A/N: I got an A on the Anatomy test! You guys are so sweet, I had no idea anyone would even notice I mentioned an exam, let alone wish me good luck on it! So thank you; it helped!
(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)
It's just what you did. It's what all parents did. You give kids an inch, and they will in turn take a mile. You allow them to act out, and they will only get worse as time wears on. That was the first thing that a new parent learns, and it is the thing that repeats incessantly in a parent's mind throughout their entire life. Going off of this idea, discipline is needed in a relationship between a parent and their child. There needed to be a sense of gravity, otherwise the entire thing would break down and combust. When a child acted out in the wrong, it was the parent's role to squash the specific activity at fault. It was a simple fact of life, and it was something that everyone knew.
So that was just what Callaghan was attempting to do.
This entire time, and there had been attempts— repeated over and over in a fashion that showed no point in stopping. One of the first nights he had been here, Hiro had tried running for the door. Even after Callaghan had stopped him then, Hiro still refused to yield and come to terms that this situation really was what was best for him. He had tried to scream, he had tried to run, he had tried to reach out the window, he had tried tricking Callaghan, and now he had tried to do something as drastic as this. They all had one thing in common, at least— they were just tries. But for how long?
It was a question that was blatantly obvious in the back of Callaghan's mind for the longest time. How long would it be until Hiro did something that he would regret— that Callaghan himself would regret? Each time got closer and closer to finding its home and its target. Its overall goal. And Callaghan was not about to let that happen; not if he had a say in anything. He had worked too hard for Hiro to just throw it all away. He loved Hiro far too much for such reckless abandon to occur.
So he wasn't about to let this situation be anything more than the very last blunder between them.
It was why he was doing all of this. He had to make Hiro understand. He'd wanted Hiro to understand everything from the very first moment that he had opened his eyes here. Seven and a half months later, and he was still unable to grasp or comprehend how good this was for the both of them. He was still fighting, and Callaghan intended to stomp down on the last ember. Then, there would be nothing left; there would be absolutely nothing. Nothing but time together and a mutual understanding that Callaghan had been craving ever since the middle of last November.
When a child acts out, they are punished. They are not coddled or praised for their wrongdoings. They are not reassured that they will be alright, or that their actions would go dismissed to deal with for another time. Callaghan had let past instances slide with little to no grudges, thanks to the soft spot he held for the child— he hadn't truly hammered in the nail of blame and consequence. Not enough to drive the point to where it needed to go. But this was the final straw. And so Callaghan was making this idea as perfectly clear as he possibly could.
Callaghan kept him alive. After losing so much blood, and being so weak already, Hiro was in a severe state of health. He was sick, and running fevers nearly every day. Sometimes they broke, but such an instance was intermittent, and it did not last for very long. Callaghan brought down water and food frequently; the water was easier to get down than the food was. And Hiro could not stomach much before he got sick— getting food down him was a cautious balancing act.
Yet as Callaghan did this, and took care of him, the older man was quiet. He didn't say much of anything at all. There was a frosty silence in the basement— the exact kind of silence that would follow a tense argument between two people, or the kind of silence that took place right after someone shouted something hurtful at the top of their lungs. Hiro did not speak either. Whether that was because he realized the change and was just as subdued, or whether it was because he was simply too weak and disoriented to say anything, was left to be determined. Whichever one it was, the two were silent for days.
Days that dragged on and on. Hiro wasn't getting worse, but it wasn't like he was improving, either. Whatever improvements might have been taking place were too miniscule to notice and hold onto. The child slept a lot, and when Callaghan woke him up to eat or drink, even then he was only about half aware of what was going on. Tiredness and disorientation was common after blood loss. Just as common as all of the other things Hiro was going through— the vomiting, the fever, the weak breathing, and so on. It was all normal, and so Callaghan resigned himself to falling into routine, trying to deal with the symptoms as best he could as Hiro's body worked to rebuild the blood that had been lost by his own hand.
Sometimes, when Hiro's fever was spiking, he would mumble and whine out in his sleep. The parts of his body that were not injured would twitch and spasm, as if he was trying to get up or move away. Such a thing only made Callaghan all the more determined to make sure that Hiro understood that this would end here. All of the attempts to leave and all the means of escape or defiance. They would all stop. He was determined to make it so. After all of this, Callaghan would accept nothing less than complete obedience from Hiro. And he was instilling that rigidly in the boy's mind.
He would repeat this in stiff growls to Hiro, as he dealt with the injuries, applying disinfectant or hydrogen peroxide to the painful-looking burns on his arm and on his leg. He would mutter things like: "If you had just behaved, none of this would be happening." or "This is all your fault." or "Nothing like this will ever happen again." He had no idea if Hiro was listening; he stayed just as silent and just as vacant-looking.
But that was how it all dragged out. For more than a week, Hiro was feverish and weak and getting sick every other minute, it seemed. Callaghan spent most of his time, however coldly, making sure that Hiro was still going. He would change the bandages and put an icepack on his forehead to try and alleviate the fever. That was what he had to do, in order to keep Hiro from dying. But it was where his efforts stopped. He did not hold Hiro's hand and whisper sweetly that he would be alright. He did not gather him close and offer him reassurance. Not yet. He forced himself not to be anything but angry. Because that was how punishment worked between a parent and their child. And it was something Hiro would have to realize quickly.
Now, Callaghan had just finished forcing Hiro to choke down a few more mouthfuls of food. Then he had gone upstairs, ignoring Nozomi, who barked furiously upon his exit of the basement. Now that Callaghan was barring her from going downstairs to see Hiro, she was more than cross and anxious. She passed the day sometimes just sitting at the basement door, her ears perked to listen out for anything as she tilted her head and grumbled every so often. Robert just turned and shot her a glare though, ignoring her completely and going upstairs.
He went into Abigail's room, surveying it silently for what seemed like ages. His expression was sharpened into a look of anger still, and as he took to pacing around the bedroom, it did not change. He was in a rut, and as the days stretched on, he was beginning to wonder whether or not this entire thing was ruined. He was doing all he could, and he was giving Hiro room to get better, but it just wasn't happening. At the thought, he reached up and ran his hands through his hair with a furious grumble. If this was the thing that took all of this away from him…
He couldn't let it happen.
But what else was he supposed to do!?
Callaghan had to bring the fever down first. Hiro had spiked up to 102 this morning, and anything higher would surely be nothing but fatal. He could draw an ice bath and put Hiro down into the frigid water. It might help to lower the dangerously-high temperature, and it could help to wash the injuries at the same time. It seemed like the best course of action to take, but even as it went through his mind, Callaghan could not staunch the feeling of anger that was still burning and twitching underneath his skin.
Right now, they could be doing so much more. They could have celebrated Hiro's birthday, they could have been together. They could have gotten closer, and they could have been happy. It had been almost a year now. At this point, there was no reason that Callaghan and Hiro shouldn't be close. The only reason that they weren't was because of Hiro, and his constant efforts to be defiant.
By this point, they should both be happy. Wildly so. They weren't supposed to be like this.
His pacing was taking him around the room in tightly-knit circles. His mind was going in every which way, a mesh of anger and frustration and worry and overall confusion. He was not paying attention to where he was going— only what was slipping through his mind. However, before too long, he was forced to pay attention to where he was. Something caught the toe of his shoe, and he suddenly found himself pitching forward. A shocked yelp wrenched from his mouth, and he barely caught himself on the edge of Abigail's bed to save himself from collapse.
He growled underneath his breath, turning and looking down for the culprit of his stumble. Though puzzlement crowded his features as he caught sight of the small box that was poking out from underneath the bed. He leaned forward and grabbed it up, pulling it out the rest of the way so that he could open it. Inside, there was an assortment of random items. Or at least, at first glance that was all that he thought. But looking at the things closer, his heart twisted as he realized that he knew exactly what all of this was.
It was her memory box. Abigail had come home from school one day chattering all about the idea that her teacher had given the class. She was excited to put together a box devoted entirely to keepsakes. Callaghan had known that she was planning on making something like that, but he hadn't ever really followed up on it to see whether or not she did. But he could see all of these things and a warm feeling spread across his chest as could recall the details and stories he had shared with his daughter.
