Growing Up
According to a candy wrapper that Tadashi once read, the youngest dæmon ever to settle was six years and eleventh months old. He remembers being scared about that until his seventh birthday, staying up late some nights watching his dæmon change her form to reassure him. He sees his mother's Melanthius and his father's Marici, a tabby cat and a collared lizard and nothing else, and he hugs Mirume close while she switches from snake to rabbit in his arms. The thought of her losing that, of being stuck in one shape for the rest of their lives, scares him. People ask “What do you want to be when you grow up?” and he shrugs and mumbles something different every time, because if growing up means being trapped for Mirume, then what will it mean for him?
Hiro being born hadn't changed his mind, back when he was six and a half. Tadashi remembers that day, peeking at the tiny bundle in Mom's arms with Mirume perched on his head as a robin for a better view. He was so small and squishy-looking, with a tiny bundle of a blind newborn puppy curled against him, both of them fast asleep. Mirume had become a moth then, extra soft and careful to flutter to the blanket for a closer look at their brother and his dæmon. Mom had smiled at that, and Tadashi hadn't known why. Being a big brother had meant growing up a little, but it had also meant a brand-new person to watch, to hold – someone like him but tinier. Mirume had laughed, the first time they saw Inari change, from a tiny puppy to a round, fluffy chick – an owlet, Dad had said. And that only made Tadashi more eager never to grow up. Playing with Hiro is extra-fun because he can watch their dæmons chase each other, Inari stumbling on puppy and kitten legs, Mirume nimble and careful as she gently noses and bats her with soft paws or gentle wings.
How boring will it be, to suddenly get stuck in one shape forever, while Inari gets to switch and change for years after?
No, Tadashi Hamada is well aware that he is not ready to grow up.
So, it's kind of unfair when his tenth birthday is two months away and Aunt Cass is sitting in front of him, telling him that his parents are dead and he and Hiro are orphans.
Mirume goes still on his shoulder, and he feels her sharp little weasel claws poking through his shirt. She clambers down into his lap to become a fox so that he can properly hug her and sob into her fur. Aunt Cass can't come too close, and neither can Epiphron. Tadashi wants her to, but neither of them will risk her touching Mirume by accident. So she waits until his dæmon slinks down to the floor and presses against Tadashi's foot in the form of a mouse, and Aunt Cass pulls him into her arms while Epiphron scuttles down to brush Mirume gently with one of his eight legs. The tears don't go away for a good long while, and Tadashi is glad that Hiro is napping in the other room.
Eventually he has to pull away. He sniffles and rubs his eyes, and it hurts but he has a job to do now. He has to help her tell Hiro.
But no – helping her won't do. If he goes in with her, then all he'll do is stand there like an idiot while she does all the talking. And Aunt Cass is great, wonderful even, almost as good as Mom, but he doesn't think she can tell him in a way that Hiro will get it. He won't get it anyway – he's only three, and three-year-olds don't get stuff like that. But Tadashi is his big brother, and he's been talking to Hiro since he was born, and maybe, just maybe, he can get it across. They were his and Hiro's parents, after all.
Hiro is up and about and shrieking with laughter when Tadashi comes in. He's stretched up on tiptoe, his little fingers curled around the lowest shelf on the bookcase that he can reach. Inari is several shelves above him as a half-grown kitten, far enough from him to feel the pull of their bond but not far enough for it to hurt. She looks up and sees them before Hiro does.
“Miru! Miru!” Inari's voice is high and excited, and her tail waves from side to side. Tadashi feels Mirume's alarm as she changes into a snowy owl and flies across the room. Their bond stretches, and he runs forward to catch up with her. Gently she lifts Inari down from the shelf and deposits her safely on the ground, where Hiro scoops her up again.
Taking his little brother by the hand, Tadashi leads him to the couch and carefully lifts him up to sit. Mirume is a fox again, jumping up to sit a safe distance away so that Tadashi can kneel in front of his brother and tell him.
And no, Hiro doesn't get it. He's smart, but even smart toddlers don't know what death is. Tadashi's not sure he really knows what it is, either. He knows what it looks like, on TV – eyes closed, no breathing, no dæmon – and he's read and heard about dæmons vanishing in a burst of golden dust when their humans die. But he doesn't really know it. Knowing it is something that comes with growing up, and the last thing Tadashi wants right now is to grow up.
So Hiro doesn't get sad – he gets mad. He goes from confusion to annoyance to red-faced shouting, in spite of Tadashi's best efforts to be a good big brother and talk to him. He cries, but not the way Tadashi cried. He doesn't understand, he thinks that Tadashi is being mean and scaring him or that Mom and Dad are staying away on purpose, and he doesn't understand that they're really, really gone and it's not Tadashi's fault or their fault or anyone's fault, really. It just happened, and these things happen, and it's not ever fair when they do.
Or maybe he does get it, Tadashi thinks when Mirume reminds him later about Inari. Inari, who didn't arch her back or hiss or spit, or even turn into anything scary, even as Hiro scowled and shouted and kicked. She had simply curled up into a tight, tiny ball, hiding her face until Mirume had nestled around her and wrapped her in her soft brush of a tail. It's a start.
