Techno knows Kristin told Phil about Steve.
Not that Phil has said anything, he's not acting any different from usual. He's still all smiles and patient conversations and that stupid, stupid grin Techno can't bring himself to hate no matter how hard he tries to. But when they are in the store - Techno unwillingly dragged along because Phil decided they just have to stop by there on the way back from Techno's therapy session - Phil not very subtly drops one of those lint roller things in the cart. Techno's eyes only flit towards it for a moment. He's not even interested in the groceries, he's only trying to avoid more eye contact with random strangers doing their shopping than he can humanly bear. But Phil thinks it's curiosity, maybe. Or he's hoping for a reason to bring it up.
"I think it would be nice for you to have one," he says.
"A lint roller?" Techno asks. He's pretty used by now to Phil and Kristin wasting money on him. If they're not careful, they're not going to have anything left from that pretty allowance the government gives them as a reward for putting up with Techno. What a bunch of chums!
"Yeah, for your clothes and such," Phil says. Quieter, he adds. "You can use it for stuffed animals too."
Techno feels his cheeks heat up, stupidly, embarrassingly. He exhales a shaky breath that feels like thorns burrowing into his lungs. Then, because it's safer than any other impulsive actions that would bubble up, he huffs and stalks away from the cart. "Whatever."
When they get home he shoots up to his room and hides there, locking the door behind him. Steve is sitting on his bed, tucked in a little as if he's taking a nap. Techno rips the blanket off and clenches a fist around the soft polar bear's neck, wanting with every fiber of his being to chuck it into a wall. He can't bring himself to do that, though.
So he shoves Steve into the little gap beneath his bed instead, something Techno hates and it makes him feel weirdly guilty despite it being an inanimate object. Steve doesn't have feelings but Techno does and the most vibrant thing he feels right now is hate towards himself for getting so dumb and emotional about a stuffed bear.
He doesn't remember his parents. He doesn't even have any of their pictures anymore.
Techno retrieves the inhaler, full again because he stole some more money out of Kristin's purse to pay for additional medication. His tongue is numb, barely tasting anything. Techno doesn't eat a lot anymore because without the flavor all that's left is the texture and Techno despises that more than anything. He only picks at the food on his plate enough to keep Kristin and Phil from getting worried, otherwise they'd start to ask annoying questions again.
After that he takes a short shower, trying to stop his chest from feeling stuffy, full. It's not mucus that's stuck in his lungs exactly but what is there is probably close enough. Techno puked the other day, throwing up sticky fluid made of plant rot and blood.
Coming back into his room, he notices the door is left ajar. Techno is very meticulous about always closing it, especially since Wilbur and Tommy have demonstrated that they see an open door as an invitation to come bother him. But when he walks in, it's just the lint roller left on his bed. Techno picks it up and marches downstairs.
"I don't need this," he tells Phil, who is still busy unloading their other groceries into the cabinets. Normally Techno would have offered to help. He forgot this time because he was too distracted by the lint roller incident.
"Really?" Phil asks, but he doesn't take it from Techno's outstretched hand. "Everybody's clothes get lint on them, mate."
"Well, I don't want it," Techno corrects, feeling petulant and unlike himself. "Besides, once I'm kicked out I'm gonna have to leave it behind anyway, right?"
It's almost a challenge and truthfully, Techno doesn't mean to say it out loud. He knows Phil will just deny it. His face stays neutral but Techno sees the small twitch of Phil's brow.
"It's yours," Phil says slowly. "We got it for you. So even if you leave-" he exhales there, as if speaking that word is enough to pain him somehow. "You get to take it with you."
Techno scowls. "That's stupid."
"Why is it stupid?"
Phil sits down on one of the chairs, not telling Techno to do the same though something about the position reminds Techno vaguely of his therapist's body language. He knows Phil has been talking to them. Techno has caught it a few times when he's gone to the bathroom right after therapy before Phil takes him home. He's pretty sure they haven't discussed exactly what he talks about during his sessions, mostly because Techno would have noticed if Phil knew about some of the stuff he's vented in there. But he can't rule out that Phil has been getting pointers on how to 'deal' with him.
Like getting dog training lessons from an expert to handle the unruly stray you picked up.
"Because you bought it," Techno says. "So it's not really mine, it's yours."
"But we bought it for you," Phil repeats.
