Chapter Text
Techno picks his chin up off his collarbones, a clumsy hand creeping towards his face. Muddled confusion bleeds in as he looks around. His other hand is occupied scrunching up in slightly crunchy cloth, only making his face twist up more. The room he’s in is bright, colorful, and utterly dread inducing.
A glance down shows that he’s slumped in a purple bean bag chair. He simply huffs and slides down further, till he’s practically laying down flat. Roughly, he scrubs at his face.
This is just grand. Get kicked out of his last home because of his seizures, and have a bunch before he meets the new guy that’s supposed to take him
It’s the stress, probably. People always say that makes seizures worse. Maybe that’s why he’s still having them after a bunch of new medications and diets and whatever else his foster parents are convinced will cure him.
Maybe some of it would cure him, if they’d bother keeping him.
Wiping his mouth to make sure he hasn't drooled or anything embarrassing like that, Techno sighs for the hundredth time. They're just absence seizures, considering his body doesn't hurt enough for anything else. But they've left him tired and with the beginnings of a headache after their repetition.
Maybe he should ask for—
Before Techno can finish pondering whether he should get help, the door to the room swings open. He jumps, startled even though there's a big window on the wall he should have noticed anyone approaching from. Hopefully they didn’t peek in at Techno and see him looking too dumb.
It’s a man, not quite old or young. He’s got chin length blond hair and a very casual look about him, jeans and a flannel over a t-shirt. As though lost, the man looks around the room a couple times until he finally spots Techno in the corner.
He smiles and raises a hand.
“Hi, mate. You’re Techno, right?”
Definitely his new foster father. You’d think his social worker would give him a heads up considering that she wants this to go well so bad. Unless she warned him about time he would be here earlier. He can’t quite remember.
“Yeah,” Techno says, pushing into the beanbag to try and stand up.
It’s a bit too droopy and plush, squeaking below his fingers. Embarrassingly, his feet kick upwards a bit, till he slams them onto the ground and practically falls out. His face burns red and he crosses his arms tightly.
Freaking send him to the group home now.
“This is Phil. You guys are going to chat for a bit, and then he’ll be taking you to his house,” His social worker slips forward, speaking to him overly slowly.
It annoys Techno slightly, but he holds his tongue. Half because he knows that his social worker is mostly doing it for the foster father. Best not to make it look like Techno and his worker are so well worn on this song and dance that she can chuck him into a stranger’s car without two words. Hardly anything new for Techno, but best not to scare off a normal person.
“Nice to meet you,” Techno says tentatively, sitting in one of the plastic chairs at the table.
“Nice to meet you too,” Phil says, pep in his voice as he slides into the too small chair across from Techno.
It’s a ridiculous sight, but again, he holds his tongue.
“I have to make a couple phone calls, but I’ll be right out in the hall if you need anything,” His social worker says, already scooting out of the room.
Phil looks more surprised to be left so suddenly than Techno feels. Though, his guilt kind of stomps down on anything like betrayal that might have bubbled up at being abandoned with a random guy. Techno getting kicked out has been inconvenient for his social worker too. For everyone. If only he could just stay put just once.
“So, what sorts of things do you like?” Phil asks, turning back to him with all of his attention.
A rod stabs through his spine, crackling electricity all throughout him. Well, when he’s talking about staying in one place... This is the first step of that, isn’t it? A guy that is dripping soccer dad energy, purposefully not wiping his hand off after he set it on the sticky table, still smiling at Techno. And about thirty minutes away from welcoming him into his house.
Techno clenches his hands to force the shake out of them.
“Um, reading?” Techno says lamely.
“That’s great! What sorts of things do you like reading?” Phil asks earnestly.
“Fiction?” It’s hard to look at this guy's face. Techno tries to force himself to, failing slightly. “And history.”
“I’ve got a small library in my office. You might like some of the books I’ve got there.” The man pushes a chunk of his hair behind his ear. Techno hasn’t seen many men with long hair. Maybe he’ll be cooler about Techno not wanting his long locks cut. “Probably not the novels though, those are boring adult stuff.”
“I like novels for adults too. They’re interesting and have more accurate war portrayals,” Techno says.
