Archive of Our Own ^beta

The house was way too quiet without the sound of Grandad’s cough rattling from his bedroom down the hallway. It had been the kind of sound that you could never miss until it was gone forever. 

Now there was only the hum of the fridge, the faint creaking of wood settling, and the faraway drop of the tap in the bathroom. Every noise seemed sharper now —in the silence— like the walls themselves were listening, were mourning. 

The funeral had been hours ago, but the black suit jackets still hung on the backs of the chairs, shoulders slumped and fabric wrinkled, like they gave up on trying to look presentable a long time ago. The smell of damp earth had fought its way to clinging faintly to them, carried back from the graveyard. Around them, half packed boxes cluttered the corners, their flaps ajar, yawning open. A suitcase sat in the living room, empty and waiting, as if the house itself expected them to go. 

The phone on the counter hadn’t rung all day. Not even any messages were waiting for the brothers when they got home. Techno kept glancing at it anyway, as if watching it could keep it silent. His Grandad did always say ‘a watched phone never rings.’ Each time, though, the screen stayed blank, and his jaw tightened a little more. It didn’t even comfort him. It just reminded him of the sick anticipation that when it did ring, it wouldn’t be anyone they wanted to hear from.

Tommy sat cross legged on the floor, peeling the label off of a can of beans like it was a nervous habit. His nails scraped at the glue, curling strips of the sticky paper onto the lino floor. 

“So… if they show up, do we hide in the attic or something? Or should I just tell them I’m eighteen? I could fake a beard… I’m sure Tubbo could find me a fake id,” he said, stroking an imaginary beard, his eyebrows wiggling in mock seriousness. 

His voice was too loud for the small —otherwise silent— kitchen, bouncing off the tiled walls like it didn’t know how to quiet.

Techno managed a half-smile, but it was strained, thin… tired. His fingers were white around the mug of cold tea he hadn’t touched since making it hours ago.

“Don;t be stupid. No one will come,” he tried putting weight into the words, to make them sound like fact. But they came out too soft, too uncertain. 

“We will get up every morning, go to school, smile —even if it's fake— and act like everything is ok. You will stay out of trouble, keep your head down, so no teacher tries to call home. Just… just until you turn 16… then they can’t take you away.”

Tommy gave a nonchalant shrug, like he believed him, though his eyes betrayed him. They darted towards the phone, then away again, just as quickly.

The brothers didn’t talk about the empty chair at the head of the table. They didn’t talk about how the will hadn’t named anyone else. They didn’t talk about the fact that every adult that was meant to care was either in the ground or somewhere in an office deciding their fate. The unspoken things sat heavy in the air around them, thicker than the smell of the reheated soup cooling on the stove.

That night, the boxes made the hallway feel even narrower than before as Techno padded towards his bedroom. The floorboards groaned and creaked under his socks. He left the light off and sank down against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest. The dark pressing uncomfortably against him, close and suffocating.

Through the thin plasterboard wall, he could hear Tommy’s breathing from the next room. Slow, steady, untroubled in sleep. Techno sat still, hardly daring to breathe himself, afraid that he might disturb the peaceful rhythm for his brother. 

He stayed like that for hours, counting each inhale and exhale like it was proof, like if he stopped listening for even a second, it would all be gone. His legs cramped, but he didn’t attempt to move. He didn’t close his eyes. He couldn’t. Just incase. 

Some part of him knew —deep down in his boys, in a place no lie could reach— that any night could be the last night he would hear it. This might be the last night he heard it. 

The days after blurred into each other, slow and heavy.

The alarm clock stayed dark on the console table in the hallway, and the boys stopped setting it. School came and went without them. The uniforms hung unworn over the backs of chairs, collecting dust, the ties knotted exactly how Grandad used to fix them before shouting at them to hurry up, “or else you’ll be late again .” Now the ties were dangling like abandoned nooses, reminders of a life that they weren’t living anymore.

They lived off of what was left over in the cupboards. Tinned beans, packets of pasta, stale cereal that probably hadn’t been touched in months, softened with water when the milk ran out. Tommy made a game of it, balancing spoons on his nose or pretending he was a contestant on a cooking show, doing a terrible TV host voice as he judged Techno’s ‘creations.’

“ANd tonight, Chef Techno proudly presents… beans on toast. That’s the fourth time this week! A daring choice. Bold. Innovative even.”