"But you bought it," Techno insists stubbornly. He feels like he's arguing with a brick wall. "It's your money so…" This shouldn't be a difficult thing for Phil to grasp, the man isn't that stupid.
Phil sits back more and kind of raises a brow at him. "Do you have a job, Techno?"
Techno frowns, mouth dry. That might be because of the inhaler. "No?"
"Then where are you supposed to get the money to buy stuff for yourself?"
"That's not what I meant," Techno says quickly, getting more heated. His cheeks flush up further, more with frustration than shame this time. But Phil continues unheeded.
"Besides, we get money from the government to help take care of you. It's only right we spent it on stuff you'd get to keep." Techno stares at Phil, deadpan. Because the money being intended to be used on him has never meant much in a lot of the previous families he stayed at. "Do you disagree?"
Techno bites his tongue, hard enough that he can feel blood well in the back of his throat. He doesn't want to argue about this anymore. He just wants Phil to take the damn lint roller back and leave him alone.
"Anything we buy for you is yours forever. It stops being mine as soon as I hand it over, okay? And we'll never make you give it back for any reason. It would be wrong of us to do so." Phil says it so sincerely, so heartfelt. Weirdly, it feels like he's had this conversation before - maybe with Tommy. Techno swallows down a painful cough threatening to break free, failing spectacularly. He turns the sudden gasp of pain into a smothered sentence because he doesn't want Phil to think he's sick.
"Yeah, tell that to the last place I stayed at." It sounds even more bitter than he expected.
What's worse is that it makes Phil's eyebrows rise more, facial expression all alarmed surprise that should be comical if it wasn't then replaced by genuine worry. "Is that something that happened at your last foster home, Techno?"
Techno should lie. But lying to adults often already makes things worse and Phil seems to be on the edge of… something. Techno doesn't want to call it anger, though it comes dangerously close. So he tries to cover the confession up with an apathetic little shrug.
"Not just the most recent one," he says. "It's no big deal."
"It is actually," Phil says louder and - oh, he certainly sounds pissed off now. Not at Techno though. At those other foster families.
"It's fine. Most of them let me keep the stuff I already had before arriving, at least."
He regrets it instantly, even before the words come out of his mouth. Techno pinches his lips shut. The action feels easier when his entire throat is clogged with vines, the taste of blood getting significantly more pronounced. He wrings his hands together behind his back, out of sight but still trying to dispel the nervous energy at an adult going so very motionless.
Because if Phil was pissed off before, he's furious after hearing Techno's latest revelation.
"What did they take?" Phil asks, dangerously cold. In the face of his silent storm, Techno can only stare at the floor and mutter his answer, too scared to refuse.
"Just some things," he says. "Pictures and stuff."
Techno had a locket that used to belong to his mother and some travel-sized board games Sam got him to ease the long hours of waiting at the social service office for administration to be sorted out and a plastic horse figurine that was probably meant for little kids but which the foster mom at his very first nice placement got him before she couldn't keep him because she had to go to the hospital herself.
"I'll take care of it," Phil says. Techno has no idea what that means. He can't meet Phil's eyes.
He hates it when adults get angry.
"Can I be excused?" Techno asks softly.
"Yeah, of course." Phil gets up to continue putting his groceries away, clearly not picking up on Techno's distress. Nor seeing him flinch back.
Techno scurries off and up the stairs quickly, coughing before he's halfway to his room. But his feet are stomping so hard he's hoping Phil won't hear. Techno throws the door shut behind him, clumsy hands fumbling on the knob when he locks it. Techno sags against it, wheezing through every labored inhale. Gasping like a fish on dry land. He sinks to his butt and finally notices that in his panic, he didn't even give the lint roller back. It's still clutched in a sweaty fist. Techno does throw it at the wall since he has no emotional attachment to it like he does to Steve, though it only bounces off and falls onto his bed lamely, right where he picked it up earlier. So in the end he hasn't accomplished anything.
Isn't that just the story of his life?
On his knees, he crawls back over to the nightstand, bumping into it with his shoulder first before he manages to force his vision to focus. He grabs the inhaler again and closes his trembling lips around the plastic.
But all it does is make him hurt worse.
His lungs are on fire, a blaze that tears at every inch of his insides and is fed by the oxygen he takes in with small, choked gasps. Techno's sight blurs more and he drops the inhaler back into the drawer before hunching over properly, coughing and hacking.
