So, this ended up way longer than it needed to be. At least it's on time...?

Response to ChlomeTov's Review: Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I've actually been informed before that I have a bit of a "detail" problem in my writing (read: I put in way too many), so it's nice to know you liked them in the first half.

Summary: In which Hiro's life isn't his own and Tadashi gets caught in the crossfire. AU, mild non-related Hidashi.

Rating: M for violence, sexual themes/violence, and possible triggers.

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Hero 6. I do, however, own all 5 of the original comics, several pieces of movie memorabilia, and the plot.

Happy reading~

Captivity: Day 0

"Can I try? I have a robot. I built it myself."

Hiro tensed his shoulders as the crowd laughed, an innocent smile stretched across his lips. He hugged his jacket a little closer to himself for added effect as the man in front of him snickered joylessly, his multitude of chins jiggling as he bounded a little closer, those beady black eyes of his staring right at him.

"Beat it, kid. House rules," the mediator spat, all thin bones and sharp features, with an eye patch covering one of her eyes and chopsticks sticking out of her inky black hair. Her mouth was small, but her words were piercing, "You gotta pay to play."

"Oh," he mumbled, big brown eyes wide as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a crumpled stack of bills and watched with a strange sense of satisfaction as her visible eye widened. He was prepared for this; he knew the rules. "Is this enough," he asked as he held the bundle out to her.

The man with the bulking frame stopped his snickering. "What's your name, little boy," he probed, leaning forward, his blue coat straining against his figure.

"Hiro," he responded, with a little lilt at the end, the kind that made everyone think he was just as inexperienced as his age portrayed him as— little do they know. "Hiro Takachiho."

"Prepare your bot, zero," the man chortled, throwing a stack of bills into the mediator's clay pot and taking his seat in the ring, causing a hefty shake in the warehouse's old flooring.

Hiro assumed that was permission for him to enter, so he took a step forward, placing his own carefully arranged bills into the mediator's awaiting container. She snapped it closed just as his fingers moved away, the lid almost crushing them.

And then, he did as he always did, placing his childish-looking robot into the ring and plopping down on the worn wood. The man cracked his neck and Hiro copied him, exaggerating his movements with wide brown eyes and boney elbows. Normally, he hated his child-like features, his big almond-shaped eyes and his skinny frame, but here, surrounded by adults with broad shoulders and mature gazes, he was golden.

His appearance only worked for him in situations like this.

The mediator stepped forward, placing an outstretched red and black striped parasol in between them. "Two bots enter," she rumbled, "one bot leaves. Fighters ready?"

He leaned over on his palm, the edge of his sleeve catching under his hand, sneaking a peak at the man on the other side of the parasol. He was smirking, those beady black eyes of his focused only on his controller.

This is going to be fun, he thought.

"Fight!"

And all at once, the parasol was removed, their bots moving forward. Hiro lightly thumbed at his controller, watching with less than innocent satisfaction as his robot wobbled toward the center of the makeshift ring, only to be devoured by the saws of the man's much larger robot. It was a quick battle; one that ended with his bot in pieces in between them and the crowd laughing in abundance.

"That was my first fight," he exclaimed, pushing forward on his hands and knees with wide eyes. "Can I try again?"

"No one likes a sore loser, little boy," the man sneered, snatching his winnings from the mediator's clay pot with a gruff laugh. "Go home."

"I've got more money," he tried, pulling a more carefully rolled stack of bills out of his jacket pocket. And that seemed to get his attention, beady black eyes turning back toward him, all slack jawed and expectant. Hiro played it up with a little quirk of his lips, a little widening of his eyes as he shrugged his shoulders.

The man smiled— and Hiro knew he had him. Hook, line, and sinker.

They each placed more money inside the mediator's container and began again, taking their seats as the sharp-tongued woman before them placed her parasol in between them for the second time that night. "Fighter's ready? Fight!"

The man's bot moved forward again, and Hiro could only smile as his robot reassembled itself, smirking as he stretched out the controller in his hand to reveal the actual controls, the commands that he'd spent months perfecting down to every last detail. "Megabot," he called, voice darkening, "destroy."

The robot heeded his order, its childish features morphing into something far more sinister. And Hiro didn't even have to look to know that the man in front of him was thrown for a loop— he could just imagine the confused look on his face as his tiny robot zoomed forward and began to dismantle his own, his fingers flicking over the controls in practiced motions. His features lost their innocent edge; he was already thoroughly bored.

But that was okay, because the match was already over, his little robot reverting to its childish face, like nothing had ever happened.

And Hiro couldn't even describe the satisfaction beating at his chest when he saw the dumbstruck expression on the man's face, his robot torn to pieces. He wanted to smile, but he had a façade to uphold.*

So, he stood slowly, still smiling innocently as he made his way to the mediator. She opened her container for him and let him stuff the bills into his pockets, her cherry red lips set in a thin line as she watched him. Hiro knew she wouldn't stop him, though; she was the mediator. She got paid no matter who won. The problem was the hulking man on the floor who was just beginning to realize that he'd been hustled.

"You little cheat," the man exclaimed, just as Hiro was making his way toward the door, his pockets sufficiently lined.

Hiro turned back toward him, backing away slowly with his hands held in front of him, palms out in surrender. He tried to smile without smirking as he made his way to the door and the awaiting alley. "It must have been beginner's luck. Really!"

The man wasn't buying it, his features darkening, those beady black eyes glaring into him. "No one hustles Yama," he said.

And Hiro could feel his throat beginning to tighten, adrenaline making its way through his veins. He felt his back hit the warehouse door and he slowly turned the knob. Yama, as the man called himself, was standing now and— Hiro knew all about this part of bot fighting as well. He knew all about the grudges and the fights that took place in the backs of alleyways.

But, that wasn't something that happened to him; he always got away.

He made a break for it, scrambling out the door and into the cold night air of San Fransokyo. It was snowing and Hiro could feel his legs freezing in his rumpled shorts, but he didn't bother trying to stop or zip up his jacket. He just ran down the alley and into the street, his trainers squeaking beneath him, sliding on the slush-covered asphalt. He could hear people coming up behind him— more than just Yama; what a sore loser— but he didn't look back.

He knew that would be a mistake.

He ran until his lungs gave out on him, until his side was on fire and his eyes had black spots dancing in front of them. Cautiously, he hid himself behind a dumpster, sinking to the sticky ground with a light plop. Hiro discreetly tilted his head back, steadying his breathing. He couldn't hear anything outside the blood pounding in his ears. There was no one there; he had outrun them. Just like he always did.

He smirked at the thought, crossing his legs and pulling the wads of cash out of his pockets. He straightened the money between his hands, ignoring the sting in his fingers at the biting cold as he counted his prize. Hiro smiled once he was done, zipping up his jacket with freezing fingers, cool puffs of air escaping his lips as he breathed.

He had just enough now.

He'd been saving for weeks, and he finally had enough money to pay for his Aunt Cass to go on a cruise for the holidays while the café was shutdown. She was always working for the two of them and this was going to be her Christmas present from him this year— two weeks without aprons and doughnuts and stress. It was the least he could do for her after everything she'd done for him. And his fingers were jittery just thinking about giving the tickets to her. She'd love them.

She just wasn't allowed to know where the money came from.

Smiling at the thought, he peeked his head around the dumpster, standing when he didn't see anyone. Shivering, he shifted his weight back and forth, his ankles creaking against his shoes, his shorts swaying in the frigid wind. He kind of wish he'd left them behind tonight. They made him look younger, but he could feel the chill creeping up his legs. He would be sick tomorrow, if he wasn't careful.

But that was fine, because this was going to be his last foray into bot fighting for the time being. Right now, he just wanted to go home and lounge away the holidays, maybe play some video games or upgrade Megabot; he might even help out in the café if he felt up to it. That'd make Aunt Cass happy, he thought, smiling to himself. She'd probably make him some of her specialty hot wings as a treat if he did— and wasn't that reason enough to do anything she wanted?

Lost in thought, Hiro trudged toward the mouth of the alley— and was promptly thrown against the asphalt, a baseball bat colliding with his stomach just as his trainers tapped the street. He fell backward, the back of his head hitting the concrete even as he tried to guard himself, hands clutching at his stomach as his lungs began to constrict, adrenaline seeping into his veins.

Black and white spots danced in front of his eyes as he moaned, coughing, frozen fingers twisting in the fabric of his jacket, jittery and unsure. Because this had never happened before. He always got away. No one ever caught him; no one ever touched him.

And there was so much panic building in his chest, he couldn't remember how to breathe.

Calloused hands grabbed his arm, dragging him upright and pressing him against the wall. Nausea built up in his gut; the world spun before his eyes. And everything hurt. "This the kid, boss?"

Hiro blinked, trying to make his eyes focus. There was a man in front of him, with a red shirt and a goatee, a beanie on his head. He didn't recognize him— and he really didn't understand why he was holding him so tightly against the wall. Or why he was just a fuzzy outline in front of his eyes.

His head hurt. There was something wrong with it.

"That's him." And then, there was a bulky frame leaning over him, his stale breath tickling his nose. Hiro groaned, knitting his brows, trying to focus; he recognized that voice. "Have you had a nice night, little boy?"

Hiro whimpered before he could stop himself, a shiver running down his spine; he knew it wasn't from the frozen wall behind him. Yama, his brain supplied, he didn't like losing. "I— if this is about the money, you— you can take it. Take all of it," he breathed, dread steadily rising in his chest when Yama just smirked at him, his meaty hands sliding into his pockets in a way that was almost predatory, his thick fingers pressing against his skin through his clothes for just a moment too long.