It’s not totally accurate, most adult novels he’s read are kind of boring. But it’s not because they’re too hard for him or anything. He could read adult novels if he wanted to, he doesn’t mind the big words or graphic violence, really.
Phil laughs a little, but nods indulgently. A smidge, Techno slides down in his chair.
“That’s great. I basically have to force Tommy to read.”
Tommy? Techno squints a little.
“Oh, Tommy is another boy I’m fostering. He’s a couple years younger than you. Bit excitable, but I hope you two will get along,” Phil says.
Foster siblings. They’re not good or bad, really. Having no siblings means all of the parents’ attention is right on you. But having siblings means other kids in the house. Enough said.
“Yeah,” Techno ends up saying neutrally. This foster kid obviously has first dibs, best not stir anything.
Phil clears his throat, looking around the room again. It's a wretched sight, though Techno feels stupid thinking so. The walls are soft yellow, with a mural of rainbows and cartoon-y smiling children. One wall has a shelf with games that Techno knows are all missing pieces. Toys for babies are shoved into the corners. Everything is too well-worn, tear stains on the couch and a hole in the wall poorly covered by a child's drawing.
Too many kids have been dragged through here having the worst days of their lives. It's rubbed off on the place, seemingly.
Or maybe that's just Techno's bias. A lot of kids probably have visitation with their parents in here. Siblings. Maybe they can manage to have fun and not feel nauseous.
The sights hurts his head worse.
“I think we're still in the school district you were going to before. Flowerfall, right?” Phil asks.
Techno nods, trying not to look numb.
“That's good, you can start right back up when you feel ready. Feel free to invite any of your friends over, I won't be too cringe around them.”
Wow, this guy must listen to his kid to some extent to have gotten a phrase like that. It's the exact sort of thing a kid would say to their parent. You know, if they weren't worried about losing the roof over their head or having their nose knocked in.
Techno doesn't have any friends in this school, so that's a no go anyway. But at least there will only be a week of makeup work.
Again, he nods in vague agreement.
“What, uh. What do you do for work?” Techno asks. That's what adults talk about, right?
“Computer stuff. Like, coding. I can work from home, so it's convenient if you guys need anything.”
Convenient is not the word that Techno would use. That just means fluctuating hours, home at random times, punishments for being too loud. Phil had called Tommy excitable, is that what he meant?
“Cool, I like computers,” Techno says, forcing a smile.
“I think there's a club at your school if you want to join,” Phil offers. Smiling like they're really bonding.
Techno likes computers in the same way he likes staring out windows. Better than a wall. Most houses keep them barred up.
He hums like he's considering it.
All in all, it's going well. If Techno can keep this up forever, Phil might just keep him till he's an adult. Though Techno needs to live there a few weeks before fully committing to make sure there's no huge rug pulls, but maybe he can do it. Even if the thought alone is exhausting. It's manageable, it is. More than new houses and new people and new schools…
Techno feels his eyes roll upwards, lights smearing. Then he blinks and Phil's face is before him again. A hand is held out. He's frowning.
“Are you alright?” The man asks. His eyes flicker to the door.
Don't be, don't be, don't be. Not already.
“Yeah, why?” Techno says smoothly, flicking his braid over his shoulder.
“You zoned out for a couple seconds there.”
Oh, no. Definitely a seizure.
It must not have been long or bad though. Techno's a smidge more tired, a single additional needle stabbing in his brain, but he's honestly fine. A normal absence seizure, nothing to make a fuss about.
Fidgeting with his fingers a tad, he half smiles.
“Sorry, I was thinking about school, is all.”
“Oh, is something wrong with it?” Phil asks.
“Not wrong,” Techno shakes his head. His vision trails behind just a bit. Ignorable. “I'll probably be a bit behind now. We were doing a project.”
“Don't worry about that, mate. I'll explain it all to your teachers,” Phil says kindly, a smile starting back up.
Perfect. Techno nods and lets himself smile completely. His lips tingle, numb.
But then, the man dulls again. Growing serious. Crud, what now?
“I did want to ask you. About your medical condition;” Phil starts. Right when he slipped past that. “You have epilepsy, right? I got all the forms they give out for this, of course, but is there anything you think I should know to help you?”
