Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

That night, it all came to an end.

Part of Shouta expected it to. Another part of him never wanted it to.

Two to four days was what the detective had said. Two to four. That was all they got. At first, Shouta had thought that it was too much, that it was far too long for Hitoshi to be affected by the quirk. But now, he thought it was much too short, that Hitoshi deserved more, that no matter what they did or where they took Hitoshi, it just wouldn’t be enough. And that was the worst part about it: the fact that there just wasn’t enough time.

Shouta knew when Hitoshi started rubbing his eyes at the dinner table. It wasn’t that out of place, but something clicked inside of Shouta, telling him that this was it, that this was the first sign of him going back to normal. No one had been able to tell him what it’d look like when the quirk started to wear off, but Shouta’s instincts told him this was it.

He didn’t mention it to Hitoshi. They finished dinner and got Hitoshi dressed for bed, putting him in his cat onesie pajamas. Shouta took a couple more photos and Hitoshi started complaining of a headache—which was the point where Shouta exchanged a glance with Hizashi that told him everything: Hizashi knew, too.

So they shut off the lights and crawled into bed with Hitoshi, this time fitting all three of them in Hitoshi’s full sized bed, Hitoshi laying between Hizashi and Shouta, Hizashi laying against the bed guard they’d put up yesterday. Hitoshi had insisted on bringing his new toys with him and Shouta hadn’t argued, watching with a bittering sadness as Hitoshi made himself comfortable between them and cuddled with his two dads, whimpering every so often from his headache but otherwise not complaining.

Shouta watched each and every second, never once taking his eyes off of Hitoshi. He rubbed the boy’s hair, his back, held him close to his chest while Hizashi held him from behind. And together they waited, never speaking, Shouta feeling the pressure breaking behind his face and a tear escaping from his eyes somewhere after Hitoshi drifting off to sleep.

Hizashi just silently reached out and wiped it from his face and together they waited for the end, waited for their little four year-old to go away forever.

Shouta didn’t remember drifting off to sleep.

He’d vowed to not sleep at all. He promised himself that he’d stay awake to watch over Hitoshi and keep him safe until whatever happened, happened. But that wasn’t what happened. Shouta drifted off, falling asleep in the darkness next to Hitoshi. Whether it was because of the effect of the quirk wearing off, Shouta didn’t know, but when he awoke to an empty spot next to him and the sounds of retching in the bathroom next to Hitoshi’s room, both Shouta and Hizashi had fallen asleep.

The sound was unmistakable. The door to the room had been left open and in his rush, Hitoshi had left the bathroom door open, too, and Shouta could hear the sounds of him throwing up loud and clear. Laying next to him, Hizashi didn’t stir, having taken his hearing aids out at some point and was now essentially deaf to the world. Shouta didn’t have the time to wake him—he had to get into that bathroom fast, before Hitoshi got sicker, before he started to feel like he was alone.

Shouta was climbing over Hizashi in a second, careful to not wake him just yet, and then darting out of the room and coming to a halting stop in the bathroom doorway.

There, sprawled on the floor, just barely holding himself up, staring at Shouta with bleary, confused eyes, was Shinsou Hitoshi. Not the four year-old Hizashi and Shouta had gotten so used to over the past two days, but their son, the boy they’d adopted, the sixteen year-old who’d been attacked by a villain two nights ago and been regressed to a small child again.

Shouta had never seen Hitoshi like this.

He was wrapped up in a blanket, a thick quilt that had definitely been taken from the bathroom linen closet judging from the mess of sheets and towels of blankets that was on the floor from where he’d yanked it out. The cat onesie sat in a heap near the doorway, torn and discarded, Shouta suspected not intentionally.

Hitoshi was a mess. Covered in his own vomit, tears streaming down his face either from the sudden change or from retching so much or both, pale and drained of all color. His violet hair fell into his face, splaying across his forehead in the same way it did when Hitoshi got himself wrapped up in his capture weapon in training. He was panting, gasping for air, and his unfocused eyes fell right on Shouta.

“Dad—” Hitoshi gasped out, in a voice that reminded Shouta of that little child from just a few hours ago, the one they’d spent the day with and showered in love and affection. “Sen—Sensei—”

The confusion was evident in both Hitoshi’s face and his voice, as if he didn’t know what to call Shouta, as if he didn’t even know who Hitoshi himself was anymore. He was stuck somewhere between that toddler and regular Hitoshi, confused and unable to understand what was happening to him.

It broke Shouta out of his shocked stupor and he rushed to him, taking Hitoshi into his arms. He pulled him to his chest and he cradled Hitoshi’s head, the boy letting out a sob as he buried his head into Shouta’s shoulder, crying like the boy who’d just disappeared, sobbing like Shouta had just pushed him too hard again. Shouta pet his hair, ignoring the way Hitoshi stunk of his own vomit and held him close and tight, not letting go of him as Hitoshi cried.

“It’s okay,” Shouta whispered to thim, rocking him back and forth. He pulled the quilt around Hitoshi’s shoulders, covering him more and shielding him from the chill of the house. Hitoshi’s hands clawed at him, not trying to push him away but instead trying to pull him closer, catching in the back of Shouta’s shirt and digging his nails into him like he was terrified Shouta would get up and leave him, just like everyone else had done.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Shouta tried again, rocking Hitoshi slowly. He smelled terrible from throwing up and he was naked except for this quilt but trying to get him cleaned up and covered was the last of Shouta’s worries right now. Hitoshi was desperately crying into him, pale and sick and confused and having no idea what was going on, stuck at the point between toddler and teenager.

“Sen—” Hitoshi started, his voice choked. “Dad—Sensei—Help—”

“I’m here,” Shouta assured him, murmuring quietly to him, his voice low and slow. The first thing he needed to do was comfort Hitoshi. Everything else would come later. A bath wouldn’t help when Hitoshi was in this state. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re okay, Hitoshi. I know it’s confusing but you’re safe here with me and Hizashi.”

Shouta desperately wanted to know what was going on in Hitoshi’s head. Was he reliving everything from age four to sixteen? Was it all flashing before his eyes, replaying in his mind over and over, years in a matter of minutes? Hitoshi was as tall as he usually was as a teenager but Shouta knew just from looking at him right now that wasn’t where his mind was. His mind was lagging behind his body, making Hitoshi confused and disorientated. No, this wasn’t sixteen year-old Hitoshi. Not yet.

“You’re okay,” Shouta repeated. Hitoshi’s sobs seemed to quiet when Shouta talked, going from loud and wracking his body to quieter and subdued. It was actually helping and because of that, Shouta was going to keep talking. If Hitoshi took comfort in his voice, then that was exactly what he was going to give him. “I’m here with you. Hizashi’s right in the next room. I’ll wake him up as soon as we get you calmed down a little. Then we can clean you up again and get you some clothes. How does that sound?”

He was talking to Hitoshi like he was still four, he realized. This was the exact same way he’d talked to toddler Hitoshi, the exact same way he’d comforted him. This wasn’t the same boy who’d been attacked that night. This kid was vulnerable, desperate, and this was a kid who needed Shouta more than anything else in the world. So Shouta held him and comforted him the best he could, rocking him back and forth as Hitoshi shook and shuddered in his arms.

Hitoshi whimpered at his words and Shouta took that as some sort of agreement, probably the best type of agreement Hitoshi could give right now. Shouta pet his hair in response, stroking it slowly as he continued to whisper to him.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re here. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you again.” Shouta wasn’t even thinking about what he was saying, just going with whatever his heart told him to say. It must’ve been right, because Hitoshi’s cries were getting quieter the more Shouta talked. Which was a relief, given that Shouta had no idea how to calm him down otherwise, mostly because he had no idea what was going on himself. All he knew was that Hitoshi was somewhere between the toddler he had been and the teenager he usually was and it was terrifying for him.

Shouta couldn’t blame him. Being four one moment and suddenly growing into a teenager’s body had to be scary on its own, but Hitoshi’s mind not changing quite as fast just made that even worse. He was lagging behind and that made things even scarier for him—and for Shouta, who had no idea what to do besides sit here and rock his son back and forth and just hope with everything he had that it’d somehow make Hitoshi feel better.

It took a few minutes, but soon enough, Hitoshi was about as calm as he could get. He was still crying, though Shouta couldn’t see his face with the way he had it hidden in Shouta’s shoulder. He wasn’t sobbing anymore, his breathing even finally, the shudders that’d wracked his body long gone now. Finally, Hitoshi was calm, and it was time to clean him up.

Unfortunately, Hitoshi was dirty and he smelled. He’d thrown up quite a bit from the look of it, though he’d gotten most of it in the toilet. Some of it was stuck in his hair and on his skin and more than anything, Hitoshi needed a bath or a shower or whatever he could handle right now. That, and clothes, since all he had around him was the quilt he’d pulled out of the linen closet. And Shouta needed to get Hizashi up. After that, they could talk and figure out both what to do and what was going on with Hitoshi.

“Hitoshi,” Shouta said gently, finally going still. He felt Hitoshi move against him and glanced down to find him looking up at him with wide violet eyes, eyes that mirrored his when he’d been a toddler. They were huge, somehow bigger than they usually were and Shouta had no idea how. “Do you think you can clean yourself up if I run you a bath while I go wake up Hizashi? I can help you if you want, unless you want to do it yourself.”

Hitoshi paused a long moment, biting his bottom lip, and then he said in a tone that mirrored the one he’d used when he said the exact same thing at breakfast the previous morning, “I can do it myself.”

