Archive of Our Own

Niki jerked awake at a frantic banging on her door. Not just frantic. 

Panicked. 

“Niki? Niki open up! It’s Wilbur! Niki!”

She was up and at the front door before she really figured out what was going on. Her parents would wake up soon at the noise, groggily coming down the stairs to figure out what the hell was going on. 

There was a muffled, pained sob on the other side of the door. 

Niki yanked it open. 

Techno blinked back at her with wide, glassy-eyed, his fist raised and red from banging on the door. In the darkness, he looked smaller than usual. Hunched. His cheeks were blotchy from crying with red and purple blooming like a withered flower over his jaw. His hair fell in a messy clump around his face, only partially held back by the loose, day old plait. it looked jagged and torn, like someone had taken shears too it in a blind rage. The pink they’d added that day ad school was almost all just out, leaving only the occasional whisp of stained strands. 

He swallowed and, with a quivering look, croaked, “please,” as he shifted something in his arms and—

Oh Prime. 

Wilbur’s head lolled out from where it was pressed into Techno’s chest, a split lip and bloodied nose smearing a ghastly amount of red over both of their shirts. He twitched out a moan when Techno shifted his grip, revealing blotches of blue, black, yellow, green all over his neck and scraping up his jaw. Unlike Techno’s these looked older, placed to perfectly hide under Wilbur’s signiture turtle neck. His right cheek was scrapped up badly, the wound arching up and over to his temple, like he fallen to the asphalt. 

Her eyes swung from Wilbur’s frail form to Techno’s busted and bleeding knuckles where they shook as he held him, all the way back to his face. 

Her parents shuffled to the top of the stairs, a light flicking on behind her with a worried question. Techno flinched back, his grip tightening over Wilbur’s shoulders. 

They met eyes, his glassy with fear and pain. 

“Techno…” she whispered, horror rooting her to the doorframe and hushing her tone in the quiet of the night. A neighbors front porch light flicked on. 

“What did you do?”

Techno hadn’t gotten out of the car. 

The social worker had tried to get him to move but he hadn’t. He just sat there, staring straight ahead, his face half covered by a sweep of jagged hair. 

Phil went out to talk to them, smiling that big smile he did every time government or official people came by and the social worker seemed to sag into a friendly shrug, leaving Techno alone in the car. Phil said he was gonna take the lead on this one, and that it would be better for Wil to stay indoors while they got introduced. He said it could be a bit overwhelming. 

Wilbur shifted on the couch to get a better view, anxiously picking at his nails in the process. 

Not once since they pulled up had Techno even glanced this way. From this distance it was kind of hard to see, but Wilbur could recognize that perfect, pointed nose anywhere. He wasn’t wearing his glasses anymore, and his face seemed gaunter than it used too. From malnutrition or age, Wilbur couldn’t tell. 

Wilbur tapped his fingers on the cushion. The social worker laughed and handed Phil a big packet of paperwork—Techno’s file was bigger than Wil expected. He tapped faster. 

This isn’t how he thought this would go. He didn’t— it’s not like he thought it would go perfectly or anything like that, but he thought Techno would at least want to see him. Why else wouldn’t Techno get out of the car? 

No, no. That little voice was lying again. Of course Techno wanted to see him, this was just a surprise. He didn’t know. It wasn’t personal.

It just…felt personal. 

Deep down in the pit of Wilburs stomach, he could feel the unease and worry pooling. 

Phil said something else and the woman shrugged. She stepped to the side and—oh. Phil was gonna work his magic. The same magic Phil worked on Wilbur 3 years ago. It had been in a hospital room, not a car, but the sentiment was still the same.

So Wilbur didn’t have to imagine much when Phil bent down and rapt on the car window. He could see the soft kindness in his eyes and the unmistakable easy smile that couldn’t be interpreted as anything else. The scraggly sort of stubble on his cheeks would make it come off more genuine instead of posing while the social workers are here. 

Techno flicked his hair an inch out of the way and stared him down, not even fully turning to look. His head stayed bowed and his jaw clenched in tandem with his neck. 

Wilbur wanted to be out there. He wanted to rip open that door and…and… Wilbur dug his fingers into the cushion, his arms shaking form strain. 

God, he wanted to be held. 

Phil said something, his head bobbing into a sort of nod and Techno rolled his eyes but opened the door. He was taller than Wilbur remembered, probably just as tall as Wilbur had gotten. Which made sense, but it was strange to think about. He was big in a way Wilbur wasn’t, though. Broad in his hunched shoulders. His clothes looked ratty and mismatched, but not dirty or threadbare. Just…simple. Short, jagged chunks of dark brown hair fell around his face, just barely touching his shoulders before it curled up slightly. They hid his deep set, brown eyes and crooked nose, but not his strong, tightly clenched jaw. 

When they were younger, Techno’s hair had been his pride and joy. He always spent so much time brushing it and braiding it, keeping it long, healthy, and at least styled. He’d always wanted to dye it too. Bright colors like pink or blue.

Something deep in Wilburs’s chest hurt at the sight of it now.  

Phil, to his credit, didn’t seem fazed. He said something else and laughed, probably a joke on their height difference, but Techno just looked at him—well, looked at his shoes. He wouldn’t pick his head up far enough to actually look at any one. 

Phil laughed at a joke and the woman joined in. Techno didn’t. He just stood there. Waiting. 

No matter how long Wilbur stared at the boy in thier driveway, he couldn’t find his brother. He couldn’t see the protectiveness or the hard familiarity. He couldn’t find the calluses from playing the violin at school on his fingers, or the constant twitching of his brows as he worked though a complex idea. 

Instead, despite their resemblance, Wilbur saw a stranger. 

For the first time since he and Phil started looking, he was afraid. 

It hurt to breath. His throat constricting and contracting with every breath.

Unfortuneatly, it was a familiar feeling. Wilbur shifted in his bed, a hand tentitively reaching out for the edge of the bed. 

Somewher efurther in the room, someone moved, jinglign with each step. Wilbur breath quickened. 

“Hey kid, calm down. You’re ok, you’re safe now.” The voice was soft and unfamiliar. Wilbur frowned. Safe? Deep down, he didn’t feel safe. He felt…his breathing picked up. He didn’t know where he was. Wilbur struggled upright, ignoring the aching in his joints with each. Gentle hands flitted about his shoulder, obviously trying to push him done without hurting him. 

He peeled open his eyes, taking in the blurry hospital room and white sheets, swinging uop to se the vague outline of a police officer of some kind. 

“What?” He croaked, a headache spiking between his eyes. 

“Lay back kid. Everything’s gonna be alright now, ok? You’re in good hands.”

The gentle pressure came back, guiding Wilbur back onto the bed. He shook his head, swinging his gaze all over the bare room for Techno. 

“Where is…where is Techno? Is he ok?”

He couldnt remember what happened, meaning he couldn’t rememebr if Techno was ok. The hesitant look that came ofver the officers face didn’t help. Wilbur’s breath quickened almost immeadiately. Darkness tugged at his eyes. 