Aunt Cass is wonderful, but she's only ever had to dote on them or babysit, which is different from living with them and taking care of Hiro every day. Hiro's always on his best behavior when they visit Aunt Cass, but it doesn't count as a visit when they can never go home again. Aunt Cass doesn't know how to deal with Hiro being naughty.
But Tadashi does.
Even if he doesn't know what dying is, Hiro does understand that Mom and Dad are gone and they're never coming back, and that afternoon when Inari climbed up the bookshelf is the last time Tadashi sees him smile for a good long time. If he's not sulking then he's crying his eyes out, crying until he screams, and nothing Aunt Cass tries will quiet him. It's not her fault, though. She just doesn't know how.
But Tadashi does.
She gets worried when Hiro falls silent for long stretches of time. Hiro's always a chatterbox around her, and Tadashi can tell that it scares her when Hiro goes through almost a whole day without saying a single word. But it's not depression or trauma like she thinks – it's just Hiro. Sometimes he just doesn't have anything to say, and he doesn't talk if there's nothing for him to talk about. Or he'll talk when she's not around. That's just how he is, and Aunt Cass doesn't really know him that well yet.
But Tadashi does.
Tadashi knows Hiro like the back of his hand. Mom and Dad did too, but they're gone now. Aunt Cass will do her best, he knows that. She'll get to know Hiro too – he knows that. But for now, he's all that Hiro has, and the thought keeps him up at night and frightens him and drives Mirume to bury her face in his chest.
The funeral is even worse.
Hiro doesn't know what death is, so how is Tadashi supposed to explain what a funeral is? He's only been to two in his whole life, for old relatives he barely knew, but now this one's for his parents and he's supposed to sit and be a model firstborn and stand up to speak and get Hiro to sit still, all at the same time, and it's more than he and Mirume can handle. She won't even get up when he stands to go to the podium – she curls up tighter on the seat and hides under her paws and tail, and Tadashi has to pick her up and carry her there himself. He almost throws up, at least twice, before he gets through the words on the page in front of him and sits back down. Hiro looks so confused, and Tadashi is so, so grateful that it's closed-casket because he is in no way prepared to explain to Hiro that Mom and Dad are dead, not sleeping.
When Hiro cries, Tadashi wonders if it's boredom or grief before deciding that it doesn't really matter either way. Inari is upset until Mirume becomes a bird and tucks her under her wing, and Tadashi hugs Hiro and lets his tears soak into his dress shirt.
He feels stretched thin. People and relatives gather around him later to say they're sorry and tell him how strong he's being, how much they respect that, how proud his parents would be. As if this strength is something to be admired. It's not – if they had any brains, they would pity him, because he wouldn't wish this on anyone. He has to be strong for Hiro and for Aunt Cass and for Mom and for Dad and for himself, all at the same time, and if this is what growing up means then he doesn't want it.
But it's not up to him anymore.
He knows it's not, on some level. He can say it out loud and know it to be true, but it's not until a little later when the gathering gets together after the funeral that he really internalizes it. It's nothing special, no shining or sparkling moment, it's just him and Hiro like it always is. Like it should be. Hiro's chasing Inari through the house, dodging around relatives with Inari in the form of a baby goat and Tadashi and Mirume following to make sure they don't trip anyone.
A group of their cousins get in his way, forcing Hiro to stop, but Inari's momentum carries her further away, and Hiro cries out and tries to push through when he feels their bond stretch painfully. His cry touches Tadashi's heart in the worst way, and he darts forward to corral his brother and nudge his way through their oblivious cousins. Beside him he feels Mirume change again, darting over to Inari to nudge her out of her frozen state and herd her back to Hiro's side. Tadashi watches Hiro hug Inari and sniffle – this must be the first time his little brother has ever really felt how much it hurts to be apart from his dæmon. He doesn't need that kind of pain on top of losing Mom and Dad.
He feels Mirume nose against his palm, and glances over. She's a dog now, though he doesn't quite recognize the breed yet. She's not very big, a medium-sized dog at most, black and white and brown with a tail like a plume and bent triangular ears. Her eyes are light brown, almost gold when she looks back at him, and as they stare at each other Tadashi feels both their hearts sink because he knows.
It's not fair.
He's heard that this is supposed to happen after some big turning point, like finding a passion or meeting a best friend or learning something new about himself or having an epiphany, and it's not fair, it's not fair that his parents' funeral is what made his dæmon settle. It's supposed to be happy. It's supposed to be something you celebrate.
It's supposed to be something his parents could see.
But no, it's just him because Aunt Cass is in the kitchen, the grown-ups and cousins are ignoring him, and Hiro's too young and too busy clinging to Inari to understand what has just happened. It's all Tadashi can do to hide upstairs in the bathroom and cry, not because his parents are dead but because he's never ever going to see Mirume change her shape again, she'll never fly as a bird again or run as a cheetah, she's one thing and one thing only. (He looks it up – border collie. She's a border collie, they're herders, and isn't that fitting?)
“I'm sorry,” she whispers as she worms her way closer in his arms. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, but Inari – she was just there, and she was so scared she couldn't move, I had to-”
“I know.” He isn't mad at her, she doesn't need to apologize. It's not her fault anyway. These things happen and it's not anyone's fault. All he can do is wipe his face and stand back up and do what has to be done.
Help Aunt Cass. Look out for Hiro and Inari.
They can do it. For them, they can do it.