Branch didn't want to go to Volcano Rock City. He didn't want to have anything to do with the rock trolls. But this was important. The home of the rock trolls was where he would be able to find answers, and if he knew what was wrong with Bud then he could better know how to actually help him.
Branch had arranged to ride with Queen Barb and her people in their angler bus, and he couldn't relax the whole time. He didn't like being in a confined space with the rock trolls, but what made it worse was that they wouldn't stop playing their music.
The sound of guitar riffs and a bass so deep that Branch could feel it in his bones echoed throughout the angler fish. Branch could appreciate rock music, but not like this. This just felt like noise, and he felt like he would go either insane or deaf if he listened to this music for more than just a few hours.
He knew the rock trolls had probably listened to this same intense music on the way over. Branch couldn't imagine how overwhelming that had probably been for Bud. He didn't know what kind of environment Bud had been stuck in for the past twelve years. Maybe Bud had been exposed to loud music that was too much for him. Maybe he'd been deprived of all music, or even sound in general.
Branch was worried that the option of silence was the most concerning possibility. Trolls weren't made to live in the quiet. If this deafening harsh rock was Bud's first exposure to music for twelve years it was no wonder he was having a hard time adjusting to things. This would have been far too much far too quickly.
"Loosen up, Boytoy." Barb came up to him. Branch growled and gave her the harshest glare that he could muster.
"Don't talk to me." Branch said. Talking to Barb, or any rock troll, was the last thing he wanted to do. "Unless you have any information about your prisoner, I don't want to hear a word from you."
"I just did what I thought was necessary." Barb frowned. "It wasn't anything personal."
"Maybe not to you." Branch said. "But to him, it's nothing but personal." Twelve years was a long time to be locked up just because you came from the wrong area.
Branch had to take a deep breath. He wasn't here to fight with the queen of the rock trolls. He was here for answers. He might as well start now.
"You said he hasn't talked in years." Branch reached into his vest and pulled out a small notebook and pen. "Do you remember what might have happened to make him silence himself?
Barb crossed her arms. It was hard to tell if her body language was casual or defensive. "It was a long time ago, but I think that one's on me." Branch had to bite his tongue to refrain from screaming. All of this was on her. "He wouldn't stop talking to the guards and trying to 'make friends' with them, and he kept singing these ear-worm tunes to himself. It was annoying, and he was trying to turn my people against me, so I put a stop to it."
Branch wanted to hit her. "How do you know he was trying to 'make friends' with the guards?" The tone implied that it had been malicious and manipulative. That was a lot to expect from a fairly young prisoner. "Did you ever consider that he was maybe just trying to, I don't know, actually make friends?"
Barb didn't react for a second before her eyes widened slightly in realization. "Oh. Yeah. I guess that could have been it." Branch's glare darkened. She held her hands up defensively. "But how was I supposed to know that?!"
"You can stop and think about other trolls for once instead of jumping straight to traumatizing them." Branch snapped. He tried to understand. He really did. He didn't understand trolls either. He was paranoid, and he sometimes did questionable things because of it, but he never did things that might hurt someone else. Even if he believed that that someone else might be out to hurt him.
"You said you left him alone for the most part." Branch seethed. "What about the times you didn't? What was the worst thing you did to him?" He thought he should probably find out now before he completely lost it.
Barb's mouth thinned. There was an odd look in her eyes. It wasn't quite regret, but it was something along those lines. "I guess it was a few months ago. I really didn't think it was that bad. It didn't seem to hurt him. But…I don't know, man, he kinda snapped afterward. He completely freaked out."
Branch was feeling nervous now. "What did you do?"
Barb wouldn't look at him. Branch tightened his grip on his pen and just waited for an answer. She eventually spoke. "So when I started planning out the whole thing I wondered if I really needed all the strings. I mean, eventually I wanted to have all the strings, to keep any of the other tribes from trying to rise up against us, but I thought I could have used the rock string on its own to turn someone into a rock troll. Since I already had a pop troll on hand, I thought, why not give it a try?"
Branch almost dropped his pen. "You used him as an experiment to turn him into a rock zombie?"
"Don't look at me like I kicked your critter. It didn't work." Barb said. But that didn't excuse what she had tried to do. Branch remembered all too well what it was like to be turned into a rock zombie. His mind had been gone. He hadn't really been turned into a rock troll. He'd been turned into a shell of a troll. Blank. Empty. He didn't care about rock music, because he didn't care about anything. He'd just obeyed orders because he hadn't had a choice.