"I'll be doing that," he said, pulling out the bundled paper bills and fanning them in front of Hiro's buttoned nose, "but I want to know where you really got that bot of yours. I could make quite a bit of money with that. Far more than this." Yama flicked the money to the side, black eyes crinkling in satisfaction as Hiro watched the bills sink into a wet puddle of slush left by the snow. "Now, be a good boy and tell me where you bought it," Yama cooed.

"I told you," Hiro tried, swallowing, attempting to breathe through his nose, to stop the bile rising in his throat because his stomach hurt and there was something wrong with his head— and this had never happened before. "I— I made it."

Yama looked unimpressed, grabbing the baseball bat from another man at the mouth of the alley that Hiro couldn't quite see, twirling it around in his hands. "I could believe you," he stated with a little entirely contrived pout, "but I just don't."

He swung the bat forward, right into his knees. There was a sickening crunch, but calloused hands were stuffed into Hiro's mouth, keeping him from screaming as he doubled over, only barely held up by the man in front of him.

Yama laughed, his men following along as he bent down to Hiro's level, bushy black eyebrows raised. "Would you like to try again," he asked in a coddling tone.

And Hiro could feel himself shake his head, tears running down his cheeks, black and white spots dancing a little more now. He couldn't focus. Everything hurt. His head, his stomach, his knees— and there was blood coming from somewhere because he could feel it dribbling down his neck and—

He was going to die here.

He could feel the panic pooling in his chest at the thought, his heart hammering in denial. No, no, no— there had to be some way out of this. But his legs hurt so much— and everything was so unfocused now. He couldn't follow anything for very long and it didn't even matter, because everything was moving so fast and if only he could get up and get away, he could run home, to Aunt Cass or the police— someone, anyone.

"I asked you a question," rough hands grabbed his hair, pulling him up and slamming the back of his head against the wall behind him. Nothing made sense anymore— he always got away. Always, "and I expect it to be answered."

Yama let Hiro crumple to the ground in a heap, arms circling his stomach as he fell into the slush, the muck beneath him soaking through his clothes. "I… I made it," he tried again, voice weak and wobbly, fingers tightening their grip around his jacket, spots tainting the edge of his vision. "It's magnetic— magnetic bearing servos," he mumbled, mostly to himself, but Yama leaned over him, meaty hands squeezing his bruised knee caps.

Hiro hissed, Yama's hand coming up to lift his chin. "Isn't that interesting," Yama coddled, brushing his fingers against his cheek— please stop, please stop, please, please stop— and breathing against his nose. "So, it looks like little Hiro knows how to make bots. And very good ones at that— I think I want one."

He coughed, horrified by the blood pooling beneath his head, his eyes widening as he attempted to lift himself up, but Yama's hand was still at his face and— he couldn't breathe. He just couldn't breathe. "Take it," he pleaded, hands moving, fumbling to try to get the controller out of his pocket. "I don't— I don't need it. Just… just let me go." And he just wanted to go home.

Black eyes bore into him, a sneer pulling at pale lips. "I told you," he cooed. "No one hustles Yama."

Captivity: Day 33

"Wha.."

Tadashi smiled at the voice, turning away from the tally mark he had half managed to scrape into the wall with his fingernail. Hiro was leaning on his elbows, groaning as he tried to lift himself up. He blushed despite himself when he noticed that the baby blue sheets were beginning to slide down the boy's back, revealing his sickly pale skin and the tiny indentations in his spine. He'd covered him up immediately after the shower, partially to keep him from catching a cold and partly to keep himself from looking at him for an indecent amount of time.

Hiro deserved his privacy.

"Good morning," he called quietly, standing up slowly. "How are you feeling?"

Big brown eyes blinked at him wearily, calloused fingers reaching up to rub the crust out of them even as Hiro fell back to the bed, his face hitting the pillow with a small woosh. He groaned again, eyes narrowing as he sluggishly rolled to face him fully. And then, he must have realized that he was naked, because he was grabbing the blankets and pulling them up a little higher, a ruby red blush running up his neck and coloring his cheeks.

"I— I," he tried, locking his jaw, his tongue swirling around behind his cheeks— probably cottonmouth from the drugs— and poking out against his skin. He looked thoroughly confused, his brows knitted, his knees scrambling closer to his chest, his hands gripping the blankets. He opened his mouth again, but then snapped it closed, shaking his head. "What happened," he finally asked with a breathy whisper, one of his hands coming up to shakily run through his hair, his chest rising and falling abnormally fast.

Tadashi just smiled at him, taking a step closer to the bed and cautiously allowing himself to sink onto the surface in front of Hiro, his weight dipping into it and pulling them slightly closer together. "Do you remember anything," he whispered.

Hiro shook his head, letting out a miserable little moan, calloused fingers gripping his hair, "No."

And Tadashi let out the breath he didn't know he was holding, sighing in pure relief. Carefully, he placed his hand on Hiro's ankle through the blanket. He blinked at him, all doe brown eyes and panicked breaths— and as much as he hated to admit it, Tadashi had been hoping for this. He hadn't wanted Hiro to remember anything.

Really, it was better this way. He could handle this.

"That's okay," he soothed, rubbing his fingers against the younger boy's ankle, the sheets bunching beneath his palm. "Yama brought you back last night. You were dirty, so I gave you a shower and put you to bed." He didn't even think about mentioning the way he had to carry Hiro's naked body against him or the way Hiro had curled around him at the bottom of the shower, all lanky frame and scruffy black hair.

But it didn't seem to matter, because Hiro was hiding his face in his knees, his arms curling around himself. Tadashi could see the tips of his ears; they were painted red. Patiently, he watched as the boy's breathing began to even out, his fingers tightly wound in his hair, tightening and loosening their hold at random intervals. "I'm sorry," he finally panted into his knees, long after Tadashi had given up on him responding. "You should've— you should've just left me in the corner or something… I— I would have taken care of it when I woke up."

Tadashi blanched, russet eyes staring at him incredulously. Leave him? In the corner? There was no way he would have ever done that. Even if Yama hadn't been so insistent that he take care of him, he would have done exactly the same thing. He wouldn't have let him wake up like that— Is that what he's used to, he thought, his heart sinking down into his gut. Was it normal for him to wake up like— like that, all beat up and covered in whatever that was— don't think about it— without a clue as to what had happened?

God, he was going to be sick.

He shook his head at himself, swallowing thickly. No. He couldn't react like that right now. He couldn't get sick or be upset. He had to comfort Hiro. This was his job; this was why he was here.

I can do this, I can do this, I can do this, he chanted to himself as he leaned forward, carefully pulling Hiro's hands away from his hair and lifting his face to look at him. His cheeks were still red and his bottom lip was pulled firmly between his teeth, but he looked okay, those pretty brown orbs of his glassy but focused. Tadashi tried to keep smiling. "I would never do that," he assured; Hiro glanced away from him, his buttoned nose scrunched. He looked like he was trying not to cry. "Besides, this is why I'm here. To take care of you."

He let him go then, watching as Hiro burrowed back into his knees, hugging himself at his stomach. And Tadashi didn't know what else he could do, so he just ruffled his hair and tugged the blankets a little closer to him, because that's what his mother always did for him when he was sick or upset and it always seemed to work. Except it didn't this time, because Hiro's shoulders were starting to shake and— what was he supposed to do now?

He didn't know. He never knew.

Hesitating, he touched his shoulder, and Hiro seemed to freeze, tensing and going still. Tadashi leaned forward, brushing his hand through his hair. "I'm going to go get you some water, okay? And then I want you to eat something. They brought lunch in a little while ago."

Hiro nodded and Tadashi hated himself as he walked into the bathroom, filling up the plastic cup by the sink with water from the facet. He didn't know how to deal with tears or the emotional hurt, so he just ignored it, opting for the easier route of dealing with his physical well-being. And that was good because Hiro did need to drink something and put some food in his stomach, but that wasn't the bigger issue here and— god, they couldn't have picked a worse person for this.

When he got back into the room, cup filled to the brim in his hand, Hiro looked a little more composed, sitting upright with the blankets held up to his shoulders, but leaning back against the headboard. His eyes were wide and a little red-rimmed; it looked like he tried to smile at him when he came into view. And Tadashi's heart ached, because he was trying so hard to seem normal— but he looked so, so tired.

Swallowing passed the lump in his throat, Tadashi sat back down on the edge of the bed, holding out the glass of water like some sort of peace offering. Hiro took it with shaking hands, cupping it between his palms and rubbing his fingertips along the cool plastic. He brought it to his lips and slowly drank it, big brown eyes closing as he let out a little moan. And Tadashi couldn't stop himself from watching in fascination as his throat bobbed up and down with each swallow.

He smiled genuinely when he was done, taking the empty glass back and shuffling it from one hand to the other. "Do you want some more," he asked.

Hiro shook his head, putting more of his weight against the headboard, fingers knotting in the blankets. "Thank you."

Tadashi ruffled his hair, ignoring the way he flinched beneath his fingers. "Of course. Would you like an apple now?" Soup would be better, something warm with a lot of broth, but he'd asked the burly man who brought their lunch for it and received nothing but a glare in reply. Apples would have to do for now.

