Chapter Text
Techno didn’t start out as a problem child.
In fact, for a little while, it seemed like adults were clamoring to get their hands on him. When he was first put up for adoption, he only ended up going to one foster care pairing event, and it was obvious that families wanted him. They smiled a little wider when looking at Techno. They tried to start conversations with him and even gave him a few small gifts.
And one line seemed to repeat itself over and over.
“Well, aren’t you just so cute? ”
Every other foster kid in the room absolutely hated him.
The whole ordeal practically made Techno dizzy. After all, it’s not like he was renowned as the kind of child that parents would want before he was put into foster care. What changed now? Techno was still the same person.
But it also definitely wasn’t bad. In fact, from the way his social worker smiled for long after all the potential adopters left, it was probably outright good. Techno hesitantly smiled too, fiddling with the little bracelet he was given.
And it seems it wasn’t just for show either. A few weeks later, Techno was picked up by a wide smiling family. He’s sure they were probably one of the families at the foster matching event, but Techno admittedly didn’t recognize them. He doesn’t mind though. They seem nice and happy to see him. Techno is sure to smile back at them when they look at his face straight on.
They want to take a picture outside of the social work office where Techno was picked up. He doesn’t really get it, because the office is quite small and ugly and all his memories inside it are grey tinged. But it’s almost palpable, the amount of excitement that oozes off of them at the thought. So, Techno doesn’t say anything about it.
A pair of hands lands right above Techno’s hips, making him jolt violently. They squeeze a bit as he turns in confusion, the man looking down with a smile as he mutters some soothing words. And then he lifts Techno in the air. Techno can’t help squirming as he’s picked up and letting out a small yelp. Pink spreads across his face as the family around him laughs at the sight.
The man ends up placing Techno on his shoulders. The shoulders beneath him feel far too thin and boney for him to be sitting comfortably on them. Every little movement the man makes seems to make Techno rock like he’s on a raft in the middle of the sea. Techno curls closer to the man’s head, wrapping his fingers into his hair tightly. A slight shake overtakes Techno’s body. The hands around his ankles squeeze tightly every once in a while, but it does little to soothe him. He wants to be let down.
Techno pinches his eyes closed tightly until his feet are firmly on the ground again.
“Aw, Technoblade, you had your eyes closed and didn’t smile,” The woman says. The smile slips off her face as she says it, looking down at the photo. Nothing in her tone seems to stick out as too upset, but Techno stares at the ground and scuffs his feet regardless.
There’s a rule for the car ride home and it’s that the youngest has to sit in the middle seat. It’s not so bad, since he can see out of the windshield and everyone easily turns to him to include him in conversations and ask him questions. But the other kids keep leaning over him to talk to each other. And their elbows press into his sides. And one of the kids grabs his floppy ear and starts messing with it. The woman sees and giggles a bit at the sight.
Techno’s new room has a bunk bed in it. He even gets the top bunk. The other kids seem very interested in his things. The garbage bag that holds everything he owns is poured all over the floor and they touch all over everything. Nothing he owns is valuable or nice. One of the kids pulls on his bracelet until the string snaps and the beads clatter across the floor. Techno frowns and feels his eyes fill with tears at the sight.
“Oh, no need for all that Technoblade. It's just a bracelet.” Techno knows that. But it’s his bracelet. He blinks hard until the tears go away.
They make carrot soup for dinner, special just for him since he apparently told them about his favorite food at the foster meet. It’s thoughtful enough to make Techno feel a bit bad for his negative attitude. And it tastes good too.
They tell him to call them mom and dad over dinner as well.
It gives Techno a pause, because he already has a mom and dad. He knows that they’re not his legal parents anymore, but when he thinks of the words, they’re the ones who come to mind. The other kids at the table don’t seem surprised or upset at Techno being expected to refer to their actual parents the same as them. The parents themselves just smile widely down at him, expectant.
Techno just nods and eats his food. No point being difficult.
