Chapter Text
Mornings seldom are a calm affair in the Craft household.
From where he's lying, wrapped securely in his blankets, Techno can hear the door to Tommy's room slam shut. He can hear footsteps down the stairs, yelling in the kitchen, one of his brothers hitting the side of the sink with their plate. They're familiar sounds. Cozy, almost. Techno turns over onto his shoulder, smooshes his face into the pillow, and closes his eyes.
He wants to snooze for a bit more.
Techno isn't a morning person. But, since it takes him less time to get ready for school than the rest of his family, he's allowed to sleep in. Lucky him.
"Techno?"
He might have genuinely dozed off again for a few minutes because the next thing he knows, Phil is opening the door. Stepping fully inside without closing it behind him, he makes his way across the room with care, avoiding the not-very-tidy piles of clothes and books Techno has left strewn around the floor.
"Are you awake?" his father asks, as Techno peeks at him through the hair that sticks to his face.
Techno grunts back something that's neither a word nor a growl but comes close to both. Phil chuckles softly.
"I know you hate Thursdays, but you need to get up, mate."
Again, Techno answers with a noncommittal noise. Phil sits down on the side of the bed, ruffling his fingers through Techno's bangs with a smile.
"Did you stay up too late reading again?" Phil teases.
At long last, Techno pulls his face away from the pillow. "No," he lies.
"Are you sick?" His father's hand stops its motion to rest carefully against his forehead instead, checking his temperature. But Techno feels fit as a fiddle, truly. And Phil's expression indicates he knows this.
"I'm fine," Techno says. He squints his eyes open better, to the sight of Phil hovering over him, wings spread out a little. They're huge enough to actually become somewhat of an inconvenience if he's sitting like this.
Techno frowns before he can help it.
With that, his father's face turns more serious too, and concern creeps into his voice. "Did something happen at school?"
Quickly, Techno pushes upright, yawning. "No, I just don't feel like going to gym class today." That one isn't a total lie, so it's safe enough to say. Even if Phil doesn't know the full extent of why Techno loathes that particular class with a passion.
"Okay then." Standing up, Phil heads towards the door again. "Come get your breakfast before it goes cold."
As soon as the door is closed behind him, Techno falls back onto the mattress and sighs. He's not normally this bad about going to school. Yeah, Thursdays suck and all, but Techno likes school. He's on top of his classes, his teachers have nice things to say about him, and more than one of his tests is currently sticking to the fridge.
It's just that he dreamt about growing wings again.
Techno's had that dream for as long as he can remember. When he was younger, it felt more like a nightmare to him. Shaking limbs and ripping skin and the feeling that there was something deeply wrong with his body, something crawling beneath the skin waiting to burst out. It was frightening. His mouth still tastes a bit weird in the aftermath, bitter almost.
As he got older, the dream stopped feeling like a nightmare. Maybe Techno got used to those vivid images haunting him in the night. Or maybe he kind of wanted them to be real. But it does always leave him feeling off for the rest of the day. He doesn't know how to describe it. And he certainly doesn't want to deal with the dumb antics of his classmates on top of it. Techno lies there for about ten more seconds, breathing deeply and listening to the commotion downstairs as he calms down. Then he forces himself upright again.
He throws on his clothes and stops in front of the mirror hanging beside his bedroom door so he can brush his hair. As he does, Techno can't help but stare at his reflection.
He doesn't look very much like his family.
Aside from the glaringly obvious difference that is the lack of wings, Techno doesn't take after either of his parents. His mother has dark brown hair and pretty hazel eyes, both of which Wilbur inherited. And Tommy is the spitting image of their dad with his blond hair and blue eyes. Techno's eyes are blue too, but it's more of a pale greyish blue compared to Tommy and Phi's cloudless sky. Techno's hair is a light shade of pink, which old photographs betray comes from a grandmother he has never met. The unusual color skipped a generation, it seems. Genetics is weird like that sometimes.
But it's not the only way in which genetics turned out to Techno's disadvantage, so perhaps he shouldn't be surprised. With how hybrids work, it's extremely unlikely for two avian parents to have a human child. Extremely unlikely does not mean impossible, though.
Techno is proof of that.
When he's done brushing his hair, Techno turns around and cranes his neck to peer at his back in the mirror. The phantom sensations of the dream cling to him, and he can almost imagine the slight bulging of his skin against his shirt, tendons waiting to tear free. But when he sags his shoulders, there's nothing there.
"Techno!" his mother calls from the bottom of the stairs.
"Yeah, I'm up!"
