Obake Itoko Chapter 8: Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers, a big hero 6 fanfic

Heyo! Chapter 8, everybody, and we are finally, FINALLY into the movie's plot! Let us see how this goes….

In other news, I honestly feel like Obake might actually like the Percy Jackson series, since he makes mention of Icarus in canon. And yes, I picture Obake as being a knife owner—I've discussed this over on DeviantArt, that I figure he's more a knife person in the event of fisticuffs, but as you can see, he uses them for other things (please don't try this at home).

The Authverlord, thanks for the review! No problem—one of the first writers on FFN I followed did this, and it seemed like a good practice. :) Yes indeed—been looking up Chinese and Japanese words for one of my Pokémon groups on DA with the intent of learning more of those languages and figuring if I gave my Pokémon meaningful names it'd help me remember the words; it does. And referencing the fae feels like it fits this character. Good question…and I'm going to say most likely. Thank you, I shall! :D

Kingdom Hearts © Disney; Square Enix

Hiro was able to see for himself the efficacy of the unintentional trap they had laid last night early the next morning when—heading downstairs for breakfast when Aunt Cass called—he accidentally stepped on a Lego.

"I was alerted to the need for assistance—"

"I know, Baymax!"

This also had the side effect of waking Obake up, which wasn't exactly something he was hoping for—ugh, what is it with these people and being morning people let him sleep and close that stupid blind already!

Unfortunately, being awake meant his mind started kicking into gear, and he knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep that way—sigh, get up, shuffle to the steps to avoid falling victim to one of the toys scattered around. Okay, so maybe destroying a model San Fransokyo was a bit much.

On the positive side, Cass was starting to dial back a bit on serving breakfast—he was pretty certain there wasn't a kitchen sink on this table.

Ugh, they needed to speed this along—cozy family living was driving him up the wall. Where was the excitement? The danger? The destruction? Thus far the most dangerous thing in this house was himself and that Lego—and the latter wouldn't be a problem much longer.

They needed to pick things up.

Which was what Cass told them after breakfast.

"Go upstairs, clean up that mess," she ordered, pointing at the stairs. "You guys can goof off afterwards."

"Aw come on, Aunt Cass," Hiro protested. "Do we have to?"

"A clean room is: beneficial to your health," the robot said. "As evidenced by this morning's injury."

"Wait what?" Cass asked.

"It's nothing," Hiro said quickly.

"Hiro stepped on a: Lego," the robot said.

"There, see? That room is an accident waiting to happen, go clean it up," Cass said, shooing them back up the stairs. Joy.

At least that was also Hiro's opinion when they got upstairs.

"This was a lot more fun making the mess," he sighed, looking everything over before picking up the offending Lego. "This is your fault."

Obake huffed, turned a box so it was open side up, started dumping toys in there.

"Hey hey hey no," Hiro protested, stopping him. "These guys go on the shelf—if we're going to do this we're going to do this right."

Dismissive snort, pick up a book and gave him a look.

"Books go on the shelf over there," Hiro said, pointing.

Oi vey—start collecting the books, shelving them as Hiro picked his way through the mess and collected toys based on whatever inane sorting system he had—Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Ah right, this one had looked interesting enough. Flip through it, giving it a cursory examination—hmm, well it seemed to be about Greek mythology, but then it had things like the St. Louis Arch and the Empire State Building and some record store in Los Angeles—one seemed to be all about the Labyrinth though, that might have some promise.

"You're seriously not reading on the job while I'm doing all the work, are you?" Hiro asked—Obake made a waffling motion with a hand, shelved the book. "Good, because if you were all the Legos are going to find their way into your mattress."

Obake scowled at him, spent the rest of the time shelving the books plotting ways to get back at Hiro if he acted upon that scheme. Collect the boxes when he was finished, sort them all back together, Hiro putting the various toys away, Obake collecting some of the scattered ones and dumping them on Hiro's bed so he could figure it out from there.

"So maybe this won't take as long as I thought it would," Hiro said after maybe an hour of blessed silence, glancing at a clock as he put the toy cybug up. "Maybe video games after this? Or we could try the arcade again, we've still got a ton of coins left."

Hmm—well if he was asking Obake's opinion…snap his fingers at Hiro, go over to where Megabot had been returned to its spot on the desk.

"Oh no," Hiro said, waving his hands in a negative fashion when Obake picked the battlebot up. "No no no have you learned nothing no." Take the battlebot back, open a drawer and shove it in. "We're not doing that again, okay? Once was enough."

Oh come on, that hadn't been nearly enough—the first time was fine, sure, but that was mostly fueled by revenge—now he had the option of doing it for fun. And for the added dig of parading his new cohort under Yosei's nose…okay fine he was still mad.