That bottle cap was from the soda they'd bought right after she had been given a medal of academic achievement from school. There was the small handkerchief she had kept from when she had gotten to play Juliet in her high school production. That was the movie ticket that Hikaru had bought her on her first date she'd been on with him. She had been so excited to go— the whole day she had been fussing on what to wear, and what she should do. Should she hold his hand first, or wait for him to make the move? Should she wear earrings or not try too much? Callaghan remembered he had been so irritated back then to be put through her questions. Now, all he could do was smile at the old memories.
She had been so sweet. The epitome of kindness and gentleness. It didn't even matter if Callaghan had just been through the worst day of his life— no matter what kind of rainy day, she was always like the sun that cleared away the sorrow. Hiro seemed like her on the outside. He wore her loose-fitting shirts, and he had the hair and now the glasses to match. They both had a gap in their teeth, though Hiro's was much bigger than hers had been before she'd gotten a corrective retainer.
He was like her on the outside. But he wasn't her in the sense of personality, and that was the biggest part of this entire thing. Callaghan had been struggling to bring him to Abigail's level this entire time. And he was still struggling even now. He was tired of struggling— everyone got tired of struggling after some point in time. And after nearly twelve months, it was the breaking point for both of them. Hiro had broken and had been driven so far to rip open his arm and tear his leg. And now it was Callaghan's turn to break, and realize that things needed to change. He had no other choice but to change and make sure that this was a turning point.
He looked down at the box, his expression clouding over as he looked at the collection of old remnants from Abigail's life. It was a slap in the face to remember each thing, and to recall how much of a joy she had been. She was his precious little girl, and she was gone now. All Callaghan had left now was Hiro. And so far, Hiro was not like her. He was still set in old ways. He was smart like her, and he was quick like her, and he was just as fiery. But that was where the similarities ended. What Hiro had that Abigail did, he used the traits in all the wrong ways. They were so close to perfection, and yet they were so far at the same time.
But of course, Callaghan had started all of this knowing that there was work to be done.
(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)
Music was blaring loudly overhead. In the wide space of the ballroom, it seemed to echo from one wall to the other. People were everywhere, dancing along to the beat as laughter and conversation mingled with the notes. Girls were spinning with their boyfriends, their face splitting into blissful smiles and their sparkling dresses swirling all around them, like clouds of glitter. Hiro was standing in the center of all the activity. He could feel his own smile stretched from one cheek to the other.
"Hey!" Hiro stirred at the yell, turning around to look over his shoulder. A boy was standing behind him, wearing a fancy suit and a slightly nervous expression. He had brown hair and green eyes, and at the sight of him, Hiro was slightly confused. Didn't he know that person? But if he did, the name would not come to him. They seemed to brighten when Hiro turned, and they pressed a little carefully: "You stopped dancing," he said. "Don't you want to dance with me?"
Hiro heard himself speak in a reply, though he wasn't sure whether or not he really made a conscious effort to. It was like he was watching everything play out— merely an audience member to some play or a movie. "I don't want to dance anymore," his mouth said. The music was playing, and inwardly, Hiro wondered whether or not he knew the song that was playing. But he couldn't make sense of it enough to distinguish rhythm or time. He knew it was music, but at the same time…he did not know. "I need to go," he heard his voice go on to say.
The boy across from him grinned widely. "I'll go with you," he offered.
Hiro found himself nodding. He turned and started to leave the room, heading for a door on the other end. The crowd seemed to part when he walked. The music still kept going, and Hiro still couldn't figure out what song it was. It looked like he was in a castle, for all the glamour and all the elegance that was around. But it wasn't a castle. Well then, what is it? He didn't know. But he did know that it wasn't a castle. Not at all.
He left the large room, and the door opened up into another one. Only this one was a type of room that he knew. It had tiled floor and sinks along the wall. There were stalls down on the farther end and there was a rack of paper towels near a trashcan by the door. Hiro's legs moved, but he did not walk over to one of the stalls. Instead he just went over to position himself in front of one of the sinks. He didn't look up though; he just stared down at the drain, as if he was trying to figure out what it was.
Behind him, the boy spoke up. "So you've changed your mind, then?" he asked, his voice seeming to echo around Hiro just like the music had. "You don't want to be a scientist! No! You've gone to new heights! You'll be a famous director instead!"
Hiro kept staring down at the drain. Again, he felt his lips move somehow and drag out his words by themselves. His voice sounded strange to his ears when it came into being. "Please," he rasped. "No thanks. I just like making videos to look at later. You know— things I don't want to forget." His voice…why did his voice sound so weird…?
Why…?
He looked up at the mirror, his eyes widening to be twice their normal size. Or…hers did. Abigail's reflection stared back at him from the mirror, her eyes wide and round with surprise. She looked exactly like she did in the tape. Her longer hair was pinned and curled, framed around her glasses with expertise. Her face was done up in makeup like it had been, and her lipstick-painted mouth was ajar slightly with shock. Hiro looked down at himself, the boy immediately losing control of his breathing, once he realized that this wasn't him.
It was her body. She – he? – was in her sparkly blue dress— the dress she had worn to go to Prom. He looked down at his wrist, which was not his. Abigail's hand rose up to meet his line of vision, instead. It was trembling and shaking, violent in its disbelief. Neatly on the arm in front of him was the corsage that Hikaru had given her right before they had left her house. And as the thought connected, Hiro turned to look over his shoulder again, to the boy that was behind him.
Hikaru grinned, his expression gentle. "Nothing, nothing!" he said, a series of laughs nervous bubbling at his throat. He tilted his head to the side and looked at Hiro in way that caused a shiver to rush down his spine. Suddenly, he felt cold. He felt really, really cold. "I just don't want to forget you," Hikaru pushed, his voice spilling over with affection— with love.
Hiro looked at him blankly, despite the fact that Hikaru was obviously waiting for him to say something in return. He was shaking from head to toe, unnerved even further by the glassy sort of smile that was splayed across Hikaru's face.
When he turned back to the mirror, Hiro realized that his reflection was back where it belonged now. But it looked wrong. He was staring back at himself, yes…but he looked different. His skin was ghostly pale; he looked sick and absolutely terrified. His face was gaunt, and his expression was worn over with sorrow and fear. And as he stared, the reflection's lips began to move rapidly, panic sharpening its features, as if it was screaming out for something. Whatever it was saying though, it was like a TV that was on mute. He could read the expression, and he could see the horror that lived inside of it. But not a single peep was heard. Hiro turned and looked down at himself, but still only saw Abigail. Yet his real reflection was still screeching inaudibly, resorting to beating against the glass with desperately-clenched fists.
Hiro felt Hikaru grab at his hand. "Abigail?" he asked. "Abigail, what's wrong?"
He was freezing. He was so cold. He couldn't breathe.
The reflection was gaping in a mute scream. It was scrabbling and frantic as it slammed against the barrier separating it and Hiro. And before Hiro could try and do anything more, the reflection suddenly burst out of the glass. It reached out to Hiro, grasping at his shoulders with an icy grip and pulling hard. Hiro was ripped forward, Hikaru's grip on his wrist disappearing completely as he was forcibly dragged off of his feet. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought that he would smash into the mirror, and glass would rain everywhere, stabbing and cutting through his skin.
But that wasn't what happened at all.
As soon as Hiro was pulled forward, his eyes snapped open wide. A gasp scraped out against his throat, harsh and biting. The first thing he was aware of was that it was absolutely freezing. His body was shaking, and his teeth were clenched tight even before he woke up. Shakily, he was ravaged by hyperventilation, his lungs spasming underneath the weight that the cold was forcing onto him. His mind was scrambled and confused, and it took a few spluttering seconds before he could gather anything other than his panic.
He was in a bath. He was limp to the side, his cheek pressed flush against the marble of the tub. Once he woke up, he gagged and struggled, finding that with the way was he was siting, the icy water was up at his throat. He tried to thrash out, but the movements that he wanted to do, and the movements that he did do didn't line up. His movements were just inept and weak; at his forced immobility, he let out a pathetic whine, his forehead creasing over in a million different emotions.
His arm and leg, which had been on fire ever since the knife had been pressed down into his skin, were numbed. The pain was duller than it had ever been, and even though the irritation was still present, it was much more bearable. As the realization connected, Hiro became aware of the next thing. There was a pressure on him; hands were keeping him in place— they were keeping him from falling over or slipping down underneath the water. The adrenaline and the shock that the water had given him allowed him to be the most aware he had been ever since he'd sliced the knife through his skin.
