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It's only a little while before Phil gets the next call. A kid Wilbur's age. The social worker calls him "strange" and "quiet" and "unnerving". Phil thinks those are horrible things to say about a child.
This time, the car comes up to their front door, instead of dropping its charge down the walk.
Phil signs all the necessary papers, and then, finally, the back door of the car slides open.
The kid- the files use he/him, but they also talked vaguely about "abnormalities in presentation", and Phil doesn't want to make that mistake again- steps out. They've got pink hair, although it needs to be dyed again, that reaches down their back. It's tied in a ponytail with a red ribbon, and looks as, if not more, tangled than Wilbur's was. They've also got a large pink scarf around their neck, partially obscuring their face.
"Hey!" Phil says, Wilbur behind him, clinging to his leg. "What's your name?"
"Technoblade," the kid says. Their voice sounds rough, like they don't use it enough.
"Technoblade, that's a cool name," Phil says. "I'm Phil, and this is Wilbur. My foster son. Now, you don't have to be called my child if you don't want to, but I would like to know how to refer to you."
Technoblade just stares at him, or, more accurately, at his shoulder. They don't seem to want to make eye contact.
"For example, Wilbur's a boy. I use he/him for him. What do you want me to use for you?"
Phil feels Wilbur squeeze his leg.
"Don't know," Techno says. It seems to take a lot of effort for them to speak, and they're beginning to look upset.
"Hey, don't worry about it," Phil says. "Why don't we go inside? I can find some paper, if that would be easier."
Phil thinks back over Techno's files. That explained the note about presentation, and the one about "difficulty communicating". He was pretty sure he had seen Technoblade was diagnosed with autism. He would have to do some research about that.
Phil makes tea. Technoblade eyes it, and then sets it carefully aside. Occasionally they look over, scrunching their nose.
"Is there a drink you'd like more?" Phil says.
Techno stares at him.
"Alright. You don't have to talk. Would you like some paper and a pencil?"
Technoblade nods, twisting their hair between their fingers.
Phil sets the items in front of them, returning to his seat.
Technoblade writes furiously for a minute, and then turns the paper towards Phil. Sometimes people call me a boy and sometimes a girl, cause I don't really look like either. I'm- here they've formed the letters slowly and deliberately- intersex.
"Okay," Phil says, wondering why that isn't in their files. "What do you want to be called?"
Techno thinks for a second, their eyes shut. I don't care very much, boy or neutral is okay. They pick at their lips under their scarf, pinching the skin.
"Hey, let's not do that," Phil says.
Techno flinches, staring at the table. Their nose quivers slightly like they're trying not to cry, and they ball their hands into tight fists.
"Oh, hey," Phil says, resisting the urge to put a hand on them, comfort them. "I'm not mad, and you can still fidget-" Phil knows there's a more specific word, but he can't remember it. "It's okay. I just don't want you to accidentally hurt yourself. You can do something else, kay?"
Techno nods, although they still don't move. Phil turns to where Wilbur was sitting, but he's not there anymore.
"Wilbur?" he yells, quieting his voice halfway through when Techno flinches. "You want to come talk to Techno? You can entertain them while I make some food."
"Coming!" his son says. He must have headed up to his room.
When Phil turns back to the table, Techno's written something else on the paper. Phil grabs it, scanning it quickly. I use he.
"Oh, alright," Phil says. "Sorry, Techno."
Techno nods. From across the room, Wilbur comes skidding across the floor, clutching one of his toys, a plush dog the size of his hand.
Wilbur stands in front of Techno, his feet pointing at each other. He offers the dog to Techno, his hands shaking slightly.
"I brought you a toy," Wilbur says, sounding unsure. "'cause I like having something to hold when I'm stressed."
Techno hesitantly grabs the toy, his hands matchingly shaky. He doesn't say anything, his eyes shifting and his hands stroking the dog.
"T-thanks," Techno says, his voice rough. Phil starts slightly. "What's its name?"
"Doug," Wilbur says, looking at his hands.
"Wilbur, that was very nice of you," Phil says. Wilbur grins a little, at the praise and with the joy he still gets when Phil uses his name.
"Are you going to make dinner, dad?" Wilbur says.
Phil hears Techno repeat the words under his breath, and adds it to the list of things to research.