"No. I— I really don't think I can eat anything," Hiro whispered, skinny shoulders shrugging at him guiltily.

And that really wasn't what Tadashi wanted to hear because if he had him eating and drinking, he would at least be able to tell himself that he'd done something, but that was stupid and he was selfish for thinking that way. Hiro was the one getting hurt here. Tadashi was really just an insurance policy with the added benefit of healthcare. He never left the room— and the people here never bothered him.

He was just… here. And god, he just wanted to do something.

"Okay," he finally said, gently squeezing Hiro's knee and reaching down to place the cup on the floor.

Hiro blinked at him when he righted himself again, doe brown eyes staring at him as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. "I…," he trailed, looking away and then back again, a blush settling across his cheeks. He looked uncomfortable, squirming this way and that beneath the blankets. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did," Tadashi shot back, almost on instinct, smiling sympathetically as the blush painting Hiro's cheeks deepened, as he pulled his knees in a little tighter, "but of course you can. You can ask me anything you want." He tried to sound reassuring. Hiro seldom started conversations and Tadashi was more than delighted to see him do so.

Maybe he hadn't completely messed up yet.

Or maybe he had and Hiro was just a lot more resilient than the average person.

"What's your family like," Hiro whispered, looking away. And Tadashi just smiled at the charming gap between his teeth, at the way he squirmed under his gaze. He could answer this question. That was something he could do.

"Wonderful," he breathed, scooting a little closer. "They were, anyway."

"I'm sorry," Hiro blurted out at the past tense, covering his mouth. "I didn't mean to—"

Tadashi cut him off with a shake of his head, moving his hands away from his mouth before he could start panicking again— because that never got them anywhere. "Don't worry about it. They died in a car wreck a couple of years ago. It was a freak accident; it doesn't even bother me anymore," he soothed, carefully reaching up to run his hands through Hiro's hair. "But they were amazing while they were alive. Really. They were the best parents I could have ever asked for. I'm glad they were around for as long as they were."

Hiro's blinked at him then, his fingers wiggling nervously in his lap, eyes lighting up. "How…?"

He grinned at the genuine curiosity in his voice, leaning back against the headboard. "Well, they were just always there. When I was in elementary school, one of them was always waiting at the gate to pick me up when classes were over, even if they were busy. And when I was sick, my mom always stayed home from work and made me soup.

"She'd stay in my room with me all day— and we'd watch one of those awful sci-fi marathons on TV. It was like a tradition, because when my dad would get home, he would always come in and lecture my mom about keeping me up watching movies, but then he'd crawl into bed with us in his suit and start watching too." Tadashi laughed at himself, at the memories dancing around in his head. "I'm sorry. That's probably not a very good answer."

"No," Hiro said hurriedly, shifting around on his palms, leaning a little closer toward him, "That was perfect."

He smiled, tilting his head a bit to the side. "What about you," he asked. "What are your parents like?" And he was honestly curious. Hiro never opened up about himself. When they talked, it was more about Tadashi's life on the outside, not Hiro's.

But that was probably the wrong thing to say, because Hiro was tensing up beside him, his lips pulled in a tight line. He squirmed against the headboard.

"I'm sorry. If you're not comfortable telling me, you don't have to," Tadashi soothed, cautiously placing his hand on his knee and running it back and forth up and down his leg.

Hiro looked at the hand and then at his face. He didn't tense or move away. Instead, he did something that Tadashi really wasn't expecting— he pressed his shoulder up against him, effectively moving his weight from the headboard to him with a little sigh, his face burning bright red. "Don't be. Don't be sorry," he said. And Tadashi couldn't really see his face with him leaning against his arm, his fluffy black hair blocking his view, but he sounded okay. Okay was good. "I just… don't really have parents," he said at length, glancing up at him through his eyelashes.

Tadashi felt himself swallow, anxiety knotting in his chest. He knew he shouldn't pry because Hiro seemed so easy to break and he didn't know how to put the pieces back together if he made a wrong move— but they were just talking and Hiro didn't seem upset yet. Besides, he wanted to know more about the other boy. He wanted to know how he got here and what he was like on the outside, how he felt about the situation they were in, and how he'd come to the conclusion that killing himself was the only way out.

He wanted to know everything. And Tadashi was surprised by that realization.

"I'm sorry," he said at length. "I didn't know."

Hiro just shrugged against him, looking away. "It's okay. My parents— they didn't want kids. And when I came along, they weren't really prepared for it. I was a difficult baby too. I— I cried a lot and I didn't like to eat or sleep much; I was always sick. And they just didn't know what to do with me, so they… decided to give me away."

His jaw tightened, his arm coming to loop around Hiro's shoulders, pulling him close. Hiro tensed a bit in his hold, but let him keep him there, his knees squirming just slightly beneath the blankets. "That's awful," he said. And he meant it. He couldn't image parents like that, and with the way Hiro talked, he made it sound like it was his fault that his parents didn't want him.

And that just wasn't okay.

But Hiro just dismissed him with a little shake of his head. "It's fine. Really. They left me at my Aunt's café when I was three, with adoption papers and everything. Imagine her surprise when she realized they weren't coming back to get me. She thought she was just babysitting," he laughed a little under his breath, looking up at him through his lashes again. And to Tadashi's disbelief, he didn't look sad at all. In fact, he was smiling at him, his little crooked grin pulling at his cheeks.

"Yeah," Tadashi said, with an upward lilt, unsure of what to say, but happy because Hiro was talking and that didn't happen very often and— this was making him feel better, so he would keep listening until Hiro didn't want to talk anymore. "What's she like? Your aunt?"

"Amazing," he breathed, quirking his mouth a bit to the side. But then his brows furrowed and he corrected himself, "Stressed. I… I stressed her out a lot." And that smile was disappearing now, his shoulders hunching like he was trying to make himself disappear beneath the blankets.

Tadashi ruffled his hair, sitting up a little straighter, disappointment flickering in his chest. He wanted him to smile again. It hardly ever happened— and it was there; he just didn't know how to bring it back. He had to do something, anything. "I bet she misses you," he said without thinking, "even if you did stress her out."

Hiro snorted humorlessly, pulling out of his hold and burrowing back beneath the blankets, his bare shoulder sticking out, his back to him. "I've been here for over two years," he mumbled into the pillow beneath his head. "It's better if she's forgotten about me."

Tadashi felt his heart break.

Waiting: Day 42

"Do you want a ride home?"

GoGo popped her gum, scowling at her bike. She'd messed up one of the wheels again. Distracted, she chastised herself. You're going to fail the semester at this rate. Wasabi cleared his throat behind her, and she could feel her back stiffen, her lips set in a thin line as she grabbed the wheel and chunked it over her shoulder none too gently. She listened for the sound of metal hitting metal, the clanking of the failed wheel joining all the others, and upon hearing it, she turned around. Wasabi was looking at her, all big framed and worried with another one of his ridiculous green sweaters stretched across his chest.

"No," she said, rolling her gum around in the back of her mouth. It was completely flavorless now. "I think I'm going to be here for a while. Midterms are coming up."

Wasabi nodded in understanding, though he didn't look like he really believed her, his dreadlocks shuffling around his neck, his chocolate brown eyes boring into her own. But that was fine. He didn't have to believe her if he didn't want to. "Okay," he finally said. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

She nodded, waving him off as he shouldered his bag and disappeared through the door. Now, it was just her. Just her and all the empty space. Wasabi was headed home, Honey Lemon and Fred were at the basketball game, and Tadashi—

GoGo gritted her teeth, tightening her hands into fists. Stupid Tadashi who was always supposed to be there after her, who stayed in the lab until morning. Stupid Tadashi who was supposed to be bent over his workstation in his private office, ready to whisper goodbye at her back when she finally packed up to leave.

Stupid, stupid, stupid Tadashi who wasn't there like he was supposed to be.

She huffed at herself, glancing at the door to his lab— open just like it was when she had found it over a month ago now— and she could feel her chest tightening, anger pooling beneath her skin for what certainly wasn't the first time. She was furious. Furious at Tadashi for not being there, for his absence that distracted her during her classes and kept her up all night, roaming the city and posting those ridiculous missing person posters that had his face plastered across the front. She was furious at him for not being in the lab when she'd gotten in that faithful day in January, for leaving his stupid hat on his desk and not answering his phone when she'd called and called and called.

And above all of the anger she directed at Tadashi and his absence, there was the anger, the pure fury and hatred that she directed at herself because he was gone and she'd left him. GoGo was the last one in the lab with him that night— just like she always was. She knew he looked tired and preoccupied, but she hadn't waited for him. She hadn't asked if he'd wanted to walk home with her, if he'd wanted to go get a bite to eat or just pack up for the night.

She'd just left like she always did, ignoring the goodbye he'd thrown her way and walking right out the door.

She'd expected him to be there to greet her in the morning. But he wasn't. She'd come into the lab and there was no one around to mumble a good morning at her. His hat was sitting on his desk and his bag was in his chair, like he'd just walked away for a bit, maybe to get a snack from the vending machine down the hall— but he hadn't come back.

And GoGo had waited, because she'd felt like something was wrong. Because Tadashi not being there was not part of their routine and it threw her off. She'd sat at her desk for thirty minutes, an hour, two— and he didn't show up.

After she'd missed her first couple of classes, she'd called the police.

