Archive of Our Own ^beta

The car slowly pulled into the long driveway, and a glance out the window showed they were pulling up to a large two-storey house. It didn’t look posh, per se, but the family was clearly quite well-off. There were three of them, his case worker had said. A father and two kids, one older one younger. The older one was apparently a bio kid, but the younger one was foster like him.

The car stopped, and Techno heard the driver side door open. He sat in silence for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before he realised his case worker was already halfway up the drive. He followed suit, leaping out of the car and grabbing his ratty little backpack, surreptitiously dropping a handful of flowers to the ground before making his way to the front door. He tried to keep his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, clenched into fists in an attempt to quell the anxious sparks flying off his fingertips. He couldn’t show them to anyone, not now and not ever. His sparks were bad.

Knocking on the door, Sam gave him a kind smile and squeezed his shoulder lightly. A tall shadow appeared in the glass before the man could attempt to strike up conversation. The door swung open to reveal a lanky, dark-haired boy, who took one look at the pair stood by the door and turned, yelling out back into the house.

“Dad! The new kid’s here!”

❊❊❊

It had been exactly 3 months since Techno had arrived at the Watson household, and he’d say he was doing pretty well. No incidents as of yet, other than the school garden prospering, and he’d been going to school for just over 2 months. He had yet to get anyone sent to the hospital with rose thorns lodged in their palm, so that was a big plus. And, as far as he could tell, none of his fa- none of the people he was staying with suspected anything yet. Techno knew he had to get out soon though.

His palms ached with a need to grow something, his head pounded day in and out, plagued with excruciating pain which so far he’d blamed on an ongoing migraine. He knew the lie could only hold up so long, but there was never a good opportunity. The house wasn’t anywhere near a forest and Techno was sure the Watson’s would get suspicious if their droopy little garden suddenly became healthy and began sprouting crimson flowers. No one wanted to see his magic, no one wanted to see how freakish and dangerous he really was. He couldn’t get kicked out now. He wouldn’t.

It was an important day today, the third visit from his caseworker in his time staying here. It was as anxiety-inducing as ever. Sure, Phil hadn’t thrown him back into the system either of the last visits, but he never knew what could be just around the corner. That was probably the only vaguely consistent thing within his life, the change. Household to household, family to family, he never knew when he’d have to pack his bag and get out.

“Boys! Into the car please, we need to head off if we want to get there on time!”

Phil called upwards, startling Techno out of his anxious spiral and out his bedroom door. He hurried down the stairs, Tommy almost barreling over him as he did so. “Sorry Tech!” The younger boy called out as he passed, yelling again as he ran out the door. “Dibs passenger side!”

As if summoned by the shouting, Wibur appeared at the top of the stairs. The older boy swore profusely as he tried to manoeuvre his way down without falling, simultaneously attempting to pull a sweater over his head.

“Oh no you fucking don’t! I’m older than you, I should get passenger!”

Phil, looking between his three two children with a look of despair, sighed in relief as Wilbur managed not to crack his head open as he tripped down the last few steps. “Go sit in the car, you can sort out who sits in the front.” As the older teenager rocketed out the door, Phil called weakly after him. “Don’t kill your brother!”

The man shook his head and turned to Techno with a smile.
“C’mon mate, let’s get going.”

Climbing into the back seat, Techno leaned against the window and tapped his foot. He stuffed his hands into his pockets in hopes of hiding the flower petals and sparks that were flying off them, to little avail. His head pounded. Wilbur, arms crossed and grumbling, slid into the seat beside him and stuck his middle finger up at Tommy, who was sitting smugly in the front seat. Techno tried to ignore everything, instead counting the lamp posts they passed in a futile attempt to ignore the itch in his fingertips. He didn't notice the worried looks Wilbur kept throwing his way. He didn’t really care, Wilbur was probably-

-Just being paranoid. He was probably overthinking things, just because Techno had been a bit off recently didn’t mean he was struggling. Anyway, Wil had no idea if Techno was even being ‘off’. He’d only known the boy for a few months, it wasn’t really his place to judge. He just seemed more and more tense, which was weird.

