Mighty Long Fall, Chapter 8
Chapter Title: Lively Dreams
Summary: It’s been years since that tragic day and Hiro finally gets his second chance. Though it isn’t exactly what he imagined, he’ll take it, doing everything and anything he can to ensure that his brother lives. Whether it’s dealing with Yokai or San Franksokyo’s crime district, including those ever evasive Fujitas, Hiro will do what he must- no matter what the cost.
Rated: Fiction K+
Words: 7439
Fred was in a glorious mood as he made his way down the streets of San Fransokyo, without a care in the world. Passing under the bridge exactly as the metro line rushed by, he wasn’t bothered by the deafening sound. He breathed it all in, the waking city and its less than appealing smell (fish tacos and salt was somewhere in there).
Even though the trolleys could take him to his destination quicker, he opted to walk, his cheery mood giving him more energy than he knew what to do with.
Because it was comic book day.
Well, it was always comic book day, but that wasn't the point- today was the day Heathcliff let him splurge himself (only so that he'd had material that could last him the month). It was all according to an agreement the two created, allowing Fred to go wild while Heathcliff only had to worry about how to maximize the space dedicated for his charge's novels. In the end, that wouldn't even pose a problem, Heathcliff a miracle worker when it came to his job.
No one could come close to his aptitude.
Fred hooked his thumbs under the straps of his backpack and skipped over the smudged boxes of a hopscotch drawn onto the asphalt. He even added a cool spin at the end, the Amazing Fred always one to show off his moves.
The store he was headed to wasn’t in the best part of town, not that Fred minded. He was a regular, coming here for more than half of his collection; the amount of money he indulged on this particular store was record breaking, earning him a reputation of sorts in the local comic market. As result of his customer loyalty, he was on a list all of his own- perks and deals others could only dream of, offered solely for him.
Which meant opening and closing hours didn’t apply to him.
There wasn’t anyone out on the street as far as Fred could see, but that wasn’t unusual. It was early morning and not many people were ecstatic enough about comic books to trek out to the specific comic shop. But Fred didn’t mind. He actually enjoyed it, the early hours, and, despite what his friends thought about him and his lifestyle, was usually up anyways. It gave him time to think and go about his life without prying eyes or bearing expectations.
The sight of the comic shop was equivalent to one of the Seven Wonders in Fred's eyes. The cape-wearing heroes that were plastered on the windows were beckoning, drawing all eyes away from the graffiti that covered the walls and the garbage that overflowed the trashcans.
With the usual chime, he entered the Holy Land, breathing in the smell of paper and plastic.
“What’s up, dude.” Fred greeted the clerk, grasping his hand momentarily before asking about any new updates. The pimply teen took a sip of his instant coffee, nodding toward the section nearest to the door, then turned back to his own comic.
The comic enthusiast pillaged the shelf, reading anything that caught his interest thoroughly and piling it beside him to buy when he was done. He stayed there, engrossed, for a good part of the morning; long enough that he could look out the dirty window and spot a couple of people passing by and going about their daily business, and hear the roar of car engines as traffic increased on the narrow street.
The comfortable lull of the morning was broken by screams and sirens.
Fred was just reaching for the latest edition of one his favorite graphic novels when something came crashing through the front window, landing in a mess on what used to be a comic display rack.
The clerk screamed, spitting out his coffee and spilling the rest on the cash register, backing away from the bursting glass. Comic books fell from the shelves, Fred getting overwhelmed by a landslide of them as he hit the wall in surprise. He went down with another rack, the spines of volumes painfully landing on his head.
Fred resurfaced a mere second after everything had settled, mouth gasping for breath. Heart beating erratically, he was about to call out and see what had happened when there was a flurry of movement and more comic books were flying.
One hit Fred in the face.
“Ow!” He rubbed his nose, eyes screwed shut momentarily. Though blue eyes snapped open when he heard the sound of metal hitting metal and laughter. Still rubbing his red nose, he crawled over comics and toward the front of the shop, apprehensive. He crouched next to the counter, peeking through the window.
Fear transformed into excitement at what he saw. He was suddenly happier than he had been this morning- so ecstatic- no, thrilled.
Because there, in all its armored glory, was a full-fledged superhero not ten feet away from him.
Granted, the superhero was getting his butt handed to him by a group of- Fred squinted, leaning precariously out the now broken window- white-faced women dressed in traditional Japanese wear and rollerskates (none of his comics had ever had villains like that). But that didn't matter- it was a superhero nonetheless.
