Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Please walk to the seat on your ticket and place your carry-on bags in the overhead cabinet.”

Glancing down at his ticket unnecessarily, Techno slowly picks his way over to his assigned row. The airplane walkway is too small. Crowded with people standing up to try and put things in the cabinets, or talk to family members, or juggle their already crying babies. Techno focuses on making sure that he got the exact number right, and nothing else. Not the sounds or smells or churning of the bodies, overwhelming to the point that his skin itches.

Not on his brother trailing a couple feet behind him.

Wilbur is being a tad too slow for what is polite in the crowded space. But his urge to put more space between them is apparently overwhelming his supposed superior social graces. Must say a lot.

A small sprig of relief crops up in Techno as he finally reaches the right row. There’s already an old woman in the window seat, eyes closed and softly snoring. But his relief shrivels up and dies when he realizes that his seat is the middle one. Of course.

Stiffly, Techno slides over to his seat, sitting and hugging his backpack to his lap. Then he glances back towards Wilbur, expecting him to sit beside him.

Instead, Wilbur is full on stopped in the middle of the walkway. His face is twisted, where he’s looking between the open seat and Techno.

“Fuck this,” Wilbur mutters, barely audible over the clamor in the air.

Then Wilbur turns and tromps right down the aisle again. With full on pushes and squeezes to get past people, waving his ticket around a bit. Techno sighs and turns away. Eyes over the woman and out the window, still showing off tarmac and the airport. A few little people in orange darting around.

Half of Techno expects Wilbur to just walk right off the plane, though he doubts that he actually will. There’s nowhere for Wilbur to go back to. Even more so than Techno, surprisingly.

Wilbur still lived with their grandmother when she died two weeks ago. Unlike Techno, who hasn’t lived at home since he was seventeen and finally got tired of… it all.

Still, the good graces of high school acquaintances have dried up for Techno in the past couple years too, especially considering that he hasn’t been able to find any temp work in months. That means that he is fresh out of couches to sleep on and money to rent motel rooms with. A hop, skip, and a jump away from the final stage of homelessness, with no prospects to pull himself out of it.

Techno is on his last limb standing everything that comes with being out on his own too. The uncertainty, stress, overwhelming stimulus and situations. He gets all that living with his family too, but. 

Maybe there will be more work in the city where their parents live.

The next breath that Techno releases comes out shaky. His fingers twitch, until he balls them up tightly. It takes work to not stuff his fingers into his ears. To not jam his eyes shut and start huffing out all the built up, burning carbon dioxide, alongside noises loud enough to drown it all out. To release the tightness and squirming that it is trying to eat out of him.

But he can’t do that. Not here and not now. Whatever his family likes to think of him, Techno does have some control over himself.

Techno jumps as someone plops down beside him. Quickly, he turns to them, eyes a smidgeon wide. But he relaxes back to his smoothed out expression when he sees that it’s just some young guy. A teenager, even, maybe. Though Techno’s bad with ages.

“Someone switched seats with me! Jokes on them, now they have to sit next to boring Phil all day,” The boy says. “I’m Tommy.”

Techno nods slightly, eyes sliding between the boy’s collarbones and the ground.

“And actually… you look just like him. Like, just like him,” Tommy says, outright pointing. “Can’t stand boring family either?”

Probably something like that, at least on Wilbur’s part. Worse than just boring, though.

His despised twin brother.

“Oh, no. Are you the boring one? I’ve gotten the short end of the stick!” Tommy cries.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Techno huffs.

One of his hands has started flicking at his side, so he shoves it behind his thigh. Squished right up to the arm rest. That makes the pain of his flicking worse, tendons straining, plastic digging in. Techno is almost glad for it. Grounding, or something.

“It’s still worth it, Phil’s getting on my damn nerves,” Tommy sighs. When Techno faces him with short acknowledgement and then turns away, Tommy leans forwards and speaks again. “Aren’t you going to ask why?”

“No,” Techno says.

Tommy guffaws, offended by whatever blunder Techno apparently made. Oops. But then Tommy laughs and Techno is even more confused by the reaction. Or how his response could have caused it, anyway.

Shortly, Techno glances at him again. He’s smiling, but his eyebrows are pushed together.

“What the hell, man?” Tommy asks, still chuckling slightly.

Techno just shrugs. “You said it yourself.”

“What?” Tommy asks.

“...I’m the boring one,” Techno says awkwardly.

Tommy snorts, though is luckily distracted by his phone. Hopefully that’s the end of it. Techno doesn’t think that he can make it through a chatty flight without giving in to the building need to stim, or worse.

As everyone begins to seat themselves, a flight attendant stands towards the front of the plane. All of Techno’s attention snaps towards her. No one else seems to be focused on the safety showcase. The explanation of how to use the seatbelts and emergency gas masks. Where they will all go if they need to evacuate, who to listen to and who should help.

People always find it annoying how Techno cares so much for these useless things. But he needs them, to feel more centered and solid. Get his head on straight so it won’t topple off.

There’s only so much that these instructions can help him feel any better today. Not when he’s going home for the first time in almost a decade. Not when he can see the back of his twin’s head on the other side of the plane. For the first time in…

“Please fasten your seatbelts, we'll be taking off soon!”

Techno follows the instructions with a furrowed brow and tight focus. Tugging until the belt is tight, checking the latch.

“Is this really necessary?” Tommy complains.

“Most crashes happen during taking off or landing,” Techno says.

“What?” Tommy asks, eyebrows high up.

“The vast majority. That’s when technical failures happen—”

“Alright, shit. I see why your brother was so keen to jump seats,” Tommy mutters.

Techno opens his mouth to say that Tommy was the one that asked, but instead he lets his lips fall shut and turns forwards. The guy isn’t wrong, he guesses.

The noises of the engines beginning to kick into gear mingles with the announcements on the intercom and the people talking even louder to drown it out. It’s like a sharp and horrid salad, too many tastes mixing together. Techno swallows as his hands tighten on the arm rests. Although he knows the statistics are good for their safety, and he has run through how this will go in his head a million times, the anxiety is still rising up within him. He’s only been on a plane once before, when they were shipped from their parents’ house to their grandparents’ as kids.

Wilbur was mad at him then too. Decided it was all Techno’s fault that it was happening.

He wasn’t wrong. Not really.

The sounds whir higher and higher as the plane begins moving. Sluggishly at first, and then quick enough to begin to take off. That just makes the noises more loud, violent.

With a shaky breath, Techno raises his hands and shoves his fingers into his ears. His headphones are in his backpack, he didn’t want to put them on when there could have been an announcement from the pilot or flight attendants. But now the tendons in his arms have snapped, he can’t force them to stay down. He needs to plug the bleeding in his brain. The raw feeling. Too much.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Tommy watching him now. Confusion and something else on his face. Distaste? Annoyance? Techno doesn’t have the brain power to break it down.

The plane shakes as it rises, struggling to break the laws of physics in order to take flight. It’s almost a familiar sort of feeling. Struggling to do the things you’re meant to do.

He gets so melodramatic when he’s overwhelmed. He bites his lips to ensure that he at least stays quiet. Like that will help anything among his shame.

Eventually, like always, the plane levels out and quiets. Too much talking, too much light, too much rumble all around. But it’s better. No thanks to anything that he’s done of course. Nothing he does ever helps. And yet, he still does it.

Slowly, Techno pulls his fingers from his ears, which hurts now too. He can’t help but shake them a few times. Then he clenches them tight on his lap. Breathes out smoothly. 

Okay. No more. Things will go smooth, until they start to land. They will just have to get through that without crashing. More likely than not, but there’s always a chance. More elevated than any other time. But until then: relax. Just… relax.

Clearing his throat, Tommy pulls out a handheld gaming system. A Switch, or something, he thinks. Their grandparents didn’t like technology like that and Techno hasn’t had money for it since leaving their house. Though Techno liked games as a kid, it hasn’t been a thing of indulgence in a long time.

Many things haven’t been. Really, Techno doesn’t begrudge his grandparents too much for that sort of thing. They didn’t sign up for taking in two, preteened boys. Not really.

Techno would much rather be going back to them than his parents. Their grandparents were just old-fashioned. Their parents were…

The old woman snores, drawing his attention sideways with a small jump. They’re above the clouds now, pale blue sky outside the small square window. Stubbornly cheerful and calm. Like the world tends to be when Techno’s life is falling down around him. 

Again with the melodrama. That’s Techno.

The sun had just about started rising when they took off, early morning. Techno has been up since nearly three in the morning. Though he didn’t sleep much last night. The couch of his grandparents’ house wasn’t comfortable, in multiple ways. It’s where he mostly slept the last year before he “ran away.” Sharing a room with Wilbur had become too…

A frown tugs at Techno’s lips as he keeps his eyes tracking clouds. No point thinking about it all. The past and future. Everything with his family.

He’ll go home and listen to what his parents have to say, silently. Then he’ll get a job, save up for a car and an apartment. If it all gets too much, then just the car. The thought of living out of one makes his skin crawl, makes the feeling of overwhelm itch at him. But so does going back home at all.

Somehow, Techno will manage. He’ll take it. He will.

There’s no future where Techno is the type of person that isn’t unloveable to his parents and twin brother. But he has better control over himself than he did as a child. He can be tolerable, for a little while.

Just a little while… 

He jumps as someone flops down into the seat beside him. Techno lifts his face from his knees, long enough to turn and look. When he sees that it's just the familiar young boy, he grunts and leans forwards once more.

Wilbur sighs. “Are you seriously freaking out right now? You’re being embarrassing.”

Techno is sure that he is. Even shoved over in the seat right beside the window, trying to be hidden from sight, he’s sure people are looking with disgust. They always are. Wilbur hates when he does this in public. Sometimes when they’re at home, he’s nice if Techno is crying and rocking and scratching at himself. But never in public. It’s too annoying. Embarrassing.

But Techno can’t help it. Everything is changing, the whole world. He can’t handle that. He, he needs everything to stay the same, or else it’s like his skin is flaying right off!

“I want mom and dad,” Techno mumbles miserably.

He’s not sure why he says it. For one, there’s nothing Wilbur can do to make them stay at home. Nothing that anyone can do anymore. Wilbur doesn’t want to be going just as much as him. Maybe even more, considering how much he whined and protested and cried—when usually Wilbur is the good one.

And on top of that all, Techno, well. He was almost relieved for a moment, when their parents said they were going off to live with their grandparents. Because at least that meant no more yelling or punishments or pain—

Wilbur scoffs. “Well, who’s fault is that?”

“What?” Techno asks, squeezing his middle tighter so that he can look up again.

Wilbur is glaring right back at him, angry. 

“It’s your fault they’re sending us away! Why—why the fuck are you crying?”

Techno can’t help it. The pain makes his cry, even though he knows it’s stupid and he really doesn’t feel like it. He can’t take the change, the pain, the disgust people always have towards him.

“You ruin everything!”

He—they’re too loud. Yelling, even when he claps his hands over his ears. It doesn’t make the noise any quieter. The screams and spitting hatred is right inside his skull, until it shakes. His whole body shakes with it. Painful, jarring.

“Just act normal!”

As he whimpers, his whole body jolts to the side roughly. Techno half thinks that he’s been slapped, but when he opens his sticky eyes, he’s confused momentarily while looking around. He fell asleep? Though he’s still in a plane—

The plane shakes so much that Techno nearly slides right out of his seat where he’s slouched down. Tommy takes his headphones off beside him, looking around in confusion. Everyone else seems to be waking up and doing the same, confusion rife in the air.

Is it turbulence?

Techno barely gets through the thought before the lights in the cabin snap off. Shouts and screams ping around, bringing a cringe to Techno’s face. But his heart jumps into his throat too much to react beyond that.

“What the fuck is happening?” Tommy asks, still illuminated by his screen.

Before Techno has a chance to open his mouth, a flight attendant runs out. Some strip lights turn on, dim and obviously the type that turn on in emergencies. Something is happening.

“Everyone! Remain in your seats!” The flight attendant calls.

“Shit,” Tommy curses.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Techno says, moving to put his own on. Though he finds that he never took his off, so he turns his attention back to the attendants.

“I need to find my dad—”

Techno grabs the teen’s arm and yanks him down into the seat as the plane rattles, and then tips to one side.

“Seatbelt, now,” Techno says, voice louder than he even meant.

But he can feel Tommy scrambling to get his seatbelt on. Is this just turbulence? Has something happened to the plane or the pilots or—?

