A/N: Thank you to everyone's kind words upon my hiatus. I cannot express how much it means to me that this story has touched so many people; that's exactly what I wanted to happen when I wrote this story, so, despite everything, I have done my job in that aspect. I love hearing that I've helped people, because I'll be the first to say that things aren't always easy.

I've been thinking about things a lot lately, which can be a good thing or a bad thing. But it's driven me to write more, because sometimes, when you get it out, you can get a little bit of peace. And right about now, I'm looking for a little bit of that. And I hope that, if you need a little bit of it too, you can take some from this chapter.

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Hiro was standing in front of the mirror. He didn't know what time it was— maybe he forgot, maybe he never knew in the first place. He thought he remembered going to sleep and getting up. Maybe he had to get a drink, or go to the bathroom. But his head was fuzzy, and it was blank, so at the moment, he found himself standing completely still and just staring. His eyes were half-lidded against the bright fluorescent light, and he reached up to rub at them roughly.

His ears were ringing. He felt tired, and he felt like he just wanted to lay down and go back to sleep. It…was go back to sleep, right? He had been sleeping? He rubbed at his eyes again, and he started to turn away. He started to go back to where he knew his comfortable bed was waiting, not even all that concerned about whether or not he had actually accomplished what he got up to accomplish in the first place. But before he could, he heard the smallest of noises behind him. It wasn't much, but it was more than enough to slam on his brakes.

He turned and looked over his shoulder. His eyes landed home, and they immediately flashed. For a moment, he stayed frozen in place. He didn't move; he wasn't sure if he was even breathing. After what felt like forever, he backtracked and walked over to the bathtub. He reached out and grabbed the curtain that was hanging from the shower rod, and he pulled it aside slowly. Metal scraped against metal, a screeching noise that caused a shiver to rush down his spine. But he inched it along, until the curtain was all the way against the wall. Then, he could turn, and he could look down into the tub, where the noise had come from.

He wasn't as shocked as he should have been; not at first. He wasn't as terrified as he should have been. He just stared, as if his mind couldn't wrap around it. Which wasn't exactly wrong. It would all come at once, in no more than a few seconds. But now, he just looked down at the tub with the expression someone might wear if they were a first grader and you just slapped a college algebra test in front of them with a simple instruction of: "Get an A."

The body that was crumpled on the porcelain floor was too painful to even look at straight-on. Its – was it an…it? – clothes were filled with holes, and stained in other areas by harsh blackened burns. The shirt they were wearing was ragged and eroded, and so were their pants. But that wasn't what the most painful part of it was, or even the part that dragged at his attention. The body was covered with ugly, bright red blisters and welts. Some areas were so burned, the entire layer of skin was stripped, to reveal tendons and muscles and bone.

The panic and horror began to seep through him bit by bit. Every second of digesting what he was looking at felt like an entire year, and the more it clicked, the more his hands began to shake, and the more his breath began to pick up. He wanted to take a step backwards— really, he wanted to turn and he wanted to run away as fast as he possibly could. But his legs wouldn't move. He struggled to get his body to cooperate and move. He would take any movement at all. But the only thing he did manage was a tiny rasp, that didn't even go all that far. "…T-Tad—"

His words ended in a strangled scream. The body in the tub, which he had thought to be completely lifeless before now, suddenly jerked up and flew at him. His body snapped out of its immobility, and he let go of the shower curtain; he turned on his heel and started to scramble for the door, but something heavy collided against his back. It threw him forward and he couldn't catch himself properly. He squeaked when he collided against the ground, and he floundered to shove himself around.

There was a weight that was pinning him flush to the linoleum, and he floundered for a few heart stopping seconds before he managed to twist around to be on his back instead. Too late, though, he realized he should have stayed on his stomach. Another scream scraped out of his throat when he turned and found himself locking eyes with Tadashi. It was even his brother anymore. Tadashi was crouched over him, his fingers gouging into his shoulders and his knees planted hard into Hiro's legs. He couldn't move at all, though he struggled and thrashed in vain.

Tadashi's face was horribly marred and disfigured; he didn't even look like himself anymore, underneath all the layers of burned skin and painful blisters. When Hiro fought to get away, the rage that was twisting his features sharpened even more. One hand let go of Hiro's shoulder, only to dart forward and grope at Hiro's face. Hiro screeched as he felt nails rake down his face; Tadashi lifted him by the shoulder only to shove him back down.

His older brother was screaming at the top of his lungs, but Hiro couldn't make any of it out. He couldn't throw him off, either. The only thing he could do was try desperately to grab at his brother's wrists and try to yank them off, to no avail. He screamed and cried, trying to at least twist away and get out of range of his attacks. "Tadashi!" He screamed, his words bordering on hysterical sobs as his brother kept yelling, kept clawing him and slamming him to the floor. "Get off!" he cried. "Get off of me! Please! Why are you doing this!?"

Tadashi kept screaming unintelligible things; he kept raking his nails down Hiro's face, and as Hiro's panic grew and multiplied, it all became a frightened blur of pushing and shoving and screaming. He couldn't tell up from down, he couldn't know how to break free from his pin. His heart was hammering with terror and ripping in agony at the same time, and before too long he stopped fighting altogether. He just tugged his arms up and covered his face, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and falling into senseless bouts of screaming and crying.

Hiro's eyes snapped open, and for a second he was frozen underneath the weight of his panic. He could feel his heart hammering hard against his chest, and his lungs were burning as they fought to take in enough air— any air at all. He was covered in a cold sweat, and involuntary shivers caused his muscles to twitch and spasm of their own free will. It was a total of seven whole seconds before he could get himself to even recognize anything else that was going on around him. To become aware of anything other than the pressing darkness, anyway.

When his senses did come back to him, he realized that he could feel a pressure against his side. Immediately he shot up into a sitting position, and he whirled around a little too quickly for his head. Nausea swam forward to muddle his head and turn his stomach, but it was hardly noticed. Adrenaline still raced through him, and at the thought of having to face any more terrors only caused it to worsen. But when he turned, he wasn't looking at the burned corpse of his brother; he was looking at his brother's creation.

Baymax was standing next to him; he was bent low over Hiro, and when the teenager turned, he took his hand back to himself. Hiro gasped, looking down at himself and putting together the puzzle pieces. Though tossed and wrinkled by this point, blankets were hanging off of him loosely. He was in pajamas, in bed. He raised trembling hands to his head and buried his fingers in his hair. He shut his eyes tightly, and then opened them again, for fear of what he might end up seeing, and said absolutely nothing. The only sound was his ragged and hitched breathing.

"Hiro?" Baymax asked, his voice coming out soothing, and stark against his hysteric gasps. "Hiro, you had a nightmare," he clarified, but he didn't really need to. "You have been asleep for four hours; you needed to sleep more, however, you began to show signs of distress in your sleep, so I decided to wake you up." Hiro said nothing. He dropped his arms and hugged himself instead. He couldn't stop shaking, and his breath couldn't seem to come back. The image he'd seen of Tadashi was burned in his mind. "Your heart rate has increased dramatically, Hiro," Baymax continued. "You must calm down."

