Author's Note: I have such an elaborate backstory planned out for Hiro and Gogo. But right now, it's time to breathe easy and bask in reassurance.
Chapter Six
Someone sings, and it chases away the poltergeists of the past. A gentle hand combing through his wild mane of hair, nimble fingers simultaneously smoothing the locks down and fluffing them up.
Dark hair, an alluring scent, a protective embrace. Arms coil around him, lax but prepared. Nothing would reach the cub nestled in such a confident embrace, invisible strength and deadly skill lining those willowy limbs.
"Hiro~!" that voice chimes, so warm and inviting. "You're so loved, sweet darling. So very loved."
-0-
Hospital visits had always been rare in her family, and exclusively induced on her end.
Gogo vividly recalled the four year old memory of lying in the white sheets, delirious from pain killers with her shattered legs securely wrapped up. Hiro had gripped her least damaged arm, tears coursing down his cheeks as he begged her to abandon street racing and derby's to live another seventy years with him. His voice had trembled then, too, and tiny hands shook her bruised shoulders for being a reckless girl playing an immortal behind a steering wheel and a pane of glass, where the shots for glory meant char-grilled intestines smeared two miles along the highway.
After everything, she couldn't say no to him. She owed him that much; his jaw still ached under the weight of the bruise.
Gone was that irrational teenager, and open were the gates to a literal endurance of hell to regain what she'd lost. But she'd learned her lesson. Deep-ingrained spite shouldn't have motivated Hiro to invest in a 3D printer and march into the arena, that pint-sized hypocrite.
It was just an accident, she told herself. It could have happened to anyone, at anytime.
Just an accident waiting to happen.
Somehow, the thought made Gogo's blood boil.
-0-
"Hiro, darling. You're doing it again."
Six years old and caught out again, Hiro retracted his thumb from his mouth, clenching his saliva-flecked fist and shoving it in his pocket. His face contorted to a frown, glaring down at math problems he'd solved five times over.
From across the room, Jilynn Tanaka sighed. It had taken a solid month of discouraging Hiro's childish habit, yet on impulse, the appendage continued to slip past her son's lips. She'd condoned the thumb-sucking for a full two years, but enough was getting to be enough.
"It's a terrible habit," she said, ignoring the deep lines etched into his face. One thing at a time. "You understand that, don't you? You'll ruin your teeth, which means you'll get fitted for braces if it comes to worst. And I know you don't want that."
As typical, Hiro offered no reply, but Jilynn didn't miss the increased tension in his tiny knuckles. She sighed again, pressing two fingers to her temple and massaging gently. Patience was a virtue in raising children, but she feared the last of her tolerance had been burned up since Leiko had arrived home with a full head of electric blue hair.
Just the memory of the ensuing row brought on a budding headache.
-0-
Hiro had looked so small up on stage, yet swathed in bandages and stitches against a backdrop of white, he seemed smaller, still. His skin was the wrong shade of pale, nearing grey against the solid white sheets; the only healthy bout of colour came from his hair—that messy blot of inky black lining the monochrome image his burnt form personified.
"You're something else, Hiro." She sat in the chair tucked neatly beside his bed, her eyes unwavering from his unconscious features. "Bot-fighting? I could get on board with that. But getting trapped in a fire ten minutes after your acceptance into college? I'm impressed. My luck wasn't that bad."
Beeps. Whirring. Artificial breathing.
Gogo wanted to vomit. She swallowed back bile, mind set on not making a scene by stinking out the room with the stench of stomach acids and bleach.
"It's only been a day." Slender fingers squeezed her shoulder. Honey Lemon. "This is Hiro; he will wake up. He must be so tired, just give him time."
Sweet, not-so naïve Honey. As an older sister herself, she understood. And how Gogo hated that; she wanted to be unreasonable, immature, to lash out and rip apart the sterile room. Had it been anyone but Honey speaking those words, then Gogo knew that irrational desire would become reality.
So instead, she breathed deeply. In unison with the machinery hooked up to Hiro, she inhaled slowly through her nose, and exhaled through her mouth. Just like the yoga videos their mother often played.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Slowly, her trembling hands stilled and Gogo managed a tense smile in Honey's direction. The blonde was like a barnacle; however firmly Gogo insisted she, at least, went home and got some rest, Honey would conveniently go deaf until Gogo zipped her lips.
With a smile that'd defuse any situation via guilt, Honey made it clear she was there to stay, and Gogo realized how exhausting it was trying to uphold misguided fury, as distracting as it was.
