Title: Small Blessings

Prompt: Tadashi has a mental breakdown due to stress, and Hiro just wants to help his brother feel better.

Words: 2.2k

Tadashi considers himself to be pretty well put-together. He's good at being patient (and getting better by the day) and long-suffering—two traits that might be the only things that've gotten him this far. Between looking after Hiro and looking after his friends, it would've been impossible not to cultivate them in order to cope. The fact that they come naturally to him anyway is a fortunate coincidence.

But there is a limit to them. He's neared it before, but he's never been quite pushed over the edge.

Not until now.

Things had been piling up recently. He thought he'd be able to handle it all right, as he always managed to handle everything, despite having a heavier load on his shoulders than most people his age. But it seemed as if everything suddenly decided to avalanche at one time. His professors had been piling on the projects and papers as the end of the semester—and finals—drew nearer. He had been doing his best to get a head start on everything; he studied and read over notes and worked on rough drafts while stuck in traffic, waiting for Hiro to be let out of kindergarten, on the bus to work, and anywhere else he found he had a spare minute. It wasn't enough, though. If he hadn't had anything else to worry about, he probably would have barely been on top of everything.

But there is more that he has to worry about. There's always more. There are the bills and the expenses. There's the work that steals hours of his time every day so that he can pay those bills and expenses.

And there's Hiro.

Every time he finds himself regarding his little brother as just another item on his to-do list, he feels his stomach turn nauseatingly. Hiro's not a burden. Tadashi should never feel frustrated about having to care for him. And normally, he doesn't. But there are times, like recently, when he just wants to run far, far away from everything and scream up at the sky and the powers that be that it's not fair. It's not fair that he has to raise a child the age of twenty, on top of being a student and needing to maintain an excellent GPA. It's not fair that the responsibilities that usually fall on parents have fallen on him. It's not fair that he has to do it all alone.

But he, quite literally, cannot afford to let himself think things like that. Because if he lets himself think about how he feels like he's being pulled in a thousand different directions, how there are about a hundred things he needs to do and the consequences that will occur if he doesn't do them in a timely manner, and how he really can't see how he will get them all done, he will end up on the kitchen floor with tears streaming down his face.

Kind of like he is right now. With his back pressed against the cabinet, elbows resting atop drawn-up knees, and palms digging into his eyes as he convulses with silent sobs.

This is not helping anything, he tells himself over and over. He knows that giving into the stress is useless—he'd established that a long time ago. If anything, crying just makes things worse. But the harder he tries to dam the moisture leaking from his eyes, the harder it flows. The rivulets stream down his cheeks, drip off his chin. He feels them landing in his lap.

It's like he's completely lost control.

You're in a lot of trouble, Tadashi Hamada.

He can't do this. Any of it. He was stupid to ever think that he could.

And then there's the patter of tiny bare feet approaching on the kitchen tile.

Tadashi's head snaps up and his heart lurches in his chest. No, no, no, Hiro can't see him like this.

But it's certainly too late for that. The four-year-old is standing in the doorway, staring straight at him. A little bit of the yogurt he'd had as an after-school snack is smeared on his chin and the spoon is clutched in one little fist. He must have been coming to give it to Tadashi to wash.

Tadashi quickly uses the collar of his shirt to wipe his face and eyes. The tears stopped as soon as he heard Hiro come in, but he berates himself again for falling apart, especially while Hiro was home. He's making all kinds of mistakes today.

"Are you okay, Dashi?" Hiro asks. His big eyes are wide and confused and maybe a little frightened.

Tadashi immediately works to reassure him by smiling a smile that isn't genuine, but he hopes Hiro won't pick up on it. He can't have his little brother being scared. "I'm fine, Hiro." He's not; he's definitely not. His head is throbbing mercilessly and his raw, red eyes are burning fiercely, and he doesn't know how on earth he's going to finish the ten-page paper and project that are both due tomorrow when he has to go get groceries for dinner, help Hiro take a bath, pack Hiro's lunch, take care of some financial matters, and put Hiro to bed which is always a long, frustrating process. And he doesn't even know if he can muster the strength to get off the floor. He feels awful, in every sense of the word.

But he smiles at his baby brother, and barely manages to pull himself together enough to act liked things are normal. "Everything's fine. Are you done with your snack?"

Hiro nods uncertainly, taking a few steps forward and holding out the spoon for Tadashi to take.

The elder Hamada pries himself up with what feels like a monumental effort and can't conceal a wince as a spike of pain lances straight through his skull. Hiro doesn't seem to notice, though, as Tadashi takes the spoon and turns on the faucet.

He sniffs loudly and wipes his nose on his sleeve as he soaps the sponge. He should've blown his nose before he got his hands wet. Then there's a gentle tug on his pant leg, and looks down to see big brown eyes gazing up at him.

"Why were you crying?"

Tadashi pauses in scrubbing the spoon. How in the world is supposed to answer that? He can't very well tell the truth. Taking a deep breath, he sets the spoon down, turns off the sink, and dries his hands on a dish towel. Then he crouches before his little brother and wets his lips. "Because…you know how sometimes you cry when you feel sad?"

Hiro nods.

"I just felt a little bit sad. That's all." He smiles again, and this time it's a little easier.

"Why?"

Tadashi sighs. Sometimes Hiro is more perceptive than he would like. "Because…because of some grown-up stuff. Everything's okay, though. I promise." He smoothes his hand over the boy's ruffled hair.

