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Chapter Text

Chapter one: Always There

Gogo called it “intuition,” Wasabi called it “luck,” Honey Lemon called it something Tadashi thought meant “big brother instinct” in Spanish, and Fred called it “A real-life super-power.”  Tadashi Hamada called it “ten years of experience.” And “access to tracking devices.”

Whatever “It” was, it hadn’t failed him yet. He’d wake up in the middle of the night to find Hiro sitting on the floor clutching a disposable camera in one hand and a control panel in the other, and Mochi, San Fransokyo’s fattest cat, hovering on the far side of his bed. On tiny, rocket powered hoverboots. Purring. Or else he’d get up from studying for an exam and zero in on his little brother trying to make a robot to deliver coffee to the patrons of Aunt Cass’s café and rather a lot of coffee on the floor as it malfunctioned. And no-one was going to forget the Yule Log Fiasco three Christmases back. Tadashi had been six blocks away picking up extra batteries from the corner shop, but still arrived before even the next door neighbors had heard the commotion. If Hiro was Up To Something, Tadashi knew, and Tadashi was there, simple as that. Invention gone wrong, a prank war, a calamity at the café, something that Hiro really shouldn’t have been doing….it didn’t matter. Sixth sense, superpower, or just experience, Tadashi Knew.

Lately, though, it had been bot-fights. Not the professional tournament types, with rules and entry fees and age limits. No. Those were “boring” and “too easy,” Hiro had muttered the first time Tadashi had found him at one of the dimly lit back ally bot-fights.

“You mean, ‘safe’” Tadashi had returned, checking to be sure that no one was following them and taking one of the back ally shortcuts Gogo had shown him. Hiro had only rolled his eyes and promised he’d “be more careful in the future.” Which would have been fine if not for the quiet “not to get caught” under his breath.

Part of Tadashi didn’t exactly blame Hiro for wanting to do something exciting; he just wished it was something that was less likely to get his teeth knocked in. So after lecturing failed, Tadashi had quietly slipped tracking devices into the seams of Hiro’s new hoodie. Between those and his “big brother instinct,” he could at least be there to bail his brother out of whatever mess he got himself into.

 Tadashi sat at a desk in his lab—actually, a small office just down the hall from the lab he shared with a few other students—trying to finish a homework assignment when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. As usual, there was no obvious reason—no alarms were going off, no bright pink clouds of smoke were floating down the hall from Honey-Lemon’s work station, no cries of “Medic!” were to be heard-- Tadashi sighed, and took out a badly battered but still functional cell phone.

“Hi, you’ve reached Hiro Hamada, I’m kinda busy being AWSEOME right now so leave your name, number, and five hundred dollars and I’ll—“ Tadashi hung up, stuffed the phone into his pocket and bolted for the door, slamming the light switch as he left. A few heads turned as he wove his way past Gogo’s stack of failed bike wheels and around a large easy chair that had mysteriously appeared in the middle of the lab when SFIT’s mascot, Fred, had “moved in.”

“Five bucks says Hamada’s brother’s bot-fighting again,” Gogo muttered as she watched him go, glaring at her newest creation, a yellow and purple disk no thicker than a pencil. A few of the other students working paused, trying to calculate the odds. One reached for her wallet.

“No bet,” said Wasabi over his shoulder. “Semester-end projects are due in,” he checked his watch, “39 hours, and if he were finished, we’d know. Therefore, something came up, and the ONLY thing that comes up is Hiro.”

Gogo frowned as the girl with the ping-pong robot put her wallet away. “Fine. I’m going for a spin. Keep the door open.” She popped her gum, flipped the disk into the empty space where her bike’s back tire should have been, checked to make certain the suspension was working, and crammed her helmet over her spiky hair. Anyone who had been near the door threw themselves back—Gogo’s bike did not have breaks and her finely honed bike messenger instincts could be summed up as “everyone else had better dodge.”

Hiro Hamada had once resented that he was thirteen and a half and had yet to get the growth spurt people assured him would come with puberty.  It had been hard enough surviving high school years younger than most of his classmates, and being only five feet tall had not helped much. But being short had its perks. First, old ladies at Aunt Cass’s café thought he was adorable and sometimes left him tips or bought him cookies. Second, it made playing the part of a timid, in-over-his-head, wet-behind-the-ears kid at his “first” bot-fight way easier.

The champion of this particular “arena” was a guy named Yama. Little Yama, his robot, was tricky, and for all his girth, Yama was quick with the controls. Hiro smirked down at his own robot, which looked like a four year old had been playing with spare parts-- all part of the act, just like the way he let his shoulders droop and his knees bend slightly as he waited. Anything that made him look smaller, younger, and more vulnerable was like blood in the water in the high school halls, but it was an asset in these alleyways.

“Who’s next?” Hiro heard Yama’s bellow, and saw the spectators shrinking back. Give it a minute…. He thought, and then stepped into the open space. He held Megabot out in front of him the way he’s seen kids offering dolls for inspection.

“Can I try?” he asked, letting his voice catch a little. Easy, easy….

Yama and the others laughed, but a handful of crumpled bills, part of last week’s winnings, shut him up. Hiro set down his wobbly robot and sat. The fight was over almost before it began, with Little Yama slicing through the perceived weak points of Megabot. The crowd roared with laughter, asking if he needed someone to call his mommy, warning him to get home in time for dinner. Hiro let dismay show on his face, scrambling upward. Phase one…check.

“Wait, that was it? Oh, come on, that was my first fight, let me, let me try again.” His words bled into each other, but not because he was scared or anxious or upset. Rather, he was trying his hardest to keep from laughing. He’d fooled all of them, like clockwork.

“Go home, kid.” Yama said shaking his head. “ Botfights aren’t for little boys with toys.”

“I have more money?” Hiro offered.

Yama waited until after the money was in the pot. “You have another robot, kid?”

“Uh, noooo….” Hiro dragged out the sound. The announcer woman lowered her silk parasol, counting off. As she raised it and Little Yama advanced on the three sections of Megabot, Hiro tilted his head and hit a few buttons on his control panel. “Megabot? Destroy.”

Little Yama, just like the six other King Bots Hiro had annihilated over the last three weeks, didn’t stand a chance as Megabot latched on to it and took it to pieces. Yama himself dropped his controller and stared as his lovingly crafted dealer of robot death was reduced to parts and sparking wires.

Pleased with himself and the night’s winnings—at least a couple hundred bucks, maybe more—Hiro got to his feet and started to make his exit. Usually he could be out of the knot of onlookers, onto a street, and into a café or corner store before anyone thought to follow him, if anyone thought to follow him. This time, he found himself up against a wall with Yama and several goons advancing on him, and once again, Hiro lamented only being five feet tall.

“Uh, listen, guys…I can totally fix Little Yama, and I’ll teach you everything I know about high-torque micromotors—I mean, I charge but hey, worth it right?” Hiro’s eyes darted from side to side, looking for an escape route. Man, I really should have planned for this.
A roaring filled his ears, a roaring that was not his own terrified heartbeat, but rather a very familiar scooter. The driver barreled past one of the goons and screeched to a halt directly in front of Hiro.

“Get on!” Tadashi shouted, using one hand to toss the spare helmet to his little brother.

“DRIVE,” Hiro called back, clinging to Tadashi with all the strength and desperation of a wet kitten to a warm brick.

Tadashi sped down the alleyway, trying to ignore the angry yelling behind them. “Are you ok? Are you hurt?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Hiro answered into the back of Tadashi’s jacket.

“Then what were you thinking? You’re going to get yourself arrested, or worse! Knucklehead!” Tadashi would have put his head in his hands had be not been driving at frankly terrifying speeds down dimly-lit alleys he’d only seen on maps.

Hiro, now certain that his teeth were not going to get kicked in, didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, but I WON, and anyway, it’s only the betting that’s--.”

“Oh, no.” Tadashi hit the brakes as three cop cars with flashing lights cut off the head of the alley.

“Illegal.” Hiro finished, wincing.

One of the police officers ushered the brothers out the door where their Aunt Cass paced. Since it was only betting on botfights that was illegal, and technically neither Hamada had been caught betting, they’d been let off with a warning.

“Oh, are you ok? I was so worried when they called, are you hurt?” Aunt Cass grabbed both boys in a hug, squeezing them so tightly that Hiro momentarily lost the ability to breathe.

“We’re fine, Aunt Cass, really,” Tadashi promised, trying to escape. She let go, stepping back, and just as suddenly lunged forward, sizing them both by an ear.

“Then WHAT were you two knuckleheads thinking?” she demanded as they got into her old truck, Tadashi’s motor-scooter sitting in the bed. “For ten years I’ve done my best, and yes, maybe I should have picked up a book on parenting, and YES it’s like the blind leading the blind, but…” The lecture continued as they made the short drive home, though it was not always discernable. Words and phrases like “Unbelievable!” and “Should I have signed you up for more clubs?” and “you worry me sick” were punctuated by mutterings about idiot drivers and having to close the café early.

“Stress eating,” Aunt Cass said as she took a donut from the Lucky Cat’s display case and switched the “closed” sign back to open.

“We’re sorry, Aunt Cass,” Tadashi said, remembering that it was Wednesday, beat-poetry night, and one of the best nights for business.

“We love you, Aunt Cass,” Hiro offered, quietly slipping some of his winnings from the hidden pocket in his hoodie into the safebox under the counter.

“I love you, too,” Aunt Cass said, her mouth full. Hiro and Tadashi waited a moment longer, then went up the stairs to the apartment and to the room they shared at the top of the house.

“I hope you learned your lesson,” Tadashi said, watching Hiro make a few adjustments to Megabot.

“Sure,” Hiro said, focused on his work.

“Really?” Tadashi asked, not believing it for a second.

“Absolutely. Prison changed me, bro.” Hiro stuffed Megabot into his backpack and started towards the stairs.

“Funny,” Tadashi deadpanned, grabbing Hiro’s hood. “Where are you going?”

“Uh…to a friend’s house?” Hiro said.

“Which friend?”

“Alex?”

“The kid who used to take your lunch money?” Tadashi glanced at Hiro’s computer screen, filled with a map of San Fransokyo. “You’re going bot-fighting again. Unbelievable.” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “You graduated high school at thirteen, so I know you’ve got a brain in there. Why waste it with this?”

Hiro shrugged. “It’s fun? Better than going to college like you, I don’t NEED more people trying to teach me stuff I already know.” He didn’t add that he’d hated being so much younger than his classmates in high school, college would be a million times worse.

Tadashi took off his ball cap and ran a hand through his short, dark hair. “What would Mom and Dad say?"

“I dunno, they’re gone.” Hiro didn’t seem to realize Tadashi had been talking to himself, or just how much the answer hurt. It had been ten years, but sometimes it felt so recent, the pain still fresh. Tadashi winced, then shook his head, trying to clear it. Heat, screaming, twisted metal, sirens, a toddler’s wails…

“Think fast,” Tadashi ordered, tossing Hiro his helmet. “I’ll take you.”

“Really?” Hiro was instantly on guard.

Tadashi sighed. “If I can’t stop you, I’m at least going to be there. C’mon.”
 

Chapter Text

“Hey, wait—“ Hiro released his grip on his older brother with one hand to tap his shoulder. Tadashi didn’t look back.

“What?” His voice was light, and Hiro recognized the tone as Tadashi at his most playful. Clearly Tadashi knew this was not the way to the alley off of Jackson St, and Hiro rolled his eyes.

“The bot fight’s in the other direction and—wait, why are we at your Nerd School?” Hiro’d only been on campus once, when Tadashi was first accepted, and he had spent most of the short tour focusing on a five pound bag of gummy bears Aunt Cass had bribed him with.

Tadashi stopped the scooter and jerked a thumb at the doors. “Gotta grab something. C’mon, it’ll only take a minute.”

“That’s what you said about the trip to the library last week. And that took an hour and a half!” Hiro called after his brother, but Tadashi pretended not to hear. Hiro ran to catch up. Stupid short legs. I need longer ones. Or rocket shoes. Or—“Just a minute, right?”

“Minute and a half…five minutes, tops. Besides, you’ve never seen my lab. Relax, you big baby.” Tadashi walked through an open side door and own a short hall. Hiro followed, hands stuffed in his pockets. When he saw the lab, though, his eyes widened. This was NOTHING like the garage where he built Megabot and his other creations. It was high-ceilinged, brightly lit, and huge.

And loud.

A group of students stood around a set of robotic hands that were playing ping-pong, watching. Another guy seemed to be testing a set of rocket boots on a cat. Hiro was pleased to see that the cat-boots he’d created were better. It didn’t help that the poor cat was clearly terrified. They probably didn’t remember to help him relax first. Not that he’d just…go up to the guy and make a suggestion. Who knew how he’d take it? Hiro turned around looking for Tadashi when something zoomed past him, making him leap back and stumble slightly.

“Head’s up.” A voice sang out. It had been a girl in black on a bike that was an eye-smarting shade of yellow. She screeched to a halt by planting both feet on the ground, then hefted the bike onto a suspended rack so she could tinker with it. The purple highlights on the bike matched the highlights in her dark hair, and she snapped her gum. Hiro moved closer to stare at the bike—there was something strange about it. Looking closer he saw what was off.

“Electro-mag suspension—I’ve never seen it on a bike before,” he breathed. The girl looked at him.

“You wouldn’t have. Who are you?” She asked, more than a little suspiciously.

“Um, I’m—“

“Go Go, this is my brother Hiro,” Tadashi said, rescuing his little brother from Go Go’s glare. She softened, but only just. “I see you still haven’t got a brake on that thing.”

“I don’t need a brake, Hamada. I know what I’m doing.” Go Go said with a shake of her head, but she was smiling. “yeah, Electro-mag suspension. No resistance, faster bike, needs less energy to keep her going. But not good enough yet.” Go Go grabbed the back wheel Hiro had been examining from where it hovered between the magnetic frames, and flung it into a bin. Hiro noticed that it joined around two dozen other failed attempts. As Go Go got to work at a 3-D printer—one that printed with metal, Hiro noted with a pang of jealousy- Hiro looked around at the other work stations. Aside from the ping-pong table and the very angry hover-kitty, he saw a guy who had to be at least a foot and a half taller than he was, experimenting with something Hiro couldn’t quite see.

Despite wanting to hurry up and get whatever Tadashi had come to get, Hiro’s curiosity got the better of him and he sneaked a little closer.

“Woah, woah, woah!” the guy said, dreadlocks bouncing. He held up a huge hand. “Stay behind the line please, thank you.”

Hiro looked down to see that there was, in fact, a line on the ground, in bright yellow tape. Again Tadashi was behind him—Didn’t he need to get something?

“Wasabi, this is my little brother. Hiro, this is Wasabi,” Tadashi said, grinning. Wasabi smiled back, and Hiro was glad that at least one of his brother’s friends seemed friendly.

“Here, catch.” Wasabi tossed an apple from a desk toward the brothers. Hiro reached out, but the apple fluttered to the floor in paper thin slices.  There was applause from somewhere down the length of the room, and Wasabi bowed-in the opposite direction of the screen of tiny plasma lasers he’d thrown his snack through.

“How’d you get it all so…even?” Hiro asked. “It must have taken hours.”

“It did. But there isn’t room for shortcuts and sloppiness in science, that’s asking for trouble.” Wasabi put down the tool he’d been holding onto a second desk with carefully parked places for every item, down to a spray bottle. As he did, a blur of black and purple zoomed by and snatched one of the tools, rattling the desk. Wasabi chased after Go Go and her wheeled office chair, and Tadashi tugged Hiro over to a second set of doors. Before they reached them, though, someone else blocked their path, effortlessly rolling a massive black orb in front of her.

“Coming through,” she chirped, her voice loud enough to rival a bot-fight announcer’s. Again, Tadashi smiled, and he reached out to help her steady the ball in a vice.

“Honey, this is my brother—“

“Hiro! It’s so good to finally meet you!” Honey Lemon grabbed Hiro in a hug and kissed each of his cheeks. Hiro blinked in surprise. “Oh, oh, Tadashi, It’s done, I finished my project! Look!” She began mixing chemicals as Hiro looked closer at the ball.

“That’s a LOT of tungsten carbide,” he said, reaching out to touch it.

“Four hundred pound of it, but watch!” Honey Lemon sprayed a pink mist on the metal and a jolt of electricity shot through it. The whole thing was now hot pink, like the cover of one of Mrs. Matsuda’s romance novels. Hiro blinked again.

“What do you think?” Honey Lemon asked, her eyes shining.

“It’s…pink.” Hiro said.

“Just watch,” Honey Lemon tapped the ball with one finger and the whole thing turned into a pile of pink dust.  Hiro coughed, then laughed.

“How did it do that?”

“Chemistry!” Honey Lemon replied happily. “Chemical-Metal Embrittlement.”

Tadashi  had managed to avoid getting pink dust on his clothes. “Instructor Sato’s going to be really impressed, Honey Lemon.”

“Your friends have weird names,” Hiro commented.

Wasabi may have been across the room, but he heard. “It was one time, people! I spilled wasabi on my shirt one time! And it’s not my fault all my sweaters are green!”

“Fred gives out the nicknames, and they just sort of...stick.” Tadashi said.

“Fred?” Hiro asked, before remembering  that the bot-fight would be starting soon—did he have time to meet another of Tadashi’s nerd friends? Really cool nerd friends?

“That’s me,” said someone from behind Hiro. Turning around suddenly, Hiro skipped backwards, crashing into Tadashi—the speaker was a multi-colored monster. “Don’t worry, this is not my real face.” The monster continued, and a human hand emerged from his gaping moth. Hiro realized it was a costume.

Fred, a lanky blond, struggled out from inside the costume. “So you must be the brother. I am Fred, mild-manned school mascot by day, but by night,” he sat down in a large chair, “ I am also the school mascot.”

Hiro nodded, because he was sure that was what was expected. “ What’s your major, or project or…thing?” he asked.

Fred shook his head. “ Nah, I don’t GO here. I’m an English major, but I’m a major science enthusiast. Both require so much, so much creativity, you know? I’ve been trying to get Honey to develop a formula that’ll turn me into this!” He held out a comic book cover depicting a man turning into a fire-breathing monster. Fred pouted. “But she says it’s not “real science”.”

Honey Lemon shrugged. “It really isn’t,” she offered. As Fred continued to list longed for comic-book science items, Tadashi nodded his head toward another set of doors.

“So, do I get to see your project?” Hiro asked once they were in a somewhat darker hallway. The bot fight was momentarily forgotten. Tadashi nodded, punching a code into a locked door. “I’ll show you.”

He clicked on the light, and Hiro looked around the small cluttered office. Three desks covered with papers, a window that looked out onto the campus gardens, a few boxes…”Where is it?”

“Here,” Tadashi held out a roll of duct tape and before Hiro could react, stuck a piece onto his brother’s arm.

“Hey!” Hiro said, yanking his arm back. That, unfortunately, ripped the tape off. “Ow! What was that for? Is this about getting arrested?”

Tadashi wasn’t listening, rather he was staring at a red suitcase thing that was growing as a white shape inflated. Hiro clutched his arm, tilting his head at the—it had to be a robot, it had rounded arms and squat legs, a head… as soon as the bulbous…marshmallow..robot..thing reached Hiro it stopped short and spoke.

“Hello, I am Baymax, your personal Healthcare companion. I was alerted to the need for medical attention when you said: ow. What seems to be the matter?”

Hiro rubbed his forearm. “Sibling abuse,” he snapped. Behind Baymax, Tadashi made a face. Hiro copied it.

“I will scan you now,” Baymax said pleasantly. “Scan complete. You have: a minor epidermal abrasion on your: forearm.”

As Baymax treated said minor abrasion and offered Hiro a lollypop, Tadashi grinned.

“What do you think?” He asked proudly.

“It looks like a marshmallow.” Hiro said truthfully. “No offence or anything.”

“I am a robot. I cannot be offended.”

“I was going for a huggable sort of thing. Something slightly less terrifying than what you dream up. Aside from that excellent observation?” Tadashi asked.

Hiro might have been annoyed for the whole “let’s give Hiro a minor injury to show off the project” thing, but he was impressed. “You’ve done some serious coding on this thing.”

“Around ten thousand medical procedures,” Tadashi admitted. “I think I could probably get into Med School if I wanted, I did so much research. Take a look.” He showed Hiro a green computer chip. Hiro nodded, circling the robot. Baymax attempted to follow his movements by turning his head. It was only after Tadashi had thoroughly explained various components—Hamada brothers rule 314, always share the specifics-- that Hiro stepped back, nodding.

“I cannot de-activate until you say you are satisfied with your care.” Baymax informed him.

“Oh, uh, Then I am satisfied with my care.” Hiro waited until Baymax had folded up again before shoving the sugar free lollypop into his pocket—not the one that held Megabot.

“Burning the midnight oil, Mr. Hamada?” a male voice came from the doorway. Both brothers turned. Tadashi grinned.

“No, Professor, I’m just showing Hiro around.”

“Ah, the bot-fighter?” Hiro got a good look at the man. His hair had gone grey and was thinning, and there were lines around bright blue eyes. Something about him was familiar, but Hiro wasn’t certain what it was. As per his usual reaction to being under scrutiny from an adult—a professor—Hiro fidgeted, pulling out Megabot. “When my daughter was around your age, that’s all she wanted to be, you know.  I told her to try something a little safer, but—well. You young people.” Callaghan’s shoulders slumped for a moment, but then the smile returned.

“May I see?” the professor held out a work-roughened hand. Hiro looked at Tadashi, who was gathering a laptop and a few papers from one desk. Tadashi nodded encouragingly, and Hiro handed over the robot. “Very nice…Magnetic bearing servos…”

Feeling bolder, Hiro stretched to his full height. “Pretty sick, huh? Wanna see how I put them together?”

The Professor’s eyes lit up, like he knew a very good joke, and Tadashi leaned on Hiro’s shoulder. “Hey, genius, he invented them.”

Hiro felt his knees go weak for the second time that night, but this time out of awe rather than terror. His jaw dropped. “you’re..you’re Professor Callaghan, Professor Robert Callaghan? Like, as in the Laws of Robotics?”

The Professor nodded, smiling now. “I am. Tell me, Hiro, have you ever thought about applying here?”

Hiro opened and closed his mouth rather like a landed fish. Tadashi leaned on him harder. “Oh, I dunno, Professor. He’s pretty focused on his bot-fighting career. Speaking of….”

“Kind of,” Hiro muttered. “Kind of serious. Maybe. I mean…” he shrugged. Callaghan handed him back Megabot, and Hiro held the robot to his chest. Tadashi led the way down the hall to an elevator—Hiro was confused because they hadn’t gone up any stairs, then remembered that they were on a hill.

“I can understand why. With a bot like that, winning must be pretty easy.” Callaghan smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Hiro shrugged again.

“Yeah?” he squeaked. “I mean, yeah, I guess.”

The doors opened, and Callaghan blocked them from closing. “If you like things easy, you’re in the right place then. Schools like this, well, we shape the future, touch the sky. Students in these programs, we change the world. Push the very boundaries of what is and isn’t possible. But good luck with the bot-fighting.” He nodded at the brothers and let the door close.

The sky was bright with light pollution against a slight fog and the lights of sky scrapers, and it was chilly out, even for a San Fransokyo summer night. Hiro zipped up his hoodie, but didn’t get on the scooter or even put on his helmet. He just stared at the steel and glass building in front of him.

Tadashi crossed his fingers. Did it work?

“I NEED to go here,” Hiro said abruptly, turning. “If I don’t go to Nerd School, I will go insane. What do I do, how do I get in, is it too late to apply for fall?”

Tadashi let out a sigh of relief at the flood of questions—and that Hiro insisted on going home right away to tell Aunt Cass that he had finally decided on a plan for the Fall that did not consist of lazing around in his room all day. She would be thrilled.

Chapter Text

Hiro sat at his desk, a fresh graph-paper notebook open to the first page, a row of pencils lined up beside it. His lamp was on even though the sun was shining through the bedroom windows, having burned off the morning fog, giving him all the light he needed. Aunt Cass had left him a plate of finger foods, and he had a large bottle of water. He had everything he needed to start planning the greatest invention Professor Callaghan and the other judges of SFIT’s showcase had ever seen.

Everything except a decent idea.

Think think think. Hovercraft? No, that’s been done. Rocket shoes for people? No. C’mon, Hamada, think. Images of his various fighting robots danced in his mind’s eye, and Hiro shook them away, chewing on his pencil. He wanted to prove he was more than a bot-fighter, didn’t he? So…something useful, something that could help people….rocket-powered wheelchairs? NO. No rockets, everyone does rockets, and Tadashi said it’ll be inside, big rocket stuff might set something on fire.

Hiro put his pencil to the notepad, scowling. He had ideas, good ideas, they were just…not flowing. He started to doodle, hoping he’d come up with something. He had time, yeah, but he needed to hurry, so he didn’t have to rush to finish. Better to have something not so great and done than have something fantastic but only half-finished. The English teacher had been referring to essays on whatever classic novel, not building a world changing piece of tech, but the principle remained. Hiro put down the pencil and head-desked.

“You’ll put your eye out,” Tadashi said from the doorway. Hiro twisted in his chair. “Builder’s block?”

“No,” Hiro lied. Tadashi had said that it would be no problem for Hiro to come up with something that would blow away the judges, and Hiro didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Right,” Tadashi shook his head, but he smiled. “You know, you have until mid-August. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Take it slow.”

“Did you get that out of “Cliché Advice That Doesn’t Actually Help, Brother edition” or what?” Hiro griped.

“’Big-Brother Edition, volume two’ actually. Wanna see?” Tadashi quipped as he moved toward his packed bookcase. Unlike Hiro, who didn’t read much outside of magazines about new inventions and manuals for whatever he happened to be fixing, and the occasional sci-fi novel, Tadashi would read just about anything. Hiro had eventually just given Tadashi all the bookcases in the room, and Tadashi had filled the space with his favorites. Battered fantasy novels shared space with nonfiction books on everything from Architecture to the history of the San Fransokyo Bay Area to Victorian Flower language to books of really terrible puns. Hiro shook his head, unsure if Tadashi actually had a book of useless advice, but not being willing to take the chance.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“All right. I just came up to grab some stuff, Honey Lemon’s having everyone over to celebrate the end of the semester.” Tadashi paused. “Do you want to come?”

Hiro looked at his desk, at his notebooks and the doodle, which looked like the child of a hedgehog and a soccer ball, or maybe one of those spiky fruit things that smelled terrible. He frowned. “No. I need to work on this, and they’re your friends, not mine.”

Tadashi’s smiled dropped, but he shrugged. “I’ll say hi to them for you,” he said.

Hiro shrugged, then went back to his notebook. He ripped out the paper and tossed it at his wastebasket.

Stuff that would be helpful

1.        Cat brusher? Cat washer that doesn’t cause trauma?
2.        Laundry sorter
3.        Coffee delivery system that works
4.        .

Hiro ripped out the page and crushed it into a ball. Those wouldn’t be cool, he needed to make something epic, or he’d never impress anyone. Besides, Mochi was still a little skittish after the rocket-boots thing, and a cat washer would need lots of testing. It wouldn’t be fair to the poor cat.

Stuff that would be AWESOME

1.        Light sabers.
2.        Teleporters
3.        Mecha suit
4.        3d printer that prints food? Is that already a thing?
5.        .

Shredding the second sheet, Hiro shook his head. He only had a few weeks, something that huge would be impossible, and anyway, he wasn’t good at coming up with things, exactly. Mochi’s hover-boots had been rooted in the hovercart he and Tadashi had built together one summer. Even his Fighting bot was someone else’s tech, just…smaller. More contained.

“This is useless,” he said to thin air. Mochi, curled up asleep on top of a pile of books by Tadashi’s bed, snored loudly.

By the time Tadashi got back, the sun had set and Hiro was crumpling the last page in the notebook, tossing it and then cover in the general area of the trash.

“Hey, Hiro, how’s it—oh.” Tadashi took in his little brother’s half of the room.

“Don’t ask,” Hiro muttered, his arms folded.

Tadashi nodded, holding up his hands in surrender. “Did you eat dinner?”

“No,” Hiro admitted, rolling a pencil that was considerably shorter than I had been that afternoon around on his desk. Tadashi came up behind him and lifted him out of the chair.

“C’mon, you need to eat something. Feed that big brain of yours.”

“I need to work on—“ Hiro started, squirming.

“Food first, kiddo,” Tadashi said, putting his brother down. “Walk around, look at new walls, don’t just sit and wait for inspiration. You have to look for it.”

“Is that in your quote book too?” Hiro rolled his eyes, but followed Tadashi down into the kitchen.

“You know it.”

After dinner, Hiro tried to get at least one good idea down. Everything he thought of, though, was something that had already been done, or else it wouldn’t be very impressive, or else it would take years and years, when he only had weeks. Finally, Tadashi slipped downstairs and found the fuse box, cutting power to their room in a last ditch effort to get Hiro to go to sleep.

It worked.

Tadashi was re-reading an old favorite novel. It was one of the books Aunt Cass had read aloud at bedtime when he and Hiro had first come to live with her. They’d gone through stacks of books, new ones and some Aunt Cass had kept from her own childhood. This was one of those, with her name written on the inside front cover. Tadashi had first taken the book—with permission, of course-- because of that, and because of the note written there.

Cass, Merry Christmas. I hope you will like this book as much as I do. Love always, your sister, Mina.

Reading the book had started as a memory game. He would try to imagine his mother’s voice reading the words, telling the story. Where would she have paused, and waited for him to beg her to continue? Some days he could hear her, but other times it was only Aunt Cass’s voice that echoed inside his head. And other days, he couldn’t focus at all.

Hiro was banging his head on the desk, muttering under his breath about “never coming up with anything” and “It’s all useless.” Tadashi looked over the top of his book.

“Wow. All washed up at 14. So sad.”

Hiro responded by scooping up a handful of paper balls and lobbing them at Tadashi. They fell short by several feet.  Tadashi rolled his eyes, but put the book down.

“I’ve got nothing!” Hiro ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing, no ideas, nothing at all.”

Tadashi  got up and walked over. “Hey, what’s the matter?” he asked.

Hiro shrugged. “What’s the point? I’ll never come up with something.”

“Unbelievable. It’s only been few days, you’ll think of something. Come on, Hiro. Hamada’s don’t quit.”

“Yeah, well, I give up—hey!”

Tadashi grabbed Hiro and held him upside-down, pinning his knees so Hiro couldn’t kick him in the face. “I’m not giving up on you.” He bounced a few times, swinging Hiro like the pendulum. Hiro hung limply. A life time of Tadashi’s optimism had taught him to ride out whatever zany way his brother had of making a point. “So, shake things up, look at it all from a new angle.”

Hiro glanced around his upside-down room. Megabot sat on a shelf, and there were a few tools scattered…a quarter was under the dresser, covered in dust and Mochi fur.

Hiro took a deep breath, which was not as easy as it seemed, and looked around again. Tadashi was continuing to spout useless bits of inane wisdom. “Big things can come in little packages, the only way you can fail is if you fail to try, play the hand you’re—“

“Wait,” Hiro said, looking at Megabot more closely, tilting his head. “Say that again?”

“Uh, play the hand—“

“No, the other thing. Big things?” Hiro looked up at his brother with difficulty

“Big things can come in small packages?” Tadashi said, turning toward Hiro’s bed and launching Hiro at it. Hiro landed  softly and grinned.

“Thanks. I think…I think I have an Idea.”

Hiro spent the rest of the day scribbling in a new notebook, a gift from Aunt Cass. Tadashi finished his afternoon shift at the Lucky Cat without incident, then headed over to the SFIT lab. Classes were out for the summer, but he still had access. He wanted to bring Baymax home, and see if he could find a way to borrow one of the school’s 3D printers. From Hiro’s excited techno-babble, it looked like the one installed in the garage might not be up to the task.

With the tourist season officially upon them, the Lucky Cat was busy, and in the Garage on the other side of the cafe kitchen wall, Hiro was busy as well, designing prototypes, trying to get them to work as a whole and jabbering excitedly to anyone who asked what he was doing—if he was aware that someone had spoken. He spent hours trying to get everything right—it wouldn’t matter how many Microbots he had if they wouldn’t obey the remote—and sometimes even slept in a large armchair that Fred had brought over the day after Hiro started working on his project. Tadashi and his friends took it in turns to make certain that Hiro actually ate while Aunt Cass ran around the café like Mochi after a catnip high, topping up people’s teas and taking orders. When they weren’t working on their own projects or otherwise occupied, Honey Lemon, Wasabi, and Go-go found themselves press-ganged into becoming part time employees. Fred volunteered in exchange for muffins.

So on any given day at lunch hour, Hiro could be found sitting at one of the big counters in the garage, scribbling notes or testing the first, tiny batch of microbots, with a plate of food beside him. Go-go usually brought takeout from one of the many restaurants she delivered from. Fred brought take-out as well, but where Go-go brought sushi, or pizza, or other normal things, Fred brought things like Octopus Tacos and energy drinks. Wasabi’s offerings were more typical, and more healthy, sandwiches without crusts, celery sticks and the like. Tadashi brought down helpings of whatever he’d made for himself, canned soups on foggy, wet days…canned soups on hot, sunny days…canned soup. Honey Lemon brought neatly packed boxes on her days. Deviled eggs and small containers of Panna Cotta or Flan, cornbread with honey butter, thick, hand-made tortillas, tiny chocolate-spice cakes dusted with powdered sugar, even fresh omelets loaded with cheese, sage, and ham. Hiro got good at recognizing Honey Lemon’s approach, if only because she brought the best lunches.

Slowly, as the summer melted away, Hiro got better at talking to his brother’s friends, and they became less “Tadashi’s nerd friends” and more “friends.”  When he threw the controller across the room because it wasn’t good enough, wasn’t nuanced enough—the Microbot’s possibilities were endless but in application so limited—it was Fred who suggested he learn to control them with his mind. Honey Lemon lent him books on brain chemistry, and though robotics weren’t her strong point, nodded attentively when he muttered to himself. Wasabi taught him meditation exercises, which led to a lot less damaged equipment. When he started to second guess the possibility of a nuerocranial transmitter, of controlling robots with his brain, Go-go told him that of course it sounded ridiculous and impossible, that was the point—to change the future of tech. Hiro was never sure if he felt better after Go-go’s curt words of wisdom, but they didn’t make things worse. And through it all, Tadashi watched over his brother, pride swelling in him. Hiro explained, as was Hamada Brother’s Rule, and Tadashi grinned. There was no way something this huge wouldn’t win admission.

“So, Tomorrow I’ll start making the second batch. I’ll have to make sure they’re set to the right…frequency, I guess is the word, otherwise that’ll be a mess. I mean, they have to be united. They have to work together. But they can do so much!” Hiro had hardly touched his dinner, but since both Go-go and Fred had brought massive quantities of food, that was to be expected. “ And, think about what this can mean—I mean, if I get into SFIT, I can maybe make them on a smaller scale, personal like. Someone could have a leg made out of microbots, set to work only with their transmitter, you know? And it’d be easy to replace if it got damaged, instead of costing a ton of money. Or, building...and for, like, emergencies. Like in an earthquake, or a car crash.”

At that, Tadashi stiffened, smelled smoke. Firelight danced in his eyes. He shook his head slightly, and nodded to Hiro. “Yeah. You make them strong enough, or you have enough of them, they could hold up a roof, or make a, a buffer. Good thinking.”

Hiro nodded, bouncing in his seat. Tadashi blamed Fred and the energy drinks he’d brought over.

“And I could make the best fighting robot with them,” Hiro said, cocking his head. Tadashi  rubbed his forehead and groaned.

“I thought the point of these was to help people, not hustle back alley thugs and nearly get yourself arrested and/or killed.” Tadashi said.

“Fine. No making giant megadoombots,” Hiro said, crossing out something in his journal. “Oh, have you seen Mochi? I want to try something.”

Chapter Text

The SFIT lab was officially closed for the summer, since the few classes offered then were theoretical or involved travel, but Tadashi and others still had access and took full advantage of that. While Hiro scurried around the garage working, they continued to improve upon the last term’s projects. Tadashi wanted to add to Baymax’s databases, and there wasn’t much room at home for the time being.

“Maybe a mental health database?” he mused, looking through the data on the lime green chip. “Could be useful. I’d need to add other triggers, maybe the sound of crying? Only sometimes that sounds like laughing, or laughing sounds like crying…”

He was interrupted by a shout from the main room. “Medic!”

Tadashi looked at his project, and shook his head. A quiet “Ow” inflated Baymax, and Tadashi sprinted down the hall, trusting his creation to follow. Medic had been, at one time, his nickname, based upon the huge supply of bandaids and first aid junk he kept at his work station, and his quick response to any sound of pain from someone working. Fred had used it, as had the others, until they realized that shouting, “medic” when there was no actual injury would A: freak Tadashi out, thinking someone was hurt and B: lead others in the area to summon a real medic. So for the last two semesters, Tadashi had been without a nickname.

Go Go sat on the floor, cradling her left arm. Her bike looked a little worse for wear, the front wheel dented. Both her palms were bleeding from scrapes and her helmet had a hairline fracture. Tadashi knelt down, and Baymax arrived, scanning instantly. As he put anti-bacterial spray on the scrapes and determined that Go Go suffered from a sprained elbow, not a broken arm, Tadashi and Honey Lemon found gauze to wrap the scrapes.

“Did you crash?” Honey Lemon asked sympathetically.

Go Go gave her a Look and jerked her head at the bike wheel. “Yeah. Stupid tourist crossed against the light on Grant and Pine.  They think they own this city.” She growled to herself, not unlike Mochi when he was displeased with life. Tadashi sighed.

“You could put a real brake on the back wheel, you know. It’s good you wore your helmet, but a brake would—“ He started. Go Go rolled her eyes.

“It’s nothing. Scrapes and sprains. I don’t need a brake on my bike, and you don’t need to be my mother about this.”

It was an old argument, and Honey Lemon muttered something about needing  “To go. Over there. Right now.”

“What if it had been a car, not a tourist?” Tadashi asked.

Go Go scowled. “I know when cars are coming, and I’d have been fine. I am fine.”

“I’m not saying you always need to use the brake,”

“Funny, are you sure?”

“I’m just saying it can’t hurt to have one!”

“I don’t Need one!”

Baymax raised a soft white hand, interrupting the two friends. “It would be: Beneficial for your mode of transportation to be equipped with a method of stopping.”

Go Go rolled her eyes again. “Hamada, how do you shut him off?”

“Are you Satisfied with your care?” Baymax inquired in his soothing voice.

“Yes,” Go Go said curtly.

Baymax blinked. Go Go was unsure why because robots didn’t need to blink, but she said nothing. Tadashi cleared his throat. “You need to say it back.”

“That’s..weird,” Go Go said. “Fine. I’m satisfied with my care.” Baymax waddled away, heading for his charging station.

Go Go stood up, a little shaky, but refused to let Tadashi help her. “I need to make a new wheel,” she informed him, turning her back to the rest of the room.

Tadashi sighed again, tugged on the brim of his hat, and followed Baymax back to the office. Perhaps he should work on the dismissal protocol…but no. Baymax shouldn’t be able to be shut off without a patient’s full understanding. Someone in a lot of pain or under a lot of stress might snap for him to go back to his box, or deflate, or go away, and that wouldn’t do.

It was only then he remembered Hiro’s idea for better batteries, and went in search of the storerooms.

A little later in the afternoon, Wasabi joined them in the main room, and Fred showed up on a rented scooter, bearing huge bags of takeout. The smell of food lured everyone, even Go Go, into the lab’s breakroom, which like the rest of the building on a somewhat sunny day, was empty but for them.

“I already took some to Hiro,” he assured Tadashi. “He seemed really focused. There could be, like, an earthquake and I don’t think he’d have noticed.”

“Thanks,” Tadashi said, unwrapping what appeared to be a slice of pizza with potato slices on it. Honey Lemon brought out her personal lunch bag, but consented to try a slice of calamari pizza. Wasabi flat out refused.

“Look at all that grease!” He hissed, pointing at the stained bags.

“It’s the best part,” Fred said through a mouthful.

“No! No, it’s not! The best part of food is not the part that gives you heart attacks!”

Go Go ignored the boys, picking apart the slice of pizza Fred had brought for her (three cheese, four meat, stuffed crust, heavy on the red pepper) as best she could with bandaged hands and a swore elbow.

As Fred and Wasabi debated,  Honey Lemon gathered up her dishes and washed them, leaving them to dry by the break room’s small sink, then sat back in her chair.

“I need a new project. The Metal embrittlement was fun, but…maybe something less destructive this time. Even with the school’s budget and all the donations and grants, that much metal is expensive. What about instant Ice rinks? I bet I could get something done by Christmas…It’s sad that it doesn’t snow here, I mean it didn’t snow much back home either but…” She rambled on, and Go Go and Tadashi both leaned forward to listen.

“Something like that’d be great, Honey.” Tadashi said. “It always so crowded at the rinks they put up here. I used to skate, but the holidays are so busy, Aunt Cass can never get away from the Café…something portable, maybe?”

“I was thinking a compound that could turn any surface into a rink. Maybe something short term…or another compound that melts it all away pretty quick…but something that wouldn’t hurt people if it spilled on them. I’ll talk to my professor, see if that can be next semester’s project.”

“I want to keep working on Baymax, I think. There’s so much more he can be, you know?” Tadashi said.

The conversations lulled, until Fred pointed out. “Just think, next semester it won’t be the five of us, it’ll be six.  Oh! That reminds me, I dropped off more of those little circuit thingys Hiro said he needed. These Microbots, Man, they’re like something out of my comics.” Fred scrunched up his face. “Are you SURE you can’t make me a light saber?”

Four voices answered in the affirmative in unison.

They went back to their projects, Go Go polishing her bike until it gleamed, muttering “doesn’t need a brake,” under her breath. Honey Lemon started working on her proposal letter to her mentor while Wasabi  took charge of organizing the clutter around the other work stations as “ a nice surprise for when other students decided to spend the day in here in the middle of summer,” before finally leaving to get some fresh air. Fred read comic books in his comfy chair, and all was calm and quiet but for clicking of keys and turning of pages and soft muttering about being a “big girl,” and not needing “any stinking brakes. Gum, yes, brakes, no.”

Or at least, all was calm and quiet until Tadashi bolted for the door without so much as a goodbye tossed over his shoulder.

“Bets?” Go Go asked. “Bot-Fight? Fire? Technical difficulties? Mochi?”

Honey Lemon tilted her head. “We shouldn’t bet on this,” she hesitated. “I mean, he could have just been late for something.”

“ I say….’Technical difficulties.’ It’s like he’s got a spider sense. Only for brothers. Because he has a brother. Tadashi  doesn’t have a spider. Or does he?” Fred mused, watching the door swing shut.

“I say it’s Mochi-related.” Go Go said. “Five bucks.”

Ten minutes later, Honey Lemon got an Email from Tadashi explaining that there had been a slight accident with the Hamada’s 3D printer, so he’d be at home fixing it and not to worry.  Go Go grudgingly paid a smug Fred from the jar of pennies she kept for the sole purpose of pissing off people who won bets.

Hiro had promised he’d go to bed at a reasonable hour, but with the deadline fast approaching Tadashi had known this was patently untrue. To be fair, Tadashi had hardly slept at all before the Showcase he’d competed in himself, but he hadn’t been only 14 and therefore in much more need of actual sleep. At least, that’s what Tadashi told himself as he crept down to the garage.

Tadashi looked around the large, windowless room, which had not been used to house Aunt Cass’s truck for the last eight years. It had been his first real lab space, and then one he’d shared with Hiro. Though the lab at SFIT was brighter and bigger, this place would always be important to him, and he was glad that Hiro was making good use of it. He was not glad that Hiro had spent the last three nights sleeping in the cushy chair Fred had donated, if he slept at all. It was just past three in the morning and Hiro was passed out, a tiny screwdriver in one hand, slumped over at his desk. Tadashi scooped him up and carried him up the stairs that led to the living area above the Café. Hiro never stirred, not even as Tadashi tucked him in under his coverlet and made his way in the dark to his own bed.

The day of the showcase dawned in typical San Fransokyo August fashion, cold and gloomy, with fog rolling in off the ocean like an avalanche. Aunt Cass went all out with a special breakfast, Hiro’s favorite pancakes drenched in maple syrup and honey-butter, Tadashi’s favorite scrambled eggs heavy with mozzarella cheese, enough bacon to satisfy everyone including Mochi, who had forgiven Hiro for the failed “can Microbots brush a cat?” test fairly quickly, and a frankly huge pot of coffee (for herself) and larger pots of Hot Chocolate (for the boys.) She had learned several years before that coffee and Tadashi did not go well together. Unless one WANTED copious amounts of chaos. Aunt Cass liked chaos, enough that she’d given her first cat that name, but she was pretty certain that the day Hiro discovered espressos was the day the world would spontaneously combust. (And anyway, what would Mina say, getting a child addicted to coffee?)

For all he’d had a late night, Hiro was up early, even before the Café opened downstairs, so once Tadashi had been roused, they ate together. Hiro talked excitedly around his pancakes, though even ten years of experience couldn’t help aunt or brother understand exactly what he said.

“Hugs!” Aunt Cass said as Hiro headed for the door—it was nearly 8:00, and time to get to the conference center to sign in. “You have fun, alright? I’ll see you at 11:00—that’s when the demonstrations start?” Hiro nodded, clutching the day’s schedule tightly as he hugged his aunt with one arm.

Outside, Tadashi had started loading bins of microbots into the family truck, and Wasabi had pulled up to the curb with his pale green van. Between the two of them, they managed to fit most of the bins.

“I’ll do a second trip as soon, ok?” Tadashi said, as Hiro glanced at the remaining bins. “C’mon. You don’t want to miss the keynote. Mr. Krei is speaking.”

Hiro nodded furiously. Alistair Krei was the biggest name in tech in the tri state area, one of the first to graduate from SFIT. 

By the time Hiro was due to present, he felt as if he’d swallowed a live squid, and he’d slipped off to the bathroom to throw up. He hadn’t thought Tadashi had noticed, as everyone had been in awes of the other projects, but his brother had been waiting for him with a bottle of water, just outside the stall door.

“It’s ok to be nervous. You’re going to do great.” Tadash put a hand on Hiro’s shoulder. The younger boy nodded, chewing on his lip.

“I’m not..nervous…exactly.” Hiro said to the floor. It wasn’t a lie, he told himself. He wasn’t nervous. He was terrified.  Tadashi’s the one who can show off and talk to people and make them laugh and stuff, all I can do is play a part. And not a confidant part, either. Well, sometimes. But not in front of so many people!

They joined the others, who had gotten the Microbot containers from the storage room. As they passed a guy showing off a shock-proof bubble/earthquake shelter and someone who had created self cleaning underpants (Fred had watched his speech with rapture) everyone seemed to notice the tremor in Hiro’s hands, doing their best to reassure him. Hiro had ducked his head to hide his blush.

“Thanks,” he said as they reached the stage. His was the last presentation, and he swallowed against the lump in his throat and the churning in his gut. Honey Lemon insisted on pictures, and Aunt Cass arrived in a flustered rush, hugging not only her nephews but the rest of “the gang” as well.

“No matter what, I am so proud of you, Hiro,” she said softly.

Hiro nodded, bouncing on his toes, clenching his fingers tightly.

“Do you want my Lucky shirt?” Fred asked, digging in his pack back.

“Is that the one the creator of Megawhatsit died in?” Honey Lemon asked, raising her brow.

Wasabi gagged as Fred nodded.

“I’m..I’ll be good, I think,” Hiro said.

The announcer called his name, and a spotlight fell on the dais he was supposed to speak from. Tadashi stopped him as he mounted the first stair, holding out a fist. Rather than return the fist bump, Hiro hugged his brother with one arm.

The speech started off nearly a disaster, the mike screeching with feedback, and Hiro tripping over his own words. In the audience, Tadashi mimed deep breathing, and saw Hiro swallow air. A few people drifted away, one muttering about Hiro being “just a kid.” Tadashi and Aunt Cass both turned to glare. Hiro dug something small and dark out of his pocket.

“This is a microbot. It doesn’t look like much, but…it’s like people. Sometimes, they just need to…to work together.” Hiro put on a funky looking headband, one that Tadashi knew he had slaved over for hours, getting each of the microbots to just the right frequency.

There was a rustling as the rest of the microbots rushed forward in an inch-high stampede. With them came people who had been content to wander the convention center, curious about the wave of tiny robots.

Hiro continued the speech he had practiced for Honey Lemon, Go Go, Wasabi, Fred, Tadashi, Aunt Cass, and Mochi, throwing in an adlib here or there.  Tadashi grinned as Hiro used the thought-controlled bots, powered by the nuerocranial transmitter, to step off the stage, build a tower, hang upside down and even interact with some of the other tech on display. He grinned even more when Hiro left out “build giant fighting bots” from the list of things microbots could be used for.