"Keep still." There was a low growl, and Hiro recognized the voice instantly, and it did not help the weak boy's mounting anxiety. Hiro's hyperventilation only worsened tenfold, his lungs straining to gulp down a sufficient intake of air; he felt as if the freezing water was draining all of his body heat from him. His teeth began to chatter, and his muscles twitched involuntarily, in the effort to create some kind of warmth through friction.
Callaghan grabbed at Hiro's wrist, holding it around the wound carefully as he used his other hand to draw a bar of soap over his arm, which was still blistered over and reddened. Immediately, Hiro tensed and gagged, trying to wrench away from the touch as the bar dragged over his wound. "Stop," Callaghan ordered, his voice short and nearly wiped of emotion. He continued to try and clean out the wound, being wary, but knowing that he couldn't withhold effort towards what might make him better. "Don't move. Let me work."
Hiro whimpered, grimacing as his lower lip began to tremble violently. But he obeyed, going limp and sagging to the side like a rag doll. Callaghan's eyes flashed with the motion, but he did not say anything for a moment. He just continued to keep Hiro firmly in the freezing water, running the soap up and down his arm and ignoring the way that the boy gasped and choked with every other breath. For a while, it was silent. He kept Hiro still, hoping that the freezing water would lessen the boy's pain and fever. He moved, starting to try and clean the wound in the boy's leg. He wasn't sure how effective this would be, but he was anxious to at least try.
But Hiro began to whine tiredly again, fighting against the sickness and the nausea that was dragging at him as he tried to thrash free a second time. He tried to mumble something out, but he couldn't really decide what he wanted to say anyway. He started to pick himself up off from leaning against the side of the tub, the simple motion coming across to be as impossible as it was to lift up a million pounds over his head. "Stop…" Hiro whined, his voice tiny and weakened. "Stop it…don't…" He didn't finish. He just trailed off, flinching deeply into himself.
"I have to," Callaghan said, his voice just as rigid and stern. He disregarded Hiro's weak attempts. He just kept his hold on him, keeping him rooted while he worked on his leg. It wasn't as concerning of an injury as his arm was, but he could not let it go untreated. Who knew whether or not the wounds were already infected? He couldn't chance just letting more and more risk pile up. It was better to be safe rather than sorry. Muttering, Callaghan repeated what he had been saying ever since Hiro had stabbed through himself. "If you hadn't done this, we wouldn't be in this situation, now would we?"
Hiro didn't react to the blame. He just continued to fuss and mewl out in high spurts, as if he hadn't even heard the other in the first place. He tried to twist and fumble away, struggling to get out from underneath Robert's touch, which seemed to burn him just as much as the knife had. He couldn't focus on a lot, but he could focus enough on that small detail. He wanted to get out. He was freezing, he was in pain, and now he was being subjected to this. He felt small and naked and helpless. He wanted out.
"Hiro, stop moving," Callaghan snapped lowly. "You're going to hurt yourself more."
"Please…" Hiro rasped, inwardly fighting in between absolute panic and absolute exhaustion. He wanted nothing more than to lash out or even scream at the very least. But he couldn't get his body to function the way that he wanted it to. He could hardly whisper as it was— screaming out was something impossible. His head spinning, he tried to writhe out of his grip again. He couldn't, and the fact was clearly established, but he tried regardless. He had to try…no matter how much it hurt…no matter how much he couldn't move…no matter how much he couldn't breathe…
Right?
"Hiro." Callaghan's voice was growing harder now, and sterner. "Hiro, stop it."
"I want to go home," Hiro sobbed lowly, feeling his eyes burn over and begin to prick. He floundered, groping out groggily with his bad arm for the edge of the tub. But he came up with nothing but air. He felt like he was going to throw up again. He couldn't remember the last time he wasn't vomiting, and as his bleary alarm stacked further and further on top of him, he felt that same rush of heat and sickness. His breathing was already haywire, and it only got worse. His voice barely a desperate mumble, he struggled out his delirious pleas: "Aunt Cass…Aunt Cass…Aunt Cass please…please don't let him…"
"Hiro." Callaghan put the soap to the side, turning so that he could grab hold of the boy's chin. He pulled Hiro's head off of the side of the tub, forcing the child to turn up towards him. "Look at me, Hiro," he instructed, his voice still cold and hard. It took Hiro a moment to collect himself enough to do as he was asked. It seemed like thoughts had to be double-checked and triple-checked before actions could actually come to be from them. His frightened mumblings faded into incoherent wheezes. Callaghan's grip on his chin increased impatiently, and so Hiro reluctantly pulled open his eyes halfway.
His vision was blurred and warped again. His glasses were gone.
But at the moment he couldn't care less about such a thing. He just stared hollowly forward, unable to make sense of the expression on Robert's face, despite the fact that his wasn't too far from Hiro's own. He thought that he saw Callaghan raise his eyebrows in a pointed way. When the man spoke, Hiro could not hold back a frightened flinch. "Listen to me, Hiro," he said, accentuating each and every word clearly. "I am not going to play this game anymore. Do you understand me?"
Hiro cringed, another sob bursting from his chest.
Robert held only tighter to the child at his lack of response. "Hiro. Answer me."
His voice was completely wiped of emotion.
Hiro swallowed hard. His teeth were chattering violently, and it made being understood vocally much more difficult than normal. But he managed it as best he could anyway, finding that he didn't really have much of a choice. "N-No, I-I-I-" He flinched deeply, his lips quivering as if he was going to burst into tears. And he was certainly close to it, in reality. "I-I wasn't— I just—" Every time he tried to get something out, it would backfire on him. His mind would splutter short and come at a loss, completely blank. The fact that he couldn't get anything out was enough to stab fear straight through his chest. And it really didn't help to staunch his rising fear and bemusement.
Why couldn't his body listen to him? Why did he feel as awful as he did?
"Listen," Callaghan repeated, his words dull and lackluster. This was the tone of his voice now— ever since Hiro had injured himself with the knife. He had resigned himself to this, and it was how he was going to play it out, despite anything else that he might feel on the inside. So he took in a small breath and went on, his voice emotionless. "You've behaved terribly, ever since you first came here." He turned and picked up the soap again, ignoring Hiro's muffled wail as he just went back to work.
"You had that one moment— that one instance where it seemed as though you might be coming around," he said, recalling the absolute happiness he had felt when he had heard Hiro call him 'Dad.' His expression flashed over in sorrow for the briefest of seconds, but he just shook his head and forced it down. Instead, he just huffed and moved on with a thinner sort of voice. "That was so long ago, though. Ever since then, you haven't been good at all."
Hiro didn't react anymore. He'd slouched back to the side again, his expression hollow as he listened. The only noise that came from his was the occasional hitch in his breath, accompanied with a whimper or a soft whine. His expression was broken down, yet he resigned himself to remain still. Giving up was easier than pushing himself, after all. That was what he was starting to learn through all of this. Yet mostly the thought was derived from the idea that he was just so tired. Despite the disgust and the fear that was itching underneath his skin, and the pain that was clenched around his arm and his leg, he was inches away from falling unconscious again.
Callaghan went on in a low mutter. "I cannot keep forgiving you for your mistakes. What kind of father would I be to let you keep making the same mistake over and over and over again?" he demanded. Predictably, Hiro didn't reply. But Callaghan hadn't expected him to. "You cannot continue to jeopardize this. I refuse to let you."
Hiro closed his eyes, exhaling a slow sigh that shook and shivered just as much as he was. His skin was paling over, his lips starting to fade into a pale blue. The freezing water was doing its job at least— rather than the boy burning up and being ravaged in heat, he was the exact opposite. He wouldn't be able to stay much longer in the water, for risk of getting too cold. Blackness was starting to play at the edge of his blurry vision. He felt his senses starting to leak away from him bit by bit. Yet weakly, he struggled to speak through his trembling. "I…want…to…go home. I…want…home," he cried pathetically. Tears leaked down his cheeks. The only reason he was not sobbing uncontrollably was because he was just so tired.
"You are home!" Callaghan suddenly screeched. Hiro went stiff at the yell, his eyes widening just a little bit, both from his fear, and from the fact that Robert's hold on him suddenly tightened tenfold. His fingernails dug into the boy's shoulder harshly, and he turned Hiro so that he could look at the child square in the face. Hiro's expression crumbled weakly at first, but the surprise from the sudden change wore off quickly, and the numbness was slowly coming back over him. His features drooped into relaxation against his will.