Techno laughed when he could muster up the energy to do so, but mostly he just pushed food around his plate, counting how many cans were left, silently calculating how long before they ran out. How much longer they would manage if he only ate certain meals or ate half of what he was currently eating. 

To keep the air from cracking open around them, Techno slipped into Grandad’s old routines. He boiled water for tea, even if neither of them wanted it. He went around each night, checking the locks twice, just like Grandad used to. He made sure to jiggle the handle on the back door until he felt it catch. He folded Tommy’s hoodie over the arm of the sofa because it looked too messy otherwise. These small rituals seemed to calm Tommy, and if Techno didn’t keep doing them, then the house just felt… wrong. Off-balance. Unsafe. As long as these rituals were done, then maybe the brothers would be safe. They’d be together. 

Sometimes, they ventured outside, rehearsing being normal. Tommy kicked a football around the yard so the neighbours would see and wave. Techno would pretend to weed the garden though he didn’t know the first thing about plants, or weeds. He just yanked at whatever looked out of place. On one particularly brave day, they even walked to the corner shop. They had rummaged through the sofa and behind any moveable piece of furniture to find some pocket change. Techno bought some bread, crisps and beans. Tommy grabbed a bottle of coke. The man behind the counter didn’t say a word, just bagged it up. But Techno could feel his eyes lingering too long, like he was about to ask a question he decided to swallow at the last minute. 

On the way home, Tommy chattered too much, his voice bouncing off the pavement. 

“See? Totally normal. Just two kids buying snacks. No one suspects a thing, Techno. We’re safe!” 

But Techno noticed how Tommy’s hand trembled when he shoved the coke into the shopping bag. 

A few mornings later, they couldn’t avoid the inevitable anymore. The school had called twice, and Techno knew that staying away forever would look far worse than showing up. So they set the alarm, put their uniforms on —shirts creased from hanging untouched, shoes scuffed but passable, ties left in the last knot that Grandad had tied for them— and walked in together.

The corridors felt louder than usual, like every laugh and shout was aimed at them. Teachers gave them looks that lingered a beat too long. Someone muttered “sorry about your grandad” in passing, but no one stopped. Tommy cracked a joke in math class, loud enough to draw a few laughs, but his voice wobbled on the punchline. Techno sat though history staring at the back of the teacher’s head, his pen unmoving in his hand, terrified she would call on him and he’d have nothing to say.

At lunch, they sat side by side in the canteen, chewing quietly while the room buzzed around them. Free school meals being another reason Techno pushed Tommy to go back, their cupboards being more and more sparse by the day. Tommy kept his spile plastered on —though it didn’t meet his eyes— telling Techno about some kid in their class spilling his water all over his trousers. Techno nodded at all the right moments, but his eyes kept darting to the staff table, half expecting a teacher to stand up and demand. 

Where’s your guardian? I heard that boy apologise for your Grandad. Is he alright? Is he… dead? Who is looking after you?

By the final bell, both of them were exhausted from the act of pretending. On the walk home, Tommy went quiet. It was the first time all day that he had let his mask slip. Techno didn’t push him. 

One afternoon a week later, Mrs. Trix from next door caught sight of the boys through the gate. 

“Where’s your grandad, boys? I’ve not seen him about recently,” she said, squinting against the sunlight.

Tommy managed an answer before Techno could think.

“Oh, he’s just gone shopping,” his voice cracked a little, but he forced a grin big enough to cover it. 

Another time, when the postman knocked, Techno mumbled that Grad was ‘taking a nap’ and shut the door before any more questions could arise. 

The excuses bought them more time, but not comfort.

That evening, Tommy sprawled out on the living room floor, staring up at the ceiling. His voice was softer than usual, almost entirely swallowed up by the darkness. “What if they figure us out?”

Techno’s breath caught in his chest, but he didn’t let it show. He kept his face turned away, pretending to check the window latch. 

“They won’t,” he said, quick and certain, “We’ve given them nothing to worry about.” A lie, but one he delivered like a promise. Like it was something he was trying to convince himself of too, not just Tommy. 

Tommy didn’t argue. He just pulled his hoodie tighter around himself and closed his eyes, as if the words alone could make it true.