He watched as the hero fought with one holding an umbrella, hands moving in way that deflected the helpful-device-turned-dangerous-weapon and had him pushing past the girl’s guard. His stance depicted training of some sort (martial arts, maybe?)- something Fred knew nothing of. The hero ducked under a bat, jabbing at the girl swinging it and aiming a kick at the umbrella girl at the same time.
Fred was still bathing in the glory that his comic books were finally coming to life when the hero was blasted back into the store. He soared over Fred's head and landed next to the- was that a mailbox? There was another shriek from the clerk at the resulting mess, a cacophony of sounds making Fred cover his ears.
A low groan sounded out of the figure as he pushed himself to his elbows, shoving the mailbox away and skidding against the ground.
The comic nerd immediately went to the downed hero, pulling the piles of comics out of the way before grasping the figure’s bicep and helping pull him up and out of the ruble, almost falling forward from the unexpected weight. There was a dent on the man’s chest, the sight of it making Fred wince, only guessing at how painfully it must’ve been.
“Dude, I love your work.” Fred wasn’t able to hide the awe and eagerness in his voice, needing to express his fanboy desires despite the situation. It was only after the words came out of his mouth that he realized he sounded like a jerk; the dent and the millions of deep scratches he was rapidly discovering on the armor should’ve given him an idea at how hurt the guy was. Superheroes were people too (except when they were aliens- then they were aliens).
The mysterious hero jerked back when he heard Fred, foot slipping on a stack of plastic covers. Fred hastily grabbed his arm, stabling him with a: "Whoa there, dude."
They stood there, staring at each other (if this were his comics, this would've been the part where a partnership between heroes would have be made and honored). Fred was only able to see his own face staring right back at him, his reflection in the hero's visor dirty and disheveled and wide eyed, but grinning nonetheless. Never before in his wildest fantasies did he think he'd ever come face-to-face with an actual superhero (and he didn't even need Heathcliff's help), but there he was, living the dream.
Realizing that he was being super creepy, Fred looked away and over the hero’s shoulder, catching a glimpse of a woman racing towards the shop from down the street. How was he just starting to see the spikes that were nailed into her bat? Following his line of sight, the hero turned and saw the woman; he pushed Fred back and away from him, defensively standing between him and the oncoming threat.
Looked like there little moment was over, to Fred's disappointment.
A hand rose and tapped the side of his helmet, making Fred’s breath hitch. Was he going to unmask? Right there, in front of him? But no, that was not the case. Instead of the visor flipping up and revealing the mystery hero’s face, the sound of static reached Fred’s ears before it was replaced by a voice, young and low and oddly familiar. “Stand back.”
It took a moment for Fred to realize that he was being addressed. When he did he looked around needlessly, “Me?... Oh! Oh, yeah, totally. Do your thing.”
Fred did what was requested, watching as the hero stepped forward and raised a gloved hand. He tried not to cry when he saw the tendril of electricity spark from the hero’s gloves, shoving his fist in his mouth to contain himself. Whatever the guy had, it was some serious tech (awesome)- the inventions at SFIT wouldn’t have been able to compete with what Fred was seeing.
“Holy mother of Megazon, that’s so cool.” Fred’s voice rose higher than usual despite it being a whisper.
Then the man was gone, launching through the window and back into the street. Fred, ignoring the small voice at the back of his head that screamed of safety and logic, followed; he needed to see this, to see the hero in action.
Outside was utter chaos.
People screamed, trying to find shelter and shield themselves from the destruction taking place. Chairs that looked to be from a local, rundown cafe, were overturned, becoming tripping hazards to those trying to get away. To his left, a lamppost was bending forward, leaning and pulling on a couple of electrical wires, their ends snapping precariously close to the ground. A police car or two were making their way down the stretch of the road, slowly weaving their way around panicked civilians (when had so many people congregated?). A pool of water was forming on the uneven street, rushing out of a busted fire hydrant.
Fred could believe the hero causing this mess- that dude was powerful- but the women? The guy had amazing fighting skills and a cool suit to boot, but the women didn’t seem that dangerous- dressed more for a disco derby than a fight. Albeit, a disco derby that allowed spiked armor and weapons, as well as a prerequisite of martial arts.
The hero noticed Fred in an instant, tossing a chair at a girl before turning to him, though never necessarily turning his back on his opponents, “What are you still doing here?”
Before Fred could answer, something came rushing at his face. He jerked, body already ducking back with a yell, losing balance as his foot slipped on the wet curb. He missed slamming his head on the fire hydrant, but scrambled away as a blaring horn notified him of the car spinning in his direction.