That night he goes to bed in warm pajamas and with a full belly for the first time in a long time. He falls asleep easily. But he doesn’t stay asleep.
A twisting sort of dream full of familiar faces pulls Techno awake with a full body shake. Tears immediately fill his eyes and spill over his cheeks with a shuddering breath. The darkness of the room seems to press in around him, making him feel adrift in a turbulent sea. Techno curls in on himself as a loud cry breaks from his lips, followed by a gasp. His chest feels tight and he feels like he can’t quite catch his breath.
The only thing Techno can grasp onto is the potent fear filling him. He feels a bit like he’s dying. There’s no explanation for the immense dread that’s fallen over him. He’s all alone and scared and dying . A sharp whine escapes him.
The light flicks on, forcing Techno to pinch his eyes shut against the bright light. It forces two fat tears to roll down his cheeks.
“Technoblade?” A soft voice calls from the doorway. Techno peeks over the edge of the bed with a shudder. The mom stands in the doorway with concern dripping over her features. Techno vaguely notes that one of the kids stands at her side, obviously the one to fetch her when he woke them up. “Oh, honey…”
The mom walks towards the bed with her arms out and Techno immediately reaches for her. She helps him down from the bed and holds him to her chest tightly. One of her hands rubs a circle on his back, forcing a small whine from him. She just makes a shushing noise while leaving the room.
Techno gets tucked into the parent’s big bed, right in the middle of it. They run their fingers through his hair and rub his back and make little soothing noises. The father pets the edge of his lopped ear, which makes Techno want to pull it away, but he holds still under the affection.
Techno falls asleep tucked between two soft bodies and he thinks that this is what having loving parents is supposed to feel like.
It’s still difficult to fit comfortably in the family. His family. Hard to get past the barrier of him being in a house full of strangers who he doesn’t know the ins and outs of yet. That’s just one of those things that takes time, Techno supposes. Things are better than they were before. Then they’ve ever been. It’d be stupid of Techno to complain and he isn’t stupid.
Sometimes he wants to complain though.
His mom sits him down on the carpet everyday, sitting behind him and running her fingers and a comb through his hair. That’s not really the bad part. It does feel nice sometimes and Techno likes his hair. It’s never looked or felt better.
But it just takes so long and he just has to sit still the whole time. His mom gets annoyed at him if he fidgets about and the intricate hairstyles pull on his scalp. It doesn’t hurt that bad, but the prickly sort of pain sends goosebumps up and down his arms and makes him want to shake them out violently. Sometimes when she’s done, she likes to sit there and run her fingers over the plaited pieces and down his ears. It makes him feel like he’s been stuffed full of bees.
“Gosh, your hair’s so pretty.”
“I wish I could do this with mine.”
“I always wanted a kid with beautiful curls.”
They’re compliments, Techno knows. Sometimes they make him shift in discomfort and turn his face red though.
His mom likes to take him shopping a lot too. For clothes mostly. Techno didn’t come with a lot of clothes and the ones he did have weren’t very nice, so he really is grateful. But it’s hard for him to stay at her side as they walk leisurely around the boring store and look over so many different outfits.
His mom frowns up at a little mannequin wearing a flower print dress with lots of bows and junk. She runs the tips of her fingers over it, the same way she does with his ears and hair. And she stares.
“They make so many cute things for little girls.”
“I always wanted a daughter.”
“If you were a little girl, I’d dress you up in all these pretty things.”
Those… aren’t compliments. But it’s not like they’re insults either. Most moms want daughters to do stuff with, don’t they? And their family only has sons. That makes sense to Techno.
He doesn’t bring up how he finds the dresses pretty too. How he wouldn’t mind wearing a lot of the clothes in the girls’ section, because they’re much softer and less bright than the ones in the boys’. Techno thinks that maybe that would make his mom happy, but maybe that means she would turn her eyes from the dresses onto him until he squirmed. She already looks at him so much.
They do a lot of things as a family too. It’s kind of nice. Before Techno was adopted by them, he never really did much aside from going to school sometimes. His old family definitely didn’t take him anywhere.
