Chapter Text
Phil had thought he was ready. He bought all the books on parenting at his local bookstore, spent hours on Reddit forums talking to people who had fostered children for years, and went through all the materials provided when signing up. Twice. He knew it would be tough. It could be a thankless job that could wear you down and leave you burnt out if you let it. But was determined to do this, and do it well.
Fostering was something he’d wanted to do for years. He never planned on having children of his own, but as he grew older, he realized he wouldn’t mind raising kids and immediately looked into fostering. Kindness was a resource that only gets scarcer as you age and he hated that there were some kids who never got the chance to have the loving, stable home he did.
But now, as he listened to the social worker he'd been speaking to for the past month rattle off details of the emergency placement she was bringing to him, he felt like he was drowning and no one was going to pull him up for air. It was just hitting him that he was the adult and he’d have to start making grown-up decisions. Sure, Phil had been an adult for about ten years now, but it was different when you were the only person you had to keep alive. He was the parent now. Well, foster parent. But still. In a couple of hours, he'd have a child looking up to him and he was the one meant to have answers and keep the kid alive. He had a feeling that just because he’d been eating takeout four times a week didn’t mean it was great for a growing kid.
"-So, we will both be coming straight from the hospital-", usually there was a file with a child's history but not with an emergency placement, so Phil didn't know what to expect.
"-I understand that an emergency placement can be overwhelming, especially for your first foster, Mr. Watson. I would appreciate it if you could keep Techno for at least two weeks; we just don't have anywhere else to keep him right now. I'll bring his file along, honestly, it's ridiculous how these things aren't digitized yet-"
He heard Brigit go off on some tangent. He knew all about ineffective workplace habits and under normal circumstances, he probably would have embraced her casual chatter. But now, his mind was racing. The spare bedroom was ready, a bit bare, but ready. He hadn't had time to put together any sort of a welcome package. No toiletries, no emergency clothes, no toys or books. Phil felt panic begin to bubble up in him; this wasn't the first impression he wanted to make.
"-I'll be seeing you soon then!"
It took Phil a few moments to register the dial tone and bring his phone down from his ear. He stood petrified for about thirty seconds before making a mad dash up the stairs.
Rummaging through his closet, he grabbed a spare toothbrush he'd bought two years ago for a trip that never happened and some towels. He hoped the kid would have enough stuff to last him till tomorrow. Then they could go shopping. He paused. Do kids even like shopping? He had seen enough kids screaming and crying in the middle of the mall, much to the chagrin of their parents. He suddenly became aware of wound up his whole face felt and forced to relax. Having kids was already giving him wrinkles.
***
Forty minutes later the doorbell rang. Rushing, Phil glanced in the mirror by the front door to make sure he had a welcoming smile on. It looked a tad too wide but anything less made the fear in his eyes obvious.
He opened the door and stepped to the side, welcoming Brigit in. Behind her was a small boy, maybe eight. He had short brown hair, chopped down in an uneven attempt at a buzz cut and thick glasses. The frown on the kid’s face began deepening and Phil realized he was staring. He turned to the social worker.
"Mr. Watson, thank you again for making your home open to Techno. We're very grateful, especially considering the short notice." She paused, glancing at the boy as though waiting for him to speak up and agree. He didn't.
"I think it would be best to get Techno settled in for the night before discussing further matters, don't you?", she turned to Phil with a bright smile. He heard the instruction in her words and was thankful for it.
He knelt down and offered Techno his hand, "Hello, my name is Phil. You're Techno, yeah?"
Techno looked up from the floor for the first time that night. Phil felt a small seed of hope, but Techno just glanced at his outstretched hand and scowled. He felt the strongest urge to look to Brigit for help but had a feeling it wouldn't exactly build any faith in his own ability to handle a child.
He straightened up. He tried a kind smile, but wasn't entirely sure if it came out to be a grimace, "Not much of a talker then, eh? That's alright. Let's just get you settled in. Let me show you your bedroom."
Techno clutched a garbage bag in his hands and was dragging it across the floor. His belongings, Phil thought. Before he could offer to carry the bag for him, Techno met his eyes. Noticing Phil's eyes on his bag, his scowl deepened.
So much for a good first impression.
***
He'd shown Techno up to his new room. The boy didn't seem to have any interest in Phil's generic welcome spiel. The second Techno entered the room the door closed in his face. And after a couple of seconds, it was locked.
Brigit was still standing by the door, now holding a manila folder. Now that Techno had left, she wasn't smiling. She looked tired. He was sure he looked tired. They shared one of those smiles adults sometimes do, where they both silently agree that they just want to go home and sleep.
"Mr. Watson, I can't thank you enough for this placement. A first-time foster parent isn't the ideal choice for an emergency placement but you know how difficult it can be to find a home on such short notice"
Phil nodded. He hoped as though he understood. Standing next to Brigit, this incredibly competent woman when this was his first time, made him feel unprepared and overwhelmed.
