Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Let me get this straight,” Tadashi says. “You want me, to babysit your fourteen-year-old son whilst you visit Abigail’s exhibition?”

“I wouldn’t call it babysitting,” Professor Callaghan says with a small chuckle. “Especially not to Hiro.”

“Why me?” Tadashi can’t help but grimace at the thought. Hiro is Callaghan’s teenage delinquent son—granted, he’s adopted, hence his absolute clusterfuck of issues, but nonetheless he is his professor’s infuriatingly intelligent kid. In all the ways Tadashi could imagine, Hiro is strikingly similar to Robert; perhaps not physically, but whether it’s a coincidence or just pure luck, he is just as every bit of smart Callaghan is. In all the areas his professor shines, Hiro does just as much, and remarkably well at that, too.

He's a certified genius, and hell, does he know it. Tadashi thinks he’d enjoy the kid’s company plenty, if he weren’t such an insufferable brat. His head isn’t only big for that gifted brain, but for that fucking ego, too. Even from their brief encounters, Tadashi recalls that snide smirk and sharp comments like a punch to the gut. He’s tight-lipped and quick-witted and finds almost anyone and everything something for him to laugh at. To him, he’s above and beyond, residing high at a standard no one else could possibly ever hope to reach.

It'd be comical in itself, the way he carries on, if he didn’t have his smarts to back it. Tadashi almost wishes Hiro was just some ordinary kid struggling through AP biology and failing weekly quizzes on the power-house of the cell—but unfortunately he graduated high school at the ripe age of thirteen and seems to think his whole life is kitted out already.

So, no. Definitely not ordinary.

Tadashi taps back into the conversation at the rumble of his professor’s throat. Callaghan thrusts his hands in his pockets with a sheepish shrug. “You fit best, Mr. Hamada. You’re friendly, approachable, likeable, hard-working. You’re a good influence, and I’d rather someone with the right intentions watch over him while I’m away. Does that make sense?”

“Wouldn’t it be wiser to choose someone who, I don’t know, Hiro actually likes?” Tadashi replies, hoping he doesn’t sound too pessimistic. It’s not that him and Hiro have had the ugliest encounters, but rather that each and every time Tadashi has had the pleasure of being in his presence he’s left it feeling humiliated in one way or the other. Hiro is clear on who his friends are, who he deems worthy enough of his company, and Tadashi clearly doesn’t fall into that category. Nor does he want to, neither.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but Hiro has quite a few lists of people he’d consider ‘friends,’” Callaghan says, with a small smirk to show he’s being playful. “There’s not many other options, and if he’s left alone, Lord knows what kind of mischief he’ll get up to.”

“Bot-fighter, right?” Tadashi clarifies, watching as his professor begins to gather his things and stuff them into his briefcase. “I remember you mentioning something about that.”

“He’s a little . . . short-sighted at the moment,” Callaghan winces, with a sigh. “I remember Abigail going through that stage, too. The two are awfully similar—it’s no wonder he’s picked up her habits while she’s not around. Right now, it’s all he wants to do.”

“Can’t convince him to give SFIT a go?” Tadashi quirks his lips, following his professor out of the classroom and into the deserted hallway. It’s nearing seven pm, and most students not stowed away in their labs working late on projects have—wisely—gone home. “He’d love it here. Fit right in.”

“Believe me, Mr. Hamada, I’ve tried,” Callaghan snorts, shaking his head. “It’s no use. He’ll come around eventually, he’s just at that age. I suppose being so far ahead doesn’t help matters much either. He’s not much of a socialiser.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” Tadashi says, only realising after how insulting that sounds. It’s not that Hiro seems like a complete loner without any interaction from kids his own age—it’s that he’s so caught up with his own genius he doesn’t bother putting the effort into maintaining friendships or pursuing healthy relationships. It’s sad, in some ways, how detached he is; but Tadashi figures he’s pretty content carrying on as he does, getting into legal trouble and inventing robots designed to do nothing but destruct.

“I leave in a week,” Callaghan continues, then, as they exit the main building and make their way down the steps. “There’s no pressure, Tadashi. You don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. Or, if even there’s other things going on, that’s alright too.”

“No, no,” Tadashi rushes, before he can think twice about it. Despite the groan that desperately aches to unleash from his throat, he swallows down the urge and forces a grin. “Course I’ll do it. It’s only a few days. We’ll get along great!”

“You’re sure?” Callaghan clarifies, eyeing him dubiously. “Don’t commit to something just for my sake.”

“I’m sure, professor,” Tadashi tells him, as earnestly as he can. “You can rely on me. I’ll make sure he doesn’t get up to anything outrageous, and in return, I’ll take a few life-ruining insults. No biggie.”

His professor laughs. “I knew I could count on you. Thank you, Mr. Hamada.”

And behind that strained smile, Tadashi’s head howls.

Fuck, he’s screwed.

“Why would you ever agree to that?” Gogo says, shifting the gearstick as she reverses her car into the parking space opposite the drive-thru. “I don’t even feel sorry for you. That’s your own fault.”

“No, I know,” Tadashi whines, head flat against the dashboard as he wails in misery at the entire ordeal, the truth of the situation hitting him now once he’s had the time to process it. “What did I get myself into? The kid hates my guts! Every time we’ve ever spoken he’s either laughed in my face or made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t think I’m worth his time. Remember the showcase? Christ, I didn’t know someone half my age could be so damn offensive.”

“He’s a dick,” Gogo says curtly, spooning at her ice-cream from where they’d decided to treat themselves as a result of Tadashi’s newfound suffering. “Which is weird, because Callaghan’s actually a good guy. Shame his son came out a total buttfuck.”

“Goes to show sometimes parenting isn’t the issue,” Tadashi hums, before shoving a spoonful of pistachio into his mouth. “I think he has a lot of underlying issues. Callaghan mentioned he really struggled in high school, before. Being adopted, n’ stuff.”

“Classic sob-story to excuse the assholery,” Gogo rolls her eyes. “Still, I’m not sorry for him. Kid should know by now that his behaviour isn’t gonna do him a whole lot of favours.”

“As much as I agree,” Tadashi says, waving his hand in a so-so motion, “I just think he needs guidance. A new perspective. He’s alone all day, all the time, with Abigail gone abroad and Callaghan teaching, no wonder he’s off the rails.”

“You were alone most of the time growing up,” Gogo points out. “And you turned out fine.”

“Aunt Cass was always around,” Tadashi corrects her gently. “Granted, she was always downstairs in the café, but she was always there. Hiro is home alone all the time. I think if I was by myself so often I’d be tempted to break a few rules too.”

“You’re keen to defend him, all of a sudden,” Gogo snorts, spoon in her mouth. “Trying to give him the benefit of the doubt to save yourself from the awful truth of him being a walking toothpick on steroids?”

Tadashi groans again. “I’m half hoping that he’s not that bad.”

“Half hope all you want,” Gogo pulls a knee up to rest her forearm over it. “You know what the brats like. Stubborn, reckless, disrespectful to any kind of authority. He has enough reputation in SFIT and he doesn’t even go there.”

“He is Callaghan’s son. Of course he’s going to have a reputation.”

Gogo punches his shoulder. “You know what I mean, doofus.”

And, he does. Students are cautious of Hiro the way one would be a fox, because Hiro is just as cunning, born just as sly, capable of just as much calculated misdeeds that would leave those victim to his schemes questioning their own goodwill sanity. He’s a natural at his craft; in each and every sense.

And, sure, maybe his actions could be dismissed as playful pranks, a result of misguidance and immaturity rooted into a brain that hasn’t grown up properly yet; but as easy as it is to give Hiro the benefit of the doubt and suggest his ruthlessness stems from an intense overload of intelligence and no real hobby to project it onto, it’s easier to settle with the understanding of the kids true intentions, and his complete lack of a moral compass when it comes to whom in his path he targets.

He's too young to label, perhaps, and Tadashi does believe personality doesn’t truly dictate the goodness in one’s heart. An outward shell to cloak the insecurity is usually the primary factor when considering these things, and he finds it hard to tell whether or not someone is truly evil. But, again, Hiro is just a kid and still has a lot of time to grow out of his flaws.

“Maybe,” he settles on saying, after some time. He pops another spoonful of ice cream in his mouth before he turns to her with a crooked grin. “Guess we’ll find out, huh?”

“No,” Hiro says adamantly, before his father can even finish his sentence. “Absolutely not. Hamada? He’s a total douche, Dad. There’s no way you invited him to stay while you’re gone.”

“Hiro, don’t be like that,” Robert says sternly, stirring the boiling pasta as he adds more herbs to the sauce. He sets a teaspoon aside for Hiro to taste-test, a cluster of ingredients all over the island where his son is perched opposite him. “You’ve only met Tadashi what, twice? Three times? And, might I add, not one of those times have you given him a proper chance. You’re quite quick to judge, which results in your conclusions,” he shakes in a handful of garlic, “being rather inaccurate.”

“I’ve made up my mind on Hamada, and trust me, my judgements are necessary,” Hiro snorts, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. He taps at the marble top with his other, huffing sulkily to himself. “Why can’t Ms. Sakuma just come stay? She can bring her weird pets too.”

“She’s seventy-four Hiro.”

“So? She still drives!”

“That’s not the point,” Robert sniffs, handing his soon a teaspoon dipped in sauce. “Try that. Tadashi is kind, Hiro. He’s one of, if not the best of my students. You could learn a lot from him. You certainly have plenty of things in common.”

Hiro scoffs, shoving the spoon in his mouth. “I’m smarter than him. I’m not wasting my time dumb talking to a broke college student.”

“Not entirely true,” Robert chides, examining his expression carefully to determine his son’s opinion on his new recipe. “Tadashi is incredibly intelligent, Hiro. You should see what he’s working on, at the moment. He’s currently in the process of creating a personal healthcare robotics companion designed to personally assist those in need, programmed with over ten thousand medical procedures. He’s a good man, Hiro. You’ll see that once you get to know him better.”

“Sauce needs more basil,” Hiro says, tapping the spoon against his chin. “And, for the record, I’m not looking forward to it. You suck.”

Robert ruffles his hair. “More basil it is.”

“Hiro? Your professor’s son?” Aunt Cass says over her shoulder, pulling out a batch of freshly made sugar cookies and setting the pan on the stove. “Or, if I recall correctly, a bit of a troublemaker, hm?”

“He’s a nutcase,” Tadashi says with a small chuckle. Pouring himself a glass of milk, he leans against the fridge and stares absently at the picture frames on the walls as he considers his future arrangements. “I mean, he’s young and inexperienced. Completely self-dependent. Does his own thing whenever he wants. Callaghan says he’s quite the handful—in kinder words, obviously.”

“Makes you wonder why he asked you to do the job, huh?” His aunt says with a grin, throwing a tea towel over her shoulder and giving him a friendly nudge in his side. “He’s impressed by you, Tadashi. It’s honourable that he sees you as the perfect candidate to give his son some guidance.”

“I’m watching him for a few days,” Tadashi snorts. “I’m not tutoring him on how to develop a moral high ground.”

“Still,” his aunt waves him off. “It’s sweet. To put that kind of trust in a student isn’t often. I’m really proud of you,” she squeezes his arm. “For the person you are. The person you’ll continue to be, and for everything you do for those around you.” She kisses his cheek and ushers him out of the kitchen. “Now, shoo, upstairs. Get showered and ready for movie night!”

Chapter Text

The day to begin watching over kid-genius comes far too quickly for Tadashi’s un-mentally prepared brain. Physically, he’s satisfied with all he’s packed—clothes, dental and hair products, textbooks from SFIT, his laptop, snacks—his favourite bits and pieces. Most importantly, Baymax, deflated and charging in his little carriable station. Besides, he knows if he’s stuck for anything he can run back to the café and grab it. Callaghan’s house isn’t far from the Lucky Cat.

Aunt Cass is refilling the coffee machine when he lugs his bag down the two flights of stairs, setting it at the door before he hops in behind the counter.

“Hey, I’m off,” he grins, leaning around to kiss his aunt on the cheek. “Call me if you need anything, okay? I’ll be back in a week.”

“You call me,” Aunt Cass grins, patting his face. “Look at my handsome man. I’m so proud of you.”

“Stop that,” Tadashi chuckles, hugging her before backing away from the chaos. “I’ll call you later!”

“I’ll be waiting!” She calls back. “Good luck! Love you!”

“Love you more!” He shouts, waving goodbye before he shoulders his bag and exits the café.

The drive on his moped feels freakishly short, and perhaps that’s due to the nerves building gradually in his gut the closer he gets to the Callaghan residence. A part of him is a little excited—Fred had managed to give him a new perspective on things; Callaghan practically lives in a goddamn castle. He’s seen the exterior, almost every student at SFIT has, and judging by the remarkable architecture of the outside in all of its glory, he can only imagine what will await him on the inside.

Though the curiosity settles tenderly in his soul, expectedly due to his inquisitive nature, the nerves are louder. Hiro is a child, and he’s not surprised by the doubts crowding his mind at how this ordeal is going to play out. But that kid is a weapon, and Tadashi can only hope this week won’t go to complete and utter shit. It’s not as if he has much experience looking after kids either, nonetheless snarky teenagers that are more than capable of making decisions on their own and running with them; no matter how poor or reckless they might be.

He parks his moped outside the house, gawking at the size of it in person. It looks like a hotel. Nestled within the woodland, a safe cocoon from the inner city, it’s all concrete and tall windows, each corner of the walls and balconies beautifully carved. The greeneries around it only add to the sheer beauty of it. Stone statues and freshly trimmed lawns, bricked flowerbeds and spurting water fountains—it’s even more stunning in person.

God, what he wouldn’t give to have had the opportunity to grow up in a place like this.

Callaghan, who’d left the freakishly tall automatic gates open, is waiting for him by the double front doors, waving cheerily. He’s dressed smartly, riddling with the cuff of his shirt.

“Mr. Hamada!” He calls, beckoning him inside. “Welcome!”

Inside is even crazier—where the exterior presented as more of an old-money, land estate, French renaissance luxury, the interior is all modern tech, eco-friendly materials, android tablets set across the walls which Tadashi can guess allow homeowners to set the desired ambience of the rooms. The system set up, from what his professor once informed him, runs the extensive audio-visuals entertainment, the curtains and blinds, and controls the electronic photochromic glass which can darken or lighten as the sunlight warrants.

“It’s even more incredible than I imagined,” Tadashi confesses, craning is neck to observe the foyer as Callaghan gently takes his things. “You have a remarkable home, professor.”

Callaghan chuckles. “Thank you, Tadashi. Hiro’s in the kitchen, tinkering on a project. My driver is waiting for me to take me to the airport. Are you alright for everything? If I had the time I would’ve shown you around—"

“No, no, you go ahead,” Tadashi insists, waving him off. “I’ll be fine. I’m sure if I’m stuck Hiro can help me out. You don’t wanna miss that flight!”

“Absolutely,” Callaghan smiles warmly. He sets Tadashi’s things aside before guiding him to the kitchen—which is even more fabulous, somehow, to where Hiro is sitting at the island, back turned to them with a tablet set aside as he fidgets with some sort of robot.

“Hiro,” says Callaghan, gesturing to Tadashi who stands sort of awkwardly, feeling cowardly in his presence. “Say hello, Tadashi is here.”

Hiro glances up, turns around to make brief eye contact, before he returns to what he was doing without a word.

Welp. That’s great.

Callaghan glances at Tadashi, shakes his head quietly at him, as if to non-verbally tell him not to mind Hiro’s behaviour, and leans over to kiss his son’s hair.

“Be good, and show Tadashi around, won’t you?”

Hiro hums in response, eyes still glued to his robot. He has no interest in this conversation, and even less when it comes to greeting Tadashi. He’s fixated on his task with no desire to pause for a moment and welcome their guest. Tadashi hadn’t been expecting anything less, honestly.

“I love you,” Callaghan says to him, before he pats Tadashi’s shoulder. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” Tadashi nods. “Enjoy your trip, professor.”

And then, before the two of them know it, he’s gone.

The silence after the front door closes is deafening. Hiro tinkers away quietly, refusing to engage in any sort of conversation with him. Tadashi can’t imagine which is worse, Hiro blatantly ignoring him or ripping into him with incredibly witty insults one would question how he even managed to come up with. If he had his way, he’d prefer some sort of friendly chatter, but even he knows it’s way over his head to hope for anything like that.

“So,” he says, uncomfortably, coming around to the opposite side of Hiro at the island. “What you up to?”

“What does it look like?” Hiro responds dryly, without looking up.

Tadashi swallows. “Uh. You’re building something?”

“Fixing,” Hiro says tightly. He doesn’t say anymore after that, biting his lip as he picks at it with a screwdriver. Jesus, this is harder than Tadashi thought. He’d usually pride himself on easily making smooth small talk with anyone and everyone; and yet somehow, with this kid, one sharp remark and he feels like a fucking idiot.

“. . . What is it?” He asks, despite the anticipation that there’s no way Hiro is willing to share his ideas with him.

“Hunks of metal,” Hiro says, ever so blunt, bordering the sort of response Tadashi expected.

Chewing his lip, Tadashi nods quietly, getting more than enough of a memo that this kid has no interest in talking to him, and won’t make much of an effort to do so either. So, wracking his brains of the list Honey sent to him on what to do to keep them preoccupied, he clears his throat. “Have you eaten? I can make you something, if you want.”

“I just had breakfast.”

Oh, hell. What else had Honey said? It’s not as if he can ask Hiro to go and play ball—he’s fourteen, not four. Though, in her defence, she had mentioned teenagers are especially difficult to amuse. Hiro more so, considering.

“Okay,” Tadashi nods again. “Do you . . . have any plans, for today? Need to get anything, do anything? I don’t have a car, but I have my moped and—”

Sighing in frustration, Hiro finally drops the screwdriver with an aggravated scowl and meets Tadashi’s eyes. His own look exhausted, brown and burnt out. “Look, Tadashi,” he snaps. “I don’t want you here. You don’t want to be here. I don’t like you, and I’m sure as hell you’re not pretty fond of me either. So quit with the babysitter act. I can look after myself, okay? If I want something, I’ll deal with it. Stop coddling me and go look around, or something.”

Well, that’s a yikes. Tadashi genuinely has no idea how to even respond to that. He could begin to amend the idea Hiro has that he doesn’t like him; but it doesn’t seem to be something the kid wants to hear. Besides, he’s already returned to his robot, and Tadashi can imagine that if he had earphones, he’d probably pop them back in right now.

“Right,” he says curtly, instead. His job here isn’t to make Hiro uncomfortable in his own home. So, he reaches down to grab his bag, and points to the staircase. “Um, your dad mentioned there’s a guest room I can sleep in?”

“Upstairs to the first left,” Hiro mutters, and with that, Tadashi leaves wordlessly, climbing the winding wooden staircase with glass-case banisters, the sunlight streaming in from the early morning. The landing is huge, and at the end of it stands a high-arch window from foot to ceiling, the beautiful views of the land outside to be seen through it. As he peers out the glass, he can see the tennis court and pool by the courtyards. Holy shit, this place is so beautiful.

It's huge, though. Too big for one kid to spend all his time in. Tadashi can’t imagine living in such luxury is much fun when you’re all by yourself.

Taking Hiro’s instruction, he retreats to the bedroom left to the staircase, somehow still shocked at the size of it. The bed is a four-poster double king, carpeting on the floor and a giant wardrobe next to a sufficient, antique desk. The windows take up one side of the wall, where the view is exactly the same. It’s formal, a sign of no life in it with no nick-nacks and personal memories all over the place; but still, he could get used to it.

He sets his bag on the bed, before flopping down onto it, groaning into the mountain of pillows. Running a hand down his face, he sighs into his palm. Why did he agree, to this? How is he going to make Hiro cooperate with him willingly? What kind of influence can he be if he shuts down the second the kid throws a little snark at him? He hasn’t got the backbone for this. No way.

He admires the room for another while, fiddling through the desk and wardrobe and the large, creatively crafted clock that ticks in a corner. Though, after some time, he grows restless, a little anxious at the thought of Hiro downstairs all by himself. Which is dumb, because he’s lived here his whole life, but the least he can do is provide some company. Even if it is unwarranted.

Stepping outside the room, the rest of them pique his interest. Each bedroom has an ensuite—or so he suspects. His own bathroom is polished and sparkling white, and he can only imagine what the rooms lived in look like.

Curious, and feeling a little nosy, he listens to the noise Hiro makes as he rustles around downstairs before he acts on it, slinking down the hallway and peeking into the rooms to see what’s inside. The first room he suspects to be the master bedroom, significantly larger than his, and so he quickly closes the door out of respect for his professor. The others are just as exciting, somehow different styles of periods and eras in each one.

He comes across a door at the very end of the hallway, beside the tall windows with a sign taped to it. HIRO’S ROOM. KEEP OUT.

Tadashi chuckles. Such a teenager.

So, despite his better judgments, he quickly turns the knob to take a peek inside.

Hiro’s room looks exactly the way you’d imagine a rich, child-prodigies would look like. It’s huge, but beautifully full of personality. Bits of tech are lying around everywhere, shelves full of either toys or his own creations, cases lined with stacks and stacks of books, some thick and some more boyish, a clear contrast to Hiro’s intelligent mind and young character. Comics are strewn across his desk, meddling with equipment that’s more expensive than Aunt Cass’s café altogether.

Though, despite the cute memento’s everywhere, the most interesting thing to Tadashi, is Hiro’s bed.

Much like his, it’s huge, propped up on a frame that reaches the floor and removes the platform idea the other beds seem to have. It’s not the size of it though, that makes it, it’s the way Hiro has decorated his bed that has Tadashi grinning.

With a number of blankets and tapestry, clothes pegs and thumbtacks, Hiro has an entire fort over his bed, draping over like a canopy, fairy lights hanging up and accompanied by a few stuffed robots and piles of cushions. It looks alarmingly cosy, a little safe haven, from where he can suspect Hiro probably pulls the blankets over to cocoon himself in. Honestly, if he had this kind of room growing up, he wouldn’t know how to act—

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

Jumping at the sound of his voice, Tadashi spins around, alarmed and shamefaced as he meets Hiro’s furious eyes, stood in the doorway with his robot in hand and pure rage in his stance.

He falters. “I—sorry, I was just looking around—”

“Can you read?” Hiro hisses, pointing at the sign on his door. “Or are you dumb? What does it say, huh?”

“. . . Keep out?”

“Good job, genius!” Hiro snarls. “Which, in case you’re inept, means do not go in here. Understand?”

“Hiro I—”

“I don’t care!” Hiro snaps, jaw tight as his fists clench at his sides. “Get out!”

And so, Tadashi sidesteps out of the room, wincing when Hiro enters and slams the door behind him.

“Shit,” he murmurs. What a way to screw things up an hour into the job. As if Hiro hadn’t detested him enough already—now he has even more of a reason to hate his guts. Invading his privacy sure as shit isn’t gonna bump him up on his good-book list.

“Damn it,” he pulls out his phone and taps Honey’s contact name, retreating back down the stairs to the ground floor where he begins to explore that area of the house. Then, on second thought, he exits the house altogether, stepping out the backdoor to make his way over to the courtyard. Once he’s there, he clicks the call button and fidgets as he waits for her to answer.

“Tadashi?” Honey’s voice is warm and comforting, though he can hear the small smile in it. “Calling so soon?”

“I fucked up,” is the first thing he says, angrily sitting down on a marble bench beneath an archway of orchids. “I fucked up. He caught me looking in his room.”

Honey pauses from the other end of the line. “What were you doing in there in the first place?”

“I don’t know, argh,” Tadashi groans. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I was just curious. I shouldn’t have gone in there. It’s not fair to him.”

“How did the morning go?”

“Terrible,” Tadashi manages a bitter laugh as he rests his elbows on his knees. “Total shit, Honey. He hates me. He won’t talk to me, and I have no idea what to say to even try break down the barrier. What am I meant to do with him? I can’t amuse him; I don’t know what to try and talk about without him thinking I’m trying to treat him like a kid.”

“Well . . . he is a kid.”

“You know what I mean.”

She sighs, and he can imagine her now, probably in the kitchen of her apartment with the phone propped between her shoulder and ear as she makes herself her morning vanilla latte. The week off of lectures will do them all a world of good, and a part of him wishes now he was spending it with his friends. “I don’t know, Tadashi. Hiro is a tough cookie to crack. I think, give him some space to calm down, and then apologise to him. Where are you both now?”

“I’m outside in their freakishly big garden, in the courtyard. Hiro’s sulking in his room.”

“Wait until he comes down, and talk it over with him. You know how to make amends. Don’t beat yourself too hard about it, Tadashi. You know . . . in some sense, you’re kind of lucky. I mean, you and Hiro have one huge thing in common. Robotics.”

Tadashi can’t help but snort. “Yeah, right. As if I could talk to him about that. He knows he’s smarter than me.”

“So? Give it a chance. It could be good for him to talk about his interests without having to over explain anything. You’re smart too, Tadashi. You know you are. Don’t doubt it now just because he has an idea in his head.”

“I already asked him about his . . . robot,” Tadashi says, a little defeatedly as he recalls the small, toy-like creature Hiro had been working on at the table. “He really doesn’t care, Honey.”

“Tell him about Baymax,” Honey says, eagerly. “Ask him for his opinion. Let him abuse his smarts freely without villainising him for it. You never know how that could turn out, y’know?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Tadashi chews his lips. “Thanks, Honey. I’ll keep you updated.”

“You better!”

So, feeling refreshed after that conversation, Tadashi sits and breathes in the fresh air to gather his thoughts. She’s right, after all. Hiro will calm down, he’ll apologise as genuinely as he can, and depending on whether or not he accepts it, the attempt to talk robot with him is yet to be determined.

He can only hope that it’ll work out. For the both of them.

Hiro doesn’t come back downstairs until lunchtime.

He appears in the kitchen silently, barefoot and threading across the surface. He stands defiantly when he spots Tadashi at the island, laptop open and working away on a paper due next week.

“I’m hungry,” he announces, bluntly. Tadashi turns to face him, saving his work and slowly lowering the screen shut.

“Okay,” he says, carefully. “I’ll make you something to eat?”

Hiro glares at him. “I can make myself a sandwich.”

Tadashi feels his toes curl at the tension. “Sure, but I was gonna make some ramen.”

Hiro tries to disguise his curiosity at that. “ . . . Ramen?”