He finishes braiding his hair and then goes downstairs. The kitchen looks as if a bomb exploded, with dirty dishes everywhere and one of the chairs overturned. Oof, looks like Tommy has been an absolute angel getting his clothes on today. Techno sits down in his usual spot, noticing that Phil has already piled a few pancakes onto his plate. The butter is half-melted, and a bottle of maple syrup is standing nearby. Pancakes are usually a weekend treat. He wonders why they're getting them on a school day.
"Tommy, will you please sit still for five fucking minutes? You promised." Phil's attempt to scold the eight-year-old is then followed by Tommy running into the kitchen and past the table. He's shirtless. Of course he is.
"I don't wanna," Tommy whines, flaring his wings out wide in irritation. "It itches."
"I know, but- Oh, hey, Techno." Phil smiles at him as he enters the kitchen too. Techno gives a half-hearted smile in return, too busy shoving pancakes into his mouth. Phil turns back to Tommy. "I know the shirt itches, but the doctor says you need more coracoid support."
"Can't I just drink more milk so my bones get really strong?" Tommy asks innocently.
"You hate milk," Techno says. Tommy pouts at him as if Techno stating this very obvious and well-known fact is some sort of betrayal.
"Techno is right, you'd fight me on drinking the milk too," Phil says. "I already bribed you with pancakes. Now get your ass back into the living room and put on the brace."
Tommy makes a face, but their father catches him by the wrist before he can continue throwing a fit. Techno watches Tommy be dragged away, the small wings on his back fluffing out in dismay, flapping a few times. Techno proceeds to pick at his food for a while longer, not having much of an appetite.
The reason he gets to sleep in and his brothers don't is that putting on clothes while having wings is a chore and a half.
Especially for young avians, they often need help from their parents in getting dressed. Their wings become less fragile as they get older, making it easier to bend and fold them into clothes that are specifically made for avians. But especially at Tommy's age, you can't be rough with them. Wings can easily break, or end up permanently malformed if compressed too long in the wrong position. Even a set of wings that look fine to the untrained eye can cause serious muscle pains if the avian is not bracing them correctly throughout the day.
All that to say that getting Tommy and Wilbur ready for school is a two-person effort.
In a way, maybe it's good then that Techno isn't an avian. He doesn't need Phil to help him get his shirt and brace on or Kristin to tie his laces because bending over without losing his balance has become a problem with the wings hitting their first growth spurt. That's something Wilbur currently is having trouble with. And yes, he's totally using it as an excuse to sneak his way out of doing his chores.
"Make sure you don't forget anything. I'm not driving back around to bring your homework this time," Kristin yells after Wilbur, who is rushing up the stairs, heading to the sink herself. When she sees Techno, she adds on, "You too, dear."
Techno snorts lightly, amused by his mother feeling the need to include him in the reprimand. As if he'd ever forget his homework.
"Should I just take the bus today?" he asks.
Frowning, she looks at him. "Why would you say that?"
Right as she finishes the sentence, a crash from the living room has Tommy giggling like a madman and Phil cursing loudly.
"It doesn't sound like we'll be ready to head out anytime soon, and I'd like to visit the library before class," Techno says. "Also, it gets kind of crowded in the car."
Technically, their car should fit five people just fine. Throw a few pairs of wings into the mix, however, and Techno spends half the drive trying not to get batted in the face by wayward feathers.
"Don't be silly," Kristin says, waving her hand with a grin. "You finish your pancakes, let us wrangle the unruly fledglings. We'll be ready to leave in no time. Promise."
Before Techno can respond, Wilbur enters, holding his book bag. "Got everything."
Kristin looks at him with a raised eyebrow. "How did you manage to get your wings messed up already? Turn around, let me straighten them out."
While they sort that, Techno scrapes the remainder of his pancakes into the bin. Phil always overestimates how much he eats. Maybe because both Tommy and Wilbur need the extra food, growing their wings and all. Avians are scientifically proven to burn through more energy than humans, especially during childhood.
"I'm getting in the car," he says. Watching their mother tenderly straighten the displaced feathers of Wilbur's wings makes his stomach feel tied in knots. It always does.
"We'll be right there," she answers absently. Techno hums, checking that he has all his stuff, just to make sure. She's probably not lying when she says she won't drive back.
Especially since they don't even get to school in time for Techno to visit the library before classes start.
Wilbur tried to drag him off to sit with his friends during lunch, but Techno managed to weasel his way out of it by lying about a group project. He's currently hiding out in the library, sitting with his back against the wall flanked on both ends by high shelves. He's reading a science book, one he's had his eyes on for a short while already, so this was the perfect time for some light reading.
The bell rang three minutes ago. His gym class is about to start.
Techno's ankle hurts because he keeps flicking his foot, a nervous tic he can't quite squish down.