“Just…sleep now kid.”

Every facet of his being wanted to ask again, but the darkness consumed him. 

Mr. Craft seemed nice, at least. 

Carol said he would be. Carol said a lot of things, but with the way she kept smiling and humming to herself, she was keeping something to her self. Last time she’d done this, it had been a surprise for his birthday, a new book about greek mythology. 

He wondered what she could be planning now. 

Now, she and Mr. Craft seemed content to talk through the local gossip like they were old friends. Techno’s grip on his trashbag tightened for a moment before forcibly relaxing. He figured out long ago that emotions of any kind didn’t help.

Instead, he would just…wait. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, why don’t we move this conversation indoors. We can go over the paperwork and get you all settled, hmm?” That last bit was directed at Techno, but the adults shared a glance. It didn’t matter to him, so he shrugged. Phil remained unhindered and he led them inside. That easy smile of his didn’t even flicker. 

They talked the whole way inside, Techno following behind and half tuning out their conversation. The curtains flickered out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked, nothing. 

The inside of the house was just as nice as the outside. Vaguely Japanese in a tasteful way, earth tones, woods, and green patterning scattered around throw pillows and artwork. Sunlight streamed in through the large, darkwood windows, lighting the whole place up and painting an intricate design on the living room carpet. 

But that’s not what Techno noticed. Instead, his attention was drawn to the lanky, thin figure scrambling off the couch, their long limbs intertwinned and figiting about. A bushel of dark brown curls flopped infront of their face, brushing over glasses and dark brown, sharp eyes. 

Familiar eyes. 

Wilbur. 

A hush fell over the room, Carol and Mr. Craft falling silent behind him—he didn’t like that. He didn’t like that they were behind him but he couldn’t turn and look because…

Wilbur raised his hand in a small, nervous wave, his other hand tugging on the sleeve of his sweater. 

“Hey, Tech…” Wilbur said. 

Wilbur. 

The one person he thought he’d never see again. 

He couldn’t…he couldn’t breath right. Or, no, that wasn’t it. He wasn’t thinking—feeling? A barrage of…something. Intensity. Emotion. Memories. He couldn’t—

He couldn’t do this. 

Techno turned just enough to see Carol but not loose sight of Wilbur—Wilbur—and he forced out a question. “You did this?” it sounded more like a throaty, cracked growl than actual words, but with the way everything in him seemed to have shut down, he’ll take it. 

No wonder she was so happy in the car. 

He couldn’t feel his hands, but he knew they were fisted. tense. Everything about him felt tense. In the corner of his eye, Wilbur figited with his sleeves, a familiar expression of doubt flickering over his face. 

Carol stepped forward with a soft smile. Concern lingered underneath it, tucked awy behind her lipstick and professionalism. 

“A few months ago, Mr. Craft reached out to me about reuniting you two. After looking through your files and checking him out, we set it up. I don’t know why you were even separated in the first place but—“

“Can I use a bathroom?” Techno cut in. He could feel his walls crumbling, buckling under the weight of Wilbur—

Wilburs face went through a painful array of familiar emotions, each flickering in distinct ways. Twitch of an eyebrow up: surprise. The slight parting of his lips and a furrow: hurt. The creases around his eyes and the way he carefully pulls each feature back into neutrality: resignation. His shoulders hunched, then straightened fully while keeping his face downturned. 

Even after all these years, he could read Wilbur like an open book.

But then, the real nail in the perverbial coffin, was the way he glanced around Techno, looking for support from Mr. Craft. While it had no right, that hurt more than anything else. 

Techno manually moved his shoulders till he couldn’t see Wilbur anymore, turning back towards Carol and Mr. Craft. They looked surprised too. Not in that hurt, dissapointed way Wilbur was, but in more of a curious, wary way. Like they couldn’t figure out if he was a lost puppy or a rabid dog. 

Jokes on them, puppies can be rabid too. 

The silence stretched for an uncomfortably long 3 seconds before Mr. Craft cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah Mate, of course. It’s just down the hall there. And, if you want, you can drop your bag off in the second room. That’ll be yours.” he pointed while he spoke, that soft friendly smile creeping up his cheeks. Techno grunted in response with a half nod. he wouldn’t, not yet. even when the world started crumbling in on it’s self, he at least had some decent sense of self awareness to keep his stuff on him for as long as possible. 

Who knew what they would do. 

Techno stepped away quickly, ignoring the weight off all their eyes and the hushed appologies from Carol. He shut the door behind him with a soft, yet definitive click. 

Just like that, his walls cracked. 

Techno leaned onto the sink, his shoulder trembling with the effort to keep hismelf upright. 

Wilbur. 

He barely had time to stuff his fist into his mouth to stiffle a sob. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t pretend everything was ok, that he was glad to be here. 

Memories bubbled through the tar of his feelings, dripping like bile down his throat. Memories of That Night, of every night before it. School, their plans.

God he couldn’t do this. 

His fathers face twisted in disgust and rage. 

Scissors. 

Crying. 

The thud of flesh on flesh. 

He’d been so happy, so proud. It all came crashin down with a fist to his face and a snarled, bitter word about his hair. His fucking hair. 

He hadn’t been able to preotect himself then. Wilbur had stepped in instead and Techno had done nothing. Not until it was too late. 

the sink went bleary in his eyes, but he could still make out the two tooth brushes in their cups on the sink edge. Swirling script crawled over their sides. he blinked and his heartrate pulled most of it’s efforts into drowning him in it’s roar, but he could make out the rings of water and toopaste where they used to sit. someone had moved the cups recently, readjusting them to make room on the side for…for another cup. His cup?

His heart grabbed his lower ribs and swooped, dragging the breath from his lungs while it did so. 

He was trembling so hard the sink rattled. He needed to control himself. To shut whatever the fuck this was down before it got him hurt, before it got someone else hurt. 

Methodically, Techno reigned his breathing in first, forcing it into an even pattern, in-2-3-4 out-2-3-4, repeat. He took each emotion separatly and closed them up in little boxes, tucking them back behind the stone wall he’d built for himself. 

He just….needed to get through the day. he’d reevaluate in the dark of night. unbidden, escape plans formed as easily milk burned. The familiarity of it was calming, peicing together a last ditch option, just in case. 

Just in case he needed it. Just in case someone else needed it. Just in cas Wilbu—

Just in case. 

“Yeah, we’ve got a kid here that’s refusing to talk. Looks like he’s been alone for a while, about 13 years old if I’d guess….yeah, his prints are not in the system, but he says his name is, uh, Tekno Soot….yeah I know, weird name. The thing is, The Soots have been arrested….What do you mean ‘so’? What do I do with him?….Fine, yeah, CPS it is.” The officer hung up the phone with a sigh, flicked his hair out of his face, and stared at Techno again. 

Techno glared right back, still picking idly at the cuff on his right wrist. It wasn’t tight, but no matter how he squeezed his hand it wouldn’t come off. They’d learned from the last time he tried run. And the time before that. And the time before that too. Techno glared harder and flopped back in his seat. 