But Callaghan continued to hold him tightly, looking at the boy with a polar gaze of something akin to desperation. He repeated his words harshly, struggling to do that one thing that he had been trying to do since the start of all this: get it through Hiro's head. "You are home!" he repeated in a strained yell. Hiro's head began to droop forward, the child losing his fight against the sleep that was coming back over him. It was weird— to hear his own heartbeat so loud and so fast in his head, and yet be so tired at the same time. "You are home, and this is where you belong!" Robert stressed. "And I have to make you realize this!I have to! I have no other choice but to do this!"
Hiro gave out a weak choke. But it was all he could do.
Callaghan shook him quickly, as if he was struggling to get some sort of reaction from him. But the boy was limp and ragged. He just sagged forward, unable to stay awake and aware. Callaghan pressed on, his eyes blazing. "Hiro, you are making me do this!" he stressed. "I cannot let you keep making these mistakes! Can you hear me!? I'm doing this because it's best for you!" Still, nothing. Hiro might as well have been comatose. Robert growled and pressed on: "This is what I have to do to make you understand. You've made me do this. You've pushed me too far. Don't you realize this!?"
But Hiro didn't react. The blackness that had been ringing his vision took the initiative and finally slammed over him completely. His senses were stripped away. The pain up and down his leg and arm vanished, as did the sting from the freezing water.
All he felt was absolutely nothing.
(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)
Callaghan finished cleaning Hiro, deciding that he might as well just give him a full-body cleanse. He washed his hair too, checking the wound on the back of his head in the process. He dried him off and put him in some clean clothes. He wrapped up Hiro's arm and his leg in fresh bandages, after applying even more medicine on the slices. Then he gathered him up close to his chest and went back down to the basement. Nozomi was shut up in the kitchen bathroom again, and he could hear her barking and snuffling from the side of the house as he walked along. He ignored it completely, though.
He just turned and made down the stairs, holding Hiro close to him and concentrating as much as he could on the feel of the child bundled close to him. As he took each step by slow step, he pushed his nose down into Hiro's hair, so similar to Abigail's. Hiro didn't react at all to the touches; he was oblivious to everything, but at least his temperature wasn't nearly as high. Callaghan looked down at the boy's relaxed face. At the black glasses he wore, and the way his bangs fell down in front of his eyes.
He looked so much like her.
And after this ended, Callaghan was certain that Hiro would act like her as well.
He got downstairs and turned, going back over to the computer room. He put Hiro down lightly, the boy mumbling unconsciously as the grip around him vanished. Callaghan turned and fetched the duct tape that was off to the side. He grabbed Hiro's wrists and pressed them tightly together, stretching off a strand of the tape and making sure they were secure and tight. He did the same to his ankles, and then put a strip over his mouth. Then another around Hiro's waist, carefully maneuvering the wound on his right arm so that he could keep Hiro's hands from his mouth at the same time.
Then he stepped back, surveying Hiro for a few long minutes. The man was completely silent, keeping his face expressionless as he just stared. Hiro stirred ever so slightly, mumbling out something incoherent. Callaghan's eyes flashed, and he drew a little bit more into himself.
He started to turn for the stairs, but something refused to allow him. He paused for a long moment, turning and looking at Hiro, who was nothing more than a listless heap on the floor. After considering, Robert turned and went back. Robert crouched down low, bending down and planting a tender kiss on the unconscious child's forehead.
There seemed to be an air of regret in the room. For what he was now forced to do.
But he tore himself away quickly, his expression clouding over again.
He turned and went up the steps, closing the door and leaving the basement in darkness.
(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)
Hiro woke up disoriented and confused. He realized he was alone, and his heartbeat picked up immediately, thudding against his chest. He started to try and shift, but the weights of exhaustion were already keeping him still. However, he realized soon enough that it didn't even matter. He looked down at himself, forcing himself to focus in order to see the duct tape that was locked around his wrists and ankles. He couldn't even bring his hands up to his face— they were strapped down to his sides, instead. It prevented him from being able to take the tape off his mouth. Not that he really would have been able to in the first place, probably.
His feet and his hands ached from the applied pressure. He whined softly and tried to tug against the restraints. But no. He was too weak. He couldn't even peel the tape apart.
The child closed his eyes tightly, his body wracked in a piteous sob. He attempted to move or even wriggle, but his body was as heavy as a rock. His mind was foggy and warped; he felt like he'd just stepped off a spinning, high-speed rollercoaster, and trying to move just made it all even worse. Hiro tried to turn and see where the stairs were— where Callaghan was. He…he was here…right? Where else would he be? But the place was empty. It was completely dark. Through the dim lighting, Hiro couldn't even see the staircase.
He sniffed hard, feeling hot tears leak down the sides of his face. He gave up trying, his body going lax as his head drooped to the side. Still freezing from the bath, a shiver lanced down his spine painfully every so often. The boy recalled dimly how he used to curl up underneath the blankets at home, feeling safe and sound and like nothing could go wrong in the entire world. But now he didn't have any of that. He was alone in the basement of a man he could only wished he could label as a stranger. The floor was hard, and he was so sick, and he just wanted to scream. And he could have. But he knew that the effort would just be wasted, thanks to the gag of tape.
He felt awful. He wanted medicine. He wanted blackness.
He would go so far as to say that he would want death over this.
He wasn't prepared for the thought and, sluggishly, he broke down into another fit of sobs and crying. His hopelessness was eating at him from the inside out. His arm was burning, and his leg felt like it was still being stabbed, over and over again. He would have screamed, but he knew that it was pointless. Just like everything was. He was stuck. He was stuck, he was stuck. What was he going to do…? He needed relief. He needed something.
So he waited, struggling to stay awake as long as he could. Weariness dragged at him, and his nausea piled up the longer he forced himself to be aware. But he waited for Callaghan to come back downstairs. Hiro would plead and cry and beg for anything to lessen his pain and his suffering. He would take whatever the man was willing to give him.
The room got darker and darker.
Minutes stretched into hours.
Callaghan didn't come down.
Hiro was all alone.
(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)
"And then so if you'll read pages 123 to 145 tonight, I think you'll find that our upcoming quiz will be a breeze. Which should set you up well for success for this new school year. But I will say that—" Callaghan broke off, irritation swarming his gaze as the overhead speakers began to emit a charming little song. He'd heard it a million times over; it was the song that was picked and played every half hour. That was the fourth one since class had started— which meant that class was now officially over.
He sighed, but relented. His students were already up and packing; they wouldn't listen to anything more he would say anyway. "Alright, then," he said in a little huff. "Thank you all for your first week back in school. I trust that this year will be even better than your last. I'm looking at a few of you in the back," he added with a look towards those that he knew had scored low in the past. "Please do not force me to drag good test scores of you all. There's only so much I can do as a person."
One of the girls sitting up front hopped up and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder. She smiled brightly at the teacher, nearly from ear to the other. "Goodbye, Professor Callaghan!" she chirped. "I hope you have a good weekend! I'll you Monday!"
He offered her a small smile. "See you, Akemi," he returned. "Have a good weekend."
She grinned and skittered off. The rest of the class followed close behind. Callaghan sighed and started to go back to his desk, finding that in the first week of class, he was more than a bit disheveled and disorganized. He was out of practice in terms of keeping himself together, it seemed. He'd have to get back into the swing of things. But as he went back to his desk, something else caught his attention. Something more important than shuffling together papers and lesson plans.
He perked and titled his head to the side. "Mister Hamada?" he asked.
Tadashi jerked to attention immediately at the call. Before then, he'd been sitting blandly at his desk, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that class was over. He'd been staring off into space, his head leaning against his hand in a despondent manner. Yet when he was roused by his name, he jumped nearly out of his skin. He blinked rapidly, his eyes wide as he turned and looked around. There was an audible gasp as he realized that the other chairs around him were vacant.
"Are you alright, Mister Hamada?" Callaghan asked, turning to at him curiously. "Class ended about a minute ago."