Metal screeched as it was stretched and warped by means of a crash. The fire hydrant exploded, top shooting high up in the air and landing on the hood of a police car. Water spouted out, raining down from the sky, spilling all over Fred. He refrained from squealing because wow, that was freezing!
A hand grabbed a hold of his backpack, yanking him away. "You need to leave!"
"Leave?" Fred sputtered, "But what about-"
"Just-" The hero said, stretching out a hand threateningly when one of the women came to close. He ducked under a spiked ball, grabbing it and eliciting a spark of electricity down its conductive chain. The woman attached to it screamed, twitching violently. "Leave! Help people if you can, but you need to leave! Now!"
Instantly, Fred understood what the hero was asking him to do.
“Reduce civilian casualties. Got it.” Fred saluted the hero, becoming serious in a matter of seconds. Without any more prompting, he leaped over the destruction and, made his way back to the shop, his shoes squelching. Spotting the clerk huddling and whimpering in the corner (still nursing his empty coffee cup), he hopped over the counter and heaved the boy to his feet. Despite Fred being the one soaking wet, the teen was shaking. Together, they made their way out of the store and the hazard it proved to be, only to have to deal with the chaos that was the outside.
Despite his stunned state, Fred had trouble getting the clerk past the fight. Eventually, after some gentle prompting and a lot of pushing, he got them passed the raging women. The wreckage proved to be helpful and lifesaving, acting as cover from an incoming projectile more than once.
The hero protected them as much as he could, leading the women away and keeping their attention.
The two boys were welcomed into the arms of the police and crowd of bystanders when they stumbled out of the disaster zone three blocks away, Fred constantly glancing behind him whenever he got the chance. The clerk was taken out of Fred's care, while the playboy himself was pestered by strangers, given supposedly reassuring words and told to sit down and relax.
Questions were asked and there was a loud call for an ambulance; Fred felt claustrophobic with all the bodies pressing against him. So he escaped the hold of strangers and tried to push his way back. It was almost impossible, the masses pushing him away from the fight, where he wanted to go. Nevertheless, he pushed back, slowly making his way to the fight.
But, when he finally was able to sneak past the stationed police and return to the shop, fully intent on forming a bond with the hero, the street was roped off and empty. There wasn't even a trace of the mystery hero and his female adversaries. And no matter how hard Fred looked, skimming the outskirts of the tapped off region, they were nowhere to be found.
When had they vanished? Did the hero win? Was he alright?
The blonde groaned, throwing his body on top of a chalkboard menu in defeat; the Daily Special was smudging on his shirt, but that didn't matter. He had missed out with the hero, he just knew it. Now he had to either wait for another chance to pop up or start an avid search to make for his failure.
With nothing left to do besides walk home, soaked to his soles, Fred only had a story to tell Heathcliff.
When he arrived at The Flower Garden later that day, Hiro didn't hesitate on entering. He walked purposely past the man in the ticket booth, ignoring how he started and leaned over the window, calling out to the armored teen. He ripped open the door and entered the main compound of the building, instantly noticing the increase in number of bodies that were present since the last time he had been there.
Most were women with painted faces, sharp eyes staring intently at him as he angrily strutted through the rink (disrupting a jam- not that he cared), as if sizing him up; seeing them reminded him of the trio he had fought, his anger rising even further. They lounged around, on scaffoldings, tables, and anywhere else even mildly suitable.
He didn't spot the trio he had fought a mere half hour before. Probably licking their wounds, Hiro figured, and felt a slight swell of pride at the thought.
A few children raced about, seemingly undisturbed about their present setting and company. Men and women with tattoos and piercings mingled about, some tinkering with circuitry and bots, while others were openly sharpening knives and swords of all kinds.
But Hiro really didn’t care about legality at this point.
"Where. Is. She." Hiro demanded, punctuating every word, head twisting to glare at anyone willing to look his way, momentarily forgetting that they couldn't see his face because of the armor he wore. No one answered, nor did they question just who he was looking for. Rather, a few of them shifted, the fabric of their assortment of clothes rustling, parting to reveal an elevator door at the other end of the warehouse.
Without another word he stomped over and entered, yanking the scissor gate shut and pulling the lever up with more force than necessary- not before catching one woman's grin as she snapped open a fan, making a half-attempt at a whisper, "This is gonna be good." Then the elevator ascended and his sight of the crowd was swallowed up by the concrete walls surrounding him.