There’s a loud explosion-like noise as the shaking turns vigorous and continuous. The flight attendant is now screaming for seatbelts, but Techno grabs at Tommy’s head while leaning forwards. Usually, he would feel bad for literally yanking on someone’s hair, but he’s not focused on that right now.

Instead, Techno loops his arms over his own head while it’s tucked between his knees. It’s—this is—

They’re not landing, though. Techno doesn’t know why, but that’s all they he can think. He’s supposed to be safe, they all are. For now. It wasn’t supposed to all crumble apart until they land and his parents turn their fists on him again—

A screeching fills the air alongside black and white and red flashing. Not alarms, planes don’t have those, but it sounds close. Instead, the metal just seems to be breaking loudly. Breaking like a true and proper plane crash.

The thought has barely entered Techno’s mind before a jolt, far more violent than anything else they’ve felt. Everyone flies forwards. Techno feels his organs shoot, up and up, his brains right out of his skull—until the seatbelt digs into his hips and snaps him backwards. Techno’s tucked in head whips backwards forcibly, all of the air smacked out of his lungs.

A wrenching pain sings from his head down his spine, half a second before darkness crashes down on him, as quick as a broken plane.

Chapter Text

Ringing.

A ringing wakes Techno up.

It’s so annoying, consistent and ceaseless and loud. Techno always struggles to sleep through noise, his mind latching on to any uptick in sound until it is all that he can focus on. No matter how tired he is, limbs leaden and heavy, body impossible to move. He’s so tired that it hurts.

In fact, it really does hurt. As he breathes in and groans at the ringing, pain floods down his throat to the rest of his body. It all aches into sharper points, stabbing and twisting and broken—

Techno struggles his eyes open with a choke. He would probably whine in pain and annoyance, if not for the fact that his throat is spasming a bit too much. Which really makes him notices how horribly his neck hurts, like every structure in it is torn and tense. He raises an arm to rub at it, but his movement is stunted, then stuck. When he tries to roll over, it's even worse. Pain shoots down his entire limb arm.

What the—?

Through the darkness and film of something thick in the air, Techno takes in the world around him with quickly flooding awareness. He’s in some sort of tight space, visible beams of light shining through cracks. It’s just enough to see that the stuff in the air must be smoke. And that everything around him is crushed metal.

It’s—he—

Techno is stuck for a moment as he just stares, wide eyed and stunned. Then he breathes in and startles into movement from the instant cough that shoves right back out.

The air reeks of burnt plastic, chemicals, metal. Paired with the sight, Techno remembers the turbulence of the flight and has to fight through a surreal feeling. The plane really crashed? And he—

He looks down at himself, squinting hard and stuttering at the pain that shoots worse through his neck at movement.

Only half of his body is visible, the other half is tucked beneath a section of indented metal. Shaper pain pounds from that side of him, promising worse things beneath. Are his body parts over there still even attached? Or have they been chopped off? Squashed, broken, sliced right off?

Techno clenches his teeth hard. He, he can’t freak out right now. He needs to keep it together. Get out of here. Then, everything will be solved and he can fall apart.

First, he reaches up with his free hand and pulls his shirt collar over his nose. The smoke isn’t too bad yet, but the smell is overwhelming and making him sick. Techno hates strong smells, smells in general. But that means that it’s second nature to get his nose covered and start breathing through his mouth, shallow and light.

Now, out. As he wiggles his fingers and toes to soothe that they are still there, he looks around the space further. That’s when he notices the other body crumpled beside him.

“It’s-uh–Tommy?” Techno calls. His voice catches, scratches, coughs a couple times. But he gets the call out.

Tommy doesn’t respond. Techno can see most of his body, still attached to the sideways seat. It’s too dark to make out blood, but at least he’s in one piece. He’s probably—probably okay. Techno needs to get himself out.

The sight does remind him of his own seatbelt. His chair is in much worse shape, half of it crushed and falling apart. Luckily, it’s not the side with the latch. Techno tugs and grapples at it with shaky fingers, before it finally pops free. He breathes out and throws the belt off, sliding down a couple inches.

His neck really is killing him, now that he’s moving around. Techno tries to move it slow and deliberate. His jaw tendons clench immediately, right alongside his eyes. And his ears feel the neck pain the most, like the shooting bolts fill them right up with boiling blood. It’s stiff and hurts terribly, but he can move it all the way. His free limbs are listening to him, if clumsy and sluggish. That probably means his spine or neck isn’t broken.

Techno knows somewhere in his head that that’s not how it works, but he ignores it. There’s no time to protects his spine with this mess. The smoke is starting to make his eyes water, nose burning as it starts to run.

Just the, the trapped limbs now. Techno will feel better when half of his body isn’t contorted and stretched out.

Gently, he tugs his arm and leg. They move, half an inch maybe. But then the joints get caught up on bent chunks of metal.

The pain isn’t severe enough to be crushing his limbs. Not too badly. Which means that there must be room to pull them free. He just needs to go slowly and carefully.

Techno breathes out, finding that he can twist his leg more than his arm. He shifts his weight onto his arms, tilts his head back, and closes his eyes. Then he starts to pull free the weightless leg, maneuvering it this way and that, like a not quite loose tooth attempting to be plucked.

His foot is the real problem with it, he finds quickly. The rest can move a bit in every direction.

First, Techno tries to flatten his foot as much as possible and pull. A grunt falls from his mouth as he drops to his elbow. Shoot, that hurt. More than a limb getting tugged on should hurt. It’s something raw and sharp.

Maybe a cut. He can still move the leg, so it’s nothing serious. It can’t be.

Techno’s breaths are quicker, coughing every three times or so. The back of his mouth burns too, and he can’t keep his eyes open for more than a second. Smoke is filling the small space. Soon, it will blot out the air.

Shaking his head, Techno winces at how his entire upper body screams at that. He needs to twist his ankle to side before pulling. Then he can—

His panicked body yanks on his leg when his ankle is only halfway there. He yelps, but after a stuck moment, his knee pops free. Physically, Techno grabs his leg with his free hand, helping to pull it out.

Limply, he flops down onto the ground. Techno groans with how his weight ends up hanging off of his trapped arm, head flopping to the side right alongside it. From shoulder to shoulder, he is absolutely searing. Though at this point, his head hurts from the neck pain so badly that it’s more distracting. Techno thinks he might throw up for a few shaky seconds. But as he tries to breathe through it, the acrid air makes him cough until he gags, nausea worse than before.

He’s wordlessly whining now. It’s just—he needs— Techno balls his trapped hand into a frustrated fist.

Quickly, he yanks it up while crying out in surprise. It had pressed against something hot, burning.

The metal by his fingers is molten hot.

Crap. There’s a fire. Obviously. Fire usually kills people through smoke inhalation, suffocation, but if it is close enough to make the metal hot and his arm is currently sandwiched between two chunks of metal—

Techno gasps weakly and painfully, in and out, as his head spins. He’s going to die—

No, he’s fine. Pull it together. Once his arm is free, then he’s fine. So just, pull it free.

While Techno twists his arm back and forth with gentle tugs, he finds that it does not get free like his leg did. There’s not quite one point where he’s trapped on this one. Every bend throughout his arm seems to stick against a sharp ridge. Pressing in and burning, if he doesn’t jerk his skin away from it.

He needs to get to somewhere where the gap isn’t pinched so tight. Like where his leg was. If only he can—

Techno starts squirming to try and pull his arm horizontally through the metal. It has more movement, and he has hope for a moment. 

Until the entire side of his arm smacks into a wall of metal, hot and hard as a griddle.

He cries out as a he jerks back again. The burning feeling persists on his skin, like it’s still against the hot metal. But it’s not, not completely. Unless the heat has spread so much, past his wrist now.

It’s just the warm air, he tells himself. His flesh isn’t melting off, bubbling and splitting right down to the bone. It’s, it’s not. He’ll get free before then. If only he can just twist right!

The next coughing fit that Techno falls into doesn’t stop after a moment. Every exhale pops with a hack, and every inhale chokes. It’s like there’s no oxygen at all getting in, all the hot smoke and thick plastic. Edging closer, in around his arm—

Techno shouts as his elbow spasms reflexively to escape the burning. There’s nowhere for it to go and his agonized head is thrown back, lost to the gags and coughs. He can’t even tell if his shirt is still over his mouth or not, since it hurts as much as inhaling pure acid vapors. No cloth could help that. No skin could hold up to the stove-hot metal pressed against it.

With a cry, Techno starts yanking his body to the side, away from the entrapment. His shoulder and elbow jerk violently. The bones pull free from the joints, the metal acting as a brace. It burns, it hurts, tearing and fire and digging in like a bruise.

His head swims with lack of oxygen and pain, before he grits his teeth and rolls violently away.

A shout leaves Techno as a pop shakes his whole body. It’s wet and followed quickly by a punch of pain. His breath cuts off, upper body jerking, before finally his arm slides out a few endless inches.

Techno almost feels like he’s falling, just from the fact that he is no longer being held in place by the extremely taut limb. But when he gasps and then coughs in surprise, the pain knocks through him again. It’s an electric sort of feeling, all around the top of his arm and his shoulder. Right where the popping was.

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, that agony is shoved to the side by another, more pressing pain. His hand, even though it is now several inches closer to escaping the metal sandwich, stings from heat as it touches the metal. Techno jumps in pain, hisses when it makes double the amount rebound back, and then grits his teeth once more.

Just a little more. One more time.

He rolls to the side forcibly.

There’s not as much struggle to get his arm free now. His elbow twists roughly and something sharp slides all the way down it, but soon Techno is crumpling onto the ground. And on top of him lays his entire, pulsing with agony, noodle of an arm.

Relief is dim and momentary, but when even that little bit sweeps off with more coughing, he starts getting to his knees. Techno is free. That was the hard part, he promises himself. Now he just has to crawl out of the wreckage and everything will be okay.

Only his uninjured arm can really support his weight, but paired with his slightly shaky legs, he manages. Steadfastly, he crawls away from the engorgement of metal.

Which leaves Techno bumping almost blindly into Tommy’s squishy legs.

Oh, right. The boy.

Techno doesn’t let himself pause before looking up and to the side where the askew seat is. It’s too dark and smoky to make out details beyond the boy's vague form being visible, so Techno just grunts while reaching right out at him.

“Tommy,” He tries to call, but ends up coughing.

His hand tangles in the fabric of the boy’s shirt, before it rises higher. He bats around until he reaches skin, a taut stretch that can only be a throat. Techno holds his own breath as he pushes his fingers in and focuses.

He can’t feel a heartbeat. Techno feels the thrill of panic rise in him so quickly that he nearly collapses.

But then the obvious feeling of tendons moving with a swallow pairs with a faint, raspy noise. Techno breathes out so fast that he doesn’t even end up coughing from the irritation.

Just unconscious. And Techno sucks at blindly taking pulses. Thank whatever is good…

But it doesn’t seem like Tommy is waking up soon enough, not when the small space is still filling with smoke, and presumably fire is inching closer. And it doesn’t seem like anyone else is coming to help them. Techno realizes that he probably should have been calling for help this whole time, but it’s too late to start now. He just has to get both of them out.

Just, just. Techno grabs onto Tommy's seatbelt and grapples with it.

His fingers are so clumsy, to the point that frustration fills up his pouding head. Right alongside the fear and panic and pain. Techno makes an annoyed noise as he throws his injured hand up there to fiddle with it too. His fingers don’t move right, tingling and shooting strangely. But when he claws at the little latch for long enough, it pops open. Techno doesn’t have a chance to deflate in relief, because the limp body of the boy flops down onto him.

Techno groans in pain as every pointy elbow and knee of the very tall, and predictably heavy, boy digs into him. He hasn’t exactly carried people around before, but he’s understanding those things they say about dead weight about now. Except, not, not. Dead. Unconscious weight…

His lungs hitch painfully more than he even breathes in anymore. Squirming until he gets his arms around Tommy’s middle, Techno digs his feet into the ground and starts scooting back.

For how small the space is, it takes far too long to get to the small branches of light. It also seems closed in with metal, but surely there are gaps that they can slip through. Surely bigger than just the bits of light and blusters of smoke.

Techno reaches up and back and…

His hand slides over a slightly jagged bend in the warped metal. He can feel nothing beyond but a faint breeze.

Relief sends his face falling forwards, right into Tommy’s hair. It’s itchy and damp, bringing a cringe to Techno’s face. Rolling his head to the side, he sets about shoving Tommy out of the gap.

