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Technoblade had gotten used to the fact that he was never going to have a true home while he was still a minor. Not all foster kids ended up at good places, and not all foster kids found their “forever families.” Techno always hated it when the social workers called them that, like he was being compared to a dog being adopted from the pound.
Some kids had better luck than others, and if he was being honest, he’d had some of both the worst and the best luck he could imagine.
“Make sure you get everything packed up,” his newest social worker reminded him, the calmness of her voice being a welcome change to his prior social worker. As much as he appreciated her soft words, Techno couldn’t exactly say that he was that attached to this one. She’d only been his social worker for about two weeks now, and that was only because Richard had to be taken off his case given that he’d been arrested.
Tracey or Nancy or whatever her name was smiled at him from the doorway, and Techno gave her a nod to show that he’d heard.
Was he excited about being put into a new home after how badly the last one went? No, of course not. But he was sixteen now, which meant he only had to deal with this placement for either as long as they put up with him, or two years. Once he aged out of the system, he’d get a place of his own and do the one thing he’d swore he’d do: find his brother.
They weren’t biological brothers, which was the only reason why they hadn’t been allowed to stay together, why the system didn’t try to keep them at the same houses no matter how hard Techno had tried to stick by his brother’s side. It wasn’t fair, but he’d learned long ago that life wasn’t fair.
Packing up his entire life was surprisingly easy. He’d been doing it for years, after all, so it wasn’t like it was ever really unpacked. Most of Techno’s clothes stayed in his dark red duffel bag, especially when he was at the group home.
The bed beside his was empty, still perfectly made from the last kid who’d been sent out to a placement.
Techno’s own bed would be cleaned and smoothed out to the point where no one would have known that someone had slept on that bed before.
When Techno was sure that no one was nearby he sat down on the floor and leaned back until he was lying flat on the ground. After double-checking that he had the right bed, Techno slid under the bed and reached up, brushing his fingers across the tiny notches carved into the wood.
Those marks were the reason he’d even met his brother in the first place. Techno had recently been moved into the group home, and it wasn’t long before the bed beside him was filled by a brunet boy around his own age, one who’d tried to get them to switch beds from the moment he showed up.
Wilbur always marked under the bed for every foster home he’d ever been sent to, and again when he returned.
“One day, you’re going to see the first mark and not the second,” Wilbur used to brag, back when they were still becoming friends. Before they were brothers. “How many homes have you been to, Technoblade? You should start marking yours, too.”
He did. Techno and Wilbur would crawl under the bed before they were sent out to foster placements and carve a mark on the first line, matching its twin mark with every time they returned to the group home. They’d both been in the system for a long time, so the both of them had gained several marks.
It used to be the way they’d be able to “check in” on one another. Techno knew exactly how many notches were on Wilbur’s line, so if he showed up at the group home and Wilbur wasn’t there, sometimes he’d learn that his brother had already been returned and sent out again.
The best days were when they were back at the same time, when Techno got to spend more time with Wilbur. The letters that they’d send to one another were never enough, but staying in contact was difficult. They’d been able to email for a while, using public libraries when they were available, but for the most part, they struggled to hear from one another.
Wilbur’s marks hadn’t changed.
Techno was careful as he put one more mark on his line, knowing that its twin would join it eventually, once he was inevitably returned. The more baggage, the quicker the return. Had this newest foster placement been informed of the house he was just removed from? Had they been told about what he’d been through at the hands of those people? They didn’t deserve to be called “parents” in any context of the word, foster or not.
Wherever Wilbur went, he’d never returned. Or, if he had, he’d given up on marking each new attempt at finding a family.
That was Wilbur’s goal: to find a family, to belong somewhere, to have a home. Techno didn’t see the point in that, because he’d already found his family, his home. Again and again, he was taken away from his brother, but that didn’t change the fact that Wilbur was all the family Techno would ever need. Wilbur was still his home, as he’d never felt more at peace than when he was at his twin brother’s side. And for Techno, that was enough. It had to be.
For years now, home had only ever meant one thing: Wilbur.
