Part of my collection of SBI-centric flufftober oneshots, except this one became a multichapter longfic. These can all be read as standalone.

Flufftober prompt: moving on after a bad event

Sam keeps shooting weird little glances his way that he thinks Techno doesn't notice.

For somebody who should be trained at this sort of stuff, he's not exactly subtle. Techno knows deep down that Sam is probably just wondering how long it will be this time before he gets a call in the middle of the night and has to drive down to fetch Techno. At his previous foster family, Techno had made the phone call himself after the woman tasked to look after him threw him to the curb and locked the door.

She did get in trouble for that. Who could have guessed you're not supposed to toss out a kid the government has assigned for you to take care of?

But Sam has that permanent crease of worry stuck between his eyebrows, taking one hand off the steering wheel to brush through his cropped hair. Techno thinks it's too short and makes him look older than he actually is. Not that it's really his place to say anything, is it? Just because Sam has been his case worker for over a decade doesn't mean they're friends. Or anything else.

In a way, Sam is also simply somebody the government assigned Techno to. A piece of paper dropped on his desk with a kid attached to it. Sam doesn't have to like Techno to do his job.

Sometimes he still pretends he does, though.

"This will be a good placement," Sam says. He sounds like he's desperately trying to breathe truth into the words. As if him wishing hard enough will make this succeed. "They're good people, Techno, they're…They'll be good to you." Sam's hand returns to the wheel so he can turn the car left at the next intersection and into a suburb.

Techno doesn't answer, staring out of the window at the passing scenery. The houses here are big, with white picket fences and little gravel paths that lead up to the front doors laid between carefully planted flowers. It's the kind of neighborhood Techno doesn't belong in. He swallows.

"I had another kid placed here before. He's really happy," Sam tacks on after a moment of silence. Techno doesn't know who he's hoping to convince.

They stop at a home that's pretty small compared to the other ones but looks like a mansion to Techno. He squashes the tiny burst of hope in his heart at the thought of getting his own room, then shakes it off. Just because these foster parents are rich enough to buy a decent-sized house doesn't mean he can get too demanding. Having low standards has kept him from crushed expectations often. Techno used to feel anticipation and hope and excitement and all those other stupid, silly things you're supposed to feel when you're sent to a new family. Every time that little flame got snuffed out, he grew more weary. He found it harder to pick himself up afterward.

So if he keeps his standards as low as humanly possible, there's nothing to be disappointed about.

It sounds depressing - maybe it is, Techno has had a few teachers comment on him being extremely nihilistic for his age - but it's helped him to keep his head clear. In five more years or so, he'll age out of the system. And then none of this will matter.

"Techno?" Sam clears his throat after saying his name, kind of nodding towards the house that they're now very much parked in front of. Crap, Techno had been zoning out again.

"Yeah," he says. It's not much of an answer, considering Sam probably is covertly asking if he's alright or not. But if he's not going to outright ask it, Techno's not going to go through the trouble of lying. He quickly unbuckles his seatbelt so he can get out of the car.

Being dropped off someplace new is always the worst part.

Sam approaches the door with confident strides, only adjusting his sleeves a little before ringing the doorbell. He seems more relaxed than he usually is. He left Techno's paperwork in the car too, which is weird since Sam is the kind of guy who is a stickler for doing things by the books. He did say he's familiar with this family.

Techno idles behind him, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The bag that contains all his worldly possessions feels as if it's dragging him down into the ground. Maybe if it opens up and swallows him whole, that wouldn't be such a bad thing.

The person who answers the door isn't some stuffy adult, all prim and proper to impress Sam. It's a kid, probably about four years younger than Techno. He's wearing pajamas. It's three in the afternoon.

"Sam!"

Techno flinches back when the kid instantly launches himself at Sam, though neither of them notices. Sam's too busy catching the boy's weight without toppling over, bracing one hand against his back and using the other to ruffle the kid's hair.

"Hey Tommy," Sam says brightly. "Man, what are they feeding you here? You're about two heads taller than the last time I saw you."

It's not hard to deduce this is the other foster child Sam mentioned having placed with this family. Techno takes the opportunity to glance over him now that there isn't any risk of being forced to make eye contact, tuning out the conversation as he does so. No obvious bruises or scars, so that's a good sign. The kid doesn't look underfed or dirty either. Techno wouldn't want a repeat of the medical negligence he faced in the past. Then Sam puts a hand between his shoulder blades and pushes him forward a step, forcing him to focus.

"-for him, so can you get Phil?"

Oh, they had been talking about him too. Techno hadn't noticed.

