Chapter Text
15 hours, 17 minutes and 36 seconds.
That's how long it had been since Hiro Hamada had slept. He had been counting. He found that counting, keeping track of what was going on down to the very minute, helped him feel stable in life. Like he was in control of things, which, in truth, he wasn't. He never was, was he?
To be fair, he had wanted to sleep. Really, he did. But, he knew that if he went to sleep, he would have nightmares, or, he wouldn't even sleep at all. Insomnia wasn't uncommon for him. It had started when he was fourteen, when his life had changed forever, and not in a good way. Ever since then, he couldn't get proper shut eye.
So, to pass the time he aimlessly worked on his micro bots. He found no use in it though, they were already perfect. No. Scratch that. Nothing was perfect. Nothing. But, they were as perfect as Hiro could possibly make them. Still, it was nice to have something to do with his hands, and something keep his mind occupied.
In fact, he was so in the zone, so occupied, that he was startled when he heard a call from downstairs.
"Hiro! Could you get the mail?" His Aunt Cass' voice yelled.
Hiro jolted, nearly falling out of his desk chair. His micro bots immediately fell apart, some of them scattering, falling and bouncing to the floor and across his desk. He cursed under his breath. He was way too jumpy for his own good.
And why couldn't Aunt Cass get the mail herself anyway? She was downstairs. He was busy. No. He needed to stop thinking like that. Obviously Aunt Cass was busy too. He needed to remind himself to stop getting irrationally annoyed with people who did nothing wrong. He also needed to remind himself to stop getting lost in his thoughts. He was thinking about the subject of going downstairs to fetch the mail for so long that Aunt Cass was probably getting annoyed herself, a prediction proven true when just a few moments later he heard,
"Hiro? Did you hear me? I said: Could you get the mail?!"
Hiro sighed. "Yeah! Sorry! I'm on it now!" He stood, not even bothering to pick up his micro bots or anything of the sort. He'd do it later. Instead, he looked to the corner of the room, purposely avoiding the other side of the room, the side beyond the divider. Baymax sat in his charging port, looking like a large humanoid marshmallow.
"Baymax," Said Hiro. The robot responded immediately, coming to life and looking up at Hiro, his black eyes blinking.
"Yes?" Baymax said in his robotically polite voice.
Who needs to remind themselves when they have a robot to do it for them? "Remind me to stop being judgmental and to stop overthinking." Hiro told him.
"I can remind you, but data says that the best way to work through issues such as those are to visit a licensed therapist. Would you also like me to schedule an appointment for you?" Baymax offered stoically.
Hiro shrugged. "Nah." His Aunt Cass had already tried getting Hiro into therapy. After the incident. Hiro hated it. He hated the man in his expensive sweaters and glasses who made him feel so small in comparison. Who clicked his tongue and tapped his pen against his clipboard while Hiro talked. Hated it. Therapy, decidedly, just wasn't for him. "Just keep the reminders, 'kay?"
"Noted." Baymax's stomach lit up, signifying that he was in the process of completing an action. Then, it went back to the normal white surface Hiro was used to. "Reminders saved."
"Thanks Baymax. I am satisfied with my care." Hiro watched as Baymax shut down, returning to his resting, charging state.
"Hiro!" Aunt Cass called again, an unmistakable edge to her voice that told him he had better get downstairs quickly.
"Coming!"
Once Hiro had retrieved the mail from the mailbox, he walked back into the house, heading to the kitchen where his Aunt Cass was. He sifted through it absentmindedly, out of pure habit more than anything.
Bills. Bills. Bills. Magazine. Bills....huh?
Hiro stopped in his tracks. There was a letter. The very last one in the pile. And, here was the funny thing, it was addressed to him.
Hiro couldn't remember the last time he had received a letter. He didn't socialize much, he didn't have anyone that he considered a close friend. And the few people he talked to, Honeylemon, Fred, Gogo, Wasabi, his broth—his—his old friends, all texted or emailed him if they wanted to check up on him.
And yet, there was his name, Hiro Hamada, plain as day, right smack on the envelope. What could this letter possibly be for?
"Hiro, did you get the mail yet?" Aunt Cass had come out of the kitchen, wiping her hands with a rag, still wearing her old apron. Her dark brown hair was held back in a short ponytail, which whipped ever so slightly to the side when she tilted her head, crossing her arms in a manner of annoyance. "What's taking you so long?"
"Oh, uh, yeah, it's nothing, it's just that—well, there's a letter in here. For me." Hiro said, still staring down at the envelope, reading the name of who it was from. A guy named William L. Lauder. Why did that ring a bell?