"Updates?"
The rare intervals where Fred or Wasabi checked in were the same; both boys had been reluctant to discuss the fire. Honey had been more upfront, lightly offering news of outside that maddening room.
Some nameless firefighters had relinquished the details; faulty wiring on a project had jump-started the fire, and a chemical spillage had caused it to spread so quickly. It was bound to happen one day, another had said, with so many different kinds of technology lying around and a curious crowd that universally misunderstood the phrase look, don't touch.
Just an accident waiting to happen.
Gogo wanted to punch the wall in.
Those chemical-infused flames had been so strong, it took all night and most of the morning to contain it. By that point, they'd long since quit hoping for the impossible.
Professor Robert Callaghan was unaccounted for, last witnessed trapped in the fire, too far from any exit.
They only hoped the smoke did him in before the flames had the chance.
Her social skills could use a tune-up. Physically expression affection didn't come easy to her, but Gogo gently patted the hand on her shoulder. As awkwardly tense as the action was, Honey managed a smile, understanding the message words couldn't convey.
-0-
"What'cha thinking about?"
Hiro stared at his sister, her brown eyes alight with curiosity as she twirled a ballpoint pen through expert fingers.
"You always suck your thumb when you're thinking. What'cha thinking about?"
He felt scandalized in light of her scrutiny, and quickly turned back to his open Math booklet. His COMPLETED booklet, but nonetheless.
With a heavy sigh, Leiko flicked back a strand of semi-blue hair. The new short length was a bummer to get used to. Though her father had threatened to shave her bald as comeuppance, good ol' mother had put her foot down at the suggestion—as furious as she felt about the new style, she couldn't bear the thought of shearing her daughter's head, even if the alternative was a choppy, Technicolor mop.
"Look, if you do it secretly, it's gonna get harder. You can go cold turkey, or I can amputate your thumbs."
Liar, liar, Hiro wanted to say. But the gruesome image of his sister wielding a hacksaw, however unlikely, had him curling his small hands into fists and shoving them safely in his pocket.
Again, Leiko sighed.
She leant over her school pack, sticking a hand in and rummaging around, her tongue poking out in concentration before her eyes lit up with triumph. She withdrew a crumpled, red lollipop and thrust it under Hiro's nose. "Here, suck on this. It'll take your mind off it, AND it tastes better. You like strawberry, dont'cha?"
Those warm brown eyes stared up at her, conflicted. "Mom said no snacks 'fore dinner."
Leiko rolled her eyes, peeling off the wrapper herself. "MOM needs to know about compromise. You said it's hard to quit sucking your thumb like she wants, right? So suck on this, instead."
Hiro stared back at the offered treat, utterly transfixed, but his hand paused midway to take it, and retracted to his chest.
"Tell her I made you take it," she snapped, snatching up his wrist and guiding his fingers to close around the stick. "She won't get mad at you, and, well, she can't GET madder at me." At that, she grinned proudly. "'Sides, if she still gets mad at you, just ask her about the time she quit smoking."
-0-
There was no sight, no sound. Just a smell. It felt like sludge oozing up his nostrils, and dragged his heart into his stomach.
Through it, a sterilized scent of bleach struck him like sharp rocks floating through the slurry, a stabbing of nausea through the thick stench he had no name for. Fear churned through him from head-to-toe, a cold sweat beading at the back of his neck.
Hiro didn't know how, why, or when, but he immediately identified the where. Had the fear of the unknown been any less, of delaying the inevitable and stewing in the shadow of the unknown, Hiro would have been content to seal his eyes shut forever.
Consciousness was a fickle thing, and strength returned to him in waves. One minute, he could breathe easy, then the next, cement was drying heavy in his skull.
It felt like an eternity before he caught the perfect timing. Pushing back his broiling nausea, Hiro forced his eyelids apart.
A unpleasant stinging racked through his eyes, the white room illuminated by natural light filtering in from his left. Hiro blinked as quickly as he dared, clinging to the unstable lucidity, and felt the spread of cold sweat enveloping his entire body.
"Lei?"
He grimaced. Was that his voice? Cracked and rough against his throat—not a sound he wanted to hear again. He swallowed weakly, forcing any kind of lubrication down his throat, but he could have been chugging back sand for all the difference it made.
And it made him all too aware of the ache radiating through his neck. Great.
