So, after leaving for nearly a year and completely giving up on writing, I fell in love with Big Hero 6 and all the amazing stories that people have come up with for the characters. And this idea weaseled its way into my brain and wouldn't leave. Sorry it couldn't have been a little lighter.
Also, I apologize in advance for the OOC-ness. I only saw the movie once, and I have no idea how the characters would actually act in the situation that I've created.
Summary: In which Hiro's life isn't his own and Tadashi gets caught in the crossfire. AU, mild non-related Hidashi.
Rating: M for violence, sexual themes/violence, and possible triggers.
Disclaimer: I do not own Big Hero 6. I do, however, own all 5 of the original comics and the plot.
Here's to hoping my writing style has changed in the year I've been away? (Sorry. It hasn't).
Captivity: Day Unknown
I am going to die.
He gulped at the thought, blinking at himself in the mirror, his calloused fingers digging into the floating sink in an attempt to hold himself up. His hair was a mess, pushed up this way and that. Bedhead, his aunt had always affectionately called it. But this wasn't from sleeping— and she would be so ashamed if she could see him now. Red shirt puddled around his bare thighs, sticky fluids leaking down his legs and drying somewhere between his shins and his ankles. She would hate him if she knew what had happened. If he went back— if he ever made it back— she would be so upset with him. She would wish that he had never survived, that he had died here in this place. Maybe she would—
She would hug him close and kiss his forehead. She would make him cookies and cupcakes and let him have as many gummy bears as he wanted. She would sit with him and watch movies and just let him cry. Because that was his Aunt Cass and— how am I going to do this to her?
He sighed at himself, running his trembling fingers down the side of his face, watching his expression in the mirror. There were cracks in the glass that caused his face to fragment and contort. In one of them, his doe brown eyes were wide and desolate; in another, his bottom lip quivered between his teeth, puffing up around the gap— Aunt Cass always wanted to fix that— and bleeding because he had smarted off one too many times today.
Hiro didn't want to die. He just wanted to go home.
He scoffed at the thought. Home. He didn't even know if it was still there or how long he had been away from that place. That place with the ridiculously nice patrons that used to coddle him as a child and his wonderful aunt that had taken him in when no one else wanted him. That place that radiated warmth and touch and—
He was just so tired of doing this. He couldn't do this anymore. And he had tried. Hiro had tried so hard to get away. He had built contraptions when the tools were available. He had tried running, fighting— anything and everything. But they always caught him. They always brought him right back here, to his little room. To the cameras on the walls and the promise of more hurt tomorrow. No amount of trying on his part seemed to get him anywhere. It was always the same.
Sometimes, they would just have him work, building things in the makeshift room downstairs. They would bring him spare parts when he asked; let him work in peace. Other times, when whatever he had built for them before was in working order and they didn't need him for that anymore, they would take him upstairs, where someone was always waiting. And that someone would touch him in ways he didn't want them to and then— then Yama would get paid and—
He just couldn't do this anymore.
This was his only way out.
Hiro smiled at the thought, the same crooked smile that used to make his aunt pinch his cheeks and cuddle him close. Except, his eyes were sad. He really didn't want to die. He just didn't want to be here anymore. He didn't want to be used anymore.
With shaking fingers, he brought his hand up to the fragmented glass. He pressed his fingertip against a chunk of it, and slowly, ever so slowly, he shimmied it away from the rest of the mirror. He knew it would come loose fairly easily; he had knocked it out by accident weeks ago— months ago?— and it never went back in properly. Yet, somehow, he wasn't quite prepared for it when it fell against his palm, heavier than he thought it should be, the smooth glass a direct contrast to the jagged edges at its corners.
He clasped his hand around it, wincing a bit when he squeezed just a little too tightly. He hated pain. And blood made him woozy— and how was he ever going to do this?
Doe brown eyes glanced back at him from the mirror and he looked away, taking in the rumpling of the shower curtain and the plushness of the rug in front of the toilet. I can do this, he thought, repeating it to himself like a mantra as he eased himself to the ground, his wobbly legs straightening out in front of him as he leaned back against the wall. And somehow he had never noticed just how cold the tile was against his bare skin or how his toes instinctively curled inwards, his thin ankles grinding against the uneven grout.
Hiro glanced upwards at the camera on the wall. Someone was probably watching him right now, so he would have to be quick once he started. He would have to dig it in as deeply as he could and pull through as much of the artery as possible before anyone noticed what was happening. He needed to do this right. He needed to make sure he died quickly.
He whimpered a bit at the thought, a shiver running down his spine. He really didn't want to die. But he had to. He really had to. There was no other way for him to leave, for him to get out and get away.
So, he did what he needed to. He brought the jagged edge of the mirror to his inner arm, right at the crook of his elbow— and he pushed it into his skin as hard as he could, whimpering and writhing with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Blood began to pool at his arm, little rivers running off of his fingers where the other edges were cutting into his hand. And he was really doing this.
He was really going to get out.
He began to pull the mirror shard upwards toward his wrist, slowly and carefully— it hurts, it hurts, it hurts!— but he dropped the shard between his slippery fingers before he could make it all the way to his wrist. But, it was okay. There was so much blood running from his arm, staining the floor, cascading onto his lap.
And he laughed as he looked down at his bare legs, snorting through his buttoned nose as the beginnings of hysteria bubbled in his chest, as his breathing began to come out in pants and panic started to settle into his gut. They were going to dump his body like this. They were going to dump him just like this in the back of some alley and his aunt would be called to the station and he was going to be almost completely naked and oh god oh god oh god.
Maybe he should have taken a bath first.
He rolled to the side as the bathroom door began to open, still laughing, shielding his arm from the grabbing hands, kicking at whatever he could reach.
He was so tired.
"What the hell do you think you're doing," someone screamed, grabbing his shoulders and putting him upright. And then there were hands trying to stop the bleeding and— get away, get away, get away. "You belong to me. You can't leave," that someone hissed in his ear.
He opened the eyes he didn't know he had closed, stopping his laughter to take in the multitude of chins and the beady black eyes of the man in front of him. Hiro smirked, his lips crooked with his gapped tooth grin. "Fuck you."
And he promptly fell asleep.
Captivity: Day 1
Tadashi groaned to himself, his dark brown eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering as the first bits of wakefulness touched his consciousness. He twisted his neck this way and that, an odd sort of stiffness to his shoulders, a strange hardness at his back. He grunted, realizing that he had fallen asleep sitting up again. And wasn't that a pain. He was going to have a crick in his shoulders for the rest of the day now and Honey was going to coddle him and Baymax was going to smother him with health information when he was activated and—
He stopped himself, eyebrows knitting as he tried to bring his hand up to rub at his shoulders only to find that it wouldn't move. Tadashi tugged at the other one with the same result.
He wasn't moving.
Tadashi took a deep breath, panic bubbling in his gut, running up his throat as he opened his eyes. For a moment— a fleeting moment, he thought he saw the bright lights of the lab above him. The window in front of his desk that overlooked the campus. The dark sky looming over the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology telling him that it was well past time to go home for the night, to pack it up and try again tomorrow.
He didn't.
Instead, russet brown eyes went wide at the sight in front of him, the panic in his chest catching in his throat as he tried to breathe in and out. In and out. Deep breaths, he told himself. Deep breaths.
He was in a room. Or possibly a closet, each of the walls stripped to the drywall, bits and pieces of 90s wallpaper hanging off at the corners like an afterthought, bare nails studded here and there. There was a single light hanging above his head, the bare bulb undressed and dangling precariously from a single wire that looked to be barely strapped into the ceiling. In front of him sat an unoccupied chair with notches in the legs— Perfect for tying someone in by their ankles and isn't that just horrifying— and a bit too much wear on its finish. There was a door directly behind the chair. It didn't have a knob.
He gulped, blinking, concentrating on breathing, before looking down at himself. He was sitting in a chair similar to the one across from him, his ankles held tightly against the chair's legs. Tadashi tried to wiggle them, pulling them away from the chair experimentally until the bonds around his ankles pulled a little too hard and he just let them rest, a tingling sensation gripping at his toes. His hands were in no better shape, tied down at his wrists. Even his waist was strapped to the back of the chair by a large cord.
