Chapter Text
Techno always associated touch with pain. That was a gift from his father. Then with his mother, touch was an absence. If he hadn't met Wilbur and Tommy, he might've never had a normal hug in his life. And they were always very respectful that he tended to brush off touch.
This wasn't because he didn't like it. In reality, Techno had no idea if he liked touch or not. It was frequently painful, whether from memories of his father, or from the actual physical sensation of his skin crawling, or his thoughts racing.
Puffy called it 'touch starved'. She asked if it was something he wanted to work on. He said no.
It was a bit of a cop-out. He was scared that he was broken and if he tried, it couldn't be fixed. That it would always be weird and painful. That he'd never trust anyone enough to get over this hurdle in his mind.
Instead they spent more time discussing cognitive distortions and how they shaped his world. All or nothing thinking. Catastrophization. Disqualifying the positives. She gave him ten distortions and Techno did pretty much all of them on a daily basis. Even something as simple as his constant berating that he was stupid, that he couldn't do anything right, that he was going to ruin everything. A daily thought that Puffy helped him to sort out as personalisation, emotional reasoning, and labelling.
Knowing and stopping were two very different things. But Techno had a lot of time with Puffy, at least.
Puffy was more than busy with his fucked up thoughts. He ended up dealing with the fucked up touch thing on his own.
It was the weekend. Phil had taken the three of them to an art museum where they got dirty looks from the other patrons as they made up ridiculous stories about the portraits.
Once they got home, Techno got out of the Jeep. He didn't have a second before Wilbur and Tommy got out on either side of him, and both slammed their car doors in succession, one after another.
Techno went from amused to frozen in a second. He was close enough to feel the air move with each slam. He pulled his hands together and mindlessly ran his fingers over a phantom pain.
Tommy's laughter echoed. Wilbur followed him upstairs. They'd moved on, because slamming a car door didn't mean anything to them.
If they were going to know, he'd have to tell them.
Thumb over his knuckles. Over and over. Techno breathed through the panic. He still struggled with managing to stop a flashback himself, not having enough practice. There was a huge, gnawing maw in his chest. Right there in the garage, Techno tried to dissect what the feeling was.
His nerves trembling. He thought about when Wilbur piled a million blankets on top of him, how that was something that calmed this feeling. Then cursed mentally, because it was fucking touch starved again. He wanted a damn hug.
Well, he did and he didn't. Because it would hurt. His mind was occupied with a hand reaching for his father and the sight that never seemed to leave the back of his eyelids, a tiny hand slammed in a car door. That child wanted a hug. Techno spent years beating that child down and telling him, himself, that he didn't need stupid hugs. That touch was bad.
Thumb over knuckles. Any one of the three people inside the house would give him a hug if he asked. Techno knew that, he didn't question it for a second. It was literally only his fucked up mind that was stopping the relief his body craved. He was upset. He wanted a hug. He wanted comfort, pressure, touch.
"Techno?" Wilbur's voice appeared, hesitant. "Alright?"
Techno swallowed. He flexed his hand against the haunting pain in his knuckles. It must've looked stupid, still standing right where they'd left him, frozen. He couldn't articulate himself but pushed to move, brushing past Wilbur and up the stairs, still holding his fingers at his chest.
Stupid. Can't even ask for help. It was a basic thing. No one could help if he didn't tell them what was wrong. But it was wrong to ask for help.
Cognitive distortion. Techno brought himself to his room and shuffled through the papers on his desk. Puffy had given him a copy of the list. Labelling himself as stupid for being unable to do something he considered basic. But it was a learning curve. He was stuck on the 'shoulds' and only growing feelings of frustration that he wasn't capable of doing what he 'should'.
None of this was helpful. Techno fought against the panic that had found a place in his throat. He wasn't given time to come up with a game plan, because Wilbur tapped gently at his still open door.
"Hey." Wilbur said, staying in the doorway. "Can I come in?"
Techno put the paper down and held his hand to his chest again. He said, "I'm fine."
"That's good. Can I come in anyway?" Wilbur tried, raising an eyebrow.
Techno nodded, moving to sit on his bed. Wilbur sat beside him.