Deciding on a distraction, Hiro blearily scanned his surroundings. A tiled ceiling, painted walls, and absolutely nothing of interest. Until he peered down at his arm, his vision roaming over the swath of bandages patching up the damaged skin, with an IV stationed at the crook of his elbow just beyond the gauze, feeding blood or nutrients or whatever into him.
He grimaced, both at the sight and the fact that he was likely to be bound to the uncomfortable bed for a few days at least.
Then a soft sigh caught his attention and his eyes flickered down further. His breath hitched in his burning throat when he saw the mass of purple-streaked hair.
Her face half buried into the sheets, and hand firmly clutching his own, Gogo slept hunched over the bed in a manner that promised a backache. From her scruffy hair, disheveled state of dress, and the bruise-like dusting beneath her eyes, she must have confined herself to his side for a while.
Had it been hours, or days? Longer?
Stress could ravage a person, even someone as stubbornly composed as his sister. But even on her worst days, she often looked better.
(She STILL looks better than the last time we were here, Hiro told himself.)
A muted grunt alerted him as Gogo shifted where she lay, shoulders rolling back as she blearily lifted her head. Without opening her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose with a grimace, sucking in a deep, husky breath.
"Shit," she cursed under her breath. Hiro withheld a sleepy smile. "How do you sleep like this?" As she dug her palm into her eyes in turn, she squeezed Hiro's hand gently. "And yeah—sorry for threatening your innocent ears with bad language."
She sounded so done, so resigned to a lifetime of bad backs and mediocre food by his bedside, that Hiro really did smile that time.
"I still don't get why you bother apologizing," he said, despite the grating croak his voice was met with. "Can you imagine if Mom and Dad heard half the stuff I heard at bot-fights?"
Both of Gogo's eyes were wide open now, latched upon Hiro's frail form as though they could physically hold him in place. She seemed indecisive, if not unable to speak, lips marginally parted and her face deceptively stripped clear of emotion. So Hiro took it upon himself to break the ice.
"Morning," he rasped. "Or afternoon. Evening. Whatever."
Her expression didn't twitch, but her hand tensed around his. He mimicked the movement in return. "You're—" She cleared her throat. "How do you feel?"
You want an honest opinion? "Like I died, then you dragged me back from the afterlife so you could kill me again."
"Don't tempt me."
He laughed. Or he would've if his voice had been capable, but a breathy wheeze was an acceptable compromise. Even if the sound made Gogo wince.
And speaking of Gogo, it was obvious she wanted to touch him; from the way her hands almost grazed his cheek or hesitated to brush back his bangs, before falling restlessly back into her lap. She wasn't that emotionally constipated in terms of physical affection; he must have looked like the shattered remains of a half-melted glass figurine.
No brainer, really.
"Hey ... " His reaction was just an opening; the act itself was mutual. Hiro shifted closer to Gogo as his web of needles and wiring allowed, then leant against her in the same moment her arms coiled around him.
"Idiot," she hissed in his ear. "You fucking idiot, Hiro."
"You don't really think I ran in there after it caught fire, do you?"
He wasn't dignified with an answer, but rather a tightening of her arms that upgraded the 'protective snuggle' into 'bone-crushing death grip.'
-0-
"Honey, please. I am an excellent people-person. Just leave it all to me."
To is credit, Fred genuinely tried in anything he did. Any promise he made was a promise he kept, but Honey couldn't help but worry. Gogo was on edge enough as it was, and she'd never been one to seek solace in the arms of friends. Perhaps some time alone to think was what she needed, in which case Fred was the last person Honey should have thought to let in ...
But one look at his cheery expression, and Honey's heart melted. She just couldn't say no, not now.
"Just five minutes, in and out," she reaffirmed. "Gogo's a little on edge. Don't take it personally."
Not that Fred was capable of letting anything phase him.
"Honey, please," he said easily, "I guarantee we'll all be feeling better after this visit."
I wish I could believe that, Freddie, she lamented as he swung the door open. Then she promptly collided with his back as he froze solid. "Freddie?" she inquired, baffled.
When she glanced up, it clicked. And Honey smiled in light of a scene as sweet as her name.
Fred, despite his promise, stared. This was new: was Gogo actually hugging someone? Okay granted, that "someone" was her brother, but—
—wait, why was that up for debate? He shook himself, ridding his mind of the bewilderment, and casually approached the two. "Hey, lil' dude, how're they treating you?"
Being addressed directly pierced through the family moment. Hiro peaked through a black fringe from over Gogo's shoulder, whilst his sister gingerly—reluctantly?—released him from her embrace, keeping a firm hold on his hand as a compromise.