If he was being honest, Techno wasn’t sure why he kept marking the bed. It had only ever been for Wilbur, but if Wilbur wasn’t coming back…
No, he didn’t know that. He could only hope the best for his brother, but he’d never hope that he didn’t see Wilbur ever again. They had to find one another, it was just frustrating that it would take a few years for them to be adults. That would make the process a lot easier, after all. Two more years, and Techno would never have to be apart from his brother, once they were reunited.
As long as Wilbur hadn’t forgotten about him.
The last placement made him believe that for a while, but Techno knew by now that he couldn’t trust a thing that they said. He never wanted to doubt Wilbur, to doubt his twin’s love for him, and he never would again.
They’d cut off his access to sending and receiving letters, they’d cut off his access to the internet to be able to receive and send emails, they’d made it impossible for him to interact with the outside world. He wasn’t the only one. That isolation wore him down.
A year and a half was more than he thought he’d be able to withstand, yet here he was.
He made it out the other end.
After running his fingers across Wilbur’s marks once more—the final one solo, telling a story of a teen who hadn’t returned to the group home—Techno crawled out from under the bed and got up. He didn’t have a lot to pack, but he did want to make sure that nothing was missing.
Techno couldn’t really say that he owned many items. There were only a few things that he ever brought with him, home to home, and the majority was clothes.
Even so, after his last placement, Techno didn’t actually have a lot of clothes to pack. Most of them he’d outgrown, but he’d made do with what he had. There was one thing that he always made sure to triple-check for, to ensure it hadn’t been removed from his duffel bag just because it no longer fit him. Soft, worn yellow fabric from a sweater that was much too small sat neatly stashed away in his meager belongings.
It was the one thing Techno made sure never to leave behind. Wilbur had given it to him when they’d been separated. It had long-since lost the familiar scent, but the gentle fabric was enough to allow Techno to continue to cradle those memories close to his chest. Not wanting to risk others damaging the sweater, Techno only took it out of his bag at nighttime.
Some children clung to stuffed animals, yet here Techno was, clinging to his twin’s old sweater, wishing it would bring him back home again.
As much as he wanted to see Wilbur again, he’d never wish for Wilbur to set foot in the house he’d managed to get out of. It was too horrible of a place for him to have ever wished his twin to be. He loved Wilbur, he did, but Techno wasn’t sure if Wilbur would have been able to handle the household he’d just left.
He didn’t want to know what that house would have done to Wilbur. At the very least, now he knew that he’d never have to know.
No one would.
Zipping his bag closed, Techno slung it over his shoulder and left the room. There was no point in delaying the inevitable, and there was no reason for him to stay longer. After all, this place wasn’t a home.
That, and his new foster was waiting for him. It wasn’t normal, having a foster parent pick him up from the group home instead of letting the social worker drop him off. It was never allowed for first-time fosters, which meant that this guy must have been trusted to some extent.
That should make Techno feel better, but it didn’t.
A stranger was still a stranger, after all.
The walk through the group home was short, as there wasn’t anyone Techno felt the need to say goodbye to. While Techno wasn’t exactly thrilled to meet his new fosters, he wasn’t going to hide away, so he went directly to where his social worker was waiting with whoever was taking him home.
The man who met him in the waiting room wasn’t what Techno was expecting. Admittedly, after the last household he’d been stuck at, he wasn’t sure what to expect from people anymore. He never used to search for signs of maliciousness, given that the majority of the placements he’d had were absolutely normal, but after the last place…
This man didn’t appear malicious. His kind smile was warm, his eyes seemed to light up when Techno walked into the room, and he appeared to genuinely want to be there. That wasn’t the reaction that Techno was used to, because in the past, no one ever seemed genuinely happy to be bringing a foster kid home. If anything, they were usually cautious around him, unsure of the kind of baggage that he’d be bringing back to their household.
“Technoblade,” the man greeted, strolling forward and offering him a hand. While still uncertain about the guy, he shook his hand nonetheless. “My name is Philza Craft, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Uh, you too,” Techno stuttered, looking over to his social worker to ensure that this was the guy he was supposed to be going with. Nancy, her name was definitely Nancy, was grinning nearly from ear-to-ear, looking so thrilled to see their initial meeting. That was probably a good sign.
“Mr. Craft here has had extensive experience fostering children in the past,” Nancy explained. “He and his wife have been a go-to emergency placement in the past for quite a few years. You’re going to be safe with him.”