“Mhm,” Tadashi smiles at him as kindly as he can. “It’s delicious. Aunt Cass showed me how to make it super tasty. You wanna try?”

Hiro fidgets on the spot for a moment, clearly conflicted on whether or not to drop the grudge and accept the offer, or to continue holding up his guard and continue with his original plan.

“Fine,” he says after a minute, and then, astonishingly, opts to pull out a stool at the island and plop himself down.

“I’m watching!” He says defensively, when Tadashi stares at him.

“Of course,” he nods, moving around the kitchen doubtfully when he realises he has no idea where anything is. “Um, where—”

“Bowls are in the bottom drawer under the cooker. Noodles are in the pantry. Knives and forks are in the top drawer,” Hiro sounds bored as he rattles this off, cheek smushed into the palm of his hand.

“Thanks,” Tadashi smiles, retrieving all the objects and ingredients he needs. When he sets them all atop the island where Hiro’s piercing eyes seem to bore into his skin, he hesitates with the packet of noodles in his hands.

“Listen,” he begins, after a sharp inhale. “I’m sorry about going into your room and invading your space. That was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have done it.”

Hiro doesn’t say anything, but the slight shift in his posture shows he’s listening.

“I want to make things right with you,” Tadashi continues, as earnest as possible to back his own truth. He sets the noodles aside and leans forward on his elbows. “I don’t want you miserable the entire time I’m here. This is your house, and I don’t want to take that safe space away from you. I know it’s probably really annoying having me around, and I know you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself—but at least, while I’m here, I’ll try my best to work with you, okay? I just need you to try work with me too.”

Hiro goes quiet for a long, long time. He stares at his lap, a frown on his face as he considers this arrangement. There’s an awaited pause before he finally glances up again, though his face is less than friendly. That cold scowl is still very much present, a guard Tadashi figures will take some time to come down.

“You want me to work with you?” He scoffs, and Tadashi’s heart plummets. “Then don’t go snooping around in places you don’t belong.”

“I know it was wrong,” Tadashi tries harder. “I really do. I wasn’t trying to go through your stuff or anything I just—I guess I wanted to be familiar with where I was, for a while.”

“Well then you ask,” Hiro grits out, narrowing his eyes even further. “You don’t just take the initiative and start prowling around someone else’s home. Aren’t you meant to be smart?”

Another dig. Tadashi swallows down the urge to say something he’ll definitely regret, because Hiro is an incredibly defensive kid who attacks pretty much anyone. He’ll say anything to put someone off crowding his space.

“I know,” he says softly, instead. “I should have asked, but I didn’t think you felt like giving me a tour. So, I figured I’d leave you alone and find out on my own.”

“All you needed to know was where you’re staying,” Hiro retorts, sharply. “It doesn’t matter where I do.”

“I know, Hiro,” Tadashi sighs, feeling the fight drain out of him as this conversation continues. “I know.”

Hiro doesn’t answer him, crossing his arms and turning away, but he doesn’t get up and leave, so Tadashi takes that as somewhat of a win.

He makes the ramen in silence, wondering if Hiro is using his presence to make him uncomfortable or if he is genuinely interested on how Tadashi makes it. He can’t tell his motive for staying rooted to the stool to simply stare wordlessly as he works, but Tadashi would be lying if that look didn’t make him incredibly uncomfortable.

“Here,” he says, almost in relief to give the kid something to occupy himself. “Tell me what you think.”

Hiro takes the bowl wordlessly. Then, he raises a brow at the fork Tadashi hands him. “No Ohashi?”

Chopsticks. For fucks sake.

Embarrassed, he ducks his head. “Didn’t see any in the cutlery drawer.”

“They’re in the pantry.”

Oh, Jesus Christ. It feels like Tadashi will never be able to meet this kid’s standards. Disguising his irritation as he sets his jaw, he silently heads to the pantry to receive said chopsticks, returning back to replace the forks with them instead.

He waits until Hiro has his first bite before he says any more. “Nice?”

Hiro chews slowly, thoughtfully, drawn out just to agonise him. “I’ve had better.”

And as much as that comment makes Tadashi want to strangle this brat to death, he clenches down the urge and says nothing, digging into his own serving himself.

Then, after a moment, he hears Hiro sigh. “But, it’s nice.”

Tadashi keeps his head down so this he can’t see him smile.

After dinner, an even more torturous occasion that led to the pan catching on fire and Hiro screaming in his face, Tadashi sinks down onto the couch in the living room. The clock has reached a time where now he’s wondering whether or not Hiro will pull out a shotgun if he asks him to go to bed.

So, for the second time that day, he calls Honey.

She’s laughing the second the answers. “Tadashi, come on.”

“This is a nightmare!” He hisses. “I nearly burnt the house down frying dinner and Hiro tested the capacity of his lungs shrieking in my face about it, not to mention the . . . colourful insults he threw at me—”

“Oh, Tadashi.”

“And now,” Tadashi groans. “It’s half eleven and the kid is downstairs in the basement working on something. How am I meant to get him to bed?”

Honey hums. “Cut the power?”

“You’re spending too much time with Gogo.”

She giggles. “Maybe. But, did you try talking to him? About robotics?”

“No.”

“Tadashi,” she sighs, though it’s fond. “This is your chance! If he’s downstairs, don’t go in and immediately tell him to quit. You know what you’re like when you get all caught up in something.”

Well, she has him there. Flooded memories of days in SFIT ring through Tadashi’s mind—long, long nights that consisted of twelve cups of coffee, chicken-scratch notes that are barely coherent and passing out on the lab floor. Finals week doesn’t go well for anyone, alright?

“What, so I should just keep him up all night long and entertain him?”

“No, but just go talk to him for a bit. Show him you’re interested. He’ll go to bed when he’s tired.”

Tadashi sighs, again. It’s worth a shot. Besides, a part of him wonders what the hell the kid has down there to mess around with. Thousands worth, probably. He can imagine Callaghan gifting Hiro pretty much anything to fuel his brain.

Once he ends the call, the cautiously treks the basement steps, iron railings spiralling to yet another ground floor that holds a garage with probably about nine cars and a helicopter. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised to see a yacht parked there somewhere.

He finds Hiro in a custom, built-in lab, straw in his mouth with his feet propped up on his desk, leaning back on the chair with the same robot in his hands. This whole place is like a little, nerdy wonderland, anything and everything an inventor would love all over.

“Hey,” he says softly, knocking on the door to announce his arrival. “Can I come in?”

Hiro turns to him, setting his drink down and shrugging his shoulders. After a pause, he turns back to the desk. “I guess.”

Nodding, Tadashi gently shuts the door behind him and observes the lab. 3D printer, holographic table, all kinds of high-quality tech. Some stuff in here, as Tadashi has examined to be sort of thrown around, is like the finest pieces of tech they have at SFIT. He can’t imagine being so careless with these expenses—all the more to display Hiro’s privileged life.

“You hole up in here a lot?” He asks, with a teasing smile. “If I had this at home, I don’t think I’d ever come out.”

Hiro hums, and to Tadashi’s delight, sets his bot down to pay him full attention. Well. Half-full attention, considering he still stares at his knees when he talks. “Yeah, pretty neat, huh?”

“Pretty neat,” Tadashi agrees. He carefully threads over to stand a few feet away from Hiro’s shoulder. “I like it,” he tells him, pointing to the bot. “What’s it for?”

“Botfighting,” Hiro says plainly. He picks it up again. “Megabot.”

“Megabot,” Tadashi repeats, with a fond smile. Typical name from a teenage boy. “Megabots cool. What does he do?”

“Well,” Hiro starts, seeming to brighten now at this question, mood lifted enough to delve into the designs of his little robot. “He’s basically a con. He looks like a simple model, but because he’s comprised of magnetic joints, he can split into smaller parts of himself and attach to opponents in the ring. He can take anything apart.”

“Deceptive,” Tadashi grins. “I like it.”

“We win all the time,” Hiro carries on, smiling proudly at Megabot. Tadashi realises for the first time since he’s arrived, he’s seen Hiro actually smile. “He just needs a few tweaks.”

Tadashi’s stomach churns slightly, the echoed voice of his professor playing back in his mind, reminding him to keep Hiro safe—out of trouble. He can only imagine what the result will be if he tries to lecture the kid now on why botfighting straight up isn’t safe; not to mention downright illegal.

“How often do you go?” He asks, delicately. “Botfighting, I mean.”

Hiro shrugs. “Every night, more or less.”

Well shit.

“Are you . . . planning on going tonight? It’s pretty late.”

Hiro tenses, recoiling away from him and bowing his head. “Maybe? Why do you care?”

“I’m just wondering,” Tadashi says, swallowing thickly. Jesus fuck. What does Callaghan say in these situations? At least he’s actually an authoritative figure in Hiro’s life. He’s his father, for fucks sake. If Hiro’s going to listen to anyone, it’d be him. And that’s just barely.

“You should go to bed,” Hiro says firmly, setting Megabot in his lap with that same familiar scowl. “You said yourself. It’s getting late.”

Honey’s voice then threads through his mind, carefully orchestrating his next words. He needs to be smart, here. He doesn’t want to ruffle Hiro’s feathers, or try and assert some sort of dominance that he knows will get utterly rejected.

So, instead, he pulls another desk chair and wheels it beside Hiro. He can tell the implication of him staying irritates him, but he sits gently and rests his forearms on his knees. “I was hoping I could show you something.”

Hiro doesn’t move. “Show me what?”

“Baymax.”

He doesn’t expect the snort Hiro erupts at that. The kid rolls his eyes, setting Megabot down again on his lap and folding his arms. “Baymax,” he repeats, raising his brows. “What’s this, the healthcare companion?”

At Tadashi’s confused look, Hiro rolls his eyes again. “My dad told me about him.”

“Oh,” Tadashi says, hoping the pride he feels doesn’t show too much on his face. Apparently, he hadn’t disguised it well, because Hiro scoffs at his expression.

“Don’t look so smug,” he says. “He only told me to try and bunk up my impression of you. It didn’t work.”

Jesus Christ, ouch.

“Well.” Tadashi palms his thighs. “I hope seeing him might change your mind.”

Then before Hiro can open his mouth to retort, Tadashi turns to the red case he’d brought with him. “Ow.”

And, upon that sound, a little round light activates, and the charging station opens up, Baymax inflating to full size and capacity, in all of his marshmallow glory.

“Hello,” says Baymax, with a wave. “I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion. I was alerted to the need of your medical attention when you said: ‘ow.’”

“A marshmallow robot,” Hiro says, deadpan. “How interesting.”

“Baymax?” Tadashi says, ignoring him. “Scan Hiro.”

Hiro jerks back in surprise as a green laser-light scans his body up and down, curling up in defence as the robot seems to collect infinite amounts of data and information.

“You have sustained no injuries. However, your hormone and neurotransmitter levels indicated that you are experiencing mood swings, common in adolescents. Diagnosis: puberty.”

“Whoa, what?!” Hiro jumps from his chair so fast it rolls backwards behind him and smashes into the desk. He turns angrily to Tadashi, who can’t hold back his laughter. “This is funny, to you?”

“Hey, I can’t disagree with the diagnosis,” Tadashi grins. “He is programmed with over ten thousand medical procedures.”

“Whatever,” Hiro mutters, crossing his arms. “My mood is fine.”

Sensing that this introduction hasn’t gone exactly to plan, Tadashi settles his laughter and smiles warmly. “Give me your arm.”

“My what?”

“Your arm.”

Reluctantly, and surprisingly to Tadashi who was unsure if Hiro would cooperate with him, Hiro steadily holds out his arm, clutching Megabot tightly in the other.

Tadashi then grabs the duct tape on Hiro’s desk, and without a second thought or bite of remorse, flattens it to Hiro’s arm before ripping it off faster than a blink. Selfishly, and perhaps with a snippet of a meaner characteristic, he’d be lying if he said a part of him didn’t find great enjoyment in that.

Hiro yanks his arm back furiously with a strangled yelp, dropping Megabot in shock. “Ow, what the hell? What was that for, asshole?!”

Tadashi simply smirks, gesturing to Baymax, who steps further to Hiro. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?” He asks.

Hiro seems to seethe. “Physical? Or emotional?” He throws a dirty look in Tadashi’s direction, who can’t help but make a pouty face back at him.

Upon Hiro’s lack of response, Baymax takes the initiative. “I will scan you now. . . scan complete. You have a slight epidermal abrasion on your arm. I suggest, an antibacterial spray.”

Even more shockingly, Hiro raises his brows playfully. A small smirk toys at his lips. The atmosphere lightens at his shift in mood, the dynamic separating from its tense undercoat. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says. “What’s in the spray specifically?”

“The primary ingredient is: bacitracin,” says Baymax, using the display screen on his torso to demonstrate.

Hiro clicks his fingers with a swing of his arm, a delight in his eyes Tadashi can’t help but beam at. “That’s a bummer—I’m actually allergic to that.”

“You are not allergic to: bacitracin. You do have a mild allergy to: peanuts,” Baymax corrects, holding up a squishy finger.

“Hm, not bad,” Hiro smirks again. He turns to Tadashi, not bothering to hide his amusement as he allows Baymax to spray his arm. “You did some serious coding on this thing, huh?”

With a whirlwind of emotions flooding his brain from watching Hiro open up and happily interact with his project, let alone play around with testing out his skills, Tadashi spaces out at the new knowledge of Hiro’s peanut allergy—why hadn’t Callaghan mentioned that? He’ll have to make sure to remember in the future.

“Huh?” He says, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thoughts. “Oh, right, yeah. Put a lot of work into this guy,” he reaches around to press the access port that opens up to reveal the green-coloured chip with an icon of a smiling doctor and a sticker of Tadashi’s name. “This chip is what makes Baymax . . . Baymax.”

Hiro reaches over to pop it closed, before he, much to Tadashi’s glee, begins to circle the robot, poking and prodding him with curiosity. “Vinyl?” He asks, upon inspecting the design.

“Yeah,” Tadashi shrugs with a grin. “Was going for a non-threatening, huggable sort of thing.”

“You can see the walking marshmallow idea, right?”

“Kids love that.”

Hiro hums, before tapping Baymax’s lenses. “Hyperspectral cameras?”

“Yep.”

Hiro fiddles around with that, pulling Baymax’s face down to meet his height as he observes the tech. Then, he pauses briefly before shoving his face into Baymax’s soft stomach, clearly interested on seeing the exoskeleton. Upon seeing what’s inside, he lights up. “Titanium skeleton?”

“Carbon-fiber,” Tadashi corrects gently, somehow managing not to gloat in the fact he finally got one step ahead of this kid.

Hiro doesn’t seem to notice his mistake. “Riiight, even lighter! Whoa, killer actuators, where did you get those?!”

Enjoying all the questions, Tadashi sidles off, playing casual as if his heart isn’t thumping at the success of this. “Ahh, machined him at the lab, you know, in house.”

Hiro lifts his head up to turn to him in surprise. “Really?”

“Yep. He can lift a thousand pounds.”

“Shut up.”

“You have been a good boy,” Baymax declares, once Hiro seems to be finished studying him. “Have a lollipop.”

Hiro happily takes the treat from outstretched, rubbery hands. “Nice!”

“I cannot deactivate until you say you are satisfied with your care.”

Hiro grins, removing the lollipop from his mouth. “Well then, I’m satisfied with my care.”

Tadashi falls into step beside him, lining up where they watch Baymax return to his charging case to deflate. He sighs happily. “He’s gonna help a lot of people.”

Hiro doesn’t respond, until he leans down to pick up Megabot. “Hey, what kinda battery does he use?”

“Lithium ion.”

“You know, supercapacitors would charge way faster.”

“Oh.”

They fall into silence after that, Tadashi pretty much over the moon with Hiro’s reaction. Ultimately, it went far smoother than he could’ve hoped. Hiro himself stares at the red case briefly before he’s tugged out of thoughts with a ding from his computer.

“Oh, shit!” He says, running over to observe the screen. “Listen, I gotta go—there’s a fight across town, if I can book I can still make it—”

“Whoa, hey,” Tadashi frowns, heart sinking at the fact that botfighting still managed to catch Hiro’s attention, despite all his efforts to provide a long enough distraction. “It’s past twelve—there’s no way Callaghan would let you out this late.”

“Good thing he’s not here then,” Hiro says, grabbing his controller as he heads for the door out of the basement. “See you later!”

“No, wait,” Tadashi fumbles over himself, and then, without thinking, he rushes to grab onto the back of Hiro’s hood to stop him. Jerking at the grasp, Hiro fumbles briefly at the contact, dropping the controller before shaking him off. “What?” He glares, turning around. “You wanna tuck me in and read me a bedtime story?”

“Hiro. Be serious,” Tadashi frowns harder, narrowing his eyes. “You seriously think I’m okay with just watching walk out to an illegal botfight in the middle of the night?” His eyes catch the fallen controller, and quickly he reaches down to snatch it up before Hiro can, who's turned away in a huff.

“Quite frankly,” Hiro says, somehow having missed that, and there’s that snark right back again—for a second, Tadashi saw a glimpse of who Hiro really is, playful, teasing, curious. Now, that wall is built up again, the scowl and bratty behaviour replacing the humour he’d displayed only moments ago. “I don’t care what you’re okay with. Not my problem. See ya!”

“Well then I don’t care that you don’t care,” Tadashi retorts, feeling stupid the second he realises how childish that sounds. He charges past Hiro and blocks the door. He waves the controller at him. “You’re not going anywhere. It’s not safe. It’s dangerous.”

Hiro’s grip on Megabot becomes tighter. “Tadashi. Give that back.”

“No,” Tadashi shrugs, aggravated now. “I don’t think I will.”

“Dude, what is your problem?” Hiro snaps, knuckles bleached white. “Don’t stand there and act like you give two shits whether or not I get hurt. This is a job for you. You don’t actually care, so give me back my controller!”

“What makes you think I don’t care?!”

“Because no one ever does!” Hiro roars all of a sudden, cheeks flushing as fury fires through his bones, pent up spits of flame fuelling his soul. “Get it, genius? Nobody cares! So, I don’t care! So, for the last goddamn time, give—"

“Hiro.”

Hiro stills at Tadashi’s tone, but his rage doesn’t lessen. “What?” He hisses.

“Who doesn’t care?” Tadashi asks, evenly.

Hiro, backing up now he’s caught out on what he’d allowed to slip from his mouth, shakes his head with an aggravated growl. “It doesn’t matter,” he spits. “Just—Jesus fucking Christ, move, will you?”

Tadashi winces at the swear, tensing at how fast the atmosphere has shifted between them. “No. I’m not letting you go. Hate me all you want, kid, but my job is to keep you safe.”

“You—” Hiro looks about fit to combust on the spot, rage completely covering his entire body as he seems to tremble with it. “You’re the fucking worst!” He shrieks, angry, so goddamn angry it’s a wonder fire doesn’t straight up blast from his ears. Tadashi is partly terrified, partly confused, and a tiny bit shocked that so much rage could erupt from somebody so small.

Especially that quick. Hiro sure has a short temper, no kidding.

“You can stay in here all night long for all I care,” Tadashi mutters, tucking the controller in his pocket. “Or be smart and actually go to bed. Those are your options.”

Hiro’s glare becomes impossibly harder. “Fuck you.”

Tadashi nods. “Yeah, goodnight, Hiro.”

And he leaves him there, standing like a jittering firework about to explode. He’s not sure if he made the right call, and he sure as shit could dictate exactly how he navigated this conversation with plenty of criticisms, but at least, this way, Hiro will stay in the house. Or, well, he hopes.

He really, really hopes.

Chapter Text

He’d hoped wrong.

So, very, wrong.

At three am, he wakes with a mouth dryer than the Sahara Desert and rolls out of the comfiest bed alive to trundle sleepily down the stairs. Wiping the gunk out of his eyes, he yawns as he reaches the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cupboard to shove into the water dispenser in the fridge.

It’s then he notices the note taped to it.

NICE TRY, DICKHEAD.

Hiro.

Startled, Tadashi is suddenly wide awake, disposing the idea of filling the rest of the water as he quickly downs the quarter of the cup he’d managed to get out. Then, he slams the glass on the table and downright sprints back up the steps, wriggling out of his pyjamas as he goes.

He tugs on some pants and his sweater, grabbing his phone from the nightstand and retreating back the stairs the same pace he’d climbed them, almost tripping on the final step as he runs to the basement.

Sure enough, Hiro isn’t there. Hastily, he pats the pocket of his oversized sweater, where he’d tucked away the controller to keep in his room. And once again, surprise surprise, it’s gone.

That little shit. He must’ve come in when Tadashi was asleep to sneak around and fish out the controller before slipping away. Tadashi, at this notion, wants nothing more than to roar his lungs out. How had he not woken up? How had he let Hiro get away this easily? Who knows how long the kids been out—he could be hurt right now!

Grabbing the keys to his moped from the windowsill in the kitchen (a part of him relieved that Hiro hadn’t snatched them too) he sprints out of the house and into the long, pebbled driveway. His moped, thank God, hasn’t been hijacked by this fucking insane teenager, and he’s quick to shove the keys in and start the engine.

It’s only once he leaves the courtyard, back onto a narrow country road that isn’t far from the city, does he realise he has no idea where the fuck he’s going. Christ, he’s never been to a botfight in his life. He doesn’t even know where to think to look. He should’ve brought Baymax to use his scanner—but he can’t turn back now.

Once he does reach the town, back into the wild nightlife and stumbling pedestrians with the guidance of streetlamps over their heads, he pulls up on the side of the road, pulling out his phone.

As fast as he can (why are his fingers shaking?) he googles the nearest botfight, switching on his location. He can only hope he lands on the same webpage as Hiro had been on, scrolling down the search links to try and find this stupid, dumb, infuriatingly reckless kid.

Once he has an idea, an underground ring downtown behind a butcher’s shop that closed years ago, a shady area called ‘good luck alley,’ he once again kickstarts his moped into action. A part of him feels ridiculous, twisted, slightly betrayed; although deep down, he knows it’s foolish to feel that way. In Hiro’s eyes, he’s no authoritative figure, and therefore the kid pays no heed to respecting him or the boundaries Tadashi attempted to set with him.

Hiro straight up just doesn’t care. It’s as simple as that. He runs his own world, does his own thing with no regard to anyone else whatsoever. And this is a prime example of that.

Once he reaches the location he’d followed on his GPS, he parks the moped and pulls off his helmet, peering around cautiously. From where he is, the end of an alley beside a number of dumpsters overflowing with trash, he can see a large, metal door that he suspects lead to the botfighting ring inside.

He wonders briefly if he should have some secret password or something in order to get in, and then panics at the thought—before he rids himself of it with a roll of his eyes. Hiro’s in there; or so he hopes. Fuck some stupid code word.

Even so, hesitantly, he pulls at the door, surprised when it opens with little to no trouble. Slipping inside, he heads down the steel steps that await him, the roaring and bustling of a muffled crowd becoming louder the closer he approaches.

Once he reaches the last step, he turns to his left to where another set of iron doors are ahead of him. Pulling them open, he’s aghast at the sight that greets his presence.

A large number of people—far more than he’d thought, honestly—are crowded around in a circle, whooping and cheering in the dim light that seems to be focused on the centre of it. As he advances, he can see why; two botfighters are currently at war with one another, and Tadashi realises with the sinking of his gut that one of them is Hiro.

In comparison to the man he’s battling and pretty much everyone around him, Hiro looks a significant amount smaller than he usually does. He bores all the characteristics of a kid, messy hair, doe-like eyes, tooth-gapped smile that’s curled into a mischievous grin. He’s apparently progressed to his A-game, the controller, Tadashi notices, extended to a larger size that had other control buttons hidden initially. Clever.

Megabot is on fire, attacking some other bot with such skilled speed and technique, Tadashi can only watch, his mouth agape. Hiro’s tactic is clearly that of practised mastery, and his original smug expression has quickly shifted into a bored one, going as far as to yawn rather obnoxiously as Megabot brutally tears their opponent apart.

The victory seems to erupt chaos within the crowd, voices becoming impossibly louder as everyone roars at this small boy’s success. Especially those, who Tadashi suspects to be just like him, that clearly haven’t seen Hiro in action before. It’s deafening, thrilling, adrenaline pumping, the prideful howls and hollers that rumble through the ring.

And for the first time in perhaps all his life, or at least since the time he even learned what botfighting was, he can almost understand why Hiro is so drawn to here.

Said teenager rises from where he’d been sitting crossed legged. A woman with chopsticks pinning back her hair and tattoos on her arms leans down to present him the money he’d won, lifting a lid of some sort of container to reveal a serious amount of cash. Tadashi’s eyes widen at sight, because, seriously—can this kid get enough money?

“Hey, no hard feelings, right?” Hiro smirks, all triumphant as he tucks his winnings away in his pockets. “I mean, your bot was kinda good, too . . .”

It’s clear he’s being patronising, only intending to upset his opponent further, and the crowd ‘oooh’s’ at his cheeky remark. He grins again, relishing in the reactions around him as he offers a bow for his performance, before he steps back from the open centre of the ring.

“Thanks for all the fun!” He calls, waving around. “Better leave so someone else can get a chance!”

And with that, he turns on his heel, disappearing into the crowd and missing Tadashi’s eyes, glued on his frame and disguised within the bodies around him. He turns too, wriggling his way through everyone in hopes of keeping his eyes on those black tufts of hair.

Pushing through as he begins to lose Hiro in the crowd, he darts around as fast as he can, cursing Hiro for his short frame to be able to manoeuvre through the mobs of people far easier than he can. Hiro could easily duck beneath legs, slink between bodies, slip through doors. Tadashi, meanwhile, has to forcefully shove his way through with a mantra of ‘excuse me’s tumbling out of his mouth.

Eventually, he’s wormed his way enough to make it to the doors, and he wonders if Hiro has already gone through them, and if he has, would he recognise the moped parked outside in the alley.

Before he can get a chance to reach for it though, someone latches onto his arm. Turning sharply, he’s met with the face of a girl he’s never seen before. She has cotton candy hair curled around her face, white stars dotted around her eyes and like many other occupants here, tattoos littered all over her arms.

“Hi!” She says, cheerily. “I’m Saffy. Who are you?”

Fidgeting, because he sure as hell does not have the time for this, Tadashi gently and politely enough tries to shake off her grip. “Um, I’m Tadashi.”