But later, when Techno found him curled up in Grandad’s old armchair, it all cracked. Tommy’s face was buried against his knees, his shoulders shaking. His usual jokes had finally run dry. 

“I don’t want to go,” he whispered, his words muffled by the fabric of his pyjama’s, “I don’t want them to take me somewhere else. I just want to stay here. With you. Promise me… they won’t take me.”

Techno crouched down, resting a hand on his brother’s back, but he couldn’t think of what to say. All the words in his mouth felt useless. The only thing that mattered right now was the small, stifled sobs against his palm and the weight of a promise that he wasn’t sure he could keep.

So, he said it anyway. 

“They won’t. I won’t let them take you, Tommy.”

And even though Tommy nodded, clinging to the lie like a lifeline, Techno could feel the truth pressing hard at the back of his throat. The truth that wanting something, even with everything in you —every fibre of your being— wasn’t always enough.

The knocking came just after dawn, a few days later. At first it was polite, measured. A few raps on the front door that could’ve been anyone. The postman, maybe. A neighbour. A friend from school wanting to see if Tommy wanted to walk with them. 

But Techno sat bolt upright in his bed, his heart hammering in his chest, because he already knew. The postman didn’t knock like that. The neighbours or school friends wouldn’t wait like that. 

He swung his legs over the edge of his mattress, his feet hitting the cold floorboards. The air felt heavier than it had any other day, like the house itself knew what was about to happen. Like the house was preparing for the inevitable. The knock came again, louder this time.

“Social services. Please open the door.” 

Techno’s stomach dropped. He stumbled into the hallway, every shadow stretched long in the pale light leaking in through the curtains. Tommy appeared in the doorway of his room, his hair sticking up every which way, sleep still fogging his eyes. He looked younger than usual in his crumpled hoodie, smaller too, like he’d somehow shrunk overnight. His mouth opened like he was about to crack a joke, but nothing came. His face drained to a ghostish white pale, and he just stood there, clutching at the sleeve of his hoodie like it could hold him steady, like it could anchor him to the ground. 

The knocking turned into pounding, the hollow thud of a fist against the wooden door. The sound bounced down the harrow hallway, rattling the frames on the walls. 

“Open up, please. We know you’re in there.”

Techno’s chest tightened so hard it hurt. He reached for Tommy’s arm and hissed, “Back door. Go. Now.”

They moved quickly, tripping over the clutter of the half packed boxes still scattered from Grandad’s last weeks. The house suddenly felt like it was shrinking —collapsing in on top of them— each thud on the front door making the walls press closer and closer. 

In the kitchen, Techno shoved Tommy ahead of him and yanked on the handle of the back door. His heart lurched —a single moment of hope—

and froze. 

An officer was already there, standing square in the back garden like he’d been waiting there all night. His hands were clasped behind his back, his feet planted firm, his expression unreadable. The faint crackle of his radio broke the stillness. Their eyes locked through the glass, and Techno knew instantly.

There was no way out.

Tommy made a sound —a half breath, half whimper— like air leaking from a popped balloon. Techno spun, frantic, scanning the kitchen, the windows, the narrow hallway, searching for another exit that he knew didn’t exist. Every door felt watched, every gap already covered. The house didn’t feel like their home anymore. It was a trap. 

Another crash against the front door came, “Technoblade! Thomas! Please open up now!”

Tommy’s fingers curled tight into Techno’s sleeve, his nails digging through the fabric. His whole body trembled. For once, his loud little brother —the joker, the one who always had a comeback no matter what— had nothing left to hide behind. He was silent, shaking, and it terrified Techno more than any pounding on the door could. 

“Don’t let them,” Tommy whispered, pleading, his voice barely there.

The lock turned with a sharp, metallic click. The sound sliced through Techno’s chest. Then the door burst open.

Two officers entered, their boots heavy against the floorboards, their presence filling the small hallway. Behind them came a woman in a grey coat, a clipboard tucked against her chest like a shield. She spoke with practiced calm, her voice too smooth, too measured to truly care about children anymore. 

“Techno, Tommy… we’re here to help you. You can’t stay here on your own like this.”

Techno moved fast, shoving Tommy behind him so quickly that his brother stumbled back into the wall. He planted himself in the narrow space, his chest heaving, blocking the path with everything he had. 

“No!” his voice tore from him, raw and crackling at the edges, “You can’t take my brother away from me. He belongs with me!”