This family goes everywhere. Out to dinner, to church, to community events. Their favorites seem to be parties. Techno didn’t know they did parties for things other than birthdays, but there’s loads. Weddings, and baby showers, and graduations. Tons and tons of birthdays too.
They even throw a party at their house just for Techno coming to live with them.
“The family just needs to see you.”
It was… overwhelming. His hairstyle was intricate and tight and his clothes were scratchy and tight, tight, tight. His smile probably looked a little tight too. None of the extended family seemed to notice though.
Some of them brought him gifts, which Techno liked. All of them wanted hugs and kisses. Which was new. And strange. He just held himself stiff and let them do what they wanted. They all seemed so happy to see him after all.
“Welcome to the family!”
“We’re so happy to have you.”
“Wow, he’s even cuter than you said!”
It seems like even after Techno’s newness wore off, the attention continued. It’s nice, to feel included. But. He didn’t really know anyone well yet. And it was still so new to him .
Every time Techno would get to the party everyone would come around and give him a hug. And then, again, when it was time to leave. But they did that to everyone.
Younger men would pick Techno up and toss him over their shoulders. Though they did that to all the kids to make them giggle, even if it just made Techno’s stomach pinch. The older men and women would pull him into their laps and hug him to their chests. They usually only did that to the kids younger than him. The women around his mom’s age would gather around him and fawn over his hair, petting at it in excitement. Sometimes they would do that to the particularly pretty little girls too.
The adults would crowd around Techno and tap him on the nose to make it twitch, giggling and cooing at it. They. Didn’t do that to anyone else.
They also didn’t pinch on the fluffy fat on anyone else's cheeks. Or run their fingers over their ears, flipping them up the wrong way and twirling them around their fingers. They didn’t grab anyone else's hands and rub on their short fuzzy digits and make jokes about declawing.
One of the adults grabbed the end of his tail and pulled on it. Techno couldn’t help his surprised jump into the air, feet making an audibly thump. It felt like sharp electricity shooting all the way up his spine. Everyone in the room laughed hard at him. His face turned deep red and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them away before they could be seen.
It’s just jokes. Families joke with each other. And a lot of it is because they find him cute. That’s a good thing. It means they like him. Most kids up for adoption never even get adopted, let alone by people that like them. Techno repeats that to himself as hands run over his closest body part.
Still, sometimes Techno would like to stay home instead. Which is ungrateful, so he doesn’t say it.
He thinks he just has to get used to it, to being around so many people all the time. It hasn’t gotten easier the more he’s done it yet. Now, when Techno’s told about parties and events, something hard balls up in his stomach that makes it hurt. Maybe he just needs more time.
Regardless, it’s a good family. So Techno tries to be good too.
He’s not sure he’s doing a good job of it though.
The new shoes that Techno’s parents buy him pinch on his wide feet and make them ache badly. He brings it up one time, because kids are supposed to tell their parents when things are bad. They pinch up their faces and sigh.
“Well, they don’t make shoes for rabbits, Technoblade.”
“You’re just so hard to shop for.”
“What do you want us to do?”
Techno didn’t realize he wasn’t supposed to bring it up. It makes him feel confused and his tongue goes dead in his mouth. With his old parents, he knew exactly what to say for every situation: usually, nothing at all. Techno thought… maybe that was just a thing with bad parents, like his old ones. Is that something for everyone?
Techno does his best to watch his words better. He doesn’t want to sound ungrateful or bad, so he hesitates before saying anything. Just in case. Their faces get a bit annoyed at his pauses, but it’s better than them actually saying something annoyed.
It seems like the whole family smiles a lot, so Techno thinks it’s safe to do that. Showing that he’s happy can’t be anything bad. He smiles wide at a baby shower and he sees his mom squint at him. In the car back she says:
“Don’t smile so wide, it’s impolite.”
“No one wants to see your teeth.”
“Maybe we’ll have to see if a dentist can make your teeth normal.”