“Nice to meet you!” Saffy grins, gesturing to a group of people clustered behind her. “Heading off so soon? A pretty boy like you ought to stick around a while.”

Flushing at the compliment, Tadashi scratches the back of his head. “Look,” he says, a little sheepishly. “I’d love to, but I’m just looking for someone and I don’t really have time—” with a jarring thought, he breaks on his speech to peer closer to Saffy. “Actually, do you know him? The kid that just won the last round?”

“Hiro?” Saffy wrinkles her nose. “Sure I do. We all do.”

“. . . Alright,” Tadashi draws out slowly. “Any idea where he might be?”

“If I know him,” Saffy drawls. “He’s headed towards Mika’s. We always head back to her place after fights.”

“Who’s Mika?”

“A friend,” Saffy shrugs. Then, her grin brightens. “You should come! Oh, do! Come back for a few beers, chill out, have some fun!”

There’s no way.

“Beers?” Tadashi echoes, stupidly.

“Or whatever you prefer,” Saffy says hurriedly. She punches his arm playfully. “Come on, you don’t wanna miss out! You’ll find the kid there, too.” She eyes him up and down for a moment before recognition seems to cross her face, and her enlightened expression seems to dim as she suddenly drops her façade. “Oh, shit,” she says, taking a step back. “You’re—you’re not his brother, or something, are you?”

“What?” Tadashi nearly chokes on a cough at her accusation. “No! No, I mean—no, he’s not my brother. I’m just looking for him.”

“Coulda’ fooled me,” Saffy says, with a smirk. “You guys, look, like, totally alike.”

Before Tadashi can even begin to question whatever the hell that means, Saffy begins to circle him. “Same brown eyes,” she points out, as she studies him. “Same dark hair. And, considering that you’re here, I’m guessinggg you’re into robotics, too.”

“Something like that,” Tadashi sighs, not even bothering to go to the extent of her observations. He tries not to think too hard about it as he once again begins to head towards the doors. “Look, I need to find him. Mika’s, you said? Where’s that?”

“Her apartment isn’t far from here,” Saffy says, sobering slightly. “I can take you, if you want.”

“I’ve got my moped.”

“And I’ve got my car,” Saffy grins. “Let me get the others, and you can follow me. How does that sound?”

“Fine,” Tadashi sighs, despite the fact she could very much easily be leading him anywhere, and that this one-time Hiro could’ve also just as easily opted to go straight home. “Fine, lead the way.”

Mika’s apartment is in the lower parts of downtown, not too far from the ring, just as Saffy had said. Tadashi followed obediently on his Moped as the girl pulled up and parked on the curb outside a tall, shabby looking building. She and her friends clamour out of her car, motioning at Tadashi to follow them.

A guy, a couple inches overhead Tadashi’s own frame, carries a six pack from the car towards the apartment. “Want one?” He offers, as if Tadashi isn’t his own ride home.

“No, thanks, I’m good,” Tadashi offers a wry smile. The guy shrugs, as if to say your loss, before they follow the rest of the group inside.

They climb several stairs that look like the aftermath of ripped carpeting, the smell of urine and cigarette ash wafting beneath Tadashi’s nose. The walls are stained and covered in graffiti, and immediately a cold feeling settles in his stomach. He’s not fond of this place, and he’s sure as hell Hiro shouldn’t be here, either.

Once they reach the right block, Saffy hounds on the door. “Mika! We’re here, and we brought goodies!”

She rustles the bag she’s carrying in emphasis, of which Tadashi doesn’t even want to know what’s inside. The door opens, and a girl whom he suspects to be Mika answers. Her hair is black and long, braided back with golden beads sewn through them. Her skin is dark, soft against the lighting. She grins when she sees them, and Tadashi notices the gem stuck on one of her teeth.

“Hey! You got here!” She happily takes the bag. “Get inside, the parties already started!”

Party? Oh, hell no.

Saffy reaches back to tug Tadashi forward. “This is Tadashi,” she introduces. “He’s looking for Hiro. But he’s gonna stay for a bit, won’t you, Tadashi?”

“Um,” Tadashi hesitates. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you. Thanks for . . . having me.” He straight up avoids the question, and to his relief Mika laughs, turning to Saffy from where the rest of the group have already filtered inside. “So polite,” she sniggers, gripping the bag closer to her chest as she hoists it into a position easier to hold. “Go, get in, you two.”

Mika’s apartment reeks of alcohol and smoke, loud music blasting from somewhere in the room as young adults merge around, mingling and dancing or splayed out on the sofa snorting who knows what. Upon examining it, Tadashi’s stomach churns at the idea that Hiro goes here. Often.

He doesn’t get up to what these kids do, right?

He’s in there for all of five minutes before to his relief and utter resentment, Hiro is sat around a gathered crowd on the floor of the living room, the coffee table shoved aside from the individuals who’d sat themselves either on the sofas or on the rug between them. Hiro’s back is against the leg of the couch, one knee pulled to his chest with an arm lazing across it. To Tadashi’s shock, the other holds a beer, which he watches in horror as Hiro tips his head back to pour most of it into his mouth.

The other guys around him are full of buzz, shoving him playfully and laughing amongst themselves. One in particular has a tin open on his lap, a straw in his hand as he leans over a powered substance to snort up his nose. Holy fucking shit. What is he doing here? What is Hiro doing here?

Inhaling heavily to calm his rapid heartbeat, Tadashi tries to settle himself and the rage beginning to swarm his chest, knowing despite the growing fury that he needs to be smart about this. He can’t come barging in and embarrass Hiro in front of all these . . . people. Or, god forbid, the kid will genuinely never speak to him again, and probably furthermore disrespect any boundary Tadashi sets with him.

So, instead, slyly, he sidles across the room and observes from afar. The apartment isn’t big, and doesn’t obtain much furniture, basically consisting of broken lamps, battered chairs, and pills stacked above every surface. From the kitchen, he can still see the sofa and where Hiro is grinning through a bottle Tadashi doesn’t even want to know of how many he’s had.

Mika comes slinking his way. “Hey,” she says, gesturing to the table filled with half-open bottles of spirits and mixers. Probably drugs as well, if Tadashi looks harder. “Have a drink, make yourself at home. Or, go chat up the champion of the night. Most nights, actually—the ones he’s there.”

He can barely focus on who she’s referring to, too caught up in the fact that this place literally looks like a trap house. “You mean Hiro?” He asks faintly, then, after a moment.

“Hell yeah,” she snorts, slamming the beer against the edge of the table to unscrew the cap. “Little fuckin’ smartass, that kid. Biggest brain I’ve ever seen.”

“He comes here a lot?” Tadashi says again, distant enough as his eyes continuously travel between Mika and Hiro. “After botfights?”

“Most of the time,” Mika shrugs. “He’s a funny one. Saffy mentioned you wanted to talk to him?”

She eyes him curiously, then, following his gaze before she turns back to raise a brow. “What are you doing here, really?” She says, sipping her beer. “You’re not from these parts, huh?”

“Neither is he,” Tadashi says coldly, nodding to where Hiro is now fiddling for something in his pockets, a lighter in his hand. Oh, no. No, fuck that. Fuck that.

He watches, frozen, as Hiro rises, a goddamn cigarette between his lips as he tipsily steps over stretched out legs and over to the balcony, abandoning the ruckus to a quieter, vacant space. Tadashi holds up a hand to where Mika had begun to say something else, before following him.

He crosses the room and follows Hiro out, leaning against the doorway as he watches him light up the cigarette, take a drag, and then exhale the smoke as he leans over the railing.

“Having fun?”

Hiro yelps, coughing slightly as he whips himself around at the sound of Tadashi’s voice. Upon seeing him, and upon noticing that Tadashi sees him, he narrows his eyes and pulls the stick from his mouth. He stares for a second, as if debating how to react to this, before he glares that same, dark glare, stumbling slightly, and Tadashi knows then and there Hiro’s already had one too many.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Hiro snaps, harshly, trying to straighten his words despite the way he fumbles over himself. “You shouldn’t be here. How did you even find me?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” Tadashi slips his hands into his pockets, lowering his head as if to make a point of catching Hiro in the act he’s in. “Callaghan know you smoke?”

Hiro rolls his eyes at the mention of his dad, acting ridiculously nonchalant as he rests his elbows backwards on the railing, as if all of this is completely normal. “No. What, you gonna go tattle on me, now?”

“Hiro, what are you doing?” Tadashi pushes himself away from the doorway in exasperation. “Seriously, kid. This is what you get up to, at night?”

Hiro, much to Tadashi’s infuriation, merely shrugs a shoulder, eyes drowsy. “Having fun.”

“’Having fun,’” Tadashi echoes. “Not at fourteen, Hiro. This is—everyone here is twice your age!”

“So?”

“So?” Tadashi can’t hold back his anger. “What do you mean, so? You’re way too young to be here! This is, for so many reasons, so dangerous—”

“Tadashi,” Hiro says, taking another drag of his smoke with no regard to Tadashi’s presence whatsoever. “I really, really don’t care.” He staggers a bit on that last sentence, holding onto the railing for a little support as he dubs the end of his cigarette against it.

“You’re drunk,” Tadashi glowers. “And I’m taking you home. So, you can either come with me quietly, or you can crank up a fuss and I’ll drag you out of here myself. Take your pick.”

Hiro snorts. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Tadashi steps towards him. “You wanna embarrass yourself in front of all these guys? Be my guest. I’ll throw you over my shoulder and you can kick up a tantrum for all I care.”

Hiro sways slightly, silent as he presses his lips together in a scowl. “You’re a fucking prick,” he hisses, before barging past him and back into the apartment. Tadashi watches with hardened eyes as he bids his goodbyes, fists clenching when he watches Hiro pick up his beer bottle to swig the remains of it. Jesus Christ, this kid.

“See y’all later,” Hiro mumbles, waving half-heartedly as he stumbles towards the door. Tadashi follows, thankful for the loud music that drags everyone’s attention away from them as he presses a hand on Hiro’s shoulder to steady him out of the apartment.

Once they manage their way down the stairs, Hiro somehow growing worse as he tries to push Tadashi away from him and balance on his own, the cool air is like a hit to the face. Tadashi has so many things he could say right now, but he figures he should save it and just get Hiro home, safe, first.

“Moped,” Hiro mumbles, flopping down to sit on the curb. “You brought a fucking moped.”

“Can you sit on it?” Tadashi asks, a part of it condescending and a part of it genuinely concerned that Hiro’s too out of it to cling on for the journey home.

Hiro doesn’t reply, other than a soft hum as he ducks his head to rest between his knees.

Muttering a curse, Tadashi once again yanks him up to his feet by his elbow, ignoring Hiro’s loud protests as he none-to-gently shoves him onto their ride.

Fearful, and doubting that Hiro would manage to sit behind him the way Tadashi had expected him to, he instead plops the smaller boy in front of him, slipping in behind to wrap an arm around his midsection and pray that he’s been using this thing long enough to drive it one-handed.

Hiro slips forward the second he’s down, and Tadashi genuinely has to use all of his strength to prop him upright and away from the handlebars. Grabbing his spare helmet, he places that on Hiro’s head, leaning around him as best he can to see what the hell he’s doing as he fastens the buckle into place.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, twisting the keys in the ignition. Hiro says nothing. And so, the journey home begins.

Tadashi has to stop several times when Hiro slips too far forward, or too far to the side, not even bothering to try sit himself right as he falls limply everywhere for the entire duration of the ride. At some point, Tadashi wishes he had some sort of belt on so he could tie it around the two of them, at least then there would be some sort of security there. He’s pretty stressed trying to steer his moped and hold onto Hiro at the same time—especially considering the kid passed out four blocks ago and is now simply deadweight.

Once they arrive, he slips off his helmet before repeating the action to Hiro, who barely acknowledges, let alone reacts to anything happening around him.

Tadashi nudges him carefully. “Hey, c’mon, we’re home.”

Hiro doesn’t move.

“Hiro,” Tadashi tries again, shaking him harder. “Wake up, I need to get you inside and to bed.”

Nothing. Not even a jerk.

“Fuck—fine, you asked for it,” Tadashi grumbles, before releasing his hold on Hiro’s shoulder. He leans down, wrapping both arms around the kids middle, before he hoists him off the moped, throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes before finally heading back inside the house.

He fishes around for the keys, and then remembers that amidst his panic he’d completely forgotten to lock up the house, so he slowly opens the door and shuts it gently behind him. The kitchen lights are still on, though they’re dim, and he doesn’t bother wasting anymore time before threading carefully up the stairs.

Once he reaches Hiro’s room, he pauses. A sharp pang twists in his heart as he opens the door, the colour draining from his face as he’s met with the sight of Hiro’s completely destroyed bedroom.

Well. That might be an exaggeration—but Hiro’s room is far from the scene he’d come to face the day before. Everything is everywhere, clothes, books, tech, shoes, anything. It’s clear that Hiro had been so enraged by Tadashi’s orders that he’d completely flipped his shit, throwing all of his things everywhere in an angered fit of frustration and rage.

Swallowing, and realising that Hiro had slipped down as he’d stood there and watched, Tadashi readjusts his hold as he winds Hiro’s legs around his waist. He’s careful as he minds not to touch or step on any of Hiro’s things as he crosses the room to deposit the kid on his bed. Once he’s laid down, he tugs off his sneakers and pulls the blanket around him. Then, he reaches inwards towards the fort and flicks on the fairy lights, pulling the sheets draped from the bedpost around him the way he imagines Hiro would do himself.

 He closes the door, and sighs.

He has a storm to face tomorrow.

A goddamn storm.

Chapter Text

“Nnnnnn . . .”

Tadashi thinks he could kill somebody. He has a headache the moment he gains consciousness, which seems incredibly unfair as he wasn’t the one that had been drinking last night. But, sure enough, murphy’s goddamn law. How typical.

He rolls over, squinting harshly as he checks his phone screen for the time. The bright light doesn’t help his throbbing temples, and he groans when he reads 11:39 am. He’d meant to wake up earlier, of course, but his late-night shenanigans prevented him from doing just so. He’d missed hours of sleep, not to mention it had taken him quite some time to finally nod off again after getting Hiro to bed. Partly due to the activity that ran his mind rampant, and partly due to his sheer anger at the whole situation.

Now that Hiro is home and safe, it hits him like a ton of bricks. He can’t believe this fucking kid. How dare he? Tadashi may be no Callaghan, but he’ll be damned if Hiro thinks he’s going to let himself be walked all over. He has patience, gentler tendencies, but he’s no doormat. If Hiro has the idea that he can do however he pleases whenever he pleases, Tadashi sure as shit is going to straighten that thought out the second he sees him.

It takes him a while to rise, until eventually the hunger and taste of his own breath has him kicking off the sheets and trudging downstairs, yawning loudly and stretching his arms. He doesn’t expect Hiro to be awake, in fact, he’s almost positive he won’t come face to face with the kid until late afternoon. He knows what he’s like after a night out, and he can only imagine the toll alcohol will take on Hiro’s much younger, much smaller body.

So, you can imagine his utter surprise when he arrives in the kitchen to see Hiro sitting at the island already, munching on a bowl of cereal and two slices of toast. He’s scrolling on his phone, one hand holding the device and the other shoving another spoonful of cheerios in his mouth.

When he looks up and spots Tadashi entering, he pauses, the spoon inches away from his lips. Slowly, he places it back in the bowl.

“Good morning,” Tadashi greets bluntly. There’s a hard edge to his tone as he pulls out a bowl opposite Hiro to place on the countertop. Without looking at him, he grabs the box of cheerios, shaking it into the bowl before he grabs the milk, also left on the island.

“. . . Morning,” Hiro replies, just as dryly. The tension is awkward, but Tadashi’s honestly too pissed to care.

“How’s the head?” He asks, which is more of a rhetorical question seeing as he doesn’t give a shit whether or not Hiro has a major hangover. It’s his own fault, he figures.

“Fine,” Hiro says, before continuing to eat his cereal. There’s no sound besides the crunch of it between his teeth, until Tadashi speaks again, even more pissed at Hiro’s blasé behaviour.

“You think this is how it’s gonna be?” His voice is as stern as he can make it, laced with a rare kind of venom he doesn’t execute often. “You going out, getting involved in illegal activities, all under my nose thinking you can get away with it?”

Hiro doesn’t say anything, and the non-answer is enough.

Tadashi slams his spoon on the counter to get Hiro to look at him. “Well, get it in that goddamn skull of yours that this isn’t how we’re doing it. I tried, Hiro. I tried to be nice to you. I tried to work with you. I screwed up, I mended things as best I could, and I asked you to listen to me. You’re a kid, for gods sake. And how dare you go behind my back and disrespect me?”

Hiro turns away, face burning. His grip on his own spoon hardens, the metal silverware shaking slightly in his grasp. His eyebrows are drawn into yet another scowl, but for once, Tadashi doesn’t care.

“I’m looking after you,” he continues, voice almost trembling with rage.  “And, quite frankly, I couldn’t give less of a shit how you act when your dad’s around. Because, right now, he’s not. I am. And he left me one job, and that was to make sure you don’t go screwing around the place and getting into all kinds of trouble. So, yell at me all you want, slam every damn door in this house for all I care­—hell, act like I don’t goddamn exist, I don’t care. But, shit, if you walk out those doors in the middle of the night going places I told you not to go, there’s gonna be serious consequences, do you hear me?” He exhales heavily, every sentence spoken in one breath as he rattles off with a ferocity that surprises even him.

“You think you can walk all over me; act like a snobby little brat that’s smarter than everyone and runs the world just as he wants. Guess what, kid? You don’t know everything. You can act it all you like, but you don’t know a thing about the real world. Those guys, back there? They don’t give a shit about you. Who the hell invites a fourteen-year-old back to an apartment covered in drugs to have a drink and smoke all night—you’re barely even a teenager! And you—you think they care about you? Care about who you are, what you like? I can tell you first-hand, Hiro, they don’t give a flying fuck. All you’re doing is wasting away a brain too big for its own goddamn good and a talent you could use to change the fucking world.”

Hiro swallows. He opens his mouth as if to argue, but Tadashi carries on before he can get the chance.

“While you’re under my care, you will not, and I won’t say it again, go out this house unless I say so. I’ll make alarms connected to my phone, lock every window and door, I don’t know—but I swear to god, if I catch you going behind my back again, there’s gonna be serious trouble. Got it?”

He’s panting by the time he’s done; and pretty sure his cereal is starting to go soggy. He’s stared right at Hiro the entire time, boring into his gaze as hard as he could to get through to him. It’s a side of himself that makes him uncomfortable, and he’s already feeling guilty at the language and threats he’s used; but Hiro’s pushed his buttons far enough, and honestly, he’s run out of options to get the kid to listen to him.

Hiro says nothing, only furiously staring down at his bowl. His frustration is evident, and remembering the state his room had been in, Tadashi’s guilt grows larger in his stomach, but before he can attempt to say anything else, Hiro shoves the bowl away from him and storms out of the kitchen, stomping up the stairs as loud as he can before slamming his bedroom door so hard it feels as if he rocked the whole house with it.

Sighing, Tadashi rests his head in his hands. He stares down at his own cereal, before pushing that away, too, although with not quite as much vigour.

There’s no point. He’s lost his appetite.

He doesn’t see Hiro for the rest of the morning. In fact, Hiro doesn’t come back down until late afternoon, nearing four o clock when it seems he can’t stomach his hunger anymore. Tadashi’s sat in the living room; laptop open in his lap on the couch when he turns towards the doubled doors leading to the kitchen.

Hiro’s small footsteps pad into the pantry, where Tadashi pauses what he’s doing to tune into the sound of rustling around, before something dropping, and a series of curses straight after.

Sighing, he shoves away his computer before he heads towards all the ruckus, a little weary of how this will play out as he watches Hiro fumble around in search for something, having climbed up the shelves to root through whatever’s there.

Tadashi enters the pantry, leaning against the door. “What are you looking for?” He asks, softly.

Hiro barely looks at him. “Stupid medicine,” he grumbles, shoving packets of pasta out of the way to try and find pretty much anything, it seems. Another box of tagliatelle drops to the floor, and with pent up frustration and probably a throbbing headache, Hiro swears again, cheeks reddening.

Tadashi, when he sees the glassy eyes, finally takes pity on him. “Here, come down, I’ll get some for you.”

“I’m fine,” Hiro grunts, ignoring his attempts as he continues to rampage through the pantry. “Go away.”

When yet another item topples from the shelf, Hiro downright screams in anguish, yelling out a string of swears Tadashi can only guess where he learnt from—enraged, frustrated tears finally seeping their way down his burning face. He looks so miserable Tadashi genuinely feels bad for him, sighing again as he, as gently as he can, reaches a hand up.

“Come down,” he murmurs, hand tensing when Hiro curls away from him, shoving his humiliated face into the crook of his elbow. “Come here, Hiro. Let me have a look.”

Hiro simply shakes his head, whining quietly into his arm. And, for the first time since this whole ordeal, doubt begins to knot in Tadashi’s gut as he starts to realise that there must be something else, going on here. Something he doesn’t understand. Hiro’s losing his mind, and it certainly isn’t over his desperation for Tylenol.

So, hoping he doesn’t get his neck chewed off, Tadashi very quietly places his hands on Hiro’s hips, tugging him gently until he lifts him off the counter and onto the ground. Hiro wriggles out of his grip instantly, moving away as Tadashi searches around for the first aid kit. It doesn’t take him long to find the small white box on the top shelf of the pantry, and he reaches for it the second he recognises what it is.

He rustles around for a minute until he finds the capped bottle, unscrewing the lid to pour two pills onto his hand. He leaves the pantry and pours a glass of water, before handing both to Hiro, who takes them without a single word to choke back the tablets like his life depends on it.

“Hey,” Tadashi says softly, as Hiro scrubs his face angrily. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Hiro grunts, turning on his heel again, before Tadashi reaches out to stop him.

“No, hang on for a sec,” he pleads, stepping around to bend down in front of him. “Look, I’m—I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t mean to lash out like that. You—you have to understand where I’m coming from, alright? I just don’t want you to get hurt, okay?”

“My dad will pay you the same no matter where the hell I end up,” Hiro spits. “Don’t worry about that.”

“This—Hiro, I’m not getting paid for this,” Tadashi tells him, although he debates whether or not it’s any use. “I don’t care about the money. I’m just—doing my professor a favour. And I just really want to understand you.”

“There’s nothing to understand,” Hiro hisses, bitterly. “You’re doing my dad a huge favour, taking me off his shoulders, isn’t that nice? So go fuck off and do whatever you’re doing knowing it’s a wonderful deed and quit nagging me.”

Throat burning, Tadashi tries to ignore the sting and frowns, instead. “Why do you think he doesn’t care?”

Hiro turns to him, taken off guard despite his efforts to hide it. “What?”

“Why do you think he doesn’t care?” Tadashi repeats. “You said it last night and you’re saying it now. Your dad loves you, Hiro. He didn’t ask me to be here for no reason.”

Hiro scoffs. “Please. He’s only doing it for his own conscience so that I don’t end up dead somewhere.”

“Talk to me,” Tadashi insists, squeezing his shoulder as if Hiro’s hostility is an open invitation to soothe him. “You act like he doesn’t bat an eye at your well-being. Your dad thinks the world of you Hiro—he worries so much about you all the time.”

Hiro pulls away, shaking Tadashi’s hand off his shoulder as if it were infested with eighty-seven different plagues. “He doesn’t,” he hisses, nose scrunching with the distaste on his face. “Man, he has you whipped. How dumb are you?”

Tadashi, slightly taken aback, accepts Hiro’s boundary and keeps his hands by his side. “What are you talking about?” He asks, exasperated. “I don’t understand, Hiro. What has he done to convince you he doesn’t care?”

Despite the unease brewing inside him, Tadashi can’t help but wonder whether or not this is just some weird, teenage rebellious phase Hiro’s going through. He knows all too well what the lack of attention from a parent can do, and seeing as Callaghan is a busy man, with little to no time to devote to his only son, the idea that his professor spending more time on his work than his family translating, in Hiro’s mind, into him simply not giving a fuck about his kid whatsoever, is a simple concept to grasp. It’s an easy miscommunication, and however often that may be, and however reassuring the thought is that this idea is all in Hiro’s head, Tadashi can’t shake the feeling that this accusation may go slightly further than Hiro’s corrupt mind.

“It doesn’t matter,” Hiro narrows his eyes, but Tadashi’s not going to let him away this easily without proving the facts of his statements.

“Hiro, if you want me to take your side here, I need to know what’s going on,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to stand here and dismiss you if you have a reason to think what you think.”

“Then don’t,” Hiro snarls. “Go do something else and leave me the hell alone.”

Hiro barges past him, shoving into his shoulder forcefully as he passes by, and just as he’s about to book it towards the stairs and isolate himself for the rest of the day, Tadashi’s next question halts him in his tracks.

“Is it because you’re adopted?”

He can almost anticipate Hiro’s next line of insults, hear the defensive attacks out loud before they’re even spoken; so, before the kid gets the chance, he continues.

“I’m adopted too, you know.”

Hiro doesn’t turn around, hand on the banister, but the pause in the step shows he’s listening.

“My parents died when I was nine,” Tadashi tells him, calmly. “In a car accident. I was in the car, and the only thing I really remember was smoke and fire and heat before everything went black. I woke up with temporary amnesia, but there’s a lot of memories I never got back. The only reason I remember their faces is because of photographs.”

Hiro doesn’t move, but slowly, he drops his foot from the first step.

“My aunt Cass took me into custody,” Tadashi keeps going, wringing his hands slightly as he revisits some rather painful memories. “I never really knew them, Hiro, and for a long time, if I did anything rash or reckless that got me reprimanded, I was almost positive she didn’t like me enough because I wasn’t her real son.”

Hiro tenses at this one. It seems to strike a nerve. Tadashi continues, carefully this time, knowing that this appears to be a sensitive topic for him.

“It took a while to sink into my head that she actually only chastised my bad behaviour was because she loved me,” he says, firmly. “Because she wanted to be the best mother-figure she could. She looked after me, taught me right from wrong, made me laugh, gave me the best kind of life she was capable of,” he shrugs, a warmth in his chest as he thinks fondly of his aunt. “She encouraged me, scolded me, but never doubted me and what I could do, where I could go. She did everything she could to let me explore my interests, supported me in every decision I made. But—I know what it’s like to get that feeling, y’know? The one where you feel left out, or wrong or something. Everyone else around me had moms and dads and real parents—whereas, I had none. And I felt really, really alone.”