And isn't this just like some spy movie, he thought, scoffing a bit to himself. Shaking his head and smiling a little crazily. This was probably just some joke. Maybe Fred had been watching too many movies again and got everyone in on playing a trick on him. Any moment now everyone would be running through that door. Surprise, they would scream. He just forgot his birthday again. Really, that was all it was.
Except it wasn't and there was blood on his jeans, a little rip in the fabric at his knees— and this cannot really be happening right now.
Tadashi tensed, breath coming in uneven pants now, panic barely pushed back. He bit his lip, pulling at the bonds on his wrists. If he could just get through one of them, he could get the rest of them off. And then, and then— and then nothing. There wasn't a knob on that door. He wasn't going anywhere, even if he did get away from the chair. What was he going to do, hole up in the corner? Fight his way out? From who? From what? He was a robotics student, not a ninja.
So, he calmed himself down.
He clenched and unclenched his hands, listening for the comforting sound of his knuckles popping. He filled his lungs with air, and he let the air out, slowly, purposefully. There was no need to panic. He would be fine. He didn't even know why he was here. Maybe whoever had brought him here just wanted to talk. Maybe they needed help. Maybe— maybe he was an idiot that was going to die in this closet.
He sighed at himself, tightening his jaw and shaking his head. Thinking that way wouldn't help him. It was probably correct— no, no, no— but he wasn't going to think about it. Instead, he settled himself in the chair, twisting until he was as comfortable as he was going to be, and waited.
He must have nodded off at some point, because the next thing he knew he was jolting awake to the sound of a door creaking open, the bottom of it scratching against the floor. He gulped as his eyes landed on the man who walked in, his bulking frame barely making it through the door. The man smiled crookedly at him.
And it didn't look nice.
"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," the man coughed around the cigar in his mouth, his hulking figure taking the seat across from him, the chair straining against his weight. The notches in those legs aren't going to hold it up, Tadashi thought incredulously.
The man leaned back in the chair when Tadashi didn't respond to him. And upon further inspection, he didn't look so bad. The man wore a pinstriped suit that opened to reveal a koi fish coated button-down pulling against his bulky belly. His feet were strapped into a pair of open-toed sandals and his hair was pulled back into a tight bun at the base of his neck. He looked professional enough— maybe even nice enough. But, there was something about his face that was off. Maybe it was the multitude of chins hanging off his neck or the way his nose scrunched against his scowling lips; most likely, it was the way his beady black eyes looked at him like he was something akin to a bug. The particularly big kind that needed to be exterminated.
The man puffed his cigar, leaning forward as he pulled it away from his mouth and exhaled the sickly smelling smoke into Tadashi's face. He coughed, and the man seemed pleased. "You are Tadashi Hamada. Correct?"
Tadashi blinked at him, russet eyes wide, lips thinning. How did he know his name? He was quite certain he had never met this man before. He was a college student. He was a nerd. He did not hang around the back alleys he was sure this man frequented. How could he have—
He jumped when the man clapped his hands together, leaning forward dangerously, his multitude of chins rumpling around his collar. "I asked you a question, boy. I expect it to be answered. Now."
Tadashi nodded frantically, his neck muscles pulling uncomfortably at his shoulders. "Yes. My name is Tadashi Hamada."
"I'm aware," the man purred, leaning back again, that cigar of his twirling between his fingers. "I'm told that you know quite a bit about medicine. Nursing and caring for injuries. That sort of thing."
Black brows furrowed. He knew about nursing and healthcare in general, but it wasn't like he was a doctor. He was into robotics. Healthcare wasn't even his field. "I know the basics," he acquiesced, biting at his lower lip.
The man frowned at him, one of his meaty legs coming up to push at the base of his chair, tilting him slightly to the side. "I didn't ask you a question, boy. Only speak when spoken to." The chair righted again, Tadashi jolting as he was jostled, the man's leg pulling away. "Now, I have a little problem that you're going to help me with, Mr. Tadashi Hamada," the man cooed. "Would you like to hear all about it?"
Tadashi nodded, a little unsure, slender fingers clenching and unclenching against the chair's arms.
Seeming quite pleased with his answer, the man stood, heaving himself up with a little sigh. "You see," he began, pacing around the closet of a room, "a certain possession of mine— a rather important possession of mine— has become a little bit of a handful lately. At first, it was just little things. Itsy bitsy little things. Being such a nice guy, I could overlook them. But," the man came to a stop behind him, his hulking body leaning over him, his stale breath brushing along his ear, "things change."
"It tried to leave," he stressed. "Die, rather. Escape attempts I can handle. Dying? Oh, no. It would cost far too much to replace at this point. And that, my dear Tadashi Hamada, is where you come in." Meaty hands rubbed at his shoulders. Fat knuckles brushed along his cheek. "Your job is to keep it alive. I'm sure you can handle that, Mr. Healthcare."
"And if I can't," Tadashi swallowed.
The man laughed— cackled— into his ear. "Let me put this into simple terms for you. If it dies, then you die." He felt something cold and metallic rest against his temple, a faint click ringing in his ears. And there was a gun by his head— what am I supposed to do now? No one ever taught me how to deal with this?! "Do you understand," the man asked, sickly sweet.
"I understand," he mumbled, dark brown eyes wide, chest heaving. He could do this. He could do this.
There was no way he could do this.
The man pulled the gun off of his temple, the rustling of fabric signaling that he had put it away. And suddenly, the cord around his waist went slack as the man began to untie him, whistling to himself. Tadashi stayed as still as he could as the man untied his ankles, followed by his wrists. And maybe he could get away now. The door was open and he was free and—
The gun was back, pointed precariously at his chest. "Up, boy," the man growled, motioning for him to stand. He did what he was told, his legs wobbling dangerously as the circulation began to flow freely to his feet, pins and needles running along his toes. The man grabbed his wrist— and that feels so disgusting; please don't touch me— and pushed him in front of him, the gun digging painfully into his back. "Now, walk. Try anything funny, and that little deal of ours is off. You'll die right here, understand?"
Tadashi nodded and let himself be led, the man's meaty hands jostling him through the door and down blank hallways. There weren't any windows, but wherever they were, there were multiple floors, as the man pushed him down a set of stairs and then another. He tried to take in as much of it as he could, but he couldn't remember half of the steps they had taken by the time they arrived at a door at the end of another bland hall. The door had a special security lock placed by its frame. The man covered Tadashi's eyes with his meaty hands as he pushed in the numbers.
And then the door opened and the man pushed him inside, the gun still pointed at his back as he stumbled and fell to his knees.
Russet eyes blinked at the pale blue carpet between his fingers. Cautiously, he lifted his head, furrowing his brows at what seemed to be the only somewhat decorated room in the entire… wherever he was. The walls were off-white and bare, but they were painted, unlike the plain drywall walls he had grown used to seeing. And there was a bed pushed in the corner, dressed and made with a striped blue comforter and baby blue coated pillows. There was even an open door on the side of the room that looked like it led to a bathroom area, equally shaded in blue— and why were some of the tiles stained red? Directly across from it, sat a little couch that looked to be housing a mound of blankets.
Tadashi jolted when the mound moved. He blinked when it groaned.
The man behind him chuckled a bit, seemingly to himself. And Tadashi watched in horror as he strode forward, reaching his meaty hands into the blanket mound and roughly tugging out a—
Boy.
It was a boy who was hissing and tripping over blankets as the man pulled at him, standing him up straight and putting his bulky hands around the boy's thin waist. The man pressed the boy against himself, grabbing at his chin. "This is your charge. Keep him alive and I let you live."
He pushed the boy into him.
And Tadashi was met with the biggest brown eyes he had ever seen.
Captivity: Day Unknown
"For ten years, I've done the best I could to raise you. Have I been prefect? No! Do I know anything about children? No! Should I have picked up a book on parenting? Probably!* Gaah," his aunt threw her hands in the air in frustration, turning her back to him, her dainty fingers coming up to pinch at the bridge of her nose. "Where was I going? I had a point when I started."*
Hiro pulled his bottom lip between his gapped teeth, twisting his toes inside his trainers. He was just trying to pick up some extra money. It wasn't his fault that fourteen year olds couldn't get legitimate part-time work; he couldn't always rely on his aunt for absolutely everything.