The boy looks at him for a moment, Techno making an effort to suddenly be very interested in the scuff marks on his shoes. He really should get new ones, these were bought for him by his foster dad from three families ago. The fronts are too small and pinch Techno's toes, but he had been too scared to bring it up.

The boy darts off, yelling at somebody in the house - Phil, presumably - and Sam's hand moves up so it can squeeze Techno's shoulder instead. The gesture is meant to be reassuring but leaves him feeling vaguely nauseous. Some tiny part of Techno wishes he could beg Sam to not abandon him again.

A bigger part of Techno bites his tongue at the thought of Sam telling him to stop being a baby and that he's just doing his job.

"That was Tommy," Sam says. "He's the kid I mentioned. He's been staying with the Crafts for almost three years."

Techno nods stiffly. Why is Sam telling him this?

Despite not being a mind reader, Sam's next statement does manage to instantly clear that up for him. "Before, he also had some issues at different placements. It took him a while to settle in here too, so that's why they couldn't take in a second foster kid right away."

Great, so Tommy was also a troubled child and these Craft people managed to fix him. And now Sam is hoping they could do the same for Techno.

"They'll be good to you," Sam says again. "I promise that I'll-"

"It's fine," Techno quickly answers. He can't take another empty promise from an adult he's supposed to trust. Not when he actually maybe sort of likes Sam and doesn't want to ruin that. Sam raises his shoulders as if he's about to say something more.

Before he can, a man walks into the hallway, Tommy following close behind. The man - Phil, if Techno were to guess - turns around to shoo Tommy up the stairs and he reluctantly goes. Then he steps forward to open the door impossibly wider, making the hinges creak a bit. "Sam, how are you?"

Phil is making the diplomatic choice of addressing Sam first. He has experience with foster kids so he's probably aware of how skittish they can be. Techno is just glad he has a few seconds to take a deep breath and hold it in, before forcing a neutral expression on his face. How many times has he gone through the routine of meeting a new family? Why is it this anxiety-inducing every single time?

Maybe because Techno doesn't know what to expect. When he'd been with people for a while, he would know the rules and the punishments for breaking them. With a new family, anything from them being unintentionally ableist to actual physical abuse was still on the table. The fact that he has no clue what he's walking into makes his entire brain feel like it's buzzing with static electricity.

"I'm doing good," Sam says. "I'm glad we could arrange this on such short notice."

"Of course, you know I love to help," Phil answers brightly. The general positivity radiating off him is almost obnoxious if it wasn't for the fact that it feels entirely sincere to Techno. Not like some foster parents, who play pretend at niceness when the social worker is around to keep up appearances. "Is this Techno?"

No, Sam just brought some other random kid with him, Techno thinks scathingly.

Sam's hand lands on his shoulder again, still firm with an attempt at encouragement. "The very one. Techno, this is Phil. You're going to be staying with him and his family."

"Hi, mate. I heard a lot about you," Phil says and extends his arm for a handshake. Techno doesn't take it.

Sam's fingers squeeze into his shoulder slightly but Techno holds firm, keeping his eyes on some distant point over Phil's head so he can stare at the wall. After a moment of awkward silence, Phil drops his arm but his smile doesn't falter.

Techno studies his expression for obvious signs of annoyance but finds none. Phil steps out of the way to usher them inside. "Please, come on in. Kristin is getting the tea ready."

"Does she still grow her own?" Sam asks. He makes Techno go in front of him as if he'd try to run away or something.

"Yeah! She's been dabbling in vegetables too, lately." Phil leads them down the hallway and into another room. It's a kitchen, one of those open-plan ones that has counter islands and a big table on the other side. There's no wall between this and the living room either, making it all feel very homely.

Or very exposed, if you ask Techno. There's no place to hide.

There's a woman there pouring cups of tea. Phil's wife, Kristin. She turns around to smile at him, long dark hair falling over her shoulder with the motion. The edges are curled, framing her round face. She reminds Techno of somebody, but he can't quite remember who.

Techno more or less zones out completely as they sit down at the table to exchange pleasantries and talk. At one point Kristin asks him if he wants tea and he shakes his head. They give him a glass of juice instead, the fresh kind that has little pieces of pulp floating on the bottom. Techno doesn't drink it.

He stays there as they discuss the placement. Sam didn't bring the paperwork because he mailed everything to Phil ahead of time and got the legal bits sorted out. They talk very briefly about his most recent foster home, then about the school he's supposed to go to now and the therapist he sees weekly. Sam explains Techno's medication schedule to them.