His knuckles ached. So did his jaw. 

He deserved it. 

The officer sighed again and flicked open the top drawer of his desk. Files scooted about, as did a flat jar with a blue lid and a plastic back of bandaids. 

Techno curled his lip back. The officer fished up the jar. 

“Come on, at least let me put some cream on those bruises. They’ve got to hurt.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Kid…” something in him sofened. his shoulders slumped down and he sat on his desk, one knee propped on the corner while the other leg help him up. “you don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

Tehcno clenched his jaw and turned away. 

The officer sighed even deeper. “CPS is on their way, just so you know. they should be here soon.”

First it was the car, now it was the bathroom. Techno hadn’t come out yet. His social worker left a while ago, calling out her goodbyes before leaving. Techno olny grunted out a short response before going back to his bathroom-cocoon. 

He did the same when Wilbur knocked, insisting he was fine through the 2 inch wood and not looking Wilbur in the eye. 

It was getting hard not to take it personally. 

Phil, in all his observant glory, must have notcied cause he tsked from the hallway with his apron on and a playfully disgruntled eyebrow raised. 

“Wilbur, you can’t sit and wait outside the bathroom forever.”

Wilbur unwrapped his arms from around his knees, feeling just the slightest bit petulant. “Why not?”

“Come on, I need some help in the kitchen.” then Phil disappeared around the corner. Oh, smart, asking for help to lure Wilbur away from his brother and into a conversation. But, sitting and waiting really wasn’t the most,…mature thing he could be doing, and if Techno wanted his space then he should proabbly give it too him. As if 3 years and half a country wasn’t enough space already, but whatever. 

Wilbur regretfully slinked into the kitchen and plopped down on one of the counter stools. 

Their house had an open living are, with the kitchen linning most of the backwall and part of the corner. Right now, Phil seemed ot have comandeered the whole area for chopping, steaping, soaking, and rolling out dough. From the chaos displayed on the counters, it looked like they were having some sort of asian tonight, probably a dumpling soup if the little balls of dough in a bowl were any clue. 

Wilth a cheeky grin, Phil pushed a bowl of filling and a wad of dough over towards Wilbur. “Get pinching those, will you? I’m hoping to have these done soon so I can move on to the next bit.”

“Dumplings? really? Not the safest option, is it?”

Phil just shurgged. “I guess we could have done spagetti, but I remember the mess you made that first night. Thought soup would be better.”

“I was in two casts and fresh from the hospital. That mess was not my fault.”

“Riiiiight…” Phil trailed off, humored. Still, it brought up all sorts of memories, Wilbur didn’t want to think about. Hands, bruises, darkness, the smell of amonia. Pink. Hair. Screaming. 

That night had been the last time he saw Techno, and he couldn’t even remember what happened. 

His heart-rate picked up, climbing rib after rib till it pushed against his lungs and grabbed his throat in a choke-hold. It felt all fluttery all of the sudden, yet somehow weightier than before. 

“Wil…you ok?” Phil had stopped cutting and was looking directly at him now. Shakily, Wilbur nodded. 

“Yeah, I’m…” fine is what he wanted to say, but Phil would see right through that. He saw right through everything. So instead, Wilbur tried the truth. “Why won’t he come out of the bathroom? Is it me? Do you think he hates me?”

“What? Wil— no. I don’t think he could ever hate you, mate.”

“Then why won’t he talk to me?” God it sounded patethic even to his own ears. needy and whinny and exactly what he was always told he shouldnt be. no wonder Techno didn’t want to be anywhere near him—

His hand started shaking against his thigh. A steady thump thump thump of his thumb smaking against flesh in tandem with his fluttery heart. he couldn’t…Wilbur shouldn’t be breathing that fast. His heart shouldn’t be going that fast. He shouldn’t— 

Father was going to be so mad. He coulnd’t make it stop—

His breathing picked up with a whining hitch—

Strong arms wrapped around Wilburs shoulders and tugged him close, cupping the back of his head and tucking it into a warm chest. He couldn’t help the flinch. “Come on, Mate, you’re ok.” Phil. Oh god Phil. Wilbur pressed into him, pushing his head right under Phils chin, the stubble scratched and tickled, but he didn’t move away. In Phils arms, he was safe. Safe and warm and fiercly protected. 

“Is that liitle voice in your head saying Techno hates you?” Phil rumbled, stroking Wilbur’s hair. He was probably leaving flour streaks all through it. Wilbur shook his head and Phil hummed. “ok, is it saying…hmm…that something’s your fault?”

Again Wilbur shook his head. Right now, it was more about how pathetic Wilbur was, though those thoughts couldn’t reach him inside Phil’s arms. if Phil let go, though, they’d eat him alive. 

Phils arms loosened. 

A surge of primal panic had Wilbur keening and shoving himself even further into Phil’s chest, ignoring the way he stumbled and oofed under the pressure until those strong, safe, warm arms wrapped around his shoulders again. 

Phil let out a breath that seemed to push Wilburs racing heart into submission. 

“Oh,” was all Phil said, but oh said enough. they’d done this enough, on the living room floor, in phil’s bedroom at midnight, in the park, in the grocery store, in the freaking hospital, to know. “Wil, you’re ok. You’re safe. He can’t get you.”

Well no freaking duh. The bastard is in prision, rotting away for the rest of his life under murder charges, of course he can’t get Wilbur. but that doesn’t mean he didn’t leave lasting, terrible scars on his fractures being, barely being held together by glue and tape. Any moment he could crumble and there would be nothing left. 

Phil’s voice hardened. “Wilbur. you need to stop.”

Stop? He couldn’t stop paniking. that’s not how it worked.

“Wil.”

He didn’t need to—he couldn’t—why was Phil asking him to stop he never did that? not unless—

“Wilbur!” a hand came down around his wrist and Phil pulled away and suddenly there was Pain. A dull, throbbing sort of ache coming from his arm, radiating a heat that seemed to thrum through his fingers. His warm fingers. His wet fingers. 

The red was so startling agasint the yellow of his sweater that, for a moment, he didn’t even register what happened. 

He’d scratched his arm. 

In an instant, all that panic and fear was swept away in a tidalwave of humiliation and shame. Apologies were already welling up in tandem with the blood droplets from the scratches. Phil had already grabbed a towel and pressed it agains them. They barely stung. 

Not that deep then. 

“i’m—“

“Yeah, I know mate. It’s ok. We knew this was going to bring up memories and that there would be consequences to that. We’ll just have to be extra careful in the future, ok?”

God Phil looked so scared. He met Wilbur’s eyes with a solid, fatherly look of strength and control, but it wasn’t fooling anyone. hidding just behind it, turcked under worry and memories, was a deep rooted fear. the kind of fear that came from not knowing what to do. The kind of fear that came when a child is suffering and there is nothing he can do to help them. Wilbur could see it shimmering in his eyes, right behind the twitching lower lid. 