"Oh, really?" Asked Aunt Cass, her interest obviously piqued. Hiro couldn't help but notice there was something almost hopeful in it too. As if she was expecting something like this, as if something she wanted had maybe come to fruition. She took a step closer, leaning in to read it. "Who's it from?"
"Uh...William L. Lauder." Hiro looked up at Aunt Cass, thinking. "Doesn't that name sound familiar to you?"
Aunt Cass' eyes widened, and then another expression passed across her features, a look Hiro knew too well. It meant she was hiding something, how she really felt about a matter. She wore the same expression that night at the vigil, when candles and flower surrounded his picture. The picture of his brother.
Swiftly, she snatched the envelope from his hand, a look of pure joy crossing her face. "Oh my god, it's here!" She began to rip it open, as Hiro watched, flabbergasted.
"Hey! Aunt Cass, that's mine." Hiro protested, trying and failing to snatch the now freshly opened letter away from her. Her eyes scanned the paper rapidly, her grin growing larger with every passing second. "Aunt Cass!"
Hiro was growing impatient, but tried to keep his tone level as he asked, "What does it say? What's it about?"
"Oh!" Abruptly, Aunt Cass dropped the letter and pulled Hiro into a tight hug. Usually, Hiro enjoyed Aunt Cass' hugs, they were warm, and safe and made him think of better times. Now though, he was frustrated. He pulled away from her, but she still kept him at arms length, hands on his shoulders.
"Aunt Cass, what's going on?" Hiro asked, confused.
"Hiro, you got into William L. Lauder prep!" She exclaimed.
Hiro merely blinked. "Uh...huh?"
"You did what?" Hiro asked sharply.
This couldn't be happening. This simply could not have been happening. There was no way his Aunt would betray him like this. She wouldn't.
"Hiro, before you get mad at me, listen." Aunt Cass was sat on the couch, calmly trying to talk to him. "Just know this comes from a place of love. I just wanted to help you, you're always so cooped up in your room. You're sixteen, for gods sake, and you never go out—I'm worried for you and I wanted you to get out there and meet kids your age."
"And you thought that sending in an application only my behalf for a fu—freaking boarding school was the best way to do that?" Hiro yelled.
"Yes, because if I told you would you have let me?" She asked, one brow raised.
Hiro was silent. They both knew the answer to that. No, he would not have. He didn't want this at all. The entire reason he had worked so hard, graduated high school at fourteen with honors, is so that he would never have to go to school again. He couldn't stand being around people for longer than an hour or two now. His social battery seemed to have a shorter fuse now that his brother wasn't around.
"Hiro, why don't you just try it out? It's a school for gifted kids, and you are extremely gifted. You're intelligent, and bright, and you have so much potential. This school could help you...enhance those traits. Look, they even sent a brochure!" Aunt Cass pulled the envelope from her pocket, trying to hand Hiro the folded pamphlet they had sent.
He was not having it. "I don't want a brochure! I wanna stay home! I don't understand why you thought I would agree to this."
"I didn't." Aunt Cass said simply. "But I am your guardian and if I say you're going, you're going. You'll thank me later, Hiro, I promise you. Just a try it for one school year. If you still hate it after that then, then I won't force you to do anything ever again, alright?"
Hiro glared at her, arms crossed, practically boiling with rage. He didn't, couldn't, even say another word to her, for fear that something a lot more nasty than he intended would come out.
Aunt Cass gave up on trying to hand Hiro the brochure, instead opening it and reading it herself. "Oh! Look at this, Hiro. Pets and personal robotic devices such as drones, A.I assistants and such are allowed on campus. They have designated spots. You could bring Baymax, Bud!"
Hiro had the ever present urge to tell Aunt Cass off. As if Baymax made things better. He was great, sure, definitely an upside. But he would much rather be with Baymax at home. Instead, he turned on his heels, stomping out of the living room.
Hiro had heard Aunt Cass call his name on his way upstairs, but he had purposefully ignored her. He didn't want to see her, not right at this very second. He stalked into his room, slamming the door shut behind him so that she could hear it.
"A boarding school! A boarding school!" Hiro repeated to himself, flopping down on his bed miserably. "Why would I ever be okay going to a boarding school!"
Baymax perked up, noticing Hiro's clearly angry state. He sidled over to his bed, staring down at Hiro slumped over with his trademark blank expression. "Your heart rate is elevated, your face is a slightly unnatural shade of red, and you are sweating. You seem to be in distress, what is the problem, Hiro?"
