the warmth of their huddled bodies, was the only thing preventing him from a full-blown panic attack. He pressed his face against John Dory's chest, trying to burrow deeper, trying to disappear.

Chapter Text

The horrible sounds of Trollstice, the sickening squelches and terrified screams, slowly began to recede. Each minute that passed without a Bergen tearing through their pod was a small victory, a tiny breath of relief in a night suffocated by fear.

Eventually, only the distant, celebratory roars of the Bergens remained, fading into the background. The silence that descended upon the Troll Tree was not peaceful, but heavy, suffocating, pregnant with the unspoken horrors that had just transpired.

No one moved for a long time. The air in their blanket nest was stale, thick with the scent of fear and damp with nervous sweat. Creek, still pressed against John Dory’s chest, could feel his brother’s heart gradually slowing its frantic beat. He could hear the shuddering exhales of Clay and Spruce, and the almost imperceptible sniffle from Floyd.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, John Dory slowly, cautiously, shifted. "It's… it's over," he whispered, his voice hoarse, barely audible. He gently loosened his grip on Creek, allowing the baby to lift his head. Creek’s small eyes, wide and bloodshot, met John Dory’s equally terrified gaze.

Spruce was the first to disentangle himself, his limbs stiff as he slowly uncurled from their huddle. He crept to the window, carefully peeling back a sliver of the curtai. The first rays of dawn, cold and grey, filtered into the room, illuminating the dust dancing in the air. The world outside was eerily still. There were no signs of Bergens, no movement among the branches. Just the heavy silence of a world holding its breath.

Clay, his face pale and tear-streaked, slowly sat up, pulling his knees to his chest. Floyd, ever the sensitive one, finally let out a soft sob, burying his face in John Dory's side. John Dory wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close, offering silent comfort.

They slowly, warily, emerged from their nest, like creatures crawling from a burrow after a predator had passed. The warmth of the blankets was gone, replaced by the chilling reality of what had just happened. Their shared bedroom, usually a vibrant space, felt hushed and somber.

John Dory walked over to Rosiepuff’s door and gently knocked. “Grandma?” he called, his voice still a little shaky. A moment later, the door creaked open, and Rosiepuff’s tired, relieved face appeared. She looked them over, her eyes lingering on each of them, checking for any signs of harm, before offering a weak, trembling smile. "You're all safe," she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. She didn’t embrace them, didn’t try to comfort them with platitudes. She simply nodded before retreating back into her room, leaving them to process their own feelings.

The days that followed Trollstice were always the hardest. The tree was quieter, absence where pods once hung, empty spaces where familiar faces should have been. The trolls who remained walked with a little less bounce in their step, their songs a little softer, their colors a little dimmer. The Brozone brothers felt it too. Their usual boisterous energy was subdued, replaced by a quiet vigilance.

John Dory became even more protective, constantly checking on his brothers. Spruce spent more time in the back of the pod, indulging in his thoughts, a quiet escape. Clay’s reading took a sadder turn with every visit to the library. Floyd, however, seemed to withdraw, humming softly to himself, but his eyes held a sadness that went beyond his years.

For Creek, the experience was profoundly unsettling. The terror was real, a primal fear he hadn’t truly felt since his first, hazy memories of the first Trollstice. He'd known what was coming, but knowing didn't lessen the visceral impact of the screams, the sounds of his kind being taken. He watched his brothers, especially John Dory, struggle under the immense weight of their merciless reality, the heavy weight of responsibility for their survival.

Weeks bled into months. The seasons changed, the vibrant hues of summer giving way to the rich golds and reds of autumn, and then the quiet blues and whites of winter. Creek grew, slowly but steadily. He was no longer just a helpless infant; he could sit up unassisted and occasionally crawl with surprising speed across the floor.

The brothers, in turn, adapted. They settled into a routine, a rhythm that revolved around minimizing risk and maximizing their small joys. They practiced their choreographies, singing, and organized concerts.

One crisp morning brought a rare treat—a trip to the library pod. JD had band business to attend to, so Spruce was tasked with taking Creek, Floyd, and Clay out for the morning.