Another string of guilt wraps around his heart at this confession, because although it’s the truth, he’d never say it to Aunt Cass. She’s the best aunt he could ever ask for, the best parental figure he could have ever imagined. He wouldn’t trade her for the world, but he hopes, for both of their sakes, that sharing his truth with Hiro will strike the boy enough to feel comfortable enough to share his own.

“I’m not saying that that’s your reason,” Tadashi assures softly. “But I just want you to know, that if it is, I get it. Growing up alone sucks too. No one to share your experience with. It gets boring as hell, too.”

This one strikes him a golden smile from Hiro, and Tadashi mentally fist bumps the air. Thank God, he was beginning to think he was rambling like an idiot to only be met with another pair of rolled eyes and empty room.

“Yeah,” Hiro says quietly, after a minute. He gingerly sets himself down on the first step of the staircase, resting his cheeks on his hands with his elbows on his knees, sighing. “Sure does.”

“You have a sister, right?” Tadashi asks, hoping now he hasn’t gone too far now that Hiro looks as if he’s slowly beginning to warm up to him. “A-Abigail?”

“She’s not my real sister,” Hiro snorts, pulling at the bottom of his pyjama pants. Tadashi only notices then that he changed out of his clothes at some point. “She never really treated me like her brother. She wasn’t mean, or anything. She just left really early to study abroad. I never got to know her properly, she was always way older than me.”

Unsure of how to answer this, Tadashi slowly creeps closer. “When did she leave?”

“When I was five,” Hiro says, with a shrug. “She’s been gone ever since. Comes back during the holidays, but it’s kind of like seeing a stranger every year. She doesn’t seem all that interested in me.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of people who are,” Tadashi murmurs, not bothering to try and correct him seeing as he’s well aware he has no place to do that. Hiro knows his own experience growing up, and if that’s his takeaway from it he’s not going to dismiss his feelings.

Hiro downright laughs at that one, although it’s a bitter, sad sound, far from the cheerful genuineness he’d emitted when he met Baymax. “There really isn’t, Tadashi. Don’t try reassuring me. I don’t care.”

“What about all your . . . botfighting friends?”

Hiro narrows his eyes. “According to you, none of them give a shit about me.”

Tadashi grimaces, turning away in shame. He bites his lip. “I didn’t—I just meant—”

“Don’t try take back what you said,” Hiro starts, tone defiant as he glances up to meet Tadashi’s eyes. “You said what you said, and I know you meant it. If you’re gonna say something, at least own it. Don’t try pussy out just because someone else holds you accountable.”

Startled, Tadashi backs down, feeling a bit awkward as he reaches to scratch the back of his neck, a habit he picked up from early childhood that has never seemed to leave him. “I—I guess you’re right. I just—I don’t want you to take that badly. I guess I was trying to say that there’s people out there—kids your age, that would one hundred percent be willing to get to know you, instead of bumming off your botfighting skills and shoving a thousand substances down your throat.”

“Kids my age don’t like me,” Hiro says bluntly. “They don’t like how I talk, how I act, how I look, for all I know. They think I’m a goody-two-shoes with my head so far up some teacher’s ass I’m coming out of their mouth.”

“Everyone?” Tadashi quirks a brow, albeit a little playfully. “Every single fourteen-year-old?”

Hiro shrugs. “All of them that I know,” he pauses. “Look, Tadashi, I don’t care. This isn’t a pity party for me. I don’t need you to try telling me to go reach out, make friends, blah-blah-blah, whatever. I don’t like them either. They’re idiots.”

Yep. This is why he can imagine Hiro to be insufferable to be around.

“Okay,” Tadashi says coolly, threading on the tethers of this conversation now, and praying to whatever gods are out there that this one won’t turn haywire like the rest of them have. “So . . . was I right? About the adopted thing?”

“You weren’t right,” Hiro says, bitterly. “I’m not a puzzle you can figure out, Tadashi. It’s not that simple with Callaghan.”

Tadashi doesn’t miss Hiro’s change of addressment towards his father. “Then make it simple,” he says, folding himself to sit cross legged in front of Hiro at the stairs. “I’m all ears. Make me understand. I know you can.”

Hiro bites his lip, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “He just—doesn’t like me, Tadashi. That’s all. It’s not that deep.”

“I just want to know why you think that,” Tadashi says, hoping for the life of him he doesn’t sound demanding. “Maybe I can give you some perspective.”

This seems to rattle Hiro far more than he intended. “Perspective?” Hiro echoes, starting to get angry again. “What’s your ‘perspective’ on your oh-so-amazing-professor that hits his kid and tells him he wasn’t worth adopting, then?”

As soon as he blurts it out, Hiro’s face pales, and his hand flies over his mouth as if he could catch the words before he said them. Once he realises what he’s done, his eyes widen and he turns to scramble away, before Tadashi reaches out to catch his arm and hold him still.

Bad move. “Let go of me,” Hiro sounds downright dangerous, looking just about ready to hurl everything and then himself out the nearest window. “I’m so serious, Tadashi. Let the fuck go of my arm.”

“Hit?” Tadashi whispers, somehow managing to ignore Hiro’s threatening tone. “He—he hits you?”

Hiro stills. “It doesn’t matter. Let go.”

Tadashi releases his grip. “Hiro,” he tries, but before he can get another word in, Hiro has already turned to run up the stairs, tripping on a step as he sprints away from his confession. Once he’s gone, a loud silence diseases the air, and Tadashi is left with a sinking heart, all alone.

Truthfully, he doesn’t know what to do.

He’s paced the living room for an hour, now, wracking his brains to try and recall any conversation with his professor that would seem in any way off. The more the thinks, the more his brain seems to physically hurt, because in all truth any time Callaghan mentioned Hiro there was a fondness in his expression, light in his eyes, all the way a loving father would speak about his son.

But, who is he to make any judgments? Why would Hiro bother going to make that up? He hadn’t missed the way he’d dismissed Callaghan’s goodbye, completely ignoring his father as he’d left for the airport. Plus, despite only knowing Hiro somewhat properly for two days, and the amount of adjectives he could come up with to describe his prickly personality, he wouldn’t consider ‘liar’ to be one of them.

Hiro is snarky. He’s brilliant, bold, reckless, disrespectful, cheeky, sarcastic. But the one thing Tadashi has noticed about him is that he’s honest. Not once has he actually lied. Sure, he’s gone against the rules, snuck out when he’d been told not to, but he never said he wouldn’t. He’s not once committed to anything Tadashi laid down only to go ahead with what he wants instead. He’s done what he wants—without the promise of not.

It's nearing dinner time, now, and despite his anxious pacing, Tadashi can’t rid himself of the fact that Hiro’s barely eaten anything all day. He hadn’t seen any snacks or treats in Hiro’s room he could’ve munched on, so gathering the fact that Hiro came down once to have a half bowl of cereal, he must be fucking starving.

So, Tadashi gets to work.

Apron on, pot on the stove, cookbook out and ingredients on the counter, he begins to make dinner. Which he’s shit at. Really shit at, actually. It’s partly why he hasn’t moved out yet. He thinks he’d rather enjoy Aunt Cass’s incredible meals than survive off of premade ramen and heated tinned beans. And toast. Shitty toast.

Even so, he tries his goddamn best. It’s pasta. Pasta can’t be that hard, right?

He follows the recipe as best he can, boiling the penne and chopping up vegetables, draining the water and stirring in the sauce. By the time he’s done, he’s seriously fucking proud of himself. He goes as far to take a picture to send to Cass, topping the presentation with a teensy bit of basil on top.

He sets Hiro’s plate on a tray, filling a glass with soda he found in the fridge with a straw hanging out of it. Then, carefully, steadying it slowly, he makes his way up the stairs. Setting the tray down outside Hiro’s door, he knocks quietly.

“Hiro?” He calls, swallowing. “I, uh, made dinner. It’s here. For you. On a tray. You don’t have to come downstairs. It’s pasta.”

Oh, hell. He sounds pathetic.

Hiro doesn’t reply, so Tadashi tries again. “Can you taste test for me? I know you’ll be honest if it sucks.”

Still no reply.

Knowing that this will probably cost him all of his limbs, Tadashi carefully turns the knob and peeks inside. And, well, there’s a little relief there. Hiro’s not just ignoring him. He’s asleep on his bed, curtains drawn and fort pulled over just enough to leave the view of him curled away inside.

Biting his lip, Tadashi pushes the door open the full way and leans down to pick up the tray. Hiro still hasn’t cleaned the wreckage he made of his stuff, so once again Tadashi is careful as he steps over the mountain of shit on his floor as he deposits the tray on his desk.

Despite being as quiet as possible, Hiro stirs at the noise. He rolls over to glance at what it is, and Tadashi catches his expression shifting from confusion to sharp irritation.

“I’m just leaving you dinner!” Tadashi says hurriedly, throwing his hands up in defence. “I’m going now. Gone. Leaving. Just making sure you eat.”

Hiro, who’d looked seconds from screeching in his face, closes his mouth and sits up properly to observe whatever Tadashi brought for him. His nose wrinkles. “ . . . Is that pasta?”

“Yep,” Tadashi grins, a little relieved at Hiro’s curiosity. “I made it. Myself. So it might taste like dirt but, you know. Better than nothing, right?”

“You could have just ordered take out.”

Tadashi refuses to let that dampen his spirits. “What’s the fun in that? Besides, I need to learn how to cook. Only better to have someone as honest as you tell me what he thinks.”

Hiro presses his lips together, before he slowly clamours off of his bed. He reaches his desk, hands coming down to lean against the back of his desk chair as he peers over at the dish. He doesn’t say anything, and Tadashi slowly backs away to let him eat in peace, before Hiro stops him.

“Wait. I have to tell you what I think.”

Tadashi can’t help the smile that stretches across his face. “Alright. Go for it.”

Chewing his lip, Hiro picks up the fork and stabs it into the pasta. He’s about to bring it to his mouth before an idea seems to strike him, and he pulls it away from him. “Go get yours.”

“What?”

“Go get yours. You—we can try it together.”

Tadashi is so flabbergasted at this proposal that he doesn’t move for ages. “Together?” He repeats, a bit dumbly.

“Yeah,” Hiro shrugs, far from his usual snotty remarks. “Go. Before I change my mind.”

When Tadashi returns, Hiro is sat cross legged in the middle of the room. Tadashi notices with a feeling he can’t quite define how he’s cleared away the piles of his stuff. Not even just to make space—everything is back where it belongs.

Slowly, he closes the door and mirrors Hiro’s position. Folding his legs, he twirls his fork with a mischievous smirk. “Ready?”

“No,” Hiro says, but Tadashi can hear a twinge of playfulness.

“Three . . . two . . . one!”

At the same time, the two shove forkfuls of pasta into their mouths—and again, at the same time, the two forcefully twists their necks to spit it right back out.

“Yuck,” Hiro almost shouts. “What the fuck.” He’s wiping his mouth with his sleeve, similar to Tadashi, who’d made a distinct noise of disgust and had begun wiping his mouth as well.

“I—” Tadashi chugs back his water, Hiro doing the same with his soda. “Oh, man, I don’t even know. I followed the recipe!”

“Was it in a different language?!” Hiro retorts, unable to comprehend how badly Tadashi messed this up. “It’s pasta, Tadashi. Pasta.”

“I know,” Tadashi groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, in mock devastation at himself and his poor cookery skills. Though, to his sheer surprise, he’s interrupted from his own feigned self-despair as he hears Hiro’s bubbles of laughter.

When he pulls his hands away from his eyes, he’s met with Hiro’s head tipped back, hand clutching his stomach as he elicits loud bursts of enjoyment, eyes screwed shut as he shakes his head at the idiocy of it all.

Tadashi is so surprised at his reaction that he can’t help but chuckle as well, partly at the fact the situation is kind of funny, and partly because he’s so relieved to have made Hiro laugh properly that he can’t hold back his own.

“Who,” Hiro begins, once he’s settled a bit, “makes a robot programmed with over ten thousand medical procedures, but cannot, for the life of him, make a simple pasta?”

“Listen, Hiro, we can’t be great at everything,” Tadashi says in defence, only causing him to double over into another fit of giggles. It’s such a rewarding sight he almost can’t believe it.

Tadashi beams, enjoying the moment with a tremendous intensity, before he sobers up and clears his throat. “Okay. Let’s just. Order pizza?”

Hiro nods, rolling his eyes. “Sounds good to me.”

Chapter Text

Thirty minutes later, Tadashi and Hiro are sat on the sofa, in front of the lit fireplace with two pizza boxes, two cans of soda, and a bowl of fries in front of them.

Tadashi would’ve thrown the TV on if he’d known where the remote was, but he hadn’t asked and Hiro hadn’t made an effort to do so himself, so instead the two of them sit together on the couch, legs folded with their food on their laps.

“Do you get takeout often?” Tadashi asks, then, a little desperate to fill the silence. “We do, at home. Friday night is movie night.”

Hiro finishes swallowing a bite of his pizza before he answers. “Not really,” he pauses, and Tadashi thinks that’s the best he’s going to get before Hiro pipes up again. “I like pizza, though.”

“Pizza’s great,” Tadashi agrees. “My friend Fred eats it upside down. He has this whole thing about upside down stuff, actually. He reuses his underwear by turning it inside out, upside down, front and back, the whole lot. He calls it ‘recycling.’”

“That’s disgusting,” Hiro says, making a face. He’s about to take another bite before he stops to nibble on his lip. “Do . . . do you have a lot of friends?”

It’s kind of an innocent question, more so the almost shy way he asks it. It’s the kind of conversation Tadashi had been inching towards, and once again, there’s a partial relief at the fact Hiro is actually trying to talk to him. Confusion, too, considering all the events that have happened today, but Hiro is willing to drop it and for that, Tadashi is too.

“Um,” he answers around a mouthful. “I guess so. I kind of just stick with my group, y’know? I don’t branch out farther from that, but I’m always happy to talk to whoever. You get me?”

Hiro doesn’t say anything, which Tadashi realises makes sense considering Hiro doesn’t have any friends—but before he can berate himself internally for asking something so insensitive, Hiro brushes off the implication and nods. “Who are they?”

Tadashi smiles. “Well, we go to SFIT together. We have different majors, but we kind of just clicked, I guess. Gogo majors in mechanical engineering—you should see her bike—Honey Lemon majors in chemistry, and she’s incredible, Wasabi majors in applied physics; he’s working on laser induced plasma; another thing you’ll have to see, and Fred—”

“Hold up,” Hiro chokes his way through a cough. “Gogo, Honey Lemon, Wasabi? What is with the weird names?”

Tadashi grins at his bafflement. “Fred is the one who comes up with the nicknames. He’s not a student but, he’s the mascot. He just strolls around, keeps us company,” he softens considerably at the thought of his friends. “You’d like them Hiro. Really. If you got to know them.”

Hiro grimaces. “Maybe.”

They fall into another silence, although this one doesn’t seem as painful as before. Honestly, Tadashi’s happy enough watching Hiro wolf down his food, satisfied and calmed knowing that he won’t go to bed hungry.

It’s another while before Hiro, very quietly, speaks up again. “It’s mostly when he’s drunk.”

Tadashi stills. “I—Sorry?”

Hiro swallows, tugging at a lock of hair. He stares down at his crusts, refusing to meet Tadashi’s face as he scratches at the fabric of his pyjamas. “My dad. It mostly happens when he’s drunk.”

Holy shit. Tadashi almost can’t contain the energy that spurts through him at the recognition that he’s getting more information. That Hiro’s actually opening up to him.

“That—that he hits you?” Tadashi confirms, slowly.

Hiro nods, distracting himself by reaching out for some fries. “It’s not all the time. Just goes to show his true colours. That’s all. Thought you should know.”

That curt, dismissive tone is back, and Tadashi hesitates as he tries to calculate a response that won’t tick Hiro off. “Thank you,” he settles on saying, after a while. “For sharing that with me.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Hiro says, although he still seems quite guarded. “I don’t really care.”

“I’d care,” Tadashi murmurs, wondering what to do with himself as he studies Hiro’s body language. “That’s—that’s really tough, Hiro. I’m sorry for being so quick to defend him, earlier.”

“It’s fine,” Hiro says, briskly. “You didn’t know.”

“And I’m—” Tadashi cuts himself off as he tries to think how to articulate this. “I’m sorry for shouting at you this morning. I really am. I don’t—I don’t usually lose my cool like that.”

“It’s fine,” Hiro says once again, already withdrawing from the topic. He sounds like a broken record, monotone, as if he’s used to repeating this phrase.

“No, it’s not,” Tadashi says. “And I know it’s not. And it’s probably really, really irritating, watching me switch up all the time from saying one thing and then the other. I told you I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and I did. And it wasn’t fair. I just—can you please tell me you at least sort of get where I’m coming from?”

Hiro’s nostrils flare just slightly, and he ducks his head down, in annoyance or avoidance, Tadashi doesn’t know.

“I’m not trying to keep you from going out as a way to control you, Hiro,” Tadashi murmurs. “I know what that feels like. Especially at your age, where it feels like you’re trapped and can’t do anything. I know you want your freedom. I know you want to use your talents. I know you want to explore what that mind can do, invent to your heart’s desire. And I know you’re probably pissed off at me for trying to take that joy away from you; but I just—it’s a really, really bad road you’re headed down. Starting this kind of stuff at this age is only gonna bring you down a path you—I promise—do not want to be on. You start doing shady shit at fourteen, and by the time you’re eighteen you can’t go a few hours without injecting shit in your arm. And, that might sound really dramatic, but I need you to trust me when I tell you I know what I’m talking about.”

At this, Hiro’s head flickers up, frowning in confusion rather than irritation, and inspired, Tadashi continues.

“You might think you’re different, or that you won’t let yourself slip that far, but that’s, honest to god, what everyone thinks, Hiro. No one sets out to be an addict. No one takes their first hit without expecting it to be their last. No one inhales the first drag thinking it’ll lead to their grave.” At Hiro’s deepened frown, Tadashi tries harder to help him understand.

“Think of it this way,” he says. “When you started botfighting, did you set out to head back to a strangers house to drink beer and start smoking?”

Hiro sighs, rolling his eyes impatiently, but to his own chagrin, shakes his head.

“Right,” Tadashi nods, attempting to explain his analogy without coming across as patronising. “So, you probably started off to test out your bot, see how it could go, pique that curiosity wondering how things would play out.”

Hiro swallows again.

“And then, one thing led to another, and before you knew it, it was natural to head back to some persons house and take whatever was offered. Without a second thought.”

Hiro begins to tug at his hair.

“It’s that easy,” Tadashi whispers. “It is that simple, Hiro. To fall into that trap. One door opens another, and by the time you realise it, you’re too far in to back out.”

Hiro sniffs, rubbing beneath his nose. He stays mute, but he’s engaged. Listening. Absorbing.

“And, given your situation,” Tadashi continues. “I’m—look, I’m not surprised. Feeling that alone and unwanted and worthless to the world is obviously going to make that kind of stuff tempting. It gives you a purpose. It helps you forget. It’s thrilling, exciting, something to occupy your mind and take up so much space there isn’t room to think about everything in your life that makes you sad.”

Hiro leans forward to rest his chin in his hand, staring at the blank TV screen. He still doesn’t say anything.

“But I promise you,” Tadashi keeps whispering, as if this is a secret for only the two of them to share. “It won’t help. It’ll make everything, so much worse. It’s a liar. It’ll tell you so many reasons why you need it, why you can’t survive without it, but it’s lying.”

“You are so smart, Hiro. So, so goddamn clever. It’s incredible. Admirable. Half the time, I’m frustrated listening to Callaghan talk about you because I wish I was as intelligent as you are.”

At this, Hiro slowly turns his head towards him, one brow quirking.

“Yep,” Tadashi grins. “I used to find it unbearable. How the hell is some kid seven years younger than me more capable than I am? How is this teenager ten miles ahead of SFIT graduates, when he’s never even been to college? How is it, that every time I say something to him, he has a remark a thousand times wittier than mine?”

Hiro smirks at this, ducking his head.

“But, above all of that, I was inspired, Hiro,” Tadashi utters, softly. “I thought you were fantastic. I still do. Above all else. I mean, you have pretty much every student at SFIT in a chokehold, and half of them don’t even know you.”

Hiro chuckles at that one, shifting his position to lean back into the cushions, crossing his arms as he sinks into the couch, one knee tucked beneath him and the other pulled to his chest.

“And that is why,” Tadashi taps his knee, a feather-light touch. “I don’t want you to waste it. And, sure, you’re a kid. You have your whole teen years ahead of you. So much time to be yourself and figure things out. But for you, for you, don’t go screw things up now. Because I guarantee, you’ll look back in years to come and wish, on everything under the sun, that you didn’t.”

Hiro is hugging both his knees to his chest, now, and Tadashi barely expects a response from him; he’s just glad to have gotten it out, into his mind, where the knowledge can circulate and regulate until he’s considered it enough to make his own decision.

And then, with impeccable timing, Aunt Cass calls.

“Oh, shit, one sec,” Tadashi pulls a face, before clicking the green button and placing his aunt on speaker, hoping he doesn’t regret it. “Hey, Aunt Cass!”

“Tadashi, honey!” Cass gushes over the phone. “How are you? How’s Hiro? I miss you—Ms. Masuda was asking for you today. Oh, you’ll have to bring Hiro to the café—I made sugar cookies this afternoon!”

Chuckling at her excitement, Tadashi rolls his eyes fondly. “I miss you too. Hiro’s—Hiro’s good,” he shoots a questioning look Hiro’s way, who snorts with a thumbs up as if this rather abrupt change of topic is all good and fun. “We’re having pizza. I tried to make pasta and—”

“It tasted awful,” Hiro interrupts, suddenly, turning his head so his voice is somewhat closer to the speaker. “Like, really, really bad. You really should’ve taught him how to cook better.”

Tadashi freezes. He sure as hell hadn’t expected Hiro to willingly join in on the conversation, and through the phone, Tadashi can hear Aunt Cass’s breath hitch. Then, after a pause far too long, his aunt squeals.

“Was that him? Oh my gosh, sweetie, tell him I say hi!”

Tadashi laughs, and can feel his heart swell when Hiro flushes furiously, grumbling to himself to hide his relief. “You’re on speaker, Aunt Cass.”

“Oh, gosh! Hi, Hiro, honey, it’s so nice to meet you!”

“Hi,” Hiro replies, much more reserved this time. He fiddles a little bit nervously. “N-Nice to meet you too.”

“Didn’t you hear him?” Tadashi teases. “He totally insulted my cooking skills!”

Cass laughs down the line, from where Tadashi figures she’s curled up on the couch, a book beside her and Mochi on her lap. “Well, I can’t blame him, honey. Your cooking is terrible.”

“Aha!” Hiro grins, much more invested now, feeling braver as he actually makes an effort to shuffle over on the couch to get closer to where Tadashi is holding the phone between them. “It sucks, Miss Cass. We both had to spit it out.”

“I’m not surprised, I would’ve done the same thing!”

Hiro laughs again, grinning widely down as if Cass could see him herself. The banter rolling back and forth between them has Tadashi feeling lighter than he has this whole time, and finally, he feels as if the rest of this week just might, might work out better than he could’ve ever imagined. For both of them.

“Hey,” he interrupts playfully. “I’m right here, you know. Or are you two going to continue to bond over insulting my efforts?”

“I’m just glad you have another opinion over mine,” Cass says, and Tadashi can hear the fondness in her voice. “Now you can’t use the ‘that’s because you’re a baker’ excuse anymore. Hiro can tell you straight up that cooking is not your strong suit.”

Tadashi mimics a pitiful face, to which Hiro snorts at, before he settles down and gently wishes his aunt goodnight. Hiro pipes in with his own, blushing harder at Cass’s respond of ‘oh, goodnight, sweetheart!’ and the line cuts as they end the call.

“Well,” Tadashi shrugs sheepishly, with a tiny grin. “That’s aunt Cass.”

Hiro smiles sadly. “She’s really nice.”

“Yeah,” Tadashi sighs. “She already loves you.”

Hiro fidgets. “I dunno.”

Tadashi nudges his shoulder. “Didn’t you hear her? She was ecstatic! Trust me, she doesn’t talk like that to just anybody. You better let me take you to the café—she’ll give you everything she’s ever baked. And then some.”

Hiro shrugs, although he can’t play off his smile. “Maybe.”

The following morning, Tadashi can’t help but immediately climb out of bed to rush to Hiro’s room. When he opens the door, Hiro’s still flaked in his fort, flat on his back with one arm thrown over his head. Several pillows are smothering him, and breathing a sigh of relief, Tadashi gently shuts the door.

Okay. No botfighting then. Or, well, he thinks.

Deciding to settle with that thought, he slowly heads down the stairs. He showered the night before, nearly falling asleep from the soothing pressure of it, so he feels a little more relaxed knowing he can start his day right off the bat.

Humming under his breath, he fishes around the pantry, searching for more cereal. Then, he pauses, an idea springing to mind. Pancakes. He wants pancakes. And he knows exactly where he’s going to get them.

He has about half an hour to himself before he hears familiar footsteps plopping down the stairs. He turns from where he’d finally managed to find the TV remote, looking over his shoulder to greet a sleepy-eyed Hiro entering the kitchen.

“Morning,” he says, brightly, wondering for a second if their conversation last night would ignite a long-lasting progress in their dynamic, or if Hiro would dismiss the entire thing altogether and return to his short, reserved self.

“Hey,” Hiro mumbles, yawning. He pauses. “Why are you watching the news?”

Tadashi turns to the channel the TV had turned on to. “I’m not, this is just what came on.”

With a snort, Hiro doesn’t answer, padding to the kitchen. Following him, Tadashi can’t hold back a smile. “Hungry?”

“. . . Yeah?” Hiro looks at him suspiciously. “Why are you smiling at me like that? You look stupid.”

“We’re going to have pancakes.”

Hiro pauses. “You’re not making pancakes. You’ll burn the house down.”

“No, getting. There’s a difference.”

Hiro studies him carefully, fiddling with the box of cornflakes this time. He rattles it thoughtfully, musing over what Tadashi means. Then, he rolls his eyes, dropping the box back on its shelf. Tadashi can hear him from outside the pantry. “We’re not going to your bakery.”

“Actually, it’s a café.”