She twirled back around to him, all big green eyes and frizzy brown hair. "What were you even doing out there," she huffed. "Why bot fighting? Why something so stupidly dangerous and— and stupid," she finished lamely, voice dying out at the end.
"It's not stupid or dangerous," he shot back. If he was older or maybe a little more mature, he might have noticed the concern in her voice or the way her shoulders heaved and her eyes lit up with concern. But he wasn't quite an adult and he wasn't quite mature. He was just a kid. And he loved bot fighting. "I'm always safe about it! I have my phone set to dial 911 immediately and everything!"
"That is not the point!" Aunt Cass made a frustrated noise, swiping a doughnut off a nearby plate and shoving half of it into her mouth. Hiro blanched, shocked as he watched her chew. Eventually, she finished. Sighing, she sunk into the chair across from his own. She looked deflated. "You see what you do to me," she stated a little regretfully as she shoveled down what was left of the doughnut.
And if he was someone else, someone a little more considerate, he might have felt bad. But he was himself— and he barely felt the pang of guilt gnawing at his chest. "It's not my fault if you eat all the doughnuts in the café," he mumbled, scrunching up his nose at her.
She snorted, running her hand through her hair. "I'm stress eating. Because of you.*" She grabbed another one, taking a bite out of the side before pulling it away from her face to stare at it. "What am I going to do with you? Have you even seen my thighs lately?"
"Umm… no. That's gross," he tried, scrunching his eyebrows. She flicked the rest of the doughnut at him, frowning as he dodged the pastry and the cat began to toddle after it on the floor.
And sometimes, Hiro really didn't think she was cut out for this whole parenting business.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of watching her motionlessly frown at the cat, his Aunt Cass sighed, standing up, the plate of doughnuts held in her hands. "It's nearly morning already," she mumbled, twisting her mouth to the side as she sucked at the sugar stuck between her teeth. "Up for a movie?"
Hiro perked up a bit at that, kicking his legs back and forth beneath his chair. He wasn't that tired. "Please."
She smiled, turning her back to him as she made her way toward the living room. "Well, come on."
He stood, but there was a noise outside, faint and lilting, like the whirling of a lock. He turned his head this way and that, but his Aunt Cass was still walking away— and what was that sound? He knew he'd heard it before. It was quick and familiar, but he couldn't place it. He couldn't understand why it made fear pool in his gut or why he felt like he couldn't move.
He felt a hand grab his arm, but that wasn't right at all. His aunt was still walking away and it was just the two of them. They were the only ones home. She was the only one that could be touching him— but she wasn't. She was nowhere near him. He didn't understand. He didn't understand. He didn't understand!
And then there was tugging and he was hissing at the tight grip on his arm as he was pulled away from his safe little dream world and his messy cocoon of blankets. He felt himself trip as he was taken away from the couch, his knee hitting the ground painfully before he was lifted up and pulled against a protruding stomach. He swallowed back the bile as a meaty hand grabbed at his waist. He didn't need to open his eyes to see who was behind him, touching him.
Yama grabbed his chin between his grubby fingers, that stale breath of his ghosting over his ear as he leaned against his thin frame. Hiro clenched his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. "This is your charge." And who is he talking to? "Keep him alive and I let you live."
He opened his eyes when he began to feel himself fall. His knees hit the carpet, but when he put his arms out to catch himself, something else caught him instead. Warm hands grabbed his waist instinctively; panting breaths puffed against his cheeks.
And doe brown met a deep russet.
Hiro gasped, kicking his way out of the man's loose grip on his waist and planting himself on the floor a few feet away, his chest heaving up and down as his eyes went wide. The man— boy— whoever he'd landed oncoughed, rubbing at his chest like he'd kicked him. And he'd thought he'd felt something against his foot and— oh man, oh man, oh man— what was going on?
Yama laughed, reaching down to grab him by his hair and haul him up to his feet. Hiro hissed, his fingers wrapping around the meaty digits that knotted in his hair. The man just shook him a bit, cackling when his hands left his hair and clamped over his mouth. His stomach churned violently, but Yama eventually stopped, pulling his own hands away from his head and letting him stand on his own, wobbly and a little unsure. He glanced back and forth between the man on the floor— god, he looks like he is going to be sick— and Yama's hulking frame behind him, a sneer resting on his lips.
"Now, now, now, Hiro," Yama tutted, "that's no way to greet your new roommate." Hiro shuttered as those meaty hands rested on his shoulders, thumbs rubbing circles against his back. "This is Tadashi," he introduced. The man on the floor seemed to startle when his name was called, his russet eyes wide, his lips set in a thin line. "He's here to help you."
Hiro gulped at Yama's coddling tone, tensing as one of Yama's hands slid down his arm— straightening it— and rested against the stark white bandage against his elbow. He fingered it, tapping this way and that as he followed it all the way up to his wrist. Suddenly, Yama's fingers wrapped around his arm and squeezed.
He gasped, knees going weak as he fell to the floor, the hand still at his mouth pressing back against his jaw. That hurt. That hurt. That hurt!
Yama just patted his head, the grip on his arm loosening a bit. "This," he accentuated with another squeeze, "isn't allowed to happen again, is it, Hiro?"
"No," Hiro shook his head miserably, gritting his teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the man on the floor grow pale, his skin tone blending seamlessly with his white shirt.
"That's right," Yama cooed, tugging him back to his feet by his arm. "But, I don't trust you so much anymore. For all I know, you're a little liar." Hiro clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together. "So, to prevent anymore little mishaps, Tadashi here is going to be watching over you." Meaty hands grabbed at his jaw again, making him look directly at the boy on the floor, with his rumpled clothes and his big, wide eyes. "Your life doesn't belong to you anymore— and neither does his," Yama pushed him forward, snorting as he stumbled.
"His life is directly tied to yours now. If you die," he continued, pulling the gun from the inner folds of his suit jacket, "so does he." Yama held the gun up, lining it up with the man— Tadashi— on the floor. "If you try to escape again, you won't be getting off with a few bruises. I'll bring you back here— and I'll make you watch me kill him, cutting him into itsy bitsy little pieces. Do you understand?"
Doe brown eyes widened as he gulped, nodding his head senselessly. "I understand," he mumbled, knowing the man expected an answer, wringing his hands in the fabric of his shirt, the red cloth catching on his uneven nails. He felt his chest constrict, anxiety lining his throat. Yama wasn't kidding; he never joked. And he was mad. He was just now realizing how mad he had made the man with his little suicide attempt. Before, when he tried to escape, the older man would rough him up a bit— maybe turn off the water or refuse to feed him— but he always forgot all about it eventually. There was never anything like this— there was never anyone else involved.
And what was he supposed to do now?
"Good boy," Yama cackled, patting his shoulder as he walked by. Hiro tensed, but didn't move as the man shuffled out the door, the automatic lock clicking into place as the door slammed shut behind him. Leaving him alone with this person. Oh god, oh god, oh god— what was he supposed to do?
He blinked and Tadashi blinked back, seemingly in response, his skin still pale. And he looked like he was probably a few years older than he was, with nice broad shoulders and neat black hair. His lips were thin and maybe a little cracked, but he looked okay. Nice enough; clean enough. Normal enough. He felt his breath quicken at the thought.
Normal. He didn't know how to deal with normal anymore.
Tadashi shuffled forward, as if to put his feet underneath himself so he could stand, and Hiro took a wide step back reflexively. Russet brown eyes blinked and then narrowed a bit, concerned instead of angry. Thin lips smiled at him a little wearily; he coughed, one hand coming up to cover his mouth, red lines standing out against his skin— probably from being tied up and who knows what else— even as he regained a bit of his tannish color. "You're bleeding," he tried.
Hiro furrowed his brow, blinking again before taking a look at his arm where red was seeping through his bandage and dribbling down toward his fingers. And how hadn't he noticed that before?
"You're bleeding," Tadashi repeated, trying again, leaning forward as he stood.
"Happens," Hiro breathed, suddenly suffocating with his hands wringing in his shirt, his toes curling inward underneath him. He took another step back, sinking onto the couch when the back of his knees knocked against it.