It’s all wrong. Techno knows that he shouldn’t be moving the boy like this. Shouldn’t have moved him at all from his seat. He could have a broken spine or cracked skull or blood clot that will dislodge into his lung and suffocate him. But Techno keeps pushing him with grand effort and a furrowed brow, not letting himself hesitate. They need out. Techno needs out, and he can’t until Tommy is out. That’s just the rule. Or else they'll suffocate.

From that perspective, it’s easier to follow through. Even grunting in pain and exertion, brain half out his ear in lightheadedness. Techno feels Tommy slide over some edge and out of grasp.

He scrubs his hands over his face roughly, before he turns to stand. His arm is excruciating and weak, his leg stabbing with pain. But Techno slowly pulls himself up and scoots out of the gap.

Before he crawls over the edge himself, he turns back with a glance. And he sees…

His eyes widen. It’s—there’s—

About a quarter of the old woman's body is peaking out of the edge of the crush zone. A limp arm and just enough of her face to see her eye. It’s wide and completely empty, the only part of her not drenched in the massive puddle of blood.

When Techno’s breath hitches in shock, the smoke absolutely shoves down his throat. It’s thick enough to be a liquid, and he retches around it. He scrambles backwards, shoves, and the small, dark space falls away.

The ground hits him hard. But while he looks up, reeling, there’s more sky than metal.

Free.

He coughs for a few minutes until he can breathe somewhat clearly again. His mouth tastes like a campfire, which he knows will make him freak out when he’s less lost to the immediate panic. Instead, he wipes his running nose on his sleeve. It comes away streaky black.

Tommy, when Techno turns to him, is similarly smudged with soot. It doesn’t look great, and the streaks of blood in his blond hair are utterly terrifying. But then he remembers that head wounds bleed a lot and there really isn’t that much blood on him. A few tablespoons, maybe. Not close to bleeding out. Skull not broken open and dripping brains out or anything. Probably just concussed, so he needs a hospital. And considering how Techno’s pounding arm is hanging limply, he does too.

But, as he hobbles a few feet further away on his knees, his stomach sinks further.

The plane has crashed. People are hurt, at least some dead. It’s awful. And…

There’s nothing around them.

Not literally. There’s chunks of metal all around, billowing smoke and even some flames. Below him, the ground is messy grass, pulled up plants, felled and broken trees. And the world seems to be on a tilt, mountainous terrain to be sure.

But there’s no buildings. No skyscrapers or humble houses. Not roads of pavement or well worn dirt. There’s no signs of cars or helicopters or sirens, none of the things that would follow a disaster of this size.

They’re stranded. Utter wilderness.

Techno’s breathing is coming quick and heavy. He only notices it when little noises begin to pair with it, somewhere between a squeak and a grunt. He raises his hands to twist in his hair, but his left arm jerks and explodes with pain. All down his spine, his neck, his head too. It hurts and, and they’re stuck, and everything’s falling apart—

A pained groan draws Techno’s eyes to the side, over to the crumpled form. Tommy rolls over where he’s laying, curling inwards slightly. Not quite waking up, but. 

They need to move. The piece of the plane could explode. Techno needs to, needs to. Right.

He stands with a hiss that dies into a whine, but he ignores the embarrassing things coming out of him. There’s no room in his mind to compartmentalize those parts of himself right now. As long as they let out steam to forlay the inevitable explosion, they're allowed today.

There has to be more people around. Techno will bring Tommy to them, and then ask for help too. People are going to be collecting somewhere, that’s what usually happens in disasters like this.

His right leg almost buckles with his first step, the limb soaked with a good amount of blood in its own right. But it doesn’t hurt as badly as his askew arm, so it’s probably not broken.

Later, he’ll fix it.

Tommy is just as heavy out here as he was inside, and his occasional twitching is not helpful at all. Paired with Techno having to practically hug him, feel and smell the sweat and blood on him, the warmth of his body, disgust roils higher. Or maybe just overwhelm does. Probably both. His head tries to jerk to the side to help, but that makes his neck twinge so badly that he stumbles, dizzy.

A wordless, frustrated noise bursts out of his chest. Weird noises, ones that occasionally gnash bits of his tongue or cheeks, which just hurts worse and makes it all worse. But he drags Tommy and himself away from this piece of burning metal, over to where a taller chunk of plane juts into the sky. Making shameful noises all the way.

For once, he is relieved to hear other voices.

They’re unhappy, pained, crying ones. But Techno heads right towards them. He trips over himself to get there, every injury jarring further.

And, when he breaks through a tree line into a bigger clearing, his arms give out. Tommy slides to the ground by his feet, making an annoyed sort of noise. But Techno is blinking and breathing hard at the sight.

There’s a couple dozen people milling around the space, maybe some more. Many are laying on the ground, watched over by some. Injured? Dead?

Techno thinks about dragging Tommy closer, over to the field. Where someone can help him. Someone has spotted Techno, because they’re calling out and raising a hand. But it hits Techno.

Wilbur.

Probably, he should have remembered him sooner. Thought about him immediately. His family. His twin brother.

But Techno has gotten used to not remembering his brother. He doesn’t see him, doesn’t think about him. Days go by without Wilbur crossing his mind, because his brother doesn’t want to see him and Techno feels it’s only right to oblige. 

That was in the cozy, midsize town that their grandparents lived in, though. Nothing real to trouble Wilbur, nothing dangerous. Not plane crashes and burning metal and crushed up skulls pushing eyeballs out—

Techno turns and he stumbles away quickly.

There’s more shouts when he leaves, he thinks they’re about Tommy. Some of them, anyway. Techno should say who Tommy is, where he was on the plane, what type of injuries he might have. He should probably stay with these people, see if anyone needs desperate help, and offer the bits of useful knowledge that stick to his mind.

Instead of any of that, he runs, limping, back into the woods with one thought on his mind.

Finding his brother.

Chapter Text

His heart is hurting him.

Techno thinks that it’s utterly stupid how the organ that is supposed to keep him alive can be the thing hurting him. He doesn’t think that he’s having a heart attack, even if there’s enough pain for it. But every fast and rough beat jolts agony up his neck, into his head, clanking all around.

It hurts. But he keeps moving.

For multiple reasons. The first, and most important, is that he has to find his brother. If—When. When he finds Wilbur, he might be injured. Bleeding out or with a head wound or something. Those sorts of things need immediate care in order to not die. Really, with medical intervention, a lot of severe injuries are survivable. People have even survived falling out of a plane with no protection at all. And they all had their seatbelts on, so really Techno just needs to find him to patch up any injuries and he should be fine.

Another smaller, but pressing, issue is the fact of Techno’s leg. It hurts.

Not like his heart, where it’s overstrained and racing and struggling painfully. But like it was crushed below a chunk of airplane.

His entire arm which is hanging limply and tingling is also a pretty big issue, and painful as all get out with every swing. But he is not currently walking on the arm, so he can kind of ignore it. The leg—

Techno winces as it buckles below him. His whole body trips forwards. But when he throws his hands out to catch his fall, only one responds properly. His fall is only softened, and he ends up tumbling onto his shoulder.

A yelp twists out of his chest at the explosion of pain. Like the limb has been shoved even further away from where it belongs. He was near certain it was dislocated before, but there’s no chance that it’s not now.

Huffing heavily, Techno shakily tries to sit up. It hurts, god, so bad. Techno hates pain. How he can feel his nerves squirming between the layers of his tissues. He shudders and jerks forwards at the focus on such a disgusting feeling. 

He needs to—needs to—call out for Wilbur. He needs to get up. Right now.

His mouth is open so he still breathes quickly, but otherwise he manages to shove everything down to follow the needs. Techno doesn’t do well in emergencies. Too overwhelming, too sudden and uncomfortable. But survival situations, that layer above simple emergencies? The shaking in his hands is mostly the adrenaline as he jogs forwards. For once, he can almost ignore the stupid autistic urges and overwhelm. Too much survival to do.

Though when he tries to shout, he just keeps flexing his lips and swallowing. Nothing comes out but coughs.

Not everything can be fixed by almost dying. And his brother possibly being dead—being dying. 

That would be too easy.

He keeps stumbling forwards, moving around in something close to a spiraling sweep around where he found most people. Where he left Tommy.

The boy would have been well worse coming with, even if Techno somehow could carry him. It’s bad for concussions to be moved around like that. Someone at the place where everyone is meeting up will have medical training. A veterinarian or plastic surgeon or something. They’ll take care of a random kid, it’s fine.

Unlike Wilbur, dead under a piece of plane somewhere—Dying. Not dead, just dying. But Techno needs to get there so he can shove cloth into any wounds and apply pressure, it’s very important!

The femoral artery can bleed out in under two minutes if pressure isn’t applied to it. Though what’s the chance that that artery would get cut? Probably, a vein got cut. Those are more common, much easier to not bleed out from. Much easier to pinch as you’re trapped in a hunk of caved in metal, all alone as it’s growing hot and your hands grow numb from blood loss. Yes, Wilbur might not be the most book-y guy, but surely he knows to put pressure on bleeding wounds. Right? Surely.

Unless that’s the sort of thing that someone learns in the years where Techno was gone and he wasn’t there to make sure Wilbur knew.

Maybe if Techno stayed this wouldn’t have happened. Probably, he would have annoyed his grandparents into dying even sooner, and then they wouldn’t have been on this plane crash. Or if Techno was gone much younger, then Wilbur could have stayed with their parents to begin with. They weren’t exactly nice to Wilbur all the time, but Techno was the main problem. Wilbur was right on with that accusation, even if he missed out on all the parts about how they showed their displeasure in Techno—

Once more, his leg goes out below him and he crumples on down. He cries out, loud and near screechy. Half pain, half the bad things in his nervous system. Just like always.

Faintly, among the rattling of leaves, Techno hears a long sound. Timbery, like a voice. A person.

He shoots up and starts turning his head. Not a breath enters or leaves his lungs, not when it could overwhelm the sound.

And there it is again. To the right.

Standing despite the stumble in his knees and the stabbing pain, he hurries in the direction of the sound. He really, really tries to scream back, to get anything out. Just so that the person will know to scream too, for him to follow. But his tongue refuses, right at the back where it counts. He can only grunt in frustration.

The person he’s following, they know when it’s good to scream. When there’s a dying situation, so screaming is really required. The only time that screaming is ever appropriate: the one time that Techno can’t.

If his hand would respond to his brain, he’d raise it and wack his skull. As is, it twitches against his hip, burning now. 

Techno runs despite it all. Despite the pain and fear and the too much inside. Because this is survival, and he can!

“ —llo? Hello? We need some help!”

The voice gets clearer the closer that Techno gets. He slows to follow it better, before biting his tongue. Because that sounds like Wilbur.

Techno thinks that it sounds like Wilbur. He really, really does. But he hasn’t seen his brother much in forever, and despite being twins, their voices have never sounded the same. Plus, that’s the one voice that he does want to hear and the brain can do awful things in desperation. Techno is always desperate, his nervous system screwed to it, that’s why he is always acting so arrestingly.

When he tries to talk back, his throat cracks and he coughs. The taste of smoke is still making his drool slightly.

“Are you there? I can hear you!” The Wilbur voice shouts louder.

“Over here!” Another shouts.

Multiple people? That’s good. Help. More survivors.

Following the voices, Techno nearly skids so quickly that he falls down a deep slope. The voices grow louder. He smashes his eyes shut in response, raising one hand in a flinch. But just about, he manages to catch his balance, the soft clattering of stones falling down overlapping with the voices.

What the?

Techno opens his eyes to find a large and exponentially steep drop off into a shadowed area. He squints, before crouching carefully at the side. It seems like a quick hill, right down into some sort of cave-like area.

And hiding just on the edge, presumably away from the falling debris, is a face still utterly familiar despite so much time. Wilbur.

“Techno? Fucking shit, okay. Help us out of here!” Wilbur shouts.

Techno can’t tell much about his state from this angle, but he’s standing and vocal. Hopefully that means it’s nothing too serious. Relief hits him like a hand around his throat, startlingly quick and tight. A strange breathy noise leaves him, but hopefully he’s too far away to be heard.

Another person joins Wilbur’s side, leaning against him slightly. An older man, maybe. He seems in a similar state to Wilbur, at least.

Sitting back, Techno looks around for something to use to get them out.

“People from other parts of the plane?” The man asks. “There are a lot of survivors? What about kids?”

Techno turns back to them, opening his mouth, before closing it. Kids? Tommy seems like a teenager, Techno knows about him. But no one else, he didn’t stay long enough to look around.

An uncertain noise leaves his mouth, before he looks around again. He needs to get them out, he’ll take the man to the rest of the people. Tommy’s there. Everyone else. Probably kids.