“Okay,” Shouta said gently. He held Hitoshi one last time, squeezing him to his chest, before he had to let go. He stood up, looking down at Hitoshi as the boy stayed on the tile floor of the bathroom, wrapped loosely in a quilt with tear-stained eyes and a quivering lip. Hitoshi didn’t move to get up, but he also didn’t break into sobs again, instead just sitting on the floor unmoving, watching Shouta.

Shouta was quick to start the shower. He didn’t run a bath, thinking that’d take too long and Hitoshi would just be bathing in his own filth, anyways. Only then did he gently take the quilt from Hitoshi and discard it on the floor, helping Hitoshi into the tub where the water was warm and running.

“Are you going to be okay in here?” He asked, when Hitoshi’s innocent, scared face peeked out from behind the shower curtain. “I’ll just be in the next room. You can just yell if you need me.”

Hitoshi hesitated, but nodded slowly, his hand curled around the edge of the shower curtain, like he was thinking about getting out again and wrapping himself back up into the quilt so he could stay with Shouta.

“Good,” Shouta praised, trying to offer Hitoshi a small smile. He wasn’t sure how well it worked, but Hitoshi seemed to relax a little at seeing it. “I’ll just be a few minutes. I’m going to go wake up Hizashi. We’ll be back in here in just a few minutes.”

He wasn’t totally sure that Hitoshi would be alright in the shower by himself, but Hitoshi needed his privacy and Shouta… Shouta needed to step away for a moment, to access the situation and wake Hizashi up so he wasn’t going at this alone, because he didn’t think he could for much longer. Hitoshi needed him and that was obvious but Shouta was still trying to comprehend the state Hitoshi was in—and the state he’d been in for the last two days. He couldn’t do it alone. He needed Hizashi. He needed his comfort. His presence. He needed him. Every part of him.

So Shouta left Hitoshi alone in that bathroom, stepping outside and leaving the door open as he left. He waited a moment, but no shout for him came, nor did he hear any sobbing. There was just the sound of the sound of the water from the shower and the quiet noise of Hizashi’s soft snores from the next room.

With a sigh of relief, Shouta went, and he found Hizashi exactly where he left him—having fallen fast, fast asleep in the same bed where the two of them had previously been laying with their toddler son. The same son who was now slowly turning back into a sixteen year-old after only two days.

Hizashi hadn’t meant to fall asleep, either.

Like Shouta, Hizashi didn’t remember drifting off. He didn’t remember ever closing his eyes to sleep and yet, here they were, with Shouta shaking Hizashi awake, talking loud enough that Hizashi could actually hear him without his hearing aids in.

“Hitoshi’s back,” Was all Shouta said, loudly, nearly shouting it so Hizashi could actually hear it. Hizashi just sat up in the bed, glancing around, half confused, half knowing exactly what Shouta meant.

The room was exactly as he remembered it being when they went to bed with Hitoshi. Almost, anyways. Shouta wasn’t in bed with him. Little Hitoshi wasn’t pressed between them. The rest of the bed was a wide open space, with Hitoshi’s two beloved Eraserhead and Present Mic figures laying on the sheets in the space where their toddler son had been. Hizashi had been sleeping against the bed guard, pressed against it, but he was alone in the bed now, with Shouta leaning over him, his hand still gripping Hizashi’s shoulder tight.

“Hitoshi’s back,” Shouta repeated, louder still, his muffled voice meeting Hizashi’s ears as he watched his husband’s lips, playing the words in his head over and over again as he tried to grasp onto them and fully comprehend them. Hitoshi’s back, Hitoshi’s back, Hitoshi’s back.

Hitoshi was back.

Like Shouta, Hizashi had had that sinking feeling earlier today, the feeling that told him—warned him—that this was the end, that after this, toddler Hitoshi would be gone forever and all they’d have left of him were their memories and all the photos they’d taken. Nothing more. Nothing less. But he’d be gone forever, their short time together ending abruptly as Shouta shook Hizashi awake and said those two words to him.

And it was…

Devastating.

Hizashi loved Hitoshi wholly. He loved every part of him, every facet he decided to show them and every part of himself he inadvertently introduced to them. He loved him more than anything and Hizashi had loved toddler Hitoshi just as much, but not more, than teenage Hitoshi. He loved them equally and part of him was glad that Hitoshi was back now but…

Their time together had felt so short.

Just two short days. Only one full day, if Hizashi thought about it. That was all they’d had to give Hitoshi better memories and to give themselves memories of having him as a toddler and not just a teenager. They’d hardly had any time at all. Hizashi hadn’t been able to do even half of the things he’d wanted to do with Hitoshi. He’d never gotten to take him to his mothers’ house. Hizashi had never gotten to show toddler Hitoshi his studio or listen to music with him. He’d never gotten to see him playing with the cats. He hadn’t done half the things his mothers had done with him as a kid, and he hadn’t gotten to give Hitoshi all the happy memories he had of his own childhood.

Hitoshi deserved those happy memories. He deserved all the happy memories in the world. It was just so… unfair. Hizashi loved Hitoshi any way he was, but it felt so unfair to him that their time had been so horribly limited. There just hadn’t been enough time.

Would there ever have been enough time?

All the things Hizashi had wanted to do with Hitoshi—it was a list that could’ve taken months. Years, even. There never would’ve been enough time under the effects of the quirk. Hizashi always would’ve been left feeling like it wasn’t enough, like they’d been shortchanged on time and it wasn’t fair.

Logically, Hizashi knew that. Emotionally, it didn’t matter. Hizashi wasn’t like Shouta, He couldn’t ignore his own emotions for logic. It didn’t matter what was and wasn’t logical. What mattered was how Hizashi felt about those things and right now—he felt devastated hearing those words come out of Shouta’s mouth, hearing him say that their limited time was suddenly over, and all Hizashi could wonder was if they’d done enough.

Two days of memories didn’t seem like very many, not in a span of ten years of mistreatment, abuse, and neglect. Could two days of good memories ever even come close to being enough? He doubted it, as he stared up into Shouta’s dark, panicked eyes. He doubted it so much. Would Hitoshi even remember? Would it all have been for nothing?

No, never nothing. Nothing about Hitoshi was ever for nothing. Even if Hitoshi didn’t remember, Shouta and HIzashi did. They remembered having their toddler for two days, playing with him and taking him places and showering him in love and affection. For two days, they’d been an almost-normal family with a small child, and they had the photos to prove it. And that time had been…. Good., because as much as Hizashi loved having teenage Hitoshi, it was nice to care for him as a toddler, an impossible chance that Hizashi hadn’t ever considered was a possibility. Even if Hitoshi wouldn’t remember, Shouta and Hizashi had the memories they created and the photos they took, and neither of them would ever dare forget what these past two days had been like.

“Hitoshi’s… back…” Hizashi repeated, letting out a breath before he reached for his hearing aids and slipped them on, plunging himself back into a world of sound. Suddenly, he could hear the shower in the next room running and he could hear Shouta’s breathing as he leaned over him in the dark room, lit up by the strip of light flooding in from the hallway outside of Hitoshi’s room. Hizashi rubbed at his eyes before he slipped his glasses on too, and dragged a hand through his blonde hair, “Hitoshi’s back.”

“Hitoshi’s back,” Shouta confirmed, quieter this time and with a nod. “Except he’s not himself yet. He’s big again but… he’s confused. Hizashi, please, I need your help. I can’t do this alone.”

“Shouta…” Hzashi murmured, reaching up without thinking, taking Shouta’s face in his hands. Shouta leaned down further, letting Hizashi reach up and rest his hands at his cheeks, cupping his face. Written all over Shouta’s face was the same pain and devastation Hizashi felt deep inside of him, Shouta letting out a shaking breath as Hizashi held him. “Shouta… it’ll be alright. I promise.”

Hizashi stared up into Shouta’s eyes, trying to make himself believe that, too. The last two days had felt so long and yet, not long enough. That was all they’d gotten with that version of Hitoshi. It felt so unfair, when the people who’d deserved it the least had gotten far more time with him. Right now, everything felt unfair, but Hizashi had to pull together. For Shouta, who was looking to him for reassurance and comfort. For Hitoshi, who was scared and confused in the other room. For himself, who had no idea what he was up against but needed to stay strong, because there was no other option.

“Hizashi,” Shouta whispered, his voice trembling. He shuddered and Hizashi pulled him down, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him tight against him. Shouta whispered again, close to Hizashi’s ear, echoing his own thoughts, “It’s so unfair.”

“I know,” He murmured back to Shouta, bringing him down so that Shouta’s forehead rested against Hizashi’s own. He ran a hand through his husband’s soft hair, feeling each silky lock fall through his waiting fingers. “I know it is.”

There was an odd comfort in knowing that Shouta felt the same way. Logical, rational Shouta, who abided by the facts of every situation he was in, always. He felt the exact same way—like there hadn’t been enough time. Like it hadn’t been fair. Hizashi let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, staring up into Shouta’s dark, almost black eyes, and he repeated himself one more time.

“I promise it’ll be alright,” He whispered, staring into Shouta’s eyes as he slowly said each word to him. “We’ll get through this.”