Not that he hadn't expected this resistance—pick up the jar they had deposited the coins in, shake it a little while indicating downstairs; she appreciated the money and you know it.

Hiro was glaring at him now, fists balled, something brittle in his eyes—ugh, the stupid brother.

"No," he said finally. "We're not doing that."

The marshmallow robot looked them over. "This conversation seems to be causing stress."

"Don't worry, Baymax—the conversation's over," Hiro said, giving Obake one last dark look before going back to cleaning.

Dangit—plunk the jar down, forcing himself to stop grinding his teeth when that hurt—kick at a smaller ball that rolled under the bed.

Twitch—they had been all over this room last night, and he didn't recall seeing his backpack anywhere…maybe Hiro had hid it under his bed.

Glance at Hiro, busy putting some toys in one of the lower drawers of the desk—get down on his hands and knees, gritting his teeth at the grinding pain in his kneecaps, flip the edge of the blanket up—

No backpack.

Huff in disappointment—dangit, he was waffling on this whole thing with Hiro anyway, but having his backpack would have been nice, he thought. Grab the ball, get ready to drop the blanket—

Looked back when he realized he registered movement under there.

It was something in a pile of fabric, way too small to be Mochi….Hesitate, hook a finger on the edge of the fabric and pull it out. Blue…a hoodie, with something moving around in one of the pockets. Snap his fingers at Hiro—short whistle when he didn't respond.

"What, Obake?" Hiro groaned, sagging with arms flopping to the side before turning to glare at him—expression shifting to confusion when he registered the hoodie, that confusion deepening when Obake pointed out the moving fabric. Half-crawl over as the robot waddled across the room, tug the hoodie around, dig his hand in the pocket—

Pull out something small and black that immediately tried to craw out of Hiro's hand when he opened it.

Obake blinked as Hiro caught it, pinched it between two fingers, held it up—squinting at the moving shape showed something vaguely familiar….

Like he had been holding a larger example not five minutes ago.

"This…it's one of my microbots," Hiro explained, seeming as much from a need to process what he was holding as a need to clue Obake in. "I—it's like Megabot but in miniature—I made it for the SFIT exposition but…they all got destroyed in the fire. And the neurotransmitter that operates them—I don't know why it would be moving."

There were several things from that bit of rambling that Obake picked up—one, that there had been more of these things; two, that he might as well bin any plans on using said things (because they sounded like they could make some beautiful havoc) because they had all been destroyed in the fire at SFIT.

Three…that that might have very well been his fault.

Hiro's shadows were back, fortunately distracting him from Obake's own dour expressions—he didn't know for sure that his project backfiring tremendously had been the source of the fire, or if the fire in the exhibition hall had only compounded the issue. Either way, it was all gone.

The marshmallow robot was blinking at them as Hiro collected a petri dish and sealed the microbot inside. "You both are experiencing: distress," it said. "Would you like to take a minute to address some of these emotions?"

"No, Baymax," Hiro sighed, shoving the petri dish away. "Let's just…not."

Obake sighed, avoided looking at the robot as he picked up the hoodie and hung it up next to the tote bag—could have avoided this mess if they had gone bot-fighting.

He wondered how much work would be involved in reverse-engineering that microbot.

Go back to the desk with the intent of pocketing it—was surprised to see the marshmallow bot blinking at the petri dish. Come around to look—

Consider it before turning the petri dish.

The microbot wavered—adjusted itself so it was rattling against the petri dish again, in the same direction it had been before.

The robot blinked, looked to Hiro. "Your: tiny robot, is trying to go somewhere."

Hiro gave an aggravated sigh as he shelved the Samus toy. "It's not trying to go anywhere, Baymax—everything else is gone, it has nothing to go to."

No, no—the robot was right. Snatch up the petri dish, pace over to Hiro, snapping his fingers to get his attention.

"What?" Hiro bit out. "You know that's really annoying—what?" Glare at the petri dish Obake was pointing at.

"Your: tiny robot, is trying to go somewhere," the robot repeated.

"What? No, it's broken, okay—ow!"

The robot blinked. "I was alerted to the need for—"

"I'm fine, Baymax," Hiro said, glaring at Obake as he rubbed the side of his head—and he was, Obake hadn't flicked him that hard. "Seriously, what is your damage?"

The robot looked Obake up and down. "Obake: is suffering from—"

"It's an expression, Baymax," Hiro sighed—went on the defensive when Obake reached to flick him upside the head again. "No—no touchy. What, I said no to bot-fighting so you fixate on this?" he asked, when Obake pointed at the microbot again. "It's broken—"

Okay, that's enough—push on Hiro's head to get him to look down, turn the petri dish several times.

