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razzle-zazzle · 2 months

Text

to the roots

7089 Words; Discolored

TW for discussions of Parental Abandonment and Child Neglect, kidnapping

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @ninja-go-to-therapy!!! 🎂🎉🎉🎉

AO3 ver

“Branch? Sweetie, is that you?”

The voice that cut across the clearing was unfamiliar, a sugary lilt that crawled up Branch’s back and had him turning around. Before him stood two unfamiliar trolls, older than him by a significant margin. They looked like they could be John Dory’s age. Branch had never seen them before in his life.

The Troll on the left had teal fur and dandelion-yellow hair, a curled mustache in a style that Branch was pretty sure was only popular when Peppy was young. Even his felt overalls looked old-fashioned in the style of the cuffs and straps, despite the fabric itself looking relatively new. The Troll to the right had lavender fur and magenta hair, crows feet clinging to her eyes and a soft smile on her face. The handkerchief tying her hair back looked to be the same cut as her dress, soft floral pattern along the hems. Even the basket on her arm had flowers sewn along the handle.

There was something familiar about them. Branch had never seen either of them before. His paws clenched and unclenched around the sticks in his paws, an indiscernible feeling clawing its way up his throat.

Branch scowled. “I’m sorry, who are you?” He didn’t know these people, didn’t know why they had seemingly come looking for him specifically. The lack of knowledge prickled against his spine, harsh and discordant. Branch fought down a growl building in his throat.

The Troll on the left smiled. “C’mon Branchy, it’s Belladonna and Daffodil! Your parents!” He stepped forwards, paws spread wide. “Surely your brothers told you about us?”

Branch froze. Once again, he looked the two Trolls up and down, taking in every detail. He could see the resemblance. Belladonna’s face was blocky like John Dory’s, her lavender fur a near perfect match to Grandma Rosiepuff. Her magenta hair had streaks of gray running through it, and was swept back with a tied handkerchief, but the swooping bangs were unmistakable, and the violet ends splayed out wildly. She smiled, small and soft like Floyd when Branch made him his favorite tea.

Daffodil was altogether more petite, narrow shoulders set just below Belladonna’s, and the teal of his fur didn’t exactly match any of Branch’s brothers. But the yellow of his hair, tinged with green at the roots, was a near-perfect match for Clay’s. He tilted his head—and wow, his eyes were the exact same as Floyd’s. Uncanny.

Branch clenched and unclenched his paws, the bark of the sticks rough against his paw pads. Reassuring. He could see the resemblance. He really could. But—

“Why’d you come back?” The question came out like an accusation, sharp in the air. That wasn’t Branch’s intent, but he couldn’t take back his tone, so it wasn’t worth fretting over.

“Why, to meet you.” Belladonna tittered. “We went back to the old tree a few years ago, and found it completely empty!” She pressed her paws together, tail limp against the ground. “The shock of it all made it clear to us what we missed by leaving for so long.” She sighed, and Daffodil took up the story.

“When we thought that you had died, we were just plain heartbroken.” Daffodil lamented, mustache drooping along with his tail. “What kind of parents were we, that we left you for so long?” He wrung his paws together. “But then we see you and your brothers performing that perfect family harmony on the Mount Rageous big screens, and we realize—”

“—That our baby boy is still alive.” Belladonna finished, eyes soft. She stepped forwards, tentatively reaching out a paw. “When we realized we had been given a second chance, well, we just had to take it.”

Branch stared at her outstretched paw. “Why?” Suspicion wrapped around his chest like an old friend. Something about this wasn’t right. Branch had literally never met his parents before—why would they come back now?

Belladonna’s head tilted. “Why?” She repeated, like the very question made no sense to her.

“Why now?” Branch grumbled, tail lashing behind him. “You never cared before.” It was an accusation spoken softly, yet still barbed and guarded.

Belladonna winced. “I know.” She said. She gestured to the basket hanging on her arm, “Why don’t you join us for a picnic? It’ll be more fun than standing around in some random clearing.” She smiled, hopeful, and suddenly Branch felt like a pinned bug. Did he go with them? Or did he retreat to the safety of what he knew, away from the uncertainty standing before him?

Branch wondered what Poppy would say. Wait, no, scratch that—Branch knew exactly what Poppy would say. He’d been in this same situation barely two weeks ago with his brothers, after all. And if they had come back…

Sighing, Branch stepped forwards. “Fine.” He decided, adjusting his hold on the sticks in his arms. “But no funny business.” As far as he was concerned, the two trolls before him were still strangers.

Belladonna and Daffodil beamed, before turning and making their way towards one of the trees. “C’mon, your father spotted a good spot to set up in the branches.” Belladonna urged, making her way up.

Branch followed his maybe-parents up the tree, reluctantly leaving his bundle of sticks behind in the crook of one of the roots in order to haul himself up with hair and paw. It wasn’t long before they were walking along the branches, Belladonna coming to a stop at a spot that she deemed appropriate.

Branch didn’t like how high up he was. He knew he could use his hair to parachute safely if he fell, but—

The branch they were on was too exposed to the sky, in Branch’s opinion. Weren’t his parents worried about birds? Even a squirrel could become a massive problem if it decided this was a good branch to run along.

But Belladonna was humming softly, the tune unfamiliar to Branch as she laid out the blanket patterned with forget-me-nots, basket open beside her. As she busied herself with setting things up, Daffodil sidled over to Branch, mirth in his eyes.

“I see you’re wearing my old vest.” Daffodil chuckled, eyes crinkling.

Branch stepped back. “I got it from Floyd.” He growled. If these two were only going to tell lies—

“And where do you think our little rosebud got it from?” Belladonna asked, from where she was unloading the basket.

“He—” Branch cut himself off. Even back then, in his fuzzy memories of his brothers all together, Floyd’s vest had been worn, faded slightly—but surely that was just because he had had it for so long, right? It had fit Floyd too well to have been made for someone else.

But Daffodil had the near exact same body type as Floyd, Branch realized.

“It suits you.” Daffodil commented. Branch waited to see if his maybe-father would say anything more, but the older troll seemed content to leave it at that.

Belladonna finished laying out the spread, the small selection of food arranged artfully upon the blanket. There was a small plate of four sandwiches, a pitcher of stoutberry juice, a bowl of fluffleberries—there was even a small selection of sandwich ingredients. As far as picnic spreads went, it was pretty impressive. Belladonna sat down, patting the space beside her, and Daffodil sat down next to her with a wide grin.