“The possibilities are endless—building, transportation, if you can think it, well, they can do it. Microbots!”

The crowd cheered. Hiro beamed, bowed, and leaped off the stage to hug his family and friends.

“You did great,” Aunt Cass said as Hiro disappeared into the center of a group hug. “Your parents would be so proud of you.” She caught Tadashi’s eye. “Of both of you.”

“I believe this is for you,” a man’s voice cut through the congratulatory cheering. Hiro wormed his way free from the hug and stared at the envelope in Professor Robert Callaghan’s hand. He took it, his knees shaking.

“I’m in?” he whispered. The Professor nodded, looking at the pile of microbots on the stage.

“That’s some pretty mind-blowing tech, Mr. Hamada. Even if it hadn’t worked so perfectly, the sheer possibilities of it would have gotten you my vote, but as it was, it was unanimous. Welcome to ”Nerd School.””

Hiro’s eyes widened, but Callaghan smiled, and excused himself. He had only gotten a few feet when Alistair Krei approached.

“Hiro—Can I call you that? Hiro, what you have here…I’ve never seen the like. May I see?” Hiro nodded egarly, taking one of the microbots from the pile and handing it over. Krei looked at it closely, his smile growing broader. “And that’s why I’d like it—and you—at Krei Tech Industries.” Hiro gaped at this man who had been, next to Callaghan, one of his idols. To speak to both of them in the same day, and to have them praising him….

“For real?” he managed.

“For real. You’re about to become very wealthy.”

Tadashi blinked. Something felt wrong, felt strange. Before he could say anything, Professor Callaghan turned on his heel and strode over, his smile gone.

“Hiro, Mr. Krei,” he spat the name, “Is right. It’s truly a brilliant piece of tech you’ve created in only a few short weeks.” Tadashi frowned, looking at his friends. They stared back, confused by the hostility. Never had Callaghan sounded so cold—even to troublemakers in class. “You could continue to develop them at SFIT, or you could sell them to someone who only cares about money and his own name—“

“Robert, please. I know how you feel about me, but—the past should not affect this young man’s opportunity to change his life, to—“

“Hiro,” the professor said firmly. “I wouldn’t trust Krei Tech with your microbots or anything else. His company cuts corners, ignores sound science—“

“That isn’t true,—“ Krei tried to put in. Callaghan cut him off.

“But it is up to you. I just think that you should be aware of the facts, and not go…go in blindly.”

“Thank you for your input, professor,” Krei grit his teeth. “Hiro, I’m offering you more than money.I’m offering you a place, right now at Krei tech. You could work on our tech, help us change the world, and  help people everywhere.”

Hiro looked at his hands, then at Tadashi, who gave him a Look, one that Hiro knew meant “do what you think is best.” He always hated that look. It would have been simpler for Tadashi to just say what he thought was right, he wasn’t wrong most of the time. Hiro swallowed, then met Krei’s eyes.

“I do appreciate the offer. But they aren’t for sale, and…neither am I. I need to finish my education, and see where I am then.”

Krei let a brief scowl mar his features then shrugged. “ I can only hope you will chsnge your mind, then.” He turned sharply and started to leave.

“Mr. Krei?” Tadashi said suddenly.

Krei half turned. “Yes?”

“That’s my brother’s.” Tadashi pointed to Krei’s closed hand, which still held a microbot. The man tossed it at Hiro.

“He wouldn’t have been able to reverse engineer it anyway, not without a lot of help from me or you,” Hiro said to Tadashi.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Tadashi said with a half smile.

Callaghan nodded briskly. “Well, I look forward to...seeing you in class,” he said to Hiro.

Escaping from the small after party, Aunt Cass led everyone down the steps toward the parking lot. “To the Café!” she cried. “Food’s on me!”

“Free food, yes!” Fred shouted, running for Wasabi’s van.

“You go ahead,” Tadashi told his friends and Aunt. Hiro and I will be there in a minute.” Aunt Cass nodded hesitantly. “I have both out helmets,” he promised her.

“Alright, drive safe, kidletoids.” She said, fighting through the crowd to get to her truck.

Tadashi led Hiro away from the mob and chaos, out onto a small bridge that overlooked one of the city gardens where wealthy people had weddings and the book club that sometimes met at the Café had Jane Austen themed garden parties.

“So,” Hiro said after a moment of staring at the city lights reflected in the pond below. “Let me guess, you wanted to tell me that you’re proud of me, and glad I’m using my brain for something that won’t get my teeth kicked in?”

“That, and that your fly was down,” Tadashi said mildly, looking at the cherry trees. Hiro rolled his head on his neck.

 “Funny,” he said, then glanced down. “Hey! Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

 Tadashi shook his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone noticed.”

Hiro punched his brother’s arm lightly, but then laughed. “Wow. I got in. And people liked it.”

“Of course they did!” Tadashi said. “What, you thought we were all just being nice?”

“Maybe?” Hiro said with a shrug. “I mean, I dunno.”

“You made something really great, something that will help a lot of people,” Tadashi said.

“I wouldn’t have, if it wasn’t for you. I’d never have pushed myself, or..or gotten here,” Hiro said softly. “So…Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Tadashi said. “I mean, it’s true, but you don’t have to.”

“Ha-ha,” Hiro rolled his eyes, leaning against Tadashi’s arm.

Suddenly something behind them exploded. Tadashi was taller, his legs longer, but Hiro had spent months running from angry bot-fighters, and was only a few feet behind Tadashi when he came to a dead stop. The Conference Center was on fire, the smoke mixing with the evening fog, the harsh glare of flame reflected off of the courtyard ground, the trees wet with mist, the eyes of onlookers. A woman stumbled, and Tadashi helped her to her feet.

“Are you ok?” he asked, gripping her elbows until she was steady.

She coughed, but nodded.

“Is anyone still in there, is anyone trapped?” Tadashi demanded, and Hiro stepped back at the intensity of the question.

The woman-not much more than a girl—nodded dazedly. “Professor—Professor Callaghan.”

Tadashi surged forward, and Hiro grabbed his arm. “No! It’s ON  FIRE,” he shouted over the roar of the flames, the din of panic. Tadashi looked at his brother, the fire reflecting in his eyes, like they had before, he could hear a toddler’s wails and the crunch of metal—

“Someone has to help,” Tadashi said, and tugged his arm free, running forward, up the stairs, into the inferno. Hiro hesitated only a moment, and ran after him.

Fred was on his third muffin. Everyone else had decided to wait. Honey Lemon and Aunt Cass had made a cake sized éclair, and hurriedly scrawled “Congratulations, Hiro!” on it in blue icing. Go Go drummed her fingers on the table of the Lucky Cat, empty except for their party. Cars rushed by outside, a few sirens wailed in the distance, Mochi lurked under the chairs, begging for scraps.

“What’s taking them so long?” Go Go asked for the third time.

“Traffic?” Wasabi offered, checking his watch.

Aunt Cass touched her necklace, a carved piece of malachite. Her eyes glittered as she laughed,“Oh, they probably got to talking. I’ll give them a call, remind them we need the guest of honor before we can party! ” She was half way to the phone on the counter when it started to ring.                                  

Chapter Text

Aunt Cass blinked at the phone as it rang again. She sighed. “I need to take this, would one of you call them and see what’s taking so long?” she called over her shoulder.

Fred was busy licking the muffin wrapper, so Go Go pulled out her phone and scrolled through the contacts. 

“Hello, Lucky Cat Café,” Aunt Cass said brightly, rolling her eyes. “I’m afraid we are closed for a private party tonight.”

Go Go pressed her phone to her ear, tapping her feet as she waited for someone to answer. Fred reached for another muffin, but Honey Lemon stopped him with a shake of her head. Near the counter, Aunt Cass paused, listening to the voice on the other end of the phone.

“No, no, they aren’t here yet…why do you—what?”

Tadashi’s phone went straight to voicemail.  “Hey, Hamada, hurry back or Fred and I will eat everything,” Go Go said, hitting the end call button.  She searched her phone contacts. “Any of you have Hiro’s number?”

Before anyone could answer, or even check, Aunt Cass dropped the Café’s phone. It hit the floor with a clatter, the battery popping out of the back. Wasabi leaped up.

“Uh, Ms—er, Aunt Cass? Are you…?”

Aunt Cass was clutching her necklace in a vice grip with one hand as the other groped in her pocket for something, but her whole body was shaking.

“Who was that?” Honey Lemon asked, following Wasabi’s lead. “Is something wrong?”

Aunt Cass only nodded, her hand shaking so hard she broke the thin silver chain. She pressed her closed fist to her mouth, as if trying to keep it from trembling. When she pulled it away, now turning to search the counter tops, she whispered something.

Everyone stared at the older woman. In all the months they’d known her, she had never muttered inaudibly. Even Fred tensed, crumpling the muffin wrapper into a ball. Aunt Cass found what she had been looking for, the keys to her car. She took a shaky step, and Honey Lemon grabbed her arm. “What is it, what’s happened?”

“That was John, up the street,” Aunt Cass said again, louder this time though not by much. “It’s on the news. The conference center—a fire. I have to go—I have to go.”

“I’ll drive,” Wasabi offered, taking the keys from her hand gently and putting them back on the counter. He tried to tell himself that the worry that settled in his gut was only paranoia, that he was always afraid of something terrible happening, but though he repeated the mantra in his head, he could not keep his breathing steady.

They crammed into the van, and if anyone noticed that Wasabi broke the speed limit by five full miles per hour, no one said a word. As the little van raced down streets, anyone looking could see the red and orange glow in the east, the dark smoke pillar merging with fog. Honey Lemon closed her eyes and began to pray softly, as her mother had taught her. Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos, Santificado sea tu Nombre….

As they neared the conference center, or whatever remained of it, the traffic, already typically terrible for an August evening, came to a standstill. Trees and buildings hid the sight of the fire but the sirens and the chaos could be heard even through the windows. Aunt Cass unbuckled her seatbelt and without a word to anyone bolted from the car, scrambling around the stopped cars in other lanes. She did not look to see if anyone followed her.

There was the parking lot, filled with cars penned in by ambulances and fire trucks, lights flickering. Aunt Cass scanned it, searching for one vehicle in particular. At first she didn’t see it, and her heart rate slowed, she breathed out a silent prayer. The motor scooter was not there, and if it was gone, then her boys were not here, they were probably arriving at the Lucky Cat right now, confused by the locked door. She closed her eyes and sagged in relief for a moment.

When she opened her eyes, though, she saw it, and Aunt Cass thought she understood the phrase “her blood turned to ice.” Tadashi’s scooter, both helmets clipped to the sides, tucked between two larger cars. Aunt Cass turned to the courtyard and the fire, and ran towards it, shouting her nephews’ names. Her voice was swallowed up by the chaos.

The courtyard and grassy area that stood before the center was a seething mass of people, some in the uniforms of paramedics, police officers, and fire-fighters, others in smoke stained and singed clothing. For a moment all Aunt Cass could see was fire, the harsh glare searing her eyes. She felt the heat of it even from hundreds of yards away, and heard the crash of metal and timber, and a child’s high, agonized wailing—no. There was no child wailing, not this time. Shaking herself free of the memory, she seized the nearest person in uniform by the arm. She looked to be a police officer, on her way to keep the gathering crowd at bay, but Aunt Cass didn’t care.

“I’m looking for Tadashi and Hiro Hamada, they were here, they’re still here, and they aren’t answering their phones, or, they weren’t, and-- Hamada, they’re 21 and 14—dark hair, maybe this tall--.”

The woman freed her arm from Aunt Cass’s grip. “Ma’am, please be calm, alright? I need you to breathe. Let me radio my supervisor. Hamada, you said?”

Aunt Cass nodded, her heart in her throat—They have to be ok, they have to be ok, they have to be ok.

“Hey, Kamiya? This’s Inou. Any word on a Hamada—or, two Hamadas? Hiro and Tadashi. Their mother’s looking for them, says they were here and she can’t get a hold of them.”

Officer Inou turned away, listening intently to whatever the other officer had to say. As she did, Aunt Cass turned her gaze again to the fire. The world seemed to freeze around her, as she watched the flames rise higher and higher, as she took in the rubble that littered the courtyard around the stairs. Glass and metal fragments caught the flamelight, gleaming like candles.

There was a news reporter to her left, who clutched his microphone tightly, his back to the flames. “We’ve received word that at the time of the explosion, there were at least two civilians still inside the building, though their names have not yet been released, and no bodies have been recovered…”

Aunt Cass’s knees, jelly-weak, gave out from under her. Two civilians. Two civilians. Again memories fought their way forward in her mind, the echo of a TV Newscaster’s voice—Four confirmed fatalities in tonight’s accident on the Bay Bridge, more at 11.

“No,” she whispered from her place on the cobles of the courtyard, bits of gravel digging into her legs. “Please, no.” It couldn’t have been them, it had to be others. It was only the similarities that made her fear, that made her worry…It couldn’t be them.  Not her nephews, not her babies…in one hand she still held the malachite pendant, clinging to it as if it could make everything better. She had no proof—no proof at all. Tadashi and Hiro were smart, they’d been outside, they wouldn’t have gone running in. Aunt Cass fought to slow her heart, to breathe, but the smoke that drifted on a breeze made her sputter and gag. Her lungs burned.

“Ma’am?” the officer’s face was schooled to blankness, but her eyes were kind. “Mrs. Hamada?”

“I’m their aunt,” Aunt Cass whispered. “Please—they weren’t—they weren’t—“

“There was a witness, several witnesses…a young man was seen running into the building just before…” she stopped and extended a hand to Aunt Cass, who ignored it. Officer Inou knelt, placing the hand instead on Aunt Cass’s shoulder, which was starting to shake. “One of his classmates confirmed that it was Tadashi Hamada. I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Like the huge doors of the conference center, like windshields, like windowpanes, Aunt Cass felt her heart shatter like glass. She opened her mouth, but all that emerged was a low wail. Keening, she knew the word for what she did, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did, with her world in ashes before her, again. Tadashi was recklessly brave at times, but he knew about fire, and what it could do. He only would have run in to save someone he cared about, and the terrible words resounded: “Two civilians.”

Wasabi had not wanted to stay in the car, but with traffic jammed and no place to pull over and park, someone had to. Honey Lemon promised to call his phone the moment they knew what had happened to their friends.

“It’s illegal to be on the phone while driving!” Wasabi had shouted as Go Go, Honey, and Fred vacated the van.

“Woman up, put it on speaker!” Go Go shouted before vaulting over the hood of a Mini Cooper and tearing off at Olympic speed.

So Wasabi waited, fiddling with the radio. The classical music station he usually listened to did nothing to calm his nerves. As the first movement of The Carmina Burana blared, he scrambled to change the station. A newscaster’s voice took over, detailing “heavy east-bound traffic” at the MacArthur maze across the bay and traffic jams on the Sunset Bridge and near the SF Conference Center. A second voice, this one female, joined the first, reporting on the fire.

“Only minutes ago, an explosion shook the center, which is now on the verge of collapse. Eyewitnesses report that there were at least two civilians inside the center at the time of this explosion, and dozens more are being treated for injuries caused by the debris. The status of the two individuals inside is currently unknown, though they are presumed to be dead. According to Fire Chief —.” Wasabi turned off the radio entirely, shaking his head so violently that his head ached. If Hiro and Tadashi were among the wounded—if—he told himself—Honey Lemon would call. There was no reason to assume the worst. He always did, but that didn’t mean there was reason to. He glanced at his stubbornly silent phone, perched in the cup holder, and noticed the car ahead of him had moved up slightly. Wasabi touched the gas pedal briefly, his heartbeat still pounding in his temple.

Honey Lemon, Fred, and Go Go pushed passed the crowd of onlookers, people who only wanted to gape at the flames and the horror unfolding. Someone tried to stop them, but Go Go pushed passed, actually snarling. The stunned officer watched them go, shouting for them to come back. They did not listen. Honey Lemon turned her head, trying not to look at the crumbling building. There was a row of ambulances, a sea of red and blue and white lights, almost dim compared to the fire. She took off, grabbing for Fred’s hand and Go Go’s. She missed both, but they noticed, and followed after her. They were half way there when they heard a familiar voice, raised in a cry. The three of them froze, searching for a familiar face, but true night had fallen, and the firelight turned all faces into orange tinged masks that wavered.

“No,” breathed Honey Lemon, the first to see two women kneeling on the ground. One was in uniform, a hand on the shoulder of the other. Even in the terrible light, even with her face down, she knew it was Aunt Cass. And if Aunt Cass was crying, something was wrong. Go Go scanned the nearby crowd—a TV crew, a paramedic hurrying forward, Professor Sato with his arm around one of his students, comforting her as she wept—but she could see no sign of Tadashi, or Hiro. Her feet felt rooted to the spot, as if they had become stone. Fred was silent, and he looked up, at a sky full of smoke, and fog, and flame. Something gave way in the conference center, and with a grating noise that seemed to still every other sound, the building’s upper story folded in on itself, collapsing like a house of cards.

The officer was speaking, her voice urgent and soothing, but Aunt Cass could not make out the words as she clutched her pendant and silently pleaded with any higher power out there that this was a mistake, that someone had been wrong.

“Ma’am, Ma’am, I need you to listen to me,” Officer Inou wiped her forehead on her sleeve, unsure how to get the woman before her to listen. Her radio crackled with static. “Ma’am, please. Can you hear me? I need you to come with me.”

Aunt Cass did not move, did not even open her eyes. The words were nothing more that noise, meaningless. She knew she needed to get up, needed to find Tadashi’s friends, but her legs would not budge. She thought she heard voices calling her name, and again she head the crashing down of buildings, this time so real. Too real. But when she opened her eyes, all she could see was the little stone circle in the palm of her hand. I failed you, Mina, I should have—I…

“…Hiro…”

Aunt Cass’s head jerked up at the name. “What?” she said, her voice catching. “What did you say about…about H-Hiro?”  For one moment, she allowed herself to hope…

“Ma’am, we found him just outside the building. Hiro Hamada is alive.”

Chapter Text

Aunt Cass sat in a molded plastic chair, her tear-reddened eyes focused on her nephew’s chest, shallowly rising and falling. She had been nearly hysterical as the paramedics had loaded Hiro into an air ambulance, but had since regained the ability to breathe. Her heart still beat painfully against her chest, and every so often, a dry sob shook her body.

“He has a lot of scrapes and cut, and a slight concussion. The burns were superficial, and he isn’t in any danger. We’d like to keep him for observation for a day or so, but your nephew is a lucky kid. If he’d been any closer to the fire…” The doctor had trailed off as one of his underlings hissed in his ear. Aunt Cass, still numb, shook her head. Hiro had been lucky in one way, but—the thought that her family had been cut in half again still felt like a terrible dream.

She touched the necklace pendant, inside her jeans pocket. The smooth stone was so often a comfort, but not tonight. It was only a reminder that she had failed in her promise to her sister, never mind that it had never been verbal. She had called Honey Lemon as soon as she thought she could speak without her throat closing up over the words, and her heart stuttered in her chest as she said the words—Tadashi was inside. Hiro was unconscious, and alive and healing, but Tadashi was—gone. Honey Lemon’s voice had been tight as she promised to tell the others, and Aunt Cass heard a sob before the line had disconnected.

She’d sat there at Hiro’s bedside ever since, and she could feel the hours of waiting in the way her back and legs ached. Still, she did not move, half numb with grief and lost in memory, half terrified to blink and lose all the family she had left. She took Hiro’s hand, the one not wrapped in bandages and aloe ointment, and felt the warmth of his palm. The beat of his heart resounded, Alive, Alive, Alive.

It was very late at night, or perhaps very early in the morning, before the dawn could reach the one window, when Hiro at last stirred on the hospital bed, letting out a moan of pain as he shifted under the thin sheets. Aunt Cass squeezed his hand twice, and released her grip on the malachite in her pocket to press the call button for a nurse. She could not let go of Hiro’s tiny hand.

When he tried to sit up, she leaned forward, brushing back the hair that poked out from under the cap of gauze, and tried to sooth him with a few whispered words.

“Shhh, Shh, I’m here. I’m right here,” she said, her voice brittle.

“Where?” Hiro croaked, blinking and trying to turn his head to see the room. Aunt Cass put a straw to his lips, a glass of water a nurse had left on the bedside table. Hiro drank, the water easing his dry throat, and tried to push himself up on one arm. It was the arm that had been burned, and he winced, shifting his weight to take the pressure off.

“You’re…We’re at Oakdaiba Children’s Hospital,” Aunt Cass said, swallowing hard. “Do you remember what happened?”

She hoped he did, so she wouldn’t have to say the words, and in the same instant hoped he would not remember the fire, the heat and the flames and—had he seen? Had he watched Tadashi run inside?

Hiro nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. “There was a fire,” he said, as though trying to put together a puzzle and not liking the image it made.  “At the Convention Center.” He looked at his arm, touched the gauze wrapped around his head, and carefully sat up again. Aunt Cass put a hand on his back until he was steady. “Where’s Tadashi? Why don’t they have us in the same room?”

There was a nurse at the door, but she paused, not wanting to interrupt

Aunt Cass took a deep breath. “They…Hiro, Tadashi didn’t…didn’t …they…” the tears she had held in, trying to be strong, threatened. Aunt Cass blinked them back. “He didn’t make it out of the fire, Hiro. There was…there was an explosion, and…” she choked on the words, not wanting to say them, not wanting to admit that they were true.

Hiro shook his head, his mouth open in a soundless “no.” His eyes fell on the bedside table, empty but for Aunt Cass’s phone, the empty glass, a baseball cap. He reached for it, and Aunt Cass took it, the lump in her throat now a stone. There was a singe mark on the brim, a charred spot. Hiro took the hat and held it to his chest. “It blew off his head.” His voice was soft, broken. “His lucky hat…he needs his lucky hat.”

Aunt Cass pulled out the green stone in her pocket. Malachite, a symbol of protection, a safeguard against accidents. Luck, she thought, not trusting her voice.

The nurse finally coughed and entered, checking Hiro’s vitals and assuring him he could go home soon. He did not seem to hear.

Go Go, Fred, and Honey Lemon had waited a quarter of an hour after Aunt Cass had been led away, wondering if they should follow her. Then Honey’s phone had rung, and the world had shattered like so much glass. They had found Wasabi and the van, and dully explained. They had spent the night, not wanting to go home, at the Lucky Cat Café, waiting for more news, better news.  Maybe there had been a mistake, maybe there would be a miracle. All the way, Honey Lemon had muttered prayers.

They sat in the dark café, having let themselves in with the spare key in Wasabi’s keeping, and sat in stunned silence, waiting for news. Any news.

None had come until Honey’s phone rang an hour or so before dawn. They had eased themselves off of the chairs where they had fallen asleep, and after feeding Mochi and putting a “closed until further notice” sign in the window, gotten into Wasabi’s van. Traffic across the Bay Bridge was light, leaving the city, though it looked to be a nightmare returning.

Wasabi focused on the road, keeping to the speed limit on auto pilot. It seemed wrong. The world seemed wrong, as the sun rose over the Berkobe-Oakdaiba hills, turning the cool grey fog faintly pink. The world should not be going on with business as usual. Something should have stopped, something should have paused. Tadashi had been inside. He’d gone into the building, the news had reported, trying to save Professor Callaghan. Both were…gone. Gone, and the world still moved. It was true, that no bodies had been recovered, but…it was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? And fire that hot, that brought buildings down and…Wasabi blinked. He would not cry, not while he was driving.

Wasabi found a place to park his van, with the helpful advice of “no, you idiot, turn right there!” from Go Go and “Oh! Was that a spot?” From Honey Lemon. Fred said nothing, odd for him, watching the street out the window until the car was stopped.

It was not visiting hours, but after being turned away, Fred had marched back up to the nurse’s station and said a few quiet words. Go Go rolled her eyes as Fred returned, bounding like a puppy. “We’re in,” he said. “Room 316.”

Like the other rooms, it was not whitewashed and dull, but painted a pale green. Dawn filled the small space with light, and Hiro forced a small smile when he saw who was at the door. Aunt Cass slumbered in her chair, her first clenched tightly in her lap.

“Hiro, how are you?” Honey Lemon asked, the first to break the silence.

“My head hurts,” Hiro said softly. It hurt too much to put words to the real pain.

“We brought you some real food,” Fred said, shrugging his pack from his shoulders, he dug through it and produced a chocolate muffin from the Lucky Cat, wrapped in mangled plastic wrap. Hiro took it, but didn’t open it. The silence stretched out, longer and longer. Go Go scuffed her toe, then moved closer.

“Eat, Hiro. Trust me, you don’t want the stuff the call food in hospitals,” she said.

Hiro shrugged, unwrapping the muffin with his uninjured hand, or trying to. Fred took the muffin back and ripped it free from the plastic, then handed it back. The smell of chocolate woke something in Hiro’s stomach—he hadn’t kept anything down after the day before’s breakfast.

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking a tiny bite. It hurt to swallow.

“No problemo,” Fred said with a short bow. “That’s Italian for—“

“No, it isn’t,” Wasabi said with a sigh.

“Did—did you hear anything on the news?” Hiro asked, looking up from the muffin.

Wasabi looked at Fred, who looked at Go Go, who looked at Honey Lemon. She twisted her hair in her hands.

“They’re...they’re searching the Center. The ruins. Trying to…to recover—“ she stopped, swallowing hard. “It was Professor Callaghan, still inside. When Tadashi…”

“I know,” Hiro said, his eyebrows drawing close. “but…they haven’t found anything, right? So—so, there’s…there’s…”

He couldn’t say the word, could hardly dare think it. Honey Lemon understood, and her glance around the little room told her the others did too. They had not seen the explosion, there had been only a few wobbly camera phone videos of it. Perhaps there was, even the tiniest chance. But voicing that hope—what if it proved to be nothing?

“They haven’t found anything,” Go Go said, her voice strangely kind. “So…we don’t know. But—we’re here. Alright?” Hiro nodded, silent, his fingers shredding the muffin. “I don’t see you eating, Hiro.”

Hiro took another bite of the muffin.

“Is there anything we can get you? Water, or juice or…?” Wasabi asked, eyeing the muffin crumbs with distaste. “An apple?”

“Ice cream,” Hiro said promptly. Wasabi sighed.

“Well, I can’t get you an ice cream cone…or an ice cream bar, or sandwich…but I can get you mochi!” Fred said, turning to Wasabi. “Wasabi, I think it’s time to let the cat out of the bag.”

Wasabi blinked, then turned to see his backpack on the ground, writhing.

“Fred, what did you DO?”

In seconds, the fat cat was freed from his backpack prison and purring on Hiro’s lap. All was forgiven, it seemed, in true cat fashion. Hiro hugged the cat tightly, and Mochi purred. Fred rubbed his arm, where Go Go had socked him for the truly terrible pun. Wasabi grumbled a bit over a now crumbled science magazine, but the look on Hiro’s face as he held his cat made him stop.

Aunt Cass jolted awake at the sound of laughter, and let herself smile, if only briefly. “How did Mochi—oh.”

“Hi, Ms—I mean, Aunt Cass,” Honey Lemon said. “We brought breakfast.”

Hiro was emboldened by the fact that after nearly fourteen hours, search teams had still not found evidence of bodies.

“Maybe they got out,” he said, stroking Mochi. The cat had been hidden in the bathroom whenever doctors or nurses came to check charts and the burns on Hiro’s arm and hand. “I had a concussion, and I wasn’t even in there, maybe they—I dunno—amnesia, or—“

“Comas,” Fred put in. “They could be in comas. John Does, and no one knows who they are. It’s probably pretty chaotic, right?”

Go Go wasn’t sure this was right—to cling to some pipe dream, a vain hope. But she wanted to, so badly, so she said nothing, only nodded and clasped her hands over her trembling knees. Wasabi and Honey Lemon had volunteered to call other hospitals in the East Bay, and clinics as well, but so far, there had been no good news.

Aunt Cass had finally allowed herself to be put in a cab headed home, leaving the others to watch Hiro while she got “Actual sleep in a real bed.” She had not wanted to, but as the day wore into night, she agreed, however reluctantly. Strangely, no doctors or security had kicked the group of friends out, or even attempted to do so.

Again, Go Go marveled on Fred’s ridiculous charisma, and decided that maybe having an English Major in their circle was a pretty good thing, after all. Even if he did ask for things like invisible sandwiches.

Hiro slept, badly, as did the others in their shifts, each staying awake, a sentinel on guard, for a few hours. His dreams were full of fire and smoke, the screech of metal and crush of a hand on his, and then a letting go. He woke, tangled in his sheets, and saw Wasabi, awake and hovering over him.

 “You ok?”

“No.”

Wasabi pressed his lips together in a grim sort of smile, mocking himself for not expecting an answer.

“What if we don’t find him?” Hiro asked, a tiny voice in the darkness. “What if...he’s not…He can’t be gone, but what if…?” It was so hard to hold on to hope in the face on night terrors and darkness. Wasabi had no answer except to lay his hand on Hiro’s shaking shoulder, and hope that would be enough.

Hiro had not given up, nor had Tadashi’s friends. They called every clinic and hospital they could find, asking a dozen different ways. Go Go took her bike to the streets, searching back alleys and squatters havens, just in case. Fred made phone calls to “friends in high places,” which Hiro assumed meant...well, he wasn’t sure. Probably not mutated pigeons. Aunt Cass, too, allowed hope to spring up in her chest when the second day passed with no sign of bodies—it had only taken a few hours for fire fighters to find bodies before, when she had been a child, before they had so much tech at their disposal.

On the third day after the fire, Hiro sat on his bed, resting while waiting for the program he’d put together a year or so ago scanned news sites for anything useful. It needed an upgrade, it seemed to take forever. Mochi was curled up by his knee, strangely affectionate. He heard footsteps on the stairs, and leaped up as Aunt Cass raised her head.

She was crying, holding something small in her hand. Hiro felt his heart drop, past the pit of his stomach, as if it had fallen through the floor. He shook his head hard, and the pain made him see stars.

Hiro lurched forward, and saw what she held, hoping it was something stupid, something silly, a mouse’s head left by Mochi, or a broken clasp on a necklace. It wasn’t. In her shaking palm glittered a matte black ring, a man’s ring.

“They found this, this morning,” Aunt Cass said, her voice muffled and dull.

Tadashi kept the ring on a cord around his neck, sometimes, before his fingers were long enough and wide enough to wear it, and when it wasn’t on his person, he kept it in the carved wood treasure box on his bookshelf.

 Hiro had been six when he first grabbed at the spinning black ring, and Tadashi had pulled back.

“Careful, that was Dad’s,” Tadashi has said, smiling a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Hiro had asked about it again once when he was ten. Tadashi had started wearing it around his neck again, instead of on his hand.

"I want to keep it close, but I don't want people to think I'm married or something." He  laughed. "And anyway, it might be yours."

“Huh?”

“Well, it goes to whichever of us gets married first. Might be you, Hiro.”

Hiro had laughed until his sides hurt. No way would he get married before Tadashi. For one thing, Hiro didn’t even have friends, and Tadashi was so much older. And cooler. And smarter. And taller. And better looking.

Besides, the ring meant something to Tadashi, a memory of parents Hiro couldn’t even picture the faces of. It would never be his ring.

Hiro looked at the ring, his stomach writhing. No, No, No.

“It…It should be…yours.” Aunt Cass closed her eyes, trying to stop the flood of tears. She ordered herself to be strong, to hold together, but—she had hoped. She had hoped, and it was the hoping that hurt most of all.

“No, I don’t want it!” Hiro shouted, smacking her hand away. The ring clattered to the hardwood floor and spun. Hiro slammed the door, and Aunt Cass heard a muffled sob. She knelt, and picked up the ring, then slowly strung it beside the malachite pendant on the repaired chain. The two pieces clicked against each other. Two things that had survived flames, she reflected, leaning against the wall. Two things that had survived fires where her loved ones, her family, had not.

He had run into the fire, one thought in his mind—someone has to help. Someone has to help. So without training or protection—the fire fighters would come but what if they came too late?—Tadashi Hamada, 21 years old, had run into a building full of flames. The heat puckering his skin reminded him of other flames, a crunch of metal, a child’s wails—two children, crying together, ten and three. Someone had helped then. He would help now.

There was Callaghan, in the center of the showcase room, the flames dancing around him. Tadashi tried to shout the professor’s name, and coughed on smoke. Callaghan turned at the sound, and Tadashi could not see his face for the smoke and the heat waves, but he thought he saw eye widen. A hand flew out, a warning, and Tadashi looked up as something creaked high overhead. A beam was falling, and Tadashi threw himself to one side.

Someone shouted his name

All went dark, and the heat left his skin.

Tadashi woke to the feeling of things not right. It was in the pit of his stomach, the hair on the back of his neck, the throbbing of his head. As he tried to sit, tried to see, purple and green sparks filled his vision, or what he thought was his vision. He touched his head, and felt the hair, matted and sticky with dried blood. He swallowed against bile rising in his throat.

He tried to speak, unsure of what to say—call out for help? But his throat felt as if he’d eaten all the sand at Stinson Beach, dry and rough. His heartbeat quickened as the room remained darkness on darkness. Not home. Not a hospital—no lights, no machines and monitors left on.

Tadashi was no Fred, but he’d read most of Aunt Cass’s collection of fantasy, spy thriller, and action books. This was wrong. Take inventory he thought. He held up his hands—they at least, didn’t hurt. He could not see more than the faintest out outlines, but at least that meant he was not blind. His heart beat painfully against his ribs, and he felt its pounding in his throat, in his temple, in his left leg that throbbed. This is really, really bad, he thought, struggling to keep his breathing normal and calm. It did no good.

Chapter Text

Tadashi cupped his hands over his face, his breath hot on his hands. It came too shallowly, too quickly, and he tried again to calm himself.  Facts, remember the facts, don’t panic yet, the logical part of himself said.  Work backwards, last thing you remember—the fire. Callaghan was inside, I saw him, and then something was falling. He reached up again, and touched the back of his head. When he squinted at his hand, just so much darkness on darkness, he thought he could make out a bit blacker than the rest. Blood. So I got hit by that beam. And now…now I’m here. I’m not dead, am I? No. No, my heart’s still beating, and everything hurts. Get a grip, Hamada.

Another flash of memory settled into place, a familiar voice shouting his name. Hiro. Had Hiro followed him inside?

“H—Hiro?” Tadashi’s voice was weak and faint and speaking hurt. There was no answer. Please let him be safe. Please don’t let him have followed me. Please.

Slowly, Tadashi felt around himself, still squinting at whatever room he was in. He was on a low cot, a thin sheet thrown back. A quick check revealed no phone in his slacks’ pocket. His scooter’s key was gone as well, though he still had his wallet. Not good, not good at all, He thought again. He shifted, wincing as his bad leg brushed rough mattress, then pushed off with both hands, levering himself to his feet. He had to get out, find Hiro.

He staggered as soon as his weight left the cot, and fell against one cold wall. Tadashi plastered a hand over his mouth to stop any cry of pain he might make. This was not a hospital, or home, or anywhere else he knew, and it certainly wasn’t the ruin of the Convention Center. He’d been saved from certain death, but by whom? Fire fighters would have left him alone in a dark room.

Let the Professor and Hiro be ok. Let them be safe. The prayer reverberated in Tadashi’s head as he slowly felt his way around the room, leaning on the wall to support himself. His fingers groped for a light switch—the room was no closet, there had to be a light source somewhere. He found a door handle, smooth, cold metal, first. He twisted it, but the knob didn’t budge. Locked.  Blindly, though his eyes seemed to be adjusting, he searched above the handle for a deadbolt or a locking mechanism to disable, but he found none. Tadashi scrabbled at the metal knob, but it remained still.

It was as if his lungs had suddenly filled with ice water, and he coughed, choking back primal fear. Kidnapped. He had been kidnapped. The world seemed to tilt violently to one side, and Tadashi realized that his bad leg had given out on him, he stumbled to one knee, hissing with pain. Kneeling there, he felt his stomach clench. Cold seeped up through his slacks, or what was left of them. His left leg, the one that had been burned and wrapped up crudely with thin gauze went numb in seconds.

Tadashi took a deep breath, pressing his cheek to the wall, then another, and another. A cough tore at his chest. Kidnapped. Stay calm. Calm. Calm. Breathe. Kidnapped. Calm. Panicking will just make things worse. Despite himself, and the fear, Tadashi ‘s mouth quirked at the thought. How can things get worse?

He still had his wallet, but there wasn’t much of use in it, just his replacement school ID, after the first had been lost, and a couple of dollars. His jacket was gone, as well as his lucky hat. His hand reached for the cord at his neck, to feel for the familiar weight of his father’s wedding band. It was not there. No, of course not. The cord had been fraying, and he hadn’t gotten around to replacing it, so he’d left the ring in his treasure box. Now he wished he hadn’t. He felt utterly alone.

Footsteps echoed down whatever hall lay outside the door. Tadashi made a fist, but shook his head, more lights dancing in his vision. He was in no condition to fight. As the footsteps got closer, he crawled backwards, toward the cot. If he could learn anything about where he was, about why, it would be best if no one else was aware, that much he knew, if only from hours of reading Aunt Cass’s mysteries and listening to Fred ramble about distress codes and worst case scenarios full of super –villains.

The door rattled, and something clicked. Tadashi squeezed his eyes shut, peering through his lashes, and held his breath. The door was pulled open slowly, the light outside as brilliant as the dawn.

“Mr. Hamada?” the voice was familiar, and at the sound of it, Tadashi sat bolt upright, smiling.

“Professor Callaghan!” Tadashi rasped, the words only barely audible. The older man flipped a switch, and light filled the room. They might have been only dim fluorescent bulbs, but to Tadashi they were too bright, and he had to close his eyes. A water bottle was pressed into his hand, and Tadashi drank greedily, only stopping when the bottle was drained.

“Professor, you’re alright! How did you find me?” It still hurt to speak, but the fear that had gripped Tadashi’s chest loosened. If anyone could get them out of this, it was Professor Callaghan. At last, the boy opened his eyes, scanning the room for anything useful. There was nothing, only a large, empty metal table in one corner, at the cot. Tadashi got to his feet, his left leg buckling slightly, but he winced and tried to ignore that. “Never mind, we’ve got to get out of here.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” the professor said, his voice quiet, but cold. “But it can’t be helped.”

Tadashi froze, swallowing hard. His head throbbed. “What?”

“No one was supposed to come running in,” Callaghan said, standing again in the doorway. His eyes were hard. “No one was supposed to see me. I was careless, I suppose. But this can still work.” This last he said almost to himself.

“What do you mean?” Tadashi asked again, trembling, not understanding, or rather, not wanting to understand. It had to be the concussion, he had to be mishearing. “Professor, we need to go—I’m not sure my leg’s ok, but we have to get out of here before someone comes back.”

Callaghan shook his head. “No, neither of us are going anywhere any time soon, Mr. Hamada. If someone sees either of us, well, my plans go up in smoke.  Sit down.”

Tadashi did not sit, as his thoughts cleared. “Plans—what do you mean, if someone sees? You want them to think you’re dead--You faked your own death?” He realized something, the thought like a bell, sharp and clear and echoing. “You set the fire? Why?”

“That’s my concern, not yours. Sit. Down,” Callaghan said.

This time the tilting of the world was not from stumbling, only dizzy confusion. Callaghan, how could Professor Callaghan—“What plans, what—” he broke off coughing again.

“Again, that’s none of your concern.” But the professor furrowed his brown looking thoughtful.

“Then why am I here?” Tadashi asked, hysteria creeping into his voice and straining his throat.

Callaghan didn’t answer. Tadashi lunged forward, forgetting his weak leg. It crumpled beneath him, and he landed painfully on the floor.

“I only came to see if you were awake yet,” the professor said. “You’ve put a wrench in my plans, but this might work after all. I warn you--don’t make me regret this.”

As Tadashi scrambled to get up, Callaghan left, closing the door behind him. Over the click of a lock, Tadashi found voice enough to shout, the shock of his mentor’s behavior replaced with desperation. “Wait! Where’s Hiro! What did you do to my brother!?”

Tadashi had never been good at estimating the passage time, and sitting alone with only his own hoarse voice and the buzz of the lights for company made guessing how long Callaghan was gone even more difficult.  As it was, his head pounded from the blow he’d taken—had it really been the beam, or had Callaghan hit him, he wondered—and from the deluge of terrified thoughts. What plans did Callaghan have that relied on everyone thinking he was dead, what had happened to Hiro…. What if Hiro was locked up somewhere, too? Alone, and afraid, what if he was hurt, or--.

Tadashi closed his eyes against the image of fire, the memory of the sound of his little brother, age three, crying from his car seat. No. He’s not dead. He can’t be. I’d know. I’d know.

He realized with a pang that he wasn’t certain how long he’d been unconscious. By now, though, someone would have told Aunt Cass, and Hiro, if he’d escaped the fire and Callaghan. They’d think he was dead, wouldn’t they? There’d be no reason to hope…they would, but for how long? Maybe it had been days, maybe they’d given up. It was that thought that hurt the most, aside from the terrible fear that Hiro had been kidnapped, too. The thought that his friends and family would think he was dead. And everyone would mourn for Callaghan, too.

That only made Tadashi angry. He needed to escape. He needed to find his family, and stop Callaghan’s plans, whatever they were. And to do that, he’d need to think.

Limping, he paced the room, examined every corner. There were outlets enough for a lot of electronics, and the single table, and the cot. Nothing that could be used as a crutch or a weapon or something to break down the door.

He’d even limped over to the door, searching for the hinges—just because he didn’t have a screwdriver at the moment didn’t mean he wouldn’t get something in the future, a spoon handle, maybe. But the door hinges were on the other side of the wall.

Look at it from a new angle, he told himself, then laughed, the sound harsh in the silence. What new angle? There isn’t one.

He needed information, and tools, and time to heal. Tadashi hoped he’d at least get one out of the three. More than that, though, he needed a miracle. He sat with his back to the wall, letting the solidity of it press against him.

He had no way of telling if it had been half an hour or half a day when Callaghan finally returned, it had seemed like forever. As Tadashi staggered to his feet, weaker than ever, his stomach growled. Callaghan didn’t seem to notice.

“Your brother is alive,” Callaghan said, his tone pleasant, almost conversational. “He was admitted to Oakdaiba Children’s last night in stable condition. Mild concussion, a minor burn on one arm, and a skinned knee.”

Tadashi sagged with relief.  That fear at least was put to rest. Hiro was alive, and out of harm’s way. And Callaghan had just told him, in a way, how much time had passed. It was the day after the Showcase.

“Look,” Tadashi said. “I swear, I won’t tell anyone you aren’t dead. Just, let me go. Dump me somewhere, I’ll say I have amnesia, that I don’t remember anything at all. You aren’t…this isn’t like you. You could have just left me to die, but you didn’t. Please. I won’t say anything, not to anyone.”

It was a lie, but Hiro was not the only Hamada able to play a part. While his little brother often played the helpless child to get out of trouble at school or to hustle bot-fighters, Tadashi had found in the very few cases where he needed to lie that his best bet was to be the self most of his teachers saw—upstanding, honest, sort of “Lawful Good.” It had gotten him off the hook when he’d been caught fighting, back when Hiro had first started High School and some bullies had thought to pick on him. Tadashi had put an end to that, and talked his way out of a suspension. Tadashi forced himself to meet the professor’s gaze steadily.

Callaghan shook his head. “Even if I believed you, there would be too many questions asked. And this way…” He paused, as if debating with himself. A smile lit the older man’s face, a familiar one.  The look Callaghan wore in lectures when someone got something exceptionally right, when things fit into place. It was not cold or cruel but it terrified Tadashi all the same. “This way, you can help me.”

Callaghan moved closer, still between Tadashi and the door. Without bothering to respond, Tadashi pushed off with his steady leg, hoping to just get past Callaghan. If he could just get to the hallway—lock the door—get out. He hadn’t noticed the band around the professor’s forehead until a small wave of darkness zipped through the doorway. Tadashi staggered, trying to free himself as tiny black robots climbed up his legs and pinned him, squeezing painfully tight.

“Hiro’s microbots,” Tadashi swallowed a yelp as the metal pressed against his injury.  He remembered a wave of darkness in the fire, but he’d thought it was just the falling beam, the smoke,  a trick of the firelight. “That’s how you survived, how we…”

“Very good. I was beginning to think the blow to your head was more serious than anticipated. Yes, your brother’s microbots have proved to be most useful. A miracle, you might say. They’ll allow me to accomplish something I never thought possible.” Callaghan twitched a finger, and the microbots shifted, pulling their captive back towards the far wall. “But your brother was right. They are going to be difficult to reverse engineer. It might take weeks. So that’s where you come in, Tadashi.”

“Why? What do you need them for so badly that you couldn’t have waited?  Hiro practically worships you, he’d have taught you how to make them if you’d asked, so why the fire, why destroy lives for some tech?”

“A personal matter,” Callaghan’s voice was hard and icy again, and Tadashi felt the microbots pinning his legs together and his arms to his sides tighten. He bit back a tiny cry of pain, trying to keep his face stoic and defiant. “I have a…score to settle. I’ve waited months—years—for this. And now I have the perfect chance.” Callaghan turned to the door, and another wave of microbots entered, shoving a wheeled cart. A very small 3D printer, a miniature of the one in the Hamada garage, the same brand as those at SFIT, sat on it, beside a battered looking computer. Tadashi stared, then gathered all the courage he possessed.

“I won’t. I won’t h-help you.” A cough ruined the effect of the words, and Tadashi trembled in the microbot’s hold, his head high. His heartbeat felt like a hummingbird beating against his ribcage. Revenge. This man had nearly killed dozens of people, had stolen Hiro’s microbots, had kidnapped him, in a revenge plot. It was like one of Fred’s comics.

Callaghan laughed. “Oh? You thought you had a choice? Listen, Tadashi.  Your brother is in stable condition. Whether or not he remains that way is up to you.”

It was as if his heart had stopped. The air burst from Tadashi’s lungs in the loudest cry he could manage. “Don’t you dare touch my brother!”

“I won’t, so long as you cooperate. But if you insist on being difficult, well. I suppose Hiro would be better able to create more microbots, after all. And if it meant saving your life…” Callaghan trailed off, raising a brow. “What wouldn’t he do?”

Tadashi felt sick. If he’d had anything to throw up, he would have then and there.

“No. Leave him out of this. I’ll do it.” The words were like bile in his throat, but Tadashi said them anyway. Hiro would hate him for it, but he had promised. The starting rule of the Hamada Brothers, Rule 0, which superseded everyone and everything, one that Tadashi had memorized the first time he’d held his brother as a tiny newborn: Protect Hiro, no matter the cost.

Callaghan nodded, that same satisfied smirk on his face. Tadashi glared back.

“Get to work. We have a lot to do.”

The Microbots released their grip and shifted at the same time, and for the umpteenth time since he’d woken, Tadashi found himself on the cold concrete floor. Long before he regained his feet, Callaghan was gone, the door firmly locked again. A single microbot remained, and the printer, and the computer, sitting on the table. No tools. If Tadashi was going to get anything actually done—not that he planned on being as useful as the professor hoped—he’d need tools, his packet of tiny screwdrivers, and the circuitry…

His best chance at surviving this, and more importantly, at keeping Hiro safe, was to play along. He’d have to stall, in any way he could, and hope for...what? Rescue? If they think I’m dead…He shook off the thought. He had to find a way to get a message out. Something in code, in case Callaghan caught him.

The Microbots had left a plastic chair, and beside the computer was a granola bar, the kind that came in boxes of a dozen.  Peanut butter and chocolate chip. Tadashi sat, his leg throbbing angrily. He’d never liked peanut butter, but he wasn’t allergic like Hiro, and he was hungry. The first bite tasted like ash, and Tadashi pushed it aside. The computer booted up, but Tadashi wasn’t surprised to find that it had been wiped, that the only programs on it were the familiar design programs for working with 3D printers.

He cursed under his breath, something he hadn’t done since Aunt Cass had dug out an old Cocoa tin and dubbed it the swear jar. Almost instinctively, he put a hand to his pocket for a quarter—he didn’t have one. All his loose change went into a jar on his bookshelf, next to the treasure box he’d kept since he was five.

No internet access is going to make this hard. No way to get out, no way to get anything out. Think. Think. There has to be something.

He might try to make a weapon…the printer was tiny, just right for, say, the outer casings of microbots. The best he could do would be a knife, but Tadashi shook his head. Callaghan had the microbots, not to mention he was stronger and less injured. That would be a last resort. He had to play the part, at least until he was stronger.

His hand reached again for the cord he wasn’t wearing, and he stopped. It’s a long shot, he thought. Longer than long. But maybe…please, if anyone is out there, let this work.