They hadn't wanted to listen to her at first, because Tadashi was an adult who'd just reached drinking age and really, kids like him disappeared for a couple of days all the time. He'll turn up, they had said. But she hadn't backed down. She'd just talked and talked and talked at them. She'd started yelling when they had reassured her that everything was probably fine— because Tadashi not being there was a sign that everything was most definitely not fine— and then Honey Lemon had walked in and stared at her with her pretty green eyes and taken the phone away.

Honey was better at talking to people.

The police showed up about an hour later, but all they'd managed to find was his green jacket in the parking lot on the backside of the campus, near where the food trucks huddled late at night. It was like he'd gone for a bite to eat and just disappeared.

GoGo couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand him not being there, the way the others were worried but still went about their days like they always did. And above all, she couldn't stand how motionless she was. She felt like she was stuck, like she was just standing in place waiting for him with nothing to do until he came back. She searched for him— of course— but nothing she did ever amounted to much and she'd never been so unable to make progress before.

She huffed at herself, banging her fist against her workstation, pushing away from it and taking a step toward Tadashi's lab. She crossed the threshold without hesitation, stomping into the middle of his room before stopping, taking in the way his tools were haphazardly organized, how everything was somehow everywhere and nowhere all at once. It was just how he'd left it.

And she hated it. She hate, hate, hated it!

She kicked his chair with her sneaker in a fit of childish rage, watching with satisfaction as it toppled over, several of the papers perched on his desk flapping down to the floor. And then she just deflated, her shoulders curling inward, her mouth stilling around the ever present bubble gum in her mouth. Now, it wasn't the same as he'd left it— and somehow, that was even worse.

Guilt gnawed at her chest as she carefully picked up his chair, rolling it back to its previous position. She bent down to the ground and shuffled Tadashi's papers into her hands, settling them on her lap.

And Tadashi was smiling at her.

It was an article for the paper— one that ran in the school's monthly newsletter and somehow managed to grace the back of the city-wide newspaper for a day back in January. One of the English students had written it, featuring Tadashi and the robot he was building, but it was horribly inaccurate. The student hadn't really understood everything Tadashi had tried to explain to her about Baymax's features and she'd ended up painting Tadashi as the nurse, instead of Baymax. Tadashi had been so confused when he'd gotten a copy of the article.

GoGo snorted at the thought, shaking her head at the image of Tadashi on the page. It was an awful picture, all grainy and distorted, but Tadashi looked happy in it. And it was kind of nice to see him on something other than his missing poster.

With a little groan, she lifted herself up, meticulously placing the papers back on Tadashi's desk, exactly as they were before. She hated the way it looked, but she would leave it be until Tadashi came back.

She was sure she could convince him to move some things around when the time came.

Now, she thought, looking back at her dismantled bike and her basket of failed wheels, back to the bike.

Captivity: Day 812

Hiro sighed to himself, burying his face into the pillow in front of him, his hair sticking up this way and that, sweat sliding down his brow. He pushed his arms under his chest and lifted, looking at the man beside him— a fair haired man with blue eyes and an arrogant grin— and listening for any signs of movement. The man didn't stir.

He was asleep.

Finally, Hiro thought, shaking his head to himself as he carefully pulled the man's arm away from his waist and slid out of the bed. His knees buckled as soon as he tried to stand, his toes curling in the carpet as he grabbed the edge of the bed in an attempt to keep himself upright. Something began to dribble down his thigh; he didn't bother to look.

Instead, he hobbled over to the corner of the room and allowed himself to sink down onto the floor, his bare back against the wall, his knees pulled to his chest. He felt disgusting— used and abused and above all else, absolutely filthy. And he knew that he was covered in the kind of dirt that a bath wouldn't wash away, that he would always be able to feel this man's touches— and the touches of all the others before him— against his skin.

He would never be able to forget the way they forced his mouth open to kiss him. Or the way they rubbed their hands all along his thighs, the way they grabbed his hips and forced him to just lay there and take it— because he was powerless to stop them and they absolutely knew it. And it was even worse when they made him reciprocate— when they made him touch them and kiss them and—

He squeezed his eyes shut to the point of pain, rubbing his palms against the carpet as if to wipe away the invisible muck that was coating his skin. It didn't really help, but he felt some of the ache in his chest dissipate at the action, at the way his hands were being rubbed raw against the plush fabric. But he stopped as soon as he palms started to sting because he knew that hurting himself wasn't a healthy response to this and last time— The last time he'd hurt himself, he'd gotten Tadashi wrapped up in all of this too.

And he'd learned his lesson the first time.

Shaking, he took a deep breath, opening his stinging eyes as he exhaled. He blinked in an attempt to make his eyes adjust to the light again, the dim fixture above the bed casting a shadowy figure at the wall by the door, a much brighter streak of light stretching across the floor and tickling his ankle. He started, staring at it, curling and uncurling his toes before following the streak with his eyes all the way back to its origin.

The light was coming from in between a set of curtains hanging down from the wall. A window. He was in a room with a window, he realized, his eyes widening as he unconsciously shuffled closer toward it. A window, a window, a window.

He hadn't seen one of those in years.

Anxiously, he glanced at the man on the bed and then at the closed door. The man was still asleep, spread out over the blankets in all his naked glory and the door— Hiro knew it was locked without having to check it. It always was. Someone would come and get him when the sleeping man's time was up and who knew when that would be. It would be smarter for him to just stay put, to stay seated in the corner of the room and wait for someone to bring him a new set of clothes and drag him back to his room.

But it was a window, one that led outside where there was grass and open air and normal people— and he really just wanted to see if it was still the same as he remembered it being. If they were still in San Fransokyo and if the light from the sun still hurt his eyes because it had been such a long time since he'd been able to look up at it and—

He was pulling the curtains back before he realized what he was doing, standing in front of the window with wide brown eyes and a gaping mouth. He tightened his grip around the curtain's smooth fabric at the sight before him, big brown orbs watering in the direct sunlight.

There were skyscrapers everywhere, billboards littering their sides, windows that looked down at the warped streets below. And there were so many people! They were scattered around the sidewalks under the building he was in, wearing colorful coats as they bustled from place to place. They were riding in cars on the road. They were eating at the rooftop café right across from him, with their food steaming on their tables as they ate and chatted with their friends.

And he was absolutely mesmerized by it all, placing one of his hands up to the cool glass and pushing against it. His other hand came up to his chest, and he pressed at the ache that was steadily climbing there, eating at his rib cage, constricting around his lungs.

Seeing it only made him want it more.

He knew that he was never going to be able to leave, that this was just a hopeless little adventure on his part, because nothing would ever come of it, but he couldn't stop himself from pushing his face against the glass, watching in fascination as a pretty woman at the café brought her drink to her lips.

Hiro blinked when she spit it out, dropping her cup back to the table, not seeming to mind that it spilled. He wondered why—

But then she was standing up, leaning over her table with her hair trailing along the spill and she was looking at him.

His breath quickened at the realization, his eyes widening— what was he supposed to do? This had never happened before. No one ever saw him— at least, not anyone that was ever going to help him— and he was just standing there— naked— and oh god, this is mortifying— but she was still staring at him, her mouth hanging open.

And this was his chance. This was his chance to get out of here, to signal her that something was wrong, that he was being held here, that she should call someone to come and get him because he'd been here for such a long time and he just wanted to go home to Aunt Cass and the cat and his—

"If you try to escape again, you won't be getting off with a few bruises. I'll bring you back here— and I'll make you watch me kill him, cutting him into itsy bitsy little pieces."

Hiro stumbled away from the window, forcing the curtain closed as he went, his breath coming in pants at the memory of Yama pointing his gun at Tadashi, at the threat that he knew wasn't empty. And he'd been about to signal her! To try to find a way out— and Tadashi was still in the room and he was going to get him killed with his stupid, reckless, childish desire to go home.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this.

He was an awful, despicable, dirty person— and he was never going to leave this place.

He was never going to get out.

Panicking: Day 1

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

"Okay— okay. This is going to sound completely crazy, but I just saw a boy through a window."

"Ma'am, this line is for emergency calls only. If you'd like to make a complaint about—"

"No, no, no— he was naked and— oh my god— he looked like a teenager. And he was just standing there."

"Ma'am, we do not respond to exhibitionists. If you would like to make a complaint, you'll have to call the po—"

"No! Something was wrong! I promise. He was in the building across from me and he was just standing at the window and please, please— I swear I'm not making this up. You have got to send someone out here."

"Do you have any proof that this boy was in any sort of distress?"

"He was naked!"

"Ma'am, I cannot have a unit respond unless there is a clear sign of distress."

"But— but, there was something wrong! I know it!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you'll have to contact your police agency directly in order to file a compl—"

"I am not filing a complaint!"

"Ma'am, I understand that you're upset, but I am going to have to direct you to another line."

"What other line? I'm telling you that this is an emergency! Something was wrong!"

"Ma'am, please stay on the line while you are transferred."

Captivity: Day 50

Tadashi stared at the sandwich in his hands thoughtfully, his mouth quirking a bit to the side as he shifted it this way and that. Sighing, he pressed his fingertips into the bread, watching in fascination as it tore and dark pink jelly began to ooze out of the newly formed hole.

He had always loved peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; they were easily his favorite kind. As a kid, they had been an essential part of his day. Tadashi used to beg his mother to let him have one for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and while she'd never agreed to his childish demands, she had indulged his love of jelly by buying him a new flavor every other week. And his fondness for them had continued well into adulthood. He always made one for himself for lunch when he had afternoon classes and knew he wouldn't have enough time to grab a bite to eat at the campus's cafeteria. They were the halfway point— the highlight— of his long days toiling away on campus, moving from lecture to lecture.