Wilbur might not ever have been through the system himself, but he’d seen how Tommy adjusted to living with him and Phil. Tommy, like Techno, had barely spoken for the first week. He was snappish and closed off for a while, but it didn’t take long before he began opening up. This was where the similarities ended. Techno had become friendly with his foster family, fiercely protective over both his foster brothers and sharing jokes with his foster father. He seemed to have settled in, already making friends (as well as enemies) at school. But he still appeared… wary. Like he was waiting for it all to inevitably go to shit.
Wilbur had noticed a lot of other worrying things about his new foster brother too. The way Techno always wore long sleeves, the way he disappeared from meals after barely touching his food, how he still flinched when someone moved to touch him. He couldn’t really be blamed for worrying, he just didn’t know what to do about it. Should he ask the boy? Should he talk to Phil about it? His dad knew Wil had struggled with his mental health in the past, would he think Wilbur was being too paranoid? Or would he trust his judgement?
Hopefully Techno would soon open up enough to come to Wilbur with his issues, but until then all Wil could do was keep an eye on the younger boy. His cascade of thoughts slowed as Wil was tugged from them unceremoniously by the car-

-Pulling into a space. Phil turned the engine off and twisted round to look at his the boys. “You three got everything? We can turn back if there’s anything important, but if not we should head inside. We’re already running a bit behind.”

Tommy shook his head and threw open the car door, leaping out and running around the tarmac like the hyperactive preteen he was. Wilbur, too, shook his head and exited the car, grabbing Tommy and lifting him up in a doomed attempt to shove him into the boot. Phil sighed as the younger boy squawked indignantly, and got out to stop the brothers before they could cause more chaos. Techno stayed in the car, thoughts racing as he realised that he’d forgotten his noise-cancelling headphones. He was going to a warm, loud, crowded, public space, he’d forgotten his headphones, and on top of that he was already anxious about meeting Sam again. There was absolutely no way this could go well.

The family group entered the shopping centre, and Techno was immediately bombarded with unfamiliar smells and sounds. This would usually be about the point he slipped his headphones on, but much to his chagrin, no such help was possible. Wilbur frowned and cocked his head to the side, humming. “Hey, Tech, don’t you usually have headphones on you?” Techno rubbed his leg from inside his pocket, and coughed quietly.

“I forgot them.” He mumbled, eyes firmly on the floor. Phil had stopped walking to study him, eyebrows creased in concern. “Oh. We can nip back home quickly to grab them if you want?”
Shaking his head, Techno hunched his shoulders. “Nah, we’ll be late. It’s fine. Let’s just go.”

His hands were shaking. It was loud, too loud. The cafe they were headed to was on the other side of the mall, still a good 5 minute walk away. Phil looked worried, and kept shooting glances over his shoulder. Techno wondered, briefly, if the man had ever read his file, seen the autism diagnosis. Phil had told him he hadn’t, hadn't read anything he hadn’t needed to, that he trusted Techno to tell him if there was something he thought he needed to know. It didn’t really matter, he could deal with it.

Techno balled up his hand, accidentally dislodging a number of petals from his pocket. They fluttered down to the floor as the group kept walking, and he looked around nervously to see if the others had noticed. Wilbur’s eyes were trained on the fallen petals, but he didn’t mention anything. Techno needed to clean out his pockets and calm down, he was far too stressed. It was stupid, they were nearly there.