When Callaghan returned, Tadashi showed him the models he’d made of the microbot. Callaghan, predicting trouble, had used the current bots to bind Tadashi’s legs to the chair and anchor the chair to the table, and Tadashi had swallowed his fury. Let him think I’m broken, desperate.

“I’ll need more time and materials, to test them. It might be a while before they’re working, but I’m going as fast as I can,” Tadashi said, straining to keep his hoarse voice level. He wished Callaghan had brought more water. “Tools, too. I’ll need to take one of Hiro’s apart, see how the wiring works.” He would need a lot more than that, but hopefully he could use that to get more time.

Callaghan had nodded, leaning over to manipulate the models on glitch touch screen of the out dated computer. His coat reeked of soot.

“And—professor. I..” Tadashi reached down and pulled something small from his pocket. He held out the hand for Callaghan’s inspection. In his palm was a dull black ring, nearly the same jet color as the microbots. Tadashi  swallowed hard, and hoped that the professor would see that as a sign of sorrow, not of fear that this was all about to blow up in his face. “This was my dad’s, and…it should be Hiro’s, now.” Because I’ve seen you and I know you are planning something and you’ll kill me as soon as this is over, or take me with you, he thought but didn’t say. “I…I want to give Aunt Cass and Hiro something to hold on to. Some…closure. They deserve something to hold on to.” His voice cracked, and it was not from acting. It was too much a risk, but for now it was all he could think of, and he had to hope, to pray, that it would work, somehow. “You can—I don’t know. Leave it in the ruin for search teams to find. So they stop looking.”

Tadashi thought  he saw something like a flicker of understanding in Callaghan’s eyes. The older man pulled his coat sleeve over his hand and took the ring, examining it as Tadashi tried to breathe normally. There was no engraving, no message, just a plain metal band. A single tiny nick in the edge was the only marking.

“Fine,” Callaghan said after a moment, dropping the ring into his pocket. He looked at his own hand, a gold wedding band glinting slightly.

As he left, and the microbots released their hold, Tadashi let out a sigh. Now all he could do was hope. Hope, and stall, and hope a bit more.

Chapter Text

Honey Lemon stood behind the counter at the Lucky Cat, waiting on the few customers, and watching the stairs as best she could. Aunt Cass had gone up to the apartment with a grave faced man twenty minutes earlier, but though he had left soon after, Aunt Cass did not return. In her heart, Honey Lemon though she knew what the man had come to say, but thinking the words would make it too real—would make all of this too real. So she busied herself with measuring out cinnamon and flavored syrups, and tried her best to smile at the customers.

When at last Aunt Cass did emerge, the café was nearly empty. An older couple, regulars, sat at one table, sipping at coffees. Aside from that, and the hum of machines, all was quiet.

“Honey?” Aunt Cass’s voice was low and scratchy. Honey Lemon closed her eyes in another prayer, one more line of hundreds that had floated through her mind over the last three days. When Honey Lemon turned, though, and saw the older woman, she knew. Aunt Cass’s eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks blotchy. One hand was pressed to her neck, fingering something small that hung from a chain. Wordless in grief, Honey Lemon put her arms around Aunt Cass. The bell above the door tinkled as the two remaining customers left. The sound of it startled Aunt Cass, and she looked up.

“They found his ring. I helped Mina pick it out. I’d know it anywhere,” Aunt Cass said at last, her voice shaking. “There…There wasn’t anything else to find. His ring—a zipper—just…rubble. Metal all fused together and…” Aunt Cass broke off with a choking noise. Honey Lemon felt tears well up in her eyes and spill over. She had hoped—it had been three days, and she knew it was unlikely, but still. She had hoped, and that hope died in her chest, a fist of ice.

“I should tell the others,” Honey Lemon said after a long moment, taking in a shaky breath. “They’ll… they need to know.”

“Thank you,” Aunt Cass said, pressing her lips together so tightly they went white. “I…I don’t think I can. I need…I need to…” Be strong for Hiro. I promised I’d never be Uncle Abbot, I know, but…how? How, after all this?

Honey Lemon nodded, scrubbing at her cheeks with the back on a hand. “I should…I should go, then. If you need us—for anything—call.”

Aunt Cass did not respond, staring out the window, silent. A fingertip traced the circle of a black ring hanging around her neck.

Fred was seated at a much too small table, surrounded by a veritable army of small children, coloring. Usually, volunteering at the local library’s free day care program was one of the highlights of his week—he’d tell stories and give piggyback rides and get free cookies and garbled drawings of heroes and monsters and gardens. Today, he was distracted, and the kids knew it. One asked for a story, but before he could begin, Fred felt his phone vibrate.

“Just a second, Kidletoid,” he said, digging the phone out.  Honey Lemon said the caller ID. Fred felt his heartbeat quicken. Come on, good news, he thought as he got up and answered. The child rolled his eyes, looking put out.

“Honey, what—“ he didn’t even get to finished the question as she broke down into the phone, sobbing and tripping over herself. When her words became clear, the weight of them hit like an avalanche, crushing the air from his lungs. He hung up, his stomach writing in shock. It couldn’t be true. This wasn’t how the story was supposed to go. His best friend---it had been so much like a nightmare, and then there had been that tiny chance. A Hope Spot, he recalled the name of the plot device, squeezing the phone. A bright light that gutters out. But this was reality. Not a comic book. Not a fantasy novel. But still, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go!

“Fred? Mr. Lee?” the head children’s librarian, a white-haired woman named Susan, peered at him from behind thick glasses. “Are you…are you alright?”

“I have to go. Family emergency,” Fred said, blinking. He didn’t even hear the group of kids as they said good-bye.

While Go-Go searched the streets and Honey worked her shift at the Lucky Cat, and Fred did...Fred things, Wasabi had tasked with zhosiptal calling duty. This one was located in Berkobe, only half an hour’s drive from San Fransokyo in good traffic—still far, and a long shot, but worth trying. The person on the other end had been sympathetic, but firm. No John Does had been admitted in the last week, and that was that. Even when he tried to ask if there was any way there might have been a case of mistaken identity, the nurse-administrator had politely told him that this was “the real world, young man,” and that if there had been a case where someone had the possibility of being someone else, she would have mentioned it. Wasabi thanked her, rolling his eyes at her snippy tone, and was ready to dial the next number on his list, a clinic in Ehimeryville, when his phone rang instead. He whipped sweat from the screen with his sleeve, and answered.

As Honey Lemon spoke, her voice quavering, Wasabi looked at the list on his desk, alphabetical, each tried number marked with the date in his careful penmanship. What was the point of it now? When he hung up, Wasabi took the list in his hands, staring at it with a kind of helplessness that he hadn’t felt in years.

He crumpled it and threw it at the trashcan beside his desk, and didn’t even care when it missed.

Go Go aimed her bike up the hill, letting gravity be her brakes (as nature had intended, she thought smugly) and popped the wad of gum from her mouth to answer her phone.

“No luck. I tried that place on the marina, I even took the ferry across to Berkobe and Cerritomiya, for all the good that did. There’s just no trace.” She gave her status report without waiting for Honey Lemon to say “hi.”  “I’m checking that botfight place over on—.”

She paused when she heard the tears in Honey Lemon’s voice, the shuddering breath. Go Go swayed on her feet, her bike swaying with her. The world seemed to tilt and spin, and she found herself clutching at one of the parking meters for stability. When she found her voice at last, long after she had hung up, it was to answer a concerned shop keeper.

“Are you alright, miss?”

“No.”

Aunt Cass knelt at the tiny altar set up in the corner of the living room. There were pictures, small portraits. Her mother and father, the photo blurry and stained with age. Mina’s graduation picture, her smile awkward, with a small gap between her teeth, but still beautiful. The picture even managed to capture the humor in her bird-bright eyes. Tomeo’s picture was beside his wife’s, one taken at the wedding. Aunt Cass touched each frame in turn, but it was Mina’s she held. Her sister’s. “I’m sorry, Mina. God, I’m so sorry. I should have insisted on driving everyone home. I should have been there. I promised I’d protect them, that I’d keep them safe for you.”

As she cradled the photo, the glass pressed against her chest in a gentle embrace, Aunt Cass wept. Tomorrow she would try to be strong. She could not turn into her uncle, falling apart at the seams. She had to be Mina, strong. Solid. An anchor. The Café would need to stay open, food would need to be made, life had to continue. All these things Aunt Cass knew. She’d known them for ten, nearly eleven years. But tonight, with Hiro in his room, refusing to open the door even to Mochi, she let herself be weak, and weep. Four times in four decades, her family had been cut in half.

Her bones felt weak as reeds, and the sun had long since set. Slowly, Aunt Cass stood, her legs shaking. On the mantle place sat a series of photos: Mochi, herself, each of her precious boys at High School Graduation, one of the three of them at the pier, taken one evening six or seven years ago. Hiro was perched half on her shoulders, half on her head, and her arms were wrapped around Tadashi. She closed her eyes, trying to remember that evening, and for a moment, Aunt Cass thought she could taste the salt water spray kicked up by the wind. She did not bother to wipe the tears from her face.

Aunt Cass took Tadashi’s graduation picture and carried it over to the altar of the family in both hands. She set it down carefully, and turned on the tiny LED candles that sat before the row of faces. Four times in four decades. She reached again for her necklace, but withdrew before her fingers touched cold metal and chilled stone. The pale light flickered before her, steadily blurring into one wash of colors.

There was nothing to bury, but there had been a large, anonymous donation made to cover funeral costs for both Callaghan and Tadashi. So, only a week after the fire, a small group had gathered at Sunset View Cemetery, dressed somberly. Hiro wore a suit for the second time in his life, the same that Tadashi had worn to a funeral on this same forested hill, a decade before. The little non-denominational chapel set aside for services when weather was bad slowly filled as music played—soft organ music. Hymns, probably.

There were words printed on the program, but Hiro didn’t look at them, instead closing his eyes and trying not to remember the last image of Tadashi running into an inferno, white hot flames exploding outward. As the others around sang along, or tried to through tears, Hiro remained silent. They were words of comfort, of calming, of hope. What’s the point of them? Tadashi’s gone, and nothing can just make that better. He hugged himself tightly. Aunt Cass put an arm around him, a silent comfort. Hiro did not pull away.

One of the school professors spoke first, praising Tadashi’s commitment and courage, his willingness to help others with classwork, his determination to excel. Aunt Cass went next, and her voice cracked as she related memory after memory. She motioned for Hiro to join her, but he stayed seated. He didn’t want to be the center of attention, not now, maybe never again. Anything memories he had, stories to tell, final words to say, those were between him and his brother, not for these people he hardly knew.

Wasabi and Honey Lemon spoke briefly, their voices dulled by sorrow. Faced with the empty coffin, the photograph placed on top, Honey Lemon had felt her throat close up with unshed tears, and had finally sat down, her note card crumpled in her hand, useless. Wasabi smiled faintly as he spoke of how accepting Tadashi had been, never treating anyone like an outsider. Go Go’s words were short and simple, and she did not look up as she said them—Tadashi Hamada was our best friend. Fred was last to go, and from his suit pocket he pulled out a sheet of paper.

“Tennyson said it better than anyone,” Fred explained, “he wrote this poem for his best friend, who,” he  stopped short. Even standing next to a casket, the word ‘died’ felt like closing a door, like the ending of the world. “Who died. So…yeah.” He cleared his throat.

“I sometimes hold it half a sin

To put in words the grief I feel

For words, like Nature, half reveal

 And half conceal the Soul within.

 But, for the unquiet heart and brain,

 A use in measured language lies;

 The sad mechanic exercise,

 Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.

 In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,

 Like coarsest clothes against the cold;

 But that large grief which these enfold

 Is given outline and no more.”

After  a closing song, the tune mournful and slow, most of the students and professors departed, leaving the two remaining Hamadas and the “nerd lab” gang to watch as the coffin, now filled with scraps of paper with memories scrawled out on them and photos,  was laid to rest. The tombstone was a perfect match for the simple slab beside it, grey stone with bold black script. The only differences were the inscriptions. Where one read “Mina Hamada, 1981-2015 and Tomeo Hamada, 1979-2015,” this one bore Tadashi’s name. As the fog turned to rain, Aunt Cass turned her face to the sky, and allowed herself a different hope; that no matter what there was after death, it was some place where families would be reunited. It did not ease the ache in her chest.

As soon as the first shovelful of dirt was heaved into the grave, Hiro turned, and fled down the path towards the parking lot. Aunt Cass followed, quickly outpaced by Tadashi’s friends.

There was a second small gathering in the apartment above the café, customers, neighbors, and school friends. Hiro did not join in, unwilling to be around others. He couldn’t explain that it hurt too much, that he didn’t want to listen to the same words of comfort over and over and over. “He’s in a better place”, as if there was a better place for a brother than here. “This too shall pass”, as if it was something trivial and temporary. “He’ll always be with you,” as if no one understood that Tadashi was gone, lost, dead. No more jokes and adventures, no more prank wars and whispered conversations at three am. Memories couldn’t watch movies with you, or plan new tech with you, or hug you.

Aunt Cass held the cup of tea Honey Lemon had brought her, hot and strong. The crowd had thinned, though a few still remained, cleaning or putting food in the fridge. One woman, hovering near the door, finally approached her, and Aunt Cass braced herself for more words of sympathy.

“I’m sorry,” said the woman, her eyes underscored with dark circles as if she hadn’t slept in a week. Looking at her, Aunt Cass saw that she was young, Tadashi’s age, maybe.

Aunt Cass inclined her head, sick to death of I’m sorry for your loss, I’m sorry for your pain, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

“It was my fault,” the girl said, her words a jumble, her voice tight. “He asked if anyone was trapped and I told him—it just came out, I—I didn’t know. That he’d run in. I didn’t—I never thought—but—It’s my fault, and I’m sorry I came, but I—I…”

Aunt Cass stepped back, her head jerking as if she’d been slapped. The girl sobbed, and Aunt Cass closed her eyes, her hand gripping her necklace with the two tokens. Then she shook her head. It would be so easy to blame someone, to have someone to blame other than fate, bad luck, God. But no.

“No,” she said huskily. “No. If you hadn’t, someone else might have. We can’t know. Please. Don’t blame yourself.”

“But—if I’d stopped him, if I’d done something, I should have, I…I...”

Aunt Cass shook her head again, and put her free hand on the trembling girl’s arm, hoping the touch could convey what words could not.

Chapter Text

The streets were dark and slick with the first rainfall of the season when Go Go let the Café door close and lock behind her. Fog lay over the bay, obscuring the lights from the towering hills beyond it. The world seemed too still, too quiet. She hated quiet.

She stood at the curb, her hands stuffed into her pockets. The others formed an awkward, lopsided circle, the gap between Wasabi and Honey Lemon too large. They seemed aware of the space, but no one shifted to fill it. After a long moment, Wasabi fished out his van keys, turning them over in his hands.

“I said I’d stop by SFIT,” he said, his voice thick. “There’s…stuff. Baymax, and…papers...things. I told Aunt Cass I’d get them for her.”

Honey Lemon understood at once, and she wrapped her arms around herself, scant protection from the breeze. “I’ll come with you,” she offered.

Go Go nodded, voiceless. Fred, uncharacteristically somber, swallowed hard.

“In the morning, or…?” he asked.

“Fewer people now,” Go Go said. “No one’s waiting up for me anyway.”

They piled into the van, not bothering to argue over who got shotgun or the seat by the rolling door. Wasabi drove slowly, prepared to defend the lack of speed with his familiar “after the first storm, roads are dangerous” speech, but no one questioned it. When they at last arrived before the campus building that housed the “Nerd Lab,” they stayed in the van for a long moment, quiet. The silence stretched, until Go Go slammed her door open.

“Are you coming or not?” she asked, not bothering to look over her shoulder, marching up to the door. She punched in the code and heaved open the door. Honey Lemon was right behind her, and held the door open for Wasabi and Fred.

It was stark, in the labroom. Classes wouldn’t start up for two weeks—maybe longer, after the fire. Aside from a few work stations, it was empty, and felt too large. Fred was glad when they let the second door close, and stood in the hallway of offices.

There was the door, the keypad with worn down numbers, the slots for nameplates. The other student who had shared the space had graduated, so there was only the single name one the door. As Honey Lemon put in the code she’d learned months before, if only to make certain her friend was eating during hours-long work sessions, Wasabi touched the plastic sign. It pulled away as the door swung open.

The room was cluttered, in an organized sort of way. One desk was clean, the board above it blank. An empty trashcan sat beside an office chair, and the window was newly washed, though it only reflected the room. Outside was too dark to see, and in the circle, Honey Lemon saw herself, tall and thin, and empty. She looked away, shaking her head. The rest of the room was more familiar. A red suitcase sized box was up against the wall, a few lights blinking. A computer sat on a desk covered with papers and folders. A shelf held a few books, some broad, glossy textbooks, others age-worn paperbacks. A dark grey cardigan hung over a chair, left behind one night.

“I…I’ll…get some boxes.” Fred muttered, turning to the door. Go Go took the sweater and for a moment pressed it to her cheek, then folded it as neatly as she could, and laid it on the seat of the chair. Honey Lemon picked up Baymax, compressed into his charging station. The weight took her by surprise for a moment, but she shook her head when Wasabi moved to steady her.

“I can handle him,” she said. “Is the van unlocked?”

Wasabi raised an eyebrow, the unspoken of course not, do I look like I want my wheels to get stolen? communicated clearly. He handed her the key fob as Fred returned with a  few cardboard boxes and file folders. No one bothered to ask where he’d found them—asking Fred where he found anything was risky business.

They worked in busy silence for a few minutes, gathering the books from the shelves—Froeb’s Humanoid Construction, Residential Wiring, A brief History of Robotics in the 21^st Century, Learning from our Mistakes, Alternative: energy sources and consumption, Wee Free Men, Cat on the Edge, The Book Thief. While Honey Lemon ran her fingertips over the covers, placing them gently in the box, Wasabi began to go through papers on the desk, organizing as he went. Past projects in one folder, current project in another, ideas for the future in a third. He smoothed out crumbled sketches of Baymax and hovercrafts, and page after page of notes went into piles based on subject and date.

Go Go looked up, startled. The laugh Wasabi made sounded so much like a sob, but it was a laugh, broken and longing. He held out a sheet of graph paper, and she took it, an unwilling smile at the corners of her mouth. It was them, the four of them, in a rough pencil doodle that somehow seemed as life-like as Honey Lemon’s cellphone camera. Fred had a sandwich and was trying to fit it in his mouth, while the others watched. Go Go remembered that day—she’d won six dollars, betting that Fred would get mustard on his shoes.

There were other drawings and doodles and photos mixed in with the homework and class notes and graded tests. To Do lists listed assignments as well as things like “Early out Wednesday @ Norton Middle, remember!!!” and “Pick up hazelnut extract @store on way home.” One page, titled “Class Notes—Dr. Crisp” was filled entirely with sketches of flowers.

“I knew I wasn’t the only one to hate that class,” Go Go said, jabbing at the carnations and rose and other floral distractions.

“Oh,look,” Fred said, picking up a stiff sheet of paper. It was unmistakably a photo from a school play, a small, round face peering out from a hole in a cardboard tree. Honey Lemon cooed over it, and added it to the growing pile of personal, non-school papers. As it settled, she felt the icy fist that had closed over her heart tighten, and she took a deep breath. She could cry again later, not now. Hiro’s Tree photo was joined by others, most of them drawings. One page was badly creased, as if it had been thrown away and retrieved. It was a drawing of a family, two children and two adults. While it was clear that the youngest two were Tadashi and Hiro, the faces of parents were nothing but grey smudges, too many mistakes erased too many times.

At last, the room was clean and bare, the boxes stowed away safely in the trunk of Wasabi’s van. They looked around, and Honey Lemon put a hand on the desk. There was a lighter patch in the plaster above it, revealed when they’d taken down a poster.

“You remember that?” Go Go asked, pointing, a faraway look in her eyes. Honey Lemon winced.

“How could I not? I was sure we’d all get in so much trouble—I mean, trying to invent bludgers for a game of real-life quidditch….”

“Hey, they worked.” Fred pointed out. “And we fixed the wall before anyone found out.”

“You mean, Tadashi did,” Wasabi said. “You were busy asking Deirdre if she’d invent a hover-broom for you.”

“She did, though. Someone appreciated my genius.” Fred sighed dramatically

“And you ended up with a broken arm!” Honey reminded him.

Fred pointedly ignored her comment.

“Remember that time with the water balloons?” he asked. Wasabi shook his head violently.

“I thought we said we’d never speak of that again.”

The night wore on, and after a while, they found themselves sitting in the breakroom,  trying to  focus on happy memories, silly memories, moments from the last few years that had been full of sunshine and laughter. For the most part, it worked, but there was sorrow there, hidden underneath the laughter, and the circle around the table was lopsided, a place left empty. Every so often, someone would pause in midsentence, eyes drawn to the open spot.

“Remember, that time…” Honey Lemon started before stopping, unable to finish the thought.

Three heads nodded, yes.

One week. Tadashi only knew he had been held prisoner for a week from the tally marks he made on the underside of the table. The notebook he used for calculations was taken away every day—night?—though  he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if there was a window he could send notes out of, and it wasn’t as though he was keeping a journal.

He’d thought about it, his head crammed with worry and thoughts and the need to get them on paper to see things plain. But if Aunt Cass’s books had taught him anything, he knew that the more he kept a secret, the better off he’d be. Anything he figured out—who Callaghan was after, where he was, why any of this was happening—it all had to stay secret,  it would only be of use if the professor didn’t know he knew. Not that he’d figured out much of anything.

Tadashi knew a few things, namely: Callaghan had lost his mind, his leg was doing better but still wouldn’t support his weight for long, and he really, really, really hated peanut butter granola bars. He also figured they were still in or near San Fransokyo, but that was more of a desperate hope. After all, if—when—the ring was found and Hiro or Aunt Cass realized it was a copy and went to the police, they’d search in the city area first.

One week had passed, though, and he was still trapped in whatever bunker or warehouse Callaghan had chosen for a base—he’d only seen this room and a narrow hallway and a small bathroom, but he knew there had to be more.

There was a clock on the computer he used, but it didn’t show the date—Tadashi didn’t know if it was because the computer was damaged, or if Callaghan had removed that feature. It was missing a lot more than a date function. No word processor, no media player, no internet of any kind, only the 3D design and printer program, and a calculator simulator. Those, combined with a notepad for observations, a single pencil and crayon, and a few screwdrivers and wiring tools that Callaghan let him have one at a time made up all of Tadashi’s possessions. Now, in what he thought might have been around dawn, though it could have been five at night for all he knew, not five AM, Tadashi sat, knees up against his chest, and hoped. He was delaying all he could, working on the microbots as slowly as possible without making Callaghan angry.

If the professor knew he was stalling and pretending to be stuck, if he took too much time, what would stop him from making good on his threat to take Hiro? Tadashi hated that his work might mean someone came to harm, and someone would, once Callaghan had what he wanted—but more than that, he hated the thought that his brother might be dragged into the mess.

If someone’s out there? God, or…or whatever, whoever? I could use a miracle. Just…just a little one. If I wasn’t so weak—I could fight him. Any reserve at the thought of hurting his mentor had melted away over the last few days, but Tadashi knew that in his condition, he’d never win. Not while Callaghan had even a few microbots. If he could get the transmitter away from him…but if he tried and failed, what would happen to his family, his friends?

There was a rustling in the corridor, and the quiet snick-thunk of locks disengaging. Tadashi didn’t bother to stand as Callaghan entered—there wasn’t much point in trying to get out that door, not when the microbots could overtake him in a matter of seconds.

Not that he hadn’t tried before, but after seven days of little food, and the promise that the next time he tried something stupid, one of his friends would be hurt, he couldn’t bring himself to try escaping on his own. Not as things were. Tadashi told himself he’d rather be trapped forever, alone in a dark room than know that Callaghan had followed through on his threat, repeated it like a mantra, clinging to it. It was true, it had to be true.

“Progress?” Callaghan’s voice was clipped, frustrated. Tadashi swallowed the urge to plead again with the man who had been his teacher, but knew that it would be useless. He stood, shakily, and picked up a microbot casing and circuit board from the table. Microbots swarmed around his legs, tightening painfully as Callaghan directed them. Tadashi winced, hating not even being able to shift his weight from foot to foot. Callaghan had to know he couldn’t run, wouldn’t run.  He took a shuddering breath.

“I’ve got the circuitry as close as I can make it. I’ll need to program them with the right frequency, which might take a while…it took Hiro a week, I think. Checking the transmitter would be—“

“Out of the question. Figure out a way around that. I wasn’t born yesterday, Hamada. And if you can’t, I can always…” he didn’t need to finish the threat.

It had been a long shot, like running, like the ring. Tadashi nodded once, keeping his face firmly blank. Like stone, he told himself, remembering the heroine of one of Aunt Cass’s favorite books.

“Good. I brought breakfast, and, for your hard work…” Callaghan put a clipping from a newspaper on the desk. “Proof, if you will. Reassurance. You’ve been slow. Maybe this will remind you what you’re working for.” Tadashi clenched his fists, his temper flaring at the threat and at the realization that Callaghan had seen through his act. Stupid, stupid. Stupid.

Callaghan left, the microbots following like a trail of spiders, and Tadashi staggered to the table, ignoring the banana and muffin. The clipping was from the Chronicle. His own picture stared up at him in black and grey. The clipping was an obituary. Phrases stood out to him as he read it once. Twice. Survived by aunt and younger brother. Service to be held. In lieu of flowers. A true hero.

He closed his eyes, sinking into the chair. It hadn’t worked, then. They thought he was dead, they were holding a funeral. Mourning. No one would come looking. No rescue was coming. If the date was right in his head, the funeral, his funeral, was today.

He shook his head, which still made lights dance in his vision, even with his eyes shut against the threat of tears. The ring hadn’t worked—it had been a slim chance. He’d hoped that the differences would make it clear—it lacked the engraving on the inside, it had only a single nick instead of two. I should have risked a message in it. I should have. But, maybe not. Callaghan might have noticed, might have seen.  But they think I’m dead! Hiro, Aunt Cass, everyone! They need to know, if only so they don’t…don’t mourn. God. Aunt Cass, another fire. The tears he’d held back in the last few days dripped off his nose, and he swiped at them with his palms. Breath, Hamada. You’ll think of something. There has to be another way to get a message out. There will be. Think.

He wished he had someone to speak to. Aunt Cass. Honey Lemon, or Go Go, or Wasabi, or Fred. Hiro. Someone to tell him it would be alright, to put an arm around his shoulder, and tell him, Hamadas don’t give up, have hope, you’ll be ok. But no, no, he didn’t want that—alone was better. Alone meant everyone else was safe.

He turned back to the computer.

Aunt Cass watched from her window as Tadashi’s friends drove away, still holding the cup of tea Honey Lemon had made for her. It was cold now, and she set it aside, numb. Streetlights played on fog, orange and too bright. After a moment she turned, leaving the curtains open, and retreated to her room.

She exchanged her black dress for an overlarge, old fashioned nightshirt. The dress lay, crupled on the floor, and Aunt Cass looked scooped it up, holding the soft cloth in her hands. She’d worn in ten years, eleven months earlier, and now again. It had belonged to Mina, before, and wearing it had felt like the embrace of a ghost. It was the third time this dress had been worn, and each time it had been at the side of a grave at Sunset View. Uncle Abbot. Mina and Tomeo. Tadashi.

Her fingers found her necklace, and held it in one fist, pressed to her lips in some kind of prayer.

She had only be a child the first time she’d stood on the hill in Cerritomiya, surrounded by old, tall trees and old, tall people. The sky was still thick with smoke, turning the sun an angry red, and it had made the world seem so dark. Mina, seven years older, had held her hand, and slipped her butterscotch candies, and told her that Mama and Daddy weren’t really in the boxes, but in heaven, and that everything would be ok.

She had been back on the same hill, wearing Mina’s hand-me-down dress with itchy lace at the collar, only eleven years later, this time watching her uncle’s grave fill with dirt, pressing a flower—dark red rose, symbol of mourning—against his headstone.

And then again, and now again, holding the same malachite pendant Mina had clutched and clung too. Unbidden, she found herself remembering the lines of a poem, the same that Tadashi’s friend had read, but later. She’d loved the poem, once, back in her first year of college, before…

But in my spirit will I dwell

And dream my dream and hold it true

For tho’ my lips may breathe adieu

I cannot think the thing: farewell.

Aunt Cass hugged her knees to her chest, trying not to cry too loudly. Hiro was only just upstairs, after all. She had sworn not to be like Uncle Abbot, promised Mina’s memory, promised herself. She would not fade away, lost in memory, she would be strong. But just now, in the orange light of the streetlamp outside her bedroom window, being strong seemed too hard a thing to hold.  

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten: Behind Our Eyes

“It’s a bit late for this, Ms. Rodriguez,” Professor Sato said, watching the young woman across the desk as she clutched a folder of papers. “There’s a reason we ask for project proposals before the semester starts. Your idea for portable ice rinks has a lot of potential, and I know you started working on it this summer.” He smiled kindly.

Honey Lemon shook back her hair. “Professor, I need to change my project. I know the semester’s started, but…” she held out the folder, and he took it with a small shrug.

“Staff’s stretched pretty thin this semester, Ms. Rodriguez, and I’d hate for you to not get the help you need—you had a solid proposal and--.” He cut himself as he looked at the first page. He wet his lips, looking at the next page, and the next, then took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I see. Portable self-creating chemical shields.”

“Something that could withstand heat and…and debris,” Honey said, a quiver in her voice. The idea had come to her a week before, and had not left her alone since. “Something that could help. The world doesn’t really need ice skating.”

“This is for Mr. Ha—this is for Tadashi.” The professor did not ask it as though it were a question. Honey Lemon nodded. Her mentor shook his head, then put the pages she’d slaved over back in the folder. “I still expect you to meet the deadlines for classes, you understand, as best as you can. If you need an extension for the first write-up, let me know.”

“So you approve the project change?” She wanted to be sure.

“I do. I’ll see you in class tomorrow. And—if you need someone to talk to, you know my office hours.” Sato handed her the folder, the first page initialed and dated.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Honey Lemon stood, bowing slightly, and clutched the folder to her chest.

Wasabi grumbled to himself as he put his tools away. One of the other students had apparently borrowed a few of the screwdrivers and wrenches and it had taken nearly half an hour of precious work time to track them down. Go Go had finished tinkering with her bike’s wheels and had moved on to trying to improve the steering, working in her usual quiet-punctuated-with-mild-cursing. With Honey Lemon in class and Fred…wherever Fred went on Wednesday mornings, it was almost calm. Few of the other students assigned to this particular lab used it this early in the day, or in the semester. Since Wasabi and Go Go both had pre-existing projects that had carried over from the last semester, they didn’t have to jump through hoops of write-ups and requisitioning supplies before getting to the fun stuff. So in the big, empty room, Go Go fiddled with her bike and Wasabi organized, listening to a small portable radio.

He finished putting his worktable to rights, and started hunting in Fred’s Corner for a marker. He needed a sign, a bigger, better sign, since apparently the other students didn’t understand basic courtesy of putting things back where they got them or asking to borrow before actually borrowing. Society has rules, people! Social constructs! Don’t take other people’s stuff without asking! Honestly. Granted, Go Go never asked before borrowing anything, but that was just Go Go, and at least she always personally gave everything back, instead of muttering about leaving this tool or that in the break room, or their locker, or wherever. The radio played softly, and the announcer said something about Scottish folk music—apparently there had been a festival that past weekend somewhere in the East Bay. Wasabi went to change the station; he’d take anything over bagpipes, even Fred singing off-key TV Show openings, but stopped. Whatever was playing just sounded like strings, and it was low and soothing. Wasabi left it be. But if I hear anything that sounds like a dying goose…

Having found a marker that actually worked, Wasabi made his sign. It was concise, firm without being rude, and easy to read, unlike the “I will kill you if you touch” post-it notes that littered Go Go’s station, or the cursive and curly-cue sign Honey Lemon hung from her desk--when she remembered to. That done, he tried to find something else to do. He needed to meet with his advisor to go over his continued project proposal, but Professor Yoshida taught a class mornings, and it wouldn’t end for another half hour. Finally, Wasabi started toward the break room, meaning to make a mug of tea for himself.

“You want something?” he asked Go Go.

“Coffee’d be nice.” She sat back, glaring tiredly at her computer screen as Wasabi closed the door. I dreamt last night of a sorrowless field, a woman’s voice sang from the radio. We lay all day in that meadow.

Wasabi emerged from the break room with his tea and Go Go’s coffee to see the short girl standing over the radio…or rather over the remains of the radio. “What did you do?” he asked, putting the drinks down on an empty desk. He stalked forward, kneeling to gather the fragments, wondering if it could be fixed and how hard it would be, when he noticed that Go Go was crying. He dropped the pieces.

“Go Go?”

“It kept playing stupid songs. Depressing songs.” Her voice was tight and clipped, and she rubbed her arm. “It wouldn’t…it just kept…” Go Go made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat, and turned away. “I’m gonna go. Test my bike.”

Wasabi swallowed whatever comment he’d been about to make, and went to find a broom. When he returned, Go Go had gone.

Fred arrived to his English 343 class just as the bell rang, sliding into one of the many open desks. It was a small class. Professor Wolfe was known at SF State for being strict, but he’d had her for a few other classes, and she was one of the few who didn’t give him special consideration based on who his father was. Plus, it was either “Bay Area Writers of the 21^st Century” or “Fund of Literary Interpretation and Critical Thinking.” No Brainer.  One of the writers they had to read was even named Anime—well, Anna May. Close enough.

“All right. I asked you to bring in a book of poetry by one of the writers on our list.” Professor Wolfe said, her silver earrings jingling. Fred dug in his bag for the book he’d brought in—he’d just handed the list to one of the student librarians and asked if she had a favorite. “Take out that book, pick a poem—one of the first three, so you don’t spend the whole time dithering, and go though it the way I showed you last class—a T analysis, important wording, symbolism, anything you notice. Go.”

Fred glanced at the cover of the book, freeing it from the black hole that was his backpack. Fabric and Flames: Poems of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory by A. S. May. The cover was patterned like singed cloth, the words scorchmarks. For a moment, he felt heat on his skin, could see a building collapsing like a house of cards. He opened the book and glanced at the first poem. Words seemed to jump out at him, clamoring. Tinder. Spark. Flame. Airless room. Smoke.

He looked around, certain that his classmates were focused, and walked over to the teacher’s desk, holding the book in one numb hand.

“Professor? Do you have something else I could use, I can’t read this one.”

“Mr. Lee, your grades in my previous classes would suggest otherwise.”

“It’s just…I didn’t look at the title. I know you don’t like, you know, “electronic devices” in the classroom, but, I could find something online…”

“And I should make the exception because…?” She raised an eyebrow. Fred fidgeted with his shirt’s ragged sleeve.

“It’s about a fire,” he said after a moment. “And…my friend, my friend just…he went to SFIT. And…”

Professor Wolfe held up her hand. “I think I understand, Mr. Lee. Find something online, then, but print copies in the future. Agreed?”

Fred nodded, pushing the book back into his bag. He found another poem, and started taking notes, but he could not focus.

Go Go sped down Pine Street, letting the wind scream in her ears, trying to erase the sounds of singing—songs full of heartbreak. Who the hell let every radio station aside from some heavy-metal ones and the talk shows play depressing music at once? Not even the classical station she never admitted to listening to had been safe, playing Adagio for Strings. She turned hard onto Grant, weaving through stupid tourists who thought that a one way street meant that they could just walk off the sidewalk.

She wanted to get lost, if only to have something else on her mind. Speed was the best way to forget about the world—she’d always said that riding down one of SF’s hills in the fog was as close as she’d ever get to flying under her own power. Go Go swerved around a guy in a bright green jersey, then set to peddling up Sacramento, past little Din Sum and Sushi joints. She passed Grace Cathedral and the swanky hotel that had some stupid name like Fair Amount, but they were only blurs of color and stone as she rode, gripping her handlebars so tightly her fingers went numb and her knuckles went as white as the misty sky.

She turned up onto another street to avoid a red light, cursing at herself for not paying attention—she’d known every stoplight’s timer by heart once—and scattered a flock of pigeons and a flock of more stupid tourists. They yelled after her, but Go Go couldn’t bring herself to care about anything but the wind and the speed and that her swerving and dodging had improved with the latest adjustments.  She turned again, heading back up hill, sweat soaking her shirt now, and then again sped down, weaving around parked cars and cars held up by traffic.

She was on her way back to the lab, taking a shortcut along one of the side streets, her face bright with sweat—no one would guess that she’d been crying now—when she misjudged. Jerking on her handlebars to avoid a pothole, Go Go lost control of her bike for a heartbeat. A second later, she collided with a wall. She fell as the bike lost momentum, and the bike toppled after her, wedging itself between a newspaper box and one of the old fire alarm posts left over from decades ago. Go Go groaned, trying to free herself, but her bike was caught tight and her leg, scraped and scratched and probably worse, was pinned.  With a few choice words aimed at the historical society that had insisted on keeping the alarm posts, Go Go reached for the release that would free up the tire.

“Medic,” she said softly, and for the second time that day, started to cry.

Something was missing. Wasabi looked at his table. Even down to his ceramic mug, everything was in place. He’d set up his computer to play music—only non-depressing music, after Go Go’s outburst earlier that morning. Everything was neat and organized except for Fred’s Pile O’junk, and no one else had been inside, except for Honey Lemon, dropping off a few notes and files. But she’d gone already, late to one of her other classes, and Fred hadn’t come today, and Go Go had gone off somewhere. No one had taken anything from the room, though, as far as Wasabi knew. He hated the feeling that something was misplaced, and it twitched in his mind, an itch he couldn’t reach.

And just like that, he remembered. It wasn’t quite remembering, but re-realizing. It felt like a blow to the head, to the heart, to the gut, all three at once, and Wasabi swayed on his feet, swallowing hard against a sudden lump of stone that seemed to go from his throat down to the pit of his stomach. He closed his eyes, trying to close out the memory and the pain. It did no good, but he’d known that.

Some distant part of himself informed the rest of him that the music had stopped, that all was too quiet, that someone should do something. But Wasabi only stood, still as a tree, his breath catching in his throat.

Fred finished typing the email, then hunted through the SFIT directory, searching out the Financial Aid and Scholarship director and plugging in her email, as well as the Deans, and for good measure, the admissions office. He gave his proposal a once over, checking it against everything his professors and tutors had taught him about writing professionally. He hated formal papers and correspondence, but they did serve a purpose, sometimes.

Like it would now. He supposed he could have said it any way he wanted, but having formality to back his offer and suggestion would probably help. Professor Wolfe and Heathcliff would approve, at any rate, and maybe his parents. Maybe this would make his father proud. All the volunteering had, he’d hoped. Mr. Lee still spent a lot of time on business or on vacation. Mostly, Fred didn’t mind.

But today—and yesterday—and the whole last few weeks—it would have been nice to have his dad to talk to. Someone who could give him advice. Heathcliff could, and did, but it wasn’t the same, really.

Fred glanced again at the subject line, Re: Tadashi Hamada Memorial Scholarship Fund, and hit send.

Aunt Cass scraped the fried rice she’d made Hiro for lunch into a Tupperware container, hoping he’d eat it later. If not, she would, but he’d hardly eaten a thing in the last two weeks, barely touching anything she brought him. “Mina, what do I do?” she asked out loud, not expecting an answer. None came. Of course, in the weeks after the crash, she hadn’t eaten much either. There were times when even comfort food couldn’t do anything.

She had tried her best, to keep on with life. She re-opened the Lucky Cat the day after the funeral, and greeted the customers and neighbors with a small smile. They, in turn, wished her well, left casseroles and condolence cards and extra bills in the tip jar. She was grateful that no one had expected much of her beyond that, but still she felt as though she was failing. She had sworn she would be strong, would hold together.

“I can’t even get him to leave the room, Mina,” she said, touching her necklace. The two pendants clicked against each other. “I don’t blame him. I hate having to face everyone, pretend I’m healing, that I’m fine.”

Because I’m not fine. I’m trying, but how can I be?

She found herself staring at the photos on the wall at the stairs, knowing she really should be heading down to the Café. The after-school rush would start soon, and her break really was over. There was a family portrait of the five of them: herself, Mina, Tomeo, Tadashi, Hiro. It had been taken at a birthday party, one of her own, so long ago. Mina wore the green pendant, just as she had every day since they had been small, every day until the car crash.

Aunt Cass reached a fingertip to the picture, then glanced at the one beside it, her parents, the photo singed at one end. The same necklace hung on a cord around her mother’s neck.

“I was so jealous you got Mama’s necklace, ‘member that, Mina?” Cass said, separating the malachite stone from the wedding band on the chain at her own neck.

She had been three, going on four. She knew, because Mina’s birthday came first, and then it was her turn. Today was Mina’s birthday, the next day was hers. That was how it always went, and that was fine by Cass, even if Mina was older by a lot of years and she’d never catch up.

It had been a nice party, too. They’d gone to a park in Berkobe that had a slide made of cement that you went down on a piece of cardboard if you were brave. It had been a fun day, almost as good as if it were her birthday too, until Mama had given Mina a last birthday gift.

“This was my mother’s. She gave it to me when I turned ten, and so I’m giving it to you now that you’re old enough.” Mama had said, fastening the chain for Mina. “It’s malachite, and it keeps little ones safe.”

“From monsters?” Cass had asked. Mina had scoffed, but leant forward, listening.

“From anything,” Mama had said. “Including bad dreams. Speaking of which, bedtime!”

Cass had woken to her sister screaming and to a room as dark as night, even though they had nightlights and Mama always left the hall light on. Mina’s bedside flashlight pierced the smoke, and Cass had cried out as she saw fire in the doorway, like in movies.

“It’s ok, Cassie,” Mina had coughed, holding her tight and running to the window. Cass had been too afraid to do more than cling and cry, and her mother’s pendant—Mina’s pendant—had pressed into her cheek.

They had escaped into the cold morning air, but that had hardly been better. Everyone was in the streets, panic stricken. Firefighters had tried to take them both away from their house, away from the street, even as Mina shouted for Mama and Daddy, and finally they had to go. Four things survived the fire at their house in the Oakdiaba hills, October 20^th 1991. A metal box of photos, Mina, Cass, and Mama’s necklace. Mina’s necklace.

 Uncle Abbot had adopted them, but it was Mina who took care of her. It was Mina who got her to school and helped her with homework. Uncle Abbot was too sad, Mina always said. Too sad to remember to be a grown up and make dinner. “Don’t you ever be like Uncle Abbot,” Mina had always said. “No matter how sad you get, don’t you forget sunshine.” They’d promised each other, swearing on a malachite pendant.

“I’m trying, Mina,” Aunt Cass whispered, glancing up the stairs toward Hiro’s closed bedroom door. Mochi sat outside of it, snoring. “I’m trying.”

Chapter Text

Hiro wasn’t sure what had woken him. His room was dark, the pale light of the moon and harsh light of streetlamps below hardly filtering through the gaps in his blinds. A halfhearted glance at his clock showed the time was a little after two in the morning. Hiro blinked, shifting to one side. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, they fell on the other half of the room. The pulled back screen revealed a neatly made bed, a desk with several folders, a stack of boxes Wasabi had brought over last week—or, two weeks ago?—when Hiro had pretended to be asleep. The bookshelves stuffed with dog-eared paperbacks were only dark shapes, the few knickknacks—a treasure box, a ceramic dragon, a framed photo—were only faint outlines. Hiro felt his stomach clench, and he turned the other way, his feet tangled in his sheets. For a moment he couldn’t breathe, and he closed his eyes tightly, trying to think about something else. Anything else. All he could see was that empty bed. Then he remembered the dream, hazy images of smoke and flame and screaming, a hand in his and then gone. Gone. He’s gone.

Hiro sat up awkwardly, swallowing hard, trying to ignore that familiar pressure building behind his eyes. His throat was dry, and after a long moment, he slid from the bed. Water. He needed water. Slowly he shuffled across the room. Mochi was lying in wait outside his closed door, and the fat calico slunk inside as Hiro left. Great. He’ll never leave me alone now, Hiro thought, irritated. Once Mochi took a spot, the cat only moved if he wanted to.

He didn’t need to hold the rail on the narrow stair down to the kitchen. Even in the dark, he knew it well. Or he had. He’d forgotten the last two stairs squeaked in the centers. The noise, louder than his heartbeat, startled him, and he cursed silently. It had been so long since he’d snuck anywhere, but still, he should have remembered. Holding his breath, Hiro waited but no light turned on in Aunt Cass’s room.

The kitchen was better lit, the curtains open, a street lamp—one that blinked out every so often despite the City claiming to fix it every week or so—just outside. Hiro found a glass and filled it at the sink, letting the water run until it spilled over the edge. The water was sweet, and he drained the glass, then filled it again.

“Hiro, sweetie?” Hiro turned with a start, dropping the glass. It landed in the sink with a crash, and Hiro saw Aunt Cass standing in the middle of the kitchen, a plaid robe thrown around her shoulders.

“Hi, Aunt Cass. You—you didn’t have to get up.” Hiro turned to peer at the sink, trying to guess if the glass had cracked or not. It looked whole, but he wasn’t sure.

“I was awake,” she said, lying through her teeth. “Are you—would you like something to eat? There’s fried rice, or some scones, or—someone brought by a bag of gummy bears….”

“No thanks,” Hiro said, his voice dull and quiet. Aunt Cass nodded after a moment.

“In the morning, then. You need to eat.”

Hiro shrugged. It wasn’t that he wasn’t eating, exactly. He was. Just not much, or often.  He knew it worried his aunt, but how could he explain? Everything tasted like dust and felt like greased lead in his stomach.

“Hiro,” Aunt Cass started, closing the distance and putting a hand on his arm. He shrugged her off. She continued. “I know, it’s hard.” Her voice cracked slightly. “I know it hurts, and it doesn’t go away. I know.”

Hiro had heard enough. “No!” he shouted, his voice ragged, “you don’t know. No one does, you all say you do, but you don’t. And—you just—you don’t know what it’s like, to, to lose everything.”

Aunt Cass jerked back, and when Hiro met her eyes, he saw that she looked as if she’d been slapped. His eyes widened, and the burst of anger melted away.

“Aunt Cass, I didn’t…I didn’t mean,” he began, but he cut himself off as his aunt threw herself at him, pulling him into an embrace. As she held him, he felt the tears that had threatened spill over.

“I’m right here. I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.” She repeated the words over and over, a mantra, a promise. Hiro sagged in her arms, crying openly and clutching at the only mother he remembered. “You have me, sweetie. Always.” Her own voice was muffled with tears, and together they knelt on the hardwood floor, Aunt Cass rocking Hiro gently, his head pressed against her heart. Finally she lapsed into quiet, the only sound the drip of the faucet, the hum of the fridge, the beating of two broken hearts.

The streetlamp outside flickered out, and still they sat, until finally Aunt Cass spoke again. “You’re wrong, though.”

“Huh?” Hiro asked, drawing back and rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm.

“I do know, what it’s like to lose everything. Not for long, but for long enough.” Aunt Cass touched her necklace, freeing it from under the high collar of her nightgown. “Ten—eleven years ago. You were only little. It was—a birthday party. Your Dad’s. We had it in the Café.” Her voice was soft, sorrowing. Hiro listened. No one ever talked about the night his parents had died, and he couldn’t remember much beyond a lot of lights and being afraid and Tadashi holding his hand.

“There was a lot of fog coming in—and it was late, too. After you left, I sat down to watch one of my shows. Some murder mystery. They interrupted it for a newscast, a car wreck on the Bay Bridge. Four people dead, and then my phone rang.”

In the pale light, Hiro could only see the silvery curve of his aunt’s cheek, wet with tears. She was shaking, trembling violently.

“It took hours to get to the hospital. I had to go around, the traffic on the bridge was shut down, and that whole time, I thought—I was sure I’d lost you all.” Aunt Cass shook her head, then tried to brush hair out of her face with limited success. “But I got half my family back.” She sniffed hard, and sat back, letting out a long, shaky breath. “This floor is really uncomfortable. How about I make us some hot chocolate, alright?”

Hiro smiled faintly and nodded, finding his voice. “Would you tell me about…Mom? And Dad?”

Aunt Cass nodded, and as she started to stand, hugged Hiro again.

Tadashi stared at the tallies under the table, trying to remember if he’d already marked today. Twenty days...or twenty one? Or had he marked too many? After a moment, he added another tally mark anyway. “I guess it doesn’t matter, much,” he said under his breath, glad for the sound of his own voice. Three weeks. Classes would have started by now, because if it had been twenty days, that made it September.  I hope Hiro’s doing ok. I hope they all are.

He would not let himself cry, thinking of his friends and family. It wasted water, for one thing, and for another, if he did, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to stop.  Clenching a fist, he turned, pacing the room again, working the stiffness from his bad leg. It supported his weight better now, at least, and didn’t throb.