Hiro looked over at Baymax warily. "We're being shipped off to boarding school because apparently, my aunt hates me."
A school that kids all over the world went to, that everyone heard about, funded by the righteous billionaire William L. Lauder, a school that Hiro should have been ecstatic to go to, and maybe he would have been ecstatic, three years ago. When life was still good.
"Considering your Aunt's actions, I do not believe that she has such a strong negative emotion for you, Hiro." said Baymax.
"It was an exaggeration, Baymax, God." Hiro turned over, lying on his stomach and burying his face in his hands. "Listen, buddy, I am satisfied with my care. I just need to be alone now with some peace and quiet."
Baymax, without another word, shut down, leaving Hiro to his thoughts. Why did his Aunt Cass think he needed more socialization anyway? He already worked part time at her cafe, interacting with customers, and even that took a lot out of him. What was he going to do now? Going to school? Rooming with some random person? Having to socially interact with other teenagers? Something in his stomach twisted at the thought. What did he do to deserve this one? First his brother, now this?
Hiro thought the saying must be true, then. The worst things in life came for free.
•••
Music was in everything.
The rustling off the leaves, moved by the soft late summer breeze. The distant shouts and joyful cries of the children playing games outside. The delicious smell of tamales and enchiladas drafting through the air.
It was poetic, in a way, and Miguel Rivera wanted nothing more than to capture the very essence of it. So far, though, he hadn't had much luck. I mean, how could he even play music with no instrument to begin with?
He sat in the plaza, off to the side, on a stack of long forgotten crates that previously held fruits. In his hands was a tamale that he couldn't bring himself to even open and bite. He was thinking, thinking that today might be the day that changed his life. If the letter came, what would he do? How would he tell his family?
Maybe, it wouldn't come. There was a good chance it wouldn't anyway. He didn't even send any video like he was supposed to, a video showing off his talent. Just a letter. Sure, he poured his heart into the letter, practically begged the man named William L. Lauder to let him into his school, the prestigious school that everybody who wanted to be somebody knew about. But, would he listen to the woes and wants of some random kid from Mexico who didn't even have the proper requirements? Miguel thought not.
Miguel looked around him. A mariachi band stood not too far away, singing joyful tunes in Spanish, strumming guitars and tooting trumpets. The mariachis were part of the reason his abuelita never wanted him in the plaza. Too much music.
His family had a strong hatred of music. Apparently, his great-great grandfather had abandoned the family to pursue a life of being a musician. Ever since then, the pure disdain for anything musical or music related seemed to be passed down for generations, passed down to everyone except Miguel. Would his family ever see music the way he did?
Mail came at 4:00, he just needed to wait until then, and then, and then he would...well, he didn't really know, did he?
His thoughts were cut off by heavy panting and barking. Miguel looked up just in time to see a scruffy little dark haired dog, tongue flapping out of his mouth wildly, turning the corner and heading straight for him. Dante, the street dog that Miguel had somewhat adopted when he was 12.
"Dante!" Miguel called happily. The excited dog hopped up into Miguel's lap, barking and licking the side of his cheek. Miguel scratched the backside of his ears affectionately. "How are you?"
Dante barked in response, scrambling off of Miguel's lap, yipping excitedly. Miguel smirked at the overzealous dog, holding up his tamale, shaking it just a bit. "Sit, Dante."
The dog sat.
"Roll over."
He rolled over, his eyes looking up at Miguel, or, rather, at Miguel's tamale with longing.
"Shake." Miguel held out his hand, expecting the dog to shake it. Instead, he moved his entire body, shaking furiously.
Miguel chuckled and tossed him the tamale anyway. "Good enough."
He looked around, wishing he had a watch. Was it 4:00 yet? He didn't know, but he couldn't take that risk. If the letter came today, he had to be the one to get it. Miguel looked over at Dante, happily tearing up Miguel's food.
"Bye, boy, I'll see you later!"
Dante continued to eat his tamale. Miguel just shook his head, taking off for home.
Miguel practically burst into the shoemakers shop, the shop his family ran, owned and lived in for years. The scent of leather and shoe polish filled his nostrils, a smell that was a little bit too familiar to him. His family, all sat around the work table, sewing, pounding, polishing, shining.
Choruses of "Hola, Miguel!" Rang throughout the room. Miguel said a weak hello, turning to his Tìo, who usually knew when the mail arrived. "Tìo." Said Miguel, "Did the, uhm, mail come yet?"
Miguel's Tìo didn't even look up from his work as he pounded the soles of a shoe into leather. "Mail? Yeah, yeah, your abuelita got it earlier." He said distractedly.