"The library?" Clay's face lit up with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. "Really?"

Spruce nodded, securing Creek into a carrier that strapped to his chest. "JD said you could pick out two new books."

Clay's eyes widened. "Two? But we usually only get one a month."

"Well, you've been working hard at rehearsals lately, so..." Spruce shrugged, trying to appear casual about the small indulgence.

Creek, strapped to Spruce's chest, watched the exchange with interest. These moments of kindness between the brothers were becoming more frequent, small cracks in the wall of tension that usually divided them.

Floyd bounced excitedly by the door. "Can I get a book too?"

"You can't even read" Clay pointed out.

"I can look at pictures! And you can read to me! Please, Spruce?"

Spruce sighed, but his smile betrayed his affection. "Fine. One book each for you and Floyd. But make it quick—JD wants us back before lunch."

The library pod was a welcome respite from the probing eyes. A large, rounded structure lined with shelves of books, it smelled of paper and ink—a scent that visibly relaxed Clay as soon as they entered.

"Welcome, welcome!" The librarian, an elderly green troll with spectacles, greeted them warmly. "Just in time for puppets!"

Floyd cheered now sidetracked from what they'd come here for, while Spruce found a comfortable spot where they could sit and wait. As promised, a puppet show began shortly after their arrival, a simple tale about a brave troll outsmarting a predator. Creek watched with mild interest, more focused on the brothers' reactions than the show itself.

Clay was engrossed, analyzing the narrative structure under his breath. Floyd gasped and clapped at all the right moments, completely immersed in the fantasy. Spruce tried to appear casually interested, but Creek felt the second brother's chest vibrate with suppressed laughter at the puppet antics.

After the show, Clay disappeared among the bookshelves while Floyd chatted animatedly with the puppeteer. Spruce, with Creek still in the carrier, wandered toward a section marked "History."

"Don't tell Clay," Spruce whispered to Creek, "but I like reading too.”

He pulled a book from the shelf, opening it to reveal illustrations of ancient vividly colored forests. "See these? We used to live all over, not just in this tree." He turned a page. "And no Bergens."

Creek studied the images with renewed interest. Before, he'd never bothered learning about pop history, too focused on his spiritual inner peace and popularity.

"Spruce! Creek!" Floyd's voice carried across the library, earning him a stern "shh!" from the librarian. Chastened, he approached more quietly. "JD's here, and he looks weird."

Sure enough, JD stood at the library entrance, his expression a complicated mix of excitement and anxiety. He beckoned them urgently.

"We need to get home. Now."

Clay emerged from the bookshelves, arms laden with books. "But I just found—"

"Now, Clay," JD's tone brooked no argument. "Something's happened."

The brothers exchanged concerned glances before quickly gathering their things. They followed JD out of the library and through increasingly secluded paths, taking routes that avoided the more populated areas of the tree.

"What's going on?" Spruce finally demanded as they neared their pod. "You're acting weird."

JD glanced around before answering, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not out here. Inside."

Once safely within their pod, JD checked all the windows before facing his brothers. Creek, still in the carrier on Spruce's chest, had a perfect view of the eldest brother's face as he took a deep breath.

"We've been invited to perform at the Royal Pod."

A moment of stunned silence followed before Clay spoke. "You mean... for King Peppy himself?"

"Princess Viva's birthday celebration," JD confirmed, a grin breaking through his serious expression. "It's the biggest gig we've ever had. If we impress them..."

"We could become stars!" Floyd squealed, jumping up and down.

"We could get actual payment instead of just food and gratitude," Spruce added more practically.

Clay looked less enthusiastic. "When is it?"

"Two weeks from now," JD replied. "Which means we need to prepare something special. Something they've never heard before."

As the brothers launched into excited planning, Creek's mind whirled with implications. Princess Viva?— King Peppy had—has another daughter? Does that mean Poppy had a sister?
And now his new family would be performing at her birthday celebration. The universe truly had a twisted sense of humor.

"Creek can come too, right?" Floyd asked suddenly, breaking into Creek's thoughts.