There was quiet. This was when Techno was supposed to ask for help. Articulate what he needed. He opened his mouth and no sound came out.
And why? He trusted Wilbur. What did he really think was going to happen? They didn't deserve his fear. They had only ever treated him with kindness. He was such an idiot--
No. He was learning. He was trying.
Techno sniffed and pressed his mouth against his aching knuckles. He flickered his eyes sideways at Wilbur. His best friend, his twin, was waiting. There was that furrow of anxiety in his brow and he was glancing at Techno's cradled hand and face, but he wasn't pushing. He was waiting to see what Techno would say, to follow his lead.
There was no rush, so Techno tried not to get defensive, to push Wilbur away. He felt the panic still jammed in his throat, the pain in his hands, and the prickling of his nerves. He could ask for things. The Craft's all said he could.
Techno took his leap of faith. He said, hands shaking, "Wil?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I..." He trailed off with a grimace. Too hard.
Wilbur knocked their shoulders together, encouraging.
Fuck words anyway. Techno peeled his arms down, holding them out. Asking silently for a hug.
"Oh." Wilbur said, a little sad, and wrapped him in his arms without question. He seemingly had all the strength in the world for hugs, because he crushed Techno's ribs with a rush of breath.
Techno tried to be normal, not to overthink it, but his hands were still hesitant as they settled on Wilbur's back. Heart thudding a little harder with the usual pain as he pressed his nose into Wilbur's shoulder. Trying to exist past the initial prickling of his nerves at the touch and simmer in the feeling. He'd give a hug anytime Wilbur asked, but asking for himself was just... awful.
Techno repeated over and over in his head that he was allowed this.
They stayed like that for a minute. Wilbur asked, softly, "Do you want me to let go?"
Techno shook his head a little.
"You don't usually want to hug for this long." Wilbur rubbed Techno's back. "Is everything okay?"
"No." Techno murmured.
Wilbur stilled, then started to soothe again. Just like his stupid dad. "Alright. Tell me if you want me to let go."
"Don't." Techno said, barely a breath.
"I won't." Wilbur promised. "But if you get uncomfortable just say, okay?"
It hurt still. It was unwinding something in his chest at a frightening top speed. He was working through it.
Wilbur leaned his cheek on Techno's head. He said, "Can I be really annoying and ask what's wrong?"
"Too busy hugging. You get one or the other."
"You can't multitask?"
Techno exhaled annoyed through his nose. His skin crawled and he wanted to let go. He felt that feeling and asked himself if he really wanted to let go, or if he was just scared how it made him feel. How did he feel? Safe. Cared. Loved. Immediate feedback, touch. Terror at the abstract idea of love. Depriving himself of something merely because he didn't understand it.
Wilbur started to hum a song. It vibrated through his chest. He held on like he had absolutely nowhere else to be.
Wading through the tidal wave of feelings, Techno emerged the other side with a normal desire to let go. He'd calmed down from his panic through the natural feedback. It was a shame that it was such a chore, but Techno was just glad that the painful rush did actually go away if he waited through long enough.
"Okay." He murmured and pulled away. Wilbur did too, looking for Techno's face immediately.
Techno had gone back to rubbing his knuckles. After a moment, he offered them to Wilbur. "Do you feel a difference on these fingers?"
Wilbur frowned and took his hand, following his motion and rubbing the line of his knuckles from pinky to middle. He said, "I don't think I do. Do they hurt?"
"Not really. They just feel like they do." Techno took his hand back and tried to visually examine them. There wasn't a difference.
"I think the definition of hurting is 'feeling like they do'." Wilbur said.
"They're not hurt, though. Not now."
"Before?"
Techno kept his gaze on the pile of books across the room. "When I was seven my dad slammed my hand in a car door."
Wilbur inhaled sharply. After a long, aching moment, he replied, "I never fucking know what the right thing to say in this moment is."
"It's okay. There isn't really a right thing to say. It's an awful thing to do to a kid." Techno remembered how small his hand was. The tiny broken fingers.
"It is." Wilbur agreed warily. Then, sharper, "Fuck. Tommy and I slammed our doors, didn't we? That's why you were still standing there. I'm sorry."