The student reached back and rubbed his neck quickly. "O-Oh," he rasped, standing up quickly. He gathered his bag together, looking a little alarmed at his mental lapse. "I-I'm so sorry, Professor Callaghan. I-I just wasn't…" He trailed off for a second before clearing his throat and shaking his head. "I'm sorry. It's been…right, yeah— I'll go. Sorry for keeping you."
He looked like he was fit to sprint out of the room. But Callaghan was slightly unnerved by the way the boy was holding himself. So he cleared his throat, leaning back against his desk as he spoke. "Are you alright, Mister Hamada?" he asked, carefully gauging the boy as he stopped a bit reluctantly. Did he…he couldn't possibly…unless? "Any update on Hiro, Tadashi?" he prodded, carefully and gently at the same time. At the mention of his little brother, Tadashi went stiff. And Callaghan had to make a conscious effort to remain relaxed and careless. "Any…news?"
Tadashi didn't move for about ten whole seconds. He just stared at his teacher. At first he wondered whether or not the boy understood him in the first place. But then Tadashi reacted, his expression breaking and shattering. He ducked his head to try and hide it, but he forced out the words anyway. "No," he all but gagged out. Callaghan nodded slowly, keeping the relief from his face. He just surveyed the other carefully, keeping silent. And after a pause to recollect himself, Tadashi sniffed. "Aunt Cass thinks he's dead," he blurted out suddenly.
Callaghan's eyebrows rose. There a stretch of silence before: "And…do you agree?"
"No!" Tadashi snapped, the reply instant and almost acidic. But no sooner did the word slip his mouth did he shake his head quickly. "…Yes?" He groaned, reaching up and pressing the heels of his hands down against his eyes. "I don't know. I don't know anymore. I really don't, and I wish I did, and I just want to scream!" His arms flopped back down to his sides, and he shook his head again, looking thoroughly sickened. He took in a few calming breaths. Callaghan just stared silently, watching him. After a while Tadashi went on in a regretful mumble. "She said it last night. She didn't mean it. Well— she said that she didn't right after. She was just angry. And upset…she didn't realize what she was saying."
Callaghan nodded, swallowing the information. "And…you don't know whether or not to agree with her?"
Tadashi sighed. "I don't think I know about anything anymore," he whispered. The boy took to staring off to the side, and Callaghan looked at his expression of despondency and deep sorrow. He looked like a shadow of his former self— of the boy that had started his first semester last school year. It was a year's difference now, nearly. It was less than a month, and it would be on entire year. As if the same thought went through Tadashi's head, as the teenager inhaled sharply and gripped his book bag a little bit tighter. "I don't know what to do," he repeated hollowly.
Callaghan pursed his lips, but did not reply. The classroom was swallowed in silence.
Tadashi turned, looking at the teacher remorsefully. His next words came out soft. "How did you do it?" he asked.
Callaghan stiffened on the inside. But on the outside, he remained completely calm. "'Did it?'" he repeated. "How did I do what?"
"How did you handle losing your daughter? Someone…someone close to you?" Tadashi's voice broke on the question.
This, Callaghan did stiffen just slightly at. The two stood apart from one another, just staring. Something seemed to overcome Tadashi's expression as he realized himself and the error of his ways. Callaghan never liked to talk about his daughter. The only reason anybody knew about her was because this was a college, and young people loved nothing more than to gossip and talk amongst themselves. He should have known that such a question was more than inappropriate, and probably would not even be rewarded an answer. He quickly started to open his mouth and craft an apology on his tongue. Mentally, he scolded himself for being so thoughtless.
But to his utter shock, Callaghan started to speak before he could. "It was hard, at first," Professor Callaghan said, looking at Tadashi with the smallest hint of a smile on his face. The teenager stilled, obviously listening attentively and hanging on to every word. "I couldn't accept that she was gone— I didn't want to. But…at some point you do have to realize that things happen for a reason." Tadashi's face fell a little bit. Callaghan pushed on. "There's nothing in this world that happens just because. And you have to take this in your stride and understand it. It's a part of life— that's the way it works. The sooner you realize that, the clearer everything will get."
"That's just the thing, though," Tadashi rasped softly. "There was no reason for Hiro to leave. To disappear. I checked and rechecked it— there's no reason for him to have gone." He grew upset, looking hard at Callaghan and waiting for his reply. When the teacher only looked at him expectantly, Tadashi went on to press: "There's got to be something else." He might as well have been begging. "There's got to be anything else. Don't you have something like that? Something you could tell me that would make me feel better? That would let me know he's okay?"
Callaghan looked at him steadily. "You asked what I did with Abigail," he pointed out gently. "And I told you: I accepted her being gone. I accepted that she wasn't coming back."
Tadashi muttered a thick curse underneath his breath. He turned, pressing a hand to his forehead as he closed his eyes. His mouth drew into a tight line, and his face turned a brighter color of red, as if he was holding something back. Callaghan pushed off of his desk, walking over slowly as he shoved his hands into his pockets.
Tadashi turned, dropping his hand and looking at his teacher— at the person he respected most in this entire world. His next question came out in the smallest of whispers, as if he was afraid to say it too loudly, so someone might hear.
"Do you think he's dead?" he asked weakly.
Callaghan blinked, searching Tadashi's face. He was silent for a long moment, deciding his answer.
The boy was tense, waiting rigidly for his response.
But when the answer did come, it was not what he had been hoping for.
It took every ounce of strength in Tadashi's body not to scream and completely break down when Callaghan looked levelly at him and replied with an unwavering: "Yes. I do."
(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)
He tried to keep track of how much time passed. But he stopped counting after six days. Part of him asserted that he had stopped counting just because he could not be sure that he was even accurate. When he wasn't sleeping or unconscious, he was so groggy that it was hard to tell what was real and what wasn't. Yet at the same time, the other part of him knew that he had stopped counting just because the mere thought of the growing number was making him sick. He just wanted to curl up from everything and sink underneath the floor.
The most relief came to him when he was unconscious. At least then, the pain was alleviated. His head would stop pounding, and his stomach would stop eating itself from the inside. The nausea he felt would stop short, and his muscles could unclench and unwind from the rigidity that was inspired from his agony. When he woke up, all of those things just came back to him in a rush. His breathing would change from slow and relaxed, to punctured and weak. He would twitch in pain and look desperately over at the staircase for Callaghan.
He never came.
Six days, and Hiro was left downstairs, completely alone. He was left to suffer— and suffer in more than just one way. When he was awake and aware, it was about the worst thing that he had ever experienced. He would rather be dragged by his the back of his hair through shards of glass than stay like this. His stomach was completely empty, and because of that his head was spinning even more than it already was. His muscles were taut and locked together, as if they were trying to hold back all the pain that was still burning through his veins.
His arm and his leg were stinging and aching horribly. Hiro wanted nothing more than to jerk free of his duct tape bonds, and rip off the gauze that was scratching at his wounds. He wanted to drag his nails down the itching injury so much that he was fit to scream. But he couldn't do any of that. He couldn't stop his stomach from yawning in hunger and he couldn't stop his head from pounding and he couldn't stop his burns from twitching excruciatingly. He wanted to screech and vomit and writhe.
Despite his thoughts, though, Hiro didn't have enough energy to do anything at all.
He could just lay there, wallowing and suffering as he tried to just focus on breathing in and out.
In his groggy and mixed mind, he thought he could see Tadashi in the dark, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the room. Hiro stared fuzzily at him, wishing that he could call out or say something to him. But the tape was over his mouth. Looking at his brother, whose eyebrows were raised expectantly where he sat, Hiro's chest constricted as tears wormed down his face. Tadashi sighed and propped his head up carelessly on his hand. He spoke up, his voice tinged with slight irritation. "I thought we established here that you have no idea what you're doing," Tadashi huffed. "And then you go and do something as stupid at this. You really are a genius, aren't you? Now look at you— you're dying. Isn't that funny?"
Hiro closed his eyes, his shoulders shaking as he tried to keep himself from crying.
Tadashi sighed. He leaned back to slouch against the steps. "Welp. I told you, didn't I? I tried to tell you how dangerous it was to go out in the city after dark. And what did you say? 'Oh, no, Tadashi! I'm so perfect and great! Nothing bad will ever happen to me!'" His voice rose in octaves to mimic Hiro's cruelly. The younger fought the urge to flinch back from the sting. "Robert was completely right. I did hate you. I still do— it's just that I can finally be happy with you gone," he sighed. "If you weren't such a jerk, you would be home right now. But I'm glad you aren't. Aunt Cass and I didn't deserve what you put us through." He offered a coy smile. "Karma sucks, doesn't it?"