Branch clenched and unclenched his paws, and moved to sit on the edge of the blanket opposite his probably-parents. If either of them noticed the apprehension coming off of him in waves, neither commented on it.

“I guess you’ll be wanting an explanation.” Daffodil started, around bites of his sandwich.

Branch nodded, ignoring the sandwich that Belladonna offered him. She shrugged, returning the sandwich to the plate, and took up the story. “There’s not much to tell, really.” She admitted. “When we had little Dory, we weren’t ready to be parents.” She took a bite from her own sandwich, and Daffodil picked up the thread.

“I was only fifteen or so, and Bell here is only a few months older.” He picked up his own sandwich, and tore off a bite. “My mother-in-law was pretty pissed when she found out!” He chuckled, before taking the bite. “Tore me a new one.” He mumbled.

“We did love little Dory,” Belladonna continued, pouring stoutberry juice into two cups. Branch waved off the empty cup she held out to him, and she shrugged before continuing. “Really. But we just…” She sighed, her eyes darting to her bracelet. It was weirdly plain, off-white threads braided together with no charms or color. “And then Spruce came along.” She continued, “Barely two years later. We were relying so heavily on Mom to help handle things.” She shook her head, and nodded to Daffodil.

“By the time Clay’s egg was laid, we weren’t really… around.” He shrugged, taking a drink from his cup. “The stress just got to us, so we left.”

“We didn’t go far, the first time.” Belladonna added. “Just to another part of the tree, a little higher up.” She finished off her sandwich, wiping her paw off on a napkin. “Sweetie, aren’t you going to eat?” She gestured to the spread between them, sugar in her urging.

Branch shook his head. “Not that hungry.” He grunted. How could he eat when his throat was blocked off by a knot of emotions? Anxiety squeezed his gut, hope crept up his tail, and so many questions kept dying in his throat, piling up like crumpled poems in a wastebasket. His appetite was so far nonexistent that the thought of eating made him want to run away and vomit.

“Suit yourself.” Daffodil shrugged. “But you’re always welcome to try anything you like! You’re our son, after all!” He smiled, big and wide, and Branch couldn’t help but be reminded of John Dory’s smile—it had the same bombastic obnoxiousness, he felt.

“Okay, let’s get back on topic.” Branch wanted answers, dammit. “You said you left after Clay hatched?” He had to be—he needed to know, to put the story together and make it make sense if he ever wanted to even consider trying to trust his probably-parents.

Belladonna winced. “We… missed his hatching, actually.” She admitted. “Came back just days after.” She frowned, “We were only gone for a few weeks, too…” She sighed, picking up her cup.

Daffodil put a paw on her shoulder, drawing Belladonna from her reminiscing. “You should’ve seen little Dory and Spruce when we got back!” He offered. “Dory refused to talk to either of us for four days, but Spruce was so excited to show off his new baby brother!” He smiled fondly at the memory, before his face fell. “The story doesn’t get much better after that.” He warned.

Belladonna nodded. “Me and Daffy, we’ve always had a strong sense of wanderlust.” She took a sip from her cup before continuing. “Not even having three children could get us to really settle down. It became a regular thing, leaving for a little bit before coming back.” She finished off her juice, and grabbed the pitcher to refill it. “And our sons seemed fine in Mom’s care, so we didn’t really think about the effect that our running around would really have—”

At that moment, Branch’s Hug Timer went off. He slapped the flower shut, his attention firmly on the story. “Go on.”

Belladonna and Daffodil stared for a moment—a moment during which Branch noticed a lack of Hug Timers on their wrists, just Belladonna’s off-white bracelet—before Daffodil cleared his throat.

“We did try to stick around for Floyd’s egg, though.” Daffodil continued. “Stuck around ‘til our little rosebud finally hatched! When I tell you he was the cutest little thing…” He stroked his mustache, expression fond.

“But our wanderlust just kept coming back.” Belladonna lamented. “Even though we’d seen so much of the tree already, we just kept coming and going.” She popped a fluffleberry from the bowl in the center of the blanket into her mouth.

“Until Brozone,” Daffodil added, a glint in his eyes. “I showed Dory a few lyric writing tricks when he was little, before our own dreams were crushed by the whole parenting thing.” His tail flicked rhythmically. “And I know my sweet Bellady here—” He kissed Belladonna’s cheek, prompting a giggle, “—must have brought up the idea at some point or other.” Fond hunger settled in his eyes, and Branch forced his attention onto his probably-definitely-mother.

“But we never imagined our boys would take that old dream and make it happen!” Belladonna smiled wistfully. “It was the most time we spent actually being parents, just trying to help them schedule shows and encouraging them to go further.” She pressed her paws to her face dreamily, reminiscing. “It was going so wonderfully, the four of them were getting so popular…”

“Then what made you leave?” Branch asked, derisively. From the way it sounded, everything was going great—so why were his okay-definitely-parents-by-blood out of the picture after he came along? Something wasn’t adding up, and Branch didn’t know if he wanted to hear the answer or not.

Belladonna and Daffodil looked at each other, seeming to argue with their eyes before they turned back to Branch. Belladonna frowned. “This…” Her eyes closed as she exhaled sharply. “This is the worst part of the story, sweetie.” Her paw waved dismissively. “We’ve been talking for a while now, let’s take a break.”

“Wh—” Branch fought down a snarl, “You can’t just leave it at that!” He crossed his arms. “You said you’d explain. So explain.” He still needed the story to make sense, he needed to know why his parents never came up in the two years he had with his brothers, he couldn’t just—

But Belladonna and Daffodil were already standing, Daffodil coming around to offer his paw to Branch. “We have been talking for a while,” Daffodil pointed out.

“It’s not a light topic.” Belladonna added. “But we’ll tell you tomorrow, okay?” She offered, already moving to put everything back in the basket. “We’d hate to dump all of our problems on you after just meeting, sweetie.”

Branch stood slowly, ignoring Daffodil’s offered paw. “...fine.” He conceded. “But you better not back out on telling me what happened.” He threatened. He had enough to deal with—his parents keeping secrets was not something he was willing to add to that list. Not now, not ever.

“Of course!” Daffodil chuckled, putting a paw on Branch’s shoulder. Branch brushed the paw off, stepping back to get out of range. Daffodil only smiled at Branch’s actions, head tilting as he examined his son.

