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Branch has three cardinal rules.
Always stay prepared
A no-brainer, obviously. Have a backup plan for your backup plan just in case things go sour. Be vigilant and meticulous and never, ever let your guard down. This came naturally to him. After 20 years of being alone, he never had the luxury of someone watching his back. Which meant he didn’t have the luxury of not being prepared
Keep a low profile
He could thank both the Bergens and his isolation for this one. It wasn’t just about staying hidden, though that was part of it. Stay hidden, minimize risk, and absolutely no distracting singing. Although he grew out of this rule, with his girlfriend’s best friend being a Bergen. Now, it was more about trying to keep up his poorly constructed walls towards his brothers. Poppy had no issue bulldozing right through them, which had only weakened his private demeanor, and made it all the more easier for his brothers to swoop in and rebuild their relationships.
He’d have to workshop his second rule, clearly.
and 3. Never, ever get sick
Not that he had any say in it, but he tried his best to keep that from happening. Despite living underground, he was extremely organized and clean, thank you very much. Branch couldn’t recall being sick as a baby, which he chalked up to being too young. If he had gotten sick after his brothers left and his grandmother died, he either didn’t remember, or he was too caught up in his grief and grayness to feel anything other than heartbreak.
So, therefore, never, ever get sick.
His rules were simple enough, and kept him alive.
Sorta.
—
Branch woke with a groan, dragging a heavy hand across his face and feeling a strange ache deep in his bones. He peered up at the clock Poppy had gifted him years ago which flashed back noon at him.
Strange, considering he depended on his internal clock waking him up a little past sunrise each morning- he never let himself sleep in. Despite the unusual hour, Branch tried to shake off his grogginess and get up, only to be stopped by a wave of nausea that hit him as soon as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He brushed off the discomfort and willed himself to stand, ignoring the fuzziness that crept into the edges of his vision. He pushed through- Branch had a busy schedule and was already far behind.
Stumbling out of his room and making his way to the kitchen, a nagging sense of lethargy and anxiety pricked at his core. He could hear laughter, already too loud and pounding in his head. Branch had to get it together. If he looked as bad as he felt, his brothers would see right through him, and the thought of that alone made him…uncomfortable? Anxious? He wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to find out.
He took a steadying breath, ignoring the way his lungs didn’t quite fill with air, and entered the kitchen, making a beeline for the coffee pot as he took in the scene.
All four of his brothers were gathered in his kitchen, which became more of a rarity these days. Floyd lived with Branch, and Clay visited way too often- living in Pop Village in a pod with Viva, which still didn’t stop him from inviting himself to the bunker unannounced. John Dory still lived in Rhonda near the outskirts of the village, but mostly saw Branch out and about in the woods or the market. Bruce stayed back at Vacay Island with his wife and children but made it a habit to visit once a month.
Floyd was sat at the table with John Dory, an amused smile on his face as he listened to his brother tell some chaotic story, and sipped from a mug every once in awhile. Clay was entertaining himself behind John Dory, throwing crumpled up pieces of napkins into his brother"s hair as he continued telling his story, with Bruce egging him on while washing dishes. The domesticity of it all was enough to make Branch tip over.
“Good morning, sleepyhead!,” Clay called out, interrupting his train of thought. He waved stiffly, pouring coffee into his mug and taking small sips.
“‘Bout time you joined us! I was just telling Floyd about the time I had to fight off a hoard of thwackbugs,” John exclaimed
Branch hummed in response, closing his eyes as his stomach churned. He tried his best to keep up, but with the laughter from Clay and Bruce, JD’s impossibly loud voice, and the dishes clinking together, his head throbbed painfully, leaving him swaying on his feet. Branch reached out for a chair to lessen the nonstop vertigo, but misstepped and nearly fell over if it weren’t for Floyd’s quick paws steadying him.
“Woah there, you okay?” Floyd asked, worry dripping from his voice. “Branch, you’re burning!” All conversation fell short as Branch felt 4 pairs of eyes on him. He instinctively took a step back, releasing himself from Floyd’s grip, and swallowed uncomfortably.