His anger only grew as the elevator groaned and moaned, rusty gears working in overtime just to lift him up a level. When it shuttered to a halt Hiro wrestled to get the gate open, growling like an animal until it finally submitted.
In the back of his mind he took in the fact that he seemed to be walking through some sort of living quarters; mismatched furniture made its home anywhere it could fit, clothes were draped along every surface, and a collection of books with varying degrees of wear and tear dominated the top level of a bunk bed settled in the corner. The more cautious and self-persevering part of him noted on the weapons meticulously placed about, a few traditional bō and naginata spotted in the umbrella stand in the corner. But the rest of his mind zeroed in on the rear section of the room where a single desk resided and a woman sat behind it.
"Well, look who it is," were the first words out of Ren's mouth as he took his stance before her. Boot clad feet settled on the table between them and casually leaning back in her seat, she fiddled with the tablet in her hands, finger swiping at the screen. "The hero of the day."
Anger bubbled up inside him when she didn't even look up, “What do you think you're doing?”
She held up the device in her hands, flipping it so he could see the screen. It showed a headline that read 'HERO TURNED MENACE, 20 INJURED AND THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS WORTH OF PROPERTY DESTROYED', below it an image of him in his tarnished suit and electricity flying around him like a miniature storm- he noticed the significant lack of rollerskating and weapon-wielding women in the picture. "Checking up with the news."
It infuriated him how calm she was. He wanted nothing more than to slap her smile right off (he’d never hit a woman, but he’d also never been prejudiced towards criminals either). GoGo certainly wouldn’t have minded if he did; he liked to think she’d put in a few of her own if she was there with him, patience thin and waning. However, Honey Lemon’s more easy-going personality drifted into his mind and he took a deep breath, trying to be civilized, “What happened out there? No jokes- I’m serious. I want the truth.”
Ren mulled it over, pursing her lips, “I’d say... it was you attacking my girls off the fly.” She offered him a thumbs up, “And then embarrassing yourself on national television. Congrats, baka, that’s not as easy as it looks.”
“I didn’t attack them for no reason,” Hiro grounded out, temper flaring at her casualness. “They attacked first.”
“That's not what I heard,” she told him, pointedly looking at the news article. She flipped the tablet back, typing something out with deft fingers.
Hiro stretched his fingers, itching for something to do- something to hit. "Look, I don't know what you're up to, but-"
"I’m just upholding my end of a deal," Ren interrupted.
"No, no, no. That wasn't what we agreed on!" The teen argued, jabbing an accusing finger in her direction. "All I asked was for you to keep an eye on things and look out for Yokai! That was the deal! There was nothing in there about violence!"
Ren gave him a look, chin lifting. "Don't think yourself so special. You aren't the only person we do business with."
Just as he was going to reply, Hiro stopped, body rigid. "I'm not the only- wait. Who else-" He paused for a moment too long, filling the air with a high strung tension, mind whirling. "Are... are you working for Yokai?”
Ren went still at his dropped tone, suddenly occupied with her tablet, “Now why would we work for a creep like that?”
Suspicion reared up its ugly head, growing within Hiro, "You aren’t…”
“I don't have to tell you who we are and aren’t doing business with.” She snapped suddenly, all trace of calm gone. "We have a partnership, but not a fully disclosed one."
Of all the things…
The Fujitas were working for Callaghan. Hired and paid by the man to ‘take care’ of Tadashi, if only to make sure he didn’t have a chance to tell anyone about the living status of the professor- something he didn’t see or even know of. They were sent to kill his brother. All because of a less than fifty percent chance that Tadashi had maybe seen something in the fire.
And he was in cahoots with them. He was paying them for information- information that they knew because it directly concerned them- wasting his precious time and money. Never before had he felt so stupid, so used.
Hiro’s anger came back (never having actually left in the first place) and he shook, holding back a long list of all the curse words GoGo had ever said within his hearing range. He was so close to letting loose and electrocuting the whole place, uncaring of everyone in it- just so long the woman in front of him went down with it.
He willed his gaze to burn the woman, but still, that wasn’t enough. “Why on earth-”
"Business is business," she told him, expression turning painfully neutral. "No hard feelings."
"No h-" He stopped himself, breathing in through his nose and out his mouth in a last effort to compose himself (nothing seemed to be working, his anger remaining), "You're trying to kill the one guy I jumped into a burning building to save. How do you expect me to not be angry about it?"