Tadashi took a step forward, hands out like he was some type of wounded animal that was going to bolt as soon as he got too close— and isn't that just accurate? "I can fix that," he muttered, all wide russet eyes and broad chin.
Hiro tilted his head, bringing his knees to his chest. "Is it broken?" He groaned as soon as the words left his mouth— wasn't that such a stupid thing for him to say?
"Wha…," Tadashi trailed, stopping a mere foot away, running his hand through his hair. And god, that reminded him so much of his aunt. "I don't understand."
"You only fix things that are broken. If it's not broken, it can't be fixed," he breathed in an attempt to explain himself, panic ebbing away a bit at the thought of his aunt, at the way Tadashi just blinked at him, as if mulling over his words.
"Okay. It's not broken," Tadashi reasoned, smiling as he bent down into a squat, eyes looking straight at him, "it's just a little damaged. And we really can't let it keep bleeding like that."
"If you die, so does he."
"There are bandages," he cried, startled at himself, at the way his voice sounded. He brought his hands to his mouth, breathing in and out through his fingers. Don't panic, don't panic, please don't panic. "There are bandages," he tried again, a little slower, a little quieter. "They're in the bathroom on— on the shelf."
Tadashi smiled at him, all straight teeth and thin lips. "Okay. I'll go get those."
Hiro flinched a bit as Tadashi patted his knee before standing, wandering into the bathroom at the corner of the room. Hiro set his feet back down on the carpet, curling them against the fabric. He could feel the blood beginning to dry around his fingers. Only a little bit had soaked through, but who knew how bad the damage actually was— and what was he supposed to do if it got infected? What if it just kept bleeding and bleeding and never closed up? His life didn't belong to just him anymore. He could— he could get this guy killed too; Yama didn't make empty threats. And his aunt would never forgive him for something like that.
He would never forgive himself for something like that.
"Hey." Hiro jumped, tensing as warm fingers grabbed his arm, brown eyes watching intently as Tadashi bent down beside him again and began to unwrap the bandage. The white cloth peeled away easily, twirling around and around his arm, opening to reveal the long, jagged line reaching from his inner elbow to just below his wrist. The other boy stopped for a moment, just looking at it— of course he thinks it's gross— but didn't say anything. Instead, he pressed a wet washcloth against his arm. Hiro hissed, tugging his arm to his chest. Tadashi let him go easily. "Sorry. Did that hurt," he asked.
And he sounded so sincere. Not dangerous at all.
"Cold," he mumbled, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.
"Oh. I— I should have waited for the water to warm up."
Hiro shook his head, holding his arm out. He watched as Tadashi slowly brought the cloth back to his skin and began wiping at the blood. There wasn't as much as he'd expected; he'd just been overreacting. But, Tadashi didn't seem to care. He just washed it all away, pressing firmly —gently— against the dried bits. Hiro flinched when he brought the cloth to his hand and began wiping away the little red streams that had dried along his fingers. And he sighed when the bandage went back on, twisting around his arm with a tug here and another there.
Tadashi was good at this.
"So, you're Hiro," Tadashi asked when he finished, sitting back against the carpet and looking up at him. There was blood on his fingers now; Hiro wondered if he noticed.
"I am," he answered.
And then Tadashi did the strangest thing. He held his hand out, fingers outstretched as if expecting Hiro to shake it. "I'm Tadashi Hamada. College student." Hiro just blinked at him, cradling his arm to his chest. "Umm… this is the part where you say your name," he tried, smiling, whispering conspiratorially like he was some sort of child that needed to be coddled.
Hiro resented that a bit, but held out his hand nonetheless— the good one. "Hiro Takachiho. Captive by day; captive by night," he deadpanned before he could stop himself. Tadashi seemed a little upset at that, his face falling. And it was coming anyway; that smile was barely held there to being with.
"How long have you been here," he murmured after some time had passed, the air between them stiff and dry.
He blinked at the question, leaning back on the couch and pulling his knees to his chest. He really didn't know the answer to that. It felt like forever, but it could have just been a few months. But he had gotten taller and his shoulders had begun to broaden— and it felt like he hadn't been outside in such a long time.
And maybe this was his chance to find out. Tadashi was obviously new to all of this. He probably knew what day it was, at the very least. Maybe even if they were still in San Fransokyo. Maybe he could remember where they were or— or tell him what the weather was like outside. Right now. If it was raining or snowing or if that nasty thick fog from the bay had settled over the buildings again.
He'd never wanted to go outside so much in his life.
Realizing that Tadashi was looking at him expectantly— and how did he even remember what that looked like?— he shrugged, leaning forward just a bit at his hips. "Depends."
"Depends," Tadashi repeated, confused. But he seemed relaxed. And it had been so long since he had talked with anyone close to his own age; what was he supposed to say? "On?"
"The day," he replied a little breathlessly. The other boy just looked at him, all quirked eyebrows until understanding started to darken his features. And now he was scowling and Hiro hadn't meant to make him mad. "I just— I'm not really sure how long I've been— they don't… let me out very much," he finished lamely, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
Which must have been the right thing to do, because Tadashi smiled again, eyes a little less happy than they once were, but okay and— he really had no idea what he was doing.
"It's— well, it was the 15th. January 15th," the older boy tried. There was a pregnant pause between them— and then Tadashi swallowed heavily. "It's 2023."
Hiro twisted his hands in his shirt, wincing at how sore his arm was, at how his fingers didn't want to work quite right. "Seven hundred and sixty-three days," he whispered, swallowing, his heart sinking down into his gut. "Over two years."
Was Aunt Cass even still looking for him?
"Oh, god," Tadashi breathed, leaning forward to rest his head against his knee. Hiro jerked, but Tadashi didn't move away; he just shook his head from side to side. "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay," he breathed against his shorts, mumbling to himself. And maybe Tadashi was just like he used to be— all scared and lonely— with no idea of what was happening or how to deal with it, panic tugging at his chest. Hiro held up his hand, as if to ruffle his hair or just let him know he wasn't alone, but he hesitated, letting the appendage fall back into his lap.
What was he supposed to say?
Tadashi pulled away, running his hand through his hair, russet eyes looking at him with conviction. "Everything's going to be just fine," he said. "People are going to notice I'm missing. They'll come get us. We'll get out of here."
Hiro didn't have the heart to tell him that no one was coming.
That no one would ever be coming.
Waiting: Day 778
"Umm, Ms. Cass..." She swiveled in her chair at the voice, smiling reassuringly at her employee— a small, mousey sort of girl that had only been with her for a few weeks. The girl looked at her a little apprehensively as she tiptoed up the last couple of stairs.
Cassandra wanted to laugh at the nervous way she eyed the room, but she knew she shouldn't. All of her employees seemed a little afraid to cross over from the café into her home upstairs. She didn't quite understand why; it was all the same to her. "I don't bite. You're welcome to come in."
The girl shook her head, "There are some kids downstairs that want to use the display board. I thought they should talk to you."
She quirked her lips to the side at that, "Tell them I'll be down in just a minute."
She sighed as the girl left to return to the café, running her hand through her frizzy hair in an attempt to smooth it before standing to follow her, her knees popping a bit with the extra weight at her knees. Looking down at herself, she frowned, eyeing the way her apron bunched at her waist, the way her pants stretched a bit across her thighs. She needed to get out more, like she used to before…
Cassandra shook her head, huffing. She didn't want to think about that right now; she did enough of that once the café closed down for the night and it was just her and the cat, curled up on the couch with a movie that he used to love. She couldn't break down and cry right now. She had a business to run. Today and tomorrow and the day after that.
With that in mind, she made her way down the stairs, smoothing her hair again as she turned the corner, the smell of coffee and fresh pastries tickling her nose. She smiled at the way her customers crowded the tables, the way her baristas dawdled her and there. They seemed happy— and she couldn't really ask for anything more than that, except...
She blinked at the couple standing by the counter, a tall, dark skinned young man and a wispy thin blonde girl with wide-rimmed glasses. They were smiling, chatting amongst themselves, but they seemed preoccupied.
"Those are the kids."