The officers exchanged looks, but didn’t move forward. The woman, though, stepped closer, her hands raised slightly in that way that adults did when they wanted to look harmless. Her tone didn’t change. 

“This isn’t safe for him, Techno. I know you know that. He needs proper care, a stable home. You can’t do this on your own.”

“I am his home! I was already taking care of him anyway. I’ve been doing this on my own for years! I had to take care of him and Grandad. We were doing fine!” Techno shouted. His throat burned, his hands shook, but he spread his arms wider, his body rigid as a wall. If they wanted Tommy, they’d have to go through him.

Behind him, Tommy’s hand clamped tighter around his arm, nails biting into his skin through the fabric. His eyes were wide and wet, his face red, straining to keep control of himself.

“Techno—! Tech, don’t let them—!”

The sound of his voice broke in half, cracking in a way Techno had never heard before. It split him open. 

The officers began to move then, not rough but firm. Peeling Tommy’’s fingers away one by one. Techno fought, twisting, shoving, yelling until his voice scraped raw, but they were stronger. His grip slipped, hoodie fabric sliding out of his hands. 

“Techno!” Tommy screamed, his heels dragging uselessly against the floorboards as they pulled him down the hall with a black bag of his clothes in one hand. 

The slam of the front door cut the cry in two, leaving silence in its wake. 

A silence so heavy that it pressed down on Techno’s chest, crushing him. 

And the house, once too small, suddenly felt impossibly big and empty. 

The house held its breath after the door slammed. Techno stood still in the hallway, chest heaving, his hands still outstretched as if he could still pull Tommy back through the air. But there was nothing left to hold onto, just the silence that was suffocating him. 

His knees gave out first. He sank against the wallpaper, sliding down until he was crouched on the floorboard, forehead pressed against his arm. The sound of the struggle still echoed faintly around him, phantom like —Tommy’s voice breaking, the shuffle of dragging feet— but when Techno lifted his head, there was nothing. No voices. No footsteps. Just the clock ticking in the kitchen. 

The world was moving on without him.

After a while, he forced himself up, staggering down the hallway in a daze. The kitchen was exactly as it had been left the night before. Two bowls on the counter, one rinsed, one still half full of stale cereal going soggy in the water. They still had no milk. Tommy’s spoon tilted against the rim, abandoned mid bite. 

Techno stared at it until his eyes and throat burned. 

The phone never rang. Nobody told him where Tommy had gone, or when —if— he’d be allowed to see him again. 

Hours crawled by, the sunlight slid across the floor and vanished. The house felt hollow, stripped of its usual pulse.

When the dark finally pressed in, Techno ended up in Tommy’s room. He didn’t remember walking there, only that suddenly he was sitting on the edge of the bed, surrounded by the chaos of his brother’s things. The hoodie Tommy had clung to was crumpled on the floor where it had fallen during the packing up. Techno picked it up and pulled it tightly against his chest, clutching the fabric so hard his fingers ached. 

The silence wrapped tighter around him. The walls felt too wide, the shadows too long. He stayed there, still as stone, until his eyes adjusted to the dusk light and even then he couldn't bring himself to move. 

The house didn’t sound like a house anymore. Every creak, every groan of the tired floorboards just reminded Techno of who wasn’t there. He was truly alone now. He rose to his feet and walked out of his brother's room aimlessly, trying as hard as possible to feel ok. 

He drifted through the rooms as the dusk light dwindled. The hallway where he had stood like a wall, the kitchen with Tommy’s still unfinished cereal, the sofa dented where they’d sat too close together in the evenings because they couldn’t afford to put the heating on. Everywhere was an outline of his brother, like Tommy had been sketched in and then erased.

No one called. No one knocked. The silence was so heavy it almost seemed cruel, as though the world had already forgotten there had ever been two boys —and their Grandad for some time— inside these walls instead of just one. 

By the time Techno sank back onto Tommy’s bed, the air was cold and the house was too dark to see. He pulled the hoodie tight against his chest, burying his face in the worn fabric until his breath became ragged. He stayed there for hours, rigid, as if moving again would mean admitting this was real. Admitting this really happened. 

His throat ached with all the words he hadn’t been able to say. With every promise he couldn’t keep. 

The silence didn’t break.

And maybe it never would.