JD hesitated. "I don't know. It might be too noisy for him."

"But it's Viva's birthday! She loves babies! Maybe Creek can make her smile," Floyd insisted.

"We'll see," JD hedged, clearly not wanting to disappoint Floyd but concerned about managing an infant during such an important performance.

The two weeks leading up to Princess Viva's birthday celebration transformed the brothers' pod into a whirlwind of activity. JD called for rehearsals everyday, determined that Brozone would deliver the best performance.

"Again!" JD called for what felt like the hundredth time. "Floyd, you're still coming in early on the second verse."

The youngest brother sighed, adjusting his small guitar. "I'm tired, JD."

"Everyone's tired," JD replied, though his tone softened slightly. "Just once more, then we'll take a break."

Creek watched from his playpen, where Clay had surrounded him with soft toys before joining rehearsal. At nearly 7 months old now, Creek had developed enough physical control to sit up unassisted and manipulate simple objects—progress that both delighted and frustrated him. His adult mind chafed at the limitations of his infant body, yet each new ability felt like a victory.

As the brothers launched into their song again, Creek considered how their dynamic had shifted in recent weeks. The pressure of the royal performance had exacerbated certain tensions—JD's controlling tendencies, Clay's rebellion, Spruce's obsession with appearance—but had also united them toward a common goal. Even Rosiepuff had stayed away from her gambling haunts more often, caught up in the excitement of her grandsons performing for royalty.

The song ended with perfect harmony, and even JD couldn't hide his pleased smile. "That was good. Really good."

"So we can take a break now?" Floyd asked hopefully.

JD nodded. "Fifteen minutes. Then we work on the choreography again."

As the brothers dispersed, Clay came to sit beside Creek's playpen. "Having fun watching us make fools of ourselves?" he asked wryly.

Creek merely blinked at him, maintaining his usual silence.

"You know," Clay continued, lowering his voice, "sometimes I think you understand everything we say. You've got these old eyes, like you've seen it all before."

The observation was uncomfortably accurate. Creek had been careful to act age-appropriate, but his inherent seriousness and watchfulness had clearly registered with the perceptive middle brother.

"Anyway," Clay pulled a book from his hair, "I got you something from the library. JD thinks you're too young for stories, but I disagree."

He opened the book to reveal colorful illustrations of the troll tribes. "This is the kids' version of the history book Spruce was showing you. I thought maybe we could look at it together sometime."

Creek reached for the book with genuine interest, his small lilac hands touching the vibrant pages. Clay smiled—an expression that transformed his face.

"You do like it," Clay said softly. "I knew you would."

A shadow fell across the playpen as Spruce approached. "Showing him your nerd books already, Clay?"

Clay quickly tucked the book away. "Just keeping him entertained."

"Well, it's my turn," Spruce declared, lifting Creek from the playpen. "JD says I need to practice my routine while holding him, since Grandma can't babysit during the performance."

Creek found himself hoisted onto Spruce's hip as the second brother moved to an open area of the pod. "Ready for some dance moves, little bro?"

Before Creek could react, Spruce launched into an energetic routine, spinning and stepping in complex patterns while keeping Creek securely against his side. The sensation was both terrifying and exhilarating—Creek's infant body reacting with squeals that surprised them both.

Spruce stopped mid-step, staring down at Creek in shock. "Did you just laugh?"

The sound had emerged involuntarily—Creek's first audible expression of joy in this new life. The surprise on his own face must have been comical because Spruce burst into laughter himself.

"He laughed! Guys, Creek laughed!"

JD, Clay, and Floyd rushed over, crowding around as Spruce bounced Creek gently.

"Do it again," Floyd urged. "I missed it!"

"I don't think it works on command," Clay said, but he was smiling too.

JD studied Creek with a mixture of relief and wonder. "I was starting to worry... but he's just taking his time with things, I guess."

As the brothers took turns trying to elicit another laugh—Floyd making silly faces, Clay tickling his feet, JD singing snippets of songs in a funny voice—Creek felt a strange warmth spreading through him.

The door to the pod swung open, revealing Rosiepuff laden with packages. "What's all the commotion?"