Pale skin and bruised eyes aside, the youngest perked up a little. "I can feel myself wasting away." (Honey winced at the deep croak of his voice.) "You've seen the food in this place; do I brave it or stick to an IV?"
A heavy weight dissolved from her heart. While Hiro looked akin to death warmed up, his personality seemed intact. He's going to be okay. They both will.
"Don't say that, Hiro," Honey Lemon cooed. Appropriately enough, she carried a bag spilling over with cafeteria goods. "The cooks work hard in the kitchen."
The warm scent of pre-baked food churned Hiro's stomach. "And I appreciate their effort, but it still sucks." He tried not to blanch.
"Y'know, if you ask nicely, I'm sure Honey'll whip you up a batch of treats," Fred offered. He sprawled out in the spare chair, propping his feet on the end of the hospital bed and pointedly ignoring Gogo's warning look. "She makes the best brownies."
Gogo perked at the suggestion. "No peanuts," she interjected. "One near-death experience a week, that's our arrangement." She punctuated her words with a pointed look at the invalid, who was absolutely not holding back the childish need to pout.
"We never even tested that theory," Hiro grumbled. Despite his 'suicidal curiosity' (as Gogo had bluntly put it) Baymax's month-old diagnosis had seen the removal of all peanut related goods in the pantry.
"No nuts," Honey promised firmly. She smiled weakly. "Just good ol' chocolate."
Fred, meanwhile, grinned unabashedly. "See? Home cooking makes everything better." Then he turned fully to Hiro, the glint in his eyes dulled marginally by a somber tone. "Seriously, though. It's great to have you back, little dude. Gave us all a fright back then."
"All of you, huh?" Speaking of ... "Where're the other two?"
Bad choice, bad choice!
The tentative atmosphere considerably thickened with anxiety. At the redirection of Honey's gaze and Fred's uncomfortable shifting, a heavy weight settled on Hiro's chest as something uneasy coiled in his stomach.
Back it up, make this easier on them.
But of course, he was a masochist. "Unless all this attention isn't just for me ... ?"
Unease was a dreadful look on Fred. Unnatural, just plain wrong. With the look of a deer trapped in the headlights, he glanced to Honey, whose deteriorating smile had finally faltered outright. Hence the tightening knot in Hiro's stomach.
"Wellll," Fred started slowly, rolling the syllable on his tongue, "on the bright side, Wasabi and Soup are both alive."
So there's a bad side.
What the hell had happened?
Hiro's head hurt. His brain clouded over with the sharp stench of smoke, skin stewing in the sweat wrought by that persistent crackling, and it was so hot, so damn hot and—
—ow!
It hurt! Hurt so bad, his foggy mind was ravaged by rusted spikes churning through his skull, a swarm of locusts wreaking havoc and screeching for respite, so much pain, pure agony and 'Dashi where are you? Help me!
...
Tadashi.
Why him?
...
Hiro blinked. Once, twice, then looked up. Fred was still talking.
"But on the other hand, well actually, there's more good, since it wasn't for nothing, y'know—"
It was torture, anticipating the truth that rested just a hair-width out of reach. Before Hiro's wavering self-control could snap, sweet, merciful Honey intervened, gently cutting off the rambling.
"Hiro, they're both as good as can be. Wasabi isn't here right now, because ... " She glanced down a little, idly smoothing out her dress. "Well, the thing is, when Tadashi heard you were in that building, he—he didn't hesitate."
Strong arms coil around him, grip firm as steel as dark hair spills in his wavering vision.
Does he know them? He MUST know them, they're saying his name, promising it'll be alright, but Tadashi's still in there—
It was a curious feeling, to just know oneself was incapable of performing certain tasks. Right then and there, Hiro knew he couldn't speak if he tried, or perhaps even attempted to move, but his confusion must have been clear as day on his face.
"He ran in there and totally saved your pre-barbequed behind," Fred picked up, recapturing his ability to be blunt. "Didn't see it myself, but I heard he got you out just before the building exploded."
"'Dashi!" a voice cries, and his world is claimed by fire.
His facial muscles strained under the contortion of his frown. Stoic and silent, Hiro shuffled through the fuzzy memories crammed in an unknown corner of his brain.
It struck him like a train wreck.
Terror plagued the onslaught of smoke, chaos wrecking free in its wake.
And pain—so much pain; a spike through his skull, something scrambling his brain, and why was it so hot?