They shared a moment of silence together, just the two of them, Shouta’s head pressed against Hizashi’s as they listened to the sound of the running water in the bathroom next door. It’d be alright, Hizashi told himself, just like he’d told Shouta. In the silence, he somehow knew that was true. It’d be alright. They’d get through this. No matter how hard it was right now, it would work out eventually, just like it always did. Just like it always had. Eventually, things would go back to normal, and Shouta and Hizashi would have the photographs and memories to remember their short time with little Hitoshi.

Hizashi stroked Shouta’s hair again, one last time, and slowly moved to sit up, pushing Shouta back slightly as he did. The two of them finally broke apart, Shouta taking a deep, shaking breath and moving back away from Hizashi, giving him the space to sit up. Hizashi did, stretching as he hauled himself up, and glanced around the room. The clock on the nightstand told him it was the middle of the night, and Hizashi had no idea when he’d fallen asleep, or how long he’d been asleep.

Was it an effect of the quirk that had put them to sleep? Hizashi didn’t know and no one had told them about anything like that. There was no time to worry about that now, though. There was a kid in the other room who needed them.

“Hitoshi’s in the shower,” Shouta told him in a low voice as Hizashi rubbed the rest of the sleep from his tired eyes. “I woke up to him throwing up in the bathroom. He’s confused. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He started crying as soon as I hugged him.”

Hizashi kind of wanted to cry, too, just from hearing the anguish Hitoshi had been in—and was still probably in. He hated hearing about his kid in pain, hurting and crying because he was scared and confused. He had no idea how to fix it, either. This wasn’t really a situation Hitoshi ever thought he would find himself in. He never thought he’d have to deal with his kid being simultaneously a teenager and a toddler. That had never crossed his mind before, but it was reality, and Hizashi had to find a way to calm Hitoshi, as well as himself and Shouta, who was clearly panicking internally despite not showing it.

“I’ll get him some clothes,” Hizashi decided, taking a deep breath as he took charge, for all of their sakes. Shouta was obviously in no state to do it right now and Hizashi didn’t blame him at all. “Can you go help him dry off and make sure he’s cleaned up?”

“Yeah,” Shouta breathed. “That sounds like a good plan.”

That was the plan they went with. Wordlessly, Hizashi got out of bed. Shouta left to the bathroom and Hizashi heard him knock and announce himself before going in. The shower stopped a moment later and there were more muffled voices—mostly from Shouta. Hizashi got up and working on autopilot, he gathered some clothes for Hitoshi, taking them to the bathroom and knocking before handing them off to Shouta, who only simply told him that HItoshi was still nowhere near to being all the way himself.

Hizashi didn’t know exactly what that meant, but he assured he’d find out soon.

That he did. Hizashi didn’t know what else to do, so he started boiling water on the stove, intending to make tea for all of them. It was something his mothers had always done for him—whenever Hizashi or any of the kids were upset, they’d always make hot tea and they’d sit together and talk and Hizashi would let himself relax. That was the only thing he could think of right now, as well as the way his mothers had always said that hot tea calmed the soul. Hizashi just hoped it would work for Hitoshi.

He’d barely gotten the kettle onto the stove before the bathroom door opened and Hitoshi and Shouta appeared. And just from looking at him, Hizashi could tell.

He could tell that something wasn’t quite right.

Sure, he looked like teenage Hitoshi. To an extent. He was his usual height again. Hitoshi was his tall, beanpole-like self again. Or, at least, his body was. But the look on his face was foreign, his eyes huge and wild and full of fear. He was silent and pale, looking almost sickly, and he clung hard onto Shouta’s arm, as if he were terrified of letting go of him at all. He stumbled a little as Shouta led him to the kitchen table, like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time, but Shouta helped him, easing him down into the same seat Hitoshi had eaten dinner in—right between where Hizashi and Shouta usually sat.

“Hey there,” Hizashi said quietly, doing his very, very best to give Hitoshi a smile. His smile shook, though, trembling like he was about to cry. He kept by the kettle, not wanting it to go off without him there and scare Hitoshi, but he tried to open himself up, tried to make himself look as friendly as possible. “How about I make you some tea? It should help calm your stomach and make you feel a little better.”

Hizashi realized then that he was talking to Hitoshi in the same tone and voice as he had before, when Hitoshi had been four years old. Even though Hitoshi was grown again, almost as tall as Hizashi was, he was talking to him like a child. Hizashi felt a small pang of guilt—until Hitoshi looked at him right in the eyes, his huge purple eyes connecting with his, and nodded silently.

Hizashi wasn’t sure if this was four year-old Hitoshi in regular Hitoshi’s body, or if he was somewhere in between, but one thing was clear: this wasn’t the Hitoshi he knew so well.

He understood why he was so confused now. It made sense. Not knowing why he was so big, not knowing what was happening, getting sick and dealing with it alone until Shouta happened to wake up—it all sounded terrifying, even to grown up Hizashi. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like and how Hitoshi was feeling right now. Part of him didn’t want to—because he might end up feeling too much and crying, breaking into tears like he usually did when things got emotional. That wasn’t something he could do right now. There were two people counting on him. Two people who needed him.

Luckily, the kettle squealed just then, whistling high, and Hizashi jumped to grab it before it could scare Hitoshi. He got it off the stove in seconds, before Hitoshi could even understand what was going on, and Hizashi felt a surge of pride as he looked over to find the boy staring at him bewildered but not scared, with Shouta next to him sharing a similar look.

Hitoshi was clean now, Hizashi noticed. Shouta had said he’d been throwing up before and Hizashi hadn’t seen that, but he could imagine how sick and distraught he’d been. He looked a lot better now, he imagined, with his floppy wet hair, the baggy long sleeve shirt and cat-patterned loose pants he had on. He looked warm, at least, and Hizashi couldn’t see any evidence that he’d been sick and throwing up just a few minutes ago.

Hizashi quickly poured out three cups of tea for them in the mugs that were waiting on the counter. Even when he turned away from Shouta and Hitoshi, he could feel Hitoshi’s eyes following him, watching his every move. Hizashi took his time, moving slow and intently, until he turned around and found Hitoshi still staring at him, still watching.

Finally, Hizashi took the three mugs to the table, setting one down in front of each of the chairs before taking a seat on the other side of Hitoshi. Hitoshi leaned up, staring into the mug, at his own reflection. The three of them were all quiet, the silence looming between them.

Hizashi let out a small sigh as the quiet sank into him. Something about it was oddly calming, oddly normal, even when nothing else about this situation was even remotely so. Hizashi sat next to Hitoshi, with Shouta sitting on Hitoshi’s other side, looking at his son and stirring his tea, listening to the quiet clink sounds as the metal of his spoon hit the ceramic of his mug. Something about it made his heart beat a little slower, made his breaths come a little easier, and made his mind a little clearer. For the first time since waking up, Hizashi actually felt like he could think.

He wondered if Shouta felt the same as he sat across from Hizashi, mirroring him in watching Hitoshi. Hizashi’s gaze shifted to him and he found that Shouta was looking at him, his dark eyes staring into him, watching him just like how Hitoshi had watched him a few minutes earlier.

“How are you feeling, Hitoshi?” Hizashi was the one to break the silence and he did it without looking away from Shouta. Shouta just gave him a short nod, as if confirming that he’d said the right thing, and his gaze shifted away from Hizashi and back to Hitoshi. Hizashi followed, finding the boy lunched over the table, still staring at his reflection in the tea inside his mug.

“Hitoshi?” Hizashi tried again and this time, Hitoshi actually looked up, sheepishly raising his eyes to Hizashi before his gaze darted back down again, like he thought he’d somehow miss his reflection if he stopped looking.

“...Weird,” Hitoshi answered, his voice barely more than a mumble. His eyes darted back up again, then back down. Hitoshi dragged his bottom lip between his teeth, and then said something that took Hizashi completely off-guard, “What… What happened…?”

A question. A full question. An intentional question. Hitoshi was returning back to normal, slowly but surely. His normal was a boy who’d learned once more how to ask questions and ask for things he needed. He still struggled with it, but his curiosity oftentimes won out over any abusive training hed had. If Hitoshi was asking a question, it meant he was moving away from the frightened four year-old he’d been and returning to his normal self once more.

Hizashi tentatively put a hand on Hitoshi’s shoulder, gently squeezing his arm. Partially, it was just to see how he’d react and when Hitoshi didn’t pull away, Hizashi left it there, lightly rubbing his arm, trying his best to provide some sort of comfort and remind Hitoshi that he was here, with him, and with Shouta.

“You got attacked by a villain,” Hizashi murmured to him, trying to put it all in simple language. He didn’t know exactly how much Hitoshi would understand, nor did he want to push him too hard and make him remember things he didn’t want to. “Do you remember? It was at the police station when we went to go pick up Shouta. It was all crowded and loud and the villain started talking to you.”

A pause. Hitoshi stared at Hizashi, not at his reflection in the cup anymore. He stared, with those huge violet eyes of his. Had they always been this huge? Hizashi didn’t think so. So wide and… innocent, full of fear and confusion but none of the trauma that had hardened Hitoshi over the years. This was In-Between Hitoshi, who was neither the boy they’d had such short time with nor the teenager he usually was. Or maybe he was both at once. It was hard to put a label on him, but all Hizashi knew when Hitoshi looked at him with those huge, wide eyes was that he had to be careful not to break him.

“I remember…” Hitoshi said quietly, glancing away from Hizashi and at Shouta, focusing on him. “The clown… I remember him. I remember… he turned me small and you—you took care of me—both of you.”