"I'm— I can't— I'm sorry—" Every sentence he started to construct just fell like sand between his fingers. A frantic whine died in the back of his throat, and he just shook his head instead. It wasn't like this wasn't out of the ordinary; ever since Tadashi had died, it would be rare if he didn't have a nightmare. The nights he didn't, he had just been so tired he dreamed nothing at all. But nearly the entire past week, whatever nightmares he'd had weren't nearly as vivid. Whatever they were, they were forgotten by the time he opened his eyes. They were nothing more than lingering traces of dread, or sorrow. This was not that at all.

"It is quite normal for people to have nightmares when they are dealing with what you are going through," Baymax assured, ever ready to try and calm him. Hiro started to snap at him to be quiet and give him space, but bit it back after a second's pause. He wasn't saying anything new, but the sound of his voice was enough to at least reassure him he wasn't alone. It was never raised or heightened like anyone else's would be— Baymax always sounded calm and collected, no matter what else was happening. It was in his programming. And at the moment, Hiro blindly took hold of that collectedness and tried to focus on that to calm down.

He hung his head and his hands fisted tightly in his blankets. Gradually, his breathing began to even out, and the tension left his shoulders. His heart's panicked racing began to stutter and slow, and rather than feeling that pounding sense of alarm, little by little, Hiro just felt overwhelmingly tired. Baymax took note of each change, until the only thing remaining as evidence of his scare was the ragged accompaniment to each inhale and exhale. Only then, did he lean over and put a hand down gently on Hiro's leg. "Would you like to talk about your dream, Hiro?" he prompted.

The teenager turned. Only when he looked up at the robot did he realize that tears were making his face wet. He stiffened and tried to reach up and rub them away, but they were coming too quickly for that to make a difference at all. At the question, his heart tore, and a small sob wormed its way up from his chest. "I…" He didn't look over to the other side of the room, where he knew the bathroom would be. He didn't want to risk it and turn, and see the charred and burned body of his brother standing there, that angry scowl waiting to stab directly through him. "I saw—"

He couldn't even put it words. Whatever he said would not explain it well enough. It wouldn't explain how horrifying it had been, how confusing and sad. He didn't want to explain it, he didn't want to explain the way Tadashi had looked, how he had glared and screamed and hit, because that wasn't him. Why had he been like that— why? That hadn't been him…as the thought occurred, his expression crumbled. He grimaced and raised his hands to press them down hard into his eyes, and he shook his head uselessly. "I don't know what I saw…" he sobbed, his shoulders shaking with each word. "I don't know, I don't know what it was!"

Baymax blinked slowly, seeing that he was in danger of getting worked up again. Taking a step forward, he leaned over and reached out to wrap his arms around Hiro. He pulled him close and rested his head on top of his like it fit there perfectly. He rubbed his arms slowly, in a rhythm that would promote regularized breathing, and he offered the best comfort that he could find. "It is alright," he reassured him. "Nightmares are nothing more than an excess of stress your brain is attempting to handle. It is a sign you are simply trying to get better. It is nothing bad, Hiro. It is alright. Whatever you dreamed, did not happen."

Hiro stayed still for a second, crying into his hands and refusing to pick his head up from them. It was how he typically reacted when people hugged him, especially Baymax: he just didn't. He would sit there and take it, or he would turn and give a half-hearted reciprocation. At first that was all he was going to do; he wasn't going to move; he didn't think he could. But at Baymax's reassurances, and when he ran his hands up and down Hiro's arms gently, Hiro broke down even more.

He lifted his head, and he turned to the side. Hiro reached out and wrapped his arms around Baymax as tightly as he possibly could, clinging to him like he was a lifeline. Baymax, of course, said nothing to draw attention to this fact, as he knew it would only push Hiro away. However, he did not stop trying to soothe him. "There, there," he cooed. "It was only a dream. You are doing very well for yourself; so it will be alright. You are strong, and you will get past this like you have gotten past everything else so far."

Hiro sniffed. His sobbing was slowly subsiding, though small hitches would cause him to gasp sharply every so often. As Baymax continued and went on, though, his shaking ebbed away, and his body began to relax. The smallest traces of fear and worry and apprehension were still there, but it was not overpowering— it was not too much for him. He could sit with it thrumming underneath his skin, and he could hug close to Baymax and try to believe what he was saying. That he was fine, and it would get better. It was all he could do.

He sniffed again, and, shakily, he let out a heavy sigh. He ducked his head down closer to his chest, and refused to let go of Baymax even a little bit. Once there was a break in Baymax's ever-ready comforts, a natural pause that didn't yet have the chance to become awkward, Hiro closed his eyes and murmured in a tiny whisper: "Thank you, Baymax…" It was choked and tearful, and it wasn't all that loud to begin with.

But Baymax heard him. He always did. And he returned gently: "You are welcome, Hiro."

The robot started to shift, and Hiro's chest tightened as he realized he was going to move away. Before he had the chance, Hiro tightened his hold just a little bit more. He didn't look up at him, he kept his eyes trained on the blankets. But he did manage a tiny: "Can…" He grimaced. But he knew that the very thought of Baymax letting go did not sit right with him. "Can you stay with me?" he murmured, hoping he would get the message. Of course Baymax was never allowed to leave him, technically. Hiro meant like this. He meant staying close— keeping the reassuring pressure around him, to banish away the thought of all the pressure that had been pinning him to the bathroom floor.

Baymax mulled over the request for a moment. Hiro dreaded he actually wouldn't understand, and he would be forced to elaborate. But no. Baymax moved again to go back to where he was before, and he went back to holding Hiro just as comfortingly. Enough pressure only to prove to him that he was there, not enough to smother him. It was a hug like Aunt Cass used to give him. It was a hug like Tadashi used to give him. The ideas brought tears back into his just-drying eyes, but it was nothing compared to the way Baymax's next words caused the water to well forward.

"I will always be with you, Hiro."

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"You owe me one thousand five hundred dollars."

"You'll have to kill me for it."

Honey Lemon frowned, looking at the Monopoly board with a certain level of distaste that was usually reserved especially for this game. It was difficult not to hold the disdain when it had been sitting there for the last five hours. It was almost a guarantee, actually. Sitting together around the table, the five of them had started playing after dinner, and it was now going on about 9:00 pm. Fred, who had so easily bartered away his life, was doing so for a good reason: he had about fifty dollars left to his name, after he'd landed on Gogo's hotel on Trafalgar Square. Which was great, because now he could join Wasabi in bankruptcy and they would be one step closer to ending this awful thing.

"Give her all your properties, dude," Gogo yawned, a little irritable as she glared at her friend. She'd missed a question on a pop quiz at school, apparently; that, coupled with this special type of torture, was making her a little cheesed. Hiro couldn't blame her at all. He looked up from where he sat, raising his eyebrows a little bit as he watched Fred gather his cards closer to him— protectively, even though by all rules and regulations of this demon, he was more than out. "Fred, I swear to God, if you don't hand her your cards right now, and move on, I'm going to punch you in the throat."

"Do it," Fred growled. "I'll be damned before I give away Old Kent Road."