What can he use to get them up? Maybe his arms could reach down enough for them to jump up and grab, but with the dislocated one, that will be painful and possibly impossible. Something to throw down, or some vines, or something?

“Was there a teen boy? Tall, blond, and—and thin? He was on row… fuck,” The man calls up, sounding panicked.

Teeth barred awkwardly, Techno’s face shoots back down towards them. Half of him is trying to look around for, for vines? There’s no vines, they’re in the woods, not the freaking Amazon rainforest! A stick would help maybe—

“Please, can you just tell me if there was anyone else from the back of the plane? I need to know!” The man yells.

It’s panic, not angry, but it sounds angry too. Is he? Probably, because his kid might have died in a plane crash and now they’re stuck with Techno who can’t find any vines—No, no, damn it, sticks! 

Unwittingly, Techno’s head shakes back and forth. A harsh humming leaves his lips, buzzing with pain.

“No? There—there aren’t?” The man asks, panic clogging his tone.

Now Techno’s neck sticks. His eyes are fidgeting about and his mouth is open, but when he tries to shape his tongue, it just won’t work. He can feel something in his mouth, but all it’s doing is holding actual words down. Little stutters and halves of consonants slip through, but it’s gibberish and empty air.

His head and arm jerk out at the swell of pressure pushing through him, the too much everything. A punched out painful noise leaves him, his injured neck protesting the movement. But he can’t stop shaking his head back and forth, back and forth, feeling his loose hair sway over his nose, cheek, and lips. 

The pain is so sharp in his neck, pushing up and filling his skull. Tearing with razorblades, or at least the metal cut in so deep that the pooling blood is making bruises. The continued yelling, he can’t—

“Don’t listen to him. He isn’t—He’s not right in the head, he can’t always talk,” Wilbur says to the guy, voice echoing up from below. Techno’s teeth click together hard as he huffs air out. “Just get us out of here, Techno! Focus on that! Hurry!”

“What do you mean? Is he your brother?” Phil asks.

Whatever Wilbur reluctantly answers to that, it must be affirmative. Since Phil starts talking loud again.

“Wait, Tommy moved seats to sit beside him. Hey! Where is Tommy! What happened to the boy that sat beside you?!” Phil shouts, voice commanding and harsh.

Techno freezes where he was moving to obey Wilbur’s command. Freezes where there’s too much in his jaw, in his throat. The man is Phil, is Tommy’s dad. Techno needs to tell him where the boy is, that he’s okay, that Techno pulled him out of the plane before he could get burned. That Techno didn’t leave him alone, he promises, he just had to find Wilbur!

He did, he did, he needs to open his mouth to say it. Yes. Yes. 

He visualizes the words and shoves at them until his throat tears under it. The word might be audible if they were right beside him, but they’re down in a freaking cave, probably barely able to hear the whimpering around the words.

His body shakes hard as he has to mash his eyes and mouth shut. Do it, do it! Stop, stop, stop!

“Don’t. Just, fucking get us out already! We’re hurt, hurry up!” Wilbur shouts. “Stop your shit for one second!”

Forcibly, Techno wraps his hand around his swollen and loose shoulder. He squeezes. Bright pain flows throughout all of him. Almost electric, but that overwhelms the stupid squirming in all of his nerves. A grunt leaves his chest, but he’s able to move his uninjured arm properly again.

His mind tries to stray a bit. Off to the vines, the words, the anger, the pain, the sticks, the sticks—But he forces it all down. Get them out now!

Scooting forwards, Techno shoves his hand over the side of the drop off. His stomach presses to the ground and he braces his legs hard. Without words, he waves his hand, opening and closing the fingers.

“Fucking hell.” He hears Wilbur mutter.

But with a couple jumps, Wilbur’s hand closes around his. 

Instantly, the weight drags him downwards too. Techno’s eyes fly open to their limits, as he strains his legs and hips into the ground. It stops him from literally slipping over the edge, but there’s no traction for Wilbur to get up. Not when he grabs Techno’s hand with both of his and starts scrambling for traction at the slightly too far away wall.

Feeling the sticky moisture of their connected hands, Techno cringes. It feels like blood, gross, wet, dirty…

Forcefully, he digs his tingling fingers into the ground beside him. Then he shoves down with that arm too, ignoring the searing that attacks all of his joints at it.

The extra limb is enough for Techno to pull up a few inches. Phil gets below Wilbur too and starts shoving up at his hanging legs, to the point that soon Wilbur is at the rim of the opening. Like he is burning to stop touching him, Wilbur lets go immediately and starts scrambling at the earth. Techno hesitantly grabs Wilbur's shirt and pulls on him a bit. Soon, his brother is panting on the ground beside him.

Techno feels dizzy. He feels strange, paper, pale and far away. Also way too in this moment. Sharp and fuzzy at the same time. He coughs weakly, spit escaping the corner of his mouth. His hand shakes too much to wipe it away.

Soon, Wilbur is replicating what Techno did before. It takes a bit more trying for Phil to manage to grab Wilbur’s hand, but he has longer limbs than Techno. Kneeling beside him, Techno wraps a hand around Phil’s forearm. He tries to help pull him up, good arm straining at the joints too now. If it actually helps, he doesn’t know.

“Where—where is Tommy—Where is the rest of the plane?” Phil huffs.

He turns his eyes to Techno. A glare is on his face as he struggles to get up. Like the man is going to run to wherever Tommy is, right this second, despite any injuries he might have.

Silently, Techno points the way he came.

Without another word, Phil turns and takes off right for it. Techno hopes Tommy is still there…

“Get up, come on,” Wilbur says, looking down at Techno.

He moves to comply. His leg buckles below him twice and he neary tips over with a wave of dizziness.

But he gets up. Wheezing, making small, embarrassing noises.

Wilbur looks him over, head to foot, and it makes him feel shaped wrong.

“Come on, we need to find others,” Wilbur says.

For a scant moment, he grabs onto the edge of Techno’s sleeve. He pulls on it, lightly. And then lets go while he starts a quick walk, the same trail that Phil took. 

The motion seems to attach a string to Techno, making him follow. His legs move, every step a bit too wide and his brain left behind. Lagging. 

His heart squeezes oddly in his chest now. Still hard, but not a quick. Like it’s failing. Or falling asleep. There’s drive, but no lightness in his limbs or brain. All the weight that he had forlaid comes back, all at once.

And it crashes.

His eyes go up, as he goes down, down, down.

Chapter Text

Silently, Techno stares down at the sliver of darkness.

There's a good chance that it's a steep drop off, like most of the hidden openings to the caves are. If one doesn't watch their step constantly while walking through these woods, they're liable to plummet straight down ten, twenty, more feet. It's lucky that the only man who had a near miss so far was big enough that he couldn't slip through the hole completely, only twisting an ankle.

Techno probably wouldn't be so lucky. Even if he wasn't thin like years of being borderline homeless, it's just not in his nature to be anything close to the good side of luck.

Yet, he carefully picks his way further into the rocky terrain. The uneven ground makes him move even slower, still stumbling now and again with his hurt leg. It's bundled up with cloth and sticks, which might make him more clumsy than the pain. But he really has no clue if the limb is actually broken or just cut up and damaged pretty bad. Better to be safe than sorry keeping it somewhat supported.

Safe aside from wandering around the dangerous forest. But that's kind of necessary. Both to find supplies for everyone, and just to get away to some quiet. Techno swears that he can physically feel when there's a person within a hundred feet of him, and it starts to drive him crazy after a while.

Everyone already thinks he's crazy from the not talking properly and stimming and meltdowns. Might as well try to not fuel it too much.

He slows as he comes across a larger gap, ground sloping instead of dropping off. Seems like another possibly safe-ish entrance to the winding caves all around these parts. Most are only a dozen or two feet below the ground. There's a few easy entrances like this, from what Techno's found so far. Though he's not too stupid to just wander around them blatantly.

Techno would claim it's for safety. But he can admit that he doesn't want people to see him skulking around tunnels too much and think he's shady.

Right now, alone, he creeps down the slope into the cave opening, keeping his hands on the walls. He found a bramble of blackberries growing down a cave opening a couple days after the crash. Another one of those, or really anything edible, would be great.

It's been two days since he's last eaten. It's starting to hurt as much as the bruises littering him head to toe.

Swallowing heavily, he makes his way over to the next beam of light through an opening in the cave ceiling. This part of the cave is small, but seems straight forwards. Hopefully he can't get lost, even with the gnaw of pain and hunger.

Maybe he can find some sort of poor animal that fell down here. Got hurt or something. Techno might actually have the nerve to put a poor rabbit out of its misery if it has a broken leg. Even he can't feel disgust with his picky palette. Instead, the thoughts just make him hungrier.

They're bad feeling to have when he's trying to focus. Bad thoughts to have when he's trying not to be so hungry. He knows that, and yet it doesn't make it easier to not.

Like a little kid sucking on rocks at the park…

Jolting out of his mind, Techno stumbles to a stop. He's walked himself into a very dim stretch of the caves, to the point that he almost can't make out any of the cracks out around him.

Not great. But his attention wasn't drawn by that. Instead, he squints further into the darkness.

There's something that almost looks like… a person.

That shocks Techno stock still as he blinks dumbly for an extended number of seconds. What is he supposed to do about someone else being down here? Definitely turn back and hope not to be seen, right? Leave them be, like he wants to be left.

He takes a couple steps backwards, before his ankle twists. A jolt of pain goes up to his knee. His nose scrunches and his wacks his hand against his chest a couple times to swallow down any noises.

It does help him think though. Like about the fact that they're in caves that someone could have fallen down and gotten hurt or lost. Most people probably aren't trying to hide away like him.

Pressing the side of his hand to his mouth, Techno bites lightly with his teeth before shaking his head. Which of course hurts like hell fire, because he definitely messed up his neck in the crash. But once that passes with some more biting at his hand, he solidifies his decision.

Techno will go check it out. Just in case.

It's the right thing to do, he really thinks so. Most of him is still convinced that he's seeing this all wrong. Probably, he will walk over and be yelled at for interrupting something. But if someone dies because he didn't check on their bleeding out corpse, that would be super not good.

Slowly, he walks down the tunnel. It's a natural impulse to keep his footsteps silent, even with the limp. That's not a new element.

He's holding his breath once he gets close, eyes straining to make out the form. It's lumpy and slumped on the ground. Like someone collapsed.

"Hello?" Techno tries to call out. It's barely a whisper.

An annoyed huff comes much easier. Of course it does. He forces his feet forwards since that's apparently safer to his brain than talking.

Jaw clenched hard, he scans the form on the ground as he approaches. Looking for breathing and movement. Hoping for it. Slightly twitching from the twinges in his nerves over the anticipation. That the person might not move, might be stiff and broken, might open their eyes and yell small talk at Techno.

Reaching one hand out, he slows at their side. His mouth is open as he tries to talk, to say something.

Instead, the tip of his foot kicks something, right on the edge of them. It rolls a few inches away, making him jump. What the—?

Techno squints ever harder, leaning over to see better.

It's a… shoe.

His face scrunches in confusion. Why did the shoe roll off?

Shakily, he reaches out and pushes on the lump. It—gives like cloth and nothing else. Another shoe rolls free.

A grand breath leaves him, though he's not totally relieved. Definitely more confused. A person's worth of clothes and shoes and he thinks a bag are shoved into a corner of the cave systems that they're all supposed to be avoiding.

That's weird. And not good. His stomach clenches painfully.

A couple more pokes reveal that the bag is an old purse, thin but empty aside from a few stray pieces of trash. The shoes are worn like a favorite pair that needed changed about half a year ago. And the clothes are useful for perhaps going on errands, not forest survival. No one would be hiding these things here to protect them.

So they're hidden here to be hidden. Clothes, shoes, and a purse. Like they were taken off of a person…

Techno looks around the surrounding area quickly, but it's too dark to see anything else. There's no smell of blood or rot or anything, nothing else suspicious. But this alone is suspicious enough.

Something bad happened here. Or close by. And this is the evidence.

Standing, Techno wraps his arms around himself and tries to rock on his heels. But the pain nearly makes him double over. Can't do that. Can't, can't freak out right now. He needs to get back to the group and—

And what? Tell them, he guesses.

Somehow he doesn't think that will solve things, but he has to. And he should probably make sure that Wilbur's okay too.

A bit quicker, he makes his way back down the tunnel. The holes in the ceiling return easily enough, and he's relieved to find the easy entrance. Though it's harder to get up than down. He manages, aching and sweaty. Before the sun has started setting, at least.