The word choice, with Hitoshi’s short and simple words reminded him so much of toddler Hitoshi that Hizashi was surprised that he hadn’t suddenly become small again. But the rest of it—the voice, the way Hitoshi was talking, the way he was remembering—were all teenage Hitoshi. In between. Neither one or the other. Both at once. Hitoshi was somewhere outside the scale of linear age. Him turning back to normal wasn’t a sudden thing, like Hizashi thought it would be. It was gradual, scary, and confusing.

“That’s right,” Shouta told him, with the same softness Hitoshi spoke with. “We took care of you. Do you remember any of that?”

Hitoshi didn’t even hesitate. He nodded slowly, staring at Shouta and then at Hizashi, all with those wide eyes of his.

He remembered.

Hizashi wanted to—

He wanted to jump up and cheer.

Obviously, he knew this was traumatic for Hitoshi, this having to grow back up in the span of a few hours, regaining all his memories and struggling to fit back into the person he’d been before being forcibly age regressed. But Hitoshi remembered. He didn’t even hesitate to say that he remembered. He remembered what they’d done together. He remembered the way Shouta and Hizashi had loved him. He remembered the memories they’d made, all the places they went, all the things they’d said to him. Everything. And it made Hizashi so damn happy that he wanted to jump out of his seat and cheer.

And he couldn’t help the little smile he wore on his face when Shouta’s dark gaze shifted to him. He also couldn’t help the way that little smile widened into a huge, bright grin. Hitoshi remembered. He remembered them. If he remembered them now, half grown up, then he’d remember them at least a little whenever he was back to his old self.

Hizashi had known, of course, that they’d always have the memories they made together and the photos they’d taken but deep inside, he’d hoped so hard, so much, that Hitoshi would remember their time together, that their two short days with him would’ve made a difference in his life. More and more, that was seeming like a real possibility and Hizashi grinned wide, forcing himself to hold back from cheering or letting out how happy he was at that.

“I remember…” Hitoshi went on, looking at Shouta again. “...You took me home from the police station and… and then we came home and you—” He looked at Hizashi, who tried his very best to wipe that grin off of his own face before he saw and questioned him. “—You met us there and when we were going to bed, you picked me up and then when I woke up you sang me back to sleep because I was upset about my dad.”

“That’s right,” Hizashi whispered, unable to keep himself from smiling. Nothing changed in Hitoshi’s face when Hizashi smiled at him—a huge relief considering that the last thing Hizashi wanted to do was scare Hitoshi off.

“And then when I got up for breakfast, you,” He looked back at Shouta, his voice picking up a little more as he started to really talk. He pointed at Shouta, “You chased me because I wanted to play cat. I… I remember. I remember everything.”

“You remember everything,” Hizashi repeated, his voice still nothing more than a whisper. Part of him couldn’t believe it. All that worrying, all that anguish over whether or not they were doing the right thing for him and whether or not Hitoshi would get to keep the memories they’d made—and Hitoshi remembered everything! Every little thing. Everything. Hizashi hadn’t been this happy since they’d signed Hitoshi’s adoption papers.

Hizashi met Shouta’s eyes again and Shouta repeated in a whisper, “You remember everything.”

Just then, Hizashi knew for a fact that Shouta was feeling every little thing Hizashi was right now. The relief, the disbelief, the happiness. All of it. Hizashi wasn’t alone. He had Shouta right here with him, Shouta who’d been through everything in the last two days with him. Shouta who understood, who’d stood at his side, who continued to stand at his side, holding him up and supporting him just as much as Hizashi supported him.

Hitoshi remembered.

The thought of it was just so sweet in Hizashi’s head. He wanted to scream the words from the rooftop and never shut up about them. He wanted to broadcast them to the entire world, so everyone knew that Hitoshi remembered them and everything they’d done. He wanted every single person in the nation to know that they’d successfully made new memories for their son, doing the impossible and essentially taking him back in time so they could rewrite some history.

Hitoshi reached out, his hand clasping over one of Hizashi’s arms. With his other hand he shakily reached for Shouta, grabbing onto him, too, in the same way he’d grabbed onto Hizashi.

“Thank you,” He said, looking between them, his tiny voice trembling as he spoke, each word making him sound like he was going to burst into tears at any moment. Hizashi definitely thought he was going to. “Thank… Thank you. For… For everything.”

Except, it was Hizashi who burst into tears.

This time, he hadn’t even felt it coming on. It just happened. Tears streamed down his face, rolling down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. It wasn’t until he felt the first tear fall that he realized what was happening, and it was then that he knew he was done for. There was no stopping it and before Hizashi knew it, the tears were streaming down his face without stopping and Hizashi was a sniffling, teary, snotty mess.

Through all the mess, he saw that he wasn’t the only one. Shouta’s eyes were stained red and through the blurriness of his own tears, Hizashi could see the tears that were flowing from his eyes. Much slower and less frequent than Hizashi’s messy crying, but he was still crying, adding this to the number of times Hizashi could count on a single hand that he’d seen Shouta actually cry.

Hitoshi remembers. Hitoshi remembers. Hitoshi remembers.

It wouldn’t stop running through his head. Over and over again, repeating itself again and again. Hizashi didn’t want it to stop. He wanted to hold onto this moment forever, to grasp it and hold it close to his chest so it’d never flutter away from him. He wanted to remember every second of it, every feeling, every beat of his own heart. The world was blurry from behind Hizashi’s tear-filled eyes, but he wanted to commit every inch of it to memory.

He wanted to take a photo, but this time—he didn’t. He just let the moment be. He took it and held it here and now, not forcing himself to remember every detail of it. The feelings were far more important, he decided. He’d rather remember that than anything else. That was what mattered. That was what Hizashi needed.

“Don’t cry,” Hitoshi was murmuring, his hand squeezing Hizashi’s as he frantically tried to comfort him, somewhere between himself and the toddler they’d just spent two days with, “Please don’t cry. I’m… I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please don’t cry.”

Hitoshi was trying to comfort him with the words he happened to have, much in the same way toddler Hitoshi had tried to comfort him when he’d first seen him crying. It was clearly worrying him, but it wasn’t like Hizashi could stop, not when Hitoshi had just told them both explicitly that he remembered everything. He’d just been so upset by the idea that Hitoshi would forget everything that—he just couldn’t stop himself from crying in front of his son, no matter how much it was upsetting him.

“It’s alright, Hitoshi,” Shouta took over and through the tears that blurred his vision, Hizashi saw Hitoshi look over at him, heard him gasp as he saw that Shouta was crying, too—a sight that was far more shocking than Hizashi’s tears could ever be.”Hizashi’s just happy that you remember. It’s alright. Nothing’s wrong.”

Suddenly, Hizashi was happy that Shouta could talk to Hitoshi through his own tears, because Hizashi definitely couldn’t. He’d turned into a mess in a matter of seconds. A sobbing, tear-stained mess. Usually, Hizashi would feel bad about breaking into tears right in front of Hitoshi, but he couldn’t even feel guilty right now. Hizashi was stuck on the fact that Hitoshi remembered, filled with relief and happiness that their time together hadn’t been lost to him. They weren’t out of the woods yet—Hitoshi still wasn’t himself and Hizashi had no idea how long it’d be until he was—but Hizashi had a feeling that he wouldn’t be forgetting anything from here on out.

“Yes,” Hizashi agreed, choking back a sob as he smiled at the worried boy sitting next to him. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just happy. Both of us are. You’re going to be okay, Hitoshi.”

And Hizashi meant every word of it.

It was a waiting game.

All they could do was wait for Hitoshi to come back to normalcy. They couldn’t do anything to speed it up or help it along. That was impossible. All that was left to do was to wait, to bide their time until Hitoshi fully came back into himself. Shouta could see it happening, could see the way Hitoshi was starting to act more and more like himself.

Finally, Hitoshi asked to go back to bed, between rubbing at his own eyes and yawning, and Shouta realized then how exhausting this must be for him, from having to grow back into his regular body and having to forcibly mature mentally in a matter of hours. Some of four year-old Hitoshi was still there but mostly, Hitoshi was just exhausted and wanted to go back to bed. So that was what they did.

The three of them could no longer fit together in one bed. Hitoshi asked for Shouta, though, and so, they took up their earlier places of Shouta sleeping with Hitoshi and Hizashi in Shouta’s sleeping bag on the floor.

It wasn’t until Shouta laid down that he realized how absolutely tired he was. It was as if the exhaustion had seeped into his very bones, making him ache and hurt. He was able to lay his weary body to rest with Hitoshi, though no matter how heavy his eyelids got, he didn’t drift off—not until Hitoshi did. Only once Shouta was totally sure he was asleep did he close his eyes and start to fall asleep himself.

Outside the windows of Hitoshi’s room, the sun was starting to come up, the dark outside lifting into grey as the first lights of the sun entered the world. The sun wouldn’t rise for a few more hours, but yesterday had ended and now, with the first light, a new day had started, and brought with it Shouta and Hizashi’s teenage son once more.

Hitoshi remembered everything.

Every feeling. Every word that’d been said to him. Everything he’d done. Everything that’d been done to him. He remembered the villain Aizawa had fought that night. He remembered looking into his eyes and a moment later, the cloud of fog that had blanketed him and his mind, turning him small once more. He remembered Aizawa and Yamada taking him to that little room in the police station. He remembered them comforting him. He remembered going home, and then…

Then he remembered everything else. The way Aizawa and Yamada had treated him, just like any parent would treat a regular toddler. Except Hitoshi hadn’t been a regular toddler. He’d been a toddler with a dangerous quirk, and it was a miracle he hadn’t managed to brainwash either of them once in their two days together. But they hadn’t treated him like a dangerous toddler. They’d loved him. Played with him. Taken him places. Held him and talked to him and comforted him when he’d been scared.

