This is what I call a "wordshot"; for an explanation, see my profile.
Other notes: otouto means "little brother" in Japanese, and anee-san means "big sister". In this particular continuity, Fred nicknamed Hiro "Otouto". Just some necessary background before you read. Now, carry one and enjoy.
Title: A Silent Shoulder
Word: shoulder
Word Count: 768
Summary: "…Ultimately, time did not matter."
As much as his team had managed to steal a huge part of his heart, Hiro didn't think he could go to them for this. He knew what they'd do. He didn't want Honey mothering him or getting worked up. Fred's strange brand of sincerity could be funny, but not too comforting. He most certainly wasn't in need of Wasabi's down-to-earth, sometimes helpful, sometimes ridiculous advice. And Gogo…somehow, he didn't think the fast-paced, gum-popping tomboy would want to deal with him right then.
He just wanted to be alone.
But…not at home. Not in his and Tadashi's…his…room. Not with Tadashi's hat sitting innocently across the way. Not with his aunt crying down in the closed, empty café, when he didn't know what to say to comfort her.
So, he took his chances going to the lab, sneaking in before anyone else got there and retreating to his workspace. He locked the door and set to work on Baymax, planning to spend the whole day sequestered away, drowning himself in his work.
The clock read 1:27 AM as he began.
((
He thought working on Baymax would help.
There were sounds of movement outside when the stubborn boy finally admitted defeat and gave up on getting anything done. The lab was silent and shrouded in blue shadows as he slumped over his desk, staring listlessly at the blinded window.
Before the monitor timed out, the clock on the computer read 6:11 AM.
((
He could hear them murmuring, behind the door. It had rattled a few times, as they made the discovery that it was locked.
He couldn't bring himself to care too much, beyond being vaguely grateful that he'd remembered to set up that particular barricade. He didn't feel like talking to anyone, and he knew that's exactly what they would want to do.
A while later—he didn't know how long—he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, thumb rubbing soothingly over the back of his neck. Under other circumstances, he may have given a start or tensed under the unexpected touch, but this time, his eyes only flickered slightly. I didn't hear you come in. Hi, Gogo, he thought, but the thought never quite made it to his lips. It apathetically fizzled out somewhere between the interested buzz of his mind and the tired twitch of his tongue.
The hand disappeared from his shoulder, and the sound of squeaky wheels heralded Gogo's pulling a chair closer. A *thump* jarred the room as she dropped into it.
They sat in silence for a bit. He could feel her eyes on him for a time, and he braced himself for a "you've got to woman up" talk…but, after a moment, he felt the eyes leave him, and a heavy silence fell over them.
Neither of them noticed the numbers on her watch change from 10:33 to 10:34.
((
Nothing and everything happened while they sat there.
No attempt at conversation was made; there was not even any eye contact.
Not when she started rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades.
Not when he started to cry silently.
Not when she shifted so that he could lean against her.
Not when he buried his face in her jacket.
Not when she draped an arm around his shaking shoulders.
Not when, exhausted, he drifted off into peaceful slumber.
Not when the clock on the wall read 1:26 PM.
((
As Gogo munched on her gum (not popping any bubbles; the silence had become sacred), she contemplated how utterly natural this felt—to tuck Otouto against her side, hold him close, silently guard his tears—despite her never having had a younger sibling before. When had she become so comfortable with her role as Anee-san?
She wondered if Tadashi would be proud of her.
Eventually, the rest of the crew found their way into the room, taking up supportive positions surrounding their two Asian family members. No one looked at the clock or commented on how late it was, because, ultimately, time did not matter.
Looking around at everyone—at Honey Lemon, curled up in a chair she'd rolled in and pressed against Hiro's other side, dainty fingers gently carding his thick hair—at Fred, lounging on the floor, leaning up against their legs and playing idly with Hiro's dangling shoelaces—at Wasabi, who had shed his sweater and laid it carefully over Hiro's sleeping form before taking a seat on the desk in a place where he could unobtrusively keep an eye on both the door and his friends—Gogo decided that, if Tadashi were there, he'd be proud of all of them.