#deafening silence
I’VE NEVER HEARD A SILENCE QUITE THIS LOUD
Title: Mute Apparatus
Summary: Silence is its own form of communication.
It isn’t often that the Hamada brothers fought.
Argue and bicker? Sometimes. A quick disagreement here and a small tussle there? Sure. Exasperated lectures and annoyed quips? Of course. But an uncensored, unadulterated fight? Rarely.
The fact of the matter is Hiro and Tadashi, by definition, get along. Their Aunt Cass has a great number of stress induced complaints- disassembled drones scattered across the living room floor, Mochi and his rocket boots stuck in a tree monthly, grease stains on her favorite pillow, the toilet seat left up for the third time in a week- but never this. The brothers are thick as thieves, sharing living space and secrets alike with concerning ease. Maybe it has something to do with their situation and the loss of their parents; they cling to each other like it is all they have left, as if a single glance away will result in two dwindling into one.
Which leaves Hiro in quite a predicament where he is now, locked away in their room as Tadashi paces outside, calling through the door in a voice mixed with anger, exhaustion, and worry.
“Hiro…” His brother’s voice slips through the cracks of the door, threatening to break the younger’s stubborn resolve. “Let me in- we can talk about this…”
But Hiro doesn’t want to make amends, doesn’t want his anger and frustration to be soothed by the reasonable words his brother will spin. So he takes out his hearing aids, silencing his brother and the temptation to reconcile.
The resulting silence is deafening, so to speak, and Hiro almost stumbles when he yanks them out of his ears. But he quickly regains his balance and angrily throws the tech, watching it hit, with perfect aim, an old engineering book, bent with age and use, before plopping onto the shelf underneath it. Tension is strung high in his muscles as he crosses and uncrosses his arms, pacing a small portion of his room with quick steps; he no longer hears the sounds he speaks aloud, a jumbled mess they likely are.
In a try at expulsion of the coiled fire that twists his insides, the preteen angrily kicks at his bedpost, only to yelp in pain when the wooden frame stands far firmer than his easily bruised flesh.
He sits down on his bed and nurses his battle wound, massaging his foot. The pain lingers though, pulsing every time Hiro applies too much pressure to the area. Eventually he sets it back on the ground, pointedly ignoring the throbbing. For a while he stares at the limb, gaze eventually drifting to the floor boards and the pattern they run across the room.
He bows his head, forehead resting on his knees as he lets out a deep breath. It’s during this moment, where he doesn’t know what to feel, that he notices it. A prickle of skin, goosebumps rising in response. A tingling sensation at the back of his head and neck, unusual in how it calls for action. Hiro looks up and behind him, only to be greeted with the sight of a large, blinking marshmallow standing across the room from him.
Baymax.
The robot lifts an arm and waves in his usual greeting, automatic voice lost somewhere in the space between him and Hiro’s ears. The boy blinks owlishly, both surprised and confused at the robot’s sudden appearance. There is a minute where Baymax repeats his little wave and Hiro just stares, uncomprehending.
Baymax blinks.
Hiro blinks back.
Then Baymax is shuffling towards the boy, halting just outside of his comfort zone. Hiro angles his head up to look straight into the robot’s face, thinking idly to himself that the looming height would be intimidating if not for the uncanny resemblance to a certain Pillsbury Doughboy.
The robot’s upper torso lights up, bringing forth two horizontal rows of emojis with a range of expressions and numbers accordingly. A puddy finger points at the screen as the face looks somehow imploringly at Hiro. And when brown eyes flicker blankly between the screen and the robot’s face, the gesture is repeated. The nursebot doesn’t move beyond that, but Hiro has the feeling that he is missing something; another point at the screen concretes the idea and Hiro, with years of experience of public schooling and teachers unfamiliar with his situation, feels that a question is being repeated. The boy shakes his head at that discovery, habitually pointing to his ears.
Baymax cocks his oval head.
For reasons that Hiro can’t even begin to understand, this annoys him. He had finally gotten rid of his brother and now his dumb project was going to be taking his place as residential mother hen. Honestly, he just wanted to be alone. Would Hiro ever catch a break?
In an effort in ignoring his problems, the boy slumps to the floor and scoots across the floor until his back hits the wall between his desk and bed. Though it is all for naught because the robot follows him, curvy exterior pushing obnoxiously against his chair, causing it to roll off towards the door, and blocking out a great deal of the light filtering through the window.
<Go away.> he orders, aiming to kick the tubby stomach. <I’m not in the mood.>
There, there. Baymax’s screen displays just where his heel connect with synthetic covering, the letters rising from the bottom. Undeterred by the abuse, a large, four fingered hand pats him on the head. It will be alright.
Hiro jerks back. <You can understand me?>
I am fluent in many languages, including, but not limited to, those that communicate through nonverbal cues. The robot’s inflatable form jiggles as he settles on the floor next to Hiro, somehow finding room in the cramped space while still in a position for Hiro to see his screen and the words that appear there. It is one of the first codes to be uploaded into my system. Though I have since added to it, cataloging what I have observed and gathered from my time activated.