The last one is said like a joke, but Techno doesn’t think it is one. He runs his tongue over his too long front teeth while looking out the window in the back seat. They make his bottom lip stick out a little bit too.
In the end, the first time they scream at Techno for real is nothing he chooses to do. It’s because he just can’t sleep.
Well, Techno doesn’t really have a problem falling asleep. Techno falls asleep just fine, but a couple hours later he always wakes up with a cry. He really tries to keep quiet and stop whining, but he just feels so scared and sick from it. Tears pour from his eyes and gasps from his mouth. Eventually, their arms around him grow too tight in anger.
“You’re too fucking old to sleep in our bed!”
“Stop crying, you’re not a baby!”
“Don’t be an attention seeker!”
Techno doesn’t want attention, he just wants the fear to go away. It hurts so much inside his chest and his mind keeps replaying scary images in the dark. His stuttered explanation is cut off by them.
“Just shut up!”
Techno shuts his mouth. His whining keeps waking his brother up, so they make him sleep on the couch. Nightmares plague him, the same as always, and he cries until he can’t breathe. The living room is large and scary at night. There’s no one on this side of the house to come when he cries and rub his back and hug him to their chests. There’s no one to even hear breathing and moving around. It’s just the creaking of the floor, like invisible monsters are creeping across it.
Techno cries himself to sleep for the first time in a while. It’s a familiar feeling. He doesn’t like it.
It seems like nothing Techno does helps anymore. His parents frown at him more and more. They snap at him and spend less time with him. Techno wonders if this is what happened with his first parents. He can’t remember, but sometimes it feels the same.
Techno doesn’t have much time to dwell on it before his social worker shows up out of the blue. He’s not very surprised.
There’s a long list of reasons apparently. Things like: academic challenges and support needs and disruptive behavior. Techno’s never even heard them before. How badly did he judge it all?
His social worker says: “Sometimes, families just aren’t a good fit.”
Techno hears: how did you screw it up?
—
Foster families are a blur. They come and go so quickly, Techno barely has time to remember names before he’s shuffled to the next. Most of them are fine, or a bit uncomfortable. Loud.
No one makes Techno his favorite meal on his first night or seems overjoyed at his presence.
Techno’s placed in a long term foster after a few months bouncing around. The way his social worker says it, Techno thinks maybe it could be something more. The family has adopted children. Techno’s unsure if that’s what he wants or not. Something squirms painfully in his chest at the thought, but he doesn’t know what it means.
With foster care, families don't really pick you out the same way adopters do. They get a list of a few options over the phone, vague descriptors in a bullet point list, and they choose one from there. When Techno walks into their house, their eyes widen comically at his ears and pink hair. Techno shifts below their eyes and pinches his lips closed.
They move on quickly enough though.
From there it goes the same as most foster homes he’s been dropped off at. Towards the end, Techno hears the foster parents pull his social worker aside and ask her if there’s anything special they need to do for a hybrid kid, since they’ve never had one before. It makes Techno’s eyes widen in surprise too.
He hadn’t really noticed in any concrete way before that all of his foster siblings have been fully human.
Of course, at his parents house— Well, at his old adopted parents—
At the first house Techno stayed at, the parents did seem to like some things about him because they were hybrid traits, and disliked some others too. It seems to be a factor about himself that draws the eyes of people, at the very least.
Techno doesn’t know if these new parents asking about it is a good thing or not. Maybe that means they won’t mind that some of his features are shaped weird and that he acts a bit different. That could be good.
Maybe they’ll love him the same way his first house did for it, and won’t grow to hate it.
Something sharp pinches in Techno’s chest at the thought. When his social worker tells him to be good this time, it feels heavier than usual. It holds something more. Don’t screw this up.
Techno stays very quiet and still at first, trying not to do anything that can be perceived as bad until he figures out what exactly bad is in this family. They don’t seem to mind, so he takes that as a good sign. Techno can be a good kid and not make the parents hate him.