Techno wasn’t sure how much this Philza Craft guy had been told about the last house that Techno had been removed from, but it wasn’t something he was planning on talking about. The last thing he wanted to do was allow himself to appear vulnerable around a stranger, not after things had gone so badly last time.
You’re going to be safe with him wasn’t what Techno wanted to be told, not when Mr. Craft was standing right there.
But hey, the guy was being warned about the kind of baggage that Techno was going to be dragging back to his household. Experience with foster kids or not, Techno hoped that Mr. Craft knew what he was getting himself into, taking an older teen who’d just been through what he had.
Fighting back had never even been a consideration until the last house, and now Techno was on edge. Friendly smiles and firm handshakes or not, Techno wasn’t going to let himself be abused like he had been again. This guy could easily just be putting on a mask, acting kind until he got Techno home where the switch would flip.
Well, Techno wasn’t about to let his guard down.
“Are you all packed?” Mr. Craft asked. There was a surprising lack of judgement in his voice and his gaze when he looked to the single duffel bag that Techno was carrying. Techno was used to the way his old bag would be scrutinized like he was bringing diseases with it, or the pity on peoples’ faces when they realized that it wasn’t even half-full.
Mr. Craft didn’t have either of those familiar expressions. No, he was just calm and patient. Despite how positive that was, its unfamiliarity made Techno uncomfortable.
“Yep,” Techno said, trying not to tug at the straps of his duffel bag too much. It was already old and worn out, he didn’t need to break it before he aged out of the system.
“Great. If you’re ready then, mate, let’s get you home,” Mr. Craft said, like home was something Techno could actually believe existed. No, his home had been taken away from him long ago. And if Wilbur hadn’t been back in a year and a half, then Techno couldn’t be sure where his home was anymore.
Without another word nor a glance back at his newest social worker, Techno followed along after the man who he’d be calling his foster father for an unknown amount of time. With luck, this guy would be nice, and Techno could at the very least age out of the system in peace. But in all honesty, the most he was hoping for was someone who was nothing like his last placement.
If the Craft family could do better than his last placement, which shouldn’t be a challenge given that the bar was set so low, then Techno would be content.
Normally, the ride to a new foster home would be done by his social worker. Apparently, this guy had offered to come pick Techno up himself, and it was agreed to given that the social workers had already visited his house and made sure that everything was in order. Nancy did say that he was someone they’d turned to frequently in the past, so at the very least that meant the guy must have been competent, right?
“Do you want to tell me about yourself, mate? Or if you’ve got any questions, I’d be happy to answer what I can for you,” Mr. Craft said once they were on the road. He didn’t seem to want to let Techno sit in silence and stew over the fact that he still had two more years before he could get himself out of the system.
Techno shrugged. Might as well figure out what he was going to be dealing with. “Nancy mentioned you’ve got a wife.”
The question must have been a good one, because the man’s whole face seemed to light up at the mention of his wife. “Yeah, her name’s Kristin. You’ll meet her when we get home. I’ve got a wife and two sons. They’re aware that they’re getting a foster brother, but I didn’t actually tell them that I was going to pick you up right now, so they’ll be really excited to see you.”
Oh great, he hadn’t told his kids that Techno was being brought back today? Fantastic, that was definitely going to go well. No sarcasm at all.
“Don’t look so worried, mate, they’re excited that you’re going to be staying with us. I promise, you’re going to be happy here,” Mr. Craft said. Techno hated the way he said that, because it made him want to believe his new foster father. Techno hadn’t wanted to believe someone to be honest upon first meeting since Wilbur.
The reminder of his loss ached.
“I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you’re happy,” Mr. Craft said, and while it sounded like a promise, it couldn’t be. No adult would ever promise him something like that.
Unsure of how to respond to that, Techno chose not to. “Mr. Craft—”
“Phil, please,” the man said. There was no scold in his voice, just a request.
Techno hummed. “Phil. Why wouldn’t you tell your kids that you’re going to get me?”
The smile on Phil’s face didn’t have even a hint of malicious intent. “I wanted it to be a surprise for them. If I gave them all the details, my oldest would be a nervous wreck if he had to sit at home and wait for a social worker to drop you off. You two are going to get along well, I guarantee it.”