“I don’t.” Whether or not the information connecting him and the fire was new, the woman didn’t looked the least bit concerned. She set down her tablet, looking up at him with an annoyed expression as if he was being unreasonable with the situation. “I expect you to understand.”
“Understand?” He grounded out, arms waving with unrestrained tension and energy. “Understand that you're just glorified thugs, easily bought? Or that you have no moral values whatsoever? Is that it? Because if that’s it, then yeah, I understand you completely!”
"Look here, you brat, I don't have to explain myself to you!" She snapped, pushing out of her chair, toppling it over. Her glare was vicious. "If you don't like how I run things, tough! Either find someone else to do business with or suck it up!"
He stood there, body vibrating with emotions that had him snapping back, "You came to me!"
“I had my own reasons,” she defended, folding her arms, “but now I’m starting to doubt my decision.”
"You were going to use me?” The thought of helping the woman in front of him in any way revolted him, unable to imagine what kind of disaster that would spell out for his friends and family, for Tadashi. When Ren didn't answer him, he knew his assumption had been on the mark. “Then I’m completely wrong- you're not just double-crossing thugs without an honest bone in your body. You're manipulative, double-crossing thugs."
Behind him he heard the elevator groan open and close again, signifying that they now had an audience. But Hiro didn't acknowledge them, they- none of them- deserved his attention.
Hiro fished into his pocket and pulled out his winnings before Ren could retort at his insult, tossing it angrily onto the table, “Here’s your stupid money-" He didn't bat an eyelash at her surprised expression- for it couldn't possibly be guilt he was seeing, the woman in front of him too emotionally stunted to experience any kind of empathy. "It fully covers all I’ve learned today, I think." He turned, peering at her from over his shoulder. "Nice doing business with you.”
Then he was marching across the large room, purposefully ignoring the two individuals near the entrance, only pausing when he found them standing between him and the elevator. He looked up then, shoulders pushed back as he loomed over them. A petite blonde glared at him from under straight-cut bangs while the other, a limber dark haired woman holding a fan, leaned against the gate.
"Move," he ordered, "or I'll make you."
The air thickened when they didn't move and Hiro was already curling his hands into fists, too ready to go through with his threat, when the smaller one broke off her stare down and, eyes flickering over to the space by his left elbow, stepped aside. Fan girl pushed herself away from the wall as well, moving to walk around and behind him. Hiro had the urge to turn and watch her, not wanting a possible enemy in his blind spot, but stopped himself; he didn't want to give Ren the satisfaction of knowing how beaten and powerless he felt in their presence.
So, not wanting to be there a second longer, he entered the elevator and left.
Stress, biological or physical, is an organism's response to a stressor such as an environment condition or a stimulus. It is common-
A hiss of pain interrupted Baymax's stream of data, the nursebot's entire processing power immediately switching from the video he was accessing via internet and focused on the release of air between clenched teeth. A red dot appeared at the corner of his internal screen, the recording of the doctor-patient interaction continuing on as prior, as was protocolled.
"Hiro, if you would please refrain from moving," he instructed, large hands settling on the boy's shoulder to inoculate stillness.
His patient retreated to his earlier position, nodding. Current brain activity and hormone levels indicated lingering stress and anger, yet those were expected to stabilize with time.
“As your healthcare companion, I must also insist that you halt you recreation activities, as they are not aiding in your recovery.” Baymax stated as he applied a spray to a cut on his patient’s arms, wrapping it up with precision. “In contrast, it would seem they are the causes of your unstable health.”
Hiro did not reply and he did not show any outward sign that he had heard the nursebot’s diagnosis. Instead, the adolescent stared straight ahead, unresponsive.
Baymax increased the volume of his voice modulator and repeated the statement.
The robot received a response then. Hiro blinked, eyes dilating and focusing.
Mydriasis, his database supplied, but the robot did not relay the term aloud, analysis system deeming it unnecessary and pointless in terms of his patient’s health.
“It’s okay, Baymax, really,” Hiro said, bringing a pale hand (a shade too light, his sensors indicated) up to place against the robot’s left side. Baymax perceived the slight tremble in them, calculating and comparing them to the standards he had on file. The tests came out inconclusive, with not enough data present. “I’m just tired… nothing a good night’s worth of sleep can’t fix.”
Baymax voiced his agreement, pausing a moment before inquiring about his patient’s satisfaction.
The audio command was made affirmative, but the pitch indicated dissatisfaction. A short message appeared in the top right corner of his screen, inquiring on whether to conduct a survey on the care he was providing to his patient- it was soon dismissed, filed away for a time that would not disrupt his patient's recovery process.