“I don’t care.”

Although Hiro’s remarks are nonetheless exactly the same as they always are, Tadashi can recognise with appreciation that they carry far less bite than before. He wouldn’t go as far to suggest the playful tone he knows Hiro sometimes delivers, but it’s somewhere in between. Which, he’s fucking delighted with, honestly.

“Aunt Cass makes the best pancakes on her breakfast menu,” Tadashi wriggles his brows. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tried them.”

Hiro hesitates, that cool demeanour slipping for a second as a doubtful look crosses his face. Tadashi’s face falls at the sight of it. Something is freaking him out. Dropping the overdramatics of it all, he lowers his tone. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Will there be a lot of people there?” Hiro asks, not meeting his gaze as he tries to propose the question as casually as he can.

“Not really,” Tadashi offers, which is the truth. The café is always quiet in the morning, albeit a few people out of work and students already in school. 8 to 9 is a rush hour, but the time now, 10:30, to lunch time is always calm enough.

“We don’t even have to eat in the café,” Tadashi suggests, then, picking up on Hiro’s anxiety. Honestly, he hadn’t expected the idea of social events causing him a little stress, but upon further inspection, it makes complete sense. Hiro doesn’t have a social life outside of botfighting and the occasional trips he takes with his father to SFIT. Large crowds, Tadashi suspects, probably freak him out. Especially in places where he doesn’t shine; gloating from the glory of winning yet another round of botfighting.

“Where would we go then?” Hiro snorts, still against the idea.

“Upstairs, in my kitchen.”

Hiro sighs, rubbing his forehead in thought. He mulls it over; a million things Tadashi can imagine probably running through his head. Then, eventually, with a half-smile and a shrug of his shoulders, he drops his reluctance.

“Sure,” he says. “Why not?”

“You’re a shitty driver.”

“It’s a moped. You can’t be bad at driving a moped.”

“Is that why you almost knocked over that old lady?”

“With you yapping in my ear, I can’t concentrate!”

Tadashi can almost hear Hiro’s eyeroll. Despite his quips and snotty remarks, Hiro’s fingers don’t unclench from his shoulders. Once again, all too aware of Hiro’s personality, he can’t quite tell if he’s doing it just to annoy him, or if he genuinely is a little nervous sitting on the back of his bike. Either way, he doesn’t mind the grip. It’s the constant opinions being thrown in his face that’s seriously about to get both of them knocked off their ride.

“Are we almost there?” Hiro moans, sounding all the world like the grumpy teenager that he is. Though, despite his whining, he has perked up since they reached the city, grip loosening just slightly as Tadashi can imagine him to be taking in the sight, for the first time on the back of a scooter. It’s enthralling. He still remembers taking his moped out for the first ride himself.

“Look ahead of you, bonehead.”

Hiro pinches his shoulder at the nickname, before the Lucky Cat comes into view. “Whoa,” he breathes, as Tadashi pulls up outside the café to park his motorcycle. “I like the sign.”

Two days ago, Hiro probably would’ve called that sign the ugliest thing he’d ever seen. Tadashi can’t shake that thought, and so with a chuckle, he ushers him inside. He brings them through the backdoor rather than the customer one, hoping to avoid walking through the people seated at the tables to settle Hiro’s nerves.

They’re inside for all of five seconds before his aunt spots them. “Tadashi!” She grins, waving heartily before her gaze lands on Hiro.

For a second, she looks shocked, her face falling as she stares at him. Hiro is barely looking, too busy observing everything else, but Tadashi doesn’t miss the way she stills, an expression on her face difficult to define. She says something to one of her staff briefly before making a hasty exit from behind the cashier, practically running over to where Tadashi has Hiro rooted to the end of the stairs.

“Hey, Aunt Cass!” Tadashi smiles, a little wearily as she squeezes him in a hug, pulling back gently to gesture to the teen beside him. He’s a tiny bit sceptical as he makes the introduction. “This . . . is Hiro.”

His aunt looks bewildered, for a moment, once again returning to that stare Tadashi can’t make out. She looks conflicted, for a moment, before she seems to pull herself together, plastering on one of her cheeriest smiles. “Hi, Hiro!” She tucks a brown strand behind her ears. “W-Welcome to the Lucky Cat Café!”

“Uh—” Hiro swallows, aware of how she’d looked at him too, before glancing around cautiously before offering her a small smile. “Thanks.”

Aunt Cass jumps immediately into action, clasping her hands together. “What can I get you boys? Fry-up? All American breakfast? Pancakes?”

At the mention of pancakes, Tadashi and Hiro lock eyes. Then, they both burst out laughing. Stifling his chuckles, Tadashi nods at his aunt, deciding to drop whatever it was that had her so startled. “Chocolate chip, Aunt Cass, please. For both of us.” He nudges Hiro, who grumbles half-heartedly.

“Comin’ right up!” Cass grins, somewhat unable to contain herself as she hugs Tadashi again. “It’s so good to see you both!” She leans closer to him to whisper: “Tell me everything later.” Then, she straightens up again, addressing them both. “Okay, okay, I’m on it.”

“We’ll be upstairs!” Tadashi calls, before nodding at Hiro to follow him. Hiro does so without a word, still in a sort of trance at that entire interaction. Once they reach the second floor, Tadashi gestures out to the kitchen and living room. “Here it is!”

“This is your house?” Hiro wrinkles his nose, peering around as he inspects the pictures on the wall. At one in particular, of Tadashi and Aunt Cass when he was around thirteen, he leans closer. “That’s you?”

“Sure is,” Tadashi arrives beside him to inspect what he’s looking at. “I was around your age, there.”

Hiro hums in thought, eyes shifting away to move over to the other picture frames. Aunt Cass is a sucker for mementos, and annually she hires a photographer to add to the photo album. Tadashi’s whole childhood is in print on these walls, a reminder every day of how lucky he is.

“What’s this?” Hiro taps on the one closest to the next flight of stairs up to Tadashi’s room. It’s a photo of Tadashi only a year after his parents’ deaths, holding some sort of toy he truthfully doesn’t remember where he got from.

“That was taken a while after the accident, when I moved in here,” Tadashi tells him. “I still have that robot. To be honest, I’m not even sure if I made it or bought it.”

Hiro’s gone suddenly silent, eyes narrowing as he studies the photo carefully. He looks faraway, tense, shoulders hunching and jaw tight, his shoes seemingly glued to the floor.

“Something wrong?” Tadashi can’t help but pick up on the silence.

“I know that robot,” Hiro says, carefully. “I have the same one. After my parents died, I lost it in the accident. Dad gave me an identical copy, because I wouldn’t stop crying about it.”

“Maybe they were popular at the time,” Tadashi says airily, opting for a lighter approach, although he can’t ignore the way his stomach clenches. It could be the way Hiro’s tone has changed, suspicion in his gaze, but his fixation on this little object is slightly disturbing.

Hiro turns to him sharply. “He can’t have. He had to build it because the one I had wasn’t bought in a store.”

“. . . Did he tell you that?” Tadashi says, a little weakly. “I don’t know, Hiro, maybe—"

“How did we have the same robot?” Hiro sounds harsher, now. “I was like, nighty percent sure my whole life one of my parents made it for me before they died. How did you have the exact same one?”

“Maybe your parents made one that looked like another design?” Tadashi tries to reason with him, although this entire situation is beginning to feel incredibly unsettling. “I don’t know, Hiro. Maybe they’re not even the same. It could just look like, really similar.”

“No, it’s the same,” Hiro confirms, insistent. He looks torn, face screwed in confusion, conflict at whatever pieces of the puzzle he’s found he’s trying to put together. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“Tell you what,” Tadashi settles a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s eat, go back to yours, and . . . I’ll bring the bot from upstairs, and we can compare.”

Hiro, for a second, doesn’t seem like he’s going to drop it, but Tadashi can almost see his decision to let it go. His shoulders sink, head shaking slightly as if in disbelief as he unsticks his neck from its strained position.

“Fine,” he murmurs, taking the third seat at the small round table Aunt Cass and Tadashi eat at. He seems to notice this. “Why is there a third chair?”

“Just always been there,” Tadashi shrugs. “Me and my parents used to come here all the time when I was little. Or, well, that’s what Aunt Cass says,” he pokes his own forehead. “Can’t remember a whole lot from before the accident.”

“That sucks,” Hiro says, which is pretty much all the sympathy Tadashi figures he’s gonna get.

Aunt Cass resurfaces then, holding a tray of two plates stacked with pancakes. She waves it playfully. “Here you are! Time to fuel those big brains. You boys got any plans for the rest of the day?”

The question strikes a thought in Tadashi; he hadn’t really considered what else he’d suggest for him and Hiro to do. He can imagine this excursion alone is enough to wear Hiro out of his poor social battery, so he’d been half expecting for the kid to tell him he’s done for the day and that he needs some time out. But, on the contrary, it wouldn’t do Hiro any harm to explore the city a bit. With a friend, this time.

“I’m not sure, what do you think, bonehead?” Tadashi pokes his shoulder, to which Hiro brushes off with another one of his grumbles. He shrugs, too focused on the pancakes to pay much attention to anything else.

“Okay, okay,” Tadashi chuckles. He takes the tray from Cass gratefully before setting it on the table. “We’ll let you know once we’ve eaten.”

“You boys,” Aunt Cass smiles, shaking her head. “Gotta get that grub in first. Well, you know where to find me!”

“Thank you!” Hiro calls, as she dashes back down the stairs. He digs in immediately, before Tadashi can even cut up his own, he’s already stomached half the stack.

“Jesus,” Tadashi snorts. “I was hoping you liked pancakes.”

“I fucking love pancakes,” Hiro retorts, mid-mouthful. “I never have them.”

“Why not?”

“Dads always gone to work before I’m up, so I just eat cereal,” Hiro tells him, pausing briefly to allow himself to digest before continuing. “I can’t cook either. Or bake. Or whatever. I wasn’t really making fun of you. I’m not good either, if that makes you feel any better.”

Tadashi’s soul warms at that, and he can’t fight the tiny smile tweaking his lips. Hiro trying to soften his previous insults is definitely not something he’d expected from him. It’s sweet, and the more they get to know one another, the more he’s discovering the kinder layers beneath Hiro’s thorny mask.

“Maybe it’s a robotics thing,” Tadashi shrugs, teasingly. “Can’t be so great at one thing and expect to be good at everything else, huh?”

“Would be nice though,” Hiro grins, cheekily. “’Don’t put all your eggs in one basket’ and all that.”

“True,” Tadashi murmurs, and they continue their breakfast in a peaceful silence. Well, Tadashi continues—Hiro ploughed through his at a stunning rapidity, and is now simply observing everything else in the room as Tadashi attempts to catch up with him.

The second he’s done, he pushes his plate away from him. “Hey, you wanna see my room?”

“I’d hate not having a door,” is the first thing Hiro comments on, the second Tadashi has brought him upstairs. “What if you need privacy? Must suck being able to hear everything all the time.”

“Honestly, it doesn’t matter as much anymore,” Tadashi says truthfully. He crosses over to his bed where the shelves are, searching around for that damned robot before Hiro literally combusts. “It did when I was a teenager and wanted my space, but Aunt Cass is usually in the café most of the time, and I have a divider, so I can always close it if I need to.”

Hiro hums, brightening with curiosity as Tadashi fishes through his things, hand landing on the one object he’d been looking for. “Aha!” He says, pulling it out from where it’d been emerged within the rest of his nick-nacks. “Here it is.”

Hiro takes it quickly to begin studying it. After a while, he bites his lip, nodding. “Yeah. It’s the same one, Tadashi. I’d know it anywhere.”

And, well, Tadashi has no idea what to do with that information. He’s not sure what the implication means, or what Hiro’s getting at with the idea. He really, really doesn’t know what to make of it. So what if they have the same robot—he can’t understand why Hiro is deeping it so hard. It can’t go much further than that, right? Just a twist of fate. A simple fluke.

“Crazy coincidence, huh?” He offers, disliking the heavy silence that follows Hiro’s declaration. “Maybe we are more alike than we thought.”

“This really, really doesn’t make any sense,” Hiro’s frowning hard, now, as if he’s come to some sort of realisation that he can’t reason with.

Unsure, Tadashi gently takes it back. “Maybe, when your dads back, we can ask him a couple questions. That might clear things up.”

But Hiro doesn’t seem convinced. He sighs, shaking his head again. “Yeah. Maybe.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon riding around San Fransokyo. Tadashi’s delighted to have had Hiro agree to stick in his company for the duration of the day, as he’d almost been positive he’d get a hard no on that suggestion. But, alas, Hiro shrugged, clicked his helmet into place, and seemed to enjoy exploring the areas of the city he hadn’t seen before.

Tadashi drives until he brings Hiro to the harbour, parking his moped by the pier as the sun begins to go down. It’s a tender glow, orange fading to purple as the sun ducks beneath the water. The silver disc of moonlight is beginning to take its place, perhaps the perfect timing to visit one of Tadashi’s favourite spots.

He drags Hiro down the pier to sit at the edge, dangling their legs off the edge of the wooden platform, watching the boats sail from afar. The fresh air is like medicine for their lungs, clearing out the toxicity the past few days have carried with all the ups and downs they’ve endured.

“I like it here,” Hiro admits quietly, after a while. He’s staring down at the water, hands in his lap. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“I used to come here a lot when I first got my license,” Tadashi leans back on his hands, appreciating the view as if it’s his first time seeing it, too. “Just, drive all over town, late at night, come here to sit with my thoughts. It’s therapeutic. You’re gonna love driving, once you get old enough.”

Hiro nods his head side to side. “Yeah. I can’t wait to go wherever I want, whenever I want.”

Tadashi snorts despite himself. “Don’t you already?”

Hiro smacks his bicep. “You know what I’m talking about, nerd. I think—” he hesitates, becoming a little shy. “I think I’d like to ride a scooter, too. Seems way more fun than a car.”

“You’re better off learning how to drive a car, first,” Tadashi explains, after yelping back and rubbing his arm where Hiro hit it. “Take your theory exam, get your permit, start practising, do the test. It’s a kind of freedom like no other.”

“I can drive,” Hiro announces, very matter-of-factly. “I take dads cars on joyrides all the time.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Tadashi mutters, pinching between his brows. Every activity Hiro seems to partake in is just so goddamn typical—it’s either illegal, dangerous, or just downright idiotic. How a child with a brain that big manages to make such stupid decisions, he’ll never know.

“I’ll show you,” Hiro insists, confidently. “I’m great at reverse parking.”

“That’s really nice,” Tadashi says. “Fourteen-year-old behind the wheel with no supervision. Great.”

“Will you teach me how to drive your moped?” Hiro asks, then, turning to him with wide eyes. If Tadashi didn’t know any better, he’d jump at the chance to say yes, more than willing to keep that innocent face happy and learning the ways of the road.

But, no. This is Hiro, and if Tadashi has come to realise anything, putting that little maniac on his bike will probably lead to him crashing it. And on purpose, too.

Still. He can’t reject the question upright. “Maybe,” he settles on, instead.

Hiro fist bumps the air, cheering, and Tadashi can't fight the smile, seeing his childlike tendencies show. It’s enlightening, to witness Hiro’s true nature unfold in character defining moments that he spends so much time sculpting over with something false, damaged, cold. It’s nice to see how he honestly reacts to things.

They fall into another silence, Hiro kicking his ankles off the pier and Tadashi shifted into leaning back on his elbows.

“Hey,” Hiro says, after a moment. “When did your parents die?”

Okay, still need to work on the insensitive questions. It’s startlingly random. Hiro clearly just . . . has no filter. “When I was nine,” Tadashi says, slowly. “Why?”

“No, what date?”  Hiro urges, narrowing his eyes now, once again looking as though he’s searching for the answer of a question Tadashi isn’t sure he’s asking.

Tadashi frowns a little. “June 26^th, 2018.”

Hiro freezes. “Shut up.”

“. . . What?”

“June 26^th,” Hiro echoes, stunned. His face has paled tremendously. “You said car accident?”

“Yeah,” Tadashi says, quietly, still unsure of where Hiro is going with this. “Why, Hiro?”

“Was it an explosion?” Hiro interjects, ignoring him. He still looks extremely rattled. “The car went on fire? Or something?”

Tadashi stills. How could he—how could he know that? “Yeah,” he admits, feeling his heartbeat speed up. Everything feels wrong, all of a sudden, and he can sense his chest tightening with an anxiety he doesn’t understand. “How—how do you know that, Hiro?”

“Because that’s how my parents died too,” Hiro tells him, earnestly. “My parents died during the night after their car exploded in the middle of—

“Indiana,” Tadashi finishes, his breath hitching. “On a road trip. They were driving past the—"

“—Wabash river,” Hiro whispers, cutting him off. “I have documents, Tadashi. Dad kept them.”

Tadashi swallows a lump in this throat. “Wh-what else did they say?”

Hiro’s face is stony, and he’s staring outward to the thrashing waters as the sky continues to darken. “That’s it. No names, no ages, no nothing. Just information about the accident. Everything else was blacked out.”

Tadashi feels faint, all of a sudden. He clasps the edge of the pier to steady himself. “Wh-What do you mean, blacked out? Like, he covered the rest of the information?”

“Him, or someone else,” Hiro mutters, picking at his knee. He seems distracted, in deep focus. “You know what this means, right?”

“That it’s a coincidence,” Tadashi states firmly, narrowing his eyes as he too, stares out to the rippling waves. “Nothing more, nothing less. Just this worlds cheap idea of messing with us.”

“Tadashi, how can you think that?” Hiro turns to him, aghast. His eyes are huge, bold and brown and suspiciously shiny. “Seriously? After what we’ve just figured out, you’re going to play it out as this crazy coincidence?”

“What else could it be?” Tadashi snaps, anxiety high enough now to shorten his patience. He can’t even entertain this idea. “All we figured out is that our parents died on the same day with the same freak accident.”

“In the exact same place, at the exact same time,” Hiro says, brows drawn together as he stares at Tadashi in disbelief. “That doesn’t just happen, Tadashi.”

“Maybe it does,” Tadashi mutters, but even he knows his argument is weak.

Hiro stands up then, fumbling as he steadies himself to tower over him, a look of incredulity on his face. “Are you serious, right now? Like, actually serious?”

Tadashi refuses to meet his eyes—refuses to think about what this could all possibly mean; or how it would make so many things make sense—refuses to think about what Saffy had said earlier—you two look like, crazy alike.

“It’s just weird, okay?!” His voice rises despite his attempts to control the outlandish uneasiness bustling through him. Everything feels too tight, too hot, too much. This is—what Hiro’s suggesting is crazy. It’s crazy.

Beneath Hiro’s disbelieving gaze, his shoulders sag in defeat. “I would’ve known,” he mumbles. “She—Aunt Cass wouldn’t keep this from me. She would’ve told me.”

“You sure about that?” Hiro sounds irritated, now, perhaps slightly betrayed that Tadashi had been so quick to deny this possibility. “Because everyone has secrets, Tadashi. Everyone.”

Unable to deal with this conversation any longer, Tadashi staggers to a stand as well. He heads back towards his moped, off the pier. He needs to get away. He can’t keep listening to Hiro rattle off all the reasons that what happened wasn’t just a stroke of luck—or some twisted game the universe is playing. No—if he stays here any longer that kid is going to continue to list all the reasons that the facts make sense, and he can’t do it anymore.

“Let’s go,” he mutters, turning the keys. “Get on. I’m taking you home.”

Hiro looks as if he’s going to protest, his hands raised out as if he can’t believe him, before he drops them by his side with a scowl. “Fine.”

Chapter Text

By the time it’s 2am, Hiro is in bed and Tadashi feels as if he’s ten seconds from ripping every strand of hair out of his head.

So many thoughts are running through his mind, squeezing his brain as if fifty elastic bands have been wrapped around it. Any rationale has oozed through his ears, replaced with supple goo full of insanity. He’s going to lose his fucking mind.

How can this be? How—how does this even check out? How could he have lived his whole life not knowing this? Is it even true? Is Hiro just straight up messing with him? But—how could he be? How could he know so many details?

Fuck, Tadashi thinks, unable to for the life of him sit down and chill the fuck out. He wants answers. He needs answers.

And he needs them now.

So, on that thought, he activates Baymax, orders him to contact him if Hiro wakes up at any point, ensures that his robot understands his position to look after him while he’s not there—and then he grabs his keys, and leaves. If he were thinking straight, he’d abandon this idea and revisit it in the morning; especially if he stopped to consider how he’s deserting Hiro in the middle of the night—but he can’t. He’s too pent up to sit still.  He needs to know.

The drive to the café is even shorter with no traffic on the roads. He pulls up outside the Lucky Cat with no regard to the time, unlocking the back door, somewhat out of breath as he rushes up the stairs. He flicks the kitchen light on, prepared to head towards Aunt Cass’ room to wake her up, only to find that she’s asleep on the couch.

Or, well, was. Tadashi feels a tinge of regret as his aunt stirs at the sudden light, briefly coming to his sense as he adopts a full understanding of what time it is, but his desires to understand the situation is far stronger than that of guilt.

“Tadashi?” Aunt Cass rubs her eyes blearily. “What—what time is it? What’s going on? Did something happen?” She stands up as she asks the last one, worry creasing her expression as she gains consciousness of what’s happening. She pulls herself together the second her eyes land on his face, tugging her cardigan tighter around her.

“Who else was in that car?” Tadashi can’t retain his anger, forgoing any formalities with a bitter sort of betrayal lacing his tone. “Who else was in that car accident, Aunt Cass?”

His aunt looks completely bewildered for a moment, mouth opening as if to ask him what on earth he’s talking about, before her face shifts into that of recognition, and a hand flies to her mouth. “Tadashi . . .”

“Who else, Aunt Cass?” Tadashi cries, unable to conceal his rage any longer, now that it’s abundantly clear that there was more to the story. More that she was aware of. “Who else was in that car?”

Taken aback by his sudden shout, Aunt Cass places her hands on her chest, shame and worry etched all over her features. She looks torn, disturbed. She swallows thickly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear the way she always does when she’s nervous. “Tadashi,” she whispers, ducking her head slightly. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Did—” Tadashi shuts his eyes as his voice breaks, attempting for the life of him to compose himself. His knuckles whiten by his sides, clenched so tightly it’s a wonder his fingers don’t snap—but even then, he doesn’t think he has the strength for that. Not right now. “Did I—did I have a sibling?”

Aunt Cass looks seconds from tears as she cradles her fingers apprehensively. “We—we should talk about this in the morning—”

“No!” Tadashi interrupts with a childish yell. “No, Aunt Cass. We’re talking about this now. Tell me. Tell me. Who else was in that car?”

His aunt looks gutted, and rational Tadashi would feel immense shame for pinning this on her at this hour of the night, but he can’t stop. He can’t see clearly. He’d driven almost blinded with fury, fear, terrified of a truth that he’s not sure he even wants to face.

“I didn’t tell you,” Aunt Cass begins in a whisper. “Because you didn’t need to know about another person you lost.”

Lost?

“Your parents were enough,” Cass continues, brokenly. “You—you didn’t remember your brother after the head injury and—and because he didn’t make it I—”

“He died?” Tadashi’s own voice is no louder than hers, and his knees feel weak, as if they’re going to collapse beneath him any minute. “I had a brother, and he died?”

Aunt Cass steps forward, reaching out to him, although her movements are unsure. “He was never found, Tadashi. The paramedics searched and searched and searched all over for him. You were the only one who made it out of the accident alive.”

It seems painful for her to recall, her face twisting in anguish. She had lost her sister that night too—she had lost a lot. Tadashi hadn’t been the only one grieving.

He crosses the room and slumps down on the sofa, hardly able to comprehend what he’s hearing. He places his head in his hands, swallowing down the sobs threatening to burn out of his throat. “A brother,” he croaks. “How—how did I forget him?”

“It’s not your fault, baby,” Aunt Cass whispers, coming to sit next to him and wrap her arms around his shoulders. “He was only three. You didn’t remember anything since before the explosion.”

“I know that but—” Tadashi stops, as if his brain is only catching up to what his aunt said moments prior. “Found? You mean he went missing?”

Cass tenses next to him. “I—they looked, Tadashi. All night long. While you were transported to the ER, they stayed and searched all around the river, but even with the teams of people they had, that little boy never turned up. They—” her own voice hitches, face crumpling. “They never found a body.”

At this, Tadashi’s stomach twists. This confirmation is enough to make him sick. “Three,” he echoes, pinching the inner corners of his eyes before running his hand down his face. Despite his rattled mind, he managed to calculate. “He’d be fourteen today.”

Aunt Cass pauses, and Tadashi can’t tell whether or not she’s copped on to where he’s going with this. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “He—he would be.”

“What was his name?” He can barely stand to ask the question.

His aunt turns to him, lifting his chin with her delicate hands. “Tadashi . . .”

“Was it Hiro?” Tadashi almost spits it out, his own glistening eyes meeting her shattered ones. “Was it Hiro, Aunt Cass?”

She has to drop his face to cover her own. Her body trembles with tears, overcome with emotion. “Yes,” she manages, breathing heavily. “Yes, Tadashi. It—it was Hiro.”

Tadashi, for the first time that night, abandons his own hysteria to pull his aunt into a hug. He can’t bear to see her this distraught, especially considering he had been the one to bring this upon her so late—and he for sure can’t stomach his own feelings in regard to this. He doesn’t know anything, anymore, and he’s still weary of what else needs to be discussed—whether or not Cass understands why he’s asking this so suddenly. Why he’s asking now.

But, of course, his aunt is smarter than that. She’s always been. She leans into the hug with a shaky sigh, wiping her eyes and pulling away to take his hands in her own.

“Hiro,” she murmurs, lower lip trembling. “He’s—he’s our Hiro, isn’t he? That’s how—that’s how you found out.”

“I think so,” Tadashi murmurs back, squeezing her fingers as comfortingly as he can, the previous waves of rage slowly riding out of his body as he feels himself deflate. “I think it’s him, Aunt Cass. He—we talked, earlier, at the pier. Turns out his parents were in the same accident mine were.”

“I can’t believe it,” Aunt Cass whispers. “I didn’t—I didn’t even want to hope, Tadashi, but then you brought him to the café and—I just—his hair—"

She breaks out into a sob, covering her mouth as she shuts her eyes tight. She shakes her head, wiping her tears and inhaling sharply. “His hair is still the same, Tadashi.”

