Archive of Our Own ^beta

It starts like this.

Branch sits down to breakfast with Poppy and Viva as he does most mornings, a year on from the BroZone rescue mission turned massive family reunion event. With the Putt Putt Trolls integrated into Pop Troll Village, Clay and Floyd permanent residents, and John-Dory and Bruce near constant drop ins, Branch’s life is suddenly filled with more people than he’d ever used to have. He swings between liking it and hating it- as he does with most things- but he deep down he admits to himself that he’s never been happier. Once his days were filled with only the reflection of his grey self for company, and now he fills them with Poppy’s brightness, Viva’s enthusiasm, and his brothers clumsy but appreciated attempts to knit their family back together. Running a village is hard, but the work is delegated enough that there’s always time for nice moments like this.

So, he sits down with Poppy and Viva, and midway through Clay joins them after he finishes up some morning errand or another- something to do with fixing a bathhouse? Viva becomes even perkier when he appears, which is saying something, and starts to push the remaining plates of fruits and pastries in his direction. Even with Branch, Poppy, and Viva boasting large appetites, there’s still plenty to hand over. Clay- hair the same matted mess it always is- gently rejects each and every offer she puts forward. Branch frowns at this, but Viva seems to take it in stride.

“We’ll find a breakfast food you like one day, Mr Clay,” she says. Branch will never get used to the formal way she addresses his brother, but Clay seems to like it.

“I look forward to it,” Clay says. His mouths twitches into a smile but his eyes stay flat, and suddenly Branch is on high alert. He knows what an upset Troll looks like- he stared at one in the mirror for twenty years- and something is clearly bothering Clay. After years of having nobody to worry about but himself, Branch is slowly getting used to caring for others again with help from Poppy. He sees what looks to be an upset Clay, and he takes note.

When Clay dismisses himself from the table without having had more than a sip of juice, Branch gets up to follow. Poppy shoots him a look but Branch motions for her to stay. He still doesn’t know if he and Clay are cut from the same cloth beyond being brothers, but he knows he doesn’t appreciate it when little check-ins come across more as interventions.

Clay is fast when he gets going, but Branch is faster and he catches up with ease. Clay smiles when Branch falls into step beside him but doesn’t say anything. The two walk in silence as Branch tries to work out the best way to phrase his question. In the end, he sticks to the basics before Clay can find something to do and Branch fails to find a reason to follow.

“Are you okay?”

“Always, Bitty B,” Clay says easily. Branch pulls a face, and he corrects himself. “Branch.”

Well, there’s an answer that should be easy to accept and yet Branch can’t swallow it. “You didn’t eat anything at breakfast,” he says accusingly.

“Oh, that,” Clay laughs. “I don’t really like breakfast foods. Viva and I have been trying for years but nothing’s ever stuck.”

“Well,” Branch says, stumped for a moment over what to say to that. “Have you…I mean, you can just eat other food at breakfast instead.”

Clay’s stride loses its smoothness ever so slightly before he recovers. “Still as smart as I remember,” he says, voice tinged with pride. “No wonder you and Poppy work so well together.”

Branch stops to work out what Clay actually means when he says that, and by the time he snaps out of the daze, Clay has increased his speed and gained enough ground on Branch for him to be considered as having left, so to speak. Branch watches him go- a patch of yellow-y green that blends with the grass sometimes- and mentally replays the conversation in his head. As far as he can tell, it had been a normal conversation.

Maybe he’s losing his touch. Maybe Clay just has resting sad face. Maybe Branch should stop nosing around in his brother’s lives in case they decide he’s too much and leave again.

Maybe Clay had just already eaten and didn’t want Viva to feel bad.

It continues like this.

Branch joins Floyd, Viva, Poppy and Clay on a picnic that the girls have been apparently planning all week. They trek about an hour out from Pop Troll Village to where there’s this gorgeous clearing with a stream running along one side, and a grove of soft green trees that turn the summer sun into a cool afternoon with the shade they provide. Floyd brings a guitar and strums it gently as Clay and Branch work together to spread out the blanket. Poppy and Viva unpack baskets and baskets of food, until there’s almost not enough room for the Trolls to fit on the rug alongside it. Some re-shuffling occurs, and eventually they find themselves sitting down to a nice meal away from the chaos of running a village.

“It’s too bad JD and Bruce couldn’t make it,” Viva says. She’s assembling a sandwich large enough to feed her for a week and looks up every now and again to snatch another ingredient.

“They were at the last one,” Branch points out. “And the one before that.”

“They should be at this one too.” Viva says.

“Bruce can’t keep leaving Brandy to run the restaurant alone,” Clays says sensibly. That’s the nature of his and Viva’s relationship, it seems. He’s the sense to her chaos, the logic to her illogic. Branch sometimes wonders if they’re like him and Poppy, but they’ve never said if they are, and they live in separate pods.

