Work Text:
8:26 a.m.
An empty, unmade bed.
Baymax gone from his charger.
No note.
No contact whatsoever since then.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t call anybody?” Wilbur asked Cass for what felt like the hundredth time that morning as he paced in front of the counter and gesturing wildly as he spoke. “What if he’s gotten hurt? What if—what if he was investigating some criminal and was caught and is now being held prisoner?”
Wilbur clutched his phone, ready to call up the rest of Big Hero 6 to see if they knew of Hiro’s whereabouts despite Cass’s reassurance that everything was fine and that Hiro would be back sometime that evening.
“He just needs some time alone, dear,” Cass told him, her voice soft as is it were normal to wake up to find that one’s boyfriend was gone with no explanation. “Baymax is with him; there’s nothing to worry about.”
Nothing to worry about? Wilbur thought. Nothing to worry about???
Surely she had noticed the way had Hiro had been acting that week—withdrawn and quiet, so unlike his usual animated self. He’d tried asking Hiro about it, but Hiro had shut down like a clam. Something was up, and Wilbur knew it. And the way Cass’s hands shook as she poured milk into a coffee cup gave Wilbur a sense that while she said there was nothing to worry about, everything was definitely not okay.
She forced the cup into Wilbur’s free hand. “If you want a distraction, you could clean your room.” She lowered her voice. “You’re putting off the customers.”
Wilbur let out a defeated sigh.
“All right.”
With heavy footsteps, Wilbur climbed up the stairs to the apartment above. Upon reaching the room he and Hiro shared, he set down his coffee and began assessing the situation.
He tried to put himself in the shoes of a private eye. Could he find any clues to Hiro’s whereabouts in this very room?
Wilbur turned around in a circle slowly letting his eyes scan the room.
Wardrobe, bathroom, my bed, bookshelves, laundry, Hiro’s bed . . . his desk.
Wilbur stared at the mess of a desk before him. Maybe he’d find something here?
It’s worth a shot.
He began searching through the mess uncovering drawings, scrapped blueprints, and the odd gummi bear package.
Wilbur stopped searching when he ran across a particular newspaper clipping. It was dated two years prior. A picture of a ribbon-cutting ceremony was shown with Hiro, his friends, and his aunt Cass toward the front of the crowd. It was titled “Tadashi Hamada Building Opening.”
Wilbur quickly skimmed through the article.
“Tadashi Hamada was a bright young man with a glorious future of him in both the robotic and medical fields. Unfortunately, his life was cut short when he died in a fire while trying to save one of his professors last summer.”
Oh, Hiro
~*~
10:37 p.m.
The sound of Baymax and Hiro talking stirred Wilbur from his slumber. (Hiro still hadn’t been home after dinner, and after consulting with Cass who told him once again that everything would be fine, he’d changed into his pajamas, and settled down to read an old-time superhero comic, and had dozed off in the process.)
“Do you require me to be on tonight, Hiro?”
There was a sigh followed by, “No, Baymax, you can power off.”
“Very well. Good night, Hiro.”
“Good night, buddy.”
Wilbur rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he sat up. His boyfriend was facing away from him while tugging on his nightshirt.
“Hey.”
Hiro looked over his shoulder and simply replied, “Hey.” His voice was low, barely intelligible.
“I was worried about you.”
I was afraid you weren’t going to come home, he added mentally.
Hiro didn’t reply to what he’d said, rather he climbed into bed with Wilbur and curled up against his chest. Wilbur wrapped his arms around Hiro and held him.
“Tadashi would be proud of you.”
Wilbur felt along with heard Hiro exhale against his chest. His hands were clutched onto Wilbur’s shirt as if he were an anchor to the present.
“I know. That’s what everyone says. I just wish . . .” he trailed off.
Wilbur was able to finish the sentence on his own: That he was still here; that he hadn’t died trying to save the very person who set the fire; that he could see what Baymax was achieving.
Hiro let go of Wilbur to scrub at his face with one of his hands. Wilbur began rubbing circles on Hiro’s back.
Hiro took a deep breath and forged on. “He used to tell me, after Mom and Dad died, that the universe was made to be seen by my eyes.” His voice cracked. “I’d give anything hear him say it one more time.”
Wilbur rested his cheek on top of Hiro’s head.
“He was right. The world is so much better with you in it, Hiro. You’ve done so much good for those around you.”
Silence.
“Will you come with me to his grave tomorrow?” he asked quietly.
Wilbur tightened his embrace. “Of course, Hiro.”
~*~
9:43 a.m.
It wasn’t raining. Not at all. In fact, it was quite warm and sunny outside, and the faint smell of the white flowers Hiro and he were carrying tickled his nose.
Wilbur didn’t know what he was doing there exactly except to support Hiro. And that was reason enough for him even if Tadashi had died two years before Wilbur and Hiro had even met.
The cemetery wasn’t an unpleasant place, Wilbur thought. Cemeteries certainly didn’t deserve the bad wrap horror movies gave them. Not this one, at least. Trees encroached upon the well-kept clearing, and it was obvious that others frequented it to pay their respects to deceased loved ones. Flowers and other gifts could be seen set by many of the graves.
“Here.”
Hiro turned into a row to make his way down it. Wilbur followed along, his eyes reading the headstones they passed:
“Ito Tasuku, November 28, 1958—March 13, 2038: ‘A dear friend, mentor, and lover.’”
“Abiona Akintola, February 2, 1962—April 9, 2038: ‘It is only when no one remembers that you are truly lost. That is the true death.’—Michael Scott”
“Jilienne Murillo, January 29, 2038—June 23, 2038: ‘You brought so much joy into our lives, dear.’”
Wilbur bit his cheek after reading the last one and looked away.
Hiro stopped walking to kneel down in front of a headstone.
Tadashi’s headstone.
“Tadashi . . .” Hiro laid the chrysanthemums on the ground. “I . . . we miss you—Aunt Cass and Fred and GoGo and Honey Lemon and Wasabi and I. I’m sorry I never told you how much you meant to me as an older brother. Especially after Mom and Dad died.
“Everything you did, you did for those around you. That’s what we’re trying to do now. But . . . it hurts. You not being here. I’m entering my last year at SFIT, and even that I owe mainly to you. And you’re quite the hero at school, big brother.” Hiro’s mouth quirked up almost unperceptively.
Wilbur knelt down beside Hiro.
“I didn’t ever get to meet you, Tadashi. But I’m Wilbur, your little brother’s boyfriend. I’m sure you were exactly as Hiro and your friends describe you. I’m sorry I never got to meet you.”
Hiro stood up as Wilbur set down his own flowers. Wilbur got to his feet and put his arm around Hiro’s waist. Hiro rested his head against Wilbur’s shoulder.
“He would have liked you, Wilbur.”
“That means a lot, Hiro.”
They stood there, Wilbur sure that Hiro was revisiting memories of his older brother.
Your little brother is a good person, Tadashi, Wilbur thought. I’m sure he’s that way from mimicking you.
Hiro tugged at Wilbur’s hand.
“I’m ready.”
Wilbur nodded, and the two of them walked away from the grave.
***
“Tadashi Hamada, November 28, 2020—August 10, 2038: ‘Light carries on endlessly, even after death.’”