The cafe was in view, and with it came the familiar dark green hair of his social worker. He was already sitting at a table, somewhat awkwardly because of his almost unnatural height. Phil held up a hand in greeting, Tommy throwing himself onto a chair opposite Sam. The boy immediately struck up a conversation. Phil followed, taking a seat beside his son. Wilbur looked at Techno, as if waiting for him to sit down first. “Techno? You-

-Alright?” Wilbur half wanted to grab his brother's arm, reassure himself Techno would still be there and not crumble to dust beneath his touch. He looked like death, eyes wide and hands shoved deep in his pockets. Wilbur didn’t understand why the boy’s hands were always in his pockets. It probably had something to do with the fact he apparently just kept flower petals in there, a development that Wil hadn’t noticed until earlier, when he’d seen a number of them fall to the ground. He observed his brother, watching as Techno opened-

-His mouth, trying to push out something even vaguely resembling words, but all he could manage was a disgruntled hum. He sat down, between his dad Phil and Sam, and Wilbur sat opposite. Tommy was already talking loudly, Sam humouring him by occasionally letting the child steal chips from his plate. Phil was also talking, politely exchanging words with his social worker across Techno’s head. Wilbur was fiddling with the tablecloth, occasionally looking up to stop Tommy hitting a passing customer in the face as he waved his arms around theatrically. Discreetly beneath the table, Techno pulled handfuls of blood red petals from his pocket and tossed them unceremoniously to the floor.

His head was throbbing, and the ache in his hands was only growing stronger.

Tommy laughed loudly, the sound grating against his ears.

Wilbur, swinging his lanky legs under the table, bashed his foot hard into Techno’s knee, making him flinch.

Phil and Sam, sat either side of him, talked and breathed and laughed over his head, too close too loud too warm too much.

Everything was too much.

Everything was too much, his clothes felt prickly against his skin and his pockets already overflowing again with petals, ghost orchids and chocolate cosmos, middlemist reds and parrot beaks. A river of red, trailing from his pocket to the floor as Wilbur asked if he was okay for the third time, Phil reached out towards him, Sam looked at him with concerned eyes, and even Tommy waved a hand in front of his face. A trail of petals, mixed with the blood leaking from where he’d picked at his skin to try and distract from the growing pain. A stream of flowers, flowing from under the table, onto the floor, under the waitress walking past, the waitress with a tall glass filled with something balanced on her tray. The tray wobbled, causing the glass to shift. The glass that was now tipping, tripping out of the waitresses arms, the waitress with an alarmed look across her face, arms reaching out towards the glass, the glass pitching, tilting, falling.

Right onto Techno.

The water spread across him, dripping from his hair onto his shirt onto his trousers and into his shoes. It ran down Techno’s back, and at the same time a burning feeling ran through his veins. He was shaking, he realised. Not just his hands, he was full-body shaking. People were staring at him, it was no longer loud and Techno couldn’t tell if it was his ears or the world that had gone silent.

He stood up. Wilbur stood up too. So did Sam. Phil grabbed his arm, not cruelly or even hard, but still Techno flinched away. Tommy darted off somewhere, presumably to go find some paper towels. People's mouths were moving. Techno turned on his heel, paying no regard to the movement around him, and sprinted out of the building. Somewhere through the cloud covering his mind, he thought he heard Wilbur shouting, footsteps thundering after him, an array of swears that vaguely sounded like his foster father. That was bad. That meant the man was angry, and anger was never good. Someone was chasing him, chasing him, he was running, sprinting, and Techno was fast. Faster than fast, he was clear of the shopping centre in two minutes flat, petals falling from the hands that were no longer safely contained in his pockets, but instead pumping by his side as he ran. Where? Where was he running? He didn’t know. Just away. Anywhere.

Tree’s bent around him as he ran through the road, cars swerving to avoid the newly sprouted trunks. Red bogmoss filled the pavement, sprouting and weaving through the cracks. Everything, red, red, red. Red was bad, red meant blood. Blood meant danger.

Before he knew it, the path under him became denser, more knotted, harder to traverse. The pavement slowly becoming tree roots as he sprinted through the woods. Techno neither knew, nor particularly cared, where he was. All that mattered was that he was alone, no thundering footsteps or unfamiliar smells, no shouting or bustling people. Just the forest, and the flowers still falling from his hands.