He made his way to his charging station and, without further command, stepped into it. There was a spark and the robot was connected with the device, battery level increasing. Yet, before he fully powered down, his optic sensors took in the scene before him, his programming requiring once last inspection.
Hiro had seated himself on the lone stool in the room, turned away from the robot (habit dictated that Hiro would stay and watch Baymax deflate). The robot took in the slumped shoulders, one lower than the other by half a decimeter (prior signs of scoliosis were nonexistent). Took in the tense muscle in his patient’s back (tense and showing signs of blood clots) and how he rubbed his forehead (Hiro had no history of headaches). Took in how his feet splayed out before him, limp (there was no usual excess energy, transformed into the bouncing of a leg). Captured it through his lenses and initiated a scan.
Scan complete, his screen read a millisecond later.
As the deflation process was enacted, his internal database ran through the scan information, organizing and filing it properly and efficiently. Abnormalities were spotted. Proper treatment was searched and found. Future actions were devised.
Full scan analysis: 49%.
Hiro had not left his bedroom since he and Aunt Cass had left the hospital.
It wasn't that he didn't miss the sunshine or the cafe or anything of that sort. It's just that he missed Tadashi more.
Missed him so much that he couldn't dare focus on anything that didn't include his brother and/or his recovery, not even his tinkering or Megabot able to pull his interest out from the gutter. Missed him enough that school didn't matter- his acceptance letter had been laying unforgotten but untouched on his desk. What was SFIT if Tadashi wasn’t going to be there with him, showing him the ropes, sharing the same lab and building alongside him?
No, he wasn’t stepping a foot into that school until Tadashi was able to take that step with him.
He slumped further into the bean bag he was sitting in, leaning against the shoji screen that separated his and Tadashi's room. He listened to the silence, finding that he was perfectly fine with being alone.
Which is, of course, the exact moment Mochi came bounding up the stairs, the soft jingling of his collar the only thing preceding his entrance. Hiro rolled his head to look at the calico cat, not in the mood to play or do anything for that matter. “Go away, Mochi.”
As was the way with cats, Hiro's demand was promptly ignored. Instead, Mochi padded over to the genius’ side of the room, hopping onto his desk with a silent leap; he sniffed at Hiro's uneaten meal, sneezing, before rubbing up against the computer there. The device wobbled precariously backwards.
Without moving from his spot, Hiro grabbed at whatever was lying around and half-heartedly tossed it at the cat. His action figure hit the drawer of his table, rattling the entire thing and startling Mochi. The calico cat jump to the floor, bringing with him a familiar looking baseball cap.
“Mochi!”
The shout, one of anger, erupted out of Hiro immediately. He threw himself up and quickly crossed the room, picking up the hat and wiping off any dust that might have accumulating on it in the last five seconds. He hung it on his desk lamp, gently and with no small amount of care, turning it so that it faced him just so.
The stitching of the SFIT logo jumped out at him, reminding him of cheerful smiles and broken promises.
He sighed and looked away, idly digging his fingers into his desk.
Mochi was kneading the lump of fabric that was his favorite jacket, already completely over the scolding he had been given and onto better things. The feline closed his eyes as he began to settle, folding his front paws beneath him. It was like the cat knew Hiro didn't want to deal with him and stayed, simply out of spite.
"Oh, c'mon, Mochi," Hiro groaned, tugging the jacket out from underneath the cat, who let out a low growl deep in his throat, voicing his displeasure. When Mochi dug his claws into the makeshift bed, Hiro pulled harder, wanting to see the cat overturned. "You're gonna get hair all over it."
With a final tug, Hiro secured the jacket from his disgruntled cat, ready to give his pet a good talking to (maybe even get the spray bottle from the kitchen). But the words slipped from his mind when he felt a slight pressure on his stomach, where his jacket was pressed against him. Ignoring Mochi (who was doing the same as he settled onto Hiro's pillow with a glare that dared the boy to interfere) he lifted the outerwear, searching, because he was more than sure he felt something.
He pinpointed movement coming from one of the pockets and reached inside, pulling out- a microbot?
"Wha...?" Pinching the small tech between two fingers he peered closely at it. His eyebrows drew together when it was decided that, without a doubt, the small thing in his grasp was one of the thousands of microbots he had created months ago. It was undeniable, the small piece of metal exact, down to the smooth feel and black shade of it.
But... that was impossible.