Then something dislodges inside him and he almost screams.
The pain chases the clump of plant matter up his throat, shredding the soft tissue it slides across with every insistent push upwards. Techno is almost relieved when it finally loosens, dragging its roots free from his chest and triggering his gag reflex until he's constricting around the small tendrils. After what seems like forever, the excruciating feeling ends with Techno throwing up the tangled flowers in a pathetic heap, astilbe and dianthus and yellow bouvardia, blood pooling around it. He recognizes the shapes and colors vibrantly, the medicine not managing to dissolve them completely anymore and now only preventing them from anchoring deep enough to choke him.
Though Techno doesn't know how long that will last.
Too weak to do his usual clean-up routine, Techno wraps the flowers in some tissues from his desk and throws them in his trash bin, rubbing at the blood long enough that it's more of an indiscernible brown stain on his carpet than recognizable for what it was. He also shifts his nightstand to cover it, for good measure.
Exhausted, he crawls under the sheets of his bed, not caring that it's the middle of the afternoon still. Without Steve there to hold, he can only curl onto his side pathetically, but he's too tired to get the polar bear from under the bed either.
So Techno simply falls asleep with the hollow feeling in his chest to keep him company.
The room is empty.
Techno blinks at it for a moment before stepping inside, taken by surprise almost at how different it looks when there are no people around. Band is usually one of the more popular after-school clubs, Techno guesses because playing music and becoming famous are pretty tempting sounding prospects to a large demographic of teen kids. Sometimes, Kristin will put on a singing competition in the evening and the entire family will huddle around the television as if they're the most interesting thing in the universe. Techno doesn't get it but to each their own.
The room doesn't seem less cluttered, with instruments strewn about and a few jackets hanging over chairs and stuff like that. But there's nobody actually around. Techno doesn't know what to do. He often hangs out in the library after school and when Wilbur's extracurricular is done, they walk home together. But Wilbur is nowhere to be found.
Maybe the music teacher stepped out and dragged them all along?
He steps inside, trying to spot a chair that's empty so he can sit on it and wait. Instead, his eye falls on a familiar violin case. Techno never came back to take them up on the offer of lending it, but they must have left the violin lying around. No point putting it back in storage after all the time they spend digging it out of there. Techno wonders if anybody else has been playing it.
Curiosity getting the better of him, he slowly walks over and undoes the latches. After peeking behind him but confirming there's really nobody in the room, Techno carefully takes the violin in his hands. The weight of the instrument feels comfortable, like slipping on a pair of old shoes you've worn so long that they fit almost better than perfect. The shape molding and bending into something uniquely your own. Techno's old violin was a little too big for him since his foster parents were clever about getting him one he'd be able to use for many years to come.
How ironic, then, that they discarded Techno long before he could grow into it.
He picks up the bow too, letting it linger in his curled fingers uncertainly for a moment before taking a breath and starting to play. The song is one Techno taught to himself, not one his old tudors preferred him to play. Those pieces were mostly classical in nature, the sort of music that would befit an orchestra and sound grand played up on stage, an audience full of stuffy people in formal clothing who barely put their hands together when clapping. The piece Techno plays is more meandering, the notes flowing into one another. It reminds him of the music Sam would play in the car when they drove places.
Then there's a noise behind him and the spell is broken.
Techno turns, slightly flustered. The girl curses softly while trying to steady the sheet music stand she bumped into before it teethers to the ground and probably causes a small domino effect of upturned equipment. She sweeps her pink hair behind her ear with one hand, smiling sheepishly up at him.
Techno recognizes her as one of Wilbur's friends. Niki, her name is.
"Sorry," she says. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I didn't want to interrupt your playing."
"It's fine," Techno says, throat tight and fist close to snapping the violin bow in half.
"It was really good though," Niki adds. "I thought Wilbur said you weren't interested in joining?"
"I'm not," Techno answers curtly. He resists the urge to ask what else Wilbur has been saying about him behind his back, or why he'd feel the need to talk about Techno to his friends at all. It's really none of their business. His life would be so much better if people would just leave him alone.
"Oh," she says, then stops there, as if uncertain what else she should add. Her hands fidget with the lace edges of her sleeve
Blossoming guilt about treating her so harshly makes Techno falter, and he quickly shoves the violin back into its case. "I uh, I like your hair," he says.
