It started the night after his introduction to SFIT.

Somehow he'd managed to lash his hand out and punched the desk beside his bed so hard he actually managed to fracture two fingers.

The cry that came with the harsh impact and abrupt awakening brought Tadashi to his side in less than six seconds, an impressive feat considering he'd been fast asleep all the way across the room before it happened.

As Tadashi carefully wraps both badly injured fingers and Aunt Cass hovers worriedly behind the elder sibling, he admits the only thing he can remember from the dream is flickering orange-yellow light and desperately reaching out to grab something.

Five nights in and he's learned to control it, somewhat (not at all).

He's been certain to sleep on the side not facing the desk, and the jerk of unnatural motion that never seems to change no matter how many nights pass is sufficient in waking him up before he can cry out like he severely wished he could.

He waits a few minutes, breathless, until he hears Tadashi snore across the room.

He'll sigh in light-headed relief at the assurance of having not awoken his overprotective, thankfully alive brother (alive? where did that come from – why wouldn't he be alive?!) before deftly slipping out of bed and down the stairs, unaware that upon his exit from the room Tadashi would immediately sit up, staring worriedly after him (he's been whimpering softly in his sleep, and after the first night Tadashi can't bring himself to ignore them) before quickly moving to follow him.

He trudges into the garage, and despite the late hour and loss of sleep time, he'll put on a determined face and get back to designing his showcase project (he's been thinking of a name; 'microbot' sounded cool, right?), thanking whatever deity there was that it wasn't his dominant hand that had been injured.

He won't see Tadashi hiding just outside of the lamplight, staring at him with an expression torn between frustration and concern like a mother hen would.

The tenth night ticks by, and this time he can't even begin to hold back the cry laced with fear and betrayal and heartbreak as he feels a large (familiar) warm (comforting) hand rip out of his grip and disappear as the flickering orange-yellow erupts into blinding hot white and bleeding red and he's gone forever

He jerks up into a seated position on his bed, hand out-stretched and mouth still open.

He clamps his mouth shut even as Tadashi turns on the lamp and gives him his patented 'worried-big-brother look' and asks him what's wrong.

He can't even begin to describe the pure agony that fills him at the sight of his older brother sitting on the bed beside him, evidently having come over when he started whimpering in his sleep (again), and he can feel tears building in his eyes even as he croaks out, "I don't know."

Tadashi's face fills with pain (was he lying, trying to be strong when he obviously wasn't?) and he reaches forward, placing a large (familiar) warm (comforting) hand on the younger's head, and it's all he can do to keep from bursting into tears as he realizes why he recognized the hand in his dream so well as the elder pulls him into a hug (even though he still doesn't know why he's even upset; Tadashi was fine, wasn't he?).

Night fifteen, and he is determined not to sleep tonight.

Tadashi, and a newly brought in Baymax, both strenuously object to such an idea, saying sleep is a necessary thing our bodies needed to recharge no matter how much the dreams sucked, which is easier for them to say when Tadashi can sleep peacefully and Baymax doesn't even need to sleep (evidently, lack of sleep made his temper rise far more quickly than normal).

He ignores them, chugs one of those terrible energy drinks Aunt Cass has stashed in the café, and immediately sets to work on his microbots (the name stuck, and they're finally out of the designing stage).

It works until about 1:30 a.m., when his eyelids seem to gravitate toward each other and he nearly cuts a finger off on the sharp metal he's been using to shape the microbots.

Tadashi had long since given up (not really; he's still awake upstairs, reading a book and waiting for him expectantly) but Baymax, who has his little charging station in there for just such an occasion, inflates at his yelped "OW!" and firmly says it is time for him to rest and, after wrapping a bandage around this new injury, bodily picks him up bridal style and waddles into the house.

He doesn't have it left in him to protest the treatment – all the colors in the pictures on the walls are blurring together – though he does give Tadashi a half-hearted glare when they arrive in the bedroom, which the elder doesn't much react to.

The sweet bliss of unconsciousness slides over him, and for four hours nothing happens.