Even with the confusion and fear from everything that has seen, disappointment over his lack of food hangs heavy in the forefront of his mind. Probably he shouldn't be hungry after seeing the remnants of something suspicious. But it's an insistent hand around his stomach. And brain.

Looking around the small clearing that everyone has set up in, Techno searches for Wilbur.

A decent chunk of the plane is to the edge of the clearing, a sort of beacon for everyone. It was basically the only part of the thing that didn't catch fire or crumble too much to be safe around. Though Techno has no desire to step into the thing even without all the people that swarm around it. The jagged edges of metal and the faint smell of blood and vomit is too much for him.

Around it in more random spurts are propped up pieces of wood, metal, and stretched out cloth as makeshift tents. A big fire pit takes up the middle of the clearing, with stuff anyone managed to scavenge around it.

Techno thinks that most useful things people find, like food or clothing, they keep for themselves. But there's a massive jug of boiled water for everyone and some of the men try to hunt for them all. Not that they're very successful with makeshift spears and rope, but they try.

Probably, things would be worse if there were less injured people. It sounds counter intuitive, but he thinks that the biggest tent being full of often groaning people, in various states of recovery or dying, makes people want to help a little. Lots of people are in and out of it, a few nurses or other people like that have taken a lot of the charge with little argument. They're the only reason a lot of people are still alive. The only reason that they jarred into motion once the pile of dead people started growing.

It's for the best, Techno thinks. He has no arguments about it, anyway.

Still, the only person that Techno can get himself to talk to directly is his brother. He's the only one that Techno has any responsibility for, in some way, shape, or form. He had helped that Tommy boy, but, well—

The small tent that Techno and Wilbur have been sleeping in doesn't seem to have the brunette in it. Instead, he makes short eye contact with Phil.

Instantly, Techno looks down to his shoes. He grabs a pieces of his hair around his face, trying to twist it like is socially appropriate. But his hand yanks on its own.

Phil hasn't stopped being pissed at Techno for abandoning Tommy when he was injured.

Techno thinks that half of the issue is just that Phil thinks Techno really abandoned him. Like, left Tommy to die in the literal burning plane and that he only survived because someone else came along and found him. That might be how it seems, considering the perceptions of Techno.

The only reason that Phil stays amicable towards Techno is because Wilbur must have told him that he's mentally disabled. That he thinks Techno is too stupid to have meant anything by it, or that he acts erratically due to his disorder. And while he is disabled from the autism, it's not like he let himself leave Tommy behind. With the dead old woman and the burning metal—

Breathing heavily, he shoves his hand to his face. He wants to tell Phil that he only left Tommy with the others because he had to find Wilbur, but that he did get the boy out. It feels like too much of an excuse though. Too late. Maybe he'd think he's lying.

And Tommy has barely even woke up for more than a few minutes at a time, all confused and maybe bleeding into his skull. Maybe still going to die—

"Techno. Go in the tent," Wilbur says, grabbing his arm.

Techno jumps at the touch, at the sudden appearance of someone behind him. But Wilbur just shoves him towards their tent. Pulling away, Techno walks in himself.

"Try to do that stuff in privacy, people here are nervous," Wilbur says, sighing as he slips in behind him.

"Sorry." Techno shrugs.

Without much of a further comment, Wilbur walks past. A few feet away, where the tent next to their's is tucked. Where Tommy is curled up, sleeping. Probably rousable if he hasn't gotten worse, but then he'll just be in pain and Techno doubts anyone managed to find enough food to make that worthwhile. Techno hates the sound of crying.

Sitting down, Techno pushes his fingers into his ears while rocking forwards slightly. When he thinks about the clothes in the cave, the shoes, and who they must have belonged to, he rocks forwards further. Before hissing slightly.

Techno drops his hands and picks up the edge of his shirt instead. The skin beneath is predictably littered dark black and purple, heavy around his stomach where the seat belt ate in, and then squirming up to his dislocated shoulder. Even set properly, it hurts like a very deep bruise when it moves, so that makes sense.

Slowly, he presses the tips of his fingers into the bruises. His nose wrinkles at the jolt of pain. The skin is slightly firmer than it should be, that thickened contusion feeling.

Techno has never been able to leave well enough alone with bruises, so he knows it well. Like a stim but worse, he would always rub over the marks. Over and over, cringing through the pain. Darkening the color and making them spread so that they would begin peaking out of his clothes. Just enough so that some people couldn't ignore it anymore, though they did try a bit. Like maybe he put the bruises there by himself in the first place. He guesses that he kind of did, even if the original breaking of the blood vessels wasn't him.

The feeling mixes sickeningly with the hunger below. His mouth floods with a bit too much saliva. He swallows in discomfort, disliking the trickle down his throat.

Wilbur walks back into their tent, practically sighing at the sight of him. Techno drops his shirt and turns away, forcing his hands stiff in his lap.

"Guessing you found nothing good in the woods?" Wilbur asks, not looking at him.

"No," Techno says. "Nothing… good."

"What does that mean? Something else?" Wilbur asks.

"Er, well," Techno stumbles over his tongue before biting the tip.

"Spit it out already." Wilbur sighs again, sitting down and massaging his brow.

The peace between Techno and Wilbur is tense and fake. Something put on because they've fallen into a disaster and there's no time for anything else. He knows that Wilbur is still pissed at him. Probably still hates him.

Looking down, Techno keeps his eyes on the swollen, flaking skin around his nails. He's been chewing them in his sleep again.

"There's something wrong going on," Techno says.

"Yeah, no shit. The plane fucking crashed and we're stranded," Wilbur says.

Techno shakes his head. "No, I mean… I saw something."

"What?" Wilbur asks, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms.

"Well. I don't know for sure," Techno struggles out. "A bunch of clothes and shoes in a cave, like someone left it there."

"Maybe someone left it there," Wilbur says flatly.

"No, I mean. Like hiding it," Techno says.

"Maybe they don't want to get robbed, some people have started shit like that. Which is why you should try to… just, look more approachable."

"I'm trying," Techno says, frowning hard. He rocks forwards, forcing himself to stop under Wilbur's eyes.

"Try harder maybe. People are saying you're a tweaker or some shit," Wilbur huffs.

"A tweaker?" Techno asks, confused.

"Someone who does drugs."

"I've never done drugs before."

"Yeah, well, they make people all twitchy and shit. That's what people think it looks like."

People like Wilbur? At the very least, Techno thinks his own brother knows it's not like that. But, Wilbur's also definitely embarrassed by it.

Yeah, well… How does he think Techno feels?

He wishes he remembered to grab his noise canceling headphones from the plane. Maybe then he could cope.

But probably not.

"I think someone did something bad to someone, and dumped their stuff in a cave," Techno mutters, watching his twitching fingers.

"Did you see a body or something?" Wilbur asks.

"No, just a person's things."

"It's just things, Techno. Don't go wandering around those caves anyway, it's dangerous. And probably looks fucking weird. Try to fish or something, that's better. Okay?"

His nose wrinkles. He hates the freezing water and clammy skin and wet clothes. And he sucks at it. It makes him want to itch his skin off.

But Wilbur probably knows better about this, so he nods. He doesn't think that the pile of clothes is nothing, it was too suspicious. But surely someone would have seen if a person randomly went missing or started complaining about being assaulted. Techno always did have problems with being paranoid. Maybe that's truly what it is?

So Techno just nods. And Wilbur nods back curtly, before sighing again.

They sit in an uncomfortable silence, heavy with too many things. There's no time to unpack it now. No energy, either. Techno wonders if he and Wilbur ever got along. He swears he remembers some time where they did, where they stereotypical twins.

But that must have been a long time ago, if it ever truly happened. Maybe Techno just hadn't wizened up for how Wilbur disliked him as much as anyone else yet.

That seems more likely.

The soft sound of footsteps between the tents makes Techno jump in a flinch. But it's only Phil, pulling the fabric back to show himself.

"Hey, Phil," Wilbur says, far easier than anything he could say to Techno.

"Hey. Did Tommy wake up?" Phil asks.

"Not when I looked in on him, and I've heard nothing but some snoring," Wilbur says.

"Alright, thanks," Phil says, lips crooked.

Techno wishes he had something that he could say. Something that he could offer for help. Advice or food or a medical miracle. Instead he just avoids the man's eyes and picks at the brace around his leg. The wound below is itching and squeezing with pain.

It's familiar.

It's all familiar. The pain, the bruises, the hunger, the feeling of judging, hateful, disgusted eyes on him.

And for once, the familiarity only makes it all worse.

Chapter Text

As Techno is retying the cloth around his leg brace, the soft sound of groaning reaches him from outside.

Well, not totally outside. But from the nearly adjoining tent beside them. Where Tommy is sleeping.

A short glance around shows that Phil and Wilbur are both off, talking to people or doing something. Which means that they're not here to check on the teen. Nobody is. Except for Techno.

He feels frozen for a moment, awkward and stuck there. The sounds aren't super loud sobbing or screaming, nothing suggesting that someone is getting murdered. But Techno is near certain that Tommy is waking up to some extent right now and is fussing in his brain injury pain and confusion mess. And the only one around to help is Techno. He can't help! He's useless at it, and, and Phil doesn't like him, and—

Another whimper comes from the other side of the tent wall, forcing Techno to his feet. He tentatively walks over. A peek inside shows what he expected.

Tommy curled on his side, face squished up and shifting in pain.

"Shoot. Uhh, Tommy?" Techno says quietly.

No discernible reply comes. Of course. Slowly, Techno steps over to his side, crouching with a bit of difficulty from his leg. Then he lightly touches his shoulder.

Tommy doesn't really react to the contact, but his face squishes up a little more. Techno can relate to that. The way that contact squirms skin, it's not pleasant. But when Techno withdraws his hand, Tommy's face doesn't smooth out. It gets worse. And while Techno's expression seems to not match his emotions half the time, that seems like a him trait, not a universal one.

Tentatively, Techno sets his hand on his shoulder again. Then starts rubbing it.

"Are you awake, Tommy?" Techno asks. "Do you want me to go find Phil?"

Instead of answering, Tommy groans softly. Somewhere between pained and just out of it. His eyelids stay closed, but lose some tension when Techno keeps rubbing his arm.

"Things are… okay, Tommy. Your dad and everyone, it's okay. You know?" Techno says, awkward but trying.

He doesn't think it's related, but Tommy seems to calm down some. Probably drifting off to sleep again. Which is good, Techno doesn't know what he'd do if he wakes up properly. Crying and scared and hurt… Techno's useless at that all.

Worried that he'll stir again, Techno keeps rubbing his shoulder. When he keeps a repetitive motion and zones out, only focused enough on the presence to monitor Tommy's breathing, it's not too bad. Almost soothing.

At least until the tent flaps open behind him. He flinches, turning with wide eyes.

Phil is standing there.

"He was crying. Sorry," Techno says, pulling his hand away.

"It's fine," Phil says. "Just make sure to get me if something is wrong."

Techno nods quickly, standing too.

"He didn't… fully wake up. And then went back to sleep when I… talked to him."

"Okay… Thank you," Phil says.

Phil lifts a hand, as though to clap him on the shoulder. Like he does to Wilbur sometimes. But instead hesitates and then lets it drop. Techno just looks down to his own feet, shuffling them.

Instead of addressing any of it, Phil clears his throat and nods. Taking that as a dismissal, Techno stiffly turns and leaves the tent.

An awkward feeling is high in his throat, near choking. It fuels him to walk forwards, out into the small community that has sprouted up. Largely empty right now, thank all that's good. But he scans it with his eyes while his face is still pointed at the ground, hands held purposefully still in his pockets.

No one really looks at him, he doesn't think. But if they do, they seem to twist with disgust. His shoulders hunch forwards further.

The urge to run off is strong. It has been since he pulled the plug and did it the first time at seventeen. Tired of his constantly critiquing and judging of his grandparents, tired of his brother hating him. Tired of all of them hating him. And he knows that they really did just want him to act better, but he can't. So all the looks, and the words, and the actions, it all grinds deep until he wants to flight right away.

Look where that got him now?

Walking sluggishly towards the edge of the clearing, hoping to disappear somewhere, he squints at the sight of a few people standing past the treeline. It's nothing odd, except for their pointy posture. Techno swears he sucks at reading people's tones—except for hostility. And this screams of it.

There's an uncontrollable pause to his step. Then Techno creeps closer, brow still furrowed as he can't help twisting his fingers.

The voices give away that he was right. It's bad. They're angry. They're yelling. Even though their voices are hushed, they're yelling. Techno hates yelling.