They had always been his favorite— but he absolutely hated them now.

Scowling at the oozing bread, Tadashi glanced at the tally he'd placed on the wall, quickly counting up the uneven marks that dipped into the first layer of paint. Fifty days. Today was the fiftieth day in a row he had been brought a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. His stomach flipped at the thought, his nose scrunching up in something like disgust as he placed the dilapidated sandwich back onto the metal tray beside its twin and the two apples that Hiro had refused to eat.

He had tried to convince Hiro to eat with him because he'd adamantly refused dinner the night before— that's not healthy; he's already so thin— but he hadn't been particularly enthusiastic in trying to persuade him. Tadashi didn't even want to eat the same thing anymore— how was he supposed to convince Hiro to eat when he'd been stuck with the same meals for over two years? He probably found everything they were served revolting at this point. And Tadashi really couldn't blame him for not wanting to eat.

Except, maybe he could, because it was entirely likely that Hiro's refusal to eat had nothing to do with the taste of the food and everything to do with some type of emotional stress. Not his fault, whatever it is, Tadashi quickly corrected himself. Despite the fact that he really didn't blame Hiro for anything— how could he?— the way he would lock up on him was becoming increasingly frustrating. He just wanted to help and he tried his best to let Hiro know that— that Tadashi was there to listen to him or help him if he was hurting, that they were in this together.

Tadashi scoffed at the thought, shaking his head as he nibbled at his bottom lip. Stupid. God, he was so stupid. They were in this together in the sense that they were being held in the same room by the same people, but their situations were entirely different. He was left to his own devices most of the time. He was given food, access to water, a bed— and he really didn't have to do anything for it. Hiro, on the other hand— he was the real captive in all of this.

Most days, someone would come in the morning to drag Hiro out of the room. Sometimes, he would come back a few hours later in exactly the same condition as he had left. Those were the good times, the times that didn't make Tadashi so angry and so concerned that he was left shaking, trying to plaster a smile on his face in order to provide some since of normalcy. Other times, Hiro would come back with bruises peppered along his neck or his thighs. His clothes, when they were there, would be skewed around his hips and rumpled along his shoulders. And his eyes.

Those were the worst. The way those pretty brown eyes would look away from him and shame would settle on Hiro's cheeks— it made him want to hit something, someone. But the only someone around was Hiro and he certainly wasn't going to take it out on him. It wasn't his fault. None of this was his fault.

Tadashi was just frustrated with his own uselessness.

Russet colored eyes glanced up at the bed, their owner leaning his head back to get a slightly better view from his position on the floor. He sighed at the sight before him, quietly standing up and shuffling over to the bed. Hiro was rocking back and forth on his heels, his arms locked firmly around his knees, his knuckles white. And he'd been that way for hours now.

"Hey," Tadashi whispered as he sat down, the bed dipping just slightly. Hiro continued to rock; he wasn't surprised. He had tried to knock him out of it multiple times already, but nothing he said seemed to work. After the younger boy had returned the night before with panicked eyes and out of control breaths, all he had managed to get him to say was I'm sorry. And he'd said that repeatedly until he'd curled into a ball and started rocking.

This was almost better than listening to him gasping between apologizes. Almost.

"Hey, Hiro," he tried again, voice still quiet as he reached for the other boy's ankle. The rocking stopped abruptly once he made contact, the muscles of his foot tensing beneath his hand, but then it started up again, not seeming to care that his hand was still there and that it was causing Hiro's body to sway slightly to the left instead of straight. Tadashi swallowed the lump in his throat, the concern bubbling in his chest. Hiro needed a doctor, not a robotics student that had no idea what he was doing. "It's just me— Tadashi. You know me…"

Hiro continued to rock, his inky black hair swaying just slightly, his ankles rising and falling as they moved him back and forth.

Tadashi ran his hand through his hair, biting back the miserable little noise that he knew was sure to escape if he didn't keep his throat closed. He didn't need to appear weak right now. He had to get Hiro out of this— whatever it is— and find out what was wrong. Then, he could fix it. Or rationalize it— or something. "Come on, Hiro. I— I know you're in there, okay? I just need you to talk to me."

He held his breath, hope rising in his chest when Hiro's ankles faltered— but it was just a dip in the mattress throwing him off. His motions continued as if nothing had changed— and Tadashi really didn't know what he was supposed to do. He'd tried talking with him several times before, even going so far as to beg him to just say something, to tell him what was wrong, but that hadn't worked. Neither had ruffling his hair or rubbing his back. Tadashi had hoped that he would come out of it on his own after a while, but that possibility was getting slimmer and slimmer with every passing hour and—

Oh god, he was useless.

He'd tried everything he could think of short of physical violence— not going to happen— and nothing seemed to work. Hiro was still moving back and forth against the rumpled sheets, his knuckles white from the force of his grip around his knees. Something was very wrong. And Tadashi couldn't do anything about it.

"Hiro… I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong, okay? And then, no matter what it is, I—I promise—," he cut himself off, listening as a whirling sound seemed to echo through the room, panic sinking deep into his chest. Someone was coming in. They couldn't take Hiro like this. Oh god oh god oh god— what was he going to do?

The door swung open, banging into the wall with unnecessary force as Yama stomped his way into the room, beady eyes tinted with fury, his cheeks reddened with rage. "Where is he," he screeched.

And Tadashi hadn't been expecting that at all, his breath quickening because Yama hardly ever came to their room and he was angry so something was wrong and— Hiro. He was looking for Hiro. Oh god— no, no, no, no— he didn't— he couldn't—

Tadashi jumped in front of the boy, chocolate eyes wide as he put his arms up, palms out in surrender, Hiro rocking incessantly against his back. "He's not— I don't think he—"

Yama shoved him out of the way, meaty hands grabbing his upper arms and literally hurling him from the bed, his body colliding painfully against the couch's edge even as he tried to regain his footing. He watched in horror as Yama grabbed Hiro in much the same way, lifting him— and he certainly wasn't rocking now, his doe brown eyes wide, his mouth open to let out a shriek— and throwing his body even further, his scrawny frame hitting the floor before he was scrambling upright.

Tadashi tried to move forward, but Yama was closer and he was already pulling Hiro up by his arms and forcing him against the wall. "What the hell did you do," the man screamed, shaking him violently.

Tadashi could hear his head banging against the wall, his eyes wide and undeniably terrified, his chest heaving up and down as he tried so hard to breathe. "I— I didn't do anything. I swear! I didn't!"

"I don't believe you!" Yama threw him farther back into the room. And Tadashi barely managed to catch him, arms outstretched as they tumbled to the floor, a sickening crunch echoing against his frame as Hiro's head collided with his collarbone.

Doe brown eyes looked at him for the barest of moments before Tadashi was pushing the boy off of him, kicking his legs against the carpet and forcefully shoving Hiro behind him as Yama came closer. He barely managed to stand before Yama was upon them, pushing him back against the wall and reaching for Hiro again, his face contorted and angry.

But Tadashi wasn't going to let that happen. Because he had no idea what he was doing or what was happening, but he knew that Yama was going to kill Hiro. If he let him touch him again, he wasn't going to make it. And he couldn't let that happen.

Tadashi pulled his arm back and thrust it forward with as much power as he could muster, his fist colliding with Yama's side, managing to knock him back a step or two— just enough for Tadashi to dive at him, arms outstretched in an attempt to hold him in place as they crashed onto the bed.

And then Yama was yelling obscenities at him, arms pulling at his clothes, at him, but he held fast, eyes focused on Hiro, who had somehow managed to wedge himself between the bed and the wall, his chest heaving up and down. That was good. Breathing was good.

"Hiro," he cried, gritting his teeth as Yama managed to roll them, his legs coming up to kick at the man's hulking frame. He caught a glimpse of the hallway beyond the door as they moved along the bed's mattress and his heart leapt into his throat. "Run! The door's open!"

Hiro glanced between him and the door, bringing one of his hands up to pull at his hair, eyes wide and pupils dilated. "I can't leave y—"

"Hiro!" Tadashi cut him off, voice angry and panting from exertion because Yama was heavy and he wasn't going to be able to hold him very long and— he needed Hiro to get out. "Run! Run, now!"

The panic in his voice must have convinced him, because seconds later Hiro was pulling himself away from the wall, jumping onto the bed because that was the only way out of the corner. But it wasn't fast enough because Yama threw Tadashi off, his body thumping against the bathroom door, the back of his head cracking against the wall painfully. Immediately, he could feel blood begin to dribble down his neck, his vision beginning to blacken.

He could only watch in horror as Yama grabbed Hiro's ankle as he tried to cross the bed, his entire body falling forward as Yama yanked on it, sending him careening to the ground with a sickening thud. The scream that followed had Tadashi trying to stand again, his movements unstable as he leaned against the wall.

Yama just laughed, righting himself and advancing forward before grabbing Hiro by his arm and hauling him upright. The boy stopped screaming when Yama shook him— and Tadashi felt himself go pale because his bone was sticking out of his arm and— oh god, oh god, oh god— there was blood cascading onto the carpet. "I thought you'd learned your lesson," Yama sneered, grabbing at Hiro's face with his hand, squeezing his sharp little chin between his fingers, "but you didn't. You never do!"