“You have your mother’s eyes.” Daffodil said softly. “I…” He huffed, tossing his head back. His expression crumpled, his tail flat against the ground. “We should have come back sooner, Branch. We shouldn’t have let our wanderlust keep us away for so long.”

Belladonna nodded, leaning forwards. “We really shouldn’t have. You’re absolutely perfect.” She fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist as she spoke, eyes locked firmly on Branch.

Something about her statement jolted against Branch’s carefully-cultivated intuition, a niggling doubt digging into his stomach like a worm in an apple. He swallowed, wrenching his gaze to the blanket his mother was folding up, to the light-blue forget-me-nots patterned across the lavender fabric. His tail brushed against the bark of the branch, agitated.

“We’re here now.” Daffodil declared, tail swishing behind him. “And we’re not gonna leave you, okay?” Belladonna came to stand beside her husband, everything neatly packed away into the basket on her arm. They looked like a picture-perfect couple together, like something straight out of an old photo album or painting. They looked like they could get along just fine without their children.

Branch’s tail curled in on itself, tucking against his legs. He took a breath, trying to clear the worries clawing up his throat—his brothers came back for him. He had let John Dory and Bruce and Clay and Floyd back into his life—what were two more family members into the fold?

“Okay.” Branch breathed. The trio began to trek down the branch towards the trunk, and Branch let himself fall into a comfortable silence as he followed his parents down.

When they reached the roots, Branch gathered up his sticks again, regarding his parents one last time. “Tomorrow.” He grunted. If they thought about backing out…

“Tomorrow.” Belladonna agreed, reaching into her dress pocket. She pulled out a bracelet almost—no, exactly like her own, with the same braided off-white threads. “Here,” She offered, holding the bracelet out. “A promise bracelet. So you know we want to make this work.”

Branch regarded the bracelet suspiciously. It was so plain that he couldn’t help but wonder what the catch was… but at the same time, it was so plain that Branch couldn’t think of any conceivable nefarious purpose. His eyes flicked to Belladonna’s bracelet.

Branch groaned, shifting the sticks so he could hold out his paw. Belladonna beamed, and carefully slid the bracelet onto his wrist, just below his Hug Timer. She tugged at it, and it contracted, snug around Branch’s wrist. His eyes widened.

“Pretty special, huh?” Daffodil leaned in. “Promise bracelets are charged with the same kind of energy made by a Pinky Promise.” He explained. “They’re impossible to lose.”

“So that the promises they represent can’t be broken.” Belladonna added softly, clasping Branch’s paw in her own.

Branch swallowed, jaw tightening. He’d have to check the village library for scrapbooks on promise bracelets. He withdrew his paw from Belladonna’s so that he could hold the sticks more comfortably, the bracelet a constant presence against his wrist. But it wasn’t tight enough to hurt, so Branch fought the feeling down.

Belladonna smiled, twirling in place with a giggle. “We’ll see you tomorrow!” She chirped, before she and Daffodil turned to head off to… wherever they were staying, Branch supposed. As he watched them go, a knot of hope and anxiety clung to his fur, his tail flicking behind him.

Ugh, whatever. Branch turned to return to his bunker. The picnic had been unexpected, but surely…

Whatever would come of all of this, Branch didn’t know. But he was going to get some answers, if nothing else, and that was enough to satisfy him. It’d have to be—he couldn’t allow himself to expect anything more.

+=+=+=+=+

“Something on your mind?”

Branch looked up at the sound of Floyd’s voice, clenching and unclenching his paws against the mug clasped in them. His brother was staring at him fondly through sleep-frizzed bangs, mug of tea on the table before him.

Branch glanced over to the other side of the table. John Dory didn’t stay the night every night, but here he was, puttering into the kitchen while humming an old Brozone song under his breath.

“Just thinking.” Branch responded, his gaze returning to his coffee. Thoughts about his parents had been swirling around in his head all night, muddled and mixed up with his usual worries. They claimed to be hoping to reconnect, but something about that picnic the day before just felt… weird.

But Branch’s brothers had come back, hadn’t they? And they were even making an effort to reconnect and keep in touch—Floyd was living in his bunker, after all, and John Dory was sticking around! Clay was busy helping Viva with the Putt-Putt Trolls’ end of the connecting route between the golf course and Trollstopia, and Bruce had his business and family, but they were staying in contact. Surely, if all of Branch’s brothers could come back into his life with no strings attached, then why couldn’t his parents? They’d even given him a promise bracelet—though all the examples Branch found in the library scrapbooks had had more color to them than the one he was wearing.

But… maybe it was the years of isolation. Maybe Branch was being paranoid, letting his fear trickle into his brain and poison his thoughts. But yet… if his parents wanted to reconnect, then why wouldn’t they start with the sons they actually met? Rhonda was difficult to hide—and John Dory wasn’t making any effort to do so, either—and it was well-known throughout the village that the armadillo-bus was where John Dory had taken up residence. Why wouldn’t they go there first?

Maybe they had. Maybe Branch was just getting too caught in his own head. He did that a lot, it felt, worrying over what everyone else was sure was nothing. And more often than not, it felt like it was everyone else who was right.

“Thinkin’ hard over there, Bit—Branch?” John Dory prompted, plate in one paw as he grabbed a chair to pull out.

“What were our parents like?” Branch glanced up at the end of his question. He immediately regretted blurting it out—but he couldn’t take the words back and bury them, no matter how much he wanted to.

It was a long moment before John Dory responded, face harsh and still like a statue, snarl building in the back of his throat.

“Awful.” John Dory grunted, knuckles white from gripping the back of the chair. “The absolute worst.” He set his plate down on the table with more force than necessary, sending a few bits of egg flying onto the table. “Always ducking in and out of our lives whenever it was convenient for them—” John Dory cut off with a snarl, whirling away from the table with savage force. “GAH! They just—I—Oh, I hate them so much!” He threw his paws in the air, tail smacking the table leg as it lashed in agitation. “If they ever show their sorry faces around here, I’ll—AAGH!”

As John Dory stomped off, his breakfast apparently forgotten, Branch released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His paws clenched and unclenched around his mug, new worries fluttering around in his head. Floyd took a conspicuously long sip of tea, staring at nothing in particular. His tail was curled around the legs of his chair, discomfort radiating off of him in waves.