"Creek laughed, Grandma!" Floyd announced excitedly.

"He did?" Rosiepuff set down her packages and hurried over. "Oh, my little late bloomer!" She scooped Creek from Spruce's arms, covering his face with kisses.

"What's in the bags, Grandma?" JD asked, a note of caution in his voice. Financial concerns never strayed far from his mind.

Rosiepuff beamed. "Outfits for the royal performance! I couldn't have my grandsons performing for Princess Viva in old clothes, could I?"

JD's expression shifted from worry to suspicion. "Where did you get the money for new outfits?"

"I had a good run at the mushroom races yesterday," Rosiepuff replied, avoiding JD's gaze. "Thought I'd put it to good use for once."

The brothers exchanged glances—hopeful but wary. Rosiepuff's gambling wins were rare and usually followed by even bigger losses.

"That's... great, Grandma," JD said carefully. "Thank you."

"Well, don't just stand there! Try them on!" Rosiepuff urged, settling into a chair with Creek on her lap.

As the brothers sorted through the packages, pulling out surprisingly well-made outfits in their signature colors, Creek studied Rosiepuff's face. There was genuine pride there, but also something more complex—guilt, perhaps, or regret.

"And this," Rosiepuff announced, pulling a tiny outfit from her hair, "is for our littlest Brozone."

It was a miniature version of the brothers' outfits—resembling Spruce's the most but with soft lilac colors with glitter accents that complemented Creek's lavender coat and freckles. Floyd cooed in delight while JD looked concerned.

"Grandma, we haven't decided if Creek will be a part of Brozone. It might be too much for him."

"Nonsense," Rosiepuff declared. "He's part of this family. Besides, the Princess loves babies."

JD looked like he wanted to argue more but held his tongue. He rarely challenged Rosiepuff directly, preserving what little parental authority she still maintained despite often having to work around her poor decisions.

"Let's try it on him!" Floyd suggested, taking the tiny outfit from Rosiepuff.

Soon Creek found himself dressed in the clothes, propped up on the couch while his brothers stood in a row beside him, all in their new outfits. Rosiepuff clasped her hands in delight.

"My handsome boys! Oh, if only your parents could see you now."

The mention of their parents cast a momentary shadow over the scene. JD's jaw tightened, Spruce looked away, Clay's expression turned bitter, and even Floyd's smile dimmed.

"Let's get back to practice," JD said finally, breaking the awkward silence. "We've only got a week left."

---

The day of Princess Viva's birthday celebration arrived in a flurry of excitement. The Royal Pod, situated at the highest point of the Troll Tree, was decorated with streamers and flowers, glowing mushrooms casting a festive light over the gathered trolls.

Creek, dressed in his miniature performance outfit and secured in a carrier on Spruce's chest, observed everything with wide eyes. The royal pod was grander than any he'd seen, with high ceilings and walls draped in soft fabrics dyed in vibrant colors.

Trolls from all over the tree had come to celebrate, bringing gifts and well-wishes for the young princess. Security was tight—Bergen activity had become spontaneous in recent weeks, putting everyone on edge despite the festive occasion.

"Remember," JD instructed as they waited their turn to perform, "big smiles, perfect harmony, and no improvising, Clay."

Clay rolled his eyes but nodded. "Yes, boss."

"And Floyd, if you forget the words—"

"Just keep playing and smile bigger," Floyd recited dutifully. "I know, JD."

Spruce adjusted Creek in his carrier, checking that the baby's outfit was still neat. "What about Creek? Should I turn him to face the audience or keep him facing me?"

"Face him out," JD decided after a moment's thought. "But if he starts fussing, turn him around immediately. We can't have him crying during the performance."

Creek had no intention of causing a disruption.

A fanfare of small horns announced the arrival of the royal family. King Peppy entered first, his pink hair styled with a crown. Beside him walked a small pink troll with bright yellow hair.

Princess Viva. She looked so young—maybe eight or nine years old—her face nearly identical to Poppy's. She waved enthusiastically at the gathered trolls, accepting birthday wishes with genuine delight.