How he wishes that were true.

Hiro, of course, takes him at his word, and Tadashi can't help but be a bit relieved. The four-year-old nods again. "Okay. Are you still sad?"

It would be easy to spit out another blatant lie and say 'no.' But he feels so heavy, so weighed down, so dispirited and exhausted that he hears himself saying, "Yeah, a little bit."

And maybe he wants the small comfort of sharing his unhappiness with someone, even if that someone is his baby brother. Logically, he knows it's a bad idea. He can't exactly dump his problems on a four-year-old, even if he wanted to. But something about simply telling Hiro that he doesn't feel his best is freeing in its own weird way.

And Hiro surprises him by wrapping his arms around Tadashi's torso. "It's okay, Dashi," he says in the tone he uses when he wants to sound more mature than his age. "Don't be sad."

Tadashi wants to smile, but instead his lower lip wobbles dangerously. He can't let himself break down again, and he knows if this goes on much longer that's exactly what will happen. So with a sniff, he gently pulls away from Hiro's embrace and ruffles his hair. "Thanks, kiddo. I'm feeling better already." He smiles then, hoping Hiro won't notice the way his eyes water.

"Good," Hiro says, with a large, toothy grin of his own.

Finally, Tadashi's able to laugh when he sees the yogurt smudge that's still on his brother's face. "C'mere, knucklehead," he says, and reaches up to wet the dish towel. Then he scrubs Hiro's face clean while the little boy squirms, face scrunching up comically.

When Tadashi releases him, he backs up and looks over at the fridge. "I'm hungry."

"You just had a snack," Tadashi answers, tossing the towel back onto the counter.

"But I'm still hungry."

The older boy's cheeks fill with air. There's not much food in the fridge right now, and it will take an hour to go out and buy some. Looks like they'll have to get takeout. Again. He needs to go grocery shopping badly.

"We'll get dinner in a little while," he says.

"Do we have to get that chicken that the man brings again?" Hiro whines, making a show of letting his shoulders droop and his lower lip jut out, clearly not happy about the prospect.

Tadashi laughs softly and shakes his head. He knows Hiro's grown tired of their usual takeout order. "Do you want pizza instead?"

"Nooo," the little boy moans.

"What do you want, then?"

Hiro looks down to where his hands tug thoughtfully at his shirt hem. "I want, um, I want that pas—pasgetti that Aunt Honey makes."

Tadashi sighs. "Well, Aunt Honey can't come over to make it right now."

"Why not?" He bounces on the balls of his feet. "She said she would come over whenever I want."

"She's probably busy, Hiro."

"Can we call her?" He bounces up and down faster. "Pleeease?"

Tadashi sighs again, this time in resignation. "All right. We can call her. Go get my phone, okay?"

"Okay!" With that, Hiro darts out of the kitchen.

The twenty-year-old's shoulders fall, his spirits seemingly leaving with Hiro. His brother is oddly adept at noticing when there's something wrong with Tadashi and never fails to make him feel better. But there's only so much he can do. The problems and deadlines still loom, heavy and dark, over Tadashi's head.

He sits down at the little wooden table by the window in the kitchen, where he'd originally started off before he'd collapsed under the weight of everything and ended up on the floor. There are bills spread out all over the tabletop, and he gathers them up into a stack. He can deal with them a little later.

He sits with his head in his hands until Hiro comes back with his cell phone. The small boy holds it out to his brother with a big smile. "Aunt Honey says she can come over!"

Tadashi blinks in surprise. He hadn't expected Hiro to call her already. He takes the phone and lifts it up almost hesitantly. "Honey Lemon?"

"Tadashi!" Her peppy voice fills his head. "Hiro says he wants me to come over!"

"You really don't have to," Tadashi rushes to say. "I know you're busy—"

"Pff, nonsense," she says, and he can almost see her swiping her hand dismissively. "I'd love to come make dinner for you and Hiro. I'm sure you don't have any food there, do you?"

"Well, not really, but—"

"Then it's settled. I'll run by the store and be over soon, okay?"

Tadashi clutches the phone against his ear. "Are you sure?"

"Of course!" she answers emphatically. "I can spare a few hours tonight, Tadashi, honestly. Besides, if Hiro wants my spaghetti, he'll get my spaghetti. You know I can never say no to the little guy."

Tadashi chuckles. "Yeah, I know."

Her voice softens and sobers a bit then. Tadashi can picture the sympathetic look she'd be giving him if she were there. "I know you've been under a lot of stress lately. I can stay for a while, maybe take care of Hiro while you get some work done after dinner?"

It suddenly feels like a little bit of weight has been lifted from his shoulders and he's filled with a sense of relief so great that he fears he might sink onto the floor again. He drops his head into his hand and presses on his eyes to dispel the tears that threaten to fill them. "That…that would actually be really great, Honey. Thank you."

"It's my pleasure. Really. Anything I can do to help out, I will. Don't hesitate to ask, okay?"

"Okay."

"I mean it, Tadashi."

A grin crosses his lips. "I know."

With the promise of being there within the hour, Honey hangs up and Tadashi releases a long, loud sigh.

For the first time in a long while, he feels like he can actually breathe. It's the small blessings that get him through tough times.

Hiro pulls on Tadashi's shirt, and he lifts the small boy into his arms and kisses the side of his head. "Love you, buddy."

"Love you, Dashi."

Hiro is definitely his small blessing.