The meaty hands holding Hiro up pulled away, letting him fall to the ground in a heap. And Tadashi needed to get closer to him because his face was beginning to turn blue like he couldn't breathe and his arm was— there was so much blood. "I told you what would happen if you tried to escape, didn't I," Yama continued, kicking Hiro into the wall with his foot. "But you just didn't listen!"

Yama let out a sigh, like he was lecturing a child as he pulled a knife from his pocket, waving it in front of Hiro's face. The boy's eyes widened, glancing at him and then back at Yama, panic clear in the tenseness of his shoulders, the pull at his cheeks. "No, I— I— please. I swear I didn't— she didn't see— I didn't—," Hiro sobbed, frantically grabbing at Yama's foot with his good hand.

The man just kicked him off, lazily turning toward Tadashi. And Tadashi felt himself stagger as he moved a little closer— because he needed Hiro to run— and Yama focusing his attention on him was the best chance Hiro had at escaping.

But he didn't seem to be taking it because he was just staring in horror as Yama rounded on him, the knife positioned so carefully in his hand. "I told you that I was going to cut him into itsy bitsy pieces, didn't I, Hiro? You know I'm a man of my word."

Tadashi started, his hand bracing his weight against the wall, blood dripping down his neck. He hadn't thought of that— of the threat that Yama had thrown at him over a month ago. The idea of dying here had stopped occurring to him after the first couple of days, but now it was here, staring him in the face. It was all too real.

And somehow, he didn't really care what happened to him because damn it, he was going to do something.

"Hiro," he tried, voice wavering as Yama drew closer. He locked their eyes— doe brown with heavy russet— and took a deep breath. He could do this. He could do this. He could do this. "The door's open. You need to run."

The knife dug into his gut and he doubled over to the sound of Yama's laughter as he hit the ground, his vision swimming. Yama descended upon him, driving the blade into his stomach, watching in fascination as Tadashi began to cough, curling in on himself. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.

He squinted against the pain, sighing in relief at the lone puddle of blood on the floor behind Yama's hulking frame. Hiro wasn't there. That meant he had left. And that was good. That was the best thing he could hope for.

The knife came up to his face then, tapping against his chin. "You know," Yama started, tone somewhere between maniacal and labored, "I had really hoped this little charade would last a little longer. Damn brat brought in more money than I'd ever even dreamed."

Tadashi gritted his teeth, blood boiling in his veins. And he acted on instinct, kicking the man between his legs and rounding on him as he faltered in his movements, the knife going back and forth between them before Tadashi had it in his hand, the blade cutting into his palm as he chunked it under the bed, where neither of them could reach.

Yama let out a roar, pressing against the gaping wounds on Tadashi's stomach, laughing when Tadashi's eyes closed, his body curling in on itself even as he struggled to stay put, to ignore the pain because Hiro was safe for now but he was going to need someone to stop the bleeding at his arm and he— he didn't want to die in this place. Weakly, he pounded against the man's chest, exhaustion working its way into his burning muscles, his throbbing head begging him to stop, stop, stop— just let go.

But then Yama was reaching into his pockets again, this time pulling out the gun he had held to his head so many days ago— and eyes widening, Tadashi used the last of his strength to wrestle it out of his hands, the weapon sliding across the floor before stopping just out of either of their reach.

Tadashi gulped, staring into Yama's beady black eyes before they both made a break for it, crawling over each other, scrambling toward the weapon. And Tadashi could almost grasp it, almost touch the metal handle when Yama began pulling at his waist— and the world started to go black as his wounds were ground into the carpet, as those meaty hands grabbed at him. So close, so close, so close.

Not close enough.

Calloused little fingers swiped the gun from in front of his outstretched hand. The sound of a gunshot echoed against the walls as blood burst from the figure on the floor.

The world stopped spinning.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

And started again.

Searching: Day 1

"We're all clear over— oh, god… We're going to need a medic down here! Hey, hey, what's your name, kid? Can you hear me? Hey, come on, I need—"

"Not me. H—him first. You've got to get him first."

"Kid, kid— you've gotta stop fighting me. You're bleeding. We're going to get you out of here, okay? We're gonna—"

"Him first. Please, please— I— it's my fault. My fault. You have to get him first."

"It's okay, it's okay. The medics are on their way. They'll get him. And I'll get you, okay?"

"No, no, no. You have to get him first. Tadashi first."

"Kid, you need to calm down. See, there they are— the medics are getting him. They've got him. They've got him."

"I'm so sorry— if I— my fault. My fault. My fault. I didn't— I swear I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to."

"Shit— can I get some help over here? Kid, you've got to calm down. Everything's gonna be alright now. Okay? Everything gonna be alright."

Waiting: Day 813

"That's it. I'm replacing you, you old— baah! You're useless!"

Cassandra scowled, her dark green eyes narrowing as she rubbed her newly acquired burn against her apron, her undamaged hand coming up to fiddle with the knobs. Stupid oven. Stupid old oven that took ages to boil water and light years to bake cookies and casserole and pie— and any number of the things that she served downstairs. She'd been meaning to replace the old thing for years now, but she just hadn't gotten around to it before… before Hiro had disappeared. And she hadn't been able to bring herself to do it after he'd left because she'd wanted everything to be the same for him when he came home, because he didn't do well with change and she didn't want to upset him and—

Nope. Not anymore. The stupid old thing had to go.

Hiro probably wouldn't even notice.

She sighed at the thought, quirking her mouth a bit to the side as she glanced at the clock on the wall— the one that Hiro had bought her for her birthday one year when he was little because it was shaped like a cat and Look, look, the tail moves! It was only four o'clock. Four in the morning and here she was, fighting with her oven in an attempt to do some baking hours before she needed to, exhausted because she hadn't had a proper night's sleep in what felt like years now.

Because she had grown used to falling asleep to the pitter-pattering of little feet above her head, to the blaring music that she didn't listen to, to the ridiculous old movies that had laughter ringing through the house at all hours of the night. And none of that was here now. There was no teenage boy running around in his room, playing his music too loudly, or surfing the web for old sci-fi movies because the science is just so bad!

It was just her now. Her and her cat. Her and her empty house.

Cassandra scrunched up her nose, backing away from the oven to run her hands through her hair in frustration. She used to tell him how much she looked forward to him growing up, to having her house back to herself again. It was all in jest, just a joke that had him laughing and sassing back at her with something ridiculous about how much she would miss him because she must have forgotten how to live without him and— god, he was so right. And she just couldn't do this anymore.

She couldn't keep pretending like everything was fine during the day when her employees were bustling around downstairs and her patrons were begging her for her breakfast bread recipe only to have it all crop back up when they'd gone home for the day, when she'd shutdown for the night and realized just how empty everything was. Because she always made too much food for dinner and no one came rushing down the stairs when she called. Because she made comments about this and that and no one ever responded. Because the stupid group therapy sessions that the police officers had recommended hadn't worked and she was falling apart to the sound of silence in her own home.

And it was the little things that always got her. She'd learned to grin and bear the big things— the empty attic space that was just as messy as Hiro had left it, the garage that was half stuffed with tools and robot parts that she'd begged and begged him to clean up. But the little things, like the way the soap sometimes reminded her of the way he smelled right after a shower or the way the doodles she'd found on the wall under the table that must have been over a decade old reminded her of the little boy that didn't know why his mommy and daddy hadn't come back to get him— those were the ones that always got her.

Those were the ones that always had her curled up against the wall in tears for hours, hiccupping and sobbing because her heart was twisted into bits and she didn't know how to fix it. Because she didn't know how to get over the absence of the little boy that used to pull on her apron when he was scared, the teenager that tried making her breakfast for Mother's Day and always ended up burning half of it and barely cooking the other half. She didn't thi—

The sound of glass breaking had her shaking herself out of her reverie, her head twisting to the side to see the bowl of cookie batter that she'd made in pieces on the kitchen floor. Mochi meowed at her innocently before jumping down from the counter with a flick in her stumpy tail, her small pink tongue coming out to slowly begin licking at the fallen batter. Cassandra laughed, cocking her hip to the side.

At least some things never changed.

"You're lucky I like you," she told the Japanese bobtail as she crouched down to the floor, running her fingernails down Mochi's furry back with one hand and gathering the fallen glass with the other. The cat purred at her, but continued licking at the mess stretched across the hardwood.

Carefully, Cassandra lifted the glass into her arms— only big pieces, thankfully, and that was one of her favorite mixing bowls too— and threw it into the trashcan under the sink. She raised one of her thin brown eyebrows at the cat, "You're going to get sick, you know— and don't blame me when we go to the vet next week and they put you on a diet again."

Mochi tilted her head to the side, meowing at her with innocent brown eyes before going back to her treat.

She huffed, crossing her arms with a little shake of her head. "Fine, fine. I warned you. Don't complain wh—," she cut herself off, the sound of the phone ringing causing her brows to furrow and her eyes to redirect themselves back to the clock on the wall. It wasn't even four fifteen yet.

I wonder who that could be, she thought, stepping over her gluttonous cat and making her way into the living room, the TV playing some monster movie in the background. She quirked her mouth to the side, pulling the receiver off the hook and bringing it to her ear. She just hoped none of her employees were calling in sick; that was always a nightmare. "Hello?"

Static buzzed through the line. A middle-aged female's voice came through, "Hello. Is this the Lucky Cat Café?"

"Yes," she answered hesitantly, "but we're not open yet. We open at six."