"That's literally the worst property to have," Wasabi sighed. It'd been his idea in the first place to start all this, but it was clear he was regretting it. You'd think the person that suggested Monopoly would at least be halfway confident they would win – otherwise who wants to go through the whole process? – but he'd gotten out in less than three hours of gameplay. Weak. "It's the first space you land on. It's worth practically nothing."

"It's an underdog. I like it. It's got moxie."

"The punch is coming," Gogo warned, starting to cock her arm backwards.

"There's no violence allowed in my household, Gogo," Fred retaliated.

She huffed, hanging her head. "There's going to be mass casualties if we don't end this game in the next thirty seconds," she growled under her breath.

Hiro smiled, looking down at his cards and trying to stifle a snicker. Baymax looked at him at the giggle, and tilted his head to the side. "I don't understand," he admitted, garnering the young boy's attention. "You seem to be having fun, and yet everyone is on-edge and distressed. Your cortisol and adrenaline levels are slightly elevated, signaling frustration and stress. It does not seem as though anyone is having any fun at all."

"That's the point," Hiro pressed, a hint of laughter bubbling around the edges of his words. Wasabi's eyes flickered to him briefly, and Honey Lemon's lips quirked up into a smile. But no attention was given exclusively; they knew better than that. But it was clear on each of their faces the effect it had. "Monopoly is the worst board game ever and everybody hates it. That's why it's fun to play. Because everyone gets angry." He reached out and arranged his stacks of money better. Next to Honey Lemon, he had the most money so far. "And whoever wins feels that much better."

Baymax blinked once. "I see," he declared. "You receive enjoyment from the anger of your fellow players."

This made Hiro laugh louder— it wasn't hidden at all. Gogo had to rub at her mouth to disguise the smile that spread there in response. "Yeah, exactly." The teenager turned and frowned a little bit. "I guess— you could have played, now that I think about it. We didn't deal you any money or anything." It'd be funny to watch the robot try and play. It'd probably be more unfortunate than Wasabi's efforts to succeed.

"That is alright," Baymax returned. "Sitting here and seeing you having fun is enough."

Hiro straightened a little bit with the sentiment. Quickly, his mind went into a spasm to fix it— not sentiment; he was a robot. Literally, sentiment was the last thing that could come from him. All he was was a program. Wires and electricity, not flesh and blood. All the same, though, his smile stayed, even if grew the slightest bit weaker. He gave a small nod, and turned back to his money. "Okay. I guess," he mumbled. He fell silent, then, his shoulders curling inward just a bit. But the look on his face wasn't one of sorrow or remorse; it was thoughtful, if not just the smallest bit content. He skipped over the ordeal of wrangling Fred's properties and reached over to take the dice himself. It was his turn, and he rolled, making a face when he landed on the Go to Jail space.

The other four lingered on Hiro for just a moment, in a collective mix of tension and relief. But it was broken when Gogo leaned over and snatched up Fred's cards, and he responded with a shriek of indignation. The pair fell into a wrestling match, and Wasabi had to intervene before one of them knocked the other out. Because going by the day Gogo was having, Fred was in risk for such an outcome. Honey Lemon watched the struggle with undisguised horror, and at first, Hiro was following suit. But the two caught each other's eye, and their expressions broke into small grins at the same moment.

They fell into a fit of laughter that only grew once it began. Until Gogo had put Fred into a headlock, the game board had been knocked aside enough that it ruined everyone's neat organization they'd had, and Hiro's sides hurt. A tingling kind of pain that normally wouldn't hurt as much as it did now. But the needle sensation was apparent all the same. Unable to be looked over, simply because he wasn't used to it. Simply because he hadn't felt it in such a long time.

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"This suuuuuucks!" Fred screeched, throwing his arms up into the air as he leaned backwards. Hiro ducked his head and sighed. He twisted back in his chair to look at Fred, looking very unimpressed at the other's growing distress. The two of them had been at this for hours, but it felt more like years, when it was accompanied with Fred's shrill cries of desolation. Taking the day away from the house, they had both snuck back over to the campus, and they were now helping sort through the newest deliveries of building material for the students that worked in the lab. It wasn't horribly awful work; they were just sorting things like gears and wires into their own respective boxes, so that the kids would have easy access when they were working.

It wasn't that bad, but it might have been a little better without Fred crying about it every fifteen seconds. "It doesn't suck," Hiro huffed, throwing him a glare. "It's a nice distraction, if you let it be one." There was something oddly comforting about the robotic sorting, the way it hardly took any effort at all to move one thing to another spot. Fred, however, didn't seem to agree, much to the shock and awe of everyone involved. 'Everyone' including Baymax, who was the only other entity in the room. He was helping sort too; he was the fastest out of the three; when Hiro turned away from his work, he carried on. He hadn't talked for the past hour and a half, if Hiro wasn't mistaken.

He shook the thought from his mind. He didn't care if Baymax was quiet. It was a relief when he was.

"I would rather get hit by a car than do this!" Fred cried, flinging his head back over his chair to look at Hiro.

The teenager met his desperate look with an irritable one. "Must be an awful feeling," he noted.

"It is. My talents are being wasted. I'm meant for much more than putting things into boxes! .They're containing me! Look, I don't even know what—" He picked up one of the steel rods that were on the table, sixteen inches long rather than the others that were only twelve. They had to go in a separate box. "I don't even know what this is!" Fred finished in a snap. He turned so that one end of the rod was jabbing in Hiro's direction. "Is this a weapon?" he asked. "Can you use this to beat me until I'm unconscious?"

"If you keep bothering me, I'm not going to be able to resist," he mumbled.

"This doesn't even fit in any of my boxes!" Fred screeched, apparently electing to ignore what he'd said. As if to prove his point, he smacked the rod down against the opening of the nearest cardboard box he had. It was too big, and it only succeeded in damaging the container. "It doesn't fit what am I supposed to do with it!?" He was screaming to the heavens and he wasn't receiving an answer. Hiro deadpanned, watching it all like a father might when their child started throwing a tantrum in the store to get a toy. The institute was being nice enough to let them work here as it was; if Fred kept screaming loud enough to interrupt classes on the other side of campus, they would be booted out of here quicker than they would even be able to comprehend.

"Go down and get more boxes, then, Fred!" Hiro hissed. "Crying about them isn't going to make them appear out of thin air."

"I can't." He sighed and bent over to put his head down on the table. It wasn't hard to see that he had done significantly less work than Hiro had. "I'm too tired and sad."

Hiro blew out his cheeks. He scowled and reached up to run his hands through his hair. He counted to five and then released a slow exhale. "Fine." Getting out and walking just a little bit might be nice, anyway. He probably wasn't supposed to; staying hidden and behind closed doors had been the best option, Wasabi had told the both of them. He'd been pretty clear on that, and the reasoning hadn't needed to be explained. But all the same, Hiro was getting stir-crazy throughout all of this. And it was only a short walk between them and the storage closet. Just down the stairs and a couple doors to the left. They'd taken a whole stack of boxes to begin with, but here they were.