“They’ll come to the next one,” Floyd says. He sets his guitar aside and selects an array of vegetables to place on his plate. “Pass the dip, Branch?”

Branch does as he’s asked, but not before scooping some out onto his own plate. He and Floyd eat veggie sticks the same way- a light brushing of dip and then nibbling them into small pieces until there’s nothing left. Branch can’t remember if he learnt by watching Floyd, or if Floyd learnt by watching him.

“Did we bring the cheese cubes?” Poppy asks a second later. Her eyes dart over the large platters of food in search of her desired item. “I swear I saw them.”

“Right here,” Clay says. He leans forward to hand her the bowl. The plate Viva had handed him when she’d been setting up has a piece of lettuce and a few blueberries, and practically nothing else. When you compare it to the spreads everyone else is setting out, it’s almost laughable.

“You grab some first,” Poppy says. “I can wait.”

“I don’t like cheese,” Clay says casually, and deposits the bowl in Poppy’s paws.

“But you loved it when we were kids,” Floyd says abruptly. The little part of Branch that barely remembers their childhood together stings at the reminder that he still doesn’t know so much about them.

“Guess I grew out of it,” Clay shrugs.

“Do you grow out of liking food?” Poppy says curiously. “Like clothes?”

“Tastes can change,” Branch says slowly. For some strange reason, he feels like he’s giving Clay an out…but for what? “Sometimes you eat something enough even if you don’t like it until suddenly you do, or you just go off certain foods.”

“See,” Clay says. There’s a weird hint of relief to his voice. “I went off cheese.”

Floyd frowns. “If you say so.”

Branch feels ever so slightly on edge after the seemingly innocuous conversation, enough to keep an eye on Clay as they eat and chat. Clay talks his usual amount- somewhere between Branch and Poppy- and even tells the odd joke despite his insistence that he’s not the fun one anymore, but he doesn’t take more than a few bites of salad to eat, and he leaves most of it untouched on his plate. He doesn’t even glance at the desserts.

“Not hungry?” he asks Clay casually as the pack up the remaining food in preparation of a quick swim before heading back.

“Nah,” Clay says. “Full from breakfast.”

Something sparks in Branch’s brain, and he’s speaking before he’s even aware of it. “I thought you didn’t like breakfast.”

Clay freezes. It’s just for a second though- a blink and you’d miss it moment- and then he’s reaching out to ruffle Branch’s hair. “I took your suggestion, remember? Just eat the food that I like instead.”

Branch blinks, strangely honoured. He bats Clay’s hand away. “You did?”

“Course, it was a good one,” Clay says. “But guess I’m not used to eating then. Didn’t realise how much it filled you up.”

“You’re weird, Clay,” Branch says. “How do you not know how to eat breakfast?”

“Not eat it for like, twenty years,” Clay says. “You’re one to talk, you’re just as weird as I am.”

“How?”

Clay doesn’t answer that though. He clicks the lid on the final container and then takes off running at the stream like a rock spider is on his heels. He barely makes a splash when he enters the water, and Branch is left alone to finish up his part of the job.

“What was that about?” Poppy asks as Branch brings her to leftovers to put back into her bag.

Branch can only shrug.

It keeps going like this.

John Dory drops by in Rhonda to take them all to see Bruce for a couple of days. At this point it’s only been a few weeks since they were all together last, but John is desperate to make up for missed years, and Branch is happy enough to let him. It’s nice to know that them all walking out on him wasn’t an inditement on his own character, or as much of a character you can have when you’re two years old.

With thanks to the nauseating hustle button, they make it to Vacay Island in record time and are soon sitting down with Bruce at the bar as one of his new staff members brings them their ordered food. Bruce has apparently been branching (heh) out as his serving sizes are now available in the usual regular, large, small, and the much more manageable Troll option. Ever since BroZone got back together for a concert at his place, Bruce has seen a much higher cliental of Trolls and he explains between bites of his marinated meat wrap that he and Brandy are excited for the chance to expand.

“A bunch of Techno Trolls even came ashore the other day,” Bruce says excitedly. “They were pretty bummed the reunion concert was just a one-night thing.”

“Maybe we could do a few more,” John says eagerly. “On special occasions. And holidays.”

“Maybe,” Branch relents.

“I’d be down to do some solo gigs,” Floyd offers. “Can’t drop my career just because I nearly lost all my talent to Velvet and Veneer. Gotta make sure I got a bit of juice left.”

He’s trying to bring light to a serious topic but Branch still flinches. Branch knows he comes across as sarcastic and a touch dry at the best of times, but that doesn’t mean he feels comfortable joking about nearly losing Floyd. It’s not up to him though, he supposes. It’s up to Floyd and how he wants to deal with his trauma.

Bruce lights up at the offer. “Brandy and I would be delighted to have you on board.”