And yet, somehow, that fear soothed him more than Phil’s confidence ever could.

Wilbur bobbed his chin and took the towel from Phil, careful to keep pressure even though he was pretty sure he only barely broke the skin. better safe than sorry, right?

“Thanks Phil,” he murmered and Phil positively broke, his whole body sagging to pull wilbur into another quick hug. 

“Oh mate.”

“Come on, we should…finish dinner.” Wilbur pulled back, just barely putting space between their shoulders. He didn’t actually want to leave Phil’s arms, but he should. 

He wasn’t paniking now, at least. 

“Right,” and they separated comepletely. Phil tousled his hair, smiling that fond smile of his that sits more in the corners of his eyes than on his lips. it’s soothing. 

He turned slightly and—oh. 

Techno stood in the hallway, watching them both with a blank, calculating look. His face was still beside the twitching of his left jaw muscle. Not a curve in his brows of a shift in his cold, hard stare. 

His heart fell at the reminder of the distance between them.

The call alone had been hearbreaking. A 12 year old in the hospital after being beaten black and blue by his father. Apparently the neighbors had called it in. Their daughter was friends with the kid. 

For the time being, they needed someone to watch out for him, both in the hospital and during his recovery. Phil just happened to be chosen for the job. 

No matter how his heart hurt each time he got a call like this there was no way he would ever turn them down. 

The kid was tiny for his age, though that might have just been all the tubes and gauze wrapped around him. The nurses and doctors all moved around him in a hurried rush, saying all sorts of things that sounded worrying. 

Phil settled himself in the chair nearby, prepared to wait next to the kid for as long as it took. 

Mr. Craft was good for Wilbur then, at least. 

Techno wasn’t sure why that thought left him feeling so cold inside. 

He’d heard Wilbur leave the bathroom door, his own shoulders pressed right up against the wood himself. He couldn’t open the door, no matter how many times Wilbur asked if he was ok, but he couldn’t make himself leave either. 

He was weak, he always had been. 

once Wilbur left, though, and they started talking, Techno had managed to pull himself together enough to at least…face them. Maybe. 

New houses didn’t scare him like this one did. They were clean slats. new biginings with just a file to tell them how badly he fucked up. here…there were memories. a long and complicated history that crowed around their shoulders, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike. 

Techno had the distinct feeling that it would—it had to— and when it did, he wasn’t sure there would be anything left of him.

Anyway, he’d managed to pull himself together and exit just in time to see Wilbur curled into Mr. Craft’s arms, a towel pressed against his forearm, with Mr. Craft gently holding him close. It looked…soft. intimate. not something he should be watching. 

but, just like the bathroom door, he was weak. he couldn’t seem to look away. 

They said things to eachother quietly. Familial. in a way that made Wilbur’s whole body loosen despite his arm being wrapped. loosen in a way only Tehcno could make his do before. 

Really, it was only a couple second befroe they caught sight of him, both of them going stiff again. Putting on a costume, a mask of friendliness. None of that ease. Not for him. 

He felt the need to appologize without knowing what for, but his jaw wouldn’t open. 

“Techno. Feeling any better?” Mr. Craft started, wiping his hands on his sides and keeping eye contact. Wilbur slipped behind him slightly, leaning against the counter and pressing the wrapped forwarm into his thigh. hiding. Uncomfortable. Techno made him uncomfortable, then. 

Somethings never change. 

Techno nodded, focusing entirely on Mr. Craft. It didn’t help the growing ache in his chest. it felt like guilt, or maybe anger. something deep and dark that gnawed on every bone in his body, waiting to explode and hurt someone else. 

At least it wasn’t panic. 

Mr. Craft forged ahead like a pro, taking Techno’s silence and going with it. “Well, dinner won’t be for another couple of minutes. feel free to get settled in your room, or you can hang out here with us if you want. meals tend to be rather informal in this house. Actually, While i’m finishing up here, we could go over house rules and expectations if you wanted.”

Great, that Techno knew. he nodded again and stepped over to the furthest chair from Wilbur. If Wilbur noticed (he did, Techno could tell) he didn’t do anything about it. just sat down more fulling on his own stool and began pinching some meat mix into dough balls. 

Mr. Craft stepped back around the counter and picked up a knife and some carrots. Behind him, on the stove, a pot sizzled. Soup then, of some kind. not the worst first meal. it smelled good at least. 

“I suppose we should begin with better introductions than this afternoon. I bet this is a lot to take in, huh.” Techno met his easy look with a blank one of his own. A lot didn’t even cover it. “I’m Philza Craft. I started fostering about 10 years ago, working in traumatic, temporary placements for kids that have nowhere esle to go. That’s how Wilbur came to me at first.”

That made sense, at least. he had expirience working with ‘lost causes’. it made that friendliness more sour and less reliable, but the openess remained significant, even for a trauma specialist. 

Techno crossed his arms to lean on the counter, very much not facing Wilbur, but watching him intently out of the corner of his eye. “and he’s been here ever since?” 

Wilbur barely flinched, his hands moving rythmically through the motions of rolling dough and molding them into little balls. when he stretched out to grab a spoonfull of filling, his hand barely shook. Interesting. 

Phil put down his knife, sorrow creeping onto his face like a beetle trying to hide on a fallen log. “yeah, after a while it seemed like this wasn’t just another temporary placement for us, and I got registered to foster him full time.” Phil stopped, putting down his knife for a second. “If I had known— I mean, no one told me about you…”

The rest went unsaid, but echoed loudly in the silence. Techno shifted uncomfortably in his seat, tucking his limbs closer. Phil actually looked…resmourseful. 

“Its fine.”

“Techno, really, If I had known I would have—“

“I said it’s fine.” he snapped back, droping his gaze to the kitchen counter. he could feel his breathing want to pick up, but it wouldn’t. not with someone else in the room. he shouldn’t be snapping at the person in charge. He shouldn’t be rude. Shouldn’t be mean. He shouldn’t be.

Thankfully, Mr. Craft seemed to Drop it after that. “right…well, I suppose it’s not important at the moment. You’re here now.” 

Techno turned away at that. People always seemed to say that, and it never seemed to last very long. 

He caught sight of the dinning room table, already set with 3 placemats. 3. The living room had enough places for 3 people to sit comfortably within easy reach of the tables. The blankets drapped over the backs of the couches were tousled, but a new one had been added. A light shade of pink, fluffy, and perfectly folded on the corner of the furthest couch. 

Right where he used to sit at…when they were little. 

“We tend to be really informal around here, which should be an easy transition.” Mr. Craft said, drawing Techno’s attention once again. He went back to cutting the vegtables, occastionally stopping to scoop some inot the pot. “You can call me anything you want, but I prefer Phil. I totally get it if that feels weird to you, so take you’re time. Hmm, lets see. Meals are also informal, like I said. Theres no designated dinner time or anything like that. if you are hungry, just grab something from the fridge, no need to ask me. Um…oh, if you need to go somewhere, let me know so I don’t worry like an old man. Chores aren’t assigned, but help around the house is always appreciated. Really, it’s just making sure you pick up after yourself and that the house isn’t a wreck. Your space is your space, so you feel free to keep it however you like. I won’t go in unless I have too due to a threat of danger either from yourself or something else. Let’s see, anyting else I missed Wil?”