His hands come out of his pockets, halfway to stuffing his ears. It's tempting. But the sound of a yelp cuts off that line of action. His heart trips over in his chest, right alongside the rest of his body. But he forces himself to look, to shove his fingernails into his palms, and run the rest of the way over.

And from this angle, the scene is even worse. It's three men, taller and bulkier than Techno. And even more so than the crying girl crumpled on the ground between them.

"Th-the heck are you doing?" Techno forces himself to yell, voice gritty.

Instantly, the three men turn towards him. It feels like three sets of needles straight to his spinal cord, but he forces his spine and shoulders to stay stiff.

"Get out of here, kid. You don't want any of this business," The man with a jacked up buzzcut scoffs, squinting at him.

"We can't have him running back off and talking, dumbass!" A reedy man says. He drops the girl's arm when he says it, shying away like he knows he's caught.

The girl doesn't move beyond twitching.

"You're the dumbass! He's that crazy guy, no one's going to believe him," Buzzcut chuckles.

No one will believe him. Believe him when he speaks up about whatever awful thing is going on here. Belatedly, Techno realizes that his mouth is dry and glued shut, when he should have been yelling a long time ago.

As he opens his mouth to scream, bad Buzzcut jolts forwards and smacks a hand to his face. Mostly over his mouth, filthy palm flat against his lips. All of Techno riots at that and he tries to break free to show it. But his body doesn't get far before being wrapped up in the other arm. Restrained tight as he flails and lets out muffled noises.

The guy is laughing as he shoves Techno over towards his buddies. Over to the far too limp girl. Techno tries to stomp on Buzzcut's foot, but he gets yanks right off of the ground instead.

He's shoved against a tree. One side digging into the bark, catching on his hair disgustingly, and the other pressed to the far more disgusting man. Techno can smell his foul breath, feel the slight moisture of it on his cheek. Body heat and the movement of muscle and bone. The abhorrent scratch of facial hair catching just as much as the bark. The noises that Techno was trying to force out to call for help and attention quickly turns to panicked, overwhelmed senseless ones.

In the background, almost unnoticeable despite his very large size, the stoic guy has slinked off a bit. But he's back before Techno can even process it.

"No one else has noticed," Big and stoic says.

Thin and reedy relaxes so visibly that his eyebrow piercing drops down his face. Meanwhile, Buzzcut perks up even more. Smile too wide, eyes shining in a scary way. And his laugh is sickening.

When Techno starts wiggling harder, he is lifted further into the air by Buzzcut. Then, with a triumphant noise, he kicks Techno's leg. Right on the visible brace.

A cry of pain leaves Techno as he turns stock still through the shooting agony. It truly feels like his leg has shattered, even if logically that can't be true.

While he's frozen, Buzzcut throws him onto the ground.

"For now, your shit look-out skills haven't fucked us," Buzzcut laughs.

"I-I wasn't supposed to be looking," Reedy says, nervously watching as the girl groans.

"Well, whatever," Buzzcut says.

Truly, Techno has barely caught on to the reality of the situation. That this is really happening. This is really happening! It's just like when the plane crashed around him. The panic so high and nowhere to drip away, and his useless self just wants to fall apart—but he can't because something awful is happening!

"This is crazy," Techno pants and half stutters. He tries to shove himself back, but none of the men seem concerned. "We're dying out here and you're, you're—"

"You're the crazy one, last I head," Buzzcut guffaws.

"Let's just get out of here. Bring them both, quick," Reedy says, eyes flickering around.

"No," Stoic says firmly. "That one has living family back there. They'll notice."

Ah. That's how someone can disappear into only a discarded pile of clothes down in a cave. There was no one to notice them.

But Techno has Wilbur. And even Phil. It doesn't take liking him to notice if he's gone and bring it to light. The same reasoning that has brought them back together out here to begin with. His heart pounds and squishes beneath the overwhelming surge of everything.

"So, what, what do we do?" Reedy asks, eyes wide. "You said that no one would notice!"

"No one will fucking notice! Relax, shit," Buzzcut says, turning from joy to anger in a snap. "What did I fucking say? He's crazy. No one will believe him."

"I think that people are going to notice if this girl is gone right after I say it! Just stop this already and let me take her back," Techno says as forcibly as he can, shoving himself off of the ground.

But instead of looking afraid—aside from Reedy—Buzzcut's expression turns back to that smile. It's worse. Definitely worse.

"Take her away," Buzzcut says, waving Reedy away.

At the direction, Reedy grabs the girl around the center. Then picks her partially up off of the ground, starting to pull her away once more. Because that's obviously what they were doing now. Dragging her away. From the campsite. From the tent full of injured people, because this girl looks about as out of it as Tommy does. Fearful and muted whimpering sounds falling from her.

Techno tries to grab her leg, to yank her back from being taken who knows where. But he's quickly blocked by the other two, his own arm grabbed.

The skin-on-skin contact sends sharp and bright electricity up the limb. It burns, even worse than the actual raised burns from the heated metal of the plane. Worse than the dislocated shoulder and messed up leg. A noise of disgruntlement leaves his lips as he jerks back, unable to move in any way except for the stiff, uncontrollable, jerking.

As he starts to get dragged in the opposite direction as the girl, leg dragging on the ground, he finally manages to open his mouth and properly scream. The right sound to when he sees bad guys kidnapping and probably doing other awful things.

But Buzzcut doesn't seem bothered as he shoves him down onto the ground again.

Techno looks up and finds… they're back in the camp.

He's gotten his attention.

"H-help, they—" Techno stumbles, tongue feeling too large in his mouth and he tries to get upright quick. His body is shaking and wobbling a bit too much to manage.

"This fucking junkie just tried to rob me!" Buzzcut yells, looking around at everyone as his face shifts back to anger quick as anything.

"Heh? N-no, he, they—" Techno fails to say.

"Trying to shake me down for pills with some knife, like I have that fucking shit," Buzzcut growls. He's fuming so hard that even Techno feels struck by it, knowing it's an act and all. "This is some bullshit! What are you people doing?!"

Murmurs rise up as any concern peels away from the eyes on him. He tastes his quick pulse in his throat.

"What's happening?" One of the big men who has taken charge asks, bustling forwards.

Before Techno can sort his tongue into words, buzzut bustles forwards.

"The little bitch tried to threaten me for drugs or some shit!"

"I didn't," Techno tries to say. But it's too quiet under the yelling. He desperately wants to cover his ears.

There's a scuffle of some sort and then Buzzcut tries to grab him once more. But before he can, a tall figure runs right over to Techno, blocking it. When Wilbur bends over to pull him up, face twisted to hell and back, Techno flinches just as hard. But he lets himself get pushed up onto his smarting leg, now slightly behind his willowy brother.

"What the fuck is happening?!" Wilbur shouts right back at Buzzcut.

A bit of a shouting match breaks out. Even louder now. More people, more ruckus, more swelling. It's hard to keep his mind focused on the poor, hurt girl and whatever happened to her. Against his will, his hands raise to his ears, covering them. Vibrations of some sort leave him too as the overwhelmed tears start wetting his eyes.

"Stop," Wilbur demands, yanking his fingers out of his ears. Then he squeezes Techno's arms hard, looking into his eyes intently. Way too intently, like squirming guts. "What happened?"

"They took some girl! I caught them!" Techno finally manages to shout, flailing a hand out.

It's unleashed something awful. His arm won't stop flapping, the other one too. So bad that his dislocated arm begins to burn badly. But he can't get himself to stop, even knowing that everyone is looking and watching and judging and hating.

His eyes grow wet as noises spill from his mouth.

"Techno!" A pair of hands grab Techno's arms, wresting them still. Through the blur, he can take in Wilbur's stony face. "Stop it."

He does, just barely. But his arms keep tensing and twisting. It hurts, the strain on his tendons, but also the worse things being wrested still beneath them. Right to his core.

"What fucking girl?" Wilbur asks.

"I-I don't know. Some hurt girl. They were taking her, hurting her," Techno says, whining towards the end even though it makes him want to bite his tongue off. "They-re lying."

"… Are you sure? There's no—"

"They took her right now!" Techno shouts, wrenching himself as his head rocks. It's agonizing with his neck, but he can't stop.

But Wilbur doesn't have that problem. He grabs Techno even harder and shakes him, rough and sudden, so it stops him up.

"Techno, cut it out! You're not helping yourself," Wilbur huffs. Then he turns to the others. "My brother thinks that he saw the guy hurting a girl, he didn't try to rob anyone."

"Fucking bullshit! What girl? He assaulted me!" Buzzcut bellows.

"He's half your fucking size, he didn't try anything. He's not into that shit," Wilbur scoffs right back.

"Like his tweaker ass that we can all see?" Buzzcut asks, crossing his arms.

"He's not a drug addict, he's mentally disabled! My brother didn't try to rob you! Can we all just fucking talk!" Wilbur shouts, shoving Techno behind him. He flinches as he lands on his hurt leg.

"What girl did you see?" One of the women says. The nurses? Or—someone like that.

Techno looks down with a hitch in his shoulders. Then he tries to think of how to describe her.

"She was hurt…"

"Likely story," Buzzcut growls.

"She was!" Techno shouts, face heating at the blatant lying. He hates liars.

"What did she look like?" The woman pushes.

"Hurt?" Techno says. He twists in confusion.

"Hair and eye color, her body," Wilbur says, obviously annoyed.

"I-I don't know? I wasn't looking at that," Techno says. "Brown hair?"

Buzzcut scoffs. "He's a fucking liar, a thief, and a junkie. And I'm not putting up with him being here with the rest of us!"

"That's not true!" Techno yells, voice squeaky.

"Shut up, Techno, don't say or do anything else," Wilbur hisses. Then he smooths himself out. "Look, my brother is mentally disabled, he's autistic. He's harmless. Whatever he thought he saw and then did because he was scared, it's not malicious. He probably saw something and was confused."

Shame mixes with the rest of Techno's absolutely too many feelings at the words. At the implication that he's so stupid that he could make a mistake like that. There was no mistaking that the girl was hurt and totally unable to go with those guys willingly.

But he doesn't know what to do. No one is listening. No one is helping.

And looking around, everyone looks exhausted. Haggard, hungry, dirty, and tired. They're all glaring at Techno like he's the cause. His insides fold over themselves even further.

For a moment, it looks like Buzzcut considers it, taking the offering. Techno can only believe that's what the scanning of his eyes is. But then they pause on something. Someone. Big and stoic, slipping into the crowd. Nodding at Buzzcut. Something awful agreed.

Buzzcut seems to have to struggle down a smile.

"Look in his tent! A druggie like him probably has a stash in there," Buzzcut says.

"He's not a drug addict! We don't have any drugs, the only thing in there is a hurt kid!" Wilbur yells, exasperated. Tired and hungry and hurt himself.

"If there's nothing to hide, then why are you hiding it?" Buzzcut asks.

People murmur in agreement at that, a few people calling out similar things. Wilbur's face twitches.

"Fucking—fine, yes, look!" Wilbur says, throwing his hands in the air. "Jesus fucking christ…"

"Wilbur, there's not—" Techno protests.

"Then they won't find anything," Wilbur says shortly.

It's true, but Techno still wants to protest. The feeling of dread over him is so heavy, so overwhelming. He knows that more awful things are going to happen. They always do. A few more stupid tears escape his eyes, which he chases quickly with his fingers. Wilbur just crosses his arms and watches the people invade their tent.

"What's going on?" Phil asks, running over. He's carrying a bucket of water, but he sets it on the ground quickly when he sees the people shoving into their tent. "Hey!"

"Leave it, Phil. They're just searching our tent, they won't go in your's" Wilbur says, setting a hand on Phil's shoulder.

"The fuck is happening?" Phil asks again, whipping around and seething.

"A bunch of bullshit. They accused Techno of—"

Before he can even finish, Buzzcut emerges from the tent. He's waving a plastic baggie over his head, shouting.

"I told you! I fucking told you!"

It's obvious what's in the bag, even from this far off. Techno's heart stops.

"Those aren't—I've never even tried a drug—" Techno protests.

It's too quiet though. Too much coming from him. Everyone is truly and properly pissed now, and even the couple of concerned women have turned away.

It's not fair! Why is this happening? He doesn't want this! He doesn't want to be here!

His hands shake, motions too big,

"That wasn't there this morning," Wilbur says. But he's frowning, side-eyeing Techno too.