Making up his mind, he pushed away from the table he'd set up and stood. "I'll get them," he offered, taking a moment to stretch out his stiff muscles. Fred mumbled a 'thank-you' that didn't make it very far off the table, but Hiro still didn't move. He waited, patiently. When nothing happened, he turned to Baymax. His forehead creased in confusion, and his head tilted to the side. The robot still hadn't looked up from his own sorting. And he still didn't even after Hiro's announcement. He stepped over and poked the robot. "Baymax, I'm leaving," he repeated. Was he really that invested in sorting nuts and bolts? "I have to go get more boxes."

Baymax tore his gaze away from the table. He looked up at Hiro, who frowned in response. Even Fred looked up at this lack of activity, skeptical. Hiro started to open his mouth and ask if something was wrong – he'd charged fully last night, surely he wasn't low on battery already? – when Baymax spoke up before he had the chance. It was all the same, though; the words he said immediately made Hiro's mind stutter in shock and alarm. "Do you need me to come?"

Fred's expression changed at once— a serious and solemn one, which it hardly ever was. He picked his head off the table and straightened up completely. It was clear by his body language he hadn't seen this coming just as much as Hiro hadn't. And he hadn't— not at all. From the very moment that he had been here, Baymax had acted as if he was his shadow. He went wherever Hiro went, he did whatever Hiro did. He'd made it perfectly clear he wasn't allowed to do anything other than that. And now he was…asking him if he needed his company? He hadn't even let Hiro go to the bathroom alone— he had to be in the room to make sure that he didn't harm himself with anything.

"I…I don't—" Hiro's eyes narrowed a little bit. "Why are you asking me that?" He almost sounded offended. He knew it wasn't the word, though. It was more accurate to say hurt. Though the first word was easier to face, and put blame on.

"I think it is now appropriate for me to ask you if you would like my company, rather than force my company upon you." Still, Hiro's mind was spluttering. It was like someone had taken a person with a degree in physics into a class for advanced Spanish without any prep. It was a foreign language to him— being told he could be left alone. Thankfully, he didn't have to find the words to communicate this; Baymax already knew. "You had told me before that you would like the chance to be alone only when people decide that you are capable enough. That is why you asked me to remove your red hospital bracelet." Hiro looked down at his wrist as he said this, to the singular white band that was still there. "I believe that you are able to be left alone, now. I trust you to carry out this task alone, without me there."

Fred's eyes flickered intently between Hiro and the robot. He said nothing. Though the wariness that was on his face could not be mistaken. Hiro was still confused. "I can…go by myself?" he asked. "You'll let me?"

Baymax nodded once. "I do not think you need me to be with you at all times." He looked back to his sorting. "With your approximate walking speed, it should take you about six minutes to get there and back with the boxes. I will give you ten; if you are not back by then, I will come and find you. But I don't think you will need me to." Hiro still stood, staring at him in unintelligible alarm. Or at least something close to it. After a while, the robot look back and him and seemed to rethink the offer. "Do you wish for me to come, Hiro?" he asked.

At the repetition of the question, he stirred and finally shook himself out of his reverie. "Oh, uh— no, no, I don't need you to come with me." The words felt weird, passing over his tongue, because now he knew that they wouldn't be in vain. That someone would actually listen now, and comply. He looked over his shoulder at Fred, as if checking he was on board. At the attention, he offered a weary smile; Baymax was in charge, when it came to Hiro. He trusted him, even though his instinct was yelling to reach out and yank Hiro back close. Hiro nodded back at him, and he tugged his sleeves down so that they hung over his hands. "Okay. Then. I'll be…right back."

Baymax returned to work without comment. Fred did the same; his attitude from before was entirely gone, now. Hiro wasn't sure whether that was a good thing. All the same. He turned and left the small room they'd been given to work, and he started up the hallway for the stairs. It was completely empty, save for him, and he was acutely aware of how his footsteps seemed to bounce and echo around him. He walked along with something akin to trepidation, and he couldn't stop himself from glancing over his shoulder every now and then, back the way he'd came. He'd forgotten what it had felt like to be alone. He couldn't decide whether the feeling he was getting was because it was so different, or because it was so alienating.

He walked up the steps and down the hall. Still, there was nobody. He found his way back to the room they'd been shown this morning. He turned the light on and weaved through the other materials that were all shoved haphazardly inside; the mess that probably as a result of a student worker whose shift ran too late. All the same, Hiro wriggled into the corner where the stacks of unformed boxes where, and he found some that would have the correct sizing. Once he did, and figured out how he was going to juggle it all on the way out, he started to back up and exit.

He didn't have much time to get over the threshold, though, before something smacked right into his side. It tipped him over immediately, and he stumbled to the side, hitting the ground with a small squeak of pain. His boxes went everywhere, and he turned around to see that it had been another person to knock into him. Someone who had also been carrying quite a lot of papers; they were scattered all over the floor. Between the two of them, they'd made chaos out of the hallway.

"I'm sorry!" he yelped as the woman started to pick herself up. "I wasn't— I couldn't see where I was going, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have been walking backwards." He huffed, frustration burning his ears a bright red. How could he be so stupid? It was ridiculous; now he'd ruined her whole entire day. He scrambled to fix himself; he forgot his boxes and turned instead to gather up her papers. They looked like tests of some sort. "I'm really sorry, I am." He was rambling fast, by the time she was sitting up. "I didn't mean to, I'm just— I'm a mess," he exhaled.

The woman looked at him with the smallest bit of irritation, but when she realized how frazzled he had quickly become, she seemed to dismiss it a little bit more. "It's alright," she reasoned, getting up and starting to help gather her papers together. "I should have been paying more attention, too. I was looking over my students' latest tests as I walked. Their frightfully low scores were too much of a distraction, I suppose." This was only said with a tiny bit of teasing.

Looking down, Hiro could see why. There were a whole bunch of fifties and sixties staring right back at him. He frowned, his eyes flickering down to the rest of the tests, and the questions there, rather than just the bold-faced and disappointed pen marks. "You teach Thermodynamics?" he asked, his voice creeping over with the tiniest bit of excitement. Or maybe not excitement; more like wistfulness. "That's awesome…" He looked up to see her studying him closely. A little too closely, and he coughed, looking back down to the papers and scooping up the remaining ones into a messy stack. "I mean— there are a lot of awesome classes at this school. It's— it's a nice school."

He made sure the stack was together enough before he stood and extended it to her again. She stood up as well, and received the tests with a small word of thanks. Though he was more than aware she was still looking at him too much. "Are you a student here?" she asked after a moment's pause. And immediately, Hiro washed over with disappointment that he wasn't able to immediately leave. He really didn't like the way she was looking at him. "I don't think I've seen you on campus before now. How old are you?"

"Me?" A stupid question, considering they were literally the only two people in the hallway. All the same, though, he looked down and fiddled with his hoodie again. He thanked his lucky stars that at least he wasn't wearing the school's one that he'd received on Christmas. That would just make the situation even more awkward. "I'm fourteen," he answered. "I, uh— I don't go to school here, no. I'm just…my friend and I weren't doing anything today, and we offered to come here and help sort some stuff so the students wouldn't have to. We…I mean, we got permission from one of the other professors, they set us all up, so…"

"You're not supposed to be in school, now?" she asked, her eyes narrowing a bit.