Branch wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Familiar panic ebbed in like an old friend, and he had to fight down the hackles his body had raised. Right. So his parents hadn’t gone to John Dory first, then—and for good reason, if the way John Dory had been muttering as he stormed off was any indication.

Branch forced his attention to slide away from the encroaching anxiety and onto Floyd, who was staring resolutely at the table. Branch almost opened his mouth, ready to ask if Floyd had any clarification—he shut his mouth. Nope. He’d already made one brother blow up, there was no way Branch was going to incur a repeat with the others. He’d just sit here, then, in his own little stress-filled bubble, and regret ever opening his stupid mouth.

“Soooo,” Floyd began, cutting through the silence more awkwardly than John Dory at his most bombastic. “Did Poppy make that bracelet for you?” He tried, bringing Branch’s attention back to the white promise bracelet hugging his wrist.

“Sure.” Branch responded, lifting his mug to his mouth and taking a long sip of coffee. He was not about to bring up his parents again—one brother blowing up at him was enough.

Silence reigned for another long moment. Branch half-considered blurting the truth out then and there, and dismissed the thought.

Once again, Floyd was the first to break the silence. “Why’d you ask about…” Floyd cut himself off, reconsidering his words before he started again, “what got you so curious about our parents?” His paws remained clasped around his mug, and his eyes kept darting away from Branch every second.

Branch shrugged, swallowing down any notions of the truth. “Guess seeing Bruce with his kids got me curious.” The lie fell from his mouth easily, his gut turning at the lack of doubt on Floyd’s face. “Sorry.” Branch added. For the question or the lie, he wasn’t sure. “It was a stupid question. I never even met them.” His own tail curled around his legs nervously.

Floyd hummed noncommittally, bringing his mug to his mouth once again. The silence stretched on uncomfortably, Branch’s coffee barely room temperature when he got back to drinking it.

They sat like that, John Dory’s breakfast slowly getting cold as Branch worked his way through his coffee instead of through his thoughts. After a while of sitting in suffocating silence, Branch pushed his chair out and stood.

“I’m gonna head out,” He muttered, grabbing John Dory’s abandoned plate on his way to the sink. “You want anything?” He really hoped Floyd would come with him. He really hoped he could have some time alone. Branch shoved the knot of feelings down and focused on packing away John Dory’s abandoned breakfast in a jar to put in the fridge; John Dory could come back for it later if he wanted.

Floyd hummed noncommittally. “‘M fine.” He mumbled into his mug. “Are you?” There was something oddly pointed to his question, a sharp invitation that made Branch want to tear down his walls just long enough to spill everything—

Branch shut the fridge with more force than was perhaps necessary. “Just peachy.” He grit out, unable to bring himself to turn around to face his brother. “I…” He sighed, heavy and tired. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I just…” He fumbled for the words, staring at his closed fridge.

“It’s okay.” Floyd’s voice was quiet, “We can talk about it later.” He offered.

Branch grimaced. “Yeah.” He mumbled, tail twisting anxiously. “Later.” Deep down, he knew that if he pushed it off he would never stop��

Branch shook his head. He’d talk about it with Floyd later. He would. He just… his parents had promised the rest of the explanation today, his bracelet snug around his wrist as a reminder, and Branch wanted to hear that, first. Then he’d be able to tell Floyd about them coming back.

Yeah. It would all work out. Branch made his way to the elevator feeling considerably lighter than moments before, a sense of calm starting to finally settle in his chest over the whole situation. His worries remained, of course, but Branch felt more ready to confront them.

He was going to get some answers.

+=+=+=+=+

Belladonna and Daffodil had already set up by the time Branch made it up the tree around lunch time. The spread was similar to last time, with the same pitcher and bowl of fluffleberries—but with a plate of sprinkleberry pie instead of sandwiches. Branch swallowed at the sight of it, his traitorous mind darting to Poppy—why hadn’t he told her about his parents coming back? He’d certainly had enough opportunity, but it had seemingly never come up in the twenty-four or so hours since they had first approached him.

Whatever. Branch shook off the worry and forced himself to sit down on the edge of the blanket, brushing his paw over the promise bracelet. Belladonna nudged the pitcher his way, and Branch poured himself a cup of stoutberry juice. Daffodil cut a slice of pie and offered the plate to Branch, who took it after a moment of hesitation.

For a few moments, none of them said anything, just sitting there on the picnic blanket eating. Branch picked at his slice of pie slowly, unable to eat much past the rising anticipation. The bracelet was a constant reminder around his wrist, always noticeable.

“So.” Branch started, clenching and unclenching his paws around his cup.

“So.” Belladonna jokingly repeated, grabbing a fluffleberry from the bowl.

Branch glared. Belladonna smiled pleasantly, unperturbed by her son’s annoyance.

“You promised an explanation.” Branch continued, setting his cup down. His tail was twitching rapidly behind him, and it was taking all of his energy not to pull out a stick and start whittling. “About why you disappeared after…” He swallowed, the words getting caught in his throat. “After my egg was laid.”

“We did.” Belladonna agreed. She popped another fluffleberry into her mouth and chewed it slowly, seemingly contemplating her words before she swallowed. “We wanted to stay.” Belladonna said. “We were going to.” She sighed.

“We were so excited!” Daffodil continued, setting down his empty plate. “We’d had your egg on one of our… excursions.” He went back to the pie to cut himself another slice.

Belladonna nodded. “And the moment we realized we were with egg, we went right back to Mom’s pod with all the boys.” She clasped her paws together. “You were going to be perfect, we just knew. We showed your egg to little Dory—”

“And that was the beginning of the end,” Daffodil growled. “After everything that we had done for him, for all of them, he just—” He cut himself off with a huff, digging back into his slice of pie.

“You have to understand, sweetie.” Belladonna’s face softened, for a moment looking like the fifty-seven year old that she was. “We didn’t leave because of our wanderlust, we left because Dory cut us out.”

Branch froze, nearly dropping his cup of stoutberry juice. “What?” His voice came out quieter than he intended, in the sudden heaviness of the air. John Dory had… but that didn’t… “What do you mean, cut out?” Why would John Dory ever…

Branch was at a loss. His tail was flat against the ground, his paws gripping the cup tightly, the promise bracelet tight around his wrist. His half-eaten slice of pie remained forgotten in front of him as the world seemed to tilt.