”I’m fine,” he said defensively, eyes avoiding his brothers and pointedly focusing on his cup of coffee as if it were the most interesting thing in the room.
”You don’t look fine,” Clay challenged and Branch glared daggers his way. Floyd quietly agreed with him and both John and Bruce were staring right through him in a way that made his blood run cold. He had to get out of here, and fast.
“I’m fine,” he repeated. “Just tired, and I have to go, so I’ll see you guys later.” Branch abandoned his coffee mug on the counter and spun on his heels, attempting to leave the room. His whole body protested at the action and he swallowed a mouthful of bile as another paw grasped at his wrist. Bruce.
But wasn’t he just by the sink? Branch’s vision blurred as his brothers bombarded him with questions. He tuned them out, focusing on getting air to his tight lungs, as he tried yet again to leave his brother’s grip, but Bruce had put a lot more force into it than Floyd.
As Branch attempted to push past Bruce"s grasp, a wave of dizziness washed over him, his vision swimming with dark spots. He stumbled backward, his legs feeling like they were made of lead, each step heavier than the last. The room spun around him, voices blending into a cacophony of noise that pounded in his ears.
"Branch, what"s wrong?" John’s voice cut through the haze, laced with concern.
Branch could barely muster a response, his throat dry and constricted. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his skin clammy and flushed with fever. His limbs trembled uncontrollably, and he struggled to maintain his balance as the floor seemed to tilt beneath him.
Branch opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out as darkness closed in around him, a cold embrace that threatened to engulf him whole. With a final, pathetic attempt to stay upright, Branch"s strength gave out completely, and he collapsed to the floor in a heap, unconsciousness threatening to claim him before he could utter another word.
Silence descended upon the room, broken only by the sound of worried murmurs and the frantic shuffling of feet as his brothers rushed to his side, their voices a blur of urgency and fear. The world faded into nothingness as Branch felt himself being pulled into a strong embrace.
—
Branch swam in and out of consciousness, each time making him more disoriented than the last. His eyes fluttered open and closed to the worried face of his oldest brother until he eventually could look at him properly without the room spinning. He was in his room again, lying in bed with a cool cloth folded over his forehead. JD had pulled the chair from his desk right to his bedside and held one of Branch’s paws clasped tightly in two of his own. The sudden movement startled John, as he shot up and pushed lightly on Branch’s chest.
“Oh, no you don’t. You’re not getting up for a while,” John said sternly. “Overworking yourself until you’re sick? Playing it off until you pass out? C’mon Bitty B, what happened?”
If Branch knew any better, he almost sounded disappointed. His ears lowered further and JD panicked at the expression on his brother"s face.
”No, I’m not mad! I just wish you said something earlier, you know?” His voice softened as he grabbed for Branch’s paw again. “We’re here now, you don’t have to do these things alone.”
Branch managed a weak smile, finding himself genuinely grateful for John"s presence despite the circumstances. Things were still sometimes tense or awkward between them, but they’d been making great progress, and his fever was making him teary-eyed.
"I"m sorry, JD," Branch murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn"t mean to worry you. I just... I didn"t want to burden anyone..." he trailed off, throat beginning to hurt. He didn’t need to finish the end of that sentence- there had been more than enough conversations about Branch’s tendency to push people away, but they were all learning.
John"s grip tightened on Branch"s paw, his eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and affection. "You"re not a burden, B. You"re family. You gotta tell us when you’re not feeling okay."
Branch felt a surge of emotion welling up inside him, threatening to spill over. He had spent so long pushing his brothers away, convinced that he was better off alone. But as he looked into John"s eyes, he realized just how much he had missed their unwavering support and unconditional love.
"Thank you, JD," Branch whispered, his voice barely audible. "’ M glad you’re here.”
John let out a chuckle, breaking the somber mood with a hint of levity. "Hey, none of that mushy stuff. You"re gonna make me start getting all emotional too."
But despite his poor attempt at humor, John"s eyes softened as he settled back into his chair. "You know, speaking of emotional, it reminds me of that time when you were just a little trolling, and I gave you that piggyback ride.”