"School?" It was like he didn't know anything she was saying. She was going to think he was brain-dead. She'd probably be at least halfway right. "Uh— no. No, I'm not— I graduated high school a year ago. Early." Her eyes widened at this. "Yeah, I started earlier, I tested out of a bunch of…grades I didn't need to go through, so I just…yup, I don't have— no school today." He ended lamely, and with a flourish of a smile, as if it would help. Too much time was passing; Baymax was going to rush over here, and then Hiro would have officially ruined the first bit of trust he was being given. Taking tiny steps backwards, he tried to find a natural way to get the heck out of there. "But I have to get back to my friend, so…"

"You don't need those boxes?" she asked.

He stiffened, and once again that frustration smacked him as he realized the cardboard was still all of the place. "Right. Right, yeah, sorry, my head is— it's everywhere. It's great," he huffed. He crouched down again and started to pick up his own mess he'd made. The woman was rearranging her papers in the proper order, though he could feel her gaze flicker to him every so often. Eventually, once he'd gotten nearly all the boxes stacked once more, and he was trying to figure out how to hold it all over again, she spoke up.

"Do you attend another college?" she questioned. Hiro stiffened at the question, but kept his head down. "A young man like you, smart enough to graduate five years earlier than he should have…it would be a shame for you to end your educational experience so soon. Before you can even do anything with what you already have."

He hesitated. But he couldn't just ignore her, no matter how much he wanted to. "I don't go to college right now," he said. "I was going to…I was going to go here, actually," he laughed, the information slipping out on accident. "I got that…I got that scholarship, thing, from the—" His throat closed on itself; it didn't want to spit the word out. He had to cough again before he could force it out. "From that showcase that you guys have," he breathed, a little unsteadily. He had to recollect himself and shove the memories aside. Only then, could he continue. "I got invited to go here, and I was going to, I just…" He trailed off.

If the woman had been looking at him close before, now he might as well have been under a microscope. She leaned a little closer, and he realized with dread there was a bit of recognition in the back of her gaze. "You…you're that young man with the Microbots!" she declared, once she followed the recognition enough to land on the night. "You're Hiro Hamada!" He was rigid, but tried to offer a nod and a smile all the same. His heart was thudding painfully loud against his chest. "You must forgive me for not recognizing you sooner," she apologized. "With a performance such as that, especially for a boy so young, I should have known you from the second I saw you."

He grinned awkwardly. "That's alright," he said weakly. "It was a while ago."

And sometimes even I don't recognize myself.

"Well why in the world are you here stacking boxes?" she demanded. "Why aren't you attending classes?"

"I don't…" He blew out a breath, turning at the walls around him, as if they were going to offer him any help. "I wasn't ready," he eventually got out. The lie made his stomach clench and seize. He tried to appear as if he was unbothered. "I decided…it wasn't the right time for me to start college. I wanted to stop and take my time a little bit more. I wasn't in a rush or anything." He fidgeted, and looked down at the bundle he was holding. "I just…" He still tried to smile. But it was a little too watery to pass. "I'm not good enough. To go here," he finished.

The woman was solemn immediately. "'Not good enough?'" she repeated. Now it was her turn to be lost, apparently. Hiro didn't look back up at her, but he was pretty familiar with feeling the disappointment rather than seeing it. She cleared her throat a bit and spoke a little louder now. "I have met and worked with many students here at this institute, Mister Hamada. Far too many to count, really. I was their teacher first, and now, not only am I their teacher, but I am also their Dean." His eyes widened a bit at this piece of information. And he really started to yell at himself for garnering her attention. "And I can tell you without a single hesitation that the skills you presented to us was far beyond the level of even some of the graduates I have had."

Hiro tried not to let his alarm display too clearly on his face. Though the stiff little "Thank you" he gave didn't do too much for the whole distress department.

She looked at him steadily, still in that piercing way. "My name is Professor Granville," she introduced herself. "I teach Thermodynamics at this institute, as well as manage and maintain every goings-on, and I can assure you with complete and utter professional objectivity, that you are more than skilled enough to attend this school. That in fact, we would be better off as a whole if you should join our ranks."

He hesitated. He chewed on the inside of his lower lip, and he shuffled his feet a little bit on the floor. After a moment's pause, he took in a slow breath and let it out just as gradually, hoping the nerves would follow his breath out for the time being. "Um…the truth is…" He rubbed at the sleeves of his hoodie, over the marks underneath that were invisible but plainly obvious to him. It only took about one more second, but eventually he worked himself up enough to get it out. "The truth is, I'm not in the best place." His words seemed to bounce off walls now, and ring throughout the emptied hallway.

"My…my brother died. In— in the fire at the event." She frowned now; there was no mistaking the grief and remorse that was coming over her face. Of course she would know what he was talking about. But all the same. "So I didn't…want to come here anymore right after that. For a lot of reasons. And then…I sort of lost track of it all. I wasn't in the best mental place at all to start something like college. If that makes any sense. I'm…coming back into things now, and I'm starting to get out of it. But…yeah. I just have to work on some things first before I can think of future stuff like that." It was all said calmly, like he was reciting facts about her class to her. It came easier than he thought it would. And somehow, once it was out to hang in the air between them, he felt about ten pounds lighter.

She was looking at him differently now. In a way that made him seem less like he was being judged, in a way. He tried to offer her a smile and curb the information with a joke. "At the very least, I think I missed the deadline on that scholarship, anyway." Still, Granville said nothing. Wanting to have left the conversation about five minutes ago, Hiro took this silence as his ticket out. "Well. Thank you. Uh— sorry about bumping into you. I'll…I'll keep a better eye out from now on. Good luck with your tests." Not giving her the chance to speak again, for fear of being even later, Hiro immediately turned on his heel and rushed away in a hurry. He would be pushing the time limit he'd been given, but if he hustled he could make it back before the ten minutes had gone by.

Professor Granville didn't follow him, or try and call him back. She stood stock still in the hall, holding her stack of papers and simply watching him go. But that look of concentrated thought never left her face for a moment.

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All eyes were on him. Even though it was something he'd gotten used to over the time spent here, it was still uncomfortable. He wished that they would leave. Or at least look away and have the decency to make it seem like they weren't vultures, breathing down his neck. Baymax he could forgive, because Baymax had the social skills that ranged between a dog and a squirrel. But the rest of them should have known better, and he wished he could have told them that. But that was the last thing he was about to do. Not when they were letting him do this, after so long. He would let them hover an inch away from him as they stared, if only he could do this.

The phone he held in his hand felt like it was about ten times heavier than it was supposed to be. He'd dialed the number he had ingrained in his mind since he was four, but he had been forced to add the few numbers at the beginning, which would mask his own number. If she knew that he was calling from Fred's phone, it would all be over. He knew that it wasn't the time, yet. He wasn't ready for that, yet. So he masked his call, and he had pulled the phone up to his ear. With his free hand, he'd gripped the edge of his seat with a force generated by pure anxiety and nervousness, and he'd listened as the phone started to ring. Though the blood roaring in his ears, and the thud of his own heart was almost enough to drown it out.

