idfk okay, I saw a thing, I wrote, don't ask me where the idea came from this shit just appears in my brain sometimes ngl
Ages for reference:
Wilbur = Died at 20, would be 24 now
Techno = 21 now, was 17 when Wilbur died and 18 when Tommy died
Tommy = Died at 15, would be 18 now
Tubbo = 18 now, was 14 when Wilbur died and 15 when Tommy died
(Please note these are ages in the fic and not their real life ages ;D )
Techno stretched as he surveyed his room, cardboard boxes strewn around it.They’d lived here before, when he was small - him, Phil, and his brothers. It was just him and Phil now. The two of them had travelled around for a while after Tommy died, but his best friend Tubbo had written, asking them to come back. The teen had been there a couple of times to check up on the property while they’d been gone, since he’d practically lived there before - love not being one of the things he got from his abusive uncle Schlatt. He’d become almost the 5th member of their family, even spending nights there when his only living relative was off his head drunk (which happened quite often).
However, they’d been informed that Schlatt had died of a heart attack while yelling at the teen, and now Tubbo lived alone in his uncle’s house, missing his found family. He’d also mentioned that there was something wrong with their old house, but Techno hadn’t really been paying attention if he was honest.
“Techno!” Phil called up the stairs.
“What do you want for dinner?”
He halted mid-stretch, thinking.
“I’ll cook!”
The 21-year-old yelled back, stepping over boxes to get to the door. His dad stood at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on the banister.
“What ingredients should I leave out then?”
The man asked, lowering his voice from a yell now that the other was in earshot. As Techno rattled off a list of ingredients, he felt something, like fingers carding through his long hair from behind. He was reminded eerily of the way his older brother Wilbur used to play with his hair, plaiting or just combing through it with his hands, but Techno just shivered and continued listing the things he would need for his spagbol - a family favourite. Tommy especially used to love his homemade garlic bread…
“And spaghetti, obviously.”
He finished.
“Gotcha. When are you gonna start cooking? It is getting kinda late...”
Philza glanced at his watch, remembered it had stopped working and pulled out his phone to check the time instead.
“Well, I’ve still got some stuff to unpack, so… maybe half an hour?”
“Alright, that’ll give me time to get the kitchen done. See you in a bit!”
Techno had barely turned around than Phil was back again, a confused expression on his face.
“Did you call me?”
The 21-year-old faced his father figure, equally bewildered.
“Hehh? No…”
“Oh… I could of sworn I heard… Nevermind.”
The blonde man left abruptly, shaking his head.
Confused, Techno shrugged, wondering if there was some kind of social cue he’d missed, or if he’d been inadvertently rude. He headed back upstairs continuing to search through various boxes for what he needed.
“All I wanted was a toothbrush, how hard is it?!”
He hissed angrily, rummaging through a box of clothes. A strand of light pink hair fell in his face and Techno brushed it away, reaching for the hair tie he remembered dropping on the bed earlier.
But instead of a hairband, Techno’s fingers closed on a long, hard object, with soft bristles at one end - his toothbrush!
“How the hell did that get there?!”
He was 250% sure it was not there 2 seconds ago, but whatever. It was the last thing he needed, so Techno seized the hairband and left.
Stepping carefully down the stairs, hands behind his head tying his hair, Techno barely had the time to react as he felt someone shove him forward, hands between his shoulder blades - and then he was falling. He tumbled down the stairs head first, and cried out as his back slammed into the floor with a nasty crack. For a moment, all he could do was lay there, hyperventilating, and scanning the empty stairwell for who pushed him.
Philza ran through from the kitchen, gasping in horror. Ignoring everything else, Techno sat up, tearing off his shirt and twisting around to check his back. It hurt like hell, but Techno was more interested in the mark there.
For right between his shoulder blades, bruising rapidly, were two, perfectly formed, 15-year-old boy’s handprints.