"You tried to erase who he was, and you claim it didn't hurt?" Branch didn't understand her. He didn't think he wanted to.
"I was trying to turn him into something better." Barb snarled before she flinched. "Or, what I thought was better." She rubbed her arm. "The string had a reaction with his soul. I could see and hear the beating of his heart. For a second it seemed like it was going to change to match the rock trolls, but it only lasted for a beat or two before it went back to normal. He wouldn't change."
Branch looked at his notebook and slowly wrote something down. An idea. A theory of sorts. Something he didn't want to forget about, because he wanted to look more into it. Bud hadn't been turned into a rock troll, but that didn't necessarily mean that the beat of his soul was unaffected. It could be a little off, and there might not be a way to fix that. Branch thought it was something that someone could get used to, and it might not be inherently harmful, but it could still leave an effect.
Bud scratched at his chest sometimes when he seemed particularly bothered about seemingly nothing. Branch didn't know what triggered it, if anything at all. But now he wondered if Bud clutched at his chest because his heartbeat wasn't quite the right rhythm. It wasn't physically painful, but Branch knew just how broken a soul could get.
Whether Barb recognized it or not, she had traumatized Bud with that string stunt of hers. But Branch knew about it now. He could help Bud get through this. He had more information now, and by the time he went back home maybe he would be calm enough to think about it without feeling the urge to scream and hit something.
He had to keep calm and in control until he went home. And then he would have to be calm while with Bud, because he knew the Gray troll was scared of any anger aimed his way. Poppy didn't like it when Branch hid away his emotions and didn't let other people in, but this was different. He would address all of this stuff with Poppy, but not until he knew that Bud was okay. That troll needed solid support right now, and Branch needed to give that to him. He had to.
"Did you ever hurt him besides the whole string thing?" Branch asked when he could trust himself to speak. "Or have someone else hurt him? Or do anything that would make him get hurt in any way, even if no rock troll was directly responsible?" Branch was going to be as specific as possible, because he didn't want Barb to answer the question technically correctly while not giving him the whole truth.
Barb looked like she was going to deny things at first, but then she closed her mouth and looked thoughtful. "Actually, I guess there was something. I didn't know about it, but Riff says your troll was bashing his head in earlier."
Branch felt a chill go down his spine. "He was what?!" That could mean any number of things. It could mean that Bud had tripped over his feet and happened to hit his head when Riff saw him. It could mean that he was so bored and lost in his mind that he was a little too harsh in hitting his head against the wall. Something that Branch did when he got especially lost in his own thoughts.
Maybe it was just the rock troll's way of using harsh language, but the specific phrasing Barb had used made it sound like Bud had been trying to seriously hurt, or even kill himself. Maybe that was a big jump to make, but Branch imagined that if he was the one locked up he might have ended up in that very position far sooner than twelve years.
"The guards said he did it all the time." Riff spoke up. Branch almost forgot that he and Barb were not the only ones here, and that the rock trolls would have been paying close attention to a potential threat to their queen. "He's been doing it for years."
Branch felt bad that the news was a bit of a relief. It was terrible that Bud was hurting himself, and that was something that Branch would have to be keeping an eye out for. But if he had been doing it for years then Branch thought it was safe to think that he wasn't actually trying to kill himself or do some serious damage. He wasn't going so far as to literally bash his head in. If that was his intention he would have done it earlier. It wasn't as though the rock trolls would have stopped him.
Branch would have to talk to these guards. If anyone knew why Bud was doing this and how to prevent it, it would be them. They were also the ones who had seen Bud most on a day-to-day basis. They could tell Branch what his living conditions had been like, because they were the ones responsible for it.
He took some more notes in his book and then tucked it back into his vest. The trip to Volcano Rock City wasn't too much longer, and soon they were arriving at the home of the rock trolls. Branch exited the angler bus and was immediately hit with a burst of heat. It was a dry heat that was so thick that he could barely feel like he could breathe. The rock trolls seemed unbothered by it, but Branch felt a little ill. This would take some time to get used to.
He wondered how long it took Bud to get used to the heat.
"Here we are." Barb gestured out widely. "So, Boytoy, what do you want to see?"
"His cell." Branch said. "I want to know exactly what he was put through. I want to know what broke him, so then maybe I can know how to fix him."