“It was some silly fight,” Belladonna waved off. “I can hardly even remember what it was about! But, eh, Little Dory was always so headstrong…” She wrung her paws together. “Once he had an idea in his head, there was no changing his mind.” She shook her head with a shrug, as if to dismiss the thought.

Branch nodded. He hadn’t gotten the chance to know his older brother for as long as his parents had, but from what he had seen? Yeah, John Dory was stubborn. He lifted his cup back to his mouth for another sip.

“He got it from you, babe.” Daffodil teased, tail flirting back and forth as he leaned in towards Belladonna. “Shame he didn’t get your sweet sense of humor.” He purred, his paw sliding up Belladonna’s arm. “But maybe if we try again…” He pressed a kiss to his wife’s wrist, slowly making his way up her arm with quick smooches while Belladonna giggled.

“Charmer.” Belladonna pushed at Daffodil’s face with her paw, hiding her smile behind the other. She turned back to where Branch was struggling not to inhale the juice he’d managed not to spit back into the cup. “Oh, your face!” She snickered, covering her mouth with both paws.

Branch’s tail thumped the ground in annoyance as he coughed, his near-empty cup back to sitting on the blanket. “What’s wrong with it.” He hated being laughed at. He hated not knowing why. He also hated almost choking on his drink, but that was a given.

“It’s okay to be grossed out by your parents flirting, son.” Daffodil chuckled. “All kids do it.” He stroked his mustache, reminiscing. “Ah, I remember the night when your mom and I were bringing Floyd’s egg into the world… the look on Spruce’ face when he walked in on us… ah, if only Bell here had locked the door instead of the cuffs—”

“Okay okay that’s enough!” Branch held out his paws, horrified. Ew ew ew, he did not need to hear that!

“See?” Daffodil grinned. “Perfectly normal.”

“Back on topic,” Branch urged, desperate to get away from watching his parents try to undress each other with their eyes, “John Dory just… cut you out?” It made a terrible kind of sense, as much as Branch hated the thought.

Belladonna nodded. “Took your egg and gave us the boot.” She confirmed.

“Told us we weren’t welcome around anymore.” Daffodil added, “That he had things ‘handled’.” He picked his plate back up to scrape the remains of the pie into his mouth, and Belladonna spoke next.

“We did try to come back.” She took Branch’s cup and refilled it without asking. Branch didn’t have the energy to make a thing of it, numbly accepting the refilled cup. “But Dory chased us off every time.” There was something almost bitter in her lamentations, some sour chord hidden in her voice.

Daffodil shrugged. “We gave up, after the first few tries.” He added. “Gave into our wanderlust and managed to leave the tree entirely.” He brushed crumbs out of his mustache and sighed.

“We should have come back sooner,” Belladonna lamented. Her mouth spread in a small, tentative smile, her tail flicking behind her. “But… we’re here now,” She affirmed, “And we’re not wasting this chance.”

“Even if John Dory tries to chase you off again?” Branch asked, taking another drink from his cup. His slice of pie was pretty much a lost cause, at this point, with the way his stomach was churning.

Belladonna chuffed. “Oh, no, that won’t be a problem.” She waved off, “Not where we’re going.”

Once again, the world seemed to tilt, the air heavy around Branch as his mother’s words hit him. “But—you said you were sticking around?” No, no, he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up, he was just going to get left again—

“Of course!” Daffodil assured. “You’ll be sticking with us! It just won’t be here.” His words did not abate Branch’s rising uncertainty in the slightest.

“We can’t tie ourselves down to one place,” Belladonna offered, scooting across the blanket to be closer to Branch. “And I know my Mom is dead…” Her face fell, for a moment, before she recollected herself. “But we want you to come with us, see the world.” She held out her paws invitingly. “We’ve even got songs put together for you to sing onstage.” She sounded so pleased with herself.

“Yes, a family tour!” Daffodil spread his paws invitingly, mustache twitching. “You and us, traveling around, playing songs for the crowd… the perfect way for our little family to bond!” His voice was proud and eager, his tail waving rhythmically behind him.

But something about his explanation caught on Branch’s intuition. “Just me?” He asked, paws clenching and unclenching around his cup. The bracelet was starting to feel like a chain, tight and heavy on his wrist.

“Well, there’s no way Dory would ever agree,” Belladonna waved her paw. “And we came back for you, sweetie.” There was something in her eyes that had Branch bristling ever so slightly, some hunger he couldn’t explain, and didn’t want to think about.

“It’d be a lot less crowded with just three of us, too!” Daffodil chuckled. “And I’m sure your brothers aren’t looking to be performing anytime soon—we saw the events on Mount Rageous, after all.” He nodded, stroking his mustache. “Floyd could use a nice break.”

“Are you joking?” Branch’s voice came out harsher than he wanted. He didn’t care. “I just—they just came back into my life, and you want me to leave?” He stood, itching to throw his cup at the blanket.

“It’d only be for a few months.” Belladonna uttered, gesturing for Branch to sit back down. “We just want to get to know you again, baby.”

But Branch remained standing. “No way.” He said, squeezing the cup in his paws. Clench, unclench. “I’ve got a life here—” He chuckled darkly, catching his lashing tail in one paw. “Not like you’d know.” He added, bitter.

“Branch, please.” Belladonna’s voice was sharp, almost sour; the contrast from her sugary sweetness was a prickle under Branch’s fur. “We wanna make you a star—is it really too much to ask?”

Branch stumbled back, hackles raising. “You—” He didn’t have the words. In what world could his parents possibly think this would go over well? “You said you wanted to connect.” He managed, clutching his cup tightly, eyes darting to his promise bracelet.

“And we do,” Daffodil stood, offering a paw to Belladonna to help her up. “But Branchy, there’s no way we can stick around here—”

“Because John Dory will just chase you off again!” Branch shouted. “That’s it, isn’t it? Why you’re sneaking around and trying to make me come with you on some—some desperate attempt at fame!” He shoulders heaved, and he waved his cup around wildly as he spoke, spilling a bit of juice in the process. He couldn’t believe this. How could he have possibly let himself think that there wouldn’t be strings attached? He should have known when the bracelet first tightened against his wrist—nothing came for free. Not for him.

“Branch, you need to understand,” Daffodil started, “We really do want to know you, but if Dory finds out—”

Branch held up a paw, expression thunderous. “Don’t.” He snarled. “Save your excuses.” If John Dory would really be so belligerent about their parents—and after what happened this morning, Branch didn’t doubt that one bit—there had to be a reason. “You want me to come on tour with you? Then make amends with John Dory first.” He walked over and shoved his cup into Belladonna’s hands, before turning towards the trunk.