Even he probably doesn't believe Techno. Nobody ever does. What was he supposed to do? Leave that girl to have who knows what done to her? Well, now that's still happening. And everyone hates Techno. Everyone's mad at him, and they're scowling like they're thinking up punishment.

It reminds Techno of his parents. He hates it.

"He's stealing medical supplies. People are hurt and dying, man, that'll kill us," Big and stoic says, stepping forwards with a click of his teeth.

"And if he's attacking people for it then he's a danger!" Buzzcut yells.

"I didn't—I didn't—" Techno stutters, grabbing his hair and yanking on it hard.

Just like that, all the words are gone from his throat. Used up, or more accurately, cut out by the too much pain. The noises that leave him are embarrassing, barely even human. But he can't make himself stop, can't make himself act right.

He's just too full. It's too much. It feels like dying.

Techno drops to his knees while gasping, raking his fingernails across his neck.

There's still movement and words around him. Wilbur tries to grab him and pull him up, but Techno screams, so he lets go. Techno rocks with jerky motions, gouging into his skin and banging his balled up fists into his skull and jaw. The insides of his body are just too much! It hurts! He doesn't want—doesn't want it!

Someone grabs him again, but they don't let up when he screams. They grab him harder, restraining his arms so that they can't flap about or dig into him. He yowls like a dying animal, everything bubbling up even worse at not being able to move.

But then they shove him into the ground so hard that all the air leaves his lungs, and he can't make any noise at all. Can't move for a few long seconds, as the man on top of him pins his arms behind his back and kneels right on top of him.

The tears keep flowing with hitches in his chest. It blurs the scene too much to make out what he knows is out there. The hatred from everyone.

And the same thing from his twin.

Chapter Text

There's this repetitive noise.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Techno hates it. Every single drop of liquid against stone, it stabs right down into his nerves. Burning, electrocuting pain with every tap. It makes him want to scream.

He probably would, if there wasn't a gag tied into his mouth.

That makes him want to scream too. He hates the feeling. Every few minutes, he convinces himself that it is suffocating him, choking. Which only makes breathing harder. His throat is so dry, moisture all sucked up, and his dumb crying is making it worse. Maybe he'll just die of dehydration, down in these awful caves.

It's actually not a far off idea. His head is pounding, partially from certain dehydration. He hasn't exactly been given water. Or food. Just shoved down in these caves to…

The obvious answer makes his heart absolutely pound in his chest. Ribs shaking, head hazy from the strain. The chambers of it physically hurt, and he thinks that's bad.

Then he tries to swallow, fails, and his panic dusts off any more targeted worries.

Everyone has abandoned him to the makeshift prison, down in the winding caves. Worse, they handed him over. Techno is certain that the clothes he found down there were from Buzzcut and his gang now, they seem utterly familiar with the caves. They have probably been using them since the start. To hide things they steal, or people they… have reason for taking. And probably to do any of the drugs they do manage to steal, because Techno is certain the ones they planted in his things were their's. They certainly act impaired half the time, racheting Techno's discomfort and fear higher at their erratic behavior.

They're going to kill him. Or leave him to die. Techno just knows it.

He's scared.

Techno is scared a lot, mostly of dumb things that he really shouldn't care about. Loud noises. If there won't be a bathroom somewhere. People talking to him.

This is different, he thinks.

Or maybe it is the same. After all, he's considered just ending all the hair-pulling, unbearable everything more than once. Maybe he would have considered it further if he didn't know the chances of it failing, and then he'd still be alive but more brain damaged than before. Or at least more liver damaged.

He's afraid of dying now. No one will save him; stop the bleeding out or poisoning, so he's hypoxic and with a tube down his throat. He'll just die. Slow and painful, but dead.

It scares him.

Maybe that makes him a hypocrite or coward or something, but it's hard to care. Everything hurts, he's stuck in this awful cave, he's dying, he's scared, and that awful dripping is driving him crazy!

Grunting in annoyance, he rocks forwards, before cringing when his forehead rubs against the cold, hard stone. It's hard to avoid that when he's curled on his side, laying against the ground like some sort of shrimp. With his ankles and wrists tied together, too. So maybe more like a lobster. One of those ones that are tied up in a tank for people to pick out to eat. Morbid. But very applicable to Techno's current situation.

A cough struggles out of him, half tangled in the gag in his mouth. It's an unbearable, choking feeling. He hates it. Makes him feel like he's dying early.

If this is how dying feels, but worse, then he doesn't want it. He hates pain, all of his nerves seemingly super charged to make everything hurt ten times worse than it should. Small touches or being too warm, that's enough to feel like death. So actual dying?

No. Techno refuses. He just—he doesn't want this. He doesn't want to be here.

Those awful men aren't exactly going to let him go, and no one else cares about him being stranded down here to die. So, he'll have to get out himself then. Do it himself, just like always. Wilbur tried a bit, because the survival situation necessitated putting things like how much he despises Techno aside for staying alive, but now Techno is just a magnet for death and ostracization. That's not new either. Any part of it.

Techno can remember a few years in elementary school, where Wilbur would drag him around by the hand and not let anyone so much as look at him. Before…

The stupid thought make him shake his head harder. Which rubs it against the ground harder, scraping it raw. It burns from the open wounds and chill. Grunting slightly, he turns his face to the side.

Focus on the current problem. Getting out of the murder cave alive! Right, bit more pertinent than his awful parents and peers and everyone else.

First step for escaping, probably the rope tying him up. It will be too much work, and too painful, to try and inch-worm crawl out of here. He'll be caught before he squirms out of an exit, or the strain might just kill him quicker. So definitely breaking the ropes off first.

But how can he get ropes off if he has no help or tools or anything? Techno doesn't even know if he could untie such tight knots if he had his hands to yank at it with. But the ropes are bound so tight that even he can't dislocate his wrists out of them. He's double jointed, but not that much. All his desperate stimming has left the skin around the ropes raw and blistering too, no sign of loosening.

So he needs something to either cut or loosen them. Easy enough. There's probably plenty of multi-tools laying around empty old caves, right?

An annoyed grunt leaves him, alongside a huff. It echoes too much, all around him. Even the stupid overwhelmed noises that he can't help but let out are making his sparking nerves worse.

No. Think.

There's rocks in caves. Maybe he can find one sharp enough to cut?

It's worth a try. After all, people slip and cut themselves on rocks all the time. Hopefully that can work to his advantage. He remembers this one story, someone cutting themselves on a rock at the beach. Then developing a horrible skin-eating bacterial infection that turned septic and killed them. His face twists under the imagery, but it also somehow directs him towards the goal.

A cutting rock. Doable.

There's none in his general vicinity, at least from what he can feel and barely see. The scarcely scattered cracks in the ceiling let in the smallest amount of light, so at least he's not in pitch black darkness. But he's long since become used to the tension headache from squinting so hard at the deep dimness.

The dehydration headache is overshadowing it quite a lot.

Though he wanted to avoid squirming around the hard, sharp ground, it seems that he will have to do a bit of it. With a hissing breath, he rolls into a more secure angle on his side and pushes himself forwards with his legs.

The ground snags his face, his clothes, his hair. A thousand, tiny pulling pains. He swallows an annoyed, pained whimper.

Then he draws his legs to his chest, takes a deep breath, and repeats the process.

It's as slow and grating at he thought it would be. But only the promise that it is going to be short and temporary, until he finds a rock, keeps him going. Just a little more. Then he goes a little more, and tells himself that again.

Just a little more.

That works. Until he hears footsteps.

The panic slaps him frozen all over. He instantly starts shivering, muscles taut to exertion, or the cold, or the fear, or all three. A jeering voice echoes down the cave alongside the overlapping footsteps. Techno jolts back into motion, clawing, crawling, squirming forwards.

All the noises grow louder and louder, closer. It will only be moments until they find that Techno has tried to escape—horrifically unsuccessfully. And then it will be what, a minute more until they find him? Even less?

Teeth literally moving with how hard he is grinding them together, Techno ignores the pain and exhaustion to move himself forwards even faster. He's probably leaving a trail of blood behind him at this point, but he doesn't care. Keeping moving is all that matters.

As the noises get closer. As he can feel them bouncing off the walls. As his ear drums squeeze under it. As they, as he—

Techno's head and shoulders suddenly upend forwards, breaking through the uneven ground before him.

Dirt invades his lungs as he gasps shallowly, body stiffening as he falls. Though it only lasts a second, head and jaw knocking into the ground a couple feet beneath. Chunks of rocks and filth shower down around him. Half covering him. He's left reeling, eyes pinched closed and heart pounding way up in his head. Cradled in the hard, shallow grave.

He's lucky that he didn't fall further, plummet all the way to his death down a cave shaft. Lucky that it was just a thin crumbley patch. And lucky that he did fall in it at all, because when he stills there, jammed between stone and earth, the footsteps keep coming.

Then there's a shout. The steps are quicker. Anger is in the air.

And they pass him by.

For a few minutes, he doesn't dare move even an inch. Only the tiniest of breaths. In and out, lungs barely expanding. If he wouldn't wheeze without oxygen, he wouldn't breathe at all.

But he does keep breathing, somehow. Quieted by the gag. And when enough time passes, it remains totally silent once more. The men gone.

For now.

Shifting his head, Techno cringes at the awful pain. He ignores it as much as he can, turning his attention to his surroundings again. The small cave-in, littered with dirt and stone. A lot of stones. Quickly, he starts shuffling through any of the chunks of rock that he can reach with his tied back hands, fingers prodding at the edges for sharpness.

He ends up having to roll over and scoot around a bit, but a rock that nearly slices his thumb open eventually finds him. With puffed out cheeks, Techno shifts it down to his fingertips and tries to pry it under the ropes. His wrist screams in pain, sharp and wanting him to flinch and drop the stone. But he refuses.

Instead, he saws it back and forth.

The pain shoots up his arm in a strange, electric, stabbing of a needle in a nerve sort of way. Desperately, he wants to pull away. Wants to flap his hands until the horrible feeling leaves him even more. That's not possible right now, not if he wants to live.

So he bites his tongue to hold back his stupid noises, rubs his knees together to cope, and cuts even harder.

Slowly, rope burned and wrists sliced up, the stone starts to eat into the rope. With terrible, terrible scratching noises, the twine tears away.

Then Techno's arms pop apart with a snap.

A gasp breaks his throat and the silence. His shoulders scream at the sudden movement, especially his previously dislocated one. He swears that something crunches up in there, tingling and jolting down the length. Almost physically, he swallows down his pained and overwhelmed grunting, allowing himself to rock with the help of his elbows instead.

He did it. He did it. Just a little more.

Willed on past the stupidly wet eyes and sharp nerves, Techno grapples himself forwards until he can find his tied up ankles. His fingers are a bit too numb to not be clumsy, all of him stiff, but he manages.

This rope cutting only gets a couple spare slashes against his skin. Not as bad as his wet, hot wrists, but he's ignoring those.

His legs are soon free too.

Jumping to do it now, he claws at the gag until it's free from his mouth. The dank oxygen tastes fresher than anything. Even the smell of mildew can't overwhelm him right now.

Techno takes it slow and steady from there, crawling up onto his knees. Even this small movement makes his head swim, pain and dehydration getting into his skull already. A grimace pearls up as he blows air out his lips. The awful feeling is almost edging into nausea, definitely faintness. Sickly feelings always grate at him. God, he wants this to stop.

Then get out. Just get out, and it will stop.

He can't think about what will happen when he gets out. Not right now.

Just get out.

With ample help from the wall, Techno pulls himself up and climbs out of the small crushed in area. It crumbles enough for him to almost fall down again. But he manages to get out, stay upright, and start quickly walking down the cave.

All he needs is an opening. A foot wide, and he'll squeeze out of the thing. Climb straight up if he has to. All he needs is an opening.

Yet, if anything, the longer that he walks, the darker that it gets. The cracks grow smaller, sparser. He frowns and roughly rubs his thumbs together, jogging sloppily.

Is he going deeper in? Should he turn around? Or should he see it through, since he's already spent so much time going this way?

Not sure of the right answer, he keeps moving. His heart churns faster and harder, starting to hurt. Every few steps his palm smacks into the wall to keep his balance.

What will he do if he can't find a way out? If he gets lost? Or falls down into a real cave-in? What if those awful men find him? What if he still dies down here, awful and dark and alone?

It's impossible to not huff a little, chest desperate to shove some noises out of him. His sinuses burn too, only saved by his lack of water to spare.

Staying still will only cause the same thing. This is trying. He has to try.

So he does. Even though it's hard. And even though he doesn't want to. He tries his best.