Tadashi glanced at the clock on the computer screen, wishing again there was a date function. A little after two. Probably in the morning, but without windows, he wasn’t certain. He kept the light on at all times after waking up to pitch blackness and wondering if he’d gone blind. The light helped some, keeping night terrors at bay long enough for him to get some rest. Still, what he wouldn’t give for a window, for daylight.

He sat down on the cot, pressing his back to the corner. He’d played this game with himself more times than he could count since waking up after the fire, the wishing game. A book. A notebook to keep track of things. Deck of cards. Something to short circuit the microbots all at once. That wish hurt. He might have been able to build something that could do that, but what if he failed? Worse, he’d only have one chance to test it and if it failed, He’ll hurt them. I can’t let him. I let Hiro down already, I can’t let Callaghan hurt him.

Back to the wishing game, a sketch pad, a better blanket, Aunt Cass’s Seafood Casserole.  It had been so long since Aunt Cass had made that—not since June at least. Tadashi’s stomach growled, tightening painfully at the thought. A phone, a way out, a rescue. He closed his eyes. It had been so long since he’d tried to signal his family with the ring. After the obituary, the funeral, he’d thought he’d known that no rescue was coming. Still, he’d hoped. Ok, so that failed, there has to be something else. Another way to get some kind of message out. He shook his head bitterly. Callaghan was the only way to get anything out. The professor—this new, dark, cold version of the man Tadashi had looked up to for so long—was smart. He’d never let a message out, not even something in code. Tadashi groaned, trying to think. There had to be something, some way of alerting someone.

Time was running out, that much Tadashi knew. How long would Callaghan keep him around once the Microbot issues were fixed?  Once he’d done whatever he’d planned with Hiro’s invention, what would keep him from just leaving Tadashi to die? Or…no. Do. Not. Think. That.

There has to be a way…if he didn’t know it was a message, then…maybe…but how? Think. New Angle. A message that doesn’t look like a message. Something in plain sight, but that someone would know is a message. There has to be some way.

He took a deep, steadying breath, gripping his fear and forcing it down. There was a way, there had to be, and he’d find it, he just needed to breathe. He lay back, and could just glimpse the underside of the table. It was September. Mid-September, or near to it. He felt his mind flood with memories of mid-September, flames and fog and smoke, a green hillside he visited every year, flowers in hand and then the idea struck him full force. A message hidden in plain sight. He rubbed the back of his neck, his lips pressed together so tightly they hurt. It’ll never work…but it’s the best chance I’ve got.

He sat at the computer and opened the 3D printing program, then carefully, carefully, began to tease a sphere into shape.

Callaghan frowned. “Two weeks. I’ve given you two weeks. And yet, you still can’t seem to figure out this little problem.”

 “It’s hardly little,” Tadashi protested, dropping his eyes to the ground after a moment. Play the part, knucklehead. He’s got to think you’re broken. “It would be easier to adjust the frequency of the transmitter rather than try to match it with out-dated equipment,” he murmured. The Microbots that held his legs in place tightened, and he grimaced in pain.

“Then perhaps I should just ask your brother.” Callaghan’s voice was harsh. Tadashi felt ice along his spine. “I’m not stupid. Changing the transmitter frequency would give me control of the new microbots, but we only have a few of those. This wouldn’t be a trick on your part, hm? I’d hate to have to follow through with one of my threats, but I will.” He moved towards the doorway, the microbots blocking it shifting slightly.

Tadashi gulped air, cursing himself for not realizing. “No, wait.” Callaghan paused. “I can figure it out, I just need more time, I’m almost there, really.”

“For your brother’s sake, you’d better be,” Callaghan said coldly. “I’ve waited long enough for this.”

Tadashi felt his stomach acids roil. “I...I won’t let you down,” he said, not even bothering to hide the tremble in his voice.

“Good.”

“There’s something else.” Tadashi drew a breath. It was now or never. Play the part, be broken, beaten. Callaghan raised an eyebrow.

“It’s September. My parents—it’s the anniversary. . Of the day they died. On the 17^th. I—I just want to put something on their graves. Please.”

Callaghan actually laughed, a full-bodied sound that seemed more fitted to a bad pun in one of his lectures, not this cold room. “I am not a fool. You aren’t going anywhere.”

Tadashi had expected that. He pressed on. “It doesn’t have to be me. You could.” He forced his voice to stay steady. “I made a template for some flowers. That’s all, see for yourself. No way to trace them, and if, if you put them there before, no one would know, really. Just—let me honor my parents. Please.”

Callaghan paused, thinking it over. The Microbots still blocked the door as the professor probed the templates, something vaguely like a frilly rose and other small flowers. Finally satisfied that there was no hidden message or secret compartment, the man turned back to Tadashi.

Callaghan swept the template file into a flashdrive he pulled from a pocket.

“I want the Microbots responding to this transmitter tomorrow, Hamada. I’m playing nice. I’ll do this for you, and I’ll continue to leave your brother out of this, but my patience is wearing very thin.”

Tadashi nodded, his throat dry. “I understand,” he said.

Callaghan left, and Tadashi let out the breath he’d been holding, a wave of relief and fear crashing over him.

Mom, Dad, I’m sorry I used you guys, and if—when—I get out of this, I’ll make it up to you,  he thought, offering up a silent prayer at the same time—please let Aunt Cass be keeping up with that Victorian mystery series, and let her understand the message.

Tadashi sat back in front of the computer, staring at the streams of data collected from the single working Microbot Callaghan had left him until his head ached. He closed his eyes, trying not to think about what would happen if he failed in getting the new Microbots to work…or what would happen if he succeeded. He felt empty and weak, despite this new plan, he had to wonder if he was still playing a part, or if it had become real.  He couldn’t fight Callaghan, he couldn’t escape. All he could do to protect his family was beg for Callaghan to leave them alone, to go along with his plans. As strong as he was trying to be, it wasn’t enough. Hamadas never give up,  he told himself, ordered himself. Not on Science, not on each other, not on ourselves.

Chapter Text

Another tally mark. Tadashi tried to figure out what day that made it—August had thirty-one days, and the showcase had been—when? The fifteenth? The twelfth? No, later…It had to be the second week of September now, though, into the third, didn’t it? He didn’t trust his memory of time, not with it all just blurring together into one endless existence. The light stayed on. Professor Callaghan brought food and water and let him out to a small bathroom twice—three times?—a day, and he studied schematics and figures and numbers until his head hurt.

The Microbots were finished, and whatever Tadashi had feared would happen after that had not materialized. He was still alive, still trapped, and Callaghan was still planning something, something to do with the data on thumbdrives Callaghan took away when he brought whatever dinner was.

It was some kind of magnetic containment field, but for what, Tadashi wasn’t certain, and then there were the numbers, formulas for the force needed to crack cinderblock and rebar, compensating for weight and a dozen other variables.

It was almost as if Callaghan was trying to calculate damage for a science-fiction version of a black hole, but that was…Crazy, Tadashi thought. This is all like something from Fred’s comics. The thought was like a blow to the gut. Man, I wish it was a comic book. Then maybe some superhero would figure this all out and…tell everyone.  Protect them. Find out what Callaghan is up to. Stop this.

He couldn’t give up on the chance for rescue, though. He wouldn’t. Callaghan had left the flowers, even brought back a picture, “proof.” But what if no one realized? It wasn’t as though the hidden message was explicit, what if it wasn’t understood, like the ring?

Pacing, Tadashi worked the ache from his leg, rolling his head on his neck to try to combat the stiffness. There had to be more he could do, somehow. He reached the cot and lifted the mattress, looking at the few things he could call his own. The newspaper clipping, one of the empty cases of the failed Microbots, his broken crayon stub, a broken up butane lighter. The lighter had been a real find, something the Microbots had swept up when Callaghan had been practicing with them, something that had been left behind. Tadashi didn’t know if Callaghan knew he had it. It was hardly the best tool, low on fluid and a crappy off-brand, but it was better than having nothing. There were also scraps of wrappers from the somewhat stale muffins Callaghan provided. Coupled with the sheet-thin blanket, his clothes, the plastic chair, his mostly empty wallet, and that was all. He ran a hand through his hair, which was starting to feel more than a little matted.

Think, Hamada. Use that big brain of yours. He’d said as much to Hiro, time and time and time again. He could see their room, Hiro’s pile of papers crumpled up into balls, needing an idea. Tadashi felt like hitting his own head against a desk. Useless, empty, no ideas.

He could use his “Cliché Advice That Doesn’t Actually Help, Big Brother edition, volume 2” book. Hiro had given it the name in jest, but it had fit. Maybe one of his own stupid sayings could trigger something. Somehow, though, he doubted it.

Books. Maybe that was it. He checked his wallet and found what he was looking for, a gift card to Kinokuniya books, a birthday gift from a year ago. He sat down hard, trying to think. He’d have to play this very carefully. Maybe I shouldn’t….but—if I don’t….God, please let this not blow up in my face.

When Callaghan returned, hours later, Tadashi was as ready as he thought he could be. The microbots still blocked the door, winding around his ankles. Callaghan was taking no chances, Tadashi thought bitterly, even with the threat of what would happen to Aunt Cass, Hiro, and the others if he so much as looked at the door wrong.

“I’ve got the formula. I’d—It should be right, I don’t have the best software for testing a simulation, but…” he began. It was not hard to keep his voice low, not after nearly a month of hardly speaking.

Callaghan looked at the screen, nodding. “Good work. I knew you could figure it out.”

The praise made Tadashi feel ill, but he shoved the thoughts down and away.

“I want something. I want you to do something. For me.” Tadashi winced as he spoke. Careful, knucklehead, don’t make him mad.

Callaghan let out a huff of air, not bothering to answer.

“Not…not that. I know nothing I say will—make you let me go.” It hurt to say. “But it’s just—I missed Honey Lemon’s birthday.”

“Who?”

“Diane Rodrigiez. My friend. I was hoping…”

“That I would go, and buy your friend something, and give it to her?” Callaghan shook his head slowly, exhaling.

Tadashi held out the gift card with shaking hands. “Could order it online. There’s a code on this—it wouldn’t be traceable. Fake name, and, sent to the lab—she’d think it was just someone from class.” He bit his lip, hoping.

Callaghan glared at the card, then took a deep breath.

“Please,” Tadashi said. The word was broken. If this didn’t work—and it might not. But if Honey was still working at the Lucky Cat, still saw Aunt Cass and Hiro…then there might be a chance.

 Callaghan glowered, closed his eyes, and finally, slowly, nodded, still frowning. He went to the computer, plugging in a flashdrive, and motioned with his free hand. The microbots pulled Tadashi along and forced him in his chair. There must have been an internet browser on the flashdrive, and it probably contained a wifi signal, because there was the internet, spread before him. For one heartbeat, Tadashi’s fingers froze. He could send an email, a message, a—

“Don’t forget who has the upper hand, here, Hamada.” Callaghan said firmly. “I designed that program myself. Nothing sends unless I let it, and I’ll warn you again: if you try anything, I will follow through on my threats.”

“I understand,” Tadashi said, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He found the Kinokuniya bookstore website, found the book, added it to his cart. Callaghan raised an eyebrow at the title, The Last Unicorn. The cover was cartoony and childish, but if that threw off the professor, all the better. Something like Sherlock Holmes would be too obvious, and Fred, at least, had seen the movie. Hopefully he at least would spot the connection.

 There was a place on the order screen to put in a message. The Microbots tightened as Tadashi typed. Happy birthday, daine, sorry its late. RM.

Tadashi paused, trying to keep his breathing level. The message passed inspection after a long, tense moment, and Callaghan watched as Tadashi put in the gift card number and put the lab’s address in.

Callaghan’s gaze did not shift from the screen, and if he hadn’t had the microbots, it would have been the perfect moment for flight. Finally, the professor paused, his hand on the mouse.

“This is the last favor you ask of me.”

Tadashi nodded, fear creeping into his lungs like ice water.

Click. Order sent.

“I know you wouldn’t risk your family . . . your friends. You’d risk your life, but not theirs. But no mistake, this is it for favors. I will not throw everything away for you, do I make myself clear.”

Tadashi could not find his voice, he only nodded, and watched as Callaghan terminated the program, removing the USB and letting the screen go dark.

He had no appetite, even after Callaghan had gone and returned and gone again, as his head pounded and his fingers shook.

Tadashi hugged his knees to his chest, pressing his back to the wall. He was putting his friends and family at risk. And, in a room filled only with the sound of fluorescent lights and his own heartbeat, he couldn’t lie even in his own head. As much as the messages had been to tell Aunt Cass, Hiro, Wasabi, everyone, that he wasn’t gone, as often as he told himself he had tried to tell them for their sakes, so they would stop grieving, they were more for him, a desperate plea for rescue.

Hiro lay in the beanbag chair near the window seat, staring at the ceiling, where he’d once painted constellations with glow-in-the-dark paint. That particular section of the ceiling had collapsed during a particularly bad earthquake a few years earlier, but aside from the lack of pale green spots, it was hardly noticeable.

Aunt Cass knocked, then came in before Hiro could say anything. She set down a plate of breakfast, eyeing Hiro’s largely untouched dinner plate with distaste.

“You said you’d eat more,” she said with a sigh, picking up the plate.

“Not hungry,” Hiro muttered. They hadn’t spoken much since the night in the kitchen, but Hiro had promised to make an effort, which he considered “not using single word sentences.” Aunt Cass would take what she could get.

“Do you want to come down? Mrs. Matsuda’s in the café, wearing something super inappropriate for an 80-year-old. That always makes you laugh.”

“Maybe later.”

“Alright,” Aunt Cass balanced the plate and rubbed her necklace, twisting it so the clasp was in the proper place. “No…no hurry. Just—I think Fred’s working a little later on. Maybe then?”

Hiro shrugged. He’d been avoiding his friends—Tadashi’s friends. Like Aunt Cass, they were “being strong,” and Hiro hated it. Aunt Cass seemed to get that he needed time, but no one else did, and even his aunt was starting to press.

“The Institute called again. Classes have started, but they said—it’s not too late to register for classes. If you want. I’ll be down in the café, shout if you need me.”

Hiro waited until she’d retreated downstairs, then got up, closing the blinds she’d opened. He looked at his computer screen, then turned it off, not wanting to deal with emails and messages like the ones Tadashi’s friends had been sending: Hey, we miss you; How are you?; You holding up?; I’ve got ice cream that needs eating, you game?; Hey, you there?...

Shuffling through some discarded laundry, Hiro gripped Megabot, slightly dusty from sitting unused for so long. The latest in a long string of what-ifs played in his mind, what if I hadn’t gone botfighting that night? Maybe it’d have been weeks or years before Ta—before I decided to try for the showcase, and then we wouldn’t have been there, and then we’d, then everything, it all would have been….

He let Megabot fall on top of a crumpled pair of pants and glared at the acceptance letter, perched on his desk. He’d never read it. What would be the point? It didn’t matter now. Hiro picked it up, tracing the insignia with a finger. It had been his dream, yes, but not worth what it had cost. He let the letter fall into the wastebasket, then turned, ready to flop onto his bed. Instead, his foot crashed against something pointed and metal, and he cried out.

“Ow! Stupid Megabot!”

As he bent to retrieve the fighting bot, he paused, listening. It wasn’t cold enough for the heaters to be on, not now that things were finally warming up, and there wasn’t an air conditioning unit in the apartment above the café, So what’s that noise?  He glanced around and spotted the source as a large, vinyl robot made his way awkwardly from the far side of Tadashi’s part of the room. As Baymax edged past a low bookshelf, he knocked over a few of the larger volumes stacked on top, and with those, a carved wood box. Hiro blinked as Baymax waddled up to him and held up a hand.

“Hello, I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion.”

“Oh, uh, er—hi, Baymax. I didn’t realize you were…here.”

“I heard a sound of distress. What is the trouble?” The robot’s voice was calming, soothing. Hiro shrugged.

“Nothing. I just stepped on a—I just hurt my toe a little, I’m fine”

“On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?” Baymax tilted his head, mirroring Hiro.

“Uh, zero? Negative one. I’m fine.” He made shooing motions. “Really, you can go…shrink now.”

Baymax reached out one puffy arm. “Does it hurt if I touch it?”

“What, no, hey!” Hiro scrambled backwards, slipping on a sock and crashing into the narrow space between his bed and desk.

“You have fallen,” the robot observed.

“Ya think?”

“Do you require assistance?”

“No! I’ve been telling you, I’m fine.” Hiro reached up to try to lever himself out of the tight space, but only managed to latch onto a shelf. The shelf supports had been made for holding up a few books and toys, not the full weight for a teenager, even one as scrawny as Hiro. It gave way, sending a row of toys crashing down directly on Hiro.

“Ow!”

“On a scale of one to ten, how would you—“

“Ow!”

“On a scale of one to—“

“Ow!”

“On a scale of one-“

“OW!”

“On a scale –“

“Really? Ow.”

When the avalanche had stopped, Baymax asked again. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”

“A zero, nothing, I’m fine.” Hiro wriggled, trying to get free with little luck. Baymax reached down, edging the heavy bed aside and scooping his patient into his squishy arms.

“It is all right to cry and to admit to pain. I will scan your injuries.”

Hiro squirmed free. “No, don’t scan me, I’m fine!”

“Scan complete,” Baymax chirped.

“Unbelievable!”

As Baymax rambled about various symptoms, arriving at “Diagnosis: Puberty,” Hiro found himself approaching Tadashi’s side of the room for the first time in weeks. He dragged the charging station over, trying to ignore the fallen books, the open box with its bits and pieces. He’d clean them up, later.

“Ok, back to your luggage, thanks for everything.” Hiro tugged on Baymax’s arm, unable to get a good grip on the slick vinyl.

“I cannot deactivate until you say you are satisfied with your care,” Baymax prompted as Hiro climbed on top of the robot, trying to fit him into the charging port.

“Wow, needlessly complicated, fine. I’m satisfied with-oof!” Hiro slid off Baymax’s head and landed in a heap on the floor. Baymax made a concerned noise, but Hiro was too busy, staring at something moving under his bed, pinned by his hoodie.

“Mochi, I swear, if it’s another mouse,” Hiro threatened, ignoring the fact that Mochi was nowhere near.

It was not a mouse. It was one of his microbots, twitching violently. Hiro frowned.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered to himself, peering at the flailing microbot.

“Puberty can often be confusing for—“

“No, this. They’re attracted to other microbots, but this one’s...it’s all that’s left. Stupid thing’s broken.” Hiro put the little device in a petri dish, closing it up and setting it down. Maybe he should try to fix it. Later.

Baymax picked up the dish, examining the contents. “Your little robot want to go somewhere,” he said at last.

Hiro ignored him, having retrieved Megabot and checking for damage. “Great. I’m sure it is. Why don’t we all just go see where?” His sarcasm was lost on Baymax, who scrutinized the boy and then the robot.

“Would this stabilize your mood swings? Walks can be beneficial--”

“Sure, fine.” Hiro said without thinking. Three seconds later, he realized what he had said, but the damage was done. Baymax was gone.

Hiro cursed under his breath. Tadashi would never forgive me if his project got lost or stolen or wrecked. Hiro stopped, frozen for a heartbeat, closing his eyes against the second-nature thought. Then he scooped up the hoodie and a pair of sneakers and took off down the stairs, three at a time.

Aunt Cass stopped him at the door. “That was fast,” she said, smiling widely.

“Yeah, uh,” Hiro could see Baymax outside the café windows, walking through traffic. “I thought about what you said. Registering for classes, so I gotta go now love you ‘bye.” He had a hand on the door, but Aunt Cass gripped him in a hug.

“I’m proud of you,” she said. “Special dinner tonight, ok? Those chicken wings, yeah?”

“Sure, fine,” Hiro said, looking over his shoulder.  Aunt Cass nodded, then hugged him again, tighter.

“Last hug,” she said softly.

Hiro promised himself that he was going to get into better shape, and soon. He’d been a fast runner, and should have been able to catch a walking—waddling—marshmallow easily. Should being the key word. Baymax had led him down past most of the touristy areas, through an open air market, onto one of the hideously overpriced cable cars, and now into a row of warehouse.

“Baymax!” Hiro panted for breath, skidding as he caught a glimpse of white down an alley.

Baymax stood before a large door locked with a chain.

“I found where your tiny robot has been trying to go,” he offered.

Hiro snatched the petri dish.

“I was being sarcastic! I said, it’s broken, it’s not.. trying...to...go anywhere….” He trailed off, adjusting the dish. The Microbot wanted in, through that door. “Come on, let’s check this out.”

The door was a dead end, locked tight, but Baymax pointed out a window, and Hiro scrambled through. Baymax insisted on following, but neither of them could figure out how to get the robot up to the window.

“If you had hoverboots? But I don’t think you’d fit.” Hiro said. “I’ll be careful, alright? Relax.”

“I cannot leave a patient.”

“Well, you already did that once, so just stay put, k?”

The warehouse was one vast room, sectioned off by curtains or stacks of crates or simply shadow. Lights shone from one curtained section, and Hiro saw movement. He crept towards it, then paused. Going in blind was a bad idea, going in blind with no weapon was worse. Spotting a broom against a wall, Hiro cautiously edged his way to the section. His heart stuttered as he tried to understand what he was seeing. Machines. Making microbots. His microbots. Glancing around, he saw containers that had to be full of them, dozens of them.

“Ok, not good,” Hiro hissed. How? I have the only one that survived, and all the blueprints, who could make them? No wait, ask later. Run now.

Hiro left the broom in roughly the right place and slipped to the door, then shrank into the shadow of a catwalk as he saw another shape on the far side of the room, all dark but for a white and red face—a mask. Hiro swallowed hard, sure his heart could be heard across the bay. Please don’t see me, please don’t see me.

The person, whoever it was, directed a wave of the microbots, thousands of them, then let then spill back into containers. Again the microbots rose, creating a latticework structure that towered over the figure, while it—he?--she?—directed others as if in a dance, or practicing. Hiro stayed motionless, clenching his fists.

After what felt like an eternity, the Kabuki masked-stranger turned, and Hiro risked climbing the stairs. He only checked to be certain Baymax was below before climbing out and dropping, then whispered, Run!

“So a man in a Kabuki Mask stole your mini flying robots,” a bored looking cop said, side-eyeing Hiro and a strangely quiet Baymax.

“Microbots, and they don’t fly, but—yes? He was controlling them with a Neurocranial transmitter.”

“So Mr. Kabuki was using ESP to attack you and Balloon man here?”

“Ah, no? I mean, I don’t think he saw me, and Baymax was outside, so he didn’t attack us, but..”

“Uh-huh. Did you file a report when your “microbots” were stolen?”

“Well, no, I thought—there was a fire.”

The cop sighed. “Look, kid, why don’t I call your mom and dad. That way they can give you the lecture about wasting police time instead of me.”

“What? I’m not lying!”

“Right. Just put your name and phone number—“

But Hiro and Baymax were already gone. It was getting dark, And Baymax started to wobble, diagnosing himself with a splinter and slow leak, and Hiro with more mood swings, before finally admitting to a low battery and spouting off random techno-medical babble. It took everything Hiro had to get them both up the hill.

Aunt Cass stood by the stove, muttering to herself as she coated the wings in her special “Melt your face off” wing sauce. Downstairs, she heard a door open, and shouted down, “Hiro, that you?”

There was the sound of a muffled conversation, and Aunt Cass frowned. No one else was down stairs, that she knew of. “Hiro?”

“M’fine, Aunt Cass! Coming!” Hiro trooped up the stairs, leaning on the railing. “Hi.”

“Hi to you, too, my little college man,” Aunt Cass said with one of her well known smiles. Hiro shifted awkwardly. Aunt Cass jerked her head at the table, then turned back to the saucepan. “I want to hear all about your day. Wings are nearly done.”

“Weeeeee,” said a distinctly not-Hiro voice. Aunt Cass closed her eyes, counted to two, and responded.

“Yeah, wiiiings,” she said, still facing the stove at the window beside it. “Set read to have your face melted, because are going to feel these things in the morning. Grab a chair.” She turned, and saw Hiro at the foot of the next flight of steps.

“Yeah. Um. Well, I have a lot of homework, so, uh, I should get started on that.”

“Well, take a plate with you,” Aunt Cass said with a frown, starting to prepare one. She heard a crash.

“What was that?” she asked, looking at the ceiling.

“Uh, Mochi?” Hiro said from behind her. The explanation was followed by another crash and a faint hiss. Aunt Cass sighed, handing off a plate.

“Eat that,” she said firmly. Hiro nodded, intending to do no such thing, then bolted for his room.

Baymax was staring at his charging station, plugged in and waiting, except for one tiny problem.

More accurately, one not-so-tiny problem. Precisely, it was a twenty-five pound problem named Mochi, who had taken ownership of the red, vaguely box shaped thing with the “If I fits I sits” rule all cats seem to live by. Hiro groaned. Baymax made a sound that could only be described as a coo.

“Haiiiiiry baby,” he said, prodding the cat. Mochi twitched.

Hiro blinked, then put his unwanted dinner plate on the floor. He held up a wing, dripping sauce.

“Mochi, dinner,” he called. Mochi opened an eye and sniffed, shifting to reach the wing. Hiro drew it back, away from the box. Mochi considered for a long moment, then followed the food. As he devoured the wings, Hiro helped Baymax into the charging station, sighing with relief.

As Hiro pulled off his hoodie and hunted for a pen, He heard Baymax’s voice, considerably more normal.

“Tadashi.” Baymax was looking at the empty bed.

“What?” Hiro asked, jolting out of his thoughts.

“Where is Tadashi?”

Any elation at having escaped possible-certain-death vanished. Hiro felt his throat go tight, and he bit his lip.

“He’s gone.”

“When will he return?”

“He’s not coming back.” Hiro moved to close the screen for the first time in weeks.

“But Tadashi was in excellent health. With proper diet and exercise, he should have lived a long life.” Baymax sounded more confused than Hiro had thought a robot could sound.

“Yeah,” the boy said at last, his lips twitching. “He should have. But there was a fire. And I didn’t—so he’s gone.”

“Tadashi is here,” Baymax said firmly.

“People keep saying that. That he’s not gone, if we remember him. That, he’ll always be with us, and …I don’t buy it. It still hurts.”

“I see no evidence of physical pain,” Baymax offered.

“Not that kind of hurt,” Hiro said, sitting in his chair, swiveling to face the wall.

“You are my patient. I would like to help you.” A whirring filled the room, and lights flashed from Baymax’s body. Hiro turned, watching images appear on his computer screen and Baymax’s own body.

“What?”

“I am downloading a database on: personal loss. Database: downloaded. Treatments include: contact with: friends and loved ones.” Baymax tilted his head, considering, then in a louder voice called, “Aunt Cass?”

“Unbelievable,” Hiro said under his breath. Aunt Cass appeared, a book under her arm and a tray with more food on it.

“You finished that homework fast, Kiddo,” she said, staring. Hiro blinked.

“Uh, yeah, I-“

“I called SFIT. You didn’t bring a lunch. Apparently you weren’t there all day. Care to explain?”

“Uh….”

“And you didn’t eat your dinner.” Aunt Cass sat on the edge of the bed, putting the tray beside her and leaning forward.

“I…did. Plate’s empty.” Hiro offered.

“Plate’s on the floor and Mochi’s drooling steam.” Aunt Cass countered.

“I went for a walk with Baymax. I didn’t want to worry you?”

Aunt Cass sighed. “I didn’t mean you had to register today, Hiro. I’m glad you got out of the house, got a little sunshine. Next time, though, just tell me where you’re going, all right?” she ruffled his hair, then sat back.

“Ok,” Hiro said.

Chapter Text

It was a Thursday. Specifically, it was the Thursday before the first write-ups of the semester were due. Classrooms at SFIT were empty for the most part, something the professors always knew to expect. The labs, on the other hand, were anything but empty. The large, open room was filled with the sounds of typing and note taking, early prototypes failing and the occasional yowl of a cat, because Cameron was still trying to create decent rocket boots for felines, and was still doing a fairly crappy job of keeping his test subject from causing absolute chaos.

Wasabi sat at a desk, a thesaurus propped open beside his left elbow, scowling at his laptop screen, trying to think of the right phrase. It was times like this, he reflected, that Fred’s eagerness to help came in useful instead of being annoying, even if the phrases he came up with were far too wordy for a scientific write up. He stretched, reaching for his morning tea, and got back to work—or, tried too. He was still stuck on another word to describe his project that didn’t use “plasma” or “laser” or “self-contained” or a combination of the three. But he still had several hours, until Friday at midnight, and like Go Go, he was still working on an existing project, not trying something totally new. If that had been the case, the situation might have been more dire.

Honey Lemon had not slept more than twelve hours that week, and was on her sixth cup of coffee, but even that had not done her much good. She hunched over her own desk, punching numbers into her smart phone and frowning at the results, then punching in more data.

“Fine, tests, si, test things, then write,” she muttered to herself. Already, four formulas had failed, but five was a lucky number, wasn’t it? Maybe this one would work better. She measured the compounds, mixed them together like her Abuelita Ramos mixed ingredients for soup, bit by bit in the proper order, her hands flying but steady. She turned on the Bunsen burner, the flick of flame startling her until she turned it down to a wavering blue skirt of fire, not the angry, wavering orange that still tugged at her eyes when she shut them at night.

The orange goo, a firm ball on her desk, caught on fire, the outer edge searing black in seconds. Honey held her breath, hoping that this time, it would work. So long as only the edges burned, it might still be the right track. But the flames took hold, acrid smoke rising from the ball, and Honey Lemon seized the fire extinguisher at her station, blasting it. The fire went out, and the charred remains of test five lay on the fire-proofed desk, still too hot to touch. At least it had lasted longer than the others, though not by much. Honey cursed under her breath in Spanish, yanking her hair loose from the tight bun it had been in all morning, and sat at her desk to add her latest failure to her paper, taking another long drink of her coffee.

Go Go ignored her laptop, and the write up rubric for her project, which was, after three semesters, still her bike. The paper was due tomorrow, she’d do it tomorrow. This was more important. She sat on her haunches, looking over printed out schematics and messing with wiring, running cables through the thin, light frame of her bike. She’d thought she might dye them purple, but that could come later, maybe. First, she just had to figure out how to make it all work properly. She’d never intended to add brakes to her bike, her baby. It was a bike, transportation, it needed to move, not stop. It needed speed, power, agility, she’d always said, not something to hold it back. But she fumbled with the cables and wires, trying to rig a brake system anyway, chewing a piece of gum irritably. She shifted to the other side of the bike, wincing as her still tender ankle protested her choice of posture. There. That should do it. Hand brake. Done. I hope you’re happy.

It was a Thursday, and Hiro sat on the edge of his bed, clutching Tadashi’s baseball cap. He knew he should go. He’d gone every year, more just to spend the day away from school and with his brother, but now, it was only him, and Aunt Cass, Aunt Cass who visited on her own, later in the day, during the mid-afternoon quiet hours. Tadashi had once said that Aunt Cass didn’t like anyone to see her grieving. Hiro had never really understood that before, but he thought he did now. The date on his phone read “Thursday, September 17.” It had never been a lonely day, despite all it represented to his family. Now, it was. He slipped into his shoes, pulling on his hoodie.

Aunt Cass spotted him from the counter as he edged towards the Café door, and gripped him in a tight hug. “You’re going to--?” she didn’t need to finish the sentence. Hiro shrugged.

“It’s…tradition,” he said, squeezing the cap he still held. Aunt Cass nodded.

“Do you need money for BART? Did you eat? Where’s Baymax?”

“No, no, upstairs?”

Aunt Cass rolled her eyes.

“OK answer, wrong answer, wronger answer. Is that a word? Never mind. Go. Upstairs. Eat. And take Baymax with you, in case---in case something happens. An earthquake while you’re on BART or something.”

Aunt Cass pointed back up the stairs, her eyes over-bright and her voice slightly shrill. After a heartbeat, Hiro nodded, leaving a few minutes later with half a chocolate biscotti and a confused Baymax.

Getting the robot onto BART, the rapid transit system of half above-, half under-ground trains, was more hassle than Hiro thought it was worth. The BART cops seemed to think it was funny and finally pointed out the turnstile that accommodated bikes and wheelchairs, one broad enough for Baymax to squeeze through without risking the seams of his vinyl body. Baymax thanked them, Hiro scowled, and they joined the crowd heading to the East Bay.

“Where are we going?” Baymax finally asked. “We are not following your tiny robot, nor is this the way to SFIT.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hiro muttered, digging in his cargo pants for a set of earplugs, which was hard with one hand on Tadashi’s hat and the other gripping Baymax’s arm. He stopped fumbling and pointed at the train they needed. “We’re going to Cerritomiya, we need that train, c’mon.”

There was no room for either of them to sit in the crowded compartment, and Hiro glowered at the rubber loops hanging from the ceiling, handholds he wasn’t quite tall enough to reach. Someone should do something about that, he thought, trying to worm his way to one of the metal poles several people gripped.

“Here, Shorty,” a teenaged girl crammed a tangle of yarn into a purple shoulder bag and pointed at her seat. The train jolted, the doors closing, and Hiro took the seat with a muttered “Thanks.” Baymax edged closer, looked around, and copied the girl and other passengers, gripping a bar for stability as they started moving.

BART trains were loud, and Hiro crammed the earplugs he’d found in. He’d already damaged his hearing enough, being that close to the explosion, he didn’t want to risk worse. They didn’t do much, he could still hear the screeching roar of the train as it sped off, the tunnel diving down under the Bay.

They got off four stops later, crossing a busy platform to another train. This time, the compartment was nearly empty, and Baymax sat awkwardly beside Hiro. “BART is very loud,” he said. “Prolonged exposure to loud noises can lead to damage to—“

“That’s why Tadash—why I wear these,” Hiro said, cramming the (mostly useless really) earplugs back into his ears. “It’s only another twenty minutes.” He turned, staring out the window until the train went back underground at Berkobe.

Hiro stopped in front of a familiar store front. “Wait here,” he told Baymax, who blinked.

“You still haven’t told me where we are going.” The robot said, but Hiro had already ducked inside the flower shop, the bell above the door ringing.

“How can I help you?” the owner of Toshiko’s Garden, Mrs. Takenouchi, asked, looking up from a vase of roses. She took off her glasses. “I know you,” she said after a moment.

“I need flowers,” Hiro said, reaching for his wallet. ”I…My brother, we—I…” it hurt to speak, suddenly, a stone in his throat.

“You come every year,” Mrs. Takenouchi said, remembering. “Crimson roses, for Mourning, daisies for Loyalty. Every year.” Her mouth twitched as Hiro stared. “I remember the regulars, most people stop by the grocery for flowers, not here. You come every year, rain or shine. Why are you alone this year?”

She had asked it kindly, but Hiro’s eyes burned and he did not want to cry in public. “I need more flowers,” he said at last.  The woman’s dark eyes flashed with recognition.

“I’m sorry,” she said, but didn’t follow it up with any other sentiments of understanding or a better place or that awful, hated, false promise that remembering was enough. She put her glasses back on, hunted through a fridge at the back of the shop, and returned, three long stemmed roses, three moon-pale daisies.

“How’s this?” she asked, her voice gentle. Hiro shrugged, then nodded, handing her a bill and taking the flowers with his free hand. Mrs. Takenouchi held open the door for him.

He rejoined Baymax and together they wound their way up the street, towards Sunset View. The cemetery was named for the perfect view it had of Sunset Bridge, the reddish bridge that connected San Fransokyo to Milho Valley, the gateway into the ocean, or the perfect view it would have had if not for all the trees. Hiro knew the way, though he’d never been on his own before, and halfway up one of the thin roads, he paused, suddenly unsure if he could do this, face any of it.

“You are distressed,” Baymax observed.

“No kidding,” Hiro said, but without temper.

They found the graves easily enough, two stone slabs set, like many of the others, flush with the grass, one for his parents, one for Tadashi. They gleamed with dew, and the grass was wet. So was a cluster of obviously fake flowers placed before his parent’s headstone. As Hiro placed his own offerings, the flowers and a small cake from the Lucky Cat, he reached out to touch the flowers.

“No one bought them,” he said after a moment, letting his grip loosen. He and Aunt Cass were the only ones left to honor his parents, and Hiro was fairly certain there hadn’t been flowers when he’d been there a month ago.

He sat heavily in the wet grass, and Baymax waddled closer. “Hiro? You have fallen.”

“M’fine,” Hiro said, the hat covering some of the writing on Tadashi’s marker, his hand pressed against the smooth stone. 

“It is all right to cry.” Baymax asserted. “Crying can help relieve—“

“I said, I’m...I’m…” Hiro looked away, at the ground, at the graves. His mother’s name, his father’s. An inscription in thin, spidery writing: Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality. “No. I’m not ok. I need—I miss—I… Tadashi. I don’t remember my parents, not really. Just Aunt Cass, and Tadashi, and they were always there and now he’s…not.”

There was a long moment of silence, before he heard a familiar voice.

“Hiro?” Fred came loping up, his arms full of red, pink, and yellow flowers. “You—you got up! And left the Café, that’s—that’s good. We’ve all been worried about you.” Fred saw Baymax. “Hey, I remember you. ‘Member me? Fred?”

“Hello, Fred,” Baymax held up a hand in greeting.

Fred knelt down beside Hiro, who ignored him. “Hey, you never answered my message. We all just want to know, you know, how you are.”

Hiro shrugged, his lips locked together.

“Look, if you want to talk, or if you need, there’s a great group, this online organization for coping with trauma, they do good work, I can get you the email if you want.” Fred tried again, putting the armful of zinnias down in front of him, then reaching out to touch Hiro’s arm. Hiro was on his feet in a heartbeat.

“I came to be alone,” he said, teeth clenched, trying to keep his breathing calm, his face smooth, and failing. “I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to eat ice cream, I don’t want—“And then his feet were pounding down the hill, trusting that Baymax would follow.

Fred stood for a long, stunned moment, watching Hiro flee, and called himself ten kinds of idiot in ten languages, not that he remembered which was which.

Hiro found himself blocks away, at a small, empty park, Baymax standing beside him.

“Hiro,” the robot said.

“I know. I should have stayed. “Talked it out” instead of just trying to avoid the world. I know. I’ve heard it.” Hiro winced, looking down. He’d grabbed Tadashi’s SF Ninjas hat, the other still held the makeshift bouquet. He looked at it for a long moment, then put it in his shoulder bag. He could deal with it later. Now, he just wanted to sit.

“I am sorry.” Baymax sifted through suggested messages of condolences his database collected, settling for one that was simple.

Hiro shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s not your fault you didn’t stop me from leaving.”

“I am sorry about Tadashi,” the robot tried again.

“That wasn’t your fault either. It was just—bad luck. An accident.” Hiro hoped that Baymax wasn’t blaming himself for not being active, because that was stupid. He could blame himself, he’d been there, he’d held Tadashi’s arm, if he hadn’t let go—but Tadashi was stronger than he was. If he’d had the microbots, though—Hiro sucked in a breath. “Unless it wasn’t,” he whispered.

“What wasn’t what?”

“The fire. That guy I saw, in the warehouse, he had to have gotten my Microbots from somewhere, he must have stolen the…and the fire, that was to cover his tracks, so no one would wonder. Which means,” the thought that had been bothering him since the previous afternoon dawned on Hiro. “Which means he’s responsible. He killed Tadashi. We’ve gotta stop him.”

Baymax tilted his head. “I am not fast. Nor am I equipped to deal with a threat like the man you have described. Perhaps we should go to the police again.”

Hiro waved the thought away. “No, they’ll think I’m crazy. It’s gotta be us. I think…I think…I need to go to the library.”

Chapter Text

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” a librarian asked Hiro as he pulled another book off of one of the shelves. Hiro shrugged.

“I don’t go to Berkobe High,” he said, meaning the high school across the street from the largest library in the East Bay, a five storey building in pale green. He hunched his shoulders, and glanced at the card where he’d scribbled call numbers for a set of DVDs.

“Oh. Well—sometimes students forget that lunch does end. Sorry, but with the backpack, I figured—anyway, can I help you find anything?” She reminded Hiro of his Aunt Cass, though they looked very different. It was something about her eyes, and the way she changed topic easily, shifting from concerned to relaxed. Hiro shrugged again.

“I’ve got it,” he said, turning quickly. It was more conversation than he wanted to have with anyone, with his face still slightly blotchy from crying. He found the rest of the things on his list, grateful that Berkobe’s library system had self-checkout. Baymax had waited for him outside the library, watching a flock of sparrows peck at crumbs left by high school students.  His bag full of books and DVDs slung over one shoulder, Hiro led the way to the Shattuck Street BART station, digging out his ticket. The security decided again, thankfully, that Baymax didn’t need a ticket, and then helpfully informed the pair of them that next time, they could just use the elevator and spare everyone the hassle of going down the tiny, cramped escalator.

Baymax was quiet on the train ride back to San Fransokyo—or rather, Hiro didn’t hear anything he had to say, between the earplugs and the book he balanced on his lap, going over glossy pictures of suits of armor and weapons.  It was still early afternoon when they reached home, entering the garage from the back alley in hopes of avoiding the crowd and bustle of the café. The library and BART station had been quite enough social interaction for one day. Or the week, really.

The basement was a mess, the same it had been the last time he’d been there, still working on the microbots. A thin layer of dust, very faint, almost unnoticed, lay along the tops of the desk and shelves. A cardigan still hung over the back of the couch/easy chair Fred had found. Hiro swallowed hard, coughing suddenly, trying to think about what had to come now.

We have to stop this. Me and Baymax. We need to catch that guy, and make sure he—he doesn’t hurt anyone else. Ever again.

“I need to scan you,” Hiro told Baymax.

“I am confused. You are not equipped with scanners, and I am not in need of a diagnosis.” Baymax’s voice was level, but tilted up in the end, questioning. Hiro cracked a smile, lifting a hand-held scanner.

“I need to get an idea of how you can move, and you need some serious upgrades. We need to catch the man in the mask.”

“Will apprehending him improve your emotional state?”

“Absolutely,” Hiro nodded, turning to the computer and flicking it on, sorting through data the scanner had picked up. He scooted along in the office chair to another station, inserting the first blank computer chip he could find, one in cherry red. Baymax followed along as Hiro darted from computer to computer to the 3d printer to the scanner, shifting images from one to the other. His backpack lay empty on the ground, the stack of books and DVDs easily accessible, the lopsided bouquet of plastic flowers propped beside them.

“Knock-knock!” Fred announced, entering the Nerd Lab with large take-out bags. Weary sets of eyes turned on him, and Go Go managed a smile at the smell of hot grease.

“Oh, thank goodness. I need calories, pronto,” she said, rifling through the bag Fred handed her. Fred grinned, then turned to present Wasabi and Honey Lemon with their own dinners.

“I figured you’d be busy with projects, so I picked stuff up for you,” he said, but the smile was strained.

“Gracias,” Honey Lemon muttered, freeing her hair from its tight bun. “I’m starving. Maybe I should have started with something different. I just can’t get this right.”

“You don’t have to get it right, right now,” Wasabi said, accepting his own food with a careful glance. “It’s only the first write-up.” He opened the bag. “Fred, what is this?”

“Barbeque. I think it might be yak. You never know, it’s the Thursday Special.” Fred sat heavily in his chair.

“I…see.” Wasabi looked slightly ill and put the bag on the desk.

Fred removed his hat, running a hand through his hair. “I saw Hiro today,” he said.

At that, Go Go, Wasabi, and Honey Lemon all jolted, turning their full attention to their English Major friend.

“How is he? He won’t answer the phone,” Honey Lemon asked. “Is he…?”

Fred shifted. “Not so good. I was at the cemetery, I didn’t think I’d see anyone there, but…well, I wanted to, you know, talk to…anyway. Hiro was there, and I tried to talk to him, see how he was, but he just bolted. He had Baymax with him, but, I dunno. I’m just worried. Aunt Cass said he’s not doing so great.”

Wasabi nodded. “None of us are, are we? But, Hiro. I wish there was something…” he trailed off. “I’ve been talking to that councilor, the one Professor Yoshida mentioned. But I don’t think it’s, y’know. Helping much.”

Go Go nodded, swiping hair out of her eyes as she stared at her barbeque bowl. “Yeah. I know.” She reached out a hand for a moment, then drew back, staring at her food again.

“We need to go see Hiro. Soon.” Honey Lemon said, standing. “I know he’s been ignoring us, but---if it were any of us, if it were me, and my little sister—Tadashi’d be taking care of her.” She looked at her work station, the failed piles of singed goo and wadded up papers. “Maybe that’s the best way to honor him.” The smile she offered was sad, her eyebrows knit together.

There was a chorus of nods.

“Operation Zinnia,” Fred said after a moment.

“Excuse me?” Go Go asked, throwing away her trash.

“It needs a name.  Can’t call it “Operation, look after Hiro.” He’ll get suspicious. Operation Zinnia.” He took in the blank looks. “I wrote a paper on floral symbolism last semester, so what? Zinnias, they’re  a type of  flower, they mean “in honor of absent friends.” So, that’s what we should call this.”

“It doesn’t need a code name, Freddy.” Honey Lemon rolled her eyes.

“Of course it does!”

“No, Fred,” three voices returned, edged with exasperation, but acceptance.

“Hiro?” Aunt Cass called up the stairs. No answer. The sun was setting, painting the kitchen walls orange and gold, and she looked around, puzzled. He really should have been home by now. Something downstairs crashed, and Aunt Cass started. She took the steps three at a time, and found Hiro in the center of the garage, Baymax beside him. Around them, computer screens hummed.

“There you are, I was worried.”

Hiro blinked, his eyes darting to the bits of armor he’d finished and to a computer screen that still showed stills from karate movies. “I’ve been down here. With Baymax.”

“Everything is fine, Aunt Cass.” Baymax assured her. The woman let out a sigh of relief.

“Ok. Well, I’m going to—go. Now. I’ll be back around ten, unless the traffic’s bad, but I’ve got my phone, call if you need anything. I mean it.” She tried to smile.

“Where are you going?” Baymax asked, tilting his head.

Hiro shook his head. “Same place as us, earlier.”

Aunt Cass nodded as the robot blinked. “Anyway. There’s some casserole from John and his family up the street in the fridge, or Mrs. Matsuda brought over some chocolate covered gummy bears.” She crossed the room, then hugged her nephew tightly.

“I love you, Hiro, sweetie,” she said.

“Love you too, Aunt Cass,” Hiro muttered into her shoulder. She released him and turned to the stairs, then returned.

“Last hug.”

The sun was sinking into the waves, playing off the fogbank that rolled in like clockwork, swooping in from the ocean in an avalanche. Aunt Cass fought to keep her mind on the road as she turned onto the Bay Bridge. Across the water, as the sky grew darker and the sun faded, light shone on the windows in every house along the west face of the Berkobe-Oakdaiba hills, orange as flames.

Hiro hesitated for a moment, seeing Baymax’s acess port open, his eyes locked on the green chip that Tadashi had labled. After a moment, he slid the red chip, marked with a skull and filled with fighting moves, next to it. Baymax blinked slowly, analyzing the new data.

“Well?” asked Hiro

“I fail to see how Karate will make me a better healthcare companion.”

“Your job is to keep me healthy, right? Protect me? You need to be able to fight for that.” Hiro pointed out.

“I still have some concerns.” Baymax said as Hiro helped him into the next-to-last of the pieces of samurai-inspired armor. “I am meant to be non-threatening. This armor may give people the wrong idea.”

“Or, it might give them the right one. That they shouldn’t, y’know, mess with us. Now, let’s see what you’ve got.” Hiro held up a board scavenged from a shipping crate someone had left in the alley. “Punch this.” Baymax did, shattering the wood.

“Good, now, try, uh, hammer fist.” Baymax complied, and Hiro worked through the list of moves he’d compiled.

“Good, that was great!” Hiro said as Baymax smashed through a cinderblock. Baymax said nothing, only looked at Hiro, waiting.

“Um, ok, one more, I think.” Hiro said. “Back kick.”

He remembered learning that one, when Tadashi had tried to teach him the Karate Aunt Cass had taught him. He’d never quite gotten the hang of it. Baymax did, instantly, and Hiro smiled, but bit his lip, gazing around the room that was his lab. Their lab. The cardigan on the couch. Everything feels like him. Hiro caught his breath, shaking his head to clear it.

“Hiro?” Baymax said, worried. “Your neurotransmitter levels are dropping. Recommended treatments include: contact with loved ones. I am contacting Aunt Cass.” Aunt Cass’s image flashed on his chest.

“No! No, she needs this, it’s her one day, to just—remember.” Hiro shook his head. Baymax considered this, then another series of images, familiar faces, appeared.

“I am contacting your friends.”

“No, not them either!” Hiro snapped. Baymax looked at him, unmoving.  Hiro ran a hand through his hair, sighing. The printer let out a chirp, and Hiro grabbed the last piece, a helmet. Using a step-stool, he fit it into place, then leaped down, grinning.