Wilbur shifted under the sudden attention, his shoulders rising ot his ears. Mr. Craft remained easy and calm, chopping away without a worry. that was proably planned. everything was planned with people like him. specialists. 

“um…no, I think…I think that covers it. well, I mean, asking questions is great. like…I mean, I know how it was at ou—our house and…” he trailed off, pinching the dough more forcefully. Mr. Craft stopped choppping for a minute to place a hand over Wilburs, calming him with a smile. 

“Right, great point Wil. I always accept questions. If there’s something you don’t understand or don’t agree with, please come to me about it. I’ll probably check in with you periodically, just to make sure, but you can always feel free to talk to me yourself. And if talking directly to me feels uncomfortable, we can figure out another way of communicating. That’s something for another day, though.”

Different was the first word that came to mind. trained came next. the way Mr. Craft ran his house seemed to come straight from one of those trianing course. It wouldn’t last. still, Techno nodded like he was expected to. 

Mr. Craft Beamed. “Great. I’m sure you can tell, but this has been a long time coming. we’re really excited to finally have your here, Techno. Wilbur and I have been looking for a while.” his eys looked genuine, but the smile seemed…not forced. just…too big. 

From his spot, Wilbur turned to watch Techno, biting his lip in that way he did when he was nervous. The scrutany made Techno’s skin crawl. 

‘A long time coming.’ 

A long time for expectations for form. a long time of hoping and dreaming and now Techno was here to fall short on every single thing. 

He twitched out a smile and nod that didn’t seem to appease either of them, but Phil continued anyway. “well, that’s perfect timing too cause I think,” he paused with a final handfull of herbs going into the pot, stirring it, “dinner is almost ready. Why don’t the pair of you go wash up, I’ll straighten things up in here, then we can eat.”

Techno felt rather than saw Wilbur sneak a glance his way before he slipped off, still holding the towel to his arm. At Mr. Crafts nod, Techno slipped off too, heading towards that second room. 

It wasn’t what he expected it to be. Ususally, new rooms were on the emptier side, unless they were a study or something in wich case there would be books and a desk and a buch of other things he wasn’t supposed to mess with. 

This wasn’t that. but It wasn’t a normal guest room either. to the left of the door, the bed, a queen, had been pushed inot the corner. two nightstands with two lamps lined up along the only open side. under the Window in the far side of the room, thre was a desk that already had stuff on it. it had been framed with bookcases, only half full. 

the dresser on the right came to Techno’s chest, making it the largest storage space he’d ever had. 

A beige carpet lined the floor, perfectly soft and fluffy. So was the black throw blanket folded over the office chair and red robe hanging on one of the wall hooks. 

Techno stopped in the doorway, his garbage bag full of stuff dropping to the ground in his shock. The room looked exactly like the one he used to describe to Wilbur when they were young. his ‘dream room’ so to speak. Wilbur had always wanted more instuments and technology, with drapping lights and soft blankets and brightly colored walls. Techno had wanted something simple instead. Simple but comfortable. in fact—

Techno kicked his back deeper into the room, shut the door, and stepped over the the desk. 3 books artfully stacked on the corner caught his eye. One on Music theory, one on Greek Mythology, and the last, a copy of The Art of War. 

Techno could hear the blood rushing in his ears. 

A pencil holder had been filled and organized with every pen, highlighter, marker, and anything else a desk could need. propped up right next to it, an ink pen with 2 pots of ink. One black for writing normal letters, one red for writing letters to his enemies. that’s what 12 year old him had said, any way. And here they were, waiting for him. 

He had no doubt the drawers were full of paper and sticky-notes. 

Techno sat heavily on the floor, criss-cross and leaning on his hands.

They had set this room up just for him. It really was his room. he didn’t—

what did he say to that? what should he do? when was the last time someone did something so…intentional for him. so delibrate that wasn’t a jab, poke, or prod. did he thank them? did he aknowladge it?

and what did they expect form him in return? they must have expectations. Mr. Craft said they’d been planning this for a while, that they’d been looking for him. now he wasn’t just contending with some file the fosters read 20 minutes beofre he showed up, but years of expectations and planning, all perfectly poised for him to fuck it up. 

He huffed harshly, digging his fingers into the soft carpet. 

He could just…be that person. learn what they wanted and do it. Or he could be everything he new thay couldn’t want, slowing pushing the line unil one of them broke. 

The thought left him empty inside. Wilbur’s face came to mind, a blending of the nervous hope of this afternoon and the playful joy of their youth. He couldn’t hurt Wilbur like that. 

Not after what he did. 

Dinner would be starting soon. Techno stood mechanically, his face carefully neutral as every feeling slipped away, pooling just out of reach. 

He’d figure something out. 

Philza woke to the soft sound of a child crying. his heart ached in his chest, throbbin in tandem with their hiccuping breaths. he slipped from bed and padded over to the door. 

Wilbur huddled on the other side of it, arms wrapped around his knees. he stared up at Phil in a shock, his wide eyed glassy and fearful in the darkness. he was apologizing before Phil could take a breath. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“hey, hey mate, calm down. I’m not mad.”

The tentative hope and disbelife widening Wilbur’s eyes even more broke Phil’s heart. 

“you aren’t?” he whispered, higging his knees closer to his chest. with the cast, it was a strange and pitiful sight. Phil smiled and crouched down slowly, keeping one hand on the door. 

“nope. not even a little bit.”

“but I woke you up.” oh god this kid was breaking his heart. 

Phil hummed. “yeah, but i’m not mad.”

Wilbur looked doubtful. Phil tilted his head. “want to tell me why you’re crying?”

imeadiately, Wilbur burried his head in his knees. well ok then. Gently, Phil sighed. “Alright, that’s fine. you don’t have to tell me anything. Do you want to come sleep with me in my room?”

one little eye peaked out of the bundle of limbs. Phil smiled wider, but soft. 

“I don’t want ot bother you,” wilbur squeaked, watching Phil with a terrible intensity. the intensity of a child trying to catch an adult in a lie. 

“it wouldn’t bother me.”

Wilbur seemd to chew on that for a long second before detangling himself and standing. Phil followed, completely letting Wilbur take the lead here. Wilbur lingered in the doorway, eyeing Phil’s bed ith a detatched sort of longing. 

“come on, mate, lets go to sleep,” Phil said, tilting his body back in an invitation. Wilbur dind’t hesitate after that. he darted into the room and currowed inder the thick, heavy blankets, peaking out a second later to blink owlishly at Phil with those same, wide eyes. 

Phil smiled and crept back over. He slipped under the covers and Wilbur curled against his chest, completely entangling himself. Tentatively, but firmly, Phil ran a hand through his hair and Wilbur shuddered, shuggling closer with a sigh. 