Hiro shook his head slowly. It took painstaking effort, and he had to choke back the wave of sickness that arose because of it. But he tried to focus anyway. He sniffed hard, shaking with pain and sorrow. With his good hand, he tried to reach out. But thanks to the fact that his arms were pinned down at his sides, all he could do was splay his fingers out towards Tadashi pitifully. Don't do this, he thought desperately. Don't do this, please. I need you. Please help me. I'm all alone.
Tadashi laughed. "You deserve to be alone. It's only fair," he replied. Then he rolled his eyes, scoffing underneath his breath. "But you're not even alone. You've got Robert, you idiot." Hiro sobbed at this, but Tadashi ignored it. "He's still taking care of you. Don't you know anything? I thought you were supposed to be the 'smart one.' Or is that just when you're trying to look good?" He went on without waiting for a reply. "You die without water after three days, stupid. So what does that tell you? It means that Robert's still coming down here. It's just when you're sleeping. Maybe sleep less, Einstein. You might know something for once."
Hiro cringed, sniffing shakily again. He tried to move, but he was stopped short when his arm was clenched tight in pain instead. He bit down on his cheek, trying to concentrate on that irritation instead. It still hurt, but it hurt much less than the other one did. I can't stop, he thought weakly. I can't stop sleeping. I'm so tired. I'm so tired, Tadashi, please help me. Tadashi watched him with a blank stare, clearly unimpressed.
Hiro felt tears well up in his eyes as he thought about when he was younger, and when he would crawl up into Tadashi's bed whenever he had a nightmare or whenever he was upset. Tadashi would never complain. He would just sigh and smile good-naturedly, shuffling over on the bed to make room for his younger brother. Anything and everything bothering Hiro would immediately disappear into nothing when he curled up close to his brother, burying away his head. He'd stopped doing that when he was seven or eight. But now, that was the only thing in the world he wanted. To be comforted.
Help me, he pleaded inwardly, begging by this point. I hurt so much, please just help me. I miss you. I love you. I'm sorry. I just want you back. I want Aunt Cass back. I promise I'll be better. I promise I won't be anything like I used to. I know I was awful, but I promise I won't be anymore. Please…please just hold me. Please. I miss you. I just miss you. All he wanted was comfort. The thought of Tadashi's arms around him was like a saving grace.
But his older brother didn't change at all. If anything, he just grew more irritable. "You're so pathetic," he growled, reaching up to rub at his forehead as if to say 'I cannot believe I have to deal with this.' "Stop begging. It's bad enough you're like this, don't make it even worse. I can't even look at you. He turned and started to get up. He turned his back, and Hiro began to panic groggily as he realized that his older brother was leaving him. A frightened noise leaked through the tape over his mouth, but Tadashi ignored it. "I'm done with you," the elder growled. "You're so ungrateful. You should have realized what you had. It's too late now."
No! No, no! Tadashi, please don't leave me! Hiro went into a spasm, trying to call out desperately. But the tape kept him from doing so, and his throat was too dry to make a noise loud enough to express his desolation. Tadashi, don't! Please don't leave me here! Please! PLEASE! But despite the mental pleas, Tadashi disappeared from view. He faded into the darkness of the basement, and Hiro was left completely alone all over again.
He felt like screaming. He felt like banging his head against the ground until there was nothing else but darkness and peace. He was breathing noisily, all but heaving through his nose, as he could not breathe through his gag. He could feel the ground spinning underneath him, and now that he could not distract himself, the pain began to drag him down once more. He scrabbled on the floor, his eyes wide but distant and unfocused.
He was in pain, he was desperate, he was hopeless.
He was going insane.
(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)
She came back home, trying to hide the look of disappointment and confusion that was on her face. At the sound of the closing door, her husband roused, turning away from the stove and looking over at her with an expectant expression. "Let me guess," he mused, refocusing again on the water that was slowly coming to a boil. "You went out there. Again. Walked around. Again. And you came up with nothing. Again." Stacy scowled at the tone of voice he used, looking at if she had a few choice words herself. But her husband shook his head and offered her a small shrug. "I mean…you can keep it up if you want. But I'm telling you, you're wasting your time."
"It's a good thing I didn't ask," she said graciously, turning and starting into the living room.
"Hey, hey, hey, c'mon." She stopped at her husband's call, albeit reluctantly. She stuck her tongue into her cheek, clearly perturbed. But she crossed her arms over her chest and turned all the same, locking her jaw backwards. Tony looked tiredly at her, giving a small shake of the head at her irritation. But the man's voice was warm when he spoke next. "You know why I realized I liked you so much?" he asked. When Stacy stared at him, her gaze losing its anger, he continued matter-of-factly. "It's because you were running for that whole student council thing. You were so passionate— everyone hated you because you wouldn't shut up. And that's when I realized I loved you. Because you knew exactly what you wanted. And you still aren't planning on stopping. Even now."
Stacy shifted her weight from foot to foot. She still seemed unsure whether or not to be angry.
Tony eyed her with a grin. "It's also why I hate you though, you know that, right?" he teased.
She melted just a little bit. A smile wormed its way onto her features. "Then why don't you divorce me?" she quipped neatly.
He scoffed. He left the stove and walked over to her, folding her into a soft hug. He would much rather have asked her to stay home, and to stop walking down towards where she had fooled herself into thinking that there was a noise. It was compulsive how she went down there, and so far she hadn't heard anything at all. She should realize by now that there was simply nothing to hear. But he had decided that picking fights over it all was stupid. If she wanted to take walks down there, she could take walks down there. It was no skin off his hide. So now he just hugged her, feeling a sense of relief at the fact that she burrowed down into the embrace like she always did. "It's the cost," he sighed dramatically. "Once I save up a bit, I'll order the papers."
She laughed. "Good. It'll be a load off my shoulders."
They stood like that for a few seconds. Tony started to unwind his arms, figuring that the water was ready for the past by this point. But surprisingly he was held in place by his wife, whose fists were tight in his shirt. He blinked, looking down with a quizzical expression. Stacy was holding close to him, looking out the window with a drawn expression.
"What's wrong?" Tony asked, tilting his head.
Her voice came out in a small mumble. "What if it was him?" she asked softly. "That boy? What if he was the one who screamed?"
He sighed wearily, shaking his head. "Stacy, don't do that to yourself," he sighed, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. "If it was him, the police would have been more concerned. They wouldn't have dropped it as soon as they had. I told you, it was probably just some kids running around. Look— school picked back up again, and we haven't heard anything at all." She hesitated and then nodded, a little uneasily. Tony did the same, though his nod was much more assured. "So don't beat yourself up. Like I said: it was probably nothing. Really. Cheer up; I hate seeing you so upset."
Stacy sighed, her expression wilting just slightly. But then she cleared her throat and gave a small nod. "Alright," she said simply. She pulled back and offered him a tiny grin. "Alright," she repeated, stronger now. "You're right. It probably wasn't him."
Tony seemed satisfied with this. He turned and went back to the dinner.
Stacy watched him go, her grin fading once he turned. She swallowed and looked down at the floor instead, her expression torn. She glanced over out the window, but it was too dark now to see outside. She just felt that same sense of hollowness and confusion that she had when she was out walking.
(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)
"Eat."
Hiro roused blearily, forcing his eyes to open, however much he did not want them to. Callaghan was crouched beside him, holding a bowl of something in his hands. Hiro didn't move, only staring blankly up at the man. His expression was foggy and confused. He felt like he was wasting away. When the child only looked up limply from the floor, Callaghan cleared his throat and extended his arms, showing the boy what was inside the bowl. It looked mushy and gross. A gray blob that turned Hiro's stomach. "It's oatmeal," Callaghan explain, his voice carefully indifferent despite the state of the boy. "It's filling. So c'mon."
He leaned over and peeled the tape off of Hiro's mouth. The boy whined pitifully once his lips were freed. But Callaghan just scooped out a spoonful of oatmeal, reaching out to offer it to the weak child. "C'mon," he repeated. "You've got to eat now." He spoke as if he was teaching Hiro how to do some math problem— being objective and blank.