<Tadashi…> The boy pauses, fingers poised up and waiting for the next word. <Did Tadashi really do that?>
Yes. He also programmed an alternative for those who do not know how to read or those who do not wish to. Baymax informs him as the screen splits in two, written words still appearing in time with the robot’s on one side while the other brings up a well edited video of familiar hands sighing. If you prefer the second method, I am able t-
<No,> he declares, suddenly angry at seeing Tadashi, even if it’s only his hands. He doesn’t want the video to zoom out and show his brother’s infuriatingly sincere face- a high possibility if certain words and distinctions between are to be signed. <The first one.>
Another quirk of the head. I detect irritation and frustration in your tone. What seems to be the problem? Is there any way I can assist?
He crosses his arms and pushes himself further into the corner, jaw tense as he bitterly mutters, <I don’t want to talk about it.>
But Baymax isn’t someone easily deterred. He’s a robot on a mission. Studies have shown that talking to other individuals about you problems helps relieve stress and eases the mind. A list of statistics pops up on the screen, numbers and charts and graphs color coordinated and organized to a fault. Excess stress and anxiety has been proven to cause a deterioration of health and a shortened lifespan. Talking to me would be in your best interest, especially if you do not wish to consult with a person of a more immediate familial relation.
The statistical display go unnoticed by the boy. Instead he turns his head to the side and down, gazing at where the sheets tuck themselves under the mattress and thinking. It goes like this for a few moments and he picks at his lower lip, hesitant.
I have been programmed to be an efficient and insightful listener. Baymax insists, ever patient.
Hiro almost smiles, but stops before it has the chance of fully forming, and visibly deflates, sighing just as he gives in. <Me and Tadashi got into an argument.> He pauses, waiting for a response, but, true to his word, Baymax doesn’t speak. Merely listens. <It’s stupid, honestly. He had promised to take me to the exhibit on hydraulics that being hosted in the city’s science center, like, forever ago, and now he’s flaking out. Says he’s too tired and that we’ll go another time, but we can’t. It’s only for two more weekends and, ugh, it’s always about school with him. School this and school that. I’m tired of hearing of that lame school and he just… he never has time for me anymore.>
He hasn’t signed so much in a long time and his fingers ache in a pleasant way.
<Wish he would just take a day off and, I don’t know, actually hang out with me. I mean, he hangs out with me anyway, but even that is full of school and his nerd friends and-> Here, the boy makes a particular face. <-saving the world.>
With the words finally communicated, Hiro feels almost empty. The fight is gone and he is left discontent with how the day has gone, maybe even a little regretful.
Hiro, the robot starts in that matter-of-fact way, optical lenses fluttering shut in an almost human gesture of ease. It is by my understanding that you are used to a daily routine in which you have unlimited access to your brother and now that this is no longer the case- of which he has other priorities that aren’t centered around you- you feel abandoned.
The boy scoffs. <That’s ridiculous. I can’t feel abandoned when Tadashi is literally right out the door.>
But Baymax carries on as if he hadn’t spoken. This is quite natural. Many younger siblings experience this when those they look up to start to move on and, as stated in many Best-Selling parental guides across the nation, ‘leave the nest.’ But do not be discouraged, because you must know that your brother loves you and would never intentionally cause you any distress. It based on that care for you that my existence is even possible.
Oh.
When put so eloquently like that, Hiro feels the air around him lighten to something more bearable. Suddenly, he is clambering over his companion, elbows and knees sinking into the robot’s form, and reaching for something on the lowest shelf to their left. He lowers himself just as quickly and fiddles with whatever is in his hands; when he’s done he settles closely against Baymax’s warm side, hearing aids nestled snuggly in his ears.
“There is no need for your auditory aids,” Baymax says, both vocally and not. “I am completely capable of continuing my care of you without the use of spoken communication.”
Hiro looks down, mumbling, “It… It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
Baymax is silent for a moment, watching as the boy traces imaginary designs on his hand, eliciting a sound as dry skin rubs against vinyl. Then, “If that is what puts you at ease, I will acquiesce. Your health and comfort are my main priority.”
Hiro smiles, slight gap in his front teeth on proud display. “Thanks Baymax… you know-” He looks up from under his lashes. “-for everything.”
“You are my patient,” the nursebot explains simply.
A lollipop is pulled out of thin air, appearing magically between inflated fingers, and offered. Hiro perks up, eyes alight with childish delight, immediately snatching the candy and popping it in his mouth. Boy and robot stretch into a companionable silence, far different (in an exceedingly good way) than the lack of noise the removal of his hearing aids provided.
“Well, now we’re also friends, okay.” Hiro declares to the robot, propping a leg onto the other’s and leaning back comfortably as he sucks on the candy. “Which means that now we have to hang out- like, all the time.”
“If that is what will make me a better healthcare companion, I see no reason why I cannot fulfill your request.”
“Awesome,” he says, biting into his treat, “then we can-”
“However, I must insist that you reconcile with Tadashi before any thought of recreation activities can be considered.”
Hiro frowns. “Now?”
“It would be best.”
Still, he balks at the idea. Gosh, where would he even begin? Does he apologize? Does he let Tadashi talk first? And, ugh, he couldn’t even remember half of what Baymax had said concerning the actual issue and his diagnosis of it, and that had been only minutes ago. He gnaws on the candy stick and asks, “You’ll come with me?”
Baymax’s shutters close in an imitation of a smile. “Of course.”
And, well, that’s a start.