Miguel could feel his heart drop into his stomach. "U—Uhm...did she...yell, at all? Did you hear screaming, maybe her cursing my name or something like that?"
Miguel's Tìo side eyed him. "No, should I have?"
"No, no! It's—" Miguel breathed a sigh of relief. "It's nothing. It was just a....question."
"Right." Said Miguel's Tìo, dragging out the word suspiciously.
"Were you expecting something, mijó?" Miguel's mamá, who was working opposite side of his Tìo, cut in.
"No!" Miguel froze, then, in a less guilty tone, "No, I was just curious, that's all."
"Oh, alright, well, if you're not busy could you go check on your hermanita? I put her down for a nap a while ago, but you know her." Miguel's mamá asked him.
"Sure, Mamá." Miguel felt a wave of both relief and disappointment wash over him all at once. On one hand, he was free! His abuelita wasn't mad at him, and therefore his family didn't hate him. On the other hand, he clearly wasn't good enough to get into a music school. Was he even a musician?
Miguel made to go towards the back, to where his little sister slept in her crib, in her room, when one of the most bone chilling sound he would ever hear sounded. One he, unfortunately, knew well. His abuelita's angry scream.
"MIGUEL!"
Everyone in the room paused their work, turning to look at Miguel, who had frozen with fear. His prima raised an eyebrow. "Miguel, what did you do this time?"
Something very stupid, Miguel thought, very stupid indeed.
"A SCHOOL FOR MUSIC!" Abuelita cried angrily. "MUSIC! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? DID YOU LOSE YOUR HEAD? YOUR GOOD SENSE?"
Miguel stood with his head lowered, staring at his feet so as to not, for lack of better terms, face the music. He could already feel the tears brimming in his eyes, the lump building in his throat. He pushed them both back as far as he could.
His other family stood around, having all long forgotten their work in the shoe shop in order to watch the entire exchange between Miguel and his abuelita like it was a telenovela. And, Miguel thought, it was definitely as dramatic as one.
Miguel's Abuelita held up his letter. The letter that told Miguel that he had been excepted into William L. Lauder prep with a full ride scholarship. That he would be shipped off to San Fransokyo, to America, in just two weeks. He should have been elated, but his abuelita made sure he wasn't.
"YOU ARE HURTING THIS FAMILY, MIGUEL! FIRST, YOU RUN OFF TO DO MUSIC IN AMERICA, LIVING THE DREAM, AND THEN YOU NEVER COME BACK, JUST LIKE YOUR GREAT-GREAT GRANDFATHER! I WILL NOT HAVE YOU TURN OUT LIKE HIM, I WONT STAND FOR IT!"
"But, abuelita—" Miguel pleaded sheepishly. "I won't, I swear I won't...abandon the family, I just want to play music. I just want to see the world!"
Abuelita shook her head, her voice lower now, but with the same harsh cadence. "That's what my grandfather said. Right before he walked out."
"Abuelita, please! I—"
A sharp ripping sound filled the room. It went silent, so silent you could hear a pin drop. Then another, then another. Miguel could only watch in shock as his abuelita ripped up his hopes and dreams. When the acceptance letter was finally nothing but scrapes and bits on the floor, she stopped, letting it fall from her hands.
"No music. Not in this family." She said quietly, stalking away. Her anger was tangible, it was felt throughout the entire room, and in its wake left a thick air of tension, which caused all of Miguel family members to be quite uncomfortable.
But no one was as upset as Miguel. He slowly dropped to his knees, fighting back tears, and began to pick up the scraps of the letter, small fragments of his greatest desires, destroyed and left on the floor like dirt.
His mamá slowly made her way over and helped him, picking up the paper and putting the rest of it into his cupped hands. Hers clasped around his, and she sighed. "I am so sorry, mijó."
Miguel said nothing, just stood and quietly left the room. He could feel the eyes of every member of his family on him. He burned with anger, embarrassment, grief. But he said nothing. He couldn't say a thing. Not in this family.
Miguel got to his room and quietly closed the door. Slamming it, as much as he wanted to, would only make abuelita angrier. He dropped the bits of the letter onto his dresser, staring at them as his vision went blurry. Hot tears streamed down his face before he knew it, and he dropped onto his bed, covering his face with his hands as he began to sob.
He was done. Not only was he definitely not going to school, but he had ruined everything. His family would never forgive him. It wasn't fair. Nothing about this was fair. Why couldn't he have been born in a normal family that would have applauded him for getting into such a prestigious school? Instead, they, at least abuelita, were angry.