Hiro still only mumbled and grimaced, so Callaghan took the initiative. He leaned over and spooned the bite carefully into the boy's mouth. Thankfully enough, Hiro did not try and spit it back, or refuse the offer. In fact, he seemed ravenous for how weak he was. He took the bite and swallowed it down with a grimace. It was slow going— much slower than it would have taken any able-bodied person to eat. But Hiro had to drag the food down his throat and force it to stay in his stomach, rather than come right back up.
The whole thing passed in complete silence. Callaghan's face was wiped of emotion, and he just stared stonily ahead. Hiro, more and more aware after he was finally allowed some food, looked at Callaghan wearily, every crevice of his face heightened with fright and uneasiness. In the very back of it all, though, his gaze was almost expectant. Like he was waiting for something.
Callaghan gave Hiro as much oatmeal as he thought the boy could stomach, going slowly as to not hurt him further. It had been nearly seven days now he'd gone without food. He lost so much weight that his ribs were poking out underneath his shirt. But Callaghan tried not to let himself get distracted over the detail. It was something he could fix later. For now, as strong as he felt in looking at Hiro, he knew that this was all for a purpose. And he knew that it would pay off.
Eventually he decided that Hiro had eaten enough oatmeal. He took the bowl away and offered him water instead, tipping the cup back so that Hiro could drink without moving his head. Some of the water leaked down his face sloppily, but the boy gulped down the liquid eagerly. Callaghan had come down to give Hiro water more frequently, but he was never really aware enough to probably realize it. Callaghan was thankful that he was awake now; it showed that he was still capable, at least.
Once he was through feeding Hiro, Callaghan gathered up everything, organizing it all as he readied himself to go up. After consideration though, he paused. He turned and looked down at Hiro, waiting. Coincidentally enough, Hiro looked right back him, seeming just as expectant somewhere in his murky gaze. They were silent as they just stared at one another. Robert was the one to break the tension. "Are you ready to apologize yet?" Callaghan asked.
Hiro blinked, his eyes starting to glint a little bit brighter with tears. His lower lip began to tremble, and Callaghan thought for the briefest of seconds that things would start to pay off. But after a second, Hiro's pride seemed to outweigh whatever else he might have felt. Shakily, he whimpered: "I don't have anything to be sorry for."
Callaghan jerked backwards, as if he'd been slapped. The hope that had fostered in his chest died on impact, and Hiro's face fell as he seemed to realize that saying such a thing was a mistake. "Wait— I don't…" Hiro tried to amend himself, but the man was already getting up. Slurring his words, Hiro fumbled, trying desperately to fix the situation. "Please, please, I…I hurt, I—" He grimaced and broke off, his body being seized by shakes and concealed sobs. He sniffed, trying not to let the fact show. "I need—"
"You're not ready, yet," Callaghan said, his voice constrained now. Hiro watched in terror as he leaned over for the roll of duct tape again, his expression cold. "I'll come back later. Give you a little bit more time for you to reconsider."
"I— please stop—" Hiro was cut off. Callaghan leaned over and pressed the tape against Hiro's mouth again, effectively sealing him silent. His eyes still rushed over in tears, but Callaghan ignored it. He turned, repeating mentally the fact that the boy was simply not ready yet. Hiro shook and trembled, and he struggled to keep himself together as Callaghan gathered up everything and started to make for the steps. It took a considerable amount of effort to keep himself from screeching after the man as he found himself to be alone once more.
The basement door slammed shut, and Hiro curled painfully into himself, cringing as he picked that safe moment to break down into a fit a sobs and muffled cries.
Callaghan pressed his back against the door, closing his eyes tightly and letting out a heavy sigh that wracked his frame. He reached up and pressed his hands to his forehead, letting out a growl of frustration and withheld anger. It was so close. He had been so close— Callaghan could tell. But the moment had been swift and fleeting and it had ended much too soon. Feeling a tidal wave of frustration, Robert muttered a thick curse underneath his breath.
He turned and began to pace, his mind haywire.
He had done this for Hiro. He had given him time to realize why his actions were wrong. He had done it so that Hiro would regret his actions. But the boy was just as stubborn— even after seven days. What if this didn't work? It had to work. There was no other option. It was either this would work, or Robert would find himself in a situation impossible get out of. His breathing heavier now, Robert continued to walk back and forth, resembling an animal that was trapped in a cage.
He didn't want this to work, he needed it to.
He loved Hiro. The last thing that Callaghan would do would be give him up.
But if he just…if he just didn't…
Callaghan let out an angered yell, shaking his head wildly from side to side. His vision went red for a split second, and, too lost in emotions to check himself, he grabbed one of the chairs from the dining room table, whirling around and throwing it down as hard as he possibly could. A resounding thud split the air, as well as crack as one of the legs broke. He looked down with wide eyes at the mess, feeling his heartbeat in his ears like a drum. His face fell a little uncertainly, and he swallowed hard, closing his eyes and shaking his head.
He pressed his hands up to his forehead, sinking down unsteadily to sit on the floor. He leaned against the wall— the same wall that had been smeared with Hiro's blood what seemed like forever ago. He drew his knees up to his chest and pressed his hands against either side of his head. A weary sigh passed his lips. Now that the anger burned itself away and expired, he had nothing left to rage about.
All he could do was wallow in his remorse and disappointment.
(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)
The dinner table was absolutely silent. It had been like that for about ten minutes now. The only sound was the scraping of silverware and the jarring of plates. Tadashi and Aunt Cass were sitting across from each other, the same empty chair making itself known where it was to their sides. There might as well be flashing lights on it. They'd tried to move it before, but they both knew that the effort would be too much. And it would feel too wrong. So they just left it there. Gaping and yawning a cavernous space.
Aunt Cass was looking over at Tadashi, her expression tired and strained.
Tadashi didn't look up from his plate, just staring down numbly as he played with his food.
"I didn't mean it," Aunt Cass blurted out. Tadashi stopped messing with the dinner in front of him. But he didn't look up. His eyes looked red. She shook her head and tried again, her voice tired and worn. "I really didn't mean it," she struggled. She'd said it about fifteen times now. "I really didn't mean it, Tadashi. I was just upset. I should have realized what I said. I'm sorry. I don't…I don't actually think that. About Hiro." It had been days since her outburst. But the fact was trivial. Her eyes were still red from crying.
Tadashi looked up at her. Wearily, he offered her a smile that didn't touch his eyes, which remained dull and lifeless. "I know," he said simply, trying to make himself sound reassuring. He looked down at his food, the smile fading as quickly as it had been dragged into life. He went back to poking and prodding at his vegetables. He hadn't eaten a single thing yet.
Aunt Cass' mouth remained slightly open. Stuttering a bit, she repeated weakly: "I-…I didn't mean it."
"I know," Tadashi mumbled, using the same reply he always did. "I know, Aunt Cass."
Silence. Aunt Cass looked down at her own plate, which was just as untouched. Her expression crumpled. She closed her eyes tightly and swallowed. For a few heartbeats, silence existed once more. Tense and stifling. Before this, silence never made a home at the Hamada house. Now it was a permanent resident. It lived and breathed— far more than its actual inhabitants did. Tadashi stared down, not paying attention to the mess he was making anymore. He just looked right through it.
Silence.
Then, a haggard whisper.
"I didn't mean it, I swear…"
(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)
Callaghan waited seven more days. Another week. Again, he went down only to offer Hiro water. Sometimes the boy would be aware enough, sometimes not. When he was, Callaghan searched for a sign that he was breaking. But if there was one, it was quickly covered up by the child. Despite everything, he was sticking to himself. Yet Callaghan held onto the hope that his resolve seemed to grow weaker and weaker. Every time that Callaghan turned away, refusing to speak, Hiro seemed to display more and more signs of regret or worry or panic.
That was what the man told himself.
It was how he comforted himself enough to allow him to sleep at night.
So when he came downstairs after those seven more days with more hot oatmeal, he was expecting the same thing. And at first, it seemed like he would get it. He sat down and peeled the tape painfully off from Hiro's mouth, spoon feeding the boy his meal while he looked him over. His burns were coming along, thanks to the medicine and the bandages that were changed whenever they needed to be. They looked much better than they had, at least. And Hiro didn't have nearly as many fevers. When he did have spikes, it didn't last as long, and it never climbed above 101.5.
Even though Callaghan hadn't spoken to Hiro, he had come down enough to know this much.