“You look sick,” he said.

“I am a robot. I cannot be ill.”

“Nah, it’s an expression,” Hiro said, wondering if he should have Baymax download a guide to slang. No, probably not.  He shook his head, then held out his hand. “Fist bump.”

“Fist bump: is not in my fighting database.”

“No, no, it’s not fighting, it’s like, a high five, it’s something you do when you’re excited, ok? Like this.” Hiro demonstrated, waiting for Baymax to mimic each step, which went well until the health care robot interpreted “really cool explosion noises” as “ Batalalal.”

“We’ll work on that,” Hiro said. “C’mon. If we hurry, maybe we can be back before Aunt Cass.”

As the two raced down the alleyway, neither noticed a car pulling up to the café, then leaving it behind, following them.

The warehouse was empty. Hiro stared around him, confusion turning the air in his lungs into ice. “It was here, it was, I swear. There was a curtained of section, and barrels, and—and all.” He looked to Baymax, who motioned with the petri dish.

“Your tiny robot wants to go elsewhere.”

“Great, let’s find out where.” Hiro said, taking the lead. He was running out of breath, and his feet hurt, as they rounded yet another corner. The ground under him changed, but Hiro focused only on the tug of the microbot, right up until something grabbed him by the collar, yanking him back. Hiro gulped, looking, and saw that Baymax had the hood of his hoodie firmly in hand. As Hiro pulled away, he saw why—he’d nearly run off the pier.

“Thanks.” He whispered, peering at the microbot. It was moving toward the bay, frantically hammering against the glass. Hiro lifted the dish to eye level, trying to see if there was any other hint, but then the microbot slammed particularly hard against its prison, dislodging the lid. Hiro bit back a curse as the tiny black robot vanished into the fog, and a much larger shape began to appear.

“Quick,” Hiro said, hardly daring to breath, yanking on Baymax’s arm and pulling him behind the first shelter he could find, a stack of shipping containers. “Ok, as soon as he’s on land, time to test those upgrades.”

“I do not think--” Baymax started, but was cut off by the sudden bright gleam of headlights.

 Hiro raised his arm, shielding his face. He heard doors open and slam closed, and risked a look. Wasabi stood there, and Go Go, Honey Lemon, and Fred, all with worried looks on their faces.

“What?” Hiro asked, his voice a whisper. “ What are you—no, you need to go, now!”

“Hiro, what on earth are you doing here?” Go Go demanded. 

Hiro glared at Baymax, who had clearly messaged the others anyway. Hiro had a panicked thought—what if Baymax had also contacted Aunt Cass? It had to be nearly eleven, he’d be grounded forever—but that came second. The man in the mask was close, what if he found them?

“You need to get out of here!” Hiro pleaded, but Wasabi folded his arms.

“Is that Baymax?” the black man asked.

“In carbon-fiber underpants?” Go Go raised an eyebrow.

“Armor. And I also know Karate,” Baymax said helpfully

“Look, I’ll explain later, but right now you. Need. To. Go.” Hiro held up both hands, looking over his shoulder.

“No.” Honey Lemon’s voice was firm. “Please don’t push us away. We are your friends, Hiro. We want to help you.”

“Fine, but not now, later, not here,” Hiro tried again, suddenly aware of how silent the docks were and how loud his heart was beating.

Honey Lemon moved forward to give Hiro a hug when Fred looked up and screeched, “Holy Mother of Megazod!” as a shipping container came crashing down., thrown by the man in the Kabuki mask, standing on a dark pillar that seemed to almost breath. Hiro thought he screamed; he knew Wasabi screamed as they tried to run and duck at the same time. Baymax caught the metal box, hefting it out of the way.

“Go,” the robot said at the top of his vocal range, which was still fairly quiet.  Go Go grabbed Hiro, dragging him with her as Honey Lemon snapped a photo on her smartphone. Wasabi threw himself into his van’s front seat, wrenching the key.

“Am I the only one seeing this?” Fred asked in wonder. The Microbot swarm lifted another container, Baymax shifted his stance.

“Let go of me!” Hiro shouted. “Baymax can handle this!”

There was a thud as Baymax hit the van’s roof, shattering the sunroof. Wasabi winced, still driving as quickly as he dared on slick streets.

“Hiro, explanation, NOW.” Go Go’s voice cut through Hiro’s shock.

“The man in the mask, he—he set the fire, he stole my Microbots, Baymax and I have to stop him, but we don’t know who he is!”

The man in the mask directed the Microbot swarm, and Hiro thought quickly, ordering Baymax to block the attack. The impact spun the car, and Wasabi let out a yelp as he changed gears.

“Left! Hard Left!” Go Go shouted from her seat as navigator. Fred pressed his face up against the back window.

“Oh, man, guys, it’s a super villain! A real life super villain! How cool is that? I mean, how cool if he wasn’t trying to, you know, kill us.”

“We don’t know he’s trying to—“Honey started, correcting herself as a full car came crashing down behind them. “María Madre de Dios, he’s trying to kill us.” She crossed herself as the car suddenly screeched to a halt.

“Why are we stopped, what’s wrong?” Go Go asked, leaning over in the dark to peer at the dashboard.

“The light’s red!” Wasabi pointed with one huge hand.

“There are no red lights in a car chase! Drive!” Go Go shrieked in his ear as the light shifted. Wasabi drove, hardly watching where he was going, only listening to Go Go’s directions as they wove through dockside alleyways and the streets that snaked up away.

The Man in the mask cut them off every time.

“Did you just put your blinker on?” Go Go demanded, her face flushed with adrenalin.

“You have to signal your turns, it’s the law!” Wasabi shouted back.

“That’s it, move over.” Go Go pressed the release that slide wasabi’s seat back and squeezed in, gripping the wheel as tightly as she’d ever head handlebars. “Hang on tight!”

From the groaning of metal, Baymax seemed to be doing just that, and the others clung to seatbelts, chicken-bars, and each other. Hiro tried to press forward, leaning on the door, just as a hand made of microbots ripped it off, grabbing at his hoodie. Hiro cried out in alarm, but Baymax chopped down at the microbots, and Hiro fell back inside the car. A second later, and Baymax was buckling the seatbelt.

“Falling out of the vehicle would be detrimental to your health.”

Go Go made another sharp turn, eyeing the Bush Street tunnel up ahead and the man in the mask closing in in the rearview mirror.

“Ok, this is gonna get interesting,” she called.

“Define ‘interesting’,” Wasabi’s eyes were like serving platters, wide with terror.

“Oh God Oh God, We’re all gonna die,” Go Go snarked. “Woman up.”

“Ooh, Firefly reference. Cool.” Fred managed as Go Go used a parked car to launch Wasabi’s battered van up to the street above the tunnel. She shifted gears again, aiming down the hill, then pulling into one of her favorite alley shortcuts. A fire escape scraped the remaining door on the passenger side, and Hiro saw a piece of Baymax’s armor fall off, knocked loose. 

“Why is he trying to kill us?” Honey Lemon demanded, looking over her shoulder at the back window, which was starting to resemble a spider’s web. The man in the mask was still on their tail, the Microbots swirling under and around him, lashing out.

“We’ve seen too much!” Fred declared dramatically. “He wants to silence us for good!”

“Not on my watch,” Go Go seethed, swerving to avoid the probing grasp of the microbots reaching for the gap by the missing door. She locked eyes with the mask, and felt ice along her spine, but forced herself to push the fear down and away.

“We’ve got to lose him!” Wasabi panted.

“Yeah,” Go go said, seeing her chance as a train barricade—real train, not BART or a trolley—began to come down ahead of them. She pressed the pedal to the floor, willing one more burst of speed from Wasabi’s poor, abused van. The little car came through, nearly missing getting the back bumper clipped. Go Go continued to drive towards the Bridge, away from the city, sighing in relief when she risjed a look behind her and saw nothing.

That was when a tidal wave of microbots broadsided them, forming a funnel, getting tighter and closer as Go Go drove.

“We aren’t gonna make it!” someone shouted, though Hiro wasn’t certain who, as the opening at the end of the tunnel closed in.

“Were gonna make it!” Go Go snapped, leaning forward and holding her breath as if that alone could help. The others followed her lead, Honey clinging to a necklace, Hiro holding tight to Baymax’s armor free hand.

They burst free of the cone of darkness, scattering microbots everywhere, but only had seconds to relax before Baymax uttered a soft, “Oh no,” and the van plunged into the dark murk of the San Fransokyo Bay.

Chapter Text

Sleep had never come easily for Tadashi, but over the last few days—weeks-- it seemed next to impossible. When exhaustion finally did close his eyes, the dreams he remembered were full of fire and darkness. Hiro surrounded by a ring of wavering orange flames, screaming for help; Aunt Cass frozen, facing Callaghan in his coal-dark coat and terrible, haunting mask; himself, surrounded by shadows that pressed on his eyes and lungs—all mixed with the old night terror that had stalked him for over a decade, the nightmare he thought he’d beaten back resurfaced more terrible than ever, as if the smell of smoke had reminded it how to thrive. Bright lights guttering out in a screech of rubber on cement, a crash of metal on metal on metal, the crunch of fiberglass and plastic and bone, screaming, sirens wailing so much softer than the cry of Hiro, pinned under his brother’s body, his own voice caught in his throat and stuck there.  Tadashi was curled on the cot, the thin blanket hardly enough barrier against the unseasonable chill that came from dark rooms without windows, much less against the nightmares that had only tightened their grip on him as he fought them. It was a losing battle.

One of the long bulbs set into the ceiling had faded out three days before, and Callaghan had not bothered to replace it, even though the other florescent tube hissed and spat and buzzed louder than ever, a clear sign that it would not last much longer either. Total darkness was too much to bear even when asleep, so the light stayed on, through the day-night-day.

Tadashi jerked awake, his lungs still full of imagined smoke, as the door was ripped open. It crashed against the outside hallway wall, the sound echoing. In a heartbeat, Tadashi pressed his back to the wall, trying to remember how to breathe as a wave of microbots skittered, creeping over the floor and onto the cot to wrap around him. Even if he’d been at full strength and full alertness, they moved too quickly to avoid, and they pinned his arms to his sides. The worn, thin blanket and his tatty shirt were scant protection from ice-cold metal.

“What—“Tadashi managed, confused and dazed. Even with his eternal clock skewed and scrambled, he was rarely still asleep when Callaghan showed up with whatever food or papers or data he was allowed that day. It was still early-late. But the question died on his lips as Tadashi looked past his bonds and at the professor. His heart stuttered in his throat. He’d seen Professor Callaghan annoyed before, and angry,  when students disrupted class or got caught cheating on exams, and he’d seen the cold, calm, hidden anger too often over the last month. But this—this was different.

Callaghan wore his dark coat paired with a skin-tight hood and gloves, and the neurocranial transmitter enabled mask, slid up to reveal his face, his features rough as granite, hard as steel. There was that deceptive neutrality, though Tadashi could almost feel rage radiating from his one-time father-figure like white-hot heat from one of the Lucky Cat’s ovens. So Tadashi cut off the question, terror filling his gut and heart and lungs, and waited. Oh, God, did he finish whatever he was trying to do? His plan? What does that mean for me, for—no, he’s too angry for that, something’s gone wrong, something--.

The silence stretched a heartbeat, two, three, and Callaghan shook his head, his eyes still locked on Tadashi’s.

“I really thought you were clever, Hamada.” Callaghan’s voice almost held a laugh, low and dark. “One of the brightest students at the institute, one of the best. So smart, so honorable, so loyal.” The corner of the older man’s mouth lifted sardonically.

Tadashi bit back a retort –not loyal to kidnappers, not loyal to monsters, not loyal to you—but didn’t dare. Not while this madman held his life, held Hiro’s life, in his hands.

“I know,” Callaghan continued, his voice colder than the wind, than the bay-water, than the snows that never fell in San Fransokyo. “Did you really believe I wouldn’t figure it out? That you could out-think me, and that I wouldn’t notice?”

Tadashi tried to slow his heart, beating wildly against his ribs like a bird trying to find a way home. He struggled to breathe against the iron band of fear that gripped his chest, trying to think of some way out—out—out, hoping, wishing, praying that Callaghan didn’t mean what he thought he meant. “The formula? I—I did my best, I really did, I just—“

Callaghan twitched a finger, and the microbots squeezed, a note of pain escaping Tadashi as he cut his sentence off. “Not the formula, Hamada,” he said, shaking his head. “Your little game, your little trick. I have to say, I honestly thought you valued your friends and family more than you obviously did. I believe I was quite clear what the consequences would be if you tried anything foolish. Wasn’t I? Perhaps you need a reminder.”

“I—no, no, I don’t know what—“Panic set in and everything hurt as Tadashi scrambled to think of a new angle, a way to stop Callaghan from hurting the people he loved.

“The book, Tadashi.” Callaghan said, his voice too calm and mild for this conversation. “The flowers. Even the ring, I’d wager. Very clever. Most inventive. But not. Quite. Good. Enough.”

Whatever air he’d managed to take in escaped Tadashi in a rush like a sob. “It wasn’t—I wasn’t—.”

“I’ve been a professor for twenty-years, do you really think I can’t tell when someone is trying to pull the wool over my eyes? Do not lie to me, Tadashi. I have put too much effort into this to have a group of school-children destroy everything now. It is a shame though, that you had to get your little friends involved.”

“I didn’t, I swear, please, I—I just, I—I didn’t want them to think I was dead, that was it, I swear, I—please, don’t hurt them.”

“It’s a little late for that.” Callaghan shook his head as if in sorrow, but his eyes were still hard and cold. Without releasing the microbots, Callaghan turned away, reaching the door swiftly.

“What did you do?” Tadashi whispered, fear turning his blood to ice, pressing on his lungs like he was drowning in it.

Callaghan didn’t bother to turn around, but he stopped. “You don’t have to worry about your friends mourning you, Hamada, or about signaling them again. They’re dead.”

Water poured into the van as it sank, trailing tiny streams of bubbles. Hiro felt his seatbelt tighten as momentum flung him forward, keeping him from cracking his skull, but also pinning him to the seat, unable to worm his was free.

GoGo was the first to react, kicking out at the shattered windshield and scrabbling for the seatbelt release on Wasabi’s seat. With the van full of water and the pressure balanced, Wasabi shouldered his door open, the icy water swirling around him. He kicked, every instinct screaming for air and the surface, but he could make out in the dim gloom the others—or rather, the lack of others. His lungs burned as he tried to dive back, and he saw Baymax shedding the carbon fiber armor.

GoGo surged up, her shoes weighing her down like lead, one arm wrapped around Hiro. In her panic she saw movement—not a shark, this isn’t Stinson Beach—and prayed it was Honey or Fred.  She pulled at the water, straining for the ever-widening circle of light that was a lamppost, but the last of her air escaped her in a trickle of bubbles, fleeing to the surface. NO, I am not dying here.

And then something—someone—was under her, buoying her up and up as her legs and lungs gave out. Baymax stretched out, and GoGo clung to him with one arm, unsure if Hiro was doing the same but refusing to let go of him in any case.

They broke the surface of the Bay in an explosive spray of water and hysterical coughing, Honey Lemon managing a weak,“I told you we’d make it.”

Fred hacked water from his lungs, clutching Baymax’s arm in a death grip. “That was--”

“If you say cool, I will drown you myself,” Wasabi snapped.

“Knock it off,” Go Go said, her voice low. “Baymax, get us to a dock, right now—everyone, kick if you have to—just hurry, now.”

She started to kick, and after a half second of confusing, the others saw what had her so worried. Honey Lemon let out a string of Spanish only barely recognizable as separate words, much less a prayer, and Wasabi started to kick with all the energy he had left as Baymax attempted and failed to scan them all from his awkward position. Hiro was draped across Baymax’s chest, sopping wet and completely still.

He was not breathing.

It was a little after eleven when Aunt Cass turned her key in the lock, sighing to herself as she closed the door behind her. She had not intended to stay away for so long, but traffic was never good, even this late at night, even on a Thursday. And she’d had more than just five people to visit this year. She’d laid her offerings beside those she assumed were Hiro’s and other’s. Roses, zinnias, daisies, all reminding her of the years she’d spent using flower-language to decipher messages Mina had left for her and messages she’d sent back. She’d even used it in a paper, earning the best grade in the class on that particular essay for understanding historic symbolism.

“I’m home,” she called out, trying to hide the tears her voice. Traffic had not been the only reason the drive had taken nearly twice the usual 45 minutes. She’d had to pull over to blink tears away, get herself back under control.

She didn’t want to cause an accident, after all.

Hiro didn’t answer. Aunt Cass sighed again, shaking her head, and climbing the stairs. Tea. She needed tea. Or, better, hot chocolate. She busied herself making a cup, setting out her favorite ceramic mug, the one that fit her hand perfectly. As the milk heated, she found the cocoa powder, then went hunting for a spoon. A trip to the fridge found some whipping cream, but nothing already whipped, and Aunt Cass really did not feel like going back down to the Café to find some. She wondered if she should ask if Hiro wanted a mug, but….If he’s resting, let him…and if he’s working with Baymax, let him. He was upset earlier, though, so maybe—but have I pushed too much? He ate today, at least. Progress.

Her mug in hand, Aunt Cass sat in one of the armchairs in the living room, her feet tucked up under her, a book in hand. It was one of her favorites, one of the books Mina had loved, one that she’d read out loud to her nephews, her boys, when they were small. The cover was worn, the dust jacket lost, but it was easy to find on her shelf, and felt like an old friend.

Some things start before other things, she read, remembering her own voice interrupting Mina’s, remembering Hiro doing the same when she first started reading the book to them at bedtime, to ask why the book started like that and not in a normal way. Books have to start at the start, they’d both said, and Mina had laughed, and years later, Cass had laughed. She read now, trying to be there again, reading aloud in a third floor bedroom. Mochi joined her, curled up between her back and the chairs back, purring loudly.

The clock struck the hour, and Cass felt her phone buzz, a calendar reminder. She looked at the screen, any happy memories left. She’d known, of course, what day it was, what the next day brought. Life and death were too linked in their tiny, splintered family. Anniversaries of the two bled together easily.

Midnight, it was late, and she’d need to open the café the next morning, same as always. She took the stairs, then continued up them, just to check on Hiro, she told herself. Say good night, or wish him safe dreams.

His door was open, the light off, the room strangely cold. Aunt Cass looked around, trying to see if a window had been left open, and saw that one was. As she moved to close it, she saw Hiro’s bed, the covers rumpled, but the bed empty. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. “Hiro?” she called softly, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. The screen that blocked Tadashi’s—the other part of the room—off was closed, and she slid it back, hoping to find Hiro there, holding his brother’s pillow, but apart from a few spilled keepsakes and books, that corner of the room was untouched, empty.

Aunt Cass pressed her eyes with a palm.

“He’s probably still in the garage,” she assured herself, heading there and taking the steps two at a time. “Working on something. He needs his sleep, honestly, I’m glad he’s up, but—“

The garage was a mess of broken boards and bits and pieces of carbon fiber casings. Aunt Cass felt her stomach drop as she scanned the room. No Hiro. No Baymax.

Frantic, she dug her phone out, trying to see if she’d missed a call, Hiro would have called if something had happened, wouldn’t he? Nothing, just that damning calendar reminder of the date. She punched in numbers, cramming the phone to her ear and begging silently for Hiro to answer.

“Hi, you’ve reached Hiro Hamada, I’m kinda busy being AWSEOME right now so leave your name, number, and five hundred dollars and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.”

“Hiro? Hiro, I swear, if you’re botfighting again,” Aunt Cass started. “I keep telling you to answer your phone, your phone had better be dead, do you know what time it is, I’m worried sick! Call me as soon as you get this, ok, I’m not mad, really, just—come home.”

She tried the other numbers she had for Tadashi’s friends, Hiro’s friends, programed into her phone weeks ago. Each went directly to voicemail, and terror filled Aunt Cass as every inch of her mind shouted worst case scenarios at her. Something was wrong, very, very wrong.

Aunt Cass’s fingers shook as she prepared to call the police, but before she could, her phone rang, shrill, making her start.

Unknown Caller.

Tadashi had felt anger burst inside him, a star going supernova, an explosion of hatred and No! but the microbots had held him and Callaghan had left, leaving Tadashi alone with the flickering light and the locked door and Such a waste, but you had to go and involve them, with your little messages and codes and You really should have known better and-- Oh, God, no, I knew he’d do it, he said so and I risked their lives and please no, please let this just be a lie, let it be a lie, please, no. They can’t be gone, they can’t be—it’s all my fault, he’s right, I never should have—I--.

Tadashi had hardly been able to move when Callaghan did return, his limbs trembling and weak not just from lack of food but from desperate sorrow and terror, but he had, anger-rage-hate-pain burning in his eyes. He’d staggered to his feet to face Callaghan, the door closed behind him. Even if the door had been wide open, even if Callaghan hadn’t had the microbots, Tadashi knew he’d never have the strength to get far, to get away.

Callaghan put a paper bag on the table, and a stack of papers.

“A reminder,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “I am not to be trifled with. You have more to lose, remember that. I will not have my plans wrecked, am. I. Clear?”

Tadashi said nothing, shaking with fatigue and fury and despair.

“I can find their families, too, and believe me, I will if you force me. Your Aunt, your… your brother. Your home. All of it, and more.” Callaghan said each word carefully, driving them like knives into Tadashi’s weak points, until all he could do was try not to crumble.

“No, no—please, don’t.”

“That’s what you said, before you nearly ruined everything. I’ll believe you, one more chance, but only because I do not have time for anymore foolishness. I saved you from the fire, and I warned you not to make me regret that.”

“I won’t,” Tadashi whispered, his voice like shattered glass, tears stinging his eyes.

“Good.” The word was cruel, decisive, vicious, and as Callaghan left again, Tadashi collapsed back against the wall and cot, feeling empty and weak and numb. Almost unwillingly, though, he found his feet, afraid of what the papers and bag might be.

A muffin, a bit dry and stale and looking nothing like the muffins Aunt Cass sold at the Lucky Cat, and a plastic bottle of water. Tadashi ignored them.

The papers were printouts from various security cameras, and for a heartbeat, two, three, Tadashi wasn’t certain of what he was seeing. A van, empty streets, a head leaning out—Wasabi.  His eyes blurred as he realized what this was, proof. There were other pictures, and Tadashi could make out Baymax—Baymax, in some kind of samurai armor that Fred must have had a hand in. Honey Lemon, her hand outstretched, holding her phone, a shot of Go-Go in the driver’s seat. Fred, hands pressed to the back window.

His friends, clearly terrified, stalked. He could see tiny black shapes in the shadows, even as the light overhead buzzed and dimmed. Tadashi wanted to stop looking, to put them all away and curl up in a ball and stop breathing. They couldn’t be gone, it had to be a trick, a threat, and it was working.

His shaking fingers found the last still, a photo from a dockside security camera.

Wasabi’s van, plunging into the bay, orange timestamp blazing in the coner.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head, dropping the stack of photos. “I’m—I’m sorry. I never meant—I didn’t want—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

It hadn’t been a trick, and he knew it hadn’t. Callaghan had killed them, and the professor was right. My fault, I shouldn’t have risked it, I should have been stronger, I should have been braver, I shouldn’t have—no, please, don’t let them be—this is all my fault. Tadashi felt hot tears on his cheeks, but didn’t bother to wipe them away, just sat on the floor and rocked, weeping.

 The bulb overhead went out, and the sudden darkness gripped him. Not the dark, not now, please. He scrambled for the cot, lifted the mattress, found the lighter. He thumbed the wheel once, twice, three times, four times. A tiny light sprang up, and Tadashi saw the crayon he’d kept back.

Once, an earthquake had knocked out the power, and Aunt Cass had forgotten to replace the flashlights after a particularly memorable experiment. They’d discovered that day that the popular theory that a crayon could burn for thirty minutes as an emergency candle was wrong—they only lasted twenty minutes or so. But they did last and give light, which was better than the total crushing darkness.

The crayon candle flickered and wavered, faltering from the makeshift candle holder that was the muffin. Tadashi stared at the light, huddling with the blanket wrapped around him, wishing for warmth, for something familiar and safe.

He couldn’t stop looking at the photos, the terrible proof that Callaghan was more than just dangerous and angry and desperate for some plan to succeed. He’d killed. He’d killed his own students, and threatened their families—Wasabi and Honey had little siblings, Tadashi thought he knew.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I’m sorry, why, why, why did I have to run into that building, why is Callaghan doing this, why did I have to—how could I have thought it’d work? I’m sorry, I didn’t, I—

His eye caught on the timestamp. 23: 02:08: 9/17/26.

Eleven last night—however long ago last night had been. That made yesterday the anniversary of his parent’s death. Which made whatever time of day it was today the 18^th of September. Tadashi looked at the candle, flickering, faltering, and tried to speak, his lips dry.

There was no point in wishing for something that couldn’t come true, no point in closing his eyes and wishing, so he only watched as the candle finally guttered out. “Happy birthday to me,” he whispered, voice cracking.

Chapter Text

They huddled on the dockside, baywater dripping from waterlogged sweaters and sneakers. As soon as GoGo managed to pant out, “He’s not breathing.” Both Wasabi and Baymax moved into action.

“GoGo, Honey, Fred, make sure we’re alone, no surprises, no one sneaking up on us,” Wasabi ordered. “Perimeter, now.”

They obeyed, fear and adrenaline making their movements swift. Baymax held up a hand.

“Scan complete. Pulse is present but weak, suggested method of—“

Wasabi ignored him, not wasting a moment of the already too-precious time, tilting Hiro onto his side and forcing open his mouth. “Clear the airway,” he muttered. There was no pink foam, no sign of vomiting, a good sign. Two ventilations after checking for breathing and a pulse. On autopilot he went through the steps that had been drilled into him, steps he’d drilled into himself for hours the summer he’d been a lifeguard at Lake Anza.

Honey Lemon clasped her fingers around a medallion, the metal cold against her chilled skin, praying. If ever she had needed a miracle, this was the moment. GoGo kept glancing over her shoulder, tensing at every sound: the creak of the pier, the wavelets, the drip of water into the widening puddle, the buzz of night insects. Fred, for his part, forced himself to not look at his tiny friend, waterlogged sneakers and hoodie, too pale in the orange gleam, but instead at the shadows, straining to see if someone lurked

It seemed as if no one breathed until Hiro did, a shaking breath too full of wet coughing.

“It’s ok, little man, we’re ok,” Wasabi said, almost more to himself. Hiro coughed again, shivering.

“Gracias a Dios, Gracias, Maria, Gracias, San Alberto.” Honey Lemon made a cross, kissing her thumbnail.

“You are not out of danger.” Baymax stated flatly. “"Near drowning can still cause death up to 48 hours after the incident."

“Rule number one of supervillains, never assume your victims are dead. Dude might come back to try to finish the job,” Fred put in morbidly.

GoGo punched him in the arm. “So comforting, thanks.”

“We need to get to a hospital right now.” Wasabi said, helping Hiro to his feet. The younger boy swayed, bracing himself between Wasabi and Baymax and coughing harder.

“Your body temperatures are: low.” Baymax added helpfully. Honey Lemon pulled her more-or-less useless sweater tighter around her. “Current external temperature is: 45 degrees Fahrenheit. This is not optimal.”

“No kidding,” Hiro managed.

Fred was looking around, trying to place where they were, and suddenly got what could only be described as a Look on his face, part dread, part resignation, and part eagerness. “No, the nearest Hospital’s St. Francis Memorial, but that’s still pretty far, and anyway that’s the first place he’ll look. We’d be sitting ducks. No, I know a place, follow me.” He turned and started walking.

“A safe place? Warm?” Honey Lemon asked through chattering teeth.

“Yeah,” Fred called back softly.

Seeing little choice but to follow, they did. After only half a block, it became apparent that Hiro was in no condition to traverse the steep hills of the city. Wasabi knelt, trying not to think of the grossness of San Fransokyo pavement. “Get on,” he ordered. Hiro shook his head.

“’M’k.”

“No, you aren’t. Hold tight.” It was far too easy to stand, even with Hiro’s weight. Then and there, Wasabi would have bet his next month’s rent money that Hiro didn’t weigh 100 pounds soaking wet.

“Hold tight,” Tadashi laughed, getting to his feet, Hiro clinging monkeylike to his shoulders. They bounced around the bedroom, circling the open space twice.

 “Faster, Dashi, faster!” Hiro shrieked at the top of his five-year-old lungs. Tadashi grinned heading for the stairs. They reached the kitchen, where Aunt Cass stood, stirring soup at the stove. Instead of continuing on to the living room, or down to the closed café, Tadashi skidded to a stop.

“Aunt Cass?” he asked. She turned to look over at them, smiling tiredly. Her white apron had a few new stains added to the already motley collection.

“Yeah, kiddo?” she asked, swiping a hand across her face to push her hair from her eyes.

“Have you seen Hiro? I can’t seem to find him.”

“I’m right here, Tada-nii.” Hiro cried, squeezing tighter. Tadashi ignored it, his grin widening.

Aunt Cass stifled a smile, smothered a laugh. Her eyes met Hiro’s, bird-bright with the joke. “I can’t say that I have. Maybe he’s down stairs?”

Tadashi nodded, heading for the stairs. He took them two at a time, Hiro shrieking in glee.

“Oh, Hiro? Where are you?” Tadashi called, his voice shaking with laughter.

“I’m right behind you!”

“Huh, I thought I heard someone say behind--.” Tadashi spun quickly, his arms squeezing Hiro tighter to make sure he didn’t go flying. “Nope, no one here. Huh.”

Hiro laughed again. “On your back!”

Tadashi craned his neck, making a snow, tight circle as he pretended to be trying to see behind him. “Nope, no Hiro. Maybe he’s under a table?” He made a show of wandering the café, searching in nooks and crannies while Hiro giggled. After a minute, Tadashi went back up the stairs, Hiro bouncing giddily. As he stood in the center of the stairway opening, Aunt Cass gave up, laughing.

There was some sorrow in the laugh, years’ worth of memories of her older sister playing this same joke-game. But there was joy, too, her sister alive again in Tadashi’s eyes, in his smile, in the joke passed on from generation to generation.

“Dashi!” Hiro kicked out with tiny legs. Tadashi shook his head.

“Aunt Cass, are you sure you haven’t seen Hiro?”

“’Fraid not,” she said, turning back to the stove as chicken stock bubbled over and into the burner.

“I’ll check the living room, then,” Tadashi said, and made to do just that, glancing behind a bookshelf. “Nah, I give up.”

“You said Hamadas never give up,” Hiro squeaked as Tadashi sank into the overstuffed armchair. “Hey, you’re squishing me!”

Tadashi leaped up, mock surprise on his face. “Hiro, there you are! I’ve been looking for you!”

“I was on your back,” Hiro informed him.

“The whole time, really?”

“Really.”

They both laughed. From the kitchen, Aunt Cass shouted, “O…K! Soup’s on! Literally, actual soup this time. It’ll either be good or it won’t, but it’s hot and there’s lots of it. C’mon!”

“Hey, kiddo, don’t fall asleep on me.” Wasabi said, only slightly less panicked.

“Fred, are we almost there?” Honey Lemon asked through chattering teeth as they trudged on, each step at least three times as hard as it should have been due to the slope and the cold, and sneakers that were soaking wet.

“Uh-huh. Follow me,” He turned, heading up another street, this one well lighted. Go Go looked around her, clutching her ruined jacket tight. The houses were fancy, high walls or iron wrought gates, lots of space—who had lawns in San Fransokyo, anyway? Never had she felt more out of place.

“If this is your idea of a shortcut to a hiding place, Fred,” she muttered under her breath. He didn’t seem to hear her, turning sharply again, but not onto a side street. No, he walked up a neatly paved walkway, leading up to a house that could have fit at least twelve of the two-bedroom apartments Go Go had grown up in on the first floor alone.

“Fred, what are you doing? Get back here!” Wasabi hissed.

“Yeah, I thought you said you had a place we could hide, not a place where we’ll get thrown in jail for trespassing!” Go Go tried to keep her voice down, she really did. Really.

Fred shrugged, standing at the front door. “Uh, yeah. This’s it. Welcome to mi casa! That’s French for ‘front door.’”

“It’s really not,” Honey Lemon said, shaking her head.

“Italian? No, wait—“

“Listen, nitwit,” Go Go snapped, moving forward as if to drag Fred away from the opulent mansion by force. “A lunatic in a mask tried to kill us, I am cold, I am wet, I am not in the mood for any of your bull--.” She cut herself off as the door opened.

“Welcome home, Master Fredrick.” The door swung open to reveal a well dressed man, who bowed slightly. “I was beginning to worry.”

“Heathcliff, my man! Sorry, my phone kinda died. Not my fault this time, though.” He tuned and waved an arm, gesturing to the others. “C’mon in, guys, we’ll be safe here.”

He gave Heathcliff a fistbump and walked in, so Go Go assumed it was probably safe and followed, shoulders hunched, elbows tucked in tight. Wasabi nodded at the man who held the door, eyeing the puddles that dripped onto the polished tile floor. Honey waved, and Baymax offered a fistbump with a soft “balalala.” None of it seemed to phase the butler, who closed and locked the door.

“Master Fredrick?” Heathcliff’s voice was clipped, but held warmth. Fred smiled.

“It’s cool. Um, don’t wake Lesli, but if you could get us some food, maybe some hot chocolate, coffee, tea…just whatever’s easy.”

“Of course. I will find some towels as well.”

“We’ll be in my room.” As Heathcliff departed, the others stared and blinked, even Baymax.

“Freddy? This is your house?” Honey Lemon asked, glancing at a portrait as they walked down a hall that seemed like it should be part of a French castle.

“I thought you lived under a bridge,” Go Go said.” Didn’t I bring you soup under the overpass that one time?”

“Awareness raising project. Just for a week, but we got enough for two shelters,” Fred said with a shrug and a nod at a Little Lord Fauntleroy-esque painting in an ornate frame. “And technically, it’s my parents’ house, but they’re on the family island. We should go sometime, winter break, maybe.” He clapped his hands as they approached a set of double doors, and they opened.

Wasabi wasn’t sure what he’d expected of Fred’s room, but this was…pretty much it, just bigger. Posters, figurines, a wall length bookshelf stuffed with comics as well as novels, a large TV, a parlor set of furniture, gaudy paintings.

“If someone in a kabuki mask hadn’t tried to kill us, this would be the weirdest thing I’ve seen all day. But that happened so….” Wasabi trailed off as he helped the mostly alert Hiro sit on the sofa.

Hiro shivered, fishing in his sodden pockets for a pencil and not finding one. His breath caught, but he stood and went to one of the tables, one covered with art supplies. He started sketching as soon as he sat down, trying to remember the symbol he’d seen.

“Your body temperatures are still: low.” Baymax observed. He waddled over, putting vinyl arms around him and glowing, heat radiating outward. It was such a nice feeling that Hiro didn’t even try to push him away.

 “Ahhhhh, it’s like spooning a giant marshmallow.” Fred hugged Baymax, and the others gravitated towards the warmth, leaning in.

“Gooood robot,” Go Go said as Honey Lemon simply sighed, pressing her face into the white robot’s side.

“It’s so nice,” She said. Wasabi nodded, grateful for the warmth himself.

Hiro coughed again, then held out his slightly damp sketch. “Ok, I saw this symbol in the warehouse, and again tonight, do any of you know it?”

Fred looked at it closely. “Yes! It’s a bird!”

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Wasabi admitted.

“It looks like that thing from those books from, what, ten years ago?” Honey Lemon said, squinting. “My Tia liked them. The ones with—“

“Oh, yeah!” Fred pushed himself to his feet and went to his bookshelf. “Oooh, I bet it’s a government conspiracy.”

“No, Fred,” Wasabi said, covering his eyes with a hand.

He brought the book in question, but Hiro shook his head. “Nah, the bill’s longer on the book, and it’s holding an arrow, and the wings are wrong…close, but I don’t think it’s whatever this is.”

“Looks like a sparrow,” Wasabi offered at the same time. “What? Bird watching merit badge, plus sparrows are really common around here, maybe more than pigeons.”

“Darn,” Fred said.

“Fred, did you want it to be a government conspiracy? Like, actually?” Go Go demanded.

“Maybe?”

“Oh, for the love of all things holy—.”

“Apprehending the man in the mask will improve Hiro’s emotional state.” Baymax offered. Go Go took a step back.

“Wait, apprehend him? How are we supposed to do that, we don’t even know who he is!” she shouted.

“Oooh, I have a theory!” Fred said, grabbing a stack of comics and passing them out.

Each villain they named, Fred explained eagerly, was secretly a multi-billionaire, cooperate bigshot, CEO, or the like. It wasn’t until Go Go threw not only her comic but one of her shoes at him that Fred pulled something up on his TV and pointed dramatically.

“Alistair Krei?” Hiro asked, catching his breath. “Are you serious?”

“He wanted your microbots, but you said no,” Fred pushed. “He has the resources, I bet he even owns that warehouse you mentioned. He’s the kind of guy who thinks the rules are beneath him because he has money.” Fred glowered briefly.

Hiro shook his head. “No way, the guy’s too high profile, there’s no way he could…”

“Then who was it? Who else could it have been?” Honey Lemon asked, rubbing her St. Albert medallion.

“Someone who was at the showcase.” Wasabi said. “Would have had to be someone there. But there were hundreds of people, and we don’t know anything about this guy.”

“His blood type is: AB Negative.” Baymax said helpfully. “His cholesterol levels are: high, and he appears to be suffering from: Acute—“

“Wait, you scanned him?” Hiro asked, an idea starting to take form in the fog at the edges of his mind.

“I am programed to—“before Baymax could finish the sentence, there was a ding from an open space on one wall.

“Hold that thought, food.” Fred said, opening a panel that concealed some kind of dumbwaiter. Fred took a tray in both hands and brought it over to the table Hiro had used to draw the sparrow-thing, then went back for another.

“Tea—Green, I think, might be something else though, Heathcliff’s picky about tea and Lesli—she’s our cook—always finds new stuff so you never know what you’ll get. Coffee, Hot chocolate—oooh, no, it’s sipping chocolate from Trader Joe’s, sweet.” Fred pointed at the teapot and two steaming carafes. “And then looks like some biscotti, and quiches—bacon? Bacon. And then if I’m not mistaken that,” he gestured at a violently yellow bread-looking thing that steamed, “is the leftover corn soufflé, reheated. Don’t worry, it’s still good.” There were plates and cups. As Honey Lemon poured sipping chocolate for herself and Hiro, there was a knock at the door. Fred bounced over and opened it. Heathcliff held out an armful of blankets.

“My apologies, Master Fredrick, for the delay.”

“It’s cool. Oooh, you put these in the dryer for us. You’re the man.”

Warm blankets wrapped around them and warm drinks in hand, Hiro started to explain his idea.

“We can match him, Mr. Kabuki-“

“Yokai,” Fred said. “He needs a serious name. Cuz he’s not a villain on a kid’s show or something. I vote Yokai. Ghost. Cuz, he’s like an evil spirit or something, all silent and—“

“Enough, Fred,” Go Go hissed.

“Go on,” Honey Lemon encouraged, but fear pricked at her gut. Surely this was inviting danger in, going looking for it, and that had never seemed like a good plan.

“We can use the data from the scan to find him!” Hiro finished.

“You’d have to match that against…him in real life, yeah?” Wasabi asked, his tea cup dwarfed by his hand.

“I guess?” Hiro shrugged.

“You’d—We’d have to scan everyone in the city, maybe the whole East Bay, too.” Go Go pointed out. “That’d take forever.

Hiro nodded, but noticed one of Fred’s action figures. Look for a new angle, he thought. “Not if I scan the whole city at once. I’d just need to upgrade Baymax’s scanner.” The memory of the very one-sided fight surfaced. “And his armor….and all of us.”

“Upgrade who now?” Wasabi asked, not liking where this was heading.

“Those who suffer a loss need support from loved ones,” Baymax chirped.

“I like this idea,” Fred said, grinning.

“We did promise, you know…operation zinnia.” Honey Lemon muttered to Wasabi who held up his hands.

“You don’t have to—I don’t want to make you feel like—“ Hiro bit his lip. Go Go stood and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Tadashi Hamada was our best friend, and you’re our friend too. We’re in.”

Hiro let out a sigh of relief, pulling the still warm blanket closer.

“We’re gonna be super heroes!” Fred cried.

“Who lets you have caffeine?” Wasabi questioned. “And why?”

The answer came in the form of another knock, Heathcliff returning again. “Your rooms are ready. I have found spare pajamas as well.”

“Rooms?” Honey Lemon asked.

“Certainly. There is not much couch space, and Master Fredrick is known for snoring. You will be more comfortable in actual beds, I assure you.”

“We’re staying the night?” Hiro asked.

“Well, it’s like midnight,” Fred said. “And that guy could be searching the city. Safer to stay here, really.”

Go Go shrugged. “I got no one worrying.”

Hiro’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. Oh, no.”

“Hiro?” Baymax asked, starting to wobble, blinking and winking too swiftly, a sign of low battery at last.

“Aunt Cass is going to kill me.” Hiro said, digging in his still soaked pocket for his drowned cellphone. It was dead. “Anyone have a phone?” The other cells were equally dead, but Heathcliff returned later with a sleek smartphone on a silver tray. Fingers shaking, Hiro dialed.

“Hello, who is this?” Aunt Cass’s voice was shrill with worry.

“Uh, Hi, Aunt Cass. It’s me,” Hiro said.

“Hiro? Oh, thank goodness, are you ok? Are you stuck? Are you hurt?”

“Uh, I’m fine,” he crossed his fingers. “Really, I’m ok.” He held the phone away from his ear.

“THEN WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? DO YOU KNOW HOW WORRIED—YOU DIDN’T LEAVE A NOTE, YOU DIDN’T ANSWER YOUR PHONE, I THOUGHT YOU WERE—WHERE ARE YOU?”

When she took a breath, Hiro interrupted. “I’m with…the others. Wasabi, Fred, Honey, Go Go, it’s, uh, a project? I was just, helping, and we lost track of time, and I’m really, really sorry. There was a tiny accident that wrecked out phones, so we kinda forgot to call, I’m sorry?”

“You are more than sorry, mister, you are so, so, so grounded.” Aunt Cass sighed. “Where are you, I’ll come get you.”

“No, you don’t need to,” Hiro thought about the man in the mask, chasing down cars. He’d stolen the microbots, so the guy had to know who he was, what if that put Aunt Cass in danger? “We’re at Fred’s house, he’s got room, and it’s no trouble, really.”

“Is Fred’s ‘house’ in a safe neighborhood?” Aunt Cass questioned suspiciously. Hiro looked around the room.

“Very.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fine.” It did not sound ‘fine’, but Hiro tried to ignore that tone. “Let me talk to someone, one of the others. Wait! I love you, ok?”

“Love you too,” Hiro said into the phone.

Hiro handed it to Honey Lemon—next to Wasabi, Aunt Cass trusted her most, and she wasn’t prone to blurting things out in a panic, making her the safest bet.

“Hi, Aunt Cass, so sorry to scare you,” Honey said, plastering a smile on her face as if the woman could see her. “No, really, it’s fine. Just some…water damage. My fault, really, water heaters and certain chemicals, bad plan. No, I learned my lesson, si, yes. Uh-huh. No, we’ll bring him back first thing, really. Promise. Yes, I’ll tell him. Ok. Goodbye.”

Honey fumbled, trying to end the call, and said, “She says to remind you to brush your teeth, and that bedtime was half an hour ago.”

Hiro scowled.

Wasabi was apprehensive about driving one of the fleet of fancy cars Fred’s father had, but Fred assured him it would be fine. Over a quick breakfast, Fred had also handed out new cell phones.

“They’re water proof,” he said proudly. “Or they’re supposed to be. I bet you guys can make them better, though.”

They’d stopped very briefly at the lab, so those actually enrolled at SFIT could gather schematics and what they needed to work on their projects, since Hiro’s plan was to at least start the “upgrades” in his garage, before moving to either the lab (bad plan, too many people, Wasabi said) or Fred’s house (my parents won’t care, Fred promised.) As Go Go retrieved her laptop, still plugged in where she’d left it out the day before, since no one in their right—or wrong—mind would dare touch her things, Honey stuffed a sheaf of notes into her bag. A cardboard package was under them. She peered at the box.

She glanced around the room, spotted on of the others who used the lab.  “Hey, Sava, where did this come from?”

The girl shrugged. “In the mail yesterday? I dunno. It’s got your name on it.”

It did, on a typed label, from some bookstore in the downtown area. Diane Marisol Genesis Rodriguez, Care of SFIT, Ishito Labs, San Fransokyo.

“I didn’t order anything,” Honey Lemon muttered, shoving the thin box in with her notes and shrugging the bag onto her shoulder. The others were already waiting for her, eager to get to the Lucky Cat.

Aunt Cass fussed over Hiro, squeezing him almost breathless while Go Go got the limp and deflated Baymax up to his charger, rejoining the others down in the basement where Hiro looked over their various project blueprints, trying to see what might work. Wasabi’s plasma induced lasers would be useful tools and weapons, and Hiro sketched out a half dozen possibilities before deciding on blades that would be more precise than, say, one handed plasma balls.

Go Go sat at her laptop, typing and pestering Fred for synonyms until Hiro called her over to look at  a few of his ideas for her “super suit.”

“Looks good. Maybe make these a little bigger, and I’ll need a way to stop if I need to,” she said at last, nodding approval.

Honey Lemon opened the package carefully, frowning at the contents. A book. “The Last Unicorn,” she read out loud, setting it down. “Where did this come from?”

“Oooh, good book.” Fred said, glancing over. “Really good book.”

Honey Lemon nodded absently, turning to focus again on her semester-project’s first write-up. It was not going well.

For his part, when Hiro was not questioning him on the importance of flexibility versus durability, Fred had taken over the armchair with a stack of slim books piled around him and worked on something. Something urgent, judging by the machine-gun rapidity of his typing.

“There,” he crowed as he finished a last citation. Wasabi craned his neck, stretching.

“Uh, Fred?”

“Yeah?”

“Is that a ten page paper?”

“Uh, sorta… bibography’s a page and half, but essentially? It’s on the use of Light and Dark Imagery in poetry about mental health. Still needs a title. I’m thinking “Chiaroscuro.” That’s Romanian for—“

“No, it’s not.” Honey Lemon said with a sigh from her perch on a desk.

“Right—Italian? Latin? Anyway.”

“When did you start?” Wasabi asked.

“Uh….after Aunt Cass brought Lunch, I think…no, yeah, after.”

“You wrote a ten page paper in five hours?” Gogo demanded

Fred shrugged. “Sure. Well, eight pages, but it’s double spaced, so that’s only, like, four pages, really.”

“English majors,” Go Go muttered, looking back at her very not finished, very due at midnight write up.

“Ok, food time,” Aunt Cass called down the steps. “C’mon. I made soup. It’s hot, it’s good, and there’s lots of it.”

Hiro didn’t want to stop working, and Go Go and Honey Lemon were still bent over laptops, but Aunt Cass insisted again, so they trooped up the stairs, Honey taking the mysterious book with her. As she lifted it, a slip of paper fell to the ground, and she scooped it up, read it, and scowled.

“Hey, Go Go, Wasabi, Fred, do you know any “RM?” at the lab? It’s a birthday gift, apparently, but I don’t know anyone—and whoever it is, they misspelled my name.”

“Could be Reynie Muldoon?” Wasabi offered. “I think he graduated though.”

“Wasn’t your birthday back in July?” Go Go asked, raising an eyebrow.

Honey Lemon shrugged.

As Fred set his laptop on the desk, he picked up something and held it out. “Hey, Hiro, you made these?”

Hiro turned, saw the flowers, and shook his head. “No, I found them. At the cemetery.” His voice was low, and Fred cursed himself silently for bringing down the mood.

Aunt Cass seemed to notice, spooning hot broth full of potatoes and corn and chunks of crabmeat into bowls for everyone.

“I made your favorite,” she said, kissing the top of Hiro’s head. “How was your day?”

“Ok. I’m working on some stuff.”

“Good, I’m glad.” The silence stretched thin, no one wanting to speak for fear of saying the wrong thing, or too much. Hiro had insisted they leave Aunt Cass in the dark—she’d try to stop them, and it could put her at risk. Fred had chimed in that it really might, that this was safer, but Wasabi still felt guilty.

Aunt Cass looked for something to speak about, and noticed the book by Honey Lemon’s plate. “Oh, The Last Unicorn. Loved that one. Wrote a paper on it once.”

“Me too,” Fred enthused.

The others sat back, watching.

“Oh? Favorite character—and what did you think of the movie?” Aunt Cass asked.

“Pretty good, but the tone was off, made it seem creepy. And Lir, definitely. The Archetypal Hero. You?”