“Nope!” Techno says too quickly. “Uh, I just take my medicine and I'm basically good. Sometimes one will slip through, no big deal. It's like sleeping for a minute.”
It's not. More like falling down the stairs and then running a mile. With a concussion. No sleep could cause that aching and fog and exhaustion. Unless it's literally his sleep and he's fitted during it. But he tacks on a nonchalant shrug to sell it, anyway.
“Alright, that's good then. I'll have to keep an eye out,” Phil says. But Techno can tell he relaxes a tad.
The man will watch closely for a couple weeks and then forget. That's the best case scenario, and Techno can make it happen. Even if he hasn't managed it in over a year, brain seeming to spool apart more and more all over his foster parents feet while they cringe. He'll shove all that yarn back into himself.
Not like he needs the help. He does it all himself anyway. Techno just needs to look easy so he gets to stay in one place.
Maybe then he'll get his head back on straight.
The door opens and his social worker strides in, obviously stressed and trying to hide it. Same with the apparent anxiety as she looks down on them. Techno feels kinship with her then. They're both thinking the same things.
“How's it going in here?” She asks.
“Pretty good,” Phil says, glancing at Techno.
He nods quickly.
“Great!” His social worker presses her hands together. One is still holding the phone. “I'm so sorry, but another kid is really needing my attention and to use this room—”
“No worries. If Techno's ready to go, I should get started on dinner,” Phil says, picking up on her polite prodding and responding immediately. All adults seem to know the song and dance.
Phil's choosing all the amiable options so far.
“Great, great,” His social worker repeats. “Got your bag?”
Techno silently stands and turns to go grab it, pinching his face up hard once his back is turned. His head is swimming at the elevation, stirring up some nausea.
Stomp it down, stupid. Can't even last five minutes? New record. His social worker will implode.
So Techno ignores the sense of his own tiny implosion and scoops up his backpack and duffle from the beanbag. Neat, clean as they can be. Both pale blue, the most acceptable color that he likes.
With a thumbs up towards his social worker, he walks over to Phil. The man sets a loose palm on his shoulder. He doesn't shrug away, though he can't quite swallow the jump.
Despite the fact that he’s trying very hard to keep it all neutral and compliant and respectful, Techno’s heart starts to pound as they head out to the parking lot.
For a moment, he thinks that he’s going to have another seizure, right there in the parking lot. That will be a million times harder to explain away than when he’s sitting down. And the fact that his insides are roiling and his nausea swells, he could see himself falling into convulsion, cracking his head open across the concrete.
Techno can’t ruin it this soon though, Phil might still send him back into the awful place that always sounds like children crying. Weeks, he needs weeks, he needs—
When he reaches out for the car handle, his hand is shaking violently. The realization makes him gasp, then again when he realizes just how breathless he feels. Are his lungs already seizing?
“Everything alright?” Phil asks, looking at him just barely over the roof of the car. It’s hard to hear over his pounding heart.
It hurts. His chest hurts. He can’t breathe—
Sucking in a giant breath, Techno yanks the door open and climbs in shakily. The seat belt takes a few attempts to be buckled in place, he's using a bit too much force by the end. Phil just then gets in the car too, eyebrows pushed together. Staring at Techno.
“Sorry, I’m freezing,” Techno says breathily.
A complaint is a bad way to deflect off of himself, but it’s better than nothing. The motivation of eyes on him makes it easier to crush down the panic running rampant in him too. That’s what it is, after all. He’s been babied through his dumb brain by enough school counselors and child psychologists in too small, state sponsored offices, to not have noticed it was just that till now. Stupid anxiety. Stupid him.
With a soft sound of recognition, Phil leans forward and turns on the heat. It blows directly in his face, drawing blood up under his skin. The feeling mixes strangely with the numbness, but probably not in a bad way.
“Thank you,” Techno says quietly.
“Sure thing,” Phil says.
The man buckles his own seat belt, not so subtly checking that Techno has his own on, before turning on the car and backing out of the spot. It’s silent between them, until Phil flicks on the radio. Embarrassment twists in his chest at that, for some reason.
Awkward. It’s always awkward. Techno can’t remember feeling comfortable around anyone since he was small and foster parents were more indulgent. Or he just missed their barely concealed discomfort too easily.
New places are always worse though. Tentatively, he lets his eyes closed.