Mostly it had been done when the boy was asleep, however.
At least in the physicality of all it all, they seemed to be doing alright.
Callaghan let Hiro drink more water, having to handle the cup since the boy's arms and wrists were still bound down. And once that was through, he started to gather it all back up, like he usually did. Hiro watched him, biting down hard on his lower lip. His eyes glazed over, not for the first time, but Callaghan ignored him pointedly. He just kept his head down, concentrating instead on making sure he had everything. Perhaps he would come down later and change Hiro's bandages— he hadn't done that yet today.
He turned for the tape.
But he was stopped by a small choke. "Please."
Callaghan froze at once, but he did not move. His hand hung in the air, suspended mid-reach.
He said absolutely nothing.
Hiro let out a wavering rasp. "Pease don't…"
Callaghan looked back at him. Hiro seemed to be holding back an ocean of tears, and his lip was trembling violently as he looked up at the other. There seemed to be a plea in his eyes, and Callaghan forced himself to ignore the burst of hope in his chest. He just looked blandly down at Hiro, waiting. After a moment he shook his head, his voice apathetic. "I have to," Callaghan said, noticing the fact that Hiro immediately broke down, his eyes closing tightly as water rushed down his cheeks. "You're still not ready. I told you, Hiro, I'm not going to play this game with you anymore." He sounded like he was scolding Hiro for taking a cookie out of the cookie jar or something.
Hiro sniffed hard, his words barely distinguishable as they came out choked and thick. "Please don't leave me alone," he begged tearfully. "Please…I can't…"
"You're not ready," Callaghan repeated. Though he drew his arm back to himself. "You have to be alone until you are."
Hiro curled up more, ignoring the pain in his back. He sniffed again, his body shaking with his suppressed cries.
Callaghan cleared his throat. "Eight more days," he offered, as if he was being generous. Hiro's eyes snapped open quickly, his pupils blowing out in fear at the number. Callaghan disregarded it. "We'll see how you feel then. Maybe after eight more days, you'll be more inclined to see what you need to fix." He started again for the tape, though his reach was noticeably slower. He watched the child carefully, noticing the fact that his breathing picked up, however weak it had been before. "Until then…"
"I'm ready," Hiro whined, fear stabbing through his heart immediately.
"I don't think so," Callaghan pushed. "You're still fighting. And I just can't—"
"I'm ready, I'm ready!" Hiro sobbed, his voice raising up into what was probably supposed to be a yell. But with the lack of water he'd had, it could only pass off as a normal level of volume. Callaghan froze for a second time, watching the boy with a sense of intensity. Hiro shook his head groggily, his shoulders shaking and his breathing uneven. He inhaled sharply, the air rasping painfully against his throat. His voice was broken and defeated when it came out, and it was riddled with severe desperation. "I don't want to be alone," Hiro wept, heaving with the effort. "I don't want to be alone, please don't let me be alone, please…"
Callaghan turned towards him. He was still wary, and so his voice remained blank when he replied. "You have to behave." Hiro looked sickened and fit to throw up, but he nodded quickly, the movement rattling his brain. Still, Robert pressed: "I cannot have you acting out again. You have to understand. If you act out again, you are coming back down here and I will leave you for even longer. Right? This is your punishment. And it will be your punishment from here on out." Hiro nodded rapidly, his face bright red as he struggled to hold back his wails. "If you are not perfect…you're coming back down. And I won't be as forgiving next time."
Hiro kept nodding wildly. He looked half-crazed by this point.
Callaghan was still waiting for the final straw. A moment of silence passed in which only the sound of Hiro's sobs could be heard. Leaning a little closer, Robert pressed almost gently: "What do you have to say for yourself, then, Hiro?"
This did it.
The boy broke apart at whatever seams were still managing to hold him together. He collapsed into a fit of sobs and chokes, outright bawling. He was pitched forward from it, and the small amount of pride he had struggled to maintain was now out the window. His words were slurred, and harsh hiccups broke his voice off in spots. "I'm sorry!" he sniveled, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He inhaled sharply and shook his head again, only making his pain worse but unable to stop. "I shouldn't have— I was so stupid, and— and— and—" He couldn't even finish. He just fell into a pit of more tears and more wails.
He was completely ruined.
Callaghan's façade immediately broke.
It worked.
His expression became tender, and he immediately forgot the duct tape, or the dishes around them. Instead he reached over, bundling Hiro up into his arms and pulling him towards his chest. He was careful not to jar the boy's injuries in the process. At the contact, Hiro's crying only increased in intensity. Weeks, and he'd gone with only himself for company. The only other presence for him was mental admonishing that never seemed to end. The physical touch of arms wrapping around his too-skinny frame provided him with so much unexpected relief that it almost felt like he had been punched square in the gut.
He didn't even care who the arms belonged to. Memories swamped him of Aunt Cass pulling him in for a 'last hug.' Of Tadashi sweeping him up off the floor and bringing him into a crushing embrace that had driven all the wind from him. Hiro was reduced to a puddle of incoherent sobs, and the boy found himself subconsciously turning, burying his head down into Callaghan's chest. Despite the bonds that were keeping his hands together, he clung tightly to Robert's shirt, pulling even closer as if to reassure him that he wasn't the only thing on the planet, and there existed more than just shadows and darkness.
Callaghan was shocked. But his eyes were lit up like two twin stars— the lottery-ticket grin that used to have. Quickly, he enveloped Hiro tightly, beginning to rock him like he was a small toddler. "Shhh…it's alright now," he cooed, leaning down and planting a kiss on top of the boy's hair. Hiro shivered, but clung just as tight, if not tighter. "It's alright. It'll be just fine from now on. You just had to realize. And I just had to show you. But it's okay now. It worked…everything's okay..." Robert whispered soothingly, as if it was some kind of a lullaby.
Hiro was shaking from head to toe. He couldn't stop crying; the front of Callaghan's shirt was soon completely wet with tears. But Robert didn't mind. The man just rubbed the child's back gently, continuing to shush him with that same brilliant smile splayed across his face. "Shhh…everything's good now. It'll all be fine. Don't you worry." Hiro gasped and shuddered, and Callaghan nodded slowly. "I know. You messed up. But now you know better. It's alright. You messed up. You just messed up…we all do sometimes. As long as it won't happen again. But now you know what will happen if it does…"
Hiro still clung to Callaghan as if his life depended on it.
Across the man's face was a look of complete elation.
The two of them sat in the dark of the basement. Callaghan continued to try and soothe Hiro as best he could, shushing him and keeping his voice light as he basked in the absolute joy of having the boy hold so tightly to him. Hiro continued to sob, letting loose the fear and the sorrow and the mental strain he had suffered through and had thought that he could endure. It had all piled up on top of him, and now the dam had broken. He was a mess. If he was a puzzle, all the pieces had been ripped apart and mixed up to make him suddenly indecipherable.
He couldn't bring himself to let go of Callaghan.
He couldn't bring himself to stop shaking.
He couldn't bring himself to calm down.
He couldn't even bring himself to stop his raspy mutterings, which slipped numbly off his tongue.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)
A/N: This thing. Is twenty pages. My goodness. I need sleep.
It's a rule of thumb for me I think that the longer my chapters are, the more I like…hate them? I don't know why. Longer ones just don't sit well with me— I think maybe because I've just been working on them for too long? That might be it. Or it might be because I have an AP Literature quiz tomorrow and it's 11:10 p.m. and I still have to study. Or something like that.
But yeah! I edited the first half of the chapter, but not the second half. If there are any glaring typos, as always I'll be willing to fix them! There were a few eyebrows raised at last chapter, so I tried to do this one even more justice! I hope I did that (she says hopefully, but tiredly and awkwardly at the same time)!
Y'all! I'm so pumped to write next chapter! You've got no idea! It'll mainly center around Tadashi, and boy I'm gonna do my best to make it amazing. We're winding down now— for those of you keeping score at home, I don't want to give a number but we're nearing the turning point of the story. I hope you're as excited for it as I am!
I shall see you in ten reviews! I made this extra long because we hit a whopping 23 last chapter and I love you guys and if we reach 200 reviews with this chapter I will throw myself down the stairs. I get so pumped for this story now, so thank you! I remember in the beginning it was rough— now this story is one of my favorites! So thank you for reading! I hope you're as excited as for what's to come as I am! ;)
