TW: Child medical issues, fire, major character death
A/N: My friend and I were reading the first chapter of the Baymax manga when she pointed out Tadashi acted like he knew he was going to die. And my sister pointed out that he left behind a robot to take care of his little brother for him. So... This happened. Oops.
Oh and, spoilers. Duh. And I know next to nothing about the medical things mentioned in this so ignore everything that is most likely completely wrong.
When he was three months old, his mother cried.
He was the same as any other baby when he was born, happy and healthy and full of life. They thought everything was normal, that they'd have a picture perfect family with a healthy child.
But that wasn't what happened.
It was two weeks after his birth that Tadashi started to get a bluish complexion, prompting his parents to race back to the hospital in fear that he was having trouble breathing. But the doctor that met with them only gave them false reassurances, saying everything was normal. That everything was okay.
Everything was not okay.
They returned the week after, and the week after that, and so on. Every time, the doctor would brush it off as overprotective parents, saying there was really nothing wrong with the infant child.
But the Hamadas knew better. They knew there was something wrong, they knew Tadashi needed something. They knew that most babies would be making a fuss and playing and generally being happy little bundles of joy. But Tadashi did none of that. He was quiet, rarely crying for anything, and he just wasn't active enough. On top of that, they knew he should be growing like a weed, so why was he still so small?
Finally, at three months old, his parents took him to a different doctor entirely.
That doctor took one look at him. And that was all it took to make the old man start swearing obscenities generally directed toward the Hamada family's last doctor.
While the infant Tadashi was taken away for emergency surgery on a defect in his heart that the first doctor had ignored entirely, his mother cried in the arms of his father, sobbing out that she just wanted her baby to be alright.
When he was four years old, his father cried.
He recovered from his first doctor's mindlessness thanks to the quick thinking of his second doctor, but they all knew Tadashi would forever be plagued by weakness. He couldn't be active like the other children, running around like little stampeding animals or wrestling with each other or climbing on everything just to see if they could. The boy could barely do any amount of exertive activity before he was leaning against a wall or falling to the floor, head dizzy and heart racing.
It was exactly that fact that made young Tadashi reluctant to move around too much. Instead, he found it easier to use the parts of him he didn't feel were 'broken'.
Parts such as his mind.
While the other children ran around screeching and chasing each other with sticks or water guns outside, Tadashi would sit in his room, fiddling with puzzles and learning to read. He never really felt left out, he knew it was just that they were good at one thing, and he was good at another.
Of course, it was a day just like that when it happened. He was in his room as per usual, doodling in a little notebook, when he smelled smoke. As a small child, Tadashi certainly had no idea what to do as more and more smoke flooded into his room and the rest of the house. His parents were nowhere in sight and the more he breathed, the dizzier he got, until the last thing he knew was the carpeted floor of his room and the distinct smell of burning wood.
While the young Tadashi was rushed to the emergency room for smoke inhalation, his father cried in the arms of his mother, vowing that he would never leave a cigarette unattended again.
When he was six years old, he cried.
But unlike his parents, he didn't cry because he was worried. He didn't cry because he regretted a mistake. He cried because here he was, holding his new baby brother. His tiny, helpless little brother, who he swore that no matter what, he would take care of.
Tadashi knew, from the moment he first met Hiro, that he would do anything in his power to make sure his little brother had the best life possible.
While the infant Hiro was taken away to be put to bed, Tadashi cried, impatiently awaiting the time he'd get to play with his younger brother and teach him all he could.
When he was nine years old, someone probably cried, but he didn't know who.
He was too numb to accept what had happened.
His little brother was too young to know what they had just lost.
And their parents weren't around to cry for them anymore.
While his mother and father were buried at their funeral, Tadashi held his little brother close, more determined than ever before to make sure Hiro wouldn't feel alone.
When he was ten years old, his aunt cried.
Tadashi's rocky start to life had caused him hundreds of trivial problems and a few major ones. His smoke damaged lungs on top of his heart defect were cause enough for concern on their own, much less together.
Daily life was a struggle. The simplest tasks made his heart race, made him short of breath, made him dizzy. But in spite of it all, he powered through the troubles of his weak body, deciding that seeing his little brother's smile as he taught him new things every day was worth the pain.
His medical issues warranted regular checkups with his second doctor. Yes, the one that saved his life. Those usually went well enough, even after the fire.