They start discussing a potential schedule, with John-Dory chipping in with offers to be Floyd’s very own private chauffer between the village and the island, and Branch tunes out of the conversation. He reluctantly admits to himself that he likes the idea of a few one-off concerts at Bruce’s, but he’s no where near ready enough to take it any further than that, nor does he want to chat about it like one day he might be. He glances around aimlessly and finds his gaze falling on Clay on the opposite end of the tiny table they’re set up. Everyone else has food in front of them that they’re picking at in-between conversations, but Clay has nothing.

Branch leans forward to get Clay’s attention. “Did you order something?”

“Yeah,” Clay says. “Just taking a while, I guess.”

“You don’t wanna nag Bruce to get up and check on it?” Branch asks.

Clay shoots his older brother a fond look. “He seems really happy, I don’t want to interrupt.”

“How very middle child of you,” Branch teases.

The fond look Clay is sporting is replaced by something akin to alarm. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Branch flounders, unsure himself what he’d been trying to say. It’s not like he was ever around Clay long enough to know how he was as a child, and even though he’s heard a bunch of stuff from Poppy’s friends about the stereotypes of the different siblings, it’s probably really unfair of him to think Clay could fit them. Sometimes Branch does this- gets flustered because he doesn’t know how to have brothers. “Just that…apparently middle children are kinda invisible?”

“Oh,” Clay relaxes. “Well…I don’t mind that.”

“You don’t?”

“Yeah, I’m happy enough for you guys to take the spotlight.”

That’s not what Branch remembers from when they were kids. The band had lasted as long as it had even in a society where Trolls were constantly being eaten because the five of them had all had a passion for performing and a love for being on stage with adoring eyes on them. Branch doesn’t remember much but he does know that. Even sensitive Floyd had liked it, even Branch.

“Did you grow out of that too?” Branch teases, for lack of anything better to say. “Cheese and a need for attention?”

“Sure,” says Clay. “That.”

Saying something along those lines to Bruce or John would have started a friendly argument, but the way Clay just sits back and accepts it is just…weird. Branch can honestly say he likes when he and his brothers snipe and snark at each other. It’s sort of how they bond now- awkward adults trying to recreate the teenage years together they never had.

“Clay,” Branch says, injecting some firmness into his voice. “Are you okay?”

“You know me,” Clay says, smile tight. “I’m always okay.”

The thing is though, Branch doesn’t know Clay.

And he doesn’t believe him.

It gets truly worrying like this.

Branch starts taking notice of Clay more and more since their trip to Vacay Island where Clay never got the food he supposedly ordered. He uses it as the third part of an equation he’s slowly piecing together- no breakfast plus no lunch plus no dinner equals…what? It’s probably none of his business what’s going on with Clay, and Branch is reluctant to shatter the peace they’ve built up between each other since finally reuniting, but something really does feel wrong.

Whether it’s subconsciously or not, Branch starts to find reasons to join Clay for meals. Clay takes this in stride, as he apparently does with most things, but Branch can tell his constant presence is starting to unsettle Clay. Unfortunately for Clay, Branch is on a data gathering mission and he’s willing enough to work through any uncomfortableness to try and work out what’s going on with Clay. He takes note of how much Clay eats- an alarmingly easy thing to do because it’s not much. It’s not much at all.

It’s not enough.

Clay is tall for a Pop Troll. Only Biggie towers over him, and everyone else is comfortably below his height. He’s skinny despite this though, twig arms and a torso that barely seems to balance his head. He keeps his chest covered by his knitted sweater/jump-suit, but Branch swears he can see the outline of ribs poking through if Clay sits or stands at a certain angle. It’s another worrying part of the maths Branch is slowly working out. No breakfast plus no lunch plus no dinner plus being tall equals slowly becoming skin and bones.

The problem is, knowing the answer to Branch’s equation doesn’t mean he knows what to do with it. Does he tell somebody? Does he confront Clay? Is there even actually something wrong with not wanting to eat?

Maybe Clay has a lot of allergies and he’s too embarrassed to say he can’t eat anything. Maybe Clay is just on a diet and Branch is imagining seeing his ribs. Maybe Clay is more of a snacker, and Branch happens to miss every time he actually eats. Maybe Branch is just an overreacting idiot who needs to stop blowing everything out of proportion, just like he did when he was young and scared and trying to keep what little of himself he had left safe.

When Branch isn’t sure what to do about something- which is admittedly rare because he prepares himself for every situation as best he can- he throws himself into research so he can fix the moment of indecision. This is what he plans to do now; the Pop Trolls have a library that was once mostly just scrapbooks but is now more of the research orientated location Branch had always hoped it would become. Putting their village on the map in regards to all the other Troll species means they have a lot more access to books that aren’t just the kind that explode glitter in your face when you open them. It might be a shot in the dark, but Branch hopes that there just might be something he can find that will give him a clear answer.