It's all very casual and there's a lot of laughter and jokes that fly completely over Techno's head. At this point, he's not sure if he's ignoring them on purpose, or maybe he's slipped into dissociation because he's overwhelmed. Does it really matter? The adults stop bothering him after he doesn't answer their questions for a while, which is fine by him.

But at some point, Phil notices he's not paying any attention. He stands up and leaves the room for a moment, only to come back with another boy. He's older than Tommy, older than Techno too though not by much. He has dark brown hair and hazel eyes. They look at Techno with open curiosity, like Tommy earlier.

"Techno, this is Wilbur. He's going to show you your room, if that's okay?"

Techno nods. He's amused imagining what Phil would even do if he said that wasn't okay with him. Send Techno back with Sam, maybe? Like a defective household appliance that you ship back to the manufacturer. It would be too good to be true.

"Hey," Wilbur says. He grins at Techno.

"Hey," Techno echoes back more quietly.

The walk to the room takes less than three minutes and Wilbur keeps up a constant stream of chatter throughout it, not disguising his excitement about having another kid in the house. Techno wouldn't be able to recall afterward what Wilbur says to him, he tunes most of it out. He only registers the dull surprise he feels when Wilbur opens the door and Techno sees the empty walls beyond, the one bed neatly made up and pushed into the corner. There's also a desk and a bookcase, but all of it is empty.

He has his own room.

Techno can't remember the last time his fosters bothered to give him his own room.

"Dad said we'll go out and buy you some stuff to decorate and shit." Wilbur waves at the room proudly, displaying it as some sort of trophy. Techno steps closer to the window, seeing that it's right above a bush that's planted against the house. That's good, he could climb out in a pinch. The desk is probably also close enough to the door to be used to barricade it.

Wilbur just keeps staring at him, not taking Techno's refusal to really acknowledge him to heart.

"You can probably bully him into painting the walls too," Wilbur says. "Just tell him you won't feel at home otherwise. That's how Tommy got the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling." He's still grinning.

Techno shrugs, throwing his bag into the corner of the room. He doesn't know if he'll bother unpacking, maybe he'll be gone by the end of the week.

"What grade are you in?" Wilbur asks while seating himself on the bed - Techno's bed. Seems like he's going to stick around for some reason.

"Ninth," Techno tells him. Unsure whether he should sit down or stay standing, he ends up walking around the room aimlessly. He plays it off as him looking around, but he's inspecting for all the places he could use to hide important items. It's good to have an emergency plan for anything he needs to keep out of his foster parents' hands.

He fidgets with the bracelet around his wrist, fingers pressing between the beads and turning them over and over.

"Wait, how old are you?" Wilbur pushes his elbows into the mattress to sit up.

"Thirteen." Techno says, then to get ahead of Wilbur's interrogation he adds, "I skipped a grade."

"Cool, you're only one year below me then. We might even share some classes."

Techno opens the closet, looking at the clothes inside. There's not much, basic shirts and jeans and some underwear. Sam must have told Phil his size ahead of time so Techno would have something to wear while here. If Phil is the kind of guy who wants to take the foster kid shopping for room decor, he'll probably want to take Techno to buy new clothes too. He cringes at the thought. To say he's not looking forward to it at all would be an understatement.

"Do you like video games?" Wilbur asks. Techno shrugs again. "We should play some, it's going to be forever until Sam's done talking."

Wanting more than anything to get Wilbur out of the room - his room, the only privacy he's had in ages - Techno agrees. He follows Wilbur into the bedroom beside his own. It's similar in size, maybe even a little smaller. Techno doesn't know why that makes him feel on edge.

Tommy is lying on Wilbur's bed, flipping through a music magazine. Techno almost chuckles. Something about how invading other people's sleeping arrangements must be a shared family trait. Though he doesn't feel safe enough at all to make the joke out loud. Wilbur doesn't seem to mind, he just shoves Tommy aside so they can sit down, laughing when it makes the younger kid curse at him.

He hands Techno a controller. "Have you played Mario Kart before?"

"Kinda," Techno says. The group home he used to stay in had a console in the recreation room. Techno watched others play Mario Kart sometime. He never played it himself, the older kids wouldn't share.

"We only have two controllers but we can take turns," Wilbur says. Even when spoken out loud, it's a foreign concept to Techno.

Not as much as the bio kid sharing anything with a foster child though. Now that's just unheard of.

But Wilbur doesn't look like he cares, handing off the controller to Tommy after three matches. And then after three more, Techno gives his to Wilbur. They're very loud and yell a lot while playing, Techno mostly sits there and tries not to let his little cart be run off the road. Somehow he's doing very well, going by Wilbur cheering him on. When Tommy throws the controller down in played frustration, Techno almost smiles.