"I thought I'd ask Techno what he wants. Tech, we can get takeout, or I can make something. Your choice."
Techno makes grabby-hands at the paper, and Phil passes it over. I don't like a lot.
"Alright," Phil says. "What do you like?"
Pizza? Techno writes awkwardly with his off hand, his left one pulling at the dog's ears.
"We can order pizza," Phil says. "What kind do you want?"
"Cheese," Techno grunts.
"Olive!" Wilbur says happily. They don't get pizza often, but when they do Wilbur always orders the most egregious flavor combinations possible.
Techno scrunches his nose up. I don't like olives, he writes.
Wilbur leans across the table to read it. "You're weird."
"Don't be mean, Will," Phil says. "If Techno doesn't like olives-"
Anyone who likes olives is a criminal, Techno writes, squeezing his dog and smiling. Phil can see his eyes crinkle even though his mouth is covered by his scarf.
"Okay, well, mate, see, we've gone past opinion there," Phil says.
Wilbur is a criminal, Techno writes, adding a smiley face after his words.
Wilbur smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes, the joke clearly hitting too close to home.
Phil puts a hand on his shoulder. Wilbur leans into it. "Hey, Tech, let's not call anyone a criminal, okay?"
Technoblade nods, dropping the dog and pulling at his hair again.
Wilbur bends, picking it up and offering it to Techno. "Your hair is so pretty. You shouldn't pull it."
Techno grabs the dog greedily, pulling it to his chest. He points at his hair, tilting his head.
"I like the color. And it's so cool how you can put it into a ponytail like that," Wilbur says. Phil smiles, glad they're getting along.
"Yours could be long," Techno says.
"It used to be but it made me feel really bad and I scared dad 'cause I stole the scissors to cut it."
"Speaking of which, Techno, I think we'll probably just cut yours. We had to cut Wilbur's, it was much too tangled." As soon as Phil says it, Techno freezes, his face twisting.
He once again raises his hands to his hair, this time not pulling, but merely holding his head.
"Hey, it'll grow back," Phil says softly. Techno whimpers, yanking on his bangs.
"Mine only took like a month!" Wilbur says, his cheerful tone not matching the devastated look on Techno's face.
Techno rocks forward, scrubbing desperately at his eyes. He lets out another pitiful sound, scratching at his cheeks.
"Hey, Wilbur?" Phil says, trying and mostly failing to keep his tone calm. "Why don't you go up to your room?"
Wilbur nods, his face scared. He hurries out the door, shutting it hard. At the noise, Techno flinches hard, almost hitting the table, and lets out a noise like an aborted scream.
"Hey, shhhh, Techno," Phil says, unsure exactly what triggered this but knowing he has to help.
Techno hits his leg, forcefully. Phil makes a face, reaching out.
"Can I touch you?" Phil says. Techno doesn't respond, doesn't look like he can respond, his face twisted and his body shaking.
Techno grabs his right hand with his left, pushing his fingernails into his palm. He squeaks, tears pressing at his eyes.
Phil grabs his hands, holding them tightly. "Hey, I don't want to touch you without your permission, but you can't hurt yourself. Let me grab the dog, okay?"
Phil does, pressing it into Techno's hands and stepping back.
Techno rocks again, pressing his knees into his chest and his face into the dog. He mutters something Phil doesn't catch, and isn't sure he's meant to.
Phil stands to the side, watching Techno to make sure he doesn't need any help. Phil's pretty sure that anything he could do would make this worse, based on Techno's reactions to his voice and movement.
After a minute, Techno looks up from his knees, his scarf still covering his face. He makes another aborted noise, and then squeezes his eyes shut.
Phil slides the paper over to him, figuring if he was semiverbal earlier it's probably not easier for him to speak.
Techno's hands are white and strained, and he doesn't move them for another thirty seconds. When he does, he violently flaps his right one while he writes with his left.
His writing is barely legible, shaky and a bit out of order, but Phil makes out sorry on the paper.
"Hey, Tech, don't apologize, you didn't do anything."
I'm not supposed to have long hair. Techno tugs at his hair again.
"Why not? I think it suits you."