It takes a while to find a book worth reading, but eventually Branch finds one that seems promising. It’s on loan to their library from the Funk Trolls and bears the honestly frightening title of Causes of Going Grey- Mental Health Issues in Trolls. Whatever’s going on with Clay might not actually be a mental issue- it could still be that allergy thing or something- but a small piece of Branch knows he’s being purposeful obtuse. He reads the book because deep down, he knows the thing that’s wrong with Clay will be somewhere in these pages.

He reads for hours and hours, unwilling to miss even the shortest of sentences that might somehow clue him into Clay, and that’s how it gets worrying. That’s how it gets worse. Branch finds his brother in the book and it’s awful, and terrifying, and something he wishes he’d never found out- except he’s also so, so thankful he found it out because it’s important that he does something about it.

Clay is starving himself.

Clay is starving himself on purpose.

Clay is denying himself food and it’s all to do with something going on inside his head.

It’s not allergies. It’s not a diet. It’s not Branch somehow missing out anytime Clay goes to eat. It’s all here, in the book. Branch can truly say that he’s not overexaggerating, not making a mountain out of a Troll Hill. He sees Clay in these words, in these simple sentences that speak bluntly of things like avoiding certain foods, refusing to eat in social situations, losing weight and keeping it all hidden. He sees Clay in the terrifying future he could possibly find himself in, when eventually his body runs out of energy and just…stops.

For once though, the research hasn’t given Branch any insight into what to do. For once, the reading seems to have only made things worse, and not just because the book described what was going on but didn’t say how to resolve it.

Clay has had a secret for who knows how long, and now Branch is in on that secret but not because Clay chose to tell him. Branch now knows something awful, and there’s a responsibility that crashes down into his shoulders and sees him buckle under it. Clay has been trying to act normal, to smile and work like nothing is wrong, and that means he doesn’t want anybody to do anything about this. He doesn’t want Branch to try and fix it. But now that Branch knows, doesn’t that mean he has to do that?

Doesn’t that mean he has to try?

It gets truly worrying not just because Branch has finally worked out what’s going on, but because now he has to decide what to do about it.

It reaches its peak like this.

It’s one of those times where all the brothers are in Pop Troll Village and when Clay makes his excuses one night during a camping-style dinner between the five of them on the fringes of the village and heads off, Branch sets his plate down (only half empty in an uncharacteristic move, except Clay’s abandoned plate is barely touched so Branch still looks normal and healthy) and leans forward.

“Have any of you ever held an intervention before?”

“A convention?” Bruce mishears him over the crackle and pop of the small campfire they’d set up earlier, with Branch and Clay both supervising from a safety point of view while John tried to make it bigger and bigger. “We’ve had a few big events at the cantina, yeah. Why? Does Poppy want to arrange something?”

“An intervention,” Branch stresses the word out. “You know, where you sit someone down because you’re worried about them.”

“Not many people to do that with when you’re out in the Neverglades,” John says. An unsurprising answer, and yet Branch is still frustrated.

“We had to get Bruce Jr to stop eating sand when he was a kid,” Bruce offers. “But that was less of an intervention and more of a bribe.”

“No,” Floyd says simply. “I moved around too much.”

Of course they’re no help to him. Really, the only one out of them who’s been around enough Trolls to potentially have staged an intervention is Clay, and he’s supposed to be the focus of the bloody thing!

“Why do you want to hold an intervention?” Floyd asks.

Apparently the only one who’s noticed Clay’s secret is Branch. Annoying though that is, because it feels like another one of those things where Branch is the only one of them who cares, it also makes the most sense. Bruce and John aren’t always around, Floyd is starting to come and go between Vacay Island and Pop Troll Village as well, and that leaves Branch and Clay to be the two brothers who see each other the most. Their relationships (romantic and platonic) with Poppy and Viva also most likely play a key role in this.

“I’m worried about someone,” Branch says, and tries to leave it at that.

“Who?”

“Is it Poppy?”

“Someone we know?”

Right, that’s something Branch keeps forgetting. There’s apparently no sense of privacy amongst brothers. Probably he’d be more used to it if he’d actually had them around when he was growing up.

“It’s no big deal,” he tries to play it off, even though he’s unsure why he’s so determined to keep his intentions a secret. If he told them he was worried about Clay, they might be able to help him. The load would be shared and the weight on his shoulders would lift.

Maybe Branch keeps his mouth closed because he’d feel overwhelmed if the four brothers pinned him down over one thing or another. He knows he’d go on the defensive, and then there’d be a huge argument and it wouldn’t end well. Clay might not be as quick to temper as Brunch begrudgingly admits he is- this is apparently another one of those things Clay’s grown out of, because he certainly had been as a kid- but even the most chill of Trolls would surely fight back if four people confronted them over something they’ve been trying to keep a secret.

“Branch,” Floyd says quietly. “Is it Clay?”