If he were awake he would be cackling gleefully at the success, but everything comes crashing down at 5:43 when the scent of ash and dust and some unholy roasted meat sends him careening into the bathroom just in time to empty his stomach of everything he'd eaten in the last 24 hours (which wasn't much, in all honesty).

The sound of a harsh, distressed gasp and someone scrambling across the floor behind him doesn't register until there're those hands again, one pressed in between his shoulder blades and the other pressed to his forehead, keeping him from pitching face-first into the toilet once he's done.

He shivers uncontrollably, unmentionable drool trailing from his mouth and tears streaming down his cheeks as he coughs weakly, wishing he could just throw himself limply into bed and not emerge for the next four years.

He is pulled into some mockery of a hug against a larger chest as one of the hands leaves, only to return with a towel to wipe his face off a bit.

He blinks tiredly through the tears and looks up, unsurprised (and yet shocked beyond measure) that it is his older brother supporting him (as he always did) in his latest hour of need.

What is surprising is that Tadashi is crying too; he looks more miserable than he can ever recall him being on any other occasion (but that's only because his memory of their parents' funeral is nearly nonexistent).

He's pulled back into the hug, and Tadashi rocks them back and forth gently, probably trying to pass off his own shaking as simply an aftereffect of the rocking motion.

"…What're you crying for, nerd?" he manages to murmur, which only serves to make Tadashi's grip tighten until it was almost painful (but it isn't; Tadashi would never, ever intentionally hurt him).

"I'm crying," Tadashi hisses, voice practically inaudible, "Because my knucklehead kid brother is suffering and I can't do a damn thing to fix it!"

At any other time, he would have happily reported to Aunt Cass about Tadashi swearing – he hardly ever swore, especially in the presence of his precious, easily-corrupted otouto – but right now all he can do is blink and try not to pass out again, exhaustedly raising his own arms to wrap weakly around his brother and pat his back, wishing not for the first time that none of this was happening.

Twentieth night.

The microbots are all practically finished – between both Hamadas, they'd gotten a lot done in record timing – and he's pretty sure Aunt Cass and all of Tadashi's friends are worried sick about the two of them, but they're doing well and Baymax has been around to stop any major disasters from happening, so they keep going.

But tonight, Tadashi is adamant; they need sleep if either of them hopes to calibrate the neurocranial transmitter correctly tomorrow. Tadashi is always right, of course – the older sibling usually is, in every family – but the feeling of dread digging into his guts makes it hard for him to even try and eat anything at dinner.

Aunt Cass shoots a look at Tadashi's half-finished plate and the barely touched pile of wings in front of the younger Hamada, before inhaling sharply through her nose and excusing them both from the table (neither of them know she knows; she'd been sitting outside of the bathroom with tears streaming down her face listening to her two boys cry for the first time in years).

He trudges reluctantly up the stairs, Tadashi right behind him. They both change for bed and he spends about five minutes staring at his bed in apprehensive silence, as if it is a wild animal that will attack him at any moment.

"You can sleep with me if you want," Tadashi offers quietly from his side of the room, and the younger spins around and stares at him as he'd never seen him before.

"We haven't done that since I was ten," he says, and it isn't exactly a protest.

Tadashi rolls his eyes, attempting to smile sarcastically as if these were the old times. "Don't be such a baby and get over here," he sighs in mock exasperation, lifting the covers for him to crawl in.

He walks over slowly, worrying his lip between his teeth. "… I might throw up on you," he points out reluctantly, hoping against hope that this isn't an offer made in jest.

The look Tadashi gives him is flat and unamused, and he should have known his brother would never offer such a thing as a joke, so he stops resisting and slips in beside Tadashi, feeling about ten times smaller than he really is because this is more familiar and relaxing than his own bed had ever been, and he barely resists snuggling closer to his brother like a puppy.

Tadashi raises an eyebrow at him, lips quirking upward in a fond smile with only a hint of sadness at the edges before the lights go out and a whispered "Good night" is the last thing either of them hears.

The dream isn't here.

He'd been expecting yellow and orange and red and white and the loss of the one thing on this earth he knew better than his own two hands, but instead there is cool night air and muted greens and blues as he saunters up beside Tadashi's relaxing silhouette.