"This is the San Fransokyo General Hospital," the voice on the other line stated blandly. "We have a patient by the name of Hiro Takachiho that was brought in by emergency services a couple of hours ago. We were given this number to contact his legal guardian."

She felt her blood run cold, the receiver dropping from her hand and crashing to the floor. Hiro, Hiro, Hiro. Mochi bumped against her legs and she felt herself jumpstart, her fingers instantly scrambling for the receiver, her heart hammering in her chest. "That's me, that's me. I'm his guardian," she panted in a rush, her hands shaking, her fingers curling around the telephone resting in her palm.

"He is currently being held in the emergency ward with a compound fracture of his arm and a mild concussion. However, all children below the age of eighteen are required to have a legal guardian present at all times. We—"

Cassandra cut her off, "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

She slammed the receiver back onto its hook, unwinding Mochi from her legs as gently as she could with the adrenaline pulsing through her veins, twisting a knot into her chest. Hiro— he was in the hospital. She was going to see him in the hospital. After over two years of waiting for him to come home, of sitting in her empty house—

He was still alive.

And he was waiting for her now.

She snatched her purse from the coffee table, throwing it over her shoulder and thundering down the stairs, ignoring the way she slipped in the cookie dough on the floor, the way her fingers shook as she tried to lock the door to her living space without shutting her employees out of the café downstairs.

Empty, empty, empty, the house bellowed at her back as she scrambled into her car, her pajama bottoms catching a bit on her slippers as she tried to put the key in the ignition.

"Not anymore," she responded. Not anymore.

Waiting: Day 51

"Tadashi Hamada? He's in room 215— but only relatives are allowed in outside of visiting hours. I'm sorry, but you'll have to come back in a few hours. Visitation starts at eleven."

Wasabi smiled at the receptionist, tightening his fingers around the baseball cap in his hands— because he'd been in the lab when he'd received the call and it only seemed right to grab it on his way out, to return it to its owner; Tadashi loved it. It was the least he could do. "Tadashi," he cleared his throat awkwardly; the receptionist's blue eyes narrowed, "He doesn't have any family. They died a few years ago. I'm his emergency contact now."

The receptionist blinked at him, her bubble gum pink lips shifting into a little 'o' as she switched her gaze to her computer screen, tip-tapping on the keys in front of her as if she was in search of something. Wasabi shifted his weight from one side to the other, his ankles pivoting a bit as he took in the way the early morning light was just beginning to breach the windows, to reflect off the white tiles and blank walls to illuminate the hospital's lobby with the promise of a new day.

"Oh, I see," the receptionist mumbled, eyeing her monitor and then turning back to him with a wide smile. "You should be fine to go see him. You'll just need a visitor's pass." She grabbed a yellow slip off her desk, twirling a black sharpie between her fingers before scribbling his name across the front in big, bubbly letters.

He squirmed a bit as he grabbed it, imagining the germs clinging to its surface as he peeled the sticker off of its cover and carefully placed it over his chest with one hand— keep it straight, keep it straight. The receptionist was looking at him oddly as he finished; Wasabi felt himself blush under the pressure of her stare, fingers tightening uncomfortably against the baseball cap in his hands.

"Thanks," he mumbled as he backed away. He noticed her quirk an eyebrow at him as he turned the corner, but he shook it off, concentrating on the light streaming in through the windows, at the hat in his hand as he made his way to the elevator. He steeled himself when it dinged, the doors sliding open and letting him in, only to deposit him on the second floor moments later.

Wasabi swallowed as he stepped out, hesitant steps pushing him forward until he reached the door to room 215. He stopped in front of it, terror freezing in his veins. Because he didn't know what was beyond the door. He was Tadashi's emergency contact, so he was the one that the hospital staff had called— but they hadn't told him anything. Just that he was in an accident, that there were stitches and head trauma involved.

They hadn't told him where he had been all this time. They hadn't told him if he was the same Tadashi that had left all those days ago.

When he'd received the call, bent over his lasers in the lab at four thirty in the morning because his project was due right now and he wasn't anywhere near done, he had just frozen, listening to the words pressing against his ear through the telephone line. Tadashi was in the hospital, they had said.

And he'd just dropped everything and come running. The others weren't around when the call had come through and he hadn't contacted them yet— too afraid that this was just a false alarm. That the person on the other side of the door wasn't actually Tadashi and that he would be leaving disappointed and heartbroken all over again. Because his best friend was still gone.

He sighed at the thought, shaking his head as if to clear it, his dreadlocks bumping against his neck. His fingers tensed around the baseball cap as his free hand turned the handle on the door, swinging it open gently. And the room was almost eerie in the way that hospital spaces tended to be with the one bed pushed to the side, the early morning light just barely drifting in to make shadows dance across the walls.

But the TV was buzzing on its perch and Tadashi was sitting up and smiling at him, an IV hooked into his arm, all short black hair and chocolate brown eyes, and that was all the encouragement Wasabi needed to waltz into the room, an invisible weight lifting off of his shoulders— because it hadn't been a false alarm, because this was Tadashi and he was back and alive and okay.

He stopped by his bed, hands locked at his sides, his fingers jittering nervously against his dark jeans because the elation pulling at his chest didn't tell him what he was supposed to do next. And for the first time, Wasabi wasn't sure what to do around Tadashi. Their friendship had been quick and easy. They had bonded over robotics and order, over their mutual teachers and love of technology. In just a few short weeks during freshman year, Tadashi had become his rock, his voice of reason in the midst of all the chaos. And he'd been that way even when his parents had died, when his world had started falling apart.

Tadashi was always Tadashi. Strong and reliable— secure and reasonable.

Frail and pale, with thick stubble littering his chin, with dark circles under his eyes and stress lines pulled across his forehead.

At least his smile was the same.

"I brought you this," Wasabi finally said into the silence, holding out his cap like some sort of peace offering, his fingers shaking against its rim.

To his surprise, Tadashi laughed— and the sound was just as full of mirth as he remembered it being. "Thanks," he said, taking the worn hat and flipping it over the bandages on his head, the brim of it covering up the evident stress on his forehead. "I've been missing this. It's been awhile."

Wasabi swallowed, "Yeah. It's been awhile."

And there must have been something in his voice because Tadashi's eyes narrowed just slightly in concern, his fingers tugging a bit at his blankets as he moved to sit up a little straighter. "I bet there's no making up this semester now, huh? I'm definitely going to fail."

His chest tightened around his lungs. "I think— you'll have to make it up over the summer," he pressed his palms into the sheets, "That'll be the only way to get back— back on track."

Silence stretched between them, long and thick. And Wasabi wished that he was someone else, someone braver like GoGo or someone more compassionate like Honey Lemon. Maybe even someone more enthusiastic like Fred— just with a higher standard of personal hygiene and motivation— because he didn't know what he was supposed to do, what he was supposed to say when there were a million thoughts running through his head all at once, but none of them would slow down long enough for him to mold them into words.

But Tadashi did what he always did; he made everything easy and broke the silence all on his own.

With a little sigh, Tadashi stretched against the sheets, wincing only slightly as he threw his legs over the side of the bed. "Can you grab the wheelchair," he asked, tilting his head to indicate the object nestled in the corner.

Wasabi raised an eyebrow, fingers twisting against the hospital mattress. "You shouldn't be getting up. You're hurt."

Tadashi just looked at him with that trademark smile stretched across his lips. "It's fine," he assured him. "I'm fine— really. I was stabbed—" Wasabi sucked in his breath "—but I'm okay. The doctors said they weren't that deep and my head doesn't even hurt with the pain medication and—," he cut himself off, shrugging his shoulders like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Because Tadashi just went with things. He was always quick to worry about someone else, to mother them and coddle them, but whenever it came to him, he always brushed everything off. He was always fine. He was always okay.

He was always Tadashi.

And that was great— most of the time, when he truly was fine and he really had everything under control. But sitting at the edge of the hospital bed with his gown revealing the notches in his spine and the bandages spiraled around his frame, he didn't look fine and he wasn't in control. He looked like he was breaking into pieces, his façade of normalcy just barely held in place.

Gently, Wasabi pressed his shaking fingers against Tadashi's shoulders— has he always been so boney?— and pushed him back onto the bed. Tadashi raised an eyebrow at him, the facial feature disappearing under the brim of his hat as he looked at him in something like amusement— or maybe it was surprise twinkling in his eyes. Wasabi didn't know. "No," he said firmly. "You need to stay in bed. Until you're recovered."

Tadashi lifted himself up, his legs still hanging over the bed, his bare toes just barely touching the cool tile. "Really, Wasabi. I'm fine— I—"

"No," he said again, running his hand through his dreadlocks, willing himself not to panic— because this was his best friend and he wasn't fine like he said he was and Wasabi didn't know what to do about it— and trying to mask the hurt that caused his lungs to constrict and his breath to catch in his throat. Because Tadashi was lying to him and Wasabi was his friend damn it; he deserved more than a lie. "You were stabbed, Tadashi! Do you have any idea how much worse this could have been? You've been gone for nearly two months— and you say you're fine? That everything's okay? No way. I'm not buying it."

And Tadashi's façade seemed to crumble, his face falling, his fingers pulling at the sheets beneath his hands. "I…," he started, opening his mouth and then closing it again, a thick silence passing between them once again.