"You didn't know." Techno said, mouth dry.
"We'll know next time." Wilbur promised, sitting up straight. "It won't happen again, I promise."
Techno wanted to protest, but honestly it would be great to not tense up when people got in and out of cars anymore if he could just trust that the people around him wouldn't slam the doors anymore. It was kind of exhausting to always be on guard for it.
"Is there anything else like that?" Wilbur leaned closer, intent.
"I don't know." Techno said. He couldn't really think about his triggers right now, it was kind of a dangerous thought path to go on when he was so precarious already. He glanced at Wilbur from the corner of his eye, not forcing eye contact as he knew Wilbur would understand.
Because Wilbur did understand. He didn't know the conversations with the others that Wilbur must've had, but all the car doors around him were shut with care going forward.
Techno saw his mother again for the first time in months on a Wednesday evening. He was in a 7/11 pouring himself a slushie, wearing one of Wilbur's hoodies and Phil's rubber boots. He hadn't wanted to put effort into getting dressed before they'd piled into the Jeep for late night snacks.
Then he heard his mother's voice buying cigarettes at the counter. He froze, stuck right where she could see him.
Techno thought, where did my family go? The panic flooded as he glanced around. They were laughing behind the aisles, not in sight. He tried to move towards them. Towards safety.
"Techno." His mother said, the same way she'd always said his name. With ambient scorn.
Techno froze again, hand chilled by his slushie. He said, "Hi."
She took the cigarettes off the counter and approached him. His heart picked up and he couldn't move.
"Your hair is still pink." His mother said, stopping in front of him. A familiar expression.
"Yup." Techno said.
She looked like shit. And she certainly smelt of alcohol. The tangles in her own hair and the miserable scowl on her mouth.
Techno stared at her and thought about how much she resided in his head. How much weight he gave to her opinion, and how much he'd probably always be affected by how she raised him.
In that moment he thought most about Puffy telling him that she was just blaming him for the way her life turned out. How he hadn't actually done anything wrong. Even now, in rubber boots on a Wednesday just trying to get a slush, he felt like he'd done something wrong when he looked at her.
It wasn't fucking fair. He said, "Is your life so much better now?"
"I don't have to listen to you whine anymore." His mother answered, raising her eyebrow.
That was definitely projecting since she whined far more than he ever did. He ignored that and pushed on, "No, really. You said I was ruining your life. I'm gone now. Is it still awful?"
"What are you getting at?" His mother asked, annoyed.
"Nothing." Techno stopped himself, because it wasn't worth it. She wasn't about to turn around and realize the mistakes she made. He wasn't about to win some amazing argument and have everything be solved. If anything, he was just giving her more opportunities to say awful things and get in his head again. "I want my birth certificate. Do you have it?"
"No."
"Great." Techno snorted, keeping his chin up, though his hands were trembling. "Can we go back to pretending neither of us exist again?"
"That's all you have to say for yourself?" His mother jabbed, nose wrinkling.
Techno wished he had something witty and cool to say, a perfect counter argument. Instead, he said, "Yup. Bye."
Techno strode away from her, heart loud in his ears, all the way to the farthest aisle. He came upon them and thought with relief, there's my family.
Tommy was forcing Phil to pick him individual candies into a plastic bag. Wilbur was off to the side. Techno realized through the haze of panic that twice now he'd thought of them as family.
"Who were you talking to?" Wilbur asked, frowning.
Techno merely sought some touch by leaning into his twin's side.
Wilbur leaned back, and his expression went wild and dark as Techno's mother walked out of the 7/11 past their line of sight.
"Don't." Techno said, grabbing Wilbur's sleeve when he moved to follow.
"What'd she say to you?" Wilbur demanded.
"Nothing of note." Techno said, and at Wilbur's glare, he told him, "No, seriously. I just walked away before she could,"
"Good. Good." Wilbur deflated.
Techno didn't linger on his actual mother for long. Instead his mind was stuck on that instinctual desire to seek out his family.