The guarantees of a stranger meant nothing to him, so instead Techno just nodded and fixed his gaze out the window, praying for a quick ride. Small talk had never really been his thing, and whether Phil realized that or not, he let Techno have some peace and quiet during the rest of the drive, not forcing him to answer any questions.
The questions would come eventually, they always did, but for now he was able to be lost in his thoughts.
Maybe, if he sent a letter for Wilbur to his social worker, she’d be able to track down where he’d been placed and get it to him. Then they’d, at the very least, be able to have letters again. Or maybe there would be a nearby library, and Techno could check the email address that he hadn’t been allowed to access in the past year and a half.
Yeah, that seemed like a good plan.
There was a woman waiting on the porch. She was beautiful, with long, dark hair and warm brown eyes. The smile that lit her face when Phil pulled the car into the driveway wasn’t something Techno was expecting, but then again, he also wasn’t expecting Phil to be so genuinely kind to him so far, so he shouldn’t have been shocked that Mrs. Craft would also be different from his expectations.
The woman was by the car before Phil even managed to shut it off, though she stayed on the driver’s side, letting Techno get out of the car on his own without being bombarded.
“Technoblade, welcome to our home,” Mrs. Craft said, waiting for him to approach before offering him a handshake. He appreciated that she didn’t immediately go in for a hug like many fosters he had in the past would, as he wasn’t a big fan of being touched by strangers.
Handshakes were great, because they let him respectfully greet new fosters without having to have a stranger in his personal space, too close for comfort, no matter how nice they seemed. Mrs. Craft was someone who used both hands in her handshake, her left hand cradling his hand with a tenderness that he really wasn’t used to.
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Techno mumbled, hating how uncomfortable he was with being treated kindly by foster parents. He’d never had a problem with kindness before, it had just… been a while since he’d experienced it from adults who were supposed to be taking care of him.
It was embarrassing to be so uncomfortable with the fosters who’d, at least thus far, had the best first impression of any other fosters he’d had in the past.
“Please, Kristin is fine. Come on in,” Mrs. Craft, Kristin, said as she gestured towards the house.
Despite how friendly they’d been, the house loomed above him, tall and intimidating. Last time Techno had gone into a house without wondering what just might be behind those walls waiting for him, it hadn’t gone well. This time, his heart was telling him that he didn’t have to be cautious.
He wasn’t going to be fooled again, though, so Techno kept his guard up as he followed after his new foster parents. Even if they were good, though, even if they were nice and kind and genuine people, that didn’t mean that everyone in the household would be.
Kristin grabbed the door, gesturing for him to follow after Phil, to go inside.
Techno was hesitant to follow Phil into the house. Sure, the man had been nice, and his wife seemed great too, but Techno had been in more than enough foster placements where the foster siblings were what made the whole home awful. Was there a reason why no one had told them that he was bring brought home? Phil had said he wanted it to be a surprise, but that didn’t sound right. Were his new foster siblings not actually as excited as the Craft parents were hoping? Were they hoping that their kids would be happy about a new foster sibling, and didn’t want to give them the chance to complain?
Steeling himself for immediate rejection, Techno stepped through the doorway, letting Kristin close the door behind him. This wasn’t his last placement, this was a whole new house with a whole new family and a whole new chance at—
Techno froze.
The house wasn’t loud exactly, but it sure wasn’t quiet. No, there was music coming from up the stairs, something that didn’t sound like the radio. It was a guitar, a real guitar, something he hadn’t heard in ages.
Suddenly, his duffel bag felt too heavy. The weight of the world was dragging him down, suffocating him, up until his duffel bag slipped from his shoulder and fell to the floor with a dell thud.
He knew that song.
It wasn’t a song that he’d ever heard played on the radio, no. It was a song that had been sung in the dusty common room of the group home, words weaved masterfully together despite his young age, then presented to Techno, an audience of one, as if he was performing it for the whole world.
Despite the year and a half they’d been apart, Techno would recognize his twin’s voice any day.
Whenever Techno walked into a new foster home, he was always careful to be respectful, as to not start off on a bad note.