“Was there anything you wanted for dinner?” Techno jolts at the sudden question, having to fight too hard to escape the fog. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize you dozed off.”
Techno shakes his head quickly. He didn’t realize either.
What was the question?
“Anything’s fine. I’m not picky,” Techno says.
Except towards most vegetables. And half the fruits. And a few kinds of meat. And too strong seasonings. And, like, every texture that isn’t perfectly consistent.
But, yeah, mostly not picky.
“Likes to read and will eat your vegetables? I’m not used to not having to worry about graying hair,” Phil says.
He’s obviously joking, but it puts an ache in his belly. Techno laughs politely with a shrug.
“How about pizza?” Phil asks, tapping on his steering wheel. “That’s always a safe bet.”
“Sure,” Techno says.
Luckily, he does actually feel that way. Pizza is tolerable almost always. Safe…
Though he’s slightly amused that Phil is already contradicting himself from what he said to his social worker. "Getting home to make dinner," sure. If opening a pizza box counts as making dinner. It’s not exactly a bad sign, most people lie in little polite ways like this, but it sticks in the back of Techno’s mind. Just in case.
“Tommy’s at a friend’s house right now, but he should be back in time for dinner. You guys can meet each other then,” Phil continues.
“Sure,” Techno says.
Unluckily, he does not actually feel that way. Foster siblings are rarely tolerable. They could be anything. He can only hope for an ally, but he doesn’t find it likely.
They peel away from the main streets, but Techno is relieved to find that they’re not driving into a winding suburb. The neighborhood is nice, but firmly within the town proper. Phil slows the car as they pass the townhouses and go towards houses with yards and bushes between.
The house Phil pulls into the driveway of is normal looking, not too nice or decrepit. Techno’s lived in both kinds, they are different kinds of unpleasant. An unpleasant in the center of the two is nicer. The brick of the walls are in one piece, but slightly faded.
There’s slightly overgrown flower beds on the edges of the path they follow. Phil sighs while leaning over to pick up a discarded soccer ball. It adds to his first instinct about the soccer dad thing. Techno fidgets with his bag straps at the slightly annoyed sound the man makes, allowing the space between them to grow a foot or so. This Tommy kid is already mixing things up badly for him. Bad premonition.
With a jangle of an overstuffed key chain, Phil unlocks the door, murmuring: “Keys, gotta make spare keys.”
His straps get strangled. He doesn’t breathe as he steps into the house.
“Alrighty, mind the mess, it is occasionally much cleaner than this,” Phil jokes. The living room and dining room peeking out are slightly cluttered, but not dirty. “Let me give you the look about.”
The house is bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside. Definitely a good thing. Techno’s soothed slightly by the couple of old stains on the carpets and tables too. And when Phil leads him to a slightly too bland bedroom with only one twin bed, he could sigh in relief. His own room, thank all that’s good.
It’s a cozy house. Nice. Techno finds he actually likes it, perhaps would like to live in a place like this someday.
“Just don’t punch holes in the walls that are unreasonably large, I am not good at spackling. But do whatever in here, otherwise.” Phil jokes again. He is not very serious, even behind closed doors. Could be good. He’ll see.
“Thank you,” Techno echoes again.
“Come grab me if you need,” Phil says with a nod, half of a gesture towards Techno cut off.
He keeps a small smile on his face for as long as Phil is in sight. Then it drops and he silently closes the door, turning the doorknob so it doesn’t click. His eyes hurt. He rubs them and sighs.
Already, he’s exhausted. The sun is too high in the sky and he still has dinner. Still has meeting a foster sibling that Phil possibly has some sort of care towards, as far as Techno’s relationship with him goes anyway. Techno is terrible with his peers, they see through him so much easier than adults. Being overly polite just seems like being a nerdy suck up to them.
Not totally inaccurate, on the first part at least. Techno flops down onto the bed and groans. His muscles are stiff. He doesn’t need to deal with dumb children at home too.
At Phil’s home.
The realization falls over Techno, uncomfortable as though he’s been doused by vinegar and honey. It’s all he can do to hug his rib cage, squeezing.