"-I should be proud of myself for finally using my gift for something important!" he says, voice much lower than normal in a poor attempt at imitating the elder's voice.

"No, no, I was just going to tell you your fly was down during the whole show," Tadashi snarks right back with the calm level-headedness of a true pro.

"Ha, ha, you're hilarious," he responds, before looking down cautiously only to find the words true. "What?!" he punches Tadashi in the arm, which only serves to make him chuckle with a shrug.

The normality of the situation makes him feel inwardly dizzy; this could be one of their everyday conversations (back before the dreams started) with their usual banter and mock punching and goofing off, and he doesn't feel at all wrong when he says, "Thanks for not giving up on me."

And Tadashi just gives him a look he recognizes immediately, filled with such fierce love-pride-joy-happiness that it nearly takes his breath away, because his brother has looked at him like that a thousand times before but he never saw it for what it truly was until now.

He wakes up with the by-now familiar feeling of tears drying on his face, but for the first time since these dreams started he's smiling, and there are arms wrapped around him and a chest pressed against his back. He doesn't even have to look to know it is Tadashi, cuddling him like he did when they were younger, and his smile only grows into a grateful grin as he lowers his head back to the pillow, allowing his eyes to drift shut again.

Twenty-five nights, the showcase is five days away, they've finished the microbots with plenty of time to spare, and sleeping in Tadashi's bed is a new part of their shared routine, but he can't bring himself to be embarrassed and Tadashi is only too happy to let him in so long as it keeps his otouto from having traumatic nightmares.

He's lying with his head using Tadashi's arm as a pillow, staring at the ceiling as the elder Hamada reaches for the light switch once again when he asks, "You're not curious?"

Tadashi pauses in the action, looking down at his younger brother in silent question.

"About my nightmares," he clarifies, "You haven't asked about them."

The older sibling closes his eyes, deeply inhaling and exhaling through his nose, as if gathering strength for this conversation (which is kind of ridiculous; Hiro is the one suffering through them, not Tadashi. he shouldn't be so dramatic about it). When he looks back down at him, though, there is something like pain and frustrated anger burning in them, strong enough to make the younger gasp softly.

"Hiro, I'm damn curious about them," he admits, allowing his free hand to swipe at the light switch, throwing them into darkness and allowing him to lie down normally, "But I'm not going to make you tell me if you don't want to. If you never have to relive something that makes you scared enough to throw up again, it'll be too soon. I'm here to talk if you want to, but until that time comes you don't have to say a word on the subject."

He bites his lip a bit, torn between guilt at leaving his nii-san in the dark on the subject and relief at not having to remember the worst visions of his life.

In the end, he just sighs quietly and pulls the blanket up to his chin, closing his eyes against the faded light coming through the blinds and the glaring red letters of the clock on the bedside table.

When he (apparently) opens them again, it is to find himself sitting on a hard, uncomfortable chair with unfamiliar hands touching him. He wants to push them away and look around, try to figure out what's happening, but his mind is strangely lethargic and his limbs don't even twitch.

The hands continue tightening a crisp white bandage around his head, and he recognizes Aunt Cass' tear-choked voice asking if he was okay as if from far away.

"The concussion is a minor one; he should be all right within a few days," a voice he doesn't even begin to recognize says, and Aunt Cass thanks the unseen man profusely, still sounding ready to dissolve into sobs any second now.

"Aunt Cass?" he somehow manages to make himself say; his tongue feels like lead in his mouth, scratching against dry sandpaper walls.

"Sweetie!" she exclaims, and suddenly her tear-soaked face is in front of him and she's smiling tremulously at him. "Thank God you're okay! The doctor said if you'd hit the concrete from any other angle-!" She breaks off, just pressing a hand to her mouth to futilely stifle the cry that bubbles out of her.

"…Where's Tadashi?" he asks, and all sound and movement ceases; even the hands finishing the bandaging pause in their task.