Smart, Techno. If you act like a jerk to somebody, give them a throwaway compliment and see if it redeems you.
Niki lights up though, automatically brushing her fingers through her bangs with a smile. "Thanks, my parents hate it but-" she shrugs, "that's what parents are for, aren't they? To hate everything you do."
"I don't know," Techno says, "I don't have parents."
The answer is more instinctive than rational, something he's been pointing out to people in his life since he was three years old. He doesn't have parents. It's one of Techno's most defining traits, actually. It has marked his entire existence, his childhood, every waking moment, and every nightmare he has woken up from in some stranger's house who wouldn't comfort him.
But instead of the expected backpaddling, trying to make her joke hit with less sharpness like Techno is used to from most people who get that retort, she only walks into the room further, sliding herself to sit up on the desk.
"Eh, biological, adopted, foster. As long as we're pissing adults off." Niki says it kind of shyly, almost hesitantly. But Techno chuckles.
"Yeah," he agrees. "Yeah."
Niki definitely means it in the typical 'rebellious teenager pushing back against authority' way. The same way Wilbur cringes away when Kristin hugs him or calls Phil lame when the old man fixes his shirt collar. Techno can't really relate to that stuff, he just dislikes most adults because… well, there are a lot of reasons. Mainly he hates them because they're adults. But he does genuinely like Niki's hair, a soft shade of pink that reminds Techno of the trees he watched through his window in a previous foster home. Cherry blossom, he thinks they're called.
"I see you in the library often," Niki says suddenly. "If you're not interested in joining band, maybe you can join my reading thing because-" She breaks herself off in the middle of the sentence, suddenly embarrassed. "Never mind."
"What?" Techno asks.
"They won't let me start it when there's not enough people," she says. "It's so silly, they have room for us and I told them we wouldn't be too loud."
"Like a book club?" Techno asks wearily, remembering Phil's words from a couple of weeks ago.
"Kinda?" Niki says. "Not a lot of my friends like to read, so… thought it might be nice to just have somebody who is reading the same book and then we can talk about it." Her legs are swinging from the desk as she leans back onto her hands.
"How many more people do you need?"
"Just one person. There's this first year I had to show around, Ranboo? I think I accidentally peer pressured him into joining. And then there's that stoner guy, Connor. He said he would join in exchange for me baking brownies for him." Niki smirks a little as she says it.
"Weed brownies?" Techno ventures. Schlatt said the Connor kid is his most loyal customer.
"Regular brownies," Niki assures. Her finger traces the desk for a moment. "...Probably."
"Maybe I'll join," Techno says. He doesn't want to commit to anything but if they're going to be meeting in the library anyway, that's where he hangs out after school already. And perhaps the idea of reading the same book as Niki and getting to talk about it with her isn't the most terrible thing in the world. He also doesn't have many friends who enjoy reading. Or many friends at all, not counting Wilbur and Tommy.
Does that even count?
A wave of noise makes its way towards them from the hallway. Techno barely has the time to think about idioms concerning the devil appearing when Wilbur enters the room. Well, Wilbur and the music teacher and about twenty other kids. They're carrying a bunch of stuff.
"Oh, hey Techno! Niki!" Wilbur beams at them and promptly skips over despite carrying a box large enough that it almost makes him topple over when he comes to an abrupt stop next to the desk. "We were hauling shit for the talent show. Hope you didn't need to wait for long?"
Techno blinks, feeling incredibly stupid. He definitely heard Wilbur mention said talent show before, during dinner. He's not always paying much attention to the talk at the table, he's too concentrated on eating without looking suspicious or gagging. Not the easiest task in the world.
"Nah, me and Techno were just chatting," Niki says, pushing off from the desk.
Wilbur puts the box down, puffing out his chest a little. "Told you the two of you would get along."
Techno tries not to frown at the reminder that apparently Wilbur loves discussing him with others. Between that and knowing that Phil and Kristin were trying to foster him long before Techno was even aware of their existence, an uncomfortable heaviness settles on the base of his skull. Like a headache but worse. Looming over him.
"Can we go home now?" he asks.
