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Letters to a Young Scientist

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The document fell to the ground slowly. The laws of gravity pulling down anything that fell. The hands that had held the document were shaking, as was the body they were attached to. Feet that were used to hold said body up gave way, and the figure fell to the ground. There he stayed, shocked, dismayed, and far too wounded to try and stand again.


Hiro couldn't find the strength to breathe. His heart was clenching far too tightly in his chest for his lungs to have the proper room to function. He was tired and running on adrenaline all at once. He was sure the world was rotating too fast on it's axis, because there was no other way his vision should have been that blurry.


Meanwhile his stomach seemed intent on purging itself of everything he had consumed in the past few days. Gummy bears and hot wings be dammed.


His mind kept yelling out denials, and his senses were playing tricks on him. He couldn't focus on anything, and he wasn't even sure he was trying too. His face was too hot and yet he was so cold. The only word he could clearly focus on was repeatedly slamming into the sides of his skull, trying to engrave itself inside him like it was on the certified piece of paper.




He was dead.


Hiro had just dropped his death certificate.


Tadashi Hamada was dead.


As in, gone. Irreplaceable. No more playful banter, no more pranks, jokes, hair ruffles , no more overprotective older brother who would have given up the world to see Hiro happy.


If he could have collected himself Hiro would have taken the time to appreciate the fact he was alone in his room. The moment he had left the hospital he hadn't said a word. Sitting in a tense silence in the car, bolting upstairs with a slam of the door the moment they had gotten back. If he hadn't been alone Aunt Cass would have surely caught him. Held him together as he fell apart. But he didn't want it.


He didn't want to be held, he didn't want to be touched or pitied because he wasn't stupid. No amount of “I'm sorry” would bring back his brother, and he didn't want empty promises in return. He couldn’t stick words together and make a person.


Shakily he pulled himself up from the ground. He felt nauseous, stuck in a drunken stupor. The room was too bright, and the objects within it were beginning to spin. Hiro sat himself down again, slowly, lowering himself onto his bed. The soft weight underneath his hand was disgusting.


Clenching the clean sheets he tried to force himself to take in a few good deep breaths. He had to think straight. Panicking would do nothing but make him sick at this point.


The thought was easier said than done. His body was completely rejecting any order his mind was trying to send. And that crippling pain in his heart was just getting worse with every passing tick of his alarm clock. The last time he had had such a physically intense reaction was during one of his bot fights. But right now he suffered no physical blows. No, no one had laid a finger on him. So why did he feel like he was being gunned down by undiluted poison?




Why hadn't he stopped him? Why had he let Tadashi's stupid ugly cardigan slip from his fingers? They only had each other and now-


Tadashi wasn't stupid either. The chances of surviving a fire of that size was small, and still he had gone ahead and-!




Why did Tadashi leave him alone...?




He couldn't see.


His eyes burned when he blinked and warm tears wouldn't stop no matter how hard he rubbed at his skin. His abused eyes only pushed out more sticky, salty tears at the raw treatment adding to his growing frustration and anxiety. Everything in this room was building pressure and pushing his bones against his thumping heart until Hiro couldn't take it anymore.


In a blind fury he tore the room apart.


Later Aunt Cass would forgive him, later he would feel guilty and embarrassed for his actions but that was later.


This was now.


Angry, and beyond the point of grief. His dull nails clawed at bed sheets, tearing them off his bed without remorse. Reducing his pillow to nothing but shreds he made his way around the room. The shelves were wiped clear off anything they showcased. Books, papers, photos, bits and pieces of projects and spare parts went flying. Clattering onto the ground with resounding bangs.


If he had found it, Hiro would have ripped the death certificate apart like it was some kind of sick joke. Looking back now he was glad that he hadn't.


Picking up a fallen microbot, he flung it away like it had burned him. Not quite finished with the bed he kicked and kicked at the mattress until it slipped from its frame.


Climbing onto his desk he knocked each action figure down not caring whatsoever about where they landed as long as they fell. Toys, wires, masks, robot designs, everything and anything he could reach with his hands was pulled from its place. His height being the only restriction as to what came down.