For the first time in Hitoshi’s entire childhood, he’d been treated like a regular child.

And Hitoshi didn’t really know how to deal with that.

Hitoshi woke up when the sun had risen over the horizon. A glance at the clock told him that this was the time he usually got up for school. Ironic, considering that he’d just had to take a couple days off on account of being four years old.

That was the thought that gave it away—he was back to normal now.

Or, as normal as he could be after everything that had happened in the last couple days. Truthfully, Hitoshi wasn’t sure that he could ever be fully normal again.

After all, normal Hitoshi had a childhood full of nothing but trauma from the time his father had died up until Aizawa and Yamada had adopted him. Only then had things started to go well and only then had the trauma stopped. But now—now he had these two days worth of memories, of being loved and cared for in the way that any other child should, and he didn’t know what to do with them.

Each memory was as clear as day and that was the most surprising part, Hitoshi thought. He’d thought that… maybe the memories should feel like they were twelve years past, because it’d been twelve years since he’d been four and his father’s death was fuzzy and faraway because it was twelve years ago. He’d expected these memories to be the same. But they weren’t and Hitoshi could recall them as if they’d happened yesterday—which they had.

He remembered being small, being scared and confused, being safe with Aizawa and Yamada. He remembered not exactly knowing what was going on. It was surreal being able to remember it all so clearly, when he’d been four in those memories and suddenly, he was sixteen again, grown and mature, even though he’d been a decade younger just yesterday.

Beside him, Aizawa was fast asleep, not even stirring when Hitoshi sat up in bed. He’d slept with him through the night, since Aizawa and Yamada had put him back to bed. He’d been absolutely exhausted and in pain from growing so much so quickly and all he’d wanted to do was sleep, but now Hitoshi was back to himself and restless and he knew that sleeping more would be downright impossible.

Instead, Hitoshi got up carefully. He climbed over the barrier of the bed guard, slowly lowering himself onto the ground. Nearby, Yamada was wrapped tight in Aizawa’s yellow sleeping bag, also fast asleep and quietly snoring. Hitoshi tiptoed over him, looking at the closed door to his bedroom and fully intending to leave the room before…

Before he realized that he still didn’t want to be alone without his parents.

Aizawa and Yamada had been there for him all throughout these past two days. They’d taken care of him and loved him and gave him memories of being young that Hitoshi had thought were impossible. They’d taken the bad, ugly situation of Hitoshi being attacked by a villain and turned it into someone wonderful, something Hitoshi wanted to hang onto forever and ever. They meant everything to him and looking at the two of them now, fast asleep after an exhausting two days, Hitoshi knew there was nothing and no one he loved more than his two dads.

Hitoshi crept back. He didn’t go back to bed, though. Something else caught his eye—the window seat that looked out into the backyard and garden, which Hitoshi had decorated with various pillows and blankets. That wasn’t exactly what caught his eye, though—it was the presence of the two figures Kayama and his parents had gotten him, the Eraserhead and Present Mic figures sitting on the window seat where Aizawa had put them when he was bringing Hitoshi back to bed. That was the thing that caught his eye, and the thing that made Hitoshi creep towards the otherwise empty window seat.

The sun had risen outside, filling the world with bright morning light. The sun shone down on the backyard, where Hitoshi had been working on planting a garden for the last couple months. Today things looked… so much brighter, so much more vibrant and saturated, like Hitoshi’s time as a small child had renewed his mind and as a result, he saw the world’s colors much more clearly. He leaned over the pillows and cushions on the window seat and stared out.

It only took him a few moments before he crept onto the window seat itself, his legs folded under him, just inches away from touching the two hero figures he’d been given. He stared out the window, his eyes going wide as he tried to take everything—all the life, all the colors, all the details—in and hold them close so he wouldn’t forget them. Even with this little place in his room, Hitoshi couldn’t remember the last time he’d simply just sat and stared out his window and watched. Had there been a last time?

Hitoshi was always so worried. Worried about his place in the world. Worried about how newfound family getting fed up with him and abandoning him. Worried that he’d mess up and do something to get himself kicked out of the hero course. Worry and anxiety were just second nature to him, things he was so used to that he hardly even realized it anymore. Sometimes, the only time Hitoshi remembered just how anxious he was constantly, was when it all went away. Times like these, where Hitoshi didn’t have a hint of worry in his body as he stared out his window.

Was it really worth it to worry so much about his new family abandoning him…?

It was an anxiety Hitoshi had since getting adopted. Who could blame him—? He’d been abandoned by everyone else in his life. His father had died on him when he’d been just old enough to remember it. No one else in his family had wanted to take him. Hitoshi had spent the next twelve years drifting from foster home to foster home, never being kept for long, always reminded of what a burden he was. Everyone in his life had abandoned him. Besides the worry and anxiety, that was the thing Hitoshi knew the most: abandonment.

So it was only natural for Hitoshi to worry that eventually, Aizawa and Yamada would follow suit and get tired of him, abandoning him too. That was the thing that had been at the forefront of Hitoshi’s mind since getting adopted, the one worry that had consumed him almost every night.

And now…

With his new memories…

Memories that, more than anything, proved how much Aizawa and Yamada loved him…

He couldn’t understand why he’d ever thought that.

Hitoshi sat on the window seat and finally looked away from the backyard, turning around to look out into the room. Aizawa and Yamada were both soundly asleep, neither of them having even stirred when Hitoshi got up. From here, he could watch them, could see how peacefully they slept, all even breathing and stillness. It comforted him and for the first time since moving here, the worry of being abandoned wasn’t anywhere close to Hitoshi’s mind.

After all, how could someone abandon him who’d done everything they had for him over the past two days? Aizawa and Yamada had cared about giving him a better childhood. They wanted to make better memories with him. They didn’t have to tell him that—Hitoshi could just tell from the way they’d acted, from everything they’d done. No one who would eventually tire of him and throw him away would’ve done that.

No, they loved him. They loved him more than anything. Hitoshi was their son. It wasn’t a signed piece of paper that proved that. It was everything they’d done for him that did. They loved him enough to deviate themselves to making better memories for him, and it was because of them that Hitoshi now had those better memories, memories of being loved and treated like a child should be.

No one would’ve done that if they didn’t love him to the ends of the universe. Hitoshi had never been loved like this before, but he knew that much already. It was simple. Logical. It made sense. Even if other things were still confusing and Hitoshi was stuck in a whirlwind of memories and getting used to being himself again and not a toddler, he knew what was logical and what wasn’t. He knew what made sense. And this—this just felt like a law. Like a fact of life. No one could love him like Aizawa and Yamada did and ever abandon him.

He kept staring at his parents and his hands drifted, almost without Hitoshi realizing it, until his hands slipped around hard plastic and Hitoshi instantly knew that he’d reached for the figures he’d gotten yesterday, the one Kayama had brought for him and the one they’d went out and bought due to the Present Mic you being a grossly inaccurate bootleg.

Hitoshi tore his eyes away, looking down at him, at his dads in toy-form. They really did look weirdly accurate. The Eraserhead one, Hitoshi knew, was one of a kind, not sold or made anywhere else, and when he turned it over, he realized where it’d come from. On the foot was a marking of a matryoshka doll, one that told him with certainty that Kayama had gotten Yaoyorozu to make this. His lips twitched up into a smile when he saw it, and he ran a finger over each of the details on the figure, letting himself bask in the fact that he had the only figure of Eraserhead ever produced. That meant a lot, considering that Hitoshi had been dutifully following Eraserhead since he’d been only five years old.

Present Mic on the other hand…

Hitoshi’s smile brightened a little as he stared down at the figure in his hand.

That was a hero he never thought he’d like. To be fair, Mic had never been a hero Hitoshi had disliked. He’d seemed cool enough, with a potentially dangerous quirk that could be seen as villainous and hard to control if he weren’t a hero. But Hitoshi had never paid much attention to him before moving in and getting into the hero course.

Hitoshi had no idea if Hizashi knew, but Present Mic had moved through Hitoshi’s rankings quickly, up to the very top. Now, Hitoshi liked Present Mic almost as much as he liked Eraserhead—or maybe just as much. It was hard to tell, when Hitoshi had spent over a decade being one track minded when it came to heroes. It was weird to like another hero at all. But Hitoshi did, and he was just as excited to hear about Yamada’s adventures and his hero work as he was about Aizawa’s. They protected him, and so many other people, every time they worked.

Present Mic deserved all the fans he got, and Hitoshi liked to think of himself as his biggest fan. Or maybe his second biggest, next to Aizawa, who he knew was secretly a die-hard Present Mic fan. Hitoshi had realized it the moment he’d mistakenly opened the door to Aizawa’s secret closet of Mic merchandise.

He just hoped that… it wouldn’t be weird if he kept these.

They were special, and meant a lot to him. He remembered carefully picking out the Mic one, looking at the display in utmost wonder and awe and trying to decide on one he’d wanted, when he’d finally laid eyes on the perfect one. Yamada had been impressed with him for picking it out and for reading the words on the front of it and what made Hitoshi not feel embarrassed at all was the fact that Aizawa had gotten one, too—probably to put into that secret closet of his.