Cass shakes even harder, not even bothering to stop the sobs as they leave her chest and she pulls him into a tight, bone-crushing hug despite the gasp of protest coming from whoever was putting the bandages on.

"Hiro Hamada?" the tired voice he doesn't recognize says, and his eyes drift up numbly to see a doctor in a white coat rubbing at his eyes sitting nearby. "There was an explosion at the showcase hall, son. You fell and hit your head; you might have a bit of a memory problem-"

"Where's Tadashi?" he asks again, and Cass just gasps even louder and his heart is beating faster and he can't breathe because he knows the answer but no that can't be right we were just together not even two minutes ago

The doctor says something, probably trying to break it to him as gently as possible, but he doesn't hear a word because no this isn't right Tadashi is fine this is just a nightmare this can't be real it can't be IT CAN'T BE

And he screams so loudly he probably would have shattered glass if he had a high enough voice and the training necessary.

His limbs attempt to thrash out, but arms are constricting his movements, grabbing hold of him and keeping his frantic kicking and punching contained to as small an area as possible.

He tries to jerk away, to escape, to retreat to some small corner far away from here where he can curl up and die in peace, and he screams even louder, because no this can't be reality Tadashi isn't dead WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!

"HIRO!" a familiar voice shouts, and suddenly everything freezes; his arms and legs lock in place, the screaming dies in his throat and all of the air in his lungs leaves him because hearing that voice again is a thousand times better and yet a thousand times worse than receiving a punch to the stomach.

His eyes finally fly open, and the blurry faces of a terrified Tadashi and half-hysterical Aunt Cass come into focus above him.

He stares up at them uncomprehendingly for nearly half a minute, dumbfounded, before Tadashi is sitting up with him in his lap and Cass has climbed into the bed with them, pulling both brothers into her arms, shaking and crying just as she had been in the nightmare, but this is better because Tadashi is still here

And he just wraps both arms around his brother's neck and buries his face in his shoulder, not at all bothered by the fact he probably looked like a five year old, because Tadashi is here and that's all that matters at this moment.

Explanations and worrying and even more tears can come later; he's going to enjoy this as long as it lasts.

"We're not going."

Night thirty. The showcase is tomorrow, and he is currently sitting on his bed with arms crossed and the darkest glare he can muster on his face, staring at the defeated expression on Tadashi's face and resisting the urge to just rush up and hug him because he feels bad about this, he really does, but ever since the huge cry-fest the entire Hamada family had shared five days ago in this very room, he has resolved himself to this one act: he will not be going to the showcase tomorrow, and neither will Tadashi, and that was final.

"Hiro-" his brother tries again, sounding disappointed, but he cuts him off quickly (disappointment; that really is the only thing he can make Tadashi feel).

"I know they're 'just dreams', but if you felt like there was even the slightest chance that I would get hurt at the showcase tomorrow, would you let me go?"

He's got him there, and Tadashi just grits his teeth, unable to refute the truth in his otouto's words.

He allows his hard expression to fade, lets a smile form on his face despite the burning pain he still feels in his heart (giving up is not his style; he doesn't like it, but if it keeps Tadashi away from the showcase hall…). "I can try again next year. Please, Tadashi? I know you don't believe me; hell, I don't even believe me-"

But he can't finish because Tadashi is suddenly beside him, yanking him into another bone-crushing hug (there have been a lot of those lately, far more than usual; he can't say he dislikes it). "No swearing," he admonishes him lightly, though there's a trembling in his tone that suggests he's not holding onto his composure properly, "And… I don't understand any of this. Not at all. But if you really don't want to go this year, I think I can live with that."

And the younger of the duo can feel tears stinging his eyes again, and he just hugs his nii-san back, because he gets to save him this time (he doesn't know that in a million million other worlds he didn't get this chance) and the euphoric feeling flooding through him threatens to make him just float away then and there even as the crushing grief his nightmares had instilled in him keeps him grounded.

There are no nightmares that night.

All is right in his world.

A/N: I needed a happy ending after all that angst. D': It took me five hours to write this up completely because I kept having to take breaks and cry. I hope you enjoyed; please leave a review or a favorite if you did!
~Persephone