Worthy (A Tadelsa One-Shot)

Heiress AU in which Elsa has inherited a massive company and is a prominent citizen.

It was fun writing Tadashi as the uncertain one this time.

Abnormally uneasy, Tadashi Hamada tugged at the suffocating collar of his button-up shirt, tapping a foot as he waited for someone to come answer the door. 

Why was it taking so long? Shouldn't they have servants or something? A butler?

It was an imposing door, carved from some sort of rich dark wood--mahogany?--and flanked by two creamy stone pillars that met in a smooth arch. The bronzed door knocker made a low, thudding sound.

Those few minutes he waited felt like an eternity. Then he heard the soft padding of feet behind the door and straightened, adjusting his tie, gulping down his nervousness.

As the door slowly swung open, it was all he could do to keep from gaping in a very inelegant manner. Partly because he hadn't expected Elsa, the mistress of the house, to open the door, and partly because she looked absolutely stunning, her rippling blue gown reaching to the ground, her platinum blonde hair swept up at the nape of her neck.

She spoke first, amusement in her eyes despite her formal tone. "Hello, Tadashi."

"Uh, hi, Elsa." Tadashi winced at his own awkwardness. Attempting to redeem the inauspicious start, he offered an honest, if inadequate, compliment. "You look great."

"You don't look so bad yourself," Elsa teased, lips curved into a quiet smile. "Come in."

As he stepped through the threshold, Tadashi couldn't help his eyes from darting all over the place, taking in the gilded wallpaper, the glowing chandeliers, the heavy picture frames filled with portraits of solemn ancestors. The sound of their footsteps changed abruptly with the transition from cold marble to deliciously soft carpet. 

Under the high, domed ceiling of the main hall, Tadashi suddenly felt smaller than ever, like an imposter in a place he didn't belong. Again, he gulped, the corner of his mouth turned down, anxious, almost grim.

Elsa had been about to beckon him into the dining hall when she noticed his expression. "What's wrong?"

"Um--" Tadashi tried to shrug it off. "I'm just nervous and stuff. You know, all this grandeur--" Here he gestured widely to the opulent room. "Not used to it. And I don't know if your relatives will like me. Just some random kid from the city, here in the Arendelle mansion--" He glanced through the floor-to-ceiling window at the silent street outside. Lined with neatly pruned trees, it was a far cry from the constantly busy streets of the central city, and just reminded him how far out of his comfort zone he was, here in the most prestigious district of San Fransokyo. Back there he was a student from a respected university. Here he was--well, if not a nobody, pretty close to it.

Shaking her head, Elsa cut him off. "Don't worry, Tadashi. They may be a bit hard at first, but they're just testing you."

"What for?" Tadashi kept his tone light, but inside he was quaking--and maybe just a little insulted.

"To make sure you're worthy to date an Arendelle, I suppose," Elsa answered, the sympathetic little quirk of her lips taking the edge off her words. "But really. They will warm up to you. Kai and Gerda will love you, I'm sure, and even if Weselton disapproves, he doesn't pull much weight in the family anymore, remember?"

Tadashi nodded. Elsa had briefed him beforehand, and he knew about her uncle Weselton and his misdeeds--as well as his adamant stance on marrying into the right social class. It was just their luck that he had happened to be in town this week.

"You'll be fine." Elsa smiled at him, a warm, reassuring smile, taking his hand and leading him towards the dining hall. "They were suspicious of Kristoff at first, but they've come to accept him, and that's opened up a lot of doors. Besides, you're a robotics student at one of the most renowned tech universities, responsible, hardworking, and incredibly handsome to boot--" 

Tadashi chuckled as she went on, brushing off the compliments bashfully.

"--What's not to like?"

With a nod that seemed to say "you'll do okay," Elsa opened up the double doors of the dining hall to reveal a long, white-clothed table with five other people sitting at one end. Tadashi set his shoulders firmly, kept his chin up, resolved to make the best impression he possibly could--to prove that he was worthy of Elsa Arendelle. 