Techno takes a long time to answer this one. When he passes it to Phil, he's written boys, but crossed it out and replaced it with people like me. It continues aren't supposed to have long hair, and they're not supposed to have pink hair.
"That's not true," Phil says. "Sometimes adults tell kids things that aren't true, because they're stupid. Boys-or whoever you want to be- can absolutely have long hair, and they can like pink and wear dresses and do anything they want."
I like my hair, Techno writes. Phil smiles.
"I think it's very nice."
Techno frowns and continues to write. I hate haircuts and my foster parents always try to make me cut it.
"Oh," Phil says, feeling guilty. "I promise I'm not going to make you cut your hair. I never was. I promise, okay?"
You said you were, Techno writes. It made me panic.
"I know," Phil says. "It's okay. You have bad memories associated with that. I promise, I was just going to suggest cutting it because I figured trying to get the tangles out would be more stressful."
I hate brushing it too, but less, Techno says, fingering his hair.
"Alright, well, I guess I'll find my hairbrush, huh?" Phil says, smiling. "And maybe some hair dye."
Pink? Techno says.
"Of course. Can Wilbur come back so we can order some pizza?"
Anxiety flits across Techno's face, but he squeezes the dog and nods.
A week later, and they've settled into a routine. Techno's been semiverbal a couple of times, and nonverbal only once when Phil jokingly told him to "man up", which turned out to be one of Tech's triggers, but otherwise he's been surprisingly calm, talkative and friendly.
Phil's washing dishes, the two kids sitting on the counter next to him and bickering. Wilbur's volume control leaves something to be desired, but he's ten, so Phil figures he can get away with it. Techno's much quieter, but his ability to get on Wilbur's nerves seems unaffected.
"You have food on your face, messy," Techno says, elbowing Wilbur gently.
Wilbur scrubs at his face. "I'm not messy, I'm normal. You'd probably have food on your face if you weren't so careful."
"I can't get my scarf dirty," Techno says, seemingly anxious at the thought.
Techno pushes his scarf down to eat, although barely. Phil's told him he doesn't have to take it off unless he's comfortable, but also that if it gets too dirty they'll have to wash it.
"Why do you wear that anyway?" Wilbur asks curiously.
Phil pauses in his dishwashing, listening carefully to know if he's going to need to intervene.
"I like it," Techno mumbles.
"I like my orca, but I don't carry it everywhere," Wilbur says.
"Let's be nice, okay?" Phil says, glancing at Wilbur.
The two ignore him.
"It makes me feel safer," Techno says carefully.
"Oh," Wilbur says, humming.
"And I'm not very good at making my face look right."
"What do you mean?" Wilbur asks, curious.
"Like sometimes I smile but I'm sad. Or I look mad but I'm excited. Or something like that. And people don't like that. They say I'm creepy," Techno says, his voice shaking.
Phil holds a dish above the drying rack, waiting to see what's going to happen. If he's going to need to step in and calm Tech, or if the situation will defuse itself.
Techno scratches at his arms. Phil drops the dish and turns around.
"Hey, Tech, that's okay," he says, carefully moving Techno's hands away from his arms. "Thanks for telling us, I'm glad you trust us."
"Uh-huh," Techno says, squeezing Phil's hands and leaning into him. "That's why I don't like taking it off."
"It matches your hair," Wilbur says. "That's called fashion."
"That's right," Phil says. "Tech, I'm never going to make you take it off, okay? And if you ever choose to, it's okay if your facial expressions don't exactly match your emotions. No one's do, perfectly."
Techno repeats the phrase 'facial expressions' a couple of times, in the way he sometimes does. (Phil had looked it up, found the word "echolalia" that seemed to fit.)
"Why do you do that?" Wilbur asks, touching Techno lightly on his arm.
"Why do you look people in their eyes?" Techno asks, staring at Wilbur's shoulder.
"'cause it's just what I do," Wilbur says, cocking his head. "It's how I do stuff."
"It's just what I do," Techno says, his hands moving. Phil lets go of them, allowing him to gesticulate. ("Stim", Phil reminds himself.) "I don't like eye contact."
"Hmm," Wilbur says. "It is weird that we call it eye contact. I don't want my eyes touching anyone."
"Me neither," Techno says, pulling at a loose string on his shirt.