He looked down at the two, listening to his parents’ breathing in the quiet room. They didn’t stir, not even as the light outside grew brighter and brighter.

Heroes and villains….

Hitoshi’s mind went back to that night.

And to that man.

He sat on the window seat, trying not to lose himself in his memories as he stared down at the figures in his hands.

The man had said things to him—

Don’t you want to go back? Wouldn’t it be nice?

Did he want to go back?

Two days was such a short time. So little time to make up for all the years he’d had to endure the worst of the worst. It felt unfair. Unreal. Surreal that he’d gotten that time at all. Part of Hitoshi wanted more time, but the other part of him didn’t want to go back, wanted to stay right here, right now, as himself with his parents and just deal with everything that’d happened. But even he couldn’t deny that it’d been easier to be small. Easier and less terrifying to have barely any of the trauma he usually carried himself with. It’d been bliss.

No, he couldn’t go back. He had to stay here, no matter how easy it’d been. No matter how nice it’d been to just be a child again and be able to play with his parents for the first time.

Hitoshi was left with one question—

Why him?

It just seemed so… odd.

Aizawa and Yamada had both been there. If that villain had wanted to get back at Aizawa for capturing him, then why hadn’t he just used his quirk on Aizawa? Or on Yamada? Neither of them had seen it coming. They would’ve been just as vulnerable as Hitoshi had been. Yet, he’d chosen Hitoshi and Hitoshi only, leaving the other two alone. He’d targeted him, and Hitoshi didn’t know why.

He had to find out why. He had to know. Hitoshi couldn’t go without knowing.

He had to ask Aizawa and Yamada to bring him to wherever that guy was being held.

“I want to go to the jail.”

It was the first thing Shouta heard when he woke up. As soon as he opened his eyes, Hitoshi was right there, and Shouta wasn’t anywhere near awake enough to comprehend what he was saying. All he could do was groan and rub his eyes in answer, and Hitoshi quickly spoke up again.

“Please,” Hitoshi quietly begged him, moving closer to him on the bed. “Please, Sensei.”

Sensei.

Hitoshi was back to normal.

Or as normal as he could be with everything that’d happened over the past two days.

If he was calling him Sensei again… it had to mean that. Hitoshi had called him dad before, and only started calling him Sensei again when he’d begun to turn back to normal. Now, Hitoshi didn’t even stutter, calling him that without hesitation, and without a doubt in his mind, Shouta knew. Their time with little Hitoshi was officially up. Teenage Hitoshi was back, safe and sound and sitting right in front of Shouta.

Shouta rubbed at his eyes again, Hitoshi’s blurry form coming into view. He was on the bed with him, sitting with his legs under him, violet eyes fixated on Shouta. His eyes were no longer huge and wide and his face no longer carried that childlike innocence it had for the last two days.

Hitoshi was back.

Before Shouta had any time to realize what he was doing, he was sitting up and yanking Hitoshi towards him, wrapping his arms tight around him as he pulled him into a hug. Hitoshi made a squeaking noise of surprise as he did but didn’t pull away, relaxing in Shouta’s arms as he held him tightly.

Hitoshi was back. He was back and he was alright. He was back and he wasn’t harmed at all. He was back and he remembered and everything was alright with the world. It was okay that they hadn’t had a lot of time with Hitoshi’s smaller self. It was all alright, because Hitoshi was back now and he remembered and that was all Shouta had ever wanted.

“Sensei—” Hitoshi choked out, hands at Shouta’s shoulders but not pushing him away. “—Too tight.”

“Sorry,” Shouta murmured as he backed off a bit, loosening his grip on Hitoshi and moving back. Hitoshi let out a breath as he did, finally relaxing in Shouta’s arms. “I’m just glad you’re back.”

Hitoshi relaxed even further at that and Shouta let out a sigh, his eyes falling shut for just a moment as he held onto Hitoshi. Even after feeling like the amount of time they’d had with toddler Hitoshi had been unfair, Shouta could never be disappointed that Hitoshi was back to his normal self. No, he was relieved. Relieved that Hitoshi was alright and acting like himself again, rather than that in between boy Shouta had met last night.

“Sensei,” Hitoshi said again as Shouta held him. “Sensei, I want to see that villain again.”

Finally, it hit Shouta. He understood what Hitoshi was saying. He froze completely at hearing the words, at Hitoshi’s quiet begging. His voice was soft, even a little hesitant, like he either wasn’t sure of what he was asking or he wasn’t sure if Shouta would ever say yes.

“No,” Shouta breathed, not even taking a moment to think about it. What was there to think about? Shouta and Hizashi had made the mistake of letting him near Golden Time once. He wasn’t about to do it again, especially when he’d had the last two days to charge his quirk up again for use. He only got one use out of it in twenty-four hours, and Shouta had no idea if it was something he could store up or not. Regardless, he wasn’t taking his chances, not when Hitoshi was only just now back with them. “No way.”

“Sensei,” Hitoshi said quietly, almost hissing it in his attempt to stay quiet. Shouta glanced behind him, out into the room where Hizashi was fast asleep still in his sleeping bag. Hitoshi was definitely trying to be quiet so as not to wake him. “Please.”

Shouta dragged a hand through his hair, still struggling to wake up. His dark eyes were heavy with sleep and the leftover exhaustion sat heavy in his body, weighing him down. He wanted to just go back to sleep and to tell Hitoshi to do the same thing, too, but he had a lingering feeling that wouldn’t go over well with Hitoshi, who was sitting in front of him and begging Shouta to take him to see the villain at the jail.

“Why—” Shouta started, managing to drag himself up into a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes again, desperately trying to rid himself of the last remnants of sleep. They stuck around, though, and Shouta hadn’t noticed how tired he was before until now. These past two days had been exhausting. For all of them. It was a miracle that Hitoshi wasn’t still asleep. “—Do you want to see him again?”

Don’t you realize that he could turn you back into a toddler? Was what Shouta wanted to say, but didn’t, because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer to that. What if Hitoshi missed it? What if he wanted to go back again? What if he was already tired of being a teenager and wanted to be young again and make more memories? Part of Shouta didn’t want to know if that was Hitoshi’s reasoning, because he hated how logical it sounded. Of course Hitoshi would feel like it’d been unfair, the small time they’d had together. They all did.

But that wasn’t what Hitoshi told Shouta. Instead, he said something much more logical, something that was a relief but also sparked a curiosity within Shouta that he hadn’t had before.

“I want to know why he chose me,” Hitoshi told him simply, like it was the most mundane thing in the world. “Instead of you or Yamada.”

That was…

Not something Shouta had thought about before.

Why had Golden Time chosen Hitoshi? He’d been angry at Shouta for capturing him. Shouta had been so much more accessible than Hitoshi was. Even Hizashi had been more accessible. And yet, he’d chosen Hitoshi. Out of everyone in the room, including the hero who’d arrested him and the officers who’d been manhandling him, Golden Time had picked out Hitoshi. Why?

Shouta ran through everything he knew about the villain in his head again. Did his quirk only work on minors? No, that couldn’t be. Golden Time had regressed heroes that’d gone after him. He seemed to have no qualms doing so, but he hadn’t with Shouta. He hadn’t been able to, with the way Shouta had taken him down, but afterwards at the station, he hadn’t even tried. And that was odd, because he’d used his quirk on every other hero who’d come after him. It wasn’t just kids he could regress.

There was nothing else Shouta could think of. There was no logical answer. Golden Time’s quirk could affect anyone—kids, adults, civilians, and heroes alike. But after his capture, he hadn’t even tried with Shouta, or with Hizashi. His sights had been immediately set on Hitoshi.

There was nothing about Hitoshi that set him apart from Shouta and Hizashi, other than his status as a kid.

Maybe…

Maybe it wasn’t that Golden Time could only regress kids, but that he preferred to regress kids. He’d said some odd things to Hitoshi, calling him a wary boy and saying that he looked like someone who would ‘like it’, with ‘it’ being turned back into a toddler. It was like he’d seen something in Hitoshi, like Hitoshi’s trauma had somehow been written all over his face for the villain to see and take to victimize Hitoshi with.

Shouta prided himself on being logical, and being logical meant being willing to listen to others’ logic and reason. If he didn’t give at least a little thought to Hitoshi’s reasoning, then he had no right to call himself a logical man. Hitoshi’s reasoning made a lot of sense. Suddenly, Shouta wanted to know the answer, too. He needed to know. Why, out of himself and all the people in that room, had Golden Time chosen his son? What had he seen that night? What had he seen in Hitoshi—?

Shouta stared at Hitoshi, who sat across from him on the bed, just inches from him, close enough that Shouta could easily reach out and hug him again if he really wanted to. He didn’t, instead just giving the boy a nod.

“Only if he’s wearing quirk suppressant gear,” Shouta finally said with a small sigh, trying to make it seem like he was just giving in and not like Hitoshi had sparked Shouta’s own curiosities. “And only if Hizashi and I are with you.”

Hitoshi smiled, then, his lips twitching into a wide grin, his violet eyes filling with a sort of warmth only Hitoshi could offer. His voice quivered with excitement and genuine gratitude, as he whispered a soft, “Thank you, Sensei.”