"Uncle Weselton, Kai, Gerda, Anna, Kristoff," Elsa said, with dignity and yet also with sincerity, one arm extended in a graceful flourish, "my boyfriend, Tadashi Hamada."

~~~

The first thing Tadashi noticed was that Anna was laughing at him. Actually laughing. If not for the need to keep a pleasant, gracious smile on his face for the sake of the occasion, he would have scowled at his redheaded friend.

The second thing he noticed was that Kristoff looked grumpy, more so than usual. Perhaps he simply wasn't accustomed to all the finery--I get you, brother--or perhaps he'd been instructed to intimidate. If the latter were the case, it was working. Tadashi had met the man once or twice, and he seemed nice enough, but he'd also been the one to deliver the obligatory "break-her-heart-and-I'll-snap-you-in-half" lecture.

The third thing he noticed was that the tiny, white-mustachioed man at the end of the table was glaring at him through a pair of round pince-nez glasses with distinct disapproval. Evidently the infamous Weselton had taken a dislike to him at first glance.

"Good evening," he said, extending a clammy hand to each person at the table. Most of the handshakes were cursory, noncommittal, but Anna gripped his hand tight and shot him a helpful smile.

Though his heart threatened to sink (already?), Tadashi managed to maintain that dignified, easy smile as they sat down, smoothing napkins over laps. His place lay right opposite Weselton's. Figures.

"Humph." The little man peered at Tadashi through the glasses, bushy white eyebrows raised. Tadashi attempted not to shrink under the scrutiny, meeting Weselton's gaze with steady eyes.

"Welcome, Mr. Hamada." The stout man with a twinkle in his eye--Kai, Tadashi supposed--greeted the guest, not ungraciously. 

"A delight to have you," added the thin woman with the hawk like nose. Gerda.

"An honour to be here, ma'am," Tadashi returned, the appealing quality of his earnest face making up for the twinge of discomfort in his voice.

Elsa gave his hand a comforting little squeeze under the table.

Gradually, they eased into conversation, discussing the weather, the economy, topics safe and uncontroversial. To his relief, Tadashi found himself able to make intelligent remarks, to even enjoy the company. The chatter soon grew warm and lively, aided along by Anna's natural effervescence and Elsa's artful knowledge of when to pursue the subject and when to change it. Only Weselton stayed sullenly silent, still inspecting Tadashi like a scientist examining a specimen under a microscope. Even so, Tadashi relaxed enough to let down his guard and enjoy the excellent fare.

Only at dessert did things start to go downhill.

Weselton broke his blessed silence to ask Tadashi a question, harmless on the surface, but no doubt barbed with secret intent. "So, Mr. Hamada, you mentioned that you're not out of school yet?"

"No," Tadashi began, slowly, but Anna burst in, hair already coming loose from her elaborate bun.

"SFIT's one of the most prestigious tech colleges around, Uncle."

"Hmmm." Weselton only barely acknowledged the interruption. "A robotics student?"

"Yes, sir."

In a valiant effort to liven the suddenly forbidding mood, Kai exclaimed, "Isn't that nice! You know, we could definitely use some good tech brains at Arendelle Corporation. You should come down one day for the interview."

Tadashi smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you, sir. Right now, I'm working on my final project. And after that--well, I was planning on taking an internship, and then striking out on my own--but thank you for the offer. I'll keep it in mind."

Not to be beaten, Weselton tried to regain control of the conversation. "And what is this final project, exactly?"

"A healthcare robot," Tadashi replied, eager to discuss his pride and joy. "He's programmed with over ten thousand medical procedures. Made of vinyl. Inflatable."

"Inflatable." Weselton pronounced the word with distaste as he speared a stray blueberry, gazing at it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. "An inflatable robot." 

Even though Tadashi was well aware that Weselton knew nothing about robotics, the man's knowing tone suddenly made him feel very insecure and made his cherished creation seem silly, doomed to failure, even. It was absurd--he knew Baymax was a revelation--and yet all his teachers' glowing remarks paled under the nose of this haughty little man. Annoyance finished off his confusing cocktail of emotions as Kai and Gerda exchanged uneasy glances across the table.

"What a quaint idea." Having exhausted the subject, Weselton switched tactics, the fact that Tadashi towered over him making no difference to the uppity way in which he carried himself. "So, Mr. Hamada, let us talk serious matters. Firstly--" He adjusted his pince-nez with a silk-gloved hand. "Tell us about your bloodline. Your family connections."

Inwardly, Tadashi groaned, and Elsa cringed at the ridiculously insensitive question. They'd both seen it coming--Weselton was known for his archaic ideas on preserving the integrity of the bloodline--but up to now they'd hoped they might somehow miraculously avoid the issue.

"Well--" Tadashi laid down his fork. "I'm pretty sure the Hamada lineage can be traced back to the samurai of Japan." That was good, right? The samurai were close enough to noble. Seeing that Weselton had yet to respond, he went on. "My great-grandparents came here after the 1908 earthquake to rebuild the city. We've been here ever since."

He took pride in his ancestry, a line dotted with heroes and innovators, but he knew it would do naught to satisfy Elsa's uncle. Hard to believe this fidgety little man was related to the love of his life.

"But your parents?" Weselton pressed. "Who are your parents? Are they prominent citizens?"

"My parents are dead," Tadashi said, flatly. Before anyone could speak, he went on, his courtesy tinged with wariness. "My father was a research scientist. My mother was a doctor. And I'm proud of them, sir." No matter what you or anybody else thinks, he wanted to add, but he was hesitant to go too far.

Weselton seemed oblivious to the edge in Tadashi's voice. "You see?" he erupted, gesturing meaningfully at the boy. "No connections, nothing. Just a random kid from who-knows-where. His relatives could be low-class. Criminals, even." (Here Tadashi mentally breathed a sigh of relief at not having mentioned his brother's botfighting exploits.) Weselton waved a fork. "Elsa, I disapprove. You are not to have a relationship with this boy."

Tadashi felt anger bubble up in him, eager to be let out, yet something stopped him from voicing it. Not just manners--Weselton was unreasonable, of course, but could his words contain a grain of truth? 

Elsa was practically nobility, a successful businesswoman, heiress to a vast commercial empire, while he was just a random kid from who-knows-where. She was way out of his league.

Then Elsa spoke, her tone icy. "Uncle, I advise you to stop now before you say something you regret later."

"I won't regret anything," Weselton retorted, shooting daggers at Tadashi with his large eyes. "The kid is distinctly below us, Elsa. And--he's Japanese."

For a few moments a stunned silence filled the room. Anna's hands flew to her mouth in shock, and she started from her chair as Kristoff put a firm hand on her arm to steady her. Tadashi stared at Weselton with insulted incredulity, too overcome for a second to speak, his fork clattering against china. And Elsa arched an eyebrow, pressed her mouth into a hard line.

"Is that a problem?" Her voice had a dangerous sharpness to it.

"Actually, I'm biracial," Tadashi said. Irrelevant, probably. But he couldn't think of much else to say; indignance and politeness struggled in him for control. He fisted the napkin in his lap into a crumpled ball.

Before anyone else could react, Weselton barrelled on relentlessly. "Even worse. You see, Elsa? He admitted it himself. The boy is a half-breed."

This time the silence lasted only for a split second.

"That is enough." Elsa stood, her head proud and erect, her eyes dazzlingly cold. "Uncle Weselton, I am sorry, but you will leave now. You are no longer welcome in this house."