He sat on the floor, not caring about the dirt beneath him. He sat there, and screamed. Screamed, as the world erupted into colour around him. No longer only reds, now there were greens and blues, yellows and megentas, all dancing in a flurry around him like a dizzying snowstorm. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressed the heels of his palms up to his ears. His damp clothes stuck to his skin. He should get up, leave, he needed to run, and keep-

-Running, Wilbur was running. Following the glaringly obvious trail of bright red plants. He had his phone pressed to his ear, Phil’s voice echoing through the other end. Wil hadn’t waited around, immediately taking off after Techno, but Phil had stayed back to make sure Tommy wasn’t left alone when he got back. Sam was also searching, somewhere close behind. On second thought, searching may be the wrong word. More like following a trail, a trail that left bright destruction in its wake. Wilbur dodged around a car, his eyes trained on the red blossoming trees lining a trail that led deep into the woods.

He could hear Sam panting somewhere behind him, but was far too focused on finding the boy he’d grown to love like a brother to pay attention. The path was mossy, overgrown, the red of the plants blending almost seamlessly with the red of… blood? This discovery only served to fuel Wilbur’s fear, and he almost fell flat on his face a number of times when searching for his brother.

Sam was growing slowly further behind him, blundering through the bushes that Wilbur could dart through much easier. Thoughts careening through his head, Techno had only been unaccounted for about 10 minutes, but Wilbur knew it only took 2-5 minutes to bleed out, it could take just 7 minutes to suffocate, just 5 to die from strangulation. 10 minutes was far too long, especially in the circumstances. His mind racing with so many morbid possibilities, Wilbur never even questioned how or why plants had taken over, never even had the time to think about the vines creeping from his brother's sleeves as he ran.

He thought he could see a clearing ahead, and barreled forward, crashing through the trees with force. And there, at the base of a tree-

-Techno sat, curled into a ball, petals whirling around him. Distantly, he heard a leaf in front of him crunch, and felt rather than saw as a reddish rosethorn vine reached out, snaking around the ankle of whatever was trying to get close, too close, it was too much, and then the plants in front of him cried out as something heavy fell onto them, the foreign thing cursing as it did so.

“Shit, fuck, I found him. Dad, we’re in the woods. Sam’ll be here in a minute. Is he..? I dunno, haven’t asked. There’s a fuckton of plants. Okay, yeah. Techno what’s happening? Can you hear me? Techno? Tech?”

The thing in front of him spoke, a familiar yet unplaceable lilt to their voice. It was oddly calming, and Techno felt himself involuntarily relax. He whimpered slightly, curling tighter and causing a new batch of flowers to sprout around him. The voice continued.

“Fuck. Fuck, okay. Um, okay, Tech I think you’re having a panic attack. Or meltdown? Dad, is it a meltdown? Okay, yeah. It’s okay Tech, can you try and follow my breathing?”

The figure started breathing in and out, much heavier and almost cartoonishly exaggerated. Still, Techno did his best to listen and copy the voice.

“Good, keep breathing yeah? It’s okay, we’ll sort this all out. Dad? Yeah, I can send you my location.” The figure shifted again, and Techno squinted through a half-shut eye. Familiar. The figure was familiar. Familiar brown hair, familiar coffee and woodish smell, familiar maroon beanie.

Wilbur.

Wilbur was here, that was nice. Wilbur was nice. A good brother, maybe he wouldn’t tell Phil about-

Oh. Oh shit, Wilbur knew. Wilbur knew he was a monster, he’d tell everyone. Techno had to leave, he had to get out, he didn’t think he could bear to see Wilbur’s scared, betrayed expression. He had to get up, had to move, had to leave, had to cry. Cry, because he thought he was doing so well. Cry, because he so nearly had a family. Cry, because no matter what he did no one would ever want to deal with a disgusting, broken child like him. And so he did. He cried, mumbling brokenly into his hands. “M’sorry, sorry, m’sorry. Please, don’ tell Phil. I’ll be good, I swear, I’m sorry.” He spoke between gasps, and rocked back and forth. Wilbur held out his hands placatingly, and Techno flinched sharply away from the open palm. The hand was retracted, but Wilbur didn’t give up.