Branch couldn"t help but smile at the memory, feeling the weight of exhaustion begin to lift from his shoulders. "I remember that," he murmured, his eyelids growing heavy with sleep. "I was crying all day because I lost…”
His voice trailed off once again, as he struggled to remember what exactly caused his childish outburst.
“Your glowfly plush, couldn’t go anywhere without it,” JD helpfully supplied, much to Branch’s embarrassment.
“…must’ve tired myself out from all the screaming. I think I fell asleep on your back, right?” Branch said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His whole body still felt alight with pain and he was completely exhausted, but he savored John’s presence.
John nodded, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips, as he began to rub circles onto Branch’s paw. "Yep, you were out like a light. But it was worth it just to see the look of pure bliss on your face. No one else coulda got you to stop crying, but you were always my little daredevil, huh, Bitty B? Get some sleep now.”
Branch drifted off into a peaceful slumber, his mind filled with dreams of overwhelming emotions and piggyback rides, the memory playing in his mind as he let the warmth and comfort of his oldest brother wash over him.
—
Branch awoke to the harsh sound of his own coughing, cruelly ripping him from his pleasant dreams, the raspy noise tearing through the stillness of the underground bunker. His chest heaved with each spasm, his lungs protesting against the irritation that had taken hold.
Through watery eyes, Branch noticed Clay by his bedside, his expression calm and reassuring. Without a word, Clay began to mimic the slow, steady rhythm of breathing, a silent gesture meant to calm Branch"s frantic lungs. Branch focused on the sound, the steady inhales and exhales soothing his ragged breaths.
As the coughing fit subsided, Branch sank back into his pillows, feeling wiped. Clay offered him water and a couple of painkillers that he took and drank greedily from, and gave him a soft smile of gratitude. Branch’s gaze drifted to the small round pebble clutched in Clay’s paw as he absentmindedly tapped a rhythm against the bedside table. He reached out to touch it, wincing as his arms protested.
Clay noticed his interest and offered a small smile. "Remember this?" he asked, holding up the pebble. "It"s from that game we used to play as kids. The one where we"d take turns tapping it against the table, trying to outdo each other with the rhythm. Kinda hard for a baby, but you were weirdly amazing at it.”
Branch"s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn"t thought about that game in years and hadn"t realized that Clay still kept the pebble after all this time. It was a simple reminder of their childhood, of the bond they had shared before his brothers were pulled away from him in an instant.
Clay carried on. “It’s uh.. the only thing I have from home. I guess I slipped it into one of my wristbands before we left the Tree. I, uh, thought of you every time I saw it back at the course,” he explained, sheepishly.
The thought warmed Branch’s heart, trying his best to understand that while Clay didn’t go looking for him, he still thought about him. It was a gesture that meant more to him than it seemed.
"We should play," Branch suggested, clearing his throat and begging his migraine to go away. A hint of nostalgia tugged at his heart and he quickly pushed aside how he felt. He needed this, just as badly as he needed to feel better. "Just like old times."
Clay nodded, his smile widening. “One round, and then you get some rest.” Branch agreed and together, they fell into the familiar rhythm of the game, the sound of the pebble tapping against the table filling the room with a sense of comfort and familiarity. For a brief moment, they were children again, lost in the simple joy of a shared game, with Clay doing all sorts of tricks to distract Branch and Branch giggling, bright, and sweet and childish, just as he did when he was a baby.
But as the exhaustion of his cold began to weigh heavily on him, the water sitting uncomfortably in his stomach, Branch knew that he couldn"t keep up the charade for long. With a sigh, he set the pebble aside and shut his eyes for a moment, willing himself to not throw up. Clay quickly replaced the cloth on his forehead for a fresh one, and fretted around him for longer than usual. If Branch didn’t feel so absolutely terrible, he’d snort and poke fun, but for now, allowed himself to be taken care of, sleep welcoming him, with Clay by his side and the rhythmic tapping of their game echoing in his dreams.
—
Two quick knocks on his bedroom door jolted Branch from his sleep, mouth dry and body aching. The door swung open and a sheepish-looking Bruce holding a bowl flooded his vision. “Hey, Branch. You feeling any better?” his brother asked, making his way towards the bed.