Cassandra jumped a bit, nodding as her little barista went back to work. Carefully, she made her way over to them, smiling at a few of her regulars as she passed. When she slid behind the counter, the couple stopped talking, staring at her with wide eyes. She grinned. They looked like they were only a couple of years older than he would be. "Hi. They tell me you want to use the display board," she asked, with an upward lilt.
The girl nodded, looking at her friend before rummaging through her purse. She pulled a stack of papers out of the bag— and it looked like she wanted to cry. "Since your café is so popular, we thought— we thought…," she looked to her friend for help.
He swallowed. "A friend of ours went missing a couple of weeks ago," he stated, grabbing the papers out of the girl's hands and holding them out to her. Cassandra took them, her hands shaking, her green eyes blinking rapidly to keep herself from crying.
Missing, the paper said in big block letters, Tadashi Hamada. And he looked like such a sweet boy.
"We talked with the police, but they didn't find anything," the boy stated, his fingers just barely brushing the counter. "They… They thought it would be a good idea for us to post his picture in places where a lot of people gather. In case someone has seen him."
Cassandra nodded in understanding. That's what they'd told her to do too, after so much time had gone by that they couldn't devote as many resources to finding him anymore. "Okay," was all she said.
The girl adjusted her glasses, tucking her long blonde hair behind one of her ears. "Our friend, Freddie, remembered seeing another one of these signs here before, so he thought you'd be willing to put it up for us."
She bit her lip, nodding as she turned to the one picture she always tried to avoid— Missing, it said, Hiro Takachiho. And there was that ridiculous grin and those big, almond eyes centered on her display board. She'd taken that picture a little over a month before he'd gone missing— for his birthday. He was wearing the blue jacket she'd gotten him.
She felt the tear slide down her cheek before she realized she was crying.
"I'm so sorry," the girl cried in alarm, looking to her friend. And he looked just as concerned and confused, so small despite his hulking frame. "We didn't mean to upset you or—"
"It's fine," Cassandra cut her off, blinking to will away her tears. She forced a smile back onto her face, running her fingertips lovingly across the papers in her hands. "That's my nephew," she said by way of explanation. She shook her head at the girl's distressed look. "He's been gone for a long time now."
"I'm so— we're so sorry," the girl tried again, leaning a little closer to her friend. He seemed uncomfortable, looking back and forth between the picture of the boy in her hands and the missing little boy on the wall.
"I'll put this up for you. And," she choked a little, "if you have any extras, I can ask some of my regulars to post them where they work." They'd done it for her— her little Hiro was posted in buildings all around town.
"That would be great," the boy said, grabbing at the girl's arm reassuringly. "We really appreciate it."
Cassandra just shook her head, waving it off. So many people had done it for her. And it helped alleviate some of the pressure in her chest— for a while, at least. It didn't make it go away, but it— it made it better. And that was really all she could ask for.
She watched them leave a few moments later, a bag full of her best treats heading out the door with them; it was the very least she could do. She knew better than anyone what it felt like to have someone just disappear, not knowing if they were still alive or not. It hurt. And the hurt never went away. It just stayed there, burning in her chest and waiting to flare up again.
She looked at the papers she'd placed on the counter, grabbing one carefully before making her way over to the display board. She stopped in front of Hiro's image— it feels like those pretty brown eyes are looking at me— and set to work clearing out the space beside it. Cautiously, she placed the new picture beside his, tacking it up with unnecessary care. Cassandra took a step back once she was done.
Missing, Missing, the papers taunted.
Today was going to be a very long day.
Captivity: Day 23
"I'm allergic to peanuts."
Tadashi blinked at him, holding the sandwich up with a squint. "But they bring peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in for lunch every day." And they really did. Every day, just like clockwork, the door would open and someone— normally, a burly looking man— would drop a tray of sandwiches by the door, complete with an apple and a pack of fruit punch on the side. Tadashi wasn't really sure if it was actually for lunch though; he'd never realized just how much he'd relied on clocks until he didn't have one anymore. For all he knew, it was midnight on the outside.
Hiro shrugged his skinny shoulders from his spot on the couch, his bare feet running back and forth along the carpet. "I don't think they really care if I eat it or not," he said, those doe brown eyes of his looking away.
The older boy hummed, dropping Hiro's sandwich back onto the tray with a little sigh. He had wondered why Hiro would always leave most of his food uneaten; he had thought he might just be depressed, but he wasn't a doctor and he really didn't know. It was just that he didn't seem to eat very much— his ribs are peeking through his shirt again— and he spent most of his time sleeping on the couch, only moving about when absolutely necessary. And with that cut on his arm— almost a full blown scar now, he was a little worried about his mental health.
He seemed like a sweet kid.
But Tadashi just wasn't cut out for this. Bumps and bruises, he could handle. He could patch those up perfectly. Colds and fevers and flu symptoms? Easy. He was well prepared for that sort of thing. Suicide attempts? Clinical depression? He knew about them— sure— but had first aid training. Not psychiatric training. He had only just begun programming the basics of mental health into Baymax, his robotic nurse project. He'd barely covered the symptoms at this point, let alone how to treat them.
"Then have my apple," he tried, holding the object out to him. Hiro looked at it for a minute, before nervously taking it into his hand and taking a big bite out of the side. Tadashi smiled at the slight underbite and the gap in his teeth. He was willing to admit that it was kind of endearing. In fact, he found most things about him to be quite charming, from the way he would smile when he told him about his college or his life outside to the way he would timidly ask him questions about Baymax.
And those were always surprising. Hiro was a lot smarter than he'd expected.
If they ever made it out of here— they would, they would, they would; be optimistic— then he was going to have to take him to his lab. He was pretty sure he would love it there, with the way his face lit up at the mention of robotics. He would probably gush over all of GoGo's bikes, the way Honey Lemon could make almost anything happen with her chemicals. He could even see Wasabi showing Hiro just what his lasers could do to that apple in his hands. And Fred would probably have him dying in laughter within minutes.
He snickered a bit at the image. Hiro blinked at him, but he just shook his head, leaning back against his palms and looking up at the boy from his spot on the floor. For a moment, they just stared at one another, but then Hiro took another bite of the apple and looked away again, wringing his free hand into his shirt uncomfortably.
It had been a little over three weeks, but Hiro still squirmed whenever he looked at him for too long. In a way, it was kind of fun to watch how he would turn his feet inwards, how a pale pink blush would slide up his neck and paint his ears bright red. In another, it was absolutely horrifying, because it was done subconsciously and anxiously, because it had been over two years and he just wasn't used to human contact. Because, as far as he knew, he was the only person Hiro really got to talk with— and he was probably messing things up horribly.
He really couldn't do this.
But he didn't have a choice.
Deciding to give the younger boy a little peace, Tadashi stretched out across the floor at the base of the couch, hands inching the mostly empty tray away to make room for his shoulders. There wasn't a lot of space between the couch, the bed, and the bathroom door, but he made do, letting one of his arms flop under the sofa. Hiro didn't seem to mind; he just brought his feet up onto the piece of furniture— and Tadashi could just barely see his thin little toes curling around the cushion's edge.
Watching them curl and uncurl, he let his mind wander. He recited math formulas in his head, checked and double checked his list of improvements for Baymax (he'd get to them eventually), and tried to remember what day it was on the outside, what he might be doing right now if his life had just continued along like normal. He turned his head to the side, russet eyes counting up the tally he had marked on the wall by the bed. It wasn't easy to keep it up, especially since there really weren't any sharp objects around for him to use to scrape the wall— for obvious reasons— but he managed. It had been twenty-three days. Twenty-three days and no one had burst through the door yet.
But he was still hoping. He hadn't given up on anyone finding them yet. He was sure it would just be a few more days and he would be going home. They'd both be going home.
He smiled at the thought, turning his head back toward the ceiling. Hiro had shifted a bit, with one of his feet coming back to the floor, his body scooted forward just slightly on the couch. He was really quite gangly, with his slightly too large feet and his slightly too thin legs.