Wilbur makes him wait around for another fifteen minutes, time which Techno spends outside on the little grass field in front of the school kicking rocks. Back at the group home, when the older kids would hog all the real toys, a rock would be just as good as a ball for Techno. Anything to keep entertained. Now, he just doesn't want to think about Niki's smile and Wilbur's small edge of pride, as if luring Techno into accepting a friendship is a personal achievement for him. He pulls out his phone, drafts another text for Sam, then never presses send.
Walking home together is nice, even if Wilbur mostly talks about the talent show again. Must be a big deal to him. Techno will probably be dragged along, though he doesn't mind the thought as much as he should. When Wilbur opens the front door, the familiar sound of Kristin humming in the kitchen greets them. Techno toes off his shoes, kicking them in between Wilbur's and Tommy's, the spot where they've always started to go.
And like every day before it, Kristin has prepared after-school snacks for them on the table.
Nothing fancy, often it's just a few cookies from the store and milk. She just prefers for them to have something to eat first thing upon coming back. She told Techno once - all whispers and secret smiles - that it was a tradition they started since Wilbur hit puberty. Because he'd sneak into the cupboards before dinnertime otherwise.
Techno shuffles into the room, allowing Wilbur to enter first in the hopes it will divert Kristin's attention to him when she goes through the whole 'asking how their school day was' routine. It usually works, except today she stops Wilbur mid-sentence to fix Techno with a sideward glance.
Enough to have his heart still in his chest, fear bubbling up real and poignant.
"Techno, can we talk in the hallway for a moment?"
Wilbur goes rigid too, looking at them curiously. Techno nods - the motion stiff and awkward - walking backward out of the room again and then he's leaning against the wall, hoping it will support his weight. Kristin pulls the door closed, a bad sign. Techno tries not to start hyperventilating.
"The school called today," she starts. Her arms are crossed in front of her, not tightly over her chest yet all Techno sees is the firm gesture mimicked in every family that has kicked him out before. Their eyes narrowed in disappointment staring down at him.
He exhales, shaky and uncertain. But she doesn't say more, letting the silence linger. Does she expect him to say something? Is he supposed to guess why the principal called her? If he gets it wrong, he might reveal something she shouldn't know though, so it's basically a trick question. There are no right answers.
After a few more tense seconds, Kristin takes pity on him and she sighs. "They say you're absent during class sometimes," she says. "When you go to the bathroom, you're supposed to come right back."
"I know," Techno snaps, a little testily. He's not a little kid who needs somebody to hold his hand when he takes a toilet break.
"Then why aren't you?" she asks, face honest in its confusion. No anger or anything. Only genuine worry about why Techno is leaving class in the middle of his lesson and not coming back in what the teachers deem a timely manner.
And Techno can't tell her the truth, which is that Schlatt can be a prick and harder to find than feels reasonable to Techno.
He looks away, staring at the wall. He doesn't know what to say.
Kristin sighs again, tone a tad more irritated. She brushes some curls over her shoulder and then allows her arms to fall to her sides again. "If you're having any trouble at school, you can talk to us about it. Or maybe we could bring it up to your therapist at your next session."
"I'm fine," Techno answers. But since it fails to sound convincing to his own ears, he doubts Kristin will buy it.
"We could speak with Sam-"
"I'm fine!" Techno repeats, louder, before impulsively brushing past her and into the kitchen again. He freezes three steps inside, the realization of what he'd just done catching up to him. Techno has not only yelled at a foster parent but also interrupted them and left in the middle of a conversation without permission. In any previous home, that would be a one-way ticket to him packing his bags less than an hour later.
Except Kristin follows him inside, walking over to the table as if nothing happened. Wilbur looks up at her, something exchanged between the two that keeps him from prying. He's also too busy eating one of the chocolate chip cookies Kristin left on a plate for them. His yellow glass stands in front of him, already filled with milk. Techno's matching one is waiting.
"We're having dinner early so don't stuff yourself," Kristin says mildly. Techno moves slowly toward them, shuffling in like the intruder he is to this family.
Kristin smiles at him.
He just yelled at her and she's smiling.
Techno reaches out to pick up a cookie, before grasping his glass with his other hand and dragging it towards himself. Kristin has already gone back to talking with Wilbur, asking him about those preparations for the talent show. And nobody is telling Techno to go pack his bags and leave. His fingers tighten, pressing into the small hollow indent near the rim of the glass.
A glass that so perfectly matches the other four.