Techno always tries his best. He swears that he does, no matter what others think. He knows he's not good enough. That his best, his above and beyond, is so much worse than everyone else's bare minimum. It's not his fault. But it's also not their fault that they all hate him for it. Maybe it's rightful.

Maybe he's always deserved it. And Wilbur had it right. It was Techno's fault that it all fell apart. And if he was never there then Wilbur could have stayed with their parents. Could have had that normal life.

Instead of being dragged down by his other half.

Who wouldn't beloath him?

His loud breaths are coming so short that they nearly whistle now. He hates whistling. It's, it's too much! He needs quiet. But his damn chest won't be quiet!

As he lets go of the wall to grab his breastbone, his foot hooks onto the edge of something soft. And he goes flying forward. He trips into the ground hard, winded and choking. His leg and arm pound. His head swings. Weakly, he squeezes at his throat, desperate to be able to draw in more air.

Eventually his diaphragm relaxes enough to do it, but he's dizzy by that point. Techno coughs a couple times, nearly growling between the uncontrollable hacking.

He almost wishes that he didn't collect himself even that much. Because it allows him to sit back as he tries to push away from whatever tripped him.

His hand sinks into something wet. Congealed, gooey. A viscous substance, disgusting and cold and cloying. A groan of shock leaves him as he shoves away harder, flapping his hand desperately. It's so disgusting. His ear ends up smashed to his shoulder, cutting off noises and scrubbing his brutalized palm into the stone ground.

What even—?

The smell hits him next. Usually, it would have hit him sooner, but he was breathing through his mouth so heavily. When Techno is forced to swallow, he can finally smell it.

Blood. Metallic and acidic. Rot. Death.

His insides curdle further as he starts to literally kick away. But he can feel that whatever the thing is, it's stuck to his legs too. A shout leaves him, panicked and stupid, but god he feels like he's dying! Feels like whatever this disgusting thing is has leeched into his skin and is now digging deeper and deeper. His whole nervous system is tainted by it, sending him near convulsing as he tries to escape in vain.

It's impossible to shake blood off of skin though. Shake off the stickiness and rot of insides, left out and festering. Of, organs? Techno slams his eyes shut, even though he can't make out anything more than the faintest of lumps on the ground before him. The imagery is too strong.

Why is—What is—?

Techno struggles to think around the panic and disgust and too much. It leaves his brainstem confused, struggling. His loud exclamations have ended, but he's still squeaking with exhales. Fast, constant. Trying to get wisps of the stuff out of him. But it only draws more in.

The urge to vomit hits him like a hammer. Techno grabs the wall and drags himself up, running past. Like a little kid trying to get to the bathroom, his body moves on its own. But for once, he actually wants it.

Away. Away. That's all that he can think.

Away from the awful thing, whatever it could be. An animal, it must be. That couldn't have been from a human. It, it— The blood sticking to him hurts. He can do nothing except clench his fingers, feeling them tense out of the bounds of his joints.

This can't be real. He doesn't want it to be! Doesn't want any of this! Why can't everyone just, just, stop!

His foot lands on something else soft, cloth-like. He manages to keep his balance while running past, but it makes him flinch hard. Face squished up, hands flapping harder until they curl in violently. All of his tendons hurt, but not enough to fix him. It's all way too much.

Techno just keeps running. That's all that he can do. Get out, out, out—

As his palm slams into the wall, trying to keep him up, a shower of dirt and small rocks fall down around it. Once again, he flinches away. But he forces his eyes apart to look at this, expression twitching to make it happen.

It's just a small cut into the wall, perhaps where water had eaten it away ages ago. But when he lifts his head, the place where it meets the ceiling is…

A gap.

It's small, and thin. Maybe big enough for a child to slip through. And it's placed in such an awkward spot.

But the sun is pouring in through it, hurting his eyes and feeling like fire on his skin. A glance down at himself shows that his skin and clothes are covered in brown and red and rust filth. That makes the squirming, dirty feeling double over, to see it plainly.

Techno shakes his head hard and turns his attention up towards the opening again. He lets himself rock on his heels while he considers it.

Ten feet up, maybe. Techno will have to climb to get there. And it will be a tight squeeze, even for him. But the worn down gash in the wall will offer some leverage and hand-holds. And if he tries…

Shortly, he glances back into the caves. Just barely visible in the dim light down the tunnel is a single shoe, neon pink and stained.

With a huff, Techno grapples at the wall until he finds two places to wrap his fingers around. Then he pulls up.

His arms and legs scream immediately, searing and exhausted. His throat has never been drier. It physically hurts with the thirst, tasting of copper and sticky tissues glued together. Every swallow tears his esophagus apart like velcro. Techno's eyebrows and nose wrinkle to the point of headache to force himself past it.

The tip of his foot kicks until it sinks into a crack that holds his weight. He gulps in some air, relaxing his arms a bit.

Okay, next one.

The visibility isn't great and the crumbling earth and rock isn't anywhere close to safe. Techno slips down and has to scramble to catch himself about a dozen time. Surely, every exposed inch of his skin is scratched raw and weeping at this point. His inhales hitch against his will.

But he keeps going. And he keeps his eyes on that opening. Just barely, he can see snatches of green. Maybe the white of clouds.

Techno doesn't know what he'll do when he gets out of there, but he wants it. He'll just screw off somewhere. Find the river and follow it downstream. Surely no one can bother to look for him, they're all too lacking supplies and healthy manpower. And Wilbur…

It doesn't matter. He'll find a river and clean up. Scrub all the blood off, clean his hair and skin and clothes. Then he'll walk on the rocks, so he doesn't leave a trail, and dry under the sun. By the time that the sun sets, he'll be far away, clean, and dry, wounds scabbing over. Things will be better.

Breathing in shakily, Techno stretches far to get his fingers just over the lip of the opening. Just an inch further, he's almost there!

His hand closes around the edge. His muscles feel like they're literally cutting into strips, but he doesn't let go. Scrunching up his features, he pulls and kicks and claws upwards, keeping his hand locked even tighter than the stone around him.

With a burst, he gets his elbow shoved through the gap, digging into the earth outside. Then his other arm too, fingers scrunching up into the grass and dirt.

He did it. He's almost there.

But only almost. With just his arms through the gap, the crack is basically half full up. For a moment, he pauses, worried about his head getting stuck in it.

A small, creaking, scuffling sound echoes down the cave.

Techno jumps and starts twisting himself through the opening.

His head gets through, nose and cheeks cut into by the rocks, but he manages. His shoulders are harder, widened from having his arms up above him. He shoves them as close to his ears as possible, twisting the side and working to get one through before the other.

Although the edges of the gap bite into him, he never gets quite stuck. Soon, his shoulders are through. Techno pauses long enough to look around, taking in the overgrown plants and trees. Somewhere off in the forest. Good.

At this point his legs are fully extended though, up on his toes and almost hanging freely. Blindly, he kicks at the wall, trying to find a higher foothold. The last bit of leverage that he needs to squirm his hips through. Then he'll be free.

His breath is coming quick and short. He's so close. His foot hooks on an indent, before slipping.

He searches for it again.

Right as he's digging the toe of his shoe into the ledge, shoving upwards already, something closes around his ankle.

And yanks.

Techno yelps, pulled down roughly to his armpits. His shoulders almost dislocate from the force of smacking into the edges of the stone. But he can hardly acknowledge that through the hands grabbing at his legs.

"You bitchass motherfucker—!"

"Stop!" Techno screams, kicking as hard as he can. He struggles to speak around the high terror and dread and overwhelm. "L-Leave—!"

"I found him!" The man yells, pulling on Techno harder. "I fucking found him!"

"No!" Techno cries out.

He just wants to leave! He just wants to not be here!

Loud footsteps clang down the caves below Techno, and he feels another pair of hands land on him. Another desperate noise claws out of him, words lost completely. No matter how much he kicks and squirms, he can't dislodge them.

The hands pull harder. Techno digs his fingers into the ground, crying out.

But it doesn't matter. His nails bend backwards, and then his fingers too. His shoulders shove upwards as he's forcibly yanked through. And when a hand grabs his shirt and pulls, it's over.

His chin and skull knock into the edges of the stone as he's pried free. Or really, pried un-free. The hard hits to the head silence him, and the bit tongue doesn't help either. He groans as he smashes into the ground. Air hitches out of him hard.

And above him, two of the men. They look pissed to hell.

Techno can't. He can't. He doesn't want it.

Setting his palm against the ground, he tries to shove up and away. One more time. If only he can slip past—

A foot slams down on his injured leg, forcing out a cry as he collapses.

"You useless cunt! The fuck do you think you're doing, huh?!" Buzzcut yells at him.

Techno can't answer. Can't make any noises except for the pained, wordless ones. Whimpers and whines. Like something stupid and on the brink of death.

When Buzzcut leans over him, Techno curls around his middle and shakily covers his head. He wishes that he could punch or hit them enough to get them to stop. A few times in the past, he's had to do that sort of thing. But it wasn't like this. He wasn't hurt, trapped, outnumbered, dying.

Now, his stupidest impulses take over and he can do nothing but try to disappear through the floor. To try to escape the worst of it.

It's not too dissimilar from before. His parents. As his legs are grabbed and he's dragged across the ground. People speaking over him—furious and cursing. They always were. He's just too hard not to hate or hurt.

Techno clenches his jaw to stop from pleading. Not to these people.

And it would probably all come out as mush anyway.

When Techno's tossed roughly to the ground, he manages to pry his eyes apart. The area is more light. More gaps in the roof and down the cave. If only Techno had made it here, he could have slipped out in a single second. Off into the woods.

Then again, the junk littering the ground, the burnt out fireplace, the stains on the stone. Seems like people are staying here.

"Let's just kill him," Buzzcut says, throwing something on the ground right by his head.

"No. Do you learn nothing?" Stoic says. He watches Techno with crossed arms and an ease that is scary.

"Fuck you. No point keeping this motherfucker alive—"

"His brother will throw a fit, think straight," Stoic says. "Plus, the mess and waste."

The rot, the blood, the horrid smell still coating everything. Wisps of noises escape his teeth as he rolls onto his side. Buzzcut growls and kicks his leg. He cries out and stills.

It hurts. Maybe… he should have just stayed there and died of dehydration.

"You want to babysit this fucking—"

"Shut up. Just make him unable to run," Stoic says, stepping forwards.

The gesture is loose, broad. Techno still knows it's pointing at his throbbing, aching leg.

He tries to inch away, to curdle inwards enough to escape the attention. But that never works. And after a short glance at his friend, Buzzcut turns to Techno with a crooked sort of smile on his face. The short kick that Techno aims at him is easily dodged, his ankle grabbed and pulled.

Wordlessly crying out, Techno tries to draw his knee to his chest anyway. Anything to hide away from the violent hands, the jeering man.

But his useless body can't out-outnumber himself. The stoic man drops down onto his shoulders. One of the knees digs in to his sore, barely healed shoulder. Techno's far more focused on his hands getting grabbed and pulled up.

His body is left splayed out across the stone floor, between the two horrid men.

Minute shakes go through him, from his throat to his heart. Finally, Techno has been stopped up silent. It simmers in his chest. His arms, his legs, his hands are all forced still.

Techno: completely still and quiet.

His parents really would be proud.

Buzzcut leans away for a second, before coming back into sight. A long piece of metal is in his hand. It looks heavy. Like a bat, or piece of piping. Though he doubts that's what it's for.

"Stop," Techno manages to say, control desperately wrested over his mouth. "Stop."

That makes Buzzcut smile wide. He pins Techno's ankle and knee with his own knee and spare hand. Then reels the weapon back.

Techno hears his father's voice.

"This should teach you to behave next time."

The piping slams down on his lower leg.

The bone shatters.

If Techno wasn't sure that the leg was broken before, he's sure now. It's just so obvious. The pain tears through every inch of the limb, like glass shards a million times over. It burns up his leg, shocking into his hip. His foot goes completely numb under the intense pain. For once, his screaming is perfectly normal and right.

His screaming only ends when the metal comes down for another hit. Then another.

The darkness in his head fizzles, heavy and dragging. It hollows his gasps. Or maybe that's the leg doing it. If his leg isn't massacred into nothing at this point. That's how it feels.

Liquid muscle and nerves, chips of bone drenched in it.

Please. He tries to beg, uncaring how it makes him look. Not that the word manages to get out of him.

Techno just mouths it. Over and over as his head shakes back and forth. It's all that he can do as everything bleeds away to the pain.

Please. Please. Please.

As blessed darkness takes him hotly, he hears the echoing of laughter. And it doesn't end.