“Hey, it’s alright. I won’t tell Phil anything you don’t want me to, it’s okay. Are- Are you okay if I hug you?”

The boy gently offered his open arms, and Techno nodded frantically before falling into them. He shouldn’t have been so quick to believe, so quick to trust, but there was just something that couldn’t bring him to not trust Wilbur. He curled into his brother's arms, murmuring quietly as he did.

“You- yu’r a good br’her Wil.” He slurred the words slightly, eyelids drooping, and barely flinched as he heard branches snap as Sam barreled into the clearing. The man crouched in front of the pair, talking in hushed tones to Wilbur. Techno tried his best to listen, but his brain still felt foggy.

When Tommy careened into the clearing about 5 minutes later, Phil hot on his tail, the pair were met with a fast asleep Techno being cradled by Wilbur, tears glistening in his eyes. The older boy looked up as his father approached, and, with love laced in his voice, he whispered.

“He- he said I was a good brother.”

❊❊❊

7, almost 8 months had passed since that day, which the family (Techno now comfortably included in that word) has simply dubbed “The Flower Day”. It was summer now, the sky clear and the garden blooming with life, although that second observation was only in part due to the good weather.

Three brothers sat in the grass, their father reading on a lawn chair nearby. The youngest of the three was focusing heavily, tongue poking out in concentration. The middle brother sat in front of him, allowing Tommy to braid his hair and periodically passing flowers over his shoulder to the boy. The oldest brother was laying beside the pair, glancing across to the flowers growing from Techno’s fingers and flicking through a book to match them.

Techno enjoyed growing rarer and rarer flowers, watching the frustration grow on his brother's face as he flicked frantically through the book to find them. He’d also noticed how much better Tommy was getting at plaiting hair, having improved from messy, tangled, half-braids just a few months before, to now neat and precise fishtail braids. He passed a flower into his brother’s waiting hands, and waited for Wilbur to identify the new one sprouting from the ground.

“Oh easy, that one’s a red rose.” The boy barely glanced up, grinning.

Techno passed the red rose over his shoulder. And immediately began sprouting a new one.

“Is that one a… A yellow marigold!”

Nodding, Techno passed the flower behind him and felt as Tommy weaved it into his hair.

“What the fuck? That’s a… fuck what is that? Red dahlia?”

Shaking his head, Techno squinted in the sun. He grinned, popping the p as he spoke. “Nope, that’s a middlemist red.”

Wilbur frowned, abandoning the book and reaching for his phone. “Middle… middlemist red.” He paused for a moment, eyes widening. “What the fuck, there are only like two of those in the world! What the actual fuck!”

Techno chuckled, bobbing his head in ascent. “Indeed there are. Want an easier one next time?”

Wilbur nodded, still muttering under his breath, and waited for the next flower to appear in Techno’s grip.

“Aha! That’s a yellow rose, I know that!”

Techno smiled as he passed the flower behind him and Tommy gasped, cooing at the pretty colours.

“It’s so pretty Tech!” The child grinned, holding it up and rotating it in the light.

“Yeah. I like yellow roses, they’re my favourite.” Techno closed his eyes, sighing contentedly. “They mean friendship.”

And, as Tommy gently braided his hair, careful consideration in every touch.

As Wilbur waved his arms around in dismay when Techno conjured up another almost extinct flower (it was a Juliet rose).

As Phil looked at his three children with nothing but pure adoration in his eyes.

As Techno grew and grew, unchallenged and unthwarted.

He knew that he was finally home.