~~~

"Not that he ever was," Anna muttered under her breath as a servant firmly escorted the raging Weselton out. Even in his ignominy, Weselton turned to shake a fist at Elsa, nearly hysterical.

"I won't have it! This is outrage! I am your elder! I deserve respect!"

"I lost what little respect I had for you when you betrayed my trust for your own selfish gain," Elsa said, her face impassive.

"You'll be sorry for this, young lady."

"You are dismissed." As Elsa delivered the ultimatum, Tadashi sat in silence, surprised at the steel in her tone. He was seeing a side of her he hadn't really seen before--only in glimpses, the rare instances when she leapt to defend her sister or uphold her family name. The side as fierce as a lioness, but really more like a bird of prey in its regality, its swift cold decision.

He wasn't just dating an heiress. He was dating a queen.

As the double doors closed behind Weselton's retreating figure, Elsa sat down again, folding her hands nervously in her lap, the mask dropping as quickly as it appeared. A heavy hush hung over the party.

"Wow," was all Tadashi could manage as servants came to clear the plates.

They remained for a while more, taking careful sips from tiny coffee cups, plucking uncomfortably at napkins. Finally Elsa gave a little sigh and signalled the dinner was over.

"I'd give you a tour of the house," she said, "but I think it's been a long night for everybody."

Tadashi nodded, agreeing. The Arendelle mansion looked fascinating, full of nooks and crannies and long family history. He could sense, though, that Kai and Gerda, as much as he'd like to get to know them better, were in a poor mood to entertain further, Kristoff was fiddling with the too-tight cuffs of his dress shirt, and even Anna was glowering at the chandelier. As for Elsa--gatherings, even close ones like this, took more of a toll on her than she let on. Above her practised smile her eyes were tired.

"Thank you for having me," he began, sincere eyes directed towards Kai and Gerda. As they murmured the usual civilities, Elsa stood.