“Were you going to tell me?” Tadashi whispers. “You knew, didn’t you? The minute you saw him. Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I—” Aunt Cass cuts herself off, sniffing hard as she collects herself. She exhales deeply, pursing her lips. “I was. I really was, baby. There’s—there’s a box, in the attic. Full of photographs, documents. I didn’t know when it was time but . . . I guess it is now, huh?”

He squeezes her hand. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It’s time.”

Tadashi would’ve stayed all night, if he could’ve.

The box has everything. Birth certificates, photographs, baby scans—everything. Baby pictures of Hiro are kept wrapped in little scrolls tied with ribbons, and Tadashi can hardly look at them without feeling something twist his heart.

“Can I take this?” He murmurs. “I—I need to show him, Aunt Cass.”

“Please,” Cass squeezes his shoulder. “He deserves to know the truth.”

Tadashi kisses her cheek. He doesn’t bother explaining that Hiro practically figured it all out before he did, and that the only reason he’s here digging up information is because the little brat outsmarted him and left him in a fit of hysterics.

It’s nearing four am, now, and so he promises to return to the café as soon as he can, and finally lets his aunt get back to bed with a series of apologies for springing something like this on her at this time. He tucks the box in the boot of his moped, fingers shaking when he finally begins his journey back to Callaghan’s. He feels . . . he doesn’t even know what he feels. This entire time, every interaction he’s ever had with Hiro—and all along they were brothers. Hiro was his. His brother. His little brother.

And, the more he calms down and just thinks about it, the more it makes sense. They’re both geniuses. Both into robotics. Both adopted. Both crowned with dark locks of hair. Both adorned with large brown eyes. Saffy hadn’t been kidding when she’d noticed the resemblance—they do look related. Because, lo and behold, they are.

He sneaks back into the house quietly. A part of him wonders if Hiro’s snuck off again—more out of retaliation if anything. They hadn’t exactly gone to bed on the best of terms. But, then again, if Hiro is in any way as shaken as he is, he can’t imagine the kid being able to focus on much else. Or, on the other hand, he would go, in hopes of getting some sort of distraction. It’s a catch twenty-two, really.

He certainly doesn’t expect to see Hiro up and wide awake, sitting at the island and staring at Baymax with furrowed brows.

“Just tell me!” He hears him demand, as he slowly enters the kitchen behind him. “I’ve asked you like, a billion times. I don’t care that he told you to look after me. Where is he?”

Sidling up behind him, Tadashi places a hand on his shoulder. “Right here, knucklehead,” he says, chuckling softly when Hiro whips around so fast he nearly falls off his seat. Briefly, processing what Hiro had said, he checks his phone and realises with a punch to his gut that Baymax had, in fact, tried to contact him to tell him Hiro was up. Half an hour ago.

Whoops.

“Where the hell have you been, you jerk!” Hiro hisses, once he’s righted himself. “I thought you just left. Babysitters don’t just walk out in the middle of the night, you know!”

“I—” Tadashi pauses when he finally sees how flustered Hiro looks. His cheeks are flushed, hair wild, eyes narrowed in distress. He looks upset, and Tadashi feels winded once he realises he frightened him.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he murmurs, sitting down next to him. “I just—had to do something. You should be in bed.”

“Well, I’m not,” Hiro retorts, irritated. “Why did you just disappear? In the middle of the night?”

“Not so fun is it?” Tadashi can’t help but fire back at him, although it’s light, and he softens the blow with a ruffle to Hiro’s hair. His entire opinion of his relationship with him has changed, now that he knows the truth. He can’t possibly imagine disliking this little genius the way he had—not anymore. Everything is different, now. He can’t understand it.

Hiro shakes him off, still scowling. “What were you doing?”

Tadashi bites his lip. The box is still in the back of his moped, and honestly, he’s so exhausted that he can’t fathom trying to go over this conversation once again. Besides, Hiro already knows. He already knows. They can unpack the details later.

“I’ll tell you once we’ve both had some rest,” he says, instead. Hiro looks as though he’s going to argue, but Tadashi pokes the side of his head before he can get the chance. “I promise, bonehead. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Hiro rolls his eyes. “Sure. Whatever.” He slides off his seat and disappears upstairs without another word. Tadashi wonders for the brief moments he’s still in sight whether or not he should call after him and mend things over from their earlier scuffle before he goes to sleep; but before he can make a decision, Hiro’s already gone.

Sighing, he rests his chin in his hands. He glances at Baymax. “Thanks, buddy.”

“You are welcome, Tadashi. Are you satisfied with your care?”

Snorting, Tadashi nods his head. “Yeah, buddy, I am. I’m satisfied with my care.” And with that, Baymax returns to his charging station to deflate, and Tadashi is left all alone.

He has a lot more thinking to do.

The following morning, Tadashi is up and ready, needing the extra time to mentally prepare himself for how this conversation will play out. He’s had his breakfast, showered, dressed, and is now once again at the island with the box in front of him, waiting.

When Hiro does emerge, eventually, bed head probably the worst Tadashi’s ever seen, his eyes fall upon the item in confusion. He pauses with a stare, gaze flickering between the object and Tadashi’s face. He looks unsure, though a little vague, and Tadashi wishes for a moment that he could read him better.

Hiro slowly pulls a stool out opposite him and plonks himself on it.  “. . . What’s that?”

“Your history,” Tadashi says, softly. He opens the lid, setting it aside. “Hiro, when is your birthday?”

Hiro narrows his eyes again. The second he opens his mouth; Tadashi cuts him off. “It’s April 11^th, right?”

Hiro jerks back, startled. “How—”

Tadashi taps the box. “Take a peek, genius,” he smiles, warmer now. “It’s all you.”

Hiro takes it from him sceptically. He peers inside, careful as his hands find their way inside the box to pull out the items stored within. They’re trembling slightly, Tadashi notices, as he slowly begins to flick through all the documents Aunt Cass kept over the years, his birth certificate, which he stares at for quite some time—and then, finally, his eyes land on the photograph that nearly choked Tadashi out of it the second he saw it, too.

It's clearly taken right before the accident. It’s summertime, and they’re sitting on the porch of the house Tadashi had figured they lived before their parents died. Hiro is standing behind him, his whole body barely the size of Tadashi’s upper torso, arms woven around the elder’s neck with a huge, cheeky grin on his face. And, like Aunt Cass had mentioned, his hair is still that unruly birds-nest on his head. It is still the same. The toddler photographed is undoubtedly the same teenager now sitting across from him, and even now, side by side, with an authentic comparison, the image is incredibly jarring.

Tadashi himself is around ten or eleven, holding a popsicle with one hand and ruffling Hiro’s hair with the other. He’s laughing, too—and he hadn’t missed the adoration pictured in his eyes, clear as the sunny day it was taken.

He loved Hiro. You can tell. The way he looks at him in the photos, the way Aunt Cass had spoken about their relationship—the more he thinks about it, the sharper the stabs of pain seem to be in the corner of his gut. He can’t imagine his eleven-year-old self would ever think him forgetting entirely about Hiro’s existence would be possible—in fact, he knows for definite that he couldn’t fathom anything like that happening.

And yet, it did.

“That’s us?” Hiro says slowly, eyes wide as he observes the photograph. “You and . . . me?”

“Sure is,” Tadashi says, biting his lip as he struggles through disguising his emotions. He’s beginning to feel the prickling of tears souring his eyes. “Yep, buddy. Yep. Me and . . . you.”

Hiro’s expression is difficult to define. “I—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we—all this time?”

“If I’d known,” Tadashi murmurs, hindering on a promise. “If I had known, Hiro, that I had a little brother go missing in the accident—if I had remembered you—I would’ve recognised you the second I met you. You remember, right? When Callaghan brought you to SFIT for the first time?”

“Last year,” Hiro mutters, rubbing at his eyes. “Yeah, I remember,” he quirks a small smirk. “I wasn’t particularly friendly.”

Particularly friendly is an understatement. Tadashi distinctly recalls introducing himself, as chirpy as ever, to his professor’s genius kid, hoping to talk robotics and all sorts of interests and hit it off with him—only to be shot completely down when Hiro merely raised a brow at him, laughed in his face and called him something extremely . . . colourful.

He’d behaved that way in front of everyone. It’s how he got his reputation so fast.

“No,” Tadashi grins now, though. “No, not really.”

Hiro bites his lip, a look of doubt crossing his features as he drops everything back into the box. “What now?” He asks, a little stiffly. “What do we do?”

Tadashi’s mouth hangs open. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Now they know the truth, now they’ve sorted the details, confirmed their suspicions—that’s about as far as he got in his own head. But Hiro’s right. They need to think for what comes next.

Even so, that thought drains the colour from his face. He swallows as he looks at his—oh my god—little brother. “I don’t know, Hiro. I really don’t know.”

He ends up dragging Hiro back to the café.

He waits until the kid has showered—he takes a remarkably long time to do so, which Tadashi figures was his way of decompressing all of this information and trying to calm himself down before they face the next step of their new reality.

Once Hiro’s dressed and somewhat prepared to go, they hop on Tadashi’s moped and make their way down the road and back to the city. Hiro’s grip has shifted, where he once had his hands digging into Tadashi’s shoulders, today he has opted to wrap them around his midsection, cheek pressed to Tadashi’s back as they ride in silence.

“You good, back there?” Tadashi calls over as they stop at a redlight. He feels Hiro nod, and doesn’t say anymore. It’s been a long morning. A long few days, really.

Once they reach the café, Tadashi notices Hiro’s tension, the way the kid draws back, shrinking in on himself. He’s nervous. He’d only met Cass the day prior, but this time, he’s going in under the new impression that she is his family. His real family. Tadashi can’t imagine what he must be feeling. It’s a different kind of apprehension; if he were in Hiro’s position, he thinks he’d be just as freaked, too.

It's nearing five o clock, now. They’d spent the majority of the morning and afternoon lazing around, not really knowing what to do with themselves. Awkward conversation here and there, Hiro disappearing to the basement to work alone for a while—which left Tadashi itching to check on him every two minutes to make sure he hadn’t snuck off somewhere—to now, the evening sky dimming gradually as he parks his moped in the garage.

“It’s beat poetry night,” Tadashi tells him, hanging his helmet off the handlebars. “So Aunt Cass is gonna close the café early. I figured we could chill here for a second until she turns that sign around. What do you think?”

Hiro glances around the garage, eyeing up the tech Tadashi has with curiosity. “Nice tech,” is all he says, beginning to poke around at all Tadashi’s things. “Didn’t realise you had your own nerd lab.”

“What, not as cool as your nerd lab?” Tadashi smirks, shoving his head as he walks by him. “Sorry we don’t all get the new updates and modern tech. Some of us have to work with what’s affordable.”

“I like it,” Hiro shrugs, brushing off the light dig. “You don’t need all the fancy tech to get work done. Not if you can make your own. And better.”

“I take it you have notes?” Tadashi snorts, sinking down onto the red sofa in the corner of the garage. “C’mon, lay it on me.”

“Not really,” Hiro says, surprising him further. “It’s not bad, seriously. I’m not gonna insult everything about you, you know.”

“Shocking.”

“Well, most things,” Hiro corrects, softening it with a playful smirk.

“And here I was thinking I was beginning to get you to like me,” Tadashi sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes in mock despair. “The moment I was starting to wonder if we had a breakthrough.”

“That’ll never happen,” Hiro scoffs. “You’re too nerdy.”

“I’m too nerdy?” Tadashi drops an arm, raising a brow. “Says the robot shirt.”

“This is my favourite shirt!” Hiro fires back defensively, pulling at the red tee in emphasis. “It’s cool!”

“No, no, it is,” Tadashi says, in a tone that tells he thinks the complete opposite. “Really cool. Nerd.”

“Hey—”

“Tadashi?”

Tadashi leans forward, stomach knotting with nerves as his aunt slowly opens up the door to the garage, peering around it in confusion to scan around at the noise. “Is that you?”

“H-hey, Aunt Cass!” Tadashi jumps up from the couch, coming to stand before her, seeing as Hiro has gone completely still in shock, unbeknownst on what to do with himself. “Y-you’re closed early!”

“I close early every Wednesday—” Aunt Cass starts, before she finally sees Hiro, who’s slowly creeping over from where he’d been mostly hidden from view, emerging into the middle of the room next to Tadashi. Her mouth hangs open as she cuts herself off mid-sentence, hands dropping by her side. Her brows draw upwards, vulnerability coaching her face from where she too, is frozen still.

“Hiro?” She whispers. She glances at Tadashi, eyes watering. “Hiro?” She repeats. “It’s—it’s really him?”

“Yeah,” Tadashi feels his own mouth go wobbly, trying his hardest to keep it together. “Yeah, Aunt Cass. It’s him.”

Hiro looks an odd mixture of perplexed and extremely uncomfortable, glancing at Tadashi for reassurance. He doesn’t move, awkward beneath the attention on him. Tadashi has gathered from the short amount of time he’s known him that Hiro doesn’t take all too well to being the centre of attention—especially in cases like these, where he truly has no idea how to present himself.

Swallowing, Hiro nervously runs a hand through his hair. “Um. Hi. A-Aunt Cass?”

Aunt Cass moves forward slowly, as if approaching a startled deer in headlights. There’s fondness, pain, wonder all in her expression, doubtfulness on what to say, what to do. Eventually, she laughs through a sob that hiccups its way up her throat, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. “C-Can—” she shakes her head, though the relieved smile doesn’t fall from her face, tears soon following. “Can I hug you?”

Hiro looks utterly bewildered for a moment, blinking silently, before his own face breaks into a small, slightly nervous smile. “Okay,” he says, with a tiny lift of his shoulder. “S-sure.”

Aunt Cass bundles him in her arms faster than lighting, running from the door to pull him into the tightest hug probably of his life. She squeezes him to death, sobbing openly now into his shoulder. For a second, Tadashi isn’t sure if Hiro has it in him to hug back, before he sees the kids arms slowly loop around Cass’ middle.

“Oh, I can’t believe it’s you,” Aunt Cass cries, clutching the back of his head. She pulls back to grab his shoulders, smiling despite the tears blurring her vision. “L-look at you! You’re, you’re so grown up now—I remember when you were just a little baby—I—" she collapses into a fit of sobs, one hand still holding his shoulder and the other covering her mouth as her body wracks with tremors of tears.

Hiro’s face twists into one of pure panic for a moment, unsure of what to do with this crying woman all over him, before he, to Tadashi’s disbelief, raises a hand to come up and cover hers, squeezing her fingers that grip his small shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, attempting a weak smile to soothe her. “It’s okay. I-I’m here now.”

Tadashi hadn’t expected this kind of maturity from him. It goes to show that Hiro truly does have a more compassionate side, a wiser part of him that’s always pitifully hidden behind his childish snark. It’s in him, deep down. It seems as though he just hasn’t had the chance to execute that yet.

He watches the interaction unfold with a watery smile. He himself hadn’t had the opportunity to feel all the emotion he had in front of Hiro—to properly process everything he was going through at the knowledge he’d been exposed to. Hiro apparently hasn’t either; as it’s clearly hitting him now at full force that this is his family. His real family, that he never even knew of.

Aunt Cass finally pulls away, wiping her eyes with her apron. “Oh, Gosh, I just can’t believe it,” she laughs, wetly. “I never—I never thought I’d see you again. Especially so grown up!"

Hiro chuckles, and Tadashi notices with a small smile that he’s trying very hard to cover the tears in his eyes, coming up to wipe them quickly before any possibility of them falling. “Yeah, um. I—I didn’t know,” he confesses, looking down. “I wish I did.”

“Hey, I had no idea either,” Tadashi interjects, then, coming over to give his aunt a small hug. “Don’t feel bad. At least we know now, huh?”

“I guess,” Hiro murmurs, once again adopting that shy demeanour as he gazes up at Tadashi. “It’s kinda cool,” he smirks, though his eyes are still building up with tears no matter how hard he tries to fight them. “I—I have a big brother.”

Tadashi playfully punches his shoulder. “Welcome home, bonehead,” he says softly, looking at him with a fondness that was never there before.

And Hiro finally, finally allows his tears to fall.

Aunt Cass refuses to let them out of her sight for the rest of the evening.

“I’m cancelling beat poetry night,” she says adamantly, preheating the oven. “We’re all going to have dinner together, play some games—maybe watch a movie—”

“Aunt Cass,” Tadashi chuckles, chopping up the vegetables she has set on the counter. “I have to bring Hiro back, you know, at some point.”

Hiro is sat on the counter, swinging his legs as he watches Tadashi orchestrate the knife, fascinated. “I dunno,” he says, tilting his head side-to-side. “You are the one in charge. We can go back, like, whenever.”

Once again, a startling sentence to come from this kid’s mouth. Turns out, Hiro is just full of fucking surprises. “Exactly,” he says, pointing the chopping knife towards him but nowhere close enough to cause any harm. “So I say we get you back early enough so it’s not too late—”

“Tadashi,” Hiro cuts him off with a quirked brow. “Seriously? This is your first official day of being an older brother and you’re gonna be this lame?”

“I’m being responsible,” Tadashi retorts, but his heart feels full at the banter between them. “In case you forgot, I’m still held accountable for whatever happens with you. Except, you are not easy at all. Being an authority figure for you sucks. That’s a heads up, by the way, Aunt Cass,” he grins as he nudges her with his elbow gently. “Your other nephew is literally insane.”

“Well, if he’s anything like you, I’m not surprised,” Aunt Cass winks, earning herself a stellar smile from Hiro. “Maybe it’s a Hamada thing.”

At this, Hiro pauses from where he’d been about to snatch a chopped carrot to shove in his mouth. At first, Tadashi feels his breath hitch, in case it was too soon, or something, to say things like that—but Hiro simply hums in thought, throwing the carrot pieces in his mouth as he chews quietly, musing over the statement.

“Hamada,” he echoes, nodding slowly. “. . . Hiro Hamada.”

Honestly, his transition into this dynamic is seriously impressive. Hiro has handled this entire ordeal beautifully, processing the information with a striking velocity, it’s almost as if they’ve been living like this forever. It’s still new, still fresh, and Hiro still has his whole life behind him, a whole family he was raised within, and yet his acceptance to this unfamiliar household that he’s just found out is his own—just, impressive. Really, really impressive.

“Has a nice ring to it,” Tadashi smiles. “Suits you.”

Hiro swallows. “Yeah. I like it. I think.” He looks a little apprehensive, and Tadashi doesn’t miss the flash of guilt that snatches his features for just a second, as if it’s wrong for him to say that. But, that only makes sense, really. After all, the man that raised him has no idea of what they’ve discovered, and Tadashi can imagine Hiro’s shame at the idea that he’s betraying his father, some way.

“We can play a game after dinner,” Tadashi settles on, hoping to distract him. “Catch up, y’know. I’m sure Aunt Cass would love to hear about the eleven years of your life we’ve missed out on.” It’s meant to come off as a joke, but it’s only after he says it does he realise it sounds kind of sad.

“Sure,” Hiro agrees lightly. “But—” he points to Aunt Cass, “—only if you show me his most embarrassing baby pictures.”

Once again, Hiro helps clear the air by bouncing off of Tadashi at an easy speed, taking everything in stride with his quick-wit and short quipped answers; for once the one thing about him Tadashi is grateful for.

“Hiro,” he says flatly. “She has ones of you too. Diapers, soothers, face covered in food, the whole lot.”

“Yours are definitely worse.”

“Not even close, little brother.”

Hiro jerks at that one. He tries to cover it up with a forced cough, but plays it off pretty badly. His cheeks flush in embarrassment. “Right,” he says, in the end, clasping his hands together.

“Too much?” Tadashi says softly. The last thing he wants to do is make Hiro feel awkward—especially since this is all still so new. Not to mention how well he’s been doing so far; he’d hate to interrupt it with a push too close to the edge.

“N-no, no, it’s fine,” Hiro says, shaking his head vigorously. “Just . . . not used to it.”

Tadashi smiles at him. “It might take a while,” he says, as if all this has sunk in nicely into his brain and he’s still not internally screaming at everything that’s happening right now. “Y’know. Until it clicks.”

“Until it stops being weird as hell that I’m related to the biggest nerd of the century,” Hiro retorts, swiftly returning to his old self again with a smirk. “Nah. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

“Boys, boys,” Aunt Cass laughs, and Tadashi can hear in her voice how happy she is to emphasise the plural. “Shoo, out of my way. I don’t need any extra disasters before dinner.”

“You better keep Tadashi outside then,” Hiro quips, sticking his tongue out when Tadashi glares at him.

It feels right. Strange, and new, and a little bizarre, but right. Nothing feels forced, nothing feels tense or awkward or hideously unsure.

It just feels right. Like family. Like happiness.

Like home.

Chapter Text

That night, Tadashi approaches Hiro’s bedroom with a soft knock to his open door.

Hiro is moving around the pillows on his bed, stood over it as he fluffs them up and positions them the way he likes before he’ll collapse on top of them. He turns around upon hearing Tadashi’s arrival. It feels a little jarring to be back here now, where Hiro is in his own house in his own room. Like a rather cruel reminder of Hiro’s real life, away from him and Aunt Cass.

“Hey,” he greets, albeit a little tiredly. “What’s up?”

“I just, wanted to check in,” Tadashi admits, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “See how you are. Today was a lot, y’know?”

Hiro pauses from where he was chucking half his pillows onto the floor. “Yeah,” he says, slowly. “Crazy. For both of us, I guess.”

“How do you . . . y’know, feel about it?” Tadashi asks gently, wondering whether or not it’s too pushy for him to come in and take a seat on Hiro’s desk chair. After mulling it over, he sighs and does just that, taking the bag on the seat to move it to the floor as he sits himself gingerly. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“It’s weird,” Hiro shrugs, still somehow oddly casual about the whole thing. “I dunno. I’m not like, mad about it, or anything. It’s just gonna take a while to sink in.”

Tadashi’s not sure how to propose the next question. He doesn’t even know what he thinks, let alone what Hiro’s opinion on it might be. With a deep breath, he hopes for the best and dives into it. “What are you gonna tell Callaghan?” He blurts, immediately regretting it.

Hiro stills, his back still faced to him. Slowly, he turns around. “What do you mean, ‘what am I gonna tell Callaghan?’”

“Just, like, I dunno,” Tadashi groans, hoping his thoughts for their future arrangements aren’t totally one sided. “I mean—I guess I’m just wondering where you want to go from here.”

“Where should I go from here?” Hiro asks, raising a brow. Tadashi genuinely can’t tell if he actually doesn’t understand or if he’s playing stupid just to get a rise out of him. “We found out today, Tadashi. We don’t need to jump into figuring everything out right this second.”

“Your dad’s home in three days,” Tadashi reminds him, as gently as he can. “And then I—I’m gone. I go back to the café, go back to SFIT . . . I’m just—curious, I guess. To what you expect to happen from here.”

“I don’t know,” Hiro shrugs again, and Tadashi can tell he’s trying hard not to get irritated. “Does it matter? I’m really tired.”

“I know, kid,” Tadashi sighs, pinching between his brows. “I know, I know, me too. I just wanted to see if you thought about it but . . . I guess not. Don’t worry about it.”

He gets up to leave, opening his mouth to bid him goodnight and then return to his room to suffer through yet another existential crisis, before Hiro stops him.

“Hang on, Tadashi.”

Tadashi pauses at the door. Hiro is stood beside his bed, wringing his hands nervously. To be fair, he does look wrecked, and Tadashi feels a pang of guilt shoot through him when he realises he probably should’ve dropped the topic for tonight.

“I have thought about it,” Hiro murmurs, sighing. “I just don’t know how he’s going to react, that’s all. I don’t know what the right thing to do is. Where I want to go, what I want to do, say, think, act. I never thought in a million years something like this would ever happen to me and now I just—I’m just a little freaked, okay?”

He’s exhaling a little heavily, swallowing thickly as he tugs on his thick locks of hair. He fumbles with his hands, once again totally unsure and anxious about the whole thing.

Tadashi softens. “Hey, I know. That’s okay. You’re right. We don’t need to figure out everything right now.”

“I just don’t know what I want,” Hiro mutters, not dropping it now once the conversation has already started. “I don’t know what you want. What do you think, is supposed to happen now?”

Tadashi hesitates. He knows what he wants—in fact, he’d love more than anything for Hiro to immediately switch off from his old life and come and live with him and Aunt Cass and live out the rest of his years as part of his real family—but he knows that isn’t realistic. Hiro’s still grown up here, and in many ways more than one Callaghan is still his father. A person he will always see as a father. Hiro barely even knows him. Barely knows Aunt Cass. It’s ridiculous to expect him to drop everything and adapt to an entirely new lifestyle and leave his old one behind.

“I want what you want,” he says, quietly. “It’s your decision, what happens next. Wherever you feel happiest, Hiro. Wherever you’re—” Safe. He doesn’t say the last word. He sure as hell doesn’t want to know where that will lead them. But it is something he wants to revisit. Hiro openly admitted to him that his relationship with Callaghan isn’t all that healthy. Well, actually, it’s downright abusive. If he chooses to step out of it, Hiro will stay here with his adopted father who hurts him and makes him feel incredibly insecure, stripping him of all of his confidence when it comes to connecting with other people, and yet if he suggests that Hiro leaves everything he knows to join a family he met a day ago—that’s not fair, either.

However, somehow, Hiro seems to pick up on his hesitation. “You want me to leave. Don’t you?”

“I—” Tadashi bites his lip. Fuck. “I just want you to be safe.”

Hiro narrows his eyes, growing defensive. “I am safe here. I’ve lived here my whole life, remember?”

“No, I know that I just—” Tadashi pinches his eyes again. “I just—he hurts you, Hiro.”

Hiro growls, turning away. “I said it barely happens.”

“Well how often does he drink?” Tadashi says, before he can stop himself.

Hiro turns away, throwing his pillows back onto his bed to distract himself. “Doesn’t matter.”

Tadashi chews on his lower lip. He’s already threading across a dangerous territory. This isn’t the kind of conversation he was hoping to have with Hiro, especially not now. They’ve had a long day, and the kid is exhausted. There’s no point in digging that up.

“Okay,” he sighs through his nose, deciding to abandon this ordeal entirely. “I’ll leave you be. Goodnight.”

Hiro doesn’t reply.

At three am, he hears familiar rustling coming from downstairs.