“Good night Wilbur,” Phil wispered. 

“Phil?” Wilbur wispered back.

“Yeah, mate?”

Wilbur let out a large, shaky breath. “I miss him.”

that…didn’t sound right. Phil sat up slightly, peering down at Wilbur’s bright little face with a frown. 

“Miss who?”

Wilbur frowned, then flopped his hean clean down on Phil chest, right over his beating heart. a second passed, then Wilbur mumbled, half drowned in sleep. 

“My brother. Techno.”

Dinner went…fine. Not good, not bad. No one really talked, Phil tried, but Techno wasn’t going to engage and Wilbur was still feeling shaky after his episode. He’d bangaged his arm before coming back to the table. He’d felt Techno’s eyes on it all evening, but every time he looked, all he saw was a blank wall. 

It was disconcerting. He remembered a time when he could read his brother no matter what. he remembered all the little ticks they would do to comunicate, all the little secrets that passed through tapping fingers and wide eyes. 

Then, to have it all gone so suddenly. it was…a lot. and nothing all at the same time. a heavy absense, as if nothing could have weight. 

They all cleared the table, Techno hanging back and watching for most of it before stepping in a taking over washing up for Phil. He did it wordlessly, as if he’d figured it out in that short time and now he could act. 

That at least was familiar. Techno always did like to understand things before doing them. Give something a reason. He’d always find the order in the chaos, putting the pieces of a puzzle together with such confidence and pride. 

Wilbur eyes started burning strangely. the weight on unshedable tears pressed down on his sternum. 

This wasn’t how he thought this would go. He’d been planning for this day ever since he got to Phil, piecing together each and every detail to make it  absolutley perfect. he put together the room, added everything Techno would like to the couches, got his favoruite snack foods in the pantry. He’d practiced everythign he was going to say tio his brother in the mirror for weeks, until the words were burned into his mememory, childish as they were. 

‘Hey Techno, I still love you and I never ever ever want to be without you.’

Techno was supposed to pull in, get out of the car. he’d meet Phil, then, once he’d come inside, they’d see eachother and it would be like nothing changed. Wilbur would hug him and Techno would have hugged him back and then…

Then things would be perfect. Phil would be the perfect dad—an easy imporvement to his last one, that’s for sure— and he and Techno would fall right back into being the perfect brothers. 

hell, maybe with Techno back to stand with him in everything, his anxiety might even go away. no more panic attacks. no more medicine. no more doctors. just him and Techno against the world like it always used to be. 

He perposedfully ignored the voice that reminded him he’d had panic attacks before. that things were never perfect and Techno being here wouldn’t make it so. 

He didn’t like how that voice seemd to be right. 

Instead of all that perfection, they seemed to dance around eachother, slowly circling but never touching. never interacting. just staring and galncing and hoping someone else would make the first step. 

When they finished the dishes, Techno excused himself into his room and shut the door. Wilbur could only watch helplessly, all the expectations and desires and hopes crumbling without even a word from him. 

Phil reasured him it would be fine. He checked his cut and pulled his head close for another stablizing hug before heading to his office to sort out some paperwork. 

Phil promised everything would turn out ok. 

Wilbur hoped he could belive him. 

“No, no, listen to me. Wilbur was in the hospital for 2 months. 2! and now he’s been in my care for a week and this is the first I’m hearing of a brother? a Twin no less? no, this is unacceptable. Where the hell is Techno Blade Soot?!”

“I’m sorry sir, We can’t just share that information. There is a screening process and—“

“Oh for fucks sake—“ Phil slammed the phone down with a growl. 

“Phil?” 

Phil whipped around to see Wilbur, still in his pj’s, leaning around the corner with a strange, wide-eyed look on his face. The little braids he’d worked into his curls stuck up at strange angles, highlighting the fineness of his little features. 

Phil took a steadying breath, then smiled. “what’s up, mate?”

“What are you doing?” his eyes lingered on the phone. A second later, Wilbur bit his lip. 

Phil sighed, scooted over, and pat the seat next to him. “Come sit.” and Wilbur did. he crawled over the back of the couch and perched on the edge of the cushion, back straight, one foot on the floor, facing Phil directly. 

“I’m trying to find your brother. Techno.” Wilbur’s face lit up. then his eyes flickered over to the phone again, considered something, then deflated completely. “But i’m—“

“you can’t find him, can you.” It wasn’t a question. 

“no…not yet. But im going to keep looking,” Phil added, just as something cold washed over Wilbur. 

“he’s probably dead.” Wilbur said, voice comepletely flat. 

“What? Wilbur—“

“he’s dead and burried in a ditch somewhere. that’s what dad said he’d do if we ever made him too mad and—

“Wilbur stop!” Surprisingly, he did. He stopped and fixed Phil with the flatest, matter of fact look a 12 year old could muster. 

“He’s dead, Mr. Craft.”

Phil cupped the back of his neck and dragged Wilbur into a hug, wrapping his arms around his tiny frame and tucking him close. Wilbur stiffened in his embrase, leaning just far enough away form Phil to show his discomfort without actually trying to get away. 

“No he’s not,” Phil rumbled, “He’s not, and I’m going to look every day until I find him.”

Wilbur saged completely in his arms and broke down into pitiful, gutteral sobs. he clung to Phil, shivering and trembling as he cried his broken little heart out. 

Phil made a promise that day, and he intended ot keep it. 

Wilbur seemed tense over the next few days. His fingers tapping relentlessly against his thigh. 

Try as he might, Techno couldn’t think of anything to say to him. he knew he should. he knew Wilbur’s anxiety had to have been through the roof right now. 

But the weight of expectation hung heavily over both their shoulders. it smothered the chances to reach out, to bridge the gap between them with doubt and fear that they’d mess up. The slightest mistake could ruin them forever. 

That, obviously, wasn’t true. Every piece of literature said the bod between family, between brother was one of the strongest bonds in the world. It would take a lot more than a mistimed comment to break that. maybe 3 years of separation would do the trick. 

Techno sighed deeply and closed the book he was pretending to read. A chunk of hair slipped out from  behind his ear, hanging right in his face. He scowled at it. The last place hadn’t let him near scissors long enough to deal with it. It got longer than he would have liked. Well, no. It got longer than he usually kept it. he liked it this length. liked it long. He just…hadn’t kept it long in a while. 

He didn’t deserve it.

In a fluid motion, Techno put the book away and stepped out into the bathroom. Wilbur was at a Piano lesson so he dind’t need to worry about running into him at the moment. 

he fiddled with it in the mirror for a second, tossing the hair this way and that. it hung in uneven clumps around his face. the longest just barely brushed his shoulders, while the shortest pieces stuck up in strange places. 

He really did need to do something about it. 

“Techno, Mate, can we talk?” 

Techno hid the slight jolt in a turn, one hand still fiddling with the choppy mess on his head. Phil rounded the corner from the kitchen and stepped into the hallway, an expectant look on his face. Techno shrugged and dropped his arms. So far, Phil had been chill, but you never know. 

