Chapter Text
He knew that nothing was permanent. It had been drilled into his head by the cruel hands of fate, they always found a way to interfere, to slide in with their taunting fingers, twisting and pulling at the threadbare strings that controlled his life, turning things around, when he got a little too comfortable.
Nothing was permanent, he repeated, curling into himself on the steps of his (ex) foster home. The mantra whispered in his head, each syllable a curse, a cure. He didn't want to be alone, after all, but the way things had been going, it seemed like it was his own, lonely, destiny, the hands of fate pulling harder on his strings, echoes of past torment fueling them further.
Maggie said he was stupid when he complained about fate being cruel to him.
He didn't talk about it in front of her anymore.
Technoblade knew that the house wouldn't last, the slow ticking of his clock a reminder of the situation he had stuck himself in. (Because, in the end, it was his own fault for being stuck here, forced to beg and steal and plead and cry, forced into a system because his won parents couldn't love him enough to stay, to care.)
So, in this house, he counted down, waiting for the moment that the alarm would go off, the family would wake up from their little daydream and Techno would be out of the door with his bags packed, waiting for Maggie, a routine they were both so used to. Techno never bothered to remember the names, the faces, he knew what would happen in the end, anyway.
There was never time to stop and think when you were always being passed around.
He pulled 'his' trench coat closer to his torso, the clouds of dust Maggie's car brought hitting his skin in bursts, leaving him in a light cover of brown specks.
He sat up, pulling himself away from his thoughts and looking into the road, a few cars passed by, whizzing past him and blowing even more dust into his hair.
His eyes locked onto the recognisable SUV gliding down the dirt path, the telltale glint of Maggie’s numberplate made Techno feel more at home than he knew he should have. He couldn't help it, something was relaxing about the way her car shone in the sun, the familiar crop of blonde-brown hair leaving the driver's seat before moving towards Techno.
Maggie felt more like a home to him than any house Techno had ever stepped foot in.
She guided him to the car, the files clutched under her arm bobbing with every step. Not that Techno took much notice, he’d read them before, and they had all said the same thing. All formalities really, the folders didn’t matter, they were only going to be filed away.
(The folders, he thought, were a pitiful reminder of his failed chances. That's what Maggie had referred to them as on a couple of occasions)
Driving through the streets of Portsmouth was boring, in a single word. Maggie's near-constant chatter caused him to tune her out, she was white noise, a fog clouding his thoughts. He looked out the window, idly wondering if things would be the same again, or if he would be shipped off to another facility with no Maggie, no build-up of case files, and no system.
Not that there was a system in the first place.
He wondered if this was his last chance, Maggie had warned him that he was running out of opportunities, and this could have been his last chance at something good, something permanent.
Jokes on her, nothing was permanent, it was one of the only things he thought true about the foster system.
He thought back to the group home, the scramble of children rushing around the house at all hours, the way the caseworkers would sigh and groan every time he came back, as his very existence caused trouble back there. He had been back there enough times to know that the scales always tipped when a new (or old) arrival came, that the food portion always got smaller, the hours rested became fewer, and the overall energy became lesser as the days ticked on, the balance was forgotten.
He knew that his arrival would stir up some sort of trouble, he’d been in enough fights to know that he caused most of the tension, and the kids would always get more aggressive the longer he stayed. In the group home, his very presence meant the caseworkers had to actually work even harder, keeping him away from all the others to stop the inevitable rise he caused.
Which was fine, he was alone anyway, he was alone in the world, other people's temporary presence never meant anything. They taught him enough so that he had a good grasp on the world and its workings, and where he sat, at the bottom of it all.
He thought back to Them and what they taught him, he wondered, back then, why he was pulled out of that house so late on, when the police said it was “One of the worst cases of abuse they’d ever seen in the town,” back then, he didn’t understand why the police asked so many questions, why they were concerned about him. Now, however, he understood that they weren’t concerned, they just wanted attention, glory. They wanted to rescue a kid from a broken home and claim they did it for his own good.
They didn’t know anything. They pretended to care, to sympathise. They pretended and of course, it wasn’t real. It never was. They only wanted attention from the media, they only wanted to feel good about themselves, he didn’t matter in all of this, he was only their gateway to the spotlight.