Techno doesn't blink when he picks it up and purposefully lets it slip, lets it fall so it can shatter to pieces on the floor beside his feet. He watches as Wilbur jumps at the noise. He watches as Kristin rushes over to him.
"Oh, be careful. I can clean this up, don't move or you'll hurt yourself." She kneels down to pick up the shards, wrap them in paper and throw them in the trash. Where it belongs now that it's broken.
Techno is back to having a plain glass at dinner.
"Techno? What are you doing here?"
Looking up from his phone, Techno locks eyes with Sam.
Despite it only being a few weeks at most since Techno saw him, the man looks starkly different from when he dropped Techno off at the Craft home. His hair has grown out a bit, his eyes have bags under them. After placing Techno, he must have gotten a new file to replace him. Not that Sam stopped being his social worker, that won't happen until he's been placed for a year. But Sam does emergency cases most of the time, or kids whose situations are time-sensitive and require special care. It leaves him chronically stressed, pretty much.
And Techno can see it on his face too, that little edge of unpleasant surprise.
"I didn't run away," Techno says seriously. Because clearly, that's what Sam thinks. That Techno went and did something stupid that got him in trouble and that's why he's here.
"Good," Sam answers evenly. Techno snorts at his neutral tone.
"Tommy is having a meeting with his social worker," Techno explains. He sits a bit straighter when Sam walks over to him. Techno is acutely aware that when they last met, he almost hugged Sam. Pretty cringe in hindsight.
"How have you been?" Sam asks. "I mean, I know we have our evaluation soon but…"
Techno has to suppress a very intense urge to shrug. "Fine," he says.
"Fine?" Sam echoes and raises an eyebrow.
"I just told you I hadn't run away, right?"
Sam does not laugh. He very rarely does, but Techno never minded. When Sam sits down, Techno might shift just a little closer. Barely, so their shoulders are touching and he can put his head against Sam's side the slightest bit.
"It'll get better," Sam says suddenly, unprompted.
At least Techno is very used to adults lying. So he doesn't really feel any disappointment towards Sam for saying that.
Tommy runs around the corner less than three seconds later. Techno sits up so quickly that his neck aches from it, probably whiplash. Kristin is behind him, papers in hand. Tommy is smiling brightly, which means Techno can conclude the meeting went well.
"Saaaaaaaaaaaam!" Tommy drags the man's name out for an exuberant length. Sam chuckles in response, getting up from his chair so he can ruffle Tommy's hair. "What's up?"
"I just happened to run into Techno here so we were having a little chat." Calling it that seemed generous but Techno wasn't going to comment. "Did your talk go well?"
Tommy nods. "Hm! My master plan is close to complete."
"That's what he keeps calling it," Kristin muses as she steps up behind him. "You know these adoption papers aren't signed yet, right? We can still change our minds."
Tommy turns on her, eyes wide and bottom lip trembling. "You wouldn't!" he says, absolutely aghast.
"Really?" Sam asks, seeming surprised. Yet also happy.
Of course, why wouldn't he be? Having one of the foster kids you placed become formally adopted by the family that took them in… obviously that would be the dream for any social worker. The highest commendation of their work. Something Sam would never get with Techno, either.
He swallows away the cough threatening to build in his throat when Kristin shows Sam the paperwork.
"Techno. Pst, Techno!" He blinks at a hot puff of air against his ear, Tommy exhaling wetly in a failed attempt at a whisper. Techno cringes back from it.
"Ew, Tommy. Gross."
Instead of apologizing, Tommy chuckles and holds up a folded drawing. "The meeting was very boring so I made this awesome art piece for your room. No need to thank me."
He presents it proudly, the crayon lines scribbly and a mess even for a kid of Tommy's age. Techno frowns at it, trying to recognize something in the bright overlapping colors. Maybe it's a very artistic interpretation of a car wreck? Or the Big Bang?
"It's our family," Tommy says at his expression. "Look, this is Phil and this is Wilbur and this is Kristin." Tommy starts to point out vaguely human-shaped things in the mayhem. "And then there's you and me, right here in the middle. We're holding hands like when you walked me home from school."
The drawing is more or less shoved into his hands, leaving Techno no chance to refuse it. "Thanks?"
"Put it on your wall," Tommy orders. The casualness of the demand from a pipsqueak like Tommy almost makes Techno laugh. "Maybe once you get your adoption papers, you can make me one too."