“Not really,” he muttered, wincing at the burning in the back of his throat. Bruce looked concerned, offering to get him more medicine but Branch waved him off. They stared at each other for a beat, until Bruce broke the silence. “Well, I made you food. Poppy told me you still haven’t eaten, and we really need to get something in your system.”
Branch felt an irrational spike of fear, shaking his head no, instantly regretting the movement as a wave of nausea and head pain crashed through him. Poppy had tried to get him to eat earlier, feeding him small bits of fruit and nuts. Small things he could stomach, because she insisted the reason he passed out was because he hadn’t eaten. That was before she had a quick debrief with his brothers, and much to her dismay, found out that Branch had been feeling off most of last night and this morning. The berries Poppy had given him fought their way down and reappeared back up much too quickly, and Branch was instantly scrambling to the bathroom, his joints tight and his feverish skin irritated, as he emptied his stomach contents into the toilet. Poppy had sat with him as he fought waves of nausea for over an hour, eventually slumping over the side, energy completely depleted.
That whole interaction had him feeling worse than ever, and he refused to drink, let alone eat for the next few hours to not upset his stomach again. Bruce pulled him from his thoughts, as his ears picked up the tail end of a question.
“…- nna try a few bites?” Bruce held his gaze, unyielding and filled with fatherly affection it made Branch’s heart hurt. He gave in after a failed attempt to convince him otherwise and braced himself. Not that Bruce was a bad cook, on the contrary in fact. He was the best out of all the brothers, thanks to years of working in a restaurant. Branch couldn’t recall if he had ever seen his brother solely cook for them as a kid, but he remembers vague glimpses of him cutting vegetables or stirring around a pot with their grandmother. “I made it fresh!” Bruce beamed proudly, holding a small bowl up. It was a pale yellowish broth that looked familiar and smelled even more so. He nodded, the movement leaving him with a throbbing ache.
Bruce expertly held the bowl in one hand and all but sat Branch upright with another, moving with the practiced ease of parental instincts. He sat on the edge of the bed, still clutching the soup with one paw and a spoon in the other, and-
“Don’t feed me,” Branch weakly protested, voice scratchy and hoarse. Bruce just let out a poorly concealed snort. “You can barely sit up. If I tried to hand this to you, it’d end up all over your lap and then I would’ve wasted hours cooking for nothing. Just let me take care of you, kiddo.” Branch reddened at the nickname, but gave a little nod, too tired and disoriented to put up more of a fight.
“You don’t have to eat all of it, I promise. Have a few bites and I’ll let you go back to sleep,” Bruce compromised, holding the spoon up to Branch’s mouth. He swallowed, memories instantly flooding back, overwhelming him with emotion. It tasted of home and safety and their grandmother. His eyes widened, filling with water. Stupid cold making him cry stupid tears.
Bruce laughed, and Branch shot his head up towards him, ready and defensive. “When we got Floyd back, I made him some too. He was inconsolable,” he explained, lips upturned at the memory.
Branch didn’t blame Floyd- they knew Bruce’s cooking was incredible, but to taste something their grandma had made? It was an entirely different level of nostalgia and comfort that he couldn"t resist.
He ate spoonful after spoonful, nearly clearing the bowl before Bruce pulled back. Branch sent a silent plea to him, asking for more, but was met with a shake of his head.
“Take it easy. You’re gonna make yourself sick,” Bruce said, voice dripping with that same paternal affection, causing his chest to tighten. He set the bowl down and sat with him in comfortable silence until Branch stifled a yawn. “Get some rest, I’ll have another bowl ready for you when you’re up.”
The younger troll nodded and with his brother"s help, eased back into bed as Bruce dramatically tucked him into his covers. He lingered at his side until Branch visibly relaxed and began to doze off. “I love you, kiddo,” Bruce whispered, getting up to leave. He was nearly out the door when a soft “love you” hit his ears, eliciting a huge smile across his face, shutting the door behind him.
Branch dreamt of spending lazy afternoons with his brothers- piggyback rides from JD, playing games with Floyd and Clay, and Bruce happily feeding baby Branch their grandmother’s soup, as he giggled endlessly at Bruce’s airplane noises, chasing his mouth with the spoon. It was idyllic, almost. When Branch awoke next, there was a steaming bowl of soup on his bedside table.