They taught him that. They taught him many things. They taught him how to use the world, and how it would use him. He knew this now, and he was better off for it. He didn’t need to learn anymore, he had his grasp and he would hold it. For the better. (he could still hear the bells, they never went away, now. The crisis team had said something about 'conditioning', but he stopped paying attention when they smiled at him.)
He came back to awareness when Maggie parked her car, stepping out to open his door, she smiled at him, he didn’t smile back. He was more focused on getting his bags out of the other seat, the ripped satchel slinging off his shoulder as they walked up the steps of Maggie’s office.
They walked inside, a couple of heads turning their entrance, Technos pink hair surely standing out among the bright white walls and fluorescent lighting. Maggie walked quickly, Techno tripping over his worn-out laces as he hurried behind her, towards her office.
‘Two lefts, a right and a left again’ he thought to himself, this place was familiar to him, he knew his way around here more than he did at his latest foster house. ('Key emphasis on house', Techno mused.)
He always got confused with the high ceilings and large doors, the wooden beams near the roof seemed more like a safety hazard than a modern design choice to him, anyway. As the family seemed to be rolling in it, he never questioned their weird house design, instead deciding on trying to navigate the odd corridors rather than marvel at them.
He never questioned it because he never had the time to, and he feared he'd get punished if he so much as looked the wrong way at these new people. New places were dangerous, he had known that since the day he arrived at maggies office door.
Now at, said infamous office, he sat in the plastic chair Maggie kept by her desk, designed for the kids she would home on the daily, the chair Techno was very familiar with. She sat down too, on the leathery office chair she swung her legs in, she always complained about the height and the fact that she had too short legs to reach the floor.
the joke hadn't been funny the last time he heard it, two months ago.
It was one of the many things he had grown used to about Maggie when they talked in this room. Although there was something different this time, Techno noted, Maggie's shoulders were more relaxed than they’d been when she had first picked him up, the easy smile she’d gave him remained still on her face, even though Techno was here, and they were alone, a clear sign that she didn’t have to fake the comfort anymore.
('She's finally gotten rid of you, for good, this time,' a voice in the back of his mind whispered, its poisonous words creeping around his frontal lobe, sneering down at him. 'She's found an excuse to send you to juvie,' he shuddered, 'You know what happens in juvie.')
She sat back in her too-tall chair and spoke in the low voice she only had for good news, Techno tried to keep breathing, he knew what was coming.
“I have some good news, Technoblade,” she started, her slim fingers plucking up the files she had brought to the foster house.
He looked up, into her eyes, as she signalled down at the file resting in her fingertips, nudging it towards him.
(Tears pricked his eyes, he didn't think he'd been that bad, did he?)
“You have been given another opportunity at a home, Tech,” she said softly, lacing her fingers from the file to her laptop, her fingernails lacking against the keys.
"what?" he perked up in his seat, the tears gathered in his eyes falling, and he quickly wiped them with the sleeve of 'his' old coat.
"A new housing opportunity, he's a previous foster parent, I've even met him before."
"oh." a previous foster parent? that could mean so many things.
(Did he adopt the child he was fostering, or did he have his licence removed? What if maggie was sending him to an unstable man? Was he being used as a tester?)
"I can see you're worried, Techno, but I can assure you, he's a good guy, and I really think you'll get along with him." Maggie smiled, it reached her eyes, for once.
(So he's being used as a trial run, then. This man could be wicked, he could be ruthless, and Maggie was going to turn a blind eye, just because she thought he was 'good?')
"Right..." His expression gave him away, eh could tell.
"Techno, really, hes got two boys who are absolutely lovely, and they're around your age, too!"
(If Maggie was really doing this, then he was going to be extra nice to her, until she left him, so that she'd feel the blame for what's being done.)
Technoblade was spiteful to the end, after all.
"You won't be staying there for a long time, so I wouldn't worry about being away from base for too long."
(Oh, maybe she'd come to check on him before this mystery man killed him, then.)