Now he sat, in trepidation and anxiety, his throat tightly closed and only closing more with each ring. The others were just as strung-out, staring at him from across the room with wide eyes and stiff postures. Maybe she wouldn't answer. Maybe she would see the masked number and dismiss it, shoving her phone back into her pocket like it didn't matter. Maybe she was too busy today, and she was in such a rush she didn't even hear it ring in the first place. Maybe she was in such a rush this morning she'd left it upstairs, and it was just ringing itself out on her bed. Maybe she wouldn't answer. And maybe it'd be for the best if she didn't.

It was on its fourth ring before it was picked up. With each unanswered tone, Hiro was preparing himself more and more for that sharp punch of disappointment, so when the rings were halted, he stiffened and jerked up a little bit. Sure enough, her voice came over the line. "Hello?" It wasn't a voicemail— it was her actual voice. It was her. She sounded a little tired, and a little strung-out, but it was her. The very instant it hit his eardrum his mind nearly went blank with the shock and bone-shaking relief that surged forward. His throat immediately swelled closed all the way, and he felt the harsh sting of tears before he even realized it. Rooted in far too many emotions at once to decipher, he said nothing. He just stared straight ahead. Her voice was a little more strained when she repeated: "Hello? Who is this? …Is anyone there? I'm going to—"

"N-No wait!" he fumbled, the words nearly choking out of him. Immediately, her voice cut off and there was nothing but silence. He closed his eyes tightly, and the relief he'd felt before mutated fast into that anxiety, and that fear. She won't be happy to hear it's you. She'll just be disappointed. What did you think would happen? After all you've done? "I-It's me," he stuttered, his voice hardly able to be heard. It was nothing more than a small whisper; he didn't think he could force it to be louder even if he tried. Honey Lemon's own eyes were glazing over with tears as she watched him, and Gogo looked away now. Wasabi crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the ground. Baymax was staring at him intently, monitoring his each and every change. He forced himself to go on, before she could hang up on him. She might anyway, but he still wanted her to know it was him. "It's…Hiro." Already, his voice was thick and constrained.

There was still nothing on the other line for nearly a full ten seconds. He closed his eyes tighter and leaned over on the table, reaching up to hold his head in his other hand now. His anxiety was growing more and more, and his disappointment, which had been waiting in the wings as always, started to grab hold of him with icy claws. She was angry. She was angry, she was frustrated, and it was all going to come out of her at once. Or she would just end the call without saying a single thing. Whatever she was going to do, he was going to deserve every bit of it, and he wouldn't blame her at all. So when she did reply, his eyes opened in a little bit of surprise. At her words, at the hitch in her voice, and hushed shock and happiness that shook every syllable to its core. "Hiro?" she whispered. "Is…it's you? Where are you— honey, where are you calling from? Oh my God…" He could hear her crying already. It was the last thing he needed to have his own tears well and overflow down his cheeks. "Oh my God!" she cried. "It's really you! Oh my God…" It was a broken record that couldn't stop. But Hiro couldn't blame her.

There was silence again. Silence filled only with shock and the distinct feeling that there wasn't an easy way to continue on from there. He almost didn't know how he possibly could. That wavering smile weak on his face, Hiro spat out the first thing that he could think of. Anything to fill the silence, and make there be something. Which, unsurprisingly, came out pretty pathetic. "Hi…" he laughed, his voice still too choked to pass as anything but worked up. He looked down at the table, and sniffed. "How— how are you?"

She laughed on the other end. It was an actual laugh. It almost slapped Hiro across the face to hear. It had been so long since he'd heard her giggle— he'd almost forgotten what her laugh had sounded like. "I'm fine, I'm fine, oh— I'm so glad to hear your voice, I can't believe it!" The sentiment came out in bursting sobs. "I can't believe it, I can't believe you're calling me, how are you calling me?" Hiro's watering eyes flickered uncomfortably up to Fred with the question. His expression was wilted and disheartened. They had known this would be difficult. They'd tried to weigh the benefits and the consequences. They'd told themselves that they would be better off in the end. Or they'd tried to, anyway. "I didn't— I got your letters, but I just…there was no warning, or…"

"I, uh…" His hands were shaking, and he had to hold onto the phone tighter to make sure that he didn't drop it. Fred raised his eyebrows, in something between encouragement and confusion— Hiro wasn't sure which one was more prominent. He sniffed and wiped at his eyes. "Someone gave me their phone, they told me I could call you," he said in a rush. And he quickly tried to move on, before she could interject and ask anything more. He couldn't think clearly, so he wouldn't be able to answer fast enough. Good enough. "I miss you…" he whispered softly. "I…I really really miss you, Aunt Cass, you have no idea. I wish I could come home…"

Honey Lemon ducked her head a little bit. Wasabi's expression flickered over in remorse.

"I miss you too, baby," she sighed. Hiro closed his eyes tightly and bent over at the waist to push his forehead down into the table. He felt like he was going to be sick. But he knew it was only because of this. He could hardly wrap his head around the fact that he was talking to her, after so long. That she was still out there, waiting for him, even though it was the last thing he deserved. "I think about you every day, and I wonder how you're doing…if you're happy, or if you're thinking about me, or if you're getting any better," she choked. "Are you getting better?" The question was hardly able to be heard, her voice was so tight. "Are you happy?"

He tried to distract himself by running a hand up though his hair. It wasn't much, but it was all he could really do at the moment. "I— yeah. Yeah, I am," he said slowly. He could practically feel her sigh of relief. "I am happy." He picked his head up, his eyes read and bleary. He held his forehead in his free hand and went back to staring at the tabletop. He couldn't make eye contact with anyone else; he really wished they would just leave. "I'm getting better. I think I've gotten a lot better. I've been—" He swallowed back the lump in his throat. "I've been thinking clearer. About a lot of things."

"That's so good to hear…that's so good, I'm so happy for you— I'm so proud of you." He grinned weakly at the praise. "That's all I wanted for you, was for you to remember how important you are, and how special you are. Because it killed me to see that you'd forgotten that, and I had no idea how to remind you, because I just knew it so well, I've known it since the first time I've laid eyes on you…" Hiro shook his head, and covered his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. "I'm so relieved you're getting better, honey, and you're seeing that again. You don't— listen, you don't need to apologize to me. For anything; I don't want you to feel like you need to do anything like that."

"No, I…I need to," he mumbled. She might have argued against him, had it not been for the finality and flatness to his voice. He winced, and shook his head. "I need to apologize. And make up for things. You didn't…deserve any of what I did. Or said. It's…not fair." His lower lip trembled, and his shoulders drew together a little bit more. "None of it's fair, I guess…"

The silence that followed this was heavier, and sadder. Cass' voice was quiet when it came. "No. It's not," she reasoned. "And I'm sorry about that."

He wiped at his eyes again. He sniffed. "It's not your fault," he sighed.

"It's not your fault, either, Hiro," Aunt Cass pressed. Just the tiniest bit of hesitation laced her voice. It was clear she wasn't sure whether or not it would be wise of her to say this. They had never really talked about it. Not in a calm give and take; it had only been in yells or snaps. Or Aunt Cass had done most of the talking while Hiro just pretended to listen. "You know that, right?" she asked. "You know that it wasn't your fault? That there was no changing what happened?"