Wasn't it just another bot-fight? Sore losers were one thing, blowing up the alley was another.
But arms were coiled around him as that bomb exploded; he was airborne, his limbs useless, consciousness wavering. When had he gotten hurt?
Then a rough jolt. More screams. A protective embrace, and a voice in his ear.
"I've got you, Hiro. You're safe now."
A heavy pressure around his hand drew him back to reality; the two blondes were watching him warily, eyes flickering between him and Gogo. Her entire body was stiff with tension, lithe muscles visibly clenched beneath her skin and blunt fingernails digging into Hiro's palm, as though she was all that anchored him to the Earth.
"Yeah. That—that's what happened." Her voice was tired, like using it sapped the remainder of her strength.
At this rate, Hiro's frown would be a permanent etching on his face. Had she slept at all? He'd seen Gogo pull many a one-nighter to easily pick out the signs: her slumped shoulders carrying the exhaustion of the day, the grey tint below brown eyes, and the clench of her jaw as her teeth shredded her current wad of gum.
Oh yes. The past who-knows-how-many hours had been brutal.
"What about Tadashi, is he okay?" He stole a glance at the other two; Honey was disheveled, and Fred looked uncharacteristically high-strung. "Hell, are you guys okay?"
"Ah, surviving a few all-nighters is a crucial if you wanna be in college. Believe us, this was nothing. It was the waiting that—" Fred snapped his jaw shut as Honey gripped his shoulder, shaking her head frantically, expression tinged with worry. "I-It was a bumpy ride," he then hastily diverted. "But what's important is that you're alright."
Right. He was on the mend. Determination and an exhilarated healing ability; it was in the blood. And stubbornness—as though there'd been any chance Hiro would have let himself go out without something to his name.
(Blazing glory and "he was so young, it's such a shame," not withstanding.)
He couldn't speak for the Hamada gene, though.
"Tadashi?"
It was a droplet of bliss radiating through his belly at the way Honey perked. "Asleep, but on the mend," she said certainly. "Should wake up any minute now."
"A-and Wasabi?" he dared himself to ask. His heart unclenched a notch as Honey's smile overwrote her concern.
"He's here. We didn't want Tadashi to wake up alone, and his aunt needs support right now. Fred and I thought you might like some company for a while, and besides, we were all so worried."
Nope. The tightening in his chest returned. "Sorry. I-I don't make a habit of getting stuck in the firing grounds. Although I did almost get out. I mean, I think I did." He closed his eyes. Of all times for his excellent memory to fail him, it had to be now. "God, everything's so blurry."
"You got hit on the head pretty bad." For all appearances, Gogo was entranced by her brother's hand. "But if you hadn't been close enough for Tadashi to grab you and run, then—" We'd have lost both of you. "Let's just make the best of a bad situation."
It was too easy to follow her veiled plea. Sedatives in his system or not, Hiro was exhausted. Once Fred geared up for a distraction via a lecture on clichéd origin stories and a vicious debate with Honey on how "maybe this is our calling; to rise from the ashes of the fire that took our mentor, and bring justice to our rotten world," Hiro realized he was fighting a losing battle.
Hiro smiled and nodded in—what he groggily assumed to be—the right places of the speech, but was otherwise left out of the less than civil discussion. Through the background noise, he let his mind wander.
Fire. Microbots. Professor Callaghan. Tadashi.
Where to begin on all of it?
He felt a detached sense of mourning for the project he'd spend a month developing. Inappropriate as it might have been in light of a genius man's death, Hiro couldn't completely quench it.
Speaking of Professor Callaghan ... ouch. It was surreal to learn his quasi-idol was stone-cold (or red-hot) dead. But should he be more upset? It sucked—more than sucked, but looking up to someone was one thing, whilst knowing them personally was a whole new realm of ouch-i-ness.
Hiro glanced at Gogo. Brow tense, jaw locked, and eyes dulled.
Holding his sister's hand. When was the last time she'd permitted that? From the aura surrounding her—the one that had random students diverting their eyes, kids temporarily losing their voices, and lab partners walking on glass around her—the world largely viewed Gogo as untouchable. Yet here she was, holding his hand in hers to tenderly run her thumb over his knuckles.
Curious, indeed.
-0-
It was all over too quickly. Looking back, the hour drizzled past in a haze of post-unconsciousness and irrational drowsiness. (Seriously, he'd been sleeping for, what, a whole day? Two? He should be pumped up by now, bouncing off the walls and all that.)