You see, the system was flawed, this much was obvious, but there was some strength still left in it, such as the unofficial “How long is your stay?” rule. This particular rule means that your caseworker will tell you how long you will be staying at your next home, more permanent stays were always welcomed, but if the family only wanted you for a couple of weeks, your caseworker would say something like “This one won’t be for too long, don’t worry,”
(In Technos case, being sent to a crazy ex-foster guardian could do some good for him. maybe Maggie would actually do some research, if he survived.)
Maggie turned her computer around so Techno could see the screen, an image of a man in a green and white striped bucket hat popped up, his smile glinting through the pixels. He wore a simple black tee, highlighting the hat and his deep blue eyes.
(He didn't look crazy, but, then again, appearances can't tell you everything.)
“This is Philza,” Maggie spoke, still showing Techno the image of 'Philza'.
“He lives down in Brighton, so we’ll have to leave soon, as he’s expecting you tonight,”
“Tonight? Why so quickly?” Techno spoke for the first time since his arrival, his shocked surprised expression reflecting through the laptop screen.
(Oh god, he's being sent all the way down to Brighton and nobody's going to find his body for weeks-)
“I know it's short notice, Techno,” she reached a hand over towards his own, an offer of sympathy as if she hadn’t just sold him off to a stranger, again.
The betrayal must have shone through his face, as she hurriedly pushed another sentence out, “I’ve been in contact with him for a couple of years, he’s known in the system for taking care of, uhm, difficult, children,”
(She's been in contact with a possible murderer for years-)
Techno glared at her.he hoped he didn't look as scared as he felt.
She couldn’t bring herself to scold him.
-
The ride to Brighton was quiet, and not in the way that Techno liked it.
The car drove through the motorway on an almost silent road, the late-night traffic they encountered on the ride to the office had dissipated, leaving the roads eerily calm.
Techno knew this was a bad idea, even if it wasn’t technically his.
He didn’t want to meet Mr Philza.
Considering the pattern his last homes followed, Philza’s house was going to be bad.
Bad as in House 3, bad.
He was contradicting himself, he knew that, but the houses always followed a pattern, they had a common theme and they stuck to it.
House 1 and 2 were good, if not a little quiet, if not a little expectant, they were overall, good.
They were next. Techno stayed there for a year, he was diagnosed with C-PTSD approximately a week after he got out.
House 4 and 5 were good, they didn’t care as much as Houses 1 and 2, but they weren’t bad, they just forgot.
(They forgot he needed food, they forgot he needed education, House 4 forgot he needed to sleep once, House 5 took it further, forgetting that he existed, locked in that tiny closet with the dark and the cold and the hurthurthurthurthurt.)
They just forgot that’s all.
So, what would Philza be like? Would he forget, too? Or would he remember?
(Would he remember everything, like They did? would they count his sins, make him recite his wrongdoings and dunk him into a bat of the cold water, before a rinse, and a dreaded, repeat.)/p>
Techno really didn’t want to meet Mr Philza, he’d rather not know how he punished his foster children, but, as always, the hands of fate tugged hard on his strings again, and the car stopped outside a small detached house in Brighton.
At the door was a middle-aged man, he looked to be no older than 40, Techno couldn’t tell from the car, his appearance was true to the image he saw earlier, and Techno met his eyes. (They didn't look like the eyes of a murderer, but, then again, he was probably being paranoid.)
A warm smile graced across his face, his blonde hair swaying slightly with the wind. Techno looked away as he grabbed his bags for the second time that night, he stood out of the car, uneasy to approach the man.
(Paranoia can save your life, after all.)
Maggie shuffled forwards, a greeting on her tongue, but before she could speak, the sound of footsteps caught Technos ears.
A cloud of brown hair poked out from the doorframe, behind Phiza, a pair of circular glasses perched on the mop of curls. Techno froze, ready to tug at Maggie’s sleeve, ready to beg her to take him back, when a second head of blonde fluff poked out of the door, on the other side.
Philza smiled, unaware of technos distress, and their eyes met once more.
“Maggie, Technoblade? I hope you had a safe trip, come on in, I'll show you around,” he gestured towards the door, the brown-haired kid racing out of the way.
Philza smiled as they approached the house, he spoke again, “These are my boys, Wilbur and Tommy, I’m sure you'll get along well,”
Tommy glared.
Wilbur smirked.
Techno wanted to throw up.