“I always liked Schmendrick. In over his head wizard types are fun. Schmendrick, Rincewind, Arram…”

“RM?” Honey asked suddenly.

“Hm? Arram, yes, well, I guess he’s Numair, but—you remember those books, Hiro? The ones with the girl who could talk to animals?”

“No?”

“Sure you do—Daine? Numair? Tortall? The Zombie Dinosaurs?” Aunt Cass prompted.

“Zombie Dinosaurs?” Fred asked as Honey Lemon took a deep breath, her eyes wide behind her glasses, mouthing ‘Daine?’

“Yeah, well, they were reanimated skeletons, really, but yeah.”

“Why?” Wasabi asked. “And how?”

“Magic. And the main character—well, spoilers—was mad. Not naming names, but long story short the villain had her friend killed and she destroyed everything with an army of undead museum pieces.”

“Daine?” Honey Lemon said. “And the friend was…?”

“Arram, Numair, yeah. I have the books somewhere…read them out loud to Hiro and Tadashi ages ago…” she smiled, a little sadly. “You might have been too young to really remember, but—“she swallowed. “You were so mad that I didn’t give away the ending. Anyway, I’ll just—get—I made some…dessert.” She excused herself.

“Guys,” Honey Lemon said. “The note in that book. It was addressed to Daine, from RM….”

“So?” Go Go asked, frowning at her empty bowl.

Wasabi held up his new phone. “And that book, the one with the zombie dinosaurs….the plot twist at the end…”

Hiro cocked his head, looking around. “I don’t remember it, I was like, 6, and it was a book about horses and stuff.”

“The Arram guy who got killed….he didn’t. It was faked.”

Hiro’s heart skipped. Fred bolted down the stairs and returned with the flowers as Aunt Cass emerged from the kitchen with cookies.

“Cookies, anyone?” She asked, holding out the overloaded tray. Honey Lemon took one in one hand, worrying her medallion with the other.

“Oh, milk, right, I have almond milk and whole and, well, just about all the kinds downstairs, so…is everything all right?”

“What kind of flowers are these?” Fred asked. “These are carnations, but I don’t know the others.”

“Huh? I don’t know, I think there’s a flower dictionary upstairs in the boys’—in Hiro’s room.” Aunt Cass bit her lip, her hand going to the necklace she wore. “One of the shelves. Why?”

Fred bolted again, this time with the others hot on his tail.

“I’ll just….get the milk, then,” Aunt Cass called after them, bemused, turning to look at the table, still covered with plates and bowls and in the middle of it all-- “Mochi, no, down, Mochi—Mochi!”

Chapter Text

Fred was already at one of the bookshelves, running a finger across the spines as Honey Lemon searched through another. GoGo stood in the doorway, biting her lip, afraid to hope. They’d been down this road before and it had only made the hurt worse—what if this was just coincidence, happenstance, a pipe dream? But if there was a chance that, by some miracle, these were actually messages—an obscure book and fistful of plastic flowers—how could they not hope? She was not the prayerful type, that was Honey Lemon, but as she stood, rocking back and forth on the hardwood, she concentrated on the word, please. Please don’t let this be a pipe dream. Please.

Hiro ran a hand through his hair, his breathing jagged. “Do you think?” he asked the group at large, staring at the book Honey Lemon still held, the note clutched tightly. “Do you really think…that….” He couldn’t say the words any more than he had been able to say the word “dead,” paralyzed by the possibility.

“Found it,” Wasabi had started gathering books from the floor, unable to abide a mess. He held up a thick volume, and Fred sized it, thumbing through the pages as he spoke.

“I dunno, but—well—The Last Unicorn, the theme for that’s—it’s—the Red bull, the fiery bull, it kills a prince who’s trying to save someone, but he comes back, because Unicorns. There’s a lot about mortality and immortality, and the movie’s theme song has “I’m alive” for a chorus, plus then there’s the note—,“ Fred said as he flipped back a few pages.

“If it really is Daine and Arram and not Diane and RM,” Honey Lemon said slowly. She’d stopped searching, and was now tapping the medallion at her throat anxiously. “But I think—I feel like…”

Hiro nodded once, sharply, a lump in his throat, and desperate for something to do to help figure it all out, knelt near Wasabi, gathering up more of the books Baymax had knocked from the shelf earlier.

“Carnations, striped,” Fred muttered, “Usually a refusal, but also can mean regret, and “I’m sorry I can’t be with you,” and since these are white and pinkish, that’s—well, “always there for you” is what pink means.”

GoGo unclenched her fist, not wanting to say the thought in her head, but dared to. Someone had to, after all, before the hoping hurt too much. “That doesn’t sound too…hopeful. Sounds like the promises we always get, that we’re never really alone, that no one’s really gone. What if it was…arranged? We don’t have any proof.” Her gut tightened, and she looked at the floor, not wanting to see the pain in anyone’s eyes. She felt it enough in her own.

“Why now, though?“ Hiro asked, desperate, as he gathered trinkets. “Why not last month, if it were something else. And why leave them at the cemetery, why not have them delivered, and—and…the book, that has to mean something. I don’t know, but it has to, it--” he dropped the few things from Tadashi’s treasure box he’d gathered: a carved bit of Tiger’s eye stone, a scrap of wrapping paper, a small chunk of what looked like a destroyed piece of the heating element in a stove. His fingers clenched around something else, and his breath caught.

“And this looks like heather—so, white heather, don’t tell me I know this one,” Fred flipped through the book, but Wasabi interrupted him, holding up his new smartphone.

“Protection from danger,” Wasabi read, furrowing his brow.

Hiro didn’t hear. His heart was pounding in his ears as he stared at the small object he held, and suddenly he leaped up, making for the stairs with a rushed “berightback.”

“Aunt Cass,” he asked breathlessly as he reached the kitchen.

“What? What’s going on—and don’t say nothing, young man.” Aunt Cass had the carafes of milk from the café on the table, next to the plate of cookies. Hiro’s heart stuttered. He wanted to tell her—but what if he was wrong? What if all of this was wrong? He had to be sure first, he couldn’t break her heart. And anyway, she’d say it was stress or puberty or denial, or worse, she’d insist on going to the cops, and what if Yokai found out, what if he hurt her? No, Hiro thought. Not yet. He needed to know, first.

“Project. For Fred’s English class. It’s due at midnight.” Technically, Fred’s paper was due at midnight, and was about symbolism, so it wasn’t really a lie, Hiro told himself. Aunt Cass raised a brow. “I just came down to, um, ask you. If you still have Tadashi’s ring.”

Saying his brother’s name felt like floodgates opening, a sudden surge of fear and worry, sorrow and aching, desperate hope. Aunt Cass looked startled, her brain trying to keep too many thoughts straight in her head, but she nodded, reaching for her necklace.

“Do you want it back?” she asked, her voice low. Hiro noticed for the first time how tired she looked, dark smudges under her eyes, her smile quivering. “It should be yours. I know you said you didn’t want it, but…” she slipped the ring from the necklace chain, and it gleamed in the light. Hiro looked at it, and nodded, his eyes blurring. Aunt Cass handed it to him, then gave him a one armed hug. “Whatever this is, you know you can tell me.”

Hiro nodded, then turned, taking the stairs two at a time, and GoGo caught him as he stumbled on the last one.

“Guys, look,” he said, his voice trembling. He held out his cupped hands. Two jet-black rings, almost identical, lay there. One had two small nicks, the other only one.

There was stunned silence. It stretched out, until finally Hiro broke it. “The ring they found. It was fake. But the only one who could have—who could have known exactly what it looked like, the right size—it has to be. He’s alive.”

Honey Lemon again made a quick sign of the cross, her shoulders shaking and her hands trembling. GoGo sank onto the edge of Hiro’s bed, numb with hope and relief and confusion. The flower dictionary hit the ground as Fred dropped it on one of his own feet, but he didn’t flinch. His smile was so wide he thought his face might split in two, but it faded quickly. The same thought seemed to hit everyone at once, but Wasabi was the one to voice it.

“If Tadashi’s alive, why coded messages? And where is he?” He stared to pace, almost wringing his hands.

“Yokai.” Honey Lemon’s voice was soft. “It has to come back to the Man in the Mask. Maybe he saw something and had to hide, or…”

“Yokai has him,” Hiro said with conviction. “The microbots. He was making more of them, but—he’d have needed the blueprints, the schematics, or else someone who knew about them. I said it. I said it that night. That Krei’d need Tadashi or me if he was going to reverse engineer them, stealing one wouldn’t be enough.” The teenager’s hands shook, and he sat heavily on the floor. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t—if I’d just sold them to him, or just kept my mouth shut, then…” There was a hand on his shoulder, and another, and Hiro found himself in the middle of a group hug.

“It is not your fault.” GoGo said, reminding Hiro of the dwarf hamster that had been class pet in his second grade classroom, the one that had sent at least four students to the nurse.

“Classic Supervillain,” Fred put in. “Tadashi probably saw him stealing the microbots. Wrong time, wrong place.”

“It’s been a month. A month.” Hiro mourned. “All that time, and—I wasn’t even looking.”

Honey Lemon closed her eyes. “None of us were. But we’ll get him back. We will.”

“Let’s get back to work, then.” GoGo said. “Baymax needs his upgrades, and we’re wasting time.”

Hiro gave a shaky nod, and went to activate the robot.

It was well past midnight when the first versions of armor and weapons were ready to send to printers and assemble, the best they could get to in the garage. Actual construction would require higher end tools, and more carbon fiber, metal alloy, chemicals, and a better printer than Hiro had. Fred promised that everything they needed would be waiting for them at his place by the next afternoon at the latest, but that didn't turn out to be the main problem.

“Aunt Cass, I need to do this,” Hiro said over breakfast in the Café.

“I said you were grounded,” she said, her lips pinched. “You were gone for hours with no calls, not even a note. I thought you were—gone. I’m worried about you. You aren’t in classes, so don’t try and pull that “homework” excuse.” She sighed. “But it’s good your you to get out. And you’re eating. And talking. Oh—oh fine. I am going to regret this, you’re supposed to stick to your rules, I know I read that once, but—fine.” Hiro let out a sigh of relief. “But! I expect you to call in, every three hours, and any time you go somewhere new. If something happens to your phone, you borrow one right away and you tell me. And be home for dinner.”

“Thanks, Aunt Cass.” Hiro said, shoving the last of his muffin into his hoodie pocket.

“All right, but you just remember—call.” She said, waving a notepad in his face. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you, too,” he said, then followed his somewhat sleep deprived friends out the door.

The lab space Fred offered was a repurposed garden shed, or so he claimed. Where bags of potting soil and pruning shears and motor-powered lawnmowers had once presumable lived, the place now teamed with everything they needed to make the schematics into realities. Huge 3D printers churned out goldenrod-yellow electro-mag throwing discs while Wasabi and Hiro tinkered with the man’s mint green gauntlets, working so that he could have the plasma lasers functional and still use his hands as hands.

Honey Lemon worked from her notes—the few successes she’d had with her project and the many failures—until her eyes hurt, but she thought she had something, a breakthrough at long last. Hiro beamed when she zipped past to find Heathcliff, to ask if he could track down more chemicals for her. He delivered a cooler an hour later, and GoGo wondered briefly how he’d managed that.

Fred’s project took the most of Hiro’s time, since he couldn’t work on it himself while Hiro was busy with the others’ or his own armor, but it was also less reliant on complicated tech. There were high-powered compression springs in the legs, with heavy duty shock absorbers, and Fred had begged for a flamethrower of some kind like a puppy.

It took them three days before Hiro was satisfied the armor would protect them all, that the projects would function the way they needed to.

Heathcliff either volunteered or was voluntold to stand in as Yokai for the practice sessions, wearing a half mask and calm demeanor as GoGo zipped around him like a lightening blur, as Honey Lemon used her chemical domes and miniaturized Chemlab of a purse to immobilize him, and as Fred set half the courtyard on fire, briefly. Wasabi even took a turn, though he faced a tennis ball pitcher as the main obstacle, worried about hurting the older man. Hiro cheered with each success, and finally brought out his own project, and Baymax’s.

GoGo was tossing one of her discs into the air and catching it as Wasabi practiced activating and deactivating his laser hands, which frankly scared him a little. Honey was drilling herself on chemical compounds, a sheet of paper with the keyboard of her purse on it in front of her.

“I present, Baymax 2.0,” Hiro said into the com unit inside his helmet, finally showing off. Similar coms were in Fed’s Kaiju suit, and the helmets of the others. Baymax stood tall, covered in red and purple armor that caught the late afternoon sunlight.

“He’s majestic,” Fred said.

“You out did yourself,” GoGo said approvingly. “Looks good.”

 Hiro shook his head, glancing down at his own armor, a mirror of Baymax’s in dark purple. “I guess.”

Honey Lemon pulled out her new phone, gathering everyone together for a selfie. As soon as she was done, Hiro addressed Baymax. “Show them the fist!” Baymax switched his stance and held out on arm, then looked quizzically at Hiro.

“The thing!” Hiro prompted.

“Balalala.” Baymax said, twitching his fingers.

“No, not a fist bump, the other thing!”

The fist suddenly grew small rocket thrusters and shot out across the garden.

“My hand is gone,” Baymax said, as said fist crashed into a statue. The first returned, and Baymax tilted his head. “It is back.”

“Rocket fist! So Cool!” Fred gushed.

“Watch this, though,” Hiro scrambled around behind Baymax and let the magnets in his own armor clip into the robots, until he was secured to Baymax’s back. “Baymax, wings.”

A pair of not-very-aerodynamic wings popped out of the armor, followed by an order for “Thrusters.”

“I fail to see how flying makes me a better healthcare companion,” Baymax remarked noncommittally.

“I fail to see how you fail to see that it’s awesome!” Hiro shouted back, forgetting that everyone could hear him loud and clear.

“Be careful,” Honey Lemon said, watching Baymax start to hover slightly. Gogo Saw what was about to happen and dragged everyone down as Baymax tipped forward and shot across the courtyard, then righted himself. As the others scrambled back to their feet, Hiro and Baymax took off, flying. It was wobbly and jagged, but still, it was flying.

“Sweet,” Fred said.

Wasabi’s eyes were wide behind his tinted visor. “Dang.”

“I want a turn,” GoGo grinned.

They soared above San Fransokyo, narrowly missing buildings, billboards, and a flock of unhappy and unlucky pigeons. Hiro let out a whoop, fear turning to excitement as they wove between skyscrapers and the wind turbines that hovered like giant kites. The Sunset Bridge shone copper in the light of the setting sun, standing out against the fog that rolled in.

Hiro could see everything from his perch—the ocean, the bay, the green-gold of the Berkobe hills, the glitter of sunlight on windows as he and Baymax sailed past them. He grinned at his own face in one such window, exhilarated.

“I’m never taking Muni or BART again!” he shouted, and somewhere far below, his friends laughed into their coms.

Baymax paused atop one of the towers of the Sunset Bridge.

“Wait, why are we stopped?” Hiro asked, suddenly worried. “You’re fully charged, right?”

“Your Neurotransmitters have improved steadily. They are even above Friday night’s levels.”

Hiro twitched. “Right, because we—we have a shot, now.”

“You do not require immunizations.” Baymax said, blinking.

“It’s an expression.”

“I see.” And they were flying again, skimming the water and rocketing upward. Hiro was sure of several things now, the first being that flying was awesome, the second being that he was really glad the magnets worked.

At last, they found one of the brightly painted wind turbines and landed. Hiro looked around, circling on the spot.

“Can see everything from up here,” he said, breathing hard to get his heartbeat back to normal. “That was amazing.”

“Sick,” Baymax agreed. Hiro could hear laughter from the others in his ears, and knew Baymax heard it too, in his own helmet.

“Yep. Now let’s get that super sensor working. We’ve got to find them.”

Baymax turned, letting his helmet screen fill with signals. The amount of data was overwhelming, even with him discarding any data that did not fit instantly. At last he froze.

“There is a signal that matches: Yokai on: that island.”

“Akuma Island,” Hiro said. “It’s a nature preserve, I think. Or it was. Or something. Fine, scan for Tadashi.”

Hiro held his breath, waiting. Baymax hesitated before speaking. “There is no match on: Akuma Island.”

“What?!” four voices joined Hiro’s.

“Try again, the rest of the city, too.”

Baymax complied, but returned the same result. After a pause, he added. “My scanner matches health and medical status. It is possible that Tadashi’s health has changed since I last scanned him: 42 days ago.”

Hiro sucked in a breath. That didn’t sound good, not at all. He’d tried to focus on Tadashi, alive, and Tadashi, alone—but Yokai had tried to kill them.  What if he’d hurt Tadashi?

“Hiro?” Honey Lemon’s voice in his ear. “Hiro, it’s going to be all right.”

“Yeah,” Fred said, his voice strained. “Maybe it’s just that it’s old data. Or there’s a force field or something.”

“I’m coming back to get you,” Hiro said, but his voice shook. “Baymax, last scan, try to…narrow down here Yokai is on the island, if you can.”

“Scanning.” Baymax seemed to squint at the island. “Scanning. No match on: Akuma Island. Widening search. No Match.”

“Force field,” Fred said, then cried out “ow,” as someone Hiro guessed was GoGo punched him in the arm or kicked him.

Hiro climbed back on top of Baymax, and they took off back to Fred’s house.

“Get on,” he said, gesturing. “C’mon.”

“Hiro, it’s going to be dark soon,” Honey Lemon put in. “And Aunt Cass…” she trailed off.

“Maybe we should get some sleep, first, if we’re going to go fight this guy, “ Wasabi said hesitantly. “It’s been a long couple of days, and you don’t look so good.”

“But what if that’s too late?” Hiro asked. “What if we lose him? Both of them? I can’t—I can’t. We left him with Yokai for too long already. Please. He’s my brother.”

GoGo frowned, chewing a nail. “We won’t do him any good if we get ourselves killed by not being ready. Just a few hours of sleep, get Baymax fully charged, let all off us ready.”

Hiro glanced from face to face, and finally nodded dejectedly.

“Baymax, don’t take him anywhere without us,” Wasabi ordered the robot.

“That would be unwise,” Baymax agreed. “We stand a better chance of success if we work together.”

“Hey,” Hiro said.

“We’re a team.” GoGo shrugged. “We go together, end of story.”

 “We ride at dawn!” Fred shouted.

“Before dawn,” Honey Lemon said. “Maybe Yokai’ll be sleeping, and we can surprise him.”

“That sounds good to me,” Wasabi said

“Operation Zinnia is a go,” Fred, and no one bothered to even roll their eyes.

Hiro nodded again, hope bubbling up against the rocks in his chest. He was so tired, but Tadashi was counting on them. But they couldn’t fail him by being a sucky rescue, not after a month, more than a month of waiting.

“Hold on, big brother,” Hiro said under his breath as he and the others stashed their armor and Wasabi started the car to drive everyone home, promising to pick everyone up at 4 AM. “We’re coming. Just hang on.”

Chapter Text

Hiro escaped dinner and questions about the "group project" he was "helping with" early, afraid that he'd spill everything to Aunt Cass, or worse, that she'd seen the truth written across his face. She'd insist they call the police, if she believed him at all, and then what would happen? Cops would never believe what was happening, and they'd go in totally unprepared, and…Hiro didn't want to think about what would happen in that case. And there was still that tiny icy pit in his stomach, a kernel of uncertainty. Baymax hadn't been able to locate Tadashi, after all. Hiro fervently hoped it was like Fred said, a force field of some kind. He didn't want to think about the other possibilities.

Baymax stood in his charger port, a small battery symbol glowing on his chest. "Hiro, you should rest. The recommended amount of sleep for adolescents is several hours more than you have been allowing yourself."

"Yeah," Hiro said absently, sitting on his bed and holding the rings and the flowers. They were messages. They were from his brother. Tadashi. He had to be alive, he had to be ok, because anything else meant that Hiro had let him down. Finally, Hiro stood, crossed to the other side of the room, and flopped onto Tadashi's bed, pressing his face into the familiar, warm coverlet. Though his mind was still dizzy and busy with desperate thoughts of tomorrow, sleep came, troubled with flashes of color and flames and darkness.

Honey Lemon did not go home right away. The dorm was always chaotic, even when she closed her door and tried to ignore her roommates. Right now, she needed peace. Serenity. Faith. She walked the few blocks from where Wasabi had dropped her off to Saint Francis's, finding an empty pew near the back and kneeling. She had missed the evening Mass, but there was always a late night service for those who worked odd hours. She could wait.

It was a small chapel, more like the one she'd gone to as a child than some of the others in the area. The feeling of home, the familiar smells of wood polish and candle smoke and old books comforted her. Eyes closed, hands clasped, Honey Lemon prayed for guidance, for help, for comfort for her friends, for a miracle. San Miguel Arcángel,Defiéndenos en la batalla; María , vela por nosotros; San Alberto, por favor ayúdanos . Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos, santificado sea tu nombre…

She might well have stayed there all night if not for the priest's worried glances and other parishioners asking her if she was alright, it was late, she looked like she had been crying. So she slipped through the chaos of Cadence, Lisbeth, and Abby playing cards. They did not seem to notice her, checking her alarm clock to make sure it was set. Sleep still did not come easily, as fogbanks rolled in.

Wasabi hung up his cellphone, glad for the brief distraction from the mind-blowing panic he that had not stopped since, well, since the whole "Man in a Kabuki mask tried to kill us" thing. Speaking to his grandmother and his younger siblings had helped some, the rapid chatter about classes and homework and garden clubs and the new play that the Kurumi Creek community center was putting on making him focus on everything but what he was going to do in under ten hours.

He'd had to bite his tongue when his oldest younger sister, Arriani had asked what he was working on, and had answered vaguely. He knew she wasn't satisfied with his answer, and probably thought he was holding out on her, but Hiro and Fred had pressed the importance of secrecy. The more people who knew about any of this, the more people would be in danger. That was a risk Wasabi refused to take.

Still fear pricked at him and he made sure to tell each of his siblings and every other family member present at Gran's little house over the Berkobe Hills that he loved them. Just in case, he told himself. In case something does happen to go wrong. It won't. Everything will be ok. We'll be ok. Right?

GoGo checked her alarm clock again. It was set for four AM, Wasabi would arrive at quarter past, and then… her mouth quirked. And then they were going to get the scumbag who had taken her friend. Then they were going to take down the psychopath who had tried to murder them all and who was planning who-knew-what terrible thing with Hiro's invention. They'd find him and make. Him. Pay.

Slow down, breathe. She ordered herself, almost laughing at her choice of word-thoughts. She hated slowing down, but a heightened heartbeat now would make sleep on her cruddy air mattress even more difficult, not to mention being worked up right before sleep was always a recipe for disaster. Rage had filled her, the kind she kept down buried under snark and sarcasm and quips.

Calm. We'll take down Yokai without beating him to a pulp. Probably. Hitting him would feel good, after all the pain and fear and heartache, but she needed to be in control. Speed and adrenaline and passion were well and good in a fight, but Yokai would be more than a play yard bully-boy. Control.

Fred checked the gear stored in the shed, making sure the armor was clean and ready to go, the weapons that needed power were fully charged, that everything was neat and organized. At last, with nothing left he could do but try to sleep a little—I'm going to fight a super villain, how am I supposed to sleep the night before that, it's like Christmas—he made his way to his room.

Instead of turning himself into a Fred-burrito of blankets, though, he sat at his desk, a sheet of paper in from to him, a pen uncapped and bleeding ink. Heroes always did this, didn't they? Leave a note in case something happened, like a time portal, or the villain capturing them, or something else going wrong.

So he scribbled their suspicions down, just in case, already planning where he'd hide the letter so it wouldn't be found right away. Anyway, that's the plan, but if you're reading this, then I guess we messed something up. Hopefully not too bad. I'm going to make you proud, Dad. I'm making a difference.

~Fred.

The letter sealed and stuffed into the pages of his own copy of The Last Unicorn, Fred finally made his way to bed.

It had been two days since he'd eaten anything, but Tadashi hardly noticed. Callaghan still brought food, dry granola bars and bruised apples and day-old muffins, but he had no appetite for any of it. Only the threat to Hiro and Aunt Cass and the others' families was enough to make him leave the corner of the cot to piece together bits of formulas for the professor. His mind felt muzzy, but he was unsure if it was from not eating or from fatigue or from grief. Dead. All dead. Ethel and Diane and Fred and Damion—GoGo and Honey and Fred and Wasabi. My fault. Selfish. Should never have—he cut the thought off, eyes closed and shivering.

At least the lightbulbs had been replaced, or one of them had. The little room was still dim, though it hardly seemed to matter. He'd tried. He'd tried stalling and sabotage and signaling for help and all he'd managed was to make everything worse. Sitting up, he scrubbed at his cheeks with the back of his hand. Crying was all he wanted to do, but it wouldn't help anything. Across the room, the computer chirped and hummed. He'd taken to leaving it on, useless as it was, if only for the added light. With the microbots finished, Callaghan had taken the 3D printer away, but the old computer and its calculators remained.

Tadashi wished he remembered how to turn an old computer into a laser. Fred had shown them all a video about it once, Wasabi had been vaguely offended, and Honey had told Fred if he set the lab on fire—he closed his eyes. The memory was too painful, the thought that they'd never joke again, that they were gone and he was the reason.

But then, maybe he'd be dead soon, too. Callaghan's project would be finished soon, he'd do whatever it was he'd set out to do, whatever had caused him to fake his own death and steal and kidnap and murder. Tadashi hardly thought Callaghan would just let him go, and risk being exposed, being caught.

The thought was jarring. Callaghan's plan. I have to figure it out. Whatever he does, part of it will be my fault. For helping him. I have to know. Maybe there's something. Anything. I can do. He swallowed hard, his dry throat protesting the action, and made his way to the computer. His bad leg ached fiercely, but he hardly cared. He couldn't get from this computer to the outside world, but maybe he didn't need to. Maybe…

He reached a hand up for the ring he wasn't wearing, wishing desperately for it, for some comfort, for the weight of it and the feeling of closeness it had always brought, of family and home. His fingers met skin and the frayed collar of his shirt instead.

A few commuters, if they were paying attention, might have seen the small red streak in the sky over San Fransokyo in the hour before dawn. The sky was pale pink, fog hanging over Berkobe's hills and settling there like snow, the Bay choppy with the moving tide and faint wind. A few sea birds squawked in alarm and fled for moored boats and bridge pylons as Baymax soared past, Fred and Wasabi in each of his hands and Hiro, GoGo and Honey Lemon on his back.

"Y'know, if I wasn't afraid of heights, I'd be loving this," wasabi muttered. "But guess what, afraid of heights, so not loving it." While Fred was content to make a superman pose, trusting Baymax entirely, Wasabi clung to the robot with all his might.

"Woman up," GoGo called down. "We had to get the weight distribution right."

"Well, then you and Honey can be down here on the way back, and me and Fred can sit up there."

"But I like this spot," Fred said petulantly.

"Ok, Baymax, let's stop up on the bridge tower. One more scan, just to be sure." Hiro's voice cut through the jesting argument, and the robot nodded, bringing them in for a landing on the Sunset Bridge's tower, then turning to face Akuma Island.

"Scanning. There is a sign that matches…" Baymax tilted his head. "It is gone."

"What? Which , who?" Hiro's voice was tight with concern.

"Yokai. I sensed a match to his latest data, but the signal is gone."

"How?" GoGo asked. "He can't teleport, can he?"

"That is: Unlikely." Baymax blinked.

"I told you. There's probably a signal blocking force field in the secret laboratory." Fred spoke with authority.

"If he was there, even if he's gone, we should look anyway," Honey pointed out. "Maybe there will be clues."

The sun was reaching over the hills, the fog gleaming in the light and shifting like an ocean itself. At last, Hiro nodded, urgency pounding in his veins. There were answers there, and they'd wasted enough time.

"Let's go," he commanded, scrambling back onto Baymax's back. The others followed suit, and Wasabi only threw up his hands before taking his spot, wrapping arms and legs tightly around the armored fist.

Akuma Island had beaches, and a few buildings, but Baymax passed those by, zeroing in on the far side of the island, circling lower until the others could see it clearly, a fenced in section right on the water. There was what looked to be a dock, a helicopter pad, a large door and building that seemed to be set into the island itself.

"I think this is it," Hiro whispered. Honey Lemon nodded from her spot beside him.

They touched down softly, and Wasabi untangled himself, glad to be on solid, dry land again. As GoGo started toward the imposing metal door, he stopped dead, pointing.

"Guys, that says quarantine."

"Yeah, so we're probably in the right place," Fred put in. "Oh, man, this is so cool. Our first landing as a team, and this place is seriously shady."

"The sun is not out yet." Baymax said.

"It's an expression," Hiro and Fred said together, moving to join GoGo. Wasabi did not move

"Do you know what quarantine means?" his voice grew more shrill.

"Quarantine: a method of enforced isolation to prevent contamination or the spread of sickness or waste." Baymax chirped.

"I know what it means, tell it to them," Wasabi hissed with a wave of his hands. "And that sign has a skull face on it! A skull face!"

They ignored him, and faced the door. "This is it, everyone ready?" Hiro asked.

There was a crack behind them, and everyone turned at once, acting on pure panic. Honey hurled one of her chem balls at the sound, Wasabi activated his laser hands but got no closer, and Fred let out a stream of fire. GoGo held her disk in one hand, ready to throw, and Hiro scurried to get behind Baymax, ready to direct him. When the chaos cleared, a rather irritated pigeon pecked at the chemical goo, and took off with a flap of wings.

"Well, that was awkward. C'mon." GoGo pointed at the door. Wasabi stepped up, trying to cut a hole in it. He misjudged twice, but at last, a chunk of metal door fell away, and the group slid through, careful to avoid the still hot edges where he'd sliced the steel.

Hiro wondered if they should have brought flashlights, but already his eyes were adjusting to the murk. They clustered together, moving slowly but carefully. Baymax tried to scan again, but his sensors fizzed in his optics, and he shook his head at the unspoken question from Hiro.

Fred hummed softly, whispering a song that Hiro thought at first might have been a theme song, until he recognized their names in it.

"Fred's angels, mmmm,"

"Fred, what part of super secret rescue mission involves a theme song?" GoGo hissed.

Wasabi, on edge, for once beat out GoGo in a "who has less patience" contest. "Fred, so help me, I will laser hand you in the face."

Fred shut up.

"Uh, guys, take a look at this," Honey Lemon waved them over to a half open door, and slipped inside.

Tadashi sat back in horror and revulsion. It had taken work, and he knew Callaghan would be returning soon, it had to be morning by now, but he'd managed to find a way to access some of the data stored on local computers. There was still no way he could think of to get to their internet, if they even had it, since they seemed to be more for running a machine or viewing closed circuit security cameras, but he'd try again later, if he got the chance.

But he'd found videos, of a huge double portal, one that matched up with formulas and measurements he'd calculated. It was older, the video, old security footage, but nearly everything else had been wiped out, erased.

It looked like a government project, and for a few moments Tadashi'd let himself watch the swirling mass of energy and light, transfixed. Teleportation. But that alone meant something was about to go wrong, or he'd have seen this, it would have been on the news, in scientific journals—teleportation was only theories, but he was seeing them. And seeing them fail. Krei, Alister Krei, had been in charge, and Tadashi had a sinking suspicion this was the reason Callaghan hated the man so much. Had this portal been Callaghan's work, stolen? But no, he wouldn't have needed help with the formulas…Tadashi had tried to think, and final just hit play again.

A woman went in after the hat, in some kind of spaceship pod, and something about her seemed familiar, and then everything fell apart. He recognized the rate of the collapse of the magnetic field, the pull and strength—he'd worked those numbers. Callaghan was rebuilding the portal—both of them, or just one? And why? Why the microbots, unless he was planning on moving the portals. That thought was chilling. If they were outside, and the containment field fell, there'd be no way to shut them down. Hundreds of people could die, maybe more. Thousands. Tadashi watched the video again, furrowing his brow. There were answers here. If he was going to die, he wanted to know why, and he had to see if there was some way to stop it. Callaghan will find out, he'll hurt Hiro, he'll—they could all be hurt anyway, if he's planning…I don't know. I don't know. The thoughts burned in his head.

The woman—Abigail, Krei called her—looked familiar. Why? Had she been a student at SFIT? Or on the news? He wasn't sure, and watching the images of fire exploding outward, watching the support team panic, hurt too much. He closed the window, and the one beneath brightened. Security camera feeds. Current, judging from the lack of light in most rooms, the lack of people.

He searched for Callaghan, his eyes scanning over the various camera feeds, letting them cycle through until one caught his eye, a room full of debris and scrap and the remnants of a portal.

And six figures, dwarfed by the room's size.

"Maybe I should eat," Tadashi whispered to himself, sure that this had to be a hallucination, a cruel joke brought on by trauma and hunger and fear. There was no sound, only the visuals of six people—beings?—one in a monster suit, the others in armor. He leaned in closer, his breath catching, his vision blurring from strain and sudden tears, because if he didn't know any better, he's say that the green figure, with blue-green light around his arms, might have been Wasabi. Helmets covered faces, but he could see it in his mind, GoGo in yellow, the disks at the figure's ankles even looked like GoGo's tech. Honey Lemon would be the one in pink, long blonde hair, and Fred in the monster costume.

"No," he whispered, trying to swallow air. "It's not…it's… it can't—" but the one in red moved, facing the camera, and Tadashi saw the shape, the slit in the helmet that revealed a familiar robot face. His legs both gave out from under him, and the chair squeaked, pushed back by the sudden movement. "How?" his voice sounded broken even to his own ears. Trembling with confusion and hope, he reached out a hand to the screen, then drew back. It was them, it was his friends, alive. Alive. Alive. Alive. The word resounded. That was Fred, that was GoGo and Wasabi, that was Baymax, waddling slightly, but in armor, and that was the way Honey Lemon dragged people to her work station to show them things, and the way Hiro-.

"No," Tadashi said weakly. Hiro's here. They're alive but they're here and Hiro's with them, Callaghan, if he finds them… the sun-bright joy that had pounded in his pulse with the word alive faltered, flickered like a candle going out. Callaghan could find them, they had no idea who they were up against, they'd be hurt, or worse, or.

"Think, think, think," Tadashi blinked miserably. He had to warn them, they were gathering around a computer screen, maybe he could warn them, maybe he could do something.

The door behind him opened so quietly he didn't realize until the microbots already held him, pinning his arms to his sides, and Callaghan stepped inside. Whatever had brought the man was forgotten as his eyes focused on the computer's screen, and his expression darkened. The microbots tightened.

"It seems I underestimated them," Callaghan said, his voice dangerously quiet.

Tadashi knew he was crying, didn't even care. "Don't," he managed, trying to breathe through the band of microbots and iron-sharp fear that held his chest. "Leave them alone, please, just let us go."

Callaghan turned his attention from the screen to his captive. "No, I will not have my plans ruined by children. No one is going to stop me. It's a little late for that." He twitched his hand, and the microbots holding Tadashi shifted, throwing him at the wall. There was a crack like thunder, and pain spread through him like ink in water, thick and dark. The world seemed to flicker as he blinked, and then it went dark entirely.

On the video screen before them, Hiro and the others watched as Krei announced a new project, and within thirty seconds, the project was in ruins, his reputation was definitely tarnished, and someone was dead. Honey Lemon crossed herself, shaking her head in horror. GoGo frowned.

Fred blinked, holding his helmet-mask close to his chest. Wasabi seemed torn between wanting to throw up and curiosity.

"It was Krei, then," Hiro whispered. "He's stealing his machine back, see, it's got the bird and… but why, why do all this, why…"

"Government conspiracy," Fred shrugged. "Or it just really, really messed him up?"

"What's that?" Honey Lemon hissed, suddenly on full alert. Baymax turned to an open space where a large glass window had once been.

"Oh no," he said matter-of-factly as the others turned to stare. Yokai was standing on a swarm of microbots, and two thick tentacles of them held aloft a huge chunk of concrete.

"Duck," Hiro shouted as the masked man hurled it at them.

Baymax once again took the brunt of the blow, shielding the others. Dust filled the air, and Fred crammed his helmet on, glad for the filter it offered.

"Baymax, do something," Honey Lemon cried. Baymax shifted his stance, the rubble shifting with a loud grating, then heaved. As the opening appeared, Fred leaped free with a cry of "Super Jump!"

Yokai turned, and flung his hands up. A wave of Microbots intercepted Fred and sent him sprawling as another wave knocked Baymax back, collapsing more debris on top of him. Hiro raced back, clutching at a small piece of rubble.

"Baymax!" he cried.

"What's the plan?" Wasabi demanded, voice full of pure panic.

"Get the mask, stop him, then find Tadashi" GoGo snarled. "Oi, you, I've had enough of you trying to kill me and my family."

She zipped forward, weaving around bits of fallen cement and metal beams, trying to get close enough to guard Fred's back and still manage an attack. She flung one of her wrist discs with all her might, but he shifted and the blow only knocked the mask vaguely askew. Yokai straightened it with a smirk, lashing out with a hammerblow of microbots. GoGo skated forward and down, trying to escape the attack and succeeding only narrowly.

Honey Lemon flung a chem dome to the floor below, spotting Fred, and then leaped after it, landing gently on the rubbery substance. She hid behind one of the pillars, waiting for GoGo to distract Yokai, then took her shot with an Ice ball. Yokai dodged GoGo's attack, and the disk struck a glancing blow to Honey's helmet. The Ice ball went wide, and the floor grew slick, sending GoGo to her knees and crashing headlong into Honey.

Yokai stood over them, a massive fist of black microbots quivering.

"Hey! You!" Wasabi stood flanking him, hands up and plasma lasers activated. "You wanna dance, Masked Man? Krei? C'mon, then." Like he'd practiced with the tennis balls, Wasabi sliced through the attacking tendrils of Microbots. It wasn't until he paused, out of breath, that he noticed his legs had been seized, and his eyes grew wide behind his visor. "Oh, expletive," he muttered as the microbots flung him into the icepatch, where Honey Lemon was struggling to stand and GoGo wobbled precariously. He deactivated the plasma lasers as he flew, bracing himself. They skidded into Fred, collapsing into a heap of arms and legs and armor.

Yokai loomed, a massive shadow, black on black, all from his coat and cowl to the gloves and even pants. All that remained light was the golden eyed mask, stark white and red like blood on snow. GoGo flung another disk, but couldn't angle it right, and it skittered harmlessly across the ground like a skipping stone.

"No!" The cry of terror and desperation came from above, wrenched from Hiro's throat. Yokai glanced up at the boy, then reformed the hammer of microbots, larger than the shipping container had been, letting it dangle above the fallen team's heads before drawing back, preparing to strike. Hiro flung himself forward, falling but angling towards Yokai, Baymax just behind him, and crashed into the man. The two fell back, knocking into a stairwell and down to another level. Hiro clattered in his armor against the cold cement floor, aching, and scrambled to his feet. Yokai lay face down on the ground. The mask glinted in the dim light several feet away.

"It's over, Krei. Where. Is. My. Brother?"

Chapter Text

Aunt Cass woke four minutes before her alarm was set to go off at six AM, and sighed. A look at the window showed fog as thick as cream shifting through the streets. Another five minutes couldn’t hurt, could they? No, she needed to get up. There were scones to put in the oven, and she’d have to take deliveries starting in half an hour, and then there was the daily specials board to update. So she slid out of bed reluctantly, and set to work.

Keep busy. That was what everyone had said when her sister had died, and now. She’d tried to stay strong and keep busy, as much for her own sanity as to keep the café running and a roof over her fractured family’s heads. It had worked then, barely. It seemed to be working now, she reflected as she scrubbed sleep from her eyes and pinned back her hair.

Down in the café, she took trays from the walk in fridge and put them in the ovens. Many of the pastries she purchased from Bay Area bakeries, since there was no way she could do it all on her own, or even with the few part-time employees she had, but some, like her cinnamon scones and triple chocolate muffins, she made herself. It had taken years to get her mother’s recipes right, working from the faded memories of a three-year-old on a white tile counter, but everyone agreed that they were worth the time.

A delivery boy, no older than Hiro, brought by a wagon full of newspapers, The San Fransokyo Chronicle, The Oakdaiba Tribune, The Wall Street Journal, the Berkobe Voice. Aunt Cass took the receipt, thanked the kid, and put the papers on their racks. While the muffins and scones baked, she shooed Mochi out from under one of the tables, swinging the chairs down with the ease of nearly two decade’s practice. That done, she turned to the chalkboard menu, considering. Under “Breakfast Special” she carefully chalked in “Cinnamon Chip Scone, $2.00,” and “Dark Chocolate Cocoa w/honey, $2.00/ $2.50/ $2.89.”

When she moved to erase the previous day’s lunch special, she paused, then took a different color chalk. “Soup of the Day: Corn Potato Chowder. $2.50 Cup, $3.50 Bowl, $4.00 Sourdough bowl. Add bacon or crab, $1.00.” It was her favorite soup to make. It had been Uncle Abbot and Mina’s favorites, and later, Tadashi and Hiro’s. Her mouth quirked at the memory—she’d had to send it through a blender before Hiro would touch it, and even then he’d put in enough salt to kill an army of slugs. But over the years, Aunt Cass had learned to add more salt, and Hiro’d learned to deal with chunks of potato and leak, and Tadashi had gone along with each attempt, each change.

Aunt Cass shook her head as the letters swam in her vision, and wondered if she ought to make an appointment with an eye doctor before realizing that she was crying. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the smell of coffee and cinnamon. Without realizing it, she found her free hand creeping to the chain at her neck, her fingers rubbing the malachite token. With a pang she noticed the absence of the ring that had hung there, but remembered. Hiro had it.

She glanced at the stairs, at the clock. Nearly seven, time to open for the morning rush, and Hiro was probably still asleep.  He hadn’t been getting much, lately, throwing himself into whatever project his friends were working on with all his heart. Aunt Cass supposed it was good. Keep busy, after all, and better than before, when he’d sat in his beanbag chair and stared at nothing. He was eating again, after all, and speaking, and something seemed changed. There was light in his eyes again. Whatever had given it back, Aunt Cass was grateful. She smoothed her “dress” apron, clean and whole with the Café’s name and logo on it, embroidered by machine, rather than the soup-stained and patchy one she kept upstairs, the one she’d embroidered herself while binge-watching super-hero cartoons.

“Showtime,” she said to Mochi, who had claimed a spot on the Kitchen floor by the still warm ovens. She unlocked the café door and flipped the sign, waiting for the first of the zombie-like morning crowed, desperate for caffeine.

 It was nearly an hour and a half later that she realized Hiro still hadn’t come downstairs, and that the “nerd crew,” as she’d dubbed his friends, had not come by for their usual breakfasts before classes. She tried to shake the feeling of wrongness off as she handed Mrs. Matsuda a cup of green tea and one of the larger scones.

“Are you alright, Cassie?” Mrs. Matsuda asked from her table. Aunt Cass nodded vaguely, worrying her lower lip. Five minutes. She’d give it five more minutes. He was overtired, after all, she’d heard him pacing for most of the weekend. Let him sleep, she thought. You’re being paranoid. Maybe she should cut back on the coffee, before there was more of it in her bloodstream than blood. Still, as she made up a hot chocolate for one of the regulars, the feeling remained, like a trail of ice down her spine.

“It’s over, Krei. Where. Is. My. Brother?" Hiro’s voice was as steady as he could make it, but it trembled, adrenalin and terror and anger all swirling inside him, turning his knees to jelly. His hands were numb inside the gloves; he could hardly feel the mask in his hand. The man on the floor shifted slightly, still just so much darkness within shadow.

Baymax stood stationary behind the boy, and the others above scrambled to reach the stairs. GoGo was there first, halfway down when she froze, her heart lodged like a stone in her throat. At the walkway railing, Honey Lemon gasped, her eyebrows drawing together as Wasabi helped Fred to get to his feet, the breath still crushed from the English major’s lungs.

Yokai, the man in the mask, stood, and once on his feet he hardly seemed so much as winded or dazed. His eyes were locked on the mask.

“Professor?” It was Honey Lemon who voiced the title; the only one who seemed capable of speech just then. Hiro took a step back, shaking his head, his dark eyes hectic with confusion. Wasabi stared, and horror filling him, his mind screaming denial and trying to reject what he was seeing. It couldn’t be true, it couldn’t be right. But Professor Callaghan stood steady on two legs, wreathed in shadows, scowling.

“Give me the mask, Hiro.” It was his voice and in the same way it wasn’t, a guttural snarl, more animal than anything.

GoGo swayed, sure this was a nightmare except for the ache in her ribs, because this was wrong. That wasn’t the professor’s voice, those weren’t his eyes. There was no grandfatherly kindness, no warmth, nothing familiar, and yet—there was no denying it. It was not fear or pain that held everyone in place now, but shock.

“But…you died,” Hiro said, his voice shattered. It was all he could manage. But you were our teacher, but you were our mentor, but you were our advisor, our idol, our friend, the other obvious statements of betrayal tangled on the tongues of GoGo and Wasabi and Honey Lemon, unspoken. I should have suspected was all Fred could think, his own voice gone.

“No, I had your microbots,” Callaghan said, almost as if he were lecturing a class that didn’t quite understand the material.

 GoGo clenched her fists, rage burning in her veins like fire. This was the professor who’d given her extra credit assignments so she could keep her GPA high enough for the scholarship she had needed. This was the man who had lent her books, who had offered an ear when she’d broken down in a quiet corner after failing her first test at SFIT. This was the man she’d seen every morning for months in the halls, waved to, nodded to.

Not any more, she thought. This was the man who had nearly killed dozens of people. Who had hurt one of her best friends. Who had tried to murder them all, twice. The anger and hurt broke through the paralysis that had turned her legs to lead and she lurched forward, a single though pounding in her pulse; keep the others safe.

“Tadashi,” Hiro’s gut roiled as he forced himself to meet the eyes of a man he had revered as a hero. “Where is he? And don’t— don’t lie. I know you have him.”

“Do you?” Callaghan sneered.

“Yes,” Wasabi said, his voice choked and tight.

“You’re surrounded. Ish. So tell us where he is, you, you—.” Fred wheezed, failing to find a word that fit.

Hiro gripped the mask tighter, tension in every muscle and tendon of his body. He couldn’t feel his fingers, his toes, his face. GoGo reached him, Honey Lemon beside her, circling around to the side.

“It’s over, Callaghan.” GoGo said, her own voice shaking with unconcealed rage. “Whatever plan, whatever scheme, it’s finished.”

Honey Lemon gripped one of her chemical balls, her breathing still ragged, her free hand gripping the medallion she wore so tightly it cut into her palm.

“I doubt that,” Callaghan glanced at her, then back at Hiro. He smirked. “I told you your microbots were an inspired piece of tech. I have to thank you. And Tadashi was so cooperative.”

Hiro thought he might throw up. “You. How could you? How could—Where is my brother? What did you do to him?”

“You’re a little late. If you don’t want to end up like him, you’ll give me my mask, now.”

That was it, the proverbial last straw. Even before Hiro could shout an order, GoGo lunged forward, a blur of purple and gold. In the shadows her wheels hit the scattered microbots, dormant but in no way useless. She stumbled and skidded, and as Callaghan reached out to grab her, she ducked away, hitting the floor and rolling. Callaghan’s words seemed to echo in Hiro’s ears. Was, was, was, end up like him, was, too late.  NO.

“Baymax, get him! Destroy,” his voice was like splinted glass, and Baymax, who had been watching the scene unfold with vague confusion and apprehension, tilted his head.

“My programing prevents me from harming a human being,” his voice was too gentle, too soft for any of this. Hiro glared, wet heat on his cheeks, gravel in his chest as he tried to breathe.

“Not anymore,” he hissed, opening the data port and yanking out the vivid green chip with Tadashi’s name, Tadashi’s handwriting, Tadashi’s work out and throwing it as far as he could, away from Callaghan. “Get him, get him now!” Baymax stiffened, rigid, his eyes gleaming red behind the visor of his helmet. He raised a fist, the rockets flaring.

Callaghan dodged out of the way, the fist skimmed past Honey Lemon. Her eyes widened, and she flung herself to the side, jarring her shoulder against the wall but keeping a grip on the chemical ball she held. Baymax followed Callaghan as he ran, dodging behind pillars.

Baymax swung at them, knocking the supports for viewing platforms out of his way, the metal walkways shuddering and tilting.

“No,” Fred leaped at Baymax, trying to slow him down. “Stop! We aren’t anti-heroes, we don’t murder!” Baymax did not appear to hear him, and with a heave sent Fred flying into a wall. Pain blossomed in the young man’s wrist.

Honey Lemon watched from where she’d fallen as GoGo and Wasabi charged, trying to stop Callaghan from his escape and prevent Baymax from turning the traitor—and all of them—into a red stain on cement. Hiro was on the ground, trembling, dry heaving. Terror pressing on her, combining with the heartbreak of betrayal, the ache of loss, and the age old instincts to fight or flee, she scanned the area.