Immediately, some differences stick out between this family and his first. There’s more kids, for one. The adopted kids: four of them. And a few other fosters too. Some of them come in and out, as Techno’s learned is much more normal than staying long term, since most kids have a real, biological family they’re trying to get back to. Even with all the kids though, the parents take a shine to him right away.
They don’t care what Techno calls them, so he doesn’t call them anything at all.
They ask him lots of questions at the start. They must be trying to figure out what him being a hybrid means, like with their question to his social worker, Techno figures out. They ask if he needs special food or to go to the doctor for anything. The concern and wanting to do right is nice, so Techno just smiles and shakes his head no. Hybrids, as far as he knows, are mostly just like full humans. And even so, he wouldn’t want to burden his new parents with anything he could think of.
Some of their questions are a bit, uncomfortable. Which Techno gets! They said themselves that they’re new to hybrids. And they want to be good to him. He’s thankful, really. It’s just that…
They ask him if he needs to eat hay, which Techno finds kind of weird. But maybe some hybrids do need it, so… And when they bring up carrots and Techno admits they’re his favorite, they giggle a bit. Maybe it’s just silly, but he doesn’t know. It makes his cheeks red in embarrassment.
Their questions morph into a bit more than concern. Something like curiosity.
Can he jump really high? Is he small because he’s a rabbit? Does he freeze up when he’s scared?
Does he have fur over all of his body, or just his limbs?
Techno’s jaw sticks shut after that one all on it's own. The parents move on luckily, and Techno tries to shake the slightly too quick beating of his heart out of his veins.
Long after the questions are over, Techno repeats in his mind that it’s good. They care about him. That’s good, because he knows how easy it is for people to stop caring about him.
As the days pass—Techno in a new bedroom with three other kids and a new school with barely any teachers—he can’t help being stuck more so in comparisons than in the moment proper. It’s weird, because Techno did not focus on it so much when he moved in with his adopted parents. A little, of course, when he was trying to parse out what was normal and not with his biological family. But for the most part he took everything as it was. Surprised, but usually happily so. At least in the beginning.
In this new house, every little thing seems to catch within Techno’s brain and be picked apart until it neatly fits into a Venn diagram. The actual value of the thing doesn’t seem to matter one bit either. The brand of cereal and dish soap goes right up next to how the parents punish disobedience and how long it takes for them to snap and yell at him. They all are held aloft at equal priority in his cluttered brain.
It makes setting things straight and figuring out the house difficult. Which is bad. Because Techno knows he has to be good if he wants this family to adopt him. He’s come to learn throughout the few houses he’s stayed that good means very different things to different people. On some level Techno’s always understood that too, and thought he was pretty good at picking out what adults want and giving it to them. Now, his brain seems to catch up on everything and leave him stuck. It makes him horribly frustrated.
In that way the comparisons are easier, nicer. Techno can’t help mentally running his fingers over them, making sure they’re all in order and there for him to fall back on. Because his impulse seems to make him want to cry and stutter over everything, but both families roll their eyes at that, so he mustn’t. And both families seem to be neutral or happy when he is quiet, so that one’s easy. Safe and always a good thing to do. Techno can be good.
Here is another thing in common: the families like spending time together. And that includes with Techno.
Here is something different: while his adopted family liked to go out and dress up and present to the world—show him to the world—this family likes to stay in and press together. Every night the family sits before the TV, most of the kids on the floor, and they watch shows till it’s bedtime.
“Technoblade,” The foster mother calls to him while patting the seat next to her a few days after he’s moved in. Techno crawls up next to her hesitantly, sitting stiffly on the seat. As the TV is turned to some inane show, a hand lands on the top of Techno’s head.
His cheek squishes up against the woman’s thigh as he lays with his head in her lap. She runs her fingers over his head and through his hair. It’s not the intricate tracing fingers of his old mother, who obviously had her eyes glued to him constantly. Instead, the hand is sloppy and absent, her focus obviously more so on the TV than him.