This time, however, the doctor had trouble speaking. Even when he did, emotion clouded his voice as he explained that Tadashi's days were limited. It was tough to see how hard the news affected his doctor, proving that this old medic had grown fond of the unfortunate child patient whose life he had saved years before.
As they left his office, they could hear the old man swear to himself, angry with how much bad luck one innocent child could have.
While the preteen Tadashi was driven home, his aunt cried as he asked her not to tell his little brother that he wouldn't be there for him as long as they'd both wanted.
When he was nineteen, no one cried.
It seemed his bad luck had run out, at least for the most part. He was aware of the impending doom that still hung over his head and crept closer every day, but he was determined not to let it get him before his project was done.
With all the time he'd spent in hospitals, it wasn't hard to program a robot made to heal people. He did face hundreds of problems and glitches along the way, and many times he'd get frustrated and quit, knowing his genius little brother could have this thing designed and built in a day. But every time he would go back to it and keep trying, because he knew Hiro wouldn't build it.
The first time the robot booted up properly, Tadashi was ecstatic. Finally, he was almost done.
When he asked it to scan him, he knew it was working perfectly.
Because when it scanned him, its voice turned grim. It told him exactly what he already knew. It told him all the details and current status of his conditions.
And it told him exactly how much time he had left.
While he asked the robot to take care of his little brother for him after he was gone, he didn't cry. He knew his time was up, but he also knew he'd done his job. Despite the fact Tadashi himself wouldn't be there to take care of his little brother, he'd made sure there was someone who would always be able to do it for him.
When he was twenty, his brother cried.
He knew it was the day when he woke up that morning. While his body felt relatively okay, his nagging dreams of imminent death said otherwise. He didn't want to risk wasting his last day, so he made sure he regretted nothing. He spent as much time as he could with his aunt and little brother and friends, up until the very end. He made sure not to waste even a second on trivial matters when he could be spending it on what was most important; his brother.
It was as if his aunt knew, too. She caught his gaze that morning, and it felt as if the two made a mutual agreement right in that moment. She would continue to keep quiet on the matter, and he would use his limited time wisely.
If nothing else, he couldn't have had a better last day. He managed to set up his brother not only with a creature that, unlike Tadashi himself, would never die and would always be there for Hiro, he'd also managed to give the younger boy a circle of reliable friends and a path to a clear future.
He'd made sure Hiro would never be alone.
Not to mention, he got to see his little brother's genius displayed for all to see. He got to see Hiro show everyone exactly what he could do, got to see him prove he really was just as amazing as Tadashi always told everyone he was. That was one thing he had always wanted to see.
And when his aunt started dragging them all back to the cafe and he told her they'd catch up, she gave him another look. She stared straight at him, her intense gaze boring into him sharp as a blade, as if she knew she would never see him again. Then she was upholding her agreement to stay quiet, and walked away.
He made sure not to let it slip even into the last few minutes. He wanted to make sure Hiro's last memory of him would be good, not laden with dread over his approaching end.
And when Tadashi stared into the flaming building, he knew he had a choice. He could walk away now, and let another man die while Tadashi himself lived for a few more weeks, or go inside and try to save someone. He was going to die either way; maybe trying to save another life in the process of losing his own would be the best way.
Hiro asked him not to go. When he looked back at his younger brother's worried face, he knew which option to choose. He'd done all he could to make sure this kid had people to take care of him and a future to look forward to. There was nothing more he could do with the time he had left. And maybe him dying in an accident would be easier for his little brother to accept than him dying at such a young age from such depressing bad luck. He just hoped Baymax wouldn't tell Hiro about his condition, it would be best if the robot just told the boy Tadashi had been completely healthy.
And in that final moment, Tadashi knew his end was there. He wanted so badly to just grab his little brother and hold him and never have to leave him, but he knew that wouldn't work. His fate had decided to rip him away from Hiro so soon, and he knew he couldn't change it no matter how much he wished he could.
He had to let go. He had to let go and let fate separate them, let death take him while life took Hiro. So that's just what he did.
While he ran into the burning building and met his end, his brother cried.
While his funeral was held and his friends said their peace, his brother cried.
While time continued to pass without the older Hamada brother, Hiro cried.
And while life moved on, Hiro got a little bit better, learning to open up to and trust the friends his brother had left him.
It wouldn't be until years later that the surviving brother would finally realize what lengths Tadashi had gone to to make sure he'd be alright without him. And when he finally did, he'd cry again.