Chapter Text
It was Floyd who first noticed there was something wrong with Branch.
For all intents and purposes, Branch may as well have been the happiest baby alive. He was a bundle of smiles and giggles that was rarely fussy, even when the rest of his brothers were in a foul mood.
Whenever the pressures of band life got to be too much, Floyd could always count on his younger brother to make his day a little better. While he would never say he had a favorite, he could admit to himself that if he did, it would be little Branch.
Part of this was probably due to the amount of time the two spent together. Branch was a clingy baby and did not like to be left to his own devices for long. Because of this, whenever he was awake, he was always glued to one of his brothers. Usually, this meant John Dory, as he was the only one of them who could change a diaper.
Right behind him, however, was Floyd. The pink-haired troll had initially been pretty hesitant around the new edition to their family, an odd mix of nerves and jealousy after having been the baby of the group for so long himself. This didn’t last long though, as the first time he’d heard the baby laugh, his heart had practically turned to goo in his chest.
Since then, if the younger troll wasn’t being watched by his oldest brother or grandmother, he would be firmly attached to Floyd’s side.
He loved spending time with his only baby brother, whether it be drawing, playing games, or just napping together. After being the youngest for most of his life, it was refreshing to play the part of the older brother.
Branch made it doubly easier by being the calmest baby known to man. While he was usually quite clingy, sometimes demanding physical contact like it was air, when he really got into something, it was like the rest of the world went away.
There were times they would sit him in front of a puzzle, just to get him out of the way while practicing or doing chores, and the infant would sit there for hours. No amount of singing or yelling could tear his focus away from whatever it was he deemed interesting. He would only stop when one of them finally picked him up, and then it was back to smiles and laughter.
So, aside from the occasional quirk, Branch had seemed to be an average baby for the first year or so. It was only after he had his first birthday that things seemed to go downhill for the boy.
Oh, he was still as happy as he could be, no force on earth could change that. The problem was that Branch had failed to hit some pretty major milestones in his development.
Branch was now officially a year old, and most trolls his age had already started to use simple words or phrases when speaking. When it came to Branch, he wasn’t speaking at all.
While the infant certainly made noises, excited squeals or angry shouts, he had yet to move past baby babble when it came to speech. He would babble almost constantly, but it was all just gibberish, little noises he didn’t even seem to be aware of making.
None of them had been too concerned at first, all babies develop at their own pace, after all. It was only after months of no improvement that anyone in the household became truly worried about their youngest sibling.
A quick trip to the clinic later, and they were told not to worry, to just wait for Branch to sort himself out in his own time. This worked to alleviate their stress for a time, but when more and more issues started popping up, they couldn’t help but grow concerned.
By one and half, Branch still wasn’t speaking, and even more worrying, he was showing a frightening lack of musical talent. While not all trolls were born boy band material, a trolling was expected to at least be able to pick up a rhythm before their second birthday.
Trolls were a musical species. Their most important feelings were communicated in song, and music served as the lifeblood of their society. All trolls were born surrounded by music, and as such, picked up on it before they could even form proper sentences.
At Branch’s age, they were expecting to see him start exploring his musical side. That meant copying melodies, playing with instruments, and creating his own beats. Branch was nearly two, and seemed as interested in music as he was in eating his vegetables.
In an effort to help Branch move past this hurdle, all the brothers took their shot in getting him invested in music.
JD would write their band songs with Branch in his hair, asking what he thought of this or that melody or lyric. Each time Branch would ignore him, instead preferring to messily braid the teal strands surrounding him. It was a complete failure when it came to music.
Bruce would take Branch with him to parties, surrounding him with a wide variety of beats and voices. He claimed he was helping their brother, but Floyd had a suspicion that the baby was actually serving as the world’s cutest wingman. Still, it didn’t help Branch in the slightest.
Clay took a different approach, trying to teach the kid to dance rather than sing. While Branch always had fun trying to copy his brother’s wacky moves, he couldn’t keep a beat to save his life. These ‘training sessions’ always devolved into Branch flailing his limbs whichever way he wanted. So, once again, a failure in the music department, but a possible win when it came to interpretive dance.
Floyd’s solution also happened to be the simplest. Instead of trying to get his baby brother to do something he wasn’t interested in, Floyd would simply sing to him . Whether they were painting or folding laundry, the older troll made it his mission to ensure he was always making music near the trolling.
He would mumble a song, tap a beat with his fingers, or even hum a lullaby while he put the boy to sleep. In fact, that was exactly how the two could be found now.
They were laying on the couch, Branch’s face tucked snuggly into Floyd’s chest. The older troll hummed a simple lullaby he remembered from his own younger days, and the baby responded beautifully to it. The infant pressed his sleeping face deeper into his living pillow, seemingly chasing the vibrations reverberating through the older’s chest.