"Come on. I'll show you out."

~~~

The two stepped out through the same door from which Weselton had exited just moments ago, back into the splendid hallway, and out into the cool night air of San Fransokyo. A fog hung low over the city, softening the moonlight into muted silver.

Tadashi cast a glance from Elsa back to the mansion, a classical building warmly lit, surrounded by the meticulously pruned grounds that they were walking through now. He wondered briefly how the luxuriant, evenly clipped lawn would feel under his feet. 

Tadashi had never really thought of himself as insecure. He was confident in his own abilities, comfortable in his own skin, and yet--

Weselton's words had found chinks in his armour. Tadashi shook his head at himself, frowning in the moonlight. The man had been proven a fraud and a liar; why would he pay him any attention? 

Or perhaps Weselton had simply voiced what Tadashi had feared all along. That Elsa, with her flawless familial associations, her pure Nordic blonde hair and blue eyes, the magnificent estate they were in at this very moment--was too good for him.

The moment in which she'd risen to defend him only further cemented this possibility. She'd been glorious in that moment, her breeding and aristocratic roots showing in every inch of her person, from the proud arch of her neck to her ramrod-straight back. And he'd merely sat by tongue-tied and slack-jawed, barely able even to say a word for himself or his family.

It was clear that she moved in a world in which he did not belong.

His footsteps slowed, and Elsa noticed. "What's wrong?" she asked, for the second time that day.

They stopped in the middle of the path, silhouettes stark against the light of the wrought-iron streetlamps. 

Tadashi shrugged slightly, his eyes darting down to meet Elsa's. "What if he's right, Elsa?"

She blinked up at him for a second, taken aback. "Right about what?"

"Right that...that I'm not worthy of you." He started to pace, eyes fixed on the smooth stone of the path. "I love you, Elsa, you know I do, but you're brilliant and successful and wealthy and--" His shoulders slumped. "Everything I'm not."

Elsa watched him, disbelieving. "You think he's right?" she asked softly, a mixture of sadness and amusement glittering in her huge eyes. "Tadashi, since when, in the history of everything, has Weselton been right about anything?"

"Besides," she went on, taking his hand in hers, "we promised to enter this relationship as equals, remember? Believe me, Tadashi, I never, ever thought of you as anything less than worthy."

"Yes, but--" In the silvery moonlight and the unflinching love in her face, Tadashi's protests faltered on his lips.

She shook her head, smiling up at him with certainty. "Tadashi Hamada, you have a beautiful mind and one of the biggest hearts I have ever known. You are one of the most remarkable people in my life. It is an honour to love and be loved by you."

He moved to take her other hand, halfway incredulous. He hardly dared to accept her words, and yet she would never lie to him. What did he ever do to deserve someone like Elsa in his life? "I am honoured, too, Elsa Arendelle."

"And you are worthy," she said, giving his hand a final squeeze.

At that she disappeared back into the house, her hair gleaming in the moonlight, leaving him standing there with a sappy grin spreading across his face. 

Was he?

(He was. As much as anyone could be of her, anyway.)

And with the coolness of her hand still lingering in his, Tadashi felt for the first time all night that--perhaps--he could be worthy.

Real Dreams: The Dreams Make it Hard to Sleep (A Stevanda Series)

I'm attempting a new series of one-shots for a fic request, centred around the relationship of Steve Rogers and Wanda Maximoff from the Marvel Cinematic Universe. I aim to make these able to be interpreted as either romantic or platonic, so, whatever floats your boat. Prior warning that I make no promise that these will be posted with any sort of regularity.

One: The Dreams Make it Hard to Sleep

If the building wasn't so big, he'd have heard her screams.

As it is, he only realises someone else is awake when he sees the light on in the kitchen. Curious, Steve approaches, recognizing the girl from the long dark hair billowing down her back.

"Can't sleep?" he asks, sitting down opposite her on a counter stool.

Wanda nods, and he notices her eyes are sad as she stares down at the empty mug in front of her. She shakes her head slightly as if trying to shake dark thoughts away. 

"The room felt too...enclosed," she mutters, still not meeting his eyes. "I needed some space, so I came out here." An airy hand waves, uncertain, attempting to finish her sentence for her. "The dreams...they make it hard to sleep."

Steve swallows. Of course she's having bad dreams. He knows about the dreams, all too well, knows about the way they make one desperate for reprieve and yet afraid to fall asleep. He's never seen her without her makeup on before, and under the unforgiving white light of the kitchen she looks young and tired. "You okay?" Warmth tinges his voice, and he reaches out a hand to her, but she flinches and he draws back.

"Ya, I'm okay." The girl rummages through the tray of tea bags as if her life depends on it, and then gets up to find the hot water. Steve stops her, slipping off his chair too.

"It'll be even harder to sleep if you drink that," he admonishes, taking the tea bag away from her and opening a cupboard door. His hand hovers for a moment before he picks out the jar of hot chocolate mix. "There. How about some hot chocolate?"

"Hot chocolate?" Put out by the loss of her tea, Wanda pouts slightly, but then relents. "Okay, thank you."

So Steve makes the hot chocolate, stirring the mix into warm milk and topping each cup with a trio of marshmallows. He sets one cup in front of her and takes one for himself, then takes his seat again.