Most of the other students have already left. The library isn't exactly a popular hangout spot for teens, and whoever doesn't have a class to attend is going to be out in the courtyard when the weather is this nice. Techno pulls his book up in front of his face in a futile attempt to conceal himself as a few more kids pass the other end of the aisle, but none of them so much as glance at him.
Sometimes, being unpopular has its advantages.
After a few minutes, peace returns, and Techno can finally think again. He lowers the book, turning the page. Colorful strands of DNA unravel before him, with arrows pointing at different parts of the string and offering additional information. Techno starts to read the text. He's doing pretty good at his science classes, so if anybody asks, he can say he's getting a head start for the future. He could need a topic for a paper soon, you never know.
The squeaky sound of wheels stops at the other end of the shelves. When Techno looks up, Simon is staring at him through a gap between the books.
"Techno, did you not hear the bell?" he asks.
Techno's foot jerks once, almost making him wince. "I did."
"Then you shouldn't be in the library anymore." But despite saying that, Simon resumes putting books back on the shelf. Techno smiles and continues reading. When Simon finally makes his entire way around, he ends up next to Techno. "What class are you skipping?"
"Physical education," Techno admits, eyes downcast. The rug in the library is a dark grey color but has these strange bright swirls of red and yellow on it. Kinda like the DNA strands in the science book.
"It's unlike you to play hooky," Simon comments.
Techno shrugs. "Gym isn't a real class anyway, they just added it to the curriculum to keep the other kids from tearing the building down."
"You may be right," Simon says, picking up another big encyclopedia from his cart and putting it back where it belongs. "Are those other kids what you're actually avoiding by hiding in here?"
A small grimace taints Techno's face. Simon is the only adult who knows about the trouble he's having with some of his classmates. Techno doesn't really want to call it bullying. That makes it sound so serious, and it's not serious. And he doesn't want to tell the teachers.
But Simon isn't a teacher, technically. He's a school aide, meaning he takes care of the library and helps out during study hall or other stuff like that. They run into each other often since the library is Techno's favorite place to be.
"Maybe," he says, drawing up his knees.
"It's also unlike you to let them get to you," Simon says. Techno smiles vaguely. It's true that he doesn't normally care about what others think or say.
Recently, their words have started to hit a nerve, though.
Techno can't quite explain it. Probably, it has to do with the fight he had with Wilbur a couple of weeks ago. It was such a nothing argument too, Techno can't remember what started the squabble. Maybe Wilbur didn't knock when he entered Techno's room, or Techno ate something out of the fridge that Wilbur had been looking forward to having later. Something stupid like that. Typical sibling stuff.
They threw some insults back and forth before Phil intervened, and Techno doubts Wilbur even remembers what he blurted out in the heat of the moment. If he did, he definitely would apologize for it, especially if he realized Techno was still so caught up in it. If Phil heard, he'd have punished Wilbur. If they knew. If Techno could just spit it out-
But Techno swallows it down. Because part of him thinks Wilbur was right.
"I can go to gym," he says, maybe just to get away from Simon's prying eyes that are making his face flush and his head feel too full.
"It's okay," Simon says quickly. "I'll let your teacher know you weren't feeling well and spent the period at the nurse's office."
"Lying?" Techno intones with mock indignation. "That's not exactly a good example to set for the poor children."
"Only if you help me put these away," Simon says, tapping his fingers on the handrail of the library cart.
"And bribery?"
Simon laughs, but Techno gets up anyway. He supposes putting books away is a bit better than moping around while reading random blurbs on genetics. It's closer to an activity.
"Manual labor builds character," Simon jokes.
"Child labor," Techno shoots back.
"It's either this or joining the others who are running laps."
Techno's face scrunches up, and he nods. Putting books away is definitely better than that.
"What were you reading about?" Simon asks conservationally as they start to make their way down the opposite shelf. Once in a while, he hands Techno a book, so he can find the correct spot and fit it into there.
"Recessive genes," Techno says.
"Really?" Simon seems genuinely surprised to hear it.
Well, maybe it's a strange topic of study for a twelve-year-old. What does Techno know?
"Did you know there are some recessive genes that can activate when the animal is under stress?" Techno asks. "There were these snakes that suddenly started making venom because they had the genes for it, just not in a way that was noticeable in normal circumstances."
"That's interesting," Simon says. "And this whole sudden obsession with recessive genes has no ulterior motive, I presume?"
Techno swallows, turning away to put another book on the shelf. "Not really?"
"Are you sure?"
Techno gives up and glares at Simon, who laughs in response. He really does know Techno too well.
"It's called epistasis," Techno explains. "When a gene is there but is being suppressed by something else, another gene or a mutation or a fluke or something." Simon stays silent, allowing Techno to sort his thoughts. "Hybrid traits are recessive," Techno says. "So if both my parents are avians, they must have passed it to me somehow. Even if it doesn't show."