Then Sam calls his name from downstairs and he bolts.

Techno manages not to trip on the steps and crack his skull open on the way down, though it's an almost tempting notion. He knows exactly what's about to happen and he hates it. There's nothing he can do to avoid the inevitable though.

Sam is about to get in his car and drive away. And Techno is going to be left with these strangers. He'll be forced to pretend at being a family for a while. Maybe they'll keep it up for a couple of days, a few weeks. Several months if they're feeling generous.

Then something will happen. Techno can't predict if it'll be a sudden snap or a slow build-up of smaller things he does that drives them to the brink. They'll get sick of him and they'll stop trying to make him believe they care, or that they're a family.

And Techno will need to go back to having Sam's number on speed dial.

"Easy now," Sam says, catching Techno by the waist to prevent him from slamming into the wall. "You think I'm going to leave without saying goodbye?"

"I know that," Techno says testily. It's more emotion than he's dared to show in the past few hours, yet it's still only a fraction of what hides beneath. If he let it all out, he'd be clinging to Sam with all the pathetic desperation he has tucked into his chest and he'd be begging for Sam not to leave. Emotions he shoves into a small corner of his brain harder so he can step back and away from Sam's supporting hold instead.

Sam lets his arms drop to his side uselessly. He smiles down at Techno fondly and that too causes a feeling inside him that Techno refuses to process. He'll just throw it on the heap with all the other emotions he has decided aren't worth examining further and has tried not to acknowledge the existence of since his real parents died.

"I'll be coming by to check up on you in a month," Sam says. "You still have my number, right?" Techno nods while patting his pocket, assuring himself his phone is in there. It was a gift from Sam, ironically. "If anything comes up, you can call me. I'm never more than an hour away."

Techno crosses his arms to deal with the strange itch in his bones that wants to hug Sam. "Sure."

Sam looks at him for a moment longer, then nods. He shoves his hands into his pockets. There's a small twitch in the muscle below his eye, though Techno doesn't read too much into it.

He misses the group home. He misses adults not acting like he's anything more than a paycheck, either because it's their job to care for him or because the government will give them a foster care allowance if they put up with him long enough.

"Take care of yourself," Sam says then. He does reach out to awkwardly pat Techno on the shoulder once, though it doesn't quite land when Techno dodges the touch.

"I will," he says, looking away.

Sam is hoping to never have to see him again. He can tell.

After the door closes, Techno turns around and Phil is standing in the doorway. Techno doesn't know if he watched the entire exchange, the thought that he has makes his head hurt. He wants to go upstairs, crawl beneath those colorless blankets and fall asleep for a million years. He doesn't want to deal with any of this.

But Phil clears his throat and nods at Techno's feet.

"We prefer it if you take your shoes off inside the house," he says - not unkindly. Not that it matters when the words stab into the most sensitive parts of Techno's brain. Sam hasn't been gone for more than a minute and he's already screwing this up.

He hurries to undo the laces, mumbling a quick apology that Phil either doesn't catch or doesn't respond to.

"We're having dinner in a couple of minutes, could you fetch Wilbur and Tommy?"

Techno nods and shoots back up the stairs, anything to get away from Phil's watchful gaze. It's only for a short bit though, because he knows he'll be the main attraction as soon as they sit down at the dinner table. Techno is already going through the usual scripts he's built over the years, all the answers to their insistent questioning that tend to go over well or are neutral enough not to cause discontent.

Just because Techno knows this family will end up hating him anyway doesn't mean he has to speedrun the process.

When he returns to the kitchen - this time with Wilbur and Tommy in tow happily chatting with each other - Techno notices the table is set. There are matching plates and cutlery and four different colored glasses. One for each member of the family. Techno's glass is a boring, plain one that you can get at every store ever and doesn't match the rest. Somehow, it feels like a relief.

For a little bit, Techno can sit and push the food on his plate around with his fork without anybody commenting. He's once again not actually listening to the conversations going on around him, but not zoned out enough to miss it when Kristin says his name.

"Techno, do you like the food?"

Techno raises his chin to look at her, then lowers his head again. "It's fine," he says.

Kristin laughs, perhaps finding his demure disposition funny somehow. "Don't be scared to insult Phil's cooking, he's used to it."

"What?!" Phil squawks. "You've always said you like my cooking?"

"But Techno might not," Kristin points out easily. "Sam told us you have some sensory issues, so if there's any food that disagrees with you, let us know."

Oh, this was them leading into the questioning. Techno's fingers tighten around his fork.