Everything had been destroyed in the fire. Everything should have been destroyed in the fire. All the tech was long gone, the news covering the estimated loss, billions of dollars down the drain.
Not to mention the life of one of the world's greatest robotic thinkers.
Hiro kneeled down and reached blindly for the chemistry kit that he was sure was underneath his bed, keeping a watchful eye on Mochi, who was eyeing the wiggling thing curiously. He awkwardly shuffled back, pulling out a green box covered in dust bunnies. Brushing it briefly, he unhooked the clasp and opened the thing; he spotted what he was looking for immediately, between the graduated cylinder and clamps. With an efficient and practiced flick, he had the petri dish open and closed, microbot captured within.
It moved about, bumping against the walls of its prison and trying to break free. Maybe it was broken... but he knew how his tech worked, knew what it did while fritzing and this, this wasn't normal (he hadn't made them fireproof, but still). Hiro looked to the window, the direction the small tech wanted to go, intrigued.
Something was up, he decided. Something that didn't quite fit in the equation of it all.
His mind whirled, taking the bait of the distraction.
Maybe he could-
"Hiro!"
He shoved the petri dish into his pocket at his aunt's call. And when he heard footstep racing up the stairs the boy scrambled over to the other side of the room and arranged himself back into his I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it position.
He expected his aunt to come plowing in with a plate full of food, babbling on about SFIT and 'Tadashi would want you to.' He already had a list of noncommittal responses ready, efficient in their skill of driving off unwanted pity, as well as his aunt’s desperate nagging. Though, all that died in the back of his throat as he watched Aunt Cass come stumbling up the stairs, tripping on the last step, wide-eyed and looking frazzled.
"Hiro," she croaked, clearing her throat of the shaky quality it had taken on. "Oh, sweetie, come here," she said as she righted herself, smoothing down her hair, and reached out for him.
His eyebrows drew themselves down, confused, because his Aunt Cass was usually some sort of crazy, but never this weird; it was unsettling. Feeling the mild panic begin to bubble in his chest, Hiro didn't fight when he was pulled up and into a tight hug.
"We..." She sucked in a deep breath before continuing. "We have to go to- to the hospital. I... got a call and, well, now I’m freaking out, but that’s fine. It's fine. I'm fine." She started stroking the spot between his shoulder blades, more frantic than soothing. "And I'm taking care of things. The cafe’s closed, the car's out front, and the keys are somewhere downstairs... I think. But we really have to go. Now, in fact- right this very minute- wait, no, this second. I don’t know what’s wrong with me and why I’m hugging you and we’re just standing here, but I am and we are."
Hiro listened to the erratic beat of his aunt's heart as she babbled on, feeling his own start to speed up in response, but didn't respond.
"It’s Tadashi," she continued, settling her hands on either shoulder and staring into his eyes. Hiro fumbled with the seam of his shirt nervously, but, before he could reply, his aunt straightened and turned away from him, racing about his room. She picked up his jacket and shoes, shoving the latter under her armpit while she guided his arms through the sleeves. Words tumbled out of her mouth, no filter as per usual. "They said- well, you know, they were pretty vague, which, honestly, is terrible service. What kind of policy is that? To scare the pants off people with ominous talk of health hazards and terrorist attacks and whatever else."
"What..." He swallowed and started again, gripping his shoes and thinking of the worst. "What happened?"
She stopped her mad rush, hand frozen where it was reaching out for the lone cap settled where Hiro had placed it. Her fingers curled as her hand retreated back. "I-I don't really know..."
"Is he going to be okay?"
Something flickered in her gaze and, slowly, she uncurled her fingers and picked up the article of clothing. Stroking the rough material she glanced up at him. She looked just as lost as Hiro felt.
"Maybe he's awake," he suggested, the shred of hope he still held bleeding into his voice without his consent.
She took a moment too long to nod, offering him a strained smile; the cap was soon in the genius’ hands. "Yeah, maybe that's it."
But Hiro didn't like how her eyes lowered and smile slipped when she thought he wasn't looking.
Tadashi was burning.
Fire licked at his body, tasting his sweat and fear. It danced all around him, making his already dizzy mind spin with how it swayed and lurched about. Fiery nails, sharper than anything he had ever known, raked against his skin, ripping and shredding. It was savage as it tore him to shreds, not satisfied until he was bare and defenseless- only then could it blaze though his insides, leaving nothing untouched and nothing unscorched.