Creek stared, transfixed by the sight of her. The last time he had seen Poppy—in his original timeline—had been during his betrayal, when he had trapped her and the other trolls for Chef to capture. The memory sent a wave of shame through him so powerful that he must have made a sound, because Spruce patted his back soothingly.

"It's okay, little bro. They're just big important trolls, but they put their pants on one leg at a time, just like us."

If only Spruce knew the real reason for his distress.

"And now," King Peppy announced, his voice carrying across the pod, "for the birthday entertainment! Princess Viva has personally requested the musical performance of ...Brozone!"

Applause erupted as JD led his brothers to the center of the pod. Creek found himself facing the audience, a sea of colorful trolls all focused on the performance about to begin.

"Thank you, Your Majesty, Princess Viva," JD said with a respectful bow. "We're honored to perform for you today.”

With that, the brothers launched into their performance. Creek had watched them rehearse countless times, but there was something magical about seeing them perform for a real audience. They moved in perfect synchronization, their voices blending in harmony, energy radiating from every movement.

Even Clay, usually reluctant about his "fun one" role, threw himself into the performance with abandon, his rusty robot drawing laughter from the crowd and the princess. Floyd kept pace with his older brothers, his face alight with joy. Spruce moved with confidence while keeping Creek secure, and JD led them all with charisma.

The song ended to enthusiastic applause, with Princess Viva jumping up and down in excitement. "That was amazing! Daddy, weren't they amazing?"

King Peppy nodded, his smile warm. "Indeed they were, pumpkin."

The princess bounded forward, approaching the brothers with unrestrained enthusiasm. "I loved it so much! You're the best singers in the whole tree!"

JD bowed again, his usual serious demeanor softened by the princess's genuine praise. "Thank you, Your Highness."

Viva’s gaze suddenly locked on Creek, her eyes widening. "Oh my goodness, he's so cute!"

Before anyone could react, she had moved closer to Spruce, reaching out toward Creek with gentle hands. "Hi there, little one! I'm Viva!"

Creek found himself face to face with the troll who looked identical to the troll he had betrayed. Her eyes were exactly the same—bright, kind, filled with unconditional warmth.

"His name is Creek," Floyd offered helpfully. "He's our baby brother!"

"Creek," Viva repeated, smiling at him. "That's a great name! And he's got the prettiest eyes I've ever seen!"

Creek couldn't help himself—he reached out with one small hand and touched Viva's hand where it rested near the carrier.

Viva giggled in delight. "He likes me!"

"He doesn't usually warm up to strangers," Clay remarked, surprised by Creek's response.

King Peppy approached, standing behind his daughter with protective fondness. "Brozone and their littlest addition! Quite a talented family you have." (Creek just sat there looking cute though..)

"Thank you, Your Majesty," JD replied. "We're honored to perform for Princess Viva's birthday."

"Such a shame your grandmother couldn't attend," King Peppy commented. "How is Rosiepuff these days?"

JD's expression flickered briefly before settling back into polite neutrality. "She's well, thank you. She wanted to come, but..."

"She's not feeling well," Spruce interjected smoothly. "She sends her regards."

Creek knew the truth—Rosiepuff had disappeared the night before with the last of their savings, promising to double it at the mushroom races. She hadn't returned by morning, leaving JD to handle the royal performance and three younger brothers alone, as he so often did.

"Please convey our best wishes for her swift recovery," King Peppy said kindly. "And our gratitude for raising such talented grandsons."

The conversation might have continued, but a commotion at the entrance to the royal pod drew everyone's attention. A guard troll rushed in, his expression urgent.

"Your Majesty! Bergen movement near the gates!!"

King Peppy's demeanor changed instantly, his gentle smile replaced by grim determination. "Begin security protocols. No one is to leave the royal pod until we confirm it's safe."

The festive atmosphere evaporated as guards moved to secure the entrances. Parents gathered their children close, and whispers of "Bergens" rippled through the crowd.

"Daddy?" Viva's voice was small, her earlier exuberance dimmed by fear.