He whirled around on his heel, yanking down posters and photos that were tacked up on the walls, leaving them bare, and naked in their pale blue. Opening drawers he pulled them out of their slots and turned them over with frantic fingers, dumping all their contents onto the wooden floor to join everything else. Shaking them up and down even when he knew there was nothing left and unceremoniously dropped them where he stood.


If he could have, even the floorboards would have experienced his anger. He didn’t know who to blame, where to filter his feelings. In any other situation Tadashi would have followed him up into the room and let Hiro curse and yell all his misplaced anger at him. He always let Hiro push all of his problems onto his shoulders before scooping him up into his strong arms, and he would simply hold him until he stopped thrashing. And he would just let Hiro feel upset, because Tadashi knew how bad he was with expressing his feelings.


He especially couldn't handle this. This deep mental anguish that filled him with so much sorrow he wouldn't mind just dropping dead either. He hadn't lost anything like this, yes his parents had died but his only saving grace was that he had been young. He didn't understand it until much later when everyone spoke about their parents and he had no stories to tell. The loneliness had never accumulated because his brother was always there, always loving and always present.


Kicking his desk chair and backpack aside he reached over for his laptop. Tossing it onto the beaten mattress as he looked for more things to break and add to his already naturally messy room.


He pulled out everything from it’s electrical outlet, rendering his lamp and electronics useless until he had plunged himself into an artificial darkness.


He yanked his clothes off their hangers, spilling them onto the floor until there was a sea of colorful fabric. He cursed the ones that resisted, leaving them lopsided and stretched,  just barely hanging on. He moved on, pausing only when he came face to face with himself in the reflection of his mirror.


His chaos reflected behind him. His hair was even more wild than before, tugged and pulled in every direction. His eyes were bloodshot, his irises dilated. He was pale everywhere except his cheeks, which were blazing red. Stained with dry tear tracks that overlapped with the fresh ones currently spilling from his brown eyes. The same dark eyes that had also been Tadashi's.


Insulted, with all his strength he shoved the mirror back, irritated with the shattered glass, snarling as it sparkled with the reflection of the sun from the window as though mourning itself.


Even when he heard the running of frantic footsteps up the stairs he pressed on. Ignoring the hard knocks and worried calls of his name as he knocked everything off his desk. The computer only stayed because he was far too weak to knock it down alone. The keyboard however stood no chance, ripping it out from it's place, he nearly tripped on the cord as he flung it at the wall beside the door.


Looking for anything more Hiro went rigid as he caught sight of his notebook sprawled hazardously on the floor.


If he hadn't gone to the stupid showcase...


Rushing towards it he fell on his knees probably bruising them as he scrambled for a pencil, pen, anything. Scribbling nothing on the blank pages, simply wanting to express his anger he stabbed the pencil through the pages. Throwing it aside as it snapped under the pressure of his hand as he tore at the pages, days of work and thinking crumbling and ripping. He bit at the binding with his teeth, pulling the cover back until it fell apart in his hands.


He didn't know how much time passed, or what else was broken beyond simple repair but it felt like an eternity.




Hiro sat heaving in place, his gasps in time with the erratic pulsing of his blood. There was nothing left to tear apart. Not unless he went over to his side of the room.


Tired... So very tired... He curled in on himself his head pounded as it collided on with the cold wooden floor. His back pressed against the divider separating what was once shared.


He was done crying. He didn't have any more tears left. It was only then that he realized that his feet were in pain from stepping on his mess, his hands stung from grabbing at everything. It was a miracle he hadn't stepped on glass. Or maybe he had, he didn't really care. Nor could he tell at this point.


The knocking became frantic, and when it stopped he knew Aunt Cass had run downstairs for the key to the room.


A few feet away from him Hiro caught sight of Tadashi's cap. Turned over and peaking out from the rumpled covers thrown on the floor.


Letting out a pathetic huff, he reached out, the tip of his fingers just grazing the front as he used the last of his effort to bring it towards him. Clutching at the hat against his chest, he buried his face in the rough texture imagining himself being held by the only person who he couldn't reach.


If Tadashi could see him now, he would have certainly disapproved of what he had just done. He was sure going to get a long lecture from him when he woke up. He would probably force Hiro to clean up most of the mess, but he would help. He always did, the nerdy saint.

The last thing he heard was a click of the lock turning. And the faded image of Aunt Cass's shocked tear stained face as he fell asleep, giving in to his broken heart.