Embers, pulsing a violent mixture of red and orange, pressed against his flesh, making him want to scream until his throat was hoarse and raw. But he couldn’t scream, couldn’t because ash filled his lungs, seeping into every cell and suffocating him. He choked out a cry for help, a mixture of spit and cinder dribbling down his chin. He cried and wailed, but was left gagging on his own words as he burned.
He desperately tried to claw his way out, hands fumbling for some sort of grip, but only having his own ashes slip through his fingers; he fell. Down, down, down he went, straight into the melting pot.
He looked up, eyes stinging, for one last hope. But it was all for nought, because a giant pillar loomed over him, blocking any forms of escape. It fell, ready to extinguish the hungry flames- his along with it. His mouth opened, and he could taste the crisp of his own flesh as he did, ready to try and release one last scream-
Tadashi woke with a start, eyes flashing open.
For a moment, all he could comprehend was his own heavy breathing. The irregular way he inhaled and exhaled; it ran off beat to his heart, which was beating like a jackhammer within the confines of his ribcage.
White walls surrounded him, so bright that Tadashi found himself closing his eyes to escape it. His left hand twitched, automatically trying to raise itself and cover his sensitive eyes, but found that it was hindered by something. Tadashi peeked open a single eye and looked down, only to see a needle puncturing the skin at the inside of his elbow, an almost clear liquid passing through it from a pouch hung on a stand to his left. A pulse oximeter clamped down onto his index finger; he could feel his heartbeat through the pressure as it transmitted the information to the heavy looking machine next to the stand.
He was lying down, in a bed that smelled like disinfectant and lemons, he realized seconds later. A bed that wasn’t his own, different in every way; it was too clean, too soft, too comfortable. Where were the low whining of bed springs, the slight rough feeling whenever he moved, or the smell of the same old detergent Aunt Cass bought without fail?
And he couldn’t feel his right hand, or that side of his upper back for that matter. Needles prickled at the edge of the numbness, where his shoulder merged to his neck, but other than that… nothing.
"Wha...?" His lips were dry and cracked. He realized his mistake the moment the words were out, his throat burning from disuse. Something between a cough and a whimper passed his lips as he tried to swallow the pain away, only for it to increase.
The distorted young man angled his head down, blinking slowly when he finally caught sight of his right arm.
It was wound up tightly in bandages, the multiple layers making the appendage look twice its actual size. Craning his neck, he could barely see the tips of his fingers where they peeked out from the extensive wrapping. They didn't respond when Tadashi went to flex them, no matter how many times he tried.
Why couldn’t he move? His brain was wracking for an answer, but whatever was limiting the feeling in his arm was doing something to his brain as well; a mental wall kept him trapped in the dark, while a fog lingered about the edges, confusing him and sending him back to the beginning. He was in a bed that wasn’t his own, in a room that wasn’t his own, that was all he seemed to be able to gather.
What was the last thing he remembered?
Hiro. Hiro, his little brother, was the last thing he remembered. Gap toothed, wild hair, and an inflated ego that went hand-in-hand with his smarts. Tadashi had been proud (no, wait, he was always proud) and Hiro was happy (but gummy bears made the kid happy too, right?).
No, that wasn’t right. There was something more, something that came after Hiro. Something important. Fire. Yes, but, no…? Fire was there, but that wasn’t what he was looking for. It was something else, something less destructive. Something… purple? No- maybe- yes. Something purple, a purple something, a purple thing, a-
-and there he went, running into the wall, with the fog surrounding him, shooing away his thoughts.
Now that was frustrating.
Tadashi slumped back onto the uncomfortably fluffed pillow and stared at the ceiling for a few moments, trying to, once again, chase and capture his ever evasive thoughts and memories. But they slipped right through his feeble, imaginary fingers, taking shelter in the fog far beyond his reach.
Not liking his own incompetence and fearing the unknown that was the fog, the young man decided to focus on happier, known memories. He remembered- of Christmases past, of trips to the park, of days spent bustling around a cafe, of long nights and joyful laughter- and recalled, sinking into the deep depths of his own mind.
But, his mind grew tired soon enough, all previous energy spent and gone. Eyes slowly fluttered closed, shutting the conscious world out.
The last thing he knew of is the sound of a door opening and footsteps, quiet and muffled and rhythm lulling, making their way toward his bedside. He idly wondered who was there and why, but the thought slipped his mind just as easily as consciousness did.
So, Tadashi drifted off, already too far gone into a world of endless possibilities and dreams- flying cats, gap-toothed smiles and giant marshmallows there to greet him.