Techno has been thinking about it for weeks - ever since Wilbur said those vitriolic words in the middle of their argument - what makes him look different from his family. It has to be buried somewhere deep inside him.
"It's…" Simon falters, choosing his words diplomatically. "It's fascinating that biology can work like that. But don't let it get in the way of your actual school work, yeah?"
Techno exhales a dismissive breath. "Bruh, I already said gym isn't a real class. Me reading a science book will look way better on my college application than me being able to run a hundred meters without collapsing."
"That's not how it works," Simon says, smiling. Techno ignores him.
But Simon also makes good on his promise of letting him hide out in the library until school is over and making certain Techno doesn't get in trouble with his teacher for skipping gym. That's another Thursday dealt with.
Only about two dozen more to go before the school year is finally over.
Techno lies on the couch with Wilbur's fingers gently weaving through his hair.
The position he's in isn't the most comfortable, not for Techno at least. He's slumped against the armrest, neck craned awkwardly sideways so he can rest his cheek on Wilbur's shoulder. It would be nice maybe if Techno didn't have the joint of Wilbur's wing stabbing into his back a little. Every twitch presses into that sore spot.
But Techno doesn't want to pull away. Because Wilbur is combing through his hair, and it's nice, and in a few minutes, they're all going to start preening and Techno will have nothing.
It's a nightly ritual, where their mother and father preen Tommy and Wilbur carefully, straightening their feathers and getting rid of debris. Then they'll apply this oil that smells vaguely minty and always stings Techno's nostrils. They'll often offer to braid Techno's hair too, and apply this fancy leave-in conditioner product they got for him.
Techno doesn't really like it, though. He prefers this, before the whole fanfare. Just him and one of his brothers on the couch, without all the extra attention.
"How did the group project go?" Wilbur asks suddenly. Techno takes a tense few seconds too long to remember that's the excuse he used to get away from Wilbur during lunch.
"It was boring," Techno says, pretending to be more interested in whatever is playing on the TV than he truly is.
"Who are you working with?"
"Uh… Steve and Carl," Techno says. He doesn't know if there even is a Steve in his class, or a Carl. There has to be, right? Steve is one of the most basic names in existence, and he's pretty sure he's heard his teacher call out 'Carl' when they were writing down attendance.
Wilbur sits back a bit. "Are they your friends?"
Techno pushes back too, to watch his brother's face. "I guess. Why the interrogation?"
"Just curious," Wilbur says quickly, averting his eyes. "And worried, you know?"
Techno flops over to the side, properly away from Wilbur, who winces and has to pull in his wing to avoid it being crushed. "Not everybody needs to be an extraverted theater kid, Wilbur."
Wilbur's cheeks puff out when he takes a deep breath, preparing for some rebuttal. Techno is mainly trying to distract him from his line of questioning because rumors travel quickly across the school, and Wilbur probably noticed him always spending time by himself. If he gets wind of Techno's not-bullying problem, it'll turn into an entire scene. Techno doesn't want that.
Before Wilbur can respond to the accusation, their dad walks into the room. "Okay, preening time. Are you ready, Wilbur?"
Techno takes the opportunity to get up from the couch. "I'm going to get a headstart on homework before bed."
"Really?" Wilbur asks. "You could just stay and hang out."
The question seems so innocent. Techno knows Wilbur means it, and sometimes, the preening can be a bonding activity for them. Normally, they put on some music, talk, let Techno help.
He can't do that anymore without it making him want to cry.
So he shakes his head. "Nah, maybe next time."
Techno flees up to his room, closing his door on the noise of his family downstairs. The science book he got from the library is open on his desk. Techno took it with him when Simon wasn't looking.
When they had their fight, Wilbur looked at him with so much annoyance, so much disgust. And in that moment, he gave a voice to the doubt that Techno has been feeling deep down in his heart for ages - maybe from the moment he was born.
"I'm glad nobody at school would ever guess we're brothers because I fucking hate you!"
Wilbur didn't mean it. He didn't. Techno has said things he regretted in the past too.
But that doesn't change the fact that Wilbur is right.
The whispers in the hallways about him being adopted. The way people look at him sometimes when he's out with his family. The nightmares turned to dreams Techno has where wings sprout from his back painfully and everything is painted in blood and gore, yet all Techno feels is relief because he finally, irrevocably belongs with them.
Those aches have been inside him all along. The only thing Wilbur did was say them out loud.
Techno's finger traces one of the DNA strings in his book. The avian gene is inside him, even if in a recessive capacity. The potential for him to become like his family is there.
All he has to do is bring it out somehow.