Shooting up in bed like a bullet, Tadashi throws his sheets off of him and barely manages to shove his slippers on before he races down the stairs. When he enters the kitchen, startled and panicked out of his mind, he’s greeted with Hiro, still clad in his pyjamas, sitting at the same seat he’s always in and eating a bowl of cereal.

“Y-you’re up,” Tadashi breathes, mortified now that Hiro clearly shows no signs of going anywhere. He leans against the banister, trying to play off his anxiety. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Hiro chews on his cornflakes. “Why would I wake you up? I just got hungry.”

“I could’ve, I don’t know, given you company.” Tadashi knows he sounds pathetic.

Hiro merely quirks a brow. “Well, you’re doing it now,” he says flatly.

Tadashi presses his lips together. Hiro can be, for the love of God, so fucking difficult.

“Are you okay?” He decides on asking, after a moment. “I didn’t mean to put you off earlier.”

“I’m fine,” Hiro replies in a tone that indicates otherwise. “You don’t need to keep asking me all the time.”

“Of course I’m gonna ask!” Tadashi sputters, loud enough for Hiro to turn to him in shock. “I know you found out you’re my brother yesterday—but so did I. I just found you too, Hiro. This is just as crazy and bizarre to me as it is to you. And now I—” I want to protect you.

“You what?” Hiro catches him as he trails off. “You what, Tadashi?”

“I—” Tadashi has no idea how to say this without making a mockery of himself. “I want to make sure you’re okay. It—that was meant to be my job. Before all of this mess.”

Hiro continues to chew. “Actually, it was our parents.’”

“Hiro,” Tadashi murmurs, struggling to stay patient with him. “You know what I mean.”

Hiro pushes his cereal away from him. “And you know what I mean,” he retorts, hotly. “I was looking after myself just fine before you came along, Tadashi. I’ve been doing it a long time. Callaghan is still my dad. I’ve been doing this. You don’t just get to come in now and expect to know what’s best for me just because we found out we’re related. You still have no idea who I am.”

“I want to,” Tadashi admits quietly. “I want to know you, Hiro. I want to know the person I missed out so many years of. Aren’t you a little curious, too?” He should’ve known it wasn’t going to be this easy, and he feels bitter at the thought of how Hiro had behaved back in the café. He seemed so content, fitting right in, the final puzzle piece to a jigsaw he hadn’t known they were missing a part of. “Don’t you want to get to know Aunt Cass?” He continues. “Know what your life was supposed to be like? Isn’t even a small part of you wondering what could’ve happened if—” if you didn’t go missing.

“Supposed to be like?” Hiro repeats, once again simply picking at one thing Tadashi mentioned out of the entire monologue he produced. “My life is supposed to be here, Tadashi. That’s how things worked out. My dad found me. Raised me. He’s not the nicest all the time but he still—he still adopted me. I could’ve died out there if it wasn’t for him.”

“Paramedics looked for you,” Tadashi mutters, unsure of where he’s going with this. It all seems pointless, now. “They searched, Hiro. They would’ve found you and brought you home if Callaghan didn’t get to you first.” He stops, tyre screeches in his brain.

“You don’t know that,” Hiro says coolly, but Tadashi’s not listening anymore.

“You said, the documents are blacked out,” Tadashi points at him, carefully. “You said you have no information about the accident, right?”

Hiro hesitates. “No, I said all I know is where it was and what happened. No names. There were no names.”

“Why do you think that is?” Tadashi feels his heart thump faster. His chest feels tight, hands beginning to go clammy. “Don’t you have a right to know who your family are? Did you ever ask?”

“Dad didn’t like to talk about them,” Hiro says shortly. “He said it wasn’t fair on me. To wonder about people I’d never see again.”

As fair as that answer is, Tadashi can’t shake the thought that this goes further than that. Much, much further. “So he wouldn’t tell you their names?” He says, slowly. “Or, you know, the other family you have that are very much alive.”

At this, Tadashi’s mind goes into a spiral. None of this makes sense. In order for Callaghan to adopt Hiro, the state would have to ensure that there was no one else in Hiro’s bloodline fit to take care of him. Surely they would’ve had to contact Aunt Cass first? Hiro’s full name and birthdate would’ve led him right back to her, wouldn’t it?

“Where are your adoption papers?” Tadashi asks quickly. “Your dad has them somewhere, right?”

At this, Hiro goes completely blank. “I don’t know?” He narrows his eyes. “What’s with all the questions? It doesn’t matter.”

“No,” Tadashi murmurs. “I think it does.”

Tadashi finds himself on his laptop, typing furiously as he searches for answers. Hiro gave up on him and simply went back to bed—which works out just fine, as Tadashi is all too aware of how he would react if he knew what the elder was up to.

He finds out, in order to access a copy of Hiro’s adoption records, he has to contact the General Register Office of where the order was made. The agency in San Fransokyo isn’t far. All he has to do is make a call, or pay a visit, and find out the truth.

Which he has plans to do. Because something is up. Something about this is off.

And he’s going to find out what.

The following morning, he activates Baymax, warns Hiro about his scanners and the fact he’ll be contacted if the kid goes anywhere, tells him he has an errand to run, and then breaks every single speed limit on his moped.

He has to put the location of the office in his GPS, following along with sweaty hands as he gets closer to his destination. A part of him feels guilty at the fact he’s doing this behind Hiro’s back; but honestly, he hadn’t been in the mood to deal with the kids sharp remarks today. He can only imagine what Hiro would think about this, and if Tadashi does end up being wrong about his suspicions, well, then, Hiro won’t ever have to know.

But if he’s right? Oh, hell.

He reaches the adoption agency much faster than he’d thought. Once he parks on the curb, he clenches his hands and wipes them down on his cardigan. Taking a deep breath, he pushes the door open into the head office, swallowing when the lady behind the desk looks up at his arrival.

“H-hey,” he smiles, as warmly as he can. “How . . . are you?”

“Hello,” the lady smiles, although it’s less than friendly. “How can I help you?”

Tadashi scratches the back of his neck. “I’m looking for adoption records of my little brother. Is that . . . accessible?”

“Are you of legal guardian?” The lady asks, curtly, which Tadashi gathers is a rhetorical question.

“No,” he says, a little lamely, shoving his hands into his pockets. “N-no, I’m not.”

“You need written permission of his legal guardian to access his records,” the lady says simply, looking back at her computer, a clear indication that she’s finished talking with him.

But Tadashi isn’t going to let this go so easily. “Look—can you just see if he’s there? On the records at all?”

The lady narrows her eyes. “Didn’t you hear me? You can’t—”

“I’m not looking to see them,” Tadashi insists, desperately. “I just need to know if he’s there. If he’s on the records. At all.”

The lady curses under her breath, grumbling to herself as she rolls her eyes at his impatience. “What was his name?”

“Hiro,” Tadashi says, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Hiro Hamada. Or Hiro Callaghan. I don’t know. The year would be 2018. The year he got adopted, I mean.” He fumbles over himself pathetically, and he can’t help a wince at how not put together he sounds.

The lady types a way for a minute, searching intently as her fingers roll on the mouse as she scrolls down her screen. Then, after a good while of peering intensely, she shrugs. “There’s no Hiro here of that year. Or within the decade before or after. Hamada or Callaghan. Are you sure that’s the right name?”

The taste in his mouth goes sour. He feels his entire body go cold. “Yeah,” he whispers, staring into space. “Yeah, that’s his name.”

“Well, I can’t help you, kid,” the receptionist says, with a careless shrug. “No Hiro here. Not in our department, anyway. Maybe check—”

It doesn’t matter where she suggested, because Tadashi has already turned on his heel, walking out in a daze as his heart and mind thrash around like stormy waves.

His suspicions were right. Callaghan never adopted Hiro.

He stole him.

“Enjoy your little errand?” Hiro asks, the second he arrives back. He begins to follow the taller around, keen to torment him. “Dad called. He says he’s coming home early.”

“What?” At this, Tadashi whirls around, dragged out of his thoughts. “When?”

Hiro rolls his eyes. “Tomorrow. Fun while it lasted, huh?”

“Don’t be like that,” Tadashi says, feeling tense after his new discovery. He turns around again to continue to the living room, too pent up to deal with Hiro and his snark right now. “Things have changed.”

“Changed how?” Hiro snorts, unkindly. “Look around, Tadashi. We’re in the same house, talking the same old shit. Nothing’s changed.”

“Everything has changed,” Tadashi hisses, halting in his tracks to spin on his heel and face Hiro, who nearly crashes right into him from how quick he’d been to keep up. “We have changed. You can’t stand there and say that everything is the same after we just found out we’re brothers. That’s insane. You know it’s insane.”

Hiro folds his arms, indifferent. “It doesn’t change the facts, Tadashi,” he says simply. “I stay here, you go back to the café, and we live out the rest of our lives separated with the occasional hello. That’s how this goes.”

“Does it?” Tadashi feels winded. “Really, Hiro? After all that, and now suddenly you want nothing to do with us?”

“I didn’t say that,” Hiro snaps, defensive. “We live different lives, Tadashi. Sure, shit didn’t turn out the way it should’ve—but that doesn’t change who we’ve been until now. I’m not just gonna—drop everything and be your little brother. My life is here. With my dad.”

“What was ‘Hamada, I like that’ all about, then?” Tadashi fires back, angrily. “You basically said you wanted to be part of our family, Hiro. You know, your real one?”

“Who says I can’t?” Hiro’s backtracking, a bit, now. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to, but I belong here. With dad. It doesn’t make me any less part of your life.”

“You belong at home with us,” Tadashi insists, starting to get frustrated with him. “Y-you can’t stay here—with—with a man that hurts you and never even adopted you in the first place!”

Well, shit. Cats out of the bag. He’d been hoping for some time to plan on how he was going to deliver the news but, go figures. Safe to say, he hadn’t dropped that bomb correctly.

Hiro takes a step back. “What, are you talking about?”

Tadashi curses, pinching between his brows and running a hand down his face. This hadn’t gone to plan whatsoever. Then again, Hiro latched onto him the second he got in like an imprudent leech, aggravating him from the minute he was in the front door. Kid asked for it.

“Your ‘dad’,” Tadashi spits. “Didn’t adopt you. I checked the agency. You’re not on the files. You’re not recorded, because you were never there. He just took you and kept you for himself.”

“Tadashi, what?” Hiro just looks pissed. “Do you even hear how crazy you sound, right now?”

“Are you listening?” Tadashi demands. “He didn’t come to the rescue, he didn’t adopt you from the system, give you this incredible luxurious life as a second chance to live. He basically kidnapped you, for fucks sake!”

Startled, Hiro glowers at him, fists clenched and jaw tight as he acknowledges what Tadashi is telling him. He doesn’t look all that compliant. In fact, he looks as though he’s going to straight up reject this information, play it off as if Tadashi’s just fucking insane and has no idea what he’s talking about.

“You’re kidding, right?” Hiro doesn’t look the slightest bit amused. “There is no way you’re trying to get me to believe that.”

“Think, Hiro!” Tadashi urges. “Why do you think he blacked out all your information? Didn’t tell you about the family you have that are very much in fact alive? He knew, Hiro. He knew you had to have had family somewhere. When you go to an adoption agency, or into foster care, the court has to make sure that there are no other immediate family members fit or willing to take care of you. If you’d really been up for adoption, they would’ve had to contact Aunt Cass first to make sure she wasn’t a possible guardian. It’s not this happy story, Hiro. It’s dark. Your father is not the man he says he is.”

Hiro’s face twists into a scowl, as if he has no idea how to react to this other than anger. It seems to be his default emotion, his immediate outlet for any sort of discomfort—he expresses a lot of his feelings through anger and frustration, actually. He has no idea how to regulate himself with any kind of balance; he just lashes out.

“You don’t know shit,” he spits. “Why would he even do that? Why would he bother?”

“Hiro, how are you not understanding how shady all of this is?” Tadashi cannot comprehend Hiro’s tunnel vision to everything. He notices then that Hiro has a stricken expression on his face, as if his bitterness is a forced attempt at shielding how he really feels. Swallowing, he takes a deep breath, and steadies his bumbling rage, opting for an approach that doesn’t seem so much like an attack.

“Listen,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not trying to catch you out, or paint your dad as like, this totally horrible person. I’m just saying, nothing about everything we’ve just found out is perfectly normal. It’s all connected in some way. Orchestrated in some way. Please, just listen to what I’m telling you. I won’t force you to do this that and the other—I just want you to know. That this?” he gestures between the two of them. “Isn’t a coincidence. Life didn’t just tragically pull us apart. This was done on purpose.”

“‘I’m not trying to paint your dad as a totally horrible person but by the way he kidnapped you and crafted this whole thing to seem as if it all played out normally when instead it was done on purpose,’” Hiro imitates in a low voice that Tadashi figures is supposed to be his, using air quotations with a blank expression. “You sound nuts.”

“Hiro, I checked,” Tadashi says, exasperated. “And surely you can see how none of this adds up? None of it. If what your dad told you was true, you would’ve been at home. With us.”

Hiro bites his lip, still scowling as he adverts his gaze.

“Fine,” Tadashi says. “If you don’t believe me, ask your dad. When he comes home, ask him. See for yourself.”

“I will,” Hiro mutters, and that’s the end of that.

That afternoon, Tadashi is growing antsy.

He’s texted Aunt Cass, and she agreed to cook lunch for both of them for him to collect and bring back to the house. He can only imagine what would go down if he asked Hiro for them to dine at the café. They’re back on rocky slopes, and it feels infuriatingly as if they’ve gone right back to the start. After everything.

Tadashi can’t comprehend Hiro’s aversion to all this. He’d been so open, so willing, so keen to investigate his past, sitting in the café like it had been his home his whole life. He’d openly admitted to Callaghan’s abuse towards him, and yet now, all of a sudden, it’s as if nothing happened, and Tadashi is just this lame student his dad lectures at SFIT.

He doesn’t get it, and the more he puzzles over the truth of their relationship, the more it makes sense. Him and Hiro are honestly startingly alike. Despite their nurtured differences, their separately led lives, they behave much more like brothers than he ever would’ve thought to expect. They’re both stubborn, both strikingly intelligent, both responsive in similar ways depending on the situation—not to mention their looks. Tadashi, now that he knows, honestly can’t understand how he never put the pieces together. He knew about Hiro’s past, knew somewhat about his own. All it would’ve taken was for him to realise Hiro was old enough to have been around at the time his parents died. But then again, if he hadn’t had his head fuck out with some traumatic brain injury, maybe he would’ve remembered Hiro.

He knows for a fact, that if he’d suffered differently and recalled his childhood prior to the crash; he would’ve recognised Hiro the second he laid eyes on him.

But now, it seems as though they have very different opinions about what happened to them. Hiro is now randomly defending the life out of his father and reverted to treating Tadashi like a nobody that walked through the door—meanwhile Tadashi himself is itching to snatch Hiro up away from this mess and bring him back to the family he belongs to.

He can only imagine how things would’ve played out if it all went differently. Hiro growing up right under his nose; the inventions they could’ve built together all throughout childhood. Tadashi feels a physical ache in his chest at the thought—he knows he would’ve encouraged that kid’s crazy ideas. He could’ve given Hiro all of his hand-me-downs, walked him to school, took him out and about for ice cream during the summer. They could’ve watched cartoons on Saturday mornings and followed Aunt Cass around the mall; they could’ve tried things together, hated things together, loved things together. They could’ve played all night long, sharing a room—lord knows his is big enough—talking about anything and everything, especially now that Hiro’s at that age where things are becoming weird and difficult.

He could’ve guided Hiro all throughout his school years, raised him up when the world got him down. He could’ve been a proper big brother to him—and just maybe, with the right attention and the right kind of love, Hiro might’ve been satisfied and safe enough within his family as not to pursue botfighting. He could’ve spent his weeknights watching movies with Tadashi instead of lurking around dark alleys and going back to strangers houses to smoke and drink with kids twice his age.

He could’ve been happy. They could’ve been happy.

And Tadashi will be damned if he doesn’t take the chance to change things, especially now that he can.

Mark his words, he’s going to show Hiro what a family really is, no matter what the cost.

“Aunt Cass made lunch,” he says into the open room, sat at the island whereas Hiro has taken to silently lazing on the couch. Tadashi has noticed this, because despite Hiro’s once again prickly demeanour, that rebounding shell as strong as steel, he hasn’t slouched off to isolate in the basement. He’s stand-offish, tight-lipped and half responsive, but he’s sticking around. He doesn’t seem keen on the idea of being far from Tadashi’s sight.

It’s interesting.

“Okay,” Hiro says shortly. He says nothing else, fiddling with yet another robot that Tadashi can only hope isn’t for the ring.

“I’m—we have to pick it up.”

“I’ll wait here,” Hiro says, with a shrug. “Leave Baymax, have his security blasted to a trillion, I don’t care.”

Tadashi purses his lips. “Aunt Cass will want to see you.”

Hiro drops his tech and throws a dark look over his shoulder. “So? She can see me another time. I’m not gonna disappear overnight.”

He doesn’t seem to grasp the depth of his words until he’s already said them, but even so he keeps his cool gaze, refusing to flounder his expression.

Tadashi swallows. “You already did,” he murmurs quietly.

Scratching the back of his neck, he looks away, unsure. He can’t understand how things fell apart between them so quickly. They were getting along great—and now he’s back wondering how on Earth he’s going to get this kid to crack a damn smile, or even just be nice, goddamn it.

Hiro’s eyes stay hardened until he finally drops them with a sigh. “Just . . . go do whatever you need to do. I’ll be fine here.”

“. . . Alright.” Tadashi pokes the inside of his cheek before activating Baymax and grabbing his keys. “Just . . . I won’t be long.”

“Okay.”

As he starts up his moped, Tadashi finds his mind wandering back to when their relationship began to get a little sticky again. Trying to pinpoint the moment it went sour, he replays as much as he can in his own mind, only really coming to the conclusion that Hiro returned to his hostile self the second he copped that there was some sort of threat to the life he has. That things could change, that everything could change. That was the moment he became bitter, defensive, cruel.

Tadashi should’ve known he pushed him too far, pressured him too fast. It’s easier for him, than for Hiro. Sure, he’d totally forgotten about his little brother and is fucking flabbergasted to come to terms with it himself; but Hiro’s the one that has his whole world turning upside down. For him it’s realising everything he’d ever known was a lie, leaving his whole life behind him to start a brand new one; whereas for Tadashi it’s just having another addition to the house. Which goes a lot further than that, but simplified it’s that black and white. He’s not the one discovering that his father might actually have committed some sort of crime kidnapping him after being at the right place at the right time and randomly wanting another kid—

Gripping the handlebars and squeezing his thighs, Tadashi slams the moped on its breaks at the side of the road, almost falling off at how abrupt it is. Trembling, he kicks a heel out to click the stand into place, before leaning forward to steady his heartrate.

Because there is no way. It can’t be any worse than this, can it?

Why did Callaghan want Hiro? Why did he just decide to take him, after he’d somehow been at the same place and same time of the accident? Had he watched the whole thing happen? Had he come to help, then decided to whisk away one kid and not the other? Why did he just—why didn’t he leave Hiro alone? Why did he lie about adopting him; lie about Hiro’s whole past, the fact he had a brother—or had Callaghan thought he was dead, too?

None of it makes any sense. And he knows it can’t make any more sense to his aunt, either. She’d given him everything she’d already known. She’s done with secrets, there’s nothing left to hide.

Perhaps his aunt doesn’t have anything to hide—but Callaghan definitely does.

Tadashi kicks up the stand, revs the engine, and turns the way he came.

He returns to the house in a frenzy. Rattled, unable to shake the nerve that something is off, he calls into the kitchen and drops his keys at the sight that greets him.

Baymax, deactivated, which shouldn’t happen considering he’s set on a mode to only deactivate at the sound of Tadashi’s voice, is charging in his case, still inflated but folded over like he’s out of battery.

“Baymax?” Tadashi murmurs, stepping closer. He drops his keys on the island and glances around at the eery silence of the room. Then, panicking, he does a double take. “Hiro?”

Calling up the stairs, Tadashi grits his teeth when there’s no answer. In a few short, rapid movements, he’s checked Hiro’s bedroom, the basement, and basically anywhere else in this house Hiro would spend his time in. Once he’s gathered that Hiro, is in fact, not here, he quickly activates Baymax and runs a sweaty hand through his hair.

“Baymax,” he fumbles out, mere seconds after his robot’s signature greeting. “I need you to pull up video footage from after I left.”

Almost instantly, Baymax’s stomach glitches as the screen loads and begins to replay exactly what Tadashi had been expecting. Hiro, fiddling with his toolbox from the garage that Tadashi is only noticing now that has been left on the floor behind the island counter. He watches with his lips pressed together as Hiro grins before closing in on the frame next to Baymax’s chip, and then the footage goes blank.

“Rewind,” Tadashi orders, though not unkindly. The video reverses until it stops on Hiro sat on the island, picking at cereal again right out of the box. He’s simply chatting away, digging in fistfuls of cheerios as he rambles on to the robot. The sight is so jarring Tadashi can barely tune into what’s being said amidst the conversation.

“You know, you’re actually kinda cool,” Hiro is saying, swinging his legs slightly. “Don’t tell Tadashi I said that though. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Touched by the remark, Tadashi almost abandons the whole idea of why he’s looking at this stuff before he pulls himself together and continues to pay attention. He can watch it properly later.

“It’s really weird finding out you have a brother, Baymax,” on-screen Hiro says, with a small sigh. “All this time, and he was just basically across town. And it’s not like I’d never met him before. I always just thought he was a stupidly nice college student that seemed to be liked by everyone. You should’ve heard the talk when I was at the showcase last year­—Tadashi Hamada this, Tadashi Hamada that. I think that’s why I was such an asshole when dad made me talk to him.” He shrugs, popping more cereal into his mouth. He chews slowly, the crunch of it loudly picking up on Baymax’s microphone. “Everybody went on as if he was perfect; it really got on my nerves.” He pauses again. “I think I was jealous.”

At this, Tadashi reels backwards slowly, this information incredibly startling, to him. Hiro, jealous? Of him?

“Then, he told me he was the one that was jealous!” Hiro shakes his head, a look of distaste on his face at the mere idea of it. “Jealous of what, a poor loser adopted by some rich professor that actually doesn’t give a shit about his kid? I know that he was talking about my brain but—man, if he knew half the stuff that went on, he wouldn’t be jealous at all. Not even close.”

Tadashi feels his heart twist, something hot and unnerving knotting his stomach. So, there is more to the story. He knew it.

“And now, turns out all along the guys my brother. My big brother,” Hiro tugs at his hair, distressed. “I just­—I mean, what the hell, you know? The guy practically everyone idolises is my brother. And I didn’t even know.”

“And now he just—look, I get he’s all excited about this, but, he can’t just expect me to drop everything and leave all my shit behind. I can’t just pack up and what—move into his bakery? How does he think this works? I just tell my dad, like, hey—gotcha! Found out you actually kidnapped me as a baby which is so fucking weird, by the way, and that the student you asked to babysit me while you fucked off to visit your actual daughter is my actual brother. So. Go figures?” Hiro scowls and shakes his head, aggravated. “So stupid, I swear.”

Tadashi feels himself deflate, a little. He’d known he’d pushed too soon.

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” Hiro almost sinks into the island, his shoulders drooping. “I can’t even imagine how my dad will react when I tell him I’ve found out the truth. It just—what if Tadashi’s right, Baymax? What if he did check, and there wasn’t a record of me at the agency? What if everything was blacked out for a different reason, one I don’t know? God, fuck, this stuff is making my heart hurt. I need to get out of it.”

And that’s when Hiro reaches for the chip and the screen goes black. So, Tadashi’s suspicions were right. Hiro meddled with the tech so Baymax wouldn’t be able to contact Tadashi if he left. Despite the irony, Tadashi can’t help rolling his eyes. He should’ve known leaving his genius invention in the house with a genius kid wasn’t his best idea. Of course Hiro pissed around with the programming to let himself off the hook. Why wouldn’t he?

“Alright, Baymax,” Tadashi heaves out a sigh. “We have a wild goose chase on our hands.”

Chapter Text

Thirty minutes later, Tadashi finds himself right outside of Mika’s apartment.

He’d asked Baymax to scan for Hiro once he managed to shove open a window at the top floor of the house, where Baymax scanned everyone within proximity of the city and dropped the location within like, seven seconds. One of the proudest moments Tadashi has felt for his robot, honestly.

Either way, he finds himself a level slightly above furious as he knocks on the door, breathing deeply through his nose to calm himself down. When the door opens, he almost jerks backwards at the suffocating stench of—

“Yo, Tadashi!” Mika greets, her eyes half open as she grips the door. “You coming in to smoke?”

“Mika—” Tadashi closes his mouth, swallowing. If he didn’t think it could get worse, oh, man, he was so, so horribly wrong.

“I just rolled another!” Comes from inside the apartment, to which Mika shrugs a shoulder and leaves the door open as she heads towards the couch, where around four older teenagers are passing around a joint. The smell of weed is insufferably strong as it wafts around, empty beer bottles and cans all over the floor along with dirty dishes and laundry scattered everywhere.

And, lo and behold, there lies Hiro, cross-legged on the rug next to some other guy with his head tilted backwards, totally zoned out of it as he stares upwards to the ceiling. At the announcement of a new guest, he cranes his head slowly, meeting Tadashi’s eyes with his own veiny, bulging red ones.

Despite himself, Tadashi can’t refrain from the comment. “It’s—it’s the middle of the day.”

“So?” A curly boy Tadashi doesn’t recognise retorts, a black beanie on his head. He’s the one rolling the other joint. “Gotta wake and bake, my friend.”

“Hiro,” Tadashi says, ignoring him. “You’re fucking high?”

Hiro simply waves a hand at him, either too stoned to care or having given up on it at this point because he’s caught anyway. “You should probably have a couple tokes,” Hiro says, very slowly. “You have got to relax.”

The others pipe up throaty laughter at this, as if it’s the funniest thing ever said, and Tadashi finds his patience being stripped of him extremely fast. Pausing, he inhales a shaky breath. “Hiro,” he says, gritting his teeth with a false sense of calmness. “Let’s go.”

“Dude,” beanie-boy jumps in again. “Aren’t you the one that dragged him out of here last time? What are you, his brother?”