—
Floyd had one paw resting on his cane and the other nervously clutched the door handle of Branch’s room. He had checked in on his younger brother a few times a day, but was met with the sight of their other brothers- he just gave them their space. Crowding around and overwhelming Branch would just make him feel worse, and he knew better than to interrupt any bonding that could have taken place. Not to mention that Branch was probably all peopled out and needed his rest. But Floyd knew for a fact it would just be him, with Poppy off to a diplomatic meeting and his 3 stooges of brothers were finally eating. He turned the handle, bedroom door creaking, as he slipped past and climbed into bed with his brother. If the movement bothered Branch, he made no sign of acknowledging it.
“I know you’re awake, Floyd called out, teasingly. “How are you feeling?”
Branch gave a noncommittal hum, which Floyd quickly put together as shitty. His beautiful, self-sabotaging, martyr (read: idiot) of a brother would rather swallow nails than admit he was anything other than fine. Floyd gave him a sad smile, before opening his arms out in a silent question. Branch nodded, and Floyd shuffled to wrap his arm around his brother, pulling his head to his chest, using his free hand to play with Branch’s hair.
“Feels nice,” Branch whispered after a few minutes of silence.
“Anything for my baby brother,” Floyd replied easily, fingers carding through dark hair.
Branch furrowed his brow at that and mumbled something that Floyd couldn’t quite catch. He had half a mind to resist the urge to plant a kiss on his forehead and smooth out the creases. Yeah, right. Fever-ridden or not, Branch would cringe away. He was surprised his younger brother was even allowing him to be this close. Chalking it all up to this cold must be really kicking his ass.
“What’s that?” he prompted Branch, who had seemingly dozed off for a few seconds.
“…‘m not a baby,” he murmured, eyes still shut.
Floyd laughed, soft and sad and carried the weight of 2 decades worth of guilt and regret and absence. He shook that thought from his head. He was here now and he had no intention of ever leaving again. “Maybe not anymore. But you’ll always be my first and only little brother. My baby brother,” he cooed, relishing the slight flush of color on the very tips of Branch’s ears. Sap. After witnessing months of Poppy’s affections towards Branch, it was so clear to see just how flustered he could get. Again, sap.
As soon as Floyd was at least 80% certain Branch had drifted back to sleep again, he cuddled impossibly closer to the smaller troll. He was well aware he could easily catch whatever had Branch so out of it, which wouldn’t be the most ideal- the aftermaths of Mount Rageous still lingered on bad days- but at this moment, it would take a lot more than a cold to separate himself from his brother. And Floyd naturally ran cold recently, while Branch was running himself warm. A little too warm for Floyd’s liking, but this was the most calm and settled his brother had been in days. Who was he to pull away now?
He resumed playing with his hair, stilling every once in a while as Branch twitched in his sleep. Floyd was well accustomed to trying to sleep while sick. Falling asleep was fine, it was staying asleep that caused him trouble. Branch too, if the updates from their brothers were anything to go by. Branch’s breath grew shallow and wheezy, struggling to escape his lungs, while his twitching progressed into slight tremors. All telltale signs of a nightmare, or whatever his fever-addled brain was conjuring up. Floyd pulled him in once more, fingers still scratching at his scalp while letting out soft assurances in between his quiet singing.
-
Branch was thrown from one horrific sight to the next, reliving his worst fears over and over again. His brothers took off on him again, this time cruelly blaming him and offering no goodbyes. Poppy, scared and alone, locked in that horrid cage, while the pain of Barb’s guitar reverberated around him, burning through his veins. His sweet, sweet grandmother screaming his name and bloodthirsty Bergens. Floyd and the rest of his brothers, crystallized and unmoving. His whole world turning grey as he fell and fell and fell-
Until the chaos and the shifting and the hurt stopped abruptly, washed out by the soft, golden light in his childhood pod. Fingers cascaded through his hair and he was pressed up against someone- Floyd, if the leafy, green fabric in his peripheral was anything to go by. Soft humming hit his ears, definitely Floyd, and any residual fear lingering from his nightmares completely dissipated. He vaguely recognized the song, some lullaby that his youngest, oldest brother sang nearly every time a much smaller and teary-eyed Branch had a bad dream and practically begged to hear it. It was gentle and soothing, pulling him in and lulling him back into sleep.