Shouta couldn’t hold back anymore, so he reached out for Hitoshi and this time, Hitoshi came to him, wrapping his arms tight around Shouta’s body and resting his head on his father’s shoulder. Only then did Shouta smile, too, running a hand through Hitoshi’s soft hair, and glancing out at the window to find that Hitoshi had set up his Eraserhead and Present Mic figures so they were sitting on the cushion together. His smile grew a little wider and in that moment, he realized everything would be alright.

Yamada left after breakfast and then joined back up with them at the police station. When Hitoshi asked where he’d gone, Yamada just smiled and pressed a finger to his lips, telling him that it was a surprise and no matter how much Hitoshi begged, he wouldn’t tell him. Hitoshi didn’t try to beg, because there were more pressing matters at hand, though he couldn’t deny his curiosity, especially when he saw the wrapped up package in the back of his car. But he didn’t dare touch it or ask about it.

According to Aizawa, Golden Time had been transported to the jail minutes after he’d attacked Hitoshi. Apparently, the police had finally thought that it was best to get him out of there. Too little too late, Hitoshi thought, but worse things could’ve happened he supposed. Being regressed to four years old hadn’t been anywhere close to the end of the world and oddly enough, Hitoshi was actually happy that it’d happened, despite everything and despite his relief at being turned back to normal.

More than anything, Hitoshi realized that making these memories would’ve been nothing but a pipe dream if he hadn’t been attacked. Hitoshi never would’ve been able to go back in time and even if he had, Aizawa and Yamada wouldn’t have been there. This was the only way he could’ve possibly made new memories of being at that age with his new parents, and Hitoshi wasn’t one to take things like this for granted. So while he was happy to be back, he was also happy that he’d had that time with Aizawa and Yamada, and he was even happier to have finally realized that they loved him way too much to ever abandon him.

The only thing that was left was Golden Time. That, and whatever Yamada’s surprise was. It didn’t help that he wasn’t giving Hitoshi any hints to the nature of it, but right now, Hitoshi was far more focused on Golden Time.

The jail was about what Hitoshi expected from a jail, similar to the ones in crime and hero shoes. It was brightly lit, filled with prisoner villains in bunks, most of whom wore some sort of quirk suppressive gear. This was a low security facility, Yamada explained to him as they entered, so people weren’t kept in cells all day and rather lived in dorms and had quite a bit of free roaming privileges. It made sense—besides his quirk, Golden Time hadn’t seemed particularly dangerous. Though Hitoshi couldn’t imagine him being easily accepted here with how odd he’d been. He probably hadn’t made a whole lot of friends here.

Aizawa and Yamada stayed at his side as they were led through the hallways of the building, until they reached a small visitation room with one side separated by glass. It was there that they were told to wait and there they were assured that Golden Time wouldn’t be able to use his quirk at all. It was there that they waited together, all sitting on one side of the glass, waiting for the villain who’d attacked Hitoshi to appear on the other side.

The entire ride up here, Hitoshi had thought about what he was going to say. He’d thought about what he’d ask, what he’d tell the man, what he’d demand to know. He’d thought he’d had it all planned out, but sitting here now in the cold metal chair in the visitation room at the jail, all that suddenly left Hitoshi. The reality was that he had no idea what he was going to say or what he even should say. He knew he wanted to ask why, why him, but he didn’t know how. Hitoshi was stuck, desperately reaching for something to say, trying to find his words before Golden Time would arrive on the other side of that glass.

Yamada put a hand on his shoulder a few minutes into waiting and said to him in the room that was empty except for the three of them, “It’ll be okay, Hitoshi. You can’t say anything wrong here. I promise. Shouta and I can always take over if you need us to.”

Hitoshi glanced to the side to see Aizawa nodding along with his husband’s sentiment, his arms crossed as he waited, as if he were preparing himself for Golden Time to try to attack again. In any other situation, Hitoshi might find his diligence and hyper-awareness a little amusing, but right now—he was just grateful that he was so on edge. If he was being honest, Hitoshi wasn’t totally reassured by the idea of Golden Time having quirk suppressant gear. After all, he was like Aizawa: his quirk was activated by his eyes. Not much other than a blindfold was a sure fire way of stopping him from using his quirk and from the sound of it, a blindfold wasn’t what they were getting.

“Okay,” Hitoshi breathed, the large room feeling smaller and emptier with each passing second. He swallowed hard, looking around at the clinical-like visitation room, with all its metal chairs and phones hung up on the wall and nothing that would provide Hitoshi or anyone else with any sort of comfort. Did people really come here every week to visit their loved ones? How could they stand it?

Yamada rubbed his shoulder and Hitoshi let out a sigh that felt like it wracked his entire body. Yamada’s thumb moved in circles over the fabric of Hitoshi’s shirt, giving him the only sort of comfort there was to find in a room like this. Hitoshi let his eyes fall shut and he leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands for a moment as he hunched over.

He just needed a moment. Just to gather himself.

Except Hitoshi didn’t even know how to do that. The past three days had been a whirlwind. It was already afternoon, with the bright autumn sun shining down on the world outside—not that Hitoshi could see it in this windowless concrete room. Just twelve hours ago, he’d been four years-old, still a little scared but mostly curious, without much of the trauma Hitoshi now carried himself with. The world had been huge and full of wonder and Aizawa and Yamada had been there to hold his hands and lead him through it.

Twelve hours later, he was sixteen again and the world was much smaller, much darker. It was filled with terrible things, Hitoshi knew, and terrible people who wanted to hurt kids like him. People who had hurt kids like him. The only thing that remained the same was the fact that Aizawa and Yamada were still here and willing to take his hands and lead him through the world, no matter how big and how terrible it was.

That was a relief in itself, but Hitoshi felt like he was getting whiplash from everything. Things had changed so much. He now had these memories of being four just yesterday, something that would be impossible without the villain’s attack on Hitoshi. He had so many questions for Golden Time and yet, part of Hitoshi was just exhausted. Part of him just wanted to sleep. Part of him wanted to no be four again, but to go home and sit in the living room with Yamada and draw pictures on that huge pad of paper he’d brought home so he could show Aizawa, even though he was much too old for that.

Hitoshi’s bag was shoved under his seat. In it, hidden away carefully, were the toy figures from yesterday. Hitoshi hadn’t told anyone he was bringing them along. He hadn’t wanted to. He’d shoved them into his backpack at the last moment, forcing himself to not think too hard about it as he did. Now, instead of the shame he expected, it brought some sort of comfort to know they were there, tucked away in his bag. Hitoshi hadn’t realized until now just how attached he’d gotten to the toys in the past day. At least Aizawa and Yamada hadn’t said anything about them still being in Hitoshi’s room.

Footsteps were what broke Hitoshi out of his trance.

Footsteps, and then the heavy door on the other side of the creaking open.

More footsteps.

Finally, he came into view as he was led to the chair on the other side of the glass and sat down.

Golden Time looked almost unrecognizable from the man who’d attacked Hitoshi and turned him back into a toddler.

Without his brightly colored clown costume and makeup, all that was left was an aging, sad-looking man with multicolored hair and odd, mismatched eyes that glittered and twinkled when he saw Hitoshi. Hitoshi swore he saw his iris spin and slowly, a grin crept onto his face, his lips rising and rising until finally, Hitoshi recognized the man on the other side of the glass as the creepy clown man who’d caused everything that’d happened over the last three days.

“You’re back,” Golden Time said, smiling ear-to-ear. He didn’t need the clown get up to look creepy, Hitoshi realized. He just was creepy. That was who he was as a person. “Eraser’s boy. Oh, and Eraser, too! What a lovely surprise. The whole family came to visit me.”

“Not visit,” Aizawa hissed from beside Hitoshi. Hitoshi wanted to look at him, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the creepy man sitting on the other side of the glass. There was something about him that was so horrific that Hitoshi just couldn’t look away. Beside him, Aizawa carried on, “There’s things we want answers to. And you’re going to give us those answers.”

“Why, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Golden Time said from across from them, smiling at the three of them. His arms were behind him, handcuffed to the chair. Instead of the colorful clown costume, he wore a standard issue grey jumpsuit, as well as a collar fastened tight around his neck, one Hitoshi unfortunately recognized easily as a quirk suppressing collar. He cringed at it, visibly drawing back, and it caught Golden Time’s attention, “Ah, you know what this is? Guess I was right about you, hm? Did you have a good time? Did Eraser and Mic take good care of you?”

“How—” Hitoshi started, his voice coming out weak and choked. He cleared his throat, pausing, trying to shake the shock off of himself. It worked; he managed a more confident, sure voice when he spoke next, “How did you know?”

Golden Time just kept smiling, his expression never once faltering. He stared, unblinking at Hitoshi, his mismatched eyes never wavering away from him. “You weary boys are all the same. I can tell, you know. I can see it in your eyes. It’s all written there. Like a book. You think I just use my quirk on random people? No, child, I’m giving people a second chance.”

“You’re turning random people on the street into toddlers,” Aizawa cut in, snapping at the man behind the glass. Hitoshi finally tore his eyes away to look at him, not even startling when he felt Yamada’s hand on his shoulder again. Aizawa was leaning forward, a fierce look in his eyes that Hitoshi only ever saw when he was going up against a villain. “Those people could’ve died with no one to take care of them. Don’t lie; you turned Hitoshi into a toddler to get back at me.”

The man’s smile just widened, if that was even possible, “Well, I need to have some fun somehow, don’t I? I go crazy if I don’t use this quirk, Eraser! What am I supposed to do? I suppose I could’ve found work doing this therapeutically for people, but why should I be forced into that line of work just to be able to use my quirk? Did you take care of him, Eraser?”