Wrapping her thin hands around the mug, Wanda smiles slightly as she inhales the rich sweet scent. A distant childhood memory stirs: falling snow outside the window, steaming mugs of chocolate, an eight-year-old Pietro stealing marshmallows when their mother isn't looking and giving her half. 

As he watches her face, Steve notices the smile, hesitant and enigmatic. "You wanna talk about it?" he offers, knowing it does no good to keep emotions bottled up when they beg to be let out.

The smile fades. Her first instinct is to say no, then she thinks of returning to a dark and lonely room haunted by nightmares and something in her shrinks at the thought. Finally she speaks, unconsciously gripping the cup in her hands more tightly. "They're about Pietro," she admits. "Sometimes about my parents, but mostly about Pietro." That much must be obvious to Steve, but she doesn't want to elaborate.

She doesn't want to tell him about the times she sees Pietro's death in her head. All the different ways he cries out and the different ways he falls, each time ending up limp and lifeless on the ground. Clint told them how he died, but characteristically only offered a brief and factual report, his mask only slipping at the end to tell them that the Sokovian boy died a hero. And while Wanda is grateful Clint spared them the details, it also means that the scene is left to her imagination, and her imagination is a part of her that cannot be trusted.

She also doesn't want to tell Steve about the other kind of dream. The kind that starts off good, perfect even. In those dreams Pietro is with her. He laughs, he shakes his hair out of his eyes, he shoots her that roguish smile of his and presses a kiss to her head, and her fears drift away like black balloons cut loose. But then he jerks unnaturally, the light goes out of his eyes, and he falls to the floor, terrible spots of crimson slowly growing on the fabric of his shirt. Her dreams always end the same way, but this kind of dream is worse than the first, because for a tiny moment it gives her happiness before snatching it all away.

She doesn't want to tell Steve any of this, but she hasn't spoken for a long time, only stayed unmoving like a statue, and he's peering at her with his cerulean eyes concerned. Uncomfortable, she shifts in her seat. Voices a single thought. 

"I should have been with him when he died."

It's a thought that has weighed heavy on her ever since that day, and even letting this single regret out seems to ease something in her heart. Wanda glances up at Steve, then drops her gaze again. In that moment she sees genuine sympathy in his face.

"You couldn't help it, Wanda. You were doing what you had to do, and I'm sure your brother understands."

"Yes, but--" Wanda gulps down the lump in her throat, and takes a careful sip of the soothing liquid. This Captain America may be sympathetic, but he will never quite understand, and that certainty should stop her from confiding further--yet she goes on. "I know--I know he was thinking of me when he died. He wanted me there with him."

What could be worse than being born together and dying apart?

Her shoulders droop, and she says in barely more than a whisper: "I miss him."

Steve doesn't really know what to say. He knows what it is to lose a brother, but not a twin, not a world, not a part of your soul. Still, he can see she's tired and hurting and needs help, even feeble help like his.

"I know it's hard," he tells her, earnestly. "It never really gets easy. But it gets better. I promise you that."

Wanda is tempted to laugh, a short, bitter laugh. How can it get better when half of her is gone? Steve means well, though, so she keeps the laugh inside of her, where it curls into a cold, hard ball.

They've both finished their hot chocolate, and Steve takes the stained cups, rinsing them in the sink. Wanda feels the exhaustion seeping in, and she stands, signalling the conversation is over. 

"You go on and get to bed," Steve says, his voice kind. "Try to get some sleep."

Mutely, the girl nods, reluctant to once again lose herself in fearsome dreams. "Thank you," she manages, her tone unnecessarily formal. 

She finds her room and crawls back under the covers, bracing herself for hours more of nightmare-plagued sleep, and hours more of staring blankly at the ceiling and fighting closing eyes.

Don't be fooled, she instructs herself. Even if Pietro is there it is just a dream, and the dream will hurt you.

But for some reason--whether it's the hot chocolate or the light still on in the kitchen or the few thoughts she doesn't have to keep to herself anymore--she sleeps through the night, and when she awakes it is morning.

He'll Be Okay (A FoT/Baby Hiro One-Shot)

image source

"Miss Kato wants to talk to you."

The words, spoken nonchalantly by the fluffy-haired four-year-old as he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the classroom, seemed innocuous enough, but they caused his older brother's heart to sink.

What had Hiro done this time? Last week he had taken apart the taps and caused a minor flood in the boy's room. The week before he had picked the lock of the safe in the principal's office--how he even got in there was beyond them all. Despite himself, images of doors ripped from their hinges and out-of-control Big Wheels rose in Tadashi's mind.

But he braced himself for whatever new devilment Hiro had gotten up to this week, attempting to put himself in a polite, responsible, parental state of mind. In January he had come to blows with a teacher over the fact that Hiro was teaching his friends the periodic table. (What did it matter if it wasn't in the curriculum--ah, never mind. It hadn't been pretty.)

An anxious smile on his face, Tadashi deposited Hiro on the playground. "Play nice, okay?" His little brother was tiny, but he could be a feisty one. The last thing he needed was to come back to a group of screaming kids.

"Mmkay." Hiro didn't look up, bent on overturning a big beetle he had found, as Tadashi steeled himself and walked into the classroom building.