Branch turned back one last time, regarding his parents. Anger bubbled up his throat, but resignation kept his mouth shut. Of course there were strings attached, an underlying motive. What else was there to expect? Branch could never be so lucky—not like this.

With a snarl, Branch grasped the bracelet, “And you can keep your tacky brace—”

It wouldn’t come off.

“This stupid—” Branch growled, digging in his claws, but the bracelet didn’t budge. If anything, it almost felt like it got tighter. “Oh, fuck this.” Branch groused. He turned his attention back to his parents. “I have scissors at home, and when I’m done your tacky bracelet is going in the trash!” He shouted. “Just like my trust!”

Oh, that was stupid—why did he say that? Branch shoved down the embarrassment, turning away from his parents. As he started to make his way down the tree, Branch shoved any thoughts about telling his brothers about their parents’ return to the back of his mind. Belladonna and Daffodil could handle that announcement themselves. Either they’d leave and Branch would never hear from them again, or—if they really wanted in on his life—they’d put in the same effort with his brothers. Hopefully without stupid off-white bracelets that refused to come off.

Belladonna watched Branch descend the tree, face pinched in annoyance. Wordlessly, Daffodil took her arm, his tail twining in hers. She sighed, passing off Branch’s cup to Daffodil, freeing her paws to fiddle with the bracelet on her right wrist.

“He’ll come around.” Daffodil said softly, leaning up against his wife.

“I know.” Belladonna sighed. “I just hoped he’d make it easy.” Her expression darkened, before it softened again. She turned back to the blanket.

“Let’s get this cleaned up.”

+=+=+=+=+

Branch groaned as he came to. What had hit him?

His whole body felt heavy, sluggish, his head pounding like he’d been to one of Poppy’s wilder parties. The floor under him rumbled faintly, steady vibrations pounding up his spine into his already-pounding skull.

Branch glanced around, looking for Poppy so he could ask her who spiked the punch and how much he had—

This wasn’t his bunker. This wasn’t Trollstopia, or Pop Village. This was a vaguely-homey space he didn’t recognize, small but cozy and completely unfamiliar. There was a vanity against the wall across from him, two bunks to his right, and when Branch managed to force his aching head to look to his left—

There was a small kitchenette against the wall, but Branch found himself skimming over that as his horror slowly mounted. Just past the kitchenette and small booth was a driver’s seat, familiar in shape and yet so so different from Rhonda’s. And sitting in that seat was none other than Daffodil, cheerily humming as he focused out the windshield before him.

Oh god. It was all coming back now—Branch had never attended any party Poppy had thrown—he’d made it back to his bunker, brushed off Floyd’s questions, and set out again—

He’d never made it back to his bunker.

Branch moved to stand, his chest pounding with a wild fear he hadn’t felt since Poppy had come to his bunker to tell him about the Bergens returning. He needed—

Branch tried to stand again, twisting back when he failed for the second time. The slight pressure around his chest resolved itself as a harness clipped to the wall, the cord too short for Branch to scoot more than a few centimeters forwards. His body threatened to collapse in on itself, his breaths getting quicker as panic wrapped cold hands around his throat. This wasn’t happening. His parents hadn’t just—there was no way—it couldn’t—no no no—

“Shh shh,” A crooning voice, a soft paw carding through his hair. “It’s okay, sweetie,” Belladonna sang sweetly, “It’s okay. Momma’s here.”

Branch tried to pull away, to push her and the encroaching pressure squeezing his chest off, but his limbs were heavy, slow, clumsy. He pawed at the air as Belladonna pressed up against him, an arm around his back pulling him tight against her. She cooed, whispering sickly sweet reassurance into Branch’s hair as he squirmed, like this was fine and normal and not fucked up at all.

“Doncha worry, Sprout!” Daffodil called out cheerily from the driver’s seat. “You’ll thank us for this!”

Branch would not be thanking his parents for—for trollnapping him! In what world—

“Shhhhhh,” Belladonna took Branch’s paw in hers, drawing his attention to the bracelet she had given him earlier—and to the missing Hug Timer. It was the same plain off-white as before, but with faint strands of sky blue and dusky gray running through it now. Branch couldn’t fathom what it was possibly for. That his Hug Timer was missing was more worrying.

The critter-bus hit a bump in whatever road it was traveling. Branch jolted, panic rising anew like the bile climbing his throat. This wasn’t—this wasn’t real, he was just having the world’s most stressful fever dream—

“It’s okay, Guppy.” Belladonna whispered, holding Branch tightly through his panic. “Momma’s here, it’s alright, you’re okay.” She smiled sweetly, her weight pinning Branch in place in a way that was only vaguely comforting. “Momma’s here,” She repeated, voice sickly sweet.

“And she’s gonna make you a star.”

#zaz writes #dreamworks trolls #discolored #branch trolls #floyd trolls #john dory trolls #belladonna & daffodil #parental abandonment #implied child neglect #kidnapping #okay damage fans you know what this is >:]#look i love the ''the bros' parents were eaten by bergens'' hc and in general that's the one i ascribe to #but for the purposes of discolored: what if they weren't. and what if they sucked #there's a lot of backstory that bella & daffy are NOT saying or simply. downplaying #take their words with a grain of salt fr fr

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starry-bi-sky · 3 months

Text

(Part of this post with older brother danyal al ghul)

...Okay, look. Sam knows she's staring. She knows very well that she is staring. And that if she doesn't stop staring it's gonna draw her unwanted attention, and that will only have to make her explain why she's staring. Which she doesn't want to do.

She's trying not to stare, which she thinks she should get brownie points for. She tries to look away, to find a spot on the wall to stare lifelessly at, maybe she can burn holes into some of these annoying socialites' heads. But eventually her eyes drift, and suddenly she's back to staring again.

Can you blame her though? Damian Wayne looks like a very close mini-me of her fucking best friend. Seriously, it's like looking into a mirror to the past. If that mirror to the past had green eyes rather than blue and a distinctive lack of a facial scar.

The first time she sees him when her parents drag her over to Bruce Wayne to butter up to him she has to do a doubletake. Then a triple take. Then a quadruple take, just for good measure that she was seeing what she was actually seeing. She was sure she looked like one of those stress toys that when squeezed had their eyes pop out comically like a Saturday morning cartoon, that's what she certainly felt like anyways.