He may not be ready to join the rest of his brothers on stage, but even this was progress for the little blue troll. As the minutes ticked by, Floyd found his own eyelids becoming heavier, the warm weight on his chest slowly lulling him to sleep.
He was barely drifting off when a sudden, sharp sound thrust him back into awareness. He wanted to jump out of his skin, but barely restrained himself so that he wouldn’t end up flinging his brother halfway across the room.
Looking up, he came face to face with a smiling Clay, his snickering muffled behind one hand while the other held an airhorn. Instantly, Floyd felt his temper rise as he realized he had just been the victim of another one of older brother’s pranks.
“Seriuosly, Clay, what the hell is your problem!” He angrily whispered at his older brother, trying not to startle the trolling on his chest any more than he had been.
When Clay finally finished laughing, he wiped a tear from his eye before rolling them. “Jeez man, don’t get your panties in a twist. It was just a joke!”
“Just,” Floyd spluttered, “just a joke? Are you kidding me right now? How is giving us heart attacks while were trying to sleep a joke to you!?” He finished his rant by curling protectively around the little bundle on his chest, eyes glaring daggers at the yellow haired troll.
Clay scoffed, pointing down. “Okay, first of all, your reaction was hilarious, so it was definitely a joke. Secondly, Bitty B doesn’t look all that upset to me. Lil’ man is still snoring.”
Floyd’s eyes widened in surprise, and when he glanced down, sure enough, Branch was still dead to the world. His little brother snored softly as he sucked on the thumb in his mouth, the perfect picture of cozy.
The pink haired troll was left speechless. How the hell had his brother slept through that? That airhorn would have woken JD up, and he was practically comatose when he slept.
Clay took his silence as a sign that he was right and smirked, turning around and heading towards the door. This snapped Floyd out of his stupor, and he called out to their older sibling before he could leave.
“Clay. Leave it.”
The troll in question turned around, one eyebrow raised. “What? I don’t know what you're talking about.”
Floyd’s scowl deepened. “Yes, you do. Now, leave it on the coffee table, or else I’ll tell grandma exactly what you just tried to do to baby Branch. At least if I have it, you may actually have a chance at getting it back within the next decade.”
That seemed to do the trick, as after looking conflicted for a moment, the older troll turned around and slammed the airhorn on the table. He then spun back around and left the room in a huff, and Floyd could have sworn he heard a faint “Tattletail,” from his direction.
When he was gone, Floyd relaxed, dropping back onto the cushions. He spared a glimpse at the small bundle he held, fingers sliding through his soft blue hair as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.
Why wouldn’t Branch wake up when Clay blew that stupid horn? Was he really that heavy of a sleeper?
As if reading his mind, the small trolling began to open his eyes, big baby blues being revealed to the world once again. He couldn’t help but smile as his little brother tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes, a large yawn overtaking his small body.
When blue eyes locked onto his magenta, his smile widened, and he couldn’t resist scooping the baby up as he swung his legs over the side of the couch.
“Hey, Bitty B, did you have a nice nap?” Branch just giggled, his chubby hands clinging onto Floyd’s green vest.
“How about we do something fun, just the two of us.” He didn’t wait for a response before he stood up and made his way over to their DIY craft corner, Branch in tow. When the infant saw where they were going, he squealed in delight, nearly jumping out of Floyd’s arms in his excitement.
“Easy, now!” The older troll set his little brother down with a chuckle, and immediately the baby reached for the crayons, starting to scribble before Floyd even had a chance to sit down.
Floyd stood there, silently watching his brother as he created a messy drawing of their family. Or what he assumed was supposed to be their family. That blob in the corner could have been Spruce or a mutated caterpillar.
He tried to keep his eye on his brother, but he couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the airhorn still sitting quietly on the table.
He...had a suspicion about Branch. A hunch. A horrible, dirty, awful feeling about just why he would be able to sleep though such a grating noise. He tried to squash the terrible thought down, but the more he thought about it, the more it started to make sense.
He shook his head, attempting to clear out the unwanted imagery. No, he was just being paranoid. There was no way his little brother was like...that. His brother was a good kid, even if he had his difficulties. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder...
Slowly, so as not to alert his brother, Floyd returned to the table, hating himself all the way. He grabbed the airhorn, staring at it for a minute as he debated if he was really about to do this.
In the end, curiosity won out, and the older troll cautiously made his was over to where his brother was sitting.
Ever so carefully, Floyd lowered himself to the ground, until he was sitting just a foot behind the infant. With a shaking hand, he brought the horn up, directly behind the head of dark blue hair.
He fought with himself for a moment- just a moment- before he gave in and pressed down. A sharp, piercing sound filled the room, and the older winced back, eyes squeezed shut as if that would block out the noise. It was over as quickly as it had started, and he peeled his eyes open to take in the damage he had most likely caused.