—
The last time Branch woke up, it was finally without a piercing migraine. H e\\e sat up and stretched carefully, body still feeling weak and tense. However, before he could move, a flash of pink grabbed at his wrist and Branch couldn’t help but stop the smile that pulled at his face.
“I’d give you a proper lecture, but I heard JD beat me to it,” she said, peppering his face with kisses. “You look better! Not as pale,” she said, more to herself than anything.
Branch just continued smiling at her, grateful that she wasn’t going to push. For now, he’d probably get an earful from his expressive girlfriend later. He pushed the thought aside. “Keep kissing me and you’ll get sick,” he said.
Poppy gave him a lopsided smile and pressed one last kiss to the top of his forehead. Like some cold would ever keep her away from Branch “Seriously, sweetie, are you feeling better?”
As he automatically went to say he was fine, Poppy gave him a look that made him shut his mouth and properly asses for a few seconds. His body was still tense, but he wasn’t as tired or as feverish. He felt present in his conversation, unlike all the other ones with his brothers, and his migraine had lessened to a dull throb. “Sore. Head still hurts, and my throat,” he added. “But I don’t feel as bad, promise. How many days has it been?”
“A few, you’ve been in and out of it,” Poppy stared at him so intensely, that he felt butterflies soar through his stomach before she nodded and clasped her hands together.
“Butttt,” she dragged on, “Great! I’m so happy you’re feeling better, Branchifer. I was worried for a sec, but it seems like your brothers had it handled?” She teased, giving him a knowing look. He groaned, embarrassment flushing through him.
“Not a word, Poppifer. You wouldn’t make fun of the sick.”
”Yeah, but it’s hard when the sick is my boyfriend,” she quipped, reaching into her hair to bring out 4 tiny pictures of Branch dozed off with his brothers. “Especially when he’s soooo cute!” He flushed a deep blue, and pushed them out of her hands, threatening to burn them if anyone ever saw.
Poppy only laughed at that and put her pictures away. “Come on, sicky. We’re having a movie night and you need to move around a bit.” She helped him out of bed, going slower than usual, as they made their way to the living room.
Branch"s gaze shifted to the cozy scene unfolding before him, and felt warmth spread through him as Poppy sat him down on the couch. His brothers greeted him kindly, glad to see him out and about.
She grabbed him a blanket, and tucked him around herself, bringing his head to her chest. Floyd immediately took up his other side, nestling in close, and JD joined him, with Bruce sitting on the ground, leaning his head back on the couch. Clay and Viva sat in a small loveseat, as he smiled at his brother while Viva braided his wild hair absentmindedly.
Poppy spoke for him, knowing very well he wasn’t much for words at this moment, as his brothers asked how he was feeling. Branch cuddled deeper into Poppy’s embrace and let out a soft exhale.
Branch felt a sense of contentment wash over him as he nestled into Poppy"s embrace, surrounded by the warmth and love of his family. He savored the feeling of being cocooned in the blanket, his head resting against Poppy"s chest as she gently stroked his hair. With each reassuring touch, he felt the tension in his body begin to melt away, replaced by a comforting sense of peace.
As the movie started playing on the screen, Branch found himself drifting into a state of relaxation, his mind quieting as he focused on the familiar sound of his brothers" voices and the gentle hum of conversation around him. He felt a soft smile tug at the corners of his lips as he listened to their banter, and said just loudly enough over them and the movie, a simple “I love you, guys. Thank you.”
He buried his face back into Poppy, too embarrassed to see or hear their reactions. A good one, he assumed, if John’s and Floyd’s sniffles and the snickers of Bruce and Clay in the background were anything to go by.
But in this moment, he was cozy, happy, and with the people he loved the most. It was exactly what he needed, and all he ever wanted his entire life.
To be with his family- safe, loved, and at peace.
Who could ever ask for more?