Wasabi felt himself deflate, his bulky frame caving in on itself as he leaned down, his dark brown orbs taking in the way Tadashi's mouth pressed firmly into a thin line, the way his eyes were looking down at his lap. "What happened over the last two months, Tadashi? Where were you?"

Tadashi sighed, one hand coming up to pull the brim of his cap down over his eyes. "I was in a room," he said at length. "There was a boy there and— he's in the hospital now." Russet brown eyes bore into him, his voice soft like a whisper but steady and urgent, like he was pleading with him, "I've asked the nurses to let me see him or— or tell me how he's doing, but they keep saying they'll find out for me and then they don't come back. And I just—," he made a frustrated noise, "I just want to see if he's okay."

Wasabi swallowed heavily at his tone, at the pleading request in his voice for him to help him find this boy that he'd apparently been with while he was away. Wearily, he glanced at the wheelchair in the corner of the room, biting at his lower lip. He shouldn't help Tadashi leave his room. There was probably a reason the nurses weren't telling him— and what if someone came looking for Tadashi while they were gone? He could have his visitation rights revoked and it was against the rules and— maybe it would help Tadashi truly be fine again.

He sighed at the thought, knowing he was defeated. "Okay," he said— and god, the way Tadashi lit up at him. "Do you know which room he's in?"

"227," he said in a rush, like he was afraid that Wasabi was going to change his mind.

But he didn't. Instead, he grabbed the wheelchair from the corner of the room and stretched it out in front of the bed. He helped Tadashi into it with precise fingers, flinching at the way his best friend winced as he moved. Carefully, they maneuvered the IV stand to the side of the chair, the needle still sticking out of Tadashi's hand, and the two of them made their way out of the room, with Wasabi pushing the wheelchair and Tadashi hanging on to the IV stand as it rolled along beside them.

As soon as they passed the threshold into the hallway, Wasabi expected a nurse to notice them. He expected someone to scold him for taking an obviously sick person away from his room, for breaking hospital rules. But no one did. No one looked at them as he pushed his friend down the hall. No one yelled at him as they passed by closed doors, as they wheeled beyond the glass wall revealing downtown San Fransokyo and slipped down a wide hallway in the corner.

Wasabi slowed as they came to the only open door in the corridor— door 227, where a pretty woman that he vaguely recognized was sobbing into a frail-looking boy's chest as he clutched at her shirt with what looked to be a broken arm.

Big brown eyes glanced at them over the woman's shoulder— and they were red-rimmed and sad, but the boy smiled.

He smiled at them and Tadashi smiled back.

And Wasabi— because he didn't know what to do or what to say— just tightened his hold on the back of the wheelchair and watched the way his best friend's eyes lit up, the way he straightened in his chair and all the stress on his face disappeared.

Because Tadashi was truly fine now.

And maybe his best friend would turn out okay.

Home: Day 18

I can do this.

He tried to smile, blinking at himself in the mirror, his calloused fingers knotting around the fabric of his pullover, a bitter ache running up his right arm from the break that hadn't healed yet and wouldn't for quite some time. His hair was a mess, pushed up this way and that, and his eyes were wide and bloodshot from lack of sleep— because he'd spent the past couple of nights twisting and turning in his bed, unable to close his eyes from either terror or excitement.

He wasn't quite sure which.

But with the way his breath kept catching in his throat and his heart kept hammering away in his chest, he was beginning to think that it was the former of the two, because Tadashi was planning on taking him to his school today— to San Fransokyo Institute of Technology— to see his lab and meet his friends and Hiro didn't know if he could handle it. There would be so many people around and he was awkward at his best in the café and terrified at his worst and— what if they didn't like him?

What if they blamed him for Tadashi disappearing for so long, for him getting hurt? For Yama pushing the knife into his stomach and laughing and— it was his fault. Everything was his fault. If he hadn't tried to kill himself, then Tadashi would have never been brought to the room. If he hadn't looked out the window, Yama would have never gotten mad and Tadashi would have never gotten hurt.

None of this would have ever happened.

He sighed at himself, running his trembling fingers down the side of his face, shaking his head. Tadashi didn't like it when he thought this way. He hadn't accepted his apologies at the hospital— or afterwards, when they were alone in his room and he'd tried so hard to make him understand that he hadn't meant for this to happen, for him to get hurt. But Tadashi hadn't understood— and instead of yelling or cursing or getting angry, he had pulled him against his chest and whispered in his ear.

That none of this was his fault. That he had gotten them out. That Yama's blood staining his hands had saved his life.

And somehow, that had calmed him down and frozen everything else he'd wanted to say in his throat, because Tadashi made him feel safe, like everything was going to be okay, like he was going to be okay.

Hiro bit his bottom lip at the thought, the ghost of a genuine smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Doe brown orbs blinked at his figure in the mirror and he watched himself turn, taking in the oversized blue jacket draped over his shoulders, the gaunt way his skin stretched over his cheekbones, his face only just beginning to regain its rounder form now that he was home and eating again— less than he used to, but his Aunt Cass seemed more than pleased. The dark jeans fastened at his hips were a little baggy, but the hem only just barely touched the ground and the stiff fabric didn't scratch his legs.

He looked normal enough.

Hiro just hoped he could fool everyone else into thinking he actually was.

He scoffed a bit, narrowing his eyes at his reflection— only to jump as a knock echoed against the bathroom door, his aunt's voice instantly calming his nerves. God, he'd missed her. "Tadashi's waiting out back."

"Okay," he replied, his voice a little shaky as he opened the door.

His aunt stood just to the side, smiling at him with her big green eyes, worry lines obvious with the way her mouth curled, the way her nose scrunched just slightly. She gazed at him, taking in the way his hands shook, the way he shuffled uncomfortably in his clothes. "You don't have to go today if— if you don't think you're ready for it," she said quietly. "I'm sure Tadashi would understand if you wanted to put it off for a few more days."

And Hiro knew this was just as hard for her as it was for him. She'd barely let him out of her sight since he'd come back, and having him leave with a boy that she liked but didn't really know probably horrified her. But he couldn't stay locked away inside the café forever. He needed to get out into the world again.

He needed to be normal again.

"No," he shook his head, sucking in a breath, "I need to go today. I— I promised I would."

His tone must have convinced her because a second later he felt her arms around him, her dainty fingers gripping the back of his shirt, the smell of fresh baked pastries tickling his nose. "I know," she mumbled into his ear as she pulled away, those dark green eyes of hers looking right at him. "Just be safe, okay?"

Hiro nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I will."

And then he disappeared down the stairs, his trainers thump, thump, thumping against the wooden floor as he made his way to the second story's side entrance, the one that led to the back of the house and avoided the crowded café. "I can do this," he repeated to himself as he opened the door, the chilly March air filling his lungs, the sun beating brightly against the building's steps as he clamored down to the ground.

Tadashi smiled at him warmly as soon he saw him, his russet eyes lighting up. "Good morning," he called. "Are you ready to go?"

Hiro pushed the toe of his shoe into the ground, watching the dirt come up around it. Breathe, breathe, breathe, he told himself. "Yeah."

And if his voice came out shaky, Tadashi didn't comment on it. Instead, he silently led the way to the crowded sidewalk at the front of the café, where people were bustling this way and that and— he could feel his lungs begin to constrict, his fingers begin to shake because he wasn't very good with people and what if they knew? What if they knew about the unwanted touches and the man he had killed and—

He felt the older boy's fingers interlace with his own, those chocolate colored eyes gazing at him, and all of his thoughts seemed to melt away. Because Tadashi was safe and he could do this.

Carefully, Tadashi pulled him onto the sidewalk by his hand and began to walk, gently tugging him along through the throng of people. Hiro felt himself tense as he was jostled to the side, as the café left his field of vision. He tightened his grip when they turned the corner and again when they crossed the street. But Tadashi just kept moving.

And Hiro kept his eyes focused on their joined hands, on the way his calloused fingers fit so well against Tadashi's own, the older boy's thumb rubbing soothing circles into his skin. He smiled at the older boy's back.

Yeah.

He was going to be just fine.

Author's Notes:

1. The opening scene is a flashback, but it also corresponds with the movie. All of the actions that take place before the star are in the bot fighting scene at the beginning of the movie. However, all of the internal bits were me. Also, Yama's way darker in this than his movie persona.

2. I attempted to add in some character back stories by way of dialogue in section two because they do have them. Unfortunately, I'm awful at dialogue and I did kind of a shitty job of it.

3. I have discovered that I have a habit of repeating words three times.

4. In my head, GoGo would get angry before she would get upset. Also, Tadashi being in the citywide newspaper is what ended up getting him kidnapped. Not that that would ever actually happen because I doubt that Yama reads the newspaper; yay for plot holes?

5. That is the worst 911 operator ever.

6. Wasabi somehow ended up everywhere in this story, when he originally wasn't going to be in it at all. (He's with Honey Lemon in the cafe in the first chapter, with GoGo in this chapter, and then he gets his own scene with Tadashi at the end).

7. And this is the end. I didn't plan for this to turn out nearly as long as it did (the entire thing was actually based around the bathtub scene in the last chapter), but I'm happy I managed to finish it. Hope you enjoyed.

Production: Currently unknown. I'm pretty excited about a new chapter story with these two, but I won't be posting it until I'm nearly done with the writing stages (I haven't even finished planning it yet). Here's to hoping I have something out in the next couple of months.

Reviews are welcomed and responded to. I haven't written anything in a while, so I'd love to hear your thoughts.