~~~

"Mr. Hamada." The teacher was a nice lady, small-built, refined, but her eyes were serious and something in her tone unsettled Tadashi. "Please, take a seat."

"Yes ma'am," he answered, feeling gangly and enormous next to her, and not quite sure what to do with his hands and feet. In the cozy room lined with childish drawings, he could hear his heart thumping away, and for a moment he imagined himself in grade school again. He could pick out Hiro's work--the one with the dark, heavy lines, the surprisingly accurate shading, and the robot casually picking another machine's innards apart. "What's the problem this time? I promise, if he did any damage, I'll pay for--"

She cut him off, smile lines surrounding her eyes. "No, it's nothing like that this time," she reassured, smoothing her skirt down as she sat across from him. "As you know, Tadashi, your brother is a rather exceptional child."

"Yeah, I know." Whether she meant that as a compliment or not Tadashi wasn't sure, but he couldn't help the corner of his mouth tugging up into a proud half-smile. Hiro truly was extraordinary. A troublemaker, but extraordinary.

"Well," Miss Kato continued, resting her elbows on the table, "he seems to be far beyond his peers academically." She glanced down at the papers spread out in front of her. "Actually, that's an understatement. He's reading at a second or third grade level, has a remarkable knowledge of science, especially--to put it simply, he isn't being challenged enough in preschool."

Tadashi blinked, once, twice. Of course he wasn't. No four-year-old read about Isaac Asimov in his spare time. And Tadashi knew that, of course, he'd talked about it with Aunt Cass before the accident, but he'd been so caught up with funeral things and school and day care and just barely making ends meet that he hadn't seen this coming.

He would have smacked himself in the forehead except for the need to stay professional. Instead he asked, "So what do you suggest, ma'am? Extra tuition, maybe?" Logistically it might be tough. They'd work something out, though--

"No," she said, shaking her head slightly, lips pursed. "I think he should skip a grade. One, at least, but two would be optimum. Do you think he's ready for that?"

Tadashi looked down at the table, absently noticing an irregularity in the grain of wood, brow furrowed. 

He didn't know.

Academically of course Hiro was, but otherwise? Sometimes Tadashi felt that Hiro's emotional maturity was somewhat...lacking. Already he often came back with bruises and black eyes from playground fights; the four-year-old had an amazing propensity to get into trouble. His peers towered over him. How would he hold his own against older kids?

He'd been silent for a long time, and Miss Kato spoke, her tone warm and reassuring. "I know it's worrying, Mr. Hamada, but I've talked to a few of his other teachers and we all think it'll be the best thing for Hiro. If you're concerned about him getting along with his classmates and making friends, I promise I'll speak to the kindergarten teachers to watch out for him." 

"Yeah, um, thanks--" Tadashi's head was spinning. Too many things to consider. He didn't know, didn't feel equipped to make this decision--how he wished Aunt Cass was here to make it for him. 

The teacher must have seen the confusion in his face, because she gave him a soothing smile, probably the one she used on high-strung toddlers. "You don't have to decide now, Mr. Hamada. I just thought we would let you know."

"Okay," Tadashi said, nodding firmly, trying to seem in control of the situation. "Um, thank you, Miss Kato. I'll talk to Hiro, see what he thinks, get back to you...whenever..." He was rambling, and he knew it, forcing himself to stop. "Yeah."

"You're very welcome," Miss Kato answered, kindly. "Take your time, dear."