"Me neither," Phil says, gently dis-entangling himself from the two. "Tech, bud, could you let me go for a second? I have to finish washing the dishes."
"No," Techno mumbles, grabbing onto his side. Wilbur launches himself off the counter, grabbing onto Phil's other shoulder.
Phil sighs and shifts Techno onto his back. Wilbur's too tall to just carry, already sprouting up like a bean, so Phil picks him up and sets him onto the counter next to the sink.
"You can help dry."
"What! No," Wilbur says dramatically. "I can't. I'll hurt myself."
"You won't hurt yourself."
Techno slides off Phil's back, pulling out the notebook he has. He writes something down and passes it to Wilbur. Wilbur reads it and grins.
"Hey, I saw that," Phil says.
Techno shrugs. Wilbur giggles, and then says "This is transphobic."
"What?" Phil says, handing Wilbur the drying cloth. "Start your drying, young man. Tech, has that ever worked for you?"
"No," Technoblade grumbles. "But I'm not the one who has to dry."
"No, you're going to wash," Phil says, laughing at Techno's expression. "I'm going to make hot chocolate. You can have some when you're done with the dishes."
As he grabs the mugs from the cabinet, Wilbur whispers "transphobia" under his breath.
On the third anniversary of Techno's arrival at the house, Wilbur gets him a deck of cards with ancient Greek heroes.
Well, Phil buys them, but Wilbur picks them out.
Techno grins widely when presented with them.
"'cause you like reading all those myths," Wilbur says, smiling.
"Yeah," Techno says excitedly. He pulls down his scarf, something he's been doing more often around them, and smiles. It's a bit awkward, too much teeth, but the emotion is genuine and Phil sees Wilbur grin widely back.
"I bet you'd be good at poker," Wilbur says. "You have a good poker face. With the scarf."
"I don't think they let you wear scarves in poker," Techno says. "And I'm not good at lying."
"I am," Wilbur says, grinning. "We can be a team. The brothers poker!"
"You're not good at lying," Philza says, patting Wilbur on the head consolingly. (He's got to do it now, before Wilbur gets too tall.) "And no sons of mine are going to be gamblers before they even know what poker is."
"I know what poker is!" Wilbur says indignantly.
"Mmm," Phil says, doubting. "You okay, Techno?"
He's staring at the two of them, eyes wide. His hands have gone slack around the cards.
"You… you called me your brother," Techno says quietly. "And your son."
"Would you rather have more neutral words? We don't want to make you uncomfortable," Phil says, not quite understanding.
"I didn't know…" Techno says quietly. "I'm just a foster. Not adopted. And not like Wilbur. I'm not your real son."
"Tech!" Wilbur says. "I'm not adopted either, and I'm still dad's- Phil's son. And you're my brother."
Phil's reminded of the papers he has, buried in his office. He puts that out of mind for now. "Tech, mate, we couldn't meet you and not love you. No matter what the legal stuff says, you're my son. Or my child."
Techno nods, eyes brimming with tears. He buries his head in Phil's side. "Why isn't Will adopted? He's been here forever."
Before Wilbur can answer, Phil speaks. "I, uh, I actually wanted to talk about that. I have some… papers. For both of you. If we wanted to make it legal."
"What kind of papers?" Techno says. Phil smiles.
"Adoption papers, Tech. And, I wanted to see if either of you wanted to change your legal names as well."
Wilbur squeeks excitedly, grabbing Phil's arm. "I get to legally be your son?"
"Legally my child, and legally a son. I've been looking into changing your gender markers, I just have to get legal custody first."
"Woah," Wilbur says, grinning extraordinarily wide. "That would be… really good. To legally be who I am."
"What about me?" Technoblade says quietly.
"Well, I don't know what your gender marker is, if you were forcibly assigned something at birth. We can look into that and change it if you want. And of course I'd be adopting you too, and we can legally make your name Technoblade."
"I think on my papers I'm male," Technoblade says, scrunching up his nose. "I have to ask my doctor."
Phil says "We can do that."
They do, and Techno decides he doesn't want to change it, decides to avoid the hassle. He does change his legal name, though, along with Wilbur. They complete the paperwork the same week they finalize the adoption. Wilbur declares the two "name-change twins" and, later, just "twins".