Family. Not a word he'd used much. Or really felt much of a connection to at all. There were the jokes that hurt more with time, like Wilbur calling him twin or when the used the Dadza nickname. And the real pain of Tommy saying Techno was his brother, clutching his shirt in the front porch.
And once Techno was aware, he noticed more things. That with the painted bedroom walls and the posters, it wasn't the guest room anymore. It was Techno's bedroom in their house. His drawer of safe foods in the fridge. His hammock in the rec room. The garden shed full of tools for his annual potato fest.
The way that Wilbur's face lit up with joy when he managed to get Techno ranting about his special interests, poking him to go on and on and on. How Phil would buy all his favourite foods at the grocery store each week without asking. Tommy loudly stating that he wanted to be Techno when he grew up.
Techno didn't think he wanted a family. Then he looked up and he already had one. And with it came other struggles -- recognizing when he needed help, asking for it, and accepting it. He'd never had anyone to rely on and it was hard to reach out. But worth it every single time he did.
And he wasn't good at stating it, making a big emotional deal. Instead it was smaller moments.
"I want to go home." Techno complained, head on his arms, as they sat through a horribly boring seminar for school.
"Home?" Wilbur echoed back quietly, a hopeful smile and glittering eyes.
"Our home. You know. Where we live." Techno grunted.
"Yeah. Our home." Wilbur agreed, and did not stop smiling for the rest of the day.
When Phil did Techno a favour by fetching him an assignment he left at home, driving the Jeep by the high school in the middle of the day.
"Thank you so much." Techno said, breathless, wind blowing his hair into his face and accepting the assignment paper through the driver window.
"I'm glad I could get it to you in time." Phil said, smiling.
"No seriously, you're the best, I love you." Techno told him, thoughtlessly matter of fact, then turned pink.
"I love you too, Tech." Phil replied, face splitting with the intensity of his smile.
"Please die." Techno replied, hiding his face with the papers.
Phil laughed.
And when he told Phil he'd walk Tommy home from a classmate's birthday party, he awkwardly greeted the mother with, "I'm just here to pick up my brother."
Tommy heard him and held his hand the whole walk home, swinging wildly and bouncing on his toes. Every time he looked at Techno he had an awestruck smile, like he couldn't believe it.
-
The twin's birthday was in June.
For the first half of Techno's life, he hated his birthday. It just meant disappointment. Then he met Wilbur, and there were cupcakes, because Phil made them for Wilbur, and Wilbur made sure they shared.
Watching Phil in the kitchen, very deftly preparing two separate batches, one for each of their favourite flavours, it seemed like the world was okay. A little bit.
"We're seventeen today, Techno." Wilbur told him, slinging an arm over his shoulder and giving a shit-eating smile as his eyes glittered behind his glasses. "Do you know what that means?"
"Dancing queen?" Techno guessed, completely deadpan.
Wilbur roared with laughter. He tugged on the end of the pink braid, slightly longer, done with Techno's own hands that morning. He'd gotten better at French braiding the back of his own head.
Wilbur said, "We've got one more year until we're real adults."
Techno's stomach twisted, and he countered in a weird voice, "Or just one more year of being kids."
"That too." Wilbur agreed, and gave him a squeeze.
"We can dance!" Tommy chimed in, colliding with them from the side and almost knocking the two over.
Techno laughed and twisted to catch Tommy around the middle. Sock feet on the kitchen floor, he swing Tommy in a circle. "You don't know how to dance, you just flail."
"I do too!" Tommy rebutted loudly. "Let's dance!"
Wilbur was already working on taking over the radio with ABBA, and they danced. Techno laughed himself sick, ending up on the floor hugging his stomach and splitting his face with his grin.
Techno found the three of them staring at him. He said, self-consciously, "What?"
"Just don't think I've heard you laugh this much before, mate. It's great." Phil said, smiling wide back. Reassuring. "Carry on."
"Shut up." Techno said, cheeks reddening, and Wilbur smeared his face with icing and made him turn to tackle him, and he kept laughing, and thinking about how they weren't sick of him.
Techno didn't know what he was going to do next. How seventeen was going to go. But maybe he'd be laughing, at least, whatever he did.