And so Tadashi stood, stumbling over his chair, and left the room, scooping his little brother up on the way with uncertainty creased into his face.

~~~

They got home, as usual, and Tadashi poured Hiro a glass of milk, as usual, while the four-year-old spread out his homework onto the table, as usual. Frankly Tadashi had been surprised to learn that the preschoolers even had homework, but Hiro had explained with an expression almost disdainful that it mostly involved counting clowns and colouring.

"I don't like clowns," Hiro muttered under his breath as he covered the unfortunate mime's face with crayon scribbles.

"Drink your milk," Tadashi reminded his brother. "You want to grow up big, don't you?" He laughed, ruffling the diminutive child's hair and coming over to the other side of the counter to take a look at his work.  "Why is his face grey?"

"It's a robot clown," Hiro answered, as if that were a perfectly clear explanation.

Again, Tadashi laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. "Okay, buddy." He'd long learned not to question Hiro's logic. He watched his little brother colour for a while more, the toddler painstakingly adding weld lines and screws to the clown's hands. The picture was far more terrifying than a normal clown, but there was no understanding Hiro sometimes. Then he bit his lip, remembering the decision he had to make. Soon.

He might as well ask his brother. It was Hiro's life, after all.

"Hey, Hiro."

"Yeah?" Hiro didn't look up from his work, his brow wrinkled in concentration.

"Do you like school?" Sometimes Tadashi wondered. Some days Hiro came back full of chatter, others he came back listless or grumpy. He'd thought that was normal for a four-year-old, but really, what did he know about four-year-olds?

"It's okay, I guess." Hiro frowned, and then brightened. "Miss Kato's nice. Sometimes we do fun stuff, like volcanoes. But some of the kids are stupid."

"Hiro!"

Deliberately ignoring his brother's reproach, Hiro went on. "They say math is boring, but they can't do it themselves." He shrugged a little. "School's okay. I like being home more, though."

Not surprising, considering yesterday they'd done the screaming jelly baby experiment and the day before they'd made a model of the solar system--not quite to scale, but as close as they could get. (They'd lost the Earth peppercorn, though.)

Tadashi leaned forward so he could see Hiro's face through his thick dark bangs. "What would you say about going to school with the big kids, Hiro?"

"The kindergarten?" Hiro looked up, his tiny mouth forming into a puzzled pout.

"Yeah."

"Okay!"

Taken aback, Tadashi blinked. Well, that was unexpectedly fast. Then again, Hiro wasn't exactly one to think things through.

Hiro elaborated, seeing that Tadashi had yet to respond. "They do cool stuff. I see them through the window. Some of it is the same but some of it is cool. The kids aren't as stupid, either."

The teenager couldn't find it in himself to admonish Hiro for using the banned word right then, knowing full well that those same kids were the ones who liked to take the opportunity in playtime to pound his brother's face into the ground. But if he went to kindergarten, the kids would be bigger. More brutal. He couldn't take the risk, could he? He couldn't let Hiro get hurt.

As had been happening increasingly frequently, he found himself unsure what to do.

"Or," Hiro mused, tipping his head to the side, "I could go to college with you. That would be awesome."

Though still tense, Tadashi chuckled. "Not for now, goofball. But you really want to go to kindergarten?"

"Mm-hm!" Nodding emphatically, Hiro picked up his crayon again and bent his head over the colouring page. "I really wanna. Can I?"

Tadashi cast his eyes downward, still hesitant. He decided on a safe and truthful answer. "Maybe, buddy. Maybe."

~~~

That night, Tadashi sat by Hiro's bedside until the toddler fell asleep, as he always did. It had taken a while--Hiro had been particularly fidgety and had demanded the same song multiple times--but now he was tangled up in his blankets, sleeping contentedly despite the awkward way in which his foot hung off the bed. Tadashi breathed a sigh of relief. Hiro might wake up again later. The nightmares still plagued him. For now, though, the four-year-old was fine, and everything seemed halfway perfect, except Tadashi still didn't know what to do.

He'd promised to keep Hiro safe, ever since he first laid eyes on his little brother, a newborn curled up in the crook of his mother's arm, eyes closed fast the way they were now. And when his parents died, and his aunt after them, that promise had become more important than ever before.

Would Hiro be okay in a higher grade? Tadashi knew that Hiro didn't have the best social skills. He had an alarming tendency to get on the bad side of those bigger and stronger than he. If Hiro somehow messed things up with the kindergarten kids, he would get hurt, and Tadashi would have failed him, would have failed all of them. The boy's head sank into his hands. He couldn't let Hiro do this. It was too much, he already had too much on his plate to worry about Hiro getting bullied in school, he couldn't do this, not right now.

And yet--

He'd promised to keep Hiro safe, but he'd also promised to help Hiro forward.

Tadashi remembered watching in awe once as a two-year-old Hiro attempted to help him with his robotics project. Of course the toddler had hindered more than he helped, at first, but he'd figured out the functions of each part with surprising ease, and then had casually offered a suggestion that solved a problem Tadashi had been working on for half an hour. His father had come up behind him and put a hand on his older son's shoulder, his deep brown eyes warm and proud.