Puberty, Tadashi thought, with a silent laugh. Carefully, he reached out his hand and ghosted his fingertips over Hiro's ankle. The boy flinched, but didn't move it away. He grinned at the way Hiro's foot twitched more and more the longer he touched it, like he was somehow caught between craving human touch and outright rejecting it. Touching was something Tadashi was working on with Hiro— and he'd made some tangible progress in the past three weeks. He thought so, anyway.
Tadashi moved his fingers up a little higher, brushing them along Hiro's calf, the edge of his shorts. Hiro flinched again, but laughed when he tucked them behind his knee, tickling him a bit. He ran his hand back and forth between the younger boy's ankle and knee. Hiro made breathless little noises, twitching here and there, but stayed in place. After a few minutes, Tadashi stopped, resting his hand on the edge of Hiro's shorts, rubbing circles against the bone protruding from his knee.
And then he let his hand flop back down to his side, his arm a little sore. He could hear Hiro swallow above him, could see his hands on the edge of the couch, twisting and wringing in the fabric, the apple core held between two of his fingers. His left hand didn't move quite as quickly as his right, and Tadashi vaguely realized that he'd probably damaged some of his tendons when he'd cut himself. Eventually, Hiro stood, tiptoeing around him to place the apple core on the tray.
As he watched him, his eyes widened and dread pooled deep within his gut.
Tadashi stopped him when he went to sit down again, one hand wrapping firmly around his ankle. Hiro squeaked, trying to turn and nearly tripping in the process. Tadashi wasn't sure he could handle this, but he couldn't just let it go either.
The older blinked, sitting up and grabbing at the other's shirt, lifting it only slightly. Hiro wrapped his hands in the fabric, pushing it down. "What are you doing," he asked. His breath was beginning to quicken now— inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale— and Tadashi was fairly certain he was beginning to scare him.
But he was pretty sure of what he'd seen when Hiro had turned around. And he was horrified by the idea.
He wasn't prepared for this.
Tadashi let go of Hiro's ankle, and the boy took a step back, pressing his body against the wall, big brown eyes wide. And this was almost like when they'd met, when Hiro had backed away from him like a frightened animal and he could only think of making the bleeding stop, making the pain go away. This time… he needed to know some things.
"Hiro," he asked slowly, putting his hands in his lap in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, "what happens to you when you leave the room?" And it wasn't like he'd never thought about it before. He'd even asked, but Hiro always seemed to evade his inquiries. The boy in question blinked, scrunching himself farther into the wall, like he was trying to make himself as small as physically possible. And he looked very uncomfortable now, with his fingers wrapped up in the hem of his shirt, his elbows tucked tightly into his ribcage. "Hiro," he tried again, a little more firmly this time.
Hiro flinched, sliding down the wall until he was all curled up on the floor, his knees tucked beneath his chin. "I just… I build things," he finally whispered, looking away, those big brown eyes of his facing the wall.
Tadashi shuffled a little closer, stopping about a foot away. He hunched his shoulders a bit. Now was not the time to seem threatening. Please, please, please, he thought. Let me be wrong. "Is that all that happens?"
Hiro's lips trembled. "I just build things," he said again, a little more firmly. He nervously ran his hands through his hair. "For money. Sometimes— it's for bot fights. Most of them… I— I think."
Russet eyes softened at their edges, and Tadashi shuffled forward a little more, grabbing Hiro's chin and carefully turning the boy's head until he was looking at him again. Hiro didn't look happy about it, but he didn't pull away either; Tadashi took that as a good sign. "Hiro," he asked, "what happened when you went out this morning?"
He swallowed. Blinked. "Nothing," he breathed.
Tadashi sighed, bringing his hands up to rest on the other's knobby knees. "Then why is there blood on your pants?"
Hiro jerked, sitting up a little straighter. He was breathing impossibly fast now— he's having a panic attack. "I'm not— there's nothing— nothing happened," he wheezed.
"Hiro," he whispered, trying to get him to focus. And he was looking at anything and everything that wasn't Tadashi now. He'd read about this sort of thing before, when he'd been toying with the idea of adding abuse counseling into Baymax's database. But he couldn't remember the right thing to say— oh man, I'm screwing this up; I'm not a doctor— but he couldn't just let him deny the fact that it happened— how many times?— could he? That just couldn't be healthy and— he had to be supportive, right? "You can— you can tell me if they're touching you."
The boy in question looked straight at him then, eyes wide, all the blood draining away from his face. "They're not— why would you— I don't know what you think— Oh, god, nothing like that. I'm— I'm a boy," he finally exclaimed, like that made the entire reality of it impossible.
Tadashi blinked at him, taking in the way Hiro's chest heaved— up and down, up and down— and his fingers grasped at his knees like a lifeline, his knuckles white. It was obvious that he was lying; that he was just denying it. Because what else could have happened? Why else would he be so scared? And what was he supposed to say? "Hiro… You don't have to— to lie about it. I know it happened."
And that was definitely not the right thing to say.
Hiro's chest shook, his face falling, like he'd finally realized that he wasn't going to be able to talk his way out of this and Tadashi wasn't going to change the subject. Instead of opening up like Tadashi had hoped— because he didn't know what he was doing and this seemed like a good idea before but it really wasn't (why didn't I pay more attention to mental health?!)— he covered his mouth with his hands almost forcefully, burying his face in his knees. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he panted. And it was muffled, but it was heart-wrenching.
Tadashi pushed back his bangs, swallowing. And he could feel himself beginning to panic too, with the way his fingers trembled and his breath didn't quite fill his lungs. He hadn't expected that— and what the hell did he think he was going to accomplish by asking anyway?
He could do this. He could do this.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Hiro breathed into his knees.
Oh, god— he really couldn't do this.
Carefully, he reached a hand out, grabbing the boy's shoulder, pulling himself up to lean in a little closer— and he was probably messing this up so much. "It's okay, it's okay," he soothed, cooing into Hiro's ear. His chest just shook and shook and shook, his face buried against his knees. Tadashi could feel the guilt swirling in his chest. I caused this, he thought. I caused this.
Eventually, Hiro's breaths began to even out. Tadashi leaned away when he started to rock back and forth almost imperceptivity, one of his feet pushing him to and fro. The older boy swallowed thickly, grabbing his ankle to make him stop. Hiro looked at him. His face was red and his eyes were wet, but… he hadn't cried at all. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his lower lip trembling even as he brought it into his mouth and began to worry it between his teeth.
Tadashi tried to smile at him— but it must not have been very convincing because Hiro was looking away a second later, all big brown eyes and skinny shoulders. "It doesn't— it's not all the time," he said at length, like he was trying to reason it out in his head. "Just sometimes. I- I really do build bots. Really." He glanced back at him for just a split second before looking away again. "Sorry."
Tadashi shuffled forward and sat beside him on the wall. Hiro flinched, but didn't move away. Instead, he pulled his knees a little closer to his chest. Deep breaths, he told himself. Deep breaths. He didn't have the option of freaking out right now. "Why are you sorry," he asked once it became apparent that Hiro wasn't going to offer up anything more.
Big almond-shaped eyes looked at him, as if considering his question, but then he swallowed and stared at the wall.
Tadashi sighed, ghosting his fingertips through Hiro's kitten-soft black hair. The boy didn't move. "You have nothing to be sorry about," he tried, because the least he could do was try to ease some of the ache he'd caused. "It's not your fault."
Hiro's breath quickened a bit at that, and he shook Tadashi's fingers out of his hair, his own digits coming up to roughly pull at it. Tadashi quickly grabbed them, carefully placing them in the boy's lap.
Then, because he didn't know what to do or what to say, he pulled Hiro against his chest. His shoulders shook for a moment and his hands came up to separate them, but Tadashi held firm— and Hiro calmed down, burying his face against his chest. It could have been minutes or hours later when the sobbing started.
And he held him through it because there really wasn't much he could do, but he could do this.
He could do this.
Captivity: Day 791
Hiro bit at his bottom lip, shuffling forward on the couch, blankets pooled around his hips. Carefully, he placed his feet on the floor, curling his toes to ward away the pins and needles running down his left leg. He froze when Tadashi let out something between a moan and a snore, his eyes widening, his breath catching in his throat. He glanced at the lump on the bed— Tadashi's stretched out form; it rolled over and he let out the breath he didn't remember himself holding.