Look, Danny's come a decent way from being that scowl-y, jerkish little ten year old she first met when he arrived like the wind to Amity Park five years ago (even if he was still occasionally scowl-y and jerkish), but one thing that's stayed the same is how reserved he is about his home life prior to being taken in by the Fentons.

He doesn't talk about it much, and Sam's come to know that he's very good at changing the subject when it gets brought up. Even after being friends for nearly four years, the only thing she and Tuck know for certain is that he has a little brother that he refers to as 'starlight', whom he cares a lot about but left on really bad terms with. And that he's never met his father, but wants to and knows who he is.

He's never told her or Tucker who he was though, and glancing at Bruce Wayne, Sam is realizing why. She can begrudgingly acknowledge all the good he's done for Gotham, but... well, if Danny told her that Bruce Wayne was his dad, she wouldn't have believed him at all.

But she's starting to see the resemblance, as subtle as it is.

And she sees the resemblance to Damian Wayne, her eyes dropping back down to him as he wears a very Danny-like scowl on his face, arms crossed behind his back as his eyes swept around the ballroom. He was five years younger than Danny, and god it was so, so weird.

His eyes turned on to her, and they locked gazes for a moment.

Involuntarily, Sam makes a startled noise and looks away. Fingers tap against her purse, black and purple and unfortunately a clutch that only held her phone and her wallet in it. She would have kept a knife on her, but her parents put their foot down and there was a security detail at the door. Only in Gotham.

Silently, she was hoping that the little Danny-me didn't say anything. Or at least, he hadn't noticed her staring. Which was a tall order if she ever heard one -- and unfortunately, her silent prayers went unanswered as her mother's eyes dropped down onto her.

"Did you say something, Samantha?" She asks in a sickeningly sweet voice, a sound that makes Sam's skin crawl. Her dad and Bruce Wayne's attention also turns onto her, and she glowers at her mom from the corner of her eye.

"I didn't say anything." Sam says, barely keeping her tone polite as she turned her head away. Her mother clucks her tongue, disapproving, but from her peripherals doesn't pester her more

Bruce Wayne, the bastard, takes that time to turn to Sam and grace her with his dime-a-dozen billboard smiles. "I've been talking with your parents this whole time, Miss Manson, you must be terribly bored. How is your schooling going?"

Sam eyes him up and down. On one hand, she immediately wants to be snarky. It's none of his business what her school life is like, she doesn't care for his fucking small talk.

On the other hand, this was Danny's whole father. Someone who she knows that Danny has wanted to meet for, what she's assuming, his whole life. He's never brought it up much, but she remembers that very quiet, solemn conversation she and Tucker had with him where he admits to having never met his dad. But god does he want to.

And... wait. Sam's eyes narrow, and she meets Bruce Wayne's eyes. Does this man even know Danny exists? She drops her gaze down to Damian, who was staring at her suspiciously, and then back up to Bruce, and she alternates between them.

Why was Damian living with Bruce, but not Danny? Why hasn't Bruce done anything to reach out to him - what was going on with Danny's biological family that Danny had to be separated from them, but not Damian? Danny's always been kinda mysterious, but now things weren't adding up.

Was Danny given up? Does Bruce just not want Danny, but wanted Damian? Why the fuck does Bruce Wayne know about Damian but not her best friend -- or does he know and just not care? He's fought for custody for his adoptive kids before, does he just not want to fight for his other biological son? Does he think Danny's not worth it?

She's never cared much about the Wayne family before, other than to hear about the advancements on WE's eco-friendly tech, but Sam thinks she's gonna have to look into why Damian Wayne was living with the Waynes.

Slowly, with a protective anger beginning to burn in her gut and crawl up her throat, a scowl slowly curls at the corner of her lip as she redirects her glare from her mother onto Bruce. "It's going fine," She says curtly, jutting her chin out defiantly. "Me and my friend Danny started a petition to fix the leaky faucets in the girls and boys' bathrooms in order to conserve more water for the rest of the city."

She eyes his face, waiting to see if anything like recognition flashes through it. And- and nothing. Sam breathes in slowly through her nose, trying to quell the red that's blurring the edge of her vision -- does he just, not know where Danny is?

Her parents however, make vaguely displeased expressions. "Our Samantha is... quite passionate about her pet projects." Her dad says, laughing low and nervously, "she's very vocal about silly things like that."

"Her friend Daniel is perhaps even worse than she is sometimes." Her mother adds on, fanning her face with her perfectly manicured hands with a sigh. "I swear, he's the one that keeps dragging her into these things."

Sam's anger turns on its head, and she whirls on her heel like a fire-breathing dragon. "It's Danyal." It rolls out like instinct. Danny's told them both that he hates the Americanized pronunciation of his name, but in a rare moment of restraint, puts up with it for reasons unknown to her. "And Danny doesn't make me do anything, it was my idea."

The name, Danyal, seems to ring some kind of bell in Brucie Wayne's head, because she sees him and Damian quietly perk up like two cats pricking up their ears. Her eyes flick onto him immediately, something dangerous rearing its head. So Bruce Wayne knows about Danny. And he's not reaching out to him. Is he? She's not sure.

She does know that she's gonna rip his throat out if she finds out that he's known about Danny this entire time and has been ignoring him while favoring his little brother. She'll hunt down Aragon herself and steal his dragon-shifting amulet and wreck house on Bruce Wayne if that's the case. Batman and his league of vigilantes be damned. Her parents don't notice her slowly turning head towards Bruce.

But Bruce does, and she makes direct eye contact with him. His smile doesn't falter, he just tilts his head like a curious puppy and looks at Sam's parents. She hopes Bruce can read minds, she hopes he can hear her threatening him.

"Danyal?" He asks, and Sam doesn't know if she hates the fact that he said it correctly or not. She just continues burning holes into him and hoping he might spontaneously combust.

Her mother waves her hand dismissively, tilting her nose up poshly into the air. "Our dear Samantha's little... foster friend from school," she says, not even bothering to hide her disdain, "a creepy little boy with the most garish scar on his face. He's a rude little thing, not good for polite company."

Scratch that, Sam mentally alternates between ripping into her parents and Bruce. She whirls on them. "Do not talk about Danny that way." She all but snarls, and they all but ignore her.