The microbot, without fail, tried to go in the same direction every time.

"What the," Hiro noised, taking the petri dish and repeating the action. "I don't get it—there's nothing it should be reacting to; why is it trying to…go somewhere."

The robot blinked at them; looked at Hiro. "Would: learning the intended destination of the: microbot, improve your mood?"

"I—" Look up at Obake, back down at the microbot—gesture weakly with a hand. "I don't know, maybe—it shouldn't be reacting to anything—maybe—I don't know, maybe something survived that—"

Something hope-shaped flickered in Hiro's eyes then.

He looked up at them with conviction. "Come on—we're finding out where this thing wants to go."

Well…it wasn't bot-fighting….

But it was definitely a mystery worth investigating.

They assured Aunt Cass that the room was clean before heading out, Hiro shrugging on his hoodie before looking at the microbot—not tapping in the direction of SFIT, surprisingly. But maybe…maybe…just maybe….

Look at Obake and Baymax, exchange nods, strike out in the direction the microbot indicated.

It wasn't exactly fast—sometimes they had to go blocks in a different direction before they could continue forward, had to make concessions for Baymax where he couldn't slip through a space or vault a fence; one time they were on a trolley for several blocks before the microbot changed directions, had to backtrack a little in order to go down the right street, follow a side alley—

Eventually into a district full of old warehouses.

"Oh…kay," Hiro muttered, checking the microbot again—it was frantically trying to bust through the glass now. "I…don't know."

Baymax blinked at the microbot, at the nearest warehouse—looked at Hiro. "We have found where your tiny robot wants to go."

"I was afraid of that," Hiro said, following Obake over to the warehouse. Why this place? It didn't make sense—

No…it just didn't make sense for the hope that had jumped on Hiro's head.

It didn't make sense anyway—if…if the reason the microbots had survived was because of Tadashi, he would have shown up, would have been there. It was…kind of a stupid thought to begin with, now that he gave it some serious examination.

But that still left the burning question of why his microbot was wanting into this warehouse.

Hiro grabbed the lock, rattled it experimentally….

"Locked," he muttered, stepping back and looking the warehouse over. Old, but not that old—the boards looked like they'd resist any attempts at breaking them, and the windows might be open, but they were also pretty far above his head. Check the microbot again—

"It's definitely this warehouse," Hiro said. "But how do we get in there?"

Obake held up a hand, stuffed the other into his hoodie pocket—

Hiro flinched back at the sharp snickt sound, blinked at the blade Obake was holding.

"A switchblade?" he asked, leaning in as Obake grabbed the lock and shoved the blade into the keyhole. Twist one way, then the other—

The lock fell open.

"Nice," Hiro said, deciding to gloss over the fact that Obake actually owned a knife for now. "Now—wait," he said, holding out a hand as Obake pulled the lock off. "If—if my microbots are in there…they were supposed to have been destroyed by the fire—and if it's not…we need to be careful."

Obake nodded, tossed the lock aside—had his switchblade ready as he tugged the door open, keeping the bulk of the door between himself and the interior. Hiro did the same on the other side—grabbed Baymax and yanked him away from the open door.

"There is no one inside," Baymax announced.

Hiro took a double take at him. "Really?"

"There are no heat signatures consistent with a human being inside."

"Oh," Hiro said. "Okay, so we could have probably had the robot check…." Look inside the dark warehouse. "So who wants to go into the creepy abandoned warehouse first?"

Obake immediately pointed at Baymax.

"Nerves of steel," Hiro teased, pulling the microbot back out and carefully treading inside—even with no one being in there, Baymax was a machine, and machines could be fooled—maybe sidestep the beam of light just in case—

Jumped a little when he bumped into Obake, who had apparently also had this thought.

"So," Hiro tried. "Come here often?"

Obake rolled his eye, stopped and looked around—Hiro looked down at the microbot again, squinted around as his eyes adjusted—

"There," he said, pointing. Head for the setup illuminated further within….

Taking increasingly more mincing steps as he did so, something about the place giving him the creeps—like the plastic tarps were hiding body parts instead of…of something else. Coupled with the faint light, the subtle whirring…it was nerve-wracking.

"Okay," Hiro hissed. "For the record, if this is something scary, I'm running you over on the way out."

Obake shoved at his shoulder in response. Hiro grimaced at him, shuffled forward…gingerly reached his hand out, fingers questing along the opalescent tarp…found the blunted edge. Deep breath, tug back—

Blink. Blink again, mind not wanting to process this….