His blood ran cold, however, when he opened his eyes and saw his brother sitting there, just like before. There was no indication that he had been frightened in the slightest, crayon still moving across the paper in messy shapes.
He blinked rapidly, as if trying to disolve the image from his mind. Without thinking, he pressed it again, and just like before, an irritating screech filled the air. The blue troll didn’t so much as flinch. It was like he hadn’t even h-
Floyd scrambled back, dropping the horn in the process, his feet unsteady as he pushed himself up. One minute he was in the living room, and the next, he was standing in the hall, struggling to wrap his mind around what he had seen.
That’s how Clay and JD found him, bent in half, leaning against the wall for support.
Clay was the first to speak. “Dude, what the fuck?! You can’t yell at me for using the horn then go around and use it yourself. Not. Cool.”
Of course that would be the first the he was worried about. He was throwing that stupid horn away after all of this.
JD just raised an eyebrow, clearly not up to speed with whatever new sibling beef the two had. “Okay, whatever you guys have going on can wait. Floyd looks like he’s about to have a breakdown or something.” He gestured to the younger brother, and Clay finally seemed to notice just how quickly the other was beathing.
Stepping forward, John wrapped his hands around Floyd’s shoulders, helping him stand up from his hunched position. “Alright, jeez dude, just breathe. Okay?” Floyd nodded quickly, attempting to get his breathing back in control.
When he finally looked like he wasn’t going to pass out at a moment's notice, JD spoke again. “Alright, what’s got you all worked up, huh? Please tell me you just saw a spider or something.”
Floyd shook his head, struggling to speak past the lump in his throat. “B-branch...”
Clay raised an eyebrow, looking confused. “Bitty B? What’s he got to do with this? And where exactly is he?”
As if on cue, they all whipped their heads towards the living room as they heard their youngest member cry out. They nearly tripped over each other in their haste to reach the room, as the trolling screeched like he’d seen a Bergen.
Pilling though the doorway, they all frantically looked around for their baby brother, worried he had somehow hurt himself in the few minutes they were gone. However, a quick sweep told them their brother was just across the room, apparently fine, but seemingly looking for something.
They looked at eachother before Floyd called out to him. “Branch?”
The younger troll didn’t even turn around, broken crayons and paper scattered about the room, as he continued to frantically search.
“Branch, it’s okay. We’re here. We’re right here!” At this point, his older brother’s had joined in, trying to get the younger’s attention, but it was no use. He was running around like a chicken without a head, peeking into the kitchen and closet as he continued to cry out.
Having enough, the pink haired troll swiftly crossed the room, bumping into furniture as he practically sprinted to Branch’s side. When he was close enough, he shot a hand out, brushing the baby’s shoulder with his fingertips.
Instantly, Branch shot into the air, a startled yelp replacing his earlier wailing. He whipped his head around, tear filled eyes widening as he finally registered his brother behind him. Before Floyd could speak, he had the air knocked out of him, his arms now filled with a sobbing Branch.
Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around the tiny troll, whispering assurances to try and get him to calm him down some. When that failed, he resorted to humming, hoping it would be enough to reassure his brother. He clumsily spouted the first tune he could think of, yet it seemed to work. The never-ending tears stopped, but the trolling still shook as he clung to his brother with one small hand. In the other, Floyd noticed, was a crumpled sheet of paper.
He brought a hand up, rubbing the baby’s back in a calming motion, as he tried to wrestle the paper out of his brother’s grip. He gave it up easily enough, but when Floyd unfolded it, he couldn’t help but let out a soft gasp.
What he saw shocked him. It was a crude drawing of...him? If the pink hair and earing were anything to go by, then it was definitely him. He couldn’t help but be confused, not understanding just what about this drawing in particular had made Branch so upset.
Noticing his brother looking at his drawing, the infant wordlessly place his small hand on the paper before looking up at Floyd. He sat there, staring up at his older brother as if waiting for approval, just like he did whenever he showed them any of his art.
Oh. His brother had simply wanted to show Floyd the picture he had drawn of him, but Floyd had apparently already left the room by the time he had finished. What didn’t make any sense was why he had still been searching so desperately when his brothers were literally calling out to him from across the room. Not unless-
With a shaky gasp, Floyd pulled his brother back into him, tucking his head into the crook of his neck. He sat there, gently rocking the baby back and forth, while he struggled not to cry.
He knew it. He knew it . He just didn’t want to admit it to himself. But now, here they were, standing in the face of undeniable proof. He felt his heart break in two for the little troll he’d tried so hard to help
He lost it when he felt his brothers join them on the ground, two pairs of arms squeezing them as a sob finally bubbled out from where it had been lodged in his throat.
It only made sense if Branch couldn’t hear them.