(She's tearing up the upholstery when she gets home. She's going to paint over the fine china. She's going to do something to make them pay for this.)

"Oh yes, he was taken in by that freaky Fenton family a few years ago." Her dad continues in lieu of her mom, and they both shake their heads disapprovingly. "It's just what our city needs, another menace."

"Danny is not a menace." Sam continues, raising her voice while her hands shake with rage. Her parents finally look at her, but she can already tell that they're going to scold her for raising her voice. She bulldozes over them and jabs her black-painted finger at them. "He's got a bigger heart than the both of you combined."

"Samantha, please." her mom says, exasperated. They both give her disapproving looks, Sam thinks about grabbing champagne off the tray of a nearby waiter and throwing it in their faces. "You defend that boy far too much. What do you actually know about him and his family?"

Sam sets her jaw, puffing herself up like a dragon protecting its hoard. She steps into her mom's space. "I know that he loves the stars; you can ask him anything about astronomy and he could give you an entire lecture on the formation, class types, and various gasses that stars are made up of. He can tell you how the Earth was formed, he can tell you about the visible light spectrum and about light curves, and a whole ton of other stuff that I don't really understand. But Danny loves talking about it."

Her face twists and scowls, "I know he cares a ton about the environment and about fixing light pollution, and preserving the forests and natural habitats of animals." She nearly jabs her finger into her mom's chest, "I know he loves dogs, and that there's one he feeds every day on the way to school that he calls Cujo, its a St. Bernard puppy and Danny carries him around whenever he sees him after school, and is in the middle of training him."

It's not a total lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Cujo doesn't need food, but Danny gives him it anyways. "I know he likes spicy food and loves movies but specifically only sci-fi and horror, and he hates most martial arts movies. His favorite superhero is the Martian Manhunter, but Batman comes in at a close second." For reasons to her that were pretty unknown, but it didn't matter.

"I know he loves wordplay and making puns, which I would have never expected from him when we first met, but it's so unbelievably Danny-like that I can't imagine him not making puns." And she smiles a little to herself, she remembers the first time Danny intentionally made a pun once and it got startled laughs out of both her and Tucker.

Her smile suddenly falters, and she swallows. Her lips purse up, wobbling, and she very quickly glances over to Damian Wayne, of whom is watching her with a vaguely bewildered expression alongside Bruce.

She turns her eyes back onto her parents. "And I know that he worries a lot, even if he has a shit way of showing it. I know he had a little brother that he hasn't seen since he was adopted by the Fentons, and he doesn't talk about him often but when he does he he calls him 'starlight'." From the corner of her eye, she sees Damian jerk.

"So- so, so what if he's not 'good for polite company'." Sam's voice, embarrassingly, cracks down the middle. But she's so angry over Danny's behalf that she doesn't really care. "Or that he can be mean, and critical, and stubborn. He's learning, and he's becoming kinder by the day. That's more than I can say about you."

(She remembers when Danny finally admitted to her and Tucker being his 'closest friends'. It was sometime before the portal incident, and it felt like a milestone because beforehand he only really referred to them as his companions or allies.)

(At the time, he'd looked unsure of himself. Skittish like a stray in the back of an alleyway, almost shy in his own way. It had come out stilted, slow, like an infant taking its first steps, and it would have been endearing if it hadn't been heartbreaking.)

Her parents rear back like she'd struck them, and her mother holds a hand against her chest in aghast. Sam doesn't care, she blinks the sting out of her eyes. "Samantha." Her mother starts.

Sam cuts her off, "I don't care what you have to say, you-- you pricks." she snaps, around her, there are gasps. Belatedly, she realizes she's grown an audience, but again she doesn't care. "Danny might be an asshole, but he cares. And I'd rather be around someone whose mean but cares, than someone whose nice but doesn't."

With that, she whirls on her foot and turns on Bruce Wayne, who has been silent the entire time with a surprised expression on his face. He starts to shake out of it when Sam turns to him, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak. "Enjoy your party." She snarls, and then stalks away.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #danyal al ghul au #older brother danny #sam is one protective gal. this scene went differently in my head. way differently. but alas. i am not complaining.#sam: if bruce wayne abandoned my best friend i'm gonna physically transform myself into a dragon and incinerate him. how dare he.#bruce and damian got to watch in real time as a random girl who knows danny suddenly realizes he's related to them. which is comical to me #because she suddenly goes from being disinterested but weirded out by damian. to suddenly looking at bruce like she's gonna kill him #which is very funny to me bc from their pov at first its like this random girl just speedran hating bruce. and then her parents bring up he #friend danny and then she calls him danyal. and suddenly its starting to click into place like 'oh fuck wait we may just have a lead on --#-- finding danyal and his whereabouts.' especially after sam's mom mentions the scar on his face. like wow. what a crazy ten minutes.#not seen but def happened: sam gets her phone out to go text danny in the corner. she's not gonna bring up the bruce thing yet. she needs #a pick me up. related note: danny and tucker know she's gone to some gala thing with her parents but not to a wayne gala. if danny had know #he may have told her that he was related to damian wayne. just to prepare her for that. not so sure on the writing in this one folks #but i also dont wanna go through and edit anything its like half past one in the morning and i also dont wanna wait until morning to post #when i can just do it now. and get instant serotonin. i thought of this scene in various ways. like sam calling damian 'danny' out of shock #and then quickly correcting herself. and then excusing herself very quickly. or her mentioning that damian resembles her friend danny a lot #so she was just thrown off by him. because i def think that could happen if sam has no reason to think that she needs to hide danny from th #waynes. i also thought about her parents mentioning that damian resembles danny a little bit. only for one of them to go 'oh no no couldn't #- be. how insulting to damian since the daniel they know has this horrid scar on his face.' and then go from there. either way i thought #a scene like this would be fun. get to also kinda explore how danny looks like from his friends' povs. of which he is #'our lovable jerk who is an ex-cult member and whom we will maim someone over.'#not a scene that was added but i wanted to: sam mentioning in parenthesis that she and tucker think danny was part of a cult prior to the #fentons. and that sometimes danny will say something alarming and sam and tucker will stare at him until he frowns and goes #“that... isn't normal. is it?” and tucker will clap his shoulder and cheerfully go “no buddy. no it isn't” bc i think the idea is funny.#sam is so focused on the idea that bruce abandoned/ignored/was unaware of danny's existence that she momentarily forgot that bruce may have

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