“Of course he took care of me,” Hitoshi hissed from behind his teeth, his head starting to spin at having to listen to this man. He’d seen something in Hitoshi. Something Hitoshi didn’t see when he looked in the mirror. Could everyone see? Could everyone tell that there’d been twelve years of nothing but trauma in Hitoshi’s past? Was it really that obvious.

“Good,” Golden Time’s voice dripped sweetly, like raw honey with too much sugar in it. “It’s good to know that Eraser can take care of something without being so rough with it. You know, the doctors said my wrist was broken and they still made me wear handcuffs. How cruel. Call me a villain or anything you want, but Eraser here needed to be taught a little lesson about gentleness. He’s cruel and unusual.”

That was…

Simultaneously exactly what Hitoshi had expected and the worst explanation for what had happened that Hitoshi could ever imagine. But he had his answers now. He’d been chosen for two reasons—Golden Time had seen something in him, had seen his trauma and decided on his own that Hitoshi needed to be regressed, and he’d been trying to get back at Aizawa. It all made sense now. He’d just needed to hear it from the man’s lips.

He was lucky he was as satisfied with Golden Time’s answers as he could be, because at that very moment, Aizawa’s patience totally snapped and he abruptly stood up, his metal chair clattering to the floor, and with a look that Hitoshi definitely thought could kill, he faced Hitoshi and Yamada and said three words—

“We’re done now.”

“I wanted to wait until we were home, but now’s as good of a time as any. Go ahead and open it up.”

The three of them sat in Yamada’s car, Aizawa still fuming, Hitoshi still on edge, Yamada still trying to get them to calm down. They were still in the parking lot of the jail, with most of the rest of the parking lot being empty.

Yamada continued smiling at him, though his smile was warm and calming, not creepy and terrifying like Golden Time’s had been. He sat in the driver’s seat, with Aizawa next to him, both of them turned to look back at Hitoshi. Yamada went on, “I figured we might need something nice and positive after this, so I brought it along. Go ahead and open it up.”

In Hitoshi’s lap was the package from before, the ne Yamada had said was a surprise he couldn’t tell Hitoshi about yet. It was wrapped in nondescript brown paper and tied together with a white string. When Hitoshi lifted it, it felt bulky, heavy and square-shaped, and he couldn’t deny that his curiosity was growing each second it sat on his lap.

So Hitoshi gave in and pulled the string. The package came apart, unfurling in his lap. Hitoshi helped it along, pushing the paper off.

He revealed a book.

Specifically, a photo book.

One that had a cover of himself on the swings at the park near their house, four years old and swinging high in the air as the sun set around the park, with Aizawa on the swing next to him and Yamada’s hands in frame pushing him.

It was a book.

Of all the photos Aizawa and Yamada had taken of him when he’d been affected by Golden Time’s quirk.

Pages and pages of himself as a toddler. Of Aizawa and Yamada caring for him. The first pages were photos of him that first night, of him in that cat onesie, of Yamada holding him high above his head, of Hitoshi sleeping next to Aizawa. The following ones were from the next day, the long day they’d spent together. Hitoshi being a mess at the breakfast table, Hitoshi and Yamada drawing, Hitoshi’s drawing, Hitoshi staring at his new toys, Hitoshi and the cats, Hitoshi on Aizawa’s lap—there were at least a hundred photos, and near the end, Hitoshi encountered his favorite ones.

There was one of them all in the store together, all three of them smiling at the camera. Yamada was holding Hitoshi and Aizawa was pressed in close with his arm around Yamada’s waist. The three of them were standing there like a family, like they belonged like that, if only just for the short time Hitoshi had been regressed.

Hitoshi stared at that one for a long, long time.

He didn’t even realize he was crying—not until a tear dripped off his face and onto the pages of the book. Hitoshi rushed to wipe it up, earning a small laugh from Yamada as he did.

Next came all the pictures of them at the park.

Hitoshi had to keep wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his jacket to stop himself from crying onto the page.

For once, the tears didn’t feel pathetic. They didn’t feel shameful. They just felt… natural. Like he should be crying right now.

“I thought you’d want something to remember the last couple days by,” Yamada was telling him softly. “Shouta and I both have copies, too. This one’s yours. There’s just… so little photos of you as a kid that we wanted to take a lot of photos of you. Now you have a whole book of them.”

Hitoshi turned page after page.

The only photo he remembered either of them taking was the one in the store. Every other photo was candid. Discreet. Each one was full of life and meaning and memories. Hitoshi had been small again, except this time, he’d had his dads to love him and take care of him, and he hadn’t had those memories before.

Finally, Hitoshi got to the last page, and what he saw there tore a choked sob from him. He had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from crying more.

On the inside back cover was a copy of the only photo Hitoshi had of his biological parents. It wasn’t the original but a scanned copy. The yellowing edges were still there, though, and so was every wrinkle on the original. There Hitoshi was, the same age he’d been just yesterday, being held high in his father’s arms, him and his biological parents smiling brightly at the camera.

Hitoshi didn’t remember this one either.

“Hitoshi…” Aizawa said, trailing off. Hitoshi couldn’t look up. All he could do was stare at the photo, right next to another photo of him, Aizawa, and Yamada all at the park. Aizawa didn’t try to say anything more, but he leaned into Yamada and whispered quietly, almost too quietly for Hitoshi to hear, “I think it’s time.”

Yamada put the car in gear and the engine roared to life. Hitoshi didn’t bother to ask where they were going. Part of him already knew.

By the time they passed their house, Hitoshi’s tears had dried up.

It felt like it took forever, but he did stop crying—a relief, given that Hitoshi was terrified of dripping his tears onto his new photo book. He was going to protect it with his life if that was what it took, he decided. Next to his new Eraserhead and Present Mic figures, it was his most prized possession. Hitoshi still didn’t have a lot of things, but this was one thing he was going to hold onto forever.

The sun was high in the sky when they pulled into the parking lot of the park. None of them said anything as Yamada parked and he and Aizawa got out of the car, Yamada coming around to Hitoshi’s side and opening the door for him. Hitoshi carefully pushed the book into his backpack and got out, wobbling on his feet as he stood. Yamada reached out to steady him, but Hitoshi didn’t need it.

“Thank you for the book,” Hitoshi whispered, still unable to find his voice. He looked up, looking between both of them. “Both of you.”

Yamada smiled.

So did Aizawa.

The three of them walked the small hill up to the park together in silence. Around them, the wind rustled in the trees, blowing off the last few leaves that remained on them. The ground was full of red, orange, and yellow leaves, some having been racked into small piles, others just blowing about freely and without care. The air was cold, but not frigid, just enough for Hitoshi to feel through the material of his jacket, just enough to make him stick a little closer to Aizawa and Yamada.

Hitoshi knew without asking what the destination was. The swings.

He immediately sat on the same one he had last night, swaying in the breeze, and set his backpack down below him.

Aizawa sat next to him, just like he had last night.

“Want me to push you?”

Hitoshi had been half-expecting the question. He turned to look at Yamada, who offered him a small smile, and Hitoshi nodded.

Yamada didn’t even hesitate. His hands were warm on Hitoshi’s back as he started pushing him, not even questioning why Hitoshi would want him to when he could clearly do it himself. Hitoshi let him, the tension immediately clearing from him as Yamada pushed him higher and higher, enough that Hitoshi let out a small laugh, feeling the cool wind on his face as he swung up higher.

It was all alright.

Maybe—just maybe—maybe Hitoshi could still be a kid without physically being a kid. If Yamada and Aizawa were unquestionably fine with pushing him on the swings at a playground, then they were probably alright with other things.

They’d both seen him doodle on his papers. Maybe Yamada and Aizawa would be alright with sitting and drawing with him while music played in the background like they had yesterday. Maybe they’d be alright with him keeping the figures they’d gotten for him. Maybe they’d be alright with taking him here, to the park, just to spend some time with him, just to let Hitoshi feel like a kid again. Maybe it’d be okay.

It would be okay, actually. Hitoshi was sure of that. Because his parents loved him. Because Aizawa and Yamada loved him too much to ever hurt him or abandon him. If he’d learned anything from these past three days, that was it. Aizawa and Yamada loved him more than anything else in the world, and they weren’t ever going anywhere.

Not like all his previous foster families. Not like his extended family. And not like…

Hitoshi slowed down, dragging his feet in the dirt to stop. Yamada stopped pushing him, backing off until Hitoshi came to a stop, only swaying in the autumn wind as he looked at both his parents. Aizawa and Yamada looked back at him, with all the love that could possibly be in the world, waiting.

“Can I…” Hitoshi swallowed hard, holding onto his thought from before. Suddenly, he remembered more, remembered twelve years ago, before his father’s death had changed his entire life. He remembered sitting on the swings, with his father pushing him, just like Yamada had. “...Can I tell you a story about my dad?”

It was ready at his lips, for the first time ever. He’d never spoken about his father before like this, never told anyone the stories he only barely remembered. But Yamada had been right earlier—it was time.

“Hitoshi—” Yamada said, his voice choked, his smile bright.

“Please,” Aizawa continued for him. “Hitoshi, tell us everything. We’ll listen.”

Hitoshi didn’t doubt that. Not even for a moment.

He smiled at his parents, opened his mouth, and for the very first time in his life, it all came out, and Hitoshi let himself unfurl, let himself open up, and for the first time—he let himself be listened to.