One minute, Honey and Fred were discussing the benefits of comic book clichés, then were being ushered out in the next by a stern-looking nurse declaring the end of visiting hours for non-family members.
Not that Gogo seemed inclined to budge anytime soon.
With the visiting party dwindled, the two fell into a semi-comfortable silence. Five minutes in, and Hiro mourned the absence of mindless chatter botching any periods of thinking time.
No, he scolded himself. Think about this later. When you can keep your eyes open, go visit Tadashi, and ... y'know, repay the debt somehow.
Hiro leaned back into his pillow, trying to locate the comfiest angle to settle in, whilst Gogo lolled a tasteless wad of gum over her tongue, content to mutely observed her squirming brother until he finally collapsed with a satisfied sigh.
"Guess I owe Tadashi a life debt now," he mused, eyes trailing over the water stains littered across the ceiling. "Should I pull him out the path of a speeding car, or become his slave for life?"
"I'll get the car. Just don't let me break his legs."
"Or yours."
She then proceeded to flick him. "Really, now?"
-0-
Consciousness returned to him in irregular waves.
One second was full of beeps and squeaks and ineligible mumbling; all blended into distorted gibberish, like he listened to them underwater. Then the next coherent moment was blissfully silent and painless, a void where time and emotions meant nothing.
Wasabi's voice was the first he recognized; a benevolent, precise tone an octave higher than expected from the larger man.
"—was so mad at you—"
"Please—"
"—ant to be angry, but I-I can't—"
"—don't sleep too long."
Confusion breached the delicate balance between his state of consciousness. Why did Wasabi sound sad? What had happened to distress him?
Tadashi would have frowned if his lax muscles allowed it, but his mind worked rapidly, regardless.
Heat. Screams. Ash. Choking.
A heart monitor beeped as that voice choked, "Tadashi?"
A three year old smiles. "'Dashi," he chirps proudly.
Hesitant pressure around his wrist—tentative, hoping—but it's a weak excuse for the shackles that once held back his ten-year old body. Not that it mattered. He could shake them off now.
His arms lay limp. They're useless, but he didn't need them. He only needed his legs. He's fast, faster than he knew.
And there are no hands on him this time, no shackles holding him back. But he's stronger now, it wouldn't matter. He's not that frightened child anymore, and no one can touch him as he runs.
He throws open the crumbling doors and his world is in flames.
"H-Hiro ..."
A sharp inhale. "Hiro?"
Because he's in there. Hurt, trapped, but alive. He HAS to be.
There are no hands on him this time. With speed he hadn't known to possess, Tadashi runs. He's stronger now; no one can hold him back as he charges through the flames.
"Hiro!"
There, on the ground, a tiny bundle of charred clothes and a fluffy nest of black hair. Hiro.
Safe in his arms. Secure. He runs, doesn't trip, and tastes fresh air with a brother in his hold.
An onslaught of heat—the explosion—throws him off his feet. Instinct has him curl around the unconscious boy in his arms, a protective shield from the unforgiving concrete that grates the skin of his arms and knees through his clothes, but Hiro ...
He's safe. Safe in his arms. Unconscious, hurt, but SAFE.
"I've got you, Hiro. You're safe now."
"Hiro?" a voice croaked. He recognized it as his own, butchered it may have been.
The pressure moved from his wrist and the hand gently enveloped his own.
"The little man's safe, Tadashi. Alive, and awake." A choked sob. "You saved him."
Saved him. Hiro.
Hiro's alive. Safe, breathing, out of harm's way.
And the world fades out.
-0-
It was incessant.
"Never. And I mean never, in all my years, have I encountered such odds. Is this the price to pay? Did you two sell your souls to the netherworlds? Is that what's happening?!"
A full hour into the family visit, and Jilynn was overflowing it with emotional babbling. Through tears, hugs, and half-hearted scoldings, there was only so many times they could exhaust variations of "it's okay," and "we're okay," until the list ran dry and their mother's uninterrupted rant proved their own words were falling on deaf ears.
A fresh pack of gum and six games of tic-tac-toe later, a deep inhale snagged Hiro and Gogo's attention away from a potential seventh.
"How could this happen?" Jilynn was sobbing. "A son of mine? What did we do wrong—" She choked on her own voice, words failing her.
It was the opening for Hiro to interject, "You didn't do anything." His voice was clear in the lapse of her own. "And for the record, neither did we." He indicated to Gogo. "It was just ... really, and I mean really bad luck."