And that kills the mood right quick. Thankfully Sam has stopped talking to Kristin and diverts Tommy's attention again, so the younger boy doesn't notice Techno crumpling up the drawing hastily and shoving it into his pocket.
Techno doesn't bother to ask Phil where they are going.
He figures Phil would tell him if it matters. Or maybe they're heading to the library or the grocery store again. Phil didn't ask Techno if he wanted to come, just told him to get in the car. And Technno did, because he's been pushing his luck with this family lately. He knows they're probably going to kick him out soon - especially since they've taken the step to start the adoption process for Tommy. Before long, Tommy won't be a foster kid anymore, he'll be their kid.
And they must know by now that whatever happens, Techno never will be.
It's not until after a good twenty minutes of driving, the houses in the neighborhood start to look vaguely familiar to Techno. He's watching them go by through the window, more out of boredom than anything else. But he knows he's been here before. In fact, he's been here before not too long ago.
A tiny amount of uncomfortable tension spikes alive in Techno's gut though he does his best to push it down. "Where are we-"
"We're getting your stuff," Phil says simply. His hands grip the wheel tighter as he stares straight ahead, resolutely.
"What?!"
"I asked Sam for the address of your previous foster family. He didn't want to give it but, uh, yeah, I kinda convinced him to." There's tension on Phil's face too, for other reasons.
"We shouldn't," Techno says quickly, hating how close it sounds to begging. "You don't have to do that, Phil."
"Yes, I do." Phil turns the car left and suddenly they're on a driveway Techno gladly left behind him barely a month ago. "What they did was wrong."
Techno wants to deny it. He wants to reiterate that - honestly, it's not that big a deal and also most of that stuff is things he'd gotten from other foster families he stayed at so it wasn't really his to begin with, they weren't wrong to take it from him - but if Phil wouldn't hear his arguments the last time they talked about this, he won't now. Phil gets out of the car and gives Techno the keys before he closes the door.
"Stay here and wait. I'll be right back, okay?"
Phil doesn't wait for a response. Techno watches helplessly as he heads for the front door and rings the bell, only glancing back at the car once. When the door does open, Techno sags down in his seat until his back hurts, but somehow he doesn't want to be seen. He doesn't want any of this to happen. Phil talks to the man who opened the door for a few seconds, then at some point, he's let inside.
Techno counts the minutes and considers calling the cops. Maybe they're murdering Phil in there.
Then Phil comes out again. He walks around to the passenger seat and prompts Techno to open it so he can put the box he's carrying down on the teen's lap.
"Is this all of it?" Phil asks.
Techno doesn't look at the box even as his arms cradle around it eagerly, selfishly. He knows he shouldn't want these items, but he does. Just not more than he wants to get out of there.
"Yes," he lies quickly.
But Phil only frowns. "Take a look through to make sure. I can go back for anything they missed, while we're still here."
Techno shakes his head, looking down at the box helplessly. He doesn't remember everything he owned when he was placed with these people, only that they forced him to leave only with the meager items he could put in his backpack. All the other things he'd left scattered in his room, all the stuff they had taken from him when he arrived because they 'didn't want the clutter', Techno never thought he'd get it back. He doesn't know.
He tries, shifting through a few things. He recognises them, sure. But he can't tell if it's everything. After a bit, Techno nods.
"Yes, that's all of it. Can we go now?"
He doesn't know if Phil believes him or if he takes pity on Techno's desperate tone. Phil tries to offer an encouraging smile before quickly going around to the other side of the car again. Techno practically throws the keys at him so they can leave quicker.
They've been driving for a while in silence when Techno finally opens his mouth.
"Why did you do that?" Techno chokes out, the box held so tightly to his chest it hurts. He can't breathe.
"Like I said, what they did was wrong. You didn't deserve that." Phil doesn't pull his eyes away from the road.
Techno is glad because that will make it harder for Phil to notice the shaking of his shoulders.
When he throws up that night, he's not surprised to find a new flower he's never seen before among the others. Techno looks up the meaning of these small clumps of cream-colored petals, fingers shaking slightly as he smears dots of blood on his phone screen.
Achillea, more commonly known as yarrow, a plant that symbolizes courage, protection, and everlasting love.
Techno's head falls back against the sink as he closes his eyes.