He bit down hard on the inside of his lip. He took a few moments to collect himself; to calm his nerves and face what she was saying, no matter how difficult it was to do. Still, when he speak, it was barely able to be heard, it was so soft. "Yeah…" he rasped. "I'm…I'm trying to get it through my head. It's…hard, but I'm getting there. Slowly. I think." He blew out his cheeks. He cleared his throat and shook his head to try and clear it. He scrubbed at his eyes and asked after a moment: "I keep…thinking that if it'd been me instead…Tadashi wouldn't have done all of this," he forced out.

"But you don't need to think that," Cass objected, pained now. "You don't, because it's not what happened, and it wouldn't change anything. And I don't hold anything at all against you. There are— there are things that we need to talk about, and we will, when you get home, but for right now, you…you can't think about things like that. It won't do you any good. Okay? Can you tell me you won't think about things like that anymore?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "We don't have to talk about it now…" he said softly.

Aunt Cass hesitated. But all the same, she agreed. "Okay. Of course."

He frowned, and cringed against the fact that he had dismissed her. He couldn't keep doing that. He couldn't keep telling her no just because he couldn't bring himself to face something. That's what he'd been doing this entire time: facing things. He shouldn't stop short now. He told himself he wouldn't forget. But for now, it was enough, and he went on in a tiny murmur. "I love you. Aunt Cass. I really do." His voice hitched with the statement, and he ducked down to press his hand into his eyes. "And I'm sorry…" he cried softly. "I'm really sorry, I know you don't want to hear it, but I am. I'm really sorry."

Aunt Cass must have had to collect herself, because she was quiet for some time. And when she came back, her voice was thick and congested. "I love you too, baby," she managed. "I love you so much. I've never stopped loving you, and I never will. No matter what. Okay?"

He cringed. He put his head back down on the table. Suddenly, despite the fact that all eyes were on him, and nobody was more than five feet from him, he'd never felt more alone. More alienated. "Okay," he mumbled, his lips hardly moving. He didn't say anything else. His expression had taken a sadder tone now, as he stared straight ahead. He could feel the call coming to a close— it was creeping up on him like a sickness he didn't want, but could do nothing about. He'd known that he couldn't talk for long— they'd told him that. The longer he talked, the more likely it was she would grow suspicious. And anyway, it was something he had to ease into as it was. But still, now that he had had a taste for hearing her voice again and knowing she was there, the thought of hanging up on her was enough to stab his heart.

And sure enough, her next words confirmed it for him. "Tell me— tell me how you're getting along down there!" she tried, pumping enthusiasm into her voice as best she could. "Tell me what you're doing, how the kids are. Are you getting along with them? Are you…are you making friends?"

He screwed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. Counted to five before he let out a slow exhale. "Um…Aunt Cass, actually…uh…I think I've got to go," he forced. Immediately, he could feel the mood change, and he felt a stinging slap of guilt. He tried his best to ignore it. "I was only allowed to talk for a little bit," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady and contained. "But I…I've got to go, now."

"Oh…" Her disappointment was almost tangible. "Okay…" Unspoken between them were years of happy memories and better days. Hundreds of cold shoulders and arguments over things that didn't matter because none of it could be changed. It was all there, choking the space in between them. But they didn't have the time to broach it. Even if they did, it was arguable whether or not they had the courage. "Well…I understand. Please— please keep working so hard, okay? I'm very proud of you." She was crying again, and Hiro found himself inching the phone away from his ear, as if the minimal change in distance would help lessen the heartache he felt. "I'm proud of you and I love you and all I want is to make sure you're happy again."

He swallowed again, but this time it felt like more of a choke. "Okay," he whispered, keeping his head down.

"Do you…do you know when you'll be able to come back?"

This time he couldn't swallow; he may as well have been paralyzed. "No," he breathed. "I don't."

"Do you think I could— speak to someone there? Can you…hand someone the phone, or…?"

It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. Tadashi shouldn't have died. He shouldn't have gone off the deep end. He shouldn't have done what he did to Aunt Cass. He shouldn't be here. They shouldn't be lying to her. It was piles and piles of shouldn'ts and yet he knew that he couldn't do anything about any of them. So when he replied, it came out faster and harder, and just the smallest bit sharper. "Aunt Cass I really gotta go now," he cried, rubbing at his face again. The others were slowly beginning to panic— to look at one another and wonder if this was the final mistake it would take to make their plan unravel. If it could even be called a plan in the first place.

"Oh." There the word was again, just as hollow and empty as before. Hiro hated it. "Okay, honey."

"Bye, Aunt Cass," he sniffed. "…I'm sorry. I love you."

"I love you too, baby."

It was enough. Hiro couldn't take it anymore, and he quickly hung up the phone. He put it on the table and scooted it away, before holding his head in his hands and letting his tears fall silently. He knew it would be difficult, going in. He didn't realize it would be this difficult. All the same, though, he'd held it together. As best he could. "She didn't ask," he said thickly. "She doesn't know, I think, but she's— she just misses me." He offered a one-shouldered shrug. "I miss her, too."

Honey Lemon was the most sorrowful of the group. She looked at the young boy mournfully, and she was the first to bring herself to speak. "Do you want to talk about it, Hiro?" she asked.

He was tempted. But he shook his head. "No I don't," he said eventually. "I just…would like to be alone."

They glanced at one another. A little disappointed, but not surprised. They weren't about to pry, either. They all turned as a unit and headed for the living room, giving him some space that he desperately needed. Baymax lingered this time, but Hiro didn't find fault in it. The robot was allowing him more freedom each day, but when he was as upset as this, it wasn't unfounded for him to hesitate. Hiro wouldn't blame him. Honey Lemon had turned to follow the others, but just as she was about to exit the room, Hiro called her back. "Wait. Honey Lemon." She stopped short and turned. The others took the hint and kept going, and Hiro did not look up at her until he was sure they were gone. "When can I leave here?" he forced himself to ask.

She hadn't anticipated the question. "What do you mean? I thought you understood that—?"

"Baymax can stay with me, though," he was already refuting. "If I go home to be with Aunt Cass, and Baymax stays with me like he does now, then what's the difference? Why can't I just go back there now?"

She held his gaze. But she took her time in replying. And when she did, her words were careful and slow. "Hiro…I know you didn't mean to, but through everything that you did, you hurt Aunt Cass too. You weren't the only one affected." He didn't even blink as he stared at her. He knew this already. "Separating the two of you was a way to give you both time to come to terms with what happened," she continued. "And it was to make sure that if anything happened…like when you ran away or when you grabbed the knife in the kitchen…it would hurt us and not her. Because she couldn't take any more of that. We didn't want her to have to see that.

"And you're getting better, Hiro, you're worlds better than when you were when you first got here," she encouraged. "And I know that you're only going to get even more stable, and even happier. You're going to get back to your old self, and I think we just need to wait a little bit longer until you're closer to that. Until you can sort through everything that's happened and you can think logically about what you want to do going forward. Until there's absolutely no fear about what you'll do when our backs are turned, or what you'll be thinking to yourself even when you put on a smile for us." She weakened a little at the look that was on Hiro's face. She tilted her head to the side, and her next question came out thin and weaker than everything that had come before. The question that was too bold— that everyone had wanted to ask but hadn't wanted to cause damage with. Here she was now, forcing it into being, not knowing what could be there on the receiving end. "Do you still want to die, Hiro?" she asked. "Do you still…think about it?"