“I just wanted to, you know, check in. I know this is…a lot. It means a lot for Wilbur to just have you here. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Techno frowned. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I bet you are. Still, I realize you weren’t really given a choice in coming here. We adults got caught up in the surprise.”

He couldn’t think up a good answer to that, so he said nothing at all. Techno shifted on his feet, moving to lean agains the sink. Phil, at least, seemed to catch the hint. He dropped it quickly. 

That was something Techno appreciated. Phil knew when not to push. Not many people knew how to do that. 

After a second of silence, Phil nodded towards his hair, drawing attention back to the reason Techno was in the bathroom in the first place. 

“You’ve got kind of a rough cut there. I could try my hand at fixing it up for you if you wanted.”

Techno shook his head, looking back at himself in the mirror. It really was rough, but he wasn’t going to let someone else touch his hair just yet. Besides, he hadn’t really decided what to do with it yet. Cut it short again, or finally let it grow out. 

The fact that that was a question again surprised him. 

Phil held his hands up in surrender, clearly not pushing the subject. Techno appreciated it. “Alright, that’s fine. But if you change your mind, feel free to ask. Or, you know, Wilbur could help you. 

Right. Wilbur. Wilbur did cut his hair when they were young, just barely taking off the dead ends at midnight. It might be nice, having Wilbur’s fingers in his hair again. who knows, he may even be able to keep some of the length again. 

then again, he’d have to actually ask Wilbur to cut his hair which required words. words that always got caught in his throat every time he got close. 

Phil smiled like he knew every though running through Techno’s head and crossed his own arms. 

“Have you tried talking too him yet? Just…straight up saying everything on your mind, getting it all out in the open, and going from there?” Techno stared him down, just barely shaking his head no. He hadn’t. And there was no way in hell he was going to do that, either. Phil shrugged lightly. 

“I don’t know, you might want to try it. Then again, you might not. Word of advice though? I’d do something soon. About your hair and Wilbur.” He added with a soft, playful smile. 

Despite himself, Techno smiled back. A small thing, but real. 

“Oh my god Wilbur!” Wilbur startled as he stepped through the door, his bag halfway to the floor with a jackrabbiting of his heart at the shout. Phil stumbled out of his office, an elated grin brightening every part of his face. his phone was in his hand, screen darkened with a caller ID. Wilbur flit from the Phone to Phil in a second. 

“Phil?”

“Wilbur, I found him!”

Confusion washed over him, applified by the way Philza seemed to be vibrating with excitement. Wilbur dropped his back to the ground fully, closing the door behind him as he moved deeper into the house, his hands out in concern. 

“What are you—“ he started, but Phil cut him off. 

“I found him. his name had been misspelled and he was picked up in a different county at first which is why no one knew where he was and—“

“Phil! What are you—“ but then it clicked. Phil grinned and grabbed Wilbur by the shoulders. Wilburs hands were shaking. 

“I found him, Wilbur. Techno’s coming home.”

Yeah, ok, Wilbur lied. He wasn’t dealing with this well. 

Phil making progress on his own was all fine and dandy but Wilbur wanted to be the one laughing with Techno. Wilbur wanted to be the one who could sit in a room and be completely at ease—an ability he seemed to have lost once Techno arrived.

He wanted so many things and he couldn’t figure out how to make any of it happen. Nothing was going like he thought it should. 

Phil kept saying to give things time, to talk it out and be patient and to do all the things a healthy, adjusting person does when there are interpersonal issues that can’t be solved in a day. 

Good advice. 

Advice Wilbur just won’t be taking. 

Phil had gone out for the day, leaving the pair of them in the house. Techno was in his room, doing god knows what while Wilbur paced in the living room, gnawing at his nails till he tasted copper. Then he grabbed antiseptic cream, put a bandaid on, and moved to the next finger. 

it wasn’t the most constructive thing, but Wilbur litterally couldn’t do anything else. 

A door clicked. 

Wilbur jerked his whole body to look at it, practically quivering in place. 

Techno stepped out into the hall and they caught eyes and both froze. 

He was just now starting to look better. His hair looked brushed, which, admittedly, highlighted the horrendous cut, but it also managed to look new in a way. Weirdly. He didn’t know, he was on the verge of panicking and reading into things. 

Beyond his hair, though, this time seemed different. His eyes widened with surprise when he caught sight of Wilbur, like he wasn’t expecting to see him. His cheeks were flushed and, there, at his side, his hand trembled slightly. 

It was, quite literally, the most emotion he’d seen on Techno’s face since they reunited. 

And here Wilbur was, freaking out in the living room. 

“What are you doing here? I though you and Phil left.” His eye flicked down Wilbur’s hand. “Are you biting your nails again? You really shouldn’t do that.” His feet shifted, like he didn’t quite know where to go. He reached up absently to fiddle with his hair. 

Just like that, the gentle concern in Techno’s voice, the familiar look of his hair coming out of a braid, the vulnerability that seemed so uncharacteristic until right now when it looked so natural. 

It ached. 

An ugly, hurt feeling snarled up in him and he didn’t feel like stopping it. 

“Oh so now you care?”

Techno blinked, his whole body recoiling in what looked like surprise touched by hurt. As if he had the right to be hurt. 

“Wilbur what are you—“

“Fuck you, Techno. Fuck. You. we go through hell together. Literal fucking hell, and then were separated for 3 years. Yet, the moment were back together you act like you don’t want anything to do with me. you sulk around the house like a fucking stranger, barely even looking at me.”

“Wilbur—“

“Oh no you don’t. Don’t Wilbur me. it’s hurting enough that you’re even here. I thought— I thought we could pick up like you hadn’t left. I guess I was wrong. “

A rush of delightful satisfaction flooded him at the devestation in Techno’s eyes. that wall of careful, stoney neutrality cracking and crumbling into glorious pain. now it wasn’t just Wilbur that was hurting. 

but the satisfaction lasted for a second only, before the realization of what he’d just said broke through. he saw in perfect clarity Techno jaw click shut. he saw his eyes dim with a distant sort of resignation. that self-hatred that always pestered and prodded wresting a win. 

his fists clenched so hard they turned white. there was something in them Wilbur hadn’t seen before. 

A pair of scissors. 

No—

Techno turned on his heel with squared shoulders, scissors sill in his clenched fist, and slammed the bathroom door behind him. 

“Techno wait! Techno!”

Oh course. He knew it. All he did was hurt everyone around him. he couldn’t—

Just when he was finally getting comfortable too. 

He hurt Wilbur. he hurt him over and over and over again. he knew it would happen again. he knew it would happen here. He knew he would mess up. Wilbur would tell Phil to throw him out and Phil would becasue Wilbur was his son and Tehcno was the spare. the failed expectation. 

He barely registered someone banging on the door. 

Techno bent over the sink, heaving up a strangeled sob. the rot of heartache bubled beneath his skin, leaving his muscle twitching and uncomfortable till he wanted to scratch them clean out. 

he caught sight of himself in the mirror, all blotchy-faced and snivling. snot dripped over his upper lip, smeared half over his cheek from where he tried to whipe it. his hair hung in limp, smooth clumps around his face. 