And then came the hug.
Without hesitation, arms wrapped tight around the invalid as though it slowly cleansed the stress away from the hysterical mother. Her breathing evened out, her tears dried up, and when she whispered, "My little boy," her voice had lowered in pitch.
"Let him breathe," a deep voice cut in. "He inhaled a lot of smoke, smothering him won't be doing any good."
Hiro'd never been quite so relieved for his father's intervention.
Hiroto crossed the room, in full doctor-mode as always. If the family drama were causing him turmoil, he kept it expertly tucked away behind his professional façade. "Your vitals have remained steady since you woke up, but it's that bump on the head that worries me," he spoke as he reached his son's bedside. "You came here with a concussion, Hiro."
That much Hiro had figured out for himself. Through memories of heat, smoke, and you're safe now, he distinctly recalled the railroad spikes jammed into his skull and a cake mixer whisking his brains into scrambled egg.
Hiro never thought he'd be grateful to pass out.
"But I'm here to test your reflexes and memory, to determine any long-lasting damage." The older man plucked a pen from his top pocket, clicking it and holding the clipboard stationary. "How are you feeling?"
"Um, a little tired." Or spaced out from sedatives. "I think."
"That's to be considered." Hiroto didn't look up from the scratching of the pen. "I'll need to look into your eyes for a moment before I perform a few tests."
Then came the mandatory routine Hiro had seen completed a dozen times. With a light flashed in one eye, following the index finger, a tap to the knee, and squeezing the doctor's fingers as hard as he could, Hiro obediently went through the motions, the silence occupied with the idle scratching of pen on paper.
"A tad on the weak side, but I'd expected as much," came the summary. "But fortunately, you're on the path to a full recovery. Now, to test your mind." He tucked his pen back in his pocket. "Could you tell me your name?"
"Hiro Tanaka."
Various more questions followed, straight-to-the-point and mind-numbingly easy: "What year is this?" "Tell me your home address." "What colour is the sky?" "Two plus two equals what?" until he reached, "Who is this?" and indicated to Jilynn.
"Jilynn Tanaka. My mom, your wife."
"Very good." His target switched to Gogo. "And this young lady, right here?"
He was tempted to blurt out Gogo Tomago and open up a can of beans to discuss, but holding back a smile, Hiro answered with: "Leiko Tanaka. My sister."
"Tell me what you remember of what happened to bring you here."
All of a sudden, his throat felt like sandpaper, each breathing burning like the crackling flames he drew smoke into his system. "The fire. At the university." He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "And, uh, the showcase. It happened there."
"From one to ten, how high is your pain?"
Definitely more charming when Baymax says it. "Right now, I guess about three."
-0-
She regretted spitting out her gum. Perfect shot in the trashcan it had been, her mouth now felt uncomfortably empty. Gogo ran her tongue over her teeth, idly chewing on the insides of her cheeks as the stale taste of leftover mint plagued her taste buds.
Great, like this delightful family gathering couldn't get anymore uncomfortable. Usually she liked pushing boundaries, but this? Oh no, this really took the cake.
She tuned out the doctor-to-patient chatter. Discussion over concussions, and treatments, and how Hiro had to make certain not to strain himself for a few weeks.
An hour. By then, Gogo bet he'd be begging for salvation from his boredom. Two hours, and he'd be picking apart his heart monitor to make a battle bot for the purposes of terrorizing innocent bystanders.
And yeah, she'd laugh.
Lazily, Gogo rolled her eyes back towards the bed, where—mercifully—her father appeared to be wrapping things up. She leaned away from the wall, ready to return to her spot by Hiro's bedside as she mentally predicted the motions of stoic professionalism Hiroto went through.
But then came one thing she hadn't witnessed in forever. Subtle, nearly imperceptible, Hiroto placed a hand on Hiro's shoulder and squeezed firmly. It lasted barely a second; it would be generous to call the act just that, but for a fleeting period it was clear as day.
Then his posture recovered, mask firmly back in place, as Hiroto turned to his wife. "We'll need to fill out the paperwork."
Jilynn perked out of her depressive bubble, standing unnaturally straight. "Okay, okay," she said. "Yes, we'll sort out that, first."
From the bed, Hiro hastily piped in, "When I can I leave?"
"With any luck, by tomorrow," their father relayed, answer prepared like always. "I'll give you a check up tonight, and to be on the safe side, I'd like to keep you in overnight for observation. One steady night throughout, and you'll be home in the morning."