Today, he bolted. Without the weight of his bag, light as it was, Techno was able to take the steps two at a time as he rushed up the stairs, not needing to know where he was or where he was going. The music led him down the upstairs hallway and over to a bedroom.
The door was slightly ajar. The sound of hurried footsteps, loud and heavy against the stairs as Techno didn’t care who heard, had caused the music to cease, but that room was where it had come from. Techno was sure of it.
After everything he’d been through, ripping off the Band-Aid was better than getting lost in the endless what ifs that plagued his mind. Techno threw open the door, knowing that he should probably care more about the fact that he was invading someone else’s privacy yet being far more concerned over the fact that his twin’s song was just playing a moment ago.
His ears couldn’t have been deceiving him.
Silence hung heavy in the room, making it hard to breathe, but breathing didn’t matter. All that mattered was looking around the room, zeroing in on the teenager who was sitting on the bed, a guitar propped in his lap. A sweater, far more vibrant of a yellow that the one Techno had stashed away in his bag, was the only color he could see for a moment. It was bright, blinding.
But then there was dark brown, curly hair, longer than he remembered, and large, circular glasses, no longer held together by tape, and warm brown eyes, mirroring a twin look of disbelief because this didn’t feel real. He had to have been imagining all the similarities, he had to have been dreaming, none of this made any sense—
“Techno?” As hesitant a question as it was, that was still Wilbur’s voice, that was still what his brother sounded like. The guitar was set aside as the teenager stood, taller than he was a year and a half earlier, taller than Techno himself was now.
“Wilbur,” he barely managed to get out before his twin was across the room, throwing himself into Techno’s arms, clinging to him with a desperation that Techno understood. He held onto Wilbur like the last rays of light before the sun went down, fleeting yet still so real in that moment. Wilbur was warm and solid and real against him, his body shaking with the sobs that started escaping.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” Wilbur wept freely, his grip tight enough to make the still-healing bruises and injuries that littered Techno’s body ache, yet he could care less because his twin was back. “Mom and Dad have been looking, from the moment I told them that I have a brother they’ve been trying to find you, but it’s like you disappeared, Tech!” Wilbur backed up just enough to press their foreheads together, enough for Techno to see the tears streaming down his brother’s face. It was only then when he realized his own cheeks felt wet, his own eyes burned with emotion. “You’re really here.”
Mom and Dad. Wilbur was calling these people Mom and Dad.
It was so much easier to relax into his brother’s grip, to let Wilbur take a turn holding the both of them up, after hearing that his twin had gotten what he’d always wanted. A family, a home. Wilbur was adopted, that’s why he’d never added to his marks at the group home. Because he’d found his home.
“I missed you,” Techno admitted softly, as if it was some kind of secret and wasn’t clearly written in bold font all over his face at the moment.
Wilbur just laughed at the statement, broken as the sound was, before wrapping Techno up in another breath-taking hug. I missed you didn’t need to be said aloud, because they both knew, they both shared that same pain of having been apart. I need you here didn’t need to be said, because they both knew it to be true, they both knew their lives wouldn’t be complete without the other in it.
As nice as Techno was sure the Craft family was, as Wilbur wouldn’t be referring to just anyone so fondly as his parents, Techno was glad that they let him and Wilbur be, that they allowed their reunion to occur just by themselves in what was clearly a well-loved room, one that his twin seemed more than comfortable in. After how nervous Techno had seen Wilbur when interacting with the few foster families they’d shared back in the day, after he’d witnessed the way Wilbur wouldn’t be able to fall asleep at night with how uncomfortable he was around strangers, seeing him here and now told Techno everything he needed to know about his newest placement.
When Wilbur ultimately decided to release Techno from his hold, he made sure to keep an arm draped around Techno’s shoulders. In the past, they used to do that protectively, to let the other know that they had their back, that no matter what happened, they’d be fine as long as they had one another.
Now, though, Wilbur’s grip was relaxed. It wasn’t shielding him from a known danger, it was inviting him to follow. And Techno would, wherever his twin would lead.
“Welcome home,” Wilbur said, and in his heart, Techno believed him.
Maybe this place would grow to be a home to him, too. Maybe Wilbur’s family would become his family, in time. But right now, in that very moment, with Wilbur finally by his side again, Techno knew one thing to be true.
He was home.