Branch can’t do anything to stop the answer from being written across his face, plain and simple. His shoulders slump, and his hands go limp in his lap.

“You’ve…noticed?”

Floyd looks crestfallen. “No,” he admits. “But you waited for him to leave before you said anything, and the only reason you’d do that is if it was about him.”

“Something’s wrong with Clay?” John looks ready to spring to his feet and chase him down, but Bruce holds out a cautionary hand.

“He’s quieter than he was when we were kids,” he says, keeping John in place for the moment. “But that doesn’t mean something’s wrong.”

“It’s not that,” Branch says. “But something is wrong. I worked it out last week.” He takes a deep breath. “Bruce, when we were at yours the other month, what did Clay order?”

Bruce looks puzzled. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Do you remember?”

“No-I…I don’t.”

“He didn’t order anything,” Branch says.

John goes to stand up again. “If Clay’s upset, we’re wasting time sitting here and-”

“I said it’s not that,” Branch cuts him off harshly. “Can you just listen for once? Clay didn’t order anything. Don’t you get it? Haven’t you seen it? He doesn’t eat. He doesn’t eat at all. He’s starving himself.”

There’s a loud clattering from close by and all four of them jump. Branch turns his head wildly to see Clay is standing there, on the fringes of their circle. Around him are the scatterings of what he’d been carrying, his hands once full with a kettle and some marshmallow roasting tongs. His eyes are wide and there’s a wobbly smile on his face. He’s clearly heard everything.

“Clay,” Branch goes to say something but the words die in his throat. This isn’t what he’d wanted to have happen. “I’m-”

“Is this true?” it’s John’s turn to cut Branch off. “Are you starving yourself?”

Clay bends to start picking up everything he’s dropped. He carefully doesn’t meet any of their eyes. “No, of course not,” he says. “I eat all the time.”

“Lie.” Branch says. He doesn’t mean to; it just slips out.

“No,” Clay straightens up and finally pins Branch down with a harsh look. “Not a lie. I eat. You’re just never around for it.”

“I’m always around you,” Branch says. He’s not going to let Clay talk his way out of this one. He won’t let him use fancy words and confusing terms to cloud what’s really going on.

“Lie.” Clay throws Branch’s word back in his face.

“Alright, okay, I think we all need to calm down,” Bruce says.

“I’m completely calm,” Clay says. He finishes picking everything up and marches forward to start placing it carefully around the fringes of the fire. Despite his claim, his hands shake as he works. “You’re the ones making up stuff and getting angry over it.”

Branch clenches his fists and takes a few deep breaths. “I’m not making anything up, Clay,” he says. “I’ve been watching you-”

“Creepy,” Clay says.

“Stop making this into a joke!”

Clay’s face drops. His eyes narrow, and he presses his lips into a firm line. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice dangerous and sounding anything but. “I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. Be the fun one.”

“I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work.” Branch says.

“What am I doing?”

“Trying to change the subject. Trying to lie your way out of this. Well it’s not going to work!”

“There’s nothing to lie my way out of-”

“Clay,” Floyd calls his name with a desperation that sends a brief moment of silence filling the clearing. He gets up from his perch on a log and takes a step towards Clay. Clay watches him, head tilted to the side. “Clay…I think Branch is right. I can see your ribs.”

“I’m a little tall, so what,” Clay takes a step back that he tries to make look casual.

There it is again. The deflecting. Clay is doing it as naturally as Branch breathes.

“That hasn’t got anything to do with what I just said,” Floyd says sharply. “Why can’t you admit it? What’s wrong with saying it?”

“I can’t say something that isn’t true,” Clay says. He takes another step back, far enough away from the fire that his face falls into shadow. “Besides, what stakes do you have in this, Floyd? I heard you all talking. None of you thought this was a thing- which it isn’t- until Branch brought it up. You can’t blow up in my face over something you have no-”

“The stake is I care about you!”

“Right,” Bruce stands up as well, arms out as if he can push them all away from each other. Branch imagines him doing it with his children every time they fight, except they’ll be having childish brawls instead of desperate pleas for a heartbreaking confession. “Enough. We’re done for the night.”

A flash of relief darts across Clay’s face, and Branch’s blood boils with the thought that this might all get swept away. “That’s what he wants,” he protests. “Bruce, it’s-”

“Whatever it is, it’s over for tonight,” Bruce says firmly. “Before any of us say something we’ll regret.”

And walk away for another twenty years.

“Bruce,” John goes to say, but Bruce just shoots him a look.

“Well, this has been fun,” Clay says. “See you all tomorrow.”

He darts off before anybody else can say anything. Branch hangs his head helplessly and stares at the plate still sitting there that holds all of Clay’s uneaten dinner, spare the odd veggie or piece of meat.

“Do you see it now?” he asks quietly.

He gets three nods as a reply.

It ends like this.