Barb grew still and there was a pained look on her face. "Broke him? He's…he's broken?"
Branch grimaced. That hadn't been the right word to use, but he didn't know what else to say. "He's…damaged. He keeps crying, which I don't blame him for. But he clings to me and seems like he's going to fall apart if I leave his side." It made Branch feel guilty for coming here. Maybe he should have waited until Bud felt safer and more comfortable before leaving him.
"He just seems so scared." Branch said quietly. "He's just fine one second, and then he suddenly starts growling and screaming at this unseen threat that I don't understand and can't see."
He thought Barb would say that he was exaggerating. That she would say that if Bud had issues then it was just because he was too sensitive and making a big deal out of nothing. He was surprised when Barb didn't say any of that. In fact, there was a genuine sadness in her eyes.
"...I'm sorry." Barb said. Branch thought for sure that he must have misheard her. "I didn't…I didn't want to hurt anybody. Especially not like that." She sounded like she meant it, and Branch didn't understand where this was coming from. She was fine with forcing trolls to be someone completely different, but after whatever Branch had said, Barb finally seemed to understand that she had done something wrong.
He wanted to believe her, but it was hard, and he had never been able to be swayed so easily. He stopped glaring daggers at her, but that was all he could do.
"Take me to his cell." Branch repeated. Barb looked a little dejected, but not surprised. She brought Branch inside of her castle, and then down deeper into the earth. Branch was used to underground areas being more on the colder side. That was how his bunker was. But this was a volcano. The deeper they went the closer to the lava they got, and the more stifling the heat was.
They went down the stairs until they found themselves in a type of dungeon. Branch was a little relieved that the cells were several times larger than he'd been imagining. In his mind Bud had been trapped in a cage that was barely big enough for him to stand in. These cells were spacious. The ceilings were high. The cells were big enough to pace in. They looked like the size of a small troll pod. Branch knew that any prison, no matter how big it was, was still a prison, but at least Bud would have had room to move around.
"Here it is." Barb pulled open the door to the cell. Branch stepped inside and examined it closely. There were some intense scratch marks on the wall. Upon closer inspection Branch could see tally marks underneath the scratches. It looked like Bud had tried to mark the days, and then tried to cover up the reminder of how long he'd been locked up.
Branch put his hand on the wall, running it over the marks. If he closed his eyes he could practically see Bud curled up on the ground, growling and sobbing to himself as he attacked the wall with his bare hands, uncaring if he was hurting his fingers.
How long did it take Bud to give up? Did he ever just curl up in the corner, screaming for brothers that he knew weren't coming?
Why hadn't they come for him? Bud said he had a family. He cared about them enough that he wanted to reunite with them, and he thought that they would want him back as well. But if Bud's brothers cared about him how could they have let this happen? Even if they didn't know what had happened to him, why didn't they look for him? Twelve years was an awful long time to be locked up. And Bud seemed to have been into rock music before he came here. Why wouldn't his brothers have come for him? Why didn't they care about him enough?
Branch knew he was projecting. He had issues with his own brothers. He knew that didn't necessarily mean that Bud's brothers were just as problematic. Maybe there was a perfectly legitimate reason why they hadn't come for him. Maybe they cared after all, but were just too prideful to even consider the possibility that their brother was anything less than okay.
Branch didn't trust Bud's brothers. He wasn't optimistic about them being good, caring trolls. But Bud wanted them back in his life, and Branch had no right to try to convince him otherwise. Bud was practically a stranger to him. And even if he wasn't, he'd had enough of trolls forcing their own thoughts on him. It was about time that Bud made his own decisions, even if Branch wasn't sure if they were the right ones.
He finally forced his attention away from the tally marks. He looked around the rest of the cell. It was completely bare. "There's no bed here."
"Yeah, I guess there's not." Barb looked around, her eyes zeroing in on the numerous speckles of dried blood all over the cell. Branch had specifically been avoiding looking at those. "I didn't even realize."
"There's a lot you didn't realize." Branch took a deep breath. He knew what he needed to do. He didn't want to, because he knew it wouldn't be fun, but he believed that it was necessary. "Who were his guards?" Branch asked.
Barb looked out of the cell and called out. "Jax! Harley! Get over here!" A number of trolls had followed them down into the cells. Two of those trolls stepped forward. They looked average and not like the brutes that Branch had been imagining. He recognized one of them to be the troll that had scoffed and complained about Bud's tears.