"My microbots?"

No—no these weren't his microbots—there were too many, for starters, filling at least fifty or sixty fifty-gallon drums. And second of all, there was a conveyor belt, trundling out fresh microbots into yet another fifty-gallon drum, nearly overflowing with the little bots. Mince to the first drum, dip his hands in, scoop out…let the familiar shapes run out like sand.

He looked at Obake, mind wanting to make sense of this but unable to fizzle together the pieces. "What is this?"

Obake shrugged and gestured helplessly, looking over the setup, moving to the computer screen attached to the machine the conveyor belt led away from.

Hiro looked around again, eyes raking over everything, refusing to settle on any one thing, trying to piece this together—how—how—and better yet, why.

"How are these here," he breathed finally, hands gripping the edge of the barrel. "How did these get out of the fire—how is someone mass-producing them?" Maybe that was an exaggeration—maybe a person could have made this many in a month—but how had they reverse-engineered his work? "Someone—someone stole my stuff—do you have a camera?" he asked, turning to Obake, now gingerly picking at the computer. "A phone, or something—something that can take a picture?"

Obake looked up, shook his head—Hiro patted himself down, like he had somehow forgotten to pocket a phone he didn't have on his way out the door—

Wait.

"Baymax!" Hiro hissed, turning to face the white robot. "Can you record this? Take pictures? For evidence?"

"I can: record videos, take pictures, and perform scans," Baymax said, looking around, eyes clicking. Look up. "Hello."

Hiro spun, following the angle of Baymax's head tilt—

The microbots surged to life, jumping out of the barrels—

"RUN!" he yelped, bolting—Obake was off like a shot, both of them running for the open door—Hiro glanced behind—"BAYMAX!"

Baymax was waddling after them as fast as he could go—which was apparently his normal speed.

"I am not fast," he announced, as Hiro ran back to drag him forward, eyes constantly darting back to the sinister shimmering black tidal wave aiming for them—look forward—Obake had looked back, faltered when he realized Hiro wasn't right behind him—

And then black surged in from either side, slamming the door shut.

Obake skidded to a halt—jumped on his toes—dashed back to Hiro, grabbed him by the arm, yanked him to the side—skid to a halt when the microbots moved to hem them in—all around them surging black—no escape, no—

There was a window.

"Come on!" Hiro yelped, bolting for the rickety metal stairs groaning under the strain, microbots pinging against it like buckshot—haul Baymax up, shove him towards the window, Obake throwing his negligible weight into it—glance behind—

Hiro sucked in a thin gasp that sliced his trachea on the way down.

Because there—not fifty feet from them, partially illuminated by the dim skylight still high overhead, was…someone. Someone dressed all in black, with a porcelain white kabuki mask, red stripes and poisonous yellow eyes—and he just knew they were fixated right on him.

The intake of breath next to him told Hiro he wasn't the only one to see the man.

"Run!" Obake yelped, redoubling his efforts on Baymax—mostly because there was no getting around him—Hiro threw his weight into helping him—microbots slammed upwards, taking out the scaffolding behind them—

And sending Baymax tumbling into the window, stuck in its rotating panes, inanely looking like a white Winnie the Pooh stuck in Rabbit's hole.

Obake wasted no time in skittering over Baymax, through the thin opening—Hiro shoved on Baymax, glancing back at the guy in the kabuki mask rapidly advancing, sneakers slipping and treads shredding on the metal grating—

"Why do I always have to save your—AAAAH!"

Plastered against Baymax's vinyl, seeing the mass of microbots surging for him, Hiro's last thought was that maybe he should have followed Obake over.

And then suddenly slipping backwards as Baymax was dislodged—

Landing on Obake, sending them both slipping and tumbling—

Fortunately onto Baymax.

Unfortunately, Baymax was bouncy—Hiro landed hard on his tailbone, eyes rattling, brain trying to catch up—

Scramble upright, looking back, expecting the warehouse to burst apart in dark swirls, like Heartless had invaded—saw Obake rolling upright with a groan, Baymax sitting up, deflated from the impact—

Swirling blackness questing at the window.

"We gotta go," Hiro said, hauling Baymax the rest of the way up and grabbing a hand. "We gotta go right now!"

Obake looked—bounded upright, helped him haul on Baymax—Hiro had to redouble his efforts to keep up with the other kid's longer legs, but panicked impetus gave his feet wings.

It was several blocks later, when they were doubled over and gasping for breath, glancing back the way they had come, Baymax scanning to make sure they weren't followed—when Hiro finally had enough breath in him to ask the pertinent question.

"Now what?"