On one hand it’s nicer, because having eyes on himself is never good. They’ll always peel away at him until they get to something they don’t like and make their faces wrinkle in disgust. On the other, Techno feels a bit like his head is stuck in a brace. Sandwiched between a lap and a hand, unrelenting in their constant contact.
As his ears are brushed over lightly, making the hair on his arms stand up and prickle uncomfortably, Techno feels a slug of discomfort quake in his chest. He presses his hand against it and forces his limbs stock still, eyes glued to the TV with everyone else. Techno couldn’t tell you what was playing that day, or any other for that matter. He has no clue what this family likes to watch, every single night without fail, because all of his focus goes into forcing his skin to stay still and keeping the tears inside his eyes.
Sometimes, when Techno’s called up by the mother or father, the eyes of some of the other kids will flick to him, all squinty and calculating. Maybe Techno should say no to the attention, since so much of him wants to revolt at it anyway. The other kids obviously want it too, more than him even.
But something inside Techno urges him to lay his head on the parents’ laps every night and let them run their burning fingers over him. Something just as dark and sticky as the thing that screams and protests at the attention. They seem to war inside him, violent and leaving him dizzy with differing desires.
Techno keeps his mouth shut and his body still. They’re old habits to fall back on, but they slip on like a worn glove. Comforting.
This family seems to be a lot more giving with affection in general though. Not that his adopted family wasn’t, they were just more calculated with their moves. Making a big show of kissing scraps on knees and big hugs with every goodbye as people looked on. This family is much more casual, all side hugs and pats on the back and knocking into each other without a second look.
Sometimes, Techno finds himself scowling when one of his older siblings leans their arms on him or pops the back of his head playfully. Techno’s always quick to wipe it away because it’s an ugly look, but he still feels like he’s scowling on the inside. He doesn’t really know why. But something under his skin screams angrily at the touches.
Techno thinks that maybe he just wants to be alone. Be where no one can see him, dissect him. Where no one can reach out and rub their fingers all over him. Just exist in his own space. The house is so full of people, it’s hard to get even a second alone. But the hoard of kids does let him disappear if he tries hard enough, even when he specifically seems to hold some appeal to the parents.
In the little corners where Techno hides away in—under the porch and inside flower bushes and at the back of closets—the heavy cloak of isolation falls over him. It is in equal measures comforting and suffocating. The feelings build and twist within his chest until his rib cage starts to shake and his breaths come short. And then he runs out of his hiding places and sticks to the undersides of the parents’ elbows until they turn their eyes and hands back to him.
It all makes Techno feel like he’s going mad.
Weeks and months turn over each other and Techno slowly gets used to the family. It’s less so him getting comfortable and more like he’s slowly sunk into a boiling pot and his body has grown numb to the endless heat.
Techno learns to bite his tongue and hold still and take in every scrap of affection tossed his way for the smallest chance that it will stick. He learns to cry quietly at night and fade into the background at school and never ever complain. Because, maybe, if he’s good then they’ll want him. Even though he’s a hybrid. And even though he’s himself.
A social worker—not Techno’s—drops two kids off without even stepping into the house. They don’t have enough beds for all the kids. Techno has to share with one of the younger kids.
He doesn’t know why this makes him angry. Why it makes him want to flap his arms and run around and scream at the top of his lungs or else he’ll explode. Techno doesn’t do any of that, because it would be stupid and bad. But he can’t help crying.
That makes the parents frown at him.
“You need to make sacrifices for family.”
“He’s your brother.”
“Bunnies like cuddling anyway, we thought you’d like it.”
And those words catch in Techno’s mind. Is this… another thing the parents are doing for him? They may be misguided about his feelings, but does this show that they care about him? Is he being ungrateful?
Techno forces himself to stop crying. It used to be nice, to share a bed with his adopted parents. For someone to be there when he woke up from his scary dreams.
The bed in this house is small and cramped. Even if Techno lays at the edge of the mattress, his shoulder always ends up brushing against his sibling, or they’ll kick him in his shins. Sometimes when they’re sleeping, they’ll reach out to Techno and wrap their fingers around his arms. It takes everything within him not to push them off and scream.