“Yeah,” Tadashi says, the exact same time Hiro does. Which surprises him a lot, though he makes a great deal of effort not to show it. Hiro throws a crooked grin, happily taking the joint handed to him. “We found out, like, yesterday.”

Beanie-boy slaps his shoulder, chin dropping to his chest as he gawks. “No shit, dude! That’s sick!”

“Super weird,” Hiro says, inhaling three more hits before he passes it to the next person. “Fuck me, I’m stoned.”

“I’m pretty waxed,” the boy on Hiro’s left says, simply passing the stick to the girl across from him without taking any more. “I’m done for the minute, folks.”

“Wait, you found out he’s your brother yesterday?” The girl says, just as Mika sits down next to her. “That’s like . . . really weird.”

“Super weird,” Hiro repeats, closing his eyes. Tadashi is honestly too aghast to do anything for a minute other than gawk blankly at everyone and everything. Once that minute passes, he quietly steps over until he’s just beside the couch, above Hiro’s head who—once again—is sat flat against the leg of it.

At his approach, Hiro turns around to glance up at him, his eyes half-closed as he squints. His face twists into astonishment before he points to Tadashi and gestures at the others. “Wait, when did Tadashi get here?”

“I can’t remember bro,” beanie-boy says, snorting. “I forgot everything we just talked about.”

“Hiro,” Tadashi says, once again inhaling sharply through his nose. “I won’t say it again. Let’s go.”

“Dude, loosen up a little!” Beanie-boy tugs at his leg and it takes every ounce of Tadashi’s inner strength not to actually deck the kid. “Have some!”

“No, I’m good.” Tadashi’s jaw clenches. “Hiro. Let’s go.”

Slowly, Hiro waves a hand at the others when they try to protest as he shakily rises from the rug. “No, s’cool. I need . . . air, anyway.”

Tadashi doesn’t waste a second latching onto his wrist and pulling him out of there hastily, only pausing once they reach the outside of the building and Hiro yanks himself away to press his cheek against the brick wall, moaning.

“Air,” he says, jaw hanging. “I love air.”

“Hiro, what the fuck?” Tadashi protests, but even he knows it’s no use when Hiro’s like this. There is no point—if he thought drunk was bad—this is so, so much worse.

“I’m fine, Tadashi,” Hiro says, in a tone that suggests that he is absolutely not fine. “Everything is just . . . so slow. I need a second to . . . like, come down, a bit.”

He blinks as he glances around, as if he’s suddenly realising that he’s outside. “Wait, when did we get here?”

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Tadashi hisses, thumbing at his eyes in frustration.

“I was inside a second—when did you get here?” Hiro says again, eyes widening. “Oh, no. You’re mad at me.”

“Hiro, of course I’m fu—okay, you know what? Let’s get you home.”

“Tadashi,” Hiro says, very seriously. He peels himself away from the brick and slaps a hand on Tadashi’s shoulder, which is extremely difficult for him considering their height difference. “I cannot, and I mean cannot, get on that moped right now. I will literally have a stroke.”

“Hiro, get on,” Tadashi pulls his hand away and reaches for the helmets. “I’m not kidding.”

“Tadashi,” Hiro says again, faintly. “I am, very serious. I can’t do that.”

“How high are you?” Tadashi cries out, before he can stop himself. “Seriously!”

“Um,” Hiro counts on his fingers for a minute, before he stops and covers his mouth with a laugh. “Wait, wait, I got a good joke for this one—I saw it somewhere—wait, wait, wait, ask me again.”

“Hiro—”

“No go, go, seriously, before I forget.”

Unable to comprehend why he’s entertaining this, Tadashi hisses between his teeth and crosses his arms. “How. High. Are. You?”

“5’0,” Hiro says, deadpan, before he doubles over into a fit of hysterics. His laughter is so intense he actually sits down to drum his feet against the pavement, face burning red as tears begin to stream down his cheeks. Tadashi just stares at him.

Apparently, his straight face makes it funnier, because every time Hiro glances up during his wheezes to take a breath, he loses it all over again.

Pinching between his brows, Tadashi sighs for the umpteenth time. “That joke wasn’t as good as you thought it was.”

“No, it was,” Hiro says, finally sobering up with the occasional chuckle. “Your face was—that was so fuckin’ funny.”

“Wasn’t even an original,” Tadashi says, once again before he can stop himself, and Hiro collapses into laughter all over again.

Leaving him there to enjoy his moment of merriment, Tadashi glances around for options. He has no idea how he’s meant to get Hiro home. And it’s not like he’s a stranger to this—he’s had his fair share of a joint before. He knows what it’s like. Which means he also knows, considering Hiro is blasted right now, that the moped just isn’t on the table.

“For fucks sake,” Tadashi says again. He turns around and points to Hiro on the ground, still laughing. “You know, I would’ve so rathered you do this at the house. At least then we’re not in the middle of a city with goddamn cops around.”

“Rathered isn’t a word,” Hiro says, through a bubble of laughter, and Tadashi just gives up at this point because apparently everything to him is funny.

So, against his better judgement, and knowing that there’s a park nearby, Tadashi reaches into the storage top of his moped and pulls out his chain and padlock. Leaving Hiro on the ground, he turns to tie the chain through the back wheel to lock it to the swingarm. Then, with little effort, he hauls Hiro to a stand and drags him towards the direction of the park.

Eventually, Hiro breaks free and begins spinning in circles, tripping over his step and laughing as loud as he can. Once they reach the park Tadashi slumps down in front of a tree, leaning his back against the bark as Hiro stares at the sky in front of him, pausing to run around for a second, before he repeats the action.

It’s so ridiculous, and Tadashi can’t even appreciate how much childlike fun Hiro seems to be having because he’s on fucking drugs. It completely strips away the magic of the moment considering his brother—is as high as a goddamn kite. He can only watch, bemused, as Hiro fully entertains himself for half an hour before he seems to come down slightly, stumbling over to drop himself next to Tadashi.

“That was fun,” he says, panting. “Hey, I need to thirst my quench. Have you got water?”

“What on Earth did you just say?” Tadashi says, turning to him, and when Hiro realises what he’s messed up he nearly dies with laughter. The whole thing is just so, goddamn unbelievable.

“Oh—oh,” Hiro waves his hand as he clutches his stomach. He can’t breathe with how hard he’s laughing. “I meant—I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” Tadashi sighs, leaning his head back against the tree. Hiro carries on laughing for a minute before he settles, copying the action.

“Hey,” he pipes up again, and Tadashi groans. Hiro yanks his arm. “No, no, listen, this is important.”

Tadashi says nothing.

Hiro keeps at his arm. “We’re brothers. Isn’t that so weird?”

“So weird,” Tadashi echoes, dryly.

“No, so weird,” Hiro agrees. “Like, if I had known this ages ago things could’ve been so much nicer. My dad would’ve never got the chance to start beating me around the place and me and you could’ve made cool shit together and had pancakes on Saturdays. Like. So ideal.”

“We can still do that Hiro,” Tadashi says, much softer this time. “If you want.”

“My dad is such a dick,” Hiro continues, and Tadashi shuts up promptly. Partially because Hiro clearly just isn’t listening to him and partially because this might just be the only chance he has to hear the full story of what goes on in that house. Hiro is whacked out of it and doesn’t seem to care; so, he stays quiet.

“Like, he got tired of me when I was like, seven,” Hiro states, very matter-of-factly. “It literally started off with like, the occasional smack every now and then. Then I got older and he just went crazy. Hey, piece of advice: don’t become someone’s personal punching bag. It actually sucks.” He pauses for a minute, and Tadashi hopes for the first time of this whole ordeal that his conscious isn’t catching up with him because he doesn’t think he’ll hear the rest of it if that’s the case.

But, no, Hiro continues. “I think he started to hate how smart I am. Like, he loved it at first, and then he was all like, you think you’re better than me! And I was all like, no, dad, I don’t, but he just got, like, superrr pissy about it. Like, so weird to be so jealous of your own kid. Anyway, palms turned into fists and the next thing you know, I’m skipping grades to get out of school early so they stop asking why I’m coming in with a black eye every Monday. Hilarious. Oh, and then one night he actually choked me, and I actually thought he was gonna kill me, and then the next day he felt so bad he like, upgraded the entire basement to my nerd lab, which you’ve seen—hey, isn’t it great, my nerd lab? I can do so much in there. I think he felt really bad so I didn’t talk about it again. He didn’t attack me last week, though, because he knew you were coming and didn’t want any questions. So thanks! Saved my ass.”

He exhales at the end of his speech, sighing as he catches his breath. He seems morbidly unbothered about this whole confession, simply glancing around the park as if he’s never seen grassland before. He picks at a dandelion and shoves it into Tadashi’s face. “Quick, make a wish!”

Gently, Tadashi takes it from him and sets it down next to him. Again, he knows there is no real point in being serious, but he has to take the chance anyway, because he can physically feel his body heating in fury, burbling and boiling with red hot anger, a seethe slicing through each artery as he very gently takes Hiro’s hand in his.

“Hey,” he murmurs, lifting his chin with a finger. “You’ll be safe from now on, alright?”

“I’m safe,” Hiro says, clearly not understanding. “I love the grass.”

“I mean with me,” Tadashi stays as patient as he can. “You’ll be safe with me.”

Hiro stares at him for a moment, bewildered, before he reaches around to pick up the dandelion. “Make a wish!”

Tadashi sighs yet again, before he curls his lip into a tight smile and holds it out between them. “I wish that we don’t get separated ever again. And that we make cool shit and eat pancakes on Saturdays.”

“Hey, that was my wish!” Hiro says, as they gently blow it together. Then, once all is left is the stem, Hiro snatches the thing and chucks it behind him. “I like that wish,” he says to Tadashi, and then hugs him.

It’s—Tadashi doesn’t know what to do, for a second. This is so far beyond the next step he could’ve imagined their relationship heading towards; and yet here they are, in the middle of a park on a bright sunny afternoon, Hiro stoned out of his mind and perfectly content to just . . . hug him.

And so, because he doesn’t know what else to do, and because he’s not sure so if it’ll happen again, Tadashi wraps his arms around Hiro’s small frame, and hugs him back.

Eventually, at some point, he manages to get Hiro home.

It is, ridiculously difficult.

His brother comes down from the high just enough to get him on the moped without feeling like the whole world is spinning around beneath him, but even then they have to stop almost eight times because Hiro, for the life of him, can’t keep it together enough to balance on the bike. He has his arms around Tadashi’s middle—who holds them there with one hand whilst steering with the other. It’s their first mistake—Hiro certainly is in no position to use his muscles to steady himself and Tadashi is too preoccupied with making sure he doesn’t fly off and die to steer correctly.

Then at some point things take a drastic turn for the worse, and Hiro nearly pummels Tadashi’s stomach as a warning in just enough time for him to pull over and watch helplessly as he stumbles off the moped and hurls his guts out onto the pavement. Hiro hasn’t eaten anything all afternoon; the dry heaving is almost painful to listen to. He coughs and splutters and nearly damn chokes his way down before collapsing to the ground with a breathless whine. He doesn’t even have enough energy to groan properly.

And that’s when Tadashi calls it quits. He can’t do this one on his own.

Sighing, he runs his hand through his hair, having unbuckled his own and Hiro’s helmet to let him breathe easier, before he fishes around for his phone. Dialling Wasabi’s number, he prays his friend is somewhat available as he waits for him to answer.

“Hey, Tadashi!” Comes Wasabi’s chirpy, yet somewhat panicked voice. “Uh—I’m sorta driving right now and you know I hate calling and driving—”

“I need you,” Tadashi hurries out, just as Hiro lifts his head and vomits everywhere again. “Can—how close are you to—uh . . .” quickly, he scans around to observe the nearest building, “we’re a little further away from Muirahara Woods, just coming up outside Joe’s Diner.”

He can hear Wasabi mutter a curse before the background noise of the car’s engine seems to simmer, as if he’s pulled over himself. “We?”

“Hiro and I,” Tadashi says, wincing as Hiro hacks out another series of bile and stomach acid. “We’re in a bit of a situation, I can’t get him home on my moped.”

“Give me ten,” is all Wasabi says, before hanging up.

Thanking him internally, Tadashi breathes a short sigh of relief before pocketing his phone. He turns to Hiro, who looks absolutely miserable.

“This is your own fault,” Tadashi says, which even he knows is incredibly mean to say but he’s run out of patience. “This is what you get for going behind my back and smoking weed at fucking fourteen.”

“Tadashi,” Hiro mumbles, his head between his knees. “Please, shut the fuck up.”

Well. That’s the snarkiest comment he’s gotten so far. It’s a testament to how bad Hiro truly does feel, and how high he still must in fact be. The moped definitely made matters worse, and the fact that the kid has nothing in his stomach—no wonder he’s baked. And no wonder it’s taking so long for it to wear off, too.

“Wasabi’s on his way,” Tadashi says curtly. “With his car. You’ll be home soon, alright?”

Hiro mumbles something inaudible back in response. Tadashi just knows his head is going 90 miles an hour, and despite his firm, sombre tone, he has it in his heart to feel sorry for him. He knows what this feels like, and he also knows there’s no going back now—nothing he can do to help. Hiro simply has to wait it out until he’s sober.

He sits down quietly next to him on the curb, rubbing his back. Considering it’s the middle of the day, he crosses his finger and hopes to whatever god is up there that cops don’t come driving past, wondering why some kid is getting sick all over the ground in broad daylight with eyes pumped up of red.

Hiro’s face seems to have turned a pasty green colour, accentuating the blotched darks bulging beneath his eyes. His mouth is wobbly and drool is dripping from his lip and sliding across his cheek, to which the kid makes zero effort to wipe it as he hangs his head loosely with his eyes half-open. So, taking pity on him, Tadashi tugs his sleeve down to gently sponge away the spit drying on his face.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, y’know that?” He murmurs. Hiro grunts in response.

When Wasabi finally pulls up beside them, parking right in front of the moped, Tadashi feels his face grow hot as he throws a sheepish look in his friends’ direction. Wasabi looks utterly baffled, pausing as he closes his car door behind him to stand before them awkwardly as he processes what he’s seeing. Tadashi can imagine the kind of scenarios he’d been trying to come up with to warrant their need for a second ride; and he can also imagine that this had definitely not been on his list.

“What the hell happened?” Wasabi says, though not unkindly. He kneels down in front of Hiro. “Tadashi . . . ?”

“He’s high,” Tadashi says, clasping his hands together. “I—he left and just smoked who knows how many joints. Kids whacked out of it, and I tried to get him home on my moped but that just screwed up his stomach, so now he’s here. Greening out on the side of the road.”

“Jesus,” Wasabi murmurs. He lifts a hand gently to set it on Hiro’s shoulder. “Hey, Buddy. I’m Tadashi’s friend Wasabi. I’m gonna get you both in the car and get you home, alright?”

Hiro, incoherent, doesn’t even acknowledge him as he grunts again. He has no idea of what’s happening around him. It’s very jarring. Tadashi bites his lip at the sight.

He ends up lifting Hiro into the backseat of the car, climbing in next to him to rest his head on his lap. From there, he begins to quickly direct Wasabi back to Callaghan’s, too caught up in the entire ordeal to worry too much about his moped—which he left padlocked in the middle of the street. He’ll get it later. Hiro is the priority, right now.

“Where—how did he get the weed?” Wasabi asks, looking at Tadashi through the rear-view mirror. “I mean, he’s fourteen. Who’s giving a fourteen-year-old pot?”

“His botfighting friends,” Tadashi sighs, easing up now that their situation has been stabilised a little. “He smokes and drinks with them too. I—I had no idea what I was getting into.” That, and the fact that Hiro is actually his long-lost brother, but he’d rather save that story for another time.

“Shit, Tadashi,” Wasabi murmurs. They come to a red light, and he sneaks a glance over his shoulder to Hiro’s near passed out form. “He gonna be alright?”

“He’ll be fine once he sleeps it off,” Tadashi says, unable to resist the urge to fiddle with the strands of hair falling across Hiro’s forehead. “These last few days have just been kinda intense.”

“I was waiting to hear from you,” Wasabi admits, switching gears as the light goes green. “I was wondering how things were going, with him. I didn’t realise he was that kind of teenager.”

“That’s the thing—” Tadashi shakes his head, sighing again. “He’s not, Wasabi. He’s actually—he’s actually a good kid, once you get to know him. He just has some . . . issues.”

“Clearly,” Wasabi hums, unimpressed. “How long has he been like this?”

“Just an hour,” Tadashi says. He finds himself threading carefully through Hiro’s dark locks. “He seemed to be having a good time, at first. Went to the park, he ran around, talked a lot, and then once we got on the moped everything just went south.”

They’re outside the mansion, now, and Tadashi snorts as Wasabi whistles at the view. “That’s a damn nice house.”

“It’s better inside,” Tadashi grins, before he carefully places one arm beneath Hiro’s knees and the other behind his back, manoeuvring him as steadily as he can as he climbs out of the car. Hiro’s completely blacked out, now, deadweight in his arms. It feels irritatingly familiar.

“Thank you, Wasabi,” Tadashi murmurs, through the open window. “I owe you one, man.”

“You need a hand getting into the house?”

“Nah, I got it,” Tadashi smiles. “I really appreciate it. I’ll call you later.”

And with that, he trudges up the steps to the front door, using his elbow to pull down the handle and push his way inside. Hiro jostles slightly in his grip, but doesn’t stir. As soon as they enter the foyer, Tadashi makes a beeline to the living room, depositing him onto the couch before throwing a blanket over his curled body.

He stands above him, for a while, just looking at him. Now that everything has finally stilled and Hiro can’t cause anymore chaos for now, everything that has happened in the past few days finally seems to catch up with him. Everything he’s been thinking, trying to figure out, trying to comprehend. This is the second time in a week that he’s had to deal with this kind of nonsense, and yet it’s a million miles away from the experience of the first time. And it has nothing to do with the fact that Hiro switched substances—it has everything to do with the fact that this is so much more than what he thought it was.

Hiro isn’t just some professors kid he’s babysitting. Hiro is a child prodigy that was kidnapped and separated from his family by a man that downright abuses him. Hiro is his brother, for fucks sake. His brother. And that’s not even the most insane discovery of all; all things considered. There’s a story, a twisted, horrifying truth beyond anything he could’ve ever began to imagine, so much more than just a brother he forgot about that happened to be raised somewhere else.

Hiro is not just his brother that he lost. Hiro is also a damaged, aching, neglected teenage boy that grew up with a man that didn’t love him. He’s a broken, sad, angry kid that acts rash and reckless and inconsiderate and insanely wild, seeking out a comfort in illegal activities to fuel that spark of adventure. He’s so misguided, so unattended, so, so lost.

And Tadashi feels his heart thump with love for him, because this is his brother. His little brother.

Who he has decided, on this day forward, that he’s going to protect. Forever.

Hiro wakes at eight o' clock.

Tadashi spent the afternoon calling Aunt Cass to apologise for abandoning lunch, calling a pick-up service to collect his moped to keep it safe, calling Wasabi and then the rest of the gang on a group facetime to fill them in on the day’s events, calling the nearest food joint to order takeout, and finally, searching around the attic, for the documents Hiro’s talked about.

Pizza is on the way when Hiro appears at the entrance of the attic, peeking in through the crack of the door until he slips through quietly. Tadashi himself is on his knees, searching around the stacks and stacks of boxes to find what he’s looking for. Folders and files and other unnecessary credentials are the only things he seems to find, and he’s so absorbed in his task he doesn’t even hear Hiro come in behind him.

“They’re in the cabinet. It’s locked.”

“Jes—Hiro, my god,” Tadashi jerks in surprise, dropping the papers he’d been holding back into their box. After a moment, he registers what Hiro had said. “What?”

“The documents,” Hiro shrugs. Wiping at the corner of an eye, he points to the large antique cabinet in the corner, carved wood and polished clean. “I don’t know where the key is.”

Tadashi hums, slowly restacking the boxes atop themselves before he slowly rises to a stand. Facing Hiro, he wipes his hands before crossing his arms. “So.”

“So . . .” Hiro echoes, but even he has the decency to look a little shamefaced.

“Care to explain what happened?”

“You saw what happened,” Hiro says, though it doesn’t come across as snide. “There’s not much else to the story.”

“You realise I’m pissed, right?”

Hiro sighs, slanting as he shifts his weight onto one leg and messes around with a collection of ceramics on the shelf closest to him. “I dunno, Tadashi. I dunno what you want me to say.”

“Apologising would be a good start.”

“What for?” Hiro turns to him, dropping his arm. “I didn’t ask you to come and get me. To get involved. I would’ve just come home later.”

“Hiro,” Tadashi grits his teeth. “You left when you told me you wouldn’t, meddled with the programming of my invention without asking, and went to go smoke weed with a load of kids older than you. The same kids I warned you about. The same kids that wouldn’t care if you ended up in a dangerous situation, not bothering to make sure you’re safe—or—or—”

Hiro holds his hands up. “Okay, I’m sorry about Baymax. That was shitty, and wrong of me. I just needed to get out of my head, alright? And, look, Tadashi, I really don’t care what you think of them. I don’t care what they think of me. It’s not like they’re my best friends in the whole wide world, okay? I wanted something, they had the something, everything’s fine.”

“Hiro, do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?” Tadashi starts toward him, beginning to get angry all over again. “You’re a kid—you can’t just go and do drugs and act like nothing is wrong with that.”

“It’s literally my life.”

“It’s my life too!” Tadashi shouts, before he can stop himself. The loudness of his voice echoes throughout the attic, rebounding against the walls like a phantom mockery, startling both of them. “Can’t you see that I care? That I worry about you? That this isn’t me just trying to ruin all your fun because I don’t want you to get yourself killed?”

“Tadashi—”

“No, Hiro!” Tadashi slams a fist down onto a hardwood shelf. “I’m not here to listen to your excuses. I won’t have it. You can’t just—you can’t just walk around and do whatever you want and not expect consequences! You can’t just—act as if I’m just some guy in your house that showed up suddenly and will leave as suddenly as he came. Can’t you see that I’m trying? That seeing you like that scared the living shit out of me? That I feel more responsible for you than anyone because I’m your older fucking brother and I care about you, goddamn it!”

Hiro steps back, shocked, as Tadashi turns away with a snarl, panting and pacing with his forehead in his hands. The silence that follows his outburst leaves both of them parted awkwardly, glancing away from one another angrily.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Hiro says, finally. He tugs at his hoodie. “This—this is just new to me, alright?” His voice is so quiet, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to handle change.”

“Neither do I,” Tadashi says, his nostrils flaring. “Yet, you don’t see me throwing myself into danger to cope.”

“That’s not fair,” Hiro says, then, narrowing his eyes. “You have no idea what—what goes on—”

“No, I do,” Tadashi stills, then, jamming his heels into the ground. “You sure had a lot to say in the park, kid. You can’t hide the truth from me now.”

Hiro swallows, irritation on his face. “That doesn’t matter.”

Tadashi finds himself scoffing in disbelief. Seriously? Like, actually seriously?

“Okay, let me get this straight.” He strides forward until he stops directly in front of Hiro, ticking off his fingers. “So, your ‘dad’ beats the hell out of you on a regular basis but, that doesn’t matter, you graduated school early so nobody would catch on, but that doesn’t matter, you smoke, drink, and do drugs but that also doesn’t matter—what else, Hiro? You find out you’ve got a brother that gives a fuck but that doesn’t matter, either?”

Hiro drops his gaze to the floor, shuffling his feet awkwardly. “I didn’t say that.”

“It sure as hell seems like you did.”

“This isn’t about you, okay?” Hiro’s head snaps up, a fire in his eyes. “Why do you take everything so personally? This is the kinda shit I do all the time, before you ever came into my life. You can’t just walk in and expect me to do as you please because you claim to care or whatever when you’ve been here for five fuckin’ minutes!”

Tadashi thinks he’s going to rip his own face off of his head. “‘Claim’? Are you kidding? What person goes through what I have in a mere couple of days to make sure you don’t end up seriously hurt because he just claims to care? How is that not at least an idea of how much I genuinely worry about you?”

“You’re here,” Hiro hisses, then, “because somebody asked you to be. You would’ve done this whether we found out we’re brothers or not. You did this before we found out. You’ll do it, because you have to, and then you’ll walk out that door and it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

“Is that what you think?” Tadashi almost can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You actually think that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because nobody puts up with your shit unless they mean it,” Tadashi says, coolly. His eyes harden as he towers above him, knuckles whitening with rage. “If I didn’t give a damn Hiro I would’ve left. I would’ve left the second I walked in that door and you didn’t bother to say hello. I would’ve left after one of your snotty remarks, after the first name you called me. I would’ve turned the fuck around and got someone else to deal with it—but I didn’t. I stayed. Because, believe it or not, I knew there was more to you. I knew you weren’t the insolent little asshole you made yourself out to be.”

“You don’t know me,” Hiro spits out.

“I did, once,” Tadashi says, jaw tightening. “And maybe that’s what it was. Maybe, even after car accidents and brain injuries and goddamn amnesia, a part of me still knew. Knew that you were more, that you were bigger, and better than what everyone thinks. Than what you made them think.”

“And, what?” Hiro snorts, cruelly. “You got what you asked for. You can’t just assume someone’s personality because you desperately want them to be that way. I told you, Tadashi. You don’t know me. Just because we’re related doesn’t mean you just—get a say in who I am. That’s not how this works.”

“I’m not—”

“But you are!” Hiro’s the one raising his voice, now, throwing up his arms in frustration. “Don’t you hear yourself? You are literally making up a whole different perception of me in your own head and then you get disappointed when I don’t meet those expectations. I am not that little kid that you once knew before the accident, Tadashi. We grew up in completely different worlds. Just because you think I’m someone I’m not, doesn’t mean you get to act all betrayed when I don’t act like it!”

“Hiro—”

“I never said I was who you wanted me to be,” Hiro clenches his fists by his side. “I never once acted like I was somebody else. That’s on you. It is not my fault if you have it in your head that I’m secretly this super nice kid. Welcome to reality.”

And then, never worse timing, the doorbell rings.

Neither of them moves.

Then, jarred back into their current situation, which is holed up in the attic while the delivery guy is waiting outside, Tadashi shakes his head as if to right himself. Clearing his throat, he sidesteps around Hiro and passes him to exit the attic. “Pizza’s here,” he says dryly, as he goes. “Come down if you want some.”

All he hears as he retreats down the steps is the loud slam of Hiro smashing something into the wall.