"It's fine," he repeats. He can't eat some stuff but it's not like they would need to adjust their diets to fit him. Kristin just keeps looking at him, forcing Techno to elaborate. "I don't like grainy stuff, I guess."

"Like the juice?" Kristin asks - though it doesn't sound like a question. Techno looks over her shoulder and sees his glass of juice on the counter. He was stupid for thinking they wouldn't notice.

Techno returns to picking at his mashed potatoes with a small shrug.

"I hate the little peel bits on a banana," Tommy offers. "They're nasty."

"I think you just hate fruit in general," Wilbur says. "You're going to get scurvy."

Tommy frowns, taking the accusation very seriously. "Nuh-uh. I'm too cool for scurvy."

"Diseases don't usually care about how cool you are," Phil says. "And fruit punch is not a substitute for eating your veggies." He points his fork at Tommy's plate. Unlike Techno, who has been avoiding all of his food, it looks like Tommy specifically ate everything except for his broccoli.

"What about other textures?" Kristin asks. It takes Techno an embarrassingly long moment to catch on that she's talking to him again.

"I don't know," he says. "Some shirts are itchy."

He feels like his entire face is burning with shame. He's used to new foster families asking questions, but not these ones. When Sam tells them about his ADHD and the problems it causes for Techno, they often just scoff and wave it away.

"We'll have to go shopping at some point," Phil says predictably enough. "Have you thought about how you want your room to look yet?"

Techno shoves a piece of chicken in his mouth to avoid needing to answer, settling for a vague hum through tight lips. It's sufficiently non-committal, he hopes. And it beats having to say that he doesn't care how his room looks since it won't be his room for very long anyway.

"You have time to figure it out," Kristin adds quickly, trying to smile gently at him. "No need to decide all of that now."

"We should paint the walls," Wilbur says. Techno is puzzled by his insistence on why that needs to happen so badly.

Phil nods. "If Techno wants them a different color, sure."

"We can get some other stuff at the mall too," Kristin says. "Like toiletries and things you need for school. What do you like to do for fun? You might want to join an afterschool club."

"I kinda just read," Techno admits. The only thing in his bag aside from some clothes and the frazzled polar bear plushie called Steve that he's had for as long as he can remember, are books. He's read them all a dozen times by now, but that is fine. It's still easy to get lost in the familiar worlds laid out for him on those pages. Whenever he was stuck in a particularly bad foster family, they were his only escape.

"There might be a book club," Kristin says. Techno shudders at the thought of social interaction. The best part about reading as a hobby is that he can do it alone. Better yet, he's usually not bothered by people if he's buried nose-deep in a book. They avoid talking to him because they don't want to interrupt.

Sitting in a circle with other people talking sounds like it would drain all the fun out of reading.

"I'm in the music club," Wilbur says.

"What instrument do you play?" Techno asks, then instantly wants to bite his tongue because crap, he was supposed to be keeping his distance from this family. Why would he make things harder on himself?

Wilbur brightens up at the question though, puffing his chest out proudly. "Guitar."

"String instrument," Techno can't help but answer. "Respectable."

He wonders what happened to the violin he used to play. That family wasn't great, but they were very insistent on him keeping up with his musical education. They said he was a natural, a prodigy. They kicked him out after three months because Techno was 'ungrateful' while they saved him from a life of misery by taking him in.

"I bet I could learn how to play a guitar," Tommy cuts in. He's looking at Techno with an uncomfortable amount of eagerness, searching for something. Something Techno can't give. He clears his throat and pushes his chair back.

"Can I be excused?" he asks.

Phil looks surprised but after exchanging a glance with Kristin he nods. "Yeah, of course. You don't start school until next week so don't worry about setting an alarm, mate."

Techno flees that room as if staying there a second longer will physically burn him.

He changes and crawls into his bed. The blanket is grey and cold, trailing along his skin with a shiver. For what might be the first time ever, Techno thinks he would prefer the bed in the group home. He can't sleep in the ward full of other kids and the sheets are horrible, too scratchy. But it's better than being here, in this house.

Techno can't do this.

He can't deal with Tommy's wide-eyed face hoping for his approval, desperately wanting Techno to think he's cool. He can't deal with Wilbur trying to be friends with him and make him feel welcome. He can't deal with Kristin's gentle patience or Phil's soft acquiescence and their attempts to show their kindness. He can't deal with any of that.

He can't be let down again.

The cell phone on his bedside table has a little light on the side that blinks lazily while the phone charges, beckoning him. If Techno could only pick it up, Sam would only be one button press away.

Instead, Techno rolls over and closes his eyes, trying to sleep. But an uncomfortable ache deep in his chest keeps him awake until sunrise.