There must be something I can do, there must be something, please, a Dios Por favore, there, a flash of green glinting in the dim light. She scrambled forward, sized it, then turned in a circle, trying to find the others, Baymax, Callaghan…

They were almost on top of her, barreling her way, GoGo hot in pursuit and Wasabi with only one plasma blade active just behind her.

Callaghan was fast, desperation fueling his movements, a single objective. As Hiro threw himself backward to avoid Baymax’s rocket fist, fear filling his lungs like bay water, he thought he could almost taste the brine of drowning. Callaghan’s arm caught him, the mask dropped and clattered on the ground. In a heartbeat, the professor had it in hand, even as Hiro dove for it.

The microbots, scattered and fallen, reformed, swirling around Callaghan. Honey Lemon took advantage of the moment, as even Baymax froze to assess the threat. He raised a hand, the rocket boosters flaring to life, and the girl lunged forward, praying she wasn’t about to get killed. As the chip slid into place, the microbots gathered into a massive swarm.

“Hiro!” Fred cried out from his place by the wall, struggling to stand. “Guys, look out!”

Hiro felt metal around his bare shins, a tightness around his wrists and constricting as microbots covered him, pulled him up, away. He tried to cry out but his voice was stuck, cut off by the sheer panic of being trapped. As the swarming bots filled his field of vision, he saw the wave of darkness smash into his friends, flinging them like rag dolls against the walls and floor. He heard them cry out in his com unit, and struggled uselessly against the shell of black encasing him. Then, sudden as a candle snuffing out, leaving only a wisp of smoke, there was nothing at all, no light, no sound, only the feeling of moving and darkness.

Chapter Text

There was silence. Hiro wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious, or when he’d woken—or even if he had yet. Everything was still dark, pitch black and the space was small. He reached out, and thought that what he touched was solid, but the gloves kept him uncertain in it was wood or plaster or metal. It might have been a cage of microbots, or a closet. Whatever it was, it was narrow and small and dark.

He stood shakily, leaning on the wall of his prison, breathing hard, trying to force the panic down. “Hello?” he hissed, his voice cracking with fear at being alone and stuck—small, dark, not again, please not again. “Someone? Guys, are you there? Please, someone…hey, I--.” He swallowed, pressing a hand to the side of his helmet as if the pressure could get the message out better.

There was no response. Hiro’s shallow breathing quickened, and his knees, jelly-weak, gave out from under him. There was no give on the walls or floor as he slammed a fist into them, adrenalin lending him strength. Again, he called out for someone, any sign that anyone could hear him at all, even Callaghan.

Again, there was no response, not from beyond the darkness, not from the com unit built in to the side of his helmet. “Honey, Fred, Wasabi?” Hiro tried, frantic. “GoGo? Baymax? Please, are you…there?”

Logic presented three options, and each burned in his mind like stomach acid. The first was that the communication device had been damaged, that he was cut off with no way of telling anyone where he was—again. Not again, please. Options two and three, though, seemed worse, worse than the small and the dark and the tightness and memories. Two, his friends were simply not answering because he’d turned Baymax on Callaghan, and indirectly on them. He could still see Baymax hurling Fred at a wall, and his mouth went dry. My fault. I did that. Baymax hurt them because I—but as before if that thought, that possible explanation was bad, the third was worst yet.

They aren’t dead, Hiro told himself, trying not to remember the last thing he’d seen before the microbots closed over his visor, blocking out everything. They are not dead, they’ll come, they’ll find me, they’ll—his thoughts scattered as the looming darkness seemed to grow closer, all without moving. Still huddled in the dark, he wrapped his arms around his bare shins, scraped and stinging. Callaghan had hurt them, though, he’d smashed them all into walls, and what if he’d done worse? It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to kill them already.

Hiro blinked hard, trying to see more in the dark, trying to hold back tears. Still, there was no sound except his increasingly labored breathing. He pressed his side where he knew a tracking device was still sewn into the lining of his hoodie, useless. Even if he dared take off the scant protection he had, he’d activated it weeks ago. Tadashi hadn’t come, hadn’t been able to.

Just press this, if you’re ever, and I mean ever, in any danger again, and I’ll find you. Tadashi had promised as he finished the last stitches. Six devices, one in each of his hoodies and sweaters, plus one in the winter coat Hiro had only ever needed once when they’d gone on a school trip to the Sanmyaku Nevadas. That had been four years ago, closer to three and a half, and until now, Tadashi had always come. Not dead. Not dead not dead not dead. Hiro tried to organize his breathing around the mantra, as if it could settle his heartrate, as if chanting it would make it true.

“Is anyone there?” Hiro forced the words into a shout, his voice tight with terror. “Let me out!”

No response. No movement that he could sense, no light, no voices answering his. Nothing. Just like…

“Hey, it’s not funny, let me out!” he’d shouted, slamming a palm against the narrow closet at the back of one of the art classrooms, emptied of everything but some huge blocks of clay Hiro couldn’t lift. “I’m not doing your stupid essay, Scott, and even if I would, I suck at history, so seriously, scaring me won’t save your grade, ok? Just, c’mon, open the door!”

There hadn’t been any response, there hadn’t been for some time, though how long, Hiro wasn’t sure. Five minutes? Seven? Twenty? Maybe only two? In the tiny, dark space, without his cellphone, he had no idea how much time had passed since Scott from American History and a couple others had cornered him after the last bell rang. They figured that because they all had around half a foot of height and at least fifty pounds on Hiro, they could bully him into writing their history papers. Which was beyond crazy, because Hiro had a hard enough time in his History and English classes and wasn’t sure his own rough draft would be done by the end of spring break.

So Scott had decided to be cliché as hell and lock him in a locker—only Norton Middle School didn’t have lockers, so the bullies had opted for the next best thing, a closet that locked and lacked any kind of handle on the inside. They’d laughed, and Hiro’d heard footsteps, but they’d never just…leave, right? They wanted him to write their essays, never mind that they’d been bullying him all year, never mind that making him miserable seemed to be fun for whatever stupid reason—so they’d come back, right? Or were just there, waiting, listening? Maybe he should shut up, or let them think they’d won, then he could make a run for it…It wasn’t giving in if it was a trick, he told himself.

“Ok, I’ll do it,” he tried. Nothing, not even that self-satisfied laugh Scott always gave when he won anything. “You hear me? C’mon, guys?”

Hiro dropped to the ground, trying to peer through the thin gap between door and floor, but all he could make out was the dingy white floor, freshly cleaned but still stained. There were the tables, chairs already piled up on top. But he couldn’t see anyone’s legs or sneakers, and the light seemed to be off. Pressing himself more firmly to the ground, Hiro saw he was across from the classroom door, and the door was closed.

Fear had already started filling his gut and lungs like iced lead, but now it spread outward, along his spine and across his arms, down his legs, tightening around his throat.

It was a Friday. The cleaning crew had already come. Ms. Diaomoru had confiscated his cellphone after he’d been caught reading news articles on it instead of listening to her lecture, promising a guardian could come claim it after school. Aunt Cass would be working in the café, and Tadashi had told him he had a robotics club meeting after school, so he’d have to take the Muni home, or walk, but it was supposed to be a nice day…

It might be hours before anyone noticed he was missing, and would anyone even think to look in a closet in the back of a classroom Hiro didn’t ever go in? In a school he hated?

“Hey! Anyone! Someone, let me out! Hey! Help! Help!” he screamed, his voice raw with growing terror. “Can anyone hear me? I’m locked in, hey, I’m in here, c’mon, someone, let me out! Help!” with each word he kicked at the door, wishing he was strong enough to break it down. After an eternity, all he had was an aching foot and a dry throat, but still he kept on. Someone had to be out there, right? A teacher who’d forgotten papers, or a student who’d been in detention, or something—it wasn’t like everyone left the school as soon as the last bell rang.

Stay calm, he ordered himself, for what good it did. You’ll be ok, someone’ll be in soon, or in the morning, the art classes have zero period, right, so, like, Seven, that’s ok, right? Except that no, tomorrow was Saturday and then Sunday and then…Spring Break. A whole week with no one in the classrooms, except custodial, but the room was already clean, so…

Hiro couldn’t breathe, not even to scream, the closet too close and tight around him. He could touch the walls without even fully extending his arms, could touch the back and door with as much ease. He’d never been afraid of the dark, or of small spaces, but the combination and the incessant thought that pulsed in his blood were enough that he felt frozen solid, unable to think. I could die here. I could die here. I could die here. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. No, they’d find him, wouldn’t they? It’d be all over the news by dinner, Aunt Cass would make sure of it, they’d search everywhere, they’d find him. His ever logical brain hissed almost audibly, “but what if they don’t find you soon enough?”

He kept calling out, kept pounding on the door until his legs gave out, until his hands were bloody, until his voice shattered. It might have been hours, or days, or minutes, he didn’t know, his internal clock as scrambled as his wits by sheer panic. “Please, someone, please let me out, please.”

And then someone opened the door, backlit by fluorescent lights that seemed as bright as sunshine. Hiro buried his face, streaked with sweat and tears and snot, in his brother’s chest.

“I’m right here, Hiro. I got you. I’m sorry it took me so long. It’s ok, I got you, I’m here.”

Hiro shuddered, the memory gripping his limbs, drying out his voice. Not like before, it’s not, it’s not. The words were supposed to be a comfort, but they weren’t. His friends might be hurt, might be dying, might already be dead, Aunt Cass—Aunt Cass wouldn’t know what had happened, might think he’d just gone off with the others, broken her trust again, and Tadashi—his heart stuttered and twinged. Callaghan would have used him as a bargaining chip, wouldn’t he? When he’d demanded the mask, why wouldn’t he have offered a trade and then double-crossed? The answer chilled Hiro’s blood, tightened like a stone in his throat. The professor had already proved he was willing to kill his own students, that he was past sentiment, and he’d said—a little late. Hiro clenched his hands into fists, trying to work feeling back into fear-deadened fingers. Tadashi had to be alive, after all of this, after everything, he had to be—but Callaghan had the microbots, had finished them, gotten them to work.

What if they’d really been too late?

What if everyone was dead?

Hiro tucked his head in, wrapping his arms around himself again, and tried to breathe against the grip on his lungs.

The darkness was fuzzy, and Honey Lemon blinked at it, reaching out with a hand to scrub at her eyes. Her hand met something solid, and she froze in confusion before remembering the mask she wore. Slowly, she tried to sit, leaning hard on her other hand and wincing as it throbbed along with her head.

“What…happened?” she asked, scanning her surroundings. The room was dark, dimly lit by a few windows far above and some flickering lights, some tinged red, others a wavering grey-white.

“Honey, you’re awake, thank goodness,” Wasabi crouched next to her, and Baymax, eyes back to normal, waddled after him.

“I am sorry for any harm I caused you,” he said, blinking. “I will scan you for injury. Scan complete. You have a: sprain in your: left wrist. And a: minor contusion to your: head. Treatment includes: rest and keeping the affected areas still.”

Honey Lemon shrugged with a wince. “The others?”

“I’m ok,” Wasabi said,  his face grim. “Fred and GoGo are still out cold, though. Callaghan got away.”

“Where’s Hiro?” Honey Lemon asked, before she remembered microbots wrapping around their friend and closing over him. “Dios Mio.” She shook her head, and it hurt. Wasabi nodded.

“Callaghan took him. Baymax tried to scan, as soon as he got free from the microbots, but…”

“I failed.” If a robotic, programed monotone could convey genuine sorrow, Baymax’s voice did. “My long distance scanner is damaged.”

“Dios Mio,” Honey Lemon whispered again, making the sign of the cross and reflexively folding her hands in prayer. “What now, what do we do now? We have to find them, we have to…He must be so scared.”

“Callaghan better be scared,” GoGo’s voice echoed vaguely as the girl in yellow levered herself into a sitting position, then stood. “He—he was a good person, he was—and he did this.”

“No murder,” Fred muttered as his suit writhed. It took him a moment to get his arms and legs back where they needed to be, but he wobbled over to the others. “That’s bad juju. What happened?”

“The microbots overpowered us,” GoGo snarled rubbing at her neck. “Last thing I remember is a date with that wall. Thank god for these.” She tapped her helmet. “And I didn’t mean murder, Fred. But if I don’t break his nose, or something, I’m gonna be very disappointed. That traitor, that kidnapping, murdering bastard.”

“He’s got Hiro,” Wasabi said, chewing on a lip. “We need to find them, we need a plan. We failed Tadashi already. We’re not failing him again.”

“It’s our Darkest Hour,” Fred said. “We thought it was the Final Confrontation but it’s the Darkest Hour, we had the Hope Spot, and the Reveal, now it’s time for the real Battle.”

“How are we going to find them?” Honey asked softly. “Baymax’s scanner’s broken.”

“If I can see the blueprints, I might be able to try something.” GoGo said. “It’s our only option, unless Callaghan left a map with a massive “here’s where I’m going” arrow.”

“I’ll call Heathcliff and ask him to get us.” Fred said. “no point in wasting battery and whatever rocket fuel.”

“That is wise. My fuel stores are at: 52%. A long flight and another battle may deplete them.” Baymax said.

“Right, Fred, topside, call Heathcliff and see what you can do.” Wasabi took charge, rubbing gingerly at a large bruise on his arm. “Baymax, you’re with him, see if your scanner can pick up anything outside of this place. GoGo, Honey, we’ll see what we can find, maybe he did leave a map, or answers for why, or…I mean, maybe there’s…y’know….he might have been lying.”

The others understood, and nodded, splitting off into the two groups. As Fred and Baymax made their way out of the building, Wasabi and the girls returned to the room with the computers, intent on finding  something.

They scoured the videos of Project Silent Sparrow, watching further than they had. Honey pressed her lips together tightly as she saw the pilot, Abbigail, vanish into the void. As Professor Callaghan threw himself at Krei, seething and screaming, her eyes darkened. He knew the girl, then—she looked familiar, somehow.

“It’s revenge,” Fred said from behind them. “A revenge story. Heathciff’s on his way, and—hey, what’s that?”

The screen had changed, no longer showing video footage, but a map of the lab, the kind posted on walls with exits labeled but little else. Without anyone touching the mouse, the curser moved to hover over several thin hallways and smaller rooms, repeating.

“Screen share?” GoGo muttered. “Someone’s using a screen sharing—“ she cut herself off with a sudden sharp gasp. “It’s—c’mon.” she took off at a run, the other hot on her heels, hearts pounding like thunder in their ears.

“Tadashi!” his name echoed in five voices down the first narrow hall, down the second, down the third, as they ran by, checking doors. Most were unlocked, bare of any sign of life. At the end of the third hall, as their voices grew desperate, they heard an answer, one word from a disused throat.

“Here.” It was as hollow as a reed, as thin and weak as dried flower petals, but unmistakable

“Tadashi!”

Aunt Cass glanced at the clock, a cat using paws to point at numbers. Nine Forty-five already, and the crowd was thankfully thinning out, the morning rush at its end. She’d have an hour and a half or so before the lunch crowd started. Hopefully by then one of Hiro’s friends, or Hiro, would arrive and spell her for a few minutes. She frowned. Hiro never slept this late.

I hope he’s not just moping in his room again. He was starting to open up, but things have been strange lately…he’s keeping something from me. I should give him more time, really, but…

She glanced around, then stuck a “be right with you,” sign on the counter and made for the stairs.

“Hiro? You up, Sweetie?” she called, still unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong. Peering into his room after a knock, her heart froze. Aunt Cass crossed to his bed, glanced over at Tadashi’s. Empty. Hiro’s phone was still plugged into the wall charger.

Aunt Cass let out a breath, swallowing fear. She took the stairs three at a time, nearly tripping but catching herself on the railing, then darted into the garage. There were bits of what looked almost like costume armor everywhere, a dented yellow breastplate, sets of cloth gloves, balled up bits of paper, but no sign of her nephew.

“Oh, he is grounded forever,” she muttered, heading back upstairs, intending to call all his friends as soon as she reached the phone. In the café, everyone seemed to be staring at the TV screen, playing the news.

“No,” the woman breathed as she took in what a news helicopter from far off was trying to capture. “Oh, no.” she cleared her throat, grabbing for the remote under the counter and shutting the TV off. “Ok, people, we are closed, sorry, everyone out right now, it’s an emergency, everyone out, go on, shoo.” Cass herded everyone to the doors. “If you haven’t paid yet, congratulations, happy birthday, everyone OUT RIGHT NOW.”

She seized her keys, locking the door after everyone and scrawling “closed for emergency” on a scrap of paper. On her way through to the back alley, she reached out and snagged the first aid kit and two other items she deemed might be most useful. Her little truck sped out to the streets of San Fransokyo at breakneck speed. Aunt Cass only hoped it would be enough.

Wasabi brought up his plasma lasers, going for the hinges on the outside of the door, then sliding a blade to sheer off any locks. “Stand back, far back, ok?”

“’K,” that voice, so familiar, was hardly audible.

Baymax stepped forward, and the other stood clear. With one precise kick, the door crashed down and inward. GoGo zipped inside instantly, and the others followed.

The lighting was bad, a single fluorescent bulb flickering overhead, but it was enough to see.

It had been one thing to know, or to think they knew. The flowers, the ring, the messages in code, even Callaghan admitting that Tadashi had survived the fire. It had been one thing to have facts. It was quite another to see Tadashi Hamada standing, shaky but solid, before them.

“You’re alive,” he said wonderingly, his voice raw and ragged, as his friends removed their helmets, and moved forward as if in a dream.

“We’re not the ones with death certificates,” GoGo said, but her eyes were wet and she choked on the half-laugh.

There was a half-heartbeat pause and then the group pressed forward, hugging their friend. He hissed in pain, but returned the embrace, all of them crying.

“We got your messages,” Honey Lemon whispered. “Gracias a Dios, Gracias, Maria, Gracias, San Alberto. It’s really—you’re alive.”

“He said he killed you—it’s Callaghan, he’s—“

“We know, we know,” Wasabi assured him. “We’re getting you out of here, c’mon, we’re going to stop him.”

“Sorry we were late,” Fred said, reaching out to stead his friend. “And I take it back. You’re being alive is way better than free food.”

Tadashi managed a half smile, and a laugh bubbled up, still jagged. He swayed on his feet, allowing Fred to support him as he staggered out of the room, but stopped as they reached the threshold.

“Where’s—wasn’t—Hiro?”

The euphoria died away, faces growing sober.

“We’re going to get him back,” GoGo swore.

“Back? He was—you let him come?” Tadashi tried to swallow, his mouth dry as dust and his head fuzzy.

“His idea, all of this. Callaghan—has him. But we’re going to find them, we’re going to stop Callaghan. We’ll get him back,” Honey Lemon said firmly.

Tadashi nodded slowly, his whole body still trembling, pain throbbing in his chest and leg and head but none of that mattered. Hold on, little brother. We’re coming. Just hang on.

Chapter Text

In the weak sunlight, stronger now that the morning fog was beginning to dissipate, Tadashi staggered, leaning heavily on Fred and Wasabi. Heathcliff had brought the helicopter down near the entrance, and Fred wasted no time.

“Hospital, we need a hospital, then home.”

“No,” Tadashi ground out, a hand tucked against his side where fire burned every time he took a breath. “No time for that, Callaghan—he’s going to kill people, we’ve got to find him, he’s got Hiro.”

“We don’t even know where to start, though, and you need medical attention.” Wasabi put a large hand on Tadashi’s shoulder as Heathcliff instructed everyone in a clipped voice to buckle up. The older man did not seem phased by the fact that Tadashi was alive, or that the group as a whole was ragged and bleeding.

“Krei,” Fred said. “He’ll either be going after Krei or that general dude, but I’m guessing Krei.”

“That video clip you showed us,” Honey Lemon mused. “Freddie, wasn’t it about a new building? A lab, or offices, or something?”

“What?”

“When we thought it was Krei, you had a still from an interview, and there was stuff at the bottom about a new building.”

“How did you even remember that?” GoGo asked as Heathcliff chimed in.

“The new Krei Tech Industries campus is opening today, Master Fredrick.”

“I have a good memory.” Honey Lemon shrugged.

“Oh, expletive,” Wasabi murmured. “If it’s an opening, that’s a lot of people.”

“Ok, Heathcliff, drop us there.” Fred said, glancing at Tadashi in the seat behind him. He had Baymax’s helmet in his lap and was fiddling with the wiring. “Then get to a hospital.”

“No, ’m not going to the hospital, not—leaving you.”

“Tadashi, you’re hurt, and Callaghan—he’s dangerous, you could get killed.” Honey Lemon bit her lip.

“So could you,” he countered, wincing.

“You don’t have any weapons, or armor, hell, you don’t even have shoes-- you can hardly stand.” GoGo spoke firmly. “We already had to bury you once, we’re not losing you again. Do you hear me?”

“But, Hiro,” Tadashi whispered.

“We will save Hiro, Tadashi.” Baymax said, patting Tadashi’s shoulder lightly. “It will be all right.”

Tadashi leaned against the robot. The only thing he wanted more than to sleep, to escape the pulsing pain in his ribs and head, was his little brother. He’d failed him already, more times than he could count. Not again.

“The new Krei Tech campus is just up ahead,” Fred reported. “There, the white one—oh, holy duck with a typewriter.”

The buildings—one large one in the center of a curve of a smaller building, a courtyard between them—were engulfed in a tidal wave of darkness.

“The microbots—it’s him, it’s here.” Wasabi said, checking the straps on his armor. “We need a plan, now. Heathcliff, take us down—no, land on that building, he’ll be looking at the ground, and it’ll be safer.”

The chopper landed on the roof Wasabi had indicated, and the team wasted no time scrambling out, cramming helmets back on heads. Tadashi held out Baymax’s helmet.

“I think the scanner’s working. I did my best.” He flexed his hand, as if unsure of his fingers, and swallowed hard. “Please, let me—“

“NO.” The unplanned unison resounded. Fred fished in a pocket in his suit and pulled out a small white pellet.

“I asked Hiro to make me an extra com, in case something happened. I figured it’d come in handy, Murphy’s law and all. You’ll know everything we do.” Tadashi accepted the com, his breathing still shallow and short. He opened his mouth to argue again, but the others we already climbing onto Baymax.

“Just stay here. You won’t do Hiro any good if you’re dead.” GoGo said, her voice echoing in the com.

Leaning heavily against the warm metal of the chopper, Tadashi bowed his head.

“Just—hurry.”

With a flare from Baymax’s rocket boots, the robot was off, the others with him, though Tadashi could still hear their breathing in his ear.

“What’s the plan?” Honey Lemon asked as they barreled through the sky towards Callaghan and the swarm of microbots.

“Baymax, scan for Hiro, we’ll distract Callaghan while you get him and any civilians out.” Fred said, thinking fast. “Then take your orders from Hiro, he’s your priority, and he knows what you can do better than us.”

“Affirmative.” Baymax chirped. “Priority set.”

Over the panicked screaming of the crowd they could hear Callaghan’s bellowing roar, directed at someone clutched tightly by a pillar of microbots. As they touched down on the rim of the lower, curving building, they saw the captive was Alistair Krei, writhing in the black fist.

“You knew it was unsafe! My daughter is gone because of your arrogance!”

“Robert, it was—it was an accident, you know---what are you doing?”

“You took everything from me, when you sent my Abby into your portal. So now I’m going to take everything from you.”

More Microbots, tens of thousands of them, arched skyward, piecing together curved chunks of metal.

“Professor Callaghan!” Honey Lemon shouted, her voice steady as she could make it. “Stop! Don’t do this!”

The man shifted, the Microbots turning so he could stare at his former students, and even at the distance they could see rage in every line on his face. Baymax spoke, pitching his volume so that only  the coms picked up his voice.

“I have located Hiro.”

“Go, we’ll cover you,” GoGo hissed, launching herself forward and down the curve of the building. A wave of microbots tried to overtake her, but she zipped clear, weaving around ornamental shrubs and the litter of chairs left over from the opening. Thankfully, all the civilians seemed to have gotten to safety. Overhead, Baymax took off, crashing through a large window on the far side of the complex.

“Professor,” Honey shrieked again. “Stop! This won’t fix anything!”

“He killed my daughter!” Callaghan swung the Microbot pillar that held Krei violently.

“This won’t bring her back,” Honey Lemon forced her voice through terrified lips. “Would she want—this? For you to murder, and steal, and—and--” Stall. The longer he’s talking to you, the more time we have to save Hiro, to keep the city safe, to stop him, Stall! Tadashi’s voice echoed through the coms. Honey Lemon nodded minutely. “Please, just—stop. Doing this won’t change anything.”

There was a moment of silence—or so it seemed, as the screech of sirens muted out, as the screams and sounds of city traffic faded to white noise, and the microbots stilled. All there was was the sound of harsh, ragged breathing, angry, afraid, desperate, and the pounding of hearts. Nothing else seemed to move or matter, just heaving lungs, proof that no one was dead.

For one moment, in that peaceful, tremulous silence, hope flared flame-bright, the sun catching on glass shards and the last of the morning fog. And then, like windshields and windowpanes and conference center doors, the moment shattered.

“Listen to them, Robert, please,” Krei gasped as the Microbots tightened further, the man’s face red with the effort of breathing. “Just let me go, I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I want my daughter back!” Callaghan threw up his free hand, and the pieces of the Silent Sparrow portal the Microbots still cradled fit together with a spark and a ripple of pale blue and purple light. Instantly, roof gravel and tile began to float upward, pulled up and in.

“No!” Wasabi shouted as Callaghan directed a wave of Mircobots at them, crashing through the smaller building’s roof.

The remaining heroes dove to the sides, then followed GoGo’s lead, racing into battle.  Callaghan slammed Krei into a sign, using the Microbots to shift and squeeze the sheet petal until it held the man in place, then turned his attention on the students.

“How many times to I have to kill you?” Callaghan growled, eyes narrowing.

As the Portal continued to pull dead leaves and glass shards and chunks of building up, GoGo swerved to avoid the debris, trying to get close enough that she could do some damage to the mask.

“Look out!” several voices cried in her ear at once, shrill. As she dodged Microbot tendrils, keeping her legs free, she had missed the larger picture, and the wave crashed down, a shell tight around her, cutting off all light. GoGo’s breath grew shallow as panic filled her lungs like smoke. She could hear voices still, her friends fighting all around her, but couldn’t see anything, helpless.

Honey Lemon threw another chemical ball, encasing another pillar of Microbots in the gummy substance, hoping it would ruin them. From the way the remnants of the tendril detached, she hoped they had, even as she leaped back to avoid being caught. As it was, the tip of the black arm caught her cheek, glancing off the helmet but sending her sprawling. Two more of the fine tipped arms stabbed down at her, and she rolled to the side, scrambling up.

When three converged on her at once, she let out a panicked cry and typed in the quickest of her codes, two buttons to release an orange-rose capsule into her hand. With all her might she flung the sphere down at her feet and ducked as the emergency protection dome surrounded her. The world outside might have been muffled entirely if not for her com.

Fred saw red as he heard the professor’s words, a mocking jab about killing them. There was some irony, he decided, in using flame to destroy the Microbots, charring them and their circuitry so they couldn’t hurt anyone. He spun, blasting every dark speck he could see, glad for the mirror-bright glass windows and his Super jump. He aimed a blast at Callaghan, but couldn’t quite jump high enough.

Fred saw his chance, leaping and springing off the side of a building, then aiming up. Callaghan dodged the spout of flame easily, and Fred hissed as he tried to duck out of the way of the avalanche of Microbots. He was too slow, and the bots grabbed him by the legs and arms, pulling him taught and down. Something in his shoulder popped, or gave, as he thrashed, trying to wriggle his way free. It did no good.

Wasabi stopped, frozen as he saw Honey duck into a ball of orange goo, GoGo enclosed in an ever tightening metal case, and the Microbots pin Fred.  Where was Baymax? And what good could he do without the team? Think—we need a plan—no, no time for that! He ordered himself. Wasabi flicked the plasma lasers into their largest setting, then charged forward, slicing and hoping he could reach his friends before they got hurt.

“Status report, everyone, now!” he shouted into his com. Overhead, the portal hummed, pulling in larger and larger chunks of building. That distraction was all Callaghan needed to leverage to hunks of roof up around Wasabi and squeeze.

Everything was shaking. It might have been an earthquake, Hiro wasn’t really sure what else it could be, except that nothing was swaying so much as shuddering—and shuddering up and down, not side to side. He hadn’t been in many large earthquakes—mostly just little tremors he half slept through. In fact, it was almost…comforting.

It’s an earthquake and a blackout and Aunt Cass and Tadashi are just in the next room, and they’ll be here, and…He couldn’t lie to himself, not even knowingly, not even to tell a story to calm his heart. But if it’s an earthquake, that means people will be looking for—for people, and they’ll find me. Just hang on. Breathe. Calm. He could see faint light under a door, it hadn’t been there before, but maybe someone had opened a window or turned on a light?

Hiro’s breath caught. What if it was Callaghan, come back to—to kill him, or threaten him, or tell him the others were dead?  He closed his eyes, the deeper darkness terrifying but better than seeing that fate.

Please let them be ok, please, he thought desperately as the rumbling got louder and louder. This was no earthquake, it was lasting too long by far and nothing else felt right. It was growing stronger, curving upwards in power and nothing like the jolts he’d been in, like the earth taking in a deep breath. All of this was wrong and Hiro curled inwards tightly, rocking now with the steady pulse of the building, the pulse of his heart.

I’m going to die in here, aren’t I? Something bad is happening, Callaghan was going to hurt people and he’s going to hurt people and I’m gonna die, he’ll kill me if this doesn’t.

Through white-hot tears, Hiro heard the crash of plaster and sheetrock shattering into dust, and hid his helmeted head in his arms, then swallowed. Fear was like a stone in his throat, but slowly he stood, still shaking like a leaf on a stiff breeze, and faced what he thought was the door, fists half clenched inside the gloves.

The door was ripped from the hinges, and the pale light seemed as bright as fire. Hiro winced instinctively throwing up an arm and raising a shoulder in defense.

“Hiro.”

“Baymax? “ Hiro stumbled forward, and the armored robot embraced him awkwardly. “ How did you find me, how did you—wait, the others, is everyone-“

“Everyone is here. There were no casualties on the island. I am instructed to get you away from here.”

“What’s going on?” Hiro asked as he clung to Baymax’s back. “Scratch that—no, it’s an expression.”

Outside the remains.  of a huge, modern white building, glossy with windows and steel, was a battlefield, torn to shreds. Hiro hardly had time to take in the scene, spotting Fred being nearly drawn and quartered, Wasabi pinned between two chunks of plaster and tile, and no sign of GoGo or Honey Lemon before Callaghan, high on his throne-pillar, turned on the boy and Baymax.

“Dodge!” Hiro shrieked a heartbeat too late, as the wave crashed down, knocking him off of Baymax sending him sailing. As the pull of the portal plucked at him, Hiro latched on to the only solid thing he could find, a heavy cable from an elevator, still attached to the building. Still, his fingers cramped, and he knew he couldn’t hold on for long.

“Baymax! Someone!” he shouted, even as the Microbots swarmed over the robot, covering him entirely. Hiro tried to think, tried to see a way out, a way around, but his mind was blank white with terror. And then Callaghan looked up to face him, fingers twitching.

Tadashi screamed. He couldn’t see much, couldn’t see anything beyond chaos and movement, but he could hear it all. GoGo, Fred, Honey, Wasabi, all were in trouble, pinned and trapped, and he stood—sat—helpless to stop Callaghan, unable to do anything. Then a figure in purple flew through the air, clearly not under his own power, and the young man thought he might throw up, or pass out, because that was Hiro, clinging to something as the portal, the portal the he’d helped rebuild, tried to suck him in.

“NO! Hiro! No, guys—hang on, I’ll, I’ll think of something!” No time, no time! His head ached, and every inch of him felt tattered and bruised, but he had to think—they had to stop the microbots, they had to stop the portal…

“Guys, that’s it—Not the mask, get the microbots—can you hear me? The portal, it’ll suck them up, and—“

“Callaghan won’t be able to fight,” Honey Lemon finished.

“Easier said than done, it’s a little tight here,” Wasabi hissed in pain.

“Agreed,” GoGo’s voice was clipped and laced with pain.

“I think my arms are gonna—hey wait, it’s a suit!” Fred crowed in triumph, and Tadashi saw a gout of flame from his direction.

Similar reactions told him the others had found ways free, and he let out a sigh as he saw Baymax rocketing upwards to catch Hiro just as his brother’s grip on whatever it had been failed.

Tadashi leaned forward, trying to see better as Microbots filled the air between Ground and Portal, a rain of them, falling up, vanishing. Things seemed to be going well as mist billowed up from the ground, and he felt his heart slowing, his breathing ease. Then, high, near the portal, he saw something that made him stumble upright, ignoring healthcliff and the pain in his head, chest, leg, feet. All that mattered was getting there. He pulled open the stairwell door.

“Smoke Screen, coming up, on three, Freddie,” Honey Lemon called, tossing blue balls into the air. Fred, hot on her heels, caught on as Baymax relayed the plan to Hiro, who nodded, wishing he had his own com working.

Fred lit the balls, releasing blue fog everywhere, obscuring most of the ground. Callaghan used the Microbots to soar upwards, scowling as he sought out his opponents.

GoGo was a streak of lightning, slashing out with her disks as Wasabi did the same with his green blades, sending swathes of the tiny robots helplessly up where the portal sucked them in. Honey Lemon and Fred joined them, Fred hacking with his now-flaming metal signs, Honey Lemon inserting exploding domes into the chinks and gaps in Callaghan’s Microbot pillars.

Twice the man’s support faltered, but he was fixated on Hiro and Baymax, swopping through every obstacle and dodging each new spike. As they passed each one, Baymax lashed out with only as much force as he needed to shatter the pillars, scattering the Microbots.

Hiro cheered, until seven fingers of Microbots, thin as vines but strong came up at once in a cluster, impossible to avoid. They tightened around Baymax, trapping the robot’s arms at his sides, and then around Hiro, squeezing painfully tight.

“This ends now!” Callaghan shouted, flicking his fingers. Hiro cried out, expecting to be hurled back into the portal. Already the fog below was dissipating, the cover that had protected his friend would be gone in seconds. But nothing happened. Again there was a moment of utter stillness, as Callaghan raised his hands, trying to direct the Microbots. Hiro opened his eyes, and smothered a laugh.

“It’s over, Callaghan,” he wheezed. “No more Microbots.” He wasn’t sure if his voice carried, he was a fair distance from his old hero, but the professor seemed to understand. Baymax forced his arms out, breaking the bands around him, and surged forward, Hiro clinging for dear life. Callaghan flinched as Baymax stopped, fist out, inches from his face.

“It’s over,” Hiro said again, his voice scraped and raw with too many tears and too much pain. “You aren’t going to hurt any more people. Never again.” Blue eyes widened in fear as they met Hiro’s own, red-rimmed and glossy with remnants of grief and shock and fear.

Baymax plucked the mask from Callaghan’s head and crushed it, and the columns crumbled.

Hiro and Baymax landed some distance from Callaghan, to scrambled upright and ran. Hiro didn’t bother following, because the portal, in all its glory, crashed down far too close for comfort, shining out with white, blue, purple, and pink light.

“It’s unstable! The containment field is—there isn’t one! It’ll tear itself apart!”  Krei’s voice echoed across the still misty courtyard. “Go!”

Hiro turned to do just that, but Baymax stopped. “There are signs of life. A female. She appears to be in hyper sleep.”

Hiro froze midstep, then nodded. “Someone—someone has to help,” he said, aching.

Aunt Cass pushed through the crowd, ignoring the police officers and other emergency personnel. The mist-fog was melting away like spun sugar on a hot day, and she was glad, it meant she could see. I’m too late, she thought, realizing the Microbots, her Hiro’s Microbots, used for something twisted and evil, were gone, that the hole in the sky was dozens of yards off. Too late for the fight, too late to protect her children, all her children.

She raced forward, scanning the rubble i=until she spotted a bright color and thrust the first aid kit at it.

“GoGo, where’s Hiro?”

“Uh—what? Ma’am, I think—“

“Don’t tell me I’m confused, I was not born yesterday,” Cass snapped, her eyes bright with worry. “Where. Is. Hiro?”

“I—over there?” The yellow clad figure pointed, and Aunt Cass turned, racing forward, spotting a glint of red and one of purple against the swirling light of the portal.

And then someone was barreling into her, all in black. She stood her ground, kicking out, and her attacker fell back.

“You,” she whispered, the color draining from her face. Aunt Cass felt as if she’d been stabbed with ice, the impossibility, the—“you.” She managed again as she locked eyes with Robert Callaghan.

Fury overtook her as realization struck. In the heartbeat that she took in that this man, whom she had mourned, was alive, she understood. He was the man on the News, directing the attack, he had stolen Hiro’s invention, he had--. “My. Children. You. Hurt. My. Children!”

He lunged at her, but Aunt Cass raised the portable baker’s torch in one hand and the can of butter spray in the other, and squeezed. Fire exploded from her hands, and the man who had taken her family collapsed, shielding himself with his coat. She could smell singed hair.

Rage burned in her, and she lifted the can again. “Stay down.” Her voice was as hard and commanding as any mother of willful children had ever had. “Or I swear on my sister’s grave, I—Hiro!” she had glanced up at a flash of light, and the man at her feet didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

Hiro, on the other hand, did. Horror struck, Aunt Cass screamed his name again.

“HIRO!” she shouted his name as the boy in purple vanished, as her last family member soared into a void, gone. Nothing else mattered, nothing else had meaning, not the wind, not the false fog, not the smoldering leather coat of the man who had taken everything from her. Hiro—gone. No, please, no, not Hiro, too, not all of them, please.

From behind her came a sound. She wasn’t sure what, she didn’t care what. They might have been footsteps, muted, drowned out by the distant roar of the portal and her heart, drum loud in her ears. Then a voice, echoing her own cry.

“HIRO! No!” It was an impossible voice, torn and raw, but familiar. It was as familiar as burn callouses on her fingertips from years of baking, as familiar as the cool weight of a malachite pendant at her throat, as familiar as the smell of smoke and sound of breading glass. It was the voice of a ghost. Slowly, Aunt Cass turned to look behind her, the last of the fog swirling away.

“No,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes, closing up her throat. “No, I—oh, God, no,” she whispered through numb lips, her whole body trembling with shock. “I’m—seeing things, I—“

“It’s…it’s me, Aunt Cass.”

It was Tadashi. His voice, his eyes—haunted and watery, but still, his eyes. He was pale and thin and ragged, but it was him.

She threw herself forward, half tripping over rubble rock, and wrapped her arms around him. She pulled him close, crying openly now, her makeshift weapons forgotten. She could feel his heart beating, mimicking her own, each beat resounding with that glorious message: alive, alive, alive.

“How?” she asked, putting a hand to his matted hair. “How? You’re alive. Tadashi, it’s—it’s really you, you’re—sweetheart.” 

He didn’t answer, just leaned into the embrace, his own face wet with tears.

“I’m here,” Aunt Cass whispered into his ear. “It’s ok, I’ve got you, I’m here.”

Chapter Text

A long moment passed, and Aunt Cass could sense movement around her. Still, she did not dare let go of Tadashi, feeling him shudder in her arms. At long ls, she drew back, her hands on his shoulders, as if to assure herself that he would not melt away like morning fog. He cracked a wincing smile, shaking and small.

Seeing him now, in the light, shock still blurring her vision, Aunt Cass blinked. He was solid, real, alive, but Aunt Cass felt her heart sink like a stone in water, her lungs tight.

He was shaking, listing to one side as if he couldn’t stand right. One leg was wrapped in ragged strips of gauze, more grey than white, the pant leg sizzored away at the thigh. His hair had been tacky with blood, overgrown and matted. The hollows under his eyes were bruised against skin that was too pale, dark smudges from lack or rest or worse. His clothing was tatty and hung too loosely. Standing, swaying, in the rubble, Aunt Cass saw that he was barefoot, his feet bleeding.

“Tadashi, oh, God. You’re—he did this?” she managed, her voice tight with fading relief and tears and horror.

Tadashi nodded his eyes never leaving her face, trying to pull up another smile—he’d been so sure he’d never see this second mother again—but he couldn’t. He’d been too late. Hiro was gone, and everything ached, or stung, or burned, or twinged, or just hurt. A short ways off, the portal still roared, swirling with light that was too bright, leaving imprints when he blinked.

Aunt Cass sucked in a breath, clenching her jaw the way she did when a difficult customer came in. There was a flash of green as one of the “superheroes” —Wasabi, she noted, it could only be Wasabi—arrived, reaching out a hand to steady Tadashi. Cass reached down and scooped up the half-spent can of Pam and her torch. It was dented, which figured. She spun, nearly breaking an ankle on rubble rock, and scanned the ground. Callaghan was gone, but that didn’t stop her.

“Keep him safe,” she ordered as the others in their bright suits appeared. She could see, beyond a barricade, patrol cars, and uniformed officers leading a man in a dark coat towards them. She took off, anger boiling in her veins, and locked on target.

The cops saw her as she approached at a dead run.

“Ma’am, put down the butter spray.”

She did not.

“Ma’am, this man is under arrest, put down the butter spray. Now.”

“He. Took. My. Child.”

“Ma’am, please, I need you to—“

“He. Hurt. My. Children.”

Callaghan did not seem to register her words, still scowling. The officer who had spoken held out a hand. Cass still clung to the weapons, trembling, tears pooling in her eyes.

“Aunt—I mean, Ma’am, Could you come back here?” That was Honey Lemon’s voice, strained but still battle-field loud.

“Please,” came Fred’s voice from inside a monster costume. He’d come up behind her. “This could get you in a lot of jail.”

It was not the oddest thing she’d seen that day, but he had a point. A good point. Aunt Cass frowned, glaring at Callaghan, who seemed to shrink in the officer’s firm grip. Her eyes were like embers burning into him as strongly as her homemade flamethrower had. He turned away, his lips still twisted in a snarl.

“Ma’am, you need to evacuate, you and the other civilian, and…you too, whoever you are.” The older of the two cops had a much firmer voice than her partner, one that mirrored Aunt Cass’s own “stern parent giving a lecture” tone stolen from sitcoms.

Aunt Cass glanced back to where the portal shrieked, the swirling light like an aurora being pulled from the sky into a black hole.

“No.” She said. As long as there was any flicker of hope, she was not moving. She had thought Tadashi gone, and had been wrong. I’m not giving up on you, Mina had always said, Tadashi had always said. She thought it fiercely.  “I’m not leaving my--.” She froze, the words heavy on her tongue. The others were in mirrored visors or masks. Hiro had been in armor. She’d read enough comics, seen enough television. Naming any of them, outing them with news cameras present, even this far off, could lead to disaster. “A child went into that thing. I’m not leaving.”

The younger cop bit her lip. “Goodwin, let the paramedics deal with that. This guy’s priority.” Officer Goodwin  shook Callaghan.

“Yeah, fine, but Ma’am, you need to clear out. This is not some—“

Aunt Cass was already gone, Fred awkwardly limping along beside her.

Tadashi sat on a large piece of concrete, half a wall between him and the portal. He leant against it, fighting to keep his eyes open.

“We need paramedics, now, we need to get out of here before that thing—”Wasabi was saying, but he cut himself off. “I’ll stay, I’ll wait, but you need a hospital, and—“

“We aren’t going anywhere,” GoGo muttered from behind her faceplate, a hand wrapped around her lower leg. The other hand gripped Honey’s arm, and Honey clutched at Wasabi. Fred and Cass joined the cluster, peering over the lip of stone that shielded them from the pull of the portal. “Not until they’re out.”

They clung to each other, eyes wet and faces dusty, hope and terror pounding in their chests like songbirds fighting to be free of cages. 

“Dios te salve, Maria. Llena eres de gracia,”Honey Lemon chanted under her breath, the wind weaving grit into her hair.

“C’mon, Hiro, c’mon.” Wasabi couldn’t help but calculate the acceleration, counting off seconds in his head. The portal had collapsed in the video so quickly. How much time did they have?

“’Heroes know about order, about happy endings,’” Fred quoted, his voice unheard as the raging storm of energy picked up. It can’t end like this. He’s the hero, so he can’t. He won’t. He’ll be back. At the last second.

Aunt Cass worried the pendant between her fingers, as if the protection it symbolized, the luck, could be brought to life with a wish and a prayer to a fallen sister and mother. She was past words, sick with the twinfold joy and heartbreak of her Tadashi alive again and Hiro’s—She would not think the word, not as long as there was light, not as long as she had breath or blood in her body. If there could be miracles, then there could be miracles. If the universe, God, fate could give her back half her family, it could bring back the other half as well.

Tadashi tried to breathe, could feel his heart beating in his leg, throbbing in his temple, the wounds there pulsing like living things. He could still feel the microbots around him, vises around his chest, his legs, his wrists. Aunt Cass had an arm around him, lightly enough that there was no pressure, just gentle comfort. Reassurance that this would not fade away into nightmares, as much as he wished part of it would. It should have been me, in danger, in trouble, this is all my fault.

They sat for a long moment, the only still things in the chaos, hands clasped around knees and shoulders and parts of armor in one tangled knot, a holy vigil.

And then, louder than the rumbling, grating thud of an earthquake, louder than the explosion that had played on new station after news station, louder than falling trees or thunder or the wail of sirens, louder than the shattering of hearts, behind the rubble, something burst. Metal peeled on metal, there was a crash and a flash of light brighter than the sun caught every mote of dust and hint of fog or smoke. The brilliant glow, galaxies of color, shone for the space of a heartbeat.

And faded.

Hiro didn’t want to enter that light, the wailing roar of the portal. His body ached, and he was so tired. But someone had to help. How was he better than Callaghan, if he left someone to die, when he could help? Someone has to help. Tadashi’s last words echoed in his ears. He had to. That was how things went, anyway. If you were a hero, you helped people. Maybe he wasn’t as good as Tadashi. Maybe he wasn’t as brave, or smart, or anything. But someone had to help. He had to try.

Baymax flew forward. Breaking the barrier didn’t hurt—through his armor it felt like passing through water, or a thin sheet of wind, pressures, cold, and then…nothing. The sunlight faded out, the roaring dulled into nothingness, and before him stretched a vast space, like nothing he’d ever seen. Even movies had never come close to this, brilliant blooms of color, shards of glass catching at the light like stars. Even the darkest parts were not black, just deep blue or purple, as if lit from within. It was beautiful.

And, dangerous. Within seconds, a piece of debris slid past them. Hiro shouted, hoping that Baymax could hear him—because this looked a lot like space was supposed to, and his com was still down.

“There’s Kreitech Debris everywhere! Careful!”

Baymax seemed to hear, nodding as much as the armor allowed, and scanning. They drifted, aimless, for a heartbeat, two, three. Hiro thought he felt his lungs growing tight, but took in a breath—there had to be some kind of air, or something, because he was still alive. And his suit was lots of things but airtight was not one of them.

“Hiro, I have located the patient.” Baymax’s voice was muffled somehow, but Hiro heard the words, looking to see where Baymax pointed. A pod floated several hundred yards off, a dim white shape lit by the clouds of light and the diamond bright bits of shattered window. Hiro hunkered down on Baymax’s back, the cool metal on his legs a reminder, ever so brief, of the microbots. No think about that later deal with that later this is what matters. The thoughts flowed together, seamless.

Baymax surged forward, a hand out to shield them both from the worst of the tiny fragments impossible to avoid. In the back of his mind, Hiro thought that they’d need to retouch the detailing on the armor, but again he forced himself to only think about getting to the pod, and getting out again. They might not have time.

You’ll never make it, don’t go, don’t leave me, he’d thought, watching Tadashi run into flames and not come out. Tadashi had made it out, but Hiro’d still lost him. He’d taken too long. The world had shattered in an explosion, and he’d taken too long to get up, to understand, to get there.

What if he’d taken too long here, now? He’d hesitated. He’d hesitated for weeks, and Callaghan had said it—“You’re a little late” Tadashi was gone, really gone, after all the hoping. He’d been too late, waited too long, and his brother had paid for it. Tadashi wouldn’t have paused, wouldn’t have even thought about not helping for a heartbeat. What if that heartbeat was all the time it took to fail? I’m not like Tadashi. But I won’t fail again.

“Faster, Baymax, we don’t have much time!” he had to shout, in case the muffling went both ways. “No, look out! Left!”

Baymax dodged the car sized hunk of steel and stone, then swerved above a cluster of wood fragments and cubical dividers. Hiro flattened himself to avoid what looked like an office chair, but they zipped by too quickly.

Then an entire row of windowpanes loomed, to long and wide to avoid. Baymax sailed through a hole, but Hiro had to leap to avoid crashing into it and being separated from Baymax. He ran as fast as his legs could handle, still aching and cold, finally launching himself off the edge. He landed against Baymax with a painful thud, and the robot rolled with the impact before righting himself and helping Hiro anchor himself into place again.