Jilynn released a shaky breath. "Thank heavens," she sighed, which sent Hiro's face crumpling in (mock?) offense.
"Jee, thanks for the vote of confidence," he drawled. "Look at me, I'm not on death's door."
"Not yet, Hiro, but—oh god, why, why?"
Behind her, the older man sighed. "Jilynn—"
"What would you call a parent who's lost a child?"
A slam dunk squarely on the big red button visibly tabled DO NOT TOUCH, and Gogo's eyebrow twitched viciously, as if to permanently rip free of her face.
Hiroto must have been thinking along the same lines. Though his body language gave away nothing to his intent, he didn't linger behind to grant his wife an answer within hearing distance of their children, ushering her out of the room.
Within that second, the click of the door closed behind them, simultaneously popping the cap off of Gogo's simmering outburst.
"I swear, that woman never wanted kids," she snarled, brown eyes slits and knuckles bleached white. "After her perfect little daughter wound up a disappointment, she decided the dirty diapers and sleepless nights weren't worth the risk of kid number two."
Maybe it wasn't fair. No, wait—it flat-out wasn't fair, and a few too many hours cooped up in a room she loathed, family drama ringing through the ears and blood split across her college campus, it was the bitter cocktail Gogo simply couldn't stomach anymore.
"Oh, thanks," she heard Hiro droll. As she turned around, he met her stare with an unimpressed, deadpan look. "What does that make me?"
Under her breath, Gogo grunted. "A happy accident."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"One of us should."
And that, if nothing else, peeled back any attempt at light-heartedness.
"She's in shock." A fact, plain and simple. Or so Hiro might have said. The little brat was building a defense, and Gogo did not want to hear it. "So are you, and I probably am, too. Everyone is, and you know how crazy people get when they're like that."
"It's been the same thing on permanent repeat," she spat. Then in a falsetto so jarringly wrong in her voice, she chirped, "'Hiro, my darling boy, why did this have to happen to you? Oh, how could the world go on knowing you're gone—'"
Buttons aside, there came the jump breaching the line of do not cross, as Hiro griped, "I don't wanna hear it!"
And no, she wasn't pleased. But she shut up, nonetheless.
Which Hiro took as an opportunity to pick up where he left off: "Mom loves you—" (A dismissive snort on Gogo's end.) "—but you're not making it easy. So you have issues, who cares? All the more reason to work things out, right?"
He hadn't expected it to work, not really. A small, insistent part of him continued to hope despite the permanent rebuttal, and as Gogo shot him an irritated look, Hiro sighed.
"Fine, your call."
Then returned the silence.
Hiro sighed wearily, feeling the weight of a day filled with tests, breathing exercises, and fleeting visits. He snuggled back into his pillow, drawing maximum comfort from the padding. Then he yawned, and—
"Sleep," Gogo snapped, then in a lighter tone, she added, "if you need it. I'll be here when you wake up."
Big words from the girl with less patience for small rooms and minimal mobility than tolerance for blatant idiocy.
"What if it's midnight? You even allowed to stay here overnight?" She'll go stir-crazy within the hour.
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you complaining?"
"What, me? Nope."
Nonetheless, sleep sounded good. Hiro rolled his shoulders, groaning contentedly at the much needed relief, and slunk back fully on the bed. The thin blanket was tugged up to his chest, and the blind were closed, dimming the room comfortably.
Even with the dull aches of healing bruises and the irritating beeps and whirrs, it was a peaceful atmosphere.
"We'll be okay, right Lei?"
She wouldn't deny him that. "Always."
-0-
He is small in this dream, so fragile and afraid. That emotion is foreign—when has he ever had reason to feel fear?
She kneels before him, blue eyes infused with something akin to loss. "You'll be safe here, Hiro," she says, but her voice burns with confliction. "And I promise, we'll find you again. Here's hoping you make the right choice when that happens."
Terror plays a sweet melody on his quivering heartstrings, and too-small hands cling to the silk folds of her kimono. "No," he says, and it's all he can manage. "No, no, no!"
"Don't worry, sweet pea," she speaks so calmly, expertly unhooking tiny fingers from her attire. "You won't shed tears for me. You'll remember nothing at all."
Her smile is the last thing he sees before his world goes black.
-0-
Author's Note: So who could tell that I hate writing hospital scenes? Blah. XD (So yeah, next chapter is all about Tadashi. Well, eighty percent, give or take.)