It was okay. Tadashi was still asleep. He wasn't going to wake up. Breathe, breathe, breathe, he told himself.
Squaring his shoulders, he stood, cautiously untangling himself from his blankets and taking a step closer to the bed. The older boy didn't seem to notice, so he took another step, followed by another and another. And then he was standing at the side of the bed with his fingers knotting in the hem of his shirt, his weight anxiously shifting back and forth at his ankles. Swallowing, he leaned forward so that he was hovering just over Tadashi's sleeping form— and he watched him sleep.
The older boy didn't sleep nearly as often as he did. Or, rather, Hiro was hardly ever in the room when he went to sleep, so watching him in these rare moments had become a bit of a treat for him. Tadashi seemed to sleep without a care, all stretched out with his limbs going everywhere and his hair sticking up to show off his prominent ears. It was refreshing, and it always made him feel a little bit lighter, a little bit more normal. Like maybe they were friends and just having a sleepover or something.
Except friends didn't watch each other sleep. And god, he had turned into such a freak.
Hiro groaned, pulling at his hair, wincing at the uncomfortable tug at his left hand. He hadn't meant to start doing this. He hadn't meant for this to become a habit. At first, he'd just wanted to study the older boy. He hadn't seen anyone his own age in a long time— and it had seemed harmless enough, with him just standing above him and watching the way his chest rose and fell. But that was in the early days, when Tadashi had just gotten there and he was still trying to figure him out. Now, it was almost like an addiction.
He couldn't stop and he wasn't even sure he wantedto.
There was just something so calming about having someone else around— not being alone all the time. He'd grown used to it, but he'd never really realized how lonely he'd been. He'd become numb to the gaping hole in his chest, and having Tadashi in the room made his heart literally ache for some sort of normal human contact. Conversation, touch, anything.
But he wasn't quite normal anymore and he didn't know how to go about fixing himself. He didn't remember how to initiate touches, how to start a conversation or even how to hold one once it started. Tadashi tried to talk to him and without even noticing he was doing it, Hiro always found himself closing up, shutting down before anything meaningful could be said. He'd never been very good with people, but now… it was like he couldn't remember anything about appropriate behavior. He didn't know what to say or how to say it. And he just didn't react quite like he should.
He shuddered, a chill running down his spine at the thought of the meltdown he had had a few days before— when Tadashi had found out about that. Hiro knew that he would figure it out eventually— he isn't stupid— and he'd been meaning to tell him. Really, he had; he just hadn't known how to bring it up. So, he'd been trying to hide it.
He would fix his hair on the walk back to the room. He would shower as soon as he got in. He took extra care to make sure his clothes looked normal, that there weren't any weird wrinkles or fluids and— how did he miss the bleeding? He had been so careful to make sure Tadashi didn't find out like that, but then he did and it couldn't have possibly gone any worse. He'd just lost it.
All he could think was deny, deny, deny— maybe it will all go away.
But it didn't and Tadashi just kept asking and then he'd cried and—
Hiro made a frustrated noise, feeling his breath begin to quicken, his chest begin to quiver and shake. "No, no, no. Don't think about it,"he whispered to himself, rocking a bit on the balls of his feet, wrapping his arms around his middle. Just thinking about it made him want to curl into a ball and disappear. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if anyone else were to find out. If his aunt found out. It would kill her to know what had happened to him; she would never look at him the same way again.
He scoffed at the thought, shaking his head. He was never going to see her again anyway. The most he could hope for was having his body returned once he died.
"Hey." Hiro jumped, letting out a startled sort of noise as he took a step away from the bed and bumped his shoulder against the wall, his breath catching in his throat. The older boy quirked an inky black eyebrow at him, leaning back on his elbows. He didn't notice him wake up. How long had Tadashi been watching him? Oh man oh man oh man— he didn't have an explanation for himself and Tadashi was probably going to be mad and— "You okay?"
His voice was full of concern.
Hiro felt himself begin to calm, his shoulders slumping. Tadashi never got mad. He knew that; he just had to keep telling himself that until he believed it. "I'm fine," he mumbled, tightening the grip his fingers had on his shirt, his hands still wrapped around his waist.
Tadashi blinked the sleep out of his eyes and yawned, sitting up with a little sigh. Russet brown orbs studied him and he made himself look away, doe brown eyes staring at the wall as guilt settled into his gut. He hadn't meant to wake him up; he'd just wanted to watch him for a while.
"Did you have a bad dream," Tadashi asked at length. And his voice didn't sound accusatory at all, but Hiro could feel his cheeks burn as he shook his head, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Tadashi hummed, "Do you want to sleep with me?"
Hiro swallowed, tearing his eyes away from the wall. Tadashi was already scooting over on the bed, making room for him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Hiro glanced at the couch where all of his blankets lay, strewn this way and that. He never slept on the bed and it really wasn't big enough for two people, but… "Okay."
And when Tadashi curled around him in an effort to conserve space, he felt some of the ache in his chest begin to diminish.
Captivity: Day 32
"Rise and shine, Mr. Healthcare."
Tadashi awoke to the sound of clapping above him, his body shooting upright, black spots dancing behind his eyes because of the sudden change. Yama— Hiro called him that— laughed. "Did you have a nice nap," he asked, leaning over him with his multitude of chins and that ever present cigar twirling between his fingers.
Tadashi just blinked at him, chocolate eyes wearily taking in the way his nose curled, his lips twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. And then he noticed that the lights were on, illuminating the room and reflecting off the walls. They'd been off when he'd gone to sleep— and he knew he hadn't been sleeping for very long. He couldn't have been; his limbs still felt heavy and a thick fog was whirling around in his subconscious.
He was so tired.
Yama cleared his throat above him, grabbing his upper arm and hauling him out of bed. He could have struggled, but from the way the man always threw Hiro around like a ragdoll, he thought that it was best not to, letting his feet touch the floor and following his bulky movements without question. Yama patted his shoulder when they stopped only a few feet away, releasing his grip on his arm and leaning in to breathe against his ear. "They may have given him a little too much," he sneered, "but this is your job, isn't it, Mr. Healthcare?"
Tadashi shuddered, a long shiver running down his spine at the sight before him. Hiro was sitting on the floor, his legs spread out in front of him at odd angles, like they were broken, his upper body leaning heavily against the wall. His hair was everywhere, sticking up this way and that, matted against his forehead. His big almond-shaped eyes were wide, but his pupils were dilated to the point that they were black with just the barest hint of brown around their rims.
And he was naked.
He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this.
Tadashi's breath quickened in his throat, his heart sinking into his chest. What had they done to him? There were scratches running down his thighs, hand-shaped bruises at his hips. His wrists and ankles were red, like he'd been tied up and— oh god, what am I supposed to do?
Yama laughed beside him, rubbing his shoulder, patting the side of his face with his meaty hand. "It looks like they played a little rough with him, don't you think? If only he was better at doing what he was told," he said a little wistfully, "then these sorts of things just wouldn't have to happen."
Tadashi swallowed down the bile pooling at his throat, clenching his hands into fists, his fingernails digging into his palms. He made it sound like it was Hiro's fault that this had happened to him. And it wasn't. It wasn't his fault. It couldn't have been.
"But, that's quite alright. You're going to clean him up, aren't you?" Tadashi nodded his head dumbly; Hiro blinked up at him. "I can't hear the rocks rattling in your head," Yama hummed.
Tadashi gritted his teeth, squaring his shoulders as he looked away from Hiro. Russet eyes stared into beady black orbs, narrowed and angry. Yama raised one of his bushy eyebrows at him, face contorted into a full-blown smirk. "Yes," he answered with conviction, "I am."
He could do this. Probably.
Yama snickered, turning back toward the door. "Have fun," he chortled.
The door slammed closed. And it was just the two of them again.
Tadashi let out a shaky breath, dropping his shoulders as he bent down, his anger dissipating. Hiro tilted his head to the side, blinking as he came to a stop near his ankles. And he looked confused, with his knitted brows and unfocused eyes. "Hey," he whispered, "can you talk to me?"