The silence that followed the question may as well had lasted several years. He stared at her and didn't blink; his tears welled themselves over and trailed numbly down his face. He didn't even reach up to swipe them away. The teenager looked down at his arm, and the hospital band that was still there. His forehead creased just the smallest bit, and his inhale shook a bit on its way down. "I…think I always will," he said eventually. Honey Lemon's eyes widened, and her heart fell. But Hiro went on, still looking at his wrist. "I think I'll always want to. Even on days where I'm happy, there will be the tiniest part of myself that tells me I don't deserve to be here. That I might not even want to be…I think that will never leave…"

He turned and looked up, meeting her gaze now, as much as he didn't want to. He shook his head. "It's just now I have the power to know what to do with it," he stated. "I think…I'm able to pretend I can't hear it as much."

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Work was a nice way to keep busy. Cass was keeping the café open later and later each day, in the effort of distraction, and for the most part it was working. She couldn't complain about the increased influx of money either, especially when it was so needed at this point. When she was down in the café, as long as nobody asked her how she was or how Hiro was doing, she could just lose herself in baked goods and fragrant teas. She could focus on cleaning, or making change, or listening to poetry. Sometimes she could even fool herself into thinking that Hiro was out and about at the tables chatting up guests or cleaning up spills. Sometimes she could fool herself into thinking Tadashi was in the back, washing and drying plates to send them back out.

Only sometimes.

Now, she was in the groove of things. She was just moving through the motions of everyday work and allowing her mind to slip elsewhere. Places that weren't as stressed, or sad, or tense. It was almost like it was a normal day, and there was nothing wrong. She was able to smile more, and make her voice cheerier. So when the next customer came up in line, she turned with a bright smile and her usual greeting of: "Hello, how may I help you?"

"Cass Hamada?" The voice was unfamiliar, but it carried with itself a sense of duty or importance. It caused her smile to drop immediately, and her mind to snap back into the moment at hand. The woman standing on the other side of the counter was holding something in her hands— an envelope. She hadn't asked for any drink or any pastry. She hadn't even said hello. As Cass' face fell into confusion and puzzlement, the woman looked at her a little more closely. "You are Cass Hamada, aren't you?" she prompted. "Hiro Hamada is your nephew."

The name caused her throat to burn and swell just the smallest bit, like it always did now. She had to cough a bit and put more effort into her smile to try and make it appear as if she was unaffected. "Y-Yes, that's me," she said after a pause. "I'm Cass Hamada. And you are?"

The woman smiled. "I am Professor Granville. I am the Dean of the San Fransokyo Institute of Science and Technology." The name immediately made her stiffen. Her mind began to try and sort through it all, in a burst of bemusement and worry. She'd called them already; she'd told them that Hiro didn't want to sign up for classes, however late they'd said he could register. Were they angry he hadn't taken the scholarship, or something? Immediately, she knew that if they were, she couldn't be able to handle it. She had enough on her plate— were they really going to barge through the door and complain her nephew hadn't wanted to take classes? "I came to talk to Hiro, is he here?"

She blanked for a second. But eventually offered: "No. No, he's not."

She frowned. But all the same, she marched onward. "I see. Well. I just wanted to let him know this, but I suppose telling you will get the same job done." She extended the envelope to Cass; she took it, but didn't open it yet, merely staring down at it as if that would be enough. Thankfully, Granville was going on. "I've extended the offer of his scholarship indefinitely." Aunt Cass' eyes went huge, and shock rooted her to the core. "He doesn't need to worry about when he feels ready enough to attend our institute, because the money will be waiting for him whenever he does feel prepared. Our sympathies are with him about his brother, and we know from his presentation that he would be more than a perfect fit for our school. So he can take all the time he needs before he registers."

Her brain buffered like a slow-running computer. "T-Thank you," she stammered. She looked up from the envelope, a little more strained. "I can't tell you how much this means. Maybe…maybe when he comes back, he'll be more inclined to think about attending college. Recently things have been a mess, and he— he didn't even want to get out of bed let alone start a whole new chapter of his life. He'll…he might be very happy to find out about this, when he gets home…"

"Yes, he mentioned that things had been hard lately," Granville acknowledged. Aunt Cass had started to look down so she could open the letter, but stopped short a bit at the wording. Her forehead creased, and she found herself looking back up to her. "He was very upfront with me about the situation…it was just another aspect of him that seemed wiser beyond his years. He told me that he felt as though he wasn't good enough for the school, and that he needed to work on himself before he started to think about furthering his education. I didn't tell him this at first, but after some thought, I decided that it was only right to extend the offer of tuition. Taking everything into consideration, it's the least that we could do for him."

"He…he mentioned that things had been hard? Lately?" Aunt Cass repeated.

"Yes," she returned. "He was very open about his brother's passing, which we all still deeply regret." She frowned. "He said that he had been in a bad place, but he was beginning to come to terms with it all." Cass' eyes were slowly widening more and more. "He was actually down the stairway from my classroom— he and his friend were apparently helping sort for the students that were working in the labs. I thought it silly, his being on campus and yet not attending any classes. He already recognized the test I had just given my thermodynamics class." She laughed at this. Cass did not. She was silent, and the professor took in another breath and started to take her 'out' of the conversation. "When he returns, please tell him I was here, and what I said. Our school will be waiting for him when he's prepared to take it, and we will welcome him with open arms."

Still, Cass was mute.

Granville dipped her head. "That is all I needed," she said, beginning to depart. "Thank you for speaking with me. Goodb—"

"When—?" Cass bit back on the question. Granville stopped and looked at her a little oddly. Cass shook herself a bit and finished. "When did you talk to my nephew? Again?" she asked.

Granville seemed surprised. "Oh. Well…it must have been about three days ago," she said. Cass's heart stopped beating. The other continued, oblivious to her stress. "He ran into me as I was walking down the hall. I checked for him downstairs again to talk to him myself, but he wasn't there. I would have contacted you sooner, had I not had to get permission to extend his funding. But rest assured it will all be taken care of if and when he decides to come to us." The silence was getting to her, and her eyebrows began to knit together. "Are you alright, Miss Hamada?" she asked. "You seem a little startled…"

Aunt Cass went into a small spasm. She straightened and whipped her head up and shook herself into attention. She pasted a smile on her face. "No, no! Yes. Yes, I'm fine, I'm completely fine. Thank you— thank you for this, we really appreciate it. I will…tell him what you said when he gets home. He'll be very happy." The words stuck on her tongue and tasted bitter. But Granville didn't notice and just offered her a smile. Somehow, Cass was able to replicate the gesture. Though the moment that the professor turned and began to walk away, the smile dropped, and the suspicious rushed back to cloud her features.

She looked down at the envelope, her mind quickly beginning to race. Her eyes narrowed, and her grip tightened on the paper ever so slightly. She turned and abandoned the counter for the moment. She started for her phone, which had been left on the counter, and picked it up.

Her face slowly pinching over with dread and anxiety, she started to search for the number of the place Fred had claimed he'd sent her nephew.