Branch can’t stomach the idea of going to bed and acting like nothing is wrong. The very air around him feels thick with a tension that hadn’t properly boiled over, and maybe chasing Clay down is just a quick way to have everything explode in his face, but now that it’s out there, Branch doesn’t want to let it go. The longer they give Clay to work out a bunch of excuses the more chance there is that he gets away with this- that he digs his heels in and refuses to talk until they have no choice but to pretend it’s not happening.

While John and Bruce pack down the campfire and Floyd cleans up the remains of dinner- all of them looking at but not commenting on Clay’s full plate- Branch sets out to follow Clay. Bruce shoots him a glare but says nothing. John gives a little wave, and Floyd wishes him luck in a quiet voice.

Though it’s dark, Branch is able to use his tracking skills to follow Clay’s path. He isn’t heading in the direction of the village, rather he appears to be moving further away from it. Branch’s heart beats a panicked rhythm. Is Clay…leaving?

He picks up his pace, barely stopping to confirm he’s going the right way. Yes, it was twenty years ago when they all walked out on him- when they were young and afraid and brash and not at fault for the way their emotions lead their lives- but there’s a precedent there. When things are hard, Branch’s brothers walk out. Branch sort of hates himself sometimes because deep down, he’s the same. He’s walked away from Poppy plenty of times, and even from his brothers as they set out to rescue Floyd.

Not this time though. This time Branch is going to follow.

“Clay!” he risks calling out. “Clay, please!”

He gets nothing but eerie silence as an answer. Has Branch lost his touch and he’s just following a random trail? He’s come too far to turn back now even if he is, and so he continues forward.

He breaks out of a particularly heavy gathering of trees and stumbles into a tiny clearing, barely enough to qualify for the title. Just a faint shimmer of the moon breaks through the thick coverage above it. Sitting on a rock with his head in his paws is Clay.

“Clay,” it’s a sigh of relief.

Clay looks up. A weak smile stretches across his face, but his eyes are dull. Still, Branch is relieved that Clay apparently doesn’t hate him enough to shoot him a scowl. “Should have known you’d follow.”

“Why run away then?” Branch asks. He sticks to the fringes of the clearing, not wanting to risk approaching and spooking Clay off further into the forest. He can feel that tension still lingering, even if Clay seems calmer at the moment.

“Didn’t you hear Bruce?” Clay says. “We were done for the night. But here you are.”

“Here I am.”

“Going to tell me how I’m supposed to be feeling some more?”

Branch doesn’t rise to the bait. “No,” he says. “You already know I’m right. No point pushing it.”

Clay raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?” he gestures between the two of them. “Pushing it?”

“Only because you’re pushing back.”

“Can you blame me?”

Branch takes a tentative step forward. “No.”

Because the thing is, as angry and frustrated and scared as Branch is, he knows he’d be doing exactly the same if the others had approached him about something, like his paranoia or his occasionally fluctuating colours.

“Oh,” Clay relaxes somewhat. “Well…I’m glad you agree.”

“That wasn’t how that was supposed to go,” Branch says. He shuffles a little bit closer. “I was going to talk to you alone. I didn’t mean for it to derail, I just wanted to advice.”

“Our brothers are smarter than you give them credit for,” Clay says.

“Yeah, I’m starting to realise that.”

There’s a silence then. Clay sits and Branch stares, and they sort of size each other up. Branch looks at Clay with fresh eyes, taking in the haunted face and the bony wrists and loose hanging sweater/jump-suit. In the dark of the night sky with only a sliver of moon to light them, Clay looks almost grey.

“Are you going to sit?” Clay asks eventually. He gives Branch a smile. “Or are you going to leave me alone?”

“You know I can’t do that,” Branch says.

“Silly Branch,” says Clay. “Always thinking it’s his responsibility to fix things.”

“You’re exactly the same,” Branch shoots back. “Look at you and Viva with the Putt Putt Trolls.”

Clay shrugs.

Branch does as Clay has suggested and takes a seat, perching on a rock near Clay and putting them on equal footing, so to speak.

“Are you going to keep lying?” Branch asks tentatively.

“What’s the point?” Clay sighs. “You’ve got it all figured out.”

Branch shouldn’t feel a hint of pride at that, but he does. Then he feels sick to his stomach because of it.

“Why, Clay? Why are you doing it?”

Another shrug, listless and flat. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

Branch opens his mouth to snap, barely holding himself back. Yelling won’t fix things, even if he really, really wants to do it.

“Did you eat with the Putt Putt Trolls?” he asks instead. It’s the missing part of his equation- the period of time he can’t account for.

“When there was enough food.” Clay says.

Another not answer. There’s a gap there that allows Clay to get away with his awful habit. Was there ever enough food? Did Clay let everyone else eat before he stepped forward? Does he think he still has to do that?

“There’s enough food here,” Branch says.

“I know that.”

“So then why won’t you eat?”