He was so lost in his thoughts and cries that Miguel had yet to notice the small child sat in the corner of his room. It was only until he felt a soft tug at his jeans did he open his teary eyes, looking down to see a chubby, short little toddler with her curly dark hair pushed into a tiny ponytail stop her head.
Quickly, Miguel wiped his eyes, trying his best to smile for his little sister. "Rosie," He said, voice feigning normal. "I thought you were supposed to be napping?"
He picked her up, and plopped her onto the bed beside him. The two year old's face was confused, almost. Miguel knew that she could see he wasn't alright, but maybe she was too young to understand exactly why he was like that? He sniffed, ruffling her hair. "You trouble maker. Climbed out of your crib again, did you? You're lucky you're cute."
Rosie climbed closer to her older brother, putting her little hand on his cheek. She looked at him hard, thinking in the way that toddlers think, he could only guess. He gently took her hand off, squeezing it. "I'm alright, I promise." He told her. She looked unsure, maybe afraid, but he continued talking, "Now why were you in here anyway?"
Finally, Rosie smiled, showing off the two front teeth that she had recently grown in. "Ba ba!" She said happily.
"Oh! You came in here looking for my bottles? You wanted to blow in them like you always do, right?" Miguel stood, going in his drawer and retrieving a glass Agua de Coco bottle that he had found outside a while back. "Here."
He handed it to Rosie, who took it in her chubby hands and blew into it, the singsongy note sound that came out of it made her giggle. Miguel had taught her how to blow into bottles and make music notes when she was about a year old. He didn't expect her to catch on so quickly, but she did. Clearly he wasn't the only one who didn't hate music in the family.
Miguel lay down beside his sister, who occupied herself with the bottle, blowing and trying to lick and bite it (Miguel had started cleaning the bottle regularly because of this). He didn't remember exactly when, only that at one point, he fell asleep, the sporadic sound of bottle notes lulling him down.
"Miguel?" Came a faint, muffled voice. "Miguel!"
Miguel woke with a start, sitting up and blinking his eyes rather rapidly, to adjust to the odd light. How long had he been asleep? It was getting dim out now. Had he really been down for three hours? Maybe everything that had happened had been a bad dream, just a nightmare brought on by Miguel's nerves. He looked at his dresser, a pile of scraps still sat on it. Never mind.
Rosie was curled up next to him, glass bottle still tightly in her grasp. He moved her over as gently as possible, so as not to wake her. In the doorway, stood his mamá, leaning against the frame and giving Miguel a melancholy smile.
Miguel sat up on his bed, rubbing his eyes. "Mamá? What's—" He yawned. "What's going on...?"
She didn't say a thing, just came into his room, sitting down next to him on the bed carefully. "Miguel, you are an amazing hermano. Rosita really loves you." She put a soft hand on his shoulder.
"Gracias, mamá." Miguel said, a bit confused.
"You deserve...a lot, mijó. You never ask for much, always very well behaved, you...you're the best hijo I could ever ask for."
Miguel simply didn't question why his mother was complimenting him in such a way. It didn't matter, really. He enjoyed being praised for once, not being put down.
"Which is why...which is why you can go to your music school in America." She said slowly.
Miguel's eyes widened. "Really, mamá? But...but abuelita—"
"Abuelita is just going to have to deal with it, yes? I am your mother, Miguel. My word is law." She gave him a sly wink.
"But...my letter. It was ripped. I can't get in without my letter." Miguel said, still refusing to believe that it was possible.
"Leave it to me, mijó. Do not worry. Just know that you are going. I promise you." Her eyes lingered on his face for too long. He wondered if she could tell he had been crying. Miguel's mamá stood, scooping up her youngest child from the bed. "I'll take her to her room, where she's supposed to be."
Miguel didn't know what to think of the interaction, and could only watch as his mother quietly left the room, his little sister in her arms. He was going. He was going! His mother didn't hate him, and even if the rest of the family did, it didn't matter! He was going! Miguel could practically jump for joy.
How would his mother pull it off? She would have to go against her own mother, which Miguel felt bad about. Maybe he should've gone and ran and told his mamá that he didn't want to go anymore anyway, that he would be fine. But then again...he knew he wouldn't. He wanted to go more than anything in the world.
Miguel lay back down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.
By some absolutely crazy stroke of luck, he was going. He was going to the school that would surely change his life. What would his family think? He cared, but he had a mind to stop. He would follow his dreams no matter what, even if abuelita screamed from Mexico to America, and he wouldn't have to pay a cent.
Maybe the saying was true. The best things in life were free.