Techno starts sleeping on the floor in the corner of the room. The parents don’t notice. It’s still better than waking up, already in a panic and tormented by twisted faces, to unfamiliar hands on him, making his skin prickle and his hair stand up.
Something like dread starts to build inside Techno. It pokes into his stomach when he gets a kiss on his temple. Prods his lungs when arms tighten around him. Squeezes his heart, tighter and tighter till it’s about to burst, when fingers run over his ears and tail and paws.
The bubble bursts on a day like any other.
One of his siblings reaches out and pinches his cheek. They giggle, and the sound seems to play over and over in Techno’s head, painted over with echoes of the past. It makes his head hurt, like the pinch is digging right through his skin and bone, digging into his brain.
Within a second Techno smacks the hand away from him, hard. His claws catch onto something, but Techno’s too busy desperately trying to escape the awful pressure pushing against his skin. A growl bursts from his lips and his palms smack into something solid.
Techno doesn’t really know what happens next. It’s like pure panic flooded throughout his entire body, sharp and cold. He feels like he’s dying.
Desperately, Techno tries to call for help, but nothing breaks through the horrid torrent of terror. It feels like it goes on forever, that even though he can’t breath or think or move, he’s suspended just on the brink of death. With nothing else to do, Techno cries.
As the adrenaline slowly drains from Techno’s body, he finds himself curled on the ground, eyes pressed into his knees and body shaking. Techno looks around, finding himself alone in the kitchen. The cold gritty floor has long seeped all of the heat from his body.
The house is still filled with noise around Techno, but he is completely alone. Something in him begs desperately for someone to come find him, to hold him, to tear away an inch of the loneliness. It screams that this is his last chance, that if Techno doesn’t grab onto someone, anyone, he will be alone.
Instead he rocks slightly against the ground, knees pulled to his chest.
The father walks into the kitchen after a few minutes—hours, days, weeks—and stares down at Techno with something heavy pulling all of his features sharp. And Techno knows in his core, more than he knows anything, that he’s screwed everything up all over again and that no one cares about him anymore.
—
It seems like, going forward, no families really try with Techno. They don’t bother talking to him when not necessary or ask him about school or smile at him. Trying in the past never got Techno far either, so he stops putting his effort into it too. If they’re not going to try, why would he?
Even if it seems like a family is trying in the beginning, Techno knows it won’t last. With enough frowning and sullen silences and dodging away from hugs, they stop trying too. Just like he knew they would.
It’s better for Techno to be the one to cause the disinterest of families than get invested and be disappointed.
So, Techno gets used to drifting to the backgrounds of rooms. It’s harder for him than most kids, since eyes are still drawn to him naturally. His bright pink hair and fuzzy features tend to do that. Techno glares at them till they look away, not caring whether they’re looking on in disgust or delight.
Techno wishes no one would ever look at him ever again.
Techno throws on old, oversized clothes, hoping to hide away in sweater hoods and saggy sleeves. It seems to work a little bit. Less people turn to look at him as he walks past. They don’t coo as much or comment about his features or reach out to grab at any part of him they can get their hands on. For the most part.
A foster sibling yanks on his lopped ear and Techno smacks their hand away with a growl. His teacher pulls him in for a hug and Techno squirms out of it and thumps on the ground in warning. A foster mother runs her fingers through his knotted curls and Techno kicks her shin. Someone on the street wraps their arm around Techno’s shoulders and he screams loud enough to make his voice crack.
His foster father drunkenly tries to yank on his tail while laughing. Techno bites him till blood floods his mouth.
Techno starts getting kicked out of houses much faster.
Changing houses seems to bring more eyes on him, since new families and schools and neighbors always gape for the first few times they see him. But it gives less of a chance for people to try touching him at least. Only the most bold families reach out after only a few days or weeks for anything more invasive than a head rub. Techno can crouch away from those before they even come close. He has lots of practice.