“I told you,” Clay says. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t want to see you like this.”

“You think I do?”

“You’re the one doing it!” Branch can’t help the yell this time, and it sets Clay off as well. The tension finally boils over and it all explodes.

“Because I want to?” Clay’s on his feet, staring Branch down with fierce, angry eyes. “No! Of course not! I’d pick being normal over whatever the fuck is wrong with me any day. But the world is fucked up, Branch. It’s huge and it’s terrifying and there’s no way to control it. No way at all. And that terrifies me. I have to do this. Because then I am in control.”

“I don’t understand-”

“I don’t either! I just know I look at food and I can’t eat it, I just can’t. What if it slows me down? What if I start and then I can’t stop? What if it hurts me? I don’t know what could happen to me and so it’s easier to just not do it.”

“But-”

“If you’re trying to understand then just stop! I don’t have an answer for you. I don’t have an answer for me. It just is what it is and no matter what I do it just stays like this. So stop it, okay. Just stop.”

Branch does as Clay has begged, and stops. He closes his mouth and he clenches his fists and he stops.

He stops.

Clay is breathing hard as he sits back down. There are tears in his eyes that he doesn’t let fall, and his hands are shaking. The lack of proper light still makes it hard to see him properly but he really does look awfully grey. It’s just the light, Branch tells himself desperately. It’s just the light.

The two of them sit there in silence, just breathing through it.

Branch’s mind is whirling as he tries to process everything Clay has said. He has an answer finally, of a sort. Clay doesn’t fully understand it, but it boils down to a sense of control. Branch gets that- he’s the most suited out of all of them to know where Clay is coming from. He’s so big on control he built a survival bunker and lived in it for years and years and years as the rest of the world moved on around him. Control is something he can work with- control is something he can unpick.

“Clay,” Branch says finally. Enough time has passed that the silence has started to feel awkward. “Even if you don’t know why you’re doing it, you know it has to stop, right?”

I had to stop surviving in solitude. I had to start living with a family.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Clay’s voice is quiet.

“I don’t know,” Branch says, just as softly. “I don’t know enough about you, Clay.”

Because you do stuff like this. You smile and you cover it all up and you don’t let anyone in.

“Fun one, remember?” Clay says weakly. “I’m not meant to have emotions.”

“You left that mask behind a long time ago and you know it,” Branch says. “Just like I did.”

“Growing up is different,” says Clay. “Your persona was just baby. Mine was meant to be everything- my entire being. I had to stay in control of it. I still have to.”

“You don’t.”

Clay sighs, and it’s one Branch knows all too well. It’s the world weary and tired one he used to let out when he was on his own, deep in the earth and missing the only family he’d ever have.

“I know I have to stop,” Clay says. “I’m working on it. I-I’m actually eating more here than I did at the golf course. That has to count for something, right?”

“It’s still not enough.”

“It’s a process.”

“But how long a process?” Branch asks. “This could kill you.”

Clay laughs sharply. “It won’t kill me.”

Maybe he believes that, but Branch has read that book he found over and over again, and he’s seen the case studies mentioned in it. He knows that Trolls can die if they stop eating for long enough. He knows that Clay is heading towards that reality at an alarming rate, and Branch can’t watch him do it to himself, he just can’t. He’s not losing anyone else. He’s not losing Clay.

“It’s killed Trolls before,” he says, hating the words and how they could apply to his brother. “I read about it.”

He expects a flippant response again, maybe a joke thrown down as a smoke bomb, but Clay just looks afraid.

“I didn’t know that,” he says hesitantly. “Branch, I’m not doing this so I can die, okay? This isn’t about that. I-I like living. I like my life here with you and with everyone else. I’m not trying to leave that behind.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Branch rubs at his face. There are tears of his own that are threatening to fall. “I read it and I thought…”

I thought that was what you wanted.

“Aw, Branch, no. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Arms reach out and wrap around Branch. He’s tucked into the chest of his tallest brother and held there. Branch can hear Clay’s heart fluttering a rapid beat, can feel every single bone poking through his skin, and how cold he is. “I’m not leaving you again, Branch. I’m not.”

“You will if you keep doing this,” Branch sobs out.

“I’m trying to stop. I…I’m going to stop. If I can just get it under control…”

That’s what this is all about though. Control. Clay wants to be in control, and this is his way of doing it. It could be a punishment as well, but mostly it’s just a way for Clay to take something that isn’t out of his reach and have some say in it. He already has it ‘under control’ because that’s what it is.

“You don’t have to do this on your own,” Branch says. Clay’s grip on him starts to loosen but Branch holds tight. He’ll never be big on hugs, even with the recent uptick of them in his life, but there are moments when he truly needs them. If Clay is feeling anything like Branch is, he needs it as well. “You have us, Clay. And Poppy and Viva. And all your other friends. This doesn’t have to be a secret anymore. We can help you.”