"It's alright, Viva," King Peppy assured her, lifting her into his arms. "Just a precaution."

JD gestured for his brothers to gather close. "Stay together," he instructed quietly. "If anything happens, we move as one."

Creek felt Spruce's arms tighten protectively around the carrier. The casual mention of Bergens had triggered his own traumatic memories—of being captured, of almost being eaten, of the desperate choice he had made to save himself.

The wait seemed interminable, the joyful celebration suspended in anxious silence. Creek could feel Spruce's heart hammering against his back, could see Floyd's small hand clutched in Clay's, JD's watchful gaze never leaving the entrances.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was likely only twenty minutes, the guard returned.

"False alarm, Your Majesty. The movement was identified as the bergen guards changing shifts."

The collective sigh of relief was almost loud enough to shake leaves from the tree. King Peppy nodded gratefully.

"Thank you for your vigilance. Better safe than sorry." He turned to address the gathered trolls. "Friends, please continue enjoying the celebration. There is cake to be had and games to be played!"

The festive mood slowly returned, though Creek noticed many parents keeping their children closer than before.

Princess Viva, resilient as always, had already bounced back. "Can Brozone play another song?" she asked her father hopefully.

King Peppy looked to JD. "If they're willing?"

JD nodded, professional despite the lingering tension. "Of course, Your Majesty. It would be our pleasure."

As the brothers prepared for their second number, Creek observed Viva's bubbly and energetic demeanor. Being reminded of someone all the while.

The celebration continued without further incident, though Creek noticed JD checking the time frequently, clearly anxious to get his brothers safely home. When they were finally thanked and dismissed with generous payment—more than they had ever received for a performance—JD led them quickly through the tree's branches toward their pod.

"That was amazing!" Floyd said enthusiastically as they walked. "Did you see how Princess Viva danced to our songs? And King Peppy said we were talented!"

"And the payment will cover Creek's checkup and the roof repairs," JD added practically, though he too looked pleased.

Spruce, still carrying Creek, matched pace with JD. "Do you think that Bergen scare was really a false alarm?"

JD shrugged, his expression guarded. "Does it matter? We weren't eaten, and we got paid. I count that as a win."

"But if the Bergens are tightening security that means..." Spruce let the implication hang in the air.

"We'll be careful," JD said firmly. "More careful than usual. But right now, let's just get home."

Clay, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly spoke up. "Grandma wasn't sick."

JD's step faltered briefly. "Clay—"

"We shouldn't lie to the king, JD. It's wrong."

"What was I supposed to say? That our grandmother abandoned us for a gambling game on the night before the biggest performance of our lives?" JD's voice was tight with suppressed emotion.

The stark question silenced even Floyd, whose optimism usually provided counterpoint to such down in the dumps moments.

Creek, watching the exchange from his secure position against Spruce's chest, felt a profound sadness for his brothers. Their lives were defined by absence—first by parents who left eggs on doorsteps and disappeared, now by a grandmother whose addiction repeatedly trumped her responsibility to them.

Yet somehow, they held themselves together by JD's stubborn determination and love that manifested in a thousand small ways—Clay reading to Floyd despite claiming it annoyed him, Spruce sharing his portion of dessert with whoever looked hungriest, JD working himself to exhaustion to keep them all together.

As they reached their pod, a familiar figure sat huddled by the door—Rosiepuff, her clothes disheveled, her expression defeated.

"Grandma!" Floyd rushed forward, embracing her without question.

JD approached more slowly, his face a careful mask. "Grandma. We were worried."

Rosiepuff didn't meet his eyes. "I lost it all, Johnny. Every bit."

The weight of her confession hung in the air. Not just the performance payment—which JD had wisely kept secured in an inner pocket—but whatever savings she had taken the night before.

"Let's get inside," JD said quietly, helping her to her feet. "It's not safe out here."

As they entered the pod, Creek caught JD and Spruce exchanging a look of weary resignation. This wasn't the first time Rosiepuff had returned empty-handed and apologetic, nor would it be the last. The cycle would continue—moments of genuine love and care interspersed with disappearances and money disasters.