"He's going to go places, that one," Tomeo had said, as Hiro snapped together two parts from the robotics kit. "We'd better make sure we help him get there."

And the Hamada parents had kept their word, and Tadashi had kept it with them, buying countless science kits, taking Hiro to robotics conventions where he was the youngest person in the room, constantly supplying a stream of stimulating new ideas to the toddler who drank it all up like a man dying of thirst. 

Even when they passed away, and the boys went to live with a woman who knew more about muffins than MINDSTORMS, their aunt had done everything within her ability to make sure Hiro got the education he deserved.

And now it was just the two of them, and the chance for Hiro to move forward was right in front of them, shining with a brilliant but unfamiliar light, and Tadashi just needed to reach out and take it for him. If only he wasn't so scared!

He spoke to the empty air, a whisper. "If you were here, what would you do?"

He didn't know. He wasn't ready to make this decision for his brother. He wasn't ready to make any of these decisions--he was only nineteen.

Tadashi stood up, tired and ready for bed, hoping to leave the decision for another day, when he caught from the corner of his eye Hiro's scratched plastic folder, thrown carelessly at the foot of the bed. Shaking his head, he bent to pick it up, dusting off the cover, when he noticed the corner of a piece of lined paper sticking out of it, signed with a familiar handwriting, "Tadashi Hamada."

Frowning, he pulled it out. It was a sheet of his homework from SFIT. He'd thought he'd lost it, and had redone the entire problem--what was it doing in Hiro's things?

But that wasn't the strangest part. The strangest part was that Hiro had done the problem. Tadashi's frown grew deeper as he scanned the page. He had to strain to make out Hiro's childish scrawl, but, from the look of things, Hiro had done the problem and he'd got it right.

Stunned, Tadashi put the paper back and sat down again.

He'd known Hiro was good--but he didn't know he was this good.

And now he knew what he had to do. In his indecision, he wasn't protecting Hiro, he was holding him back.

Then he remembered something else.

Hiro had been a sickly baby. Born prematurely, he'd lain in an incubator for days while the doctors argued over whether he would live or not. Nurses had attempted, not-so-subtly, to prepare the Hamadas for the worst.

But his father had disagreed, and his mother had spoken up, fire in their words and eyes.

"He's a Hamada. He'll live, and he will be extraordinary."

The words had stuck with the teenage boy, and he recalled them now, smiling at the memory, smiling at how his mother's prediction had come true. 

Hiro was a Hamada. He had the Hamada courage, the Hamada determination, the same spirit that had helped his mother fight her way up from poverty to graduate from medical school, the same spirit that had forced his father to keep going when he put a new idea on the market that twenty firms had turned down. 

He'd be okay.

~~~

So Tadashi filled in all the necessary forms, made all the necessary arrangements, and found himself strangely nervous on the fateful day. More so than Hiro, who was bouncing up and down as he walked alongside Tadashi, holding on to his older brother's hand and looking around with lively interest.

The older boy glanced down fondly at his little brother, at the still-unruly hair despite earlier efforts to tame it, at the lunchbox clutched tightly in one tiny fist, and hoped that Hiro would still be smiling when he came back.

(Well, if he wasn't, Tadashi had emergency backup of Phineas and Ferb reruns and chocolate chip cookies at home.)

They were nearing the school. Outside the gate, Tadashi crouched down so Hiro's eyes were on a level with his, and put a warm, solid hand on his brother's shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye he saw kids running about on the playground.

They were huge, or as huge as kindergarteners could get, in comparison to Hiro, and Tadashi gulped, attempting to put his fears out of his mind for Hiro's sake.

"Remember what I told you just now?"

Hiro nodded, shuffling his feet, eager to go in. "Be nice, don't show off, and keep moving forward."

"No matter what happens, keep moving forward." Tadashi forced his smile not to waver, a pang in his chest--was this what parents felt when they sent a child to school for the first time? It was silly, perhaps, but he felt Hiro slowly slipping out of his grasp, into the world.

And then Hiro moved forward, wrapping slender arms around his brother's neck in an unexpected hug. "Don't worry, 'Dashi," he said. "I'll be okay. I'm going in now."

"You'll be okay," Tadashi echoed, as much for himself as for Hiro, and he stood up, taking his hands off Hiro's shoulders, and let his little brother go.

Authorly Notes:
1. You might have noticed that I made a change to my version of this AU. Both the Hamada parents and Aunt Cass die.