His hair. God he hated his hair. he’d been braiding it earlier, reveling in the fact that it was finally long enough to tie at the back. it would be long enough to go over his shoulder soon, a thought that used to excite him. Hell, he was just gonna even out some placed but keep it long. 

Not now. 

Why on earth should he have long hair again? it’s not like he earned it. all he did was mess up. he hurt people, even when trying to keep his fucking distance. Why should he get the privalege of long hair. 

In his mind, he could barely separate his own voice from his fathers. 

The scissors clattered into the sink bowl, loud against the porcline. 

Someone yelled his name, muffled by the door. 

he grabbed them, his fist trembling as he grabbed a chunk of hair. last time he had his hair this long, he’d been with Wilbur. they’d been happy. a  family. he’d thought…maybe…that wouldn’t happen again. 

snip.

A chunk fell to the sink bowl. tears welled up in his eyes and he grabbed another section, lining the scissors up with it’s base. 

hHe shouldn’t have thought he could get better. He shouldn’t have thought he could controle himself. He would always hurt people. He was a danger to others. 

snip.

Another secition gone. It felt as libarating as it did agonizing. 

the click of a lock. 

snip.

“Techno Stop! What are you doing?!” 

Wilbur wrenched the scissors from Techno hand, a crazed look in his eye. panicked. concerned. angry. he flit from the sink to Techno’s face to the scissors, barely comprehending the situation. 

“Techno I’m srorry, I didn’t mean what I said—“

“Don’t you get it Wilbur? we don’t work!” Techno snarled back, slamming his hands down on the sink rim. Wilbur’s eyes went wide with panic. 

“What are you talking about? if this about what I—“

Techno shook his head. He felt like throwing up. Maybe then all that rot would go away. Maybe he’d finally feel better. In either case, he didn’t want to hurt anymore. 

“I asked to be alone, Wilbur,” he croaked, barely louder than a whisper. 

Wilbur stopped, his own hands trembling. “What?”

Techno’s eyes slid shut in shame, his jaw clenching. “I…I ran away, Wil. A lot. When they finally got me. They…the social worker was going to take me to you.”

Wilbur breath stuttered but Techno couldn’t look at him. he didn’t want to see his betrayal. but, maybe then Wilbur would understand that Techno is poision. he’s not fit for them. he’s not fit for anyone. 

“I told her…I told her I didn’t want to see you again.”

“you…what?” Wilbur choked, not at all sounding outraged or relived. he sounded… wrong. Techno chanced a glance. Wilbur had gone white as a sheet, his lips barely parted. his chest heaved frantically, silently quivering with how fast he must have been breathing. his eyes had gotten glassy and wide. distant. like he wasn’t here any more. 

It was a panic attack. he used to have them when dad came home. 

a doctor once said they could be very dangerous, but no one had really done anything to help him through them. When they’d come, Techno used to hold him steady, protecting him from the world as he could with his body, breathing slowly and evenly until Wilbur finally joined him. 

in that moment, instinct took over. Techno grabbed Wilbur by the shoulder, ignoring the tight flinch, and dragged him close to his chest. he held Wilbur firmly under his chin, wrapping his broad shoulders around Wilbur’s quivering frame and holding him there. 

Almost instantly, Wilbur’s breath evened out. he went slack in Techno’s arms, pressing every inch of skin against Techno’s. everything else fell away, narrowing down to this moment. all the pain,all the anger, all the slef-loathing dripped off of him in waves, leaving only an emptyness Wilbur seemed to be filling with his body. 

they sank to the floor, Wilbur bracketed by Techno’s knees, his back cradled in Technos arms as techno rested against the bathroom door, just like he had that first day here. 

His hands shook. 

“I’m—“

“please don’t,” Wilbur whispered, sounding just as broken as Techno felt. “don’t ruin this.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“then don’t leave me.” he said it like it was simple, like Techno wasn’t a danger to everyone else. 

“I hurt you,” Techno tried, squeezing the words past a wall of guilt. 

Wilbur shifted in his arms, twisting so one eye could blink up at Techno inperfect clarity. there wasn’t anger, there wasn’t fear. just a deep wound that’s finally made it’s way to the light. 

Techno felt the unyeilding need to keep talking. “I’m the reason he..he did that too you. If I hadn’t gotten him so mad, if I had just—“

“Techno.” Wilbur pulled, up, his face and voice a delibrate sort of serious. the kind that quiets even the most insistnat of voices. “you…blame yourself. For Dad?” 

for the life of him, Techno couldn’t figure out why Wilbur sounded so appalled and confused. 

“I’m the one who made him mad.” he tried, ehlplessly scrambling for somehting to hold onto. anger, pain, dispair, anything. 

“you dyed your hair, Techno. that wasn’t…he didn’t…him being a sick asshole wasn’t your fault.” there was a sound of realization to his voice. “it wasn’t mine either.” 

“Of course not.” It would never be Wilbur fault that he got hurt like that. never. 

“it wasn’t yourse either.”

“it was my choice—“

“if you hadn’t dyed your hair, he would have found another excuse. he was a sick, sick man. thats not on you.”

just like that, every layer and scab over Techno battered and bruise heart peeled away. he dragged Wilbur closer, shuddering. 

“I’m so sorry,” he gasped. Wilbur returned the hug, almost as if he wanted to crawl into Techno’s bones himself. “I’m sorry I left you—“

“No,” Wilbur shuddered in his arms. “we’re here now. we’ll be ok. we have eachother.”

finally, the knot of unease loosened. against his better judgement, Techno dared to hope. 

Phil found them like that an hour later. he didn’t say anything, just surveyed the scene—the hidden house key in the lock, the scissors and hair in the sink, his two boys huddled on the floor, half asleep and clinging to eachother—and smiled. 

it wasn’t pretty, but healing rarely was. 

When they’d finally detangled themselves, Wilbur took it upon hismelf to even out Techno’s hair cut. he left it as long as he could but it end up being a short style with the bangs barely brushing Techno’s nose.

Techno thanked him anyway, fiddling with the longer pieces at the front. 

“we could dye it,” Wilbur offered. Phil agreed from the kitchen before Techno even had a chance to ask. 

hesitantly, Techno nodded and Wilbur smiled. it wasn;t a particularly bright smile, but one that deepened the more you looked at it. 

it was the kind of smile that really believed everything might turn out ok. 

A week later, Techno came home with bright pink hair. it was still short, but, like Phil pointed out, it could always grow back, it would just take time. 

Wilbur had agreed while going over dyed hair maintainance, putting together a list of everything they needed. their shoulders brushed as they walked, barely an inch apart. 

Time. 

time to heal, time to grow. 

They finally had time. 

It wouldn’t be easy, he knew that. they were both messed up and they’d both hurt eachother in the process, but, now, he had the time to hope they would be ok. 

given time, he might even believe it too.