When Techno is twelve he gets placed with a single mother who worked all day and stayed out all night. He didn’t see her more than five times in the months he lived with her. He thinks that might have been his favorite placement. Eventually the empty cabinets and switched off power become too obvious even for his social worker not to notice.
It’s like there’s a countdown at the start of every new placement. How long it’s going to be until they start reaching for Techno instinctively. Every second that ticks by tightens a rubber band around his lungs, making breathing just a bit more difficult. Every giggle at his features and lingering stare at his hair and off-handed comment about him, him, him , plummets the counter down. Techno can almost physically feel the fall in his stomach, the way it swoops and squirms.
A foster parent smiles at him and pulls him into a hug. The rubber band snaps closed and Techno can’t breathe.
It’s alright though, because Techno knows how to get kicked out of homes better than he knows how to dodge touches, and he has a lot of experience with that.
Techno steps foot into his new placement, backpack pulled tight against him to drown out the feeling of his social worker’s palm pushing him forward, and a single drop of dread falls into his stomach. The parents are busy, woman holding a crying toddler and man not even home yet, even though it’s quite late. A few foster kids give him half a glance before going back to ignoring him. He doesn’t think the woman’s eyes even come close to his frame. Techno relaxes a bit.
It’s a good placement and a bad placement and a normal placement all rolled into one. Time slips by and the lack of eyes and substantial words make the ticking in Techno’s mind grow quieter. There’s too many kids and not enough food and that damn toddler never shuts up, but it’s… fine.
His foster father comes home drunk one time and slaps Techno across the face.
Alarm bells absolutely scream in Techno’s mind, a million hugs worth of panic. The pain leaves stinging nettles across his cheek, needling down beneath his skin as he cups it and flinches back. The man disappears without a second glance and Techno’s left sitting on the floor of the kitchen with a stinging cheek alone. A few minutes pass and the ringing in his head fades along with the pain in his cheek.
Techno stands and he feels nothing at all. It’s so different from the overwhelming too much that touch usually brings. It’s bad, but in a different way. It makes him want to shrug out of his own skin less. That’s… good, right?
Which, even just thinking that in his own head makes Techno feel a bit like he’s going mental. What kind of kid would rather be hit than have affection? What kind of foster kid would turn up their nose so thoroughly at the prospect of attention? Something must be real mixed up in Techno’s head.
Techno starts avoiding the foster father the same way he would an overly touchy parent. It’s a surprisingly applicable skill for the situation.
The hits still start to come more often, coupled with screams and angry faces. Something wavers in Techno’s chest and he feels so so tired. He knows that if he told his social worker, she’d probably believe him and take him away. Bruises have started to dot across his skin. But Techno just doesn’t know if it’s worth it or not.
If Techno leaves, then he’ll have to start again. Be put in a house with random people that he doesn’t know and has no grasp on. They might smile at him and stare at his ears and reach out in his direction. The ticking countdown might come back.
So, Techno does nothing. It’s surprisingly easy.
Techno doesn’t have to worry so hard about dodging touches here, so he can just sort of fade away. Slip into the back of his mind. It’s almost like sleeping, or at least like when you first wake up from sleep and it still clings heavily to your skin.
The only time Techno’s pulled fully awake is when he’s hurt, and then it’s like the world is screaming around him. The juxtaposition leaves him dizzy. Techno gets hit hard enough for his head to bounce off of the counter and the dizziness makes him throw up. He passes out the next day at school.
Techno’s social worker picks him up from the hospital. Her face is all flat lines and sharp. She asks why he didn’t tell her.
The only answer that comes to Techno’s head are kind foster families tucking him in at night and pressing kisses to his forehead. Techno just shrugs.
She lets out an annoyed sigh through her nose that Techno can’t help being equally soothed and put on edge by. Techno closes his eyes and leans his head against the window of the car. It bumps and irritates his head with the violent vibrations. The social worker starts explaining his next placement to him, but Techno’s too tired to listen.