There, at last, was the pod. Baymax snagged it, stopping his thrusters. Hiro leaned forward, scrubbing at the coating of frost on the pod windshield. The pilot from the video lay inside. She was pale, or perhaps it was only the lighting, and her eyes were peacefully closed. Her chest moved faintly with shallow breathing. Hiro let out a shaky breath.

“Ok, buddy, let’s get her home. Let’s get home.”

Baymax shifted to behind the pod, aiming it at the sun-gold circle of light that was the exit while Hiro scrabbled to perch on top of it. “I’ll guide us,” he said.

“Affirmative.” Baymax’s thrusters flared to life, and again they were soaring.

“Up, 20 degrees left,” Hiro shouted. “Now, 30 degrees right, and a little down.” Baymax complied, and they flew past obstacles and the remnants of the buildings. Hiro hoped the awful closet was in here amongst the remains. “Now level off—easy…easy…. Yeah!” Hiro cheered, grinning. He could almost feel sunlight on his face. They were three hundred yards off, give or take. Two hundred. One. “Almost there!” he turned slightly.

He didn’t see the chunk of debris hurtling at them, as he took in a last sight of this alien world, gleaming and shining.

Baymax did, too late to get out of the way. He spun, heaving at the pod to that it spun with him, taking the brunt of the impact. Shards of armor joined the fragments of glass, tiny embers in the light.

“Baymax!” Hiro screamed, reaching out desperately. His arms were too short, Baymax was floating just inches away, what remained of his armor spiderwebbed with cracks and dents. He tried to activate the thrusters, but the rocket boots only sparked and sputtered. “No, grab hold!” Hiro strained, begging every inch from his tiny frame, leaning out. His gloved fingers brushed Baymax’s vinyl hand, slid past. He tried again.

This time their fingers locked, and Hiro pulled.

“Ok, it’s ok,” he said very fast, as if saying it would make it true.

“My thrusters are: inoperable,” Baymax’s voice was the same monotone, but there seemed to be sorrow there. Regret. Hiro’s eyes went wide with panic—they’d be stranded, with no hope of rescue. He could see it in his mind, a very brief lifetime of events in seconds. The portal would shred itself, Baymax’s battery would run out, and with no hypersleep or supplies or shelter from the cold and debris, he’d be lucky to last—hours? Days?

Baymax seemed to read his mind, as if he could see the images himself on a video screen. “Hiro, there is still a way I can get you both out.” He pressed one gauntleted fist to the base of the pod, then looked up.

“No!” Hiro cried, realizing this implication as well. “What about you?”

“You are my patient. You are my priority. Your health is my only concern.”

“No, there has to be another way—point the fist the other way, it might be enough momentum for all of us….” Baymax paused, then shook his head, swiveling it from side to side.

“I have calculated it.” He activated the small thrusters.

“No!” Hiro shouted again, gripping the robot’s arm above the gauntlet. “I’m not leaving you here! I’ll think of something!”

“Hiro, there is no time.” Again, the soft voice was laced with something deeper.

“Please, no. I—Please. I lost Tadashi. I can’t—You’re—you’re all that’s left of him, and you’re my friend, and I—please. Baymax. I can’t lose you, too. Please.”

“Hiro. This is my choice. You are my friend. I will always be with you. Tadashi is there. I will be there.”

Hiro felt tears, hot as flame, streaking his face, and he shook his head wordlessly. It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough.

“Hiro. I cannot deactivate until you say you are satisfied with your care.” The voice was unrelenting. “Are you satisfied with your care?”

The portal roared behind them, and Hiro’s shoulders slumped. Tears rolling down his cheeks, he put both arms around Baymax. “Last hug,” he managed, his voice tiny, shattered. He closed his eyes tightly. “I…am satisfied with my care.”

Baymax began to deflate instantly, and Hiro looked away as the rocket fist sprang to life at the base of the pod, the momentum sending them skimming forward, towards that bright light, like a dawn.

He couldn’t do it. He glanced back, a final look at the portal’s world, all shifting colors, pinks and blues, red, purple, glimmering and shifting sparkles where the light caught on glass and fragments, and white. One white shape was brighter than the others, drifting backwards, lost behind rubble.

And then there was the feeling of sliding through water, or wind, or maybe this time it felt more like flame, warm and bright,  as everything around him crashed in an explosion of sound and color.

The pod hit the ground with a clatter and a jolt, bouncing twice like a skipping stone across still water. Hiro was flung to the ground, his ears ringing. He glanced around, horror struck. It was a wasteland, everything grey quiet except for a distant, faint sound of sirens. Lights flashed far off, but he didn’t think he had the strength to get that far. Around him was only lifeless rubble, torn concrete, marble, granite, twisted metal, fallen cables, handfuls of half-melted microbots.

Eyes still blurry with tears that he couldn’t wipe away, he scanned the area. Baymax’s fist. The pod. A flash of color behind a wall of debris, and another, and another, until he could see. People. His friends, alive. That knot in his chest loosened, until he saw Aunt Cass, dust, tears, and worry covering her face.

“Aunt Cass?” he croaked, unsure. Then the last figure came into focus, and Hiro’s legs wobbled, protesting against the strain and shock.

No. I’m dead. We’re all dead, we all failed, didn’t we? No, please. It’s not, it…

“Dashi?” Hiro asked raggedly as his knees gave out. A hand tried to catch him, but only managed to ease the fall as they both collapsed on the cracked pavement.

“Yeah, Hiro, I’m right here.” Tadashi’s voice was hardly better than Hiro’s, choked with tears.

Hiro looked through his helmet into his brother’s gaunt face, and blinked hazily. Dark spots filled his vision, pressing in too tightly for him to see anything else as the ringing in his ears faded away into stillness.

Chapter Text

“Hey, can you hear me? Hiro?”

Hiro blinked hazily, his head throbbing with his pulse. Slowly, he lifted head from the pillow—it was so soft. Warm.  Everything was warm and bright. “Too bright,” he croaked, blinking more rapidly. When his eyes focused, he found the speaker. Wasabi was practically hovering at the hospital bed’s side. He’d traded the armor for regular clothes, but there were bruises on his arms and worry in his eyes. He put out a hand, stopping Hiro from sitting up. “Hey, take it easy for a sec. It’s ok. It’s over. We’re at St. Francis Hospital. They got Callaghan, he’s been arrested, I think. Everyone’s fine. The woman you saved, Abbigail, is in stable condition. We’re all fine.” He answered the questions before Hiro could ask.

“Speak for yourself, Mr. Scrapes-and-Bruises,” GoGo snapped from beyond Hiro’s line of sight. Turning slightly, Hiro could see Honey Lemon and GoGo, rising from chairs, Honey Lemon holding out an arm for GoGo to use as support; GoGo ignored it. While the Latina looked no worse off than Wasabi, a thin cut along one arm and a few bruises, GoGo had a clunky plaster cast around her lower leg. Seeing Hiro’s eyes widen, she shook her head.  “I’m ok, really. It’s not even the worst broken ankle I’ve ever had. See, I can even stand on it.” She sat back down. “ish.”

“Where’s—“ Hiro started, trying to put together his memories. The Portal. Baymax. Baymax sacrificing himself, floating away. People running toward him, calling his name.

“Fred’s getting the doctor. He’s got a friend here, or Heathcliff does. They’ll be here in a second, just, breathe, ok?“

Hiro could feel tears pooling in his eyes and tried again to sit up. Wasabi helped him, slowly. Hiro blinked again, his breath catching in his lungs. "I thought we died. I thought… I saw…" Hiro shook his head, instantly wishing he hadn't. The pounding ache intensified, and spread, each part of his body protesting being awake. "I guess I was just…hoping. It was stupid. He really was….gone."
"Baymax?" GoGo asked, her eyes darkening with sympathy. Honey Lemon moved closer, and put a hand on Hiro’s shoulder.
"After Baymax." Hiro chewed a lip. "He saved us, got us out. Baymax was all we had left of—all I had left of…but then he was there, I guess I was just…I dunno. Hallucinating."

He spit the word with a half-laugh, trying to keep it from hurting, trying to pass it off as a trick his mind was playing on him. It hurt anyway. He had really thought it had been Tadashi who’d caught him, but maybe it had just been the pain and the fatigue and the head injury he probably had.

“If you mean Tadashi, that wasn’t a hallucination,” Fred said from the door, leaning on a pair of crutches with difficulty, as his wrists were bandaged. Hiro’s head snapped up, eyes wide, mouth open. Hope fluttered in his chest like a bird, beating against his ribs painfully.

“He’s not—“ Hiro started, his throat suddenly even more dry than it had been. “He’s—“

“He’s at General, that’s where the medics took Abby and I think Callaghan—Callaghan had some burns from Aunt Cass and her flame thrower-- and the couple of civilians that got hit with debris.” Fred continued. “I tried, to get everyone in the same place, but you were in costume and Charlie’s my only doctor friend, well, he’s dad’s friend, but anyway, Tadashi’s very much not dead, we found him, I was about to call Aunt Cass for an update, I can--”

“Mr. Lee, please contain yourself.” The older man who’d followed him said, a tired smile on his face. “Or I might have to rescind your visiting privileges. I still really must suggest—but never mind. Mr. Hamada, I’m Doctor Anderson. How are you feeling? Not overwhelmed?”

“My brother’s not dead and I got hit with, like, an entire building,” Hiro said, shrugging gingerly. “My head hurts and I want to go.”

“That does seem to…sum things up. You’re remarkably lucky, all of you.” He focused his gaze back on Hiro, who was eyeing the door. “You have a minor concussion, some cuts—none that needed stitches—and some bruising, but nothing major. Technically, you should stay here for another day or so, for observation. Technically, all of you should, AND I should only release Mr. Hamada into the care of his legal guardian. But, if you all swear not to tell anyone, and to stay out of danger and follow your care instructions…” He sighed. “Fred, you are lucky I owe your father, and that I’m one of the head doctors and even have the authority to help you like this.”

“I know, Charlie,” Fred beamed. “So we can go? We’re clear?”

“Get a cab, no walking. And let me explain to Hiro—no major physical activity for at least two weeks, drink lots of water, get lots of rest, and if you have any dizzy or fainting spells, you come back here. Understand?”

Hiro nodded, and this time the ache wasn’t nearly so strong.

“I’ll get the information packets and release papers, then. You wait here for the wheelchairs.” He looked at GoGo “Yes. You get a wheelchair, and you will use it all the way to the front entrance. Don’t think I don’t recognize you.”

GoGo heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

“You have a broken ankle!” Honey Lemon hissed as the doctor left. “And you don’t want a wheelchair?”

“I said it’s not that bad.” GoGo sniped back.

“I’ll call Heathcliff, and see about—the situation at SF General, and stuff.” Fred grinned like he’d had too much sugar, and crutched out of the room again.

“Ma’am, can I speak to you in the hall?” The doctor seemed downright nervous, interrupting the moment.  Aunt Cass looked up, not budging from the chair where she was still rubbing circles on her nephew’s hand, trying to reassure him, trying to wake him. He’d collapsed seconds after Hiro, the strain of everything bearing down at once. What “everything” was, she still didn’t know. No one had told her anything.

“Um, Aunt Cass, we can explain—“ Wasabi had begun hurriedly, watching as medics approached.

“Later,” she’d snapped. “There’s not a lot of time unless you want to be explaining to every cop in the city, and every news reporter.” She looked up from where she was cradling Tadashi, her child alive again, his heartbeat easy to pick out, Hiro in his own lap. Both of her boys, stone unconscious. She swallowed against a lump in her throat. “Take Hiro, get him to a hospital. Get all yourselves to a hospital, you—you all…” They were all hurt, their armor battered and dented. What she could see of their skin was bruised or cut, and it tore at her heart. “You could all have been killed. You are all grounded until you’re twenty-one!”

“Um, so just Hiro’s grounded?” Fred wanted to know. “Cuz the rest of us are, I mean, Honey just had her birthday like two months back…”

Aunt Cass’s eyes flashed. “Until you’re thirty, then.”

“You can’t ground us, you aren’t our—“ GoGo started, gasping slightly as she tested her wounded leg.

“Grounded. Now, go. Call me, as soon as you—can. As soon as you know anything, as soon as—and Café. Tonight. Explain then.”

“Yes, Aunt Cass,” Honey Lemon promised for everyone, helping Wasabi pry Hiro from Tadashi’s limp arms.

She’d watched them go, her heart still hummingbird fast, still unsure that any of this was real. But, no. It was. She could smell dust and ozone, could hear the approach of emergency personal, could feel gravel digging into her knees and Tadashi in her arms.

She stood reluctantly, her hand on her phone, and cast another glance at Tadashi. His chest moved slightly under the blankets, up and down. Alive. He’s Alive. He’s Alive.

“Ma’am,” the doctor said, once they were out in the hall. “I’m Dr. Snow. Your nephew is stable, but-“

“But what?” Cass asked, clutching at her necklace. “He’s going to be alright, isn’t he?”

“He should make a full recovery, yes. But...It’s not good. Several bruised ribs; mostly healed burns all along his left calf, they aren’t infected, but there’s going to be some scarring; he’s got a lot of cuts and scrapes, particularly his feet; some pretty colorful bruising that looks recent; he’s malnourished, dehydrated, and he’s lost a lot of weight, and he’s got a concussion. Minor enough as head injuries go, but there’s evidence of an older head trauma…That he fainted seems to be mostly shock, from what we’ve seen, but that doesn’t mean that there wasn’t any damage.”

With each word, Aunt Cass’s face grew paler and paler, and she abandoned fiddling with her necklace in favor of clenching her fists.  “But he’s going to be ok.” It was not a question.

“With rest, yes. Rest, warmth, a stable and steady diet, and—we don’t know the extent of the mental and emotional trauma, but given his physical condition and the length of time…He’s going to need a lot of support and familiar—“

“When can he come home?” Cass had asked that question before, a different hospital, a decade earlier. “He needs to be home, that’s what you’re saying, he needs a familiar setting, familiar people. He’s been—“ She closed her eyes. “He’s been in some terrible place, alone except for that…that… monster. I didn’t even look. We didn’t even look.” She shook her head, trying not to cry.

“He’ll need to speak with the police, you understand. Give a statement so charges can be pressed. But…yes. I’ve spoken with Doctor Anderson over at St. Francis, and while it’s highly irregular, assuming Tadashi wakes up soon and can pass a few simple tests—just to be sure—then, well…A stable, familiar environment would be much more beneficial to his mental health, and we’d only have him on bedrest and fluids here anyway.”

Aunt Cass nodded, her heart in her throat. “So he can come home. The police can wait until he’s healed. There are a few in the waiting room, I’m sure.”

“Yes. I’ll have one of the nurses tell them to contact you in a few days.”

Aunt Cass wondered for a moment if she might get charged with something for the whole Butter-spray thing. I should have worn a mask, too. Worth it, though. She looked through the door, where Tadashi twitched. Worth it.

“Hiro?” His voice was weak, but Cass heard, and scrambled through the door and around the chairs.

“He’s fine, sweetie. Fred called a little while ago, just for a minute, but he’s fine. Everyone’s alright, and I’m right here.”

“Aunt Cass? It wasn’t—“

“I know. I know. You’re safe. Oh, God, Tadashi. I thought you were dead. I thought—never scare me like that again.” She squeezed his hand gently, and he pressed back, with more force than she’d expected.

“I won’t,” he said.

“Well, good.” She tried to find words, a joke, but her smile faltered and she bit her lip.

“Mr. Hamada? Tadashi?” Doctor Snow said softly. “How are you feeling? Physically, any pain?”

The young man nodded. “Um. Kind of everything. But it’s not…bad.”

“Tadashi Hamada, do you mean that? I forbid you to even try to pull your usual “I’m fine,” or any variant.” Aunt Cass said.

“Really, it just…aches? And I’m hungry. And thirsty.”

Doctor Snow handed him a cup of water, mostly ice chips, as Aunt Cass helped him sit up. He shrugged her off after a second, but she could see he was shaking. She put a hand on his arm, careful to avoid the bruising around his wrist. For a moment she felt white-hot with rage, but did her best to smother it. She could make certain Callaghan never saw the light of day again, after Tadashi was home, and safe.

Tadashi proved that he could remember his name, the year, and address, which he remembered from working on Baymax were often the questions concussion patients were asked; that he could walk, though he needed to lean on Aunt Cass after a few steps; that he could repeat the care instructions (he knew most of them already, from dealing not only with Baymax but from one of GoGo’s more spectacular bike crashes.) Finally, Doctor Snow nodded, and allowed Aunt Cass to wheel him out and help him into her truck.

The whole drive home, she kept running an arm across her eyes, swiping at tears, and glancing over at him. They drove in silence, but it was a comfortable silence, the words not needing to be spoken. I thought I’d never see you again. You’re alive. It’s going to be ok.

Aunt Cass’s phone rang, and she moved to pull over, then had a different thought. “Would you get that? If—“

Tadashi nodded and reached for the phone, nestled in her open purse between them.

“Hello?” he asked, his voice rusty.

“Oh!” It was Fred. “I was calling to—Hiro’s fine. You should know that. Well, fine, as in, no more hospital, soon. Gonna take a bit to get some of the paperwork sorted, but—Man, I can’t believe it’s you.”

“Yeah,” Tadashi managed, blinking hard. Fred was alive. Wasabi, Honey, GoGo, Hiro, all of them were alive. “I’m—out. The doctors.” He didn’t have to finish.

“Oh, good. I was checking in, gonna see how long they wanted to—but if you’re going home now, then—yeah, ok. We’ll be there soon, ok? Tell Aunt Cass Hiro’s Ok. Well, as ok as any of us. No, wait, don’t say that, just—you know.”

Tadashi smiled. It was quivering, and small, but it was a smile. “I—yeah.”

He stared at the phone for a long time after Fred hung up.

“Hiro’s ok. Fred said. They’re all ok.”

“You didn’t believe me?” Aunt Cass asked as she turned a corner. “You wound me.” But she was smiling, her eyes still full of tears. “Look.”

She pulled to a stop on the familiar, slanting street, and leaped out. She opened Tadashi’s door for him, and let him use her as a crutch, onto the sidewalk, up to the door.

Closed until further notice—family emergency

The sign was scrawled in purple marker, crooked behind the glass. Aunt Cass fumbled for her key, found it, and pushed the door open. The Café smelled of coffee and dark chocolate, of cinnamon and vanilla, and something else he couldn’t place. Cass took his arm again, wrapped it around her shoulders.

“You’re home,” she said.

Chapter Text

By the time the two cabs required to get everyone from the hospital to the Café had managed it—traffic was particularly bad and the roads were clogged—and Fred had paid each off the drivers with a large tip,  it was fully sunny out, the September heat of late afternoon welcome. Seeing GoGo attempt to ditch her crutches, Wasabi shook his head.

“You use them, or I carry you.”

“Yes, Mom,” she snarked tiredly.

“We promised we’d listen to the doctor.” He pointed out firmly. GoGo relented, swinging to the door. The sign proclaiming the café to be closed had been altered from “closed for family emergency” to “Mega closed for family.” Honey Lemon pulled out her key, strung on the same chain as her medallion for safekeeping.

“Aunt Cass?” Fred called, leaning on his own crutch and eyeing the stairs warily. GoGo didn’t seem to notice them, just began crutching her way up to the main room.

Aunt Cass was at the stairs in a heartbeat, then flying down them. GoGo ducked out of the way as the woman seized Hiro in a hug.

“Never. Worry. Me. Like. That. Again,” she whispered fiercely. “I thought I’d lost you. I thought—for a minute, I thought… Hiro. You are grounded until—until you aren’t anymore. Maybe forever. Thank God you’re alive.”

“Aunt Cass,” Hiro started, his mouth suddenly dry. He couldn’t finish the sentence, just buried his face in her shoulder.

“Grounded. Forever,” she repeated. “Are you all alright?” she asked, turning on the others. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” Fred said. “mostly.”

There was a look in Aunt Cass’s eyes that said she didn’t believe them any more than she could turn stone into water, but she released Hiro and nodded.

“Good. Upstairs, then. There’s...he’s on the couch.”

Hiro forgot the pain, forgot the aching that was in his bones, and shot up the stairs as fast as his stubby legs would allow. He skidded to a halt in the open entryway.

It had been one thing to know, to have hoped, to have been told. It had been one thing to know in his head that Tadashi was alive. But still, he stopped, joyful shock making his fingers numb, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Tadashi half sat, half lay on one of the couches, propped up by pillows with Aunt Cass’s thick comforter piled around him. His hair was too long, his face too thin and pale and showing half healed bruises, but he turned, blinking, at the sudden movement. The paralysis that had gripped Hiro released him as Tadashi freed one arm from the blankets.

“It’s you,” Hiro said, painfully aware how simple that sounded. It didn’t matter. “You’re--He didn’t-- We weren’t--” he tripped over the words as he stumbled forward until he was at his brother’s side. “Tadashi.” His mouth trembled, a quivering smile that he couldn’t contain.

“Hiro,” Tadashi gripped his brother in the tightest embrace his ribs could manage. “Hiro. I thought I’d never see you again. Are you all right?”

“I could say the same, I thought you were dead! I’m supposed to be the reckless one!” But there was no anger in the words, no fire.

Tadashi managed a laugh even as a tear fell past his nose. “Not dead yet.” Another laugh. It might not have been his type of humor, but Hiro’d sat through the movie enough times with Aunt Cass and Tadashi he knew the line.

There was a moment of silence, but it was a comfortable quiet, filled with the sound of breathing and heartbeats.

“I did, though. Think you were--gone. They found your ring, and I didn’t even think to check, and then--and then--I missed you.”

“Hiro,” Tadashi felt his throat tighten. “I’m so sorry.”

Hiro pulled away. “Sorry? Why—how—you didn’t do anything! You don’t get to be sorry, not when it was because of me. I’m sorry.”

Tadashi opened his mouth to argue, but Aunt Cass, holding everyone back at the stairs, had enough. “No. Nope. Not having that conversation, not right now. Understand?” She did not wait for a response as GoGo and Fred swung their way over to the other couch on their crutches and the others followed. Honey Lemon perched on the edge of the window seat, while wasabi folded his legs under him, his back to the wall. “Good. Your nap was ok?”

Tadashi nodded.

“I’m going to get the soup then. You left without eating breakfast, Hiro, and I—It’s almost dinner time. You must be hungry.” She put a hand on Hiro’s shoulder, and one on Tadashi’s, and gentle though it was, both boys tensed. She withdrew hastily, her eyes darkening with sorrow.

“I lost Baymax,” Hiro said, tugging at the comforter to pull part of it around his own shoulders. “I—we…”

“His fist made it out,” Fred said. “Heathcliff’s took it back to my place after he dropped us at the hospital. I know it’s not…the same. But.”

“I have backup copies of his data,” Tadashi offered quietly. He seemed to see his friends for the first time. “What—happened? GoGo, your leg, your—“

“I’m fine. Clean break, I’ll be out of this cast in, like, a month.” GoGo knocked a hand against the purple plaster. “Almost made my record.”

“Which record?” Honey Lemon asked, curious despite herself.

“How long I go without breaking something. If I’d lasted another week, it’d have been a new record. Seven months. Eh. It doesn’t hurt much, but that might be the pain meds.” GoGo shrugged.

“You got hurt because of me,” Tadashi frowned. “He said he’d killed you. Because of me, you-- I had pictures. And he—“

“Didn’t get away with any of it and won’t get away with any of it and we all survived.” Wasabi said, his voice steady. “We got hurt stopping him. We’d do it again. I know I would. You, and Hiro? You’re family.”

“It’s not that bad.” Fred said. “I mean, we have some scrapes and GoGo didn’t break-heh, break-her record, and yeah my ankle’s not exactly pain free, but. We got you back. We got Hiro back. And Aunt Cass set Callaghan on fire, so—“

“On fire?” Hiro and Tadashi chorused.

“I thought he’d killed you! I lost my temper!” Aunt Cass quoted, coming in with one of the café’s soup pots in both hands, a stack of bowls balanced on the lid. “Corn crab chowder. Pureed, the way you like it. They said, light meals. Don’t want to overdo it at first, after… but, I checked, and you should be alright for soup, so I want this whole pot gone between all of us.”

No one had to be told twice. Tadashi held the bowl in both hands, savoring the warmth. The hot bath he’d had had been nice, but Aunt Cass’s soup, even pureed, was the ultimate comfort food. “I think I forgot what ‘warm’ was,” he said after a moment. Aunt Cass, seated on his other side now, closed her eyes.

“Well, that’s never happening again. Ever. Eat your soup.”  She eyed the others. “All of you.”

Mochi poked his head through the stair rails, getting momentarily stuck before freeing himself. After that, it was all over. The cat scurried across the room, under the table, and leaped with surprising agility and gentleness onto the mass of blanket and pillow that was Tadashi Hamada. Tadashi managed to save his soup as Mochi curled up, purring.

“I missed you, too, kitty.”

“Cats aren’t as heartless as they say,” Fred said.

“Anyone who thinks cats are heartless needs to meet Mochi. He’s a heart and stomach with fur.” Hiro said, still leaning against his brother’s side.

Aunt Cass nodded, but set down her bowl. “I think someone needs to tell me exactly what—how all of this happened. Explanation, now, please.”

There was an awkward silence. Wasabi looked at Hiro. Fred looked at Hiro. GoGo looked at Hiro, then got herself more soup. Honey Lemon looked at the ceiling, the wall, the cat, and finally at Hiro.

“I activated Baymax a, a week, two weeks ago. He found one of my microbots, and it was being drawn to others, which shouldn’t have been possible, so we…investigated. There was a warehouse, someone was building more. Callaghan.” He spat the name. “ But, we didn’t know who it was then, just that whoever it was had—I thought you were dead,” he said again to Tadashi, who tensed. “And we went to the cops! I tried that, but they wouldn’t listen, and I had to do something! So, I kinda taught Bay-“ his voice caught. “Baymax some Karate. And we went to try and, and confront the guy in the mask.”

“You could have been killed!” Aunt Cass ran a hand through her hair. “And—I wouldn’t ever have—“

“I know. I’m, I wasn’t thinking. But Wasabi and everyone showed up.”

“At the water front.” Honey Lemon put in. “And we nearly got killed. I lied to you, Aunt Cass. On the phone. Our phones were not damaged in an accident with a hot water heater. We kind of…drove into the Bay.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” GoGo said promptly. “And we made it out ok. Mostly. That was when Hiro realized that we needed to catch this guy, because he was—I mean, if he’d been making more microbots for a good reason, something that wasn’t shady as—heck,” she amended her speech. “He wouldn’t have stolen them. Or tried to, uh, kill us. We went along with it to make sure he was safe. Safety in numbers.”

“And then the book.” Honey said. “It was a message. From Tadashi. I still don’t know how--?”

“I tricked him, sort of. I’d tried, with the ring, and the flowers, but I wasn’t sure…so I risked it. He said he’d killed you, when he figured it out.” Tadashi said, his voice low. “I just—I didn’t want you to think I was dead. But…you were—the bay happened before?”

“Before we figured out your messages?” Fred asked. “Yeah, by like, almost 24 hours. So, not your fault, just really, really bad timing. And some leaps of logic. Callaghan probably thought we found him because of…oh, man.”

“The book?” Aunt Cass asked, furrowing her brow. “The flowers?”

“Clues. Flower language in some plastic flowers left on Mom and Dad’s grave, and the note with The Last Unicorn Honey got. And apparently the ring they found was a replica,” Hiro said. “That was…what made us think you were really gone. If I’d just looked in the treasure box! If I’d just looked…” he trailed off miserably.

“I should have tried harder to get away,” Tadashi bit his lip. “But he said he’d hurt you. All of you. He wanted me to reverse engineer the microbots, and help with the portal. And I did. So many people could have died, but I…”

“Stop that.” Aunt Cass said. “I said explanation, not self-blame. There is one person on this planet we can blame for all of this. One. Not two. Not three. Not seven. One.” She locked eyes with the others, making sure they were listening. “And I set him on fire and I’d like very much to do it again.” Her shoulders sagged. “Tadashi. Please. Don’t. None of this is your fault. None of this is any of your faults.” She blinked hard, then shook her head. “So there were messages that you decided not to tell me about, and you went to, what?”

“To kick the masked creep’s butt and get Tadashi back.” Fred offered. “It kinda worked. I mean, we did kick his butt, and did get Tadashi out, but then he kinda got away. And it turns out, he was trying to get revenge because he thought his daughter was dead. She’s not, by the way. That’s why you went into the portal, right, Hiro?”

“Yeah.” Hiro refilled his bowl. “And that’s basically it. I built armor, and stuff, and we’re all…” he faltered. “Ok. We’re all ok. Ish.”

“More or less,” Wasabi said. “If you don’t count concussions and broken bones and trauma.”

“But we’re alive,” GoGo said. “And safe.” She met Tadashi’s gaze, as if she could read his thoughts. “Safe. Home. Alive.”

He nodded, smiled, even. Everything hurt, but it was true. Things really would be ok.

“We’ll have to make a police report soon,” Aunt Cass said. “But not for a few days. They’re waiting to charge that…that man until after he’s released from the hospital.” She gave an almost savage grin. “Which may take some time. We can clear up the, the red tape then.” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe it. You’re alive. You’re home.” She paused. “And, in case I haven’t said it enough, grounded. Forever.”

“But, we’re super heroes!” Fred said with a pout.

“With concussions and broken bones and—“

“Dislocated ankle.” Fred filled in.

“Exactly.”

“What if we were really, really careful?”

“No, Fred. Or at least—No, if I say you can’t, you’ll do it anyway. Behind my back.” Aunt Cass sighed. “We’ll talk about this later. For now, though, no. But I want you to all promise me. Right now. No more lies. No more hiding things.”

“Promise,” they all said.

“Good. I love you. All of you.” Something seemed to occur to her. “I’ll be right back. Someone get the lights.”

“Leave them on?” Tadashi asked as Honey Lemon made to do so. She nodded.

“Of course.” She sat back. “What do you think she’s—“

“Happy birthday.” Aunt Cass had a cake. A large sheet cake, with flickering birthday candles. “Time to celebrate. Not a big one, because you need to rest, but…Happy birthday, Tadashi. I’m sorry it’s late.”

“It’s—perfect.” There was no stopping any of it now, he was crying, but he wasn’t alone. They pressed together in a hug, all together.

When he blew out the candles, Honey Lemon asked if he’d made a wish.

“Didn’t need to.” He answered honestly.

“Cheesy. Maybe that should be your Fred nickname.” GoGo said, laughing. It was an infectious sound. Just as no one could stop the tears of relief and joy and gratitude, no one could stop laughing either.

“You’re staying here tonight?” Aunt Cass half asked, half informed everyone as the sun set, flames in the fog creeping over the bay. When they nodded, she smiled. “Good. Take your medications, I know you have them. I’ll get things set up.”

Getting things set up involved Aunt Cass singlehandedly moving the table and most of the other furniture out of the hall and dragging every mattress and camping air mattress in the house into the center of the living room, where they only just fit. Then she gathered all the blankets in the closet and on the bedroom floors, and dumped them in a pile, along with a good many pillows and a few stuffed animals that looked rather neglected.

“There,” she said. “Sleepovers. Much better than the floor of the café benches, I promise.”

They settled, GoGo on the couch closest to the pillow pile to keep her leg out of harm’s way. Mochi curled up beside Tadashi’s face, and the others settled slowly, wrapping themselves into cocoons of fuzzy blanket.

It had been a long day. It had been a long six weeks. But at long last, the nightmare was over. Aunt Cass wedged herself into an overstuffed armchair, and turned off the main light, careful to leave the lamp nearest Tadashi and Hiro on.

Slowly, Aunt Cass pulled a book from the shelf nearest her, a battered paperback.

“The unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone. She was very old, though she did not know it, and she was no longer the careless color of sea foam but rather the color of snow falling on a moonlit night. But her eyes were still clear and unwearied, and she still moved like a shadow on the sea.”  She read aloud, softly, as she had once read to a pair of wide eyed, traumatized children.  She kept reading until her voice was dry, and the sounds of restlessness had eased.

She looked through tired, tear-blotted eyes at her family, a pile of blankets and bandages, hands gripping each other’s to reassure themselves that this was no dream. Everyone was safe. Her family was alive, as whole as it could be. Outside the streetlight flickered, on and off.

Aunt Cass touched the malachite charm at her throat, and offered up a prayer of thanks. Sometimes the only true pay off for having hope, for having any faith in things working out, came after it was tested, again and again, and again. It came from keeping watch, from holding on. Watching her boys, both breathing, both alive, she was sure that was true.

Chapter Text

Hiro woke what he would call “stupidly early,” confused for a heartbeat by the angle of light and the vise grip someone seemed to have on his arm. He blinked, looking around at a mountain of blankets. His friends were sprawled around him in the heaps of comforters and pillows, Fred snoring, Honey Lemon sighing something in Spanish, Aunt Cass curled up like a cat in her armchair. And beside him, wrapped like a burrito in a sky-blue microfiber blanket, one thin, pale arm reaching out, was Tadashi. It hadn’t been a dream. it hadn’t been a hope shattered like a broken window or dropped teapot. Hiro burrowed deeper into the blankets piled over him, and smiled. His head ached, and the cuts and scrapes stung, but it hardly mattered. He didn’t bother to free his arm as he closed his eyes, falling back asleep.

Aunt Cass woke them all some time later, leaning on the stair rail like a bird preparing for flight.

“I made breakfast. Down in the Cafe. Shades are drawn, and it’s closed, so we might as well eat down there. I didn’t want to wake you…” she trailed off. “But regular meals are in the care instructions, and--”

“It’s fine,” Honey Lemon said sleepily, searching out her glasses on the floor by the mattress pile. She put them on and blinked. “I don’t think I’ve slept that well in weeks.”

“Me neither.” Tadashi sighed from within the blanket cocoon, struggling to sit up. Hiro’s eyes popped open and he sat bolt upright, letting his brother lean on his shoulder. “I…”

“Yeah. C’mon, let’s get breakfast.” Hiro wobbled a bit, standing on the mattresses, and Tadashi wobbled a little more than a little, and GoGo glared with distaste at her crutches.

“There’s a rail on the stairs! I hate crutches.” She picked one up with a huff when Wasabi and Aunt Cass both turned a Look on her.

“Where’s Fred?” Hiro suddenly asked, looking around.

“He’s waiting on you, sleepyheads,” Aunt Cass said, her voice light with humor. Getting down the stairs, she helped support Tadashi, whose slippered feet were still scraped and sore. Once he was seated at a large table made from several smaller tables shoved together, Aunt Cass began to fuss again, scurrying from kitchen to cafe front with food and hot chocolate carafes. Every few moments though, she would pause, eyes lingering on the group of friends, tears in her eyes.

“Is the coffee machine busted?” Gogo asked hopefully as she filled her plate with omelet and bacon. She eyed the hot chocolate with suspicion usually reserved only for Fred when he got Ideas.

“No, but doctor’s orders, you’ve been through a lot of stress lately. I’ll make you some decaf, but that’s it. You need to take it easy, and a double espresso is not that.”

“Hot chocolate’s fine, really,” Honey Lemon said, trying to defuse the situation. She poured some into a mug for Tadashi, then for herself. Gogo rolled her eyes, swiping her messy hair out of her face, and accepted a cup of her own.

Fred hummed excitedly as he stirred what looked like gummy bears into his oatmeal, which Hiro had to try next.

“You want some mush with your candy?” Tadashi asked quietly.

It was an old joke, a common, overused remark, but it had never seemed sillier. Hiro laughed. “Nope, this’s good. Want some?”

Tadashi shook his head, a little gingerly, adding more honey to his own bowl. Hot, mostly thin and/or liquid food, that was what Doctor Snow had said he should stick to the first few days, to get used to regular, healthy meals. His oatmeal was thinned by milk, swirled golden with honey and cinnamon. It was one of the best things he’d ever tasted.

They ate in comfortable silence, occasionally checking over shoulders or across the way to be sure the blinds were still down and the door was still closed. it wouldn’t be long before reporters found out, or police officers came to get statements.

“We can deal with the legal red-tape later,” Aunt Cass assured him. “Get that sorted out in a few days. No need to worry about it now.”

“I can help with that.” Fred put in, helping himself to a donut. “My dad’s got some friends that are really, really good with bureaucracy things, and stuff.”

“Thanks,” Tadashi’s smile was still a small one, but fred knew he meant it.

“In the meantime,” Aunt Cass continued. “ You should all call your families.”

“They don’t know it was us…” Wasabi started.

“If they turned on the news yesterday, they know that Bad Things, capital B and T Bad Things, happened here yesterday, with a giant hole in the middle of the sky above downtown. At a science thing. They’re probably out of their minds with worry, trying to call you.”

“Point. That’s a really good--I’ll just go do that.” Wasabi got to his feet with a low groan, rubbing his arm.

They took turns using the cafe phone, reassuring family members that no, they were fine. Honey Lemon’s mother could be heard over the line out and clear, a torrent of frantic Spanish. Only Fred didn’t bother, besides Hiro and Tadashi. “Heathcliff knows what happened. He’ll tell Lesli and the others. Mom and Dad are out of the country right now.”

He said it with a shrug, and didn’t seem to notice the looks the others exchanged. Aunt Cass broke the awkward pause. “ I’m just so relieved you’re all...you’re all here. Safe.” She squeezed Tadashi’s hand lightly, and he flinched for a moment, then squeezed back.

“So what’s our next move?” GoGo asked finally. “I mean….What now?”

“Come up with a really, really good excuse for why we missed a week of classes?” Honey Lemon said, wincing. “Maybe I should just defer for the semester.”

“Nah, they’ll work with you.” Fred said matter of factly. “It was only a week and change, plus, like, once they hear about all this, they can’t get too mad about a few missed lectures.”

“Please tell me you are not suggesting we tell our professors that we became superheroes.” Wasabi rubbed his brow.

Fred looked offended. “Duh, no. That’s like, number one on the list of things you don’t do when you become a masked vigilante: tell anyone who doesn’t need to know. Nah, just when it all comes to light that Tadashi’s not dead, and we were, I dunno, “emotionally unable to attend classes” or something. It’s not even a lie. But, no. No, telling people is not a good plan. Trust me, If we’re gonna keep being Fred’s angels--.”

“That’s not our name, Fred,” GoGo said briskly.

“--Then we do not just tell people.” Fred finished.

“I hope I didn’t just hear what I thought I heard,” Aunt Cass said as she continued clearing dishes. “And you’d better hope so, too. It’s dangerous. You might have been killed! And you don’t even have Baymax to keep an eye on you anymore.”

“We could rebuild him,” Tadashi ventured. “I have backup schematics, and most of the data on his chip, unless my computer…”

The others nodded, but Hiro looked worried, lost in a troubled thought. “It wouldn’t be the same.” he said at last.

“None of us are the same, really.” Honey pointed out. “He might not have the same memories, or patches in the vinyl, but he’d still be Baymax.”

“Do you feel up to a project that...big?” Wasabi asked Tadashi. “I mean, until yesterday, you--you still need rest, man. We understand.”

“I want to. I,” Tadashi swallowed. “I want to. Build something that helps people, again.”

Hiro flushed. “My stupid microbots. If I hadn’t--hey!”

Aunt Cass pulled a spray bottle full of water she used to mist a few of the potted flowers, and squirted her nephew lightly. “No. No self-blame. House Rules, no blaming ourselves for this. It’s not your fault that that …” she paused, censoring herself “disgusting slimeball stole the microbots. It’s not your fault that any of this happened, and next person who tries to take the blame that very, very clearly belongs to that sack of ooze…” she shook the bottle. “I can and will treat you like kittens. Because that’s what you are. Kittens. You think you can take care of yourself but you really need someone to look after you. Me, or Baymax, or someone.” She sighed, tapping her necklace pendant.

“We can use the shed, again. All that stuff’s still there,” Fred offered. Before Aunt Cass could say anything, Tadashi shook his head.

“The Garage is...fine. It’s home.” Nothing else needed to be said.

The next two weeks passed by in a tizzy of activity, physical therapy, red-tape, and exhausted but comfortable sleep. Four nights of five, Tadashi or Hiro or both woke in the throes of a nightmare, the panic laid to rest once they saw the other, or their friends, whole and home. It had been decided, for the mean time, that they’d stay in the cafe. Hiro and Tadashi would start back up at SFIT for the “Spring” semester, which started in January for some unfathomable reason, while the others worked out missing assignments with professors.  Fred found “Resilient Hope,” a coping with trauma non-profit organization online, one that focused on healing through storytelling, service, and science. Fred also had Heathcliff search around for a trustworthy therapist, though as yet, one who worked well with everyone had yet to be found. No one was willing to talk about any of what had happened alone, but everyone was willing, more than willing, to sit up nights or sunny afternoons, their mere presence a comfort.

Abigail Callaghan remained in the hospital, weak and re-learning how to walk, eat, and live again after eighteen months in hypersleep her that body had not been prepared for. Fred visited often in his volunteer rounds, and the others joined him. She had not yet been told exactly what had led up to her rescue, but she seemed to suspect it was nothing good.

There was no dragged out-trial to deal with. Aunt Cass was glad her boys were spared that trauma on top of everything else. Callaghan admitted to everything, pled guilty, and was quietly sentenced. Reporters were banned from the premise, though they still tried. Finally, the group gave one interview, as themselves and not as their costumed identities, to a small independent paper in Berkobe that actually respected their privacy and didn’t pester them endlessly.

When they were not dealing with that mess, Hiro and Tadashi worked on Baymax 3.0, surrounded by the comfortable clutter of the garage, brightly lit with rosy-toned lights. Honey Lemon joined them, or GoGo, or Fred, or Wasabi, sitting on the floor, desks, or chairs where ever there was room, to work on their own projects and essays.

Fred brought stacks of paperbacks and comics, and sometimes read them aloud dramatically, taking turns with Aunt Cass for “Bedtime stories.”

“Guys, look what I brought,” Fred said one afternoon, his classes over for the day and the sun streaming in through the open garage door. He stopped to stare at the nearly completed Baymax, the vinyl gleaming. Hiro and Tadashi looked up from their work.

Clutched like a massive, favorite toy to Fred’s chest, was Baymax’s rocket fist. Hiro smiled at the sight, his feelings mixed. No one had told Tadashi what he’d made Baymax do, how he’d ripped out the healthcare chip and turned him into a monster. He was too ashamed too, and the others had quietly forgiven him, and agreed amongst themselves that it was Hiro’s place to tell his brother, not theirs.

“I thought it probably belonged here. It took a while to find where  Heathcliff stashed it.” Fred said, putting it down on a mostly empty table. “I’m gonna head up--over?-- to the Cafe. Lesli gave me a recipe for Aunt Cass.” He waved a scrap of paper and bounced away, no sign that he’d ever dislocated his ankle at all.

Tadashi whistled softly, looking at it. “You built this on your own, in a week?” He asked Hiro.

Hiro nodded. “Less. I didn’t sleep much. We had to get you.”

Tadashi put an arm around his brother and hugged him, gently, careful of his own still-healing ribs.

“Baymax’s almost finished. It’s easier following my old notes than starting from scratch.” Tadashi said over breakfast one saturday morning. He’d worked up to more solid food, usually cinnamon donuts and a biscuit and sausage gravy that Fred’s cook, Lesli, swore by for building up appetites and energy. “I just need to transfer the data to a chip, and hope that it works.”

“It’ll work,”Aunt Cass said, smiling. GoGo nodded, sipping at her coffee. Her purple cast was a swirl of black and silver sharpie doodles of project ideas, classmate’s names, and a messages like “Should had drunk more milk” and “better luck next time,” and “get better fast.”

“And once Baymax’s back, we can--” Fred started.

“Not until GoGo’s out of that cast, AND everyone’s feeling 100% up to it, you can’t.” Aunt Cass interjected without bothering for him to finish.

“Yeah, I know, I know. Hey, we should have code names. People at school know our nicknames, plus, like, it’s half the fun.” Fred continued, unfazed. “I was thinking “Fredzilla” for me. And Wasabi could be, like, “Green Blade” or something. Oooh, and GoG, what do you think of…” he paused dramatically. GoGo waited. “..The Blur!”

“No.”

“The Streak?”

“That’s worse.”

“The Flash?”

“That’s taken, you should know that, you dork.”

“Captain Lightning? Speedy? Bolt?”

“Fred, I will kick you.”

Fred just grinned. “I’ll come up with something, for all of us.”

“You really want to do this?” Aunt Cass asked, chewing her lip. “I am the worst mother. The worst.” She sighed. “Just, keep me up to date on everything. Stay together, and don’t try hiding anything from me. If you make, I don’t know, enemies, I want to know who they are before they come into my cafe and attempt to hold me hostage. And someone make me a better flame thrower.”

“Can do, Aunt Cass,” Hiro said.

“Will. Will do,” Wasabi promised, holding up his hand. “If we keep this up. Scout’s honor.”

The others agreed quickly, particularly fond of the “if” Wasabi had added.

Aunt Cass nodded her approval. “I’m going to regret this,” she muttered to herself. “I am going to regret this. But alright. Once you have Baymax  ready, and are healed...fine. I won’t even tell your parents. I am so going to regret this.”

“We love you, Aunt Cass,” they all chorused.

“I love you, too. Finish your food.”

The morning fog burned off, and the warmth of an East Bay Autumn filled the garage as the two brothers worked, side by side, rattling off ideas for future projects and the book Aunt Cass was in the middle of reading aloud, a fantasy by one of the writers Fred was studying in his English class.

As Hiro opened the heavy garage door to let in more natural light, and air out the place, which smelled rather strongly of lavender left over from Honey Lemon’s latest attempt at bath bombs. She’d gotten the ‘bomb’ part a little too well. The sunlight filtered in, catching on computer screens and lampshades and the scarlet fist perched in a place of honor atop a low shelf.

“Just need to put finish the new chip,” Tadashi was saying. “I know he won’t be the same, exactly, but-- what is it?”

Hiro was staring at the fist, and at the glint of green clutched in it. A mint-green shard of plastic. No, not a shard. Hiro drew it out carefully, and cradled it in his hands. “Look. It--it’s... “

Baymax’s chip, his first chip, lay across his palms. Hiro swallowed, hard, a sudden lump in his throat.

“I thought you said he…?” Tadashi asked quietly.

“I don’t know how...I didn’t think…”

“It’s great!” Tadashi proclaimed. “Let’s make sure it works, c’mon.”

Hiro hesitated. “Will...His memory? Is it on the chip? Will he remember, everything?”

Tadashi blinked. “Anything related to people designated as his patients should be on files on that chip, so...yeah. I mean, he wouldn’t remember, say, holding Mochi, but...I guess there’s one way to find out.”

Hiro paused again, shaking.

“Are you ok? Hiro?” Tadashi asked,suddenly worried. “ What..”

“I did something bad.” He said it all in a rush, glad it was just Tadashi and no one else. He’d apologized to them, but some nights, he couldn’t see anything but the red-eyed Baymax tossing them like rag dolls. “I...When Callaghan said...When you were dead...I turned Baymax into--I made him ...I told him to destroy. And he would have. I--I’m sorry. I was just--There was all this, this mad inside me, and I just snapped and I’m sorry. You built him to help people, and, I--”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Tadashi hugged his little brother tightly. “Hey. Shhhh. I--It’s ok. No one got...it didn’t happen. I don’t know that I would have done anything differently.”

“But I--”

“I know, you said. But it worked out. And you feel bad, so that means you know it wasn’t right, and you won’t do it again, yeah?”

Hiro nodded.

“Good enough for me. We all do stupid things sometimes. You were--Callaghan...Let’s just try the chip, ok?”

“What if he’s mad at me?”

“He won’t be, noodlebrain. If he remembers, he won’t be. But we won’t know if we don’t try. get a pen, it’s not science--”

“Unless we write it down, yeah, I know.” Hiro let out a long breath, and found a pen, then tried to hand Tadashi the chip.

“You do it,” his older brother insisted. “Go on.”

Hiro’s fingers shook as he put in the chip, then closed the hatch and stepped back.

“Ow?” he said.

Baymax blinked. “Hello, I am Baymax.” he paused, then continued. “Hello, Hiro. Hello, Tadashi.”

“Hey, Bud,” Hiro said, before flinging himself into the robot’s squishy arms. “I missed you.”

“There, there,” Baymax said. “I am here. Tadashi is here.” There was a faint whirring noise. “ the others are--”

“GROUP HUG,” there was a clattering, and then Wasabi, Honey Lemon, and GoGo were there, led by Fred, all piling together in the middle of the room, arms around each other.

This, Tadashi thought, hugging back, unsure of who exactly had an arm around him and who he was hugging, but finding it didn’t matter, not when they were all here, safe, and warm, and together, is home.