"Whatever this guy wants, answer him." Barb said to the two trolls. They looked at each other before looking at her and nodding. Barb took a step back and gestured at them. "They're all yours, Boytoy."
Branch looked at them carefully. They didn't look too threatening, at least not more than any other rock troll, but he wasn't going to trust that. He needed to rely on his doubts, because that was what would keep him alive.
"My request is an easy one." Branch said. "For the next twenty four hours, I'm your prisoner. Treat me exactly like you treated him. I get the same meals. The same schedule. The same punishments. Everything."
Jax and Harley looked at Barb again. She raised an eyebrow at Branch. He narrowed his eyes at her, his mind unchanging. Barb sighed and shrugged.
"You heard him." She said. She stepped out of the cell, shutting it behind her. "Say the word and this is over."
"I'll see you in twenty four hours." Branch said determinedly. He wasn't going to change his mind. It was just one day. He could handle that much for the sake of having a deeper understanding of what Bud had been through. It would only give him the most basic idea of what the past twelve years had looked like for him, but it was more than he would have if he just asked questions.
The rock trolls didn't recognize what they had done wrong. They weren't going to tell him everything he needed to know, because there were so many things that they didn't think counted as torture or harm. That was why Branch needed to experience it for himself, even if just a little bit.
Branch's cell was locked, and everybody, including his guards, walked away. They went back up the stairs, and Branch was left alone in the silence.
That was fine. It really didn't bother him at all. He was used to being underground and on his own, sitting in the quiet. That was literally his safe place. More times than he could count he would run to his bunker and hide away from the noise and socializing of Pop Village. This really wasn't that much different.
Except for the heat…and the locked doors…and the bars…and the blood on the floor…and the scratches on the wall, that represented Bud's own descent into madness.
It should feel like home. Branch should feel just fine here. He should be able to see this as an opportunity to pull out his notebook and truly focus on his observations and notes. But Branch found his mind straying.
When he tried to write about his theories about Bud's mindset, he found himself staring intently at the wall. He tried to count the tally marks, even though the scratches covered up the marks, and it was frustrating that he couldn't get an accurate count, no matter how closely he looked.
He tried to sketch out the dimensions of the cell compared to Bud's size, just to figure out, relatively speaking, how much space he actually had in here. But when he was sketching and trying to figure out how to draw the perfect right angle without the help of his drawing tools he tapped his pencil against the paper, leaving little marks.
They were barely noticeable, and he could erase them with ease, but Branch found himself staring at those marks. They looked like little representations of Bud's blood on the ground and walls. And now Branch couldn't help but wonder what exactly the nature of those injuries had been. Had Bud hurt himself, or had the guards hurt him? Had it been a serious injury, or had he just gotten frequent nosebleeds because of the drier environment?
Branch scowled at his notebook like it betrayed him. He was overthinking things. He knew he was. But he couldn't stop. Normally when he started to spiral like this Poppy would take his hands, take some deep breaths with him, and talk him into focusing on his senses so he could give his brain time to catch up to his thoughts. Or was it his thoughts time to catch up to his brain?
He didn't really know. It didn't make sense the way that Poppy said it. But somehow it worked. She was able to help him to center himself. Poppy wasn't here right now, but surely he could use her advice to calm down and focus.
Branch took a deep breath and gagged on the thick air. It wasn't the humid thickness that he was used to. It wasn't the kind of heat that he thought he hated, because it felt like it stuck to his skin and wouldn't let go. No, this was somehow worse, because this heat was dry, and instead of sticking to his skin it seemed to seep into his very bones. It felt like it was inside of him, and it made him feel nauseous. It was too hot, and thinking about it just made it feel worse.
He automatically moved to take off his vest, just to have one less layer trapping heat in, but he stopped before he could shrug it off of one shoulder. This vest. It had been given to him by…he couldn't just take it off. Not here. Not so carelessly.
Feeling like he had nearly betrayed his brother, even though by all rights Branch was the one who had probably been betrayed by him, he pulled the vest back on and held it tight over his chest. He tried to ignore the way that the heat was making his skin more sensitive, and the feeling of the leaves of the vest against his chest, which he usually found comforting, now felt itchy and gross.
He didn't want to be in this cell, and Branch was sure he hadn't been here for longer than fifteen minutes.
This was going to be a long twenty four hours.