Chapter Text
Technoblade was 13 when he met Phil.
Alone, exhausted, and thoroughly bruised, Phil had welcomed the battered boy into his home with open arms; though they didn’t take to each other immediately.
Phil had walked on eggshells around him for weeks, and Techno knew right there and then his social worker had told him everything. It made Phil pity him. He hated pity, and so he lashed out.
It started with small things. Dropping grades, hiding away in his room, taking dinner upstairs to avoid his new foster father at all costs. Techno found a sort of solace in it, skipping school and sneaking out just to spite Phil. He didn’t like the fights he got in or the lectures he endured, but it was worth it. At least, he thought so until Phil found him bloody and bruised in the bathroom after picking a fight with some kid over stolen books.
“Why are you helping me?” Techno had asked, gazing up at Phil with a sort of awe as he bandaged his knuckles for him.
“Because nobody deserves this.”
“Even me?”
“Especially you.”
They hadn't had a problem since that day. Techno started to sit with him during meal times, taking Phil up on his offer to watch a movie after dinner every once in a while. They watched the 1964 Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer movie that night, despite Christmas having passed 4 months ago. And when Techno fell asleep on the couch, Phil simply scooped him up and brought him to bed.
Techno then met his younger brother at 14.
Tommy was a lively thing, constantly running his mouth and bouncing off the walls. He had come from a group home, not having to deal with the empty hearts of the foster parents and the cold hallways of their homes. They hadn’t gotten along at first. Tommy was all fun and games, always inserting himself into Techno’s business, while Techno was docile and private, flinching at the loud noises and quick movements that came from Tommy. It caused more than one instance of yelling matches.
Phil was always quick to interlude, tiredly sending them to their rooms and staying up through the night, soft voices attempting to convince each other of how they were right. It simply wasn’t fair, Technoblade persisted. It wasn’t fair that Tommy, who had practically been fed a silver spoon compared to Technoblade, was allowed to walk all over him and stick his nose where it didn’t belong. Phil had always insisted this wasn’t the case, but it was hard to convince a rambunctious 10-year old that no, Techno doesn’t hate him, he simply needs his privacy and to be left alone when asked.
And so the cycle continued. Bickering became yelling, which became an exasperated Phil separating them, which became late-night talks and whispered voices about the things Techno was forced to endure during his time in the 3 foster homes he had cycled through, and how Tommy was only hindering his healing process.
“Open up to him, if you’re comfortable,” Phil had said one night. “He’s a kid. He doesn’t understand it.”
So he did.
Techno sat Tommy down and told him about the homes before this, and how they were not as nice as Phil. He told him about how the first family had seemed decent but had slowly revealed themselves to be manipulative and cold. How family 2 was terrible right off the bat, how he had to fight for every meal just to be pushed away immediately, being the youngest and all. How family 3 hit him, but managed to convince him it was his own fault.
Tommy sat wide-eyed the whole time, face flushed with shame. He seemed to finally understand the limits Techno had always insisted on and was horrified with himself.
“I’m-I’m sorry I’m not who you need…” Tommy had sobbed, hugging the startled teen and shoving his face into his shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m so loud and I scare you when I’m rough with you, and-and-”
“Uh, Tommy, listen,” Technoblade grumbled, holding the young boy away from him. Tommy sniffed aggressively, wiping at his face before looking his brother in the eyes. “It’s not that… okay…” He wasn’t good at this. “You’re who I want, and that’s enough.”
They hugged, and if Techno let a tear slip, he didn’t say anything.
Today, at 17, Technoblade met the enigma that is Wilbur Soot.
Phil had warned them of his arrival only a day beforehand, explaining that it was last minute and the boy had nowhere to go. Phil seemed reluctant to say why; wouldn’t even say how many homes the boy had been in before. The kid was 16, so he assumed a decent amount. It worried him, especially since Phil was panic baking again. He hadn’t done that since Techno had closed himself off after Tommy’s arrival. It created a tense atmosphere, Tommy more silent than usual and Technoblade avoiding them more.
Dinner the night before Wilbur had crashed into their lives had been the start of the disastrous mealtimes to come.
“Why won't you tell us anything about him?” Tommy snapped, glaring at Phil. “What did he do?”
“He didn’t do-” Phil hesitated. “He’s... fine, okay? I wouldn’t bring someone dangerous into our house.”
“What, so he did do something?” Technoblade questioned, dinner forgotten.
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s complicated? ”
Phil huffed. “Boys, please just drop it, I-”
“Fuck no,” Tommy stood abruptly, his chair making an ungodly screech as it was pushed back. “We deserve to know who you’re bringing into our home, you keep talking around him and won't tell us shit!"
"He's a good kid, Tommy."
"You don't even know him!"
"Quit it!" Techno yelled, slamming his hands on the table. He glared at the two blonds who turned to him in shock. "The point here is we don't need another kid, Phil!"
"Yeah! Tommy jumped in, growling at Phil. "We're fine just us, there are loads of people in the foster system!"
"There's really not," Phil sighed, shaking his head softly at Tommy. "Not as many like us. Not as many good ones."
With a huff, Tommy stomped up the stairs.
“I just don’t get it,” Tommy huffed as Technoblade followed him up, entering his room. “Why do we need a third fucking kid?”
Techno knew Tommy well enough by now to know he was scared. Scared of being replaced and scared of change. The Watson family had never done well with change.
“I don’t know.”