Hiro let out a garbled sort of noise, opening his mouth only to have it close again. Tadashi vaguely realized that his lips were a little swollen and his buttoned nose was red, like he was cold. Carefully, he slid forward, his fingers jittery, wondering where to start. Hiro looked like he was out of it— definitely drugged— but otherwise intact. Just a few bruises here and there— are those bite marks?— but nothing serious. Nothing life threatening.
He swallowed, his fingers gently wrapping around Hiro's ankle. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. He'd only just come to terms with the fact that this sort of thing was actually happening to the other boy; he hadn't thought of a way to really deal with it yet. He shook his head at the thought. That was being selfish; this wasn't about him or what made him comfortable. It wasn't like Hiro meant for this to happen— or that it was even his fault. He probably wanted this even less than Tadashi did.
Hiro let out another little noise, his ankle twisting just slightly beneath his hand. It wasn't particularly audible, but it sounded an awful lot like an apology.
And that really wasn't okay.
Tadashi shook his head again, leaning forward on his knees, trying to force a smile on his face. "We're going to get you cleaned up," he pressed his palm against the younger boy's forehead; he was burning up. "Does a shower sound okay," he asked, because he just had to do something about the sticky fluids caked around his thighs.
Doe brown eyes blinked and Hiro shuffled a bit, like he was trying to pull his knees up to cover himself. He groaned and his brows knitted, frustrated.
Tadashi just smiled at him, cooing under his breath as he ran his hand over his knee soothingly. He probably couldn't really move. And, according to the lectures Tadashi received in high school about being careful with his drinks when he went out by himself, a lot of drugs did that. They made it so that your muscles relaxed to the point that you couldn't control them even if you wanted to. Those drugs also had a tendency to cause memory loss.
He sincerely hoped that bit of information was true in this case.
Carefully, he shuffled forward, lifting Hiro's arms and putting them around his neck. They were heavy against his back— dead weight— but he could just barely feel fingers trying to tug at the fabric of his shirt. And that was a good sign; it meant he had some control at least. "Okay. I'm going to grab your hips now and stand up. Is that okay?"
Hiro mumbled something against his neck, swollen lips sloppily brushing against his pulse point, and Tadashi took that as an okay, arms wrapping around Hiro's lower back as he lifted. They made it about halfway before they were falling back against the wall. And Hiro wasn't particularly heavy, but he couldn't really help and Tadashi just barely managed to catch them when Hiro lost his grip on his shirt and began tumbling back toward the carpet.
They ended up pressed against the wall, with his hands cradling Hiro's lower back, the younger boy's legs caught somewhere in between his own, his face pressed against his chest. The position wasn't particularly comfortable, but they were sort of up now, even if Hiro was barely hanging off of him, his feet shuffling against the carpet in an attempt to get them to straighten out and hold his weight.
Tadashi knew that wasn't going to happen, so he pulled them away from the wall, bending his legs so he could get a slightly better angle to grab behind Hiro's thighs and lift him up completely. Hiro squeaked as he was lifted and he squirmed weakly against him, but holding them up was a lot easier when Hiro wasn't dragging the ground.
Careful of the furniture, he made his way to the bathroom, pressing the door open with his shoulder. "Down we go," he mumbled against Hiro's ear in warning, setting him down on the toilet seat. Hiro hunched limply when he moved away to start running the water, but he'd barely managed to turn the knob before he was being pushed forward. He jerked as cold water hit his back and shoulders, looking behind him to see that Hiro had slumped into him, accidently pushing his upper body into the tub.
And maybe he should have sat him on the ground again, because the toilet seat looked a little precarious and if he fell from there he would hit the tiles and— Breathe, breathe, breathe, he told himself. Hiro was okay. A little confused, but okay— what is okay in this situation?— and he hadn't completely messed up yet.
Tadashi swallowed down the panic in his throat, pushing himself away from the spray and shaking the water out of his hair. Hiro turned his face away and squeezed his eyes closed, a ruby red blush travelling up his neck and painting his cheeks. If the situation was any different, Tadashi might have laughed.
But it wasn't and he didn't.
Instead, he checked the water with his hand, letting out a little sigh when he realized that it had warmed up significantly. Now want should he do? The water was warm enough, but he didn't think it was safe to put Hiro into the bottom of the tub by himself. He looked confused and he couldn't even hold himself up. And Tadashi could vaguely remember reading somewhere that drunk people weren't supposed to bath by themselves and this was sort of like that— except it isn't— and how was he supposed to do this?
He could just turn the water off and put him to bed, have him take a bath as soon as he woke up, when he would hopefully be a little more responsive with a little more motor control. Except one look at the stains between Hiro's thighs had him shaking his head, bypassing that idea entirely.
He couldn't let him wake up like that.
Tadashi ran his hand through his hair, looking down at himself. He was already mostly soaked anyway, and it wasn't like a little water would hurt him. He shuffled back and forth anxiously at the thought; Hiro blinked at him. Carefully, he grabbed Hiro under his arms and lowered the two of them into the tub with Hiro stretched out across him, his face buried somewhere around his chest. He wasn't quite sure if it was the right thing to do, but it was the best that he could come up with.
Hiro gasped when the water hit his back, his eyes opening as his legs moved, as if to stand up. His eyes weren't quite as dilated now and he seemed to have a little more control, even if it was just the shock. "Wha…," he mumbled, his brows knitted in confusion as he looked up at him, his inky black hair drooping into his face.
Tadashi just tightened the grip he had around his waist when he struggled and tried to move again. He would hurt himself, if he wasn't careful. "You're okay," he whispered. "We're just showering. To clean you up."
Doe brown eyes blinked at him. "Dirty," he murmured, and it was mostly incoherent, but it was a word all the same— and Tadashi was delighted. Maybe this was the right thing to do. He was talking now and moving a little more. That had to count for something.
He could do this. He hadn't completely screwed up yet.
"Yeah," he smiled, running his hands along Hiro's spine. "But you'll be clean soon."
Hiro pressed against his chest with his palm. His eyes slowly shifted from his face down to his clothed torso, the worn jeans sticking to his legs. He looked back up again. "No," he said firmly, some since of recognition coming back to his features, his brows knitted in concentration. "Dirty."
Tadashi's eyes narrowed a bit, his hands tightening around Hiro's waist. "I don't understand."
Hiro huffed then, his eyes lowering as he settled himself against his chest, curling in on himself as much as he could, the water beating down on them. And he must have given up on whatever it was that he was trying to say, because it wasn't much longer before he was asleep, his body going limp.
Tadashi figured that he could turn the water off at that point, maybe dry him off and put him to bed because he wasn't going to get any cleaner without some scrubbing— don't think about it— but instead, he just let the water continue to rain down on them, running his fingers along Hiro's spine and listening to his breathing.
They could stay just like this for a little while.
Author's Notes:
1. I wanted to make Hiro sassy. Unfortunately, that didn't really work with the setting (two years is an awfully long time to maintain sassiness), so the "Fuck you" line in the beginning was pretty much the only part that made it in.
2. For some reason, most people tend to write Tadashi as having everything all figured out. Personally, I think he just puts on appearances and is just as confused as everyone else.
3. Aunt Cass was not supposed to receive her own scene. But, I like her so she did. The quotes that were tweaked from the movie have stars by them. Also, I elongated her name to Cassandra, because I have no idea what else Cass could be short for.
4. Most of my information was taken from Disney Wiki. However, the wiki says that Hiro has an overbite and I am under the impression that that is 100% incorrect. That boy has an underbite. (i.e. his lower teeth overlap his upper teeth. It's all over his character sheets).
5. The drug Hiro is under in the seventh scene is rohypnol. Common symptoms: muscle relaxation/loss of motor control, difficulty with motor movements, problems talking, memory loss, confusion, and dizziness. Also, I have never been drugged.
6. This story was supposed to be one 10,000 word chapter. This is only the first half; it had a bit of a growth spurt.
7. EDIT: The last section was removed after posting. It's not something I normally do, but I didn't like the scene when I wrote it and upon further less sleep deprived review, I really hate it. So, it's gone.
Production: Next chapter is planned to be uploaded on the 24th. But, I haven't written it yet, so we'll see.
Reviews are welcomed and responded to. I haven't written anything in a while, so I'd love to hear your thoughts.