"Here is Techno's file. He's…he's a good kid, really. We can arrange alternative accommodations for him after two weeks, so you'll have him at least until then." She faltered, nervously biting her lip. "But I think this could be a good place for him, based on your interview, and here he wouldn't have other children to…overwhelm him. I’ll be in touch, Mr. Watson, it's rather late so I'll leave you to it." She gave him a tight smile, nodded once, and left.
The 'it', Phil supposed, was the file in his hand. It was around 10 p.m., most certainly not the time to start brewing coffee, but he did it anyway. He settled down on the kitchen counter and braced himself. Whatever brought a kid in for an emergency placement wasn’t ever good.
Despite the caffeine, he had a hard time focusing on the words. He vacantly skimmed over background information. Techno, or Technoblade, rather, had been the only child of a couple that had lived in America for the first eight years of his life. They'd moved back to England two years ago.
The parents had been the victims of a mugging one and a half years ago.
Phil sighed miserably. It was one thing to be orphaned, it was another entirely to be orphaned in a strange country. As much as people denied it, America and England were quite different despite sharing a language, and sometimes, they didn't even share that.
Techno was ten. Bit small, Phil thought, pursing his lips. He’d bounced around three group homes in two different towns, with the occasional short stay with a foster parent like Phil. He never stayed in one place very long, never longer than three months. The shortest one had been five days. This was almost remarkably unstable. Apparently, Techno didn’t get along well with other kids ever and would express his disapproval aggressively. There were a couple of houses where the foster parent had complained about violence towards them. The notes section went into detail about books being thrown around, plates being broken, threatening another child with a knife. Phil absently wondered if he should lock away sharp objects. The notes went into further detail of punching, scratching, and…biting as well. Almost entirely physical violence.
There was no mention of his recent house in the report, whatever happened had happened too recently to update the file. There was a bright pink post-it at the end.
Oh. Techno had beaten up a child. Badly. Bad enough that they had to go to a hospital. That wasn’t…great.
Phil leaned back in his chair, biting the insides of his cheeks. He didn’t know what to think. He hadn’t yet spoken to the boy, but Techno was small and skinny and tiny. He didn’t look like he could beat anyone up. He scowled at Phil and looked a little grumpy, but he showed nothing that indicated he was capable of putting someone in a hospital. Phil began taking deep breaths as he gazed at some point on the wall. At the end of the day, this was a child.
Violent or not, this was a child.
A child who didn't have anyone else.
This was what Phil signed up for.
Techno was surprised and relieved to finally, finally, have a whole room to himself. It was empty but clean. Just a basic bed, an old wooden desk, and a lamp. He hadn’t bothered to unpack any of his things, leaving the garbage bag on the floor. He locked the door and crawled into bed. He was locked in. That in of itself wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was that it was locked from the inside, not the outside. The social worker had mentioned Mr. Watson not having any other kids. It was silent and it was great. He could hear himself think and he hadn’t been able to do that in any of the other houses.
He remembered the glassy look in her eyes as she begged him to try to behave. To use this opportunity to show everyone that he was a good kid because otherwise, she said she was running out of options.
He didn’t understand that. A good kid? He was a good kid. Before his…well, before everything got all messed up, he used to get good grades, at all the parent-teacher meetings the teachers would say he was quiet and thoughtful. He was still quiet and he was quite certain he still had thoughts, so what had changed? That was hardly one and a half years ago, was that all it took to become a ‘bad kid’?
Perhaps it was the time he’d broken a vase at the McKinley’s house. House 1. His mother used to say that he shouldn’t blame himself for accidents, but his Mrs. McKinley had been upset because it had been an expensive vase, expensive accidents weren’t the same as regular accidents.
He vaguely regretted the time he had threatened to stab his foster brother a few months ago, in House 6, but the other kid had been stealing from him. It hadn’t been hard to deduce he was the reason the £10 he got each week kept going missing, especially after he’d caught the kid red-handed. He learned a while ago that people don’t listen when you tell them to stop. You have to make them listen. And knives are good at making people pay attention.
It could be because he’s pretty sure he just sent his most recent ‘brother’ to the hospital, likely for an overnight visit. He remembered how it felt when the other boy’s nose crumbled beneath his fist. Techno had thrown the first punch. And had definitely done more damage.
It hadn’t been self-defense.
But the kid had it coming. Hot tears fell on his cheeks which he hastily wiped away. He had it coming.
Anyway, the other kid was the biological child. When the biological kid and the foster kid didn’t get along, a toddler could conclude which one of the two was getting the boot.
The tears weren’t stopping and he felt blood rush to his face. He missed his parents. He’d read this miserable book years ago about a rich girl who had everything, but then her parents died and she had no one. And no one would stand up for her. No one actually likes kids, and when they’re orphans, adults don’t have to hide it. Who’ll get mad at you if you’re mean to an orphan? Certainly not their parents! He couldn’t remember how the book ended but had the strangest feeling it definitely ended with her getting a pet monkey. He wasn’t sure if a monkey would fill the gaping hole he felt inside himself, but now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t. A pet monkey could bite people for him.