It’s overwhelming. The strange place he’s trapped in now. The strange people. It smells different, dust from skin cells that aren’t his. He can barely hear Phil walking around, which should be nice, but instead feels wrong. Like his ears are plugged up. The walls in his last house were so thin, he could hear everything.
It was hell. It was his home, and then not.
The tears that swell in his eyes force him to scrunch up his face. None of that. He’s fine. Everything is fine. Techno just needs to get his stuff under wraps and find the way he has to walk and talk to keep eyes from looking at him too closely. He needs to find where the floorboards squeak, and then the terrible vulnerable feelings will leave him.
Till he gets kicked out and has to start over.
No, not this time. Techno digs his fingers into his sides. So far, everything here seems fine, so he just has to figure out how to stay. For a while, a couple years. Then it’s not much longer till he’s eighteen.
That might as well be forever away, a hundred new homes. Unless Techno can manage the impossible: not being too much.
Surely he can. He just has to try harder.
He will.
Still, the exhaustion over him is so heavy, mixing with the fog in the corners of his skull. The pain in his head is just enough to be distracting and feels ill in a way that doesn’t denote real sickness.
Techno just needs to rest for a second. Then he can do this.
He breathes and it rattles. A little wet around his sinuses. Too heavy.
The fact that this is so hard really just hammers home why he has to do this. If being easy feels impossible, then no wonder everyone sees him as so hard. They probably all feel just as dragged down as he does now. It’s too much. If Techno had the option to send himself off without a second thought, he’d do it too. Life would be much easier…
But he can’t, so he will just find a way to manage. It’s the best that he can get.
Quickly, he’s dragged downwards by the gray and indistinct of the soft comforter.
Everything is indistinct, impressions of faces and shapes. Shaking voices, on the edge of laughter but turning too sharp for that. He gets the vague sense that someone is disappointed in him. Deep, daunting type of sleep where fingers keep trying to pluck him upwards.
A few short knocks are what end up waking him, feeling like he's simply blinked. The darkness is dashed away in favor of fuzzy exhaustion.
“ —dinner,” A voice filters through the door.
This is… Techno looks around, neck slightly too floppy, confused about where he is. Did he fall asleep here? The place isn’t familiar, exactly.
Right as the panic starts to set in, he remembers a car ride and kind seeming man with the same clarity of deja vu. But, right, this is Phil’s house. He’s staying here now. And presumably he was getting got for dinner.
Setting his palms on the bed, Techno shoves himself upright and swings his legs over the edge of the bed.
Well, he tries to do that, anyway. As is, sharp pain shoots up his arms and his legs kick around uselessly, stuck in the blanket that is barely even over them. A wave of ache and icky-ness falls over him, pounding in his temples and joints.
He definitely had at least one seizure while he was sleeping. Probably a full blown one with his luck. It certainly feels like a morning where a foster siblings would complain about his convulsing keeping them up.
He groans in pain.
Another knock comes, making him flinch.
“Techno? Are you alright?” Definitely Phil’s voice.
Shoot, he thought the man walked off. He needs to get up, right now. Move stupid legs—
Nearly crashing into the ground, Techno tumbles out of the bed towards the door. His whole body feels full of jello and electric eels. Not pleasant at all and he’s shocked he stays upright at all. But a stiff hand around the door frame and a very deep breath manages it.
Phil is frowning with a hand held up as Techno swings the door open.
“S-sorry. I fell asleep,” Techno stutters.
Slight surprise falls over the man as he obviously looks him over. Quickly, Techno shoves some of his hair behind his ears. It feels a mess at even a touch. Crud, and how must the rest of him look?
Against his will, his eyes fall to the floor as he shifts, ears dizzy.
“That’s alright. Did you want to come out for dinner?” Phil shifts back, obviously covering up his distaste? Concern? Probably the first.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Techno says, allowing himself to rub his eyes once, before stepping out.
He’s pleased that his knees stay locked without the support of the wall.
As Phil turns, Techno follows him out to the dining room. He can do this. He’s fine. Fine enough to look fine, anyway.
Techno will get through dinner, and meeting his foster sibling, and appearing polite around his foster father all evening. Then he’ll get through tomorrow, and the next day, and the one after that. He won’t cause trouble or be too much to manage. Then, maybe he’ll have the chance to stay.
He can do it. Even if it kills him.