Clay shifts uncomfortably. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not.”

“Yes it is, Branch. I’m literally not eating because I’m freaked out by how small I am and how big the world is.”

“It’s not.”

Clay sighs again, but this one seems a little lighter. “If you say so.”

He clearly doesn’t agree, but Branch will take his wins where he can. He finally breaks the hug but he doesn’t go far. He looks Clay in his eyes, pinning him there so he can tell Clay is really listening to him. From up close he can see how washed out Clay’s colours look- like he’s teetering on the edge of going grey- and it terrifies him.

“I know about control,” he says. “I know what it’s like to want to find something you have power over because you don’t have it anywhere else. The bunker wasn’t just a dream house I designed for us to live in. It was about safety and survival. I locked myself away down there and I didn’t touch anyone for like, twenty years. That’s not healthy. And neither is what you’re doing. But you’re saying this is about control, and that’s what that was for me. I understand, and I know how to start trying to fix it.”

“Branch…”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. You’ve apologised enough. This is about you now.”

“Can’t it be about both of us?”

“Look at me,” Branch says. “I have colour back. I’m healthier than I’ve ever been. I’m better. And we can do the same for you. But it only works if…”

“I don’t want you fixing me, Princess Poppy.”

“It’s not fixing, Branch. It’s helping. But it only works if…”

“It only works if you want it to.”

Clay’s dull eyes stare into Branch’s. Branch holds his breath.

“Do you…do you want it to?”

A smile spread across Clay’s face slowly. “Haven’t you been listening? I said I’m trying to stop it. If you know how to help, then I guess that’s the best way to do it.”

Branch almost feels like collapsing from relief.

“I’m not gonna tell everyone though,” Clay says firmly. “Except for our brothers I guess, since you told them. And maybe Viva.”

“Not sorry for that,” Branch says. His voice is thick with emotion. “We wouldn’t have had this talk if I didn’t.”

“No,” Clay looks thoughtful. “I suppose not.”

This should be the signal for them to get up and start heading back, but neither of them move. Even with how isolated the clearing is, and how little light it gets, and how creepy the rest of the forest is around them, it’s still nice. Branch feels like he can finally think from how little there is to distract him.

He feels…lighter after this talk. He’s still worried about Clay, of course, but to hear Clay deny this was about trying to remove himself from the world is relieving. And Clay has said he is trying to stop, and that he’ll accept Branch’s help, and that’s so good it almost hurts, like the flash of pain you get from setting a broken bone right.

“What made you start?” Branch asks eventually. They’ll have to move on soon, but he just needs to know. If he knows, then he can keep an eye out for any signs Clay might be regressing as they start their journey towards recovery.

“It’s not a nice thing-”

“Please.”

Clay raises one of his paws up to look at it. “I thought everyone had died,” he says. “And I thought it was my fault, because I hadn’t been there. And I also thought that I probably would have died with you if I had been, so what was the point. Creatures can just eat us. We can be thrown out of our homes. We can be hurt. We can be killed. We can go grey. We can be left alone, and we have no control over it. And I thought if that was how things were going to be, then fine. I’d just have to be the difference. I’d have to find something to control.”

“And now?” Branch asks.

Now that you know we’re alive.

“And now it’s just a habit,” Clay says. “One I have to stop.”

“One that you will stop,” Branch says with determination.

“Yeah, eventually,” Clay says. “With your help. And with mine. And the others.”

“Speaking of the others,” Branch gets up. “We should get back to them. I’m sure they’re really worried.”

“They’re probably in the bushes watching us,” Clay says, waving a paw off to one side. “I thought I heard Rhonda before.”

“What?!”

“Did you really think they wouldn’t come after you?” Clay laughs. “Or me, for that matter.”

And after a quick moment to think about, Branch realises he’s not that surprised at all.

“Come on,” Clay says. “Let’s go get them. I owe them all an apology for getting angry.”

“You don’t-”

“I do.”

Well, Branch has fought a harder battle tonight and he’s somehow won it, so maybe he can let this one little thing slide.

Clay holds out a hand and Branch takes it without hesitation. A year ago he never would have thought this was possible. How glad he is- for the first time in perhaps forever- to be proven wrong.

“Clay,” Branch says, just before they can head off in the direction Clay heard Rhonda from. “I…I’m glad you’re here. I love you.”

Clay’s grip tightens in his. “I love you too.”

“We’re gonna help you.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“Thank you for letting us.”

“Thank you for chasing me down.”

Always, Branch thinks. Next time you leave, I’ll be right behind you.

They leave the clearing hand in hand, and maybe Branch can feel the bones beneath Clay’s fur far too easily, but the worry he feels shares its space with determination. He has a plan now. They’re going to help Clay, and Clay is going to let them.

Sometimes things can end and begin all over again, as simple as that.

It goes on like this.

It goes on.